Chapter Text
Pressure.
Phoenix certainly recognizes this sort of pressure.
“Ugh,” he croaks. His tenor is crackly and weak. Wet, too.
Pressure is everywhere. He feels hot swelling in his fingertips and his legs, pajamas sticking to his back, damp with sweat. He cracks open his eyes, which are crusted, and immediately shuts them tightly closed before more light can hit his retinas. He recoils, feeling his cranium twinge sharply. It’s still dark, so the fact that only the warm orange glow of the street lamp outside pains him is concerning. Concerning, but familiar enough. This sort of uncomfortable pressure usually makes for a mean migraine.
That is, the pressure of his sinuses being absolutely stuffed. The sensation of his forehead, under-eyes, and the bridge of his nose nearly full of mucus makes him groan, helplessly draping his forearm over his face as he lay sickly on his back in bed. His weak eye sockets water. Phoenix has been awake for barely 2 minutes, but knowing himself, he’s positive there’s no way he will have the energy to work later today. When he grows ill--which isn't too often, thankfully-- he grows very ill. Ill enough, at least, that he has every right to throw a tiny adult tantrum at the mere sting of drainage cultivating in the back of his throat. It burns, like bile. He whines, flipping over onto his stomach and smothering his face into his cool feather pillow, stupefied. He reaches a blind arm over to his bedside table, grasping his outdated cell phone.
He should’ve known walking to work in the cold would catch up to his weak immune system at some point. One would think he’d be used to getting sick so often, or at least immune to every strain of the common cold by now, but that would be too easy.
Mia's voice emits from the speakers of his phone, but it's only a pre-recorded voicemail message, meaning she probably wasn't awake yet. It was the dead of night, after all. Her professional monologue ends with a tone.
"Hey Chief," he says. Any fears of sounding like a slacker or a liar trying to play hooky disappear when he actually hears words escape his vocal chords. His voice sounds like...well. Shit. "I think I came down with something." I feel like trash. "I don't think I'll be able to come in today. Not unless you want me to start a pandemic." He sneezes for the first time, secretly delighted that it decided to happen during the voicemail message. That’ll help drive the truth home. (Why is it that, even when he isn’t lying, he fears losing the trust of his employer?) He sniffles, thoughts cloudy. "So, ...sorry about that." He rakes his brain for a way to end the message smoothly, but his limited time to record is nearly up. "Anyway, I'm gonna get back to sleep. See ya later. Er, I won't see you, I guess. Yeah. Goodnight….morning?" He sniffles again and just as he's about to back himself further into an awkward wall, a beep signalling his finished message interrupts him. A robotic voice tells him the message has been sent, so he sighs, clicking the phone shut and tossing it onto the floor. He planned on waking up only after the turn of the next few centuries, and he didn't need anything capable of waking him up near the vicinity of his bed.
-
A little sooner than the year 3000 (not much had changed, and he doesn’t find himself underwater) does his cell phone ring from across the floor, buzzing loudly on the hardwood. Phoenix remains in his bed, pantless legs tangled up in his comforter. It had been a long night fighting for the perfect sleeping conditions--he’d been unbearably hot under the covers, yet was reluctant to expose his limbs to the cool darkness while his already-under-the-weather mind had been making him drowsy and less aware. Benadryl demons aren't forgiving, surely. Not that it mattered, because for at least another 8 hours and into the afternoon, Phoenix is unconscious. He envies his childhood self being held captive at home with the flu. Ill, yet having all the energy in the world to play superheroes in the backyard, or watch cartoons and eat fruit snacks while hanging upside down on the sofa. All that energy had disappeared, and to where, he doesn’t know.
With a pillow held tightly over his ears to muffle the racket, Phoenix lies lackluster, wishing the afternoon sunshine would disappear. He waits for his phone to silence itself, repeatedly sniffling to avoid dripping his sickness into the fabrics of his bedsheets. The ringing eventually ceases, and his grip loosens on the plush of the pillow. For only a few moments does he bask in the returned silence, as within half a minute, the device is rattling once again against the hardwood, shrieking the obnoxious default ringtone Phoenix had never bothered to change.
He grumbles and peels his eyes open slowly, glaring at the phone across the floor as if threatening it would cause it to stop. Said eyes trail to the bedside alarm clock. It reads 1:27 PM. Jeez. That benadryl knocked me out.
Phoenix ponders for a few seconds, eventually deciding that he should actually live today, rolling over and stretching his torso over the edge of the bed. It would also be horrible if there was an emergency and he had to be the one to ignore the call for help. He strains to reach for the cell phone. As it buzzes, the vibrations move it further away from his reach, taunting him. He scoffs, inching more of his body off of the bed until his pelvis is his center of balance, feet digging into the mattress to hold himself steady. Eventually his straining works and he gets a grasp on his phone, giving it a quick examination of the caller ID before swiping the green answer button and putting the phone to his ear. It’s Maya.
“Yes?” It comes out ruder than initially intended, but the giggle from his friend at the other end of the call assures there aren’t any hard feelings.
“Yikes. You’re sick alright. You sound like garbage.” Her voice is nearly static through the telephone line, and it sounds as though she’s walking through a blizzard. Phoenix snorts, flipping himself belly-up and sliding off the bed uncomfortably. There was probably a better way to get out of bed, but he didn’t have the energy. He sits at a right angle, back to the floor, looking up at the ceiling with his legs propped up against the mattress. His voice crackles as he tries to speak at the same time.
“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed. Thanks for letting me know.”
“Oh, save it, Nick. How are you feeling? Mia was surprised you were sick enough to call off.” Apparently, Maya was surprised too. She must also be concerned. Or she’s upset that I left her by herself. Oops. Phoenix takes a hand and rubs the sleepiness out of his face, feeling his stubble tickle his palm and causing his eyes to see stars from pushing too hard.
“Fine, I guess. Jus’ been in bed.” There’s a tickle in his chest that grows more aggressive as he speaks, so he tries to clear his throat, but erupts into a short coughing fit. Maya speaks over it.
“Don’t kill yourself over there! I already paid for your food. Pollo and I went out and bought lunch for the three of us, and we need your address so we can bring yours to you.” His heart patters at the gesture, realizing why Maya sounds like she’s in a wind tunnel. They were worried about him and took a walk to get some comfort food. Being humble is a concept Phoenix does value, however.
“You guys didn’t have to do that. Don’t worry about me, I’ve been resting.”
“Fine then, I guess this bread bowl and broccoli cheddar soup from Panera is just gonna go to waste.”
As if it were on cue, Phoenix’s stomach rumbles, and his mouth starts to water. Soup sounds absolutely divine. I guess I haven’t eaten much today, have I? He slowly starts to lift himself up onto his feet.
“Fine. I guess . Since you missed me so much. ” There’s a playful scoff on the other end of the line, but he continues. “Why do you need my address, though? Can’t you just like, look it up? Doesn’t the store have that information?”
“Would you have preferred I come unannounced?”
On his way to the bathroom, he stops in front of the mirror next to his bed as Maya asks. He takes a good, thorough look at himself. Pantsless, dark hair full of cowlicks, wearing an embarrassingly pink and old “Legally Blonde” t-shirt he bought on a whim at a performance and rocking a pair of sunken eyes and a spotty five o’clock shadow. Not to mention that his breath is probably...undesirable. He had to give himself credit: he certainly looked like a zombified train-wreck, but for being struck down with a cold? Definitely doesn’t look as bad as he could be. He still wouldn’t dare show his face to anyone in this state, though.
“Fair point. How long do you think you’ll be? I live at 231...”
-
“You need some sage in here. I can get you an incense burner! And maybe some black tourmaline, if you’re so prone to getting sick.” Maya peers around Phoenix’s apartment as she babbles through a mouthful of bread. “Or maybe blood stone? Since that stimulates the immune system and wards off colds.”
Apollo and Phoenix exchange glances from across the table, Apollo’s spoon part way to his open mouth and Phoenix sipping from the first glass of water he’s had in likely an entire day. He’s at least clean shaven with his teeth brushed now, but he maintains the ‘barely-alive’ theme he had going on earlier with an easy pair of sweatpants and a grey sweatshirt--hood flipped up in attempts to tame his hair. Maya’s face twists at the offensive responses.
