trace (vestiges)
They do not speak much. There is little to say, after all; his bags have already been sent ahead, leaving him with one small suitcase and the coat on his back. He adjusts this along with his scarf, the feeling of too many layers simultaneously too claustrophobic and yet not enough to face the chill ahead. It is not especially cold that day, but he knows that the moment he is up in the air- the moment he can look down at the terminal and see his heart being left behind- he shall be cold until his return.
However, there is still a little bit of time. All the preparations have gone smoothly. He tucks his spare house keys into Phoenix's backpack, and he has already texted the man his housekeeper's number, just in case he needs her services whilst Miles is away; other than that, everything else has been taken care of.
So, Miles looks to their departure. Phoenix is wearing his suit. He has a trial to get to, but that shall only commence once the sun has risen over the horizon; in the wee hours of the morn, they have this space to themselves still. The man stands before the mirror in the foyer, adjusting and readjusting and adjusting yet again a crimson tie which refuses to sit right upon a proud, crisp white collar.
Miles smiles, leaning on the wall, crossing his arms as he takes in the sight of Phoenix's proud silhouette. He knows that Phoenix is exhausted; the man's eyes are ringed by dark circles, his posture slightly crooked. They should not have been up for so long. That was my fault, he thinks wryly, the thought sending pangs of loneliness through his heart. He probably is going to be exhausted by the end of the trial.
Perhaps by just sensing Miles' gaze, Phoenix's eyes land upon him through the mirror. A sheepish smile crosses the attorney's lips as his brows furrow in embarrassment, the man scratching his nape as he always does when flustered; Miles sighs, taking that silent permission to step forward, to finally move in front of him.
They do not speak much. There is no need to, after all; aside from a few words to verify whether the tie is knotted too tightly or not, no words are necessary to spur Miles on in helping the attorney fix himself up until the man looks every bit as prim and proper as he shall need to be later that day.
Miles' hands stray from smoothing out Phoenix's collar to resting upon his lapel, upon his heart- upon the badge which still shines, tiny and innocuous. His gaze drops, landing upon his own prosecutor's badge resting upon his lapel, glinting just barely underneath his scarf.
The power which these badges hold still baffles him. It is thanks to these little badges that they are here at all. Just as his badge found its way back to him, Miles found his way back to Phoenix thanks to their light- thanks to everything they represent.
The truth.
Miles lets out a long, shuddering sigh as warm fingers cup his cheek, a rough thumb gently stroking the bags under his eye.
"Ready to go?" Phoenix murmurs.
He closes his eyes, nuzzling into that large, familiar palm. "I suppose Maya and Pearl are waiting."
Phoenix's phone buzzes impatiently for the nth time. "They're probably halfway to the airport already."
"Undoubtedly." And yet, Miles does not make a move to the door. All he can do is savour these final moments of quietude, staring into dark, comforting eyes that shine with such trust and warmth that he still loses all words, even after all these years. Phoenix doesn't look away, his own heart worn upon his sleeve- or, perhaps, upon his lapel- for all the world to see.
They do not say a word. There is nothing left to say, after all; Miles simply leans forward, pressing his lips lightly upon the badge upon Phoenix's lapel, cool metal sending shivers down his spine before he moves up to slowly move against minty, soft lips, still slightly bruised after the night they have shared.
When they part, Phoenix smiles.
They both turn to look at the door when they hear a familiar rumbling engine cross the threshold of the driveway, the squealing of brakes that have long been neglected filling the air as Dick Gumshoe arrives to transport them both to the airport. Then, Phoenix sighs, presses his forehead against Miles' shoulder, then straightens up at last. "Let's go."
"Let's, Wright."
And with that, Miles follows Phoenix out the door, saying goodbye to his home once again. There is no fear this time, however; there are no lies between them anymore. Miles has done right by Phoenix. For that, he knows that when he comes home, that badge- that smile, those hands, this warmth- will be waiting.