it overflows
The next morning is just as silent as the night before. Miles opens his eyes to find that he is, miraculously enough, just as exhausted as the night before. For a brief moment, he interrogates this- why in the world would that even be the case, after all?- but just one glance over to his right tells him all that he needs to know.
Phoenix is painfully defenseless when he sleeps. Miles finds himself in the bathroom before he can dwell on that idle thought further.
With the pipes having been fixed overnight and the storm having cleared out, Miles is able to call a mechanic over by the time Phoenix awakens. As the attorney steps out from their hotel, the repairs finish and Miles' car is deemed fit to drive. Thankfully, neither man seems to have come down with a cold after their strange night, so there is nothing left to do but head home.
And just like that, they are on the road.
It takes over half the day to drive back into the city. The sound of Miles' favourite orchestral ballads becomes almost mocking as they attempt to ignore the tension hanging in the air, palpable, ever-present. Barely anyone is on the highway, allowing Miles far too much headspace to reflect on what had happened the night before.
It is not as if Phoenix is going to speak, after all. Not to Miles- not after… whatever it was that had happened between them.
So, Miles goes over the situation in his mind, his tried-and-true method of lining up each piece of evidence practiced, easy. Phoenix Wright is an old friend. He is a childhood friend, and now, he is a colleague. He is someone to whom Miles owes every ounce of stability in his life. Miles knows that he would give anything to ensure that Phoenix Wright is safe and secure, especially with his penchant for sticking his nose where it does not belong.
Despite all of this, Miles realizes numbly that he knows next to nothing about how the other man has lived the past sixteen years without Miles. All the prosecutor knows is what he has seen in the courtroom, and to his shame, it is not much.
Perhaps that is why his coiling gut and inner turmoil is so palpable, so bitter and raw upon his tongue. Never has he ever looked at Phoenix as he had last night, and yet, he can acutely sense the other man's presence seated by his side, the nervous waves of energy rolling off of Phoenix's tense form nowhere near enough to hide the light scent of his cologne, the heat from his body emanating ever so slightly- just enough for Miles' body to crave more. For goodness' sake- I didn't even see him in the tub, he wants to sob by the time they roll into the outskirts of the city, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as flashes of dark memories and faint sensations run through his mind again and again. Why can I not calm down?
He knows why. He simply refuses to admit it. How can he concretely identify something which he has never felt before?
More importantly, how can he bring it up to Phoenix, of all people?
By the time Miles pulls up next to the Wright & Co. Law Offices, his anxious mind has well and truly flipped the script on his own. God, he hates me, he repeats again and again. He must. We ended up in such a craven situation because of my insistence, and now, he hates me, and I don't know how to look at him, and-
Finally, Miles looks over at Phoenix. The attorney slips out of the passenger seat of Miles' car, smiling crookedly despite his frazzled aura as Miles follows and retrieves Phoenix's bag. Once he has handed the attorney his backpack, Miles tucks his hands into his pockets, looking up at the worn-out sign above the office. "Are… are you feeling alright?" he pushes out at last, voice thick and rubbed raw. "After getting caught in the rain."
Phoenix's voice is much the same. "Yeah." He pauses, slips his hand into his pocket, then asks, "…are you?"
No. I'm not. "Yes," Miles lies.
It appears his words are not enough. In just a moment, Phoenix's face stiffens, a spasm of what Miles can only describe as grief flashing through his eyes. Panic seizes Miles' heart in that moment; did Phoenix know? Had he looked into Miles' heart? Why did he look so alarmed, so aware?
The attorney does not elaborate on his discomfort, however. Instead, the attorney sucks in a deep, quavering breath, then exhales, looking far worse for wear than Miles would have liked. "It wasn't the worst night in a hotel I've had," the man chuckles forcefully, clearly still uncomfortable with whatever he has seen in Miles' eyes. "We should do it again sometime… or not."
And just like that, his humour gives way for discomfort. He turns and runs up into his office, closing the door behind him as Miles Edgeworth splutters on the sidewalk, completely blindsided by Phoenix's final comments. Just what in the world is that supposed to mean?!
Miles does not know. Miles does not have the capacity to know, to understand just what exactly has happened; even as weeks pass, all he knows is that there is something strange which has shifted this night.
He hates it. He does not know how to name anything aside from the guilt and shame which claws up from his core each time he recalls the sensation of Phoenix's strong figure so close to his own. He recalls it even when he does not want to, the image of Phoenix's silhouette in the shadow painted irrevocably upon the underside of his eyelids.
