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"What do you mean, you're not going to prom?!" is what bursts through Miles' eardrum at lunch. He's sitting right across from his blubbering best friend, yet said best friend is acting as though he's sitting at the other end of the cafeteria. It's what one would expect from Larry Butz, who has no concept of an indoor voice.
But alas, he continues on his wailing tirade, much to Miles' dismay. "I mean, I may have just been dumped, and all, but I know I'm still going!"
"Except getting dumped is a regular occurrence for you, so it wouldn't make a difference as to whether or not you'd go, since your rose-tinted notion of prom would remain unchanged," Miles deadpans, idly stirring the tea he had bought during a free period.
"Aww, Edgey, can't you let a man dream? Sue me for wanting prom to play out like it does in the movies! Slow dancing, a kiss under the moonlight - isn’t that what everyone wants, deep down?"
The silver-haired boy accidentally gulps down the tea he was meant to sip, and cringes at both the mild charring of his tastebuds and the pocket of air chasing down his throat. He could think of only one person he'd want that with, deep down. But it is a rather disconcerting thought to dwell upon, and so he waves it off with a curt "No." He receives a petulant whine in response.
Miles is lucky that his younger sister is still in elementary school, but she, too, dons the rose-tinted glasses that cliche romance programs have forced upon her, and is thus enamored with the same concepts just listed by Larry, meaning that if she ever found out that her big brother decided to stay home, he would never hear the end of it until it was her turn to go 8 years later.
His older sister had graduated a few years ago, and took it upon herself to recount each and every tidbit to her little sister when she had gone to prom with her girlfriend, Lana. Needless to say, Maya paid rapt attention to every minute of it, and she'd be expecting even more of a story from Miles.
And Miles was dreading it. All of it.
Just then, a paper bag is slammed down next to Miles' cup of tea. "Hey, guys. What are we talking about?" It’s Phoenix, eyes as bright and smile as dopey as ever. His relevance to the current conversation, unbeknownst to both himself and Larry, makes the tea churn in a most peculiar fashion in Miles’ stomach.
Desperate to escape the topic, he scrambles for a quick “nothing”, but, of course, an excitable Larry beats him to it.
“What we'd want prom to be like. But Miley here isn’t much of a dreamer.”
Miles' shoulders bristle, the horrific memories of being called "Miley Cyrus" as a freshman flooding his head. “Please don’t call me Miley,” he says tightly.
“Of course he’s a dreamer! He just doesn’t dream about the same things you do," Phoenix defends, reaching into the grease-stained bag and pulling out a fry. He offers it to Miles, who declines with a light shake of his head, then shrugs and pops it into his mouth.
“Because having one Larry is enough,” Miles says. He is sure to take a slow, calculated sip, this time, and he tries not to look anywhere in Phoenix's direction as the younger boy chuckles at his friend's dry stroke of humor.
Larry, thankfully, does not retort. Rather, he starts whining all over again, turning to his spiky-haired friend and flashing his infamous puppy eyes at him. "Anyway, Edgey says he's not going to prom! You've gotta help me talk him out of it!"
Miles rolls his eyes at how Larry is talking about him as though he's not even there. Of course, Phoenix takes the bait anyway because he's Phoenix, and because he, too, can't stand the notion of not having the whole gang attend prom. It's almost endearing.
Phoenix whips his head around to face Miles, beguiling blue eyes pinning him down with an intense fervor unlike anything he's ever seen before. "What? No, you have to come, Miles! It won't be as fun without all three of us."
"But isn't having a date what prom is all about?" Miles points out. Going with a group of friends isn't typically how it goes in the movies. (I mean, not like he watches them, or anything.)
"Well, I like to think of prom as just a big party where you dress up nice, dance a little, maybe rent a limo, and that's it. The date drama is just a bonus. A lot of single people who are going see it that way, too."
Larry crosses his arms, pouting at Phoenix. Obviously, the 'date drama' is much less a bonus to him, and more so a fundamental part. But it doesn't mean he wouldn't love to go with his best friends. (If he wants a date, he just needs another relationship that would survive - at least - until prom, if not after.)
"But, weren't you going to ask Dahlia? What happened?" Larry asks.
Miles' back prickles again at the mention of his cousin. Dahlia Hawthorne has been the object of Phoenix's affections since elementary school, but he’s never dared to approach her. His crush faded in intensity as the years passed, but the embers of it still remain, threatening to reignite with each wayward glance and soft smile she graces him with every now and again. Every time, Miles would tell him to either take a stand and say something to her, or forget about her altogether. Phoenix would indignantly insist he didn’t understand. Truthfully, though, he did, and he also didn't.
Phoenix purses his lips and scratches the back of his neck. "I don't really know about that. I.. don't think she'd want to go with me."
“You don’t know ‘til you ask her, Nick!” Larry pipes up.
“Easy for you to say! No one’s ever promposed to as many girls as you have. Your reputation keeps you this confident, even though you’ve gotten - how many rejections?”
“Twenty-two,” Miles supplies.
“Twenty-two rejections! I can’t even handle thinking about getting one, especially not from Dollie!”
Dollie? Miles thinks. Christ. He’s still in too deep.
"Just.. forget about it for now. I’ll figure something out,” Phoenix mumbles while combing his fingers through his hair, a gesture he typically performs when unsure of himself. Then, he turns to Miles once more.
