A/N: First time writing Phoenix Wright fanfic… I really like this couple, for some reason. Don't expect follow ups or anything – it's a moment in time sort of fanfic, and definitely a one shot.

Enjoy, hopefully! Any kind of comments are welcome.

She has work of her own to be getting on with, but tonight Mia is distracted. And the reason is sitting on the other end of the sofa from her, quietly absorbing the words of her textbook in complete silence save for the occasional scratch of pages as Lana Skye turns them.

Mia peers surreptitiously over the top of her own book and surveys Lana - only surveying, scrutinising for the sake of curiousity, as she rarely gets time to just look at the older woman who looks to be the epitome of perfection right now.

However, one thing is out of place. A strand of brown hair dangles in front of Lana's face, buffeted by the woman's breath as she exhales steadily. Mia finds herself drawn to the motion, watching the back, forth, back, forth movement. Is it creepy, wonders Mia, to watch your friend read and be so fascinated by even tiny things like that? However, Lana won't notice either way. Her attention is solely on the book in front of her.

Mia keeps her gaze level, focusing mainly on Lana's face. Any lower and her surveying will become less of a 'gaze' as an 'outright stare'. It seems wrong somehow to be leering at Lana, with her elegant posture, delicate fingers wrapped around the edges of her book and the small frown of concentration on her face. Her modest, unrevealing clothes are immaculately clean and tidy, and any untoward looks make Mia feel like they're a blemish.

Lana's clothes are a far cry from Mia's get up, which has her rearranging her legs every few minutes to stop her skirt riding up too much. The muffler around her neck is only half on, looped casually around her shoulders. One end is between her fingers, being idly stroked as Mia finds herself wishing it was Lana's hair.

A clatter from somewhere behind Mia interrupts both their concentrations; Lana's head shoots up, and Mia doesn't quite react quickly enough. By the time Lana has concluded that the noise was caused by someone dropping a book, she notices Mia, still watching Lana over the top of her book. And the awe filled expression on her face - which has since been cleared to a far more neutral one – but not fast enough for Lana to have missed it.

Mia smiles, hoping to reassure the other woman and prevent any questions. Lana smiles back hesitantly, looking confused now. The silence stretches on between them. A slight crease in her brow marks Lana's characteristic frown (the same one focused on her book a few minutes ago) despite her smile. She holds Mia's stare until the younger brunette breaks off and moves so she's no longer facing Lana and instead has her back against the sofa's, legs curled beneath her.

'Are you –' begins Lana, but her voice catches in her throat. Lana clears it with a soft 'ahem' that echoes too loudly in the small space they're in. 'Are you alright, Mia?'

Mia nods without really taking in what's being said, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the bookcase opposite rather than Lana. She hears the sound of a book being put down, and feels the sofa shift as Lana moves closer – but what makes her almost jump off the sofa is the feel of a hand on hers.

Lana rarely initiates contact. Yet now, her hand – soft, warm, and maybe a little damp – covers Mia's slightly smaller one. She can feel the heat of the touch.

'Mia?' There's a touch of anxiety in Lana's voice this time, leading Mia to risk a glance at the other woman's face. She soon wishes she hadn't, for Lana looks endearingly concerned, and the tenderness sets off a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach…

'I – I just have a lot on my mind, that's all,' Mia says, trying to sound at least a little reassuring. 'Don't worry about me.'

A sceptical look - Lana doesn't buy it.

Mia didn't expect her to, after all, but what else could she say? She finds her gaze slipping sideways; the strand of hair has fallen again. Mia's eyes trace the length of it, framing the angular face across from her. It looks soft – softer than the muffler still wrapped around her other hand - and Mia longs to reach out and touch it.

Lana seems to know where she is looking and self-consciously raises a hand to move it away. Before she can, though, Mia has batted it away and tucks it away herself.

Lana seems surprised but not particularly bothered; inwardly though, Mia curses her body's unrestrained behaviour and fully intends to return her hand back to her own lap after one example of impulsiveness. But her hand has a mind of its own, moving to cup Lana's cheek and feel the angles she had just been exploring with her eyes.

The muscle is warm, and live, convulsing as Lana swallows reflexively. Now she looks a little bothered, a mixture of confusion and anxiety and … and maybe longing?

Wishful thinking.

She can feel the thumping of Lana's pulse against the backs of the splayed fingers of her left hand. Or is it her own? Mia suspects it might be, for the beating seems perfectly in time with that which she feels inside her own chest – quickening when Lana's breath hits the bare skin of her palm, even more so when Lana's expression twists, and she turns her frown on Mia. It's the calculating, intense expression of a puzzle being picked apart, analysed, and finally solved.

Mia waits, and watches nervously as the realisation appears on the other brunette's face. The minute widening of eyes, a barely audible intake of air. For a moment, it's all that they are, brown eyes on blue, connected by the sensation of skin on skin.

And then, Lana moves. Not quite a recoil, but a twitch Mia would not have registered had her hand not been pressed so hotly against Lana's cheek. Her eyes break contact with Mia's. The slow bubbling heat that had been rising in her stomach solidifies and settles into a heavy, painful lump.

The twitch tells Mia all she needs to know. With reluctant, weighted fingers, she removes her hand from Lana's cheek.

Lana seems to regain herself slightly, as though waking from a daydream. She licks her lips nervously, and opens her mouth as though to say something – then thinks better of it. Her expression turns more impassive and her attention falls back down to her textbooks.

Now, Mia is back to watching Lana. Her hair is now tucked behind her ears, so there is no out of place strand blowing about in front of Lana's face now. She looks in perfect order, as before. Except, perhaps, that her cheeks have a faint blush about them.

Mia thinks she knows why. Lana's hand still rests upon Mia's.

A/N: So... bad? Good? Let me know.