trace (vestiges)
"Miles, we really don't-"
"Put it on, Wright."
Phoenix sighs, obediently following the worker towards the changing rooms whilst Miles crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair. This is the fourth store they have visited that day, but nothing he has seen thus far that afternoon has been up to his standards. Perhaps it would have been better to stay lazing about in bed all afternoon, after all. His lip curls in irritation; if he had had his druthers, he would have taken Phoenix to his favourite tailor, but it did not help that the man was located in Germany and Phoenix's passport was long expired. I doubt he would have let me take him, anyways, Miles thinks wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose. If I had dragged him, he would have insisted on paying with money he does not have to spend.
The thought breaks his heart, but Miles knows that there is little he can do about it. The other man's pride is set on not being pampered by Miles, although Miles honestly relishes in the idea of spending the money he has earned over the years on someone as worthy as Phoenix. As much as he would like to simply buy out Phoenix's whole office and refurbish it for him, Phoenix insists that this is an 'equal relationship' and that such gestures are not only unnecessary, but unwanted as well.
What does it mean, to have an 'equal relationship'? What does it really mean, for us to be in a relationship in the first place?
Miles grins at the memory of earlier that afternoon. He had managed to cut his finger whilst washing a knife after their late lunch; Phoenix had taken care of the wound for him, then mercilessly teased him the rest of the time he took over washing the dishes. "Making me cook and clean, Edgeworth? What am I, your maid?" When Miles had tried to apologize, Phoenix had only grinned, adding, "Next thing you know, you're going to be tossing me in one of those maid outfits. I promise you, I won't look good in one."
Don't be ridiculous, I would never-
At the time, he had blushed and stammered out a clumsy reply, for how in the world was Miles supposed to explain that things like this, as simple and domestic as they may seem, were all entirely new to him? It isn't as if he is against doing chores such as those- in fact, he finds that he quite enjoys standing at the sink, washing dishes with Phoenix's warmth by his side, although they really could just leave it for the maid-
Hesitant footfalls leaving the fitting room catch his attention, drawing him out of his thoughts. Miles feels his heart leap into his throat, breath catching, eyes widening, mouth falling agape as Phoenix appears, adjusting golden cufflinks with such grace and class that Miles cannot breathe.
Phoenix pauses in front of the mirror, his tall, strong frame carrying the blue, well-fitted suit perfectly. How it already fits him without needed to hem anything, Miles does not know, but even though this suit was technically taken off the rack, each component looks breathtaking upon Phoenix. His classic blazer hangs open, a light robin's egg blue waistcoat tucking in his strong, fit waist; his red necktie stands out crisply against the starched white of his collar, and the entire ensemble comes together wonderfully thanks to dark blue slacks which fit the long line of Phoenix's legs effortlessly, ending in shining brown loafers. He looks crisp and pristine and wonderful, every fiber of his being radiating the aura of the defense attorney Phoenix has always been.
He is absolutely stunning.
Before Miles can find his breath to say a word, Phoenix lets out a long, world-weary sigh. "We're not buying this, Miles," he says quietly but firmly. There is no give in his voice. "I get that my suit isn't the best, but-"
"You could do so much better than your current suit, Wright," Miles replies, biting back the urge to plead with the attorney. "You would look so much better. Although your skills are there, in a private practice it doesn't help you get clients if you look sloppy-"
Phoenix's gaze is exhausted when he finally tears his eyes away from his handsome, imposing reflection. "I… maybe one day," he says softly, a little defeated. He holds up the price tag hanging off of the blazer's inner lining. "Just this jacket alone would put me in the red, Miles. It's ridiculous."
He bites his lip. He wants to explain, to insist that it shall be his gift- after all, Phoenix has always given him so much, so the least he can do is get him a new suit- but the stern, resolute denial in Phoenix's set jaw gives no opportunity to say those words.
…it does not help that Miles is far too tongue-tied by the silhouette of this beautiful creature before him. Why bother with a maid outfit when this is already- He can feel his cheeks heat up beyond measure, ears burning in humiliation as those words flit across his mind. Gods, over the course of 24 hours, Phoenix has already turned his brain into useless, pathetic mush, hasn't he?
Clearing his throat, Miles finally replies, "That's alright. I just wanted to introduce you to a decent store should you ever be looking."
At that quiet concession, Phoenix's face instantly melts into giddy relief. "Thanks, Edgeworth," he hums, turning back to look at the mirror. Gone is the tension which had lined his eyes, the weight of having to purchase this outfit clearly having lifted clean off his shoulders with Miles' quiet acceptance. "But I've got to admit, this is a lot comfier than my suit. I'll have to look into getting a pair of shoes kind of like this, too- I could investigate all around town in these!" With a wry, amused chuckle, Phoenix strikes a slight, almost shy pose for Miles to see- one foot behind the other, stance firm, one hand holding the side of his blazer, his smile debonair and confident- before relaxing, laughing as he heads back to the fitting room.
The moment he is out of sight, Miles silently waves down a nearby clerk. As quickly as possible, he writes down his office's address on his business card and hands it to her, along with his credit card. "I'll take the whole ensemble," he says quietly, "but say nothing of it to him. Have it delivered to this address, please."
The clerk smiles as she notes down his request, charging his account, handing back his card, then slipping back to the change rooms to wait for Phoenix's departure so she may collect the pieces of his discarded ensemble. Miles will not pressure Phoenix to buy it, nor will he forcefully give it to him- but one day, he thinks to himself, one day he will convince Phoenix to wear a suit worthy of his craft.
Phoenix steps out from the back, and the sight of him dressed in one of Miles' jackets and button-downs still makes Miles want to melt. "Ready for dinner?" he says brightly. "We can go somewhere-"
"We can get food delivered," Miles replies instantly, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Is there anywhere else you want to go, Wright?"
As Phoenix thinks, Miles makes eye contact over the other man's shoulder at the clerk. In her hands is a full garment bag and a shoebox. She smiles and nods in acknowledgement of her customer.
One day you can wear it, Miles thinks wryly as Phoenix gently places his hand upon Miles' back, steering him out of the store. One day you can wear it for me. His cheeks heat up at the thought. He cannot wait for the day he sees that suit in the courtroom.