“Man. What's with the dirty looks? After all I’ve done for you. You finished that soup faster than I finished mine. And that’s a feat!!” she nags, twirling a finger at the empty paper plate where Phoenix’s lunch once rested. She crosses her arms and looks to the other man. “You too, Pollo! I mind the disrespect. And you were just getting good with astrology.” Phoenix is unaware of this development, watching the interaction in hopes of an explanation. Apollo shrugs, swallowing his mouthful of soup.
“Good with astrology . You didn’t tell me anything about magic rocks that heal sickness.”
“I’d rather stick with Sudafed,” Phoenix laughs. “Thanks though, Maya.”
“I never said anything about not taking medicine!!”
He holds his breath as he pours more water down his throat, amused by her feigned annoyance. His lips curl around the rim of the glass.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve insulting your visitors, Nick.”
He rolls his eyes. There’s no criticism to be taken from her.
Apollo and Maya sit at the table in front of the kitchen area while Phoenix slumps comfortably into the arm of the single loveseat sofa just a few feet away. He does his best to keep the sickness to himself by keeping his distance from them, not touching anything and covering his mouth often with the sleeve of his hoodie. His eyes ache just a tad with the window drapes in his studio now open, letting in all the afternoon sun rays, but he knows he needs it. The company is unexpected, but welcome. He hasn’t had anyone visit in a long time, and the usually dull atmosphere of the cooly painted walls and quiet ambience of his apartment instead feels warm and comfortable. Hot soup in his stomach and healing crystals or not.
"Oh, by the way," Apollo speaks up, idly scraping the bottom of his paper bowl with the plastic spoon, "Mr. Edgeworth came by again today." Despite some of the cogs in his brain being under maintenance, Phoenix recognizes the name immediately after it rolls off the student's tongue. Perhaps way more invested than Phoenix is, Maya jumps in her seat, hitting her chest once with her fist to prevent herself from choking on the bread in her mouth. She eagerly chews, motioning as if to ask Phoenix to 'wait a sec! Wait a sec!' so that she has the first chance to speak.
"I can't believe I almost forgot!!! Yeah! Like Pollo said--Edgeworth stopped by. And he looked sad that you were gone!"
Phoenix furrows his brow at the far-fetched claim, questioning its validity. Apollo comes to his defense.
"Miles Edgeworth never looks happy," he says. Maya puffs up her bangs and rolls her eyes.
"Why are you such a wuss about him? You could barely take his order today!" Apollo 'hmph's, turning his nose up at her and pursing his lips.
"If you knew the rumors about what he'll do for a guilty verdict, you'd be scared of him too." Phoenix chuckles to himself, flipping down his hood and shifting to lay on his side, propping his head up with his hand on the arm of the sofa. If he wasn't careful, he would surely fall asleep right then and there considering his belly full of soup and the hazy afternoon sun keeping him warm under his lazy groutfit.
"Maybe he's upset because people believe in a bunch of scary rumors about him," he says, picking at the nails of his free hand. He's nonchalant, causing the other shorter man to scoff. Phoenix giggles again, seeing through Apollo's mask. He knows Apollo can't argue with that.
"Well, fine. I can't prove that they're true. But you can't prove that the rumors aren't true, either."
Phoenix wags a finger near his forehead, insinuating intelligence.
"Ah, but isn't everyone innocent until proven guilty? That's what you defense attorneys are all about, right?" Apollo pauses at the fact, which is true. Thought processes crash as he tries to hang onto his argument, failing him.
"That's not the point here!!" Maya interjects. "Edgeworth got all worried when we said you were sick. I could see it on his face."
A small tingle creeps into Phoenix's stomach. He prays it isn't his virus.
"He asked about me?"
“Well, not really. I just mentioned you off-handedly. I don’t think he noticed you weren’t supposed to be gone.” Ah. Right. That would be the normal, not rom-com way to react, wouldn’t it? Maybe he caught his infection when watching those romance movies on his couch a few nights ago. He might’ve gotten sucked into more nauseating cliches than he’d like to admit.
He tugs on his hoodie strings while Maya snorts at his lack of a response.
“What? Did you think he developed some circadian rhythm to know when you are and aren’t working? That would be a little weird. And stalker-ish.” At this point, Phoenix had built a rubber shield for remarks such as this from her.
“Weirder and stalker-ish-er than making a surprise visit to my apartment?”
“Apollo, remind me to never do anything for Nick again.”
Phoenix laughs, indulged, as Apollo mutters something about wanting no part in anything. Maya continues with a rueful smirk. “But anyway, I just happened to mention you while I made his drink, and he sounded concerned, is all.”
“As concerned as he can sound, I guess,” Apollo adds. A light smile comes from Maya’s end of the table.
“And he seemed insistent that we make sure you’re well. And thus,” she spreads her limbs out like a starfish in her chair, her drinking glass raised in one of her hands. “Here we are!”
Phoenix shuffles, flipping himself over on the sofa cushions and using his forearms as a pillow.
“Well, thank you guys. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. Hey Nick, you got any dessert?” Maya has since hopped out of her seat and waddled over to her friend, leaning down to meet him at eye level. “Don’t spit in my face, by the way.” Opening a single eye reveals the proximity of his visitor, to which he pops the opposite eyebrow to.
“You’re still hungry?”
Only met with puppy-eyes, Phoenix groans, stretching an arm to point towards an elevated cabinet in the kitchen. “There’s some girl scout cookies in there somewhere.” Maya’s eyes become fireworks, excitedly padding toward the small square-footage of tile in the corner of the apartment. Apollo follows close behind her in search of a garbage can to dispose of he and Maya’s mess. As he steps on the garbage pedal, he turns his attention back to Phoenix.
“So, are you actually going to do something about him?”
The clank of the plastic lid hitting the metal can sounds as Apollo approaches his home base at the table. Having since started to rest his eyes again, Phoenix has to pry them open to find the owner of the inquiry and express his confusion.
“What do you mean?”
“Are you gonna ask him out?”
Phoenix feels what he knows is an obvious flush creep across his face and nose. His only saving grace is that perhaps his cheeks were already flushed from his stuffed sinuses. Before muddle turns into embarrassment, Maya calls from the counter, her knees holding her steady on the granite as she hangs from the cabinet doors in bewilderment. And not in response to the current conversation, to Phoenix's fortune.
“Why do you have so MANY ?”
The men's attention is brought to the contents of the cabinet. If there was a max number of boxes of girl scout cookies a single person should own, Phoenix tops it by more than a few. He knits his brow in defense, his blush not getting any better.
“ You try and ignore those little girls when they sit outside the supermarket.”
“Look, I’m not complaining, but-”
“You don’t seem to have a problem ignoring me .” Apollo holds stiff with his arms folded, waiting for a response. "What gives?" Fingers tap his forearm impatiently. Phoenix huffs, sliding down the couch like a toddler apathetic about nap time.
“No, I’m not gonna ask him out . Why would I do that?”
“Why not? It’s obvious you’re into him.” Phoenix shifts his head to the side, not wanting to meet Apollo’s eyes when he speaks, but Apollo interrupts him before he can respond. “And don’t tell me you’re not. I can tell when you’re lying. You rub the back of your neck whenever you do.”
Perplexed, Phoenix becomes aware of his own arm, frozen in place at the accusation. He was about to do exactly as Apollo said. Yikes. He sighs, changing his route of travel and instead grabbing his biceps uncomfortably.
“Look, there’s a difference between thinking someone’s attractive and being into them. I barely know the guy.” A quick glance back in the direction of the table reveals Maya perched in her seat, eating thin mints from the sleeve like popcorn as her attention jumps from one man to the other. Phoenix continues. "It isn't like he's my friend or anything."
Apollo shrugs, waving his head side to side in a "more-or-less" manner.
"I guess." His eyes lose focus for a moment. "I'd rather hit on a stranger than hit on a friend, though. Better chance you won't feel like trash if you get rejected." There’s a pause, just short enough that one wouldn’t notice it if he wasn’t watching. "Not that I think he'd reject you, though. You seem to look forward to each other." When he regains his gaze, he leans back into his elbows, eiseling himself onto the tabletop. He finds Phoenix staring at him now, and he shrinks under the pressure, averting his eyes in defense. "Don't look at me like that. I'm just saying."
"Aww. Apollo, you're such a romantic!" Maya croons. He juts his bottom lip out, annoyed.
"I barely said anything!"
Maya squints playfully at him, holding a chocolate cookie to her tongue. Apollo glances from her taunting expression to the cardboard box of cookie sleeves.
