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Phoenix’s iPod had a playlist for every occasion.
Larry swore by the radio, because you didn’t have to pay for songs, but Phoenix found that often the radio wouldn’t play a song that suited his mood, and he hated having to wait for a more obscure song to come on. He spent lots of free time crafting playlists for every possible occasion: songs for studying, songs for studying for a difficult test, songs for when he was in a good mood, songs when he was in a bad mood, and songs for when he was missing Miles.
He hadn’t intended to make that last playlist at first. But he had so many songs on his iPod now that, if he wanted to listen to one that made him think of Miles, it was too much of a pain to scroll through them all. The songs he picked all had similar feelings to them: they were about missing someone far away, wishing they could reach out to them, but never being close enough. A lot of them were love songs, too, but Phoenix ignored that part.
Still, he didn’t tell anyone about that playlist, not even Larry. Some part of it seemed a little too personal. Besides, he and Larry didn’t talk about Miles anymore. Larry had gotten sick of talking about him, since they hadn’t heard anything from him in forever, but Phoenix hadn’t given up.
“He’s probably forgotten all about us by now, you know,” Larry said to him one day as they were walking home from school and passed by Miles’ old house, and Phoenix wondered aloud what he was up to. “I mean, it’s been six years since we last saw the guy.”
“I don’t think he’s forgotten,” Phoenix muttered, kicking at a pebble in front of him. “We were best friends, weren’t we?”
“But it’s not like he’s tried to contact us,” Larry pointed out with a shrug. “He could’ve looked us up online or something if he really wanted to.”
“Maybe he just couldn’t find us!”
“Dude, I don’t get why you’re still so hung up on him anyway.”
Phoenix didn’t say anything after that.
He himself wasn’t really sure why he was still thinking about Miles, even after all this time. It might be because he didn’t have many friends. Other kids didn’t like him, for some reason. They complained that he was too sensitive, and that he cried too easily. Miles hadn’t minded that. After Larry had accidentally crushed a ladybug under his foot once at the park, it was Miles that had moved it to the sandbox to give it a proper burial, and he didn’t once mock Phoenix’s tears. He’d just found a solution in that calm, methodical way of his, and didn’t treat Phoenix’s emotions as an annoyance. Phoenix liked that about him.
Those few that weren’t put off by Phoenix’s sensitivity usually didn’t want to be friends with Larry, because Larry was loud and somewhat rude and always got into trouble, which anyone he was friends with eventually got dragged into as well. And Phoenix didn’t want to hang out with anyone who didn’t like Larry. Larry was Phoenix’s best friend, and he wasn’t going to abandon him. Miles was the only one that had gotten along well with the two of them, although Phoenix sometimes liked to think that Miles had liked him better.
Miles himself had confessed to him once that he didn’t have any friends before Phoenix and Larry either, which Phoenix thought was silly, because he couldn’t see how anyone couldn’t like Miles. Apparently they didn’t like it when Miles talked about the law and his father and his dreams of becoming a defense attorney, but that was one of Phoenix’s favourite things about Miles because of the way he’d get all excited and his eyes would start shining. Thinking about it, Phoenix couldn’t find anything about Miles that he didn’t like. Miles was smart, and he was brave, and he stood up for justice. Phoenix didn’t know how anyone wouldn’t want to spend time with him. But maybe it was for the best, that the three of them didn’t have anyone but each other. Phoenix didn’t want Miles to be taken away by other, cooler friends.
Phoenix did wonder about that, sometimes: what Miles was up to now, wherever he’d moved to. If Miles had found other friends, and if he still thought about Phoenix sometimes. He sometimes wondered if Miles still wanted to be a defense attorney, but he didn’t wonder about that for long, because of course he did — Miles wouldn’t be Miles if he wasn’t a defense attorney. He wondered if Miles’s new parents were nice, and if he had any siblings now.
He also thought about what Miles looked like now, too. His image of Miles was still of the nine-year-old he’d last seen, but sometimes he thought about if Miles had grown. When he’d left, Larry was the tallest out of all of them, although Phoenix attributed that to the hair, and Phoenix had been the shortest. Now Phoenix was catching up to Larry in height, and Miles might be even taller than him now. Maybe Miles’ hair was the same and maybe he still wore the bowtie, or maybe he’d changed it up. He entertained himself with various mental images of what Miles would look like now: Miles with long hair, Miles with short hair, Miles in a bowtie, Miles in a regular tie like the one his father wore.
