trace (vestiges)
Being awoken early on a day off is disconcerting to say the least; being awoken by a kiss to the temple, even more so. Before he had fallen asleep the night before, he had spent far too long worrying about how he was going to face Phoenix the next day, for they have crossed nearly every single professional boundary possible, and Miles is not exactly the most experienced in navigating whatever flames have been kindled and rekindled between them outside of the courtroom.
Yet, when the light begins to stream into his bedroom's gauzy curtains and Phoenix whispers in his ear, "Stay here, I'll make something for us," Miles finds that he is more flustered, yet strangely enough, more at peace, than he ever has before.
His willpower lasts him a whole of two minutes once he is aware of the implications of Phoenix's words, for the curiosity which overtakes him is all-consuming- the fear, even more so. What if Phoenix judges his lavish home? He barely uses anything in the living room; his maid comes every third day to ensure everything is in order, so it looks completely unlived in, not a speck of dust to be seen. It is entirely the opposite of everything which Phoenix projects in his daily life.
To his surprise (and eternal relief), when he throws on a bathrobe and slippers and pads his way down the stairs, each footstep tentative and unsure, he is not greeted by a baffled or judgemental lawyer; instead, what he sees is a shirtless man in Miles' own pyjama bottoms, the strong, corded muscle of his back visible under the bright kitchen lights, appearing so foreign and out of place that Miles' brain short-circuits for a moment. Phoenix does not notice his arrival, the man puttering about Miles' barely-used kitchen, pulling out ingredients which Miles had not even known he has. A lovely smell is already rising from the stove; idly, Miles hopes that the scent of bacon will not cling to the drapes, but he pushes the thought out of his mind as he sees Phoenix clumsily pull out Miles' favourite black tea.
There is something so indescribably wonderful about watching this man who has held his heart since he was a child read the instructions upon this tea box with such laser-like focus that it could have cowered a lesser man, all in order to make Miles a cup of tea that morning. And presumably, Miles realizes in awed, touched disbelief, tea which he would have brought Miles in bed.
The coffee machine whirs for Phoenix, the kettle boiling for Miles. He finally tiptoes down the stairs and leans on the kitchen island, watching from a safe distance away. "Would you like me to find you an apron?" he offers awkwardly. "You're going to get a burn from the grease, you know."
Phoenix whips around, his surprise melting away to rueful shyness. "I guess you're right," he chuckles after a moment. Putting down his spatula, he walks forward with surprising boldness, startling Miles as he wraps his arms around Miles' waist without hesitation. Immediately, Miles turns away- he hasn't washed his face or brushed his teeth or become presentable in the slightest, so god what if Phoenix-
Phoenix buries his nose in Miles' collarbone, breathing in deep, then sighing contentedly. "You okay with bacon and toast?" he asks, voice muffled by Miles' skin, the sound reverberating through the prosecutor's core.
Gulping, Miles murmurs, "I- well, yes, that is perfectly acceptable." He is used to no breakfast at all on days the maid does not come by.
To add to his flustered shame, Phoenix presses his lips against the hollow of Miles' collar. "God, you're so much easier to cook for than Maya," he laughs wryly. "She's such a brat. "
His heart stops in his chest. "Do you… do that often? Cook for Miss Fey?"
Phoenix blinks up at him, confused. "Wouldn't you cook for Franziska if she was hungry?"
"…I'm sorry, what-"
"You're… I mean… you're technically siblings in a way, right? Adopted?" His eyes are wide, innocent, and completely true.
Maya Fey is just his-
Phoenix's hand brushes Miles' hair out of his eyes, the man pressing his lips quickly against Miles'. "What's wrong?"
Suddenly, Miles feels the heat rushing to his cheeks, his ears, staining his pale skin a deep red; he bows his head, burying his face in Phoenix's hair, reaching his arms out around the other man's shoulders to anchor him in place as he laughs, flushed and giddy.
I suppose I'll need to be kinder to her then, he thinks to himself, relief filling his very bones, making his knees weak, causing his heart to race. If she's your sister… I'll be kinder to her.
But that, he decides, can be a task for a different day. He taps Phoenix on the shoulder and points in amusement at the pan, relishing in the way the attorney's face absolutely falls as he realizes that he's left the bacon in the pan a little too long. He usually doesn't watch the maid prep meals for him, nor has he ever been interested in cooking, but… with Phoenix, he thinks, it might be an interesting thing to learn.
It might be fun.
He smiles, leaning his chin on his propped-up hand, watching Phoenix rush about frantically. Perhaps it's not too late to learn how to use this kitchen after all.