trace (vestiges)
Miles sighs, massaging his temples as he perches wearily upon the edge of his desk. His fingers ache, the bandage covering the small cut upon his left thumb throbbing as he looks at the mess of packing tape and boxes covering his table and littering the floor, packing peanuts long having spilled out onto his carpet.
This is not exactly how he had planned to spend his evening. It is the evening of his first trial after arriving in Berlin; with another win added to his record, and with another case beyond solved completely beyond doubt, Miles had originally planned to go celebrate with some of the other staff members. This case is, after all, international news; the fact that he had been given it had made people more than a little skeptical, but with this, he knows that his reputation shall spread in his favour after such a decisive victory. His victory is indeed something worth celebrating.
However, upon returning to his office, he had been confronted by an internationally-shipped package delivered from America, left conspicuously in the middle of his office. Frederik had been wary, but Miles had recognized the writing upon the address, thus leading to this hellish endeavour of unearthing the true contents of the box. I swear, if I find out that I was only sent boxes as a joke, I'm flying back home to give them a piece of my mind. What an utter waste of my time, and resources! Who is paying for this nonsense?! The sunlight waning through the window startles him back into alertness, tearing him out of his thoughts; if he is going to make it to his own celebration, he shall have to hurry it up.
Pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation, he straightens up and begins attacking the next box; why Maya and Pearls have sent him a veritable nesting doll-style set of boxes is beyond him, but there is no surprise which colours his fatigue. Of course Maya would scheme up something and send him twenty boxes within one another.
Although he is nearby, Frederik does not lift a finger to help. The older man watches with a wry, amused smile, arms crossed as he leans against the doorframe, his thin, lined eyes crinkled and sparkling in mirth. "I see that someone's popular," he teases. "Maybe you should get a cat. They'd like all the boxes."
Miles shoots him a deadpan glare, eliciting a hearty chuckle from the other prosecutor. "Oh, I'm sorry- I forgot you already are one."
Rolling his eyes, Miles gets back to work cutting open these myriad boxes with a small knife. It takes quite a bit of elbow grease; he does not know who in the world had packed it all so terribly, but his brow twitches, wishing he could have Detective Gumshoe's boorish strength to take care of the task for him. However, eventually, the layers upon layers of boxes nestled within other boxes and packing foam finally comes to an end, a small, rectangular, book-sized object in his hands.
Frederik claps, brushing off a glare that could have terrified any defendant into confessing on the spot. "Well, Miles, take a look!" he laughs, gesturing towards Miles' find as he steps around the carcasses of slain boxes. "Let's see what it is."
The package in his hands is covered by cheap, simple purple tissue. "Maya," Miles mutters, his exhaustion striking him at last. The man collapses onto the sofa and slowly unwraps the clumsily-packed object.
A simple card is the first thing that finds his fingers. 'I hope it was a good workout! Me and Pearly put a lot of time into packing it,' the soft, curvy letters read youthfully. 'You've gotta make sure you're staying fit over there, because Phoenix has gone back into 'working out' mode, and he's going to be way buffer than you if you don't do SOMETHING.'
Miles groans, feeling his ears heat up at the lack of subtlety in the message. Yes, he has long-since noticed the difference between his and Phoenix's builds; he does not work out, although he does eat well, after all. Should he begin to follow Phoenix's footsteps?
Before he can get too lost in what are ostensibly nothing but teasing words, Frederik's voice draws him out of his thoughts. "What else is there? If there isn't anything, we should head out. We can't order a round if the man of honour is not there," the elder murmurs jovially.
Nodding, Miles opens up the rest of the package. Inside is a picture frame; the frame is cheap, the layers of paint thin and two of the corners a little uneven, but he does not give too much attention to it. It is impossible to, after all; how can he, when the photograph inside causes his heart to swell up in his chest, his stomach growing warm, a smile automatically breaking out onto his face despite his weariness?
It is from Maya's birthday party, likely taken by that Hart woman who constantly shows up as a witness in the worst of times. Despite her meddling nature, her photography is still quite skilled, it seems. Miles' eyes home in on every minute detail, finding himself being transported back to the festive affair held in Phoenix's office. It had only been a few weeks earlier, but the young woman's celebration still feels like a lifetime ago; fondly, Miles brushes his thumb over the young woman's face, his rueful grin only growing as he see just how much Pearl's eyes sparkle looking up at her older cousin.