He also wondered if Miles had a girlfriend. Larry had been having girlfriends since elementary school, although he didn’t keep them for long, but now having girlfriends was a much more serious thing, and Phoenix sometimes found himself walking home from school alone while Larry spent time with his girlfriend. It made him feel rather lonely, so he’d put in his earbuds and listen to his playlist for Miles, and imagine walking beside Miles and talking to him about his day. Somehow he got the feeling that, even if Miles did have a girlfriend, he’d still make time for Phoenix. Larry’s priorities tended to be a bit skewed.
Miles probably did have a girlfriend, Phoenix thought. Phoenix imagined he’d probably be handsome — or, well, what girls consider handsome, at least. It’s not like he would be thinking those things. And he probably shouldn’t be thinking that sort of thing while listening to what’s probably a love song, or people would start getting the wrong idea. His sensitive personality already lead to a lot of accusations about his sexuality being thrown at him in the hallways, even if Larry tried to punch anyone who made fun of him, and he didn’t need his playlist to be added into the mix.
So he didn’t tell anyone about it. Larry found out about it by accident, when he was over at Phoenix’s house to study and had been scrolling through his iPod looking for songs to listen to.
“Hey, Nick, what’s this playlist you’ve got?” he asked. “M.E.? What does that stand for?”
“Give that back, Larry,” Phoenix had said, snatching it from his hand and feeling his face heat up. “It doesn’t matter.”
He didn’t know if Larry had guessed, or what he thought if he’d guessed correctly, but he didn’t want to know.
Larry gave him a weird look, but didn’t say anything else, so Phoenix put his iPod away and changed the subject.
There was no room for music in the von Karma household.
It was frivolous. It was distracting. It was, in general, a colossal waste of time. There was a piano in the manor for lessons, and sometimes the music could echo down the empty halls of the manor towards Miles’ bedroom, but that was all. If it was not something that could be perfected, it was not something that had any place.
Such as a pocket radio Miles bought in secret one afternoon, along with a pair of cheap earbuds, which he kept under his pillow. It was tuned in to a station that played hit music from America. Miles listened to it at nights when he was feeling nostalgic, or if he couldn’t go back to sleep after a nightmare.
Tonight was one such night. He lay on top of the silk bedcovers of the too-large bed and stared up at the ceiling, fighting against the burning in his eyes, trying to dispel the image of his father’s body slumped against the elevator door by focusing on the rising and falling of a woman’s voice. When he could breathe properly and concentrate again, he noticed it was a love song: a song about a far-away lover that the woman missed dearly. It was not something that he had any experience in, but something about the song spoke to him, stirring up something deep inside of him. His mind lingered on the gentle melody even as the song came to an end and an upbeat pop song started up.
He must have fallen asleep like that. He woke up to three sharp knocks on the door, which was all the warning he got before it swung open to reveal the eight-year-old daughter of his mentor, Franziska von Karma, standing proudly in the doorway. “Miles Edgeworth,” she greeted, “you are late for breakfast.” She caught sight of the radio in his ears. “What is that you’ve got?”
“It’s nothing,” Miles excused weakly, quickly tearing the earbuds from his ears and shoving the whole apparatus under his pillow.
Franziska shook her head and grinned. “That is not nothing, Miles Edgeworth: it has substance, so it is clearly something. What is it?”
“It doesn’t matter, Franziska.”
“Tell me, Miles Edgeworth!”
She marched over to his bed and pulled it out before Miles could react. She stared down at it for a few seconds before a malicious grin played across her face.
“A radio, Miles Edgeworth?” She dangled it from one hand. “Papa will be so disappointed.”
“Don’t tell him, Franziska,” Miles pleaded, although he knew it was useless. Franziska used to follow him around everywhere he went, demanding he pay attention to her; now, since she’d grown old enough to read her own legal textbooks, she never wasted any opportunity to try and bring him down.
Franziska merely smirked, lightly tossed the radio back at him, and strode out the door downstairs.