"Gimmie one." She happily obliges as Phoenix comes to his own defense once more.
"I think I'll leave him be. He's just a customer, after all. I don't wanna be a creep." Phoenix tugs at his hoodie strings, curling his toes. This is the right thing to do, he thinks. Jumping into the bubble of someone he finds mildly attractive has proven to be less than fool-proof, to say the least. Love and flirting and all that isn't a forte of his, after all. His mouth stuffed with mint chocolate pastry, Apollo shrugs.
"Suit yourself, I guess." He peeks at the watch on his wrist, the gilded metal clinking against the wood of the table as he shifts to look at Maya. "How long have we been gone?"
This makes Maya jerk, whipping her head around to examine the clock above the stove.
"Oh shoot. You're right. We need to get back before Mia comes downstairs."
Phoenix's pupils narrow.
"You mean you guys aren't supposed to be here?"
The two younger employees shrink, one averting his eyes and the other smiling sheepishly. Maya raises a beaded arm.
"Closing the store for a little lunch break never hurt anyone…?"
Phoenix makes a strangled noise in his throat, leaping to his feet and grabbing the two by the fabric of their shirts.
"Oh my god. Go back!!! This was hardly a little half-hour lunch break!"
"Don't look at me!! She's the one that got hungry and dragged me out here."
"Don't be such a stick in the mud, Nick! I do this all the time. I missed you~”
Her attempts at being a gam are fruitless, as Phoenix bears no hesitation guiding the two rebels to the front door and seeing them out.
“I’ll be at work tomorrow. You can tell me how much you missed me then, if you’re even alive after Mia's finished with you.”
Maya turns around on the other side of the door frame, her agape expression meeting Phoenix’s smirk. Apollo accepts the goodbye, waving back at Phoenix as he closes the door in the middle of Maya bellowing an, “Aw BOO!”
Muffled through the cheap wood of the door as he squints his face in contained laughter is a “Feel better, dummy!” followed by footsteps growing quieter.
“Have fun at work, loser,” he shouts in response, just soon enough that he can hear the sound of Maya blowing a raspberry directed back at him from down the hall.
-
The rest of the evening is pretty uneventful. To his benefit, the meal he had been given stayed in his stomach without any premature trips to the toilet, and his trusty thermometer told only good news (or, good beeps, for a better term) every instance it was placed under his tongue. With any evidence of the need for a doctor visit or serious infection ruled out, Phoenix was able to rest a bit easier. To maintain that truth, he decided to save some of his school work responsibilities for a later date, making himself comfortable in his bed once more. He made the occasional trip to the kitchen for water. That or Dayquil, which he tended to drink like water when sick if he wasn't careful.
The helpful rest and a now-existent work ethic make it easier for him to peel himself out of his bedsheets for work the next morning, as he promised. Some of his progress had been reversed after a night of more snoring than he'd probably admit, his nostrils rendering themselves useless until he blows his nose once more in the morning, but he still feels better than the day prior, regardless. A quick trip to the drugstore for a disposable face mask and he's good to go to work again.
"Mr. Nick!"
He recognizes the voice immediately as he's walking through the door of the cafe. Pearl had already been visiting for a few days now and was quite comfortable with his presence at this point. Homeschooling must have some effect on her social standing, as she hasn't left the apartment and store to see friends or take part in any activities in the time she has stayed so far. That, and the fact that she has clung to the new employees since the moment she deemed them trustworthy, as per her cousins' assurance. With all the grace a child could have, Pearl launches herself into the sickly man, hugging him around the hips as he struggles not to stumble. Even still, he smiles behind his mask.
"Hi Pearls. You're up early." She pulls away from him and smiles shyly, twiddling her fingers behind her back and nodding. Her fancy pigtails bounce--they're freshly done, despite the fact that she is still in her pajamas, so he can only assume Pearl has learned to do her own hair.
"Cousin Mia said you weren't feeling well yesterday and I got scared. So I went to bed really really early so I could make sure you felt better!” She taps her heels together, only wearing socks. They’re quite dirty from the dust on the floor. No one can see it, but Phoenix involuntarily juts out his lip in adoration.
“Thank you, Pearls. I’m okay. Just sniffly,” he assures, earning another beaming smile from the girl and another aggressive embrace. Before he falls and flattens her, the hug is interrupted by the next oldest Fey.
“Nick!” Maya pokes her head out of the back room and skips over to her friend, swaying psychedelic fabric with her arms and legs. She claps her hands in front of her chest. “You’re on dish duty today. No food.”
Phoenix’s nose scrunches enough that Maya can see his look of disgust behind the mask.
“Oh quit pouting. Mia’s out today, but she specifically told me not to let you near the food. We can’t have a lawsuit on our hands.”
“A lawsuit. Over a cold?”
“You wouldn’t believe the kind of luck we have here, Nick.” She leans in a little, smirking and raising one eyebrow. “You wouldn’t wanna get your boyfriend sick, would’ja?”
Phoenix’s face immediately falls dark. “Stop. And fine, I’ll do dishes.”
Maya throws him a finger gun and clicks her tongue, leaving to resume her own work. Phoenix trudges to the back room, removing his coat and rolling his sleeves up.
He is about to begin when he realizes someone had followed him into the back room. He had heard footsteps, and when he turned around to identify the stalker, he found himself having to look down. Pearl has stuck with him.
“Whatcha doin’ Pearls?”
He wonders for a moment if she is even allowed in back, but he quickly remembers Maya’s….leniency when Mia is out. His hands are halfway to the faucet, frozen as Pearl observes.
“Just looking.”
Phoenix averts his eyes, unsure of what to do. He shifts awkwardly. Before he decides how to respond, he watches Pearl relay to the table, taking hold of the back of a chair and dragging it over to the counter with a sharp screech against the floor. She props it up and climbs onto the counter, gripping to the cabinets overhead. She seats herself next to the sink, her feet hanging off the edge. Said feet kick the chair away. She beams back at Phoenix.
Oh. Phoenix watches the scene unfold. It looks like she plans on staying.
“You wanna watch me do the boring dishes? ” he asks, tilting his head and placing a fist on his hips.
“I don’t want you to get lonely!” Her eyes sparkle. It’s almost sweet enough to be suspicious, but she couldn't be more genuine. She frowns. “Plus, I stepped on my crayons, so I can’t color. I wanna be with Mr. Nick!”
Phoenix hums, considering her justifications. There isn’t any reason she can’t hang around, I guess.
“Okay. But be careful, the water is gonna be super duper hot. I don’t wanna splash you on accident.” Pearl gleams, gripping the counter between her legs and kicking her feet happily.
The first few minutes are relatively quiet. There are multiple sinks Phoenix must fill if he wants to wash a mass amount of dishes correctly, and Pearl doesn’t have many questions. It’s likely she already knew how things were done, and it's surprising that Phoenix wasn’t corrected at some point.
The silence is only broken as Phoenix starts to use the first squeeze of dish soap on the blades and body of the coffee grinder, which had retired for the day.
“Mr. Nick, did you go to school before you were a grown-up?”
Phoenix stops, tongue out from his concentration on trying to scrub a particularly thin nook within the blender. The words ‘grown-up’ shock him slightly, but not enough to evoke a physical reaction. He turns his gaze to the girl, who is looking mellowly at the tile floor.
“Yeah. I went to school.” It’s the only answer he can conjure, despite his ignorance to what is truly playing in Pearl’s head. No need to beat around the bush with kids. “Why?”
Her gaze doesn’t tear away from the floor.
“Cousin Mia told me I should go to school, but my daddy doesn’t want me to.” Phoenix leans down slightly to get a better look at her expression, but she turns her head away shyly. “I want to go to school, but I’m scared.” Her little legs have stopped swinging and instead lay limp, helpless off the counter. Unsure of what to do, Phoenix quickly removes his hands from the sink and dries them off with a nearby towel, pulling the abandoned chair from earlier over to himself and sitting in it backwards. He had plenty of time to do his work later.
“What are you scared of?” He drips his voice like honey, soothing her ruffled feathers as it soothed his sore throat a day prior. Pearl shrugs, poking her pointer fingers together.
“There’s a lot of other children at school.” There’s a pause. “A lot of them.”
It’s as Phoenix suspects. He sighs, partly relieved, attempting to give her a relaxed look.
