Chapter 3: In Which Phoenix Wright Has Complicated Feelings

What I'm going to wear, it turns out, is the burning question on my mind tonight. I'm beginning to regret not having Maya around to give me a second opinion. Look, it's not about impressing Miles. It's about meeting him on equal footing. I refuse to let him see me in a shambles again. Except I never told him where we'd be going tonight, and if he's expecting a Michelin starred restaurant, I am in trouble in more ways than one.

In the end I settle for a nice shirt, sans tie, and it's a relief when Miles turns up similarly dressed. It's hard to ask someone to lose their cravat without them taking it the wrong way. Even so, when I catch him adjusting the cuff of his sleeve under the streetlamps outside my apartment, there's a split second of regret that this isn't an actual date. What can I say? The man looks good, and as he looks up with a hesitant smile I actually feel my cheeks growing warm.

"Evening," he says, a greeting I return in a voice that is only slightly strained. Yeah, I need to get my lonely ass on a dating app, stat.

Be professional, I remind myself, just as he starts to reach for the passenger-side door, hesitates, then seems to think better of it and hurries around to his own side of the car.
Was he… was he about to open the door for me? As if we're going to a high school dance? I really don't know what to do with that. There are probably a million reasons why he shouldn't - and didn't - and maybe it's wrong of me to be disappointed, you know, being the strong independent bisexual man I am, but- oh god, I'm still standing on the street like an idiot, aren't I?

I open the door and climb in, looking anywhere but at Miles. The car is filled with soft reggaeton and woody cologne, which does nothing to settle the bizarre case of nerves I've suddenly found myself with. He's everywhere at once, and the fact I don't hate it is… disconcerting.

"So, I have to ask…" Miles says softly, and despite myself, my breath hitches in my throat. "...where are we going?"

Oh, right. "That depends. Do you want to go somewhere fancy? Or do you want to taste the best goddamned food you'll ever have in your life?" I won't lie; I'm kind of banking on him taking that as the challenge it so obviously is. Mr. Shibata's hourly rate aside, I am still thoroughly broke.

"Big words, Wright," says Miles. "I should warn you, I lived in Europe for five years."

"Well then, imagine how pissed you're going to be to discover the best food in the world is a couple of blocks from your office?"

Here's the thing, the Miles I knew from school would never back down from a challenge to his preconceptions, if only to prove me spectacularly wrong. Which, admittedly, is the way it usually went. I get it, people change, but I never really got over the shock of seeing him in person after so many years and wondering where that inquisitive kid had gone. So it's not only relief for my wallet I feel when he lets out a scoff of a laugh and dips his head in assent.

"Alright then. Surprise me."

Mission accepted. Dutifully following my muddled directions (except when he ignores me to avoid running over pedestrians), Miles drives us through Little Nihon to a smaller neighborhood nestled on its eastern side. The moment I spot the familiar neon sign I'm looking for, I grin and order him to pull over.

"Here?" Miles says, puzzled, but I give him an enigmatic wink, already climbing out of the car into the cool evening air.

"Be right back," I tell him, shutting the door before he can demand answers.

Before long I return, with a big grin and my arms laden with goodies. I deposit them in the back seat and climb in, cheeks flushed with satisfaction.

"It's takeout," says Miles, a question in his voice.

"This isn't just takeout, trust me. And this is where the second part of my cunning plan kicks in. We need to hit the freeway." He's staring at me. "Hurry up, before dinner gets cold!" I've stacked the containers in a pile in the hopes they'll keep each other warm, but still.

Fifteen minutes later, we're sitting on the bonnet of Miles' car and eating the best Korean barbeque this side of the Pacific. LA being LA, there are no stars to speak of, but the lights of Santa Monica pier more than make up for that. Am I good, or am I good?

"Admit it," I say, breaking the companionable silence.

Miles shots me a sideways glance. "Admit what?"

"That you've never had food this amazing!"

He utters a quiet laugh, a sound that sends a hook into my chest and gives it a hearty tug. "Your arrogance is astonishing." He sobers, looking contemplatively down at his food. "But, yes. I've never had anything quite like this." Oh, sweet summer child. I know a Lebanese place that's gonna blow his mind - assuming I ever get the opportunity to take him there. Don't get ahead of yourself, Phoenix.

"What was Europe like, anyway? Knowing you, you spent the whole five years visiting galleries and watching the opera."

Miles looks sad. "Not really. To be honest, I didn't get to see much of it. Most of the time I was working for Mr. Von Karma in Berlin."

Ugh, that miserable bastard. Honestly, I'd forgotten he existed, which is more than he deserves. I take a second to feel smug that he's rotting in prison. "Seriously? He didn't give you any time off?"

"We took a trip to Prague once, when he took a case there. And we had a week in Brussels. But he didn't believe in unnecessary vacations. If I took a day off, he'd work me twice as hard for a week afterward. So I gave up on going sightseeing. I'd have burned out otherwise."

"So you spent five years of your life just… working? And nothing else?" I don't even try to disguise the horror in my voice.

Miles shrugs. "That's the price you have to pay, if you want to be the best. You have to make… sacrifices." He sounds as if he's reciting from a script, the words empty, and that tug on my heart has turned into a dull ache. I'm so angry at Manfred Von Karma that it physically hurts, to imagine that someone could take a boy like Miles and squeeze all the curiosity and joy out of him.