“But in case she says no, if you think of this as three friends hanging out like usual, just all dressed up, will you go?" he asks, searching Miles' eyes expectantly. I mean, Larry is, too, but he's abused his puppy-dog eye abilities to the extent that Miles is pretty much desensitized to them. And, sure, Phoenix has tried to sway him in the past, but never as... earnestly as now. It's almost unnerving. Though, lo and behold, that is his tipping point, and he finally concedes. Phoenix rewards him with a mega-watt grin. Larry’s happy. Phoenix is happy. Miles is.. content. Soon, the three of them buy their tickets.
A few days later, though, Miles wishes he hadn't. Yes, it would've made Phoenix upset at the time, but he'd get over it by the time Calculus came around on a certain Tuesday.
Because Dahlia asks him if he had a date. He says no. A response like that is to be expected from him, of course, and he wasn't really wrong, but, well. Miles kind of already thought he did have a date. Maybe not a date in the romantic sense, but a date nonetheless. Somewhere inside him, that dismissal of their agreement just a few weeks ago smarts like hell.
But it doesn't smart as much as how big and bright Phoenix's smile is when Dahlia formally asks him to prom. Of course, he also feels the need to excitedly relay the good news to Miles at the end of the period, as if he wasn't sitting a few rows away when it happened. As if he needed a reminder.
So now, yes, he is definitely not going to prom, blubbering Butzes and Wrights be damned.
Until, of course, a fervent 10-year-old Maya, with tiny fists raised and dark eyes glistening with determination, tells him that he is absolutely, positively going to prom, to which he responds that he is absolutely, positively not. Then she raises the point that his ticket has already been paid for, and he can't very well get a refund unless he sold it, and even then he couldn’t make a profit because who would want to buy a prom ticket that was more expensive than the actual thing unless they sold out somehow? He then wishes that his sister would maybe quit being so logical, and continue being a 10 year old -that minded her own business-. It would make his life easier.
She's even got the date for prom circled, highlighted, and underlined on her Steel Samurai calendar, for Christ's sake. Anyone would think it was her prom. So, there's definitely no chance he's getting out of this one.
His father also hops on the bandwagon, renting him a suit a few days later before he can even voice his dissent. "Et tu, father?" he asks, staring pointedly at the garment wrapped in plastic. Maya giggles from her bedroom doorway. His mother smiles a little too fondly, saying that he and Phoenix will look so handsome, and asks if they’re still going together.
"We were supposed to," Miles says, crossing his arms and absently tapping his elbow, "before Dahlia asked him out."
"Your cousin Dahlia, you say?" His father muses. "Surely she should know about your… fondness towards Phoenix."
"Father," Miles groans.
"I’m sorry, son. I thought it was fairly obvious."
Miles huffs his bangs out of his face. Was he really that transparent? Could this mean that even one as oblivious as Phoenix could see right through him? For the sake of his own sanity, he certainly hoped not.
-
By the time Larry and Miles arrive in Larry's shitty jalopy, it is immediately noted that student council had outdone themselves with the whole ordeal. The venue, a ballroom situated in a remote location, surrounded by lush, yet manicured greenery, is absolutely breathtaking. The cobblestone pathways to the entrance are backed up with endless lines of sleek limos and the occasional party bus, and it makes Miles almost a little anxious at the notion that he won't be getting inside anytime soon, even though he wasn't too jazzed by the idea of prom in the first place.
Speaking of party buses, Phoenix was supposed to be taking one here, as per Dahlia's plans. It wasn't as romantic as he had hoped it would be, as he was half-expecting the "show up on her doorstep and telling her how beautiful she looked before allowing her mother to take a picture and receiving a short lecture from her father" scenario to come to pass, but maybe he was a bit too dependent on cheesy teen rom-coms. Perhaps it's safe to say that Phoenix, Larry, and Miles are all affected by these movies in one way or another.
Thanks to the tinted windows of the buses here, though, it's impossible to determine which one Phoenix could possibly be in until Miles actually sees him coming out of it. Some buses are unloading their passengers even though they've barely arrived at the curb, because, Miles guesses, they couldn't wait that long - or their passengers couldn't.
Miles hates how hard his heart is thudding, because he knows the farthest he'll get to having something with Phoenix tonight is perhaps a greeting and a couple glances or polite little smiles throughout the evening as he dances it away with his childhood crush. It's selfish to think about, but at least Larry doesn't have an actual date; if he did, Miles would really be screwed. But his lack of a date definitely won't stop him from propositioning as many girls as he can for a bout or two on the dance floor. Damn it, Miles thinks to himself. Perhaps Dahlia will be wearing heels and decide she's too tired to keep dancing, or even keep standing, and she won't want to make a fool out of herself by taking them off, so she decides to sit out for a few. Maybe then he could at least get Phoenix to himself. And then what? What would happen from there? No, it's hopeless. He's just getting too ahead of himself, as always. These stupid cliche rom-coms really set the worst standards for prom, or just romance in general.
After waiting several minutes for a majority of the limos and party buses to clear out of the front driveway (or, at least, it looked like a lot of them because they were so long and took up so much space), Larry finally has an opportunity to park his car and head to the entrance with Miles in tow. Before entering, they, like other prom-goers, are stopped by some journalists who are taking pictures for both the school newspaper and the local newspaper. Miles offers a modest smile to each camera, while Larry, with his mega-watt grin and tacky patterned suit that looks like the upholstery of a bus seat, steals the show.
