Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Phoenix exhales, focusing his vision on the mist of his moist breath puffing through the mesh of his tightly knit scarf and cutting through the brisk, November air. He clenches his hands in his puffy coat pockets to conserve warmth, bouncing his leg restlessly as he waits for the light across the street to signal a safe trip down the crosswalk. It's rather cold for the eleventh month, and it's definitely cold for northern California. If he wasn't on his way to a job interview at the Fey and Coffee cafe just outside the east perimeter of his university campus, he would surely be bundled up in a pair of thick sweatpants and the giant sweatshirt he bought from the Student Union Center his freshman year. 

Actually, he would probably just be in bed at his apartment. Beds are warmer. And softer and comfier and safer. But sitting in bed doesn't pay the bills, unfortunately. 

Instead, all he has the pleasure of wearing is his single white button-up and the nicest pair of... jeans ...that he owns. Yes, he's aware this isn't the most formal attire for an interview, but there isn't much of a reason for a 23 year-old art ex-theater major to own formal attire--all the costumes are provided--so he’s working with what he’s got. The traffic lights slow from their dull yellow to dull red, changing the orange 'stop' signal into the reassuring white stick man across the way, parting the sea of vehicles for Phoenix to cross. He keeps his head down, subconsciously focusing his feet to only step on the white lines painted on the pavement of the street as he bridges to the sidewalk on the other side. It doesn’t seem to matter how old he is or how many part-time jobs he has had in the past--Phoenix can’t seem to shake his nerves when it comes to interviews. His thoughts traverse or completely disappear as he waits impatiently for the dreaded interaction to come. Phoenix reaches the other side of the street, halting in his path just before his forehead meets a lamp-post. He had had his eyes squinted shut, tensing his muscles both to tolerate the bites of the cold air on his face and the cringy, worst-case scenarios he has playing in his head as the cafe gets closer and closer with each step. He barely gives a second thought to everything around him. Not the cracks in the sidewalk, not the new scuff on his fancy shoes, not the geese migrating overhead. You could say his attention is on his ears, mostly. More specifically, the pulse he hears within them as he moseys around the street corner and discovers the shop in question a few storefronts down. 

“ God--this is going to be a nightmare.” He shrinks into his shoulders even more, taking in a deep breath, approaching the front entrance, and letting it go as he grasps the cold metal handle, tugging the door open and announcing his entrance by twinkling a bell over head.

Before he feels the atmosphere engulf him, he hears a muffled store greeting from across the room. The owner of the voice is invisible, hiding where Phoenix assumes to be under the counter or through the gaudy beaded curtains leading to the back of the store, only accessible to the staff. The scent of raw java hits his senses like a wall, and as the front door slowly closes itself shut, the whirring voice of the city streets and vehicles is silenced. The whisper of the store’s speakers become more apparent, singing multiple mellow shades of jazz and other relaxing tunes through a slightly raspy crackle. The speakers must be old, or shot, but Phoenix doesn’t mind it. It almost sounds as if the music was coming from an old record player. It adds to the comfy vibrations he now finds himself swimming in. He notices that there are no patrons waiting in line or lounging in the provided seating areas. “It's a late morning on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t it be busier?” He hums, puzzled at the lack of customers as he removes his puffy winter coat and drapes it over one of his arms daintily, habitually wiping his feet on the black floor mat before making his way inside. 

As he searches for the owner of the voice that greeted him, Phoenix holds himself lightly on his feet, scanning the room. There's a simple, oriental rug beneath his feet. Near the front entrance, where he stands, the cafe houses a lounging area suited with a cozy set of furniture. The main attraction is a long, burnt orange corduroy sofa with a low, glass table placed homely in front of it. Complete with a set of decorative pillows resting in both corners of the sofa. They're so plump and fluffy, they look as though they could pop like balloons and scatter feathers in every direction, or swallow Phoenix's head like a cloud, should he attempt to rest his head upon one. It's been lived in, but all that sofa needs is a blanket to become the perfect napping location. Atop the coffee table are some askew, scattered cork coasters to counteract the neat stack of outdated magazines pushed to one side of the table. Under the table seems to be a few worn cardboard boxes with pictures printed on them. Jigsaw puzzles for the guests to put together, if they felt so inclined. Phoenix can’t help but think to himself that he would never commit to such a thing, because after taking one look at those boxes he already knows that putting one of them together in hopes none of the pieces are missing would be futile.

Aside from the gaudy fabrics and scratched, thrift store wooden tables, the rest of the establishment looks rather modern. The walls are paved with sturdy mahogany brick, the pores of the stone dusted and clean. The ceilings are black painted wood, which would be enough to add to the gloominess outside if it weren’t for the warmth of the butterscotch light emanating from the multiple woven lanterns hung around the store in the windows and above the few sit-in tables. There are a few indoor plants that call the establishment a home, resting beside the wooden bar counter and in the windowsills. There’s also a potted tree next to what appears to be a set of spiral stairs in the back of the room. At first the stairs don’t look as though they go anywhere, and simply exist for atmospheric decoration, but after further investigating and peering up their path, Phoenix actually spots a closed door up at the top of the stairs. He doesn’t dare snoop further and trespass, especially after being startled at the touch of a bold hand, grabbing his shoulder. He whips around, hitching his breath and feeling caught.

“Hey! Are you the newbie here for an interview?” 

The owner of the voice and the hand is a young girl, surely in her teens, and a few inches shorter than him. Everything about her appears, well, bold. Her dark hair is in a half up-do with a colorful scrunchie holding a dainty bun atop the peak of her skull. Her hair is pulled up, yet over her bearish brown eyes drape a gallant set of well-kept bangs. The rest of her hair drapes over her shoulders and back, bone straight with a small pair of colorful beads woven in for accessory. She wears a graphic t-shirt, the front printed with a comic book superhero ( one that Phoenix isn’t familiar with ) and tied in a small knot just above her hips. The flowey fabric around her legs almost convinces Phoenix that she's wearing a skirt, as it's difficult to tell where the seams start and where they end. However, they are indeed pants. They’re a pretty and dark aquamarine with lavender and violet floral prints scattered loosely around the fabric. She's also got beaded jewelry around her neck and hanging from her ears. They look like they would be tacky pieces of jewelry on their own, but they actually fit well with the rest of her get-up.

Phoenix thaws from his startled, frozen position, lowering the arm he brought to his chest in reflexive defense and turning his torso back around to face the girl. He holds his coat closer to himself nervously. 

“Ah, yeah. Yes, I am. How did you know?” Her voice sounds nothing like the one Phoenix spoke to on the phone a day prior, it was squeakier and peppier, so he thought to himself that he had a right to be curious. The girl’s face brightens just the slightest in acknowledgement, amused. 

“I’m Maya, the owner’s younger sister. She told me someone would be coming by today, and…” she motions her hand around the space as if she were presenting the store to him, “...we don’t exactly have customers busting down our doors at the moment, so I just assumed. I’ll get her for you.” She turns around, starting in the opposite direction of him, clacking her chunky shoes on the hardwood floor. “SIS!!!! The new apprentice is here!!!!!” Phoenix averts his eyes, pursing his lips in confusion, but ultimately staying silent. If this wacky girl was the owner’s sister, he assumes he’ll have to learn not to question things if he plans on working here. He can only imagine how much wackier the sister could get. He feels a fearful lump form in his throat.

“I told you not to call him that!” The more familiar female voice calls from another mystery location within the store. He assumes she's just past the curtains in the staff area. 

"Am I wrong?" Maya responds, pacing around the counter and into the back, running her fingers along the walls. She enters the curtains, the draft blowing them behind her as she does, and eventually, she's gone. 

-

After a few minutes, Phoenix finds himself being escorted by the other woman to the corduroy sofa to take a seat for the interview. He surely didn't expect it to take place here. 

The woman interviewing him is more accurately dressed for the part of a cafe employee (and certainly not as strange as the first girl, thankfully): she's dressed in a plain black button-down blouse. On her chest is a dulled, metallic pin that reads “Manager.” She's got a deep maroon waist-down apron tied around her obvious curves, over a pair of well-kept black pants, pairing well with the beret-like barista hat keeping her hair out of her face atop her head. Tied loosely around her neck and hanging down to her collar bone is a matching silky ascot. Lastly, on her feet are a pair of short, but sturdy black high heels. Black must be the most professional color, Phoenix wonders. She looks a bit like a stage manager-if the stage lights wouldn’t immediately expose those sparkly stud earrings.

"That can't be practical," Phoenix thinks. However, he quickly notices the constant determination in this woman's stride. She holds herself high--full of confidence and grace. It's almost….intimidating. But the way she presents herself, both physically and mentally, earns Phoenix's respect very quickly. "She knows what she's doing." 

She's barely said a word to him, yet Phoenix already feels the pressure to prove he's up to her standard. He bites back the urge to tug as his neck collar, swallowing and trying not to acknowledge the growing heat in his neck and ears. The woman holds a few sheets of paper, clacking them on the glass of the table to straighten them out before placing them on the clipboard in her lap. She pulls a pen from the breast pocket of her shirt and clicks it. Only then does she face Phoenix, looking him in the eyes with her own chocolate irises, and offering a smile to greet him. 

"Hi there. My name is Mia Fey. I'm the one who spoke with you on the phone the other day." She takes the clipboard in her hands, hovering it as she crosses her legs and gets comfortable. Phoenix, on the other hand, is stiff as a board, with toes pointed in and a small blush dusting his cheeks he can only pray this woman can't see. "You're Phoenix, right?" She reaches out a hand to shake. Phoenix accepts the invitation, shaking her hand with a grip more limp than he initially intended. He nods his head in confirmation. 

"Phoenix Wright." He almost stutters, and quickly takes the time to mentally kick himself back into place.

"This is a job interview. Not a date, you idiot." It's a dangerous world out there for a bisexual 23 year old man with a fear of beautiful people. Especially when that man is single. This happens more often than he would like to admit. At least he's grown more tolerant and less prone to acting like a complete idiot. Er, at least that's what he tells himself for motivation. 

"Well, Phoenix, this should take no time at all. I'm just going to ask a few general questions about you and take some notes. They'll be minimal. Ready?" She's oddly encouraging of him for a manager at a job interview, and he can't decide whether that makes him feel overqualified or barely as qualified as a 15 year old with a worker's permit. He forces a small smile. 

"W-when you are."

-

The interview flies by quickly enough, as Mia stated it would. She reads vague questions about teamwork and customer service off of the parchment, and Phoenix's responses grow less nervous with each new prompt. He even says a few things that make his hirer chuckle in response. This definitely jump-starts some confidence within him. "A bit of charisma never hurts. Even for a minimum wage job." A few quiet customers walk in and out, served by Maya while the interview plays out. By the end of it, Mia approaches his personal information, performing actions like spelling out his name and address, or confirming his age. It's all correct, and progresses the interview to the end very smoothly.

“Well, Phoenix, I’m glad to offer you this job.” She says this through a small, genuine smile, and the tightness that’s inhabited Phoenix’s chest for the last day is relieved in a short exhale. “When can you start?” 

“Um, whenever you need me, I guess! Thank you so much.” Money’s money. Mia’s face seems to grow more pleasant at his response. 

“I hope it’s not too much to ask, but can you start tomorrow? There’s another new employee coming in then, and it would be easiest if we trained both of you at the same time.” Phoenix’s eyebrows pop at the news, his interest peaking a little more. His relief grows at the thought of another new employee to sympathize with. He’s thankful to hear he won’t be the only one learning the ropes. 

“Of course. It’ll be a Saturday, after all.” 

Mia exhales, content and confident, lifting herself onto her feet and tucking the clipboard under her right arm. She puts her palms together in a delighted manner.

“Thank you incredibly. I should have an apron available for you tomorrow. Otherwise, the dress code isn’t very strict. Casual. Like what you would wear to school, per say.” The joke is on Ms. Fey, because Phoenix, at least these last few years at university, has had no shame waltzing into classes taught by people with PhDs in his favorite checkered pajama pants and a hoodie. But he understood well enough. “Can I get you anything before you go?” 

Phoenix waves his hands in front of himself, laughing sheepishly and feeling another blush creep onto his face. He slips his arms back into the sleeves of his coat and stands up. 

“No no, that’s okay. The job offer is enough. Thank you, again.” Mia smiles, letting Phoenix show himself to the door.

“Alright, then. We’ll see you tomorrow at 6:30, then!”

He freezes, hand just about to grasp the handle of his exit. His heart drops into his stomach as he utters the two most terrifying letters he has ever had the misfortune of hearing. 

“...A.M.?” He asks the question, but his poor conscience already knows the answer. He pushes his resentment as deep as it can go so as to not immediately lose the job.

“A.M.,” she confirms, waving him out. There may have been a hint of snide in her tone, as if she already knew of his dread, and she was teasing him for it. “Mornings are when we get the most business, you know.” 

“Right. Well, I’ll be here. See you soon!” “I hope.” There’s a twinge of pain in his voice for sure. But, oh well. Money’s money. Guess he’ll be jumping into bed a lot earlier tonight.

-

The dark morning’s air is as malevolent, if not more so than the day prior. Winter was coming rather quickly, and the only thing motivating Phoenix’s zombified brain to press further down the streets of the city’s outskirts is the thought of the initial welcoming warmth that is to come with him entering his new place of employment. He may still be the stereotypical poor, mediocre artist with nothing to do around the holidays, and there may still even be the smallest gash where the wound of being dumped used to be, but at least he could look forward to that comfortable little coffee house. 

“Good god,” he thinks to himself. The air is freezing. He could practically break off a gelled spike from his hair and use it as a toothpick. It doesn’t help the dry eyes he developed the night prior from slaving over his laptop to finish a paper, either. The prompt was on symbolism of the Enlightenment Movement in paintings during the Renaissance Era. Never again in his life does Phoenix want to read the name “Joseph Wright of Derby.” Not unless he wants to go clinically insane. Of all the names the famous painter could have-- why on Earth did it have to be his own?

If the temperature of the outside world is good for anything, it at least wakes him up. By the time he reaches the establishment again, his brain is pretty active. There’s little chance that Phoenix will collapse from exhaustion, or overfill one of the cups and give himself second degree coffee burns, or break the espresso machine and set everything on fire. Probably. He acknowledges that the likelihood of these circumstances are low. He reaches for the brass door handle and opens the glass door for himself, chiming the little bell in the doorway once more. 