“I used to be scared of school too. But before I knew it, I had made friends and I was happy. School isn’t scary. I promise.” Pearl looks across at him.
“Should I go to school, Mr. Nick?”
Phoenix ‘urp’s, suddenly feeling a rock rise into his throat. He has no say in this decision, he's aware. It's clearly reserved for her family. Trying not to throw everything off, he dodges.
“If you want to.”
It really is the best answer he can give. Pearl isn’t used to making her own decisions, so she shrinks at the pressure of having it thrown back at her. His chest twangs with worry, desperately searching for a different subject. He pushes the chair back into the table and approaches the sink as a brilliant idea pops into his brain.
When he sticks his hands into the hot water once more, there’s foamy dish soap bubbles up to his elbows. Making a cup with his hands, he scoops a lump of the foam out of the sink.
“Hey, Pearls.” He gets her attention, his smile growing bigger at her cute confusion.
Phoenix tugs down his mask and blows into the soap, sending tufts of delicate bubbles floating clumsily through the air and in between the two of them.
It's a scrambling distraction, but it works.
Her gasp as soft as the clouds now stuck in her hair and on her clothes, Pearl’s face loses all melancholy. Her big eyes reflect the pretty scene back at Phoenix. She develops a shining grin, a tacky mix of adult and baby teeth, pulling her knees up to the counter and crawling closer to the sink.
“I wanna try!”
Phoenix instinctively reaches an arm out in case she slips, but encourages her regardless.
“Go ahead. The water is still hot, so be careful.”
Phoenix’s bigger hands hold a vast amount more of the foam compared to Pearl's, but even still, Pearl scoops the bubbles into her palms and blows it away like a handful of glitter, a dash of pixie-dust. Before the tuft hits Phoenix, he claps his hands around it, causing the bubbles to explode and scatter further and in more directions. He squints his eyes shut at the soap flying into his hair and on the mask now strapped to his chin, but he can still hear the sound of Pearl’s ferocious giggling at the sight. This gets her to stay for a while longer, happy to have a playmate.
Work was still an obstacle Phoenix needed to hurdle, but it started to go by twice as fast when Pearl offered to start drying Phoenix’s washed items. A perfect arrangement, it was, as it allowed for more play time with Mr. Nick. Aside from the occasional trip to grab the clean dishes, Maya remained in the front as the other two sneakily goofed around. They made sure to play when no one was looking. Generously adding more soap than needed into the sink, making shapes with the globs of bubbles before blowing them everywhere all over again. Phoenix even got the genius and terribly mischievous idea of tip-toeing to the fridge and pulling out the cooled bowl of cookie dough, offering Pearl a quick spoonful. At first she’s taken aback, afraid of being naughty, but she soon decides to listen to the little smidge of trust she already had in her new friend.
This plan is quickly foiled when Maya barges in at the worst moment possible, mouth agape. Phoenix jolts and quickly yanks the metal bowl away, nearly smacking Pearl’s chin.
“M-Maya!”
“YOU!” She points her finger accusingly, powerfully.
Pearl’s lip starts to quiver and tears well in her eyes. Phoenix’s entire body overflows with panic, eyes bulging as Maya stomps over to him. Her giantess confidence sends chills throughout his body.
“How DARE you sneak the cookie dough and not share it with me!!!” The furrowed expression on Maya’s face becomes clearer as she gets closer: It’s only a look of shared mischief as opposed to insult at their disobedience. Phoenix feels a wave of relief flow over him. He always forgets--Maya is far more lenient. Maya grabs a plastic spoon from the countertop and shovels a bite of the raw cookie dough into her mouth. Her...inappropriately pleased reaction is outshone by the sounds of a crackly, tearful voice. The eldest two look to Pearl to find her wiping her cheeks with the balls of her hands and crying,
“I’m sorry cousin Maya,” she whimpers. Maya’s expression turns to shock, quickly pulling the clean spoon out from between her lips. She tosses it onto the counter and crouches down to hold the forearms of her kin.
“Hey hey hey, Pearly! It’s okay! I’m not actually mad. It’s okay, I promise,” she coos, still chewing the dense, raw dessert and suppressing a few giggles as she pulls Pearl’s pink face to her bosom in a quick embrace. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” She shifts her head up as Pearl wraps her small arms around Maya’s torso, returning her affections. Maya eyes the scattered chairs and splashes of water all over the counter. “What the heck have you guys been doing back here?”
Pearl uses Maya as a launchpad, pushing herself away and suddenly rid of any leftover tears.
“We played pretend! Mr. Nick’s favorite princess is Ariel too!” she squeals, squishing her cheeks between her hands. Phoenix laughs awkwardly, averting his eyes when Maya turns to look at him.
“Is it now?” Maya smirks.
“She wanted to play mermaids, and the only mermaid I know is Ariel, okay?” Phoenix itches his wrist, feeling a twinge of embarrassed heat on his ears.
“And Barbie!” Pearl adds. He quickly remembers the seminar he was given about Barbie movies around a half an hour ago. Barbie is a lot of things, apparently, including a mermaid.
“...and Barbie,” he says, correcting himself. He crosses his arms over his chest stubbornly. “No water got onto the floor, and the dishes are done, so…”
Maya smiles warmly, standing to get a look at the two of them. Phoenix’s apron is covered in wet splotches and Pearl has little bubbles still popping in her hair--remnants of a bubble crown inspired by something she saw in her coloring book one time. The two are a snapshot of bliss, opening a window into Pearl's delicate view of life and connections. Maya hums to herself happily.
As always, though, the world doesn’t provide enough time to bask in the beautiful moments. The chime of the bell by the front door sings from across the store, causing Maya to salute the two and pivot a full 180 toward the outside counter. She disappears through the decorative curtains.
Phoenix scans the room for the first time as an adult. It is a bit of a mess. He and Pearl’s attempt at a fort made of chairs was rather useless, as the chairs were nothing but flimsy pieces of plastic with no stable center of balance to stack them in different ways. Thus, many of them were left scattered around the room, flipped on their sides or upside down on the floor, the table. Not to mention the counter, which was completely soaked. He groans softly to himself, running a hand through his hair. He looks down at Pearl, hand still atop his head.
“Wanna help me pick this place up?”
Pearl folds her hands in front of her chest and nods politely.
-
By the time the duo is about finished tidying up, a voice, louder than usual, comes from the other side of the curtain.
Phoenix stops in the middle of wiping the counter dry with a clean rag, turning his head toward the sound. Pearl notices the way he freezes, looking for what is distracting him. Both of their inner questions are answered as the loud, stern voice--Maya's voice, definitely, after listening closer--speaks again, still muffled by the thick fabric.
Phoenix furrows his eyebrows, concerned. Maya can be a loud mouth, but what he was hearing surely wasn't the usual excitement or swagger that typically comes from her. Tension practically seeps through the drywall from the outside counter like sewage, weighing on Phoenix's chest all the more when he hears her assert herself once more, words incomprehensible.
There was definitely a troublesome customer out there.
He flips the dish towel over his shoulder, rolling up his sleeves. He had never been in a fight, but it didn't hurt to be ready. He ruffles Pearl's hair and instructs her to 'stay here.' The closer he approaches, the more legible the sharp conversation becomes. Maya's pointy voice cuts like a hot knife.
"Diego, I already told you. She's not here."
Phoenix has his hand on the curtain, ready to pounce through, but he quickly stops himself. He cancels plan A and moves to plan B: cowering against the wall and eavesdropping. With his back pressed against the aged paint, he grits his teeth, cursing himself for not getting a look at the recipient of Maya's snarling. Putting a face to her annoyance would've been helpful.
"Come on, My'. You've got to think about what's best for her. All I want is to rebuild bridges and rid her of the tension I cause her." The enemy voice is a molasses male's, dripping with inconceivable intention.
There's a pause.
"No," Maya starts. "I trust her. And what she wants is for you to leave her alone."
In some way, Maya's words sound hesitant. They quiver with uncertainty. Without a reason as to why, Phoenix nearly concludes he is only imagining things.
"You're just as bitter and dark as your sister, My'. It makes me sad to see. So bitter, little My', that it's hard to swallow." He chuckles lowly. "Mia certainly never went down smooth when she was upset."
Phoenix can practically hear the sound of Maya clenching her fist and taking an aggressive step closer to the counter. He flinches, skidding his shoe on the tile as he kicks himself off the bottom trim of the wall and circles around through the curtain. He clenches his jaw, trying to draw away from any clues that he may have been eavesdropping.
