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“Ready to go?”
Zipping up his burgundy backpack, Miles looked up at the person standing in front of him.
The 9-year-old Phoenix Wright looked at him expectantly. A glint of excitement shone in his blue eyes. “C’mon! Moozilla starts in 15 minutes!”
Miles quickly scanned the near-empty classroom, and frowned.
“What about Larry?” he asked. “Shouldn’t we wait for him?” His arms went through the straps of his backpack. He gave them a little tug, to adjust them into a more comfortable position.
“Nah.” Phoenix beckoned Miles to start walking with him. “I saw him leaving with Casey.”
They took a left turn towards the front door of the building. The after-school buzz had almost died down. There were only a few people in the hallway.
“Casey?” Miles turned to his friend, perplexed. “But wasn’t he holding Mandy’s hand just last week?” He still remembered how Phoenix had rolled his eyes at the young Casanova, and dragged an equally annoyed Miles away.
Larry was a good friend. Miles had decided that a long time ago. He was fun to hang out with, and always up to some mischief or another, which had loosened Miles up quite significantly. Well, as long as he didn’t ditch his two other friends to chase skirts.
Phoenix merely shrugged. “Maybe he’s moved on.”
The afternoon sky was clear and blue, dotted here and there with some clouds that looked a lot like cotton candy. Despite being stood up by Larry, Miles was in a good mood. He liked hanging out with Phoenix even more. The boy had the brightest smile, and was the nicest person Miles had ever known. Well, his spiky hair was ridiculous, but we couldn’t all be perfect, could we?
They walked down the street leading to the Wright house, knowing that Mrs. Wright would have hot chocolate and cookies waiting for them.
“I don't know. He’s always so popular among the girls,” said Miles. Then he thought of something, and couldn’t help but smirk. “Do you remember him kissing Sarah on the cheek last month at her birthday party?”
Phoenix snorted, and started laughing heartily. “Of course I do!” he said, between fits of giggle. “The look on her dad’s face! It was like he wanted to eat him for breakfast!”
Miles couldn’t help but laugh with him.
When the laughter finally subsided, Phoenix said, almost pensively, “Why aren’t we as popular among girls as him?” He paused, then turned to look at Miles. “Hey, why aren’t you popular like him?”
Miles blinked. “Why would I be?” he asked.
“I mean, you’re smart and polite a-and-” Phoenix waved his hand wildly, as if that would help him come up with another nice adjective for his best friend, before blurting out, “Good-looking!” A slight blush climbed up on his cheeks. “So, why aren’t you?”
Miles didn’t really know what to think. He was happy that Phoenix thought he was smart and polite and…good-looking, but he had never thought about being popular among girls. He was too focused on his study and becoming a defense attorney like his father to think about anything else, let alone girls.
“I’ve never really thought of that,” he admitted. “I don’t even know what to do with them.”
“Heh, me either.” Phoenix scratched the back of his neck, looking slightly embarrassed. “I asked Erin to pick up my eraser for me this morning, and she just glared at me like I was some kind of weirdo.”
“What?! That’s not nice!” Miles almost shouted, feeling indignant for his friend. “You should stay away from her. She’s mean.”
“I know. She screamed the loudest at the class trial, too,” said Phoenix, feeling a bit sad for remembering that stupid trial. Then he cheered up slightly. “Anyway, I was just thinking. If this keeps up, I may not get married by the time I’m, hmm, 35.” Again, his head drooped a little. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“Is getting married really important to you?” asked Miles, feeling curious.
“I guess,” said Phoenix. “Mom and Dad got married when they were 23, and they’ve known each other since middle school.”
Miles thought about the last time he had a sleepover at the Wright’s. Mr. and Mrs. Wright cooked dinner together. And the way they looked and smiled at each other made Miles think that maybe being married to someone would be a good thing.
And if that was so important to his friend, maybe he ought to help him.
“How about…we make a pact?” he suggested.
Phoenix arched his eyebrows at him. “What do you mean?”
“Well, if getting married means so much to you,” said Miles, thoughtfully, “then how about we marry each other if we still can’t find anyone to marry by the time we’re 35?”
“What?” Phoenix was startled. He found himself stuttering, “B-but we’re both b-boys! Boys can’t marry each other!”
“Then we’ll just move in together, like Mr. Taylor and Mr. Simmons across the street,” insisted Miles, stubbornly, ignoring the hints of crimson slowly appearing on his face.
Judging from how Mr. Simmons kissed Mr. Taylor on the mouth by the front door every morning when he left for work, Miles figured boys could live like a married couple too, even though they couldn’t legally become one.
