Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Phoenix stared with some despondence at the computer screen.

Miles’ profile had disappeared again, which, according to some furious Googling, meant that Phoenix had been blocked. Again.

Isn’t LinkedIn supposed to be for networking? Shouldn’t he want to network with me?

It seemed unnecessarily rude. Then again, judging by the newspaper headlines, Miles had a little more to worry about than just poor social media etiquette.

“Dark Suspicions of a Demon Attorney,” the first one had read. Phoenix had seen it one night at 3am, buying Doritos at the convenience store around the corner from his dorm. At first he’d thought it was an exhaustion hallucination, but he’d bought it on a whim, and it was still there on the floor next to his bed when he woke up the next morning.

It was well past the time he should have been out of bed, but he flipped through the article, frowning at the photos of Miles in his weird flashy suit, and at the accusations of forgery and corruption. It just didn’t make any sense. It had been a long time since he last saw Miles, sure, but in those days he’d wanted to be a defense attorney, not a prosecutor, and he was also the most honest kid Phoenix ever knew.

So what the hell was he doing in the paper, as a prosecutor, with all those rumors swirling around?

Phoenix had tried tracking him down—phone calls, letters to the Prosecutors’ Office, emails, even a few friendly pokes on Facebook. You know, the hey, we were friends in elementary school, wasn’t that a fun time kind. None of them had worked. He’d even started hanging around the courthouse, checking out some of the books there, trying to decide whether a career in law was the logical next step. Still no Miles, though, so eventually he turned to LinkedIn. That was the website for professionals, right? And Miles was definitely a professional by this point, even if the suit was a little weird.

That had been a bust, though. The first few messages were ignored. After the fifth, or maybe the sixth, he’d received a terse reply: I am not interested in conversing with you. Please do not contact me again.

He was blocked after the next message, so he’d made another profile, and then that one was blocked too. He thought he’d been smart this time, calling himself “Nick W.” instead of “Phoenix Wright,” but it looked as though Miles had caught onto him.

Phoenix scrolled through the page of search results one more time, just in case he’d somehow missed him. Miles Edward… Miles Edwin… Milton Edgewater. No Miles Edgeworth.

With an angry sigh, he slammed his laptop shut. Desperate times called for desperate measures, he figured. Maybe if he checked out the courthouse again, he’d get some ideas.

But when he went back to court the next week, he ran into Dollie for the first time, and ended up forgetting about Miles entirely for a while.

Everything about Dollie was perfect. Her hair, her soft way of speaking, the way her eyelashes fluttered when she looked at him. Everything except her ex.

It wasn’t even her fault, really, that she happened to have an ex-boyfriend. She was beautiful—of course it would be expected for her to have an ex or two. But what Phoenix didn’t expect was for her ex to constantly lurk in the background of their lunch dates, crawling back for scraps like the scavenger he was.

He wouldn’t even have noticed until Dollie pointed it out to him one day, her face falling into an uncharacteristic grimace. “Oh. It’s Dougie.”

“Huh?” Phoenix whipped around to get a better look. He finished swallowing a bite of sandwich and wiped a splotch of mayo off his cheek. “Who’s Dougie?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, Feenie!” she said. “He’s not important. What’s important—” She tugged his hand until he turned towards her again, smiling in that way that gave him butterflies, “—is you.”

He knew, then, that “Dougie” was someone she didn’t want to talk about. That, plus the weird pet name, helped piece together that he was her ex. Despite Dollie’s assurances that he meant nothing to her now, that Phoenix should forget about him, really, he couldn’t help but notice a copper-tinted shock of hair out of the corner of his eye, or the flash of a Union Jack rounding a corner. 

It was getting to the point that Phoenix was starting to become annoyed. It couldn’t have been an amicable breakup, if Dollie’s reaction was anything to go by. And clearly one-sided, based on all the lurking. If he’s got something to say, he can say it to my face.

The opportunity came sooner than expected. Phoenix had just finished walking Dollie back to her dorm when “Dougie” stepped out onto the path.

Or rather, “Doug Swallow,” pharmacology major. Phoenix had done some sleuthing—it turned out LinkedIn was still good for something—and found out that Doug was a fourth year and was also the kind of person to list out every single college course he had ever taken under his “Education” section. Probably to make up for a lack of personality.

Phoenix had only ever caught vague glimpses of Doug’s face from afar and from whatever he could make out from the grainy LinkedIn photo, but up close he was subjected to the sharp intensity of Doug’s eyes and the haughty edge to his frown. 

“Hey—” 

Phoenix crossed his arms and glared back. “What?”

“Look, I just want to talk.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t.”

He gathered up all his bravado to push past Doug with a shoulder bump intended to put him in his place. Doug promptly ruined the effect by stepping to the side, and Phoenix hated him even more.

“You’re dating Dahlia, right? Look, there’s something about her—”

“She doesn’t want to see you again, okay?” Phoenix snapped.

Doug looked affronted. “What? That’s not—” 

“And I don’t want to see your stupid face either! Stop stalking us, it’s weird and gross.” He took a few steps before turning around to add, “And she’ll never take you back!”

“I—wha—okay. God, you’re an idiot,” Doug said, running a hand through his hair. "I don't want her back, I dumped her for a reason—”

“You dumped her?”

That couldn't be right. Dollie was perfect and beautiful, and anyone who couldn’t see that was a fool. Doug was obviously in denial about the breakup, or else was incredibly stupid.

“Yeah, which is what I’m trying to tell you,” Doug said. “She poisoned a guy, did you know that?”

Phoenix expected any number of contrived reasons behind Doug’s apparent jealousy, but this one blindsided him completely. “What—”

“She used me to steal dangerous chemicals from pharmacology. I dropped her as soon as I found out. Just thought I’d warn you, seeing how she might use you for a similarly nasty reason.”

Dollie, poisoning someone? His Dollie, who apologized to doorframes when she accidentally bumped into them, or who looked queasy at even the idea of a hamburger? “What the fuck.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t great. So make sure to get out of there while you still can—”

“You really couldn’t come up with any other reason,” Phoenix said flatly. His rage grew the more he thought about it—jealousy was one thing, but to go so low as an unfounded, wrongful accusation— “You could just say you want her back, you know, rather than try to get me to leave on my own. Because guess what! I’m not gonna leave!”

Doug blinked, shocked that his dumb plan hadn’t somehow worked. As if lying about Dollie’s character wasn’t the most transparent ploy in the universe. “Are you some kind of idiot?”

“A real idiot would believe whatever you say without any kind of proof,” Phoenix retorted. “And do you really think she'll want you again after you've insulted her like this?"

“I told you, I don’t—whatever, dude,” Doug snapped. “If this is how you’re going to be about it, fine. All I ask is that you think of me when she finally decides to stab you in the back.”

“Wha—” Phoenix spluttered, too furious to form coherent words, and watched as Doug brushed past him to return down the path.

Doug’s words continued to eat at Phoenix over the course of the next few days. Poisoning. As if that was a believable excuse. He scoffed and glanced across the table over at Dollie, whose usually-gentle expression was now scrunched with concern as she looked at her laptop screen. He’d had to help her troubleshoot a few days ago, when she’d accidentally deleted one of her assignments. The fact that anyone could look at her—much less date her—and come away with the impression that she was anything less than angelic was inconceivable to him.

“Oh!” she said, startling a bit when she caught him staring. “Is there something wrong, Feenie?”

“No, nothing’s wrong,” he said. “Just wondering if you needed help on anything.”

She blinked, then her face softened into a small smile. 

“Oh, no. Thank you for offering though.”

“Yeah, sure!” he said, buoyed by the giddiness of being able to support her. “I’m always willing to help if you need it!”

She cast him another smile and then turned back to her laptop again, hesitantly tapping out a few more words.

Phoenix realized that he should probably start on his own homework, but took another minute to scan around the library instead. They’d managed to get a nice table in a quieter corner of the library, close to the East Asian Studies section for Dollie’s Meiji-era literature course. Sunlight filtered through the window and spilled over the table, making him feel contented and sleepy. The sounds of footsteps echoed down the hall, and, perking up, he saw a telltale flash of red disappear between the shelves. His good mood immediately soured, and he sat up straight, bristling. 

“Ugh. That guy,” Phoenix muttered. “I thought I told him to stay away from us.”

Dollie looked up, confused. “Who?”

“That guy. Doug. Your ex?”

“D-doug?” she said. “You...talked to him?”

“Yeah. A few days ago.” Phoenix huffed again and rolled his eyes. “He said some stupid stuff about you to try and get us to break up. Pretty pathetic, huh?”

Dollie nodded, but shrunk a little in her seat as she glanced towards the spot where Phoenix had last seen Doug. Anger surged again on her behalf—that guy had no right going around and scaring her with his jealous rumors.

“Don’t worry Dollie,” he said, reaching over to grab her hands. “I didn’t believe any of that dumb stuff he said. I’ll make sure to tell him off the next time he tries something like that.”

Dollie bit her lip, eyes darting between their table and the bookshelves. “Oh, um, that is… you don’t have to, just for my sake—”

“He’s obviously still tailing us, if he’s in this section,” Phoenix added. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. What was that guy’s problem?  “Actually, you know what, I can put him in his place right now—”

“Feenie, it’s fine, really,” she insisted, gripping his hands tighter as he pushed his chair back. “You don’t have to go out of your way for this.”

“I mean, don’t I?” Phoenix said. “If he’s being this much of an asshole to us? To you?”

“Please don’t go out of your way,” she pleaded. “It’s not worth it.”

She was staring directly at him now, eyes wide and determined, and the anger drained from his chest. He fell back into the chair with a soft huff.

“You’re too good for him, Dollie,” he said. 

She broke her gaze, eyes dropping to the table, and gave one solemn nod.

Luckily, Doug left him and Dollie alone for a while after that. It was almost weird, at first, to look over his shoulder and not see that stupid red leather jacket that the guy always seemed to be wearing, but Phoenix and Dollie were getting closer every day, and soon enough he was distracted enough to forget about it.

“Feenie,” Dollie said one day in the checkout line at the grocery store, “isn’t that your friend?”

“Hmm?” One of Phoenix’s grocery bags fell over, and the apples rolled across the conveyor belt.

She poked him in the arm. “The man on the cover of that magazine.”

A magazine? Shit, wait, that was probably—

Phoenix turned to look where Dollie was pointing, and sure enough, there was Miles Edgeworth, glaring straight into the camera lens, looking like he was glaring straight into Phoenix’s conscience.

And he had completely forgotten about Miles this whole time. It had been weeks.

Dollie was still holding his arm, giving him a weird look. It’s not normal to stare at a picture of a guy while your girlfriend is right there, Phoenix.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, I think that’s him.”

“Don’t you want to buy it?” she asked, squeezing his arm a little tighter.

“Nah,” he said, and turned away, grabbing his bags.

But later that night, after he’d walked Dollie back to her own dorm, laughed off her attempts to take back the necklace, and kissed her goodnight, he lay restless in bed.

He hadn’t gotten a very good look at the cover, but Miles still had the same weird angry face, and Phoenix thought he’d seen some words about corruption. He’d let it go for weeks, and Miles clearly wasn’t getting his act together by himself. But he wouldn’t respond to Phoenix’s messages, on LinkedIn or Facebook or voicemail, so what could Phoenix do?

He sat up, frustrated. What was it his mom had said about making tough decisions? Try to get outside opinions, Phoenix. People will have ideas you’d never think of yourself.

Asking Dollie was out, though. She already seemed more interested in Miles than Phoenix was comfortable with. He didn’t want her to get the impression that he cared more about Miles than her. And… that was it, really. His world had kinda narrowed down, after meeting Dollie, though honestly it was pretty small to begin with. He could maybe ask Larry, but Larry knew Miles when they were kids, and that just felt weird.

Scrunching his bedcovers up in his hands, he looked around the room. It was nearly midnight, according to the clock on his dresser, but he didn’t think he could get to sleep. Maybe he could watch a movie on his laptop? Larry had pirated some movies for him a while ago; he could always check out the selection. Maybe there’d be something to bore him to sleep.

When he flipped the top open, the screen lit to show him his Facebook home page. It hadn’t been that long since he last scrolled through the feed, so there wasn’t much new, but after a second a new post from the Ivy U Confessions Page popped up.

Our anonymous poster writes:

There’s this rlly cute guy in my chemistry class (I wont say which one bc I don’t want him to figure it out!!!!!) but I dont know how to talk to him! Help! How do I flirt with him without being too obvi??

Well. Well, well. This was a pretty safe bet, wasn’t it? He’d never seen anyone get outed, so the moderators of the page were pretty discreet, and if he wanted a bunch of opinions all in the same place, this sure was a good way to get them.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he clicked to open a new message to the page and started to type.

OKAY so there’s this guy I’ve been trying to talk to for AGES, we were friends a long time ago but he disappeared and now I found him again but he won’t reply to my messages even though he totally has time??? He seems really sad and I think he might need my help so I really want to get in touch with him... does anyone have any ideas? (Im a guy too btw lol)

He read it over once or twice before submitting it, then hastily exited the browser and went to find his folder of pirated movies.

The next day he was busy with a few back-to-back classes and having his meals with Dollie, and he didn’t get back to his dorm until pretty late. He almost forgot about the post entirely, except that when he opened Facebook to send Dollie a goodnight message, there was a little red notification bubble.

He clicked to open it, and saw that it was a message from the confession page.

You got some anonymous replies on your post, it read. Go check it out!

So he did. The confession page was the one to post most of the replies, too; it seemed like most people used it as an intermediary. Most of the advice was pretty useless, and some of it was really stupid (Ooooh, you got a crush???, one of them read), but there was one reply that was quite a bit longer than the others, posted under what seemed to be a pseudonym (“Patrick Hauméot”, really?), and written like a professional advice column.

If you’ve been pursuing him for a long time, maybe he’s starting to get freaked out by the intensity. I think you should let it go for a while, then once you’ve both had a chance to cool down, send him one more message. Just reiterate that you're sorry if you’re putting pressure on him, but you’re worried about his health and safety and just want to make sure that he’s okay, because you care about him.

He might not reply immediately, but that’s okay. If someone’s in an intense situation, it can help just to know that someone cares about them. I think you can check in occasionally with him, so he knows he still has someone on his side. Ultimately, though, you can’t force him to respond.

Phoenix rankled a bit as he read it. This was Miles! Phoenix had seen him cry over origami cranes and over that scene with the spaghetti in The Lady and the Tramp. He couldn’t just let it go.

He didn’t want to reply directly to this Patrick Hauméot guy, though, since that would be outing himself. He figured that since others seemed to be using the confession page as a go-between to remain anonymous, he could do that too. He replied to the message they’d sent him earlier that day, asking for them to post a reply to Patrick’s response.

Can u post a reply with actual SERIOUS advice? Tell me how to get this person to ACTUALLY listen lol. I’m not asking for a stupid copout. Ths guy obviously needs help, and if he isn’t gonna listen, Ive gotta find a way to make him listen.

With a spiteful flourish, he hit send and watched with satisfaction as it was posted mere moments later. Whoever ran the page must not have had much of a social life. Though, considering he was asking for anonymous advice because of his own lacking social life, he supposed he couldn’t judge.

He sighed and clicked away. It would probably take some time for the jerk to respond to him, if he responded at all. In the meantime, Phoenix might as well do something productive.

He opened his schedule for the next quarter. Right now it was filled up with mostly compulsory drama courses, but he had a couple of elective slots that he had to figure out what to do with. The times he’d gone to the courthouse in search of Miles, he’d always ended up in the library there, for lack of anything better to do. The books there were dense, and mostly unintelligible, but he usually ended up flipping through them anyway. Once you could look past the sheer volume of Latin used in law, some of it was actually kind of interesting.

With a frown, he clicked to Ivy U’s course listings. It wasn’t the first time he’d considered switching to law—or, at least, giving it a try to see if it was a viable option for him—but given his failure in connecting with Miles in any other way, maybe it was time to take more drastic action.

He didn’t really understand the meaning of most of the first-year law course names: The Law of Contractual Interpretation, Mandatory Minimums and Other Debates, Securities Regulation 101. Still, he clicked on some of the first-year offerings. He read the descriptions, and they contained words that he understood separately but not in conjunction with one another. What the hell were “substantive questions about interpretation and application of law and discretion,” anyway?

This was hopeless. With a grumble, he checked the professor’s name for the first class he’d clicked on and then went to Rate My Professor to type it in. Her reviews were pretty good—a couple of gripes about her being tough on marking, but apparently the course content was fair and her explanations intelligible.

She also had the little chili pepper which apparently meant “hot professor,” so with some trepidation Phoenix clicked on her photo. She was pretty enough, he guessed? She looked to be in her late thirties or early forties, and the photo was certainly flattering. With a shrug, he closed the photo and went back to the reviews, then checked the course listing one last time.

The lecture and tutorial fit perfectly in his schedule, assuming he dropped one of his electives—some literature class he wasn’t interested in, anyway. He took a deep breath, and squeezed his eyes shut, and registered for the course.

Between the giddiness of finally committing to trying out law, plus that of seeing Dollie whenever they both had spare time, he forgot to check his advice post on the confessions page for a couple of days. By that point, it had been pushed down in the feed, and he had to scroll for a while to find it.

HE helped you when you were struggling HE lifted you up and carried you HIS Grace is that which moves mountains!!!! Do not turn your back on HIM!!!!!!!!! You will always find your way back to HIM trust in the LORD and HE will save you!!!!!!! LIKE IF JESUS IS LOVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Repost this to spread HIS message to others!!!!!!!!!!!!

Image: [A baby is looking tiredly away from the camera, head propped up on one of its hands. At the top and bottom of the image, in impact font, read the words ‘Yes, Janet. Tell me more.’]

Image: [A minion smiles at the camera on the left side of the picture. To the right of it are the words ‘Yeah, I’m tired… Tired of your BULLSHIT!’]

OH MY GOD!!!! Steve just proposed!!!!!! I can’t believe this… only three months of dating and we already KNOW. Life can be amazing sometimes…

Finally, he found the post. His mysterious advice-giver had indeed replied to him.

What sort of advice do you want, then? Or do you not want advice at all? It sort of sounds like you just want validation of the decisions you’ve already made.

Seriously, you can’t just swoop in and save this guy. If you’re a student here, and he’s the same age as you, then I assume he’s an adult. Adults have the right to make their own decisions, even if you don’t agree with them. And even if you’re right, and he IS in a bad situation, there’s still nothing you can force him to do.

I stand by my advice to reach out to him and offer support with no expectation of getting anything in return. That will be more helpful to him than if you try to force him into something he might not be capable of doing safely.

What a sanctimonious prick. With a disgusted noise, Phoenix began to scroll back to the top of the feed, and a post halfway up caught his eye.

It appeared to be another appeal for advice, this time from a first-year student.

i’m most of the way through my first quarter here and i think i made a mistake with my major… but i’ve been telling my parents for years that this is what i wanted to study. i’ll feel so stupid if i change my mind now. what do i do???

There was the usual series of joke answers, but one stood out.

Is your concern only that you’ll feel silly if you backtrack? You don’t say anything about whether or not your parents are forcing you into this major or not.

If you’re just worried about backtracking, well, maybe it’ll be a bit embarrassing for a day or two but it’s better than ending up in a career you hate. That’s the rest of your life on the line!

Though for what it’s worth, it took me a couple years before I really started enjoying what I’m studying. First year courses are just kind of boring. You might end up changing your mind about your current major. It might be worth sticking it out for the rest of the year, depending on how much you used to love the topic.

Well. That was pretty good advice, honestly. Phoenix even thought he might need it, if he did end up switching to law in the end.

And… it was written by Patrick Hauméot. Ugh.

It irritated Phoenix that his advice on this issue was so good. It made him feel like this guy was reasonable, and he would really rather have thought of him as a jerk.

He frowned and shut his laptop. The newspaper with Miles on the cover—the one he’d bought at the convenience store a couple months ago—was still sitting on the floor next to his bed, a little dulled and yellowed from the sunlight. He stared at it for a moment, thinking of what he’d do and say when he finally managed to get through to Miles. Hey, I took law courses to have the chance to see you, let’s grab coffee.

Ugh. This didn’t feel like it was helping his case. With an irritated grumble, he reached across to his bag and grabbed the script he was supposed to be working towards memorizing. Focusing on fictional people’s problems was a lot more fun than focusing on his own.

The next afternoon, Dollie invited him to have a picnic with her in the quad. She was already sitting on a blanket when he arrived, legs curled gracefully beneath her. He felt the usual flip of butterflies in his stomach, especially when she smiled shyly at him.

“I made lunch,” she said, taking his hand in her two small ones. “I didn’t have enough time to ask what you wanted, so hopefully it’s all okay…”

He squeezed her hand back and smiled sturdily at her. “If you made it, I’m sure it’s delicious,” he said, and his stomach did the little flip again when she ducked her head away and bit her lip.

After a second, she reached out to the basket, pulling out small plates and containers of food. “Are you all right with mini-omelettes?”

“Of course,” he said. 

She gave him a quick smile before taking the last container from the basket, and they ate quietly. Even though it was fall, it was quite warm still, and as they finished up Phoenix felt himself become sleepy. He stretched and then flopped onto his side on the blanket.

“Are you tired?” Dollie asked. She looked worried. “Were you up too late again?”

“Maybe,” he admitted. He didn’t want to tell her that he’d been unable to sleep because he was stressed about Miles. “I might take a nap here, if it doesn’t bother you.”

“Of course it doesn’t bother me,” she said, shaking her head. “But if you’re going to nap, don’t you want to take off your necklace?”

“What?” he said, offended. “Why would I do that?”

“Well, it’s so pointy,” she said, reaching out to touch it. Phoenix shivered. “Doesn’t it poke you when you sleep?”

“Sometimes,” he said, frowning. “But it’s not much of a token of your love if I just take it off whenever I feel like it, right?”

Dollie looked bothered by that. “I wouldn’t be upset if you took it off.”

He smiled and reached out to take her hand. “I know. I just don’t want to.”

After a second, she smiled back. “Okay, Feenie,” she said, squeezing his hand.

He squeezed her hand back, then yawned and rolled over to nap. As he drifted off, he thought he could feel her finger tracing along the chain of the necklace.

Chapter Text

Doug was about fifteen seconds from losing it with that idiot.

To a certain extent, he did understand the attraction to Dahlia. He’d fallen for her tricks before, obviously. But he, at least, had the excuse that there was no one to warn him about her, and once he had good reason to suspect that she was up to something, he’d cut and run.

And then there was Phoenix Wright. Or rather, based on what he’d overheard during a few eavesdropping sessions, “Feenie” Wright. Nauseating, really, except that he’d once allowed Dahlia to call him “Dougie” for a period of a few months better left to the deepest recesses of his memory.

Regardless. The point was that Phoenix was apparently whipped enough that he believed Dahlia’s lies over Doug’s story, even once Doug had assured him that the breakup had been initiated from his end. The idiot had apparently convinced himself that Dahlia had just decided that Doug wasn’t good enough for her—or maybe it was Dahlia who’d convinced him of that, but the end result was the same.

Doug was almost ready to just give up on him, except for the whole “liable to end up dead in a ditch somewhere” aspect of that course of action.

He sighed, looking across the cafeteria to where Dahlia and Phoenix were sitting at a table together. Just like every other time he’d seen them together, their hands were clasped across the table, and they were leaning in close. Dahlia seemed to be speaking in a low voice, and Phoenix just about had hearts in his eyes.

Doug rolled his eyes. He’d given Phoenix some time to cool down after their last disastrous encounter, but figured that it was about time that he gave the intervention another shot. That all hinged, of course, on whether or not he could even get within talking distance of the guy while he was alone. He and Dahlia seemed to be attached at the hip. Doug had been tailing them for a week or so now, schedule dependent, and he hadn’t yet had a chance to approach Phoenix. He was sort of tempted to start trying to catch him in the morning as he left the dorm, but that was verging a little too closely on stalker behavior. Anyway, he didn’t want to give Phoenix a reason to report him to campus security.

He was so lost in thought about Phoenix’s stupidity that he almost didn’t notice Dahlia get to her feet, kiss Phoenix on the cheek, and depart. Phoenix watched her go with an odd expression, and his hand flexed on the table.

With a frown, Doug got to his feet, and before he could talk himself out of initiating what was sure to be an unpleasant confrontation, crossed the cafeteria and dropped into the seat across from Phoenix. He glanced up with a surprised, hopeful sort of expression on his face, but it morphed into irritation as soon as he realized who had joined him.

“You,” he said.

“Me,” Doug agreed.

“Did you not get the hint last time?” Phoenix demanded.

Doug gestured at the cafeteria around them. “If I did, I wouldn’t be here, wasting my time on your dumb ass.”

Phoenix rolled his eyes. “If you hate it so much, then why don’t you just go away?”

“Because like I keep trying to tell you, Dahlia—”

“Stop talking about her.” Doug was surprised by the venom in his tone. “I know you keep trying to act like you’re too good for her, but it’s clear you’re just jealous. She doesn’t even like you.”

“Good,” Doug spat. “I don’t like her either. If this was just about jealousy, do you really think I’d be subjecting myself to these conversations?”

Phoenix frowned. “That makes more sense than whatever the hell you keep going on about.”

“She’s bad news, dude.”

“You keep saying shit like that, but you never have any proof.”

Doug threw his hands in the air. “I don’t have any, but that doesn’t mean I’m lying!”

“Sounds like something someone who’s jealous would say,” said Phoenix with a sneer.

He narrowly restrained himself from launching the napkin holder across the cafeteria. “She’s just one woman. How important can she be?”

Phoenix looked like he might actually pass out. “I love her.”

“You’ve been together for like two months!” Doug snapped.

“Whatever,” Phoenix said, getting to his feet and grabbing his tray. “Just give it up, okay? You’re not getting her back.”

“Thank god for that,” Doug said, standing too. “Now I have a chance to end up with someone who won’t manipulate me.”

“Manipulate—”

Doug didn’t give him a chance to finish the sentence. With a last eye roll, he stomped away from the table, ignoring Phoenix’s indignant sputtering.

There were some curious eyes on him as he crossed the cafeteria—he supposed they did make a bit of a scene—but he ignored them all. Some thanks he got for trying to help someone out. Not that he really thought this was going to go smoothly, but fuck, Phoenix could at least try to be polite about it.

What kind of idiot thought he was in love after two months, anyway? It could just have been the throes of Baby’s First Romantic Relationship, but damn, Phoenix was totally gone for her. It might have been cute, if Dahlia wasn’t… Dahlia.

Whatever. He’d just have to make himself irritating enough that Phoenix couldn’t ignore him.

Back in his dorm room, he dropped onto his bed with a fwumph. He had his pathobiology lecture in a couple of hours, but that gave him a bit of time to decompress before then. He made irritated noises into his pillow for a minute, then rolled over and grabbed his laptop from the bedside table.

Trawling through the Ivy U Confessions Page had started off as kind of a joke for him. It was entertaining to look at all the dumb shit his fellow students were up to, and more than once he’d used some of the stupider posts as an ego boost. He might fuck up sometimes, but at least he’d never accidentally destroyed someone else’s circuitboard by dropping a rare-earth magnet onto it. Electronics engineering sounded like a nightmare.

Some students wrote into the page looking for advice, though. Typically the questions were pretty low-stakes—how do I make the TA notice me, that sort of thing—but occasionally there were some bigger problems. He’d made a pseudonym account while tipsy on box wine one night, tapping out some bullshit answer to some bullshit problem, and had woken up hungover to a long series of Facebook notifications about some post he barely remembered replying to.

It had basically spiraled from there. He’d discovered that he liked giving advice, and he was pretty good at it, too. It was fun to see the way people responded to his posts, even if—sometimes especially if—they hated his advice. The guy from the other day who’d asked for advice about contacting an old friend had been particularly pissy. Not a surprise, maybe, since Doug had basically told him to do the opposite of what he wanted to do, but he was pretty confident in his advice on that one, so he wasn’t about to back off.

Anyway. He wasn’t really in the mood to dispense wisdom at the moment, so he scrolled through his feed instead. There wasn’t much of interest near the top, so he paged through a little further, yawning, and—

Oh, god. Apparently that asshole Steve from his pharmacokinetics class had gotten engaged to some chick named Jenny. Doug snorted as he clicked over to her profile page. All selfies of her with Steve: in the quad, at bars, at some botanical garden. Very quaint. Very picture-perfect. The absolute pinnacle of heterosexual romance.

Doug couldn’t wait to see it fall apart.

He shook his head and clicked back to his feed. 

There was a series of posts from Fresh Memes for Ivy U Teens, mostly to do with the latest rivalry that had flared up between his faculty and the faculty of kinesiology.

gym isn’t a real major, his friend Cassandra had written.

At least we’re not DRUG DEALERS, some jock had replied.

lol you say that but drug dealers make bank. Cassandra again.

um have u SEEN the end of breaking bad? some other jackass interjected.

NO SPOILERS!

Doug had heard of the show, of course—unavoidable if you were in a chemistry discipline—and knew that the finale had aired just recently, but hadn’t really been paying attention. Maybe that was for the best, judging by the flurry of angry replies those posts had spawned.

He shut the laptop and stretched. He considered starting a discussion with the anonymous guy who was asking about his friend, but after his confrontation with Phoenix earlier, it would probably be best to refrain from any more altercations. Maybe instead, he’d message Cassandra—she was usually a good source of information, and might know more about this Jenny person that Steve got engaged to.

Engaged. At twenty-two. Doug snickered again and pulled out his phone to text Cassandra.

Fridays were their date nights, just like Phoenix assumed was the case for many other couples at Ivy. Now that he was a junior, he finally had the luxury of one of the few single rooms in his hall; he intended to take advantage of this to its fullest. 

This particular Friday, he’d gone all out to the extent his budget would allow—which was to say, he’d bought a bottle of that fancy brewed iced tea and a bag of Chicago mix popcorn.

“Caramel and cheese?” said Dollie, eyeing the bag with suspicion.

“It’s actually really good,” he reassured her. “It’s got that—” He smacked one fist into the opposite palm, “—that sweet and savory contrast, you know?”

She stared at it for a moment longer, then lifted her eyes to his with a smile. “If you say so, I’ll give it a try.”

He was still working on figuring out standard practice for date nights, so he’d settled on some generic-sounding romantic comedy. Hard to go wrong with that sort of thing, right? He fiddled with his computer while Dollie retrieved glasses for the iced tea, pulling up the movie, making tiny adjustments to the volume until she sat back down next to him and placed a hand over his.

“Is the movie ready?”

“Yep,” he chirped, and scooted back along the bed until he hit the wall. Dollie settled in next to him with a glass of iced tea, and he hit play.

So. What now? He figured that people probably cuddled while watching movies, but even that was kind of a minefield. Dollie was snuggled in by his side, so he could put his arm around her—it certainly wouldn’t be the first time he did something like that—but was that what she wanted him to do? Or would it just be uncomfortable?

He glanced quickly over at her; she seemed to be focused on the movie with a smile of faint bemusement. Did that mean he’d picked wrong? Or was that the reaction she was supposed to be having? It was a comedy, right? So maybe she should be looking like that—

“Feenie?”

“Bwh?”

She frowned a little. “Are you feeling well?”

He tried to keep from frowning back. “Of course. It’s date night.”

“You don’t seem to be paying attention to the movie.”

“Oh,” he said. “That’s, uh.” The worst part was that he wasn’t, and he didn’t want to lie to her by pretending he was. But he also didn’t want her to think that he wasn’t enjoying spending time with her, because he definitely was. So in that case, he’d have to—ah. “I was distracted by how pretty you are,” he said, pleased with his flash of inspiration.

She got that same smile of vague bemusement that she’d had while watching the onscreen rom-com antics. “Thank you,” she said, but it sounded more like a question than a statement.

Phoenix plastered a huge, fake-feeling smile on his face, and turned back to the laptop screen. He had absolutely no idea what the plot was, but the male lead seemed to have a good grasp on the characterization, so it wasn't a total wash, at least.

Dollie stayed quiet for the rest of the movie. They were still pressed together from their shoulders to their thighs, and Phoenix figured that was good enough for now—he could try proper cuddling another time, maybe. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

When the movie finally ended—Phoenix still had no idea what the plot might have been—she scooted away from him with an over-acted stretch.

“Thank you for the movie, Feenie. I think I need to head back to my dorm now, though.”

He felt himself stiffen. “Already?”

Her smile was small and looked a little sad. “Sorry, but I have a couple of things I need to work on.” She paused for a moment, biting her lip. “Do you think I could borrow the necklace before I go?”

His stomach clenched, even though this was hardly the first time she’d asked for it back. “Are you angry at me? Is that why you want it?”

She seemed shocked for a second, but recovered quickly. “No! Don’t worry, Feenie. That’s not why.” She laid a hand over his. “If it will make you sad, forget that I said anything, okay? I don’t need it back tonight.”

He tried to smile at her. “Thanks, Dollie.”

She smiled back for a moment before getting to her feet. “Thank you for inviting me over for the movie.”

He stood, too, and hovered for a moment as she moved towards the door. Should he kiss her? He should probably kiss her. It was the end of a date, after all. And even if this date had felt weird and kind of uncomfortable, that wasn’t a good reason to not kiss her, right? If anything, that was all the more reason he should. He had to prove to her that he loved her, after all.

He stepped over to the door to catch her before she left, taking her small hand in one of his. She turned back to look at him with a question on her face.

“Hey,” he mumbled. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she whispered back, ducking her face down.

It was now or never. The angle was kind of awkward, but he moved in anyway, nudging her under the chin so she’d turn back to him.

The kiss was… It was a kiss, he supposed. He’d kissed people before, but he didn’t think he really understood it, conceptually. Mechanically, maybe—you touched your lips to someone else’s, it was a gesture of affection, everybody won. But he couldn’t seem to translate that into the solid, heady reality of what a kiss really was. The way movies portrayed them was always fun and exciting, and he couldn’t figure out why he couldn’t get it to click.

She moved away after a few seconds and gave his hand a squeeze.

“Goodnight, Feenie,” she said again, more firmly this time. “I’ll text you when I get home safe.”

He nodded, and could only relax once she shut the door behind her.

The kiss had been a failure too, somehow. With a sigh, he turned back to his bed, looking at the half-empty iced tea bottle, the laptop still paused at the credits, the little divots in the sheets where they’d been cuddling. Or not cuddling. Were they cuddling?

He flopped onto the bed with a groan. Why was he so bad at this? He’d heard the term “late bloomer” before, and it sure applied to him. He’d listen to other guys sometimes and it seemed to come to them so easily.

He didn’t get what he was doing wrong. He’d just have to try harder next time.

Phoenix spent the course of the following week scrutinizing every aspect of that date, trying to pinpoint where it’d gone wrong. Perhaps movies-in just weren’t his thing (their thing, he corrected). Maybe he had moved too fast by inviting Dollie to his room. Maybe his movie choice had been poor.

Whatever the reason, Dollie had seemed down because of it, and he couldn’t forgive himself for that. He swore off all impulse buying—goodbye, 3am Doritos—and by the end of the month had retained enough of his savings to splurge on a dinner for two at a nice restaurant somewhere. Dollie always enjoyed their picnics, so surely this would be an extra special date night for the both of them.

“Feenie?” she said sweetly as they approached the ranch-house style patio entrance. “I thought you said we were going somewhere fancy tonight?”

Phoenix stiffened. Oh no. Maybe this had been a bad idea after all.

“But...it’s a steakhouse...?”

Dollie rolled her eyes, but not in the way where she was actually secretly amused. This one was accompanied by an annoyed sigh and a flip of her hair. Definitely a bad idea then.

“It’s Outback,” she said.

“Oh.” His voice was nearly drowned out in the roar of traffic nearby. “I have reservations?”

Dollie looked like she might snap at him, but seemed to reconsider and instead shot him one of her beaming smiles. “So do I, but since you put so much effort into it...”

She linked her arm with his, and Phoenix let go of a breath in relief. Maybe he could save this date night yet.

The hostess brought them to their reserved table—a little alcove in a dimly lit corner of the restaurant. It was atmospheric, Phoenix thought. Romantic, even. Dollie slid daintily into the booth, and Phoenix took the seat across from her.

His eyes skimmed over the menu, catching on the half-page photo dedicated to Outback's signature bloomin’ onion appetizer. Why not splurge a little, he thought, nervously glancing at Dollie. She was flipping through the pages with a slight frown on her face, and his heart clenched with an anxious desire to keep her happy.

“Um,” he began, “so, what are you gonna order?”

“The ribeye,” she replied, without looking up from the menu. “With shrimp, maybe.”

“Oh!” Phoenix flipped to that page and then blanched a little at the price. “Oh, uh, wow. Coconut or on the barbie?”

“Coconut.”

“Not on the barbie?”

Dollie looked up then and met his eyes. “Feenie, I say this with full sincerity, but that sounds terrible and don’t say it again.” 

“A-Ah, sorry.”

“You’re just too silly for me sometimes,” she added, with one of her cute head tilts to show she hadn’t been too serious.

Okay. So this was going alright. Maybe? He was having a hard time gauging for some reason. Dollie was joking around with him in her own, special way, and it seemed like she was looking forward to the food too, so that was good at least.

Their waiter finally arrived with a cheerful, “G’day mates! What can I do you for?”

“I’ll have the, uhh, sirloin? With a side of mashed potatoes?” said Phoenix.

“And I’ll have the ribeye combo with coconut shrimp,” Dollie said.

“Not on the barbie?” said the waiter.

Dollie’s smile tightened. “No.”

“Oh! And the bloomin’ onion, please,” Phoenix added.

“Right on, right on,” the waiter said, nodding. "What's the occasion?"

“Just Friday night date, you know,” Phoenix replied, rubbing his neck with a laugh.

“Bonzer. We love a little Friday night fun here at Outback.” The waiter winked, and Phoenix felt a warm flush creep up his face.

“Yeah, just some good, clean fun.” Fuck. Why did he have to specify that? Now he made it sound like—Whatever. “Actually, it’s been almost like, three months since we met? So we’re definitely celebrating that!”

“Crikey, ‘grats mate!”

“Yeah!” Phoenix said, feeling that same rush of excitement he got whenever he thought about his and Dollie’s first meeting. He pulled the necklace out from under his shirt and shoved it proudly into the light. “She even gave this to me—”

“Loaned it—”

“—as lasting proof of our love!”

“Nontraditional, I love it,” the waiter said. “Anyway, sit tight and we’ll get you all nice and settled, good as.”

Once the waiter was out of earshot, Dollie whipped around to glare at him.

“Why’d you show him the necklace?” she hissed.

“But...Why not?” He’d left the necklace untucked to show it off—it really was beautiful, with the crystal gleaming in the warm, low lighting—but was starting to wonder if he should hide it away again if it bothered her so much. “It’s never been a problem before.”

“You—” She took a deep breath and leaned back in her seat. “I just don’t want other guys getting too jealous of you, Feenie. For your sake.”

He blinked, warmth spreading through his chest. He reached across the table to gently grasp her hand. “That’s really nice of you, Dollie.”

She smiled and slowly pulled her hand out from under his and into her lap. Ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach, he cast about for something to alleviate the weird tension that had settled over their table. 

“Funny that an Australian guy works at Outback Steakhouse, huh?” 

“It’s not a real accent,” Dollie pointed out. “He’s just doing it for show.”

“Oh,” he said. “Haha, yeah.”

The conversation faded back into awkward silence. Phoenix glanced towards the kitchen in the hopes of spotting their waiter on the way to deliver their drinks or their appetizer or even just to reconfirm their order—anything to relieve him from Dollie’s distinctly judgmental air. He supposed he deserved it for the horrible way their last date night ended, and for his poor taste in jokes.

While waiting for their waiter to reappear, his eyes passed over a handful of couples seated in the booths. It took a few passes before he realized what felt strange about it—every single one of the couples were pressed up against each other on the same side of the booth, cuddling and trading loving gazes.

His stomach twisted. Had he made a mistake? Should he have sat next to Dollie instead of across from her? It was far too late to change seats now, not without being obvious. He flashed back to their movie date, when he had been too caught up in the logistics of arm placement to make any sort of meaningful move.