And then, he sees it. Taking another look at the card, he finishes reading the message. 'Thought you'd like this one ;)' it reads.
He understands why Maya had sent this photograph. Miles stands in the side of the photograph, arms crossed, the candlelight upon the birthday cake casting a soft umber glow to his profile. His own visage is not what matters, however. It is Phoenix's face that Miles knows Maya had wanted to share. The attorney's hand rests firmly upon Maya's shoulders, the ever-present guardian she has grown to love like family; his eyes, however, are upon Miles.
It is one thing to see it directly, when confronted with it. It is something else entirely to see just how open Phoenix is about his affection when no one is looking, when there is no need to perform- when there is no need to convince Miles of his feelings.
And yet, that warmth in his smile- the softness in his eyes- the gratitude and gentleness laced in the delicate touch resting upon Miles' waist, so light that Miles himself cannot even remember the man being there- screams of his love.
Frederik glances over his shoulder, raising a thick brow in amusement. "You have some… interesting people waiting for you in America," he comments dryly, lips pursing in bitten-back glee.
Miles sighs, standing up and stretching his arms above his head for a moment before relaxing, the picture clutched tight in his hands. "Let's go," he says, voice wry and weary. "I can clean this up tomorrow."
With that, he puts on his blazer, props the photograph up onto his bureau, and follows Frederik out of the door- not before turning around and taking a photo of the chaos, though. The picture is promptly sent to Maya and to Phoenix to scold the former and to incite a scolding from the latter for wasting time and money and cardboard.
And yet, Miles is not upset by it at all. The photograph is wonderful; it has only been a week, but being able to see them, even in such a small way, does wonders for the quiet, wanting strain in his heart. He shall accept is as his reward for the case, he thinks- he has earned that much sentimentality.
The next day, however, after the news has spread of the successful trial and the culprits getting their deserved sentences, Miles walks into his office to find another surprise awaiting him. This time, however, it is not going to cause half an hour of suffering to unearth; it is naught but a small, but lovely bouquet, already arranged neatly upon his desk. For a moment, Miles wonders who could have sent in, considering the arrangement is nowhere near as pricey nor as ostentatious as what his colleagues would usually purchase. Miles recognizes the company; they are local, although they do accept orders by phone.
Miles does not need to read the card attached. He does so anyways, only confirming his suspicions. 'Congratulations on your first case back, Edgeworth. –P.W.'
He really called them at midnight for him to get this delivered by this afternoon, did he?
It's lovely, the warmth behind this simple gesture.
Something catches his eye. There is a small keychain attached to one of the supports at the base of the flowers. Reaching in, his heart melts as he pulls out what looks to be one of the newest Pink Princess keychains; he had been looking at them online, but with the case taking up all of his time, he had yet to make an order.
Phoenix picks up five rings in, sounding bleary-eyed and baffled. It is still before dawn for him, after all. "Edgeworth, what- what is it?" he asks, yawning loudly into the microphone. Then, he seems to perk up, adding, "Oh, did you get it?"
He sighs. "I did indeed."
He can hear the sleepy, contented smile in Phoenix's voice. "I have a matching one. It's like when we were kids, now, huh?"
Miles is grateful that his face cannot be seen- the insipid grin on his face is nowhere near flattering, after all. "Flowers and a keychain, Wright? Really? What am I, a little girl?"
After a moment of processing it, Phoenix replies, "I mean… you get along so well with Maya and Pearl…"
Miles cannot help but groan as Phoenix chuckles sleepily, murmuring soft congratulatory words into the phone until Frederik knocks at his door. Miles quickly says his goodbyes, promising to call later that evening so that Phoenix can rest, and turns to the other man, tucking the keychain in his pocket. Frederik does not need to see it, after all.
There is no point trying to hide it, though. Frederik sees it scarcely two hours later; Miles does not hesitate to attach it to his house keys. If Phoenix has a matching set, it would be hardly proper for him to not use it, after all.