Chapter Text
The only indicator that the power had gone out was the slight whirr of every device in the apartment suddenly shutting down. It hadn’t been much of a sound at all, in fact; it had been more than enough of a sound to forcibly pull Miles from his dreams and deposit him into reality, heart racing and sweat beading on the back of his neck. He released a shaky breath at the sudden stillness. Life at the Wright residence was rarely so calm, rarely so peaceful— he was grateful when the next wave of rain came through, making enough noise against the window to shock him into movement, to shove the blanket to the side.
He sat up and blinked, wondering if there was enough light for his eyes to adjust, and when he found that they couldn’t, he fumbled for the solid weight of his phone, tapping the screen to turn the flashlight on in a practiced motion as he pulled his glasses on. He scanned around the room, now dimly lit. Nobody was there— he rolled his eyes at his own childishness. Of course there wasn’t anyone in the room. As it stood, there were only two people in the apartment, and Phoenix was more than likely so soundly asleep in his own room that he hadn’t noticed the power outage. He didn’t need Phoenix to come and check on him.
Miles shuffled into his slippers and made for the candle that he knew was sitting on the dresser just across the room. There wasn’t any point in wasting his phone battery when he had a perfectly good candle at his disposal. It lit easily, despite trembling fingers, and he picked it up by its glass container, watching the flickering shadows cast across the room he’d been borrowing in comforting shades of orange and white.
Most of the magic equipment that Trucy hadn’t taken with her while traveling was contained to her own room down the hall, though there was some overspill to the guest room that Miles had been calling his own. Metal rings, fake flowers, and for whatever reason, a functional piano sat in a pile in the corner, warped by the unsteady light. He swallowed, throat sticky and thick in the kind of way that would normally indicate many hours of restful sleep.
The warmth and comfort of the bed seemed to be calling for him— he instead slipped out of the room, eyes glancing around the darkened apartment. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep until somebody searched the place, he knew that his heart wouldn’t stop racing until he could say for sure that there wasn’t an intruder, and he knew that Phoenix wasn’t going to be awake to laugh and tell him that he was just being paranoid, or maybe that it was fine that he was so concerned about nothing.
It was a storm, nobody had broken in and taken the lights out.
He was fine.
His search of the hallway was cursory, but thorough: Trucy’s room lay empty, as it usually did, and so did the bathroom— the sight of his own reflection, gaunt and caught in the waving candlelight nearly caused him to jump out of his own skin. If only for a moment, it had been the ghost of his father, and then the adrenaline forced him back into reality, and it was his own body once more, all tired eyes and lips permanently pressed into a thin, disapproving line.
He didn’t linger in the bathroom, though the sound— or lack thereof— did cause him pause just outside the master bedroom. Something was wrong. There was something missing. Half a moment later, Miles remembered that Phoenix snored. He couldn’t hear him snoring.
The rest of the apartment lay unchecked: the kitchen, the living room, the entry, but he couldn’t bring himself to step beyond the doorframe.
Was Phoenix awake?
Or was something else going on, here?
Despite the attention it would have drawn to him if somebody had, in fact, broken in— stupid, he was being stupid— he tapped gently on the door with one finger. Not quite a knock, and barely loud enough for Miles himself to hear it. After a moment without a response, Miles knocked firmly, heart racing in his ears.
He was being stupid.
“Wright, are you awake in there?”
There was a clatter from the main part of the apartment, and Miles stepped back violently into the wall, nearly dropping the candle.
Shit, shit, shit—
“Edgeworth?” Phoenix poked his head around the corner; he’d been in the kitchen, or maybe the living room, the whole time. He wasn’t even asleep. Hadn’t been in his bedroom, and based on how awake he sounded, he likely hadn’t been all night. Miles frowned, clenching his fingers around the candle despite the heat of it in hopes that it would disguise the tremble of his hands. Phoenix met his eyes. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, buddy.”
Miles took a slow breath, pointedly not saying anything.
