It was a miracle that he'd been able to convince the man to come at all. This wasn't somewhere he was comfortable-

Well, no. That wasn't the case in the least.

This was exactly where he was most comfortable. But...not usually like this.

"Thank you for coming," the raven-haired man muttered under his breath, trying to keep the brief sentence between the rises and falls of the music, so his intended target might actually hear it. ...Not that he doubted his companion's ability to hear whatever he wanted, under any circumstance.

...And often the same in reverse.

"Mmm." The taller of the two didn't even give a look to acknowledge that he'd heard, only the sound and a faint nod of his head.

For as much as they'd stayed standing still tonight, Phoenix didn't regret the endeavor. The Gala was usually passed off as an opportunity to hob-knob and network with the other law professionals, but more often than not, it was a chance for the gossips and the busybodies to figure out what was going on with who. Maya had begged Phoenix to take her, and he'd flatly refused each and every year. When Pearls had demanded an answer for why Nick wasn't taking "his beloved Mystic Maya" to the Gala, he'd only had to scramble for a second before coming up with a perfect answer—and not a lie, either. (Or at least, not much of one.) His first year—the only Gala where the two had been there together—Mia had refused to take him as well. She'd given an off-hand "it's not a place for rookies" as her answer, and even then Phoenix had known it was a lie.

But it was something he could tell Pearls. He said it was only for full-fledged lawyers, and prayed she never asked that if it was only for lawyers, could Nick only ever date other lawyers...?

He didn't want to see Maya in law school. For so many reasons.

But this year he'd wanted to go. It was his first Gala after reclaiming his badge, Apollo and Trucy already had other plans, and Athena had turned interesting shades of purple at her own invitation so she had quickly found plans of her own. Which meant he got his chance to slip a quiet invitation to the person he'd really wanted to spend the evening with...and pray he didn't have other plans.

I'd like to go to the Gala this year. Can I convince you to come with? I'd appreciate a friendly face.

The response took four days to get to him.

If you insist.

So here they were, standing on the edges of the Gala, watching the dresses and suits twirl like they were are a high school prom all over again. Phoenix couldn't help it; the corners of his mouth twitched up in a smile. He couldn't imagine either of them at a high school prom.

...Well no, that wasn't true either. He could imagine himself at a high school prom, but he'd really rather not relive that disaster all over aga-

"Wright, a question."

Phoenix's head snapped back up. "Yeah?"

"Do you even know how to dance?"

Phoenix crossed his arms, huffing out a breath. "Don't say it like that. Edgeworth. Of course I know how to dance. I mean, I haven't exactly had much practice lately so I'm a little rusty, but I learned." Once, a long time ago, he added silently.

"Then why don't you?" One hand gestured out to the dance floor. "I'm sure there's a partner out there willing to risk their toes for you."

He flustered for a moment before turning it back on its asker. "Well what about you? All that training, you have to know how to dance, but you haven't been out there all night. You go dance then."

"True, I can dance. I, on the other hand, wasn't the one who specifically wanted to come to this event." That got the slate grey eyes to turn on Phoenix. "You don't have that excuse."

Phoenix turned his gaze away, staring down at his shoes. Come on, Wright. You got him to come out here tonight. The least you can do...! But he didn't speak. He could feel his ears burning already; there was no way he'd be able to say anything now. But this was different from the quiet dinners at pubs or drinks at Edgeworth's apartment. This wasn't a quiet conversation before a trial or a smile after an acquittal. This was a horse of a different color, out in the middle of everyone, with nothing to hide behind.

Edgeworth always did well in groups. Phoenix, not so much. And this... This wasn't either of their strong points.

He could hear the music shift, and a hand appeared in his vision. Slowly his eyes panned up...to the impassive face of his friend. "Edgeworth?"

"Come on, Wright. You wanted to dance, so dance. It won't kill you."

"B-but..."

"Wright." The hand shifted, nearly imperceptibly, but Phoenix caught the tone in the motion: You're being rude, and making this more uncomfortable than it needs to be. Stop making a scene. He straightened his back and stepped toward Edgeworth, which allowed the taller man to lower his hand and lead them to an open corner of the room. They'd garnered a few glances, but nothing serious yet. By the time Edgeworth stopped moving, Phoenix could almost see the faint tremor in his friend's hand.

"Miles, you don't..." But he couldn't finish the sentence.

Edgeworth didn't say a word, only taking Phoenix's hand in his and setting the other on the small of Wright's back. Hesitating only for a second, Phoenix reached up and set his hand on Edgeworth's shoulder—and they began to move.

It took Phoenix about four steps before he realized that he'd ceded power of the dance to Edgeworth. In the next step, he knew there was no chance he'd have gotten to lead anyway, and was perfectly content not to.

Now he was noticing a few more glances their direction. This was entirely out of the ordinary. Nearly everyone in the room knew either Wright, Edgeworth, or both—and the rest certainly had heard of them, and could recognize them even out of their standard court attire. But now they were dancing. Together. At the Gala. They may as well have gotten married.

For a fleeting second, Phoenix wondered what would happen if Pearls ever heard about this.

For a slightly longer second, he wondered what Maya would think.

For almost a minute, he started wondering about Apollo. Athena. Trucy. What had he been thinking?

"Wright, you're exceptionally hard to lead when you're this tense." The baritone murmur reminded him of each and every reason.

"Sorry, Edgeworth." Even now, we're so formal. Calling each other by our last names, never looking at each other... He tempted the fates and glanced up at his friend's face—only to find that Edgeworth's eyes were closed.

It made sense. What he couldn't see, couldn't immediately bother him.

To hell with them. Phoenix took a slow breath and shifted just enough to set his head against Edgeworth's shoulder. The steady thu-thump of Edgeworth's heartbeat—if a bit quicker than usual—kept his own blood pressure down. He closed his own eyes, focusing on any other sense. The feeling of warmth under his cheek. The smooth and easy rhythm of the music, the movement of their feet on the carpet. The faint smell of brandy mixed with cologne coming off of the jacket. The absence of the tremor in his partner's hand.

Just before the song ended, Phoenix's eyes opened just enough to see their entwined hands, and his lips turned into a small smile. "Thank you, Miles."

There was a second before he got an answer, felt from the vibrations under his cheek more than heard.

"You're welcome, Phoenix."