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English
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Part 1 of Flock Together
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2019-09-21
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5,210
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1/1
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Dyed Feathers

Summary:

Wings are a fact of life, everyone has them, but there are some times when their presence is more significant than others. For Phoenix and Edgeworth, that’s what these are, and they include ruffled feathers, dye, a rather unexpected photo album, and, more often than not, each other.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Absolutely no one is surprised when Phoenix fledges a blue jay.

No one.

“I mean, I could have been something else,” he sulks during break one day, “There’s a lot of robins in my family, and some hawks, and Aunt Ella’s a swan. It wasn’t the obvious outcome.”

Larry puts a hand on his shoulder and stares deeply into his eyes. “Nick, my man, my dude… there was literally never a single moment in your life where you weren’t going to be a blue jay. This has been your destiny, even your hair knew it!”

Phoenix scowls and swats at him, “I don’t wanna hear it from a guy who can’t even get his own species right.”

“Hey, I’m a dove! A dove in love, even, what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, except you forgot a word.”

“…handsome? Charismatic? Romantic?”

“Mourning. You’re a mourning dove, Larry.”

“Which is still a dove!” his friend fluffs his feathers cheerfully at him, then lets them settle back into place. “I’m soft and sensitive and loveable – and I got my hands on some dye!”

“We’re not supposed to dye our wings while we’re in school,” Phoenix points out, looking around nervously in case a teacher has decided to silently fly up to the roof and give him detention for just listening to one of Larry’s infamous Bad Ideas. …not unreasonable, after how that last school assembly went, if he’s being honest.

Larry sticks his tongue out at him. “Yeah, yeah, it’s been years and you still sound like Edgy when you talk like that. Anyway, I’m just doing the tips, and it’ll be sedate. Come on, no one’ll mind – you can even come help me make sure nothing goes wrong if you want!”

“I don’t know…”

“I’ll let you help! Come on, it’ll be fun! Get you less bent out of shape over your wings!”

“I’m not bent out of shape, I like ‘em fine! I just… thought people would be surprised.” Phoenix leans against the fence, then quickly adjusts his position – he doesn’t have baby down anymore, he needs to be more careful about leaning on his wings so he doesn’t damage his feathers. “I was excited to show everyone, and no one’s even reacted, even though the insides are white instead of grey like normal.”

Larry comes to lean next to him. “Just ‘cause I’m not surprised doesn’t mean I’m not happy for you. You look great, man, it’s just… they suit you so much, it’s like you always had ‘em? It’s kinda hard to even remember you were all patchy and molting last week, and still in down before that!”

…that does sound kinda cool. “Really?”

“Yeah, totally!” Larry punches him in the shoulder with a grin, “Now come on – say you’ll help me do my tips after school? Pleeeeeeease?”

“Okay, fine!” Phoenix finally concedes with a grin, because, honestly, feather dye does look pretty cool, and he’s always kinda wanted to give it a try. This’ll be like doing that, only with no chance of getting in trouble!

They both get in so much trouble the next day due to Larry having decided ‘sedate’ meant ‘lime green’ and then tripping and getting dye everywhere partway through, including on Phoenix. Fortunately Phoenix didn’t have any sealer on his wings, so the stains will go away after a week or so instead of having to wait until he molts, but the lovely, clean white undersides of his wings now look like splatter art! And he’s only had his adult feathers for a few days!

(By the third day he’s calmed down enough to admit he kind of likes the effect, even if Larry doesn’t get to know this.)

(Sometimes (often) he wonders what Miles’s wings look like now, if he fledged a grey swan like he’d hoped to, like his father.)

(He wonders if his friend still remembers him…)

 

OoOoOoOoO

 

Golden eagle wings aren’t actually golden at all – they’re brown, with slightly irregular grey and brown markings on the undersides; the gold the eagles are named for lies on other parts of the actual bird. His wings are strong, powerful, but not the tidiest in appearance when they are spread.

Miles does his best not to let this bother him, focusing instead on keeping their level of grooming meticulous, as he does with all other parts of his appearance, and on ensuring they remain neatly folded on his back at all times during court, not flaring or ruffling or anything to indicate he is in less than perfect control of both himself and the trial. His mentor has trained him well, and Miles is an excellent student, after all. If he continues to excel, one day he will be perfect.

(Maybe if he succeeds in this the nightmares will finally stop.)

They are not black, like his mentor’s, but still the man gives a nod of approval when Miles finishes fledging.

“Perfect.”