Phoenix tilted his head. A slow smirk quirked across his lips. “Or maybe you are a ghost. Old-timey pajamas, totally silent, holding a candle like that on a night like this? How do I know you’re not the ghost of Edgeworth’s great-great-great grandfather come to haunt me for something I haven’t done yet? I gotta say, the resemblance is there…”
Miles shook his head, finding his voice once more. “You’re ridiculous.”
Phoenix grinned. “There he is. Come on, I was just doing some painting, but I guess the storm took the power out. It’s a good portion of the block, based on how dark it is outside. Do you want some tea?”
“… If your assistant wouldn’t be opposed to my borrowing some of hers, I noticed that she keeps a chamomile tucked away in her drawer.”
“Nah, Maya won’t mind. I’ll make you some, come sit down.”
Miles tiptoed into the kitchen, glancing around despite himself just to make sure that everything else seemed secure. The front door was locked, and even though the blinds were open, the balcony door was shut. It was just the two of them. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and slid as silently as possible onto the stool that he usually made use of for meals. He set the candle down on the counter, finally realizing how hot his hands were, and pressed his palms into the stone to cool them down.
The jostling of pots and pans didn’t settle well on Miles’ nerves, but he let it pass as Phoenix manually lit the stove, bringing a bit more light to the room. He watched, thoughtful, as his friend moved easily around the kitchen— from the sink to the stove, and back to the drawer where Maya kept her non-perishables for whenever she came to visit. It wasn’t often, recently, what with both her and Phoenix being as busy as they were. Miles made a mental note to ask after her tomorrow.
Phoenix pulled the refrigerator door open.
“You really should keep that shut while the electricity is out.”
He huffed out a laugh, reaching in to pull something out before closing it as swiftly as it had opened. “Yeah, I know, but…” He trailed off, sliding the silverware drawer open and setting a spoon and a small bowl in front of Miles. “You look like you could use some of this.”
Miles blinked, gazing down at the bowl. Moments later, a mug appeared in his field of vision, the label of a tea bag draped over the side. A warm feeling coiled in Miles’ chest.
“This is…”
“Rice pudding.”
“Rice pudding,” he repeated, incredulous. “Do you have any idea what time it is? Dessert is hardly appropriate—”
He could practically hear Phoenix roll his eyes. “Just eat it, Edgeworth. Trust me. It’s one of Trucy’s comfort foods; whenever she would have a really bad night, I’d break out one of these. Calmed her down. Maybe it’ll work for you.”
“I’m not a child,” he managed, but even he could hear the petulance of it as he took a bite. How long had it been since he’d eaten something like this? “… It’s good.”
“I know it is,” Phoenix snickered. “Drink your tea.”
Miles nearly scrunched his nose up at the order— he would have argued, if not for the thin layer of fondness in Phoenix’s voice, and how he turned back to his canvas, tapping his chin. Miles blew gently on the tea before taking a sip. It would suffice.
“Why are you up so late?” Miles broached the subject he knew Phoenix would have expertly not dealt with unless someone else brought it up. “Painting, of all things.”
Phoenix was silent for a bit longer than he should have been. Miles slid half of the rice pudding back across the counter, meeting his eyes with a look he hoped was more challenging, more expectant, than judgmental. It had taken him a while to learn that one. He knew that Phoenix wouldn’t back down from a challenge, once issued— the man’s stubborn pride had saved him on more than one occasion, and it could always be relied upon to help him get his way.
Sure enough, Phoenix sighed, scooping up a bite of pudding and mulling over it for a long moment.
Eventually, he swallowed. “I was just a little bit in my own head, that’s all. Pensive. I’m not upset about anything, I don’t think. Sometimes… I mean, you know. Sometimes you can just tell it’s going to be a sleepless night. I figured that I might as well try and do something fun. I used to love painting. Thought I might give it a shot.”
“Mhm.” He heard the rain intensify, and he glanced out the back door, watching the droplets hit the glass. When he looked back, Phoenix was looking at him, as if deep in thought. “What?”
“Ah— wait, don’t move.”
