Chapter 4: In Which Phoenix Wright Has a Realization
I stumble into the office the next morning in a foul mood. Maya takes one look at me and busies herself with making two strong cups of coffee. I spent most of the night replaying my evening with Miles, and the rest of it kicking myself for my own cluelessness. I can't decide what's more pathetic, the fact I couldn't recognise that Miles was obviously flirting with me, or my faint hopes that he'd still be waiting for me outside my apartment this morning. (Spoiler: he wasn't.)
"I mean, you did ask him on a dinner date," Maya scolds me as she sets my cup down. I'm slumped at my desk with my forehead resting on its cool surface, having regaled her with the whole sorry story. "What did you expect him to think?"
"It wasn't," I mutter through gritted teeth, "a date ." Yes, I am sulking. Shut up. "I was trying to do something nice for him."
"That seems like a lot of effort to go to, just to be nice."
I turn my head and glower up at her. "And what's wrong with that?"
Her bangles jingle as she reaches over to consolingly pat my shoulder. "Oh, Nick. You're such a Libra."
By the time I've finished my coffee I'm feeling marginally more human, but when I imagine the look on Miles' face before he drove off, shame closes its fist around my guts and gives them a spiteful twist. What if he thinks I was messing with him on purpose? For a man who is as emotionally open as a clam, last night must have seemed like an elaborate, cruel joke on my part. God, what have I done?
"He'll never want to speak to me again."
"Probably," Maya agrees mildly, gathering up my empty mug. "But it could be worse. At least you don't have any feelings for him, right?"
"Yeah," I croak. "That would suck."
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Hi, do you have a sec?
My finger hovers over the send button, my resolve waning the longer I stare at the words. As text messages go, it's only a step above we need to talk. I backspace and try again.
I'm really sorry about last night.
Alright, that's a good start, but then what? It's not that you're not attractive, or a good conversationalist, or that I don't enjoy spending time with you-
Shit. Abort, abort.
I can do this. I delete the entire thing and start from scratch.
Hey, I never asked - how did the Visserman trial go?
Argh, no, that's even worse. If I wasn't so inept, I would have asked him about it yesterday. As it was, I totally forgot because he was being so damn distracting.
Think, Phoenix, think.
It's futile. I sigh and toss my phone into my desk drawer, resolving not to touch it again for the rest of the day. A resolution that goes out the window five minutes later, because of course I can't let it go. I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose. That brittle feeling is back, except this time I'm on the edge of shattering completely.
What the hell is wrong with me?
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Half an hour after lunch my phone starts to buzz, and my entire body locks up, a deer caught in the headlights of a truck. I finally manage to re-engage my limbs and fumble it out of my pocket, almost melting with relief and disappointment when my client's name appears on my screen.
"Good morning, Mr. Shibata," I answer, trying not to sound churlish. "What can I do for you?"
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I'm being foolish. It's fine. It's fine. I simply need to give Miles some space, and then I'll call him and apologize, and we can go back to trading barbs from opposite sides of the courtroom…
Oh, who the fuck am I kidding?
"Screw it," I mutter, buttoning my jacket and heading for the door. Maya glances up indignantly from the latest issue of Happy Medium.
"Hey!" she demands, "Where are you going? You better wait for me!"
"Not this time, 'kay?" I give her a half-assed wave and let the door slam behind me, taking the stairs at a jog, phone in hand, already dialling for a cab.
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Ah, slight problem. I kind of spent the last of my money on… well, on Korean Barbeque.
The cab driver drops me halfway between the High Prosecutor's office and mine, a little put out at the change in plan. But that's all I can afford, and he's not the one who has to walk another nine or ten blocks, so my reserve of fucks to give is rapidly dwindling. Besides, it's chucking it down again, and in my hurry I forgot to grab my rain jacket.
Well, fine. Maybe turning up at Miles' office having narrowly escaped drowning will make him take pity on me. Or maybe he'll laugh. I'll take anything at this point.
It's funny how half a mile feels more like the LA Marathon when you're being pelted with chilly sky water. But at long last, I reach the building that houses the High Prosecutor's office and stumble inside. I keep my head down, avoiding eye contact with everyone, and make a beeline for the elevators. The trail of puddles I've left behind me is a liability suit waiting to happen.
I catch sight of myself in the elevator's polished steel interior, and it's a testament to my bad decision-making that I don't turn and flee right then. I look as if I've walked through a car wash. Backwards. I fix my hair (okay, the word 'fix' is doing a lot of heavy lifting there) with shivering hands and rehearse what I'm going to say.
By the time I reach Miles' door - half by memory, and half by sheer bull-headedness - I'm so wired that I forget to even knock, wrenching it open to a warm breath of sandalwood-scented air. "Miles, I know I'm probably the last person you want to-"
He's on the phone.
I slap my hand over my mouth, freezing mid-step as his gaze meets mine. We stare at one another, wide-eyed.
"...can I… call you back?" he says into the phone. "A situation's come up." I'm a situation alright; one that's currently shivering and dripping on his floor. "No, no need for security. Thanks." He hangs up, eyes still fixed on me, and I have just enough presence of mind to nudge the door closed behind me with my foot.
"Phoenix." Miles' tone is even, but his expression is glacial. "What on earth are you doing here?" He's half out of his seat, hovering in place as if he's caught between good manners and the urge to send me packing.