Miles wasn’t surprised when Mr. von Karma came in to his room later, a frown on his face, one hand outstretched. Miles tried to stop his arm from shaking as he passed over the small radio and the earbuds, and Mr. von Karma sneered and walked out of the room without a word.
The next few nights, his nightmares were worse than usual. Mr. von Karma reprimanded him for the dark circles growing under his eyes. Franziska kept her eyes down at the table and pushed her breakfast around with her fork, and Miles noted that she was being unusually quiet.
It was no matter. It had probably been a distraction anyways.
It may have been a miserable and overcast day in February, but Phoenix’s walk to school was the same as it always was.
“... But she’s Betty’s best friend, and I dated Betty three months ago, so it’d be kind of weird if I tried dating her now…”
“Mhm.”
Phoenix had perfected the art of tuning out Larry the moment he started complaining about his girl problems. He even started wearing an earbud in one ear, so he could listen to music. It was easier in some ways, though Larry’s voice rising and falling did sometimes disrupt it.
“Hey, Nick.”
“Yeah.”
“Nicky.”
“I see.”
“Dude, hey! I’m talking to you!”
“Cool.”
Larry punched him in the arm. Phoenix pulled the earbud out of his ear. “What?” he asked, trying not to sound as irritated as he felt.
“You know I know that you’re not really listening to me, right?” Larry said.
Phoenix grinned sheepishly. Larry rolled his eyes. “Anyways, dude. I was just telling you good job.”
… Weird. “For what?”
“For finally putting that keychain away.” Larry poked at Phoenix’s backpack, and Phoenix felt his face turn pale. “Like, it’s good you’re finally moving on and stuff—”
“What?!” Phoenix shouted, immediately pulling off his backpack so he could inspect it better. It was as he feared. The zipper on the small pocket on the front of the backpack that Phoenix hardly ever used was broken, and his Signal Blue keychain was nowhere to be found.
He shouted a word that would probably make his mother ground him if she heard. He knew he should’ve kept that keychain at home, but having it with him was comforting, and it had kept falling out of his pocket, so he’d thought the backpack would be safer.
“Nick?”
“I lost it,” said Phoenix, feeling his throat close up and his eyes well with tears. “I lost—” His voice cut out. He lost the keychain, he lost his last memory of his old best friend, he didn’t know what he was going to do—
“I’m going to look for it. I’ll see you around.”
“Nick, wait!” Larry shouted at his retreating back. “School’s in like ten minutes—”
“I don’t care!” Phoenix shouted in return, his voice cracking halfway through.
He began to retrace his steps. He heard a sigh, and then footsteps behind him, as Larry caught up with him.
“Thanks,” Phoenix muttered to him.
“Dude, if we get detention for this, I’ll kill you.” Larry looked up and frowned at the road. “Hey, is that it over there?”
Phoenix followed his gaze and squinted. There was something small and blue sitting innocently in the middle of one of the busier streets. As he watched in horror, the walk light, which had been previously a flashing red hand, turned solid.
Maybe it was safe now. But it might not be, once those cars ran through the intersection. It was a busy street, and the light was long, and he was not going to stand by and watch as his last memory of Miles was crushed beneath a tire.
He threw his backpack at Larry. “Hold this.”
“Hey, why? Nick?”
Phoenix took off at a full sprint towards the street.
“Nick? Nick! Hey! Don’t be stupid, dude!”
Phoenix ignored him. He reached the crosswalk just as the traffic lights turned green, and the blood rushing in his ears drowned out Larry screaming his name.
There was a loud screech of tires against pavement, and the smell of burning rubber, but Phoenix didn’t pay attention. He couldn’t afford to hesitate. The honk of a horn pierced the air, one tire skidding dangerously close to Phoenix’s feet, but he flung himself on top of the keychain (intact so far, thank god,) and curled over it, shielding it with his body, tears of relief dripping onto the asphalt.
Someone grabbed him and hauled him off the road, unceremoniously dumping him on the grass. He could hear the shouts of furious drivers, and a few more angry honks, and then silence.
Mostly.
“What. The. Hell?!” Larry screamed. “What was that, Nick?”
Phoenix just stared down at the keychain, clutched in his trembling hand. It was safe. It was okay. There was a small spot where the paint had been chipped away, but it wasn’t damaged beyond repair. He ran his thumb over the chipped spot, and let out a very shaky sigh of relief.