Crap, now I'm scowling, and Miles has noticed.

"I'm sorry," he says, forcing a smile. "I didn't mean to kill the mood."

"Oh, no-" I almost drop my dinner as my body gives a jerk. "-you haven't. Don't apologize!" But the words are coming out harsher than they should, and I have to stop myself as he draws away, eyes widening. "It's just… you deserved better. You deserve to be happy." My gaze drops to the container sitting on my lap, and I stuff a forkful of Bulgogi into my mouth before I can wedge my foot any further in there.

The fallout of that is an unbearably awkward silence, until Miles says quietly, "Is that what all this is about?" I glance up, and he pointedly eyes the piled-up cartons between us.

"What?" I say, caught off guard with my mouth full. I have no idea what the right answer to that is, but the way he's looking at me expectantly means I have to say something. I chew more slowly to buy myself some time.

"No," I tell him cautiously. "I…" ' missed you', is the way that sentence ends, but I stop myself, because yikes. "...couldn't let you go on not knowing how freakin' awesome Korean barbeque is," I say instead. "Seriously, it's borderline criminal."

Miles lets out a breathy sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. At first I thought it was a sound of annoyance, but I've gotten used to hearing it. I'm still not sure how to read it, but it's not a bad thing. I think.

"It appears the evidence would agree with you. Though - Phoenix?" He catches my eye. "Maybe warn me next time you decide to go outdoor dining in February? I'd have brought a blanket."

Aaand I'm reduced to a man-shaped bundle of nerves again. A blanket? Singular? It's a good thing the light is so dim out here, because I'm sure my cheeks are turning the same shade of red as his car.

I thank my lucky stars Maya isn't here, because hoo boy would she get the wrong idea.

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Santa Monica Pier isn't nearly as packed as it will be come spring, but there is a dedicated crowd hanging out, determined to party. Miles and I take a stroll to stretch our legs, weaving our way through groups of people amidst the whirl of neon lights and clashing music from the bars and performers all around us. A kid runs in front of us, almost clocking me in the face with the koi-shaped balloon trailing behind her. Maya would love it here.

We stop to watch a Taiko performance, leaning against the railing with the ocean breeze at our backs. Despite the cool night air the drummers still manage to work up a sweat. I'm trying to appreciate the artistry, but I'm extremely aware of the light pressure of Miles' shoulder against mine, the elegant angle of his crossed ankles. We're overdressed compared to everyone else, but he wears it well. I can't even hold it against him anymore. Even so, I find myself rolling up my sleeves just so I have something to do with my hands. I sense eyes on me and turn my head in time to see Miles' gaze dart away. Warmth pools in the pit of my chest. Stupid, I know, but it's nice to not be the one staring, for once.

Then I feel his breath in my ear and almost jump a mile. "W-What?" I stammer, once I've calmed down enough to realize he was trying to tell me something.

He gives me an apologetic look. "I'll be back in a minute."

I nod and wave him off, my heart still pounding. What the hell has gotten into me tonight? I turn and lean over the railing and take a few deep breaths of salty air, willing away the burning in my cheeks. Maybe I'm coming down with a fever. That would explain a lot.

The Taiko drummers take a break, and the crowd wanders off to find some other entertainment. There are a lot of questions percolating in my head, but I can't put the words to them. I feel… brittle. Like if I examine my thoughts too closely, I'll see the cracks that threaten to make me fall apart. That's not what tonight is about, so I distract myself instead by watching the lights of the Pacific Wheel blink and flash as bassy music thuds in the distance.

I hear Miles before I see him as he joins me at the railing, fingertips brushing mine as he presses a paper cup into my hand. The scent of familiar spices reaches my nose and I inhale deeply, face splitting in a grin.

"Chai," I say, raising my cup in a gesture of thanks. "Not a dirty one, either."

"God forbid." Miles pulls a face of disgust, but settles in beside me nonetheless.

"You know," he muses, tilting his head towards me. His eyes catch the light of the overhead lanterns, and I notice they're not solid gray after all. They're flecked with amber, like little flakes of gold dust. "This was one of your better ideas."

"Well, you know what they say. Keep your rivals close, right?"

I hadn't realized how close we were standing until Miles draws back slightly, a barely-visible crease appearing between his eyebrows.
"Right," he says. He pauses, as if he's on the verge of saying something else, then seems to change his mind and lifts his drink to his lips.

The evening chill is really starting to set in, so we retreat to the car, where we finish our chai with the heater turned up. We reminisce about all the stupid stunts Larry used to rope me into when we were kids, and all the times Miles tried to get us out of trouble - but I can't help but notice the mood feels kind of… off. As if I've stepped on a conversational land mine somewhere but he's too polite to mention it.

We fall quiet on the drive back, the radio filling the silence. Miles finally pulls up outside my apartment, and I offer him a smile. "Hey, this was fun. We should do it again sometime." He gives me a strange look, as if I've said something confusing, but makes a noise of ...agreement? I think?

I shut the door, and a second later he peels away from the sidewalk without looking back.

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I'm lying awake at three in the morning when realization finally dawns. I jolt upright and bury my face in my hands with a groan.

"Oh my god. I'm such a fucking idiot."