The two are immediately assaulted with the smell of cheap perfume and girls with spray tans milling about with their dates as soon as they enter the foyer, the scene much too hectic for Miles to figure out where they're even going anymore. Clusters of girls break off to the sides towards the bathroom, while guys stand around in small circles with their friends near the base of the grand staircase to the left, hands in their pockets. They're all dressed pretty uniformly - black blazer, black tie or bowtie, black slacks, and black shoes. Miles' own suit is a touch different from the rest; he dons a gray blazer, a red bowtie, a red waistcoat, gray slacks, and black shoes. And then there's Larry's suit, of course. But let's not talk about it more than we have to.
After checking in with the prom committee, they venture into the actual ballroom and look for a table to situate themselves at. Finding one that's small enough is sure proving to be a challenge since most students are coming in groups, and the sheer number of multi-seated tables reflects that fact. They do finally manage to find one, though, just out of the way of the dance floor, and sit there while they wait for nothing in particular, because Phoenix isn't going to sit with them. He'll be with Dahlia.
Despite the stifling amount of people here, the event still isn't quite in full swing as of yet. The DJ is currently playing a more wound-down track in preparation for more students' arrivals as the multicolored spotlights overhead lazily sweep the dance floor, and the dance floor itself looks pretty sparse, save for a couple of students walking across it to get to their tables. Some are approaching the bars on the far corners of the space, which are, undoubtedly, serving pretty much anything but alcohol.
Suddenly, Larry gets up, his eyes darting around until they find something to focus on, something he's obviously intrigued by.
"What is it?" Miles asks.
"Notta Chance, a girl in my Physics class. Her date just walked away from her!" he squeals, his body literally teeming with excitement to the extent that Miles fears he might explode or shoot up into the ceiling. His gleaming eyes never let her out of his sights. It's sort of unsettling. With both his brash appropriation of someone else's date and the statement he’s making with that suit that was originally agreed upon to never be talked about ever but you can't not talk about it because it's a such a heinous crime against fashion, if not humanity in general, Miles has a hard time deciding what's bolder.
Still, Larry exclaims, "Now's my chance!"
Great. So much for him being the one person Miles could count on to keep him company for the night so sitting alone wouldn't feel so awkward. He isn't going to put up a fight, though. It's not like Larry would let him. He anticipates himself sitting alone for the vast majority of the night before food starts being served and Larry will just have to come back by then because food. It sucks. Miles could be perusing one of his father's law tomes right now, as is his usual activity on a Saturday night. Why did he let Phoenix talk him into this?
He finds out why, of course, when the young man in question wanders into the ballroom with his hands in his pockets, unaccompanied and looking completely out of his element as other prom-goers rush past him. His suit jacket and his slacks, both a deep red, glisten in the spotlights because of course they have glitter on them, how typical, and beneath his jacket is a baby pink waistcoat with.. pink heart buttons. He looks like what Cupid would if he'd traded out the old birthday suit for business casual. It's the cheesiest outfit Miles has ever laid eyes on, and he's probably only wearing these catastrophically clashing colors to match with Dahlia, and Miles hates how dashingly handsome he looks nonetheless.
It's when Phoenix's gaze finally settles on Miles, though, that the older boy begins to heat up with a blush that he can feel throughout his entire body. He's undoubtedly as red as Phoenix's blazer now, but the multicolored lights will hopefully help disguise that. Hopefully.
"Hey," Phoenix says, smiling. "You clean up nice." His eyes flick to the side for a moment, like he's pondering something. "Or maybe you're not the right person to say that to, because you always go all out. So let me start over." He stops rambling and clears his throat. "You look great."
Miles reciprocates the smile, brushing off the initially botched compliment. "Thank you. Wright. You look nice, yourself." Before he can stop himself, the question of the hour tumbles out of his mouth. "Where's Dahlia?"
"Oh, uh, she came inside with me, but said she had to fix her makeup, or something." He adjusts his cufflinks, craning his head around towards the entrance in hopes that he'll see her coming in.
"Ah," is all Miles can muster. He's really not all that interested, to be honest. What he is interested in is how much time he'll get alone with Phoenix before she, or even Larry, returns. But what is he to say? He had a feeling this would happen, but didn't think he'd get that far. So, now what?
Inevitably, the situation grows awkward with each second that the two exchange nothing but silence. Phoenix elects to head over to Dahlia's designated table, figuring that when she comes back, she'll be looking for him there. Miles has no objections, of course, and he is reduced to watching Phoenix's retreating back, being left alone for the second time that night. He sighs and slumps in his seat, his terrible posture mirroring how terrible he's feeling.
Once most of the prom-goers clear out of the dance floor and Miles can finally see where Phoenix is sitting, he's both relieved and disappointed that he's not the only one sitting alone - at least in the emotional sense. Most of the people sitting at Phoenix's table talk amongst themselves and never with Phoenix, and the empty seat next to Phoenix which was most likely supposed to be Dahlia's seat seems to act as a buffer between them and him. They even go so far as to ditch him for the dance floor at one point. The sight of it tugs at Miles' heartstrings. He has to do something. But what? He's hopelessly awkward; it won't be any different from that previous encounter. And what if Dahlia comes back by the time he gets there? What if he's forced to go back to his own table, proverbial tail tucked between his legs, and watch them have a good time together? God, it appalls him how selfish this all sounds.
The only other option he's left with is to wait and see - and wait and see, he does.
