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Miles Edgeworth, a professional suit model of three years and eyewitness to the Neon Pink Bridesmaid Incident (which he refuses to ever talk about again), is only slightly beginning to regret his career choices.
The modelling industry is hectic, as a wise man once said, and it’s only fair that he’s currently mad about three (3) things that happen as soon as he walks through the door:
One: The leg of his pants catches in the frame of the door, nearly throwing him off-kilter.
Two: A bumbling intern, in his hurry to get his caffeinated, five foot two self to wherever the hell his next shoot is, almost spills red-hot coffee on Miles’ perfectly starched suit.
Three: His photographer and assistant, Maya Fey, bursts into the room, arms waving around wildly as she complains about the (rather obvious) absence of Miles’ partner.
“Maya,” Miles pinches his temples, “slow down for a minute. What’s going on?”
The photographer calms herself down, taking a deep breath, before quickly blurting, “The bride model’s unavailable currently, because she’s sick, and we have no replacements, I’m so sorry, Miles.”
“Oh. Why don’t we get one of the other photographers to fill in?” Miles suggests. “I mean, we have plenty, I’m sure one can be spared, just for a short while.”
“Right, uh,” Maya taps her pen on her clipboard, her normally bright and friendly features pulled into a dismayed expression. “I’ll have a little look and return in a minute, okay?”
Miles takes a seat, picking at the wrapper of one of the mini cupcakes put out at the boutique as he frowns and waits patiently for Maya, and hopefully another model, to return.
Not too long after, Maya bursts through the door, strands of hair beginning to fall out of her once perfectly coiffed half-bun.
“I found one,” she huffs, out of breath. “Miles, meet Nick, my metaphorical brother and other best friend, like, ever.”
A man walks out from behind Maya, sashaying to Miles and giving him a wave, and Miles’ brain instantly short-circuits from how good he looks.
“Uh,” he stumbles for words, “greetings…?” He waves a hand, unsure of how to refer to the (admittedly beautiful) person before him.
“Wright,” the man grins, reaching out a hand. Dimly, Miles shakes it. “Phoenix Wright. I’ll be the substitute for your model today.”
“Once again, my apologies, Wright, for having to bring you here on such short notice,” Miles gives him a weary smile. “Unfortunately, this circumstance was… unforeseeable, and thus, we required your assistance.”
“You know you don’t have to use such fancy words, right, pretty boy?” Phoenix raises an eyebrow, and oh, Miles will be done for if Phoenix keeps giving him that look. Silently, he thanks the Steel Samurai, and all things holy, that he hasn’t somehow burst out in a gay exclamation yet.
Miles nods, steeling himself as he inhales.
Thankfully, Miles steps in, shooing Phoenix towards the fitting room. “Okay, chop chop, Nick,” she waves him off, “get the dress fitted, and we’ll just snap some quick shots, alright?”
Over his shoulder, Phoenix shoots Maya a confident thumbs-up, and walks out to the dressing room.
As soon as he’s out, Maya turns to Miles, a catlike smirk on her face.
“So,” she begins, “you like him, don’t you.”
Miles groans.
Maya’s been with him for the entire three years he’s been in this hellscape of a job environment, helping him through the highs and lows and sharing his concerning passion for the Steel Samurai, and he trusts her enough, so he nods.
“Come on, Miles, it’s not that bad,” she pats his shoulder gently. “I mean, it could’ve gone worse. You could’ve talked about calamari like I did with Franzi, once.”
“She’s your girlfriend.”
“Not the point. Besides, he looks like he’s into you too,” she teases, watching Miles’ face turn an almost embarrassing shade of red.
Thankfully, his little ordeal is interrupted by Phoenix walking out of the fitting room, but as Phoenix gingerly takes a step forward, Miles feels his jaw slack slightly.
Who'd have known Phoenix Wright could perfectly pull off a burgundy wedding gown?
The dress, a beautiful, sleeveless garment, cinches around Phoenix’s waist rather snugly, flowers embroidered on the top half. From the hips, a lacy material puffs out, forming a light, bouncy train, and butterflies dot the bottom. The workmanship is supreme, Miles admits, but seeing Phoenix in it is the icing on the cake.
Miles feels his mouth go dry, and he clears his throat.
Burgundy really is Phoenix's colour, somehow. Well, at least one of them that looks really, really good on him.
Miles is so dead.
“So, we ready for the photoshoot?” Maya sets up the tripod. “Lights, camera, action!”
“Maya, you know that’s not the line,” Miles sighs.
“Let me have my moment, Peepaw,” she sticks out her tongue. “So, we’ll just begin with some candid shots, okay?”
Easy enough, Miles thinks to himself, positioning himself next to Phoenix, and oh god, did they apply makeup to his face? Surely enough, his eyelids are dusted with a glittery red eyeshadow, his cheekbones are highlighted and contoured, and his lips look so, so soft.
All in all, Miles really wants to kiss him.
Maya claps, snapping Miles out of his stupor. “Okay, now I want you,” she points to Miles, “to hold Nick around the waist, and… smile!”
Screw it when he said he trusted Maya.
He meets her evil, gremlin-like, shit-eating grin, giving her the best silent glare he can.
“Come on, we’re Smiles Edgeworth, not Miles Edgeworth!” she giggles, and oh, she’s having so much fun, isn’t she.
Miles cooperates reluctantly, wrapping an arm around Phoenix's waist as he bites the inside of his cheek, and Maya takes a few more shots, before closing up the tripod, uploading the images to a backup drive.
“You did great today!” she beams, pulling Miles and Phoenix into a hug, before walking off, no doubt to consult Franziska and possibly gossip in the process.
“So,” Miles begins eloquently. “Uh.”
Phoenix smiles almost knowingly, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand, and wait, is his face red, too? “Today was… today was great, yeah. I, uh, I had fun?”
“Likewise,” Miles stares at the ground, not daring to meet Phoenix’s eyes in fear of the blush dusting his own cheeks. “I enjoyed it. You should, uh, you should try modelling again sometime. You’re, you’re quite skilled at it, I suppose.”
“Oh, is that an offer I hear?” Phoenix grins almost devilishly, shifting slightly as he looks for something, and Miles’ face reddens further.
“Shut up, Wright,” Miles mumbles.
“I’m sorry, what was that again?”
“I said, shut up, Wright.”
“Wright, then,” Phoenix jokes, and Miles groans at the pun. “I’ll see you around?” He grabs Miles’ hand gently, slipping something into it as he turns to leave. “Bye, Miles.”
“Take care, Wr- Phoenix.”
When Miles sees Phoenix’s phone number on the card in his hand, he blushes to himself, tucking it carefully into the pocket near his heart.