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Miles and Wright are considerably inebriated, to say the least. With Trucy out of the house for the night, and having just finished a gruelling case, it was bound to happen, really. It started with a bottle of wine, then a couple of beers made their appearance, then—is that sake? The fact that Miles doesn’t even remember is a testament to just how much they have drunk.
So then, it comes as no surprise that Wright asks him to spend the night.
“You’re too drunk to drive back, and it’s gonna be too late by the time you sober up.”
“You don’t need to convince me, Wright. I won’t run away.” Not again, remains unsaid. “Especially not in this… state.”
“Hey, I’m just making sure. The bed’s made, I figured this might happen.”
“I’ve been spending so much time here lately, it’s almost like I live here.”
“Heh. Yeah. Wouldn’t that be funny,” Wright says, rubbing the back of his neck.
Miles chuckles, getting up from the couch. He struggles to find his balance for a few seconds, almost falling back onto it, but he manages. He can hear Wright laughing at him as he heads towards the bathroom to brush his teeth, with his own toothbrush that Wright had bought him when he first started spontaneously spending the night.
When he puts the toothbrush back, Miles is struck by just how domestic this all is; he spends so much time at the Wright household that he has his own toothbrush, and from the corner of his eye he can spot his shampoo next to the shower. He wipes his face with the towel that Wright had reserved for him, though it still smells like him; if he lingers a second too long on the scent, no one needs to know.
He heads into the guest room, and, sure enough, the bed is made; Wright had even set out his pyjamas on the bed. He peels off his clothes and slips into the silk pyjamas, having already sobered up significantly. He then knocks on Wright’s door to wish him good night, as is courteous.
“Come in!”
Wright is sitting on his bed, also ready to sleep. Miles can’t help but think he looks adorable; his clothes are slightly too big for him, and he’s rubbing his eyes tiredly. He shakes that thought away before he does something stupid.
“I just came to say good night, Wright.”
Wright smiles, blinding and brilliant as always. “Good night, Edgeworth.”
Without another word, Miles goes back to the guest room, and is asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.
Miles is sitting on the couch in their—no, Wright’s—apartment. His hand feels heavy. He glances over to it, and realises that is because he’s holding Wright’s, who seems to have no issue with this. He seems completely enamoured with the scene in front of him, but Miles can’t take his eyes off Wright, so free of worries, so beautiful. He leans into his touch.
“Papa!”
Miles instinctively turns away from Wright, as if it’s him being called; as if anyone would call him that. Much to his surprise, though, Trucy Wright is looking at him intently, a look of faux annoyance on her face.
“Stop making heart eyes at Daddy and look at my new trick!”
Wright laughs next to him, then presses a kiss to his cheek, as if it’s just something he does casually; as if this is normal for them. “Yeah, Miles. Stop making heart eyes at me.” Then, whispered into his ear, only loud enough for Miles to hear: “You’ll have plenty of time for that later tonight.”
Miles flushes. Wright never calls him by his first name; it feels too personal, like he’s getting too close to something he can’t have. Or, rather, something he thought he couldn’t have, because it seems right now, he has everything he’s ever wanted. He has Wright, he has a family, a place he can call home with the people he loves.
“Apologies, Trucy. Please, go on.”
Trucy beams, then launches into a complicated card trick that Miles has trouble following; if he didn’t know better, he would believe that it’s actually magic. Or perhaps here, it is. Because only with magic could he be so lucky to be in his position.
Next to him, Wright shouts words of encouragement, and Miles joins in, completely taken with the scene in front of him. Trucy has always been comfortable around him, but right now, he’s not Uncle Miles anymore; she seems to treat him just as much like a father as she does Wright, and it makes his heart melt. Miles had always loved her, but the love he feels for her now is different, familial.
But of course, nothing good can last for Miles; Phoenix screams, a loud, pained screech, but when he turns to him, he is no longer there. He turns back to Trucy, as if to ask her for help, but she is also gone, and so is the house. Everything he’s ever wanted, served to him on a platter, then taken away just as quickly as it had arrived.
Miles Edgeworth is alone again.
Miles jolts awake, shaking away the remainder of his dream. It takes him a second to realise that the scream he heard was real, and that it’s coming from Wright’s room. He immediately runs over, opening the door to find Wright thrashing about on his bed, still screaming, his voice hoarse.
Gently, Miles lays a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light shake. “Wright?” Nothing. Louder, “Wright!” Still nothing. He puts the other hand on his cheek, stroking lightly. “Phoenix!”