Songs of all different genres pass in tandem with the passage of time. Conga lines pass, and eventually disperse. Miles checks his watch. An hour has passed already? Where the hell is Larry, anyway?
With all the dancers obstructing his view, it's impossible to view Phoenix's table from across the dance floor. Thankfully, they all soon part to take their seats in preparation for the first meal, to reveal that the seat beside Phoenix is just as it was an hour ago - still empty. The young man beside it is now pouting, chin cradled between his propped-up knuckles. Miles feels his body heating up in both rage and resolve. He can't stand to see Phoenix like this any longer, and for an entire hour, no less. He shoots up from his seat, and stalks over to Phoenix's table, assuming Dahlia's seat. Phoenix offers a wan smile at his best friend's arrival.
"Has she still not returned?" Miles asks incredulously, eyes darting around the ballroom in search for even the slightest glimpse of red hair.
Phoenix shakes his head sadly. Then, he frowns. "How long does it even take for one girl to fix her makeup? She looked just fine from where I was standing."
"Well, perhaps you should ask one of her friends here to check on her," Miles suggests, tipping his chin over to the girls on the opposite end of the table. "There, isn't that her older sister?" Phoenix follows Miles' gaze to a young woman with short dark hair that he immediately recognizes - Valerie Hawthorne, an Ivy High graduate from 2 years ago. She must be here with a senior.
"Oh, yeah. I'll ask her right now."
Miles is expecting him to speed off in an attempt to fix this situation as quickly as possible, but he remains rooted in his seat, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly. "Would you.. come with me for moral support?" Phoenix asks meekly. "I know it's silly, but-"
"Of course," Miles says, standing abruptly. "Lead the way."
Phoenix, momentarily disoriented by Miles’ sudden movement, blinks to refocus and then nods, rising from his own seat towards the giggling gaggle of young ladies, all huddled up closely together because it’s the only way they can hear one another. They don’t even look up when the two men approach them.
"Hey, Valerie?” Phoenix calls, his voice clear as a bell over the thumping music, “I need to ask you something."
Valerie turns and appears surprised to be getting attention from a total stranger, even though said stranger has been sitting at her table for a while now, so she's bound to have noticed his presence at least once. But she's so surprised that she doesn't even register that he's talking to her, at first. That may very well be the music’s doing, though.
Phoenix leans in close to her face as he speaks, and Miles stands closely behind, far enough to not be a creepy, foreboding presence, but close enough to still be within earshot. Valerie’s friends seem to slink back and carry on with their giggling amongst themselves. "I know you don't know me, but I'm Phoenix. I'm Dahlia's classmate."
Realization dawns upon her face in tandem with a wayward red spotlight. She leans in as well. "Oh, I see. What do you need?"
"Well, um, Dahlia was supposed to be my date tonight, and she went off to fix her makeup but hasn't come back since. It's been, like, an hour. Would you mind checking on her to see if she's okay?"
Valerie leans back, closes her eyes, and holds up a hand, furrowing her eyebrows as if it'll help her obtain a grasp on what Phoenix is telling her. "Wait, wait, wait. She's your date? That's... not what she told me."
Miles steps forward, frowning. Phoenix looks over his shoulder at him, and the two exchange a look. "What do you mean?" Phoenix presses.
"Well, she said she was gonna be renting a party bus for her and her friends," she trails off. That part, Phoenix can corroborate with his presence. He nods in acknowledgement.
"Right."
"...Drop off some of her friends here, ditch prom, then head over to our dad's beach house to get drunk with her other friends."
Oh.
Of course the whole makeup thing was a ruse. Of course. Because he isn’t good enough to just get rejected in the first place. He’s not good enough to see any of this coming. He’s not good enough to get that cheesy rom-com scenario, or any of them, for that matter. He’s not good enough to get that happily ever after that his whole life has been building up to since the moment he met her - the happily ever after he thought he deserved.
He didn’t deserve it. And tonight is the night where everything he’s hoped for crumbles to pieces before his eyes.
He’s completely frozen in place and emotionally weighed down with the leaden block of hopelessness on his chest, and much too fraught with shock to question the information he was just given. He thanks his lucky stars that Miles - sweet Miles, God bless him - is here to listen for himself so he wouldn’t have to relay this heart wrenching development, and that he’s here to process all of this and respond in his stead, though he’s about as much at a loss as Phoenix is and trying real hard to curb his anger, channeling it all into his rapidly tightening fists.
"..What?"
"Yeah, she didn't say anything about having a date.. She told me that prom was lame and that I was lame for coming, even though, if you have a date, that's what you do, you know? Basic human decency, which she lacks, I guess. She didn't even buy a ticket." Valerie notices Phoenix's face falling in the midst of her rambling and sighs, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Phoenix. That was really shitty of her."
Phoenix simply refuses to make eye contact with her because he knows she can feel his shoulder trembling from beneath her hand and his eyes are filling up with tears and it’s so embarrassing. He’s looking down at his tapping foot instead, a behavior he exhibits when his anxiety sets in and he starts to feel like his heart has dropped to his stomach and he can’t breathe. Miles notices this and reaches out to place a hand on his opposite shoulder, gingerly pulling him backwards because he knows. He’s known Phoenix forever and he knows that when he gets like this, he’s looking for an out. And Miles is his out.
God, thank God he’s here, or nothing would stop Phoenix from running back to him crying like some sort of stupid Disney princess who just found out their precious prince might not truly be theirs, after all.