He does not take a bath once over the next few weeks. Freezing showers are all he can stomach, and he doesn't even know why.
He cannot avoid facing what has happened forever, though.
The presence of Phoenix's familiar blue suit registers before his face, the colour palette which Miles has grown to subconsciously associate with the attorney filtering through his recognition before anything else possibly can. Phoenix has become a veritable attorney in Miles' absence, after all; where he had once been considered a rookie, now Phoenix is being called in for cases fairly frequently, his work always becoming high-profile in the public eye due to the strange nature of his clients. The blue suit and dark, spiked-back hair have become synonymous with the exciting trials and just results that the man delivers time and time again. He belongs in this courthouse, truly.
Yet, his sudden appearance still causes Miles to jump as he walks out of the courthouse one late afternoon after a long series of meetings with district officials. The attorney's eyes are fixated upon a stack of clipped-together documents in his hand as he walks up the stairs, opposite to Miles; it is clear that he has not noticed the prosecutor.
If Miles leaves now, Phoenix will not see him.
Although his mind screams at him to flee the scene, his voice has already spoken out before he can grab hold of himself. "Wright!"
Why? Why am I stopping him?
Halfway up the step, Phoenix stumbles slightly before righting himself, looking back tentatively over his shoulder. "Uh- yeah?" Making eye contact with Miles, the attorney pales, then flushes, his cheeks a burning, mottled red as he clumsily attempts to balance his files in one hand, readjusting his backpack with the other. "Oh, hey Edgeworth." Clearing his throat awkwardly, Phoenix's gaze drops to his worn, scuffed dress shoes. "Did you need me for something?"
"I-" What am I doing? Miles' brain suddenly cries out. His face heats up as he points at the sky, drawing the attorney's attention to the overcast ceiling above. "It's… chilly today."
Phoenix nods, eyes large and worried at this angle, thick brows so prominent in his profile that Miles' fingers ache to smooth out the furrow in between. Miles gulps. Shut up, just stop talking- "I- I have…"
Turning to face Miles properly once more, Phoenix walks back down a few steps, his eyes now fairly level with Miles once more. "Is everything okay, Edgeworth?" the attorney asks, a wave of apprehension crashing across his expression.
No, I have to go. His traitorous mouth has other plans, however, muttering out the words in a voice that Miles wonders even belongs to him. The prosecutor himself barely registers it as it is; his comment, so strange without the context of that embarrassing night, only sinks in after a moment of allowing it to hang in the air, faint words heavy, full of meaning.
"I… Your offer. I have a bigger bathtub, if you'd like."
Miles shuts down as mentally Phoenix's eyes widen, gaze stricken with shock and amazement as he processes these words for far longer than anyone should have to; then, he gulps, the movement of his vocal cords so prominent above his loose collar that Miles cannot help be stare, transfixed, helpless. After what feels like a decade to both parties, the attorney breathes out, "I'll… grab my things. I just have to drop off this folder." His cheeks and nose flush, eyes beginning to sparkle with a thousand questions unasked. With a slow, painfully drawn-out nod, the attorney hums again, almost as if to convince himself. "Yeah. I can see your car in the lot." His voice cracks, but he does not back down, his words slow, careful. "It's… getting cold. Yeah."
With that, Phoenix is off, jogging up the steps two at a time with their silent promise to reunite at Miles' car hanging like a noose around Miles' neck.
It is only when the car door is firmly shut that the prosecutor allows himself to release the long, primal scream of utter horror which has built up in his gut throughout the entire exchange. His voice cracks, his forehead stinging as he hits himself a little too hard against a steering wheel clutched with white knuckles.
Thank the heavens this is fairly soundproof, he thinks as he finally sits up, gasping for air, dizzy. People would think I was getting murdered in here.
With his track record, it would not be a surprise for anyone. He grimaces at the thought, his frown only deepening as he realizes that the one victim for the night shall be none other than his dignity, if nothing else.
What am I even doing?
His foolish mind easily offers the answer. If he has understood this almost involuntary, instinctive interaction correctly, Miles is going to take a bath with Phoenix Wright. For the second time.
He groans as the sound of raindrops striking the windshield of his convertible begins to echo in his ears. 'It's chilly today' my foot.
When Phoenix arrives at his passenger door and comments on how red his face is, however, Miles continues to use that excuse. As long as his heart pounds out of his chest like this, 'it's chilly today' shall have to do.