This time, there are actually a few customers. They’re all wrapped in similar winter coats to protect themselves from the cold outside. Some are holding briefcases, some have tote bags swung over their shoulders. They’re waiting in line patiently, paying him no mind. The only person that seems to notice him is the young girl from yesterday, who is already situated behind the wooden counter. She’s got a hand placed sturdily on top of the espresso machine with simple brown suede bracelets dangling from her wrist. She stands on the tips of her toes to peer over and around the machine in use, uttering the same chipper store greeting that Phoenix had heard yesterday. When she realizes who he is, her mouth falls open in a cheerful grin, waving at him with her free hand. He forces himself into a short smile in return, gingerly making his way up to the counter and avoiding the curious glances in his direction from the other customers. The cheerful girl finishes making the drink she had already started, handing it to a man in a brown wool blazer. The man nods his head toward her and thanks her, allowing her to momentarily excuse herself from the next person in line.

"Glad to see you were able to get out of bed! You didn't seem too keen yesterday." Her comment strikes him quickly, but her energy immediately bypasses any opportunity for a response he can think of giving her. Touchy like she was before, Maya tugs at Phoenix's arm, dragging him behind her and guiding him past the counter, through the curtains. He utters a few wordless protests, but they again go unnoticed. "Nick, was it?" 

"Phoenix." She stops in her tracks for half a second, puckers her lips in thought, and promptly shrugs his correction off. 

"Same diff. Come on! Your partner got here just a bit ago." 

They swish through the gaudy hanging fabric, clacking the hanging beads dangling from the hems with their gust of air. They circle around a tiny corner into a single room. A break room, which also appears to be a storage room. In one corner closest to the entrance are boxes stacked high, full of various items like paper coffee cups and lids, refills for the syrups, and extra giant push-pumps to pour said syrups into. The more startling sight in another corner: bags upon bags of burlap full of what one can only assume to be coffee beans stacked and leaning. The godly force keeping the bags from falling is an old white refrigerator. With the fluorescent lights and that dinosaur of a machine, Phoenix feels more like a funeral home employee than a fancy modern barista. 

It isn’t until he turns his head at the sound of Mia’s voice that Phoenix notices the other person in the room. It’s a smaller man, facing away from the doorway and toward Mia, who’s attention is now on her sister and Phoenix. He must have just finished his welcoming conversation, because his hands are busy behind his back, tying an apron the same color as Mia’s around his waist. 

“Good morning, Phoenix! This is our other new coworker, Apollo.” 

Apollo finishes the double-knot around his waist and turns around to approach him. His face is blank (and similar to how Phoenix remembers his own face when he peeked in the mirror earlier that morning--dead tired) until his eyes focus on the new character before him. Suddenly, he’s much more animated, eyebrows to the sky in amazement. Phoenix can’t say he’s not a little shocked as well, as it’s quickly revealed that the two men….vary in size, one could say. Even with his large cowlicks, Apollo’s height is more than a few inches shorter than Phoenix’s own. With her heels, Mia towers over him as well. Looking rather dejected, Apollo takes his last look through the curtains at Maya, who is serving customers again. He thankfully still has her beat, and he sighs sharply. His gaze returns to the other man, furrowing his eyebrows and adopting an expression of feigned confidence as he reaches out for a handshake.

"Nice to meet you...ah," he stutters and halts his hand, searching his brain for a proper addressal. Phoenix smirks and grabs a hold of Apollo's hand, giving it a sturdy shake. Apollo's pensiveness flips some sort of switch in Phoenix's confidence. This guy's practically a kid.

"Phoenix Wright." Apollo purses his lips, instinctively clenching his fist when he lets go. Phoenix can't tell if this kid is just nervous or already hates him. It wouldn't be the first time that had happened. 

"Mr. Wright." Phoenix 'pfft's and scrunches his nose at the formality. 

"You can call me Phoenix, you know." Apollo reveals himself to be a bit of a hot head-- both figuratively and literally. He scoffs at the correction, folding his arms across his chest and glancing his cedar irises to the side. Phoenix would think it's because of a stiff upper lip if Apollo's face wasn't completely flushed. 

"Well, you're like... I don't know? You're like my superior? It feels weird." He has to look upward to dart his eyes between Phoenix's face and the floor. The awkwardness pains him just the slightest, but its flow between them is thankfully interrupted by Maya's chunky shoes on the tile floor as she skips toward her sister, returning from the counter. She had either heard it all, or caught the last bit of conversation as she walked in. From Mia's hands Maya grabs another maroon sheet of fabric--another apron--and balls it up like dirty laundry in her hands. She shrugs nonchalantly. 

"I don't really care about that. He's a rookie, too. Hey Nick, catch!" 

A loose ball of apron comes barreling towards Phoenix's face at point blank, startling him. The apron unravels itself immediately, so it's difficult to catch as it drapes itself over his shoulder and half of his face. He tugs it down and loops his head through the neck strap while staying tentative of his slicked hair. Mia chuckles to herself, bringing her curled fingers to her lips. She straightens her posture from her hip-pop stance and starts toward the curtains, brushing her hand along Maya's shoulders as she exits. 

"Don't be too rough with them. I'll be upstairs doing some paperwork and orders if you need me." Maya nods enthusiastically and waves her goodbye. 

Phoenix promptly reaches for the waist ties, but Maya, suddenly back at his side, beats him to the punch. Her small hands slide down the red strings, beginning to tie them. And because he's still registering the way Maya jumped up behind him, Phoenix is even more startled and jolts at the sudden squeeze around his stomach. Maya pulls her knot tight and aggressively as if she were tying Phoenix into a corset. 

With Nick still frozen with his shoulders to his neck, and Apollo's face only a little less opaque, Maya marches her way around Phoenix's side and turns to face her new crew mates like a drill sergeant. She places her hands on her hips, prideful of her prideless soldiers. 

"Whelp, let's get down to business, then!"

-

" Agh! Dammit!" 

Phoenix and Maya whip their heads around to see Apollo with the tips of his index and middle fingers in his mouth. His eyebrows are furrowed in frustration. 

"What happened?" They haven't been behind the counter for more than 3 minutes now. All Maya has shown them is a demonstration on how to work the register as she serves the next few customers. Both have looks of concern at his sudden outburst, but Maya has a realization and shrinks into her shoulders, biting her tongue in a sheepish grin. Apollo cries out again, not noticing her.

"The machine burnt my fingers!" He's waving his hand like a rag doll at his side, trying to shake the pain away. He alternates between this and tightly gripping the injured hand with his other. Maya hisses through her teeth.

"The top of that machine has a hot plate to keep pots of coffee warm. I probably should've said something." Apollo 'tch's and puckers his lips, annoyed. He folds his arms and clenches his damaged fist.

"Well there wasn't a pot there!" Maya smirks and rolls her eyes. 

"Oh re- lax. I just left the machine on by accident. Happens all the time. I sometimes burn myself when I lean on it too, see?" She bundles the few single dollar bills she was counting for a customer into one hand, raising the other to present the faint marks and calluses on her fingers. Said customer adopts a pretty concerned expression, but after he's given his change he can't be bothered to say something about it.

"Should you be leaning on it at all? You could break it," Phoenix suggests, and Maya shrugs, closing the register and writing acronyms based on the customer’s order in sharpie on a fresh paper cup. He suspects she's been told this before. 

"Probably. But it hasn't broken yet! Now lemme show you how to make this…” 

She starts to explain the different letters and their meanings, grabbing each additive and making the requested drink as the two men watch closely. It’s pretty self-explanatory, and the order is rather simple: ‘C’ means cream, ‘S’ is sugar, espresso is ‘X’ for some reason? 

“X! For 'X'-press-o!” This time it’s Apollo that scrunches his nose in distaste.

“That’s not how you say it at all,” he snarks. "It's 'espresso'." Maya groans so theatrically that she flips her head back, arching her spine and holding herself steady by hanging onto the ledge of the counter.

“I didn’t realize I was working with two grouchy old trolls .” Her banter is playful, and the two of them can see that. Phoenix knows better than to take bait like that. Apollo appears more pent up, but can take the joke. 

Maya continues to guide them through the vines, showing them where things are located and how to turn the machines on (and off, at Apollo’s request). In the middle of one of her lectures, after the store finds itself momentarily still, Maya perks up, looking as though she remembered something important.

“Speaking of grouchy trolls…” She sidetracks, closing the cupboard in front of her and turning around to face the rookies, delicately pressing her fingertips together in front of her torso. “It’s important you two know that there are gonna be some jerks, and some are regulars.” Her super-villainous pose gives both men goosebumps, eyebrows furrowed lowly toward them as she brings forth her caveat. “I’m going to have to teach you how to deal with them, too.” 

“You sound like this place is owned by the mob.” Apollo’s face bears pride as he jokes, but that pride is immediately stripped away when Maya shifts her gaze in his direction, cocking an eyebrow playfully. His mouth stiffens into a straight line, and he glances to Phoenix for help. The older man isn’t as petrified at the thought, less able to take the girl seriously after the last hour or so, but he’s admittedly a little nervous, too. The silence lasts for about a second more until Maya’s witch-like cackle rings in the group’s ears.

“You guys are dorks. There’s not much you can do about them, but I’ll try and warn you if I recognize one walking in.” 

Business starts to flow in more steadily as the morning grows older. The rising sun blares through the front windows at the beginning of the day, so Phoenix finds himself trying to take his first orders with his forearm blocking the sunbeams from his eyes. The first few customers look like nothing but silhouettes with heaven’s light emanating from behind them, so Phoenix feels lucky when 8 or 9 A.M. rolls around and the sun is high enough that he no longer needs to worry about permanent damage to his irises. It’s around this time that his nerves with marking the cups, remembering where things are located, and speaking to the customers start to fizzle away. He feels he can actually start to breathe, and even banter back with his new coworkers. 

That is, he can breathe until he’s forced to collapse his own lungs. He stifles a string of curses at the feeling of an unforgiving force smashing his foot into the floor as if it were grapes being pressed into wine. As his foot instantly begins to throb, he turns to identify the culprit. It’s Maya, staring at him bug eyed as if he did something wrong.

“What was that for????” He tries to keep his sharp accusation at a shallow voice, but all it does is bite at his vocal chords and earn another, more gentle form assault from Maya. She grabs his bicep and shakes him lightly, putting a stern finger to her lips and pointing toward the door. Now Apollo’s attention is captured, and the three of them discreetly take turns snatching a peek at the new customer walking through the door. When Phoenix makes eye contact with Maya again, she’s holding her two pointer fingers at the top of her head, curled like devil horns. It’s one of the mean customers.

“Some subtle warning!!”

The customer approaching the counter doesn’t notice Maya’s antics, as his head is bowed with his eyes buried into his phone. He squints through his glasses, viewing whatever is being displayed on his device’s screen with a near poker face. As his footsteps draw closer, Phoenix looks to Maya, suddenly forgetting everything under the pressure of such a stoic mystery man. He freezes up, looking for aid. Apollo is on the other side of the counter, opposite of the register, feigning ignorance and busying himself with...well… something. To another employee, like Phoenix, it’s easy to see that Apollo wants nothing to do with this allegedly troll-like man. Getting even empathy from the guy would certainly be asking too much. Phoenix huffs, annoyed at his loss in the game of nose-goes.  

The customer is a broader man, but whether that impression comes from his shape or his loud burgundy suit, Phoenix isn’t sure. Despite being rather young, around his own age Phoenix assumes, he has neat yet dull, grey hair shaped into a sophisticated and subtle undercut. He has a few gracious locks curtaining around his forehead and shaping his slightly angular face. He would look like a total VIP, but the most daunting thing about his appearance to Phoenix can only be the fixture under the man’s chin: did he stuff an entire box of tissues into his collar? Is that a napkin? A bib ?

Before he knows it, Phoenix is standing dumbly behind the counter with the man only a few feet from himself. He remembers that he's supposed to greet others when in uniform.

“A-ah! Good morning, sir! What can I get you?" He plasters a company-kissing grin across his lips. He doesn't expect much of a reaction from the stranger, yet somehow even after he is correct, he feels rather agitated. The suited man clicks his phone to sleep and slips it into the front pocket of his pants. In the process he replaces the device in his hands with a wallet, speaking without eye-contact. 

"I'd like your standard green tea in a medium size. Hot. A dash of lemon as well, but keep it modest. No sweetener." He pulls out a card and holds it between two fingers, already waiting for his total. Phoenix clams up  glancing toward Maya. All she does is give him an encouraging thumbs up (which, he can't quite tell if it's genuine or not) and try to reassure him that he knows what to do. He's been practicing all morning. 

"With nice people, sure."

"O-of course. Can I get a name for that?" He flicks the cap off the marker with his thumb, startled when it flies and hits the floor. The man looks him in the eye for the first time, furrowing one of his brows in judgement. While the look is...cold, the silver gleam of the man's irises make Phoenix's heart skip a beat. He feels like he's talking to royalty. A prince.

"I'm currently the only customer here. For what reason would providing my information be necessary? It's nothing but a waste of time." 

Phoenix blinks, swallows, and shakes himself out his brief and shocked trance. He jolts, kicking the marker cap at his feet out of the way and immediately plugging the man's order into the register. He practically feels the air in his lungs turn to sludge as the customer inserts his card and pays for his beverage, making no further comments. Phoenix doesn't watch the man walk to the other side of the counter, frantically making the drink with overwhelmed hands. Luckily, it's a simple order that he already had enough experience to make. Maya directs him to each machine just in case, but under the pressure of a handsome prince he simply turns to auto-pilot. 

Cursed again by his weak heart, Phoenix's nerves rise within his chest. Not only did he find the man attractive, sure, but the fact that his jitters cause him to nearly drop the fresh paper cup or spill the hot water with his shaky hands under the gaze of the customer only serves to fuel his inner-embarrassment. He swears he hears Maya giggle. Trying to make himself useful, Apollo hands Phoenix the little bottle of lemon juice, eyeing him with confused concern. "Shoot. Am I that obvious?" The heat in his cheeks grows, feigning a smile toward his coworker as he adds the few drops of lemon into the beverage. To finish, he clicks a plastic lid onto the cup and turns around to hand it off to it's recipient. 