As they walk away from Valerie, who watches them apologetically on her way back to her friends, Phoenix’s emotions are at bay; for now, until he starts to dwell on everything that’s happened all over again.
The two take a long, quiet walk around the dance floor back to Miles’ table. Larry still isn’t there, but it’s better that way. He’d ask way too many questions that Phoenix won’t want to answer out of the fear that he’ll end up bursting into tears.
Phoenix takes a seat beside Miles and sniffles, crossing his arms and sulking. Miles still doesn’t know what to say. Or perhaps Phoenix would prefer silence? No. Silence will make his thoughts ever louder, and lead him into overthinking. He can’t bear to think about Phoenix beating himself up so badly because of this one girl. He needs to say something.
But what?
He tilts his head down a little and sees Phoenix’s eyes are still brimming with unshed tears. He must be afraid to let them out, since he’s always been known to be highly sensitive and very self-conscious of said sensitivity, so if he feels like his crying is a bother to his peers, he’ll hold it in to the best of his ability. But it’ll hurt him more this way.
"Phoenix,” Miles begins, placing his hand on Phoenix’s upper thigh. Phoenix refuses to look, but Miles knows he’s listening. “Don't be afraid to cry if you need to. It's alright."
Phoenix shakes his head petulantly, though it looks like the proverbial dam is overdue for bursting. No, he won’t cry in such crowded settings like these, Miles thinks. It’ll make him even more anxious. He needs to be somewhere secluded.
"Do you need to be somewhere else?" Miles asks him.
Phoenix lifts his head a little, and nods. The two get up and exit the ballroom.
Miles looks to the grand staircase he saw earlier when coming in. He doesn’t know what’s up there, or if anyone’s even allowed there, but there’s only so many places he can go with Phoenix where it’d be safe enough for him, so this must be the winner.
The two pass a couple of prom goers posing for silly pictures from over the staircase railing, and arrive at an empty dining area, filled with tables much like the ones downstairs in the ballroom. A deserted bar at the far corner illuminated by dim neon lights is revealed to have been picked bare upon closer inspection. There’s a line of tap handles, one of which Phoenix pulls experimentally, but nothing comes out, and there’s no sign of anything else to drink. It must be a precaution for any prom goers who get any ideas about siphoning alcohol from wayward bars. Sucks. Phoenix could really use a drink right now, even though he’s never drank anything except wine coolers, and he never even got drunk.
He sits himself down at a stool, and Miles follows suit, sitting beside him. This is it - his safe haven. It’s loud enough downstairs that no one but Miles could hear him cry, and everyone else seems to be too invested in whatever they were doing to think of following them up here. The coast is clear. The dam can now safely burst.
Despite the space between their two stools and the sheer awkwardness of the entire affair, coupled with the fact that Miles isn’t even physically ready for him, Phoenix reaches over and leans into Miles, crying a good shoulder-heaving cry.
It takes him a while, but Miles finally finds it in himself to wrap his arms around Phoenix, albeit awkwardly at first, given their position. Phoenix settles into him more comfortably until it dawns on him that oh, God, he might be wetting his suit. But Miles doesn’t mind at all. He makes no attempt to pull himself or Phoenix away. He -- holy shit, he places his chin on Phoenix’s shoulder. Phoenix just sobs more because he’s such an amazing friend to have dealt with him for this long, even though he feels he’s about to ruin his night even more with what he’s about to say.
"I wanna go home, Miles."
Miles sighs and rubs Phoenix’s back. He’s wanted to go home the moment he got into Larry’s car, but - and he hates to admit it - he’s relieved he didn’t. He can’t imagine what Phoenix would be forced to go through if he wasn’t there. "I do, too. But we can't leave yet, unfortunately. They won't let us."
Now it’s Phoenix’s turn to sigh as he wipes his eyes and leans back into his own stool. Miles re-adjusts himself to the loss. Of course. As the rules of conduct stated, you are only allowed to arrive and leave at certain times. The prom ends 3 hours from now, but you can only start to leave after the announcement of Prom King and Queen.
"So now what do we do? Do we just sit here until you've gotten used to the sound of me sobbing my eyeballs out?" Phoenix whines.
"No," Miles says, starting to smirk knowingly, "we make the best of it." He holds out his hand as the rhythm belonging to a slower song sounds through the floor from the ballroom just below. Phoenix’s breath hitches involuntarily, and his rheumy eyes look up into Miles’ as if he’s trying to gauge whether or not he’s seriously going to ask...
“May I have this dance, Wright?”
Oh.
For whatever reason, his heart begins to race. He can’t be serious.. can he? Miles was never the practical jokester type, and especially not with something like this. He’d never offer a dance if he wasn’t serious. It’s simply not like him.
In the time it takes Phoenix to thoroughly analyze Miles’ intentions, Miles, in turn, takes his silence as an unspoken refusal, nearly tripping over his tongue in order to make a hasty recovery.
“Well, ah, that is to say, you don’t have to if you are not feeling up to it-”
Phoenix cuts him off by slowly taking his hand and shooting him a smile so warm that he feels it in his chest. “No. I think.. a dance is just what I need to let out all this remaining anxiety.”
Miles finds himself smiling too. “Indeed. That’s a great way of seeing it.”
