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"Wipe that imbecilic grin off your face, Wright," Miles spits, layering tones of disdain and disapproval over bemusement. He double-clicks his remote car key to make sure it's locked before walking around to meet his two companions.
"I've been waiting for this day forever, Miles, you're not going to take it from me. On this day, THIS DAY, Miles Edgeworth admits that he is not perfect, and takes responsibility for said imperfection." Phoenix's smile grows wider, if that's even possible, and his eyes shine with the unequivocal gleam of a man whose wildest dreams are coming true. He bounces exuberantly down the sidewalk as Miles huffs, rolls his eyes, and follows.
"Here we are!!!" Kay sings in front of the glass door. "I'm PUMPED. Are you ready, Mr. Edgeworth?"
"It's merely an eye exam, you fools." Miles catches a glimpse of their momentary tableau in the door's reflection: Miles, tense yet resigned in a maroon button-down (buttoned all the way up to the collar – he's not a heathen) and black jeans; Phoenix's endless, open smile framed in deep dimples, above which blue-brown eyes shamelessly ogle Miles (bringing a splash of pink to Miles' cheeks), the sleeves of his wrinkly white button-down already pushed up past his elbows, his right hand excitedly grasping Miles' forearm; and Kay, in front of them, her head turned to Miles such that the reflection captures only the energetic swing of wavy, black hair, and bright shimmers from her hair key and Yatagarasu pin above her customary Great Thief uniform.
"Fools you chose to accompany you on this grand errand," Kay retorts, echoing Miles' own thoughts (sans his inner sigh). "Also, spending a little too much time with Franziska, perhaps?" She smirks, raises an eyebrow, and pushes the door open, angling and distorting their reflection in the glass.
"He meets up with her for lunch by the courthouse nearly twice a week," Phoenix offers as they stroll into the optometrist office-cum-sales space, shivering in the sudden air conditioning. "I'm starting to think he actually likes being whipped." Kay titters gleefully at Miles' side-eye.
"I'm simply an excellent brother, Phoenix, as I excel in all the relationships in which I choose to engage," Miles replies smoothly. "Also, I was told to invite someone to accompany me, as my eyes will be artificially dilated during the course of the exam. I am merely following the instructions of a medical professional." He idly rubs a welt on his upper arm (he took too long to read a restaurant menu last Tuesday) and glances around the empty shop.
"Helloooo! Is there anyone here?" Kay calls.
They hear an alarming crash from a back room before the emergence of a tall, loud, and regrettably familiar man into the sales space.
"Laurice Deaunym!” The man announces himself, at a volume typically reserved for trying to converse over waterfalls. “Eye” (he points to his eye for emphasis) “am at your service! -- OOOOOOH! EDGEY! NICK! KAY!"
"That's it, we're leaving." Miles makes an 180-degree pivot and starts walking toward the door.
Phoenix swiftly stretches out and grabs him by the wrist. "Nope, no, you don't, Miles Atticus Edgeworth. This has been too long coming. We're not leaving now." He cocks his head to the side (adorably, Miles notes with annoyance). Miles cringes at Kay's piercing squeal ("Your middle name is Atticus?!") and sighs, easily defeated by the touch of that infuriating, determined man. He should have known better than to trust Phoenix Wright with his middle name. And his car keys. And his heart. Miles regrets nothing, except maybe the car keys (wait, crap, does Phoenix even have a license?! Does Kay?! Miles makes a mental note that they'll be taking a cab home instead). He swivels back to face Larry.
"Aww, Edgey, you don't want to see me???" Larry pouts, an expression entirely unbecoming of a grown adult.
"Of course he wants to see you!" Phoenix cuts Miles a look, as if to say This is How Social Skills Work. "Actually, he'd like to see anything but blurry shapes. His eyesight is hopeless and we finally got him to schedule an eye exam."
Larry brightens. "Well, you're in the right place!"
"Wait... why are you working in an optometrist office?" asks Miles warily.
"Aren't you a widely successful picture book author, Laurice?" Kay asks, resting her hand below her chin in thought. "What are you doing in a place like this?"
"Yep, yep, my books are selling like hotcakes! I'm just helping out my cousin, y'know, chipping in out of the goodness of my heart and whatnot," Larry answers shiftily, and Miles, spying Phoenix cover his face with his hand in knowing irritation, can almost hear the psyche-lock crash into place.