"Here you are, sir." 

The man nods his head (in thanks?) and spins on his heel, pulling his device out once more. The three employees are about to sigh in relief, until the man turns back around. He has an aggravated look on his face. 

What's strange, though, is that he seems to instinctively glare at Maya.

"I thought I specifically requested 'light lemon'. My drink is sour," he snaps. The volume of his voice is still respectful, but anyone with ears could understand his displeasure.

Maya's eyes bulge, head shrinking into her shoulders at his stern voice. She freezes, eyes darting between the man and Phoenix, who is just as petrified. Regardless, he steps in front of Maya, taking the blame. If anyone messed it up, it would only be he that is guilty, after all. 

"I-I apologize. I can remake it for you." 

The man's eyes are again locked onto him. The steel storms again make him a tad weak at the knees. Silence follows for more than a few seconds as the gears turn in the customer's head, studying Phoenix and his outward impression. Phoenix is tightroping on a wire fence between speaking again in a cracked voice or joining the marker cap on the floor, but the man's gaze thankfully softens with a sigh. His eyes close with his breath, and he starts back outside. 

"No need. It's alright. Thank you." 

This time, the three employees stay alert like deer in an open field until the man exits the shop and turns himself out of sight at the street corner. Phoenix is about to cut the awkward silence with a comment, but Maya takes the first swing. This is a common thing, he notices.

"What the heck?" Her face is contorted in shock, looking at Phoenix as if he had just turned water into grape juice. "Why was he so nice to you?" Phoenix blinks a few times fast at her ridiculous claim, adopting a confused expression for himself as well.

"What do you mean nice ? He seemed kinda stuck up to me." Apollo joins Maya at her side, leaning one of his elbows onto the counter, looking much less like a frightened rabbit than he was a few minutes prior. 

"He is stuck up. That was Miles Edgeworth." He fiddles with the cheap gold watch around his wrist, face deadpanned. This changes when Maya whips around to him, startling him with her energy.

"You KNOW that guy??" Her hands had gripped one of his forearms, not even letting go at the sound of Apollo squeaking in surprise. He grits his teeth and his eyes widen at the scare. Perhaps by his own embarrassment, he rakes in his composure quickly and continues. 

"Well, we've talked about him in law school. He's a 23 year old prodigy prosecutor. He's pretty significant." There's a bite to his voice this time. "Which... might be why he acts so entitled." Apollo's arm is released from Maya's grasp, and he begins to pick at his nails. 

"Wait, you're in college?" is all Phoenix is able to muster. Apollo freezes his hands and scrunches his face slightly, looking at Phoenix through a lidded glare. 

"I'm twenty years old ." 

Phoenix and Maya are both startled by this. He wants to admit he thought Apollo was young enough to be in highschool with Maya, but he has an inkling that the comment wouldn't be appreciated, so he chokes it down. Apollo closes his eyes and huffs. 

"Anyway, he's kinda world renown. Probably thinks he's entitled." 

"Well duh. I always thought he was just a snoot that snaps at me if I mess up his drinks," Maya complains, crossing her arms. "He'd always have me make them again. It's a pain in the butt." Phoenix's mouth goes sideways at the trash talking about the man.

"Well, he didn't do it this time, did he?" Maya's eyes burst open in realization.

"OH YEAH! Back to that! What was up with that, huh? He didn't have you remake it! He'd never let me get away with that!" She stomps her foot like a toddler throwing a tantrum, thumping the rubber rug beneath the three of them. Phoenix shrugs his shoulders, putting his hands up in surrender. 

"D-don't ask me! I don't know why!" Maya groans, throwing herself forward and dangling her arms as if she were reaching to touch her toes in a bad temper. "Maybe he's not a bad guy." That's the optimistic and bisexual parts of his brain doing the talking. They're in cahoots right now. He knows it's ridiculous. 

"That's sexist, Nick." Maya turns to Apollo for validation of her joke, and all he does is roll his eyes. The other two snort in response, giggling together. Maya places her fists on her hips and takes in the view once more. "Oh well. We need to get back to work, anyway. I still have to train you not to mess up the drinks. After that, you'll have your first free employee drink. They're on the house now that you work here!"

The two begin the second half of their coffee shop lecture, and for the first few minutes of it, all that remains in Phoenix's mind are images and curious thoughts of that man. 

" Miles Edgeworth...

I wonder how often he visits the store."

Chapter Text

“Hey. Hey, Apollo.” Apollo has his hand over the top of the blender, unable to hear what Maya, who is tugging at the strings of his apron, has to say.

It’s been a little over a week since Phoenix and Apollo had started their jobs at Fey and Coffee. Maya has already warmed up to her two coworkers, and the same can be said for the men in return, at least for the most part. Phoenix already has a few more days of experience, as Mia took Apollo’s attendance in law school to thought and gave him fewer hours. Neither have any complaints.

 Apollo turns his torso around and voices his confusion towards Maya. 

“What?” His voice is just amplified enough to be heard over the blender. Maya holds her lit phone screen up to his face. He squints as if the loud noise is making it harder to see what she’s displaying.

“What’s your star sign?” Maya yells this over the racket, prompting Apollo to sigh lightly and only respond when the concoction is finished mixing. He repeats himself this time at a lower volume, pouring the drink into a disposable cup and capping it with a lid.

“What did you say?” He slides the drink to the front of the counter, shouting the name of the patron that requested it. Maya follows right behind him, accidentally stepping on his heel at least once. 

“I wanna know what your star sign is. My app can tell you how your day is going to be.” Apollo scrunches his face in mild disgust, debating in his head on whether or not this girl is serious. Maya juts out her bottom lip, pleading. “Oh come on, Polly! It doesn’t hurt to just tell me.” 

“Fine. How do you figure that out again?” Maya lights up, pulling her phone to her chest in excitement and preparing to type with her two thumbs. 

“Just tell me your birthday!” She moves her eyes from her virtual keyboard to his face, which is now peering overhead at the screen with her. She sticks her tongue out the side of her mouth in excited concentration. 

“December 31st.” Maya immediately types in the date and pulls up a different graphic on her phone, displaying it to Apollo. He takes the phone from her hands and analyzes the results. “You’re a Capricorn! It looks like you’re gonna have an unfortunate day today, though.” Apollo cocks an eyebrow and buzzes his lips mockingly, handing the device back to his co-worker with disinterest.

“That’s every day,” he snides, getting back to his work. Maya rolls her eyes, muttering something about Apollo acting like a loser. While this took place, Phoenix had been standing at the register taking an order. This didn’t prevent him from eavesdropping on the conversation. He makes his way to the other side of the counter to begin making the order and butts in.

“You don’t actually believe that stuff, do you Maya? There’s no proof that it’s real.” He can see her mouth fall agape while looking out the side of his eye. He notices her approaching him.

“I can believe what I wanna believe, Nick!” She places her fists on her hips and taps her foot disapprovingly.

“Well, sure. But that doesn’t make it any more real.” 

Maya puffs her bangs up with her breath, squinting at Phoenix in strife. He laughs at her.

“Alright, fine. Humor me. My birthday is October 11th.” Expecting the same excitement Apollo got, Phoenix is perturbed when Maya freezes in thought and gasps at her own realization. This time, it’s her flashing the disgusted face. 

“Ew. I didn’t know I was working with a scorpio ,” she scorns, taking a few steps back and keeping her limbs close to herself as if Phoenix suddenly became contagious with something she didn’t want. He raises his eyebrows, lids lowered. 

"Gee, I'm sorry," he responds, enough sarcasm to cut through Maya's act. She melts into a grin and relaxes, reading off of her phone once again. 

"'Be on the lookout for new things to commit to.' Looks like you're gonna make a big commitment today, Nick!"

“Am I now?”

It’s a Saturday morning and business is slower than usual--similar to the last Saturday he worked, Phoenix notices. Oh, to be the lucky ducks that have Saturdays off work. One day. Not that it bothers him, though. He isn’t really the type to be out late on Friday nights, and considering he never has any homework due on Saturdays, he can actually get a good night’s rest. This Saturday in particular is a sunnier one, so should the twilit stroll to the store have been drowsy and unruly as it is any other day, Phoenix would still be blessed with the soft morning rays to lull him fully awake. The two successors of the store, his coworker Maya and his boss, Mia, are usually there to balance him out, as he’s noticed the two are a couple of early birds. Growing up in a family that runs a java joint will definitely do that to you, surely. Whether it’s the pressure of being a sound employee for his boss or simply having to keep up with Maya’s antics, Phoenix is forced to work up the energy. With this being his norm, one can imagine Phoenix’s surprise when he sees his boss trudge part way down the steps that lead to the Fey’s abode, rocking a comfortably knit sweater and patterned leggings. Her feet are clothed with a pair of pink slippers. Not her usual business attire, but still formally casual. Carrying herself professionally even when dead would be expected of Mia, so this at least doesn’t surprise him. Her hair is up in a neat ponytail and her eyes are….tired, to put it lightly.

“Hey, Maya,” she calls. Maya’s attention is caught, peeking over her shoulder at the sound of her sister’s voice. She cocks her head, peeking at the clock on the wall and studies her kin with a confused expression. 

“Sis? You’re up early.” Early? Phoenix thinks. The world outside is lit and busy. He’s been awake for nearly 4 hours now. He realizes that he hadn’t noticed Mia was gone this entire time. Mia leans over the railing of the stairs to help her voice travel through the store to her sister.

“I planned on getting back to sleep, but I nearly forgot to tell you that Martin is coming by to drop Pearly off today. He’s supposed to be here in the next few hours or so. I’ll probably be sleeping in the house, so I need you to wait around for him.” She holds a palm to her forehead to shade her eyes from the bright light, yawning. Maya groans.

“Do I have to talk to him?”

“All he’s doing is dropping her off. You don’t have to do anything.” 

Maya salutes her sister, accepting the task. Mia glances finally toward all three of her employees, smiling smally and waving goodbye as she ascends back into the apartment to rest. When the door upstairs clicks shut, Maya sighs softly and gets back to work. Phoenix and Apollo look to each other for explanation, but neither seems to understand. They telepathically agree not to pry into the situation presented before them and proceed after Maya. Phoenix is still puzzled about Mia’s absence, though. She showed her face to them, so it shouldn’t be too nosy to ask, right?

“What’s Mia doing upstairs? She feeling okay?” Maya perks up from the sudsy blender she's hand-washing in the sink, looking over her shoulder to respond.

"Oh yeah, she's fine. Just sleepy. She worked really early this morning." Apollo makes a concerned noise.

"Does she have a second job???" Maya shakes her head nonchalantly, smiling at his reaction.

"Nah. Sis just works her shift early before we open. Taking care of the food deliveries, pre making all the dough for the breads and cookies for the week. Stuff like that. She starts working around 2 in the morning on really busy days." 

Phoenix voices his amazement and Apollo nearly spits his drink, stumbling forward and away from the counter he was leaning back on. 

"Are you kidding? That early?" Maya shrugs.

"Well, yeah. It's a lot of work. She takes care of the organizing and baking as long as I run the shop while she catches up on sleep. That's our routine." She looks up to find two judgemental faces peering back at her. “What are those nasty looks for?” she sasses, scrunching her shoulders gingerly in defense. 

“Have you offered to help her?” Apollo bites, chuckling in awe as the words escape his mouth. Maya points a soapy index finger at the short man, threatening to poke his wide forehead.

“Who do ya think I am? Of course I have!” Apollo raises his hands in surrender, gritting his teeth. It’s enough to push Maya and her teasing out of his personal space and back to the sink. She turns on the faucet to rinse the freshly clean utensils, continuing to speak over the sound of the water. “I think she likes to do it. Gives her time to meditate and think to herself, yanno?” 

The two men cease to ask more questions after that, quietly cleaning or brewing. The response was enough to rid Apollo of his curiosity, but Phoenix couldn’t help but feel a little guilt fall upon his shoulders. He pictures his boss slaving around the shop and working herself to exhaustion at forbidden hours of the night. It doesn’t seem fair, especially because his Saturday shift so far has consisted of tending to a very weak flow of customers, or leaning quietly into the counter and sipping his free coffee. The only thing he can attest to slaving over is pressing buttons on a cash register. Despite Maya’s reassurance, he doesn’t shake the feeling of being useless out of his head for a while after Mia’s appearance. 

The patrons unlucky enough to be working on a Saturday begin to trickle in more and more slowly as the morning grows older. They serve many different faces: familiar faces of those working at establishments nearby, and faces of complete strangers. They serve a mom with two children bunched up like round pillowy beach balls to battle the cold, and a set of three old women dropping in after church and sharing a dainty plate of the store’s baked sweets (and a lot of gossip) together. There’s even a gaggle of a few young preteens that enter simply because they have nothing better to do and nowhere else to go. Perhaps they realized walking around town is only fun when the weather is palatable.

Within the regulars that visit the shop that day is none other than the curious man Phoenix had met on his first day working there. Considering Maya and Apollo’s stern description of him, Phoenix is always surprised when he looks at the sound of the door’s bell and sees him entering the building. 

“Miles Edgeworth. A young, undefeated prosecutor with a strong will to keep it that way. He started at the young age of 20, and since then he’ll do anything to make sure everything goes right for him. At least that’s what the rumors around the law school have to say.” Apollo shudders. “I think his cold eyes speak for themselves, though.”

“He doesn’t come here very often. Or, at least he used to not come here. I always thought it was because he thinks my service is bad.” Maya folds her arms across her chest. “He’s super picky. And kinda rude if I ever mess up his order.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t mess up his order, then.” Maya smirks and kicks Phoenix in the shin playfully.

“You’re talking a lotta smack for someone who’s barely worked here, Nick.”

“I’d like a medium Earl Grey tea with milk, please.” 