Desperately, he turned back towards the kitchen, the bar, anywhere that would distract him from his failure as a boyfriend. And, now that he was paying more attention, he spied two men sitting closely at the bar, their knees just barely touching as they laughed over beers. They were older, somewhere in the nebulous “old” of middle-aged, with greying hair and crinkled eyes and faded t-shirts sporting their favorite football team logos. The husk of a nearly finished bloomin’ onion occupied the counter space between them, and Phoenix watched as they both reached for the last piece—

At that moment their waiter reappeared, presenting their own bloomin’ onion alongside a full spread of steaming entrees. Phoenix tucked in gratefully, relieved.

The rest of dinner passed in a more pleasant silence as they focused on their respective meals. Dollie methodically cut her giant ribeye into tiny pieces before taking a single bite, which Phoenix found charming in its quirkiness. His own sirloin was delicious, but the experience was dampened somewhat by the impending damage to his wallet.

Immediate hunger sated, he began to slow down the pace and spared a glance around the restaurant again. The two men at the bar were already gone, leaving behind a few empty plates and foamy glasses. But what drew his eye this time was the TV, which had switched from football to a segment of evening news. And right there, glaring at the camera with sunken, sullen eyes, was Miles Edgeworth. It was only his picture, but then the segment flipped to a video feed of Miles at the courthouse, still wearing that horrible ornate suit and pushing away a microphone as he passed by.

Phoenix was so startled to see him that he jumped around in his seat, only to find Dollie watching him with an unreadable expression.

“That’s your…” She paused for a moment while she set her fork aside. “Friend, isn’t it?”

“What? Oh. Yeah.”

“It must be weird to see him so successful now,” she said, smoothing her napkin on her lap, “while you’re still only in school.”

“A little, yeah,” Phoenix admitted. He was feeling bolder now that he had some food in him though, and decided to share something that he’d been meaning to for a while. “I signed up for a law class next quarter because of him, actually.”

Dollie stared blankly at him. “A law class.”

“Um. Yeah.”

“For your elective.”

“Is it—” His throat felt suddenly very thick and sticky; he knew he shouldn’t have ordered mashed potatoes. “Is it weird?” he asked, voice pitching slightly upwards.

“I mean, kind of,” she said. “You could have taken a class with me.”

Shit. That hadn’t even occurred to him.

“And law is hard, isn’t it? It’s just, why would you want to start something like that this late in your degree?”

Phoenix stared down at the last slice of his steak. “Do...do you think I should switch?”

“I would love if you switched,” she said, reaching over the barely-touched bloomin’ onion to grab his hand. “Please take Shakespearean Lit with me, Feenie.”

Phoenix swallowed. His stomach fluttered at that beautifully sweet smile, and he wasn’t sure he could afford to say no.

“I’ll think about it,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t ring quite as hollow as he thought it sounded, but it seemed enough to appease her for now.

Back in his room, Phoenix tossed and turned on his bed for a few minutes before deciding to take action.

The advice he’d gotten last time he’d posted on the confession page hadn’t been the most useful, but he honestly didn’t have any better ideas, so he opened his browser to Facebook again.

is it weird to try taking law classes in third year? he typed. i;ve written in before, i’m still trying to hekp my friend who won’t reply to me, and maybe it’s weird but taking law classes might give me the chance to talk to him. someone else i asked says that it’s stupid but i don’t know what else to try.

He sent the message off before he could let himself think about it, and then kept busy by boiling some water for instant coffee. It was probably too late in the evening for coffee, but if he sat still he’d drive himself nuts or, worse, try to backtrack on the message.

At least it was anonymous, he reasoned with himself. People had kinda been jerks the last time, but no one knew who he was, so it couldn’t hurt him, right?

He’d forgotten that the volume on his computer was still turned up to max from when he’d been playing pump-up music before the date earlier that day, and he jumped when it pinged with the notification noise that meant that something had happened on Facebook.

With great dignity, he finished preparing his coffee—stir the instant granules until they dissolved, add four spoons of sugar—before moving back to the computer. He wasn’t desperate, after all. With some trepidation, he opened the notification pop-up.

Ugh. Patrick Hauméot again. He should have known that that was who would reply; the guy seemed to have nothing better to do than stick his nose in everyone’s business. And with such an obvious pseudonym, too.

Well. Two could play at that game. And this way he could spring to his own defense.

Before even bothering to read Patrick's no-doubt disparaging response, Phoenix did some quick research on making his own fake account. Brainstorming a pseudonym that wouldn’t give him away seemed like the hardest part. “Benjamin Hunter” was the first name that came to mind, taken from the main actor in the movie he’d watched with Dollie during the infamous failed movie night. It was the only thing he retained from that movie, apparently, partly because it was a cool name and also because he remembered wanting to see what else the guy had been in.

He had to make a burner email account, which was simple enough, and soon he found himself with a freshly christened Facebook profile in the name Benjamin Hunter. It was kind of goofy, but he obviously couldn’t use a photo of himself for the profile image—and using a photo of the actor Benjamin Hunter was out, too—so he found a photo of some type of ivy and set that as his display image instead. It wasn’t very creative, but hey, they were at Ivy U. Anyway, he wasn’t going for creativity. He was doing this for Miles.

He navigated back to the confession page, scrolling until he found the reply Patrick had posted.

Still going after your mystery man, huh? You don’t say what your original major is, so I don’t know if law classes fit into it at all. Changing majors, or even considering it, in your junior year is pretty late, yeah — especially if you made it this far into one major before considering switching, which makes me think that you enjoy the original one. So are you only taking law for this one guy? Because changing the course of your life for one person who won’t even talk to you seems pretty risky.

Yep, still a total prick. Armed with his new pseudonym, Phoenix decided to provide himself with some backup.

You’re not even going to consider how important his goal might be?? he typed, paying special care to his grammar so that he’d seem more like a professional, like this Patrick guy. If he’s willing to change his major this late, maybe there’s a really good reason for it. Try giving him some GOOD advice.

After posting the comment, he flipped away from the page, clicking through the meme page until the notification noise startled him again.

With a glare, he finally remembered to turn down his computer’s volume, then clicked back to the post, sighing when he saw that it was Patrick, again.

Another white knight appears! Hey, if he didn’t want honest advice, he shouldn’t have asked. He can feel free to provide more background information, if he wants, but until then I stand by my point.

Phoenix made a disgusted noise and slammed the laptop lid shut. Clearly Patrick was determined to be a sanctimonious jerk, but, well, whatever. He’d leave the post up and hope that someone more reasonable decided to chip in. For now, Phoenix was going to go to bed.

Doug found that he was kind of distracted while walking through campus the next day.

It had been clear right off the bat that “Benjamin Hunter” was a pseudonym, partly because it was a really silly name, partly because the guy had a photo of ivy as his profile picture. Seriously. Ivy? At Ivy U? That was a middle-aged-dad-using-Facebook move.

But whatever. He wasn’t in a place to judge about the pseudonym account, seeing as he had his own. What he could (and did) judge was that this “Benjamin” guy was so clearly the same guy who’d submitted the question. Between his weird insistence that the “anonymous poster” was in the right for being so adamant about tracking this friend down, and the fact that Doug had gotten anonymous backlash—presumably from this same guy—before, it wasn’t as though he was being very sneaky.

It sort of irritated him, except that the guy was so earnest about it. And it was sweet, really, that he was so concerned about this friend. Misguided, since the friend obviously wanted nothing to do with him, but sweet.

And… now that he was thinking of it, kind of unusual. He’d noticed, in the original post about it, that “Benjamin” had gone out of his way to point out that he was a guy too, likely to stave off the predictable “ooh you have a crush” comments (not that it had worked). Doug tried not to speculate too much about other people’s sexualities; it had been a huge pain when people kept grilling him about himself, before he’d figured out that he was bi, and he didn’t really want to do that to other people. But this Benjamin guy… well, he wasn’t being very subtle. Maybe he wasn’t even aware of it himself, given his insistence on calling his friend “a friend” and nothing more, and his care in pointing out that he himself was a guy.

But, hey, they were university students. It was a good age to figure out that sort of thing. And Doug found that he was tempted to keep an eye on Benjamin, even if he was a bit irritating.

You’re getting soft in your old age, Doug, he thought with a wry smile. But even as he mocked himself for his bleeding heart, he knew it was the right thing to do. Being a guy who was into guys was—well, pretty fun, if you asked him, but the process of figuring it out could be stressful. So, well, whatever. Assuming that Benjamin kept posting on the confession page, it would be simple enough to occasionally check in on him.

Pleased with his do-gooding for the day, he stretched as he rounded a corner, then froze as he nearly smacked right into Dahlia Hawthorne.

“You,” he hissed before he could stop himself. He never really intended to confront her—he didn’t really see the point—but here, instinct was kind of taking over.

Dahlia looked startled, then—worried? Weird. Or maybe her acting had just gotten better.

“How long do you plan on keeping up the act?” he demanded. “I know you don’t actually care about him.”

Dahlia glanced to the side, but stayed quiet.

“You got away with it last time, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to be lucky again in the future.”

She looked back at him, face somber. “Don’t get involved,” she said.

He laughed, pissed off. “Don’t get involved? When you’re probably planning on killing the guy? I’m not that good of a person, but I don’t want that on my conscience. The only reason I haven’t gone to the cops is that I know you’re good at playing them, but trust me, I can raise hell for you if I want to.”

“Don’t get involved,” she insisted. “Please, Doug—just don’t.”

“Again, you’re not giving me a lot of choice!” he hissed. “If your boyfriend wasn’t a fucking idiot who thinks he’s in love after just a couple of months, maybe I could get through to him instead of having to talk to you about it, but that’s not working!”

Dahlia looked inexplicably uncomfortable about that. Wasn’t getting guys to fall in love with her the usual end game? Maybe the over-the-top romance was just driving her nuts. Doug couldn’t blame her.

Still, her silence wasn’t really giving him a lot to work with. Not that he’d expected much to come from this conversation anyway.

He crossed his arms and stared her down. “Listen. I know they couldn’t prove it in court, but I don’t trust you one fucking bit, and I don’t plan on letting this guy die, as much of a pain in the ass as he is. I’m getting involved, and I’m staying involved.”

Dahlia shook her head, and with a last irritated tsk, Doug spun on his heel and walked away.

Chapter Text

Patrick kept sticking his nose in other people’s business, of course. Phoenix would scroll through his own Facebook timeline and see Patrick’s responses on other people’s confession page posts nearly every day, and he’d amuse himself by sneering at his snotty answers.

In the end, he’d dithered enough on his own decision regarding law classes and Dollie’s Shakespearean Lit course that he’d missed the deadline to change his mind, cementing his selection for the following quarter. Dollie had been a little upset with him, but less upset than her behavior at Outback would have led him to believe. And he really was glad to have the chance to delve into law a bit, if only to see whether law school was in any way a viable option.

Anyway, that all meant that his own question regarding his course selection was moot, at this point. And since Miles was still ignoring any and all attempts to get in touch with him, Phoenix didn’t currently have a lot to ask about on the confession page.

Which meant that he was free to track Patrick’s progression through the daily posts, and track he did.

On one question about a first-year considering asking her TA out on a date:

So how big is that age gap? At least 4-5 years? Never mind the fact that he’s responsible for grading your assignments. This is a terrible idea, but if you’re going to go for it regardless, you should at least wait until the quarter is over.

And another about a schism between roommates:

Sorry, but if you ask me, eating someone’s homemade cookies IS a dick move. Why did you come here looking for validation? Even if she does keep you up late sometimes, the solution is to talk to her about it, not steal food in revenge.

In a way, Phoenix felt kind of vindicated to see that he was a jerk to other people, too. It made him feel like his own questions were a little less silly.

Still, he had this weird itchy feeling that made him want to fight back. And what was stopping him, really? He had the pseudonym account already set up and ready to go. No point in wasting it, right?

The next day, while scrolling through his feed again, he encountered a fresh post on the confession page.

My friend has this REALLY annoying habit where keeps fixating on all these random chicks. He always swears she’s the love of his life and then the relationship is over by the weekend. I know it doesn’t matter that much in the end, but it’s driving me nuts! What do I do?

And Patrick’s scorching hot take:

Just tell him to stop talking about it. It really is that simple. If he forgets and starts talking about women again, just change the subject.

Phoenix rolled his eyes at Patrick’s self-assurance, as he always did, but—this was actually a pretty good opportunity for him to get involved. After all, this mystery guy the poster was talking about sounded a lot like Larry (was it Larry? That was a scary prospect) and Phoenix had a ton of experience handling him.

So, after a moment, he double-checked that he was still logged in as “Benjamin” and started tapping out a reply to Patrick.

it can be kind of irritating when friends do stuff like this but i doubt he knows he’s pissing you off!! before you pick the jerk option like “patrick” recommends, just let him know he’s stressing you out and ask if he can tone it down a bit. there’s no need to be rude right away!

He read it a couple times, then nodded and sent it, satisfied that he was coming off much better than Patrick was.

And then he realized that he was super anxious.

Why, exactly? Patrick was a total stranger, aside from the couple times they’d interacted on the confession page—and Patrick didn’t even know about most of those, seeing as Phoenix had been posting anonymously at first. Even now, under his pseudonym, he was effectively anonymous. So even if Patrick did think he was a total idiot, no harm done, right?

Ugh. Whatever. It was a waste of time to overthink this.

Phoenix set his computer to the side and sat up. It was the new quarter, and his schoolwork was beginning to pick up. Not that he was the best student ever, but he was determined to make it through with at least decent grades, so he’d been spending more time on work and less with Dollie lately.

It was easy to justify to himself, mostly, except when he considered that one of the reasons he wanted to keep his grades up was that he was worried about his odds of maybe, eventually, getting into law school.

Which reminded him of Miles, as it always did.

He hadn’t sent Miles any letters for a little while. He’d laid off on LinkedIn and the phone calls to the Prosecutors’ Office, too. He didn’t consider himself a quitter, but he could tell when something wasn’t likely to produce any results, and this wasn’t quitting anyway—he’d signed up for an entire law course!

Things felt messy, suddenly. Not that they’d been tidy to begin with, but at first he’d just had Dollie and his performing arts courses to worry about. Now there was the possibility of law, and Doug’s occasional unwanted intrusions, and this Patrick guy that he was, inexplicably, picking a fight with.

But, like his mom always said, it wasn’t going to get any less messy if he just sat around and waited for his problems to fix themselves; so he hopped up to his feet and grabbed his textbooks, bringing them over to the desk shoved in the corner of his room.

Time to get to work. If he wanted a chance to help Miles, he’d have to keep on top of his classes.

By the time he’d waded through all his readings, it was past 10pm. When he checked his phone, he saw that there was a missed call from Dollie, and then a text a couple minutes later:

Dollie <3 [21:13]: don’t worry about it feenie!!! i’m going to bed early tonight so i was just going to say goodnight. i hope you sleep well!

Well, shit. Obviously now it was too late to call, so he’d send a text, maybe? Unless she’d forgotten to put her phone on silent overnight, in which case the alert could just wake her up. He dithered for a bit, then decided that he was more worried about neglecting her than he was about the off-chance of waking her up with a text.

Feenie [22:21]: i’m so sorry i was busy with schoolwork! i hope you’re sleeping well. i love you <3

Perfect.

He still wasn’t ready for bed yet, though. He could go for a walk, maybe—he’d been sitting on his ass for hours now and his spine could tell. Anyway, he’d used to make a habit of late-night runs to the convenience store, and he’d stopped while saving up for his Outback date with Dollie. Maybe it was time to pick that habit back up. 

That decided, he pulled his shoes on and headed out into the night.

It was nicer in LA when the sun went down. He was more of a warm-weather guy in general, but there was something about the crispness in the air after sundown that was comforting.

He let his mind wander as his feet followed the familiar path through the quad and out onto the street. Being a university campus, it was never silent, even at night—he could see clusters of students on benches and standing under streetlights, and the occasional noisy shadows hidden beneath trees off the path.

His usual convenience store was only a few minutes away, but Phoenix realized that he wasn’t really hungry, so when he reached the corner, he zigged when he normally would have zagged. The road he found himself on was brightly lit, with a few little cafés dotted along the way. He smiled a little, glancing into each one as he walked by. Mostly they were filled with people his age, some alone with laptops or textbooks, some in pairs or small groups, laughing over warm beverages.

And in one of the last ones, down near the end of the block, there sat Doug Swallow with a girl around his age, laughing at something on the girl’s phone.

She was pretty enough: long black hair, dark green turtleneck, nose ring. She and Doug looked comfortable with each other, sitting only a foot or so apart.

So Doug wasn’t lying when he said he was over Dollie, then? Or—was this some attempt to get over her? Or maybe they were just friends. A guy could totally just hang out with a girl and not have it mean anything.

Well, not that it mattered, in the end. It was irritating that he kept trying to intervene in Phoenix’s life, but ultimately it was simple enough to just ignore him. Hopefully he wasn’t harassing Dollie. Was he? No, Dollie would have said so if he was—she wasn’t the type to hide things like that. So, that was okay. Phoenix could handle himself against some grandstanding asshole.

He reached the end of the block and stood for a minute. There were fairy lights strung from the trees here, and it was pretty, but Phoenix felt oddly cold. He spun and headed back the way he came, ducking his head as he passed the café where Doug and the girl were.

He was almost back at his dorm when he realized what was bothering him. If Doug was dating that girl, then what was his motivation for being a jerk to Phoenix? He was clearly lying about Dollie being bad news—anyone who spent more than a few seconds around her could tell—but it didn’t make sense that he’d be trying to get her back if he’d moved onto someone else.

Phoenix huffed. It must have been one of the other options, then. He was just friends with the girl, or she was a rebound, or something like that.

He didn’t quite manage to get it out of his head as he rode the elevator back up to his room, but when he got inside, he was distracted by his phone—he only then realized that he’d left it behind—lit up on his desk with a few notifications.

Dollie, maybe? It was possible that she’d woken up, seen his text, and replied. But when he grabbed it to check, he saw that it was a Facebook notification from—ugh—Patrick.

Although it served him right, he supposed. He had started that fight about the guy with the annoying friend. Well, was it a fight? Argument? Debate.

With a sigh, he swiped to unlock his phone, eyes running over the message.

Hey, I never even said anything about the guy’s intentions. I’m sure he doesn’t realize he’s being annoying, but that still doesn’t make him LESS annoying. I think you and I are basically in agreement that changing the topic is the right way to go, so no need to come out swinging.

That was… well, okay, he did have a point, actually. They probably were in agreement. Still, the whole sanctimonious tone was really starting to wear on Phoenix, so he didn’t bother replying to that one. It was getting late, anyway. Time for bed. Tomorrow he’d be sure to text Dollie first thing so that she didn’t think he forgot about her.

Doug met Cassandra outside Grey Squirrel, which had become their favorite spot for coffee and catching up. It was a little farther away from campus than the usual haunts, and the staff blasted pop punk loud enough to deter anyone who had any hopes of studying in peace. Which was perfect for their cause—the fewer people around to eavesdrop, the better. And besides, this was the only place that could do a flat white half right. He could admit that maybe he was a bit of a snob. 

“Glad to see you could finally make it,” Cassandra said, flashing a grin. “I was starting to think you’d stand me up.”

“Me? Stand you up? Never,” he said. “Not when there’s gossip at stake.” He did feel a bit bad—he’d lost track of time trying to respond to Benjamin on Facebook, and by the time he finished rolling his eyes at his inane (and pointless) contribution it was somehow already past 10. But Cassandra had been adamant that this news couldn't wait, and that she had to relay it in-person as soon as possible, so he rushed to keep her from waiting much longer.

She laughed in response and nudged him as they went through the door. “You’re incorrigible.”

They ordered at the counter—osmanthus iced tea for her and a flat white for himself, of course—and, drinks in hand, headed to a spot in the corner. The café was fairly empty this time of evening, with the only other customer absorbed in watching some TV show on their laptop at a comfortable distance of five tables away.

“What’s so big that you had to tell me in person?” Doug said after they finally settled in.

“Oh my god,” Cassandra said, flopping into the chair. “Doug, you have no idea. This is huge. I had to see your face when I tell you, because it’s so fucking juicy.”

He took a sip of his flat white and waited for her to continue. She made a show of tucking her bag aside and savoring a long drink of iced tea, dragging out the suspense for as long as possible. Asshole. He supposed he deserved it for being late in the first place.

“Okay. So.” She finally sat up straight and flipped her hair back in a way that meant it was time for business. “You remember Steve, right?”

“In my major? Yeah.”

“And how he got engaged to some Jenny chick a few weeks ago?”

“Sure do.” Doug could already see where this was going, and he couldn’t wait to hear which of his predictions turned out to be true.

“Well—wait, hold on.” Cassandra rummaged through her bag and grabbed her phone, biting her lip with barely concealed glee. When she finished scrolling she thrust it in front of his face and burst into a shit-eating grin. 

The photo was slightly blurry, but there was no denying that he was looking at two people caught mid-proposal. A girl stood under a gingko tree in brilliant golden foliage, her hands flung over her mouth. She gazed down at a guy kneeling beside her, who held an open box in his palm. That was undeniably Steve—Doug could pick out that obnoxious high fade quiff from any angle—but the girl didn't look like anyone he recognized, and certainly not like Jenny.

Oh, this was delicious. “You’re kidding.”

“I couldn’t make up something this good if I tried,” she said, pulling the phone away. "I was just walking through the arboretum when he did that. Didn’t have to stalk him or anything.”

“An arboretum proposal?” 

Cassandra cackled. “Right?! Sooo cliché. Also, did he think no one would notice?” She rolled her eyes and took a long sip of her tea. “I wonder if Jenny knows yet.”

Doug quickly pulled up Facebook to check. “Hm. Doesn’t look like it.”

“God, I can’t wait for that to go down,” she said, slinging an arm over the back of the chair. 

“I mean, I feel bad for the girls, but...come on dude. What was his plan here? Does he think he can actually get away with this?”

“It seemed pretty spur-of-the-moment to me,” said Cassandra. “Honestly I don’t think he thought about it at all.”

“He thought about it enough to buy another ring,” Doug pointed out. Two rings. Jesus. He snickered into another sip of his drink.

“Yeah, well some people are just like that. ‘Romantics,’ or whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “They only think about the grand gesture and not the people behind it. It’s like this doofus in my law class this quarter. He actually told the class that he's taking law so he can talk to his childhood friend again. Taking law, on a whim. For a ‘friend’.” She waved her drink around to emphasize, the ice sloshing against the plastic. “I get that the market can be hard for us gays but like…talk about desperate.”

Huh. That sounded familiar. Doug leaned forward, barely able to believe his luck.

“What was his name?”

“I don’t remember. You think I pay attention to guys?” 

He slumped back with a disappointed tch. “I guess I hoped you’d pay attention for the gossip.”

She laughed. “Sorry Doug. It’s hard to care about some rando when there’s a hot teacher in the room.”

“Fair.”

“Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for today,” she said, as if witnessing infidelity firsthand wasn’t life-changing news. “How about you? Anything exciting?”

He might have brought up Benjamin and the weird coincidence with her classmate, but at that moment a movement outside the window caught his eye. Someone was walking briskly—nearly running—past the café, and with a start Doug recognized the slicked back spikes of Phoenix Wright. He was alone, surprisingly. Doug wasn’t sure if that was concerning.

“I bumped into my ex a little while ago,” he said instead.

Cassandra’s smile vanished. “Your ex? You mean the one who killed a guy?”

“Yeah. I mean, he’s not technically dead, I think…”

“Whatever. At best it’s attempted voluntary manslaughter. You know that.”

“I don’t know that, because I’m not a criminology nerd,” he said.

“Well you know now because I’m telling you,” she replied. “And I’m also telling you to stay away from her, because someone like that is likely to try again, and as your friend I’m worried about you.”

“It’s not myself I’m worried about.” Doug glanced out the window again, frowning. When he turned back to Cassandra she was watching him with guarded eyes.

“Whatever it is, don’t get involved,” she said, her words echoing the same uncharacteristic seriousness as Dahlia’s. “It’s not worth it.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Doug,” she repeated sternly. “I mean it.”

“And I’ll be careful,” he promised. “So...about that hot prof though…”

Phoenix’s life fell into a weird, uneasy pattern for the next couple weeks. He was spending more time on his studies, which unfortunately meant that he had less time for Dollie. Between days in lectures and the library, and squeezing in quality time with his girlfriend whenever he could, he was usually so exhausted by the late evening that he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but curl up in bed with his laptop.

Sometimes he’d watch movies—the folder full of pirated movies from Larry was dwindling, but would last him a while longer—and sometimes he’d scroll through Facebook, picking fights with Patrick whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Patrick seemed to mostly treat him with amused disdain, which wasn’t a surprise, really, given their previous interactions. Still, Phoenix hadn’t given up yet on asserting himself as someone worthy of respect, so he kept up their so-called conversations.

Mostly, the posts on the confession page were a lot of the same: roommate problems, petty romantic feuds, the like. Somehow Patrick always seemed to have an answer ready regardless, which Phoenix almost found impressive in its weirdness.

He was scrolling through one night, yawning, barely paying attention, when a post with a ton of activity—comments, reactions—suddenly caught his eye. Posts on the confession page usually didn’t blow up like this, so Phoenix frowned and scrolled back to the top to read the original post.

listen i fucked up really badly and i KNOW i did so don’t bother with your judgey comments!!!!!! okay so there are these 2 girls i really love and i proposed to one of them a while ago and she said yess and i was so happy. but then i was at the arboretum with the other a while ago and i just got..caught up in the moment and i proposed to her to. so now im engaged to 2 GIRLS what should i do

There were hundreds of comments, most of them just laughing at this idiot’s misfortune. Phoenix spent a while paging through all of them, grinning at the commenters’ incredulity. Towards the bottom, there was a slightly longer comment, and Phoenix slowed his scrolling to see that, yep, Patrick had thrown his hat into the ring.

Hey, nice job, buddy! I’ve been answering questions on this page for months now and yours is the stupidest I’ve ever seen! I’d say congratulations, but your prize is “reaping what you sow,” so I’m not sure you want it.

Anyway, not really sure what sort of answer you’re looking for here. Obviously there’s only one solution, which I’m sure you’re aware of: you need to break it off with both of them. I’d tell you to be HONEST about this mess to both of them, but I get the feeling that’s beyond the grasp of your tiny pea brain. 

And to preempt the question I suspect you’re going to ask: no, you can’t only break up with one of them and keep the other. You’ve fucked up both of these relationships enough that neither of them can be saved. Seriously, just break up with both of them and chalk it up to really, really fucking stupid experience.

It was nearly midnight, so Phoenix was trying to keep quiet so that he didn’t disturb the rest of the people on his floor, but holy shit. It was really difficult to not just burst into laughter. Biting his lip to keep it in, he typed out a reply to Patrick’s answer.

i really have to wonder what this guy’s end goal was, lol. did he not realize that polygamy isnt legal in california??? or was he planning to carry them both off to utah or smth

Patrick replied quickly, which wasn’t a surprise given the state of activity on the post.

I meannnn technically it’s not legal in Utah either, but I see your point. But no, I know this guy offline (don’t worry, OP: I won’t doxx you, if only because I feel bad for the two women who are getting dragged into this disaster) and the odds are very, very, VERY high that he just didn’t think at all.

Actually, now that I’m looking at the original post again, he straight-up says that he wasn’t thinking. Well, I appreciate the honesty! Still begs the question of why he was dating two women to begin with, but hey, if the median IQ in America is 98, that means that SOMEONE needs to be at the bottom of the scale, right?

Oh, if Patrick knew who this dude was in real life, that made this whole mess even more fun. Phoenix tapped at his lips for a moment, trying to figure out what to say next.

wait, you know him? did you know he was dating two different people? 

The almost-immediate reply:

Nah. If I had, I would have told both of the women to run, not walk, directly to the nearest emergency exit. I did know he was an idiot, but there’s a difference between garden-variety stupid and… whatever the hell is going on here. Truly, nothing could have prepared me for this.

Dear OP: I feel bad for the women you’re with, but since you HAVE made this mess, thanks for sharing with the class. You made my day.

He was a little tempted to ask more, but Patrick had said he wasn’t going to doxx the guy, so maybe that would be bad etiquette. Still, this was by far the wildest thing he’d ever seen on the confession page, and he really hoped that they’d get to learn more about it as the situation unfolded.

But it was late by that point, and Phoenix had to be up early for a seminar, so he flipped his laptop shut and went to brush his teeth.

For a couple days after that, there wasn’t a lot going on; Phoenix studied, he hung out with his girlfriend, he studied, he tried not to forget all the weird Latin terms his law class was feeding to him, he hung out with Dollie some more. He kept his eye on the confession page in the hopes that the idiot who was engaged to two girls would post again, but maybe all the backlash from his first post had scared him off—Patrick was as active as always, but Phoenix didn’t spot anything else that really caught his eye.

Stupidity could only be restrained for so long, though. While taking a break from an essay one night, Phoenix clicked over to Facebook, hoping that Patrick would have some bitchy reply he could amuse himself with, and stumbled across yet another post that had blown up. Grinning, he scrolled back up to the top.

okay i’m hoping you guys won’t be ASSHOLES this time because i need more help! i’m the guy who accidentally proposed to two differnt girls and when i asked for help you all just told me to break up with both of them instead of helping me with the issue. but anyway my problem now is that one of them MIGHT have found out and i’m freaking out now because if she does, she’d be really pissed!

Phoenix leaned back in his chair and scrubbed his face with his hands. Like, okay, Patrick could totally be a prick with his advice, but that was half of the fun anyway, and he had also been completely correct. What sort of advice had this guy been hoping for?

He scrolled down the page a little, looking for the Patrick reply he was certain would be there, and sure enough:

Okay, I’m not going to get mired down in semantics because we’d be here all night, but please know that you saying that you “accidentally” proposed to two people is fucking killing me. You bought two rings! You knelt on the ground twice and asked the question twice! There is nothing accidental about this at all!

I have taken a few minutes to walk in circles and weep about your stupidity and now I am back to actually provide advice. But guess what! It’s the exact same as my last advice!! You have to break up with them both!! Are you there, god? It’s me, Patrick

Phoenix almost felt bad for Patrick, but this was also hysterically funny. He clicked down to the reply box, double-checking that he was still posting under his pseudonym Benjamin.

i second patrick—you seem to be hoping that there’s this magic middle ground where you can marry them both??? or at least avoid the unpleasantness of going through two breakups????? but there isn’t, dude, and i think if you stop and think about it, you’ll realize it. and like, the sooner the better, too, because if one of them finds out she’ll probably tell the other and then you’ll have TWO girls pissed off at you.

A few minutes later, the reply:

Yep, what Benjamin said. The longer you leave this, the worse it’s going to get, and I promise you, there’s no magic solution outside of this. Put on your big boy pants, muddle through a couple of difficult conversations, and try not to “accidentally” propose to two women at the same time ever again. I believe in you. You can do it. Maybe.

Once he had recovered from the emotional damage that Steve’s hubris had wrought on his psyche, Doug found that he was enjoying the whole mess. There was the usual schadenfreude he got from most of the posts on the confession page, obviously, even if this particular post was a little more bananas than usual. 

There was also the probably-unintentional effect of making him actually, really pay attention to that Benjamin guy who’d been popping up more and more on his replies lately. At first he’d been kind of akin to a fruit fly that Doug could never quite manage to get rid of: a little irritating, but ultimately harmless. But maybe he’d just settled into his fake Benjamin identity a bit more, or maybe it was a weird form of traumatic bonding from having endured the depths of human stupidity together, but Doug found that Benjamin wasn’t getting on his nerves quite so much anymore. Now, he found that whenever Benjamin decided to join in his conversations on the confession page, he kind of enjoyed it. And Benjamin’s advice really wasn’t that bad, maybe because now he wasn’t so determined to just play the devil’s advocate at all times.

He was also kind of funny, when he put his mind to it. On one post by someone who was trying to “break up” with their high school best friend, Doug had written:

I mean, it’s a pretty normal thing for people to drift apart, especially in university. In my opinion, a lot of friendships when you’re a kid—including in high school—are there mostly because you’re stuck with these people and end up becoming friends for lack of other options. Then once you get to university, where there are tons more people and more options for friendships, you might just not be as tempted to stick with your old friend groups anymore. And that’s ok!

And Benjamin’s contribution:

shocking that your friends immediately dumped you when they had more options, huh patrick?

he’s right though, i think that as long as you’re nice about it, it’s totally fine to move on from old friendships. it doesn’t take away from your high school memories, either!

Which, aside from Benjamin’s good point about how moving on didn’t detract from old memories, had actually startled Doug into laughing. 

It was notable that he hadn’t seen any posts about Benjamin’s so-called friend—the one he was considering going to law school for—in quite a while. And he was pretty sure he hadn’t just missed those posts, too; aside from the fact that he was on the confession page frequently and saw most of the new questions as they were posted, he had also searched through the backlog a few times and hadn’t seen anything there, either.

Maybe it was because Benjamin had settled on a course of action. He thought about his night at the café with Cassandra a little while back, when she had mentioned that guy in one of her law classes who’d talked about wanting to become a lawyer for his friend. That had to be the same guy, right? No way could there be more than one of those dorks. It was a real shame that Cassandra didn’t remember his name; Doug would have loved to know who this guy was in real life.

He also found it very telling that Cassandra had immediately honed in on the guy being gay, too. Doug was generally pretty confident in his radar for that sort of thing, but it was always good to have another opinion. Especially from Cassandra, who generally couldn’t give a single shit about men—if even she had picked up on it, there was no way that Doug was wrong.

He shook his head and clicked over to his class portal to check his assignments. Speculation wasn’t going to get him anywhere, and clearly he wouldn’t learn more about Benjamin unless he decided to share those details himself. Doug would just have to keep an eye out and respond to confession posts as usual; if his last few posts were any indication, it seemed that he’d be hearing more from Benjamin regardless.

Besides, he couldn’t spend too much time mulling over some stranger’s grand life plans (questionable motives aside) when he had his own life plans to worry about. He’d submitted his application to University College London over the summer while researching grad school programs, and was nearing the timeframe for hearing back on acceptance status. It was the only school he’d applied to, which probably hadn’t been the smartest decision—it had been more of an impulsive aspiration than anything. Sure, it’d be amazing if he actually got in, but he could still take a year or so to figure things out if it fell through.

He’d managed his expectations so well that by the time he actually got an email from the UCL admissions office, he was already half-prepared for disappointment. So when he opened the email to that first word of Congratulations!, he sat staring at it, uncomprehending, for at least five minutes before the numbness finally began to fade.

He stood up and stared out the window, then sat back down and stared at the computer.

Accepted? He’d been accepted? That didn’t quite seem right, but he read the email four more times just to be sure, then checked the email address it’d been sent from, then triple-checked that it was addressed to him and hadn’t been sent to him by accident, and the conclusion was still the same: yes, he’d been accepted.

So he did what any self-respecting man would do and texted his mean lesbian best friend about it.

Doug [17:15]: Are you up?
Cassandra [17:15]: it’s 5pm douglas
Doug [17:16]: Guess what email I just got?
Cassandra [17:16]: a court summons for all the child support payments you’ve missed?
Doug [17:16]: I got into UCL.
Cassandra [17:16]: holy FUCK
Cassandra [17:16]: THAT’S AMAZING I AM GOING TO CRY???????
Cassandra [17:17]: ok even though 5pm is apparently past my bedtime we’re gonna go PARTY
Doug [17:17]: Let me guess. KFC?
Cassandra [17:17]: because i love you and am very proud of you, i am going to treat you to only the best
Cassandra [17:18]: this momentous occasion demands no less than crunchwrap supremes
Doug [17:18]: Crunchwrap is the noun, so wouldn’t it be Crunchwraps Supreme?
Cassandra [17:18]: i take it back. i don’t love you and we’re not getting crunchwrap supremes
Doug [17:19]: I’ll see you in the quad in fifteen minutes.
Cassandra [17:19]: asshole. see you then

Chapter Text

Phoenix was kind of pleased to see that after the little “I accidentally got engaged twice” meltdown on the confession page, the tone of the interactions between him and Patrick changed. He found himself chiming into discussions more frequently, and Patrick’s replies to him were a little friendlier than they’d been before.

One evening, they’d been chatting a bit on a post by someone who’d been caught plagiarizing an essay, and Phoenix was biding time between Patrick’s replies by scrolling through a florist’s website, trying to decide which bouquet to get Dollie. There was no particular occasion; Phoenix felt awfully proud of himself for being so proactive as to get her a gift out of the blue, though the cost of most of the bouquets was giving him heart palpitations. He was distracted from his impending death by cardiac arrest by the Facebook notification ping.

It wasn’t a reply from Patrick, though; it was someone he’d never met before.

wait are you two friends???? you seem to be using people’s posts to just hang out and chat lol

And… they weren’t wrong. With an embarrassed grimace, Phoenix scrolled back up through his conversation chain with Patrick; they’d started off with advice about how to handle the academic offense, but the last few of their comments had veered off-course to discuss their favorite classes.

So, huh. That was probably kind of rude of them, wasn’t it? It was a little unusual for Patrick, too—he usually stayed ruthlessly on-task during his little advice diatribes—and Phoenix wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that information.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a minute, but he couldn’t really think of a good explanation, so instead he shut his laptop and went to sleep.

When he woke up the next morning, he saw that he had a couple of Facebook notifications, but something paralyzed him when he went to check what they were. So, sighing, he levered himself up out of bed and into the day.

It was a quiet day, overall. Dollie had said that she was out of town for a couple of days, so Phoenix had a little more free time than he usually did. At this point, he was so used to the constant busyness that he didn’t even really know what to do with his free time, so by early evening, once all his classes were done and he’d finished the paper he had coming due, he found himself sitting in the dorm’s cafeteria.

It had been a long time since he’d been in here without having his head bent over a meal or a book, and he let his mind wander as he gazed around. For the most part, most of the people in the big hall were hanging out in groups, but there were a few like himself, sitting alone and people watching.

He was so zoned out that the first time his eyes passed over Doug Swallow, he didn’t even notice it. But a chunk of his subconscious must have sat up and taken notice, because when he glanced in that direction a second time, the distinctive copper hair caught his attention.

Phoenix froze. Doug didn’t seem to have noticed him yet; he was sitting alone, looking down at his phone, chin resting in one hand. It looked like he’d just finished his own meal and pushed his plate aside.

The smart thing would be to just… get up and leave. Talking to Doug could only be a waste of time, after all, and it wasn’t like the guy ever left him alone whenever they ran into each other. And anyway, he didn’t want to have to tell Dollie that he’d spoken to Doug again—he’d mentioned it once in passing, just because he didn’t want to be dishonest with her, and she’d responded kind of strangely.

But there was a weird furious tug in his stomach as he stared across the hall, and it kept him stuck in place. He registered, distantly, that he was worrying at the paper napkin in his hands, ripping it into little shreds.

Just get up and go, Phoenix, there’s no point staying here when you’re just going to end up snapping at each other and making a scene again.

He almost, almost made it, too. He finally managed to get his wobbly legs to respond to the input from his brain, and he was just stumbling to his feet when Doug leaned back in his seat, stretched, and glanced around the hall. Eyes landing right on Phoenix, of course.

For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Then Doug looked away and laughed under his breath.

Phoenix’s legs had gone right back to ignoring motor input, so he just sort of… stared back. After a brief but tense pause, Doug stood and moved across the hall, dropping into the seat opposite Phoenix.

“Long time no see,” he said in a tone a little too conversational for a guy who was trying to destroy Phoenix’s relationship.

“I thought maybe you’d learned your lesson,” Phoenix replied. His voice sounded oddly dull.

“I would have hoped you’d learned yours,” Doug said with a shrug. “Since you’re sitting alone, I thought maybe you and Dahlia had broken up, but I guess not, huh?”

“She’s out of town for a few days.” Why was he even telling Doug this? “But we’re doing great, thanks for asking.”

Doug propped up an elbow on the table and leaned his chin on his hand, staring Phoenix down. “What exactly would it take to convince you that she’s dangerous?”