He doesn't know what's going on, but he knows he doesn't like it.
After bursting into the front end of the shop, what he sees is Maya, fingers gripping the underside of the counter with white knuckles and shooting daggers at the owner of the mystery man's voice.
The man's figure and design match perfectly with his tone of voice. Smooth as a fine wine, manipulative like the head of the mob. His umber hair would appear unruly to the average eye, odd on the average person, but his thick locks in the shape of a mane suit him well. The style isn't nearly as slicked back as Phoenix's own. His complexion is practically flawless--skin a caramel beige with medium undertones and carefully shaped facial hair on his chiseled chin. He sports a red dress shirt with a tie and a pin-striped vest, which is unbuttoned in a relaxed manner. Everything about his appearance seems confident, smug. Even the lidless to-go cup of the java, brewed blacker than ash, held loosely by the rim with two of his fingers. The only thing that seems off are his tired, pained eyes.
"Wuh….what's going on, here?" Phoenix stutters. Dammit. He had sounded way more confident in his head. He lowers his hands from the two ends of the door frame, feeling ridiculous staying in an obtuse and confident position after the way his voice cracked.
The cool man chuckles to himself, swirling his coffee as if it were a glass of whiskey.
"I just had a couple words for the manager. Think you could get her for me?"
Phoenix narrowly avoids getting caught knowing what was happening already (well, sort of) as Maya speaks up once more.
"Mia. Isn't. Here. I'm not lying to you, Diego."
"It wouldn't be the first time, my little lioness. And here I thought you had finally grown up." He brings the coffee to his lips and sips, unfazed. Phoenix and Maya seem to grit their teeth in unison. Phoenix doesn't know who this guy is, but he wasn't going to let him get away with harassing Maya. And Mia, for the matter.
"Look, you've got your coffee. I think your business here is done. You can leave, now." He has to admit, the man's, Diego's, confident outer shell makes it a little more difficult for Phoenix to puff his chest in retaliation. His implied threat bears no reaction from the darker man. No reaction other than the slight furrowing of his thick eyebrows.
"Maya, if she's not here, then where-"
" Hey ," Phoenix blurts. The word, his angry tone--they leave his lips before he can consider the consequences. Oh god. He's the one asking for trouble, now. Well….no turning back. "Answer me. I'm talking to you." One of his legs is trembling, and thankfully it's hidden behind the lip of the counter. "Are you going to leave, or will I have to escort you?"
"Nick-" Maya starts, but with a nudge on the shoulder from her friend, she stops. They meet eyes, and Phoenix nods, silently promising to help her out.
Diego's tired eyes darken, crinkling his now-empty paper cup in his fingers. He keeps his cool, and doesn't crush it.
"Mia doesn't need anyone looking out for her. She isn't usually impressed by a pair of goody two-shoes." He smiles smugly. "Just something to keep in mind."
Phoenix leans over the counter, overlapping Maya and putting himself in between her and the other man. He places his palms flat on the black granite.
"She's my boss , and I have every right to steer harmful people away from her business as an associate. And I don't really appreciate the way you're talking to my co-worker. So again, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." The longer the string of words becomes, the more confidently they roll off of Phoenix's tongue.
Diego hums, his expression of hidden dread ceasing to wipe from his face. He pauses to think, looking his opponent up and down. Eventually, he stands up from his stool and crumples the cup completely in his hand, leaving it on the countertop
"So. Even with new, trite little employees to pick up slack and give her some time off, she's still too busy to look me in the eye. Isn't that right, My'?" He grabs his coat off the back of his chair, but he doesn't put it on. "That's fine. I just didn't take your sister as one to deny that the bitter taste of black never leaves the present." He's melodramatic, peering at the finite decorations personifying the room. "But even still, she keeps smothering it in sugar, doesn't she?" A pause. "She just keeps on running."
With his overly dramatic metaphor, Diego steps out, ringing the bell once as the cafe door opens, and twice, when it shuts on its own as he walks away from the store.
There's silence for a few moments, Phoenix frozen in his defensive stance and glare until there isn't even a shadow left of the man to be seen through the wide window panes. He relaxes, releasing a breath he was holding and pulls his mask down to his chin to rub his face in his hands, exhausted.
"Thanks, Nick."
"Who was that guy? Talk about a spoiled fruitcake." He grabs his mask by the front, pulling it back up and snapping it into place over his mouth and nose.
Maya pauses, thinking for a moment longer than intended. There’s a cloudiness in her eyes.
“That was Mia’s fiance.”
Ill or not, Phoenix would’ve fallen into a coughing fit regardless. He strains a spoken response with a fist thumping his chest, eyes wide with shock.
“ What? ”
“Well, ex-fiance.”
“That doesn’t explain it any better!!” He tries his hardest to come off gently. Maya huffs and looks to the ceiling for answers.
“I wouldn’t be able to explain it anyway.” There’s a lump in her voice, but her honesty is distinct. She purses her lips to the side of her mouth. “It’s a long story.”
Pearl peels the curtains back, poking her little head through and studying the room like a fawn before it enters an open field. Phoenix has concerned eyes pointed toward the older girl, but still welcomes Pearl with an outstretched hand without tearing away. Pearl takes the hand and notices Maya's tension just as easily as the man she's holding onto, but she doesn’t speak up.
"I've got time. Is everything okay?"
He leans his lower back against the counter, close but leaving enough space between him and his co-worker to breathe in case things got heavy. He doesn't come across as nosy--er, at least he tries not to. Pearl clutches his hand a little tighter until Maya's lips melt into a tired smile, still averting her gaze--this time at the scraped hardwood floors.
"Thanks, Nick. I...really don't know what happened, though." She intertwines her fingers in every combination absentmindedly against her chest. "They just didn't work out."
When Maya looks up, she expects to see a Phoenix satisfied with her answer, but she is sorely mistaken. Instead, her male friend has his lip jutted out in thought, now leaning to the side to account for the way Pearl is now clinging to him by his forearm and tugging him down.
"Cousin Maya…"
"That's what happened?"
He knows he probably shouldn't be prying, but there's aged tension growing like the moss of an ancient tree just beyond his friends' chocolate little eyes. It's concerning, really--those eyes don't typically lose that glint they’re so famous for. And yet, here Phoenix stands now, observing the way they threaten to break right in front of him. How could he not be worried?
Maya closes those eyes, tearing herself some more personal space from her caretakers.
"Diego was really close with us. Sis went to law school with him and they dated for a long time. He asked her to marry him and then she just...pushed him away." A quiet, nostril sigh. "She never told me why. I thought he was really good for us."
The only one brave enough to make a move is Pearl, who gingerly releases her current captor to instead approach her cousin, hugging her around the waist with her head in Maya's stomach. Like a puppy, she doesn't understand, but reads the need for help and provides it with affection. Maya hums and ruffles her little cousin's head, smiling with a hint of relief.
"Don't worry about it though, Nick. It's really alright. Besides, it's not like I have any control over which guy she loves. That would be….dumb." There's still tension in her voice, Phoenix can hear it. He stares for a moment more, then finally allows himself to relax when Maya makes eye contact again with a reassuring smile. It's believable. He gives a short one in return, hoisting himself up from the counter and stretching his arms back behind him.
Neither notice, but there's an innocent spark in Pearl's eyes.
"Cousin Maya, you should pick Mr. Nick to be your fee-yawn-say!"
And oh, if she wasn't a child, Phoenix knows Maya would immediately have a hardy slap at the ready if the two of them hadn't shouted a stern and unmoving, "NO!" simultaneously, instead.
What follows is a silence, Pearl with a quivering lip and eyes wide, staring at her kin and new friend as they both statue defensively in front of her with the wildness of a pack of predators.
The two eldest turn only their heads toward each other, pairing their brains together. Maya scrunches her nose in clear disgust and fakes a gag while Phoenix sighs and rubs his forehead, reassured.
"Glad we're on the same page."
"Yep. Never. Never ever. Pearly, he's way too old. I bet you he drinks pickle juice."
Pearl sticks out her tongue and giggles, holding herself closer to her cousin to protect herself from the old man.
"Ewwwwww."
"Okay, I am not that old."
"Nick, come on. Your crush looks like one of the founding fathers!"
Phoenix chokes and speaks without thinking.