And then Larry snatched it out of his hand.
“Wh-Larry!” Phoenix reached out, but it was too late, and Larry had already stood up. “Give it back!”
“No!” Larry shook his head, and Phoenix realized Larry was crying, which he hadn’t seen him do in years. “You could’ve died, Nick!”
“Give it back, Larry!” Phoenix demanded, rising to his feet. But Larry still had a couple of inches on him, and he held it above his head so Phoenix couldn’t reach it.
“What is wrong with you?” Larry shouted. “Why do you care about this so much? It was some stupid prize at some stupid game, it’s not worth anything!”
“J-J-Just give it back!”
“Edgey’s gone, dude!” continued Larry, and his words cut deep into Phoenix’s heart. “He’s not coming back! He’s not moving back, he’s not answering your letters, he didn’t even answer that radio song thing you did! He probably threw away his keychain years ago. It’s over now. So stop it!”
Phoenix gave up on reaching for the keychain, and instead used his arm to wipe away the tears on his face. “Larry. Please.”
“Nick, seriously. You’re freaking me out.”
“Shut up!” He jabbed Larry in the stomach, and took advantage of Larry’s momentary distraction to reach up and snatch the keychain from his hand, which he then clutched tightly over his heart with both of his hands. “You don’t get it,” he whispered.
“Don’t get what?”
Phoenix shook his head as a fresh set of tears fell down his face. How was he supposed to explain it? How was he supposed to explain how much he missed Miles, especially since he didn’t fully get it himself?
Miles was his friend, he wanted to say. Miles was the only one that really ever understood him on some things. Miles wouldn’t have thrown his keychain away. Miles still must’ve thought about him sometimes. One day, Miles was going to come back. Phoenix was going to see him again. He had to.
Because he’d never known anyone like Miles Edgeworth, and Phoenix didn’t want to let him go. Even if it meant risking his life over a little keychain, or writing letters he knew wouldn’t be answered, or making playlists of songs that reminded him of Miles for reasons he couldn’t describe.
But he couldn’t say any of this to Larry, because Larry wouldn’t understand. So instead he said, “I’m going home.”
“Nick—”
“Just leave me alone, Larry!”
Phoenix clutched his keychain to his heart so tightly the whole way home that his knuckles turned white and were shaking by the time he was home. He only released the keychain with one hand briefly to unlock the door, and then to call his parents who were at work to say he wasn’t feeling well and to excuse him from school. From the way his voice was congested, they must have bought that he was sick.
Then he flung himself onto his bed, curled up with his knees to his chest, staring at the keychain and doing nothing to stop the tears from rolling down his face as the familiar notes of the songs from his Miles Edgeworth playlist started up.
Phoenix buried his face into his knees and sobbed.
He stayed there like that for some time, until the bed shifted underneath him from another person’s weight. Phoenix didn’t look up. He didn’t even react as that person took one of the earbuds out from his ear, and put it in his own, and leaned back against the wall and listened.
Phoenix tilted his head to the side eventually so he could look over at Larry. He had his eyes screwed tightly shut as he listened to the music. It was weird. Phoenix didn’t even think Larry could sit still for this long.
The last notes of the song faded. Another started up. Through it all Phoenix and Larry sat in silence, just listening.
This continued for about an hour. Larry sighed, removed the earbud, and placed his hand on Phoenix’s shoulder. “I think I get it now,” he said, in a tone that was surprisingly subdued for Larry.
Then he got up and left, and they didn’t speak about it again.
The next time Miles listened to music, he was sixteen and searching for a present for Franziska’s tenth birthday. He was in a boutique in a mall trying to pick out something he could afford with what minimal allowance he was given by Mr. von Karma that Franziska would like. He doubted it really mattered, as he was certain that Franziska would hate whatever he bought for her, solely because he was the one that had bought it. But she would be even more furious if he didn’t buy her anything at all.
He sighed as he skimmed through a rack of nearly identical-looking shirts. There had been a time where he’d thought he and Franziska would get along somewhat well. Despite his former life being ripped away from him, at least he would have an ally. Something like a little sister. And for a while she had followed him around demanding his attention, but she’d been far too young to talk to at the time. But as she grew older, everything changed between them. She’d started hating him as soon as Mr. von Karma included her in their lessons about law. Defeating him became her sole purpose of every interaction with him, and any hope of them being allies was quashed since she considered him an enemy.