“Literally any proof at all,” Phoenix snapped back.

Doug laughed, which was irritating. “Yeah, I guess that kind of makes sense, huh?” He sighed. “Unfortunately for me—well, for you, I guess, since you’re the one who’s in trouble—her being so good at playing you is also why she’s so good at playing the police.”

Phoenix felt two steps behind. “So what you’re saying is that you have no proof of anything, and you’re hoping that this weird mind game you’re playing will be enough to convince me anyway.”

Doug leaned back in his seat, shrugging. “Listen, to a certain extent I understand why you’d want proof, but I do think it’s weird that you’re not even willing to entertain the possibility. Like, these little chats of ours aren’t so scintillating that I’m having them for fun. You’re a pain in the ass, but here I am, trying to convince you anyway. Shouldn’t my stubbornness be enough to at least make you a little suspicious of Dahlia?”

“Maybe if you didn’t have such an obvious ulterior motive,” Phoenix hissed. “How awfully convenient that you can just pretend you broke up with her, when it’s obviously the other way around.”

“I don’t want her back, dude!” Doug said, rolling his eyes. “Trust me, I have better prospects than that.”

And that, for some reason, stung the most. Acting like he was so superior to both Dollie and to Phoenix, and he—

“Fuck off,” Phoenix muttered under his breath, getting to his feet and gathering his belongings. Luckily he just had a single plate and a couple of books; it didn’t take him long at all to pack up.

Doug had leaned forward again, resting his chin in his hand. He watched quietly as Phoenix stuffed his things into his backpack and grabbed his dish, and when Phoenix gave him a quick glance, his face was mostly impassive. He looked… 

Phoenix shook his head, slung his pack over his shoulder, and left.

He headed straight back to his dorm room, flopping onto his bed with a furious noise.

Really, he’d just gotten complacent. It had been so long since Doug had last confronted him that Phoenix had sort of unconsciously started to figure that maybe the whole mess was over and done with, but apparently he couldn’t be so lucky.

Maybe he had just assumed that Doug really had moved on from Dollie. There was that girl he was with at the café, after all. If the two of them were dating, it would be less likely that he’d still be so fixated on Dollie. That would be too simple, though, Phoenix thought, rolling over on his bedcovers.

He’d been having such a nice day, too. His grades that quarter were pretty great—turns out that studying really did pay off, which was both rewarding and kind of annoying—and he’d been organized enough lately that there were no deadlines looming over him. Of course Doug would come crawling out of the woodwork to ruin that for him.

Well, whatever. There was still the rest of the evening; maybe something could still be salvaged. Phoenix grabbed his computer from the bedside table, flipping the top open only to be presented with a couple of notifications on his Facebook home page.

Right. The last thing that had happened the previous night was someone asking if he and Patrick were friends. Which was… nice, Phoenix thought? He was pretty sure that it was nice, if a little odd, mainly because making anonymous internet friends, or acquaintances, or whatever Patrick was, wasn’t really a habit of his.

On the one hand, if he could find a post on which to bicker with Patrick, it might lift his mood a little. On the other hand, he still… hmm. He still felt a little odd about their conversation the night before which had gotten so off-track. He didn’t really want to be rude on someone else’s post.

He sighed. Back to his folder of pirated movies, then. He was down to the dregs—stuff like the third Pirates of the Caribbean movie—but at worst, it could lull him to sleep, or something.

The next day, Dollie was back in town. She texted Phoenix as soon as she arrived back at campus, but he was in a morning seminar and didn’t see the message until afterwards, getting jostled out of the classroom by the other students.

Feenie [11:01]: hey are you still on campus? i have a couple of hours until my next class, we could meet up :)

Dollie <3 [11:03]: yes i’m around! do you want to meet up at grey squirrel coffee?

Phoenix was pretty sure he knew where that was—if he was thinking of the correct place, it was on that block with the other cafés, the one where he’d seen Doug and his mystery girl that night a little while back.

Feenie [11:04]: ok, see u soon!

When he arrived, Dollie was already seated, hands wrapped around a steaming mug. She looked a little worn, staring out the window, barely blinking.

He didn’t have a drink yet, but he moved over to the table where she was sitting, taking the seat across from her. “Are you okay?”

She jumped a little, looking up at him. “Feenie! Sorry, I—” A quiet laugh. “Sorry, you startled me. Yes, I’m okay, the train ride was just long. I had to get up early.”

“Oh, right,” he said, and smiled. “Yeah, I’m not a morning person either. Do you—” Well, she already had a drink, so she probably didn’t need another one. “Do you want me to get you a muffin or a cookie or something?”

She gave him a small smile. “No, I’m okay. You look a little sleepy, though. You should get coffee.”

He was sleepy, but he didn’t really want to burden her with that, so he stayed quiet as he got up and moved over to the counter. The options on the menu board were a little dizzying—he was usually an instant-coffee-and-enough-sugar-to-hide-the-quality kind of guy—so he settled on the first option he vaguely recognized. “Can I get a hazelnut latté?”

The barista, one of those guys who looked so aloof that Phoenix felt a little embarrassed just making eye contact, nodded and went to make the drink. He tried not to fidget too much as he waited and then paid for his coffee, heading back across the café to take his seat across from Dollie again.

She was always too sharp for her own good; he’d barely sat back down across from her when she said, “Are you feeling all right?”

“What?”

She frowned, a cute little thing that drew her eyebrows together. “It feels like you’re sad about something.”

Well, he was, but he could hardly talk to her about Doug being a colossal prick; that would just upset her for no good reason. He shook his head. “I’m okay, thanks. I’m just a little stressed about classes.”

Dollie got that intense look she sometimes did, staring him down across the table. “Really?” she asked after a moment. “I thought you said that all of your classes were going well this quarter.”

“Um—”

She sighed and looked away. “Sorry, Feenie. I don’t mean to pry.”

“That’s okay,” he said, a little shakily. “It’s nothing big, I promise.”

She was quiet for a moment longer, staring out the window again. “What about…” She trailed off and bit her lip, then said, “What about that Facebook page I hear people talk about lately?”

Phoenix frowned. “Which one?”

“The, um. It’s a confession page or something?”

“Oh,” he said dumbly. He was certainly acquainted with that.

“Yes,” she said, nodding, seeming to pick up steam. “One of my classmates from Shakespearean Lit—” He tried not to cringe, remembering how he really should have signed up to take that with her, “—said that for the past couple of weeks, there have been these two boys working together to give advice to people. Apparently people have been talking about them. Benjamin, I think? And…”

“Patrick,” Phoenix muttered, and then froze. People were talking about them? Like they were some kind of unit or something? He’d thought it might just have been that one person who called them out for chatting the other night, but apparently it was a bigger deal than he realized, if Dollie was—

“That’s right!” she said. “It was Benjamin and Patrick. You’ve seen them too?”

He shook himself and tried to focus. “Um, yeah. I’ve seen them on my news feed a bit.”

“Then you’ve probably seen them giving out advice, right? If you don’t want to ask me, you could ask on the confession page. I’m sure they’d be able to help.”

“Right. Yeah.” There was a pause. “That’s a good idea. Thanks, Dollie.”

She smiled, and he tried to smile back.

He didn’t really have time to unpack that whole mess until much later in the afternoon, once he’d walked Dollie back to her dorm and then finished up all his classes for the day.

It was one thing for him to notice that he and Patrick were getting a little friendlier; after all, he was one of the people involved. It also didn’t mean a whole lot, necessarily, for a single almost-anonymous stranger to make an offhand comment about them chatting.

It was another thing entirely that they were, apparently, building a reputation for themselves—enough of one that Dollie, who was generally a little out of it when it came to on-campus trends, had heard of them.

It was just on a university confession page. That was nothing at all, really. Completely irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. But even so, Phoenix found that—

He smiled a little as he dug his textbooks out of his backpack, settling down at his desk to get started on his readings. He barely remembered his confrontation with Doug at all.

It was a few days before he could work up the courage to interact with Patrick again; something about the knowledge that people were paying attention was kind of tripping him up. There were a few questions where he felt like chipping in, but he kept talking himself out of it.

But one afternoon, he was taking a break from his readings and feeling pretty good. He’d just gotten a paper back in his law class, and he’d—well, not aced it exactly, but he’d done pretty damn well for himself, especially considering that it was his first foray into law. So, confidence revived, he took himself over to the confession page, thinking that if he could track Patrick down, maybe he could chip in on whatever he was discussing.

It didn’t take long; Patrick clearly hadn’t taken a break during Phoenix’s little hiatus, and had been pretty active. There were a couple questions that were pretty well in hand, so Phoenix scrolled down a little, looking for something new and fresh. After a few moments, he spotted another reply from Patrick, on a question about… someone worried that they were bisexual.

Patrick had said:

Hey! Glad to hear you’re questioning. I was in your shoes a few years ago, and it took me a while to finally figure out I was bi. Here are some resources that were helpful to me, hopefully they can be of some use to you too.

It was relatively short for a typical Patrick post, but he made up for the length with a long series of links to various bisexual awareness and LGBTQ sites. Phoenix barely got that far—he was still stuck on Patrick’s message, his pulse quickening as he read it over and over.

So Patrick was bi? That’s fine, he thought, his mouth suddenly dry. Maybe a little weird, but fine. 

Not weird in and of itself, of course, he hastily backtracked. There wasn’t anything wrong with a guy who liked other guys. It was just weird because it was Patrick, and after interacting with the guy for so long it didn’t quite match up to what Phoenix expected of him.

He abruptly stood up and walked to the door, then to the bed, then stared blankly at the books strewn over the bedsheets. What was he doing again? He probably needed to read one of them for class. He picked up Federal Rules of Civil Procedure and returned to his desk, only to stare back at the still-open Facebook page.

Maybe it was because they’d gained a sort of rapport recently, less antagonistic and more of a mutual respect. It had been enough that other people started to notice, even. Phoenix felt a warm bud of pride unfurl in his stomach; they were almost like friends now. Or, at least Phoenix considered themselves as kind of friends. He swallowed as he read over Patrick’s message again, the warmth fading back into anxious discomfort.

It must be because Patrick had shared something personal about himself, something that Phoenix had never thought to consider. It was just another reminder that they weren’t actually friends, and that even if they were friendly online they didn’t really know anything about each other. Patrick’s candor was another thing—Phoenix hadn’t known anyone growing up or in high school who was open about their sexuality. Maybe all of this nervousness was around trying not to say the wrong thing—of making sure to be a good ally at the very least, even if they weren’t technically friends.

Suddenly restless again, he snapped his laptop shut. Why was he thinking so hard about this? It didn’t matter. Patrick was bi, so what. Plenty of people were, and Phoenix didn’t have a problem with it. Besides, as established, he barely knew the guy anyway.

But as he fell asleep that night, he couldn’t help wondering who Patrick really was—his real name, his interests beyond giving anonymous Facebook advice, the person behind all those words—and he hoped that maybe one day he’d have the courage to ask.

When Cassandra invited herself to Doug’s dorm room one afternoon, he was sort of hoping that she’d have more gossip for him, Steve-related or otherwise.

“Nah,” she said, laughing, rooting through his minifridge. “I just know that you keep nice gin lying around.”

“It’s mid-afternoon.”

“What’s your point?” she asked, pulling a can of tonic water out of her bag. “I also just finished a test. This is a celebration.”

He watched her with a grin as she mixed herself a drink and then flopped onto his bed. “So there really hasn’t been anything going on with Steve and his two so-called fiancées?”

“Why? Have you heard anything about them?”

“Kinda. Steve wrote into the confession page—”

“Are you still doing that? You loser.”

“—and last I heard, he was worried that one of them was figuring it out.”

“Oh-ho. But you don’t know which one?”

Doug shook his head. “Nah, he didn’t specify. Which makes sense, I guess, if he was trying to stay anonymous.”

“Tragic for us, though.”

“Deeply tragic.” He sighed. “Whatever. I’m sure this will all blow up eventually.”

“And then you’ll make a mess of it on the confession page?”

“Hey, now,” he said, grinning. “Steve’s the one making a mess. I’m just along for the ride.”

She snorted. “I seriously can’t believe you’re doing that. Haven’t you run out of things to say by now?”

He shrugged and stuck his feet up on his desk. “Not really. I mean, most of the posts aren’t as spicy as Steve’s, but there’s still enough to keep me entertained.”

“Give me a highlight reel,” Cassandra said, dropping onto her side and balling his pillow up under her head.

“Don’t spill your drink on my sheets.”

“Okay, mom,” said Cassandra. “Now give me the gossip.”

“So you give me shit for going on the confession page, but still expect the rewards, huh?”

“Douglas. Gossip. Now.”

He snickered. “Fine. Let me think.” The last few weeks had been a little boring, if he was honest, which was the main reason he had started chatting with Benjamin— “Oh, shit, that reminds me.”

“Ooh, this sounds good.”

“Nah, this is more of a personal thing,” Doug said. “You remember how a little while ago at Grey Squirrel you mentioned that guy in your law class who said he was switching majors for his friend?”

Cassandra snorted. “Gay Law Student Guy? Do I ever. What a dweeb.”

“I think I know him, actually.”

“Wait, like, in real life?”

“No, through the confession page, but I’m almost positive he uses a pseudonym.”

She rolled her eyes. “I swear, you people treat this like some CIA shit. It’s a university confession page.”

“Well, anyway,” he said, grinning. “He was asking some questions a while ago about something similar—wanting to change a major for a friend—and there’s no way there’s more than one of them, right?”

“God, I hope not,” Cassandra muttered. “One of those dorks is enough for this campus.”

“He’s actually kind of funny,” Doug said. “Like, he’s definitely a dork, but in a—in kind of a fun way, somehow?”

“Oh my god,” she said, and rolled her eyes again. “Doug, you have literally the worst taste of anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Hey!” He laughed. “I never said I had a thing for him.”

“Don’t you?”

They stared each other down for a minute. Eventually Doug sighed. “Not really? I mean, we’ve barely talked. But he seems okay.”

“Well, he can’t be worse than Dahlia,” Cassandra said. “Unless he’s actually killed a guy.”

“Is he cute, at least?” Doug asked. “I know you’ve seen him in class.”

Cassandra yawned and rolled over on his bed, almost spilling her drink. “All men are objectively hideous, Doug.”

He laughed. “Okay, so taking that as a given, is he on the cute side of objectively hideous, or on the objectively hideous side of objectively hideous?”

“Hmmmm,” she said, and took a long drink. “Somewhere in the middle, I guess.”

“Let’s try to translate this into a language you speak. Is he more or less hot than that Erica girl I hooked up with last month?”

“You’re comparing a guy to a woman and asking me who’s hotter? Are you serious?”

“Cass, I swear to god—”

“You disgust me, Douglas.”

“Forget I asked,” he said, laughing.

“Ugh,” she said with feeling, and downed the rest of her drink. “If you must know, I think I’d put him at, like, a six. Where zero is objectively hideous and ten is objectively hideous.”

“That’s quite the endorsement,” he said, voice dry.

“What do you want from me? I’m a lesbian. Not all of us want to smash everything with legs.”

“Okay, I do have standards.”

“Yeah, Erica’s pretty hot,” she admitted.

“She is,” he said smugly.

“Straight women are a scourge,” she mumbled.

“Works out just fine for me.”

“Shut up and hand me your gin,” Cassandra said, and pulled another can of tonic water from her bag.

Chapter Text

Luckily, most of the posts on the confession page weren’t about bisexuality, or sexuality at all, so Phoenix felt he was able to chip in again after a few days. He didn’t really have anything to contribute on that front, after all, and it would have been kind of rude to take over a post about that sort of thing.

He did feel a little nervous, the first time he struck up a conversation with Patrick after learning that he was bi—mainly, he didn’t want to make things weird—but after another couple of days, he felt like their rapport was back to normal. Well, as normal as it ever was, for two guys who didn’t really know each other at all.

Still, it was nice, to be able to log on to Facebook at the end of a long day and know that the odds were pretty good that he’d be able to bicker with Patrick for a little while before bed. And Dollie had been right that they were starting to gain some sort of reputation—sometimes, when they both ended up contributing on a post, they’d get some “oh, it’s you two” type of answer, which kind of made Phoenix grin like an idiot.

One evening, he got back to his room a little later than usual; he’d walked Dollie back to her own room, and they’d ended up hanging out together a little longer than he’d expected. He flipped his laptop open on his bed and grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste, heading to the floor’s bathroom. When he got back, his eye was caught by the notification bubble on his Facebook profile—he had several new notifications, instead of the usual one or two he’d come to expect.

He was confused for a second, then it suddenly came to him. It had to be something to do with that guy who’d proposed to two girls, right? People knew he’d thrown his hat in the ring, the couple of previous times the guy had posted, so it wouldn’t be odd if they tagged him in something new that popped up.

That wasn’t what he found when he opened up his notifications, though.

Mostly they were from strangers, which wasn’t really unusual at this point, and there were a few from Patrick, as well. But it didn’t seem like the post he’d been tagged in had anything to do with Two Fiancées Guy, so with a frown he clicked over to the post.

It was something really mundane—something to do with an argument between roommates, like they didn’t already deal with like fifteen of those per week—but Phoenix didn’t really pay attention, because he was enthralled with what was going on in the comments.

Patrick had chimed in with an answer, the way he always did, but from there the conversation had gone off the rails.

Where’s ur other half? some stranger had asked.

Patrick: Haha, what?

You know, that Benjamin guy. U two always seem to be teaming up on these posts.

I assume he’s busy? Patrick had replied. I’m sure he has other things going on in his life.

Another person had joined in at that point: hang on so ur not friends irl? i thought u were

Nope, Patrick said. We just happened to become friendly here.

From there, a bunch of people had started tagging Phoenix—well, “Benjamin”—presumably in an attempt to get him to join in and clarify what exactly was going on. After another half hour or so, with Phoenix still not showing up, the conversation had continued:

seems super weird that you guys get along so well and still haven’t become irl friends, another stranger had said.

The whole point of this page is that it’s anonymous, Patrick had pointed out. Maybe he wants to leave it that way.

hmmmmmm how suspicious that you didn’t say you weren’t interested in being his friend…………

Ha, caught me, Patrick said. But seriously. I’m not interested in pressuring anyone into anything.

That, apparently, had been the last word, because after that the conversation had returned to the actual question at hand. Phoenix checked the timestamps; it had only been about twenty minutes or so since Patrick’s last messages on the matter, so maybe he could—

Without thinking, he typed out a response. uhhh i’m kinda late to this whole party huh

After only a couple minutes, he got a ping. It was from Patrick. Hey, sorry, dude. We got pretty off-topic. Don’t worry about it.

Which was… reasonable. Because Patrick was right; it was an anonymous page, and it would be kind of weird if they took away that whole aspect. But… hadn’t he also said that he wouldn’t have minded being Phoenix’s friend? Why was he backing off on that now?

Before the pit of disappointment in Phoenix’s stomach could get too heavy, he was startled by a direct message notification popping up. It was from Patrick, too, and Phoenix leaned back on his bed, hands going a little tingly.

Why was he suddenly messaging Phoenix directly? Maybe he just wanted to be diplomatic about letting him down gently. But no, because again, he had said he wanted to be friends, so—Phoenix shook his head. No point in catastrophizing when he could just read the message instead.

Hey! Patrick wrote. Sorry about that whole mess on the confession page. I probably should have stopped it all before it got that far.

That was it? That was really all he was going to say about it? Feeling oddly furious, Phoenix typed a reply. 

i mean it was kind of weird to come back to those notifications but it’s fine

That’s why I’m sorry, Patrick replied, almost immediately. It was rude of us to talk behind your back like that.

it would only have been rude if you said you didn’t like me, lol

Haha. Is this your way of calling me out for saying that I wouldn’t mind being friends?

So he wasn’t denying it, then. Okay. That was good to know. Phoenix flopped onto his side on the bed, then rubbed his face, then sat back up again. yeah lol i guess so, he typed.

Well, I wasn’t just saying it to be polite. But seriously, don’t worry about it if it makes you uncomfortable.

It did, a little, but probably not in the way Patrick was thinking—Phoenix wasn’t really great at making friends, and was a little out of practice with the concept in general, since he and Dollie had gotten together. Hell, even he and Larry had barely talked in weeks. Patrick really was the closest thing he had to a friend right now.

But really, wasn’t that all the more reason to give it a try?

uh no it’s fine, Phoenix said, then when a minute or so went by without a response, added, i wouldn’t mind it either

Okay! Patrick responded, which was one of the first times Phoenix had ever seen him use an exclamation point. We could uhhhhh meet up or something? I’m not really sure what standard procedure is for meeting internet friends. Aside from “don’t get murdered and don’t accept beverages you don’t know the origins of.”

Phoenix laughed. i’ll try not to murder you, i promise

Good to know. Does Friday work? I have class until 3 but could meet up somewhere on campus afterwards, if you’re free.

Phoenix was free at that time, so they messaged a little more, arranging everything. Neither of them was really worried about stranger danger, seeing as they were both men, but they chose a spot on campus anyway—just behind the pharmacology building, which was usually a pretty private spot, but not so isolated that it was a safety concern.

Strangely enough, Friday snuck up on him. Given how nervous he was about it, he had kind of assumed that the lead-up would drag on, but between schoolwork and Dollie he was able to keep himself distracted—so before he knew it, it was Friday at 3pm, an hour before he was supposed to meet Patrick, and Phoenix realized that he wasn’t a hundred percent sure where the pharmacology building was. He knew he’d walked past it before, but couldn’t remember exactly which intersection it was at, and he was still wearing sweatpants, too, which was probably not great for first impressions.

He changed into a pair of jeans, then stared himself down in the mirror. He looked fine? His hair was doing the thing it always did, but he’d long since given up on that. The jeans fit him well enough, and he was wearing a sweater in his favourite shade of blue, which always boosted his mood.

He checked the clock again. 3:40pm. He hadn’t realized he’d spent so much time trying to sort out his appearance—and a quick internet search had told him that his destination on campus was about fifteen minutes away, so it was go time. He smoothed his palms down the front of his top, grabbed his phone, and headed out.

The pharmacology building was easy enough to find, once he determined where he was going. It was kind of ugly, but so were a lot of the buildings on campus, and anyway, it was a science building, so it was only to be expected.

Didn’t Doug Swallow study pharmacology? It had been a pretty long time since Phoenix had searched him up on LinkedIn, but he had a vague memory of that being the case. Well, whatever.

He arrived just before 4pm and found a shady spot behind the building. It was a nice enough day, but Phoenix wasn’t really paying attention to the weather. It occurred to him, suddenly, that he didn’t really know what he and Patrick might even talk about. All of their previous conversations had hinged on other people’s issues, after all. What if they couldn’t think of anything to say to each other when it was just the two of them, by themselves?

He might have started a worry spiral, but that was interrupted by the arrival of someone Phoenix really didn’t want to see—namely, Doug Swallow. He froze, then ducked his head and looked away. If he was correct in his memory that Doug studied pharmacology, then it probably wasn’t the strangest thing ever that he was here, but still. Phoenix had had a blissful few weeks since they’d last run into each other, and he was hoping to extend the streak.

No such luck. Phoenix heard a short intake of breath, then a quiet laugh.

“You know,” Doug said, “most people develop object permanence by the time they’re toddlers. The ‘if I can’t see you, then you can’t see me’ routine doesn’t really work.”

Ugh. “Shut up,” Phoenix said, then cringed when Doug laughed again.

“Don’t worry. I’m not here to pick on you, surprisingly enough. I’m just meeting up with someone and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Not going to try to steal my girlfriend again?”

“Absolutely fucking not,” said Doug, and Phoenix could hear the grin. He looked over at Doug, glaring. “Like I keep telling you,” Doug added, “I’m doing just fine without her.”

“Why do you keep making such a point of saying that?”

“Probably because you keep bringing it up?” Doug looked incredulous. “Like, the implication seems to be that if I can’t have Dahlia, I’m doomed to this dismal, sexless future, but we’re in university. I really do have other prospects.”

“No wonder Dollie couldn’t stand you, if that’s the way you think about relationships.”

“My, aren’t we judgmental,” said Doug. “Listen. I’m not trying to imply that sex is the only point of a relationship, but there’s no need to be all puritanical, either.”

“Whatever,” Phoenix mumbled under his breath.

Doug sighed, and after a moment he sat down against the building too, several feet away from Phoenix. Phoenix pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared intently at the screen, praying for some sort of distraction. With any luck, Patrick would show up soon and then he’d be able to escape this weird hellscape he’d wandered into.

After another couple minutes of waiting, Doug spoke up again. “Okay, this is not me trying to steal Dahlia back—”

“Seriously, shut up—”

“—but have you even spent a couple minutes thinking about what I told you about her?”

“Why would I waste time on that?”

“Because she killed someone? Or poisoned him with the intent to kill, anyway.”

Phoenix ground his teeth together. “And like I keep saying, that’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard in my life. Seriously, poisoning?”

“You know,” Doug said dryly, “I’d think that if anything, that would make my story more plausible. Because you’re right, it is far-fetched. If I was trying to invent a weird cover story, wouldn’t I go for something more realistic?”

Phoenix didn’t reply, so Doug sighed again. “Why are you at the pharmacology building, anyway? I thought you were studying art.”

“Art and law,” Phoenix mumbled.

“Oh, really?” Doug actually sounded vaguely interested by that.

“Yeah, it’s—”

“Wait, and law?”

Phoenix looked over. Doug looked suddenly off-kilter.

“...Yeah?” Phoenix said. “It’s not that weird, people switch majors all the time—”

“Phoenix,” Doug said, and they both stared at each other for a second, Doug incredulous and Phoenix confused. “Why are you at the pharmacology building?”

“I’m waiting for someone.”

Doug stared at him for a second longer, then laughed and got to his feet. “Great. Cool. Who are you waiting for?”

“That’s none of your business,” Phoenix snapped.

“Are you waiting for someone named Patrick?”

Phoenix froze. That was—he didn’t—

Doug saw the look on his face and laughed again, a little hysterically. “Oh my god. Oh my fucking god, you’re—”

“This is a joke, right?”

“Nope!” Doug said, and flung his arms out theatrically. “That’s me!”

Phoenix’s mind ran through about fifteen different things to say, but they all felt hopelessly inadequate.

“So you’re the one who switched to law for a friend, huh? How’s that going?”

“My grades are good,” Phoenix mumbled, like that was what Doug was asking.

“Jesus, you’re—does Dahlia know about that?”

“Shut up—”

“Wow, this really is something else,” Doug said, sounding oddly conversational. “Of all the gin joints, huh?”

“Fuck off,” Phoenix said, surging to his feet. He and Doug stared at each other for a moment longer, Phoenix furious and Doug a little manic, then Phoenix spun on his heel and fled.

After Phoenix stomped off, Doug dropped to sitting on the ground, then laid down in the dirt entirely. He giggled for a second, then rolled onto his side, then rolled onto his back again.

So, okay. Benjamin Hunter was actually Phoenix Wright, which meant that Phoenix Wright was—Doug could say this with a fairly high degree of certainty—attracted to men.

A fellow bisexual guy, then? That would be nice, actually. There didn’t seem to be many of them around. Phoenix seemed pissed right now, but maybe after Doug gave him some time to cool down, he could reach back out to try to be friends.

But… this whole mess had started because Phoenix had some guy friend, or not-friend, whom he cared enough about to change his career for.

All this while dating Dahlia Hawthorne.

Okay. The math wasn’t really adding up here, but Doug was a smart guy. He could figure this out, probably.

Here were the facts, then: Phoenix Wright was almost certainly attracted to guys, and almost certainly didn’t realize it. Phoenix Wright was dating a woman, who Doug knew from first-hand experience could be very charming when she wanted to be. Phoenix professed to be in love with this woman after just a couple of months. He also cared enough about a guy friend that he was apparently willing to move heaven and earth just for a chance to talk to him.

Which made Doug think, suddenly, of the times he’d seen Phoenix with Dahlia, the sort of stiff expression he’d sometimes get around her, the over-the-top gestures of romance, his insistence that he really loves her, actually, just fuck off, Doug!

Who was he trying to convince, exactly?

Fuck. This whole debacle had been a little funny to start with but now Doug just felt sad and kind of sick. He, at least, was bisexual, so while his relationship with Dahlia had sucked for a whole host of reasons, he was genuinely attracted to her, for whatever that was worth. But if Phoenix was gay, the way Doug was beginning to strongly suspect…

Yeah. Fuck.

Eventually Doug pulled himself up off the ground, went back to his dorm, and took a very long, very hot shower.

When he got out, he stared at himself in the mirror for a minute, then pulled his phone out.

Doug [17:14]: So remember Gay Law Student Guy?
Cassandra [17:15]: the dork in my class? what about him
Doug [17:15]: Turns out I do know him after all. He’s the guy dating my ex.
Cassandra [17:15]: pardon my french but what the christ
Cassandra [17:16]: ok this is not a conversation to be had over text message i’m coming to your room
Doug [17:16]: If you have any of that wine left I am quite literally begging you to bring it
Cassandra [17:16]: can do

She showed up in no time at all, which was very on brand, given her general interest in gossip.

“Your fantastic taste in romantic partners strikes again,” she said as soon as she entered his room.

He glared at her from his position almost-facedown on the bed.

“Alright, you bisexual disaster, move over and we can have a chat.”

He sighed and sat up and took the glass of wine she handed him. “This is insane.”

“I’ll say.” She snorted. “Didn’t you keep talking about how much of an idiot he is?”

“Yeah.” Doug shook his head.

“So, hang on, backtrack and explain this whole mess to me. How did you figure this out anyway?”

He sighed very heavily. “So remember how I said that I was sort of making friends with him on the confession page?”

“Yeah,” she said, and then frowned. “Wait, you decided to meet up with an internet stranger? Didn’t your parents teach you about stranger danger?”

“It’s the middle of the day. Well, it’s still light out, at least. And we met somewhere public.” He took a drink of wine. “Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that I went to the pharmacology building, which was our meeting point, and there was Phoenix Wright.”

“Phoenix! That was his name. Weird name.”

Doug shrugged. “He’s a weird guy, so it works.”

She gave him a long look. “So basically, your nebulous internet crush turned out to be the idiot that your ex is dating.”

“He’s not my crush.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “You asked me if he was cute.”

“Hey, that’s relevant information no matter what.”

“Whatever,” she said with a snort.

They were quiet for a minute, then he muttered, “This sucks.”

“Hey, it’s not a big deal,” Cassandra said. “Neither of us has any need for straight men, so we can just go back to ignoring his existence.”

“Cass! Focus!” He snapped his fingers in her face. “Don’t you remember how this whole thing started? He’s changing his career path for a male friend. You literally called him a fellow gay the first time you mentioned him to me. We have been referring to him exclusively as Gay Law Student Guy.”

“But he’s…” She frowned. “He’s dating a woman.”

“Exactly.”

She stared at him for a minute. “Well, fuck.”

“That’s pretty much what I said.” Doug flopped onto his back and Cassandra looked down at him, worried. “Like, I thought maybe he could be bisexual, but I just don’t think that makes sense. You’ve never seen him interact with Dahlia, but…” He shook his head. “He looks super uncomfortable with her. I figured it was just because he’s a weirdo, but… Ugh. I don’t think so anymore.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “So he’s… closeted.”

“Seems that way.”

“Or maybe he really is just an awkward nerd?” she said, a touch hopefully.

“Come on,” he said with a sigh. “You’ve seen him talk about his friend he’s going to law school for. What do you think?”

Cassandra laughed. “Okay, yeah, no, he’s gay. But really, Doug. I’ve been telling you for months that you shouldn’t be getting involved in that whole mess with Dahlia anyway. She tried to kill someone. That doesn’t change now that you’ve realized you’ve talked to her boyfriend on the internet a few times. Besides, didn’t you say that he was a pain in the ass?”

“He is,” Doug said. “But he’s… I don’t know.”

She stared him down again for a second. “Well, I can’t tell you what to do. But be careful, at least.”

“I know, dad.”

She smiled at him and took his glass to pour him more of their terrible wine.

Of all people. Of all fucking coincidences. 

Phoenix stormed all the way back to the dorms, furious. Patrick Hauméot was Doug fucking Swallow. What were the odds of that? Only around one in 40,000, according to a distant memory of Ivy U statistics from orientation several years ago. Forty thousand students. And any one of them could have been Patrick, but of course it had to be Doug Swallow. Because Phoenix couldn’t have one good thing, apparently.

He slammed open the door to his room and flung himself onto the bed, yelling into his pillow. All of their past conversations rolled through his mind like a credit reel—the debate about an annoying friend; the guy who was engaged to two girls; the most recent one where they'd agreed to meet up in person—

All this time he’d been sharing advice with Doug. He’d wanted to be friends with Doug. The same asshole who kept trying to slander Dollie and destroy their relationship. With one last muffled scream he flipped onto his back and glowered at the ceiling.

His only consolation was that Doug hadn’t known either, so at least it wasn’t some kind of sick practical joke. Doug’s dismayed expression would have almost been funny, even, if Phoenix hadn’t been so horrified himself.

The worst part was that Patrick—or rather, Doug, Phoenix reminded himself with a grimace—kept posting on the confessions page as if nothing had changed. Same pseudonym, same posting frequency, same variation of horribly precocious advice.

It was infuriating.

After a week or so of silence on his part, people started to notice. On a post about someone who was afraid of owning up to accidentally ruining their lab partner’s quarter-long project, where Doug had commented that no, ignoring your problems didn’t actually solve them, one person asked, i haven't seen benjamin around in a while, is he okay?

And Doug’s response: 

Not sure why you ask as if I know. Although, midterms are coming up so he might just be busy studying.

Phoenix wanted to throw his phone against the wall. “As if I know.” He knew perfectly well. Acting as if they hadn’t known each other before all this, as if he didn’t care how his relentless hounding and baseless accusations had impacted Phoenix. As if all their interactions as Patrick and Benjamin had meant nothing to him, and he was above all of that now.

He remembered how Doug had laughed when he put two and two together, a crazed, incredulous sort of laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. How terrible it must have been for him, to find out that his anonymous advice partner was the guy he’d been jealous of all along.

Take some of your own fucking advice, Doug, Phoenix thought, glaring at the confession post. He couldn't just go around pretending that their meetup never happened. Maybe he was just trying to hide his embarrassment at wanting to be friends with someone he had assumed to be an idiot. Phoenix felt some sort of vicious satisfaction at that—Doug may have treated him like an idiot, but he’d wanted to be friends with that idiot in the first place, so who was the real idiot here?

Which led Phoenix right back to where he started—humiliated and furious. Doug seemed intent to forget all about Phoenix, clearly. Obviously he had to make it impossible for Doug to do that without admitting that he’d enjoyed at least one interaction with Phoenix.

So, “Patrick” had wanted to be friends with “Benjamin”, hadn’t he? Well maybe he would be friends then, in the most annoying way possible. 

Phoenix typed “Doug Swallow” in the Facebook search bar, and very quickly found the right profile. Or, he was pretty confident it was, at least—his university was listed as Ivy U and that was definitely his face in the profile picture, complete with short copper hair and that stupid bright red jacket.

Fueled by spite and righteous anger, he clicked the “Add Friend” button before he could allow himself to reconsider. And then, he waited.

He scrolled through the memes page for a bit to relieve some of the day’s stress. Someone had changed the name from “Fresh Memes for Ivy U Teens” to “Hedera Helix Memes for Ivy U Teens”, whatever that meant, but it seemed like some people had strong feelings about it. 

um, hedera helix is INVASIVE, actually, someone commented. but sure the destruction of California’s natural ecosystem is funny so!!!

To which another person responded: u mad bro

The original poster was, as it turned out, mad about it, and wrote five paragraphs in response, which Phoenix was certain were educational but did not bother to read. The rest of the day’s memes were sorely lacking in freshness and funniness, so he stretched and then headed off to the bathroom to shower. By the time he returned there was a red blip in the corner of his notifications, and, stomach flipping, he clicked it and saw that Doug had accepted his friend request.

Ha! he thought, feeling fiercely elated. Satisfied with his work for the day, he closed his laptop and went to bed.

But a few more days went by with Doug still posting as Patrick on the confessions page, so Phoenix had to adjust his strategy. He wanted Doug to be painfully aware of his existence, while at the same time making it clear that he didn’t care at all about Doug or what he thought of him. He thought back to his freshman year of college, when Larry had found it hilarious to use Facebook’s poking feature to bother Phoenix whenever he could. He quickly got bored of that, thankfully, but it might be precisely the right level of annoying that Phoenix was aiming for. He navigated over to Doug’s profile and, taking a deep breath, clicked the poke button.

There. That was easy. He did a quick lap around the room to shake off a sudden restlessness and cracked his knuckles, ready to distract himself with his law paper while he waited for...something to happen. For some indication that Doug had noticed the poke, or something.

He wasn’t sure what he would do if Doug didn’t respond—he hadn’t thought that far, but now that he’d already sent it off doubt was starting to creep in. He had just opened a new window and clicked on twenty or so research links when the notification sound pinged on his computer, stating that Doug had responded with a poke of his own. Perfect. 

Phoenix shot off another poke without hesitation. Take that, Doug.

Facebook was quiet for a long while after that, which was probably for the best since Phoenix really needed to get going on this paper. But after around an hour, when he was starting to think about what to do for dinner, his computer pinged with another notification, this time a direct message from Doug.

Hey

Phoenix clicked out of the message as fast as he could, heart pounding. Okay, so maybe he should have known Doug might message him directly, but at least this seemed to indicate that his plan was working? Feeling vindicated, he sent off another poke and returned to his paper, muting his computer volume this time to avoid distractions. He allowed himself to check Facebook during his allotted break time and saw, in addition to a return poke, another two messages, sent about ten minutes apart.

Hello?  

As fun as this poking thing is, Facebook messenger also exists you know.

Alright, the plan was definitely working. The only problem now was trying to figure out what to do about these messages. Doug could see that he'd read them, so he had to know that Phoenix was ignoring him on purpose. Even so, his fingers itched to type some sort of witty comeback, just to make it extra clear. Don’t do it, Phoenix, he told himself sternly, and instead got up to make himself a quick dinner of cup noodles with an egg.

Doug didn’t message him again until the next evening, after trading pokes back and forth over the course of the day.

So...did you need something, or…?

I’ll admit, it’s kind of weird for you to friend me out of nowhere only to ignore me. I guess I’m flattered?

Phoenix knew he shouldn’t respond, but Doug’s sarcastic tone was starting to grate on him. Even worse, it made him sound just like Patrick, which of course made sense because they were the same goddamn person. Irritation won out against his better judgment, and he furiously typed: i thought it'd be a nice change of pace for you. besides, don't you love talking to yourself?

Wow, hi to you too. A nice change of pace would be if you could chill out for one second, but that seems like too much to ask for. 

Affronted, Phoenix’s hands hovered over the keyboard, but Doug had already added: Look, I know you don’t like me, but you also didn’t have to friend me, so the hostility seems a little unwarranted. The poking is cute and all but if you wanted my attention there are better ways to go about it.

it’s not cute it’s supposed to be annoying

Too bad dealing with you has desensitized me to minor annoyances, then.

Phoenix ground his teeth in frustration. He knew giving Doug any opportunity to retaliate was a bad idea—it had always been a bad idea, and had never, ever worked in any of their interactions. But something about him goaded Phoenix into responding anyway, as if every conversation was a challenge just to prove that he wasn’t as stupid as Doug seemed to believe.

what do you want

Uhhhhhhh, I should be the one asking you that? 

well i didn’t want you to talk to me that’s for sure

Interesting, I definitely got that message given that you only Facebook poke me at every opportunity.