"Came to apologize," I force through gritted teeth. All the sensible things I wanted to say have completely evaporated. Rain batters at the window.
"You walked here in that?" he says, incredulous. Then, registering what I said, "To apologize? For what?"
I cross the room, my shoes squelching, and lean over to grip the edge of his desk. "For being a monumental dumbass last night."
Miles' shoulders slump. "It's fine. Really. You didn't need to traipse halfway across the city for that. I… misread the room, as it were." Argh, he's back to being polite , and I can't stand it. It would almost be easier to bear if he was yelling at me to get out of his office.
"But what I'm trying to say is-" what am I trying to say? "-I didn't mean to shrug you off like that. You caught me off guard, and I suck at flirting, and it doesn't help that when I'm around you my brain keeps short-circuiting, and I've been up since three o'clock kicking myself because there's a hundred things I should have said on that pier instead." I break off, panting, and the pause that follows is deep enough to drown in.
Miles swallows. "...Such as?"
"Well, I didn't exactly make a list!" An incredulous laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. "Miles, you're a fucking enigma sometimes, do you know that? You have no idea how much space you take up in my head." I take a steadying breath. Here we go, Phoenix. Cards on the table. "Look, I just want you to know that I've been happier than I've been in a long time, now that we're friends. Again. Even if I've gone and screwed everything up."
My whole body tenses as Miles gets to his feet and rounds the desk. His movements are precise, unhurried. But I can't get a read on his expression, and I'm gripped with the urge to make a run for it.
"Just friends?" he says, so softly I'm not sure I heard him correctly at first. Then his jaw tightens minutely, and - no. I wasn't mistaken. My face is so hot I'm practically steaming. I am steaming, literally - the heat of the office slowly drying my sodden clothes. The lenses of Miles' glasses are misting up, but maybe that's because he's drawn closer. Close enough to smell his cologne, tinged with cloves. Close enough that I could run my fingertips over the slope of his cheek.
Close enough to kiss him, if I wanted to.
I want to.
He doesn't pull away when I reach for him, nor when I tilt my head to press my lips to his. He immediately presses closer, his mouth spurring me on while his palm cups the back of my neck and oh god I'm kissing Miles Edgeworth and it's doing things to me.
A painfully short moment later, he draws away, resting his forehead against mine. "Phoenix," he rasps. Goddamnit, just when I thought the man couldn't rob me of any more of my wits. "Tell me this isn't a stupid joke-"
"It's not." I don't know what any of this means, for him or for me, but we can figure that shit out later because right now I need him to kiss me again. I manage to fumble his glasses off without dropping them, and then his lips crash into mine and - has he been waiting for this? Did I drown on the way here after all? If this is the afterlife I must have been virtuous as fuck.
His tongue brushes my bottom lip, and I melt into his mouth, cursing every moment we spent sniping at each other when we could have been doing this instead. Then I feel his muscles tense beneath my hands, and I forget to think anything for a while.
I don't remember him lifting me, but suddenly I'm sitting on his desk with him so flush against me I can feel his heart pounding. I'm already breathless, and then he trails his lips down the side of my jaw and it absolutely sends me. I send a silent thanks skyward that I didn't bother with a tie today. A gasp escapes me as I marvel at the feel of his mouth on my neck, kissing away the rainwater still clinging there. I lean back and oh shit-
My damp hand slips on the mirror-shine polish of Miles' desk and shoots out from under me. I try to save myself and land painfully on my elbow, knocking a pen holder flying and sending its contents rolling across the floor.
Miles jerks backward, eyes widening. "Are you alright?"
Well, that was embarrassing, and my elbow now hurts like hell. But on the upside, I have a breathless, bruised-lipped, red-faced Miles Edgeworth between my thighs, so by my calculations that's a net gain.
"Never better." I push myself upright, intent on picking up exactly where we left off, only to wince as the movement sends a spike of pain shooting through my arm. Miles makes a faintly sympathetic noise and - tragically - pulls away so I can sit up easier, though I can't help but notice the way his hand lingers on my knee.
"What a mess," he says, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and dismay as he takes in the puddles my wet clothes have left on his desk.
"Worth it, though." I trail my fingertips along the curve of his wrist, and he flushes. "Wouldn't you say?"
"I'd say you're an incorrigible pain in the backside," he laughs. "And you're going to catch a cold." I mean, he's not wrong. My clothes are sticking to me like a second skin, which, alluring as that sounds, is actually grotesquely uncomfortable. And my elbow still smarts - I must have really jarred it.
Miles releases my knee and steps back, but I'm certain I'm not imagining the hint of regret in his voice when he says, "Come on, I'll give you a lift home."
"Right now?" Seriously? Are we not even going to acknowledge the fact that, ten minutes ago, I went from ranting at the man to kissing him senseless? Because I'm acknowledging it pretty hard. Or rather, specific parts of me are. Come to think of it, that might be why he appears to be looking everywhere but at me.
"Well, since someone seems to have destroyed my office, I can't see how I'll get much else done today…" he trails off pointedly. Unrepentant, I get to my feet and make a cursory attempt to straighten my crumpled jacket and, of course, fail miserably. Then his gaze finds mine, and oh God, suddenly I can't help but wonder what it'd be like to make out in his car.
"Mhm, you should really think about getting a lock for your door, too." I grin as his willpower finally fails him and he drags me close. "Since apparently anyone can barge in." My voice drops to a husky whisper, my lips brushing his. "Someone could get the right idea."