Maybe World

Title: In the Flesh
Fandom: Ace Attorney
Characters: Nathan/Edgeworth
Word count:  440 words
Rating: PG
Warnings: Nope
Summary: Gymnophoria - The sensation that someone is mentally undressing you.
Notes: For the Tumblr vocabulary meme.

*

This wasn’t, Miles Edgeworth reminded himself, the first time he’d ever encountered a superhero, even if the other occasions had all involved accusations of murder, or the masked presence of Larry Butz.  And Nathan Seymour was here, and a witness to the crime, in his civilian capacity; it wasn’t like he’d be meeting Fire Emblem.  Or seeing the signature car, regrettably.  Most likely it never left Stern Bild.

No, this was just an ordinary interview with a witness, but Edgeworth still took advantage of the elevator ride to indulge in a moment’s giddiness, which was preferable to the way he usually spent elevator rides.

When the doors opened, he straightened his cravat, brushed himself off, shot his cuffs, and approached the office door, which to his surprise was propped open.  A moment later, as an acrid stench reached his nostrils, he understood why.  He must have grimaced, because when he met the eyes of the young woman sitting behind the desk outside the office door, she was smiling sympathetically.  “Opening the window didn’t help,” she said.  “We just have to let it air out.”

“I take it when Mr. Seymour ‘gave chase,’ it was less literal than I imagined.”  The police report had clearly erred on the side of discretion.

“Have you ever tried running in heels?”  There was only one person to whom that voice — deeper than Edgeworth had expected — could belong, an imposingly-built black man with close-cropped pink hair.  Nathan Seymour was, indeed, wearing heels, though he had to stand over six feet even without them.  

“I can’t say I’ve ever had the opportunity,” Edgeworth said, smiling slightly, as he took Seymour’s proffered, impeccably manicured hand.  The nails were nearly the same shade of fuchsia as Edgeworth’s own suit, as was the silky-looking, boat-neck shirt under Seymour’s dark suit jacket.  Without the Fire Emblem cowl, Seymour’s face was androgynously handsome, though the feminine cut of his clothes did nothing to minimize his powerful build.  His handshake was firm but not aggressive, and perfectly businesslike, but Edgeworth couldn’t shake a familiar sensation at the sight of the man’s broad smile.

“A cravat,” he said happily.  “I really like your style.  Come right in,” he added, standing aside to let Edgeworth through the door.  Which meant Seymour was standing behind him while Edgeworth surveyed the charred and dampened wreckage of what had once been a tastefully-appointed office, before superpowered pursuit and a sprinkler system intervened.

And the wreckage was extensive, so Seymour was standing back there for quite some time.