(Later, many years later, Miles will look back on that comment and realize Manfred had seen Miles’s wings and assumed them a sign of Manfred’s own success in molding him into the vicious predator Manfred wished him to become, and feel sick at how proud that comment had made him at the time.)

(Manfred forgot, as so many forgot, that Miles is not only Gregory’s son. His father was a swan. His mother was an eagle.)

 

OoOoOoOoO

 

Phoenix gets really into wing dye when he starts college. It’s popular among the other art and theatre students as well, and the insides of his wings are pure white – perfect canvases. More than a few times he lets dorm mates and others in the art program use them as just that, never with sealer, of course, but, for those who want to go into wing art as a profession or do something unusual, he’s a great resource, and it’s a really awesome, fun way to make a bit of extra cash, and also to get to sit in on some of the high-level art courses that wouldn’t be available to him otherwise, since he’s a theatre major.

There is exactly one time during this period when he uses sealer on his wings, and that dye job is both extremely simple and self-initiated. He dyes them a delicate pink, a perfect match to his Dollie’s favorite dress and parasol, and he loves the effect – bright blue and black and white spreading back to reveal that soft, soft colour when he displays for her, wings spread out and up to their fullest extent, just like she fills up his heart.

She coos the first time she sees them, sweet and gentle. “You’re like a blue bird now, Pheenie. My own little blue bird.”

He beams.

(He keeps his wings tightly furled after the trial, and has never been more relieved for his molt to arrive in his entire life.)

(“I was the one who called you blue bird first,” Iris tells him many years later, “She called you Feenie, but you were my blue bird.”

It’s not enough to let him truly love her again, but it is enough that he can finally stop flinching whenever blue birds are mentioned.)

 

OoOoOoOoO

 

Miles barely manages to keep his wings in check as he rushes through the hospital. He can’t be dying he just- can’t. Phoenix Wright is not allowed to die, not like this, not at all, not-

The sight of him propped up in bed, looking like nothing so much as if he is about to try an escape attempt of all things, is a relief that nearly leaves Miles sagging, but a flash of unnatural shine on the man’s left wing snaps him out of that in a hurry.

“Wright, if you dare try and set foot outside that bed in your condition, I shall sit on you and then call to have you sedated.”

The man nearly jumps out of his skin, then whimpers as this jostles his left wing and the compresses taped to it. A moment later, however, he is nothing but smiles. “Edgeworth! I thought you were in Europe!”

“I was.”

“Oh. Then what are you doing here?”

“Apparently preventing you from doing something exceedingly foolish after pulling a stunt that would have gotten a normal man killed.” Striding over to the bed, Miles folds his arms and glares, receiving an appropriately cowed retreat back under the bedclothes as a response.

“It’s not that bad – just a cold, a light fever – I’ll be out in a few days.”

“And that?” he flings an arm out in gesture at the wounded wing.

“Ah,” Wright winces, “Not actually as bad as it looks? No, really,” he insists in the face of one of Miles’s better glowers, “I broke it back when I was fifteen and it didn’t heal very well, so it can’t hold me for extended flight. It’s just strained from a lot of unexpected flapping, that’s all, the doctor says give it some rest and I’ll be gliding over puddles again in no time.”

That is… oh. “I… did not realize.”

Wright shrugs, “I was never wild about heights anyway. And I’ve got a bike – all the fun of flying with none of the risk of plummeting out of the sky to your death! Win-win!”

“And yet, somehow you managed to do the latter anyway.”

“Objection, I’m still alive! And ready to continue in my quest for truth and-” he interrupts himself with a coughing fit that leaves him slumped back in bed, looking drained, “-and it’s actually a good thing you’re here, ‘cause I could really use some help with this one…”

Miles has regrets even before he hears what Wright wants him to do.

He still says yes.

(He doesn’t regret it nearly as much as he says he does later.)

 

OoOoOoOoO

 

Phoenix starts dying his wings brown about a year into his disbarment. It’s not that he particularly wants to, or that the dye can cover his markings or even the blue all the way, but it’s… easier. Safer. He can tell Trucy doesn’t like it either, but she still helps him get the spots he can’t reach, and the feel of hands on his feathers like that is incredibly relaxing, which helps.

He’s sworn to her, up, down, and center, on a stack of bibles and on Charlie (for some reason) that the instant he’s cleared his name, he’ll stop. He’ll stop and he’ll never do it again, ever. And until then he has to wear at least one bright thing at all times, or else.

(Trucy’s ‘or else’s’ can be both creative and regret-inspiring, so he keeps his promise. Though he would have kept it anyway – he’s looking forward to the day he can try to start being fully himself again.)