A lanky woman, framed in curtains of deep brown hair that sweep to her knees, stalks out of another back room. "Larry! Do we have to go through the difference between working hard and hardly working again?" Larry cows as she adds, "I doubt I'll find the time to give you Lola's number if I need to do inventory myself."
"Awww, Corey, don't be mad, I was just greeting customers!" Larry's eyes swell with tears. "Please, please- Lola-"
"I distinctly heard a ruckus coming from the storage room. If I go in there, will I see perfect stacks of glasses cases? Or will I see a pile on the floor?"
"A... a... perfect stack. For sure." Larry replies sketchily. His bluffing skills rival Phoenix's piano playing. "Oh, what's that? I think I hear a phone ringing! Don't worry, I'll get it, Corey!" He hurries into the back amid tell-tale quiet.
The woman wipes her brow in irritation. "He is never getting that number," she mutters under her breath and turns to the trio.
"Hello, I'm Dr. Cornelia Butz-Keller," she says sharply, extending a hand. "Do you have an appointment?"
"We sure do!" Kay answers with an enthusiastic handshake. "Well-" She pokes Miles. "He does."
"My name is Miles Edgeworth. I scheduled a 1:30pm appointment for an eye exam via your online tool and called to confirm this morning."
"Ah, yes, I recall. Why don't you have a look around the shop and see if there are any frames you like? It's easier to see now than after the exam. Just let me know if there's anything you want to try on."
"Alright, thank you," Miles says, looking around at the hundreds of glasses frames displayed in vertical columns along the walls. Dr. Butz-Keller sits down at a desk on the other side of the store, shifting paperwork, and Kay meanders. Miles, a bit overwhelmed at the abundance of options, turns to look at Phoenix, whose dimples are deepening in an inappropriately wanton grin.
"What do you think, Miles, sexy librarian style?"
Good grief. "Wright, we're in public."
"Don't ruin this for me."
"Ah, because my eye exam is about you."
"Well, I'm the one who has to look at you all day."
"Has to? If it's such an imposition, do tell, why did I awaken at 5am this morning to find you staring at me? Surely no outer force compelled you to such gawping."
"You look cute when you drool."
Miles' cheeks burn slightly and he checks to make sure Dr. Butz-Keller isn't subjected to this sentimental drivel. She's distant enough. "We have a task, Wright. Let's find something and make this visit as quick as possible."
"I found A LOT of frames that could work, Mr. Edgeworth!" Kay's arms contain an alarming heap of plastic and wire.
"Nngh! Kay, put those back! How will we remember where they came from? I can't possibly try all those on!"
"There's no one else here, Mr. Edgeworth! It's like when you're in an ice cream store and there's no one behind you, so you can taste test all the flavors, one by one." Kay sighs dreamily and then perks up. "Ooh – can we get ice cream after this?"
Miles sends silent thoughts and prayers to ice cream clerks throughout Greater Los Angeles.
"Yes, of course we can, Kay!" Phoenix answers, with all the cheer and generosity of a man who knows someone else is paying.
"Can we just focus on what we came here to do, please?" Miles pleads.
"Of course, dear," Phoenix reassures, laying his hand softly on Miles' shoulder. "Why don't we start by looking at what Kay has picked out?"
Kay delicately rests the pile of classes on top of a grey desk (Dr. Butz-Keller looks somewhat nettled but says nothing, bless her) and pulls the chair out. "Mr. Edgeworth, your seat, good sir," the young thief demonstrates with a theatrical flourish.
Miles scoffs but sits down. His eyes move over the frames as Kay lays them out on the table.
"Try color first, Miles." Phoenix is half-leaning on the desk, with his hand on Miles' left shoulder. "Something out of your comfort zone."
"Er-" Miles starts, hovering his hand over the selection. He chooses clear frames with a dark pink tint and slides them onto his nose. "What do you think?"
"I love them," Kay breathes.
"You love everything," Miles retorts.
"You look very... high style," Phoenix says thoughtfully. "A young Portland hipster, whose most common hobbies are sipping espresso and posting pictures of themselves reading on Instagram. He probably wears velvet slippers but lives in a studio apartment."