In much higher spirits than they were when they came, the two descend the staircase hand-in-hand. Most of the occupants they saw earlier had cleared out of the foyer, presumably to join their dates on the dance floor. The thought makes Miles’ cheeks start to burn a furious red; they are now no different than those couples who had come together in the first place. He gulps in anxious anticipation.
There is a decent number of couples already present on the dance floor, but not nearly as many as there were for the more upbeat songs. The atmosphere immediately seems more tranquil - muted, low lights, couples locked in tender, swaying embraces rather than jumping up and down and pumping their fists in the air. It’s definitely Miles’ scene now.
He and Phoenix quickly find a vacant spot on which to begin their dance. Phoenix smiles at him, his face illuminated by the lights, then frowns in confusion as he looks down at their still intertwined hands.
“You know, I’ve seen these kinds of things in movies all the time, but I’ve never understood how the characters just know how to dance to these songs,” he remarks.
Miles chuckles with a smile that actually reaches his eyes. “Well, first of all, it’s a movie. Of course they just know. It’s supposedly more romantic that way. Second of all, I would say it’s all in the time signature. I believe this song in particular is in..” he tips his head to get a better feel for the beat, closing his eyes and mouthing numbers, “6/8 time, if I’m not mistaken. Perfect for a waltz. Just let me lead, and you’ll be fine.”
Phoenix’s mouth gapes in surprise as he allows their joined hands to reach up to hover by the left side of Edgeworth’s face. How did he know that? “Wow. I didn’t know you were into music, Edgeworth.”
Miles shakes his head goodnaturedly, maneuvering his hand so it rests at Phoenix’s shoulder blade, pulling him closer. “Wright, I’ve been in the school orchestra for as long as I can remember. Have you forgotten?”
“Right, but I didn’t know that you actually knew music. Most people who take music classes here hardly even know the difference between major and minor.”
“And you think I’m one of them? Why, Wright, I’m insulted.” Miles briefly takes his hand off of Phoenix’s shoulder blade to clutch his own heart, feigning offense, but still wearing the ghost of amusement on his face.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Phoenix chuckles, shaking his head. “I should know better.”
Miles returns his hand to its previous place just before the lyrics start, his eyes darkening with something like longing and his tone becoming more serious. “Verily.”
With that, he guides Phoenix across the floor with ease, applying pressure to the other man’s shoulder blade if he should step in the wrong direction. He gently reminds him to just let him lead, and with a sheepish smile, Phoenix obliges as the lyrics to the music begin.
I’d never gone with the wind
Just let it flow
Let it take me where it wants to go
‘Til you open the door
There’s so much more
I’d never seen it before
I was trying to fly, but I couldn’t find wings
But you came along and you changed everything
You lift my feet off the ground
You spin me around
You make me crazier, crazier
Feels like I’m falling and I
Am lost in your eyes
You make me crazier, crazier, crazier
I watched from a distance as you
Made life your own
Every sky was your own kind of blue
And I wanted to know
How that would feel
And you made it so real
You showed me something that I couldn’t see
You opened my eyes and you made me believe
As the chorus plays again, Phoenix’s eyes watch Miles’ hands and then wander back to his face to exchange a smile with him. And before Phoenix is even aware of what he's doing, his head is tilting and lowering itself, nestling warmly on Miles' chest. With his ear pressed to where his heart is, he's blissfully aware of its gentle rhythm while his own heart seems to beat in tandem with it, the two organs rallying beat to beat. It is then that he realizes that he's never felt so at home like this before, especially following such a disastrous experience with Dahlia. He never thought he'd feel this way about his best friend, but with everything that's happened tonight and looking back on everything they've been through together, he can't help but feel so comfortable with him. He doesn't have to be afraid of being himself around him, even when being himself constitutes ugly crying and possibly dampening his expensive suit with popped snot bubbles. For that, he's more than thankful.
Baby, you showed me what living is for
I don't wanna hide anymore, oh oh
“I’m.. sorry about what happened tonight,” Miles says sincerely as the chorus plays one last time. His mellifluous voice reverberates through his chest, acting as a feather-light caress upon Phoenix's cheek, like an angel wiping his tears.
The younger boy sighs. “It's okay. It's not your fault," He says, pulling himself away to look Miles in the eyes. It's probably a bad move, he thinks, because he feels the tears starting to come all over again. He doesn't get it. Here is his childhood best friend, trying his hardest to piece him back together when he was on the verge of falling apart. Why, then, does he still feel so hopelessly alone? He struggles to string it all together in his mind before finally putting it in words.
“I just thought that I was important, you know? That after all this time, she would finally give me a chance, and finally.. want to be with me." Phoenix looks down at his feet, tears now sliding down his cheeks in rapid succession. Dread pools in his stomach at the prospect of having Miles see him like this, as if he hasn't been enough of a crybaby for the night, or for as long as they've known each other in general.
Miles exhales loudly. “You cannot let her hold this much influence over you, Phoenix. She's just one high school girl who isn't worth your time."
Phoenix's bottom lip trembles. He hiccups. "And when will I find someone who is? Because she's been it for me ever since elementary school. All these years, it's been building up to this, and she just lets me down. That's how I know I won't get a happy ending. Ever."
"That's not true," Miles says taciturnly.
Phoenix looks away and says, just above a whisper, "Miles, don't do this."
"Don't do what?"