Ugh, why did Doug have to be such an asshole ? Phoenix shot back with: so hows it feel to be on the other side of being ignored huh

Uhhhh….huh? What the fuck are you on about

Wait, do you think I’m ignoring you? I mean, I’m talking to you now, aren’t I? And even started the conversation? Or are you operating on some other definition, because I’d love to know.

you’re— Phoenix began to type, then deleted it. All of his justifications seemed suddenly insignificant, especially since Doug was technically right—he had initiated the conversation in the first place. 

but you keep— Annoyed at himself, he deleted it again. The more he thought about it, the harder it became to pin down the precise source of his irritation. What was he so mad about, exactly? About Doug continuing to post on the confessions page without him? He couldn’t admit to that, not unless he wanted Doug to rip into him about individual autonomy and parasocial boundaries and interesting that you care so much for a guy you supposedly hate.

Ugh. This was getting him nowhere. Phoenix sat, paralyzed by his swirling thoughts, when Doug started typing again.

Alright. Listen.

I might be a bit of a prick, but I meant everything that I've said before as Patrick. And I AM still interested in being friends, if you’re up for it. Or, being friendly acquaintances at least. 

I just wanted to give you some space since neither of us seemed to be on our best behavior then. But I’m willing to put all that behind me if you are too. I won’t even bring up Dahlia again, since I know that’s a touchy subject. 

So I guess, what I'm saying is, my messages are always open if you want to talk about anything. I’ll try to be nice. Just, no need for any more poking okay? 

And then, a few seconds later: Wow maybe I do like talking to myself, huh

That startled Phoenix into a laugh. His fingers unfurled from his fists as he reached for the keyboard—he hadn’t even realized he’d been clenching them so tightly.

“prick” is a bit of an understatement lol. but...thanks

also don’t worry about trying to be nice, i kno how hard it is for you

Doug replied back immediately with: Hah! Good to know you still have a sense of humor.

Phoenix bit his lip, holding back a grin. This wasn’t how he expected the conversation to go, but he almost felt...relieved? It felt comfortable, like slipping back into Patrick and Benjamin instead of Doug and Phoenix. 

Doug seemed to think similarly, because he added: By the way, are you ever planning on going back to being Benjamin? The people miss you, you know.

are u sure it’s not you who misses me, lol

Doug was silent for a moment, and Phoenix wondered if maybe he’d laid it on too thick.

Ha ha, funny. If I’m being honest though, it has been pretty boring these days.

oh yeah? Phoenix wrote, curious.

Yep, Doug replied. There's only so much roommate drama a guy can handle.

Phoenix tried thinking of something to respond with that wasn’t just an obligatory haha, but the minutes stretched on and Doug didn’t add anything more after that. It was getting late, he supposed, checking the time. And he accomplished what he meant to with this conversation anyway. Probably? Maybe. He ignored the nagging part of his brain that reminded him about the original plan of not wanting to talk to Doug at all. In any case, he no longer felt as angry as he had before, so surely that counted for something. 

Whatever. He was too tired to sort through all of his thoughts on the matter. He’d leave the Doug problem for another day.

Chapter Text

Doug was studying for his toxicology midterm when he got the first notification. Phoenix Wright sent you a friend request!

He stared at the computer screen, closed out of the browser, and opened Facebook again. Yep, still there. Phoenix Wright wanted to be Facebook friends with him, and it wasn’t some weird glitch.

Or was it? It had to be a mis-click on his part, right? There was no way Phoenix would friend him on purpose, not with the way he’d reacted when he found out that Patrick was actually Doug’s pseudonym account. On the other hand, if it wasn’t a mistake and Phoenix truly, genuinely sent him a friend request of his own volition, then maybe Doug had some hope of finally getting through to him about Dahlia. Or at least could start nudging him in the right direction.

In any case, it was clear that being upfront about Dahlia hadn’t been getting him anywhere. Phoenix seemed determined to make the relationship work, even at the cost to his physical safety and emotional wellbeing. Doug had planned to give him some space before trying to reach out again, hopefully leveraging whatever goodwill his identity as “Patrick” had left to spare after the whole meetup fiasco. But if Phoenix was reaching out to him now, perhaps he was ready to interact on friendly terms again.

Obviously they could get along—they'd been chatting through pseudonyms for months by now and had liked each other enough to meet in person—so it wasn’t an issue of clashing personalities. Doug had even—

He abruptly cut off that train of thought. Phoenix had a girlfriend, and was possibly in love with some other guy, and didn't even know he was gay. All on top of being Phoenix, annoying dweeb that he was.

So. Friends was clearly the best option here, on all accounts.

He accepted the request and got on with the rest of his day. He had, in fact, forgotten about it until a few days later, when Cassandra barged into his room to ransack his gin again. She arrived with news in return this time—apparently her hot law professor was going through a divorce. 

“Don’t get too excited,” he told her. “Do you even know if she likes women? Also she’s what, like twenty years older than you? On top of being your professor? That’s a recipe for disaster if I’ve ever seen one, and I’ve seen a lot of shit.”

“Wow, way to ruin a girl’s dreams,” she sniffed. “I’ll never know what the straight girls see in you.”

He laughed, and was distracted from further ribbing by a notification ping on his phone. Good timing—maybe it was a response to one of his posts on the confessions page that they could laugh about instead. He absently swiped to the notification and nearly choked when he read the most unexpected combination of words he ever thought he’d see: Phoenix Wright poked you!

He slapped his hands over his face, cheeks hot with second-hand embarrassment. You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Wooow, a poke, huh?” said Cassandra, hovering over his shoulder. “Are you gonna fuck him?”

“Absolutely not.”

“But he poked you.”

“I’m like, ninety-nine percent sure he doesn’t know what that means.”

It was generally pretty unambiguous when coming from a guy at Ivy U—Doug had had a few hookups that way. But there was absolutely no way Phoenix “I’m straight actually” Wright knew the subtext in this instance.

While he was busy trying to fathom the inner workings of Phoenix’s mind, Cassandra reached over his shoulder and pressed the “poke back” button.

“Cass—!”

“What?” she said. “I’m helping.”

“You are doing the exact opposite of that.”

“Fine, you’re right. I’m being extemporaneous and exciting, unlike some people.”

“Using GRE words now, are you?”

“No, I’m just naturally smart. Don’t change the subject, Douglas.”

His phone interrupted them with another notification ping, cheerfully announcing a new poke from Phoenix Wright. Cassandra burst into laughter, rolling back onto his bed.

Oh my god. This was going to be the death of him.

“You have to message him, Doug,” she said, wiping her eyes. “It’s the law.”

“It’s not.”

“Okay, well, I’m the one taking a law class and you’re not, so I think I have more authority here.”

“Ugh fine,” Doug groaned. “But I want it on the record that I am in no way interested and am only doing this to get him to stop...whatever the hell he thinks he’s doing. He’ll thank me in the long run.”

“Hmmm...request denied. We need to reconsider the evidence.”

“You’re terrible, you know that.”

“I’d rather be terrible than have bad taste,” she shot back, grinning.

“Once again, not interested,” he said. “He doesn’t even know he’s gay. Plus, he’s got that ‘friend’, remember? The one he’s in your law class for?”

“Oh yeah…” She tapped her chin, considering for a second, then leaned forward and clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, I’m rooting for you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

“This is recompense, Doug,” she added smugly, “for being unsympathetic to my cause.”

“Ugh,” he said again, and swiped a long swig of her gin and tonic.

By the time Cassandra left he felt drunk enough to finally try messaging Phoenix. He sent off a brief hey in the hopes of catching Phoenix’s attention, but all it seemed to accomplish was getting him another poke sent back in return, alongside a sinking suspicion that he really wasn’t drunk enough for this after all. After a few more attempts to no avail, he gave up and crashed face-down on the bed.

Phoenix was annoyingly unresponsive over the next day as well, apparently having lost his ability to type in favor of clicking the Facebook poke button. Doug wasn’t sure why he kept trying at this point, except for the slight possibility that Phoenix might finally be willing to listen to reason. Not so, as it turned out—Phoenix’s ensuing messages were just as angry and nonsensical as their in-person conversations had been. 

“What the fuck is his logic here,” he muttered, typing out some response to Phoenix’s latest message. But then Phoenix mentioned something about being ignored, and the pieces started to click.

Was that it, then? Phoenix was lonely? It still didn’t make sense why he would lash out at Doug’s early attempts at civility if that were the case, but Doug already knew he was a weird guy so of course he’d have some weird internal reasoning. Phoenix hadn’t posted as Benjamin since their meet-up, and Doug suddenly wondered if he had any friends who weren’t online personas or guys who didn’t want to talk to him.

And it wasn’t like Doug himself was the pinnacle of popularity, but at least he had Cassandra. Phoenix, as far as he could tell, only had Dahlia. Which was far from a healthy relationship, even in the best of circumstances.

Ah, fuck. Doug rubbed his face and sighed into his hands, then bit the bullet for the both of them. 

Whatever he did seemed to have worked, because Phoenix calmed down after that. Most importantly, he stopped with the damned poking. He even messaged Doug a few days later, entirely unprompted, while he and Cassandra were eating lunch in the cafeteria. 

have you seen this yet, the message read, followed by a screenshot of some lengthy argument on the Ivy U memes page. Doug hadn’t—he’d barely been on the confessions page over the last week, what with midterms and his lab practical, much less having time to trawl through mundane memes. Apparently some fight had broken out about the name change from “Fresh Memes” to “Hedera Helix Memes”, which had the entire Department of Plant Sciences in an uproar. Several ecology majors had written in to complain about the glorification of an invasive species, inviting the opinions and mockery of everyone and their mother.

okay but why’d you have to pick hedera helix, campo pea is RIGHT THERE it even rhymes with memes and EVERYTHING

this is funnier tho??

Breaking news: ecology majors can’t rhyme haha

hmmmmm no alliteration though…….booooring

Yeah i agree its defo funnier this way. also the IPC and Dept of food and ag don’t even agree on the level of hedera helix’s impact so like *shrug* stay mad

TRAITOR!!! Of course an INTERNATIONAL AG major would say that!!!

Underneath the screenshot, Phoenix wrote: place your bets i’m with the meme mods

Doug snorted and replied: I dunno, you don't want to fuck with ecologists.

“You’re smiling, Doug,” said Cassandra.

“Hm?” he replied, looking up from his phone.

“So, you did fuck him, then.”

“Oh my god,” he said, “fuck off.”

His phone pinged again, and he glanced down to see that Phoenix had sent some image of the Ivy U logo on a backdrop of green ivy with the words: When Hedera Helix is a CALEPPC List A-1 Invasive; When Hedera Helix is Your University’s Namesake

this is the kind of stuff they’re up against lol, he wrote. 

Alright, that’s pretty good, Doug admitted.

“Forget Steve and his two fiancées,” Cassandra said, propping her chin in her hands, “this is the real juicy shit right here.”

“You keep saying that as if there’s any basis for it.”

“Yeah, cuz you keep grinning at your phone like an idiot.”

“The meme page is falling apart in real time, Cass, how else do you want me to react?”

“Oh damn, is it?” She whipped out her phone, then snickered once she saw what was happening there. “Is that what he’s texting you about then? I swear, neither of you have any lives outside of this stuff.”

“As if you’re better,” he shot back, flicking a fry onto her empty plate. She laughed and ate it happily.

“All joking aside, I’m assuming the conversation went well? If he’s still talking to you, that is.”

“It was…” Doug paused, trying to recall exactly how it had gone. “Weird. But I think we figured it out.”

“I’ll say,” she smirked.

“Not like that.”

“Mm- hm.”

“Cass.”

Cassandra gave him a sidelong glance, then sighed and leaned forward over the table.

“Okay, listen. What I’m about to tell you is extremely confidential and if you ever tell anyone else I’ll be forced to silence you. But you’re a pretty decent-looking guy, Doug. I’m sure you could get whoever you want—weird dorks included—if you put your mind to it.”

“Just decent-looking, huh?” he said, electing to ignore the last half of her statement. “Another glowing endorsement from Cass.”

“You heard me. I’d even put you at like, a 5.”

“You mean on the scale of objectively hideous to objectively hideous?”

She rolled her eyes with a disgusted tch. “Ugh, Doug. Obviously the further you are from the objectively hideous ends, the better.”

“Right, obviously.”

She smiled and then tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Anyway, let’s talk about my problems now. Be on the lookout for any cute girls who like other girls, okay? I’m starved for hand holding.”

“Scandalous,” he said through a mouthful of fries.

“Well, not just hand holding, but I thought I’d spare you the details.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“Dick,” she laughed, and wadded up her napkin to throw at him.

Dollie picked up on his Doug-related distraction immediately, but for the most part she seemed content to leave him to his own devices—until suddenly she wasn’t.

“Feenie,” she said, sitting on his bed one day while he was trying to power through an essay on Hamlet so that they could hang out properly.

He tried to suppress a sigh, and turned to face her. “I’m almost done, I promise. I have less than a paragraph left.”

“Oh, that isn’t it,” she said, and scooted to the edge of his bed. “I’m just worried about you.”

“W-what? Why would you be?”

She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “You’ve seemed uncomfortable for a couple of weeks now. Did something happen?”

“Uhh.” Something had, obviously, but Phoenix wasn’t ready to tell her that he’d accidentally befriended her asshole ex-boyfriend. “It’s okay, Dollie. I promise I’m fine.”

She reached out to him, and he moved to sit next to her on the bed, taking her small hand in his.

“Is it something to do with your friend?” she asked, and he stiffened.

“What do you mean?”

“That boy we’ve seen in the newspapers a few times. You know, the one you’re taking law courses for? Instead of Shakespearean Lit?”

He went to sigh with relief—thank god she hadn’t learned anything about Doug and their mishap—but then realized that it was hardly any better if she asked about Miles. “Oh,” he said, and glanced away. What should he tell her? He couldn’t think of a worse topic than discussing Doug, and she already knew about Miles anyway… so maybe that was safer? Or he could invent an entirely unrelated cover story, maybe. Something to do with one of his classes. But she’d called him out for that last time, too.

“Feenie?”

Shit, he’d been lost in thought for too long. “It’s Miles,” he said reflexively, then winced when her lips thinned.

“Still?” she asked, and then before he could respond, added, “I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything else, since you are still taking law classes.”

He gave her hand a feeble squeeze. “It’s just one class. I’m still spending as much time with you as I can. And anyway, law is a good career path, right? It pays well, so I’ll be able to support us when—”

“Feenie,” she said. “Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself? We’re only in university.”

“Well… yeah. But my parents met when they were in university, too, so I don’t think… it’s…”

She was silent for a moment longer, then looked back at him with her usual sweet smile. “I understand. Thank you, Feenie.” But then she got to her feet, instead of staying on the bed, with him, and he felt himself freeze again.

“You’re leaving?” he asked, dread collecting in a pool in his stomach. “I thought we were going to watch a movie after I finished my paper.”

“Yes, well,” she said with a smile, “that’s taking longer than I thought it would. I have some other things to work on, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.”

She reached up to his neck, touching the necklace, and he shivered. “Can I borrow the necklace before I go?”

Phoenix forced out a laugh. “Don’t be silly. You know I don’t take this off.”

Her fingers tightened around the tiny bottle momentarily, then she smiled at him and went to turn away. “I’ll see you another time, then,” she said sweetly.

She almost made it to the door before he stopped her. “Dollie. Hey.” She froze, but didn’t turn, so he moved to join her next to the door. When he took her wrist, she turned back to him, lifting her face to his. For a second he thought she was going to say something, but then she smiled instead, and allowed him to kiss her.

He still didn’t quite have the hang of it, and their noses bumped briefly before he found the correct angle. She smelled like some delicate floral perfume, and when she lifted one hand to touch the side of his neck, he barely restrained another shiver. There was the usual quivery flip in his stomach at the contact, so he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer, trying to—

She pushed lightly at his shoulder, and he stepped back. “Okay, Feenie,” she said, and smiled at him again. “Goodnight.”

After she left, he pressed his fingers to his lips. The rush in his stomach had faded when she had stepped back, and he felt strangely light and loose now that she had left, so he paced back and forth for a moment. He wasn’t—he didn’t want to make things weird with her by burdening her with his... physical reactions, so he should probably not push her so hard next time.

He sighed and turned back to his laptop. He did still have to finish that paper. He could worry more about how to reach the next step with Dollie later.

Dollie didn’t press him about Miles or his strange behavior or anything else after that, for which he was immensely grateful. He already had enough on his hands, what with the billion papers his professors assigned in place of midterm exams (he’d rather take the exams at this rate). And besides, he was still navigating this new dynamic with Doug, where they had somehow become kind-of-sort-of-maybe friends. 

It had become a habit for them to swap updates on the latest messy Facebook drama, either speculating on the next move of one of the meme page war factions or laughing over some anon’s misfortunes on the confessions page. Every time Doug messaged him he couldn’t help feeling just a little pleased, as if Doug was letting him in on an inside joke meant only for the two of them.

Some part of him felt a weird sense of guilt to be on such friendly terms with his girlfriend’s ex. Was this kind of thing normal? Would Dollie be okay with it? He figured he should bring it up to her at some point, just to be transparent, but there never seemed to be the right time.

He yawned and struggled to pay attention during his morning law class. It wasn’t that law was boring, necessarily—he could kind of see why Miles gushed about it so much when they were kids, and the professor tried her best to make it engaging—but none of that could combat a poor night’s sleep. He had ended up staying up pretty late the night before having a longer-than-usual conversation with Doug. 

They’d started out the same way they always did, with some recap and dissection of a confessions post, but this time ended up drifting into a conversation about their favorite movies and media genres. Phoenix could barely stop himself from typing at that point, finally given an outlet to share his thoughts on everything he’d watched from Larry’s movie folder. They had gone from talking about the latest Diehard movie to ideas for improving the Transformers series to the most memorable and impactful media from childhood, and it was past 3am before Phoenix even noticed. As soon as he did, though, the adrenaline rush crashed and left his mind stretched thin with late-night delirium. 

i haabe class in 7hrs??? he typed.

Oh shit, sorry, Doug replied. Better get to sleep then!

Phoenix was reluctant to just let the conversation go, despite his body’s insistence otherwise. He tried circling back around to the transformative narrative of Neon Genesis Evangelion, becoming increasingly more incoherent, before Doug laughed and assured him they could continue tomorrow and ended it all with a warm: Goodnight.

That message was still at the top of his chatbox in the morning, after his alarm reminded him of his questionable life choices. Goodnight. Phoenix couldn’t remember the last time a friend had wished him that type of small pleasantry. With Larry, they would both just stop responding and that would be that, at least until the next time Larry got dumped or bored. Phoenix and Dollie texted each other sweet greetings and farewells every day, of course, but that was different. Goodnight. How ironic, that his sleep had been terrible after that.

He caught himself nodding off again and gripped his face in his hands, forcing it towards the professor. He spent so much energy trying to pay attention that he ended up not being able to process anything she actually said in the next few minutes. Sighing, he resigned himself to a wasted lecture and hoped that he could catch up in the next discussion group meeting later in the week.

His fuzzy mind perked up a bit at his phone buzzing in his pocket, but it was only a text from Dollie asking whether he’d be available for lunch with her after class. sure!!! he sent back, grateful for something to look forward to after a groggy morning. There was nothing new from Doug yet, although he supposed it made sense since they both stayed up late. Familiar guilt began to creep up from the pit of his stomach—he really should tell Dollie about this... thing between them, especially if it would keep impacting his state of mind like this.

Maybe he could mention something about it to her today at lunch. Just drop a quick: So you know how I’ve been acting weird lately? Well turns out this guy I became friends with online is actually your ex-boyfriend, and now we’re irl friends! Small world, huh.

Ugh. He could already anticipate all the questions that would bring, and it only gave him a stronger headache.

At last the lecture finally ended, and Phoenix let go a sigh of relief. He looked down at his notebook and saw that he managed to write down the words “uno flatu” and “subpoena duces tecum” even though he had no recollection of doing so nor knew what they meant. He packed up his books and followed the rest of the class outside in the hopes that a long lunch break might energize him.

He scanned the courtyard, but no sign of Dollie. Instead, he spied Doug sitting at one of the planters outside the lecture hall, legs crossed and scrolling through his phone. Phoenix’s pulse quickened with a fight or flight response before he reminded himself that it shouldn’t be a big deal. They were basically friends at this point, so it shouldn’t be awkward if they saw each other. Doug had made good on his promise not to talk about Dollie again—they had even traded “goodnights” just eight hours ago. Even so, they hadn’t bumped into each other in person since that day at the pharmacology department, so it was understandable why he’d feel a little nervous...

Doug glanced up as students filed past, and for one heart-stopping moment Phoenix thought he might see him. Instead, his eyes passed directly over to the person approaching him, and, with a start, Phoenix recognized her as that girl from the café a while back. Doug’s face lit up with a grin when he saw her, and Phoenix found himself unable to look away. 

I have other prospects, Doug’s voice echoed in the back of his mind, dredging up from one of their past confrontations. Did he? Was this girl one of them? Would he stop talking to Phoenix, then, if there was someone else he was interested in? 

Doug stood up to walk with her; she said something and nudged him with her elbow and they laughed. 

And then, suddenly, he remembered something else Doug had said about himself, albeit back when Phoenix had only known him as Patrick: he was bisexual, wasn’t he? Which...well. Maybe he’d been talking about a guy, then? Or maybe, Phoenix thought, picking at the cuffs of his sleeves, he was just bluffing and you’re being stupid over nothing.

“Feenie?” 

Dollie gently tugged at his elbow, and he flinched at the unexpected contact.

“A-ah, sorry.”

“Are you okay?” she asked with a frown. “You looked like you were spacing out.”

“I’m fine,” he said, and smiled to ease her concern. He could’ve brought up Doug then—mention something about how seeing him here had put him off-kilter. But he was still feeling a little unsteady from the near-encounter, and bringing it up might only give her more cause to worry anyway.

“Are you sure you're not sick or anything?” She reached up to touch his forehead. Her fingers were startlingly cool against his skin, and he pulled away without thinking.

“I’m fine, I swear,” he said, laughing feebly.

The look on her face was skeptical, but all she said in response was, “If you’re sure.”

“Never surer!” he said brightly. “C’mon Dollie, let’s go eat lunch, I’m starving.”

Lunch did nothing to help boost his energy, and after spending half of the afternoon rereading the first sentence of some Hamlet analysis that he was supposed to respond to by tomorrow’s lecture, he decided an intervention was necessary. He felt somewhat guilty about taking another break so soon after lunch, but it wasn’t like he was getting any work done at this rate anyways. It’s no use trying to push through a brainfog, his mom told him once, and he had never been more grateful for her advice.

He packed his laptop into his bag and headed out of the dorm. Some caffeine was definitely in order, and a change of scenery likely couldn’t hurt either. That place Dollie liked was fairly spacious, and he remembered enjoying their hazelnut latté.

There were only a handful of other people at the café when Phoenix entered, and once he had his drink in hand he settled at a table near the window. The music was a little loud, but he hoped he could get used to it by the time he was ready to try tackling that assignment again. For now, he’d sit back and wait for the caffeine to kick in.

Or, at least, that was his intention—he was barely a few sips in to his latté when the flash of a familiar red jacket caught his eye, and for the second time today Doug Swallow appeared in view.

Phoenix turned away and very determinedly looked out the window, hoping that somehow Doug might not notice him. But then he remembered Doug’s jab about object permanence that day behind the pharmacology building, and grudgingly turned back around. He’d rather risk eye contact than be subjected to another round of mockery. 

Besides, they were on good terms now, so there shouldn’t be any reason for him to hide. And Doug might end up being too preoccupied with his drink to pay much attention to the rest of the café anyway. Maybe he’d leave just as quickly as he entered—

Doug turned around then, holding a cup of his own, and made eye contact squarely with Phoenix. He looked startled for a second, then grinned and came steadily towards the table.

“Look who it is,” he said. “Mind if I sit here?”

“It’s never stopped you before,” Phoenix mumbled.

Doug laughed. “True.”

He helped himself to the seat across from Phoenix, who watched him warily. He couldn’t help being reminded of all the other, more confrontational times Doug had approached him in much the same way, and his shoulders stiffened instinctively.

“So,” Doug said, taking a sip of his drink. “What brings you here?”

Phoenix shrugged. “I’ve been here a few times. It’s pretty nice.”

“Yeah. This has to be my favorite spot. Can’t get a decent flat white anywhere else.”

“Ah, yeah,” Phoenix agreed, as if he too had sampled a variety of flat whites and knew what one tasted like.

They fell into silence, each sipping their respective drinks. The entire chorus of Get Lucky blasted overhead while Phoenix wracked his brain for something to say. Doug wasn’t here to insult Dollie, probably, but he couldn’t be too careful. If he set the tone of conversation first, then...

“Taking a break from confession page stalking, or what?” he said. It came out a little more aggressive than he intended, but Doug just laughed again. 

“It’s not like I’m on Facebook all the time. I do occasionally have classes too, you know.”

Phoenix scoffed. “As if that’d stop you.”

“Sometimes it does, believe it or not.” Doug’s eyes flicked to the empty stretch of table between them. “Working hard yourself too, I see.” 

“Whuh…” Phoenix glanced down, then grumbled, “I mean...I was about to start working before you showed up…”

“So you can thank me for my good timing, then,“ Doug said, leaning back in his seat with a horribly self-satisfied smirk. “Be honest. Would you really rather work on another law paper right now?”

“It’s Hamlet this time, actually.”

“Whatever. My point still stands.” Doug took a long swig from his cup and set it on the table, absently tapping the side. “I forgot to mention last night, but I thought of a movie that I think you’d be interested in.”

Phoenix perked up a bit at that. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Heard of Pacific Rim?”

“Ooohh yeah, I’ve heard some good things about that one."

Doug grinned. “I figured it’d be up your alley. It’s got the robots fighting monsters aesthetic, but does some innovative stuff playing around with the common tropes. I can give you a copy, if you want.”

“Wait, really?” Phoenix said. “I mean, no pressure, I could probably get my friend Larry to pirate it for me eventually, but that’d be really awesome if you did have it, since I’ve been running out of stuff to watch recently and it’s been on my watchlist for a while…”

“Hey, I’m no stranger to pirating,” Doug said, laughing. “I can transfer it to a USB for you, no problem.”

Phoenix let go of a breath, curiously relieved. “Thanks.”

This was fine, somehow, talking with Doug in real life. Ten minutes in and they had managed to maintain a conversation as casual as their Facebook chats. It was fun, even, if Phoenix was being honest—he hadn’t realized just how much he missed being able to talk with someone he could consider as a friend.

“Isn't there some new fighting-robot action movie coming out too?” Doug added. “Something about a samurai?”

“Oh yeah, the ‘Dynamite Samurai’. I don’t know if it technically falls under the mecha genre though.”

“Are you planning on seeing it?”

“Hm, I dunno, from what I've seen of the trailers it looks kind of lame.”

Doug raised a brow. “More lame than that Power Rangers spin-off show?”

“Hey, the Signal Samurai was good, actually!”

“Mm-hm. Are you sure that's not just the nostalgia talking?”

Phoenix laughed. “Okay, maybe a little. But you’ve gotta admit that there were some good arcs in there.”

“Even though they clearly ran out of budget for the last season?”

“I mean—okay, sure. But they made it work, you know? And it’s not like big budget stuff is always good all the time either. In fact, I feel like it was because of the budget constraints that they ended up going more in-depth into the characters and their development, rather than just having them fight new villains all the time.”

“Wow.” Doug grinned behind the lid of his cup. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this, huh?”

“Look, Miles and I didn’t spend an entire week preparing this argument for nothing. Our analysis is solid. We even got Larry to admit that the last season wasn’t the trainwreck everyone else made it out to be.”

“Is he your friend, then?” Doug asked, voice light. “The one you’re taking law for?”

“Who, Miles?” Phoenix swallowed, the warm memories of his childhood fading into an image of cold, grey eyes staring out from a magazine. “Um, yeah. That’s him.”

Doug nodded, and Phoenix became acutely aware that Doug had known him in his early days of the confessions page. The connections were easy to make, if Doug bothered to put any amount of effort into it...

It’s weird to switch your major for a friend, Phoenix.

“He always used to be so kind and idealistic. Nothing like this…this ’Demon Prosecutor’,” he blurted, spurred on by a sudden need to explain himself. “He’s the one who taught me the true meaning of justice, you know? And he looked up to his dad more than anyone. He said his dad was like a hero, standing up for people who were wrongly accused, and that he wanted to do the same. I just—I know something bad has happened to make him like this. The Miles I know would never become a prosecutor, or forge evidence, or—or whatever other bullshit they’re saying about him in the papers.”

He realized he was rambling, but pushed on anyways.

“He saved me when I was at my lowest, so I have to try as hard as I can to do the same for him. And I know it sounds stupid, but this is the only thing I could think of that might give me a chance of talking to him and figuring it all out.”

Doug was quiet for a long moment. At last, he said, “You don’t have to justify yourself to me.”

Phoenix huffed. “So you’re not going to criticize my life choices this time?”

“I don’t have anything new to say. If he’s that important to you, then...” Doug shrugged and took another sip of his drink.

“W-well,” Phoenix spluttered, casting about for a change of topic, “what’s so interesting about pharmacology, anyway?”

“I like chemistry, and I’m good at it, and it pays well,” Doug said. “Nothing so noble as you.”

Phoenix shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He hated how easily Doug turned the tables back around on him. 

“How is law going, by the way?” Doug asked. “I know it can't be an easy shift from art.”

“It’s been...okay, actually. A lot of memorization though.” 

Doug chuckled. “That’s what my friend Cassandra said too. She’s in criminology, but she prefers the lab over all the legal stuff. She’s just taking it to meet her course requirements.”

Cassandra? That girl Phoenix had seen Doug with a few times, then? “Cassandra…? She’s…”

“My friend,” Doug repeated. “She’s in your law class, I believe.”

“Oh, yeah,” Phoenix said. He felt a bit guilty for not recognizing her beyond her interactions with Doug. “I think I’ve seen her around.”

“She’s got a crush on the professor, so I guess that makes it worth it for her. Honestly I don’t know what she sees in her.”

“O-oh?” Phoenix was caught off guard for a moment, then laughed. “Yeah, me neither. I mean, she’s nice looking for her age, I guess. I’ve never really understood the chili pepper rating system, but I guess everyone here just has weird tastes.”

Phoenix had said it casually, expecting Doug to laugh it off with him like they always did when it came to judging their peers, but instead he looked very intently at Phoenix and said, “What about the guys?”

Phoenix blinked. “Huh?”

“The hot guy professors,” Doug repeated. “Do you agree with those ratings?”

“Um, I’ve...never really looked?” Phoenix said. 

Doug nodded, looking thoughtful, and Phoenix felt a nervous twist in his stomach. Don’t fuck up don’t say something stupid—

Luckily he was saved from responding when Doug glanced at his phone and swore softly.

“Shit, I’ve got to go to my next class. Talk to you later?”

“Yeah,” Phoenix said. “You know me, I’ll be online.”

“Right. As usual.” The chair scraped backwards as Doug stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder. “See you around, then.”

“See you,” Phoenix replied. Doug gave him one final wave before heading out of the café, and once he was out of sight Phoenix sighed and slumped in his seat.

See, that was fine, he thought. You had one successful face-to-face conversation with Doug.

He glanced down at the laptop in his backpack, but he was almost too wound up now to get any work done. He sipped the last few dregs of his drink and watched new customers trickle in, allowing himself a few more minutes to resettle.

Finally, he pulled out his laptop and opened the browser to his previous tabs. A small red blip caught his eye from the corner of the screen, and he couldn’t help clicking over to Facebook. No harm in extending his break just a little longer at this point...

It was a new message from Doug, sent a few minutes past the hour:

Good luck with Hamlet, by the way.

Phoenix couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across his face. 

so much for not checking fb in class

Doug countered with some aggrandizement of his own intellect and how he didn’t need to hang onto every word the professor said, unlike some of his classmates, and it was many more minutes later before Phoenix finally got around to his homework again.

Chapter Text

The rate of assignments finally began to slow in the weeks leading up to finals, giving Phoenix enough down time to catch up on the various drama unfolding over Facebook. There was an all-out mod war occurring on the meme page now—half the mods went all in on hedera helix memes while the other half desperately tried to restore order. The page’s name changed every day, jumping from “Hedera Helix Memes for Ivy U Teens” to “Invasive Plant Memes for Hedera Helix Teens” to “Star Thistle Memes for Prickly Ivy Fiends”. At some point someone had even changed the name to Korean. Today it had landed on the simple and straightforward “English Ivy is Evil”.

Between the meme page breakdown, the apparent failure of the new Dynamite Samurai movie (Phoenix had been right not to pay money to see that), and the looming threat of finals, Phoenix’s feed felt much more chaotic than usual. As if that wasn’t enough, the news began to warn of an oncoming “Storm of the Decade”, projected to cause flash floods all across the state. For the next few days, the only thing Phoenix saw was some iteration of “don’t be stupid, be prepared!” followed by fear-mongering about 100-year flood events.

He hadn’t been particularly concerned at first, but as the storm began gathering speed across the Pacific he started to wonder if maybe he should be—Ivy U was located in a valley, after all, and the last time they’d gotten a proper storm had been the winter of freshman year.

“You worry too much, Feenie,” Dollie said, lounging against the pillows on his bed. “They’re just exaggerating it. You know how weather people like to be. So dramatic. It’s like, either we’re in global warming or getting too much rain. Just pick one.”

“But,” Phoenix said, bewildered, “they’re both bad??”

“Exactly. Just like these essay prompts.” She heaved a sigh and frowned at the laptop in her lap. “‘To what extent are themes of gender identity and sexuality explored in Twelfth Night’ and ‘In what ways does Twelfth Night uphold or critique societal conventions’. I don’t know, neither of these are really inspiring me right now.”

“Maybe you should take a break?” he suggested. “You can always come back to it later.”

She sighed again. “I was hoping to at least get started today. It’s due by the end of the week.”

“Oh.” He scrolled past yet another post about flood preparedness, trying to think of some other advice to offer. 

“You must be working on one of your essays too, right? We could brainstorm together, or something.”

“I got all mine done, actually,” Phoenix said, still pleased that he’d managed to do so. And not just on-time, but early, too. “And no new ones for this week!”

“Oh!” Dollie instantly brightened. “Then maybe you can help me with mine now?”

“A-ah,” he said. “Um, does it have to be right now?”

“I mean, I suppose not. But I thought you liked Shakespeare?”

“I do, but—”

“And it’s been so hard without you in my Shakespearean Lit class,” she added, and Phoenix cringed. “We barely get to be together enough as it is.”

“Well…” Phoenix trailed off, thinking. “I promise I’ll help you tomorrow. But maybe today we can just relax and have a chill day?”

She seemed mollified by that and returned to her laptop. Phoenix turned back to his own screen, just in time to catch a message from Doug.

It was some screenshot of a confessions post, but Doug hadn’t provided any of his usual commentary. Curious, Phoenix clicked open the image and began to read.

OK so uh, WOW, this is a LOT!!!!! I had my suspicions but just confirmed today that my fiance has not only been cheating on me but he also PROPOSED to another GIRL?!? Like, excuse me??? What??? Well anyway we both know now babe so the jig. Is. UP. I know your reading this bc I know you’ve used this page before so dont even try to act stupid you motherFUCKER. Give me the last 10 months of my life back!!!! (okay also I know this is supposed to be for advice so I guess let me know if me n the other girl should give the rings back y/n lol)

Phoenix almost couldn’t believe what he was reading. He typed back to Doug: is this real???

See for yourself, Doug said.

Taking his advice, Phoenix hurried to the confessions group and then scrolled down to find the post. Luckily he didn’t have to scroll very far—Doug seemed to have caught it nearly right after it was posted. Within the last few minutes, it had already blown up to dozens of comments, most of which were people either reacting with inarticulate keysmashes or replying with enthusiastic “no’s” to the OP’s question on returning the rings. A few people had even tagged him as Benjamin—including, he saw with a warm rush—Doug, who had already chimed in with a comment from Patrick, as usual.

Hoo boy...I am so so sorry to you both. No one should have to experience what he put you through. I’m assuming he didn’t take my advice, then—I tried my best to spare you both but there really is no helping stupid. I guess one silver lining in all of this is that you can drag him publicly and then dump his sorry ass—honestly, it’s the least of what he deserves. And I’m going to join everyone else here and say no to returning the rings, it’s your fiancé (or, ex-fiancé?)’s fault for making a terrible decision in the first place, and you reap what you sow and all that. Anyway, @Benjamin get in here, this is relevant to your interests.

Grinning, Phoenix switched to Benjamin’s account and added:

yeah, and you should definitely sell them too, at least get SOMETHING out of the relationship. maybe even take a nice vacation with the money, you deserve to treat yourselves!

Several people liked his comment, adding on other ideas for what the girls could do with the money. While catching up on all the new comments and activity, his messages popped up in the corner of the screen with a direct message from Doug.

I am LOSING MY MIND right now. I need someone else to experience this with me or I might actually go insane. Want to meet up or something?

Phoenix glanced over at Dollie, but she was still focused on her laptop. He wrote back: what, like now?

Yeah. Watch this go down in real time. I have a strong feeling the guy who started all this is going to pop in at some point and I need another poor sap to share in my misery. Or glee? Both, probably.

He felt a laugh bubble up in his chest and barely stopped himself from snickering. some poor sap like me, then?

Exactly. I’m glad you get it. 

“Who are you chatting with, Feenie?” Dollie said.

“Huh?” He flinched, accidentally skidding his mouse across the desk, then scrambled after it in case he needed to click out of Facebook. “Oh, uh, it’s nothing.”

“Nothing, or no one?”

“No one,” he blurted. “Just a—a friend.”

“Is your friend more important than me?” she said with a pout. “I thought we were hanging out.”

“We are!” he said hurriedly. “It’s just a quick chat.”

He glanced back at the screen, where Doug had added: Meet up at Grey Squirrel in 15?

“I have to go, uh, now, actually,” he said. He hated to cut their time short, but this level of Facebook drama didn’t happen every day, and he didn’t want to miss out on all the fun. And he and Dollie could hang out anytime, right?

“You have to go,” Dollie repeated flatly.

“Um, yeah. Turns out I have an urgent assignment after all. Uh, something for law. My discussion group partner just reminded me.” 

“I...see,” said Dollie. “So you have to meet them now.”

“Yeah!” Phoenix breathed out a shaky laugh. 

“So you have time to help them but not me with my essay.”

“Tomorrow, I promise.” He snapped his laptop shut and shoved it in his bag. “I’m really sorry, Dollie.”

She stared him down for a moment, then shot a beaming smile. “Don’t worry about it, Feenie. I understand if it’s urgent.”

His legs felt wobbly with relief. “Thanks Dollie. You’re the best.”

“See you tomorrow, then,” she said lightly, and left the room.

He stared at the door after it clicked shut, then pulled out his phone and messaged Doug.

sorry, was finishing up some stuff. give me a few mins

He grabbed his bag and slipped on his shoes and gave the room one final scan before rushing out the door. He hoped he hadn’t missed anything too exciting while he had been talking with Dollie. 

Doug was waiting for him at one of the tables in the corner of the café, bursting into a grin once he arrived.

“Sorry,” Phoenix panted. “Got here as soon as I could. Did I miss anything?”

“Nothing much, yet,” Doug said. “Want me to grab you something while you catch up on the comments?”

“Oh, um, sure.” Phoenix squinted at the menu. “I’ll just have an iced latté, please.”

Doug laughed. “Wow, so formal. I didn’t know you could be polite.”

“Some of us have manners, actually,” Phoenix retorted, without any real bite to it. “But really, thanks.”

He pulled out his laptop and opened up Facebook while Doug ordered them drinks. Doug had been right—there wasn’t much new that anyone had added to the conversation. 

“Here you are,” Doug said, waving an iced latté in front of Phoenix’s face. He plopped back into his seat across from Phoenix and checked his phone. “Alright, so I’m going to give it maybe ten more minutes before the post fully explodes. I’m predicting two-fiancées guy is going to jump in at some point, and that’s where the fun will really start.”

“How do you know that he’s gonna post?” Phoenix said.

Doug shrugged. “Just a feeling I get. He’s a terminal dumbass.”

“Oh yeah, you know him, don’t you?” 

“Yeah, he’s in one of my classes. Doesn’t know when to shut up. Just because he managed to pass lower-division biology he thinks that makes him the smartest guy in the room.”