Edgeworth has visited the shop a few times already within Phoenix’s first week, and this trend hasn’t stopped yet. Oddly, today he’s dressed down in comparison to his previous suit coats and blazers. He’s wearing a simple black pea coat, likely made of wool, and a pair of slim taupe chinos below his waist. There’s a fancy scarf wrapped around the collar of his coat and neck as well. As Phoenix has had more and more interactions with the man, he begins to seriously doubt his coworkers’ impressions of him. Sure, his glare still sends shivers down Phoenix’s spine, and he might be clenching the marker in his hand hard enough to stifle it’s shaking as he scribbles the order on the paper cup, but he couldn’t believe the man in front of him to be hurtful. Not on purpose, at least. 

“Sweet?” Phoenix asks. This is partly a joke on Phoenix’s end, as he assumes the other man recognizes him at this point, too. There’s an awkward tension between employees and regular customers that aren’t outgoing enough to address their familiarity, and Phoenix would rather break that tension than feign ignorance.  He reads the room accurately, because from the prosecutor erupts a short huff, just barely pleasant enough to count as a chuckle.

“I’d assume you already know the answer to that inquiry,” he states. He peeks down at the make-shift name tag pinned to the apron strap draped over Phoenix’s shoulder. “...Phoenix.” 

Phoenix adopts a triumphant smirk, spinning the marker in his hands after he marks for no sweetener. There appears to be no hard feelings from the other man over his previous clumsy antics as a new employee as long as the order turns out right.

“And this is going out to…?” he questions, slowing his words in anticipation and earning direct eye contact. The prosecutor crosses his arms, closing his eyes impatiently. 

“Edgeworth.” 

Phoenix is slightly startled by the man’s use of his surname instead of his first, but the feeling quickly subsides, as it wasn’t something he hadn’t already seen. He scribbles his best guess at spelling the name and plants the cup on the counter with a clack for one of his coworkers to grab. He taps Edgeworth’s simple order into the register, gives him the total, and charges the card handed to him in return. He habitually reminds Edgeworth that his drink will be ready shortly as he does with every customer, and he expects Edgeworth to walk away from the register. 

He doesn’t.

Edgeworth brings a hand to his chin in thought and abruptly continues his interactions with the barista. 

“Do pardon me, Phoenix. I hope this isn’t too personal of me to ask, but...have I met you before?” 

Phoenix is about to return back to his work, but stops in his tracks as the customer addresses him directly. He turns around on his heel, eyes wider than usual. They don’t compare to Apollo’s, though, as when Phoenix catches a glance of the 20 year old’s face, it’s bug-eyed and panicked.

“Uhh...I don’t. Believe so?” His voice raises in pitch as he finishes his thought. Edgeworth lowers his eyebrows, adjusting his hand so that his palm covers his lips and his index finger taps his cheek. 

“Well, are you familiar with the name Miles Edgeworth?” Phoenix jolts, hitching his breath. 

“I...well,” his eyes trail to Apollo, who is pale as a sheet of ice. The poor kid wants nothing to do with this. “I know OF the name. A...friend of mine is in law school. Said Miles Edgeworth is an admirable figure in the field. A prodigy.” He’s been averting his eyes, trying not to blow his cover and reveal that he knew the man’s name this entire time. His heart pounds. The last thing Phoenix wants to be to this handsome customer is a stalker. “Is uh...that you?” 

When he takes another gander at the prosecutor, he’s got his head turned to the side, avoiding the barista’s gaze. Only then does Phoenix realize that he might’ve embarrassed the guy, as the palm covering the lower half of his face fails to hide the faintest tint of pink on his cheeks and visible ear. Edgeworth keeps his composure well, brushing away any weakness fast enough to make one question if it was even there. He persists more.

“What is your family name, Phoenix?” It’s a demand this time. The way someone’s voice can be so gentle yet so stern at the same time admittedly makes Phoenix’s stomach swirl. He grips the ledge of the counter top, itching his ankle with his other foot shyly.

“Ah, it’s Wright. Phoenix Wright.” Edgeworth taps his foot, thinks for a moment longer, and exhales, giving up. Maya, his saving grace, had been preparing his beverage for him in the background of the conversation. When she finishes her job, she slides the lidded cup quietly onto the counter in between the two men, capturing their attention. Edgeworth grabs the drink delicately and hikes the messenger bag with his belongings further up the shoulder it was resting on, beginning his goodbye.

“Oh, well. I must have been mistaken, Mr. Wright. I apologize.” He pivots away from the counter but...not toward the exit? “I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I knew you from somewhere. No matter.” The prosecutor begins to unravel his scarf with his free hand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve decided to use your establishment’s lounge as a place of study for the time being. My office is being painted and I mustn't let my work ethic suffer because of it. This place is usually quiet, anyhow. You have my thanks.”

Phoenix’s lips are parted in silent awe at the abrupt goodbye, mind blank. He tries to translate the man’s sudden monologue, and decipher if it was derogatory? He sighs, forcing himself to ignore it and get back into a working groove. The lunch rush is inching close, and he needs to help Maya and Apollo prepare. The prosecutor, keeping his word, removes his coat and lays it neatly next to him on the corduroy sofa, where he had already taken a seat. He opens his messenger’s bag and pulls out an organizer full of files and writing utensils, grabbing a pen and placing it to his lips in focus. Phoenix has no idea what sort of information could be in all those files, and he doesn’t bother to try and find out. 

Before Phoenix can even take a few steps on his own, he’s startled by a sudden grip on his arm, dragging him toward the break room. He looks behind him as he’s being dragged and sees Apollo following hastily behind him. That narrows it down to Maya being the one nearly dislocating his arm as she whips him toward the table in the breakroom and flings the curtains shut behind Apollo, trapping the trio under the fluorescent lights of the little room. 

“Nick!! What the heck is UP with that guy? Are you a criminal?” It’s obvious Maya wants to shout, but she holds back, speaking in an aggressive whisper instead. Curtains aren’t sound proof, after all. Apollo has a realization about Maya’s claim and flinches, taking a broad step away from Phoenix for safety.

“Yeah, why in the world would Miles Edgeworth be after you?” Apollo whimpers, biting on his nails. “Were you an accomplice or something? Are you a criminal on the run? He’ll get you thrown in prison if he remembers how he knows you!” 

Phoenix raises his hands in defense, tensed up like a threatened rabbit in the woods. His eyes are wide and darting in confusion at the sudden accusations. He tries to keep the peace, his voice cracking in the process.

“Woah, woah, woah, guys, what on earth are you talking about?” The harsh lights in the plain white room give the atmosphere a sort of interrogation/solitary confinement vibe. The scared looks in his partners’ eyes only make him more fearful. Maya places her hands on her hips, squinting in slight suspicion. 

“Edgeworth, whoever he is, rarely ever came here and then suddenly, after you appeared, he shows up every other day! Claiming to know you!! Don’t you find that fishy?” Apollo backs her up with a ‘Yeah!’ and folds his arms. Phoenix flares his nostrils, shaking his head smally in bewilderment.

“Apollo started the same day as me! You can't just assume that I'm the reason behind it all. That makes no sense.” Maya opens her mouth to respond, pointing in accusation, but no sound comes out. She closes her mouth and suddenly, her glare is laser focused on the shorter man. Apollo looks as though he’s about to combust from fear and confusion. He’s always so animated for being such a grouch.

“Yeah, Nick’s right! And Apollo is the one all afraid of Edgeworth!” She takes a bold step toward Apollo, waving her fist in front of him. “What are you so nervous for, Polly?” Another step. “Are you a murderer ?”

“No!!!” he cries, nearly aflame, cowlick drooping from fearful sweat and irises as shrunken as they can go. 

Phoenix is about to grab Maya’s shoulder and stop her from committing murder, until she lowers her fist and snorts.

“You two are too easy to mess with.” The two men, with gritted teeth, are frozen, eyes locked on each other in disbelief as the girl standing in between them laughs to herself with her hands on her knees and her loose hair hanging over her face. She wipes a quick tear from her eye and sits back up, fixing her posture and broadening her shoulders. “Oh stop it, Apollo. You know it was getting boring here. I was just kidding." She turns back around to Phoenix. "But seriously, do you know that guy, Nick?”

Phoenix’s mouth remains agape, one eye twitching as he continues to process the situation and prepare to give Apollo anxiety counseling in the event that he needs immediate care. He lowers his hand, pulling his limbs back to himself and finally responding to her. 

“I...I don’t know? We seemed to figure that out already. I don’t think he actually knows me.” Maya purses her lips, squinting her eyes again and holding her chin in thought. Her face reads doubt. Apollo, who had recovered pretty quickly, shares the same feelings of disorientation that Phoenix has. Maya shifts through her thoughts out loud like a movie detective, pacing back and forth.

“There’s just no way he doesn't have a reason. He’s been coming to see you. He wants to see you. Why would he suddenly come to the store to see Nick?” She taps her lips as the gears turn in her head. Phoenix speaks up.

“Should, uh, should someone be out there manning the coun-” Maya takes her other hand and presses a finger against Phoenix’s lips, shushing him.

“We haven’t heard the store bell yet, Eager McBeaver.” She rolls her tongue inside of her cheek. “I’m not letting you weasel your way out of this one.”

“What else have I weaseled out fro-?” She presses her finger harder against Phoenix’s lips, shushing him again. He lowers his palms, which were fanned in question, lowering his eyes with them in annoyance. He already gives up. Next to them, Apollo is picking at the skin around his nails, and he snorts. He decides to entertain the other two. 

“Maybe Wright’s got an admirer,” he jokes, smirking to himself. Phoenix jolts up, straightening his back and pursing his still-shushed lips. Maya freezes in her hunched position, turning only her head toward the young attorney. There’s a twinge of fear in Phoenix’s chest when Maya’s face contorts into a cocky sneer. She takes her hand off her face, waving her finger approvingly at Apollo.

“Actually….” she asserts. “You may be onto something there.” Phoenix splutters at the claim, abashed and removing Maya’s arm from his face. 

“No way! That’s ridiculous. The guy is so cold to me.” 

“You don’t know the beginning  of cold customers, Nick. Polly’s right. Edgeworth comes to see the cute barista.” 

"Sure. And lemme guess: he made up some story about knowing me to get my name?" Maya animates her eyebrows playfully, taking his implication 100% seriously. 

Knowing full well that conversations like these never lead anywhere good, Phoenix attempts to brush his younger partners off of his shoulder by rolling up his sleeves and starting back to their station behind the counter, muttering something about being uselessly teased under his breath as he treks. He’s been doing an alright job at hiding his faint attraction to the handsome customer, and he’s determined to keep it that way. However, his luck is run low when Maya chokes him by the shirt collar, preventing him from passing through the curtains. When he flinches to protest, she shushes him, opening the curtain slowly. The three employees poke their heads secretly through the fabric exit, peering at the customer in question. He’s got his legs folded, leaning back into the corner of the sofa with his tea in one hand and a piece of paper in his other. The man has since placed a pair of glasses onto the bridge of his nose, presumably to aid him in reading the documents overflowing his organizer. 

“That’s a gay man if I’ve ever seen one,” Maya blurts, earning a light slap on her middle back from the eldest. 

“Maya! Hush,” he whispers, earning a snidely giggle from the teen. Edgeworth doesn’t appear to hear or notice them peeping. Phoenix sighs shortly in relief, roughly pulling the two out of the doorway and back into the break room by their apron ties. 

"See? I think he's shy. You should hit on him, Nick." Maya has her thumb pointed over her shoulder toward the prosecutor as she says this. Phoenix, still not convinced, ignores the claim and rolls his eyes. He makes a final attempt at getting back to his work when Apollo prys his own sharp voice into the conversation. 

"What're you complaining for? It's obvious you think he's hot." Phoenix clenches his jaw and freezes just as he's reaching for the curtain. If they could, he's positive his spiked hair would fall flaccid in remorse. He tries his best to act oblivious to the growing color in his cheeks and feigns a scowl toward the boy. Apollo only shrugs. "I'm just sayin'." It appears that the scowl doesn't work. 

"That's...that's not-" stutters Phoenix. Maya is at his side, poking the side of his ribs with alternating fingers, voicing, 'ooooooooooo' like a nosy child. He bats her hands away while Apollo continues over him. 

"Oh come on. You're like an open book!" He gestures towards the flustered man. "You're really bad at lying, you know. Your face is red as a beet. I can barely see your freckles," he laughs. Phoenix, feeling as though he's gone through the wringer, studies the man that's read him like the funnies in the newspaper. He's even got an amused smirk to add to his act. Phoenix adverts his eyes, panicked, and scratches the back of his head nervously. 

"Alright, sure. Fine. He's...attractive. But that doesn't mean I want to hit on him. I don’t plan on it." He side-eyes Maya, folding his arms across his chest sternly. Apollo exhales, feeling the opposite of progressive and reluctantly giving up. To Phoenix's luck, the twinkling sound of the bell above the front door rings, forcing the employees back to work with another visitor and a cold draft. 

"Whelp, better get going, hot stuff. Let's hope that wasn't your lover boy leaving you." Maya slaps Phoenix on the back like a football coach as she mosies back toward the register, Apollo following close behind her. Phoenix sighs dejectedly, thinking to himself, "There's no way this conversation is over, is there?"

-

As it turns out, the being that opened the front entrance door wasn't a customer, but someone Maya had been expecting. She ignites and gasps.

Apollo and Phoenix watch Maya rush over to the entrance and skid to a stop in front of a petite little girl standing feet-together on the black front door mat. She grabs said girl by both wrists and spins her around in greeting, the two of them exploding with giggles. The tiny lavender backpack that was swung over the girl's shoulder is flug away by their excitement's velocity. 

"Hey P!!!" 

"Cousin Maya!!" 

The little girl's voice is squeaky but gentle, and the sight of her lit eyes in the presence of Maya alone is enough to make everyone in the room want to fold their hands against their cheek and croon. They slow their twirl-filled reunion and Maya takes a knee to the wooden floor, wrapping her cloaked arms around her guest.

"How are you, Pearly?" She squeezes ‘Pearly’ tightly, straining her vocal chords the more she tightens. The growing constraint has no effect on the smaller girl, as her giddy laughter doesn't cease at all throughout the entirety of the embrace. 

“I’m good!!” she cheeps, clutching the fabric of her companion. The reunion is interrupted by a second chime of the door. A shorter-than-average man in a casual coat enters, rolling a suitcase that’s both far too small and far too floral to assume it belongs to him. Maya peeks her head up, unaffected.