He adjusted the canvas so that it was facing away from Miles, digging around in what had to have been the single dirtiest toiletry duffel that Miles had ever seen in his life. He pulled something out of it, holding it up in the air in a little victory flourish, before scrawling something on the canvas with sure, rough strokes that Miles could hear. After a moment, he glanced back up. He was being used as reference.
Miles felt heat rise to his cheeks and began to turn away. “Wright, please—”
“Hang on, hang on,” he laughed. “Come on, please. The candle is casting some really nice shadows on your face, and I just want to…”
He trailed off, seeming distracted by some detail or other as he worked. Despite whatever emotion he felt roiling around under his skin— embarrassment, perhaps— he sat still under Phoenix’s eye, letting him sketch whatever he could possibly have been seeing. When he looked back up, presumably for reference, he smiled.
The things he did for this man, honestly.
Miles was hardly self-conscious— at his age, it would have been beyond foolish— but even so, any time spent under scrutiny felt like hours. He found himself wondering how Phoenix saw him; how would he interpret the harsh lines of the face that Miles saw when he looked in the mirror? What did Phoenix truly think about the sharp planes of his nose, about his perpetually exhausted eyes set deep into sunken sockets that were more von Karma than Edgeworth?
He lifted a hand to his face, despite himself, and watched the tea bag float gently across the surface of his mostly-untouched drink. It would be getting too cold to be of any use in relaxing him, by this point. He glanced up at Phoenix, scribbling some more lines across his canvas with a focus that he rarely got to see outside of the courtroom, and decided that he didn’t care that much about the tea.
Moments later, Phoenix straightened, exclaiming delightedly.
“Done, I assume?”
“Well, I could keep going for hours, trying to make it perfect,” he said, nearly reaching up to scratch his head before jerking his hand away, moving to drop whatever he’d been drawing with back into its bag. “But it’s just a sketch, and I am out of practice, after all. I think I got the idea down…”
He spun the canvas around, and Miles slid the candle a bit closer so that he could make out the details of it. He widened his eyes— just a sketch, indeed, but it was incredible. Just as Phoenix had said, it seemed focused around the shadows cast by the candle, but even so, his face was clearly visible in the space between the shadows. It had all the harshness he’d been expecting, in dark charcoal lines and shadows, but it also seemed… gentle, somehow.
Miles frowned. “Is… how did you do that?”
“I was an art major, you know.”
“I’m quite aware that you have an artistic talent beyond anything I could ever hope to dream of possessing, myself. What I mean is… is that how you see me?”
Phoenix blinked, glancing between him and the canvas. “I guess it is. It was based on direct reference, but it’s hard to keep personal interpretation out of life studies. Like I said, I’m out of practice, so it’s not perfect, but I think I did a pretty good job capturing the essence of what makes you… you.”
“The likeness is striking,” Miles admitted, ducking his head. “I do believe I have to protest the interpretation of the reference on principle, but even so. You’re very talented, Wright.”
The smile his best friend gave him was almost worth the mortification of having been forced to model for him, of all things. “Thanks, Edgeworth. That’s kind of you to say.”
“I only say what is objectively true, kind or otherwise,” he frowned, taking a sip of his tea. He scrunched his nose as it coated his tongue— sure enough, it had grown cold. He set the mug aside. “Have you checked the weather? With how hard it’s raining, I’m afraid we may need to take some precautions.”
“I checked right before the power went out. We’ll be alright— no severe weather warning, no flash flood warnings. Just a few hours of torrential rain. Are you going to be able to make it back to sleep?”
“You needn’t worry about me. It wasn’t the rain that woke me.” Miles slid from the stool and gathered the candle in his hands once more, glancing at Phoenix from across the counter. “You should get some sleep, too, if you don’t want to be dead on your feet in the morning. You do have work, after all.”
“Yes, mother,” he sighed. “I’ll try.”
Miles nodded, satisfied. “Sleep well, my friend.”
Phoenix leaned back against the sink, arms crossed. He smiled. “Good night, Edgeworth.”