Phoenix snickered. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

“Hey, I’m actually the smartest guy in the room, and I’ve got the grades to prove it.”

“How do you know I was talking about you?” Phoenix shot back, to which Doug just rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I don’t know how you manage to be in the same class as that guy without constantly losing it.”

Doug smirked and draped an arm over the back of his chair. “It’s a true test of strength, let me tell you that.” He glanced down at his phone and then scrambled forward, arms stretched halfway across the table and eyes wide with glee. “Holy shit. It only took three minutes.”

“What, he’s here already?”

“He’s here!”

Phoenix scrolled through the comments until he found an anonymous one that was substantially longer than the others. 

okay okay look this is all a HUGE misunderstanding and I know I fucked up bad but we can still fix this babe, i belieb in us and our love okay just CALM DOWN you didn’t need to make this public, u couldof just talked to me?? i kno im not perfect but who is u kno so lets take this offline may b?

Phoenix nearly finished reading, but found himself distracted by little wheezing sounds from across the table. Glancing up, he saw that Doug had fully faceplanted into the table, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

“I really can’t,” came his voice, muffled under his arms. “How is Steve so fucking stupid?”

“...Steve?”

“Ah, shit,” Doug said, sitting up. “Let his real name slip.” He leaned back and wiped his eyes. “Well, whatever. I trust that you’re not going to doxx him, anyway.”

Something warm curled up from the pit of Phoenix’s stomach and into his chest, seizing him in place. All thoughts flew out of his head, except for one word that echoed over and over.

“Trust?” he repeated weakly.

“Yeah?” Doug said. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

And that, somehow, was even more astounding. He had tossed the word around in his mind when thinking of Doug before—”classmate” wasn’t really accurate, and ”acquaintance” felt a tad too stiff—but to hear Doug confirm it himself... 

Friends.  

“Yeah,” Phoenix agreed, a little breathlessly, and watched as Doug returned to his phone again.

His computer pinged with a notification, and looking back at his own screen he saw a fresh response from Doug.

Hey there, man. Remember me? Your good friend Patrick? You’ve made my day once again, although at an extreme cost to your own ego, I’m afraid. I hate to say it, but OP is fully within her rights to make this as public as she wants. After all, your engagements were also public too, weren’t they? And I’ll repeat what I’ve already said last time, because apparently repetition is the only way to get something through your thick skull—what did you expect would happen here?? You just let it fester, my dude! At this point I’m starting to think you really are hopeless after all, but hey, free entertainment for the rest of us at least! 

Phoenix grinned and chimed in with a short and sweet:

also…“belieb” lol

Everyone else gleefully jumped on the bandwagon to call out the typo, adding onto Phoenix’s comment by repeating:

belieb

belieb

belieb

Doug wheezed again, gripping his stomach. 

“Phoenix you genius,” he said, and Phoenix felt a thrum of gratification.

He had looked back up at Doug, planning to respond with some quip about his own intelligence, now, when something outside the window caught his eye. He may have just been imagining it, but for a moment he thought he saw a white slip of dress rounding a corner down the street, with wisps of red hair trailing after.

“What’s up, is there something on my face?” Doug asked, bemused.

Phoenix blinked and shook his head. “No, sorry. Just spacing out.”

“Rookie mistake,” said Doug. “Drama moves fast. You can’t look away or you’ll miss the hot gossip.”

“Well, I trust you’ll catch me up on it,” Phoenix replied, and Doug just laughed.

The two-fiancées drama—or Steve drama, he supposed—began to calm down after a few hours, by which time Phoenix and Doug finally left the café. They chatted the rest of the way back to the dorms, taking a leisurely pace through campus since neither of them had anywhere to be. Phoenix supposed he should eat dinner soon, but otherwise didn’t give much thought to anything aside from whatever other Steve stories Doug decided to share as they walked.

As soon as he opened the door to his room, however, he remembered the awkward way he had left off with Dollie and her annoyance at having to leave so early. He rummaged for his phone, nearly dropping it in his haste.

Feenie [18:28]: i love you i’m so sorry i cut our time short today
Feenie [18:28]: are you angry with me? i promise i'll do anything to make up for it

He stared at his phone for several minutes, waiting nervously for her to respond. Finally, she said:

Dollie <3 [18:40]: i'll forgive you if you give me back my necklace

Phoenix sucked in a breath through his teeth. Fuck. She must be really upset to bring this up again. He clutched the necklace close to his chest, feeling the anxious beat of his heart through his shirt. If he didn't have this as proof of her love, then…

Feenie [18:41]: are you sure?? there really isn't anything else??
Dollie <3 [18:41]: no.

Desperately, he wrote:

Feenie [18:43]: i can write your entire essay for you or buy you a matching necklace or something if it'll make you happy
Dollie <3 [18:44]: i'll think about it.

Phoenix let go of a breath in relief. That could have gone much worse. Hopefully he could fully convince her not to take back the necklace during their coffee date tomorrow.

Feenie [18:46]: i love you. see you tomorrow okay? i'll get a start on your essay and buy your favorite drink too

He waited for several more minutes, but she didn't respond after that. Groaning, he flopped onto his bed and took a long, impromptu nap, and ended up waking up starving and groggy just past 1am.

Phoenix regretted his erratic sleeping habits in the morning, as he usually did. But he especially regretted it when he remembered his promise to Dollie—he had woken up to a text from her about meeting up in the afternoon to help with her Twelfth Night paper. sure!!! i’ll see you then, he’d replied, then groaned against a dull throbbing in his head. He was most definitely not in top shape for essay-writing today, but he supposed he owed it to her to at least try his best.

Luckily his discussion group let out early, so he had some time to pull himself together before meeting with Dollie. He could go straight to the library and wait for her there, or…

He glanced around the courtyard, noting all of the students laying out on the lawn or across benches, with open books and laptops strewn about. It was a nice day out, he supposed. And he’d spent enough time indoors lately. He checked his watch—he still had about ten minutes before Dollie got out of her own class. Plenty of time for a detour through the arboretum.

He didn’t know nearly enough about trees to be able to identify the species, but a number of them were flowering in shades of pink and white. The air smelled fresh and perfumey. It seemed like a pretty good spot for a date, actually. Maybe once Dollie was less pissed he should bring her here.

Or maybe bringing her while she was still pissed would be the smarter move?

He was distracted from his fledgling date plans by the sight of a familiar shock of copper hair beneath one of the trees just off the path. Doug.

He was lying on his back with one arm thrown over his face—blocking out the light, Phoenix assumed, though it was already pretty shady under his tree. Phoenix couldn’t tell whether he was sleeping, but after a second he hiked one leg up, propping his foot on a nearby rock.

Phoenix went over and gave his leg a kick.

With a delightfully undignified noise, Doug shoved himself upright, then laughed when he saw who it was. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Serves you right for sleeping in a public place,” said Phoenix.

“I wasn’t asleep,” Doug said defensively. “You think I could have reacted that quickly if I was asleep?”

Phoenix grinned at him and joined him on the ground. “Why’d you pick this tree, anyway? There’s a whole arboretum of fancy trees.”

“Sure, if by ‘fancy’ you mean ‘get petals and sap in your hair.’”

“Bad news, Doug,” said Phoenix, pointing at a leaf stuck just above his ear.

Doug huffed as he removed it, then said, “Imagine it was this and sap.”

“Just admit that you have poor decision-making skills.”

“I will not. This way I don’t have to compete for space with the unwashed masses.”

Phoenix smiled faintly as he scanned the arboretum. “It does seem like there are a lot of couples here. I was thinking it would—” But talking to Doug about his ex? Talking to him specifically about Dollie, who clearly hated him? That was tactless on about five levels, and Phoenix cut himself off with a grimace.

Doug didn’t seem to notice. “Seriously? The arboretum? That’s, like, date spots for idiots.”

“Oh,” said Phoenix.

“What do you even do at an arboretum? Talk about trees?”

“There are cool mosses, probably,” Phoenix said distantly.

Doug laughed. “And you’re a moss expert now?”

“Maybe I am,” Phoenix said as snottily as possible, then huffed a reluctant laugh. “No.”

“That’s what I thought.” Doug leaned back a bit, propping himself up on his elbows. “I could see it being cool if you’re, like, an ecology major, maybe.”

“I had to look at a plant under a microscope in tenth grade. Does that count?”

“What kind of plant?”

Phoenix frowned.

“It doesn’t count,” Doug said, laughing.

“Whatever. I remember that there was something called xylem.”

“Good work, sport.”

Phoenix grinned. “Fuck off.”

Doug gave him an ironic salute.

The breeze was pretty nice, and shaded under the tree as they were, the temperature was almost perfect. “Maybe you were onto something with this tree after all,” Phoenix said after a couple of minutes.

“I like to think so,” said Doug. “It’s my default napping tree.”

“Thought you weren’t sleeping.”

Doug narrowed his eyes at him.

“Checkmate.”

“Guess you’re learning something in your baby lawyer classes after all.”

“Ha ha,” said Phoenix without humor. “No, those are mostly incomprehensible Latin terms. Sometimes, if Mercury is in retrograde, we get to speak English.”

“The thrills never stop,” Doug murmured.

Phoenix found himself smiling again. “Whatever. At least I get to speak a language. I remember my biology classes. The acronyms haunt my dreams.”

“It’s not so bad if you have a knack for memorization,” Doug started to say, but all that talk about language had roused something in Phoenix’s memory, and all of a sudden he was struck with the realization that he really didn’t have the time to be sitting here. He hadn’t had time to stop at all, much less to sit and talk with his girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend while he was supposed to be helping his girlfriend with her essay.

All because she was pissed that yesterday, he’d blown her off to hang out with her ex-boyfriend. Again.

“I have to go,” he choked out.

Doug was giving him a weird look. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I just really have to go.” He was already on his feet, grabbing his bag from where it was propped against Doug’s. He didn’t even have time to say goodbye.

At the library, Dollie was sitting in their reserved study room, staring stiffly out the window.

“I’m so sorry,” he said as he burst into the room.

She smiled twitchily. “I thought we had agreed to meet fifteen minutes ago.”

“We had,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “I got… lost in the arboretum.”

“Lost?” Her disbelief was clear. “How do you get lost in the arboretum?”

“I don’t go there often,” he muttered.

She gave him a long look, then scanned down to his jeans. “And that’s why you have grass on your pants?”

He didn’t answer.

After another excruciating moment, she met his eyes again. “Well,” she said. “I hope you brought your annotated copy of Twelfth Night.”

He released the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Yeah, of course.” He flopped into the chair next to her, then cringed again when he realized that he’d also promised her to bring coffee. “Uh, do you want me to go get our drinks before we—”

“Don’t bother,” she said, then gave another one of those frosty smiles again. “Let’s just work on the essay, okay?”

Fair enough, he supposed, though given that he was running on just a few hours of poor-quality sleep, he could really have used the coffee.

Still. He didn’t want to upset her further. He already felt like an absolute jackass for running late after he’d disappointed her the day before.

He sighed and reached into his bag to get his books, resigning himself to a long afternoon.

Doug was busy studying for finals and didn’t have much time to spare for any confessions page nonsense, although he did pop in occasionally to see if Steve or Jenny or the mysterious other fiancée decided to air any more of their relationship breakdown in a public forum. They hadn’t, tragically—it had been pretty quiet in there over the last few days. Finals season usually saw a decline in the rate of confession posts, anyway, and the last few weeks of winter quarter were no different. It was the calm before the storm—figuratively, in terms of finals, but also literally in terms of the atmospheric river that was projected to hit sometime over spring break.

He still had to keep his grades up even as a graduating senior, and despite all of his previous grandstanding environmental toxicology was shaping up to be more troublesome than he expected. But even the end-of-quarter crunch and threat of a below-average grade couldn’t stop him from chatting with Phoenix. They’d been talking almost daily, messaging between classes (and sometimes during, which Phoenix never failed to call him out on); even meeting up once or twice at Grey Squirrel or the library when their schedules aligned.

Phoenix kept him caught up on the meme page shenanigans—it had changed to “Healing Memes for Exhausted Ivy U Teens” for this week, apparently—before sharing some other tidbit about his day or complaining about schoolwork.

From there, they’d usually end up falling into a range of other topics, to which Doug could always find something to tease Phoenix about (Doritos for dinner again? Really? ).

But sometimes Phoenix would respond with something of his own that teetered right on the edge of flirtatious, and Doug would put his head in his hands and laugh with the utter ridiculousness of it all.

Because even if Phoenix did know what he was doing, there was no way he’d be doing it for Doug. Even so, he couldn’t help but enjoy Phoenix’s company, and figured that he might as well have fun with whatever this was while it lasted.

He was having a bit too much fun, perhaps, which was why the universe decided to punish him with a special visit from Dahlia.

“Hello Dougie,” she said, smiling when he opened the door.

“What do you want.”

“I just want to talk,” she said. “May I come in?”

He laughed. “Absolutely not. I don’t trust you one fucking bit.”

Her eyes hardened, even as her smile widened. “Fine. As long as you don’t mind being overheard, then.”

He gripped the doorframe tighter, blocking her off with his body. The hair stood up on the back of his neck, every instinct on high alert at this tiny, beautiful girl. Don't let her see your back.

“I heard you’ve been talking a lot with Feenie,” she began, “which I thought was a little strange. You haven’t been telling him anything...weird, have you?”

“Being possessive is never a good look, Dahlia,” he replied. “Let the guy have some friends, god knows he needs someone who’ll care about him.”

“And just how much do you care about him, Dougie?” she asked, drawing the curious glances of a group of students as they passed down the hall.

“More than you, at least,” he said, glaring. “Have you ever cared about anyone in your life? Besides yourself, that is.”

She shrugged, running her fingers through her hair and letting it fall back into place in silky sheets. “I call it selfcare.”

“Just let him go, Dahlia.”

“What, do you think you’ll have a chance then?” she sneered. “He’s in love with his childhood friend.”

“I already know that,” he snapped. “Is that all you came here for? Because this has been a colossal waste of both our time.”

He was about to slam the door in her face when he realized something important about what she’d just said. “Wait, you know? You know, and you’re still with him?”

“Just my luck, isn’t it? To have picked the closeted gay guy,” she said airily, and he felt sick and dismayed and angry. “He’s horribly clingy. And stubborn. It’s getting rather annoying.”

“Let him go,” Doug hissed. “You have nothing to gain from this.”

“That’s not your call, Dougie,” she said, sickeningly sweet, and swept away down the hall before he had a chance to react.

It had been a few days, and Doug still wasn’t sure what to do about the conversation with Dahlia. 

It had been extremely unpleasant, to say the least. He’d seen her around campus before, of course—occasional glimpses of her with Phoenix between classes—but hadn’t spoken to her directly in several months. He couldn’t quite figure out the reasoning behind her visit—was it to get him to stop talking to Phoenix? To taunt him with information he already knew? To play some weird psychological mind games with the both of them?

He only became more angry and frustrated the longer he thought about it, so he decided to put it out of his mind, for the most part.

The real question was what to do about Phoenix—Doug considered telling him what Dahlia had said, but he couldn’t do that without first broaching the subject of sexuality, and he wasn’t willing to do that unless Phoenix brought it up himself. He could give a general warning about her motives and that she might be planning something, but that had gone so well all the previous times he’d tried.

Dahlia hadn’t exactly threatened Phoenix, either—it seemed like she still wanted something from him. And as much as Doug hated to admit it, Phoenix was most likely safe from... whatever she was planning, at least for now. They’d been dating for over half a year at this point, and if Dahlia had wanted to make a move she’d had plenty of opportunities to do so sooner. Reluctantly, Doug kept his mouth shut and resolved to keep a closer eye on him for the time being. 

Which was easier said than done, given the onslaught of finals—the next few days were a whirlwind of classes and lab work and studying. Whatever free time he did manage to scrape together was spent either napping or squeezing in some sort of decent meal. He was finally able to catch a break on Friday, which he had kept as his free day all quarter, and made plans to grab lunch and hang out with Cassandra.

He met her outside her law class as usual, which also happened to be the last and only class of her day. 

“I’m free…” she sighed happily, stretching her arms over her head as she approached.

“There’s still finals next week,” he reminded her, and she huffed in disgust.

“Douglas. It’s Friday, okay? Let me have this.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, laughing. Some distance behind her, he spied Phoenix finally exiting the building and waved when he caught his eye. Phoenix slowed his pace a bit and then waved back, grinning.

“You gonna say hi?” 

“Nah. He’s busy,” Doug said. Sure enough, Phoenix spun around and headed in the opposite direction, rushing towards another class.

“So you know his schedule, huh,” Cassandra mused.

“Yeah, and? I know yours too, is that so weird?”

“I’m just glad you’re making friends,” she replied, patronizingly patting him on the shoulder.

“Thanks, dad.”

She beamed down at him, then tugged him to his feet. “Well, alright Mr. Popular. Where are we going to eat?”

“You don’t have something in mind already?”

“Hm, actually, you’re right. I want falafel.”

He laughed. “Alright. Lead the way, then.”

They headed towards the quad, where the gyro food truck usually set up shop through the afternoon. The line wasn’t too long, surprisingly, and with their pitas in hand they scoped out a shady patch of lawn to sit and eat.

“I’ve decided that all law people are just weird,” Cassandra said, peeling back the foil around her falafel pita. “There’s a big group of them in my class who are going houseboating together over break, and the only thing they could talk about are exceptions in underage drinking laws between California and Arizona and how to define state lines over bodies of water. I hate them so much.”

“Are they trying to find loopholes for underage drinking, or something?”

“Apparently. They’re gonna go to the Arizona side and fake some doctor’s notes or hold a religious ceremony I guess.”

Doug snorted at the mental image of a bunch of students huddled on the deck of a houseboat, mumbling prayers while pouring boxed wine in each others’ mouths.

Cassandra sighed. “I’m soooo tired of hearing about houseboats, Doug. You don’t understand.”

“Drunk college kids out on the middle of a lake...that sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

“It really does! I’m getting as far away as possible from all of that.” She shuddered. “Literally, too. Thank god for that.”

“And spiritually,” he added. “No fun in Redding.”

“Ugh,” she said. “Don't remind me. Well whatever, my sister’s also going to be in town so that’ll be fun at least. Probably ditch our parents and go camping for the week. You’re not going back home, are you?”

“To the East Coast? For just a week?” he said, raising a brow at her.

She laughed. “Fine, fine, stupid question. Isn’t it going to be boring on campus though?”

“No more boring than Redding,” he replied, to which she smacked his arm.

“Just wait, I’m going to have so much fun that I’ll be too busy to text you about it.”

“Doing what, watching horror game let’s plays?”

“Oh shit, you’re right,” she said. “I need to catch up on Siren. It’s getting like, extra wild right now.”

“Is that the one where the guy has to play each level twice to progress in the story?”

Cassandra nodded, swallowing a bite of falafel behind her hand. “Yeah, but you have to unlock the second objectives first by doing things like putting a wet towel in a freezer so that your twin brother can put a piggy bank on it and make it fall when it defrosts.”

“Riveting.”

“Oh shut up. I can guarantee that it’s more interesting than whatever you’re going to get up to over here.” She scarfed down the last few bites of pita and squished the foil into a ball. “Have fun being alone, loser.”

“Hey, I doubt I’m the only student staying behind,” he said. Caustically, he added, “And maybe if I‘m lucky Dahlia will drop by again with some fun new threats as entertainment.”

“Dahlia?” Cassandra frowned. “Wait, again? Doug, what are you talking about?” She sat up straighter, alarmed. “Did she threaten you?”

“She didn’t...threaten me, necessarily,” he said slowly. He already regretted bringing it up—he’d meant it as more of a joke than anything. “She just talked to me about Phoenix.”

“So she confronted you? About him?”

“I mean, I guess so, yeah.”

“Doug,” she said, holding his gaze. “That’s serious, you know that, right? Your murderous ex-girlfriend confronted you.”

Cassandra was right—it should have felt like a bigger deal than he made it out to be. But it was Phoenix who was the one in close proximity to Dahlia every day—Phoenix who she was targeting for...something. Dahlia’s visit seemed intended to get under Doug’s skin more than any real threat, which, while annoying, was also easily avoidable.

“Hey.” Cassandra nudged his arm. “Are you sure you’ll be okay here by yourself?”

“Relax,” he said, and smiled to reassure her. “I’ll be fine. I was just joking anyways.”

She wrapped her arms around her knees and stared out across the lawn, eyebrows knit together. “Okay. Sorry.” She took a deep breath. “It just shakes me up, you know? That she’s still around. And she’s left you alone before...so why now ?”

Dread pooled at the bottom of his stomach as he recalled Dahlia’s parting words. “She knows about Phoenix.”

“What?” Cassandra glanced around for anyone loitering nearby, then leaned in and hissed, “You mean that he’s...She told you?”

He nodded.

“What is she still doing with him then?!”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It sounded like she wants something from him, but—but I don’t know what it is.”

“That’s fucked,” she said.

Doug frowned down at the remainder of his pita, no longer hungry enough to finish it. “I’m worried about him."

“I’m worried about you,” she replied. “Honestly this whole situation is a nightmare.”

Doug grimaced. “Tell me about it.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, watching a handful of students casually toss a frisbee back and forth. Finally, Cassandra sighed. “Well. Be careful while you’re here, okay? Don’t walk alone at night, carry your pepper spray, don’t accept rides from strangers, you know the drill.”

Doug laughed in spite of himself. “You listen to too many true crime podcasts, Cass.”

“No such thing,” she said softly, and bumped his shoulder.

Chapter Text

Phoenix stared up at the ceiling of his room, and the ceiling stared back. 

It had been a couple days since spring break started. Rather, it was the Monday of spring break, and Phoenix had spent the last half hour trying to determine whether it was the first day or the third day of the break. Because technically all weekends were breaks anyway, assuming you had a good enough work ethic to get all your work done during the week, and if Saturday and Sunday were a break anyway it wasnʼt really correct to include them in spring break, unless it was correct, actually. 

The point was, he was bored. And when he was bored he got lazy. 

So here he was, in his dorm room just before midnight on the first—or maybe the third—day of spring break, suddenly struck with the realization that there was absolutely no food in his room.

Not the first time that had happened, of course. Phoenix was a scatterbrain even at the best of times, and spending thirty minutes on this pointless sort of mental math was hardly the best of times. Still, that meant he had to go out and try to scrounge up a decent meal from whatever dismal options were available near a university campus at midnight on a Monday night.

There was always the little convenience store around the corner from him, he thought as he headed down the sidewalk. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d made a dinner out of chips. But something about the thought of eating Doritos alone in his dorm room during spring break made him cringe, so though he slowed his pace outside the store, he didnʼt go inside. Instead, he kept on his way down the road, heading towards the main street just off of campus. His path took him just past the arboretum, and he started as a shadow stepped out onto the street in front of him. 

Then he squinted, because if he didnʼt know any better, heʼd swear the shadow was—

“Hey, you,” Doug said, grinning. “I didn’t realize you were sticking around for spring break.”

“You didn’t say you were, either,” Phoenix retorted, moving forward a couple feet to join Doug in the cone of streetlight. 

“Guilty as charged,” Doug said, stretching, making his t-shirt ride up a bit.

“Why are you here, then?” Phoenix blurted out.

“My family’s back in Connecticut,” said Doug. “I could have gone home, I guess, but I hate flying and it’s way too far to drive for spring break.”

“Connecticut, huh?” Phoenix sidled forward again. “That explains a lot.”

Doug laughed. “Does it? Like what?”

“Y’know, your whole… thing.” Phoenix made a sweeping gesture.

“I don’t know, actually. Enlighten me.”

“Your whole snobby New England vibe.”

“Snobby, huh?”

Phoenix laughed in his face. “Yeah, no shit. Come on, everything you say in the confession group is so snobby.”

“Because I actually know how to spell?”

“No, because you’re a sanctimonious prick.” Phoenix grinned. “You even admitted it yourself.”

“I guess I did,” Doug said, smiling back. “If you think the New England thing is bad, wait til you hear about my grad school plans.”

Grad school? He’d never mentioned it before. “What about grad school?” Phoenix asked.

“Oh, I’m going to actual England, which, by your metrics, is probably about four thousand times snobbier, right?” There was a pause, and Doug added, “Now that I think about it, I’m kind of surprised I haven’t mentioned this before.”

Phoenix barely registered the last bit. “England?”

“...Yeah?” said Doug. “UCL has a good grad program in pharmacology, so I figured I’d give it a shot.” He smiled. “I just got the acceptance a little while ago, actually. It must have been during the period we weren’t talking much.”

“Right,” Phoenix said distantly. England. Never mind Connecticut, which already seemed impossibly distant. England was impossibly distant and then some, with the Atlantic Ocean— “Nice of you to give me warning.”

“I… didn’t realize I was supposed to? Like I said, I got accepted when we weren’t even talking.”

“And after that?” Phoenix demanded. “If it hadn’t come up now, would you have eventually deigned to tell me?”

Doug didn’t seem to understand why Phoenix was pissed, which just made Phoenix angrier. “It was bound to come up at some point. I don’t see why you’re—”

“You’re right about one thing,” Phoenix snapped. “The part about England being even worse. What, California isn’t good enough for you?”

“That’s not really it,” Doug said slowly. “Like I said, I basically applied for fun, but when I got accepted I figured I might as well go.”

Might as well. He was moving to a different continent because he might as well. “Sounds like you really put a lot of thought into it. Is this how you approach everything? Bit rich of you to constantly give advice to other people when you don’t even have a good rationale for choosing your grad school.”

“What is your damage?” Doug asked, looking bewildered. “England seems cool, the school is good. I can’t think of a reason I wouldn’t go. Haven’t we already been over this? We don’t all have to change our lives for friends from decades ago.”

“And I thought you said you weren’t going to make me justify that,” Phoenix hissed, stepping in towards him.

“I’m not trying to make you justify it!” Doug looked a bit cornered, backed up against the lamppost, and Phoenix felt a strange thrill. Not too often that he felt he had the upper hand, in conversations with Doug.

“So you’re just bringing it up to be an asshole, then. Or because you realize you’re losing the argument.”

“I don’t even know how this turned into one! I barely even know what we’re arguing about, except that you’re being a complete pissbaby about absolutely nothing—”

“About nothing?” Phoenix snapped. “You just told me you’re moving away in a couple months and really didn’t expect me to be even a little pissed?” He laughed, and it came out a lot more brittle than he intended. “Great. Okay. Didn’t realize you gave so few shits. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Hey, what—”

“I’ll talk to you later, I guess. Unless you decide you can’t be bothered.” He stepped back and turned to go.

“Phoenix.”

Except he couldn’t go, because Doug had grabbed his wrist. 

“Okay, just relax,” Doug said, which was kind of a ridiculous thing to request, because he hadn’t yet let go of Phoenix’s wrist.

Phoenix opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“If I let go, are you going to run away?”

Was he? He wasn’t really sure. He looked down at his wrist, where Doug was still holding him, and couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“Okay,” Doug said again, more softly this time. “No running allowed.” And he let go, which didn’t really feel the way Phoenix had expected it to. “Thank you for staying put,” Doug said, still soft.

Phoenix shook his head.

After several seconds, Doug asked, “Why are you out so late anyway?”

Phoenix shrugged. “I was going to get something to eat, but you interrupted me.”

“Oh,” said Doug, a little distantly, then: “Wait, it’s like midnight. Why are you getting food this late? When was the last time you ate?”

Phoenix shrugged again, still staring at some indeterminate point down the street.

“God, are you hangry? Are we having this stupid argument because you’re hangry?”

“It’s not stupid, you were insulting my choice of—”

“Yeah, yeah, and you were pissy that I made plans without consulting you. Let’s call it a draw and get some food.”

Startled, Phoenix turned back to face him. “Get… food?”

Doug smiled at him. “Food. You know, basic human sustenance. Weren’t we just talking about this?”

“Yeah, but…”

Doug grabbed his upper arm and spun him around, marching them both down towards the main street. “If you’re being a little bitch because of low blood sugar, then the solution is to raise your blood sugar. Come on, Lawyerman Junior, let’s find a restaurant.”

Doug’s hand was, again—

“A restaurant?”

“Well, yeah. Don’t tell me you were planning on eating Doritos or something for dinner.”

“Actually—” Phoenix snapped.

“Absolutely not,” said Doug, and for a few more seconds they walked quietly, before Phoenix mumbled, “I doubt anything is even open at this hour anyway.”

Doug shrugged. “It’s a university town. We probably can’t get haute cuisine, but I’m sure we can find something. Anything is more haute cuisine than Doritos, anyway.”

Abruptly, the fight drained from Phoenix’s limbs, and he stumbled a bit, still getting dragged along.

“You’ve got a phone, right?” Doug asked, apparently ignoring how Phoenix was almost tripping over his own feet.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Then check what’s open at this hour. I’m not letting you go until you’ve had something to eat.”

Phoenix sighed, tugging his phone from his pocket. When they reached the main road, Doug stopped walking but, true to his word, didn’t let go. “You don’t seriously think I’m about to take off anymore, do you?” Phoenix asked.

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Doug said, trying to peek over his shoulder at the phone screen. “You’ve done weirder things before.”

“Nosy,” Phoenix mumbled, holding his phone in against his chest.

Doug laughed. “Why do you have to hide your map history from me? What sorts of stores are you going to?”

I was trying to figure out what a flat white is, Phoenix didn’t bother saying. Instead: “Listen, if you’re forcing me to go to a restaurant with you, the least you can do is let me decide.”

“Okay,” Doug said, rolling his eyes with a smile as he stepped a short ways away. “But like you keep pointing out, I doubt we’re spoiled for choice at this hour.”

He wasn’t wrong; most of the fast food places Phoenix typically visited were closed, even that one burrito shop which usually catered to the late-night drunk crowd.

“It seems, uh,” Phoenix muttered, reluctant to say it out loud, “that the, uh… Outback Steakhouse is open.”

“Sounds ghastly,” said Doug.

“It is,” Phoenix replied, flashing back to his failed date all those months ago.

Doug snorted, then said, “But hey, if it’s our only option, then off we go. It’s about a mile this way, right?” And without even waiting for Phoenix’s confirmation, yanked on his arm again, tugging him down the sidewalk in what admittedly was the correct direction.

Now that he’d cooled down a bit, Phoenix could admit that he really was hungry, and that it probably was a good idea to have a meal. Still, he’d never planned on going to a restaurant with Doug, much less to an Outback, which he didn’t exactly have the greatest associations with.

But maybe it would be a good thing to go with a friend? Maybe that would help overwrite his previous impressions of the place, or something.

Then again, that was dependent on Doug actually being a friend of his, which… considering that he was moving away within the next several months and hadn’t even seen fit to tell Phoenix about it, maybe they weren’t friends after all.

He sighed heavily.

“Solving all the world’s problems in your mind as we walk?” Doug asked.

“Can’t even solve my own.”

Doug gave his arm a little squeeze. “Which problems would those be?”

“Take a fucking guess.”

“Oh.” There was a short silence. “I never meant to hide it from you, you know. If we’d been friends back when I got accepted, I’m sure I would have told you straight away.” Doug shrugged. “It just hasn’t been on my mind lately. I got the offer, accepted it, and kinda forgot about it.”

Phoenix mumbled something under his breath.

“Seriously,” Doug said, and pulled them to a halt, turning to face Phoenix. “I didn’t mean to upset you. If I’d—” He froze for a second, frowning. “I didn’t realize it would be as big of a deal to you as it is.”

“It’s fine,” Phoenix said, even though it kind of wasn’t, because there was no point in saying otherwise.

Doug stared him down for a moment longer, looking like he wanted to add something, then shook his head and took off down the sidewalk again.

Surprisingly, when they arrived at the restaurant, they weren’t its only patrons.

“Guess the rest of these poor idiots were stuck with this option, just like us,” Doug said, peering around the dining room.

“Haha, yeah,” said Phoenix, trying not to think about how he’d thought it was a great place for a date.

The host brought them over to a booth, and Doug dropped onto the bench across from Phoenix with a dramatic groan. “Can’t say I ever imagined I’d be going to an Outback Steakhouse after midnight during spring break.” He smiled crookedly. “Cross one off the bucket list, I guess.”

Phoenix smiled faintly down at the menu. “Sounds like a fun list.”

“You know me,” Doug said, covering a yawn. “Climb Everest, fly to the moon, visit an Outback Steakhouse at 1am after getting yelled at by a friend.”

Phoenix grimaced. “Um, I—”

“Oh!” Doug laughed suddenly. “Oh my god, this is a real thing? I thought it was a joke.”

“What was a joke?”

“The onion thing!” He spun his menu towards Phoenix, jabbing a finger at the photo of a greasy-looking bloomin’ onion. “It’s an entire fucking onion.”

“Oh,” said Phoenix. “Yeah, uh, it’s a real thing.”

“No kidding,” said Doug, and laughed again. “I hope you realize that we’re ordering this.”

“We are?”

“We are.”

We are, Phoenix thought. “Isn’t that kind of a lot of food?”

“Hey, you’re the hangry one,” Doug said, giving him a quick smile as he spun the menu back towards himself. “Think of it as a favor to me, if you must. No more biting my head off, okay?”

“Okay,” Phoenix mumbled.

“And six-dollar cocktails, too,” Doug added, flipping through more of the menu. “What a steal. I see why this place is popular with the late-night crowd.”

“Is that… good?” Phoenix asked, not having sampled many cocktails in his life.

“I mean, price-wise, yeah. In terms of, like, my moral and physical health, no.” Doug sent him a brief look. “No alcohol. You strike me as a lightweight, and I am not fireman-carrying you back to the dorm.”

“Haha, uh, of course not,” Phoenix said, spellbound by the mental image. 

Doug shot him a quick smile and went back to the menu. “So aside from the Entire Fucking Onion, what are we getting?” 

“Do I need more?” 

“Yes,” said Doug in a voice that brooked no disagreement, and Phoenix subsided into his own menu. 

Looking at the options was reminding him of his failed date with Dollie. Mashed potatoes had been a disaster last time, and Phoenix resolved not to make the same etiquette errors. Something tidier, then. Well, but they were getting the Bloominʼ Onion, so there would already be finger food involved, but he could at least—

“Decided?” 

Phoenix looked up. “Uh, I’ll get the chicken alfredo pasta.” 

Doug laughed. “Weʼre at a steakhouse and you’re getting alfredo pasta?” 

God, had he screwed it up again? He felt himself flush and opened his mouth, but Doug kept going. 

“Honestly, that suits you perfectly. Nothing you do makes any goddamn sense.” But Doug was grinning like he found it kind of charming. “Anyway, the carbs will be good for you, Mr. Hangry.” 

“Uh,” Phoenix said, and coughed lightly. “What are you getting?” 

“Steak, like a normal person.” He was still laughing a little. 

There was a short pause as the waiter came by and took their order, but it didnʼt feel strained, and as soon as they were by themselves again Doug looked over with a smile. “So if we die from heart failure from that Entire Fucking Onion—” 

“It was your idea,” Phoenix protested, laughing. 

“—then at least we went out in style.”

“This is your idea of style.” 

“You were going to have Doritos for dinner.” 

“I never deluded myself that it was stylish,” said Phoenix with wounded dignity. “It was functional.”

“Sure, if you like scurvy,” Doug said absently, eyeing the other occupants of the restaurant. 

Phoenix joined him in looking around. This time of night, it wasnʼt exactly busy, but they were doing a brisker trade than Phoenix would have guessed. It was mostly other people around their age, looking to be various stages of trashed. In the corner of the dining room, there was one man sitting alone with a family sized plate of nachos and a single whisky shot.

“Wonder what his story is,” Doug said.

Phoenix squinted at the man, who was staring listlessly at the wrestling match on the television. “Long day, I guess.”

“Hmm.” Doug propped his elbows up on the table. “Maybe he just got some bad news.”

“Fired, maybe?”

“Or divorced,” Doug said. “With a t-shirt like that, he deserves it.”

Phoenix laughed and looked more closely. Pick Your Weapon, it said, with a selection of electric guitars underneath. “His wife probably took the kids and ran.”

“Yeah,” said Doug with a snort. “Only a straight guy would wear a shirt like that.”

Phoenix grinned. “You know, this kind of makes me think of—”

“Steve,” Doug said, and they both laughed. “Oh my god, this is the Ghost of Steve Future.”

“Take a photo and send it to him—”

“I’m not taking a photo of a stranger at a steakhouse!” Doug wheezed out.

“—tell him it’s his last warning before this becomes his destiny—”

“God, you are a mean bitch when you want to be,” said Doug, wiping his eyes.

Phoenix choked on his water. “You, of all people, accusing me of being a mean bitch?”

“I never said I wasn’t.”

“Watching your increasing despair over Steve’s antics—”

“He deserves it!”

“—absolutely dragging him publicly—”

“Two women, Phoenix,” Doug said. He was laughing so hard he was almost facedown on the table. “Imagine the absolutely breathtaking hubris that caused this guy to propose to two women.”

“Yeah, that’s about two women too many,” Phoenix said with a snort.

Doug paused for a second, then added, “We never did get an answer about his end goal, did we?”

Phoenix crossed his arms on the table and rested his chin on them. The table was a little sticky, but he felt kind of hazy and warm and it didn’t bother him as much as it probably should have. “I don’t think so.”

“Mm,” said Doug. They were at eye level across the expanse of the four-top. “Maybe I’m giving him too much credit when I assume that he even has the emotional and intellectual capacity to form long-term goals.” He paused for a second. “Maybe he’s actually a government test android and experienced a malfunction.”

“Wishful thinking,” Phoenix said, and grinned at him. “Unfortunately, we really do live in a world where Steves exist.”

“Well, it’s good to have something to work towards. A world without Steves.”

There was a short silence, and then the waiter arrived with the Bloomin’ Onion. He said something, probably, but both Phoenix and Doug were mesmerized by its appearance and didn’t pay him any attention.

“Wow,” Doug said with quiet awe. “It really is an Entire Fucking Onion.”

“Honesty in advertising,” said Phoenix, thinking of the photo in the menu. “Imagine the disappointment and heartbreak if we were only given three-quarters of an onion.”

“That… probably would have been better, honestly.”

“The great Doug Swallow, regretting his actions?”

Doug shot him a brief glance. “I made a calculated risk,” he said with great dignity.

“Own your mistakes.”

“Fuck,” Doug muttered. “Fine.” He reached out tentatively and pulled a stick—a leaf? a petal?—from the onion. “What kind of sauce is this?”

“Bloom sauce,” Phoenix announced, glancing over at their spare menu.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“You’re gonna just have to go for it.”

“Pray for me,” Doug said, and took a bite. After a second, his eyes widened. “This is… actually pretty good.”

Phoenix stared down at the platter. “Is it?”

“I mean, it’s deep fried dough around onion, I should probably have figured as much.” He pulled a face. “Just don’t think of the nutritional value.”

“You know, the menu has the calorie count now—”

“Do not,” Doug said, laughing. “I’ve already committed to this, don’t give me a reason to quit.”

“Fine,” Phoenix said. He took an onion petal—frond?—for himself, cautiously dunking it in the mystery sauce. “Okay, yeah, this is pretty good.”

“You’re welcome,” said Doug, and took another petal—branch??

Phoenix rested his chin on his arm again, pulling another piece off the onion. It was probably poor etiquette, eating while half lying down on the table, but he was tired and still undernourished. Doug didn’t seem to care or notice, anyway.

After another moment, Doug said, “Our pal Steve over there—”

Phoenix laughed. “How do you know his name is Steve?”

“Even if his name isn’t Steve, he’s still a Steve.” Doug made an expansive gesture with one hand. “You know, like, spiritually.”

“Do you think it’s contagious?”

“Steve-ification,” Doug said, and laughed under his breath. “There is one step and it is Steve.”

“God help us all,” Phoenix muttered.

“What?” Doug asked with his usual perspicacity. “Are you afraid of becoming a Steve too or something?”

Phoenix spluttered. “Excuse me?”

