trace (vestiges)
His door opens, but he does not bother glancing up. He has not ordered tea yet- the bellboy from the Gatewater Hotel knows not to bother him before 3 o'clock, anyways- so the only person it can be is Detective Gumshoe. "Did you need something, Detective?" Miles murmurs, eyes focused upon his task- a comparison of the autopsy report of a recent murder to the victim's medical history, his eyes scanning each and every detail to find what may have tied the defendant to this case.
His jaw goes slack, fingers fumbling with the pen unseemingly as the figure at the door, who is decidedly not the detective, calls, "Hey, Edgeworth. Is it a good time? I've got some paperwork."
A quick glance over to his reflection in his computer monitor confirms that his ears are just as beet red as the walls of his office, much to his chagrin. Clearing his throat, he clumsily stands, nodding. "Is it for the upcoming trial, Wright?"
Ruefully, Phoenix runs his hand back through his hair, still lingering awkwardly by the door. His messy locks are wind-swept, cheeks spotted with the flush of someone assaulted by the wind just moments before; based on the dampness of the hems of his slacks and the creasing of his blazer under his backpack, it is clear that the man had just rode over to the Prosecutor's Office on his bicycle. Miles glances outside, his heart sinking a little, for the treetops beyond his window sway with a ferocity that would be absolutely biting.
Other than the mussed appearance, however, Phoenix does not look bothered by the journey it must have taken to arrive at Miles' office. Instead, he glances around sheepishly, the splotches of red upon his cheeks refusing to fade as he takes tentative steps inside, looking everywhere but at Miles.
Miles stands, beckoning Phoenix over after a moment. "Bring the paperwork, Wright," he says gruffly. "I'm in the middle of preparations."
"Oh! Of course." Crossing the rug-covered hardwood floor with long strides, Phoenix shrugs off his backpack, pulling out a manila envelope. "Here. I found it in the evidence room- I thought it would be good if you saw it."
Miles raises a brow, peeking inside. It is indeed a new dossier- he hasn't seen this one yet. That detective... he thinks in exasperation, tucking the file underneath the autopsy report he is halfway through scouring. "I'm surprised you brought it here," he admits after a moment. "You could have just submitted it to the court tomorrow. Taken me by surprise."
Phoenix shakes his head, his earnestness clear as ever. "Edgeworth, I'm not here to one-up you in court- I just want to make sure innocent people aren't declared guilty," he says. "And it's not like you're a bad person to deserve being tricked in court- well, not anymore," he adds. Miles rolls his eyes, but he cannot refute those words, as much as it pains him to admit it. Phoenix continues, "You're not von Karma- I know you won't tamper with anything."
"…that's an awful lot of faith, Wright." He is gripping onto his elbow tightly before he is even aware of it, fingers digging into his skin hard enough to hurt. "I don't quite think I deserve it."
Gentle hands extricate Miles' away from his arm, callused fingers rough against Miles' smooth touch. "Well I do," Phoenix says.
Miles' eyes lift, swallowing thickly as he realizes just how close Phoenix has become, just how heavy his lids have grown as he stares at Miles down a long, straight nose. Then, his eyes fall upon wind- and cold-bitten lips, chapped to hell and back, cracks forming so pathetically that it is clear the attorney has done nothing but chew his lips anxiously for hours during his investigations.
He does not realize that his hands lift, that his thumb strokes those bitten lips, until he feels Phoenix's breath catch upon his fingertips at the contact. It feels rough, painful. So, Miles walks around his desk to his topmost drawer, finding an extra chap stick precisely where it should be; he lifts up the tube of mint balm to Phoenix in offering, taking a seat once more in order to get back to work- in order to vanquish these thoughts which threaten to turn to unprofessional avenues in a heartbeat.
Phoenix does not take it, though. Instead, he leans down across the Miles' bureau, closing his eyes in wait.
Goddammit, Wright. He hates how much his fingers tremble as he obliges anyways, uncapping the balm and spreading it across Phoenix's lips with as much tenderness as he can muster. The other man winces- it clearly must have been bothering him, his nerves rubbing the thin skin raw- but Phoenix does not pull away, allowing Miles to work in peace.
Finally, he recaps it. "Take it," he mutters lamely, tucking the balm into the pocket of Phoenix's blazer without meeting his eyes. "I'm assuming Miss Fey is waiting for you to continue your investigations, so you should-"
A strong hand grabs his chin, pulling Miles' face upwards gently, yet firmly. Mint-covered lips press against his, the balm a barrier to protect Miles against the damage upon Phoenix; they move slowly together, never parting, the only scent between them mint and Phoenix's cologne.
Miles likes this combination, he finds. That is the only explanation for why that scent lingers on his mind for the rest of the day, long after Phoenix has pulled away, whispering, "Thanks, Edgeworth. Good luck tomorrow, and get some rest before then, okay? I'll see you in court," before slinging his bag over his back once again and heading out into the wind-swept city. His lips are smooth, soft, slightly red and minty. He quite likes it, indeed.