 

OoOoOoOoO

 

The first time Wright comes to Germany with brown wings, Miles feels like he’s been slapped. Some people shine brighter with a bit of added colour or decoration in their feathers, but Wright has always worn his wings in a way that makes Miles a bit jealous with just how well they suit him, how utterly, utterly part of him they are, bright and vibrant against his back, a brilliant splash of white when he gets over-excited and flourishes them in court… and now they are drab, not the rich brown of his own wings or one of the multitude of tasteful shades that others naturally wear their feathers in, just drab, with a dull gloss from using cheap dye.

“Who did this to you?”

“What Edgeworth, I-”

“Who did this to you?” Miles will kill them, he’ll shred them to pieces for daring to lay hands on-

“Whoa, Edgeworth, calm down, smooth the feathers, people are starting to stare!” Wright has his hands up and has actually fallen a step back, and it takes a moment to realize that his own wings have started to unfurl at an aggressive angle.

With a deep breath, Miles manages to pull himself and his wings back under control. “Who did this to you, Wright?” he repeats a third time, “I want a name, I’m going to take them to court for everything they have.”

“Whoa, geez, back down, no one ‘did’ this to me, I did it myself! Well, with a bit of help from Trucy, but only because I asked her to!”

If the sight had been a slap to the face, this admission is a punch to the gut. “…why?”

It likely comes out more broken than he had intended it to, if Wright’s expression is anything to go by. “It’s not like I really wanted to, but… it’s safer this way.” He shuffles, offers an awkward grin, “The amount I get harassed on the street has dropped way down since I started, and my boss at the Borsht says he’ll pay for the dye if I keep it up – less memorable is apparently a valuable employee trait there.”

“Oh. That is… understandable.” Awful, but understandable. Miles cannot fault him for wishing to remain safe or anonymous, given his circumstances.

Wright looks him over consideringly, then grins. “Trucy hates it, too. I had to super-extra-special-pinky-swear-promise to never do it again once I’ve finished taking out the trash.”

“You mean exposing Kristoph for the villain he is?”

“That’s what I said, yeah.” Wright winks at him, and Miles can’t help chuckling. Ridiculous man – he never changes, even in the face of adversity such as this, not really, not where it counts.

Miles lets the subject drop and does his best not to be ‘weird’ about it.

The next morning, Phoenix offers him an envelope. Inside is a blue feather, one of the smaller ones from the back of the wing.

“Don’t read too much into it,” he says, obviously embarrassed, “And don’t keep it if you don’t want to, obviously. But Trucy wanted one, and she said you might like one as well, and you know how Trucy is – worse than Pearls at times.” He laughs awkwardly at his own joke, red in the face. “It’s from my last molt, before I put the dye in.”

Miles stares at the feather for a moment, then gently tucks it back in the envelope. “I’m sure I can find somewhere safe to keep it.”

(Within a jar on the desk of Miles’s office is a very safe place, and, conveniently, he always knows when Wright is going to be around, so the man never has to know about it.)

 

OoOoOoOoO

 

It’s been a week since he got back from Khura’in, since Trucy nearly got arrested for murder and since he himself bet his life on Ahlbi’s innocence, and Edgeworth has called him down to the Prosecutors’ office for some reason. Well, Phoenix had presumed it was about a case, but given that Edgeworth has apparently been pacing his office while waiting for him and that his desk is bare, that’s probably not what’s going on. Phoenix is just opening his mouth to ask when the other man holds one hand up in a postponing gesture.

“Give me a moment.”

Edgeworth takes a deep breath, then another, leaning on his desk for support before finally straightening and turning to Phoenix. Once he is sure he has Phoenix’s attention, he takes another deep breath and begins to spread his wings, fists clenched, eyes on the floor, wider and wider until they are on full display, a perfect pair of arcs behind him, even larger than Phoenix had thought, and for a moment all he can do is stare.

The backs of Edgeworth’s wings are solid brown, but the insides are a painting of grey, white, and more brown, slightly irregular but balanced, pleasing to the eye, and Phoenix can’t help getting a little lost in looking, not even aware that he’s been staring way too long until there is a cough, and his eyes are yanked back to Edgeworth’s face. Which currently matches the man’s suit and as Phoenix watches, Edgeworth glances up at him, an unexpectedly fearful motion.

“Your answer?”

Answer?

But Edgeworth hasn’t asked him a ques-

Wait.

Wait.

