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When Miles awakes, it is slow. Languorous. Once upon a time, he’d have even called it hedonistic.
He doesn’t open his eyes at first. Not just yet. He doesn’t need to- he already knows what he’s going to see. It’s the three hundred and sixty-fifth time he’s gotten to wake up to this view- the three hundred and sixty-fifth time he’s gotten to wake up to Phoenix Wright, snoring directly in his ear.
He’s always woken earlier than his partner. Medication helps him actually sleep, as opposed to waking after a fitful three hours, but it wears off, and he’s gotten used to sleeping in the bed with another person- not rolling or kicking or hogging the blankets in the middle of the night. What a luxury- to be able to get used to that!
Slowly, Miles’s eyes blink open, because he feels as if he’ll die if he spends another moment not looking at his partner’s face, dozing the morning away. The red light of the alarm on the nightstand blinks 8:48 AM- unconscionably late on a normal day, but today is the day they’d decided as their official anniversary- the first day after the second State v. Wright, the first day that the things that went unspoken over that ages-long gap were something that Phoenix (and Miles, by extension) could act upon, without worrying about some retribution, some retaliation, some hidden camera or microphone to report back that Phoenix Wright was not, and had never been, as pathetic as Kristoph Gavin believed him to be.
The same Phoenix Wright that was now sprawled in bed, one arm tucked limply behind Miles’s neck, the other thrown haphazardly across Miles’s midsection. In between them are several warm bodies that Miles can identify even without looking down to check the hair- sprawled across the end of the bed is Kay Faraday, with Trucy tucked between the two, dozing happily. Pess is curled into the warm spot behind Miles’s knees. He won’t be getting up anytime soon, it seems. Good. For this anniversary, after the hell and pell-mell of the past year- the past years- they’d agreed on doing absolutely nothing. Their respective offices can handle themselves without them for a day.
Phoenix makes a little snuffling sound and wraps his arm more protectively around Miles’s torso. His hair falls over his face, still fluffy and spiky as ever; there’s a strand of it that looks like it’s about to fall into his mouth. Miles wants to brush it out of his face, and after a moment, he does. It’s soft under his fingers. He marvels at that- the fact that he can, that what’s been barred to him for so long- the closeness, the ability to touch- is finally, finally in his grasp. There’s no more of the dance they had been doing. No more of the not-touching, no more of the cautious glances- none of the stilted hellos, the awkward goodbyes where each was really asking will I ever get to see you again?
He’s leaving for Europe again in a month, but both of them know he’ll be back. It is a certainty.
From her position squeezed between them, Trucy yawns mightily and sleepily opens her eyes, blinking out tired tears. “Morning, Papa,” she whispers.
“Good morning, Trucy,” Miles murmurs back, pretending his heart doesn’t do a funny somersault at the name papa, like it doesn’t fill his chest with warmth and pride. “How did you sleep? I notice you’ve migrated to our bed.”
“Amazing,” Trucy grins. “Your bed’s comfier than mine, Papa.”
“Objection.” It’s the quietest objection he’s ever given, and possibly one of his favorites, because he knows it’s an argument he’s going to lose, and it’s an argument he’s going to enjoy losing. “Our bed has the exact same mattress as yours.”
“Yes!” Trucy frees a hand to wag a single finger at him. “But consider: your bed has you and Daddy in it, and sometimes Pess, too. Therefore-”
Phoenix stirs, and makes a mumbling noise. Both he and Trucy freeze, for a moment, until Phoenix settles in again, tucking his head closer to Miles’s chest. Almost unconsciously, Miles curls a hand around the back of Phoenix’s head, scratching gently at the base of his neck, and Phoenix lets out a contented rumble before curling in closer.
“Therefore!” Trucy continues, quieter but no less triumphant for it. “It is comfier, because you’re the comfiest people I know, and you’re really good at hugging!”
“MMmobjecshn ovrruld,” Phoenix mumbles into his front.
“Ah, His Honor has overruled my objection,” Miles says. “It seems you win this time, Trucy. Good morning, Your Honor.”
“Mmmmstop bein’ mean.”
“All right,” Miles says, burying a smile in Phoenix’s hair, and then kissing the crown of his head for good measure. Trucy averts her eyes, but she’s smiling. “How did the defense sleep then, counselor?”
“Sleeby.” Phoenix lets out a huge yawn, for good measure, before pushing himself upright in bed and displacing Kay, who in turn yawns and rubs her eyes.
“Mm, is it morning yet?” she asks from the end of the bed.
“You are twenty-three,” Miles points out. “How long are you going to continue breaking in here to sleep in our bed? You have a key, Kay. You have your own bedroom. ”
“Comfier,” Kay says.
“We just established case precedent proving it is,” agrees Trucy. Miles has never been more proud of another human being in his life. He rolls over without thinking, and Pess lazily scoots herself out from under his legs and resettles on his lap.
“You’re stuck there now,” Kay smirks at him. “Which means you can’t object when I go make you and Dad breakfast in bed.”
“Kay, you wouldn’t,” Miles grumbles. It’s not that Kay is a bad cook- in fact, it’s entirely the opposite- it’s just that he doesn’t want them messing around in his kitchen, and besides, it’s highly dubious that she can make his tea the way he wants it.
“Stealing your chance to make breakfast, hell yeah,” Kay says. “All right, sleight-of-hand gang, come on, let’s make some food.”
“Sorry, Daddy and Papa, I gotta go!” Trucy bounces up to follow Kay out, leaving Phoenix and Miles in bed.
After a moment, Phoenix glances at him, and says, “You know I’m still not really a counselor. Or the defense.”
“Well, yes.” Miles scratches behind Pess’s ear. “But you will be, soon. You should be cleared to take the bar exam, right? You haven’t procrastinated on signing up? There are only two months until it happens.”
“Hhhhgh,” Phoenix mumbles. “Okay, yeah, all right. I signed up.”
“Then I don’t see why I can’t call you the defense all I like. It’s not like you’re going to fail, and besides, what with your work on MASON, I think you ought to count as a counselor regardless.”
“I think the government prefers legal reformer, but whatever works,” Phoenix groans, and twists to commence his daily ritual of popping every vertebra in his entire spine. Miles politely ignores the cracking noises in favor of petting his dog.
He has most of his face buried in the borzoi’s fur when Phoenix says, “I love you, you know that?”
“I love you too,” Miles says, pulling away from Pess for a moment. “What brought that on?”
“Just,” Phoenix says. “Because I can.”
“Sap,” teases Miles, as if his chest isn’t impossibly full of warmth.
“Mmm. But you love me back.”
“I do,” Miles murmurs.
There’s a crash from the kitchen, and Pess jumps up to see what the commotion is.
“We should probably go figure out what that was,” Phoenix groans.
“All right.” Miles tucks his glasses onto his face, and gets up, stretching a little. “Shall we?”
“So formal, Prosecutor Edgeworth. We’re going twenty feet.” Still, Phoenix takes Miles’s hand when offered, knees making an awful crunching noise when Miles helps him up. “Yeah, all right, let’s go see what our crazy kids got themselves into.”
Our crazy kids.
Light streams in through the window, where Kay left the blinds up and the window itself half-cracked, undoubtedly from when she snuck in last night. Together, they step out to face the day.