“Hey uncle Martin.” The greeting is far less joyful than the one she gave to Pearl. The man seems unaffected, clearing his throat and checking his watch. He hums a hello back to his niece. 

“Well, you know the drill. I’ll be back to pick her up next Sunday,” he deadpans, turning around to keep an eye on his running car just outside the door. He blindly places a hand on Pearl’s shoulder, causing her to look up. “Remember not to act up, alright Pearl?” He doesn’t face her as he speaks. 

“Okay Daddy!” 

“See you in a week.” 

Just as quick as he walked in, Martin was already walking out. Maya’s face, when Phoenix looks back at her, is essentially blank. The tension in the air is thick until the brief moment leaves along with the man’s fancy car down the street. Maya sighs quietly, turning her joyous attention back down to her cousin. 

“Hey Pearly, some new people started working here! Do you wanna meet them?” She grabs one of Pearl’s hands gently, turning in the direction of the counter, where Phoenix and Apollo have been stationed. Pearl scans the room for the new faces Maya was referring to, starting with the man sitting comfortably on the corduroy sofa. Edgeworth still resides in the lounge. He looks far too busy with his paperwork to be a worker. And scary, she thinks. Her eyes trail over to the counter, where she sees the two other men in familiar aprons working.

She makes eye contact with Phoenix, and he does his best to put on a smile for the child, though it’s stiff and a bit unnerving. Apollo does nothing, and Phoenix elbows his side, making him yelp. The sight and the sound of the two men startles Pearl like a kitten, causing her to bring her thumb to her lips and hide behind Maya’s side. Maya chuckles affectionately, giving her hand a small squeeze. 

“It’s okay. They’re nice, I promise.” She escorts the little girl over to the counter, hopping up on a bar stool. She pats the brown leather seat of the stool next to her own, inviting Pearl up. Pearl climbs the stool like it’s a jungle gym, hoisting her little body up and planting herself in the seat, sitting on her legs with her feet tucked in the back of the chair. She leans over the counter, burying the lower half of her face in her arms as she studies the two men. 

“This is Nick, Pearly.” Maya points to the noirette. Phoenix waves his hand timidly, cheeks tinting pink just from the sheer awkwardness. Does he reach out for her hand? How do you greet a kid??

“Hi. I’m Phoenix.” He places his elbows on the counter, being mindful of her personal space. She shrinks further into herself despite this. He would feel bad if he had the time, as Maya moves onto Apollo very quickly.

“And that’s Apollo.” Apollo keeps his arms crossed, grinning at the girl. He’s a lot better at first impressions than one would think. He says his own hello, and Pearl silently stares back. This goes on for a moment longer than what wouldn’t be considered an awkward amount of time, until Pearl speaks up, muffling her voice in the fabric of her sleeves with her chin on the counter. 

“You look like my rabbit.” 

Apollo’s face immediately loses it’s smiling mask, glancing at his laughing coworkers in displeasure. Pearl is confused at first, but being the little girl she is, she starts laughing along with the big kids regardless of her confusion. Maya turns to face Phoenix, leaning over the countertop. 

"Hey. Do we have any broken up cookies we can't sell?" She asks. Phoenix points his thumb toward the back room. 

"Uhh. There's a few we were just gonna throw away. Why?"

"Well don't throw them away!! Bring 'em here so Pearly can have one." She smiles at her cousin's starry eyes, and Phoenix can't help but feel soft at the sight of her excitement. As instructed, Phoenix heads to the back room and returns with 3 pieces of a whole chocolate chip cookie in a torn piece of wax paper. He places it on the counter and slides it toward Pearl. 

"Here you go. They're pretty tasty," he assures. Pearl gasps with delight, holding the biggest piece of the cookie in her fingers. 

"Thank you mister Nick!" she squeals. It appears sweets are the way to any child's heart, Phoenix thinks. Instead of wolfing the treat down, however, Pearl takes the broken portion of the cookie in her hand and breaks it further, splitting it into two even smaller pieces. She holds out her dainty hand with one of the cookie pieces to Phoenix. 

"Here! Let's share." Her offering catches him off guard at first, as it wasn't what he was expecting. He looks up from the cookie piece and at her face, and oh goodness . That cute little voice with that cute little face is enough to make Phoenix's heart melt. He resists the urge to clutch his chest and whimper in response to the adorable child and takes the cookie piece cooly. Though, his lip may have quivered a little bit within his smile.

"Thank you very much, Pearl. Can Maya and Apollo have some, too?" Pearl nods her head eagerly, bouncing her messily pinned up hair decorated with butterfly hair clips and causing the cookie crumbs around her lips to fall conveniently off. Phoenix hums, entertained and biting down on his own piece. 

As he’s facing the little girl with his elbows on the counter, Phoenix’s eyes can’t help but adjust their focus from the foreground to the background, noticing that Edgeworth is still lolling about over the coffee table with his chin resting atop the plastic lid of his drink. The only difference from before that Phoenix notices is that the prosecutor’s eyes aren’t buried in his neatly organized paperwork, but aimed at the counter where everyone else was still gathered. Perhaps it was only a short glance, as Edgeworth hardly acknowledges the shared eye contact and very quickly dives back into his work. 

Phoenix feels a secretive kick on his shin. He discovers the culprit is, unsurprisingly, Maya, as she leans over her oblique and whispers to him from the side of her mouth. 

“He looks a little lonely, don’t you think?” 

Phoenix huffs. He knows Maya only says this to get a rise out of him, but he softly whispers his agreement anyway. She certainly isn’t wrong -you’d think he’d have better places to be on a Saturday. He wasn’t the one to judge, though. 

Phoenix’s brief reflection on his hypocrisy is interrupted by yet another soft squeal from Pearl, preceded by the gentle clanks of a pair of black flats walking down the apartment steps. Pearl leaps from her seat, causing the now-empty piece of parchment paper to fwip up and float to the floor from the gust of her movement. She scrambles over to a well-rested and better dressed Mia Fey, finally ready for the day just at the break of the afternoon. 

“Cousin Mia!!!” The plaps of Pearl's fuzzy boots echo around the store until she reaches her smiling cousin, wrapping all four of her limbs around Mia's legs like a koala. "I missed you Cousin Mia!!" 

Mia grabs a lock of Pearl's soft hair, twirling it around her index finger. Mia is far less physically affectionate than her younger sister, but the love radiating from her is just as visible. 

"I missed you too, Pearly. Did you meet our new friends?" she asks, having already noticed the comfortable vibrations within the room. Pearl nods her head into Mia's swishy black pants. 

"Mmhmm! I shared my cookie with Mister Nick and Mister Apollo. And Mister Apollo looks like my rabbit!" The fireworks in her irises only fuel the laughter that comes from everyone except the receiving party, and Mia's face twists, amused. 

"Pearly, don't say that," Maya scolds, though it's obvious she's only saying it out of obligation. Apollo runs his palm over his head, flattening his cowlick only to watch it spring back up again. He's dejected. Pearl’s confusion at Maya’s concern is visible, but she immediately brushes it off. Her trust for the two Fey girls is very apparent. She continues to cling to Mia’s leg even as Mia attempts to maneuver toward the group. 

“Oh Oh! Cousin Mia! I watched a new episode of Pink Princess yesterday! And she said what you always say!” Pearl leaps up from Mia’s leg, startling the older cousin at the sudden loss of weight. Her small legs take a triumphant stance, placing one hand in a fist on her hip and pointing the other into the empty space in front of her. She matches her voice to the protagonist to the best of her ability.

 “Evil Magistrate! You kneel before me, asking for forgiveness, promising you’ll change. But I’m no fool. Lies beget more lies! Always!” She pretends to unsheath a sword from her back. “I must believe in myself before I believe in anyone else. And the way you cower at the sight of my saber tells me all I need to know! Say your prayers!!” She fences the air, adding action-packed sound effects. Maya sits backwards on the bar stool with her legs wrapped around the back, mimicking the sounds of what can only be described as the mentioned super villain getting his butt kicked through cupped hands around her mouth. 

Mia blinks, retaining her smile despite her shock towards subtle accusations that she holds murderous intent. “Ah...is that what I say?” Pearl stops her reenactment, holding her hands behind her back and nodding. She rocks on her heels.

“Mmhmm! You always tell me to believe in myself.” 

The explanation gives Mia discernable relief. She looks up at Maya and they exchange sisterly smiles. 

“Why don’t you go with Maya to set up the pull-out bed upstairs? Your suitcase is still down here!” 

Pearl turns her head, raising her eyebrows at the fact. She must have forgotten while getting caught up in the excitement of so many new people. She nods her head, grabbing her suitcase and rolling it enthusiastically on the floor towards the stairs with Maya following behind her. Mia walks around the side of the counter and looks out into the store. 

“Slow day?” 

Apollo shrugs his shoulders, closing his eyes and leaning back into the counter. 

“Just in the eye of the storm right now. We’re waiting for the lunch rush.” Mia turns her head toward him, cocking an eyebrow and smiling smartly. 

“It’s past noon. The lunch rush has already started,” she corrects, making Apollo jump into his own throat. He stutters, scratching his arm at his mistake. She waves him off and laughs, reaching into the breakroom to grab an apron off of the hooks hidden by the curtains. As she loops it over her head, rustling her dangling earrings, Phoenix addresses the thought he had been sitting on all day. 

“Hey Chief--Maya said you worked real early this morning. Is everything alright?” 

Mia hums a question mark, unable to recognize the question at first. She soon realizes and chuckles simply in response as she ties the maroon apron straps behind her torso. 

“Oh, of course. It’s just a weekend. A lot of work needs to be done in the mornings.” She’s about to proceed with her work once again, but Phoenix interrupts her with an offer he isn’t sure he should be making. 

“Well...do you need any help? You looked exhausted earlier.” He bites his tongue as soon as the words leave his lips, wondering if he had been insensitive. Mia only laughs at his discomfort, albeit thankful for the gesture. 

“I really couldn’t ask either of you to help with opening in the mornings, Phoenix.” He shrugs, aware of her humbleness and attempting to push it down. 

“Why not? We both work here.” Apollo raises his hands removing himself from the idea. 

“ We? I’ve got law school, man. Count me out.” Mia only grins understandably at the younger employee. She pauses, looking up at the ceiling in thought. She sighs a conquered sigh. 

“Well.... if you really want the hours, Phoenix, tomorrow is Sunday. Those are the busiest mornings. We have to prepare for the week, not just the day.” She turns to look at him, her bangs swaying in after effect. “Would you be up for it? The help would be appreciated.” Phoenix leans into his own arms, not taking any time to ponder the decision. 

“Sure. I’ve got nothing better to do.” 

The Chief grins at his response, slapping him on the back similar to the way Maya did to him prior. Sister like sister. 

“Great! I’ll see you tomorrow at two, then. For now, though, it’s almost one. Your shift is over. You’ve gotta get out of here before you hate the job and I have to pay you overtime.” Phoenix flinches, looking up at the iron-wood clock on the wall. Jeez. Had it already been 8 hours? Still dazed at his sudden commitment, he unties his own apron and drops it in Mia’s out-held hand. He mutters a “shoot” under his breath and something about her being right. This was typical. If it weren’t for Mia, Phoenix would never remember to go home or take a break on time. He appreciated a boss that both pushed him hard but didn’t let capitalism take advantage of him. A ‘Chief.’ He snakes his arms through the sleeves of his thick coat and swings it around his back. He zips himself up and salutes his coworkers.

“I’ll see you then, Chief.” He whimpers, remembering just how early his wake up call will have to be. “Wish me luck, Apollo.” 

“You asked for it,” he quips, waving Phoenix off while still at Mia’s side. 

As he approaches the door, Phoenix looks toward the corduroy sofa. It isn’t sure when it became that way, but it’s empty.

Chapter Text

    “Phoenix...are you sure you’re up for this?” 

    Mia waves her hand in front of Phoenix’s disoriented face. It’s just after 2:30 in the morning, and Phoenix is mentally whipping himself for both applying for a job requiring him to wake before the crack of dawn as well as making the stupid decision of offering to come in even earlier. He had had many experiences in his life, but none like walking the streets in the dead of night for a job he’s barely spent 2 weeks working. Northern California isn’t especially cold in the winters--at least, this is what any diurnal human being would think having only been outside during the day. On his walk to the shop in the middle of the night Phoenix is met with flurries of thin snow. It’s just barely cold enough for the misty rain to freeze, and there’s so little of it that it’s no wonder the weather forecast didn’t mention it. There’s so little of it, but boy, is it enough to make the walk uncomfortable. 

    The only feedback Mia gets from the exhausted man is the movement of his eyes following her hand. If there’s more reaction on his face, she can’t see it, as he has a bright red scarf wrapped generously around his neck and up his face like a ninja’s mask. He grunts. Mia is just glad he’s alive. She laughs and pulls him inside. 

    “Come on, you’ll wake up soon enough.” 

Their early morning begins with a stroll to the familiar break room. What always seems so welcoming during his day shift is frightening and sheer, as when Phoenix enters the room and Mia flicks on the light, their unnatural fluorescent waves stun him. The only sounds he can hear are the hum of the old refrigerator and Mia's black flats on the scuffed tile floor. She approaches the stack of cardboard boxes on the far side of the room, inviting Phoenix over with a wave. 

"I think our delivery from the Kitaki's is running late, but it's no matter. I'm sure we have enough materials to start." She wraps her fingers around the corners of one of the boxes, removing it from the top of the tower and nudging Phoenix with the tip of her shoe. "We've got plenty of extra beans to grind up." 

Phoenix jumps out of his skin when he unknowingly takes the box from his boss's hands, startled by its weight. Mia had carried it so effortlessly, so how was he supposed to know to prepare for how heavy it is? Thanks to his misinterpretation, the cardboard slips from his butterfingers and lands inconveniently onto the toe of his shoe. He hitches his breath, preventing with every fiber of his being a string of curses that would make his grandmother roll in her grave from escaping his lips. The lips of the box fly open, revealing its contents: it’s lined with a blue plastic bag full of loose, freshly roasted coffee beans. It’s aroma packs a punch. When Phoenix jolts and yanks his foot out from under the weight, Mia comes to the rescue in catching the box before it tips over. Instead of the entire box, only a few straggler beans fly out and skate across the floor. 

