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Looking at the book hurt his eyes. Letters had been getting fuzzier and fuzzier for years. Miles was getting sick of squinting, and was starting to understand why people always thought he was glaring at them.
The last Chief Prosecutor had seen Miles vying so hard for the seat that he stepped down and gave it to him. Still riding that pride, Miles went ahead and scheduled an appointment with an optometrist - quickly before his courage could fade. They confirmed what he already knew: Miles needed glasses.
He refused to dwell on it. Showed up at a glasses store and wandered around for a while, his prescription written on a little paper in his wallet, more concerned with the frames than the lenses. Again, he refused to dwell on it. He tried very hard not to let his hand be guided by what did or didn’t resemble his father’s glasses. He chose based on what he thought would look good with his coat.
He stuck on a pair and lifted his gaze to the mirror. He couldn’t get a good look at himself; the plastic lenses fogged, and what he saw of the face across from him was all too familiar. Miles took the pair off with a speed he hoped no one saw. He put the frames back and idled another few minutes before turning tail and going home.
He spent a day to himself.
Then he returned to the same store, stomach in knots and his heart racing. Again, he pushed down thoughts of his father and tried to pick what he thought would look nice on him, regardless of familiarity. He needed the choice to be his own.
He turned several pairs around in his hands, compared them to his suit and to the color of his hair - seeing himself and the glasses in the mirror, separate, and able to withstand it just fine. When he found a pair he liked he held them in a tight grip for quite some time. Then rapidly stuck them on his face.
They fogged no less than last time. He felt the same heat of tears, and saw the same reflection: his father’s face. Miles sometimes had trouble remembering what he looked like but when he saw himself with glasses on, they were unmistakably identical.
He ripped them off. Marched to the counter, and bought them with the proper prescription.
Monday, Miles put them on at the end of his morning routine and adjusted his rear view mirror so he wouldn’t catch a glimpse of himself. He went the day pushing thoughts to the back of his mind and focusing on what he was doing. He’d forget about them if he didn’t pay attention to them, Miles thought.
He came close to forgetting a handful of times, but most of the day his stomach felt tight, sick; he had to keep taking them off and cleaning them, had to adjust them, felt them pinching the bridge of his nose. And then the reminder made the glasses fog up and Miles had to take them off and wipe them again, and that reminded him, and that made them fog up again…
A few days of this, his discomfort had somewhat settled down. He took them off when he used the restroom to avoid the mirrors. He changed the topic when someone complimented his new look. He got better at not touching them by accident and smudging up the lenses.
He still couldn’t entirely forget that they were there. But he got close. They were there but he could pretend they didn’t bother him so much.
Miles was to meet with two friends of his. They had arrived before him.
He’d pushed down and denied for long enough by then, that he hadn’t anticipated what was about to happen until the moment he opened the door to join them - and that moment was long and agonizing. The sound of the door had never been so loud.
Badd clutched his heart and staggered back. Ray’s eyes glazed over with a relief and a catharsis that filled Miles with dread. Before he could take a step back, his uncle was right in his face, fawning quiet words Miles wasn’t in any state to comprehend. He saw over Ray’s shoulder, Badd staring like a deer in headlights - like he’d seen a ghost.
Miles winced when he felt Ray set his father’s hat on his head.
“...”
Ray’s smile waned. He took the hat off of Miles and put it back on himself.
They couldn’t get much of a conversation started. Badd seemed to realize the awkwardness he’d helped cause and tried to make up for it by giving the man some space. Ray asked Miles about the details of his prescription and why he chose the frames he did with a tone of haunted admiration. The trio broke up earlier than they’d planned, amicably and with murmured promises to see each other again soon. Miles became worried that any “soon” would be too soon.
For the next several days he stayed in his office as much as possible, and spoke with people through the door or over the phone whenever he could. He only kept the glasses on as much of the day as he did because taking them off meant realizing he had them on, and that meant a tempting opportunity to keep them off. His hands shook whenever he had to wipe the fog away. Holding back his tears was beginning to physically hurt.
Someone knocked at his door and he swallowed. Called, “Yes? Who is it?”
“Hey, Mr. Edgeworth!” Kay’s voice. “Can we come in?”
He hesitated. “Yes, go ahead. It’s unlocked.”
She pushed open the door and Sebastian followed her inside. He looked a little shy, nervous, despite how upbeat Kay appeared. Miles got the feeling she was putting on a face for him; Sebastian always had a harder time hiding how he felt than she did. He deduced they must’ve heard what happened from Badd. He braced himself to be dragged into a heartfelt talk he didn’t want to have.
Instead, Kay asked him if he’d finished that book he was reading.
He had (now that he could see the pages). Sebastian recommended him another one, and Kay had read something recently as well. The topic evolved over time, as topics do between friends, until they were gathered on the couch and Miles was smiling while he spoke with them.
When Kay stood up to leave after a good solid hour, she said, “You look good, by the way.”
Miles’s heart lurched. He turned his head aside, reached up to touch the temple of his glasses. “I quite dislike them myself…”
“Why’s that?”
“They pinch my nose, they smudge easily, they’re always falling off, they fog every time I do anything…”
“Oof, sorry to hear that. Looks-wise, though, they’re handsome.”
Miles paused. He murmured, hardly a whisper, “...You don’t think I look too much like my father…?”
Kay shrugged. Full volume, unfazed, “Never met ‘im, don’t know.”
He eyed her for quite some time. She beamed back at him, waved, and wished him a good rest of his day. She closed the door behind her. Left him staring at it with Sebastian across from him.
After some uncounted time, Miles turned his hazy attention to Sebastian, who stood up the moment he was back in sight.
Miles stood, assuming Sebastian was also going to say his goodbye - but before he could offer his hand to shake, Sebastian offered a handkerchief from his pocket. With some hesitance, Miles took it.
“Do you...do you want to talk…?” Sebastian’s voice was cracking. Miles’s was close to doing the same.
“No...thank you.”
That answer seemed to make Sebastian helpless. Miles realized - only after casually pocketing the handkerchief - that Sebastian was mirroring what Miles offered when the boy was upset. And he was running out of things to offer.
So when Sebastian offered a hug - the last thing Miles himself resorted to when Sebastian needed it - he took it. The glasses pressed uncomfortably against his skin when he put his face in his boy’s hair.
And when Miles heard Sebastian begin to sob, their roles switched around so easily, so routinely, to Miles holding and comforting Sebastian. It took a while for the boy to cry himself out and calm down. Miles was as patient with him as he always was.
When he could speak coherently again, he pulled away enough to do so. “‘M sorry, Mr. Edgeworth… I came here to comfort you, b-but I just made you comfort me…”
“You helped me more than you know.”
That seemed to baffle him a little. But Miles had said many wise, vague things in the past, and he took him at his word. He sniffled a last few times and they both wiped his cheeks. Then Sebastian said his quiet goodbye and Miles led him to the door.
Miles locked it behind him.
He turned for his desk. Sat down, handkerchief out, and settled in for a good, long cry.