“All the signs are there,” Doug said gravely. “Soon you’re going to be ordering novelty t-shirts off eBay. If you ever wear something with guitars or guns on it I’m giving myself permission to take you out behind the athletics building and—”

Phoenix was still holding the crumbly onion-and-dough stick, and all at once, it occurred to him that it was the perfect shape and size for a projectile. His aim was off since he was still mostly horizontal on the table, and before he knew it, Doug’s hand had reached out to grab his. He didn’t even manage to chuck the onion.

“Intercepted,” Doug said smugly. “Nice try, kid.”

“Ah,” said Phoenix.

Doug didn’t release him, but did reach out with his other hand to pluck the onion stick from Phoenix’s astonished grasp. “Thanks for this, by the way,” he said and popped the onion into his mouth.

“This is cozy!” said the waiter, appearing suddenly from behind Phoenix’s shoulder. “Are you two ready for your main course?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” said Doug, pretending not to notice how Phoenix had startled as though shot.

“This is way too much food,” Phoenix mumbled after the waiter left, staring down at the expanse of pasta and onion.

“Well, one makes certain decisions at 1am,” said Doug, and then shrugged with a smile. “It’ll be leftovers. Nothing wrong with that.”

Phoenix made a face. “I don’t have a minifridge in my room. Warm alfredo sounds like…”

“Sounds like salmonella,” said Doug. “Well, that’s fine. I have a fridge in my room.”

“So you’re a charity case now?”

“No, you donut.” Doug rolled his eyes. “I mean I can hold onto it for you and you can come by tomorrow to get it.”

“A-ah,” Phoenix said.

Doug smiled. “Unless you’re so repulsed by the thought of my company.”

“No!” Phoenix blurted out, then coughed. “No, that’s fine. That makes sense.”

The smile went a little crooked. “Cool.”

Phoenix poked at his pasta, suddenly out of things to say. It did make sense, and had he thought about it, he would have realized that it was pretty likely he and Doug would be spending more time together for spring break. Dollie was away from campus, after all, and Doug hadn’t mentioned—

“Is your friend around this week?”

Doug looked surprised at the non sequitur. “Who?”

“Your—” Phoenix frowned. “Cassandra.”

“Oh. No, she went back home.”

“Where’s home?” He poked at his pasta again.

Doug was silent for a moment. “Norcal.”

“So you two aren’t, like, childhood friends from Connecticut or something.”

“No.” Doug laughed. “Why? Do we have that vibe or something?”

“You seem close.”

“We’ve spent a lot of time together over the past four years.”

“Right.” Phoenix swallowed. “So you’re…”

“You know,” Doug said thoughtfully, “I think the majority of guys would be significantly less annoying if they all had lesbian best friends.”

Lesbian best friends.

“Nothing takes you down a peg like being completely romantically irrelevant to women, you know?”

“Uh,” said Phoenix.

Doug was silent for one more moment, an odd half-smile on his face, then said, “Anyway, I made a joke about scurvy-via-Doritos earlier, but I don’t think onion rings and alfredo pasta is any better, really.”

“I have an apple back in my room,” Phoenix said vaguely.

“Proud of you.”

“Uh, thanks.”

Doug laughed. “I’m going to do you a favor and blame the scintillating last few minutes of conversation on your exhaustion.”

And he was exhausted, all at once and all the way to the tips of his fingers.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Doug said, pre-empting any protests from Phoenix’s end. “It is nearly 2am. I’m just glad you ate something before you withered away into nothingness.”

Phoenix shook his head, but he was smiling.

By that point, the restaurant was nearly empty—though Spiritually-Steve was still brooding over his nachos—so they were able to flag down the waiter and settle up quickly. Phoenix barely remembered the walk back to campus. Outside his dorm building, Doug pulled the box of pasta from his hands.

“Give me your phone number,” he said. “It’s simpler than always using Facebook to communicate.”

“Sure,” said Phoenix, covering another jaw-cracking yawn. He propped himself up against the side of the building as Doug took his number and then put his own into Phoenix’s phone, then stumbled his way up to his floor. He barely even remembered to remove his shoes before he flopped into bed and immediately fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Phoenix indulged himself in sleeping in past noon for the first time since winter break, and it was glorious. He had been exhausted after his and Doug’s late-night Outback excursion, and it wasn’t like he had anything planned for the rest of the day anyway. What was he going to do, study?  

He grinned widely and stretched, feeling the most refreshed that he had in weeks. Spring break was awesome.

Without bothering to change out of his pajamas, he got up, made himself a cup of instant coffee, and settled back into bed with his laptop for a youtube marathon. 

He spent a few blissful hours that way, lost down some rabbithole of media critique essays. Distantly, he realized that he should probably go out for food at some point to avoid a rehash of last night. But that would mean getting dressed and putting on his shoes and actually figuring out what it was that he even wanted to eat, so instead he scrounged up one of his apples and stayed in bed.

In the end, he was saved from having to worry about it by a text from Doug sometime around dinner:

Doug [19:24]: Hey, you still want your pasta?

Phoenix had completely forgotten about it. The reminder made his stomach grumble in anticipation.

Phoenix [19:26]: oh yeah, actually
Doug [19:26]: Cool. I’m at Osprey Hall. Let me know when you get here and I’ll come down.

Going outside meant looking somewhat presentable, but he wasn’t going too far so he found that he didn’t mind. He pulled on a pair of jeans and began reaching for a sweater to wear over his sleep shirt, but decided against it at the last second and picked out one of his nice blue tees instead.

Phoenix arrived outside Doug’s dorm building and texted him, as instructed. He had expected Doug to hand off the pasta at the door, but instead he came out empty-handed. 

“Hey,” Doug greeted him, and held open the door for Phoenix to walk inside. 

“Didn’t know I’d be getting the dorm tour today, too,” Phoenix said, in an effort to shake off a sudden nervousness. The lobby didn't look much different from his own dorm, except for some distinctive but no less vapid paintings on the walls.

“Oh, yeah. I figured you could hang out a bit, if you wanted,” Doug said. “I don’t know about you, but I’m bored out of my mind. You didn’t have any other plans today though, did you?”

Phoenix shrugged. “Not really.”

“Cool.” Doug grinned at him as he opened the door to his room. Phoenix hovered in the doorway, glancing inside.

“You can come in, you know,” Doug said, amused.

“Ah,” said Phoenix, and shuffled into the corner, nudging aside some textbooks. Doug shot him another bemused look before turning to the mini fridge.

“So I’m guessing this is your first meal of the day then, huh?”

“Not my first meal,” Phoenix said. “I had an apple.”

“Hate to break it to you, but that’s not a meal.”

“Well, it’s a fruit at least. That’s healthy right? An apple a day, or some shit?”

“Just like the saying goes,” Doug mused. He rummaged through the mini fridge, removing large bottles of alcohol before finally pulling out a takeout box. “Here you are. The microwave is over there, too, unless you like cold alfredo.”

Phoenix did not, in fact, like cold alfredo, and gratefully heated up the pasta. He didn’t really know where he should sit—he’d never really visited a friend’s room before and wasn’t quite sure about the proper etiquette. After pondering it for a few seconds he decided that the floor was his best bet to minimize any mess, and settled against the wall between Doug’s desk and a pile of binders.

Doug heated up his own steak leftovers and joined Phoenix on the floor, sitting across from him.

“Is your dorm empty too?” Doug asked. “I think I might honestly be the only person here on my floor. Except for maybe that guy on the end who never leaves his room. Haven’t seen him since move-in day.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty quiet,” said Phoenix. “Seems like everyone went back home this year.”

“Either that or houseboating,” Doug drolled.

“Oh yeah. I remember people talking about that. It can’t be that fun, can it?”

Doug chewed thoughtfully for a second, his face lighting up slowly with an idea. “We could see for ourselves.”

“What?!” Phoenix spluttered. “Drive out five hours to get to the lake—”

“I’ve got an air mattress,” Doug said, “and some alcohol—”

“‘Some’?” Phoenix snorted, glancing at the mini fridge. Doug rolled his eyes and ignored him.

“Anyway, what I’m saying is that we can do our own houseboats, right here on campus.”

“That sounds like a disaster,” Phoenix said. He couldn't believe he was seriously considering this. “Let’s do it.”

Doug polished off the last bit of his steak and then pulled out an air mattress box from under his bed. He rummaged through the mini fridge again, surprisingly picky for someone with a million options to choose from, and re-emerged with a thin clear bottle that didn’t look any different from all the others.

“You gonna finish that?” he asked, eyeing Phoenix’s leftovers.

“I’ll bring it with me,” Phoenix said. “For the all-inclusive experience.”

“Alright,” Doug laughed. “Don’t blame me if it gets all gross though.”

With the necessities packed, they headed off towards the arboretum. It was still light out, though just barely—the sun filtered through the trees in a late afternoon sunset. They walked along the arboretum path until they reached a pond large enough for their purposes, at which point Doug tossed the air mattress onto the grass and started filling it with a portable air pump. 

“Okay,” he said, once the mattress was full. “Let’s get—Oh, wait.” He grabbed his phone and wallet and dropped them to the ground. “Might not want to risk it.”

Phoenix did the same with his own phone, and, after a moment’s deliberation, with the box of pasta as well.

“Now it’s showtime,” Doug said, and pushed the mattress half into the water. 

They kicked off the bank, and the mattress began fully floating in a true boat-like fashion. Phoenix didn’t know what he had expected, but half of him honestly thought it wouldn’t have worked at all. It was pretty pleasant, even, to be lying on his back and staring up into the sky as it turned to dusk—as long as he didn’t think about the slimy algae a few inches away from his face. The evening air was refreshing on his skin, and a chorus of crickets chirped nearby.

Doug wasted no time with the alcohol, cracking it open and taking a long draught. He caught Phoenix’s eye and raised the bottle.

“You want some?”

“What is it?”

Doug twisted it around to show him the label. “Vodka.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” said Phoenix, as if he was discerning enough to care. “It’s not houseboats without it, right?”

“Guess we’ll see if you’re actually a lightweight, then,” Doug said, smirking, and Phoenix flushed indignantly. 

He snatched the bottle from Doug’s hand and said, “You will see, won’t you.”

As soon as he brought it to his mouth, however, the image of Doug drinking from it only a few seconds earlier flashed through his mind, and he hesitated. Don’t be weird about this, Phoenix, he reprimanded himself, and, screwing his eyes shut, took a long sip. The vodka was surprisingly sweet, with a refreshing blast of lime.

“Oh,” he said. “Oh wow. That’s good.”

“Knew you’d like it,” said Doug, grabbing the bottle back. Phoenix watched as he knocked down another sip, enthralled.

“So. Welcome to the houseboats experience, I guess,” Doug said, passing the bottle to Phoenix again. 

“Just like a real houseboat, I’m sure.”

“Yep. Complete with lodging and refreshments and everything.” Doug gestured to the air mattress and the alcohol bottle, then flashed Phoenix with a smile. “I’d even hazard to say better company, too.”

Phoenix took another sip of vodka. Maybe he was a lightweight—his face was starting to become warm already. 

“Wait, hang on. Is this the pond?” Doug said suddenly, looking around at their surroundings. “Oh my god. It has to be.”

“What are you talking about,” Phoenix laughed. The initial squirming in his stomach had started to settle now, and a warm, heady buzz began to take its place. “It’s just a pond.”

“Phoenix,” said Doug, voice dead serious. “It’s not just a pond. It’s the pond.”

“Okay, but like, what does that mean?”

“It’s the pond taco pond.”

“The—” Phoenix tried to parse that sentence, failing miserably. “The what now?!”

“Pond tacos!” Doug exclaimed, as if that clarified anything. “Oh my god, have I not told you the pond taco story?”

“Uhhh obviously not!”

“Okay, okay, wait.” Doug took a few deep breaths to steady himself, but instead burst into a fresh round of giggles. 

“Oh my god,” Phoenix said. “Are you going to tell me what a pond taco is or not?!”

“I’m getting there!” Doug laughed, wiping his eyes. The giggling died down, and he took a few more breaths before launching into the explanation. “Okay. So the story is that my roommate in freshman year somehow got it in his head to live off the land or some shit—”

“Live off the land?” Phoenix scoffed. “God, why?”

“You’re asking me as if I know. I mean, he was a weirdo in a whole bunch of other ways, too. But anyway. He kept saying that he was going out to ‘the pond’ and then he’d come back after like half a day with a handful of bluegills and make fish tacos out of them. Except he called them ‘pond tacos’ because they were from fish he caught at the pond.”

“P—” Phoenix sputtered, barely able to get the word out. “Pond tacos?!”

“Pond tacos!” Doug repeated gleefully. “I tried one once, too. God, Phoenix…” He clutched his stomach, doubling over with fresh laughter. “It was so bad.”

“Oh my god…” Phoenix said, a little reverently. “Pond tacos.”

“The fish were so small!” Doug wheezed. “They were literally just bones!”

“Why did you eat them!” Phoenix cried. Doug’s laughter was infectious, and he found himself unable to stop cackling too.

“I don’t know! Would you pass up a pond taco either?”

“Yes!” 

“You’re a fucking liar,” Doug said, grinning. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that you wouldn’t at least try a pond taco.”

Phoenix bit his lip to keep himself from smiling. He shifted a bit to face Doug on the air mattress, stomach swooping when their eyes met. “I—”

“See, you can’t do it,” Doug said. “Can’t keep a straight face.”

“You didn’t even let me finish!”

“You were about to break, I could tell.” Doug smirked and took another sip from his bottle. Phoenix rolled his eyes.

“Well, whatever. Maybe if you actually had a pond taco to give me you’d see for sure how I’d react to it.”

“We are making pond tacos right now, Phoenix. Just by being here.”

“Wait, what?” Phoenix said incredulously. “Literally what are you even talking about.”

“What we’re doing now is the pond taco experience,” said Doug. “It’s like houseboats, but pond tacos.”

“Without either the houseboat or the pond tacos.”

“You heard me.”

“Okay,” he laughed. “Floating on an air mattress is the new pond tacos I guess.”

“I’m glad you see reason,” Doug said, nodding sagely. He capped the alcohol bottle and flopped onto his back, causing the air mattress to dip precariously. Phoenix followed suit, being more careful so as not to splash algae onto his clothes.

This was truly a ridiculous situation, he realized—floating on an air mattress in a pond at night. And with Doug, no less. This wasn’t at all how he imagined his spring break would go, but he realized that he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Pond tacos,” Phoenix muttered aloud, still snickering. More loudly, he said, “And what kind of person has an extra air mattress lying around anyway?”

“Well, me, for starters,” Doug replied.

“Yeah, but for what.” 

“Oh. You know…” He waved his hand in the air vaguely. ”For activities.”

“Act...ivities…”

“I really have to spell everything out for you, don’t I,” Doug said with a sigh, right as Phoenix was struck with a cold, sinking realization. The warm buzzing feeling from the alcohol dissipated as though he’d been doused in ice water.

“Wh—You—” He scrambled upwards as quickly as he could without capsizing them, and then hissed, “You’ve had sex on this??”

“It’s not that weird,” Doug said, hands clenched tight over his stomach.

“It’s—” Phoenix’s stomach churned with a sudden nausea. “Maybe not, but I don’t want to like... know this stuff!”

Doug shrugged. “Sorry for bringing it up.”

“So this is what you’ve been doing with all those...those…” Phoenix stumbled over the words, sickened even by the idea, “prospects you keep bragging about?”

“Hey.” Doug shifted onto his elbow, frowning. “Since when have I ever bragged about any prospects?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Phoenix said scathingly, “only every time you talked to me before we started hanging out, maybe?”

“You know what, fair, we were both kind of dicks then,” Doug said. “Look, let’s just drop this okay? I shouldn’t have brought it up. I didn’t realize it would bother you so much.”

“It doesn’t—” Phoenix snapped. “I’m not bothered, it’s just—”

“I was just saying that my options were open,” Doug interjected, still infuriatingly calm about the whole thing. “I haven’t seen anyone in a while, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

It wasn’t, but that somehow managed to knock the wind out of his sails. While he was momentarily distracted from his argument, Doug added, “And I haven’t officially dated anyone since…” he stopped abruptly, shooting a quick glance at Phoenix. “Anyway. Casual’s been fine for me for the moment. Can’t get torn up over something you’re not too invested in.”

Phoenix felt his irritation welling back up. “Oh, right, casual. As if that’s better.”

“I mean it’s not really any of your business,” Doug said, leaning back down and crossing his arms behind his head, “but since you’re so interested in my love life I’ll have you know that I haven’t seen anyone casually for a few months or so now either.”

“Sure, whatever,” Phoenix muttered. “I still don’t want to think about it.” 

“Right, of course,” Doug said, something far too light and warm in his tone, and Phoenix’s annoyance surged.

“It’s not like I’m a prude, okay?” he snapped. “Like, guy or girl or whoever, I don’t care. Just don’t tell me about it.”

“Thanks for the blessing, I guess,” Doug said dryly. After a second or two, his eyes widened and he twisted to look at Phoenix again, frowning. “Wait. Have I ever come out to you before?”

“Uh…” Phoenix stammered. “Well...”

“I’m pretty sure I haven’t,” he went on. “How did you know?”

“I think it was, uh, something you mentioned on the confession page at some point,” Phoenix replied, hoping Doug didn’t remember exactly how long ago it had been. 

“Oh, huh. Yeah, probably.” Doug shrugged. “It’s not like I try to hide it or anything. I didn’t mean to hide it from you either, by the way. I’m just surprised you already knew.”

“Um. Yeah,” Phoenix said. “I guess it’s never really come up.”

Doug nodded, and they both fell into silence. A loud croaking came from what sounded like a few feet behind Phoenix’s head, echoed by softer croaks from the opposite end of the pond.

“What’s it like?” Phoenix blurted. “To be...um. Bi.”

Doug blinked at him in surprise, mouth parted slightly, but before he could respond Phoenix hastily added, “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

Doug stared at him for a few seconds longer, and for one terrifying moment Phoenix wondered if he’d said the wrong thing somehow. 

“No, it’s fine,” Doug said at last. “I don’t mind sharing.”

Phoenix nodded, too nervous to trust himself to speak. He waited anxiously while Doug thought through a response, brows furrowed.

“It...took a while to figure out the liking men part of it,” he began slowly. “To me it felt kind of...wrong at first, I guess? Like I’d get crushes that I didn’t know what to do with because it didn’t feel the way society pressured me into thinking it would, you know?”

“A-ah,” Phoenix said, for lack of anything better to say. He wasn’t sure he totally understood, but Doug continued on anyway.

“Like, you’re expected to want to be with girls. And I did! I do! But also I’d have some like...inexplicable desire to be friends with some guy, and hang out with him all the time, and make him pay attention to me. And get...more than unreasonably jealous whenever he’d show interest in someone else.”

Phoenix nodded, watching Doug carefully from the corner of his eye.

“It’s kind of embarrassing to think about now, actually,” Doug added with a laugh, running his hand through his hair. “Like, it’s pretty obvious that that’s a crush, right? But it’s hard to think about it that way when you’re constantly told it’s not acceptable, or even desirable.”

“I guess I always thought that you would just...know?” Phoenix said.

Doug laughed again, not without some measure of bitterness. “I mean, maybe for some people, yeah. But compulsory heterosexuality is one helluva drug.”

Phoenix frowned. “Compulsory heterosexuality?”

“Yeah. It’s like, uuhh…” Doug made another waving gesture with his hands. “Being forced to think that you only like people of the opposite gender. Since it’s constantly shoved down our throats, you know?”

Phoenix thought back to Larry’s folder of movies—how almost every single story featured some sort of heterosexual romantic tension, outright or otherwise. “Yeah, I can see that.”

Doug stayed quiet, staring up into the cloudless sky. Phoenix took a long sip from the alcohol bottle, hoping that the vodka would take some of the edge off his nerves.

“Anyway. Don’t fall for straight guys, that’s my advice,” Doug said lightly after a while. “Not a fun mistake to make, that’s for sure. Goodbye and good riddance, Straight Steve.”

“Wait—” Phoenix said, unsure if he heard correctly. “Steve?!”

“What?” Doug glanced over at him. “Oh god no, not that Steve. Different Steve. From high school.” He paused and then scowled with distaste. “Fuck, I hate that they have the same name. Well whatever, they both suck so it doesn’t matter.”

“Fuck all Steves,” Phoenix said with feeling. The unfortunate other implications of what he had said passed through his mind immediately afterwards, and he flushed. "N-not in that way, though."

“Pft—” Doug snorted and then burst into laughter. “No, you're right. Fuck Straight Steve, but in the I-hope-he-never-gets-laid way. God, what an asshole.” He shook his head and popped open the lid on the alcohol bottle. “And you know what the true tragedy is? He wasn't even that good looking.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely way out of his league,” Phoenix said, nodding in agreement. “I don’t know what Straight Steve looks like but there’s no doubt you’re way more handsome.”

There was a strangled choking sound at that, followed by another bout of near-hysterical laughter. Phoenix glanced over, mildly alarmed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, I’m just—Oh wow.” Doug was grinning, his expression slightly crazed. “I might actually be losing my mind.”

“I mean, it’s true,” Phoenix insisted, gathering steam. “You’re funny, and smart—”

“Okay, okay,” Doug said, laughing. “I get it.”

“—and pretty good looking, once you get past all the asshole-ishness—”

“Phoenix,” he said quietly. “I get it.”

Phoenix swallowed, trailing off into silence. 

“I-I’m just saying. And it’s true, you know,” he mumbled, feeling inexplicably embarrassed about his earlier enthusiasm. “I’m trying to be supportive. As a friend.”

“Right,” Doug replied, a little too brightly. “Just friend things.”

Phoenix absently scratched his arm—a mosquito had just landed there, he realized—and tried to think of something else to say. 

“Well, I think that’s enough pond tacos for tonight, actually,” Doug announced suddenly. 

“Oh.” Phoenix tried not to sound too disappointed. “Already?”

“I’m pretty beat. And we’re out of alcohol.” Doug waved the somehow-empty bottle in the air. “Half the fun of pond tacos is staying at just the right level of drunk so that you don't actually end up like one of the frat weirdos.”

“I thought it was about eating shitty little fish.”

“Not the way that we do it,” Doug replied. He glanced around the pond and down at the air mattress, frowning. “Fuck, this is going to be gross. Help me figure out a way to get us back to shore.”

Phoenix looked around too. They had floated out right into the middle of the pond, and even though it was only a few feet away from the closest shore Phoenix knew he would regret jumping in. It was going to be messy enough to pull the air mattress out—he didn't need to get more muddy than he'd already signed up for.

There weren't any sticks or reeds close enough for him to grab and pull them across with, either. Sighing, he resorted to paddling with his hands, until something else caught his eye.

“Give me that,” Phoenix demanded, pointing at the vodka bottle. Doug passed it to him with a questioning look. Phoenix gripped the neck and dipped it into the water, carefully gliding it backwards. After a few seconds of only getting his wrist mildly wet, he started paddling harder. The splashes sounded inordinately loud and clumsy in the calm evening air.

“What are you doing?” Doug shouted, but he was laughing.

“I’m getting us closer!” 

“We’re turning,” Doug pointed out, “you’re not getting us anywhere!”

“Okay, well I don’t see you helping!”

Doug was right—they were slowly turning to one side rather than moving straight across as Phoenix had hoped. But his corner was getting ever so slightly closer to grasping distance of a reed, and he tossed the bottle back onto the mattress, taking satisfaction in Doug’s surprised yelp. Phoenix reached out to the reed, grabbing a tentative hold. He heard a renewed splashing from Doug’s end of the mattress, and the reed began to slip through his fingers as they started turning in the opposite direction again.

“Oh my god, stop,” Phoenix laughed. “I almost have it!”

“Just paddle with your hands, Phoenix!”

“No, you use your hands!” Phoenix shouted back. “You stole my idea!”

“All’s fair,” Doug countered.

For once, Phoenix decided to take Doug’s advice—he stuck his hand in the water, pulled his arm in front of him to get a good angle, and then whipped it as hard as he could in Doug’s direction. The angle had been terrible—most of the water ended up on the mattress instead—but enough had splashed onto Doug that he flinched and rolled off into the pond with another undignified noise. 

“Hey!” he spluttered. “What was that?” Phoenix laughed at the bedraggled dismay on his face.

“Retribution,” he said. “But now you can push me the rest of the way, so.”

“Yeah, nice try,” Doug replied, and flipped his end of the mattress upward, rolling Phoenix into the water with him.

“Hey—”

“That’s what you get,” Doug said, far too pleased with himself. 

Fully giving up on staying relatively algae-free, they hefted the mattress up onto the grass. Phoenix helped Doug deflate it and fold it into a manageable size, then decided to take a stab at standing up. It was harder than he remembered it usually being—blood rushed to his head and he had to close his eyes against a wave of vertigo.

Once his head stopped spinning, he opened his eyes to see Doug watching him with amusement. 

“See, look,” Phoenix said smugly. “Standing up straight. Who’s the lightweight now.”

“Great job, champ,” Doug said. “How about walking, though?”

Phoenix took a few steps forward—they were only a little wobbly—but was determined not to prove Doug right. He continued along the path, and didn’t realize that he’d almost forgotten his phone and his pasta until Doug pressed them back into his hands. 

“Oh, thanks,” he said, as Doug fell into step beside him. They walked together in comfortable silence, past the library and the physics building, at which point Phoenix remembered that Doug’s dorm wasn’t in the same direction that his was. So then why was he...

“Wha—are you…” Phoenix turned around in surprise, stumbling backwards a little as he did so. “Are you escorting me?”

“Who knows, you might need carrying after all,” said Doug. He placed a steadying hand against Phoenix’s lower back, sending a tingling sensation up his spine. “See.”

“I’m fine,” Phoenix protested, strangely light-headed. His next step forward was a half-step too far in compensation, and he nearly face planted instead.

“Woah, there,” Doug said, grabbing his arm. “Fine, huh?”

“I would be fine if it weren't for you being here,” Phoenix insisted. His head was spinning—maybe the alcohol really was catching up to him. 

“Mm-hm. Too bad for you then, Mr. Lightweight. I’m not leaving until you get to your dorm, so I guess you’re stuck with me.”

“And how will you get to your dorm then, huh,” Phoenix retorted. “And I’m not a lightweight—”

“I promise you that I can handle getting back to my dorm by myself,” Doug interrupted. “Scout’s honor.”

“Huh. Doubtful.” Phoenix peered at the sidewalk, trying to scope out any potential tripping hazards. “What happened to the buddy system?”

Doug laughed. “Whether you like it or not, one of us is going to have to walk back alone. Otherwise we’d be stuck in limbo out here.”

“I mean, we’ve got your air mattress,” Phoenix pointed out. “And the rest of my pasta—”

“Your lukewarm, day-old, pondwater pasta?”

“Says the guy who eats pond tacos.”

“It was only once!”

“Anyway,” Phoenix said loudly. “I’m just saying that we have options.”

“Or,” said Doug, “You can let me walk you home and then I can walk back to my own dorm by myself, like we’re already doing.”

“Wait, no, I’ve got it,” Phoenix said, pleased with himself. “You walk me to my dorm. And then I walk you back to your dorm—”

“That literally defeats the point, we just went over this—”

“—and I could stay over there, and then there’d be no need for—”

“We’re here already,” Doug said, tugging gently on Phoenix’s arm.

“Oh.” Phoenix looked up; sure enough, there was his dorm building, looming dark and quiet above them.

“I trust you can take it from here?” Doug said. 

“Oh. Yeah.” Phoenix cleared his throat and then rummaged in his pockets for the building key. It took a little longer than usual to find it, which he was acutely aware of with Doug still standing next to him.

“So, uh,” Phoenix said, keycard in hand. “Thanks for inviting me out.”

“Anytime,” Doug replied. He shifted the air mattress under his arm, and Phoenix wondered if he should be more insistent on helping Doug get back home too.

“By the way, I’m—” Doug shifted his weight again. “I’m here if you ever want to talk about anything.”

“Like what,” Phoenix said, grinning, “my nutrition problems, or something?”

“Sure, sure.” Doug smiled back. “But seriously. If there’s anything you want to talk about, I’ll be around to listen.”

“O-okay,” Phoenix said, not completely sure why Doug was bringing this up now. He appreciated the sentiment in any case—that was what friends were for.

“Goodnight, then,” Doug said softly, “unless you really are planning to stand out here all night.”

Phoenix startled and nearly dropped his key. 

“R-right,” he said, fumbling with the door. “I’ll talk to you later?”

Doug nodded, smiling again, and Phoenix caught a last glimpse of his wave before stumbling upstairs.

So Doug was… maybe in a bit of danger.

Not in the way Cass thought he was. More that—this was turning into much more of a quagmire than he’d ever really expected it to.

After he’d deposited Phoenix back on his doorstep after pond tacos, he’d gone back to his own room, downed two glasses of hose-flavored water from the bathroom tap, and lain awake for about three hours thinking.

Because, really. He considered himself a decent advice-giver, right? He’d been doing the whole agony-aunt thing on the confession page for months now, and objectively, he knew that the right thing to do was to run as far away as possible from this whole soap-opera mess. Getting nebulously involved with his murdery ex-girlfriend’s current boyfriend, who didn’t even realize that he was attracted to men? Not that he gave a shit about whether his relationship with Phoenix was edging towards something a little like infidelity on Phoenix’s part—Dahlia had essentially told him right to his face that her relationship with Phoenix was a farce. No, it was more that Doug was painfully aware that if anyone else had posed this problem to him, he would have had a good, hearty laugh and then told them to run the other way as quickly as possible.

So. By all accounts, it would absolutely be the smartest thing to just… let things cool down a bit between him and Phoenix. 

It was morning now. He’d slept poorly the night before, so even though it was past the time he’d normally get up, he was still lazing in the sheets. He wasn’t really sure what to do with his day. It occurred to him that at some point in the last 36 hours, he’d readjusted his perception of how spring break was going to go—and now that he’d decided to cool it down a bit with Phoenix, he was at loose ends.

Not that he wanted to totally abandon Phoenix to his fate. But there were degrees of friendship, and “supportive from a distance” was a little different than “getting drunk on a pond together in the middle of the night.” Cass would approve of one of those courses of action significantly more than the other.

Either way, it meant that now he needed to figure out something else to do with his days.

He rolled out of bed and dropped to the floor with a whump. Wednesday. So he had only about five days until the rest of the university got back to campus. That was fine. He could do this.

He dragged himself into the shower, and then wandered the city for a while. There was a coffee shop a couple miles away that he wanted to try, and he ended up hanging out there for a couple of hours, flirting aimlessly with the barista. By mid-afternoon, he was too caffeinated and not any less restless. 

“So are you having girl troubles or what?” the barista asked.

He eyed them speculatively. “No.”

“Ahh. Boy troubles?”

“Not… exactly.”

“I’m right,” they said, looking awfully self-satisfied. “No one flirts with a barista for two hours unless they’re having romance troubles.”

“I wouldn’t call them romance troubles,” said Doug. “Too messy for that.”

The barista laughed. “You’re really not doing a lot to change my mind.”

Reluctantly, Doug smiled. “I guess not. Either way, it’s not going to be a problem.”

They gave him another long, indecipherable look. “If you say so.”

“No, seriously. It’s not.”

“Yeah, okay.” They were grinning. “Good luck. Use protection.”

He scrounged up a makeshift dinner of fruit and cheese and then flopped back onto his bed. He’d managed a whole, like, five minutes without worrying about Phoenix, which seemed like progress to him.

The most frustrating part was that it was obvious Phoenix liked him. Phoenix even seemed aware of it himself. He just didn’t seem to get the way he liked Doug.

But if he was thinking about this sort of thing, he needed a distraction.

He opened the Siren playlist link Cassandra had sent him earlier in the week. The game was so dark that he could barely ever tell what was going on, but the weird face capture technology filled him with some sort of existential terror.

He couldn’t really tell whether he was enjoying himself or not.

In the late evening, his phone buzzed, and without thinking, he rolled over to grab it.

Phoenix [20:32]: so are we doing pond tacos again or what
Doug [20:32]: Oh, hell yeah

Wait, shit. This was the opposite of what he told himself he was going to do.

Phoenix [20:33]: okay!

Fuck. He couldn’t just back out now.

Okay, this was fine, actually. They didn’t need to go all out like last night. Doug would bring the air mattress and no alcohol, they’d hang out for a bit, everything would be fine.

Phoenix [20:34]: so like, now?
Doug [20:34]: Meet me at The Pond.

Phoenix was already there when he arrived, looking a little worse for wear.

“Are you hungover?” Doug asked, feeling oddly delighted by the concept.

Phoenix gave him a weak glare.

“You’re hungover from half a bottle of Smirnoff Ice. Jesus, dude. It’s a damn good thing I didn’t bring any alcohol today.”

“Whatever,” Phoenix grumbled. “Give me the pump.”

Doug flopped onto the ground and watched with a smile as Phoenix re-inflated the mattress.

“You get on first,” Phoenix said when he finished.

“What, so I can be the guinea pig who ends up in the algae if you messed it up?”

Phoenix gave him a friendly shove, and Doug laughed and clambered onto the mattress, which felt reassuringly solid. “She’s in seafaring condition, captain.”

Phoenix saluted ironically and joined him on the mattress, which began to drift from the shore. “What did you get up to today?”

Doug thought about his judgmental barista friend. “Not a whole lot. Slept in. Got coffee.”

“Something fancy?”

Doug laughed. “I mean, I don’t think so, but it probably depends on what you’re used to.”

“I mostly drink instant coffee,” said Phoenix, and Doug full-on shuddered. Phoenix laughed and turned to face him on the mattress. “That bad?”

“It’s horrible,” said Doug. “That shit barely even counts as coffee.”

“Yeah, but I can make it at home. You need to go all the way to a café for your caffeine fix.”

“If you’re that desperate, just take a caffeine tablet.”

Phoenix grinned and stretched, making the mattress wobble ominously. “It doesn’t taste as nice.”

Doug choked. “Did you really just say to me, your good friend Doug Swallow, that instant coffee tastes good?”

“Yeah,” Phoenix said, unperturbed. “If you put enough sugar in it.”

“Fuck off,” Doug laughed, and gave him a shove.

Phoenix grabbed the edge of the mattress in a panic. “I am not drunk enough to get dumped into a pond again.”

“God,” said Doug. “I’m not drunk enough for this conversation either. Fucking instant coffee.”

Phoenix was smiling a little wistfully. “You’re such a fucking snob.”

“Maybe, but at least I’m not going to get an ulcer from instant fucking coffee!”

Phoenix shook his head and lapsed into silence.

The mattress really wasn’t that big. At some point they’d shifted closer, and now they were pressed together from shoulder to elbow, but Phoenix stayed quiet. 

Doug glanced quickly over at him. He was staring at the sky, apparently not even aware of the physical contact. It was so rare that his little internalized homophobia machine ever managed to shut off, and Doug kept quiet. 

“You said yesterday that it’s been a while since you were in a relationship,” Phoenix said abruptly.

Doug froze, then released a breath. “Yeah.”

Phoenix nodded, still staring up at the sky. “So then… Dollie?”

“That’s right,” Doug said carefully.

“And before that?”

“Probably nothing you’d categorize as a real relationship.”

Phoenix smiled faintly. “Nothing that I’d categorize as a real relationship, or nothing that anyone would categorize as a real relationship?”

“Well, different people have different standards, I guess.”

“Why are you trying so hard to dodge the question?”

Phoenix had said it jokingly, but Doug was struck by it. Why was he? Probably not just because of the inherent awkwardness of talking about this with the person who was dating his ex-girlfriend.

So in that case… ugh. Doug needed to change the subject before he made things weird. 

“It’s probably most correct to say I haven’t dated anyone else. I wasn’t together with Dahlia that long anyway.” 

“No?” Phoenix said. He sounded curious. 

“Nah. We—” Well, probably best to not get into this too much. It did raise a question for Doug, though. “When did you two get together?” 

“August 27th.” Phoenix said it promptly, like this was a piece of information he kept ready to go at all times. 

Doug wasn’t paying too close attention, though. Because August 27th was the day that Dahlia had been taken in for questioning, and also the day that that lawyer had been poisoned. 

It was also before he and Dahlia had actually broken up. She’d been acting a little squirrely before then, and then once the rest of it all happened, Doug had decided to cut his losses. Dahlia hadn’t seemed particularly upset about it, either, which Doug had initially just attributed to her personality. Now it seemed more likely that it was because she’d already found Phoenix. 

And it wasn’t even that this was new information, really. And he didn’t actually care that she’d gotten together with someone else while she was still technically dating Doug; he already knew that Dahlia was a nightmare, and that she and Phoenix were together suspiciously soon after she and Doug broke up. But seeing it all laid out like this… 

“Doug?” 

Shit. “Oh. What’s up?” 

“You spaced out.” 

“Yeah, sorry.” There was an awkward pause. What were they even discussing before he’d gotten lost in thought? “You and Dahlia have… been together for a while now?” Doug offered. 

“Yeah.” Phoenix was quiet for a while, and Doug thought maybe that was the end of it, but then he added, “I like being in a relationship, I think. I like having someone to focus on.” 

Like that Miles guy, Doug thought. Was that it, then? Was that where this whole fucking mess came from? Phoenix had gotten himself stuck in a relationship with someone like Dahlia because he needed a basket to stick all his eggs into. 

Poor idiot. 

Impulsively, Doug said, “Tell me about Miles.” 

“Miles?” Phoenix seemed surprised by the non sequitur, but not unhappy. “What about him?” 

Doug shrugged, jostling Phoenix. He still didn’t move. “I feel like I know nothing about him except that he’s a lawyer and you guys watched the Signal Samurai as kids.” 

“He wore bow ties to school. We were nine.” Phoenix laughed, a warm, soft sound. “But you know…” He was quiet for a time, then made a sardonic little noise that seemed out of place on him. “I don’t think I have much to say beyond that, to be honest. It’s been so long. But he’s… it doesn’t make sense that he’s a prosecutor.” 

“Because of his dad?” 

“Yeah.” He was frowning. “And I mean, even putting that aside, we’re 21. How did he become a lawyer that young? None of it makes sense.”

“Yeah,” Doug murmured. It was really young. He’d been struck by that fact before. Combined with what Phoenix said about Miles’ dad, and the sudden disappearance years ago—well, he couldn’t really blame Phoenix for being worried. The dedication to a friend from so long ago was unusual, but it did just seem to be a trait of Phoenix’s.

“I don’t know,” Phoenix muttered. He didn’t even seem to be aware of Doug’s presence at this point. “I know it’s weird to change my major when I’m a junior, but I just… can’t leave him like that.”

Doug couldn’t think of a single thing to say. It was weird, but he and Phoenix had talked that point to death by now. And anyway, if Phoenix wasn’t the type of person to drop everything for someone he cared about, he wouldn’t be Phoenix. It was sweet he cared so much, even if it made Doug feel something uncomfortably like jealousy.

But… what about all the shit that Phoenix had said yesterday? The shit that had made Doug want to strangle him a bit, and also the whole reason he’d meant to cool things down between the two of them? He’d outright said he found Doug attractive, even if he probably didn’t realize that he did.

Well, whatever. It wasn’t like Phoenix was restricted to caring only about one person at a time. Though Dahlia’s probably not included in that list, Doug thought with some satisfaction. Christ. What a pair she and Phoenix made. A woman manipulating her boyfriend for unknown ends, and a gay guy who had some variety of non-platonic feelings for two separate men.

Doug laughed under his breath.

“Hmm?” said Phoenix.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re kind of a weird guy?”

Phoenix bristled. “Look, I know you don’t—”

“Nah, I like it,” said Doug. “Keeps me on my toes. Keeps me young.”

Startled, Phoenix laughed. “You’re only a year older.”

“Decades wiser,” said Doug, turning onto his side to meet Phoenix’s eyes.

Phoenix rolled his eyes. “You’re the one who thought it was a brilliant idea to float around in a pond with no game plan for getting us back to land.”

“And whose idea was it to go out again tonight?”

“Whatever,” Phoenix mumbled, but he was smiling.  

There was a moment of quiet, with Doug still curled up on his side, facing towards Phoenix. Their faces were less than a foot apart, and for a delirious second Doug thought something might happen.