Wright’s eyes suddenly fly open and he sits up, panicked. Miles sits down on the bed next to him, his hands letting go of his face and shoulder, one of them finding its way to his knee through the sheets.
“Edgeworth?”
“Are you alright, Wright?” Miles asks, though the answer is obvious.
“Y-yes, thank you,” Wright bluffs anyway. “You can go back to sleep.”
Miles takes his hand in his. “You’re shaking. You’re obviously not fine. Would you… would you like to talk about it?”
“N-no, it’s fine, it’s nothing! Good night, Edgeworth!” Wright lets go of his hand and turns away from him, lying back down as if he’s actually planning on going back to sleep. Were the circumstances different, Miles would be insulted that Wright thinks he doesn’t know him better than that.
“Wright. Talk to me, please.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. Just… you can go back to bed, Edgeworth. Sorry for waking you up.”
“That is the least of my worries right now.” That prompts Wright to turn around, and Miles takes the opportunity to grab his hand again. “You don’t have to give me any details, just… If there’s anything I can do to help…”
Wright squeezes his hand, perhaps subconsciously, and regards him closely. Even in the dim moonlight, Miles can see deep circles framing guarded eyes, brows furrowed in worry. He bites his lip nervously, looking away for a second before returning his gaze to Miles’ and nodding weakly.
“It’s dumb, but…” It’s not, Miles wants to interject, but he doesn’t want to interrupt him. “Every year, around the anniversary of… of when Dahlia tried to poison me, I have these nightmares. Where she actually manages to… well.” Miles nods, squeezing his hand in a way he hopes is reassuring. “And I know she’s gone, but I can’t help it.”
“Fears are often somewhat irrational, though I think yours is quite founded. Thank you for telling me. You know, someone once told me it’s not good to bottle up your feelings.”
A shadow of a smile on Wright’s face, and Miles’ heart flutters. “Shut up.” A beat, then, “Thank you, Edgeworth. For being here for me.”
“You were by my side when no one else was. It’s only fair. And, well,” I love you, “I care about you.”
“I care about you too. It helped a bit, talking about it.” Miles smiles, then goes to let go of his hand, but Wright squeezes it and brings him closer. “D-don’t go yet. Please,” he whispers, as if he’s afraid to say the words, but Miles hears him anyway, and complies. There’s no way he could leave him like this.
“Of course. Anything you need.”
“Can you… Nevermind, it’s stupid.”
“I’m certain it’s not.”
“No, it’s alright, really.”
“Wright.”
He chews his lip for a second, looking away and murmuring something, and this time it’s imperceptible even to Miles, who is sitting mere inches away from him. Miles gently cups his face with his free hand and makes him face him again, then nods encouragingly. Usually, he wouldn’t be this physically affectionate with anyone, but when it comes to Wright, small touches like this are second nature, and he craves them like he thirsts for water, like he hungers for food. It’s just as grounding for Miles as he hopes it is for Wright.
“Could you… stay here, tonight?” It’s still barely audible, but Miles manages to pick it up. There’s a light dusting of pink on his cheeks visible even in the dim light. “I don’t think I can be alone right now.” His voice cracks as he says it, and it breaks Miles’ heart.
He knows the answer without even thinking about it. “Of course. Like I said, anything.”
A bigger smile this time, and Miles smiles in turn. “Thank you, Miles.”
And oh, how Miles wishes to hear his name said like that more often. “You’re welcome, Phoenix.”
Wright lets go of his hand, then scoots over in the bed to make room for Miles, who slips under the covers next to him. They’re so close that Miles can feel his body heat radiating, and it draws him in like a magnet. He fruitlessly reminds himself that he’s doing this for Wright’s sake, not to fulfil his own selfish desires.
“Good night, Miles. Again.”
Miles chuckles. “Good night, Wright. Sleep well.”
When Miles wakes up, there is a heavy weight on his chest. Literally. He blinks away the sleepiness, then looks down to see a mop of black hair on his chest. It takes him a second longer to realise that it is Wright, recalling the events of last night, and another second to realise that they are holding each other.
Of course, it is only natural that Wright would gravitate towards him in his sleep, considering the state he was in. It doesn’t mean anything more than that, and it doesn't have to mean anything more than that. Still, Miles lets himself pretend that it does, and cards his fingers through Wright’s hair, gently, so that he doesn’t wake him and break the illusion. Wright sighs contentedly, nuzzling into his neck, and Miles’ heart aches.
He could get up and start his day, but he doesn’t want this moment to end. He doesn’t ever want Wright to let go of him, as unrealistic as he knows it is. For now, he settles for listening to his light snores, letting it lull him back to sleep, surrounded by the warmth of the man he loves.
