trace (vestiges)

Those large hands which he has watched across the courtroom for so, so long are far more useful than he would've ever imagined. They bring him to the brink again and again- never pushing, never delving farther than this unspoken boundary written by the panic and unsureness which appears on Miles' face whether he wants to show it or not. His dress shirt is stripped away, body laid bare onto silken sheets which have never truly known the flesh of another. And as the night wears on, although Miles' silent rules are never broken, Phoenix Wright pulls him apart anyways, finding the loopholes as he always does until Miles can see nothing but fervent brown eyes watching him, those rough, callused hands becoming one with his skin.

Phoenix holds him as if he is precious, he realizes. It makes him want to weep.

After coming apart so succinctly at the seams that Miles can no longer see straight, Phoenix finally appears satisfied. The man draws blankets over their shoulders, brushing Miles' sweat-streaked hair out of his eyes, and plant a kiss upon his forehead as he snuggles into the pillows arranged upon the bed. "God, it's so comfortable," he murmurs, voice hoarse, brow furrowed in a wry, almost disbelieving smile. "You live like this?"

Miles feels his body struggle to find a foothold to no avail, eventually just allowing his head to loll over to the side, grinning ruefully. "I mean," he replies in an exhausted whisper, his fuzzy thoughts allowing his next words to slip from his lips unbidden, "it's far more comfortable now than before."

"How so?"

Languidly, Miles rolls over, reaching up with a tentative hand. He places it upon Phoenix's cheek; his heart immediately melts as the other man nuzzles into his palm as if on instinct, the furrow in his brow easing without hesitation at Miles' touch.

"You're warm," Miles replies at last.

A shiver races through his body, raising hair upon his arms and nape, sending chills up and down his spine, as bruised lips kiss his palm before stretching into a gentle smile. "Human heater, at your service."

Gods, he means every word of this. For a moment, Miles wonders whether this is a good idea. How in the world is he supposed to look Phoenix in the eye the next morning, after all? How in the world can he ever look across the courtroom and see anything but sweat beaded upon the brow, happy fatigue painting these chiselled features?

He attempts to toss and turn, to pull away. Phoenix does not allow it, for callused palms cup his shoulder, turning him back towards the other man, drawing him close- his grip, unbreakable. He tries to shimmy to the other side of the bed, but Phoenix's grasp refuses to relent. It is only when Phoenix spots something out of the corner of his eye when he relaxes, finally allowing Miles to put some distance between their bodies- some space in which Miles can rearrange his racing heart, putting it back to order.

Tentatively, Phoenix whispers, "That's… that's Samurai of the Moon, right?"

Miles' breath catches in his throat. He had thought he had hidden the figurine, boxing it away in case Franziska came by to invade his home again unannounced as she is wont to do; however, Phoenix is absolutely correct, spotting the lone samurai statue with its iconic blade and mask standing in the darkness upon his armoire. "Um…" He sighs, defeated. His body still feels far too boneless, too spent, to muster any strength to argue. "Yes, it is."

"That was when we were in elementary school, huh. So, you're really a fan of this stuff," Phoenix hums thoughtfully. "You know, when you told Will Powers that you were a fan back then of the Steel Samurai, I thought you were lying."

"Why would I lie about that?" Miles asked incredulously. "That's not something anyone would-"

"I know," Phoenix shushes him gently, a soft, contemplative look in his eye. The man rolls over, staring across fluffy pillows at Miles, his gaze burning despite the fact that his smile is the most tender thing Miles has ever seen. Then, Phoenix utters words that completely knock Miles off-kilter, throwing away any and all semblance of control his has felt over this crumbling conversation. "Hey, you know what we should do sometime?" When Miles hums in quiet curiosity, Phoenix continues, "There's this little comic shop downtown that sells a lot of figurines and stuff. Maya dragged me there one time, so I know the owner now. Next day off, we should go!"

He's mocking me, his mind supplies, its tone insidious and harsh. Does he think I'm basically Miss Fey? Am I really on the same level as her? She's- she's a child-

Miles flushes, turning his cheek away, biting the inside of it in shame. "I- you don't need to pretend," he whispers. "I know it's shameful- I should've grown out of it years ago, and I know it's for children, but-"

"Why does it matter if it's for children or not?" Phoenix asks, genuinely baffled. "I like Kid's Masterpiece Theatre."

Miles cannot even hide the ungainly snort which bursts forth. How is this realization somehow the most on-brand thing he could have ever heard from Phoenix? "Of course you do."

"Hey now, no teasing." Long, rough fingers twine into his hair, scratching his scalp lightly, the rhythm soothing, pleasant, as Phoenix slides closer underneath downy sheets. "Whatever you like has value, you know," Phoenix murmurs. "It doesn't need to make sense to me- I'm just happy that it makes you happy."

These simple, sleepy words of validation fill Miles' heart with a kind of warmth which is foreign, almost frighteningly so. He opens his mouth, then closes it again; he is too exhausted to try and formulate any more confessions this night, and there is absolutely no way his sleep-deprived, fogged-up brain can ever say the truth.

He does not protest, however, when Phoenix's arm pulls Miles closer, the man murmuring, "You get cold easily, right? C'mere."

The quiet acceptance- the acknowledgement that this silly little love that Miles has harboured for these children's franchises- makes him far more emotional than he would have liked. He does not have the energy to cry about it now, though, so he bites his tongue, closes his eyes, and finally, truly succumbs to Phoenix's warmth. He can confess the truth- that he has only ever fallen in love with samurai action stories because a young Phoenix Wright had loved them with all his heart, and that Miles has always wanted to be as strong as those heroes so that one day, he might be strong enough to save Phoenix, too- another day.