But—

He forced himself to roll over to his back again, and the moment passed.

“So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Phoenix asked in a completely normal tone of voice, and with something like dismay, Doug realized that Phoenix hadn’t found the moment weird at all.

Well, whatever.

“Tomorrow?” he asked, trying to pick up the thread of conversation.

“Oh,” Phoenix said, sounding suddenly self-conscious. “Uh—I mean. If you wanted to.”

Doug smiled. “If you’re asking to hang out again, you could have just said so in those words.”

“I guess,” Phoenix said, still sounding embarrassed.

“Anyway, I dunno,” Doug said, stretching out. “Was there anything in particular you wanted to do?”

“Nah, not really. Just anything that will get me out of my room, I guess.” He laughed quietly. “I feel like I’ve spent most of spring break just watching shitty movies.”

“You wound me,” said Doug. “This even after I carted you off to Outback Steakhouse, the finest establishment in town?”

Phoenix grinned. “I mean, we went there because it was the only place that was open.”

“And,” added Doug, “what about pond tacos round one? Which was so successful that you initiated round two?”

Laughing outright now, Phoenix said, “Okay, okay, I get it. All I’m saying is that spring break has more hours in it than I anticipated, and even with pond tacos one and two, I feel like I’ve spent a lot of time watching movies.”

“There are worse ways to spend your time, I guess,” Doug said, thinking of the creepy motion capture from Siren that was going to haunt his dreams that night.

“Yeah.” Phoenix shrugged. “I dunno, I was watching some boring action movie this morning and it made me think about what you said last night.”

Doug frowned. He had said a lot of things last night, and hadn’t been entirely sober for most of them, so he couldn’t figure out what Phoenix was talking about.

“Like, it’s such a given that the hot female lead ends up with the guy, right?” Phoenix laughed, and Doug froze. Was he—? “Like this guy from whatever movie I was watching. He barely had anything going for him and you still knew he was gonna get the girl.”

“Yeah,” Doug said carefully. What weird alternate universe had he slipped into where Phoenix was almost analyzing heterosexual norms?

“Ehhh, I guess it’s pretty predictable. Most movies are directed by guys, I guess. Like, what’s the—” Phoenix gestured vaguely. “That one movie with the dude?”

Doug laughed. “Do you think you could be more specific?”

“You know,” Phoenix said, like it was completely reasonable for Doug to read his mind. “The movie with the dudes. And the football. And the—spoons in the picture frames?”

“Oh my god,” Doug said, and laughed a little manically. “Are you talking about The Room?”

“That’s the one!” Phoenix sounded very pleased, as though he had figured it out himself. “Totally underwhelming guy gets hot chick.”

Doug snorted. “I mean, he doesn’t, really.”

“He doesn’t?”

“Nah, she betrays him very dramatically. It’s this whole thing.” Doug paused. “Wait, are you telling me that you haven’t seen The Room?”

“...No?”

“Phoenix.” Doug flipped onto his side to face him again, ignoring both the physical and emotional danger of doing so. “It’s illegal to be a college student and not have seen The Room.”

“Uhh.”

“Well, here’s your plan for tomorrow,” Doug said, grinning. “We’re going to watch it.”

“Uhh,” Phoenix said again, and then laughed. “I guess I kinda walked into that one, huh?”

“Sure did.” Doug flipped onto his back again. “Glad we have that sorted out. You had me all worried, since apparently all my previous ideas were failures.”

Phoenix scoffed. “Don’t be a drama queen.”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” said Doug, grinning. “Tomorrow you’ll learn what a true drama queen is when we watch the greatest movie of the twenty-first century.”

“I can’t wait,” Phoenix said dryly.

Chapter Text

Phoenix woke late, like he had every day during spring break, content with the knowledge that he and Doug would be spending time together again that day.

Well, content until he remembered what he had agreed to, anyway. He laughed, rolling over in his sheets. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had agreed to watch a really shitty movie with Doug—surely he’d reached his limit of shitty movies after combing through Larry’s folder?—but he felt kind of warm, knowing that they’d be hanging out again later.

Maybe he could force Doug to watch something else.

Even though he was between quarters, he had a new law class coming up that he was a little worried about, and when he had a look at the syllabus he saw that there were a couple recommended readings he could get a head start on. Part of him rebelled at the idea of doing schoolwork during spring break, but then he remembered Miles, and he remembered that he was going to be frying his brain with shitty movies later that day, and he figured he could probably stand to put some work in now. The day passed quickly at the library, and by the late afternoon, he was heading back to his dorm room for a dinner of cup noodles.

He was learning Doug’s schedule; right on cue as he finished his meal, his phone buzzed.

Doug [18:12]: So when are you coming over here to watch 2003ʼs tragic masterpiece The Room?
Phoenix [18:12]: i agreed to that when i was exhausted, that doesnt count. it’s uhhhh
Phoenix [18:13]: i learned something about this in a law class
Phoenix [18:13]: mens rea or whatever 
Doug [18:14]: Get your ass over here.

He did.

Even though it had been only a few days since the first time he was in Doug’s dorm room, this time felt much less fraught. He flopped onto Doug’s bed, watching him grab his laptop and a small bluetooth speaker.

He laughed. “Do we really need the high-quality audio?”

“How else will we experience fully?” said Doug, moving to sit next to Phoenix on the bed.

“Ugh,” Phoenix groaned. “Are you sure we can’t watch something else?”

“I don’t have any other movies on my computer.”

They had a brief staredown.

“That’s an absolute lie,” Phoenix said.

Doug laughed. “Yeah, it’s a lie. But if it would make you feel better, I can delete everything else so that it really is the only one left.”

“That wouldn’t actually accomplish anything!”

“I’m not the one trying to renege on my promises, dude. If I need to strong-arm you into this, I will.”

“Ugh,” Phoenix said, this time more dramatically just to get his displeasure across. “Fine. But let the record show that you took advantage of my state of exhaustion to get me to agree to something I normally wouldn’t have.”

“You’ll live,” said Doug, and hit play.

It was, as promised, some truly horrendous cinema. Phoenix spent the first several minutes cringing at the hamfisted dialogue, but by the time the unattractive male lead bought a dozen roses and pet a lumpy dog on the florist’s counter, he had graduated to morbid fascination.

“And we’re sure this isn’t elaborate satire, right?”

“I’m afraid not,” Doug said, grinning.

“Amazing,” Phoenix murmured, watching as the fifth or sixth mystery character pointlessly entered and then swiftly left the titular room.

They watched in stunned silence for a while longer, until the female lead announced that she hated her fiancé and then, apropos of apparently nothing, started extolling his virtues to her mother about twelve seconds later.

“I thought she hated him?”

“She does, allegedly,” Doug said.

“Then why is she suddenly talking about how great he is?”

Doug turned to him and studied him for a second. “Did you happen to notice that the script was written by the guy who also plays the male lead?”

Phoenix laughed, a little hysterically. “You’re shitting me.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Doug said.

“You lied about only having this movie—wait, don’t sidetrack me. This is some asshole’s vanity project?”

“I think he was the director too.”

“Fucking hell,” Phoenix muttered. And then a while later, after a period that felt interminable but couldn’t have been more than maybe forty-five minutes: “I accidentally hit the nail right on the head when I mentioned this being the most heterosexual movie, didn’t I?”

Doug laughed, watching the tuxedo’d male characters toss around a football. “Yeah, it’s like, aggressively heterosexual. Sometimes it feels more like it was written by a computer trying very hard to be a completely normal straight man.”

“No, but actually, it feels almost like propaganda. Like DARE, but for being straight.”

Doug turned to him, grinning. “As in for being pro-straight? Or anti-straight?”

“I mean…” Phoenix shrugged. “On one hand, it’s got the ‘hail fellow well met, let us achieve the American dream’ vibe. On the other, he seems to hate women. So I can’t decide.”

“But asking for thematic consistency from The Room is also asking for way too much.”

“I like that excuse,” Phoenix said. “I’ll take it.”

By the time the movie ended very dramatically with the male lead’s death, Phoenix wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

“God,” Doug said as the credits began to roll. “I always feel like I’ve lived and died a thousand lifetimes by the end of this movie. It’s a journey.”

“How many times have you seen it?”

He laughed. “I don’t know, a bunch? There’s a good drinking game with it. Drink every time there’s a panning shot of the Golden Gate Bridge, or you see the picture frames with the spoons, or they toss around the football—”

“Holy shit, how drunk are you by the end of the movie?”

“Very,” Doug said with relish. “But still not drunk enough, honestly. This is an entirely different experience sober. I’m not sure I liked it.”

Phoenix laughed. “I’ll remind you that you forced me into this.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’d say it was worth it. Now you’re cultured. Like a fine cheese.” He flopped down onto his back onto the bed.

Phoenix smiled down at him. “Sleepy?” 

Doug laughed. “That’s a cute way of putting it.” 

“Is it?” 

"Yeah.” He was smiling. “I don’t know, most people would use the word tired.” 

Phoenix shrugged. “There’s tired, and there’s sleepy. You look sleepy.” 

“What’s the difference, Clippy?” 

“Fucking Clippy? You mean that uncanny-valley paperclip? From the year 2005?”

“Answer the fucking question, Phoenix.” Doug was laughing and looked significantly less sleepy now. 

“You know, it’s—” He gestured with one hand. “Tired is, like, unpleasant. Sleepy is warm and cozy.” 

“Thank you for barely avoiding saying that I look unpleasant,” said Doug, but there was something unfamiliar in his smile. 

“Yeah, well.” Phoenix swallowed. “Your hair is getting into your eyes.”

“Is that not part of the sleepy aesthetic?” Doug made an ineffective attempt at blowing the hair out of his eyes. 

“Like that’s going to work,” Phoenix laughed. 

“Never say die,” said Doug, and gave it another try. 

“Oh my god,” said Phoenix, and laughed again, and reached over to brush Doug’s hair across his forehead. 

They froze. Phoenix’s fingers were still at Doug’s temple. 

“Phoenix,” Doug said. 

And some crazy voice at the back of his mind was screaming that there was only one way out of this situation, only one possible way this story could end, and for once, he decided to listen to it. 

Doug was still frozen, on his back on the mussed sheets. He barely seemed to be breathing. Phoenix wasn’t sure he was either, but still he leaned in, the angle straining his back but not enough to make him stop. 

Maybe he should have asked. But Doug was still looking up, unblinking, and Phoenix knew that he knew, so instead of asking, he slid his hand to cup Doug’s cheek and kissed him. 

His mind was… not as loud as he would have expected. He could never seem to get a moment’s peace with Dahlia, but here all was quiet, just him and Doug and the kind-of-awkward angle Phoenix was sitting at and the way his knee was pressed against Doug’s hip. 

It was strange, how familiar Doug smelled. Phoenix thought he should have expected Dahlia’s usual floral perfume, but Doug just smelled like… himself, and he didn’t taste like much of anything at all, and Phoenix wondered why that surprised him. When had he previously contemplated kissing Doug, that he had an expectation which could be proven wrong? 

He really didn’t have enough experience for this kiss. Yeah, he’d kissed Dahlia before, but compared to the sheer gorgeous viscerality of this, all those kisses felt perfunctory at best, and he regretted that he didn’t really know what to do. Doug must have sensed his hesitation, because Phoenix could feel his smile as he drew back for a second, tilted them around a bit to fix the angle, then pushed forward back into the kiss. 

And still Phoenix’s mind was quiet, but there was a tension screaming up from somewhere in his stomach, and it half-panicked him and made him grab clumsily at the collar of Doug’s t-shirt.

“Hey,” Doug whispered against his lips, and slowly pried Phoenix’s fingers off his collar, and Phoenix thought how strange it was to breathe someone else’s air like this. After a second, Doug moved Phoenix’s hand to rest on his shoulder.

He was being careful, Phoenix realized deliriously. Doug was making an effort to not scare him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had been so gentle with him, and the tension clawed its way up to his chest. It made him gasp. He pulled away.

For a second no one moved, and Phoenix kept his eyes shut. He could still feel the heat of Doug’s skin inches from his own.

“Was that okay?” Doug whispered. 

“Yeah,” Phoenix choked out, but then recoiled because it obviously wasn’t okay.

He pushed himself upright and opened his eyes, and then immediately regretted it. Doug was still on his back, flushed, collar of his shirt crumpled where Phoenix had grabbed it. He didn’t move. 

“What the fuck?” Phoenix demanded. 

Doug sat up, the back of one hand pressed to his mouth. 

“What was that?” 

Doug looked at him for a moment longer. “We… kissed,” he said carefully. 

“I know we kissed, I’m asking why.”

“Phoenix,” Doug said softly. “You were the one who kissed me.” 

Was he? He felt weird and lightheaded and couldn’t seem to do the mental and emotional backtracking required to figure it out. But that didn’t seem right to him. He was—he was in a relationship with Dollie—

And he’d just cheated on her. By kissing a man.  

“What the fuck,” he said again, and his voice cracked. 

The fact remained that Doug had kissed him back—had taken pains to make it as nice as possible, in fact—and Phoenix’s soggy mind grabbed onto it. 

“God, do you actually like me?” he demanded. Doug didn’t react. He still had his hand at his mouth. Phoenix laughed. It was abrupt and sounded cruel even to his own ears. “Didn’t we just talk about this the other day? I thought you said you learned back in high school to not fall for straight guys.” 

“Yeah,” Doug said. 

Yeah. Was that his whole answer? Was that supposed to comprise an adequate response to the absolute fucking trainwreck of the last several minutes? 

But forget Doug’s inability to explain himself now—it didn’t make any sense that he’d kiss someone he didn’t like. But that assumption didn’t seem right either, given that he had seemed pretty interested in kissing Phoenix. 

Casual’s been fine for me for the moment, he’d told Phoenix once. Can’t get torn up over something you’re not too invested in.

“I’m not one of your casual prospects,” he hissed. Doug looked taken aback. “I’m not just going to—” His throat closed, and he couldn’t seem to finish the sentence. 

“Phoenix,” Doug said. His voice was still so quiet. “Dahlia isn’t—” 

“Don’t talk about Dollie!” 

“Hey, please.” Doug sounded almost desperate now. He reached out to touch Phoenix’s wrist, and Phoenix recoiled, feeling some strong tug in his stomach. Revulsion, maybe. 

“What are you doing?” The words sounded choked, and he became aware that he was about to cry. “Don’t you fucking dare touch me.” He had to go. He needed to go right now. He stumbled to his feet, almost tripping on a textbook by the door, and slammed the door behind himself as he escaped into the hallway.

“Fuck,” Doug muttered as soon as the door slammed, then lay back down on his bed. 

So Phoenix was definitely gay, but that had… not gone the way Doug had hoped. Not that he’d ever planned on kissing Phoenix himself—or at least, not at this point, anyway. Phoenix had clearly been making a bit of progress on the whole sexuality thing, but Doug had figured that it wasn’t really enough; and given the events of the last several minutes, that assumption had been correct.

The kiss itself had been fine. A bit uninspiring, maybe, but it had been pretty clear that Phoenix was both deeply overwhelmed and didn’t really know what he was doing. So he probably didn’t spend much time kissing Dahlia, though Doug could probably have guessed that anyway. 

Why was he even thinking about Phoenix kissing Dahlia? This was not the time. Not that any time was the correct time to do so. 

So. The kiss itself had been fine, if mechanically basic, but Doug was trying very hard not to focus on that anyway.

The panic in Phoenix’s eyes after he realized what he’d done made Doug feel a little sick to think about. Not that he’d really expected Phoenix to go from “completely closeted, even to himself” to “totally comfortable with all this” in one go, given his whole… everything, but still. The kiss hadn’t even been brief. He’d hardly been counting, but by Doug’s best estimate they’d kissed for a minute or so, Phoenix all but clinging to him the whole time. It was only afterwards that Phoenix remembered to consider whether or not it was something he was allowed to enjoy. 

So a minute plus change of absolute disaster. And he really wished he could stop remembering the tiny noise Phoenix had made when he grabbed Doug’s collar.

He flopped angrily onto his stomach.

Their conversation—if you could even call it that—after the kiss was kind of freaking Doug out, too. He’d never really had the chance to watch Phoenix’s sexuality rationalization in action before, and… well, he’d gone from blaming Doug for initiating the kiss to mocking him for caring about Phoenix in about thirty seconds.

It did hurt. Doug was trying not to take it personally.

The ball was in his court now, clearly; it wasn’t the first time that Phoenix had freaked out and stormed away from him, but they’d always managed to patch things up before. Even when they hadn’t been close, like they were now. So surely this would all be fine.

He was torn between giving Phoenix space for a couple of days versus reaching out now. On the one hand, Phoenix did usually take some time to cool down, and Doug didn’t want to overwhelm him more than he already was. On the other, there was a part of Doug that was frightened by his reaction, and he did desperately want to know if Phoenix was okay. Or, if not okay, at least on his way to being okay.

But that was all dependent on how Phoenix chose to process the events of the night.

Doug groaned into his sheets, which smelled, he realized with an unpleasant jolt, a little like Phoenix did. What was he thinking, anyway, inviting him to his room to watch a movie? Hadn’t he just told himself yesterday that he was going to cool things down with Phoenix? He’d known that things were progressing too far, and he’d gone ahead with it anyway. Even now, his instincts were telling him to back off, but—

He touched his fingertips to his lips. He couldn’t just kiss the guy and then leave him hurting like that.

“Fuck,” he muttered again, and picked up his phone to send Phoenix a text.

Phoenix ran all the way back to his dorm, not stopping except to fumble for his keys at the building entrance again. He barely remembered getting from the lobby up to his room, but as soon as he was inside his legs collapsed and he slid to the floor. 

What was that, he thought, mind racing in a white-hot flurry. What the fuck was that?

Objectively, he knew what it was. But the evening’s events were already becoming jumbled together, and every time he tried following each step to its logical conclusion he felt a furious pull in his stomach that left him sick and dizzy.

His breath hitched. He looked at the bed, but all he could think of was him, and Doug, and—

He shuddered violently, his chest tight. He needed to get out of here, too. Arms shaking, he grabbed a change of clothes and rushed to the showers.

Head down, he dumped his clothes on the bathroom counter and then hazarded a glance in the mirror.

His face was pale. His hair was a mess. And his lips, where Doug had—

He gripped the counter, vision tunneling.

Dollie’s going to kill me, he thought, frantic. My parents are going to—

A strangled sob escaped him, sounding foreign even to his own ears. 

He hurried into the shower, wrenching the faucet to “on”. The pounding water drowned out some of the noise inside his head, and for a moment he finally had the space to breathe. 

Phoenix didn’t know how long he’d stayed there. Time was passing in a dizzying blur. But the water started running cold, and his body began to shiver, and the tension settled back in his gut with a heavy weight of dread. 

He couldn’t stop shivering even after he’d dried off and put on fresh clothes. Clothes that didn’t smell like Doug. The realization smacked into him with the force of a punch, and he had to stop halfway down the hall back to his room, eyes closed and breath ragged.

His phone was lying on the floor when he returned, the notification light blinking. He checked the message instinctively before noticing who it was from.

Doug [20:56]: Hey, are you okay?

Still being careful, some small voice murmured from the back of his mind. His heart twisted with that same, awful tension, and he gritted his teeth against the pain. Of course he wasn’t fucking okay. Nothing was okay.

“Fuck,” he whispered. He wiped his face, the back of his hand coming back wet. “Fuck.”

What did Doug care, anyway? Don’t fall for straight guys. So either he was ignoring his own advice or it really was just a casual thing for him. The thought was so viscerally repulsive that Phoenix thought he might be sick.

And even though everything that had happened was still so hazy, certain moments stood out vibrantly in his mind: Doug’s eyes, wide and unblinking; his hand, pressed to his mouth; his voice, soft and desperate as he tried to justify his actions. Or, wait, hadn’t he said...

You were the one who kissed me.

So, okay. Even if that was true, it didn’t mean anything. Maybe Phoenix had had a fleeting curiosity about kissing a man before, and now he’d done it, and knew for sure what it was like. That screaming coil in his stomach couldn't be normal—it had been nothing like kissing Dollie, at least—but if it was making him feel this terrible then surely that meant something was wrong, right?

But the only person he could ask was the person who had made him feel like this in the first place.

“Fuck,” he choked out again, and realized he was crying.

Another moment flashed to the surface of his mind: Do you actually like me? he had demanded of Doug, and he’d never really gotten an answer. Not that it mattered, in any case. Even if Doug did like him, it was impossible for Phoenix to reciprocate. He was dating Dollie.

Something hopeless and desperate constricted in his chest, and with a start he noticed he was still clutching his dirty clothes from earlier. Repulsed, he threw them across the room, heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears. They landed somewhere near his laundry basket, where a bright pink sleeve caught his eye.

It belonged to the sweater that Dollie had made for him, painstakingly knitted over the course of the last several months. She had presented it to him just before she left to go home for spring break, and he hadn’t had the chance to wash it yet. He swallowed. It was another token of her love, wasn’t it? He took a shaky breath, absently grabbing at the necklace under his shirt. Here was more undeniable proof of their relationship—proof that he so desperately needed to feel some semblance of normal again.

He stood up slowly, his legs wobbling underneath him. He picked the sweater out of the basket and shoved it over his head, not allowing himself any time to think about it. It was a little too warm, and the collar was a bit scratchy. It still had the faint scent of her perfume. 

He sank back down to the floor, huddled up in the sweater that Dollie had made for him, and reached for the feeling of holding her in his arms.

“Dahlia,” Iris said, “we need to talk.”

Iris had found her in the cliffside meadow overlooking the river—it was their usual meeting place, convenient for more than just manufacturing alibis. Now, though, Dahlia had been merely enjoying the weather, soaking in the sun and sounds of the rushing river below. The air was cool and clean up here in the mountains; the meadow full to bursting with purple and gold.

She turned to face Iris, noting the dark determination in her eyes and solemn set to her mouth, and Dahlia knew that this would be another one of those conversations. Iris could be so stubborn sometimes.

“It’s about Phoenix.”

“What about him?”

Iris took a deep breath. “You know, right? You have to know. About him.”

Dahlia did know, but— “Hmm...could you be more specific?”

Iris grimaced. “About— That he’s...gay.”

“Oh, that?” Dahlia said. “What about it?”

“You don’t see the problem with that?” Iris replied, bewildered. “At all?”

“Frankly, no. It’s not my problem that he's shoved himself so far in the closet he can’t see himself anymore.”

“Dahlia!” Iris squeaked. “You can’t— You can’t say that!”

She shrugged. “Whatever.”

“And it’s not just your problem,” Iris went on, “it’s mine. It feels...wrong, to keep doing this. It’s like I’m helping him keep up this...this farce, or something.”

“How is that any different than before?” Dahlia said, annoyed. “Newsflash, dear sister, this ‘relationship’ has been a farce this whole time. You knew what you were getting into. That hasn’t changed.”

Iris flinched. “But that’s— It’s not the same—”

“So, what, you’re quitting on me now, is that what you’re trying to say?” Dahlia said, drawing herself up. What they shared in such trivial things as height and appearance, Dahlia more than made up for with authority. “It’s become too much for you, now that you know he’s gay?”

“I can’t keep doing this,” Iris said, meeting her with unwavering eyes. So this was where the line was drawn, then, for her to finally grow a backbone. Useful to know, if it wasn’t so damn inconvenient. “I can’t keep helping you when you’re always like this. I’m tired of trying to make you change, when you’re not putting in any effort yourself.”

“Shut up!” Dahlia hissed. “I'm not the one who needs changing. I never have.”

Iris blinked, and the determination in her eyes fizzled into something softer. Something that made hot anger writhe in the pits of Dahlia’s stomach. Pity.

“And I never asked for your help in the first place,” Dahlia went on, fury burning up through her chest. “You’re the one who came up with this plan, and look where that’s gotten us. Eight months, Iris. Eight. Months. And now you’re quitting on me?!” 

Her voice pitched upwards in that horrible, squeaky way it always did when she was upset. God dammit. God fucking DAMMIT. 

“I’m sorry, Dahlia,” Iris whispered. She didn’t even have the self-respect to keep eye contact, glancing away towards the ground. Coward.

Iris looked back up briefly, mouth parted as if to say something else. But then her eyes darkened and her mouth set in that thin, determined line again, and, to Dahlia’s dismay, she turned around and headed back for the line of trees.

“Wh—” Dahlia felt like she’d been slapped in the face. Her fingernails dug into her thighs, sharp through the fabric of her dress.

“You’re not better than me, Iris!” Dahlia shouted after her. “What, just because you’ve never had the courage to kill someone? You’ve never had the courage to save them, either!” Iris’ pace faltered, but she didn’t turn back; didn’t answer. “You can’t keep running away!” You can’t leave me.

She watched as Iris disappeared into the trees, returning back to the temple (her home) with her tail between her legs, as she always did. She’ll change her mind again, Dahlia reminded herself. She took a breath, deep and shuddering. She’s all talk, no action.

But the shadows lengthened, and the light petered into dusk, and when her skin began to prickle with cold she finally picked herself up to make the journey back to Ivy U.

Chapter Text

Saturday came and went. Phoenix barely remembered it.

He hadn’t gotten any new texts from Doug, or anyone else, really, over the course of the last few days. The storm of the century finally arrived, but it passed with such little fanfare that Phoenix hadn’t even realized until he saw memes about it on Facebook Sunday morning.

Image: [A white table and lawn chairs are set up in a backyard. One of the chairs has fallen over. Top text: “California Storm 2k14” Bottom text: “We will rebuild”]

The image pulled a chuckle out of him. It was pretty funny, given how hyped up the storm had been and how little it had actually impacted them on campus. He had already copied the link and was halfway to messaging Doug before slamming his laptop shut, remembering what a terrible idea that would be.

Agitated, he left the dorm. It was still drizzling a little, but he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to go back and grab an umbrella. Besides, the rain on his face was something tangible, and it made him feel a little more grounded, if only for the time being.

He walked all through campus, then into the city, passing rows of coffee shops and fast-casual eateries. He didn’t stop until he couldn’t recognize the businesses anymore—there was an expansive hardware store and a few sandwich shops with vaguely Italian-sounding names. It was already almost 2pm, and he decided that he might as well grab lunch while he was out here. It was far enough from campus that he wasn’t too concerned about being seen by anyone he knew, but even so he felt a spike of nervousness as he entered one of the sandwich shops.

The shop was fairly empty, except for a few customers ordering to-go at the counter. Phoenix waited in line and then ordered one of the turkey options, settling at one of the tables to eat.

He stared absently out the window while he picked at his sandwich, barely tasting the pepperoncinis. There weren’t very many people walking by, which was understandable given the weather. Unfortunate for Phoenix, since he couldn’t distract himself as easily. Instead, as he watched the rain begin to come down in heavier sheets, his mind was stuck skirting the edges of the problem that he’d managed to avoid since Thursday.

His phone buzzed loudly on the table, startling him out of his reverie. It was a Facebook message, he saw, from Doug—with the same fallen-over chair meme that Phoenix had stopped himself from sending earlier. 

That furious tug returned with a vengeance, pulling his entire stomach inside out, and he couldn't finish the rest of his sandwich. 

Doug had to know that Phoenix was avoiding him, right? But then why was he still reaching out? And sending dumb memes, at that. It was better than Doug trying to talk about what happened, Phoenix supposed, but something about the mundanity of the message—the casual normalcy—cut him raw and deep in his chest. 

Because nothing could ever be normal again.

He took a deep breath and pressed his face into his hands, sitting like that for a few moments while he waited for the nausea to pass. He was so tired—tired of the tugging, tired of the paranoia, tired of reliving that moment in Doug’s room over and over every night. Tired of waking up feeling empty, with tear tracks wet on his cheeks.

His phone buzzed again, and he flinched. 

Dollie <3 [14:21]: hi feenie! i’m back in town. are you free to meet up? 

That’s right—it was the last day of spring break before classes started up. Of course Dollie would be coming back to campus.

Feenie [14:23]: yeah!! sorry, i was out for a bit, heading back now!! i’ll meet you at your place?

See, this was fine. This was normal. Him and Dollie, as it should be. Something solidified in his stomach at the thought of seeing her again—maybe finally, finally, he could put the surreal events of the past week behind him.

He wrapped up the rest of his half-eaten sandwich and tucked it into his bag. Something stopped him just as he was about to leave his seat—his legs felt heavy suddenly, and he plopped back down, staring out the window. Maybe he should wait a bit longer for the rain to let up. But he had told Dollie that he’d be back soon, and so he gave himself one last mental push and steeled himself against what was sure to be an unpleasant walk home.

Phoenix ran towards campus as quickly as he could, but slowed down a bit as he approached Dollie’s building. He’d always felt a little apprehensive when visiting her dorm, he realized. More proof of the difference between her and Doug, then—it was probably normal to be nervous when going to the room of the person he liked. Not comfortable or companionable, like that second time he’d hung out with Doug—

Dollie opened the door, and he forced those pointless comparisons out of his mind.

“I missed you so much, Feenie,” she said, slinging her arms around his neck as soon as he walked inside. His stomach quivered in that familiar way, his heart rate rising as he caught a whiff of her perfume.

“I—” The words caught in his throat, and he tried again. “I missed you too.”

She smiled, but then her nose wrinkled as she pulled away slightly. “Oh. You’re all wet.”

“Huh? Oh,” he said. “Yeah. Sorry. I just…” He looked down at the floor and saw that his sleeve was dripping. Shit. “I forgot my umbrella. And I had to come see you as soon as I could.”

She settled her hand back against the side of his neck, and he shivered. “How sweet of you.”

“Of course,” he said. “I—” 

I try, is what he wanted to say, but at that moment he was struck by a particularly vivid sensation of his own hands at Doug’s neck—the warmth of his skin, the crumpling of his collar—and, instead, Phoenix froze.

You’re dating Dollie, you’re with your girlfriend, what the fuck is WRONG with you—

Something cold lifted away from his skin, replaced by warm, dry fingers, and he realized that Dollie was running her hands under the gold chain of the necklace, pulling it slightly upwards.

He flinched away violently, scrambling to grab at her hands. “H-hey, what are you—”

“It’s been so long since we last saw each other,” she said. The crystal bottle had fallen atop his shirt in the struggle, and she reached out to trace a finger along the edge. “Can’t we swap mementos? So I have something that reminds me of you?”

“No!” he cried. “No, please!”

“I just want to borrow it,” Dollie said, “just for a bit?”

“No, I—You can’t!”

“Feenie,” she said sternly. “You’re being incredibly silly right now.”

“I’m sorry, Dollie, it’s just—I can’t.” He took a shuddering breath. “Please. Let me have this.”

She sighed. “Is the sweater not good enough?”

“What?” He looked down—he’d forgotten he was still wearing it.

“The sweater,” she said again. “Isn’t that enough for you?”

“I—” I need everything I can get. Phoenix swallowed and shook his head. “This was your necklace originally, right? Shouldn’t I give you something of mine, if you want a memento of me? Please,” he said, treading embarrassingly into begging. “I treasure it more than anything.”

Dollie’s lips pursed in a thin line, and her jaw clenched. Phoenix wracked his mind for something else to distract her with—he couldn’t have her keep asking about the necklace. Not now.

“And you just got back,” he added, pleased with how steady he managed to get his voice to sound. “Why don’t we go get dinner or something?”

“I’m tired, actually,” she replied, and Phoenix winced at the icy edge to her tone. She turned away from him, beautiful red hair whipping within an inch or two of his face. “Some other time, maybe.”

“Like, tomorrow?” Phoenix offered tentatively.

She paused. Phoenix held his breath. “Sure, Feenie. Tomorrow,” she said, and bid him farewell with her brightest, sweetest smile.

Sunday. Spring break was functionally over. Cassandra would be back today, along with the rest of the student population, and Doug could move on with the last quarter of his final year of undergrad. Just like I wanted, he thought wryly, although the point was moot by now anyway. 

Students had already begun trickling onto campus over the course of the morning, if the state of the on-campus coffeehouse was anything to go by. All of the tables were already full by the time Doug’s drink and lunch were ready, so he trekked over to the student union and settled for one of their overstuffed chairs instead. He’d been trying to spend as much time out of his room as possible—a little more difficult than usual, given the weather, but necessary for keeping himself distracted. He thought about Phoenix often enough as it was; he could stand to use a few less direct reminders.

His phone pinged, as if on cue, and he checked the notification with absolutely no expectations whatsoever.

Cassandra [12:37]: guess who’s baaack bitches
Cassandra [12:37]: well, for a given amount of “back”, still need to grab my luggage and shit
Cassandra [12:37]: but give me an hour or so and it’s over for you

Thank fucking god. Doug sank further into the chair, hoping that the new position might be more comfortable. 

Doug [12:38]: Can’t get here soon enough
Cassandra [12:40]: loool that bored huh? just watch more siren
Cassandra [12:41]: i’m expecting a written thesis on all of your impressions, btw
Doug [12:41]: And what, a quiz too?
Cassandra [12:42]: hm, good idea actually
Cassandra [12:42]: just to confirm that you even watched it
Cassandra [12:43]: aw fuck have to assert my dominance to get off this plane, catch you in a bit

Sighing, Doug checked the time. About 12:45. Knowing LAX, it would definitely take Cassandra longer than an hour to deboard, grab her luggage, and get through the traffic loop at arrivals. Not to mention travel time back to campus.

He backed out of their chatlog, eyes lingering over the rest of his message history. Phoenix still hadn’t texted him back since that disaster of a kiss. Doug tried very hard not to think about it.

Ugh. Whatever. Annoyed, he flicked over to Youtube. Might as well take Cassandra’s advice.

To her credit, the game was morbidly compelling. Doug watched with a detached sort of curiosity as the player had one of the characters unlock a rusty door leading to some sort of creepy closet shrine and then told the companion character to hide in it, which led to a brief cutscene in which she picked up a piece of cloth. Somehow this ended up unlocking the second objective for an entirely different character at a later time. Doug was completely lost.

He could only stomach so much of the quasi-realistic face capture, however, even if he did find himself becoming charmed by the weird British accents. So after about an hour of baffling gameplay in which none of his questions were answered, he took a break to scroll through Facebook.

His feed was mostly full of memes at this point—spring break meant too much time on people’s hands, apparently. Nearly all of them were related to the so-called “storm of the century”, but one in particular caught Doug’s eye. He actually laughed when he saw it—there was something about the toppled lawn chair that looked especially pitiful—but the feeling quickly faded into a familiar ache when his instinctive reaction was to share it with Phoenix. Fuck.  

Although, actually...hm. Phoenix seemed to have liked using memes as a way to start a conversation, back in the early stages of their friendship. And it could serve as a reminder that Doug was still here for him, without explicitly saying so. Maybe he could—

Before he could let himself think about it much longer, he copied the link and sent it.

A minute passed. Then two. Doug stopped holding his breath. 

So, okay. This wasn’t really any different than before. Phoenix had always had a habit of running away when he got overwhelmed. Doug tried to remember how long it had taken Phoenix to talk to him again after finding out that he was Patrick. A week? Two? And the guy hadn’t even been going through a sexuality crisis at that point. Doug groaned and scrubbed his face in his hands.

Don’t be impatient, he reprimanded himself, but it was hard not to be when he felt more than a little responsible. Just one text, he thought desperately. Just one text so I can find out how he’s doing.

Instead he manifested a text from Cassandra again, but he figured he’d take what he could get.

Cassandra [14:17]: alright loser where you at
Doug [14:17]: Are you at your dorm already?
Cassandra [14:17]: yeah
Doug [14:18]: I’ll come there then.

She was lounging on her bed when he entered, slippers on and suitcase flung open and half emptied over the floor. 

“Unpacking going well, I see,” he said. 

“I’m taking a break,” she replied, which was a lie. He’d seen her room in normal times. “This is why I said I’d come find you, but someone insisted otherwise.”

He rolled his eyes and shooed her out of the way, plopping next to her on the bed.

“Are you ready for your quiz?”

“Of course,” he said, and then realized he didn’t remember any of the characters’ names or how they related to each other. “Uh…”

She caught his expression and laughed. “I’ll let you off easy. For now, at least. Anyway, what’d you get up to while I was gone? Aside from watching Siren, obviously.”

Doug smiled faintly and shrugged. “Oh, you know.”

She laughed again. “How vague. Alright then, keep your secrets.”

“And you?” he asked, quickly redirecting. “Was it as boring as I predicted?”

“I caught up on Siren and hung out with my sister a bunch, so, first of all, fuck you.” She pulled her laptop onto her lap, and Doug had a horrible premonition that she was going to force him to watch it with her again. “But also: yes. I’m so glad to be back, god.”

She pulled up Youtube. His premonition was coming true. “Alright, where’d you leave off?”

“Didn’t you just watch this?” he asked, but told her the episode number anyway.

“Siren never gets old,” she said reverently, and clicked play.

She watched with avid interest for someone who had finished watching the full game just a few days ago, snickering at the absurd objective requirements and repeating the word “professah” every time the professor and his student came on screen. She tried explaining some of the more obtuse plot points, nudging him to share his thoughts or predictions, to which Doug merely nodded or gave noncommittal answers.

After another episode or so, she glanced at him and said, “Are you okay? You seem kind of...out of it.”

“I’m fine, it’s just…” He floundered for some sort of justifiable explanation and then gave up, flopping against the wall. “Spring break sucked.”

“Okay, that sounds a little worse than just ‘I was bored out of my mind’.” She moved the laptop aside and twisted around to face him. “Hey. Doug. What happened?” Panic briefly flashed through her eyes as she added, “It wasn’t—”

“Dahlia wasn’t here,” he said. “Phoenix was.”

Her eyebrows knit together. “Phoenix…?”

“We hung out,” Doug went on, staring up at the ceiling. “He kissed me.”

“Excuse me, what?!” She still had that look of confusion on her face as she assessed his tone. “Is that...bad?”

“He didn’t take it well.”

“Oh.”

“The worst possible way, in fact.”

“Fuck,” she murmured, sucking in a breath. “God, Doug, I’m so sorry.”

“He hasn’t responded to me since then, either,” Doug added, voice rough. And that’s what hurt the most, really—that he didn’t know how Phoenix was doing, couldn’t gauge how much pain he might still be going through.

Cassandra gave him a careful look, then prompted, “And since when was that?”

“Thursday.”

“Hm.” She leaned back against the wall as well, her arm pressed against his. Doug hadn’t realized how much he missed the comfort of her presence until now. “It’s only been a few days, then. Maybe give him some more time?”

Doug shrugged.

“More importantly, how are you holding up?” she asked. “Have you been eating? Drinking water?” She peered at him more closely. “You haven’t been drinking alcohol, have you?”

“I haven’t touched any since Tuesday.” That had been their first pond tacos, but she didn’t need to know about that.

“That’s good, at least.” She was quiet for a moment longer, then reached out to grab his arm. “Here. Let’s go get some fucking food. My treat?”

“Cass, it’s barely four—”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m hungry, and I’m sure you’ll get hungry. You can get yourself a snack or something. Or takeout for later.”

It wasn’t a terrible idea, he supposed. Another change of pace, at least. “Alright.”

He allowed her to haul him to his feet, then waited while she sifted through the mess on the floor to find her wallet. Out of habit more than anything, he pulled out his phone and began distractedly flicking through apps again.

“Hey,” Cassandra said softly. She had returned to his side, wallet and keys in hand, and gently touched his wrist. “All you can really do is wait, right? It’s not like you can force him to respond.”

He frowned down at his lockscreen and its distinct lack of notifications, then stuffed the phone back in his pocket.

“Yeah,” he said, sighing heavily, “I know.”

Phoenix poked at his casserole, then coughed. There had been a scratch in his throat for a couple of days, and now it was starting to flare up with a vengeance. 

He only had himself to blame, he reasoned. He’d done his run through the rain to meet Dollie at the end of spring break, and he’d also become complacent about the temperature and had slept with his window open for a couple nights in a row, waking up shivering in the morning. No wonder he’d developed a cold.

Still. There was no reason to subject Dollie to his illness—or worse, get her ill, too—so he was eating alone in the cafeteria.

