A/N: This is a Wrightworth crackfic. Let me know if you enjoy it!
it overflows
The flimsy paper cup filled with mediocre coffee in his hand is lukewarm at best, but whatever feeble heat it offers the palms of his hands is still somehow better than the normally-desirable alternative just a few feet away.
Despite the chill setting into his core, Miles refuses to lift his gaze towards the bathroom. He knows what exactly awaits him if he looks up, after all. There is steam gently wafting through the open door, the beckoning call of a freshly-drawn bath begging him to come forth and sink into its loving depths. The scent of the hotel-provided bubble bath is light and airy, a gentle jasmine that washes over his body and leaves him soothed at the faintest hint of it in the air. Every hair on his body stands on end, his stomach twisting as he bites down the desire to just ignore decency and enter the bathroom; all he wants is to sink into the tub, feeling his skin be caressed by the water and warmth and bubbles until he is languid and limp, free of the hundreds of tiny hassles that have worn him down to nothing over the course of this very awful, trying day. It is his favourite routine, after all- slipping into a full tub and allowing himself to drift off until the rain and cold and silence is but an afterthought.
He can't, though. Decorum and discomfort do not allow it. After all, he is not the only one in need of this bath. His only solace is that Phoenix Wright, clad in a bathrobe with his face as red as Miles' currently-drenched suit, seems just as mortified by the situation as Miles himself.
To have ended up in this situation is a farce unto itself, Miles thinks. He cannot help but silently bemoan every poor decision that has led up to this point. After all, he had thought it to be a kindness when, after attending a law professionals' conference just over state lines, he had seen a familiar blue-suited man; once he had heard that Phoenix had planned to take the train back to L.A. over the next few days, it had been out of the goodness of his heart that he had offered to drive the other man back.
Phoenix had said no initially, of course. Even through his current predicament, Miles does not begrudge him of this response, for he can see Phoenix's heartache flash in his eyes every single time that gaze lands upon Miles. Two months and the scant interactions they have shared since Miles' return from Europe have been nowhere near enough to repair the damage done to their relationship. Miles hadn't meant for his departure after the DL-6 incident's closure to impact the attorney this much, but, as the silence during their journey home together could attest to, the impact had been grander than anyone could have predicted.
Still, Miles had been persistent. He owed Phoenix this much, he had told himself. "Save yourself the train fare," was his more practical reasoning. The repetition of this was eventually enough for Phoenix to succumb, sliding into the rarely-used passenger seat of Miles' car, his large backpack clumsily hugged upon his lap until Miles had all but forced the other man to leave it in the backseat.
"It's okay," Phoenix had protested, "I can hold it-"
"Wright, just relax," Miles had instructed fiercely, allowing no room for more argument.
Phoenix hadn't. The tense grip upon his blue slacks had been proof of that, but Miles had nothing he could say to ease the other man's worries, so he had been forced to leave it be.
The fool's play had only come a few hours into their voyage home, though. Phoenix's words had been mumbled and half-hearted throughout, so after a few attempts to create conversation, the prosecutor had given up; the sound of rain pattering distantly upon the roof of Miles' convertible and the gentle lulls of his favourite soothing orchestral album had been more than enough to fill the silence, even if it hadn't been enough to break the tension between the two.
At least, until the rain had gotten more fierce.
By nightfall, the entire highway had been utterly drowned. How the weather forecast had failed to predict the torrential rainfall, Miles did not know. All he knew was that the moment his car began to hydroplane, it was time to pull over. I don't need a car crash on my conscience when dealing with Wright, too, he had thought wearily, carefully exiting the highway to find a way into the nearest rest stop. He's upset enough. "We'll find a hotel to rest until it subsides," he had said reasonably. "I can pay for it. Don't worry."
Phoenix had worried anyways. For good reason, too; the one hotel in the small, quaint town they had stumbled into was completely booked up by other stragglers caught unaware by the storm, leaving only one double room left to rent.
"Should we try driving home in the storm?" Phoenix had offered weakly, shivering already despite the walk between the hotel lobby and the parking lot being barely half a minute.
Although everything in Miles' heart screamed that he did not want to stay in this hotel, the fates had seemingly decided to continue on with the farce. After getting drenched a second time on the walk back to his car, a horrifyingly-bright light had popped up on the dashboard the moment he turned on the engine.
Flat tire.
He had no spares.
"No towing company's going to come out here until the morning," the receptionist had murmured kindly as Miles had filled in the paperwork to retrieve the keys, wincing underneath the weight of Miles' glares.
From over Miles' shoulder, Phoenix had said awkwardly as he checked his phone, "If it's any consolation, the trains are cancelled too. Either way, we'd be stuck."
It's not any consolation, no, Miles' brain had retorted silently, swallowing down the guilt which had indeed been climbing up his throat.
The receptionist's smile, weak beyond measure, had said, "If you'd like, we can get dinner started for you two?"
"That's fine," had been the acidic, almost scathing reply as damp fingers scribbled a signature upon the sign-in forms.