Phoenix begins to raise his voice, though it trembles so like a leaf in the wind. The tears have already dried on his face, yet his vision still swims and he knows there are more of them coming. “You don’t have to go out of your way to tell me things I want to hear. Idealizing situations isn't your thing at all. I know. It's okay. I know I'm just gonna be lonely and sad forever and oh God I'm crying again, I'm such a baby-"
Just like that, Miles interrupts him with his lips. Phoenix is unresponsive in Miles' embrace, stiff as a board and trying to find a way to react having been completely blindsided by this sudden gesture. The only messages his burning nerves are sending to his brain are exclamation points because holy shit, this is my first kiss ever and my childhood best friend is kissing me like he fucking means it. He feels himself relaxing after a few seconds at that single comprehensible thought - this is his best friend. This is what best friends do to make their best friends feel better.
Right?..
No, not right, he thinks, as Phoenix finally reciprocates the kiss with the tiniest of relieved whimpers, his tongue seeking Miles'. This is not what best friends do. Best friends don't make out with each other. This is on a whole different level, and, oh, God, they seem to be soaring right towards it. Everything's getting out of hand all too quickly, but the two of them find it nearly impossible to stop.
Thankfully, Miles seems to be reading Phoenix's mind, and his sensibility kicks right back in as he yanks himself away, eyes wide and breathing heavily. "Oh, God, I'm.. so sorry. I don't know what came over me."
"No.. no, it's alright. It's..." Phoenix says, getting momentarily lost in Miles’ endlessly gray eyes and reaching up to brush a wayward strand of hair out of his face that was most likely displaced from their heated exchange. Holy shit, that was his first kiss. And it was nothing shy of amazing.
Miles shakes his head and shuts his eyes tightly, as if the words that are to escape his lips are deeply guarded secrets that pain him to finally let out. "I just... I can't stand hearing you saying such nonsense. I'm here with you, and I'm not going anywhere."
Phoenix's heart swells as he hears this. He doesn't know why, but it does. Perhaps it's because Miles has never been so.. vocal about the people he cares about beating themselves up - and so passionate about it, no less. How could this be?
Could it be that.. that kiss has something to do with it?
The final notes of the song play, and each couple either comes together for a kiss, or slowly disperses. Miles takes note of this and backs away from Phoenix, clutching his arm and looking off in the distance in his typical emotionally conflicted Edgeworth way, as if he’s searching for an out.
"Miles," Phoenix says warily, taking one step forward and into the proverbial minefield. "What.. what was that kiss for?"
Phoenix sees his Adam's apple bobbing as the older boy continues to refuse to make eye contact with him. Then he curses to himself and abruptly speeds off, leaving a very confused Phoenix - as if he wasn’t already confused by pretty much everything that has come to pass tonight - in his wake.
He opens his mouth to call out to Miles in an attempt to prevent him from walking away any farther, but he’s already blended in with the crowd before he can even say anything, his gray suit fading into the swarming colors. Perhaps he needs to distance himself from.. whatever it is that just happened? Whatever it was, though, it.. felt.. nice? Phoenix finds himself slowly raising a hand to prod at his lower lip because it's starting to tingle from how Miles' tongue swiped across it earlier.
He can't start to dwell on the kiss and how much of a shock it is knowing that he's just had a feverish make-out session as his first kiss with his best friend because Larry seems to just appear out of nowhere as if he’d been ejected from the mass of prom-goers. He grabs his shoulders, boisterously announcing his relief at finally finding Phoenix again after so long. Phoenix, momentarily dazed, jumps a little at his friend's sudden appearance.
"Where's Miley?" Larry asks him, looking around from over his own shoulder to see if he could spot him. But Phoenix knows that there's no way he's still around here - it's no longer his scene. He's most likely at the upstairs dining area alone, brooding, or outside by the fountain. Wherever he is, Phoenix is feeling strangely empty without his presence. They've spent the past hour together in a place neither of them really wanted to be at, but made the most out of it, and shared a kiss, to boot. He hopes he didn't actually leave, this time; there was so much he still wanted to know, so much he wanted to tell him.. but most importantly, he wanted his best friend by his side again.
Yes, that's it. His lips certainly aren't still tingling.
Despite his darting eyes, desperate for even the slightest glimpse of silver hair, Phoenix shrugs indifferently. "I'm not sure. He might've gone out to get some air."
Larry raises an eyebrow at a comical height. "Weird. You should go make sure he's alright. But come back soon, because they're about to announce Prom King and Queen!" he exclaims, eyes sparkling wistfully. Surprisingly enough, he made the prom court and his campaign was pretty successful, but it still hadn't made him any more popular with the ladies - especially not with Notta Chance, the front-runner for Prom Queen. But Larry just does as Larry does - remain steadfastly optimistic, even in the face of certain failure. Especially in the face of certain failure.
Phoenix doesn't need to be told twice. He's surprised Larry's even giving him his blessing to go. But that must mean he's having a good enough time without the company of his two best friends for a change. It's definitely something for Phoenix to be proud of.
With that, Phoenix offers his friend an appreciative nod and shoulders through the crowd to get to the exit, his heart leaping slowly with every beat up to his throat. He's pretty much flying by the seat of his pants on this one because he knows there's something at the tip of his tongue that he's dying to find Miles and tell him, but what? Everything that's coming to mind is a muddle of images, memories of he and Miles throughout their boyhood, into their teenage years. Phoenix smiles to himself at those - at each and every time Miles has saved him, whether it be from the 2nd grade resident bully by scaring him with the stuff he's read in his law tomes, or from Phoenix's demons telling him that he'll never be good enough for Dahlia. He's always been there - a firm, yet continually positive presence in his life. His best friend. He owes so much to him, so much. The least he can do is be there for him now.