Frozen in unease in a squatting position, Mia gently pushes the box back into a stable position, looking up at her peer. His eyes are glued shut and he’s close to biting his lip open, trying his hardest not to wake Mia’s family sleeping upstairs. Mia snorts, trying to hide her utmost amusement. 

“That’s one way to wake yourself up, I suppose.” Phoenix whimpers, dropping his foot and biting on the side of his finger, nodding. “Are you gonna be able to carry more?” 

Phoenix furrows his brow. 

“Of course I can! You just...picked it up so easily. I just...didn't think it would be that heavy.” He stubbornly squats down to lift the box of coffee, this time with a little more ease in his movement. Though, it’s obvious that it’s less of a piece of cake for him from how tightly his hands are gripping it. College hasn’t done his bodily strength any favors, that’s for sure. Mia sees this clearly, but she merely smirks and doesn’t say anything, grabbing her own box. 

“So, my family’s been pretty dedicated to the whole ‘home-made’ and ‘natural’ theme we’ve got going on, so we still grind up the coffee ourselves every morning. It just tastes better that way.” They’ve since placed the boxes of whole coffee beans on the counter in the break room next to the hand washing sink. Mia is standing up on her toes and opening the cupboard above their heads. Out she pulls is a large, stainless steel contraption with a switch on the side and a bowl, as well as a large container that was being stored next to the former. Dusts of leftover coffee grinds swim down from the shelf with it, which Mia promptly sweeps off the counter with the side of her palm. Phoenix leans his weight onto one leg, crossing his arms and studying his boss. 

“Tastes better because it’s made with love?” he snides. Mia doesn’t look in his direction, but rolls her eyes up. From inside the machine’s bowl she fishes a cord with an electrical plug at the end.

“Tastes better because it’s fresh .” She plugs it in and looks at her apprentice. “And made from ingredients that weren't on the floor.” 

Phoenix’s face twists and he makes a noise in his throat, licking one of his canines. He’s starting to notice the similarities between his two female coworkers. It wasn’t as obvious at first with Mia, with her professional first impression, but her impish humor is there nonetheless. Not that he was complaining. 

“We used to have an old antique hand grinder.” Mia struts her way to the stack of empty paper cups and plucks one off the top. “My family used it forever for the same reason we don’t buy the coffee pre-ground. And my aunt was insistent we never get rid of it.” She opens the lid of the electric grinder in front of her, scooping up coffee beans in her acquired paper cup and shoveling them into the machine. Phoenix hums, amused. 

“And where is it now?” 

“A landfill, somewhere. It was busted. If you thought it took strength to carry a day’s worth of coffee beans? Then oh boy.” She grips her sleeved bicep as if it were sore. “My arm couldn’t take it anymore. Plus, it only made a few cups at a time. It was meant for a home kitchen, not a shop. So, I pitched it when my aunt left the store to me.” She sighs lowly to herself with a guilty grin on her face. “I’m sure great-grandma Ami doesn't mind, right? Now, I’m gonna show you how to use this thing…”

The instructions are simple, and the machine isn't as loud as Phoenix figured it would be. He remembered the way his mom would grind her own coffee in the mornings and the horrible clanking and chipping noises that would erupt from it. I guess it has been a few decades since then, though. Technology evolves too fast. Every so often the bowl at the bottom would fill up, and he would empty the fresh grinds into the ceramic container stored with the grinder itself before filling the bowl up once more. The container is covered in a dark, almost blood-like red glaze. The ceramic has abstract and elegant swirly designs that were molded before the clay met the kiln, giving the top rim of it and the lid a pretty trim. Basically, if Morticia Addams owned a cookie jar, this would be the one. Once it was filled, he would bring it out to the counter for the use of every employee for the rest of that day.

After a while, Phoenix is trying the machine out on his own. He's doing just fine as Mia starts her other tasks until there's a knock on the back exit door. 

Well aware that it's only past 3 am, Phoenix's throat closes at the sound. It's definitely a murderer. There's no doubt about it. He should say his prayers now, just in case heaven turns out to be real. 

Mia on the other hand doesn't sweat the idea of being mutilated the moment she unlocks that door, starting toward the coat hangers and draping herself in a fuzzy parka. She motions her head, hurrying Phoenix to do the same. 

"That would be our baking ingredients for the week. Come help us unload." She reaches the exit and fiddles with the lock, prying the door open and greeting a face she seems quite familiar with. "Morning, Wocky." Her torso feels the gust of the frigid outside and decides to wear her coat properly instead of using it as a blanket. 

The delivery boy flicks the brim of his hat in greeting, flashing an almost child-like and toothy smile. His ears are decked with matte silver piercings, and his hair looks forcefully contained in his uniform's cap with wisps of it peeking out around his neck and ears like an overstuffed pillow. Around his fingers are multiple bandages, which Phoenix hopes are due to his job, and not any other matters. 

"Mornin' Mia!" Phoenix, now properly dressed for the cold, pokes through the door, immediately catching the delivery boy's attention. Wocky motions his head toward him suspiciously, crossing his arms after handing Mia a clipboard with a pen attached to the metal. "Who's tha cat?" Phoenix mildly shrinks into his shoulders as Mia scribbles onto the paper.

"That's Phoenix. He's my employee and he offered to help me out this morning." She hands the signed clipboard back to Wocky, who takes it without tearing his eyes off of the other man. 

"H-hi," Phoenix mutters. Wocky juts out his lip and squints in thought, but eventually relaxes and turns to open the cargo door of his orange delivery truck. 

"Alright, I trust you, Mia. But don't go taking tha help of any stray cat, ya hear? Not without knowin' ow to kick his ass if he starts ta get fresh. Too many clowns I've seen in tha business, yanno?" It would be easier to take him seriously if he wasn't clearly a teenager at a golden 5'6" and retrieving boxes from the inside of a truck decorated with muffins and cutesy foxes on the side. He acts like the bakery is part of the mob… Wocky smiles wide, thinking his next lines. "That's why I'm always tellin' my Alita how to knock a tooth outta someone if they get too smart. She may be an angel, but a cat's gotta know how to scratch, ya vibing with me?" His voice echoes into the truck's chamber, rambling endlessly in his colloquial mobster dialect. Mia glances to Phoenix out of the corner of her eye, smirking at Phoenix's distraught before going to help the delivery boy. 

"You seem to be in a good mood today, Wocky. What's the buzz?" The two stroll into the building, Mia with a few boxes in her arms and Wocky pushing a rusted trolly. Feeling useless, Phoenix follows their natural lead and grabs a box of his own. It's--again--heavier than expected, especially considering it's small size. He looks at the label printed on the cardboard. It's a box full of sticks of butter. Makes more sense. 

When Mia asks her question, Wocky adopts his same gapped grin and sets the boxes onto the floor, emptying the trolley. He rolls back the sleeve of his thick hoodie and flashes his forearm--it's decorated with line art depicting a historically east Asian dragon wrapping itself around his arm, starting from his elbow and ending at the top of his wrist. Mia 'oo's in interest, which warms his pride even more.

"Pops finally let me get inked! I'm gettin' it colored in later today. Yanno, it's about time that old man let me make my own decisions. Tha real world is dangerous, sure, but I'm goin' on 19 laps around tha sun! And I can smell funny business from a mile away. If I can take-a few grimy skunks like those Rivales clowns, I can take a bit of ink buzzed on my arm, fo' shizzle." Mia chuckles to herself, amused by Wocky's character. It's apparent that she probably looks forward to this part of her job. 

The three of them finish carrying in various boxes full of flour, sugar, chocolates, etc in bulk in under a few minutes, so it isn't long before Wocky is hanging off of the door of his truck, waving goodbye. 

"See ya next Sunday, Mia! Don't go getting tied up with a bunch'a clowns, ya hear? Pops wouldn't like it if I lettem lose a loyal customer like that. I can't kiss my Alita if I'm pulp when I see her. Later!" Wocky hops into the driver's seat and shuts the door with a clank, starting the engine and driving off. Phoenix hasn't said a word the last 10 minutes--not that he could've if he wanted to, anyway. 

"He's a character, huh?" He blurts, which makes Mia laugh. 

"He's a tough kid, that Wocky. The Kitakis are a good family. Both of our businesses help keep each other afloat.” Phoenix hums, satisfied. 

Mia scans the boxes in front of them and huffs. 

"We've gotta get moving and start baking!" Mia starts to fiddle with the bulk of boxes, opening them and organizing their contents on the break room table. Phoenix glances over to the counter, where the cookie jar sits half full with fresh coffee grounds. 

"Should I go and finish that, first?" he asks, pointing Mia to the subject. She looks over her shoulder at the unfinished job and buzzes her lips. 

“Maya can do that later. Hell, Pearl can do it if she wants.” Phoenix suddenly feels invalidated for how long it took for him to learn to work the contraption, but he forgets about it. “The baking is the part I need help with anyway. Especially because we open in a little over an hour.” She turns to Phoenix, bending over to rest her elbows on the table, folding her hands like a used car dealer. “We’ve got a week’s worth of cookies, croissants, and muffins to make by then. You up for it?” 

Phoenix darts his eyes to the side, pursing his lips and thinking of a way to apologize in advance. The only times Phoenix had ever touched an oven was to make frozen bagel bites. The commitment had been made, though. If he left now, he’d never come back.

“.....Sure?” He smiles, nervously shrugging as he responds. Mia laughs at the crack of his voice and motions at him with her hand not to worry. 

“You’ll be fine. We aren’t baking all of it. Just the stuff for today. The rest of the batter and dough will be put in the fridge for the next few days. If you can put stuff in a mixing bowl and turn it on, you’ll be alright.” She approaches the other cupboards and starts to gather said mixing bowls and utensils to start, and Phoenix sighs in relief. This can’t be hard.

-

“The butter is too hard!!” 

Phoenix is shouting over the sound of the kitchenaid mixer rattling as he holds it in his arms. The dough within it had grown much too dense, and the bowl couldn’t handle the force of a block of frozen flour-butter hitting its sides, popping it loose. Panicked, Phoenix leaped for the bowl, attempting to hold it in place with his own strength as the mixer remained active. His eyes were bulging with fear until his face started to get splashed with flour. 

Mia frantically runs over to him, knocking over one of her measuring cups in the process, and quickly unplugs the dreaded machine. Poor Phoenix is frozen when she looks down at him, his charcoal hair looking as though he had rolled in a fire pit. 

“What are you doing?” she wrangles, fanning her palms out in confusion. Phoenix remains clung to the bowl, though this time it’s acting more as a comfort object than it is a malfunctioning disaster. Phoenix furrows his brow, contorting his face into a nervous gawk--also a malfunctioning disaster.

“The recipe said to mix the frozen butter with the flour! How is that even possible when the butter is frozen???” he squawks. Mia sighs dejectedly at her peer, glancing down at the recipe he had been following. She assigned him to make the dough for the croissants, and he was following the instructions given to him fairly well..mostly.

“You have to cut the butter up into little cubes,” she explains, demonstrating the small size with her finger and thumb. “You can’t just throw a stick of frozen butter in a mixer and expect it to work.”

“What difference does that make?? It’s still impossible! The butter is frozen!” He stands up, crossing his arms across his flour-littered apron argumentatively. Mia shakes her head and places her hands reassuringly on his forearms. 

“It’s not impossible, Phoenix. The butter and the flour will mix eventually. The cold butter is what makes the croissants so flakey.” Phoenix pouts, still suspicious. “If you hate the mixer so much, then you’re just gonna have to use your hands. Besides, I need that mixer anyway.”

Phoenix watches as she retrieves the loose bowl from the machine and dumps its unmixed contents onto the break room table. He scrunches his nose.

“Phoenix, I promise I know what I’m doing. I sanitized the table,” she laughs, calling him over. She goes to throw the bowl in the sink and grabs a rather large knife, demonstrating the strength needed to chop up the frozen butter. “Just cut it up like this, and then you’re gonna knead it all together with your hands.” Phoenix silently accepts the task, holding no grudges. He uses his sleeved forearm to try and dust the flour currently inhabiting his forehead off. There’s...a lot of it. Whoops.

He had to admit, Mia was right practically one hundred percent of the time. With enough effort he was eventually able to combine the two seemingly repelling ingredients into a dense brick of...well, something. When Mia looks over and sees his accomplishment, she smiles rather proudly. 

"I told you it was possible. Think you can do it again? I'll need a few more batches to freeze for the next few days." Mia has an extremely large metal bowl in her hands. The metal is shiny enough to see her reflection, even through the minute scratches littering its exterior. Within the bowl and about to be poured into separate containers is a runny yet already aromatic batter for blueberry muffins. It's impressive the way she proceeds with ease and keeps the table spotless. Phoenix grabs a roll of cellophane wrap that has since been left on the table, wrapping it around the butter slab like a mother swaddling her baby. 

"Yeah, that's no problem." When Phoenix begins his second batch, he catches another glimpse of Mia as he reaches for the flour. She moves on autopilot, leaving just enough batter in the bowl to make this Sunday's baked wonders. With the table still clean as a whistle, Mia removes the last threat by running her finger around the rim where she had previously poured, removing the drips and quickly licking it off. She snorts to herself. 

"You know, there was this one time, when I was making the muffins, that I had acrylic nails on for a prior event. One of them popped off. I didn't notice until the muffins were done, though." She smiles when Phoenix heaves with laughter. "....yeah, I wonder about that customer that got that muffin every time I make them."  

She continues her tasks robotically from then on, zero thoughts in her mind. This is simply routine to her, and Phoenix can see it in her eyes. It's similar to his statistics professor when she's teaching--talking as though she's reading a script. Her dark eyes glazed over in disassociation. It's clear Mia had been doing these tasks for some time, and alone, at that.

"How did you possibly manage all this alone every morning?" 

Mia hums, pondering. She uses a mechanical ice cream scoop to ladle the batter into a muffin tin, which she had already lined with fancy paper wrappers. 

"It just became my responsibility. Technically I'm the next person in line to run this shop, so my aunt left it to me a few years ago." 

"You keep mentioning your aunt. Can I ask where she went?" 

Mia pauses, looking around the table for words. She starts back up, shrugging nonchalantly. 

"Ah. Well, she--Phoenix that dough is gonna melt in your hands if you keep playing with it like that." 