"He does not- "
"So you admit it!!!" Maya whips her phone out of her apron pocket, turning at the ready to make a run for it if she needs it. "I'm calling Apollo!!!!" she sing-songs.
" Maya!!!"
-
The nice thing about morning shifts at the Fey and Coffee coffee house is that Phoenix often got the rest of his day to himself. His time at work usually comes to a close with a slow eye of the storm, the store vacant enough for him and Maya (and Apollo, if he works earlier in the day) to share a lunch break. This was typically homework time for Pearls, still needing to keep up with her homeschooling even while staying with her cousins. She's a smart little girl, Phoenix believes, and has a sense of responsibility so strong that one can't help but see her as a balloon full of potential, continuing to fill and grow.
Though, sometimes she did need help with math, and being a college student overdue for graduation, Phoenix would like to assume elementary math is easy business. He quickly learns that it is, in fact, not easy. It's almost as if kids these days are expected to be confused, because all the easy ways of doing math that Phoenix learned have been thrown out the window. What's with all the boxes and pictures and steps? Just multiply the dang numbers!!!
Following that, the events of his day are pretty average. Not only did he have zero fun plans, especially considering his roommate, Larry, had been crashing at his new girlfriend's place the last few nights, he had quite a bit of school work to catch up on. Majoring in art and history with his childhood friend had sounded like a nice plan, but it was hard to be interested when the only artistic talent he beheld was the ability to sketch with a pencil, preferably mechanical. As much of a goof-off as Larry was, he was pretty amazing at churning out masterpieces. With the number of ex-girlfriends the man had painted portraits of, their apartment may as well be a women’s visibility museum. But it’s a place to live. Empty of lots of people, usually, but at least the walls were loud.
Even with an apartment quiet enough that one can only hear the sound of his own sniffles, Phoenix can't focus. Dazed and bored, his eyes aglaze at the thin text on thin pages telling thin, whitewashed tales of art and war. The life of a bachelor feels glamorous before one parties himself out in the first 2 years of university. But that was then. He had had his share of parties and drinks and maybe an embarrassing amount of lap dances, that’s for sure. Nowadays, though, the only excitement that seems to bless him on the regular is the magma temperature pizza sauce spilling from a pepperoni hot pocket, burning his fingers and tongue.
The oddity of it all is that as mundane as it is, the smell of cheap microwaved foods and short sniffles from his sinuses sets him into a familiar and distant mode of consciousness. Backstage in a poorly ventilated dressing room, microwaved dinners in the hands of rehearsal-goers with no time on their hands.
He takes his notes absently, preparing to perform and mind wandering into a state of excited jitters, humming familiar tunes quietly despite the directors' many attempts at encouraging the cast to save their voices.
The room is lit greenly. His work is attentive but mindless. He feels the cake of medical tape residue on his temple as he swears he hears the sound of someone upstage, in line with one of those finicky microphones hidden in a costume. They’re speaking in tongues of a script, words rolling out their jaw instinctively and "checking one, two, do re mi-"
Phoenix stops. He scolds his wandering thoughts.
That part of my life is over.
He winces, furrowing his brow and huffing, defeated. He shuts his textbook with a kind of assertiveness, not hesitating to dog-tag the corner of his current notebook page and swipe the rest of the stationery into his messenger bag.
He needs somewhere else to study.
-
Phoenix wishes he was someone with enough prose and care to call the library his second home. It really is an ideal atmosphere, an aorta of resources both physical and psychological. It had to be a nice perk of life, volunteering at the library, he’s sure. Employees are kind and every soul that enters the building is guaranteed to be at least a little bit lost and trying to find some conclusion. No one utilizing a library, for research, relaxation, entertainment and the like, is complete, and that is validating. It’s a source of answers, and a kind one at that.
The university library in particular is actually quite vast. Ivy University is a large school, after all. But the library is open to the public, as well. And despite this, though, there never seem to be as many people as Phoenix expects. Perhaps he just comes during slow parts of the day, if ever.
It’s a grand establishment, sure, but somehow it remains modest. There are warm hanging lights dangling from the glass ceilings, and bookshelves aren’t tall cabinets, but instead elongated hallways of colorful, organized leather spines. The computers available are old but functional, and the sounds of bricky beige keyboards dance through the lounge and study area whenever one is in use. Other visitors usually bring a device of their own these days, though. The air is somehow thick but not overwhelming, scented with hints of chocolate and ink on parchment.
Phoenix could explore more if he wanted to, examine the shelves and textbooks and whatnot, but ultimately he did only come to have a productive study session. There’s a set of tables and rainbow beanbags and low chairs inhabited by a few other folks, some with study buddies and others by their lonesome. It’s a wider age range than he expects, with a few kiddies who must’ve wandered off from the kids floor giggling and shushing on a rug, and a middle aged man sitting reclined with a leather-bound novel Phoenix isn’t close enough to see the title of. The movement is minimal, but the activity is nonetheless boundless. He takes a seat at an empty table in the corner with a good deal of space between the others, but still close enough to be open and warm.
Time passes and graphite erodes. There isn’t much else to say. The unfamiliar environment somehow keeps him from distractions as opposed to the obvious opposite, only ever stopping to rub his puffed eyes and scratch the inconspicuous stubble poking out from his chin. He’d have to shave tonight, or it’d drive him nuts trying to sleep.
It isn’t until his roughed hand begins to cramp that Phoenix stretches his body in the wooden seat, suppressing a strained whine as he relaxes and begins to pack up. He turns his hand around to see the side of his palm covered in graphite dust--one of the few woes of being a lefty--and brushes it off. It happens often enough that one would grow unbothered eventually over time. He swipes it on a clean sheet of paper next to his notes, removing some of the residue and then closing up the notebook. As he’s about to place it back into his bag, for whatever reason, Phoenix takes another scan of the room. Some of the visitors have transformed into different people, and the sun outside has begun to descend. It warms the atmosphere even more, the golden hour brightening different colored faces, the other sturdy wooden tables, the fabric of the carpets and clothes. Denim glows navy, white clean and visibly soft. Woolen coats of black, brown, magenta draped over chairs.
The evening is growing older, so it’s probably about time he scrape up some cash and get dinner. Maybe that ramen place down the street? He’ll call Larry and ask if he’ll be back to eat and wants anything. He runs his fingers through his hair in debate, and
Wait.
Magenta?
Phoenix’s eyes widen, perhaps a little too convinced that out of the millions of people populating the area, only one person could own bold clothes of such a color. He looks back to the table on the other side of the area.
To his misfortune, he’s Wright. Damn his punny surname.
Even with all the self control in the world, there wasn’t a way Phoenix could have completely silenced the awkward ‘ gurk ’ in the back of his throat at the sight of Prosecutor Edgeworth seated almost pompously, a neatly placed filing folder opened beneath his daggered eyes on the table in front of him. Things pan out of focus and Phoenix certainly falls a little dizzy. The odds. What were the odds?
He hasn’t even considered the actions he would take should the other man notice him, too. To the puzzled looks of the other guests, Phoenix immediately darts back into his chair, pulling out his tallest textbook and placing it vertically on the table to shield from the prosecutor’s line of sight.
He whips his phone out of his pocket, instinctively checks to make sure it is still silent, and taps his way into a text conversation with his female coworker.
Er, no. His friend. Only with a friend would Phoenix allow himself to be so impulsive. Yeah.
Phoenix [5:32 P.M.]: I think I just ran into Edgeworth.
He presses send and realizes very quickly that he would have to sit in silence, twiddling his thumbs until he gets a response. He urges himself to not take so many glances in the other man’s direction, or move even the slightest and draw attention to himself. It appears the prosecutor is engaged enough in his work, but Phoenix fears falling into that sense of security in the event that it’s false. Luck is thankfully with him, though, because just as he is about to click his device to sleep and make a run for it, he gets a notification.
Maya [5:34 P.M.]: u WHAT
Maya [5:34 P.M.]: what r the odds!! what did he say?
Phoenix cringes, clenching his jaw tight.
Phoenix [5:35 P.M.]: Okay I guess I didn’t run INTO him
The response comes quicker this time.
Maya [5:35 P.M.]: so you just let him get away???
Maya [5:35 P.M.]: is he still there???
Maya [5:36 P.M.]: nick answer me!! unless youre talking to him. reel taht man in
The wave of notifications is expected, Phoenix triple checking that his ancient smartphone is on silent at this point. He types another message, matching the turmoil.