And so, Miles' current dilemma had begun. The two men are both soaked to the bone, the small bathroom occupied by a modest tub. It is currently filling up with a bath foam solution and scalding hot water. The bedroom which shall be their haven until the rains die down and Miles' car is repaired is fairly warm, but the two beds feel far too small, far too close together, to provide either man the privacy they both need in the other's presence; Miles has taken refuge in the corner, seated at the coffee table by a window looking out into a pitch-black courtyard, whilst Phoenix awkwardly sits at the desk, occasionally wiping away water which has dripped from his dark hair onto the desk's surface.
"Do you want to warm up first?" the prosecutor offers wearily.
"It doesn't matter," is Phoenix's small reply.
The sound of the man's voice makes Miles flinch. It has been so weak throughout the entirety of their journey- small and quiet and feeble, and completely unlike the man Miles has grown to admire standing behind the defense's bench. It is unnatural.
Although Miles truly does want to speak to Phoenix more comfortably, the trembling of his limbs overrides all. Another giant shiver rocks Miles to the very core, dragging the man up to his feet. "I don't care," he mutters in frustration under his breath, storming over to the bathroom. "Wright, if you don't have a preference, I'm going to bathe first."
Perking up, a look of regret flashes across Phoenix's face. "Sure," he sighs, thick brows drawn together in fatigue as long fingers brush back through matted, damp black hair. "I don't mind-"
And then, there is a sputtering sound from the faucet in the bathroom, the echoing rush of water ceases, and the bathtub stops filling up.
Pausing in confusion, the two men blink at each other before Miles springs forward, peeking into the washroom. The faucet has indeed grown still; there is more than enough water in the tub for him to take a decent enough bath, but as he turns the knob, nothing changes. No more water comes out.
Phoenix peers around the open doorframe, dark eyes widening in surprise as he notes Miles' movements. However, they have no opportunity to ponder what has gone wrong as the telephone rings, drawing their attention. In a flash, Phoenix jogs over to the phone, picking it up; his voice is cordial and understanding, hinting that it is the receptionist who has called them. For a few moments, quiet words are exchanged, and then, Phoenix hangs up.
"What is it?" Miles asks, the hair on his nape standing on end.
Phoenix's expression shifts, jaw clenching tight as the man looks down, then back to Miles, then to the ugly maroon carpeting once more. Finally, he manages to mumble out, "Apparently a pipe burst due to the rain. It's messed the whole system up, so they have someone on their way, but… no running water for the next few hours."
Hot-white anger immediately floods Miles' system. What kind of service is this?! Before he can cry out, though, Phoenix raises his hand. "Hold it! They're going to reimburse us for the room," the attorney explains. "They… sound pretty stressed. Let's just let them figure it out, okay?"
Although his mouth opens to protest, Miles bites back his irritation and nods, crossing his hands across his chest impatiently. "Fine. If that is what you wish," he mutters through clenched teeth.
This news casts a new light on the situation, however. Miles stiffens on the spot as he realizes just what this pipe failure means, glancing over uncomfortably to the already-filled bathtub. While the steam rising up from the water is painfully enticing, it shall not retain that heat for long, and both he and Phoenix are in dire need of warming up after being drenched by the storm. If either of them spends the night chilled to the bone, they will undoubtedly fall ill by the time they managed to return to L.A.
There is one clear option.
Miles does not say it. How can he? The mere thought of it makes him recoil; although he knows that this is common enough in other countries, it is a practice entirely foreign to him, and he especially does not want to experience this in such a small bathtub-
Grimacing, he turns away, leaning against the wall wearily. His right hand automatically finds a hold on his left elbow, squeezing tight; the discomfort awakens him slightly, easing some of the wrinkles between his brows. I'll just let him take a bath, he thinks miserably, letting out a long, heavy sigh. That's fine. I don't have any cases coming up, so I can afford to take a few days off should I need to-
And then, a tentative, shy hand reaches up, extracting Miles' vice-like grip away from his elbow. Miles freezes, but his traitorous body complies with Phoenix's unsure touch without question, the man's callused fingertips painfully warm amidst the chill that has settled into his very bones. A warm palm slides against Miles', and soon Phoenix is veritably holding his hand- touch shaking from chill, the man's face a garish mix of an embarrassed flush and a paleness frighteningly similar to hypothermia. His voice cracks, but his words are unmistakable. "Let's… get in together?"
Miles' mind goes blank.
"We'll get sick if we don't."
Miles' lip is drawn between his teeth, nervousness and a sudden, painful wave of shame crashing into him without recourse.
"C'mon," Phoenix pleads gently, the slight pull of his hand suddenly opening Miles' eyes to just how much Phoenix is trembling due to cold.
"…alright."
Just like that, Phoenix smiles, and for one inexplicably-long moment, Miles' entire body feels warmth like no other- something languid and gentle, indescribably tender.
And then, the embarrassment hits. I'm going to bathe with Phoenix Wright.
…perhaps Miles should've taken the train to the conference, too.