"This isn't a wine tasting, Wright. Or a film review."
"I'm conjuring an image of the vibe you give off! Isn’t it helpful?"
"Hmph." Yes, it is, Miles admits. He removes them and pointedly avoids mentioning his own maroon velvet slippers. "What about something subtle, almost like I'm not wearing glasses at all?" He catches Phoenix in his side-view, rolling his eyes, as he slides on a pair of frame-less glasses.
"Ugh, way to be boring," Kay pouts.
"You can pretend all you want, Miles, but you'll be nearsighted regardless. You're getting old, it's a fact," Phoenix lectures.
"You're the same age as me."
"And yet, my eyes are Franziska-von-Karma-perfect," he grins, infuriatingly. "Plus, um, I think you'd look hot in glasses."
"Oh... do you, now?" Miles raises his eyebrows at Phoenix.
"Okay, gross, DAD," Kay interrupts. "Save it for your after-ice-cream private canoodling. What about these?" She hands him a pair of black, thick-rimmed glasses, like something a journalist would wear in the 1960s.
His breath hitches as he slides them on and looks in the small mirror. Not a journalist... a lawyer.
"You look," Kay fidgets a bit, unsure how Miles will react to what she's about to say, "a lot... like your dad."
She's right. He breathes deeply and feels unbidden tears well up at the corners of his eyes. Visions of his father, arguing in court, helping him with his homework, making pancakes in the morning, flash before him. The good memories. He blocks out the rest.
"You're okay," Phoenix murmurs. "They look... really handsome on you." He kneels down so he's at Miles' level and kisses his left shoulder.
"I'm fine." Miles takes another breath. And another. The emotion recedes, a bit. "I'm fine." He thinks wryly of Apollo Justice as he says it, and this thought helps him detach from the wave of grief. "I'm fine, but I don't think these are the right ones... for me."
He looks, lost, at the remaining frames arranged on the table. The overwhelm hits again. And, because of course--
"DUDE! Edgey! I found these frames in the back and I thought they would be perfect for you!" Larry explodes back into the room. Miles cringes at the sudden cacophony of sound.
"LARRY!" Dr. Butz-Keller thunders. "For the sixth time this week: Do. Not. Disturb. The. Customers." She storms over to their desk. Miles distantly remembers that it’s only Tuesday and has renewed appreciation for Dr. Butz-Keller’s wherewithal.
"Awww, Corey, I'm helping!" Larry wails. "Look, I found the perfect frames for Edgey!" Dr. Butz-Keller glowers, about to respond, but Miles surprises himself with uncharacteristic charity--
"It's fine, Doctor. I'll try them."
"Oooh, I know you'll love them!" Larry bounds over to their table. It's not like Miles has a better plan at this point, and maybe Larry actually did find something – he does have an aesthetic sensibility (of a sort) and he's one of Miles' oldest annoyances. Or friends. Or something.
Without glancing at them, Miles takes the frames from Larry's hands and slides them on.
"They're... they're perfect," Phoenix says, with something like awe.
Miles leans closer to the mirror. The top echoes the dark, thick frame of his father's glasses, while the bottom is left frame-less, simple and clean. He turns to Phoenix and wonders if, when he wears the right prescription, he'll be able to see his partner's face in higher definition: Phoenix's glorious dimples, those temporary architectures of joy, present since childhood. The brow furrow the man developed as a father. Creases from squinting over case files late at night. Crinkles from relentless smiles, knowing smirks, grins constructed entirely on an incurable addiction to trust and truth. Yet-to-form folds and wrinkles that will emerge as they spend the rest of their lives together.
Miles allows himself a moment of public sentimentality and lightly curls his fingers under Phoenix’s chin, his thumb reverently tracing the curve of the man’s jaw, his cheek, his laugh lines re-kneaded by an earnest smile. Miles wants to see all of him, in intricate and exhaustive detail. He wants to catalog every crease as evidence that they lived and loved each other, from their weighty, labyrinthine past to the unpredictable, promising, deliciously imperfect future.
Miles takes the glasses frames off and balances them in his fingers.
"I'll take them," he says simply.
He doesn't even mind (much) when Kay invites Larry to ice cream afterwards.