Phoenix [5:36 P.M.]: He’s not a fish Maya!
Phoenix [5:37 P.M.]: Is this even okay? Or legal. Can I actually talk to this guy or would that be weird since he kinda knows me. *Should* I talk to him?
Phoenix [5:37 P.M.]: Not that I’d know how to anyw
Phoenix[ 5:37 P.M.]: zzzq
Phoenix [5:38 P.M.]: ...oh my god
The last message he sends is the only thing his brain is able to comprehend, because prior to it, Phoenix had made the mistake of getting too comfortable in his surroundings, leaning his body into the table with his elbow as he tapped away his woes. His arm slid just far enough to breach his barrier, knocking over the propped up textbook and landing on the wood of the tabletop with a loud ‘SLAM’. He barely remembers the moment it happens.
He swallows the last gulp of air he can draw before his throat closes at not only the sound, but ruckus it ensues.
He knows he’ll regret looking over to the man in question. He knows it. The other strangers in his field of vision have turned to him curiously too, already. At least he can easily assume that those strangers probably wouldn’t recognize him and instead go back to their business within a few seconds.
Stupidly, he turns to the one that probably would.
A klutzier mistake it is, even after knocking the textbook over, and it renders him frozen in place. Of course he’s being stared at. He expected this as much.
Eyes of steel had never felt so intense. But the man--it was Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth, it had to be--had a face far from cellophane, and couldn't be read. Phoenix tries to decipher the emotion lasering from him, and can't. He feels his abandoned phone buzz in his lap.
Maya [5:40 P.M.]: what what what happened
Maya [5:40 P.M.]: nick spill right jow
Maya [5:40 P.M.]: now*
A deer in headlights, Phoenix watches from a distance just close enough to be recognized, and to see the whites of Edgeworth's startled eyes examining him from across the room. Faint confusion radiates from his side of the room, and for a moment Phoenix thinks there's a chance he may not have blown his cover.
He scrambles for something natural to do, muttering a pitiful, "sorry," under his breath to fix his standing with the other library guests. The activity he ends up choosing is scribbling abstract lines in the margins of the open textbook, pretending to take notes. His eyes dart from the other man, the pencil spinning in his hand, and his phone, which is expertly hidden under the page previous to the one he chose to deface as he thinks of a response. His mind, however, is void.
As for Edgeworth, he has already turned his attention away, checking the watch under his sleeve and returning to the big file organizer before him. Phoenix doesn't see the moment the prosecutor stops looking at him, but he swears Edgeworth had been staring for more than a normal amount of time.
Did….did he recognize me? Is he pretending not to know?
Phoenix's throat contracts, trapping hot air of embarrassment in his chest and leaving him only able to scream in his head.
Maya [5:41 P.M.]: nick if you dont answer in .389577482 seconds im gonna assume youre dead
Phoenix [5:41 P.M.]: Christ, dude, hold it for a sec
Phoenix [5:42 P.M.]: I definitely just made a fool of myself and he definitely saw me
Phoenix [5:43 P.M.]: Like we made eye-contact
Phoenix [5:44 P.M.]: But I dont think he recognized me. Or I'm not sure, at least.
Maya [5:44 P.M.]: first of all you need to learn to type faster old man sjdjsj id get ur messages faster if they were tied to a birdy
Phoenix [5:46 P.M.]: Pardon me, I guess?
Maya [5:46 P.M.]: ily grandpa
Maya [5:46 P.M.]: but anyway. you should go talk to him
Of course he likes the idea of talking to the pretty lawyer man across the room, but only in his daydreams. Getting the green light from Maya made it seem like a realistic possibility. Though with realism, obviously there's also many, many things that can go wrong.
Phoenix [5:47 P.M.]: You really think so? It seems weird.
Maya [5:47 P.M.]: well yhink of it this way
Maya [5:47 P.M.]: if he didnt realize it was you, youll be a friendly surprise
Maya [5:48 P.M.]: but if he did that means every time u see him after this will be awkward and unaddressed and youll never recover from it bc youll never ever haveba chance like this again
Phoenix [5:49 P.M.]: Thanks for the encouragement, Maya. Really appreciated.
Maya [5:49 P.M.]: sure thing! ;)
Phoenix quietly croaks, clicking his phone to sleep for real this time and stuffing it in his pocket. He expects to ignore every radical thing his coworker suggested and just head home, not even bothering to grab dinner like he originally planned. As soon as he packs up, he will leave.
So, why then…
Why is he walking in the opposite direction of the exit?
In a daze, he arrives at the opposite end of the wooden table occupied by, and he is sure of it now from seeing him up close, Prosecutor Edgeworth with his head buried in a file organizer and a fountain pen, pressed against his lip, in his grasp. The longer Phoenix waits (and he isn't sure how long that is) the longer the face of the table seems to stretch. He is but a servant about to ask something of his king at the head of the table and will either be ignored, thrown in jail, or beheaded. He should know better.
Also, he is taking far too long to utter even a simple 'Hello!'
"Uh, hey Edgewo-"
" Jiminy--!...'Gott im Himmel'," Edgeworth squawks, clumsily dropping his pen to the floor in surprise. He instinctively checks to make sure he hasn't splattered ink on his clothing and leans his chair back to peek below the table to locate the pen. This all happens in a matter of seconds, because sooner than Phoenix can react, he feels a chilly gust travel up his spine from the cold glare he is immediately given. His throat closes at the ticked silver boring into him like chained cuffs on guilty wrists, but he forces words out anyway.
"Sorry. It's me, the…"
"The barista. I'm aware. I think we've already established that you're difficult to forget, have we not?"
Phoenix doesn't know whether to giggle bashfully or run away, because the other man's baritone has the bite of a slick fox, and Phoenix reaaallly can't tell if it's supposed to be in a sexy way. Edgeworth's eyebrows remain furrowed, his shoulders back stiffer than Phoenix had ever seen them.
"Y-yeah. Sorry, lemme get th-"
Phoenix hadn't realized he had dropped to one knee on the floor for the abandoned pen until he felt the warmth of pale skin beneath his fingertips instead, not noticing that Edgeworth had already reached to retrieve it himself. Phoenix barely grazes the valleys between the prosecutor's fingers before he yanks his own hand away, uselessly clenching his jaw and hoping the blush he already knows is present doesn't deepen.
Edgeworth huffs, frozen steel eyes growing even darker in what has to be annoyance, void of any visible fluster similar to Phoenix's. Phoenix's ears and violating fingertips burn a sulfuric shame under the other man's gaze. Yep. Definitely not in a sexy way.
Phoenix almost apologizes again, but swallows it, eager to change the atmosphere as soon as possible.
"So...what are you up to?" His lips curl in a small, feigned smile, cracking his knuckles one by one idly to fill the heavy quiet--a silence too silent for even the wonderland of bound text that consumes the world around them. He cautiously grabs the back of the chair adjacent to Miles' own, awaiting some kind of negative response from the other man that would deter him from sitting down, but nothing comes. Not being invited doesn't necessarily mean uninvited, right? He's already been ballsy enough--there's no retreating anymore. Blindly, he takes a seat as Miles doesn't give him even a glance.
"The same thing you would be utilizing a library for, I would imagine," he says, voice low enough to be acceptable in the building, but not without its usual, perhaps oblivious hiss. Phoenix places his elbow on the table, leaning into his palm with a more genuine smirk than before.
"Taking notes on the life of Michelangelo?"
This earns another sharp eye roll, but Phoenix is prepared enough for it this time that he isn't startled.
"Perhaps you don't recognize it considering the way our fields differ drastically, Mr. Wright, but I'm in the middle of working, if you're that interested."
Phoenix’s hand tenses microscopically around the tip of his chin, feeling a thwang on the inside of his ribs as he tries his best not to jerk. Sheepishness is vivid for him, he knows, and he can feel the mist of nervous sweat on the back of his neck. He covers it shyly, feeling far more naked with pink skin as he starts to swing his bag over one shoulder.
"Ah, y-yeah. Sorry I probably should've considered that before…"
Mr. Edgeworth hardly acknowledges Phoenix trying to make his apologetic exit, but Phoenix doesn't notice--Plans steer directly off the rails when his stupid, stupid heterochromatic eyes spot a familiar name and a familiar face on the parchment, dense with print, in front of the prosecutor. Phoenix lands his finger to a point on that big letter 'P', startling Edgeworth once more. And before he can stop himself, he opens his stupid, stupid mouth, too.
