trace (vestiges)

"Wright, we really don't need to-"

"Come on, where's the harm in it?"

"There's no harm," Miles replies in exasperation as Phoenix drags him onto Miles' couch. "I just don't want you to feel forced to watch it with me."

The eye-roll is painfully exaggerated, but Phoenix's rueful weariness deserves it. "Edgeworth, do you have any idea just how often I've watched Steel Samurai and Pink Princess and Jammin' Ninja and whatever else Maya's into?" Chuckling dryly, he adds, "I'm sure with you at least it'll be less painful."

Miles raises a brow in confusion.

Groaning, Phoenix explains, "She hits me when she gets excited. Pearls is stronger somehow, but Maya's not weak, either."

Miles finds his unease bubbling away at last, sinking back into the sofa, accepting the mug of tea Phoenix has magically prepared for the occasion. "Alright," he says, not objecting when Phoenix immediately presses into Miles' side, remote and bowl of popcorn in hand. "But no talking. I want to enjoy this- I haven't seen it yet."

The title card of the newest Steel Samurai special edition movie comes onto the large television just as Phoenix nods, resolute yet teasing. "Don't worry, I'll be good," he says with a wink.

Miles flushes, heat rising as he sips his tea. Phoenix's body leaning slightly into his is more than comfortable, that heat complementing the warmth of his tea perfectly; the brew is just right, steeped exactly as long as it should be. The lights are dimmed, and the movie begins to play, the sounds of the Steel Samurai's unmistakeable leitmotif resonating through his living room.

This is perfect, Miles thinks. For just this afternoon, it is peaceful; there is no need to think of his impending trials, of his impending choices. He can just sit back, relax, and enjoy the newest film entry into his favourite series-

Twenty minutes in, Miles almost snaps at Phoenix as the attorney reaches out to grab his hand now that the bowl of popcorn has been emptied. Thankfully, he reins in his irritation, although Phoenix's poor hand certainly suffers more abuse than necessary in light of Miles' death-grip. "I… feel like the quality has declined," Miles mutters through clenched teeth.

To his surprise, Phoenix's smile blossoms forth like sunlight in this darkened space. "Okay, can we mock this? Because it's usually ba- not great," he corrects sheepishly at Miles' immediate glower, "when Maya makes me watch it, but this movie's just bad."

Miles brow twitches. He takes in deep breath, then lets it out, controlled and even and calm. "…yes. Let's discuss."

And thus begins an hour of ranting about the demerits of the film. Every single moment is critiqued, no line deliveries escaping scrutiny. By the end, the two men have long-since given up pretenses of actually focusing on the film, too lost in their own world to actually care whether the film was trying to save itself from imploding or not. "This score must've been written by a toddler!" Miles cries, pointing sternly at the screen.

"Please, that's an insult to toddlers," Phoenix groans as the credits roll over a pop-rendition of the Steel Samurai theme. "Pearls is very capable, I will have you know."

Burying his head into his hands, the prosecutor groans in exhaustion. And yet, he cannot find a single ounce of anger truly within his heart as he thinks back to what they have just done. "Did we truly just spend over an hour yelling at my television?" he murmurs after a moment.

Phoenix grins, weary but amused, bumping his shoulder into Miles' affectionately. "Yeah. Best way to vent about bad movies, am I right?"

I wouldn't know- this is the first time I've done it. "I… suppose it's not the worst way," he replies wryly at last.

Phoenix stands, stretching kinks out of his back, strong arms reaching up to the ceiling. A sigh of contented relief fills the air in time with the resounding crack of his wrists and neck, much to Miles' chagrin; unfazed, Phoenix leans down, pressing a kiss against Miles' temple. "I'll get dinner started while you mourn," he teases wryly. "You still good to make that soup?"

"The stock is already in the fridge," Miles says with a rueful sigh, propping his cheek upon his hand as he watches Phoenix make his way to the kitchen. He can still remember his housekeeper's shock when she saw that Miles was cooking after his stay in Germany; he does not regret learning to do so, however, for Phoenix has loved every single thing Miles has ever made for him.

He casts one long look at the screen. Well, at least we know that Mr. Manella's the best director for these films after all, he thinks to himself as he sees an unknown name flash in the director's credit. I'll keep my eye out for his next film.

For the time being, Miles needs to go set dinner up. He does so with relish; there is a lightness in his chest. Perhaps insulting a movie while watching it truly is a good way to enjoy a bad film.