What could be mere minutes or hours later, Miles wakes up again, to the morning sunlight streaming into his eyes. He can still feel Wright on his chest; he must not have awoken yet, though he can’t hear him snoring anymore. Maybe he can sleep for a second longer, prolong the moment…
“‘Morning,” Wright says. So he is awake…?
Then, he does something Miles could’ve never anticipated.
Wright kisses him on the cheek. It’s quick, almost careless, but the feeling lingers. Miles wishes he could tattoo it into his skin, never to fade.
“G-good morning,” Miles echoes, too stunned still to say anything more.
Wright smiles, then peels himself away from Miles and gets out of bed. He stretches, several of his joints cracking, which earns a chuckle out of Miles; not that his back would fare much better.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh at the old man with back problems.” But Wright laughs too.
He disappears into the hallway, then Miles hears the tap being turned on. Miles gets out of bed as well, mirroring Wright’s stretching (as expected, down to the cracking joints), then heads into the kitchen, getting started on breakfast. Both he and Wright are quite hopeless when it comes to making food, but at least Miles can proudly say he’s never burnt raw spaghetti, so between the two of them, he is usually the one to handle the cooking. He tries not to think about the implications of that.
Wright comes into the kitchen, leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed. “Where’s your apron, Edgeworth?”
Miles ignores him, but he can’t ignore the heat rising to his cheeks. “Can you watch the eggs while I brush my teeth? Literally all you have to do is turn the heat down if the water starts to bubble over.”
“Yeah, yeah, go brush your teeth. I promise I won’t burn down the kitchen in the next three minutes.”
“I’ll be holding you to that.”
Miles goes into the bathroom, brushing his teeth and washing his face. Surprisingly enough, despite how much they’d had to drink last night, he’s not at all hungover. Perhaps sleeping with—sleeping next to Wright has some kind of magical hungover curing properties.
When he returns to the kitchen, nothing is on fire.
“That was four minutes, Edgeworth, I said three. You’re lucky nothing happened.”
“Not even you are that incompetent,” Miles quips back.
“Was that a compliment? I think that was a compliment. A rare occurrence, truly, I shall treasure it.”
“I’m taking it back.”
“Nope, too late. I’m already putting it in my calendar.”
Miles rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. The truth is, he would never stop complimenting Wright if he could—he adores everything about him. Yet, he hesitates; he’s never quite sure where they stand, especially now, after the events of last night. They should probably talk about it, but it would be best not to do it with boiling hot water in their vicinity, so Miles plans on waiting until after they’ve finished their breakfast to bring it up.
The meal is nothing fancy—boiled eggs, a small salad, and some buttered toast—but it’s good enough for now. They eat in companionable silence, occasionally sipping on their tea and coffee, respectively. Edgeworth looks around the kitchen, and he is once again hit by his presence in the space—photos of him, Wright, and Trucy stuck to the fridge with his Steel Samurai magnets, his preferred brand of tea always stocked in the cabinets, his apron hung up next to the oven. It really is like he lives here—and if he is to be honest, he feels more at home with the Wrights than he has ever since he was nine years old and still living with his father. It makes his heart ache.
“Uh, sorry about last night,” Wright says, snapping him out of his thoughts. “For waking you up, and for… well. You know.”
Miles waves him off. “No apology needed, Wright. Nightmares are no joke. You were there for me when mine were at their worst, it was the least I could do.”
“In that case, uh. Thank you, Edgeworth.”
“Don’t mention it. I slept quite well, anyway.” It takes him a second to realise what he’s said. “I, I mean— That was a weird thing to say. I apologise.”
“Hey, I slept pretty well too. Better than I have in quite a while.” He leans in closer to him over the table, just slightly, but Miles can see it, can feelit. “You make a pretty good pillow,” he says, then giggles.
Miles flushes, scrambling to change the subject. “Will you be alright tonight?”
The mood darkens again. Maybe that wasn’t quite the best course of action.
“I… don’t know. Maybe. It should go away soon.”
“How long does this usually go on for?”
Phoenix shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant, but there’s a slight tremble to his shoulders. “Maybe a week. Maybe two. It’s worse some years, better others.”
Miles hesitates for a second, something weighing heavy on his mind. There’s no telling how Wright will react to his proposal, but he has to try. For his sake, not for his own.
“If… If you say that me being here helped… Would you like me to…” Miles looks away for a second, collecting himself. Why is he so nervous about this? “What I mean to say is—” He has trouble finding his words, getting stuck in his throat before he can get them out. He lets out a breath, hoping it doesn’t come across too strangely. “I could stay until this gets better. If you would like.”