Strangely, he isn't where they last were together at the upstairs dining area - it would've been the perfect place for him to hide out and brood, since there was no indication that the other prom-goers even knew that place existed, even though it was pretty much in plain sight. So instead, Phoenix heads outside.
At first, he sees nobody sitting by the fountain; its only occupant appears to be the moon’s reflection shimmering in the water. But then he circles it and, lo and behold, Miles is perched there on the other side, his knuckles white from clenching the edges. His silver bangs dangle before his eyes, which are downcast and distant. He doesn't even look up as Phoenix approaches. Phoenix takes a seat beside him and entwines his hands between his legs, tilting his head to study Miles in a non-overt way. Miles scoots his own hand away a little to allow him some space, but continues to stare down at his shoes.
For a few moments, the only noise is from the gentle rushing of the water behind them, the hushed symphony of chirping crickets, and the muffled bassline from whatever song is playing inside the ballroom.
Miles is the one who breaks the silence between them. "I'm an idiot."
Phoenix pivots his entire body to face him now, studying him more intently and wondering what he means. Miles rarely ever beats himself up like this; he's a genius and he knows it. "What?"
"That.. kiss. It was never my intention to confuse you with my.. feelings, considering what had happened to you tonight. But.. I simply couldn't help myself anymore."
Phoenix just blinks in the most oblivious manner ever. Feelings?
Miles sighs. "What I'm trying to tell you, Wright, is that I'm.. in love with you. I have been.. for a while, now. I never meant to tell you this now after everything you've been through, but it would seem that my outburst tonight proved that I'm incapable of holding it in any longer."
Oh. Oh.
Suddenly, it all makes sense, and it crashes upon Phoenix like a tidal wave. There was a reason why Miles never reciprocated the advances of any of the girls at their school or talked about any of them as excitedly as Larry or Phoenix did, why none of their 'tricks' ever worked on him, and why he got especially prickly when Dahlia was the subject of the conversation. And it wasn't just because Phoenix was crushing really hard on his cousin.
He was in love with his best friend. And he'd kissed him to shut him up because he couldn't stand him talking about himself like that. Because he loved him.
And with that, all the confusion and emptiness clouding over Phoenix’s heart is sliced through with the light of realization, brightening the shadows of what he’s always been led to believe until he finally sees.
He’d loved his best friend all along, too; it was all just buried beneath the pipe dreams about Dahlia because she was everything he thought he wanted, and he thought his feelings for Miles were normal because they were just that close. If she’d never stood him up, it might’ve taken him another lifetime to finally see it. God, he’s been wasting so much time being so broken over her when the one he was looking for was - no, is - standing in front of him all along.
But now he’s here, rambling away about how much of an idiot he is. Phoenix doesn’t even hear any of it because he's just so giddy, and his lips are tingling again and it makes him want to laugh really hard because it tickles and kiss him so the tingliness will go away.
So he rudely interrupts Miles' monologue with a pretty hard kiss, so much so that their teeth collide and it hurts and it's messy, so they yank away from each other with an 'ow' but they're laughing so hard that their momentum carries them backwards into the fountain with a huge splash.
They're sputtering and gasping for air when they sit up and emerge from the pool, and they're completely drenched and any hope of them getting back into the ballroom without being forced back out because they are now a safety hazard is ruined, but they can't help looking over at each other and laughing even harder at the mess they've made; Miles' wispy hair now sits in dark, messy, soaked strands, while Phoenix's trademark spikes are dripping and drooping. Their darkened suits took the brunt of the onslaught, unfortunately, and now they're freezing because of how cold the water was, coupled with the chilly evening breeze, but one look at each other, and they can feel warmth blooming in their hearts like a furnace.
Miles removes a strand of hair from Phoenix's face and smirks knowingly. "What was that kiss for?" He asks him.
Phoenix reciprocates the smirk, then makes a sudden jerking movement as if he's making to get up and dash off, much like Miles did earlier. But he chuckles and stays put. "Because I've come to realize something about happy endings. They never subscribe to the over-romanticized little scenarios you play out in your head, or the ill-conceived notions that chick flicks drill into your head. They're.. unexpected. They’ll throw you curveballs at first and you’ll always end up where you never thought you’d be, but they’re always the light at the end of the tunnel, waiting for you to finally reach them. And you'll see that the signs were all there all along.”
Just then, Larry jogs out of the ballroom with a grin, proudly donning a Prom King sash and a plastic gold crown that glints in the lamplight. He jingles his keys and makes for the parking lot. "Hey-o, Miley!" he calls. "Let's hit the road!"
Phoenix holds up a hand, not even looking over at him. "Shut up, Larry, I'm monologuing."
"But I won Prom King!" he whines.
"That's great," Phoenix says dismissively. Larry pouts and takes it as a sign to just keep walking. How dare they not acknowledge his long-sought-for reign beside his long-sought-for-Queen, Notta Chance?
After he's walked away a considerable distance, though, Phoenix continues. "What I'm trying to say is... my happy ending has always been you, Edgeworth. It might've taken me a while to see it because of some distractions along the way, but," Phoenix smiles crookedly, "I'm glad you were patient with me."
Miles takes Phoenix's hands and leans in to kiss his nose. "It was well worth the wait."