Waitwaitwait, Edgeworth asked him in here privately, Edgeworth said he needed a moment, Edgeworth doesn’t just have his wings spread but also arched up behind his back, Edgeworth-

Holy crap, Edgeworth is displaying for him.

Edgeworth is displaying for him, he is being flirted with, he, Phoenix Wright, is being flirted with by Miles Edgeworth!!!

…

In a really classy manner!!!

Edgeworth is just beginning to lower his wings, start stammering out excuses, when the penny finally finishes dropping for Phoenix and his own wings snap into display so hard and fast he actually knocks himself over.

“That’s a yes,” he informs the floor, because talking is more important than anything else at the moment and also he thinks his wings might be stuck in display forever now and he’s not sure how to get up with them like this, “That’s very much a yes, yes please, extra yes, all the yes, yes yes yes yes ye-”

 A soft chuckle interrupts him, then footsteps that, presumably, are delicately picking their way around his still-on-display feathers, and hands under his shoulders helping him right himself. “I’m glad to hear it.”

And suddenly Edgeworth’s wings are under his own, Edgeworth’s using his wings to help Phoenix lift his, nooooo, it’s Edgeworth, he’s emotionally stunted, he’s not allowed to be this smooth-?! Except actually yes, please, keep going-

“I’ve wanted to display for you for a long time.”

-what? “Huh? Y-you have?” Phoenix blinks at him, confused, “This isn’t… recent?”

Edgeworth has the nerve to laugh at him, “You think I myself noticed when it first happened, let alone understood what I was feeling? Please, Wright, it took years.”

“Oh.” That… does sound in-character, but saying so would be mean, so, “If it wasn’t recently, and it took years to figure out, then when did you?”

“The case in Borginia during the fourth year from your disbarment. It was quite late, we were going over files, you were teasing me for spilling tea on myself… and I realized I never wanted it to end. For you to keep smiling like that forever. To keep… smiling at me like that forever.” He blushes and ducks his head. “I almost displayed and offered to have Trucy and you brought over permanently right then and there.”

“…why didn’t you?”

Edgeworth- Miles?- sighs. “Wright, you were disbarred. Angry. Some days you would barely look me in the eye, and it was a fight to get you to accept aid for anything other than your investigation or research on legal systems. I did not… think you would accept. Or worse, that you would assume my feelings were born of pity.”

That’s enough to get his wings to finally start behaving themselves again because… yeah. Year four had been bad, and year five hadn’t been much better, and by year six he’d been going so deep into his hobo façade that he probably couldn’t have managed a relationship anyway. “And you chose to tell me now, because…?”

He gets a snort for this. “Because if you’re feeling confident enough to literally gamble your life on a bluff, then you can probably withstand anything. Including a rather awkward and extremely belated confession.”

 

OoOoOoOoO

 

Miles is not… accustomed to interacting with other people when it comes to wing contact. For many years he and Franziska trusted only each other with their wings, and then only occasionally. Vaguely he can remember his father enfolding him as a child, so his world became a cocoon of arms and impossibly soft grey feathers, and he has observed the casual touch others use to interact with each other enough that he has a vague jist at least of what is considered proper. He simply lacks experience.

Fortunately, he has people more than willing to help him catch up, including two he is now living with, and especially a magical young crow who wants to take full advantage of just how wide his wingspan is.

“I haven’t been able to do this with Daddy since I was thirteen,” she informs him, snuggling into his side on their apartment’s sofa, careful not to crush his feathers or her own, “His wings just aren’t big enough, only don’t tell him I said that, he’s sensitive. Okay, now bring it around- careful- mmmm!” she hums happily and cuddles down more as he finishes carefully draping his right wing around her, “So. Cozy.”

Miles chuckles, “Eagle wings aren’t exactly known for their warmth, Trucy – you want an owl or a swan for that. Their feathers are much softer.”

“Noooo, Mr. Edgeworth, wing cuddles are always good! And you should do this with Daddy, he’d love it!”

Well, it’s certainly not a thought Miles objects to. It is… strangely pleasant to sit like this. Though a veritable human hurricane if she sets her mind to it, Trucy feels very small and fragile curled up next to him beneath his wing, her usual costume replaced with more casual garb, trusting him not to hurt her as he extends the same trust in return. It would be nice to sit like this with Phoenix. Except, perhaps, with some added kissing. …the thought certainly bears looking into…

While he ponders, Trucy has produced the object that initiated this situation in the first place, a professional-looking portfolio of photographs. “Ta-da! I found these the other day when we were packing to move into the new apartment with you, and I thought you’d like ‘em, too – they’re of Daddy when he was in college!”

