musings (whilst on walkies)

Day 2: Rewind

"You're growing up so fast," Miles murmurs, fingers massaging the area right beneath Pess' ears absently. "We're going to need to get you a new collar soon."

Pess hums and nuzzles in closer; cuddling with Miles feels like such a rare treat these days because of how busy he is! And while he doesn't really like collars- they're always a little too tight and stiff and uncomfortable whenever he wants to get into his favourite sleeping positions, like when he stretches out upside-down halfway hung between the floor and couch- but he loves the way they make him feel.

His collar means that he belongs somewhere. He doesn't know what it says, but the letters are shiny and carved in deep to the tiny metal pendant hanging from it. "If you ever get lost, show someone this," Miles had said. "They'll bring you home."

The pendant will bring him home. This is Pess' home. That fact in itself makes all the uncomfortableness of the collar worth it. After all, he still remembers when he didn't have a home! It had been so frightening, stepping into Miles' house for the first time- although he doesn't remember much from before the kennel with all its cages and wires and gates, he does remember being yelled at for stepping on things, or for doing things he didn't even understand. When Miles had first led him into the foyer of his other large, opulent home in Germany, the carpet beneath his paws had terrified him. It had been soft, and the lights had been warm, and Miles had swaddled him in a blanket and given him his own corner of the lower bathroom to make his own kingdom.

It had still taken so, so long for him to be comfortable in that place, though. Pess whines, heart aching at the memory; rolling over onto his back, he licks Miles' cheek gently, eliciting a startled smile from the man, diverting his attention back to Pess for just a moment before he returns to the files he had been reading. Pess takes that moment to examine Miles' face; his skin hadn't been very salty, and the flush on his cheeks looks healthy, calm. There are still rings around his eyes, but Pess has never once seen Miles not carry those shadows, so maybe those bags are always there? If so, then Pess doesn't mind at all! All that matters is that Miles feels better now.

When he had first come home to Miles, his cheeks had always been salty. His eyes had always been red. Each night, he had sat despondently with Pess on a stool, leaning back against the wall, a book laying open in his lap to a random page. He never really read those books; he merely held them there, eyes glazed over, looking up at the ceiling as he struggled to deal with something Pess still doesn't understand. It had been the very image of someone who was lonely, broken.

So, Pess had dared to walk over. His steps had been clumsy, but he remembers just how proud he had been when he had given Miles' cheek a kiss to wash away the tears, and Miles had smiled. He remembers it so clearly, the very moment he had decided to give his heart to this sad, lonely man. Miles needed him, a fact which became abundantly clear as Miles would mutter out his woes to Pess' listening ears, his face pressed against Pess' back as he explained circumstances which Pess could not even begin to comprehend. Something about thinking he hurt someone for a long time? Trusting someone who ended up hurting him and people he cared about? Pess didn't really understand the details, but they didn't really matter to him, anyways. Pess would protect him unconditionally; that was his promise, and he would try whatever he could to keep it.

And it had worked! He had dragged Miles out for walkies, and gotten Miles to play games with him, and Miles had stopped crying! It had taken many days of cuddles and kisses, but finally, Miles had decided that he was strong and he was proud and he was good at… whatever it was he did with all those papers every day! And then, when he felt all better, he packed up Pess' house and brought him to Miles' real home all the way across the world. Thankfully, this new home in LA was so much easier to grow accustomed to. After all, there had been no more uncertainty; with Miles by his side, what reason was there to fear?

Now, Miles doesn't cry much anymore. He swears and pouts and rages and sighs and smiles and laughs. He has guests visit the house, and they always pet and play with Pess! And, more often than not, he invites that dark-haired man to come visit- for a meal, for a discussion, for quiet working time where Pess can lay on their feet and nap- and does that strange thing where he clutches his arm and looks about to cry, then smiles like the world is beautiful.

Pess likes seeing all the colour in Miles' face. Maybe that's why he likes the dark-haired right man so much, too; Miles' eyes never shine as brightly with anyone else as when that man is around, so Pess loves hearing his voice through the door, smelling his cologne enter the house. His presence makes Miles look so alive.

He barks, then whimpers, then mewls, licking Miles' face again until the man chuckles and raises a brow. "What is it, boy?"

I love you! His tail beats against the cushions, tongue lolling out.

Miles rolls his eyes, squeezing Pess' jowls. "Alright, boy," he murmurs fondly before going back to his work.

Suddenly, Miles' phone buzzes. Opening it up, Pess' heart melts, catching the very moment when Miles' brow knits together and his eyes soften and his smile grows, timid and wanting, as he reads whatever name is on the glowing screen. Then, he presses a button, brings it to his ear, and mutters in a strangely-deadened voice, "Evening, right. What is it?"

Pess immediately perks up, rolling onto his stomach and wagging his tail in joy as he hears the dark-haired man's voice coming through the device. "Do you have any plans tomorrow, Edgeworth?"

"Taking Pess to the park in the morning." Pess immediately yelps excitedly, eliciting a wry smile and a firm hand on his back, kneading his neck, calming him down. "Other than that, nothing is in my schedule. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, that's- that's great! Could… could I possibly join?"

Pess freezes, watching Miles carefully. It is strange, the mix of emotions on his face that flit about and mix with one another as he processes this request. Then, far more neutrally than the way his sparkling eyes would indicate, he replies, "I suppose. We shall see you at 9 o'clock."

"Sure. See you tomorrow!"

The moment the phone is set down, Miles' fingers begin to tap on the table, the man biting his lips together to fight back the smile threatening to take over his face. Pess laughs and huffs happily, nosing Miles' stomach in solidarity. He can't wait for tomorrow.