Miles sighed wearily. Phoenix's expression had been utterly priceless. And that sweet blush that had crept across his cheeks re-played in the prosecutor's mind over and over and over again. It was like a broken record he couldn't remove from the phonograph of his thoughts. He turned back to the stocks on the newsprint, driving away tantalizing notions of Wright in compromising positions. Well, it was Christmastime. He might as well make it a Christmas worth remembering.

Phoenix Wright only found solace when he arrived at his apartment. Leaning back against his door as if to barricade it, he inhaled deeply and felt the oxygen rush back into his head. He realized that he hadn't been breathing very well after his departure from that innocent little café. Innocent indeed - The pristine tablecloths may have been guiltless, and maybe the chinaware and the other patrons…and the hostess…and the servers…but Miles Edgeworth was not. The man oozed confidence and self-sureness. Practically the anti-Christ to Phoenix's Savior in the courtroom, the King of Prosecutors never hesitated to tear Wright apart with no regard whatsoever.

Frowning slightly, the defense attorney pulled the scarf from around his neck and tossed it onto the nearby sofa. Pushing himself away from the apartment door, he meandered slowly to the kitchenette, quite prepared to fix a late breakfast. After spending a little while rummaging through his sadly-depleted pantry, he re-emerged from the cupboards with a cereal box in one hand and a chipped bowl in the other. Sniffing lightly, he poured the Rice Krispies and turned to the refrigerator. Once the door was open, he realized too late that he needed to go grocery shopping. There was no milk. Reasonably disappointed in the fact that his Rice Krispies would not be performing their traditional Snap, Crackle, and Pop routine, Phoenix pouted and sluggishly fell onto his couch, scattering krispies hither and yon.

He ignored the mess, feeling around for a remote control. When he got a hand on it, he flicked on the television. He needed a distraction. The first channel was the news. Not very new news, it entailed the latest case that he himself had participated in, and had unfortunately lost to 'the stoic and talented young Prosecutor, Miles Edgeworth'. Harrumphing, Phoenix channel-surfed. There was a gardening show, which he found mind-bogglingly dull. Afternoon television was hardly stimulating.

He watched an HBO special of "Pride and Prejudice" for a while, but changed the channel when he noticed that one of the main characters was wearing a frilly cravat. The cooking show was definitely a no - they always made him hungry and reminded him of how Maya tended to eat him out of house and home whenever she graced his apartment with her jubilant presence. The attorney was adequately prepared to turn off his source of entertainment when he came to a sports channel with a professional kick-boxing tournament. Vaguely interested, Phoenix sat up a little, setting the remote aside and picking through his dry cereal with his fingers. He had never watched a kick-boxing match before; they were just introducing the fighters, too.

The announcer's booming voice heralded the contender in the right corner: "In the green shorts, weighing in at one-hundred-and-forty-nine pounds, is the hurricane from Brazil: Inigo Jalisco!" He was a short, tanned man with blonde hair who was ridiculously built. Phoenix sniggered, "Steroids, much?" Before turning his attention back to the second challenger: "In the left corner, wearing the maroon trunks is our current reigning champion from Ireland, Kirk O'Malley!" The other man was taller with pale skin, a firmly-set jaw, and intense eyes. It was the colour of the shorts that got Phoenix, though. They weren't maroon. They were magenta.

Grimacing, he quickly changed the channel one last time. It was a show he hadn't watched in years: "Frasier". Well, it would do. The accents were highly entertaining, anyway. Just as the opening credits fazed into the first scene, Phoenix realized with horror that Frasier's brother was named Niles. That was far too close for comfort. Huffing angrily, he groped for the remote and knocked over his bowl of cereal in the process. Rice Krispies flew madly in every direction. As soon as he got the television off, he sighed wearily and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. His head hurt. He kept thinking about him.

Miles Edgeworth's characteristic smirk drifted through his mind, and in vain did Phoenix try to brush it away. What was wrong with him? He loathed that smug little look of triumph. He hated nearly everything about the prosecutor. At least, he did now. Not back then, though. Back then, things had been different. They had only been children. Back then, no dream was impossible. Back then, they had been friends.

Sort of, anyway.

After all, Edgeworth had been the one who inspired Phoenix to become a defense attorney, though in an indirect way. Wright sat back, leaning against the reassuring support of his battered sofa. Things had been so different back then…

"Come on, Larry!" Phoenix hissed to his friend, hefting the water balloons in each hand to test their weight. "Hurry up and fill yours so we can sneak up on him!"