It hurt, a little bit. Franziska had been the only one he’d gotten along with here. There wasn’t any room for a von Karma to have friends, or engage in any activity unrelated to the pursuit of perfect prosecution.
He’d been considering leaving for another shop when his attention was caught by the music playing in the shop. It was a song he hadn’t heard in a while. It was what he’d been listening to the night his clandestine radio had been taken away, in fact.
He stood there for a long time listening to the radio songs. That one, of course, first. Then it transitioned to others he remembered from his childhood. Songs that played on the radio when his father would drive him to school. Songs Phoenix and Larry had loudly and poorly sang along to, trying and failing to get Miles to join in. It was a string of coincidentally reminiscent songs, and Miles wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there before an employee asked if he needed help with anything.
He thought about it all while he went through with purchasing the first reasonable shirt he could find. There wasn’t a clear logical explanation for why hearing a love song would make him think of home, of his best friends.
Or, no. One best friend in particular.
Maybe it was Phoenix’s doing again. Half the reason Miles had bought that radio in the first place, and listened to it at nights, was in fear that he’d miss another message from him. It had been pure coincidence he’d caught the first one. And since he hadn’t received any correspondence from either of his two childhood friends, perhaps since they didn’t have the address, it may be the only way he could hear from them again.
It was a foolish notion. He shouldn’t spend so much time reminiscing while he should be focusing on becoming a perfect prosecutor and putting criminals away.
But the songs still played in a loop in his head as he returned to the von Karma manor. They continued at night, after he’d woken from his nightmare, even if the details of the lyrics were fuzzy. And he took out his Signal Samurai keychain, buried deep in his dresser drawer where no one would ever find it, running his hand over the smooth paint and held it close to his heart, and foolishly indulged himself in wondering if he would ever see either of them again.
He doubted it. But he dreamed anyways.
“What’s that you’re playing?”
Phoenix looked up from the computer and blinked a couple of times to refocus his eyes on his husband leaning up against the doorway, silhouetted by the light in the room still filled with moving boxes.
“Just some music from my old iPod,” said Phoenix, stretching and yawning. “I found it when we moved out, and Trucy showed me how to get the songs off of it.”
Miles made a hum of assent as he made his way over to Phoenix, dodging a few boxes as he went along. “It’s been a long time since I heard this one,” he said, leaning over Phoenix’s shoulder and squinting at the playlist title, as he didn’t have his glasses on. “What’s the title of this playlist? ‘Me’?”
“Yeah. You.”
Miles squinted further, frowned, then his brow softened out of realization. He appeared to struggle with his words for a moment before saying, “That is insufferably sappy.”
“Hey. You married me, you signed up for it.”
“I suppose I did,” Miles sighed, but when Phoenix offered his hand, he took it.
The two of them moved to the center of the room, Phoenix gently kicking boxes out of the way as they did so to clear space, so they’d have room to dance. The music swelled, and Phoenix had to laugh at his younger self for deciding such a romantic song fit his relationship with Miles, and not understanding why it did.
“Why are you laughing?” Miles whispered, into his ear.
“Nothing,” Phoenix assured him. “Just happy to be here, with you.”
Miles scoffed, but his grip on Phoenix’s hand tightened.
They hadn’t danced with each other since their wedding, and even then neither of them really knew how in the first place, so they just held onto each other and swayed, moving around the room in slow circles. Miles hummed a few lines of the song, and Phoenix rested his head on Miles’ shoulder and stared at the wedding ring glinting on his finger. Yes, it was definitely funny. If he could go back and tell his younger self why he’d been so determined to see Miles again, why most of the songs on his playlist were love songs, he wasn’t sure if he’d believe himself.
The notes of the love song faded, and the Signal Samurai theme started up. Naturally. Because baby Phoenix hadn’t been able to categorize his feelings as love yet, but he did like samurai shows.
It was rather difficult to keep slow dancing to that, so Phoenix kissed his husband instead, and delighted in the fact that his childhood dreams had come true, he’d found Miles again, and their story had a happy ending after all.