"Ack! Sorry. Was just listening."

"Haha, it's okay. But anyway, my aunt Morgan was the successor of the store after my mom passed away." Phoenix swallows, feeling his neck grow hot.

"Oh. Um. I'm sorry." Mia 'pssh's and drops the scoop in the batter momentarily to wave her palm in reassurance. Phoenix feels a wave of relief come over him, happy he didn't pull any difficult strings.

"No no, it's fine. It was a long time ago when Maya was little. But anyway, my aunt took over after that and looked after Maya and I until she was imprisoned." 

Phoenix drops the dough on the table with a dense 'THUMP', gawking.

"Huh? Why?" 

"Attempted murder of her second husband. Pearl's dad." All Phoenix can do is make a strained and confused noise in his throat, cocking his head at Mia's composure. It's one bomb after another with this family!!!

"It was a false negative, right?" Mia shakes her head. 

"Eh. I believe it happened. She was a nasty woman. Martin's the same way, but they never got along. I have to give her credit, though: she took good care of Pearl. The same can't be said for Martin." She grabs the tray of liquid muffins, waltzing it over to the stove top oven. She places it down on the stove, waiting for the oven to finish preheating. She leans back into the counter, curling her fingers around the edge and tapping the underside with her fingernails. "It's a busy life, right now. I had to drop out of school when my aunt was convicted. Maya's worried about her own future, and I'm trying to get custody of Pearl." She laughs to herself again, but there's hints of longing in the tone of her voice. "I wish aunt Morgan would've waited another year or so. A law degree would be really helpful.” Phoenix raises his eyebrows.

“You were in law school?” The oven dings, ready to turn the store into a wonderland of sweets. Mia takes a knee with the muffin tin in her gloved grasp and pops them in. 

“Mhmm. Studying to be a defense attorney. Apollo is up to the same thing.” She smiles at the thought, but her face eventually draws blank and she sighs, turning her cheek. “Sorry, I’ve been rambling.” Phoenix’s eyes flutter shut and he shrugs. 

“I don’t really mind. I’m the one who asked. Everyone’s got stuff to get off of their chest sometimes.” It sucks having to hold things in, especially after you’ve been so used to letting it all go. When those chances are taken away from you, you overflow after a while, or lose your stability and topple over completely. “I’m not a guy that’s great with words, but I can listen and try to help.” He immediately feels as though he’s stepped too far. Ack. I sound like a kiss ass! His current chunk of croissant crust has deeper indents than the few prior had from his fingers. “A-As much as a random employee can help, I mean.” His nervous habit of picking at the hairs on the back of his neck gets the best of him, neglecting to consider that his hands are greased with butter. His mistake is obvious, because the moment he feels the discomfort his face pinches. Now I sound like an idiot. Great. Mia’s pleasant laughter only fuels his sheepishness. 

“Thank you, Phoenix. I’ll do what I can for you, too.” Phoenix pulls his sleeve back and attempts to wipe his neck with his wrist. Leaning next to the sink, Mia unrolls a foot or two of paper towels and tosses it to him in a crumpled ball. “Still sleepy?” 

No, just stupid under pressure. “A little bit, yeah.” 

“Well, we’re practically finished, and early thanks to you. How about a wake-me-up with some coffee? On the house.” Phoenix wipes most of the residue off of his hands and re-crumples the paper towel, shooting into the waste bin a few feet away. He makes it. Hell yeah.

“That sounds great. I’d think you were sick of coffee considering you grew up with it, though.” The two start toward the barista counter, grabbing their respective size cups from the stacks on the way.

“Spend enough time with the right people and you get addicted,” she admits. Phoenix laughs. He makes sure to grab enough sugar packets to fit the coffee to his liking. Certainly not enough to fit Maya’s nauseating tastes, but still pleasing to his palette. They don’t bother trying to speak over the loudness of the industrial machine and instead continue the exchange as they take their first sips. 

“Oh, by the way Mia,” he starts. Mia already has her cup to her lips--she must be wearing tinted chapstick, because they leave a faintly pink stain. She raises her eyebrows as a silent response. “Aren’t all the drinks on the house for employees?” 

Mia gags, avoiding a spit take. She swallows with her cup still to her face. “Who told you that? That’s shrink.” 

Uh oh. He feels himself grow stiff and starts to sweat around the collar of his shirt. Sorry, Maya. 

“....your sister…” He averts his face, ashamed of his crime as well as remorseful for accidentally throwing Maya off the bus. Mia scans him up and down, acknowledging his tension, and exhales with less annoyance than expected. 

“I’ll...pretend I didn’t hear anything.” Her mouth remains covered as she takes another sip, however, it’s easy to see the corners of her lips curl into a rueful smile around the rim of the cup.

-

"I just don't see how any of this is realistic."

"It doesn't have to be realistic , to be important, Nick!"

"The Steel Samurai isn't important."

Phoenix earns a gasp from both Maya, who was over an hour into her 6 am shift, and Pearl, who is still in her pajamas: one of Maya's oversized t-shirts. Her little body is swallowed in the shirt-dress even as she slams her hands on the counter in an objection. 

"Yes he is!!" Pearl yelps.

"That's mahogany!!! " Maya cries.

"And that's...not the right word you're looking for. At least I don't think it is." Phoenix is drying one of the newly washed coffee pots, preparing to fill it with more of the shop's signature java. 

"He always saves Neo Olde Tokyo!!! He's the hero! He always wins!" Pearl cups her fist in her other palm heroically with a determined look on her face. 

"Maybe if you finally watched the show-" Maya complains, folding her arms across her beaded chest. Phoenix pops up an eyebrow and 'ah's. 

"If he always wins, then why ask if he would win in a fight?" Maya groans and Phoenix, feeling proud of himself, continues his work with a smirk planted on his face. 

"You're so stubborn."

The rest of Phoenix's morning until then had been rather easy-going. His boss had gone upstairs around the time her sister came down, ready enough to get some sleep and eventually take over later when it's just Apollo left around closing time. She assured Phoenix that if he would like to end at 9 instead of 10, he was welcome to. Other than that, it was turning his sleepy brain off the moments he was able and taking the orders of all the kind folks unfortunate enough to be working early on a Sunday. Friendly blue-collars with layered clothes and simple beverage preferences, other minimum-wage workers treating themselves to a comfortable treat in the middle of making ends meet. Just a good crowd. 

To be frank, though, after the number of sleepless hours he has endured along with this certain population of people, Phoenix’s pleasant surprise to find his favorite customer walking through the doors again (and at such an early time in the day!) is more prevalent than it usually is. Mr. Edgeworth enters, sporting an outfit oddly similar to the previous encounter’s: business casual with chinos and a buttoned over-shirt, all slipped into a maroon winter coat. Phoenix feels his eye bags practically disintegrate in a way that would make dermatologists hate him. He’s naive to the way his heart flutters, even if just a tiny bit. Maya is the first to greet him. As he has slowly become a regular with more pleasant interactions than before, she has since dropped a bit of her professionalism.

“Yo Edgeworth!!” She stands on her tip toes and waves, holding her balance with a palm flat on the counter. He bears no reaction other than fiddling with the collar of his peacoat as he approaches. Phoenix merely adopts a smile at the man’s presence, amused as always.

“Good morning! You’re working today? I thought you had a government job.” Phoenix readies himself to take an order as per usual. Edgeworth tugs his coat tighter, making a ‘tch’ noise and fishing his wallet from his pocket.

“As much as I would like to claim a day of respite, a seemingly minute yet imperative detail pertaining to the case I am currently involved in has brought itself to light. The dense detective down at the precinct overlooked this factor up until just yesterday when I was residing here.” His face reads irked, yet his voice carries no annoyance. “It was at shortest notice, yes, but he found it nonetheless, and we will be discussing it. Thus, I have two requisitions for this morning.” He glances down at the single printed cup Phoenix had grabbed, and glances back up. Phoenix’s response is delayed--he had been listening quite intently to the man’s story and was still processing the vocabulary. He pops, realizing and readying a second cup. 

"S-sure! Go ahead," he cheeps, assuring his readiness. Edgeworth clears his throat quickly and pulls out his device, presumably reading off an order. 

"I will take a…" He squints slightly. "Hot caramel latte….extra cream, extra sugar, extra caramel, two shots espresso, two shots hazelnut, one shot vanilla, extra whipped cream…" Edgeworth sighs, clicking his phone to sleep and closing his eyes. "And an Earl Grey tea. No sweetener." 

Phoenix blinks, stripped of any confidence he had before. Luckily, to his rescue comes Maya with the second cup already in her hands. 

"Comin' right up! Hot caramel latte, extra cream, extra sugar, extra care-a-mell, two shots espresso, two shots hay-zee, one shot vanilla and a dollop of Daisy." She rattles it all off in one breath, squeaking her marker against the inked parchment just as quickly. Her side-eye directed at her peer is wicked. "Gotta keep up, rookie." 

Phoenix' scrunches his nose and puckers his lips to the side of his mouth, swiping the marker once across the "tea" checkbox. Maya starts to make the complicated latte.

"You and your partner sound like twins," she teases, earning a short groan and an eye roll from the prosecutor. 

"I believe he wanted to take advantage of the fact that I am treating him. Perhaps it was a mistake to inform the detective that I would be ordering from the sophisticated cafe I've grown fond of." Phoenix shrugs, sporting a half-smile and returning the man's newly-charged credit card. 

"Free advertisement," he says. This evokes a genuine chuckle from Edgeworth as he stuffs his hands into his maroon over garment. The sound and sight makes Phoenix nearly crush the empty cup in his hold. He ignores the way his ears grow warm. 

"I'm afraid the detective I speak of has a salary that is no more than a part-time job’s. Not an incredibly serious issue at surface level if you neglect to consider that his is a full-time job.” Phoenix whistles, snowed.

“ Woof, ” Maya answers. She pauses as she’s about to place the dome lid onto the sugary excuse of a coffee, examining the amount of caramel drizzled over the mound of whipped cream. She must conclude that there isn’t enough for the poor detective, and drizzles more.

    “Will he be coming here?” Phoenix asks, but the prosecutor shakes his head. 

    “Fortunately the painting job at my office is complete, so I won’t need your establishment as a place of study anymore.” Phoenix hums in response, feeling his heart sink a smidge. He isn’t sure why he was so set on the idea of Edgeworth working here regularly. He swallows the disappointment and flicks the hot water tap open, dispensing it over the bagged tea within the cup. 

Before he can think much longer, a second person enters the building, as known through the sounds of the streets outside as the door is opened. Though, this time, the visitor has come through the back. Phoenix glances up at the ironwood clock. Ah. 9 already, huh? 

“APOLLO!!!” Maya hoots, startling the short man and the other 3 beings in the room. Pearl jumps and grips the counter, and Phoenix nearly spills the hot water and burns his hand. Apollo has yet to remove his coat, shooting daggers with his eyes toward his hippie coworker through the opening of the break room curtains. “You’re finally here! I have an important question for you.” 

Apollo grumbles something unintelligible as he loops a clean apron over his head. He says that he’s tired in every way except out loud, and tired is an understatement. 

“What’s that?”

Maya balls her fists in determination and stares him dead in the exhausted face. 

“Who would win in a fight? The Steel Samurai, or three hundred lions?” 

Phoenix groans, rolling his eyes. “Does this place even qualify as a workplace anymore?”

“Shut up, Nick. I just wanna know. Pearly thinks the Steel Samurai would, but I say no way. Apollo is gonna break the tie because you wouldn’t.” Pearl is standing on her barstool and Maya bites the inside of her cheek, both waiting in anticipation. Apollo’s eye bags practically double in size as he squints, mouth agape and plain exasperated. He can’t gather words for a moment or so.

“I….don’t know? What kind of question is that even supposed to be?”

“See?” Phoenix jabs, Maya rag-dolling her upper body in frustration. Pearl sits back in her seat with an accomplished grin on her face. The Steel Samurai always wins. In the midst of her panic at the possibility of being owned by an eight year-old, Maya gets desperate, turning towards the prosecutor with his two beverages sitting before him on the counter.

“Mr. Edgeworth. What do you think?” 

Edgeworth squawks, taken aback in confusion. He darts his eyes in a nervous manner, folding his arms and gripping at one of his sleeves. 

“I don’t think I’m...informed enough about the Steel Samurai to make such a-”

“I don’t care. Just take a guess.” 

“This matter is trivia-”

“ Please!!! ”

Rather annoyed Maya’s persistence and habit of interrupting him, Edgeworth furrows his brow. Maya blanches under his stare.

At this point, everyone is silent in anticipation, watching the young silver-haired man intently. He pauses in thought for a moment, then sighs, fluttering his eyes shut. 

“My first inquiry is if he would be battling the lions all at once? I doubt anything could handle that quantity of a threat. If the Steel Samurai should have a chance, it would have to be one or two at a time.” Interested by his argument, Maya strokes her chin snidely. 

“Touche. Fine. One at a time. But no breaks in between.” 

“Excellent. Now--lions are considerably fast and agile, which also needs to be taken into account." 

"Exactly. And the Steel Samurai is not. He is made of steel." Edgeworth's confidence seems to grow, and he waves a finger near his brow. 

"However,"

"However?"

"A lion's only method of attack is through close combat. The steel armor can certainly act as his defense should he be attacked. A lion’s teeth, claws and the ability to pounce is all that they 'bear', for lack of a better word." Maya giggles, impressed and sucking on her teeth.

" But , Mr. Star Prosecutor, the Steel Samurai is the same way. His weapon is a spear. How could he approach a lion and impale it efficiently with his armor weighing him down?" Edgeworth cocks an eyebrow, the rest of his face remaining stern.

"Spears can be thrown, can they not?" 

He earns a final pause from Maya. Phoenix glances toward her, and her face reads a sort of amazement. He can tell she never would have thought of that. The Steel Samurai always wins.

"You're a prodigy lawyer for a reason, huh," she praises. Pearl points at Maya victoriously, voicing a mandatory ‘Nana-nana-boo-boo’ and nailing Maya's defeat permanently into the coffin. Edgeworth's chest puffs just the slightest with pride, but only enough to notice should someone have been watching closely.

Phoenix. Phoenix was watching. Maya continues. 