Intriguing. “Does he know you have these?” Silence is his answer, and he lifts his wing to get a better look at her face. “Trucy.”

Large, blue eyes stare back up at him. “Mr. Edgeworth, which would you really prefer: the answer to that question, or to look at pictures of Daddy when he was all cute and college-aged and used to work as a canvas sometimes?”

“…you are growing into a devilish little temptress,” he informs her, then feels, for some unknown reason, to add in mumbled defense of his partner, “And he’s still cute.”

“Not like this he’s not,” Trucy counters cheerfully, pulling the cover open, “See?”

The Phoenix who stares up at them from the page is younger, lankier, shorter spikers and eyes too naïve for their own good. He’s standing against a black backdrop, wearing solid black himself, with his wings fully spread and a landscape traveling across them. In the next his wings show a series of shockingly geometric patterns, difficult to achieve on feathers, then one where only the pinions are dyed, but each is a perfect gradation of a single colour…

The setting changes from picture to picture, different styles and images from presumably different artists, though it becomes apparent that he’d had a few request his services more than once. A handful have him not just painted but also posed, a particularly interesting image presented with one wing partially folded and the other fully spread, presumably to show how the wings’ movement would affect the overall look of the decoration. Almost always he’s smiling, friendly, cheerful, embarrassed, shy, cheeky. A young man with no clue yet that he’s going to be anything but an actor, let alone one of the most prominent lawyers of his time.

“Hey, guys, what’cha lookin’ at?”

Miles looks up at where Phoenix has just walked in from a late-night conference call with Apollo, a can of soda in one hand and a smile on his face that easily surpasses all the ones Miles has seen in the photo album thus far, for all that it’s older and more care-worn. Honestly, is it any wonder he can’t help smiling back, teasing just a bit? “You.”

“Well duh, you’re looking right at me,” Phoenix snorts a laugh, fizzing open his drink, “I meant before that, Mr. Smart-alec.”

“Still you,” Trucy cheerfully informs him, “We’re examining your modeling career, Daddy!”

“Cool.” He takes a step, then sprays soda out his nose, spinning to face them, hand to his presumably burning nostrils, eyes watering with pain and wide with horror, “Wait, no, that’s bad! Trucy, don’t turn that page!”

Trucy makes direct eye contact with her father and turns the page, and Miles feels his own eyes buldge. Apparently the artist who had hired him for this session had not been content with wings – they had wanted to paint Phoenix.

And they had. Blue, white, black, and grey, following the natural patterns of the bird Phoenix shares wings with, the man himself either completely naked or else very minimally dressed. And perched in the fork of a tree, laughing at the camera-

Miles slams Trucy into his side without conscious thought.

“Ack, you’re smothering me! And I can’t see the picture!”

“You have no need to see you father in this state of undress!”

“Bodies are nothing to be ashamed of, Mr. Edgeworth!”

“Daddy still doesn’t want you seeing his!” Phoenix all but shrieks, yanking the album from Miles’s admittedly limp grasp, clamping it shut and clutching it to his chest, feathers puffed out defensively.

Miles swallows, then adjusts his glasses. “You never mentioned that you posed nude.”

“That wasn’t- there was paint-!” his eyes dart around wildly, entire face red.

“…Trucy, your father and I will be retiring for the evening,” Miles mercifully interrupts, opening his wing and shooing her out from under it.

“Aw… But I want to-”

“And I will make sure you are allowed to see any further photographs he is comfortable with you seeing,” he counters firmly. The best way to get around Trucy’s admittedly excellent cajoling powers is to cut them off at the knees, and he has years of dealing with vexatious witnesses to aid him in this.

“…fine. ‘night, Daddy, Mr. Edgeworth.” Trucy grumbles, stumping off to her room, then returning a moment later to give them each a begrudging kiss goodnight on the cheek, because she never skips that ritual if she can help it. Phoenix returns his, and Miles brushes one on top of her head.

“Soooooo,” Phoenix sing-songs nervously once they’re alone, “I don’t suppose I can just… hide this somewhere and we forget it ever happened?”

“Not a chance,” Miles informs him, settling back on the sofa, “Come on, I want to see the rest.”

“Nnnnnngh,” Phoenix grumbles, but flops next to him, “I only did the body painting thing once, though – it was too tickly. So if you’re hoping for more of that-”

Miles smacks him lightly on the head. “I was merely shocked at the unexpected imagery. And, need I remind you, I have seen you naked before.”