"Will Powers?!" Whoops. Damn it. He earns a few glares from the other visitors with clenched jaws that time, and an unforgiving hush from the ancient woman behind the service desk. He shrinks into his shoulders, muttering to himself, but not any less disturbed as he sits down on the edge of the wooden seat.
"Sorry. You're prosecuting Will Powers? Like, the actor?"
Edgeworth's eyebrows only lower, nose twitching once. Phoenix winces and waves his hands lightly in protest.
"Sorry, sorry, I know there's probably rules against you talking about your clients and whatnot-" The draft in the building seems to blow colder and colder the more he blabbers on, so he cuts himself off, recognizing already that the man before him has more important matters and would probably appreciate if Phoenix cut to the chase and exit fast enough to leave a trail of dust behind his feet.
"I know him. Personally, I mean."
The silence only lasts for a mere few seconds, and the stoic man thankfully relaxes those disapproving facial muscles and sighs, giving in. He blinks once and makes eye contact again, but the storm behind his gaze has softened into equilibrium, and Phoenix can breathe again. Not exactly inviting, but it's better than whatever expression he had to make him feel like a severely unwanted solicitor. Edgeworth holds his forehead on his fingertips.
"I suppose it'd be more logical than you recognizing the name from your TV watching habits?"
"Hey, I can be twenty-two and watch Kid's Masterpiece Theater," he snarks, and maybe, just maybe, there is a hint of a smile at the corners of Edgeworth's lips.
"You were a thespian, weren't you?"
"Which is how I know the guy. He was a few years ahead of me in the department, but got a nice acting gig on a kids show and dropped out of Ivy to pursue it. I haven't seen him since." He lays a head in a palm, a confused wrinkle between his brows. "What's he even on trial for? That guy wouldn't hurt a fruit fly."
Edgeworth takes a moment to respond, obvious in the way he seems to ponder the decision to proceed. He must deem the bachelor barista trustworthy, or perhaps useful, because he answers truthfully, albeit short.
"Well, I'm reluctant to tell you that you're quite wrong, as this man is on trial for premeditated murder," he deadpans, scooping the papers in his fingers to tap them neatly against the face of the table. He fiddles through his organizer, completely unfazed by the sound of Phoenix's jaw hitting the carpeted floor.
"Wh--No way. I can't believe that." His hands curiously grip the edge of the table. "What do they think he did?"
Edgeworth side eyes him once more, meditating a response again, but giving in.
"Mr. Powers is on trial for the murder of his subordinate, Jack Hammer, in bashing the man's head with a rusted pipe found in the filming studio. He died from blunt force trauma and Mr. Powers was discovered over the deceased victim with the murder weapon in his hands."
A feeling of existentialism falls over Phoenix's spine, and he swallows, but a monster in his gut continues to yank at strings of uncertainty, and his curiosity gets the best of him.
"How are they so sure he didn't, like," he waves a hand in circles to simulate thought, "I dunno. Just pick up the pipe after he was already dead? Maybe he was trying to save the guy."
Edgeworth clicks his pen and scoffs, a sound of dismissal that makes Phoenix feel lesser, as intended.
"Considering Powers was the only person capable of lifting such a thing and present at the studio that day, it's quite clear he not only lifted it off Mr. Hammer, but threw it down onto him with enough force to kill prior. He can claim to be innocent all he wants, but the answer is transparent." He speaks with a stiff upper lip, carrying humble pride. Phoenix’s stomach sinks. Sure, Will was never a close friend, but imagining the man in a situation like that…
"He's saying he's innocent?"
Edgeworth cracks one eye open, almost offended that anyone would ask such a question.
"Of course he is. Just as all criminals claim to be."
"Well, has anyone listened to him?"
The silence between them is large enough that it mixes with the rest of the quiet, the sniffles of students and clicking of keyboards muffled in poor acoustics. Edgeworth's eyes narrow again, puzzled. Phoenix averts his own, suddenly less confident in his view and waiting for the actual legal professional to speak.
"Just what are you implying, Wright." His voice doesn't hold genuine curiosity, but instead drips with demand for explanation. Phoenix's throat shakes and he shrugs sheepishly.
"I'm just…wondering if anyone is taking his word at all. He might be telling the truth."
"I understand that you find it hard to swallow that your old acquaintance is a criminal, but-"
"No! No, no, no, that's not what I'm saying." Phoenix shakes his head of nerves as a dog would with water. "Good people can do bad things. Believe me, I know. But have you guys actually considered everything?"
Phoenix definitely can see the way Edgeworth clenches his jaw behind pursed lips, but he doesn't answer. Phoenix's nerves return to bomb-diffusing levels with a mild tremor in his voice at the start of his attempted recovery.
"Wh...What I'm trying to say is that there's probably other possibilities. Like…" he thinks for a short moment, then snaps his finger into an upward point. "What if the pipe just fell on the guy? You said it was all rusted, right? Maybe the building isn't in good shape."
Edgeworth huffs once more, hotly this time, beginning to gather his belongings and making it apparent that he is not enthused with this interaction at all. Phoenix panics, searching for the closest thing he can think of to compliment within his reach to keep Edgeworth there. Keep them talking to each other.
His voice cracks.
"Yeah! You should get the building examined. See if it's in shape. The school's theater needed maintenance for structure and fireproofing all the time. Maybe that will do you and all your detectives better."
He resists the reflex to immediately cover his mouth, feeling his innards drop and melt into his shoes before the prosecutor’s expression ignites with a composed rage.
"Excuse me?”
Great job, Phoenix! Everyone loves it when you insult their job!
“Not that I have any obligation to correct someone who, let me remind you, is not a knowledgeable professional, but I take a lot of pride in my profession and legal team, and you've got quite a bit of nerve to imply that I and our detectives are performing any less than exceptionally. I don't recall asking for the opinion of someone uninvolved and otherwise useless to my case."
Phoenix squints his eyes through the fire and the flames, choked with neglect for proper communication and perplexed at the way the man keeps his hiss at a whisper yet still somehow thundering loudly in Phoenix's ears alone.
"Clearly I can't be bothered to work in an environment where I am constantly interrupted."
I guess he's right on that one.
Phoenix gnaws on the soft skin of his inner cheek, guilty that he approached the man at all. Edgeworth zips his messenger briefcase and makes his stubborn, angered leave with it flung over his shoulder. He doesn't say goodbye, and Phoenix doesn't feel very deserving of wishing him happy trails, either.
...
However.
By whatever string of fate, a seemingly golden opportunity presents itself as the sea parts, the prosecutor's footsteps echo further away, and Phoenix notices a single, small novel resting where Edgeworth's briefcase sat just moments before.
Very quickly does Phoenix abandon his shame, calling out to the prosecutor before it grows too late to do his good deed for the day. Thankfully, the other man is generous enough to turn around and give his limited attention as he stops only a few feet away from the table. Foot tapping impatiently as he drapes the maroon over his forearm. Phoenix waves the book, which is now in his hand.
"Is this yours? It was under your bag."
Multiple layers of realization shower the both of them at once within a few seconds as Phoenix gets an actual look at the book he instinctively held out to return.
Well, book isn't entirely the best word. It's a comic book. A manga issue. A very, very colorfully covered manga issue of what Phoenix can now recognize as the Steel Samurai, who is fantastically posed in the flesh next to a cast of other uniquely decorated characters on the front cover.
If he hadn't made as loud of a choked noise as he did, Phoenix probably would've been distracted enough by the sheer lawlessness of the art to notice Edgeworth's fuming, fuming face. His expression is cranberry: flushed red and unmistakably sour, lips parted in flabbergast as he trembles in obvious embarrassment before stomping inconspicuously close and ripping the comic from Phoenix's hands forcefully. His teeth clench, and they stay that way as Miles barks into the barista's ear.
"Do not approach me ever again, Mr. Wright."
He backs away, cold grey almost cancelling out pained crimson plaguing his skin as he paralyzes Phoenix with one more serious, point-ensuring stare before he turns gracefully on his heel and storms off.
Dumbly, Phoenix watches the man leave with his hand still holding out the ghost of the book, fuzzed with a flurry of confusion. He looks to the floor, scrunching his face at himself and running one hand across his scalp, processing the events that just took place and how he is absolutely at fault.
He sighs.
Well, that went well.