Phoenix grinned to himself, shutting his eyes. His hair hadn't required so much time when he was younger. It had been naturally spiky back then.

Larry Butz hurriedly tied off his last balloon and laboriously shoved it into his pocket. Giving a broad grin and a thumbs-up to his partner in crime, he whispered back, "Okay, let's go! Miles ought to be around here somewhere - I heard he takes flute lessons from the orchestra teacher after school. It's almost four o'clock, and-"

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Phoenix demanded, his young face alight with mischievous, unadulterated glee. The pair hurried off to the side of the building and peered stealthily around the corner.

"You got your water gun?" Larry asked, nodding to the bulging pocket on the left side of his comrade's pants.

Phoenix nodded gravely, "He's not gonna forget this anytime soon."

"Well, he deserves it. He ratted us out for putting one of the biology frogs in the cafeteria, the goody-two-shoes."

"No kidding," Phoenix grumbled in response, biting his lower lip and risking another peek around the corner of the building. Miles was there, speaking with his flute instructor. He wore a matching vest-and-trousers combination, the colour quite vivid.

Wright snickered, his smiled growing wider. He had forgotten that Edgeworth had always worn that silly pink hue.

The older man then left young Miles Edgeworth to walk home, and the boy stood solidly for a minute or two.

Larry mumbled grumpily from behind Phoenix. "Can we hurry this up? Mom wants me home soon…" Sending a glare at his friend, the dark-haired boy jerked his head. It was the signal. The two of them leapt out of the shadows, triumphant smiles on their faces, shouting "BANZAI!" at the top of their lungs. Miles Edgeworth looked up just in time to witness four red orbs flying towards him.

Grey eyes widening in fear and surprise, he twisted slightly, dropping his flute case. Only one water balloon hit him, but that was enough. The boy was completely drenched and left gaping down at his soaked uniform as the other bombs hit the ground with resounding splatters. Now sans ammunition, Phoenix Wright and Larry Butz collapsed onto the concrete, laughing hysterically. Positively stunned, poor little Miles grew distressed and his face began to turn red, and -

RINGA-LINGA-LING!

Phoenix jerked upright, rubbing his forehead. He had so been enjoying his reverie until that damned phone…

RINGA-LINGA-LING!

Particularly irritated now that he had been woken up a second time, the dark-haired man dug around in his pockets for the stupid little thing. Without even looking at the phone he answered it. Somehow he knew who it was.

"Damn it, Edgeworth, if you don't stop calling me, I swear to God I'll - "

"Uh, Nick? It's Maya."

So he was wrong.

"Oh. Eheh…sorry."

"Has Mr. Edgeworth been calling you?" She sounded curious. Too curious.

"No. Yes. Just once - well, thanks to you, anyway. You gave him my phone number. What for?"

"What are you talking about, Nick? I didn't give him your number."

There was a long silence, and Phoenix broke it hesitantly. "You haven't been channeling Mia lately, have you?"

"Yeah! Just yesterday - how did you know, Nick?"

"A hunch. Was there anyone there with you at the time?"

"Of course, Nick! I can't talk with her myself when I'm channeling her. Mr. Edgeworth was. He wanted to go over a few of Mia's old cases and needed her help, so I helped him!"

Phoenix was silent for a long time.

"Nick, are you alright?"

Clearing his throat, he replied hoarsely, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Sorry - what were you calling about again?"

"Oh yeah! Well, I'm holding a Secret Santa Gift-Exchange with a bunch of people. Everyone else picked out their slips except for you. I shouldn't look at it, in case it's me, so I'll bring it over soon, okay?"

"…O…kay…"

"Oh, and if it is me, you should get me one of those gift cards for the burger place 'cause we go there all the time. Isn't that a good idea, Nick?"

"Yeah…sure…look, Maya, I've gotta go. When can I expect you here?"

"Um…how about six-ish? A little before dinnertime!"

Phoenix looked at the forlorn clock nailed to his wall. It was four-fifteen now, and that gave him plenty of time to rest up for when she came. "Sounds good."

"Can I bring Pearly along?"

"By all means."

"Okay, see you then, Nick!"

"Bye, Maya."

He hung up, slipping the phone back into his pants pocket reluctantly. Still a little dazed from being interrupted - again - Phoenix settled back onto his couch, pensively pressing a finger to his lips. He wondered what Edgeworth was doing right now…