“I couldn’t possibly ask that of you.”
“You’re not asking. I am suggesting it, I wouldn’t be doing that if I weren’t fine with it.”
“Edgeworth—”
“A-and like I said, I slept quite well too.” A sudden surge of courage overtakes him, and Miles takes Wright’s hand in his over the table. “Better than I’ve slept in a while, really.”
Phoenix doesn’t retract his hand, quite the opposite; he squeezes Miles’, holding tight, as if he’s afraid Miles will let go. Like Miles would ever want to do that. Wright looks away from him, but Miles doesn’t miss the slight flush on his cheeks. His heartbeat picks up.
“...If you’re quite sure, then… okay. But… With one condition.”
Miles swallows. “...And what would that be?”
Wright faces him again, looking straight into his eyes. His gaze is as intimidating as ever, but Miles can’t look away.
“Stay with me. With us.”
Miles is taken aback. Could he be implying…? But no, there is no way. He’s spent so long pining from afar, convincing himself that there’s no way Wright could possibly love him the way he loves him. After last night, though, he’d found himself doubting that long-held conviction for the first time. And right now, it is shattering by the moment, lock after lock cracking open, baring everything between them. “You don’t mean…?”
Wright suddenly gets up, but he doesn’t let his hand go. Instead, he brings it to his chest as he leans down towards Miles. It could only have been a few seconds, but it draws on for what might as well have been hours, before he feels Wright’s lips very faintly on his. Then, he begins to draw away, still staying close, giving Miles an out. But Miles doesn’t want it. His free hand finds its way to his face, bringing him closer yet again, and returning the kiss with all he has. Decades of adoration, of yearning, of longing, of love pour out between their lips. Miles stands up, which is a slight challenge without breaking the kiss, and steps closer to Wright, their bodies now flush together. Wright’s arm sneaks around his waist, holding him close, not that Miles would ever think about leaving, especially not now, that he has everything he’s ever wanted.
“Wright…” No. “Phoenix…”
Phoenix smiles. “Miles… You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.”
The sound of his first name coming from Phoenix’s lips is like music to his ears, and he can’t resist kissing him again. Phoenix chuckles, but kisses him back, and it’s even better than the first time, as they learn each other.
Unfortunately, it can’t last forever. Phoenix breaks away, and for a second Miles thinks he might have done something wrong, but the warm look in his eyes tells him otherwise, reassuring in a way words could never be.
“We… We should probably talk. About this,” Phoenix says.
Miles nods. “Let’s go sit down on the couch. It’s more comfortable than the kitchen table.”
“You just wanna cuddle me, admit it.”
Miles doesn’t dignify that with an answer (because he is right, he does want to… cuddle him), instead dragging him to the living room by their still joined hands. They sit down, Phoenix immediately putting his free hand around Miles and laying his head on his chest, in a mirror of last night. Miles cards his fingers through his hair.
“So…” Phoenix begins.
“Phoenix. Does… Does this mean you would want to start a romantic relationship with me?” Smooth, Miles.
“It very much does. U-unless you don’t want that, in which case—”
Miles kisses him again.
“Hm. I have a new way of shutting you up now. I will be taking advantage of that.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
Phoenix laughs, but complies, bringing their lips together yet again. Miles can’t wait to be able to lose track of how many kisses they’re having.
“I like it when you call me that,” Phoenix says.
“Huh?”
“Phoenix. You calling me Wright, it never sounded quite right. Heh. Wright.”
Another kiss.
“I love you, Phoenix.” He doesn’t mean to say it, but he feels it so deeply that he can’t even bring himself to take it back. It’s been on the tip of his tongue for years, threatening to escape; it was bound to happen eventually.
“Even after I made that horrible pun? You must really mean it.”
“Don’t make me rethink it.”
Phoenix’s melodic laugh fills his ears yet again. “I love you too, Miles.”
They share yet another kiss, and right in that moment, the front door flies open, startling both of them. Trucy is standing in the doorway, dragging a suitcase behind her, donning her usual magician’s attire. She looks at them, somewhat surprised, but her expression then softens, and she breaks out into a smile. She closes the door behind her, taking off her shoes before dashing over to them and crushing them in a hug. How is she so strong!?
“Does this make Uncle Miles ‘Papa Miles’ instead?”
Phoenix looks at him, a somewhat worried expression on his face, as if he thinks Miles wouldn’t want to be considered Trucy’s father. He should know him better than that by now.
“I suppose it does,” Miles says, and this time he’s more prepared for Trucy’s overbearing embrace.