“That’s-that’s the house with the German shepherd, right?” Phoenix tilted his head to the side, as if he was seriously considering Miles’ proposal.
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
Miles looked at his friend intently, trying to see if he would agree. He didn’t want him to get angry, or to think he was being weird. He was just trying to help, after all.
He found the knot in his chest suddenly vanished, when Phoenix eventually smiled at him and nodded.
“Okay,” said Phoenix.
“Okay then,” nodded Miles, also smiling.
Later, when he stopped to think about it, to imagine what living with Phoenix would be like (snuggling in bed with hot chocolate and cookies and Moozilla), he decided it wouldn’t be so bad.
In fact, it felt like a great idea.
It wasn’t until 17 years later did they revisit the marriage pact.
A lot had happened during all those years. They had gone on separate paths, and had eventually become a formidable force in the pursuit of truth. Their friendship had been damaged and repaired, broken up and rekindled. However, their respective romantic lives had been as pitiful as ever.
Even though he had come to terms with his sexuality in late adolescence, Miles had only had a short relationship with star prosecutor Neil Marshall, which ended disastrously when his lover was murdered and used as a pawn in Gant’s grand scheme of having the Prosecutors’ Office in his pocket. He had had several casual encounters after that, but he never let anyone get close to him.
And Wright’s college affair with Dahlia – or should he say, Iris – was equally catastrophic to a legendary proportion.
It was a night in April, two months after the nightmarish incident at the Hazakura Temple, and less than one month after the whole fiasco with the smuggling ring. He and Wright were having drinks at a bar near the Prosecutors’ Office, catching up on the latest development in their lives.
Miles toyed with his glass of whiskey, watching the amber liquid swirling in his hand, before actually taking a sip. “So how are things with Iris?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
He was still uncertain how he felt about Wright. Sure, he could trust the man with his life, and everything else he held dear. But there was always something else, needling endlessly at the back of his mind. It didn’t help that he finally found that stack of letters at Von Karma’s study. It didn’t help that he saw the man worried about him after the small earthquake at Hazakura. It didn’t help that he received a frantic phone call from him at midnight after being whacked on the head and kidnapped at Gatewater Land, either.
Though he did talk him out of docking Gumshoe’s pay again. That was definitely a first.
When he heard that Wright was representing Iris on her trial, he wasn’t surprised, because that was exactly the kind of things the foolhardy man would do. What he felt though, was something unnecessary, something that burnt within his chest and kept him up at night. He couldn’t put a name on it. He wouldn’t.
Wright just turned to look at him with a lopsided grin on his face. “What do you mean?”
Miles scowled at him. “Don’t play coy with me, Wright,” he said. “You’re rubbish at it.”
The defense attorney just shrugged. He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts, then said, “Honestly, I don’t know how things are with Iris.” He elaborated before Miles could ask any question, “Sure, she’s still the same person I remember. But, I guess I’ve been through too much to go back to that place, if it makes sense to you.” He took a big gulp from his beer.
Miles couldn’t help but stared at him. There was something, something that was not the sour burn, awakening in his heart, after years of slumber. He tried to contain this feeling, frantically searching for a cage, a box, something, to lock it up.
“And you’ve told her?” he asked, instead, fighting the slight tremor in his voice.
“Yeah, I did.” Wright let out a sigh, and continued, “She smiled and said she understood. But I could see she was hurt. I really hate to do that to her, even though I know I had to.”
The prosecutor stretched out his hand, and tentatively put it on the man’s shoulder, awkwardly patting it twice. “I understand,” he almost whispered.
To his surprise, Wright suddenly lowered his head and started to snicker.
Miles pulled back his hand like his was electrocuted, and glared at him, even though the other man couldn’t see it. “Something funny?” he asked coolly.
Wright was barely able to stop his giggling to reply, “Do you remember the pact we made when we were 9?”
Of course he remembered. The more he had to deal with those confusing and scary feelings, the more he was reminded of his childish tomfoolery.
Oh how much did he wish he hadn’t made the stupid pact.
But he merely nodded. “Yes, I remember. What about it?”
“I was just thinking,” said Wright, wiping the tears from laughing too hard with his hand, “you may actually have to be stuck with me if you don’t try harder either.”
Miles stared at him, utterly speechless.
How could he think I would be the one stuck with him, and not the other way around?
And he didn't know what the spiky-haired man meant by “either.” Did he mean that he wasn’t trying to not fulfill the pact to begin with?
But what if that wasn’t what Wright meant? What if that was merely a statement of self-pity? What if he got the wrong idea and made the wrong move?
He was afraid, terrified, in fact, that he would do something stupid to jeopardize what he’d already had with Wright. He didn’t have the courage. And he didn’t want the hope.
