Sentinel {WrightWorth}

Chapter 3: Ad Libitum

The bleak, winter sun hit his closed eyes come morning, barely filtered through the thin curtains, fluttering his lids open with a small groan. Slipping a hand out from beneath the covers, he made to reach for his watch he'd left on the bedside table, to check the time.

                His hand fell short, though, once he noticed the firm grasp around his mid section. Blinking a few times, Miles peered down, then over his shoulder. Just hidden under the covers, he could see a patch of spiky hair, nestled right up against his back, a face buried between his shoulder blades.

                Before he did anything else, he sniffed the air, shifting a bit. Well, it didn't smell or feel like there was vomit in the bed like he'd been fearing. He gave out a sigh of relief, his head flopping back onto the pillows.

                Phoenix was dead asleep, not moving an inch when Miles brought his hands down to peel his arms away from his waist. He wasn't one to sleep in, and he didn't quite want to be there in that position any longer.

                It was early, seven A.M., and he couldn't hear any activity out in the hallway, peering out the window and down at the city below. People going to work and their other duties were already up, traffic as thick as ever in the heart of the city. He shuddered lightly, a flush of unease running through him realizing how high up they were.

                Stepping away, he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, holding the back of his neck as his eyes wandered to Phoenix. Bundled up in the covers, not covered in blood and dirt, he almost seemed like what Edgeworth remembered, the few times they'd been close coming to mind before he pushed them back.

                Had he the willpower, he wouldn't have let himself think of the current situation in too much detail whatsoever, but, in the quiet cadence of the room, with Phoenix asleep, he couldn't help it.

                Getting dressed in a simple shirt, sweater and slacks, he cleaned himself up in the bathroom, his hands clasping around the edge of the basin as he gave the tub a sidelong glance. There were remnants of blood stuck to the porcelain, flecks of mud left on the tiles beneath his feet. If Phoenix still wasn't there, he mightn't have believed anything happened at all. He might've been more content that way.

                Sighing, he stepped back out, taking the hotel room's phone off the hook and bringing it to his ear. He spoke in a hushed voice as he ordered scant room service; simply a brewed tea pot and cups. He didn't want to wake Phoenix up. He'd little desire to talk to him at that point.

                Hanging the phone up, his hand lingered there. He still didn't know why he was so angry at him. He didn't know the details, didn't even know what he could blame Wright for, and yet it was eating him up inside.

                The room service was prompt, gently knocking on his door and handing off the tray. Edgeworth said his thanks, shutting the door behind them. He didn't want anyone else to see Phoenix in that state, either. Placing the silver tray on the small table of the room, situated by the window with two comfortable recliners beside it, he sat himself down in one of them.

                He took the pot in hand, pouring the tea out into one of the cups, adding his desired milk and sugar. Sitting back, he took a sip, trying to keep his eyes and mind elsewhere, but ultimately, both wandered back to Phoenix.

                Phoenix was a mild train wreck before this, blessed only with that of luck. Now he wasn't so sure, his bottom lip resting on the rim of the cup. Why was he in a dirty alleyway, reeking of cheap alcohol, words slurred with bloodshot eyes and chipped nails? Outside of investigation, he assumed Wright would be scared to even step foot in a place like that.