trace (vestiges)

Weeks of simple bliss turn into months. Miles knows that he has truly become accustomed once more to having Phoenix in his life when he finds himself looking through catalogues for a new dresser for the piles of clothes which have slowly begun accumulating in Miles' own home; there is a space on the bathroom counter in his home for Phoenix's toiletries, and one for Miles in Phoenix's. His bed is warmer more often than not, and his body actually feels more limber after their more… strenuous activities. He no longer aches as much after holding Phoenix in his arms, and Phoenix, in turn, no longer looks as frightened to look away from Miles. He no longer expects the man to vanish out of nowhere.

Perhaps that is why Frederik's message is all the more shocking.

"Due to her maternity leave, we've got an empty space in our offices," the older man explains wearily one day as Miles sips his first tea of the day. He can perfectly visualize the fatigued lines creasing Frederik's rueful smile as the elder adds, "And honestly, I'd rather you come here than have someone new. We would do well with your experience, Miles."

The tea is flavourless upon his tongue as he registers these words. Clearing his throat hesitantly, he says, "I… I shall have to give it some thought."

Frederik hums in agreement without hesitation, in contrast to Miles' complete tentativeness. "You should. It'll be a while yet before Nathalie heads out, but I wanted to give you as much time to talk it over."

"Talk it over?"

"With Phoenix, of course." Chuckling, the other man adds, "You're not alone, right, Miles? You need to tell him. I'm not expecting you to jump on a plane without actually talking about it with him this time, okay?" After a beat, Frederik adds, "Unless he wants to come over, too. That might be fun-"

"No," Miles cuts in quickly. "Phoenix has people he cannot leave behind here- I'll… I'll tell him. Thank you for the opportunity, Frederik."

He can visualize the older man rolling his eyes effortlessly. "Stop acting as if we're strangers, Miles," Frederik teases. "Don't forget; if it hadn't been for your lovely defense attorney, I would've happily given you reasons to stay in Berlin-"

"Good evening, Frederik," Miles cuts in firmly, but his smile seeps into his voice despite his effort to scold the elder. He knows that Frederik is only joking. It is thanks to that clear boundary that he knows that Frederik genuinely does care about his well-being, after all.

He hangs up the phone and leans back in his chair once the other man cheerfully signs off, the other man ready to head to bed soon over in Europe. Groaning, Miles blocks his eyes with the palm of his hand, lip curling into a frustrated sneer at the headache quickly building pressure between his eyes. He understands why Frederik would call him, but so soon? After only a few months together with Phoenix? How in the world could Miles ever say yes, when their last parting had been so painful?

It was worse for Wright, his logical brain reminds his aching heart sternly. Due to that miscommunication, it was far worse for him that it was for you.

He sucks in a deep breath, feeling his lungs stretch and swell, chest expanding, body filling with life once more. His instinctive reaction is to reject this new offer, even though in his mind he knows he would adore properly prosecuting in German courts as his own man, rather than under the guise of being Frederik's aide. He would hone his skills there, undoubtedly. It would be a marvellous opportunity.

But how can he avoid hurting Phoenix if he does decide to entertain the idea of heading back to the country where he had finally found Miles Edgeworth, the prosecutor?

Tell him, his logic dictates firmly. The problem last time was that he did not know. He needs to be privy to every detail. With his consent, everything can proceed.

And yet, when he meets with Phoenix the next evening to look over case files in Phoenix's office, the words refuse to leave his lips. He tries again and again throughout the evening, his entire body buzzing anxiously with the need to just tell him, but he cannot find the words with which he can explain that happiness is with Phoenix, but growth might be elsewhere. Temporarily, yes, but elsewhere- not by Phoenix's side.

Phoenix notices his worries, his fears. After an evening of stumbling over his words and making mistakes not even a rookie would make, Miles' shaken demeanor is more than easy to spot, after all. The attorney quietly scoots over, tapping the space beside him once all the work is done and the files have been cleaned up. Wordlessly, Miles joins, allowing the other man to brush his hair out of his face, intertwining those long, rough fingers through Miles' hair tenderly. "Something the matter?" he asks warily, an edge building in his voice.

Miles sucks in a deep breath, then releases it in a long, controlled motion. "I…"

I might be leaving again.

Phoenix's face, illuminated by the warm light of the lamp in the corner of the room, is home.

"There is something happening," he says softly. "I will explain the full details to you well in advance of any decisions being made. I'm still just… working some details out. For myself."

Immediately, Phoenix's face turns stricken, broken. "You-"

"Nothing will be done without you knowing, Phoenix," Miles insists. "Nothing. I swear to you."

For a moment, there is naught but silence in the office, the tension pulled so taut a hair could have shattered it all; then, Phoenix releases a long, weary sigh and nods, his creased brow relaxing. "Wow," he jokes clumsily. "Using my name. It's serious?"

"It's… not a matter to be taken lightly, I suppose," Miles muses aloud, his headache from that morning only mounting. Gritting his teeth, he massages his temples, his tense shoulders aching.

Large hands pull Miles' massaging fingers away from his face, lips replacing the pressure upon his temples lightly. "We'll… make it out together?" Phoenix's voice is hesitant, unsure.

Cracking a rueful smile, Miles nods. "Yes. I promise."

It takes a few more moments for Phoenix to finally relax, and even when his former ease returns to his face, posture, gait, his grip upon Miles' hand does not weaken; that night, when he holds Miles, there is barely any space between them as he draws Miles onto his lap, perched upon the edge of his squeaky, pathetic mattress in his upstairs apartment. He does not allow for any space between them as he pulls Miles close, sinking flesh that has long become accustomed to Phoenix's shape and touch downward. His fingers clutch, and they claw, and they beg, their silent pleas ringing in Miles' mind loud and clear.

Miles clings with just as much fervour. I won't do the same thing as last time, he promises silently over and over again. I won't.

He swears it on the von Karma- no, on the Edgeworth name. It is a promise, and he shall not break it.