Hope, according to Manfred Von Karma, was but a fool’s dream.
He mustered a smirk just in time for Wright to look at him, and drawled, “As much as I hate to admit, Wright, I have to agree with you.”
The awakening creature in his chest died before even seeing a hint of daylight.
The deadline of the pact was two hours away.
It seemed that after the debacle with the Dark Age of the Law, things had reached a joyous conclusion. More importantly, neither Wright nor he was taken. In fact, he hadn’t even had a single serious relationship during those 9 years.
Recently, the creature he thought had died long ago had been reawakened, and gaining strength day by day.
Although Miles was still terrified that things would not work out, or Wright would back out in the end, he had realized, reluctantly, that perhaps he had been wrong all these years. Perhaps Wright had been waiting for him all along.
Yet, he still had to admit, they’d gone closer after Wright regaining his badge, maybe even more than before his disbarment. Why, he actually let the defense attorney throw him a birthday party at his own house with all those people.
Von Karma would have reprimanded him for getting soft over the years.
Well, Miles decided, that old bastard could rot in hell for all he cared. He wouldn’t have given that away for the world.
Still, being surrounded by so many people all at once was a bit overwhelming for him. Yes, it was nice to see Simon laughing at Trucy’s magic trick that involved pulling a string of handkerchiefs from a pair of bloomers, or Kay animatedly explaining something or another to Ema who was nodding with great enthusiasm, or Apollo and Klavier looking at each other in a way that was more alarming than heartwarming, or Franziska halfheartedly listening to Gumshoe babbling about his children while her hand reflexively itching for her whip, or Maya and Pearl fighting for that one last piece of chocolate cake. But he would like some fresh air right about now to clear his head a little.
He rolled his eyes at Larry, who was trying, and failing miserably, to hit on Athena, and stepped out to his balcony.
The cooling breeze made him feel less tipsy from all the wine he’d drunk. He turned around and leaned onto the railing, looking at the ruckus in his living room. A smile silently crept onto his face.
“Enjoying yourself?”
Miles looked at the man appearing by the glass door, and said, “Yes, it’s nice. Thank you.”
The blue-cladded attorney walked up next to him, and returned his smile. “I told you it would be a great idea,” he said, with a gleam of joy dancing in his clear blue eyes. “Can’t let you beat me in that department either.”
“Oh?” He tilted his eyebrow at him. “Whatever do you mean?”
Wright stared at him intently, even though there was still a hint of that blinding smile remaining on his face.
“The marriage pact,” said Wright, slowly and mercilessly invading his personal space with eyes still locking on his. “Remember?”
Miles swallowed.
He could hear that beast of hope soaring within him.
“You think that’s a great idea?” he choked.
Wright was incredibly close now. He could even feel his fruity breath falling on his lips.
“Don’t you?”
“Yes,” he breathed, tilting his head slightly.
Their lips touched. It was soft, and warm. Miles gasped at the unfamiliar yet welcomed sensation, letting Phoenix slipping his tongue into his mouth, to tease him, to taste him, to explore him.
He instinctively snaked his arms around Phoenix’s waist, holding the man tight. He could feel a pair of strong hands easing their way into his hair, and he didn’t care. Because it was so good. The kiss was so good. The touch was so good.
The kiss deepened. Their tongues danced around each other, trying to express everything that they’d been too afraid, too insecure, too hesitant to say throughout the years.
Something was buzzing in his head. Then something Phoenix’s hands did sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn’t help but let out a soft moan.
He could feel Phoenix smiling against him, that silly fool. But he too, was a silly fool. Because he was going to marry Phoenix Wright, and they hadn’t even dated yet!
He broke the kiss first, gasping for air. Phoenix was faring no better, even though he had the gall to smirk at him.
“Took you long enough,” he said, sounding all smug.
Miles couldn’t help but gave him a world-class eye-roll, though he knew he was grinning like an idiot.
“Seems like we have much to catch up on,” he said, almost bursting out laughing. “Whichever do you prefer to do first? Date, or marriage license?”
“The city hall doesn’t open until 9,” said Phoenix, as if he was seriously contemplating getting married right this second. “So, we could start with a Moozilla rerun with some hot chocolate and cookies, and work our way from there?”
Miles really didn’t know what to feel now. He was caught between kissing the man and making love to him until the end of the world, and kicking himself in the head for not trying harder and sooner.
But, in the end, he settled for a nod, and a smile that was threatening to split his face.
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay then,” said Phoenix.
It was official, thought Miles, when he was standing in the front of the city hall to get his “wedding photo” taken the next morning, that the marriage pact was the greatest idea he had ever come up with in his entire life.