Hey everyone! This is just a less than five-hundred word snapshot I wrote during a break at school, one day. I like it well enough to put it up and see what other people think about it; I really am a sucker for this game series.
These lovely characters belong to CAPCOM.
Summary: In spite of Miles' protestation, Phoenix is convinced of Miles' need for his coat.
Miles was glad to finally be going – somehow he had managed to wake up five minutes late, which, in a domino-like effect, had caused him to leave a quarter of an hour early as opposed to his usual half. A bad start, if you asked him.
His hand had been on the doorknob, his other clutching his briefcase, before he was interrupted.
Miles turned back around to face what was, essentially, the cause of his tardiness.
"You're going now?"
Miles looked down habitually to his watch, and his brow furrowed.
"Yes, Wright, I am. I should have left a quarter of an hour ago."
'Wright' grinned and rolled his eyes. "You aren't going to be late, you k-"
"Don't," warned Miles, raising an eyebrow at him before turning back to the door.
The latch had almost gave way before Phoenix spoke again.
"It's rather cold out there, you know," commented he, thoughtfully.
"I'll be fine," shortly replied Miles.
"Are you sure? Why don't you take your coat?"
"Believe me, Phoenix, I will be just fine. Let me leave in peace, why don't you?"
"I really think you should take the coat," pressed the defense.
"And I really think you are being unnecessarily bothersome," retorted the prosecution.
"Come now," Phoenix said in an irritatingly soothing way. "Just take the coat."
"No." Miles couldn't have been more direct.
"Here, I'll take your briefcase," instructed Phoenix, while relieving Miles of the bag, "and get your coat for you."
Miles had half a mind to simply take the case back and fly, but something, resignation perhaps, kept him from doing so.
Damn that man.
"Alright," Phoenix said, emerging from the hall closet with the coat in his hands. He held it out, and Miles slipped his arms in to it, shrugging it on to his shoulders. Phoenix turned him around and helped himself to buttoning Miles in.
"There you go," Phoenix exclaimed happily, to which Miles rolled his eyes and had to try very hard not to groan.
"Thank you, Phoenix."
"Anytime," was his chipper reply.
Miles had one foot out the door before he was forced to turn back around.
"Need a scarf?" Miles was positive he heard a snarky edge in his tone.
"Good day, Wright," replied Miles, forcefully.
Phoenix simply laughed.
As Miles pulled out on to the streets, he realized begrudgingly that a scarf would not have been a bad addition to his wardrobe.
He had been on the freeway for fifteen minutes before something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. It looked like the end of a long, thin something peeking out the top of his briefcase.
Miles simply smiled.