“Yeah yeah,” he opens the book again, thumbing it back to the blue jay photo, then turning the page. This time he’s got his wings painted into an exquisite night sky and been posed so he’s lying on the ground, head tilted to look back at the camera.

“You never mentioned that you did this so often.”

“It didn’t feel often at the time, I had to wait a few weeks between jobs for the colours to wash out, and so the constant reapplication of dye didn’t damage my feathers,” Phoenix replies, “But I guess, looking back… yeah, I was pretty popular with that crowd. Nice white inner wings, I didn’t charge too much, and it doesn’t make me all twitchy when people mess with my feathers.” He pauses, considers, “Actually, it makes me kinda sleepy. Probably one of the reasons I was so zen compared to everyone else in the theatre program.”

Miles takes a moment from looking at another image of Phoenix in his black ensemble on a black background to raise a skeptical eyebrow at this. Phoenix shakes a finger at him.

“Hey, you put that eyebrow right back down, you’ve never worked with thespians before, they are intense. And kinda crazy. I think it goes with the territory.”

“Fine, fine,” Miles waves him off, turning the page again. This time Phoenix is peeking through his own wing at the camera, hair ungelled for once, shy and blushing and very definitively not wearing anything.

“…it’s art?” Phoenix squeaks before he can comment.

Miles traces a pinion with one finger. “You look… very innocent.”

Phoenix blinks, then grins, something between relieved and wistful. “Yeah. That’s actually what the photographer for that one was going for – if you can get it, I guess she succeeded, huh?”

“Mm.” he turns the page, someone had wanted to experiment with metallics in this one. “Why did you do this?”

“What, pose nude?”

“No- well, yes, but… any of it?”

Phoenix wriggles over so he can lean on Miles’s shoulder. “I dunno – I sort of tripped into the first job, and then it was kinda fun. Actually, thinking back, it was Larry who got me started.”

“No.”

“I know, right? He’s actually the artist for a few of these,” is the grinning response, “He couldn’t find someone else to model for him for a term project, so he asked me. A couple of his classmates wanted to know who I was and if I was any good, he talked me up, ‘cause, I mean, sometimes he’s a good friend, and word just sort of spread from there.” He snickers, “According to him there was a public outcry when I switched to law school and didn’t have time to do this anymore, and was trying to look professional to boot.”

“And did you ever succeed in that?”

“Oh my god, why am I dating you?”

“Because I have excellent taste in men?” Miles suggests, then, leaning so his mouth is close to Phoenix’s ear, he adds, “And because, in spite of having spent the better part of an hour looking at pictures of a rather handsome young man, I find I like the version I have here beside me much better? In fact, I happen to find him rather startlingly attractive.”

“…have I mentioned how blatantly unfair it is that you’ve turned out to be such a good flirt?” Phoenix grumbles, but he’s smiling.

“Well I am rather known for being good with words.” Miles turns so he can lightly knock foreheads with him. “What say we finish looking at these tomorrow? I find myself far too distracted by the present to properly focus on the past at the moment.”

Phoenix grins, brushes a kiss against his lips. “I say that I could live with that.”

“Mmm, good,” Miles closes the album, rises, then offers Phoenix a hand up, “Shall we?”

“Okay.” Phoenix accepts the offered aid, a small ‘ow, my back’ sound escaping from him as he does, stealing another kiss before turning to head for their bedroom. He only manages a few steps, however, before Miles tugs him to a stop, stepping forward to envelop him with both arms and wings.

“Phoenix?”

“Yeah?”

Miles can’t help smiling as he feels hands come up to cover his own where they rest on Phoenix’s chest. “I love you.”

A happy laugh, rich with the years it’s taken them to get to this moment, and Phoenix is leaning back in his arms to grin up at him. “Yeah, me too. I love you, too.”

Notes:

Trucy’s still calling Miles ‘Mr. Edgeworth’ in this because she’s holding out on changing it until he agrees to let her call him Papa. ;)

Golden eagles have the fifth-largest wingspan of all living eagle species today (a thing I didn't know when I made Miles one), and their minimum wingspan is 5.9 feet, maximum of 7.5 feet. That’s for a bird weighing a max of 15 pounds. Nearly all types of wings people can have allow them to fly in this universe, but Edgeworth’s especially are on the Very Big side of the scale. Visually, this looks quite impressive, but in practice it's quite inconvenient in modern society - even with his limitations, Phoenix's wings are actually more useful in the city than Miles's are.

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