"Are you a fan of the show?" 

Suddenly, Edgeworth's pride melts, immediately forcing himself to feign it. He makes a choked noise. 

"The franchise is popular enough for the average person to know basic facts. I only happen to be knowledgeable on the subject," he corrects. There's a faint tint of color painting his ears and cheeks. 

Phoenix snaps out of a dazed state at the sound of the patron’s doorbell twinkling. He finds himself in a completely different position than before. He's leaning over the counter and resting his chin in his hand dreamily. He realizes that for the last few minutes, he'd been watching Edgeworth. Edgeworth's piercing eyes as he engulfs himself in a debate, his confidently cocked eyebrow and charismatic smirk when he stumps his opponent; though, the reaction that seemed to capture Phoenix's interest the most definitely had been Edgeworth's startled stance, averting his eyes and pretending not to stammer. Maybe no one else saw, but Phoenix definitely did. He found it….cute.

Oh god. I'm smiling, he thinks, panicked. He adopts a different, less school-girly pose and bites the inside of his cheek, scolding his face for growing so pink and cheerful before anyone notices. (Anyone being Maya).

Luck is partly on his side, actually, because the customer that enters the cafe, whoever he is, makes his entrance rather grand. He walks with wide, powerful strides and with more confidence dripping from his boots than melted snow. What really makes the pack turn their heads, though, is what he shouts.

" Heiliger Strohsack , is that you, Herr Phoenix?" 

The man in the door is a young, flashily dressed blonde. He's rocking, literally, a guitar case strapped across his back. His sangria waxed-cotton coat falls just below his hips, which wear a studded belt looped through a pair of black skinny jeans. He has a princely, European smile, long hair shaping a face Phoenix could recognize anywhere. 

"Klav? What are you doing here?" The shop slowly starts to feel like a mixer. Or maybe an awkward family reunion, as everyone seems to turn to Phoenix for an explanation. 

"What are you doing here? I nearly began to think you moved away. It's been quite a while!" He approaches the counter, Edgeworth awkwardly stepping out of the way.

"You know this guy, Nick?" 

Phoenix laughs lightly, avoiding eye contact sheepishly. 

"We ah, we used to perform together." Maya's eyes light up and her jaw nearly hits the floor.

" Perform? Perform what? " 

"Were you a magician Mr. Nick?" 

The sudden attention brings him to a stiff, passive stance. Klav, as Phoenix called him, leans his elbow smoothly onto the empty space of the counter. 

"Musical theater! I'm actually on the way to a choreography rehearsal. It was moved to another building, and I got stuck with coffee duty." He turns his gaze to Phoenix. "You should come, Zottel . An understudy quit and Daryan is being forced to fill in. They're looking for another person." Phoenix snorts, shaking his head at the jab toward Daryan and humming a rejection. The casual vibrations frustrate his female coworker, who is now standing directly next to him and waving her hands out in front of her.

"Woah, woah, woah, hold it. Pause for a sec. Nick?" She adopts an excited expression and points at the other barista with a thumb over her shoulder. "Him? He can sing?" Klav shoots Phoenix a beam, just as shocked as Maya that he never mentioned such. 

"Of course he can! You're looking at the best Tenor 2 I've ever heard, Fräulein. He and I were men of the Les Amis de l'ABC in 'Les Miserables' before he went and changed his major on me." Phoenix's cheeks are very hot at this point, and he's scratching his arm bashfully. 

"C-c'mon Klav-" 

His sheepish tension is cut by the sound of a fist hitting a palm. He turns toward the sound, and to his surprise, it's Edgeworth with a light bulb above his head. 

"That's it! I was quite sure I knew you from somewhere, Wright. You were a cast member in this musical the German speaks of." Phoenix's eyebrows raise in slight disbelief. 

"Les Miserables?" 

"Quite. I'm not usually interested in musical theater, but I was given tickets to the performance. I was in the audience. To this day I consider that show in particular to be an exception to my distaste." Klav 'ah's in cunning interest.

"A history buff, are you?" Edgeworth hums in confirmation. 

"You could say such." 

Not trying to flatter himself, Phoenix addresses the prosecutor. His smile doesn't seem to falter, though.

"That was almost 3 years ago. How could you possibly remember me? I played such a minor role." His voice shudders with nervous chuckles as he speaks. Edgeworth crosses his arms and taps his finger, awkwardly searching for words and averting his eyes from the barista. It was a bit queer that of all the people he could have recognized…..

"Well, many of the roles left a lasting impression on me. Val Jean and Javert were obvious astounding stories that kept me interested--which is typically unusual with musical theater. Victor Hugo has quite a mind to construct the number of complex characters that he did. You, Mr. Wright. You waved the glamorous flag, did you not?" 

Phoenix remembers rehearsals of standing atop a wooden barricade set, arms getting sore from repeatedly waving a long tube of painted PVC pipe with a red flag nearly large enough to be a bed sheet tied to its end. He 'had to get it right', his directors told him, as it was meant to be one of the powerful moments of the show. They would dim the lights and close to intermission as the cast sang the final chord while he whipped the flag in figure eights. 

He needed to put on a stern face, stare into the eyes of Klavier, who was playing the lovestruck Marius, and belt words demanding justice for the weak. Play down the idea within himself that love at first sight couldn’t possibly be a deciding factor within a man’s life. Feel his opinions of love and strife for meaning in every soul’s existence. 

Red, the blood of angry men. Black, the dark of ages past.

When his character, Enjolras, was set to die, the directors had him fall backward off the top of the barricade without looking back. He had to trust that a cushion would be there to catch him if he fell. It took awhile for him to build that trust within himself. He always figured the audience had never even knew his character's name (not that it really mattered to him. He'd take whatever role he was given and enjoy the experience all the same), yet here he was, years later, learning that someone out in that crowd had been listening to him. Watching the way he wasn't afraid of falling. 

Red, a world about to dawn. Black, the night that ends at last.

His heart thumps.

"Yeah. That was me." 

"You led the revolution, and you were killed atop the barricade with the flag clutched in your fist with pride." Edgeworth describes the scene with much detail, mimicking the actions with minimal and tasteful hand motions. "I always found that extravagant. It ah...moved me. So to speak." He grows embarrassed when he realizes he's been rambling about Phoenix's performance, perhaps unaware of how embarrassed the other man has also become. Phoenix's face burns, and he can't wipe the giddy grin on his lips away. He's rocking between his heels and toes on his feet as Maya places a hand on his scrunched shoulder. She shakes him back and forth teasingly. 

"Awww. Hear that, Nick? Your singing made Edgeworth cry!" 

Edgeworth chokes, swiping his hand across the counter in trying to maintain his balance and nearly knocking the drinks over. Klavier and Maya share a laugh together and Phoenix continues to pick at his fingers, attempting to appear laid-back. 

“I did not cry, I simply-” 

Almost as if it were fate, Mr. Edgeworth jumps, interrupted by the sound of a default ringtone erupting from a cell phone. He looks down at the feeling of vibrations within his pocket and immediately fishes for it. His eyes widen just the slightest when he acknowledges who the caller is, promptly swiping the screen with his thumb and placing the phone to his ear. He places a finger from his other hand to his open ear to allow himself to hear the caller better; though, it appears to be unnecessary, as the voice on the other end of the line is booming enough that everyone else can make out what is being said. 

“Detective?” he answers.

“Mr. Edgeworth!! Thank god, I thought you had fallen down a manhole or somethin’, pal. Where are you at?” Edgeworth flinches, quickly switching hands to check his watch. 

“I’m about to leave the coffeehouse. Is there something the matter?” 

“Not particularly. You’re just running late, is all. Pretty unlike you. Was just worried you had gotten yourself into trouble, see? Everything alright, pal?” Edgeworth huffs, looking up at the light fixtures on the ceiling and tapping his foot. 

“I’m fine, Detective. I wouldn’t be speaking to you if I was otherwise.” 

“True, true. Say, mind bringing a few goodies from the shop, too?”

“I’ve already purchased your nonsensical drink and will only run later if we continue this conversation. I will see you shortly.” There’s a brief sound of pleased laughter emanating from the speakers as Edgeworth pulls the phone away from his ear and clicks it off. He approaches the counter and obtains the two beverages.

“I seem to have lost track of the time. I will be leaving, now. Thank you.” And just as always, Phoenix watches him go, feeling as though he leaves just as quickly as he arrives. Klavier yawns, adjusting the strap of the guitar case being towed on his back and standing up straight. He looks up at the chalkboard menu hanging high above the service counter.

“I should be getting a move on, too. 4 iced coffees and a handful of the cream and sugar packets. I’ll leave the rest to the others.” Phoenix nods and completes the transaction for him, trying to tear his mind away from the awkward pane of silence. Klav doesn’t seem to be bothered, and he’s studying Phoenix intently. “You sure you don’t wanna come back, Zottel? ”

Phoenix flattens his mouth as he and Maya quickly whip up the simple concoctions. This wasn’t something he wanted to think or talk about. He had moved past it.

“I’m sure. I’ve found other things to do, now.” He feigns a laugh, putting on a smile as he hands Klavier a recycled drink carrier with the completed order. Klavier sighs, returning a weak smile back. 

“Whatever you say, Herr Wright. They miss you. I’ll tell them you said hello!” As he approaches the door his voice grows more amplified, waving himself out and parting ways. Soon enough, the cafe is silent. Phoenix and Maya fall backward into the counter in sync, sharing a moment of relaxation in a bubble of silent interaction. Phoenix has found that he and Maya seem to know exactly what the other is thinking. Most of the time. 

“Man. Edgeworth is all ass-backwards, huh?”

“Maya! Your cousin is right there!” 

Pearl looks up from her seat on the barstool. When the store’s company first arrived, she didn’t move, and has since grabbed a paper menu and littered it with doodles. She seems to get quite overwhelmed with strangers, so she keeps to herself. So much so that Maya is startled when she rediscovers Pearl’s existence. She hisses.

“Oops. Pearly, you’re too quiet!!” Maya starts to play with a lock of her hair in front of her chest, pivoting on her heels and looking around the room. “And speaking of quiet, where’s Apollo? I didn’t notice he slipped out.” 

Phoenix joins in the brief search, leaning forward to peek into the break room. He thinks he sees a figure moving about, assuming it is his coworker. He shrugs. 

“Probably just went to use the bathroom or something.” 

The stillness remains present for a few minutes after, and it takes a moment for the staff to get the ball rolling into work again. Phoenix admittedly takes his sweet time doing any sort of task, as he knows his shift is close to completion. A good deal of his “work” consists of pacing back and forth behind the counter, waiting for customers and tidying things up here and there. Maya and Apollo are rummaging around in the back rooms, leaving Phoenix as the pilot and the babysitter. 

Pearl continues to doodle--her favorite purple crayon gripped delicately in her hand as she prints butterflies and rabbits, flowers in a cracked vase, lots of mountains, and a big sun, wearing shades of course. She sticks her tongue out in concentration as she designs, and Phoenix pays her no mind. She starts to happily hum little songs to herself, and at some point in time, her soft, mousey voice catches the attention of the blue-eyed barista:

“I love coffee, I love tea. I love the Java Jive and it loves me.”

He’s certainly heard the tune before. It had just been many years. And how odd it was that this little 8 year old girl before him knew of a song he assumed only lived in the storage closet of his high school choir room. His curiosity gets the better of him.

“Hey, Pearls.” She looks up at him, the butterfly clips in her hair as colorful as ever. “Where’d you learn that song?” 

Her eyes sparkle at the inquiry, mouth falling slightly agape and dropping her crayon to bring her hands shyly to her face. 

“You know the coffee song, Mr. Nick?” Well, to him and his high school jazz group’s director, the tune was known as “Java Jive” by the Manhattan Transfer, but her title fits it well enough, too. He leans over the counter and folds his fingers together next to Pearl comfortably. He stays soft, rocking his head pleasantly to the tempo of the tune as he warbles the familiar tune. 

“ A cup, a cup, a cup, a cup, a cup. ” The only way to describe Pearl’s reaction is that it is full, so full of glee.

 “Did cousin Maya teach you??” she peeps. Phoenix shakes his head. 

“No, but I sang it on stage with some other people in high school.” 

A teasing voice sends a jolt up his spine.

“Of course you did, nerd.” Maya has joined him behind the counter with Apollo following shortly behind her. Apollo seems to be carrying a weighted aura around him, but Phoenix could just be imagining it. She leans over to Apollo, covering her mouth as if she didn’t intend for Phoenix to hear every ridiculous word she said. Her voice is comically nasally. “You missed it, but hedgehog man over here used to be a choir boy.” Apollo snorts. Phoenix clicks his tongue, offended.

“Don’t say that like it’s a bad thing !” 

“Oh, it’s not a bad thing, sure, but it’s still really dorky, Nick.” A small blush creeps onto his cheeks and playfully scrunched nose. “That’s a song my mom used to sing to me and around the shop while she worked.”

“It’s sure...fitting,” Apollo says. Maya shushes him by putting a finger to her lips, turning around the corner of the counter to meet Pearl on the other side. She invites her down, grabbing her hands and urging her to dance along as she sings the melody. 

“ I love java, sweet and hot! Whoops, Mr. Moto I’m a coffee pot! ” 

He’s awfully rusty, as it’s been near a decade since he last hummed the tune, but when it comes to music, some things are simply drilled into your head. A few notes here and there may be improvised or forgotten, sure, but as if it were like riding a bike, Phoenix joins in, voicing the same Tenor II harmonies he knew by heart. It adds a whole new layer to the song--a song already rich with happy memories and the soul of a mother that everyone in the room was barely familiar with. But it was jovial nonetheless, especially in the moments where the three that are familiar with the song taunt poor Apollo with the signature nasally call-and-response verses of the song. Apollo pretends to be annoyed, but the way the theoretical storm clouds above his head seem to drift and the way his lips curl into a smirk as Maya tries (and fails, horrendously) to hit the preposterously low notes proves enough that he is happy to be a part of the moment too. The quartet sings the amateur harmonies together, dancing and laughing. For once, a slow shift and a nonexistent flow of customers isn’t so bad.

“Coffee and tea and the java and me--a cup, a cup, a cup, a cup, a cup!”

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.