He didn’t mind, though. He didn’t know if he could have handled the company. He was so exhausted. Had been for a while now, ever since he’d—

He coughed again and tried to eat a bite of food. It felt and tasted like sawdust in his mouth. It probably didn’t help his illness, he realized, that he’d barely slept during the past several days. The anxiety kept him up at night. What if Dollie found out? What if his parents did? And what if Doug was upset, or—

Angrily, he dropped his fork down to the table. It was driving him mad that he couldn’t stop thinking about this. No wonder, though, he thought acidly. You cheated on the person you love with a man. It would be more fucked up if this didn’t bother you.

Absently, he pulled his necklace from under his shirt, running his fingertip along the edge of it. The shape of the rope-like metal was familiar, and so too were the smooth facets of the little crystal bottle. The familiarity comforted him.

Though he didn’t want to admit it, it was a slight relief to know that by eating alone, he was avoiding Dollie’s attempts to take the necklace back. He didn’t know what had changed, but for whatever reason, ever since the end of spring break, it really felt like she was asking for it back more frequently than before. 

...Ever since the end of spring break. He froze.

Did she…? There was no way she could know, right? His fingers tightened around the bottle. 

Okay, try to work through this logically. There were only a couple of ways that she could have found out. One: Doug had told her. It made him a little sick to consider that, but it could happen, right? They’d dated before, so it was plausible that Doug still had her phone number.

But… Doug wouldn’t. Phoenix didn’t feel like he could be certain about all that much right now, but for whatever reason he felt completely certain about that. Doug just wouldn’t.

After all, he and Dollie hated each other now, right? Maybe this felt like some sort of horrible revenge on Doug’s part. Knowing this secret about Dollie’s boyfriend that even she didn’t know.

Phoenix took a deep breath against the stab of pain, and continued.

So Doug wouldn’t have told her. What did that leave, then? Phoenix certainly hadn’t said anything about it. Maybe Doug had said something to Cassandra, who had somehow tracked down Dollie and—

No, that was ridiculous. He needed to focus on possibilities that were more realistic. Which… didn’t leave much, really, and Phoenix realized with a sick jolt that it must have been something about him. He’d done his best to hide his mental state from Dollie, but clearly he hadn’t been successful. I can try harder, he thought helplessly. Come on, Phoenix, you’re a drama major. This is your thing.  

But what if that failed? What if Dollie kept picking up on his unease? Or, worse, what if she eventually asked him about it outright? There wasn’t much he could do then, short of just telling her that he and Doug had—

No. That was out. That was the one thing he couldn’t do no matter what, even though he knew it was fucked up to hide it from her. He’d just have to make sure it didn’t get to the point where she asked, then.

He shoved his plate away from himself. Trying to eat was pointless, and he was just tying himself up in knots. He needed a distraction. He grabbed his belongings and tossed the remainder of his dinner, heading out into the hallway to go back to his room. Halfway across the building’s lobby, a cluster of people passed by him; he was so spaced out that he wouldn’t have noticed, except that a familiar voice made a small sound of surprise. Phoenix unconsciously froze and turned to face it.

“Hey,” Doug said, and wrapped his arms across his front, hugging his elbows.

Phoenix choked on air and tried to regain his stride, but his legs felt like lead. He stopped.

“I’m not going to do anything weird, I promise,” Doug added. His arms were still held tight against his body. He was trying to seem unthreatening, Phoenix realized, and he squinted and looked closer. Doug looked battered—about as exhausted as Phoenix felt. Start-of-quarter anxiety, probably, Phoenix thought, but he didn’t even convince himself. Not with Doug looking as bereft as he did.

There were a lot of things that Doug could have said, but for some reason what he settled on was, “Are you taking care of yourself?”

After cheating on Dollie? “It doesn’t matter,” Phoenix choked out, and finally got his legs to start moving again.

“Phoenix—”

“No, it doesn’t matter,” he repeated. “Don’t talk to me.” He’d managed to turn away, so he couldn’t see Doug’s face anymore, but he didn’t need to; he could imagine how he’d look. It wasn’t pleasant to consider, and made his stomach flip again with that newly-familiar tension.

Doug didn’t try to follow, and Phoenix managed to escape into the stairwell. His legs carried him up to his floor and around to his room, and he mechanically unlocked the door and dropped onto his bed. After a couple seconds to ground himself, he grabbed his laptop from the ground, flipping it open. His Facebook homepage—his page, not Benjamin’s—popped up, and he listlessly scrolled through for a few moments.

There was something nagging at the edge of his attention as he scrolled, and after a few seconds he realized what it was.

Doug hadn’t posted at all on the confession page since the day they’d—since the day they’d last hung out. It felt like a stupid thing to be bothered over. After all, it was just a fucking Facebook page, and there could have been thousands of reasons why he’d be keeping away from it.

But… Phoenix had seen his face in the dorm’s lobby, and inexplicably he was certain that it had something to do with him. Which… didn’t make much sense, did it? Because Phoenix had spent too much time dwelling on their last conversation, and especially too much time remembering how Doug had agreed with him when he’d mentioned not falling for straight guys. So why had he seemed so upset in the lobby just now? And why had his routine been so badly disrupted?

But more to the point, why was Phoenix wasting time wondering about this, days later? Their… friendship had happened, and now it was done, and Phoenix was moving on. It was fine. Completely doable. He had a fresh load of courses to keep on top of, and he had to make sure Dollie felt taken care of, too. Plenty to occupy himself with, and none of it involving Doug Swallow.

Phoenix shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and flipped over to the homepage for his new law class for the quarter. There were lots of readings for him to get started on, and the professor had even provided PDFs of some of them. So what if he couldn’t be friends with Doug? He had more important goals than simple friendship, like saving Miles. He clicked to open the first one and began to read.

He made it to the end of the first page before realizing that calling it “reading” was maybe a little too charitable. He hadn’t retained anything at all. He made an irritated noise and scrolled back to the top of the page, this time making it only through the first paragraph before noticing that he wasn’t retaining anything this time, either.

Come on, Phoenix, this is your law course. This is the most important one. So was that it, then? He’d fucked up his friendship with Doug, and now he was fucking up his efforts to help Miles, too. Go fucking figure, he thought, disgusted. You can’t get anything right.

He was scrolling back to the top of the document to give it a third try when his computer pinged with a Facebook notification, and without thinking he flipped over to the tab.

A message from Doug, and Phoenix did his best to ignore how all of the messages above this most recent one were from before. Friendly in tone. Comfortable. The last Facebook message from before—they’d switched to texting after exchanging numbers during spring break, Phoenix recalled—was some stupid meme about the evil geese on campus. He remembered how it had made him laugh, and then he sighed and turned his attention to the new message.

Please just have a look at this. A link to some post on a website whose domain name he didn’t recognize. He furrowed his brow and clicked.

A Guide to Compulsory Heterosexuality, the title declared in some bland font. Phoenix rolled his eyes with a disgusted sigh. Kissing Phoenix was one thing, but this was beyond the pale. Still, he glanced over the introductory section, feeling another little flare of irritation at all the jargon. Surely the topic didn’t justify it, right?

A bit further down the page, there was a checklist, and Phoenix passed his eyes over it without much expectation.

1) You view relationships with women as a chore, obligation, or just something you must deal with.

That was…

2) Jumping ahead and trying to rush to the “comfortably settled” part of a relationship; trying to make a relationship a done deal without investing time into emotional closeness.

3) Feeling like you have to have relationships with women and/or let them get serious in order to prove something, maybe something nebulous you can’t identify.

4) Getting a girlfriend mostly so that other people know you have a girlfriend.

5) Wishing your girlfriend was more like your male friends.

Dizzy and sick, he slammed his laptop shut and stood up, walking over to the door and then back again.

What the fuck did Doug think he was doing? Trying to manipulate Phoenix for what, his own gain? 

I didn’t think he was stupid, Phoenix thought angrily, pacing the length of his room again. Does he really think this is going to work? Just because I kissed him once—

He made an involuntary noise that sounded embarrassingly like a sob.

So what if he had kissed him once? So what, so what? It didn’t matter at all. He was still in a relationship with Dollie. A committed relationship. And he was going to keep it that way.

No matter what.

Chapter Text

Doug was about halfway through the morningʼs lab work when he realized what was bothering him. 

In his defense, a lot of things were bothering him; there was the fact that Phoenix had kissed him but still wouldnʼt acknowledge liking him, and the way heʼd seemed to be punishing himself for it when theyʼd run into each other in the cafeteria lobby, and the fact that heʼd read Dougʼs message about the comphet website but hadnʼt replied. So maybe it wasn’t weird that it took Doug zoning out during a titration to realize that the sick feeling in his stomach wasn’t guilt, or yearning, or whatever the fuck he was feeling for Phoenix, but déjà vu.

Because there was a weird awareness itching at the edge of his consciousness, and it made him turn to the rack next to him, completely losing track of how much phenolphthalein he’d added. And—one of the bottles was missing. He was sure he wouldn’t have just misplaced it; yeah, he was tired from being in the lab late the night before, but that was because he wasn’t allowed to leave atroquinine lying around for long. Dr. Brouwer had specifically warned him about it. It was why he’d come back to the lab so early this morning.

So where the fuck had the bottle gone? He placed down his pipette in the fume hood with a little less caution than usually advisable with lab equipment, and then pulled his gloves off so that he could go through the rack. Still nothing, though—he went through it front to back, then left to right, then all around the rest of the bench. He was positive heʼd left the bottle right here. He shut his eyes and drew in a long breath. 

So the atroquinine was gone, and Doug instinctively knew that there was only one person who could have taken it, because this exact same thing had happened several months ago and it was impossible to forget how that had ended.

How the fuck did she even get in this time? he thought desperately. And who is she going—

Phoenix. Obviously it was Phoenix. Doug still hadn’t managed to put all the pieces together, but between Dahlia coming to see him and warning him away from Phoenix, and her staying in a relationship with Phoenix even knowing that he was gay… clearly there was something Phoenix knew, or had, or was likely to know or have, that meant that Dahlia had to get rid of him.

And this was the worst possible time for this to happen, because Phoenix wasn’t even talking to him anymore, and Doug had possibly just antagonized him further by sending him that comphet website.

“Where’s Dr. Brouwer?” he asked the room at large.

“It’s Wednesday, dude,” Deanna said absently. “She’s in lecture until noon.”

He let out a breath, and something in the sound must have alerted Deanna, because she came over to his fume hood and then frowned. “Hey… Doug? Where’s the atro—”

“I have to go,” he choked out, and ran.

It wasn’t until he was sitting on the floor of his dorm room, shaking and staring at his phone, that he remembered that he had a serious problem. Because judging by Phoenix’s response to running into Doug a few days previously, he really wasn’t in the mood for any sort of heart-to-heart, and knowing what Doug knew about his thought patterns, that would be especially true for anything to do with Dahlia.

Which meant that Doug had his work seriously cut out for him. “Fuck,” he muttered, and stared a little harder at his phone, like that would solve anything. He was still shaking badly enough that he could barely read what was on the screen, and he took a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm himself down. He had the browser open to his and Phoenix’s message history, the read receipt for his message about the comphet website taunting him.

There were a few ways he could try to play this. Option one: try to appeal to Phoenix’s emotionality somehow. It was clear that he did feel something for Doug, even if only reluctantly. Doug couldn’t really think of a way of phrasing that kind of message without it being horrendously awkward, though: Hey, I know you desperately want to be straight but you also probably have a crush on me, let’s meet up and talk about it.

Maybe not.

So that left option two, because the possibilities were pretty fucking limited at this point: play it straight, tell Phoenix that he finally had some evidence for his claims about Dahlia, and pray that they’d built up enough trust that it would suffice.

There was always the potential, obviously, that Phoenix would assume he was lying to trick him into an uncomfortable conversation about feelings. It was what Doug would have assumed, in his position. But he was willing to risk the hostility, because if he didn’t act pretty fast, Phoenix was probably going to die. Doug hadn’t been willing to risk that happening even back in September, and he sure fucking wasn’t going to risk it now that he had that sound, the one Phoenix had made when he grabbed Doug’s collar, ricocheting in his mind.

He exhaled a long breath and started typing before he could second-guess himself.

I know I’m not your most favorite person right now, but I really do need to talk to you. You know how you’ve always wanted me to prove my claims about Dahlia? I finally have proof. I know this timing probably seems weird to you, but I promise I’m telling the truth.

He mashed the enter key, and then jumped when the read receipt popped up immediately. Phoenix was online, clearly, and—had the page open to their conversation? Doug waited a moment, but no reply came through. Impulsively, he added:

Please.

There was another short, aching pause, and Doug couldn’t even breathe. Then a new message popped up:

fine.

Doug shut his eyes and drew a shuddering breath, irritated when it almost turned into a sob. This was not the time.

Thank you, he sent back automatically, then added, Can we meet soon? Like, today?

i’m busy until this afternoon, Phoenix replied. i could maybe do 2:45

That works. Can you meet me by the pharmacology building? He wasn’t sure how Phoenix would react to the news about the atroquinine, but Doug wanted to be able to show him the lab, if Phoenix doubted him. He’d be breaking department policy by bringing in a non-pharmacology student, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

yeah whatever

i’ll see you then

It was raining, and Doug only barely remembered to grab his umbrella on the way out the door.

He’d spent the early afternoon wearing a track into the ugly dorm-room carpet, trying to figure out what to do. He’d considered getting in touch with the police, then dismissed it; Dahlia had thoroughly pulled one over on them last time, and he didn’t want to risk a “boy who cried wolf” situation with them. He’d considered telling Cassandra, too, but then decided that he didn’t want to worry her for no good reason; he’d get in touch with her once it was all over, she’d yell at him and maybe throw some books at his head, and then they’d get drunk in a pile on his bed and probably finish watching Siren or something.

So by the time 2:35 rolled around, he’d accomplished nothing but tiring himself out, and he noticed the time with some surprise. The aftershocks of the so-called storm of the century meant that it was still drizzling, and Doug could hear the occasional distant rumble of thunder; it was the only reason he remembered to grab his shitty convenience-store umbrella during his dash out of the room.

Campus was quiet, reminding him a little of the disastrous week that had been spring break. He sighed and shoved his free hand in his pocket, hoisting the umbrella a little higher on his shoulder, trying and failing to not remember.

The worst part was that the kiss was retroactively ruining what had been, up until that point, a really nice week. Pond tacos had been intimate in a way that he wasn’t really familiar with; he reflected, a little wryly, that his only real relationship had been with Dahlia, and they hadn’t been much for heart to hearts. Maybe that feeling of self-contained coziness—the sense that he and Phoenix and their air mattress were their own little universe separate from the rest of the world—was how relationships were supposed to feel. He hoped it was.

And he hoped he’d still have the chance to find out. But first he and Phoenix had to get through a really shitty conversation without tearing each other apart.

He reached the alley behind the pharmacology building at 2:44; Phoenix didn’t seem to have arrived yet, probably trying to make a point. Doug leaned against the brick, trying to huddle under the eaves to stay out of the rain. It was a little odd, being here in this context; there was a sort of poetry to the knowledge that this was where he and Phoenix had been when they first figured out that they’d accidentally befriended one another. The conversation then had been tense, much like Doug imagined this one was going to be, but… it had all worked out in the end. More or less. Maybe that would happen again this time.

He tucked his free hand under the opposite arm; it wasn’t cold, exactly, but the rain was making everything clammy. Pathetic fallacy, he thought, a little hysterically, then shook his head with an irritated laugh. Phoenix would be here soon, and he had to get his act together.

In between his wonderings about the police and Cass, he’d tried and failed about fifty times to come up with a script to try to use with Phoenix.

First: start with the timeline. Phoenix had already told him once that he and Dahlia had met on August 27th, so he couldn’t just pretend otherwise now; Doug would tell him about what had happened at the courthouse that day, and then…

And this was roughly where it all fell apart. Because Doug could tell him about the atroquinine, and how this wasn’t even the first time it had happened, but if Phoenix asked for proof, how could he actually provide any? Earlier, he’d had the idea to bring Phoenix into the lab to show him, but saying “there used to be a bottle here, but it’s gone now” wasn’t exactly compelling, and Doug knew it. How could he prove the absence of something?

He was interrupted from his thoughts chasing themselves in circles by the crunching of gravel. He hugged himself a little tighter and looked up.

Phoenix looked… horrible. Like his trajectory of exhaustion and misery had only continued since Doug had seen him last. Doug wondered when he’d last had a proper meal, and then he wondered whether Dahlia had noticed Phoenix’s state.

And then he wondered whether it was even possible that she could have missed it. Which made him wonder why she’d picked now, of all times, to steal the atroquinine.

Had she realized that something had changed between him and Phoenix? And maybe she felt she was losing her grasp on the situation, so she had to get rid of him? The roiling guilt rose in his stomach again. If he hadn’t invited Phoenix over that night—or if he’d just steered the conversation in another direction—if he’d even just fixed his own fucking hair instead of letting it get to the point where Phoenix wanted to fix it—

“What is it?” Phoenix demanded, and Doug’s brain tripped over itself.

“You—came,” he stammered.

Phoenix crossed his arms. “I’m not here to make small talk.” He looked frail, like he was drowning in his too-large sweater, and Doug clenched his hands to keep from reaching out to him.

“Right,” he said, and tried to take a deep breath. “Dahlia—” Phoenix jerked reflexively at the name, and Doug stumbled over his words again. “Listen, you can’t—you shouldn’t see her anymore.”

“I don’t think that’s any of your fucking business.”

“This isn’t even about me,” Doug said desperately. He was already going off-script. “I’m saying this for you. She’s—” He tried again. “If you stay with her, she’s—”

Phoenix hugged himself tighter, and Doug trailed to a stop. “I don’t want to hear it. Don’t talk about her that way. It’s so obvious you’re lying.” 

“Please listen,” Doug said. He was fully begging by now and couldn’t bring himself to care. “I said I had proof, right?” 

Phoenix made an attempt at a sneer. “You say that, but you havenʼt—” 

“I got into the lab this morning and some poison was missing.” 

Phoenix stopped dead, hands clenching and unclenching in his sleeves. “What?” 

“This happened eight months ago, too. You remember how you said that you met Dahlia on August 27th? Some of my atroquinine went missing then, and then the next day when she was at the courthouse—” He stopped, winded, as something solid smacked into his chest. He stumbled backwards, slamming into something else, then falling and landing hard on his umbrella. 

For a moment, he couldn’t think of anything beyond the bewilderment. He tried drawing breath into his aching chest, blinking up at the sky. 

Heʼd been… shoved? Phoenix had pushed him. 

Gingerly, he propped himself up on his elbows. Phoenix was staring at him, eyes wide. 

“Phoenix…?” 

“Don’t,” Phoenix choked out. “Just—don’t.” He drew a long, shuddering breath and turned away. “Stay out of it.” 

It wasn’t particularly logical, but after he left, Doug stayed lying on the ground for a while. The cold water from the mud was starting to soak through his jacket, and he thought with dull disinterest that it was probably starting to ruin the leather, but even so, he didn’t move.

Partly he needed to catch his breath, but mostly he was staggered by how badly he’d fucked everything up. And now Phoenix was gone, probably halfway across campus right now, and knowing Doug’s luck—knowing Phoenix’s luck—probably even running straight to Dahlia to tell her what’d happened.

Which didn’t leave Doug with a lot of options. He supposed at this point, he probably had to go to the police, give them his non-evidence, and hope that Dahlia’s prior status as a person of interest would be enough to pique the cops’ interest.

But first he had to get off the ground, and to do that, he had to acknowledge that he was on the ground. And that required him to acknowledge that Phoenix Wright, the guy who had kissed him not a week ago and who clearly cared very deeply for him, had shoved him to the ground. It hurt. In lots of ways. But Doug had also seen Phoenix’s face when he’d realized what he’d done, and he wished that that didn’t hurt as much as it did.

He made a noise of disgust and propped himself up on his elbows again. He felt miserable and wet and cold, and kind of wanted a shower and maybe something warm to drink, but he also knew he didn’t exactly have any time to waste. He’d just reached into his pocket, praying that the mud hadn’t drowned his phone, when a shadow fell across him, and he couldn’t quite keep the little burst of hope that popped through him as he looked up.

But it was Dahlia.

He hadn’t considered this possibility, but now he was left wondering why. She’d taken the poison; she obviously knew that he would realize, just like he had the last time. It wasn’t even odd that she’d be tailing him.

She watched him put the pieces together, and a small smile touched the corner of her mouth. “Hello, Doug,” she said, and something about it—about her choosing not to call him by the nickname—made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

He was up on his feet before he even realized what was happening, wiping his muddy hands on his jeans and taking a couple steps back.

Her smile widened at his silence, and she took one step closer to him. “I see your little gambit failed.”

“You knew,” he said, and then choked on it, because obviously she did. Nothing was happening here that she hadn’t already planned.

She shrugged in a quick, fluid motion and twirled her parasol on her shoulder. “This could all have been avoided if he had just given that necklace back when I asked.” 

The necklace? 

Phoenix wore a necklace. Doug had noticed it before mainly because of how out-of-place it seemed on him; it was gold and crystal and distinctly feminine. 

The crystal was in the shape of a bottle, which had never really seemed relevant before but now, suddenly, seemed like just about the only relevant thing at all, because small bottles could hold all sorts of things. Like, perhaps, poison. Because Doug had not forgotten that Phoenix had met Dahlia at the courthouse on the same day that the lawyer had been poisoned. 

Which meant that Phoenix had been unwittingly hiding evidence the whole time. 

No wonder Dahlia needed that necklace back. 

But Doug had let Phoenix kiss him, and now Phoenix was desperately clinging to whatever proof of heterosexuality he had left, so he certainly wouldn’t be likely to give away any token of his very heterosexual relationship. 

“He puts it together,” Dahlia said, watching him with a half-smile. “It looks like you were a little smarter than I gave you credit for. A shame, really.” 

And Doug knew, with a frigid certainty, that Dahlia was going to kill him. 

He tried to escape anyway. His feet turned him automatically, and he took a step forward, then two, then saw the cable dangling. He recalled, detachedly, that it had broken when Phoenix pushed him into the pole. He recalled that this was the cable used to power most of the equipment in Dr. Brouwer’s lab. And then he recalled that the reason she had been so adamant about getting it replaced was that it was fragile and could easily kill someone with a single touch. 

Dahlia had known that the cable would be right in front of him like this. Of course she did. She would never have said anything about the necklace—would never have started the conversation with Doug to begin with—if she hadn’t been certain that she could get away with it. 

Doug tried to swerve, tripped, and overcorrected. A weight slammed into his back. He stumbled forward, and there was a screaming pain in his spine and his fingertips—

Phoenix didn’t know what he’d expected from this conversation in the first place.

He’d only come because Doug had broken his promise and was starting to shittalk Dollie again, in what had to be the most poorly disguised excuse for a meeting. So he had evidence now, huh? After all this time? Phoenix scoffed when he first read the Facebook message. Yeah, right. As if Doug wasn’t just doing this because all of his other attempts at getting Phoenix’s attention had failed. But dragging Dollie back into it was a low blow, especially when she had nothing to do with this...falling out of theirs anyway.

Talk about desperate, Phoenix thought, half ready to click out of Facebook. But then Doug added, Please, and Phoenix remembered how he’d looked that day in the cafeteria, and something inside of him shattered.

And so he’d come to their scheduled meeting spot, standing a safe distance away, trying very hard not to notice how tightly Doug held himself or how he stumbled over his words.

After all, Phoenix was here for Dollie. Not for...not for him.

Even though Phoenix had gone into this with the intention of defending Dollie's reputation, it still surprised him the moment that Doug mentioned her name. And then Doug brought up something about stolen poison again, and how the same thing had happened the day before August 27th, and Phoenix’s arms moved before he could stop himself.

“Stay out of it,” he’d said. Why couldn’t Doug stay out of anything? Why couldn’t he mind his own fucking business?! First that compulsory heterosexuality site, and now this—

Doug didn’t respond to that; just continued to stare up at Phoenix with blatant hurt in his eyes. The knot in Phoenix’s stomach wrenched tighter, and he spun on his heel and fled.

He didn’t really know where he was going. Anywhere was better than back there, with Doug looking at him like that and spewing off more lies about Dollie. And if Phoenix stuck around long enough, he was sure he’d hear even more lies about how Doug felt about Phoenix, or how Phoenix felt about him… 

The knot was fraying, or maybe his mind was—it was hard to tell with all his nerves on edge and his brain pounding angrily at the back of his eyes. He clutched his stomach and gritted his teeth. Stop fucking thinking about it!  

What was it Doug had said? August 27th. There. The day he’d met Dollie. Doug had said she’d stolen some poison the night before, which was so laughably impossible that Phoenix didn’t even know where to start. How could she have gotten into the lab in the first place? And from there, then what? Had she just carried around an open bottle of atroquinine, tapping a few drops into some guy’s drink when he wasn’t looking, like some sort of Disney villain? And somehow got away with it, even eight months later?

Doug was just lying. He was always lying, about Dollie and about having evidence and about not falling for straight guys—

Phoenix slowed to a stop, because his lungs were burning and his nose was running and he could feel himself on the verge of crying again for no fucking reason. Irritated, he rummaged in his pockets for a tissue and hacked into it, feeling the miserable rattle of phlegm in his chest.

He was at the arboretum, he realized, once he finally had the chance to gather his bearings. At least no one was around to have witnessed his minor breakdown, thanks to the awful weather. He might have even appreciated having this place all to himself, except that he really didn’t need his brain to dredge up any more memories that were associated with Doug. Especially now, when the last image seared onto his mind was that wounded look on Doug’s face after Phoenix had pushed him… 

Phoenix stiffened. He’d really pushed Doug, hadn’t he? That was...He’d never gotten angry enough to resort to physical violence, and now that he’d cooled off a bit the way he’d reacted kind of scared him. Even if Doug wasn’t a...a friend anymore, and even if he’d been accusatory towards Dollie, that still wasn’t any reason to have gotten so aggressive. Doug had been plenty accusatory before they’d properly started hanging out, and even ruder, besides. Compared to those early times, something about Doug had seemed off today. His usual easy self-assuredness was gone, replaced by apprehensive desperation. He could barely stammer through a full sentence, for crying out loud. Even if he was only lying for the sake of some ulterior motive, there probably could have been better ways to handle it.

And he’d hit that pole kind of hard, too.

“Fuck,” Phoenix muttered, and turned back around. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he left Doug behind. Several minutes, at the very least. Would Doug even still be there, by now? He picked up the pace, stumbling out of the way of a lone jogger running down the path.

He slowed down as he rounded the corner at the pharmacology building again, and, heart thudding with a mix of nerves and indignance and something uncomfortably close to guilt, called out, “Hey—”

And then stopped short. Because lying on the ground, jacket slicked wet and cheek pressed into the mud, was Doug, splayed out in an awkward position. Even stranger was the sight of Dollie, who was kneeling next to him, openly sobbing.

But Dollie hates Doug, was Phoenix’s first thought, and then: Why is she crying?

An inexplicable fear began to claw its way through his stomach. He swallowed it down, because there was absolutely no reason why he should be panicking just because Doug had somehow fallen and hadn’t picked himself back up yet. 

Although… Phoenix swallowed again, this time the taste sour with guilt. It wasn’t from the shove, was it? But no, that was ridiculous, it had been at least five minutes since they parted ways, and regardless of whether or not Doug was actually upset about Phoenix, there was no way he would willingly lay in the mud for that long. So he must have just tripped, or someone else pushed him, or—

Dollie. She might have answers. Surely she’d seen whatever happened, right? Phoenix wasn’t sure how long she’d been here, but—

A chilling thought gripped him from the back of his mind. How long has she been here?

But no, that—that wasn’t important. He shook his head and cautiously approached them.

“Dollie, what—”

“Oh,” she said, startling a bit as she looked up at him. “Feenie…”

“Why are you—” he began, then remembered that wasn’t what he wanted to ask. “What—”

“Something happened to him, Feenie,” she explained, voice watery. “I don’t know if he’s—”

Blood roared in Phoenix’s ears, and he didn’t hear if she said anything else.

“He’s…” Phoenix trailed off, shifting his focus from Dollie to Doug. “Doug?” he said tentatively. “Are you okay? I didn’t—” He swallowed. “I didn’t push you that hard, did I?”

Doug still didn’t respond, and the horrible wrong feeling surged in his chest. Phoenix knelt down and touched his shoulder lightly, hesitantly. “H-hey.”

Doug’s shoulder didn’t give quite the same way Phoenix expected it to. Perhaps it was the difference in material, or the wetness, or the angle. The leather of his jacket was thicker than his shirt had been, so of course Phoenix couldn’t feel the warmth of Doug’s skin the same as he had during—

Pain stabbed through his chest, and his breathing turned ragged. That familiar nausea returned, gripping him with ironclad intensity, but he couldn’t seem to pull his hand away. His mind kept getting stuck on the feel of Doug’s shoulder under his fingers; the inordinate wrongness of it. It was too... something, but Phoenix couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. Too...stiff? Too loose? Too—

He shook Doug’s shoulder a little more insistently. “H-hey! Doug?”

What is HAPPENING, he thought frantically. He was fine just now, that was just a few minutes ago, he can’t possibly be—

“Feenie, I have to go now,” Dollie said, and Phoenix jumped upwards. He’d almost forgotten she was there. “You won’t tell anyone I was here, will you?”

“What?” he said.

“I can trust you not to tell anyone,” she repeated, “right?”

“I—” His throat rebelled against him and he fell into a coughing fit. Why was she asking him this? Of course she could trust him, he’d never given her a reason not to, especially now that he’d reaffirmed his commitment to her during his conversation with Doug, who still wasn’t—

The coughs seized his entire chest, and he struggled to breathe.

“Feenie?”

“I—ah—yes,” he finally managed to croak out.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. Aren’t her gloves also wet? Phoenix couldn’t help from wondering. “I’ll see you later, then?”

“Yeah,” he replied automatically, and watched as she picked herself up from the ground and walked away. He had his own class soon, he realized. It was law too—he definitely didn’t want to miss that, not if he wanted to stay on track for saving Miles. But his legs were stubbornly unresponsive, and instead he found himself staring back down at Doug.

“Doug?” he said again. His voice sounded so small. Doug probably couldn’t hear him like this. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

He stopped, because what had he meant, anyway? He regretted the shove, certainly. He regretted the harsh tone he’d taken, and how he’d cut Doug off before he could finish saying anything. It wasn’t that he’d wanted to be rude, necessarily, but if Doug had been trying to avoid an argument then he shouldn’t have brought Dollie into it in the first place. Or maybe...it was Phoenix who shouldn’t have agreed to meet with him? After all, he should have known what to expect, shouldn’t he? He’d known, and he’d still gotten angry, and now they were here with Doug shoved to the ground and Phoenix talking himself in circles about how exactly any of this had happened.

“Why…? Why did I do that…?” 

It was quiet, now that Dollie had gone. It was just him, and Doug, and the muted drizzle of rain. Time could have stopped, for all Phoenix knew. That would have explained why Doug hadn’t spoken, or moved, or even seemed to breathe in the last several minutes. It was far more believable than the alternative, at least, which was that Doug was—

A loud bang startled him, and he turned around to find a handful of students rushing out of the pharmacology building doors. He spotted Doug's friend at the front of the group, her long black hair whipping from side to side. What was her name again? Cassandra.

Cassandra seemed to have caught sight of them; her eyes went wide and she made a beeline in their direction.

“Hey! Doug?” she called out. She got closer, her frown shifting into concern and then panic when Doug didn’t respond. “Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. Doug?” 

She fell to her knees on the side opposite from Phoenix and reached out to touch Doug’s shoulder. Her hand was trembling, he noticed with detached curiosity. She shook his shoulder once, gingerly, then snatched her hand away with a sharp inhale.

For a moment Phoenix felt as though he didn’t exist. Cassandra sat there staring at Doug for a few more breaths, hands gripping tightly at her knees. But then her head snapped up towards Phoenix, and he flinched. “What happened? What the fuck happened?!”

Phoenix’s tongue couldn’t move. Why was she asking him this, as if Doug wasn’t able to— “I don’t—”

“What the fuck happened to him, Phoenix?”

Phoenix froze. How did she know his name…? Unless she remembered from their one shared class last quarter, or maybe Doug had—

“Phoenix!”

“I-I don’t know!”

“I told him,” Cassandra spat. “I fucking told him, I knew he should have stayed away from you and that—” She took a shaky breath. “Was she here?”

“What—?”

“Was she here?” she demanded, voice cracking. “Fuck. Has anyone called an ambulance yet? Can someone please call an ambulance?!”

She means Dahlia, some quiet part of Phoenix’s mind supplied as he watched Cassandra fumble with her phone. 

And Dollie had been here, but Phoenix didn’t really see how that was relevant. Suddenly nothing seemed especially relevant, except for the sparking wire and the way Doug's hair was sticking uncomfortably to his forehead. Why couldn’t he— Why wasn’t he—

There was that itch again, the one that had compelled him to brush Doug’s hair out of his eyes the night Phoenix had kissed him, and his knees buckled.

“Woah, there,” said a voice from behind, catching him under his arms. “Hey, is this the one?”

“Yeah,” some student called out, before Phoenix could ask what they meant by that. “He was just standing there when we came out, so he has to be—”

“I—” Phoenix started, but his tongue remained heavy and useless in his mouth. What, his brain wondered helplessly. Have to be what?

The person holding him huffed and shifted their grip until he was standing upright. They grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back, and Phoenix heard a sharp click followed by the cold sting of metal on his wrists.

Finally, finally, Phoenix’s mind caught up to what was happening to him, and he stuttered out, “N-No, it—it wasn’t me...I d-didn’t…”

“Save it for court,” the person—an officer, he realized—said, and roughly shoved him forward. He stumbled, nearly tripping over Doug’s hand—why wouldn’t he move?!—and submitted himself to being hauled past the growing crowd of students who had no business being there and looking at Doug like that.

This is a nightmare, he assured himself as he got dragged into the police car. As the clerks stared and whispered when he passed through the detention center. As he sat, alone, on the narrow bed of the cell he’d been shoved into. He shivered, even under Dollie’s sweater. He couldn’t stop shivering.

This has to be a nightmare. Because if it wasn’t a nightmare, then what was it? Doug had been standing there, Phoenix had talked to him, he’d shoved his chest and he’d touched his shoulder and he’d kissed him just over a week ago, and—

Ten minutes, he thought, a little hysterically. It had only been ten minutes.

Nothing could—life couldn’t change like that in the course of ten minutes. It was too abrupt. It couldn’t be real. Phoenix was dreaming, and this was a nightmare, and if he could just get the fuck to sleep he would wake up and everything would be fine.

But he awoke the next morning to a hard mattress and a cold floor and to the whispers that had somehow become reality overnight:

That Doug Swallow was dead, and that Phoenix Wright had killed him.

Chapter Text

“Alright,” Mia muttered, “you’ll be fine. You can do this.”

She was waiting in the lobby, trying not to pace another lap around the room. Mostly to avoid drawing yet another needling comment from Grossberg, who was sitting rather unhelpfully on the couch and had decided that his time was best spent grumbling about courthouse etiquette.

She had gone over the case file enough times by now that she nearly had it memorized. Even so, her hand went to her briefcase and plucked it from among the other folders, just to have something to take her mind off her nerves. She worried with the corner of the file as her eyes skimmed over the page again, her mind supplying the details without actually absorbing the words. 

Doug Swallow, the victim. A fourth-year pharmacology student who had been found dead at Ivy University two days ago.

Then there was the witness, his ex-girlfriend. Mia’s jaw clenched, the corner tearing under her fingers. Dahlia Hawthorne. The entire reason for her year-long break, and a significant portion of the reason why she was here today.

And her client, the defendant, Mr...

“Good morning Ms. Fey!” 

Phoenix Wright appeared before her, looking entirely too chipper for someone who was being accused of murder. He sneezed and adjusted his face mask, his eyes shining brightly as he turned the full force of them upon her.

“I’ll give it all I’ve got today! Everything will be fine, no problem!”

At least one of us is optimistic, she thought, then winced. Here she was, acting as his lawyer, and yet she was more freaked out about the trial than he was. Get it together, Mia! “Well, luckily you don’t need to do too much, Mr. Wright. Leave it to me, and I promise that I’ll get you through this.”

He sneezed again. “Right. Thanks Ms. Fey!”

Don’t thank me yet, she thought, but instead responded with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. The bailiffs called them into the courtroom; Grossberg leapt to his feet, and Mia’s stomach wobbled. The last time she had been here, about a year ago… 

She shook her head and strode to the defense’s bench, keeping her eyes trained resolutely ahead of her.

“We have quite a serious case today, it seems,” said the judge. His eyes swept solemnly across the gallery. “The death of a young man… a university student, if I’m not mistaken. And the accused is a student at the same university as well.”

“Indeed, Your Honor,” said the prosecutor. Mia hadn’t had a chance to see him before now—Winston Payne, purported veteran of the Prosecutor’s Office. He certainly looked it, what with that poorly fitted toupée.

“Be careful, Mia,” Grossberg whispered beside her. “They call him the Rookie Killer, and for good reason.”

“Good thing I’m not a rookie, then,” she replied, in an attempt to bolster her confidence. Technically.  

Payne’s head whipped towards her, apparently having sniffed out her hesitation.

“Well well well…” he drawled. “A new defense attorney, is it? Tch.” He shook his head and sighed dramatically. “I can’t believe a veteran like me has to spend his time babysitting. But don’t worry, little girl, it’ll be all over soon.”

Mia seethed, all doubts pushed aside for the time being, as Payne continued with his opening statement.

“As you are aware, Your Honor, the murder victim was a student named Doug Swallow. His body was discovered behind the Pharmacology building. A few students found him there, along with the defendant, who had obviously bungled his getaway.”

“I’d appreciate it if you would stick to the objective facts, Mr. Payne,” Mia cut in coolly. “We’ve hardly established my defendant’s guilt, at this point.”

“Right, right, apologies,” Payne said, smirking. “Sticking to the facts, then, as the defense requests, the prosecution would be more than happy to submit this photo of the crime scene to the record.”

He flashed a photo of Doug Swallow face down on the ground, with a university building and a line of utility poles behind him.

The judge peered down at the photo, frowning. “Hmm, interesting… But I can’t quite tell the cause of death from this, Mr. Payne.”

“Your reputation for sagacity is well-earned, Your Honor,” Payne said, and Mia rolled her eyes. Oh please. “The truth is that the victim died a rather unusual death.”

“An unusual death?” the judge repeated.

“Yes. By electrocution!” Payne jabbed at the photo with a flourish. “From this very cable, here!”

Mia could see it now, a sparking wire hanging over Swallow’s back. How such a dangerous situation had managed to remain unaddressed was beyond her—wasn’t campus safety supposed to be a priority?—but she had more pressing questions to ask at the moment.

“Anyone could have killed him with that, though,” she said. “How does this incriminate my client?”

“Hmph. As expected of a rookie.” Payne crossed his arms. “Have you already forgotten? The defendant was right there, with no one else in sight. And besides, he had a rather compelling motive, if I do say so myself.”

“A motive?” Mia said, glancing at Phoenix. He was staring idly into the gallery, not seeming to pay attention to the proceedings.

Payne leaned gleefully over the bench. “Apparently there was some bad blood between the victim and the defendant.”

“Bad blood?!” cried the judge.

Oh no, Mia thought. She could already tell exactly where this was going.

“That’s right.” Payne’s smile widened. “The defendant is currently dating a young woman, but up until about eight months ago his girlfriend was dating the victim, Mr. Swallow. I’m sure you can see why this might create some bad blood between them.”

“Wait!” 

Mia was startled by a sudden outburst from the witness stand. Phoenix had pulled himself out of his reverie and was now staring intensely at the judge.

“That’s not it at all!”

“Ha! As if,” sneered Payne. “You do realize that you are suspected in the death of your fellow student, Doug Swa—”

“Okay, but I didn’t do it! I’m innocent! I’m telling you that I—” Phoenix was interrupted by a sudden coughing fit, doubled over behind the stand.

“Hm. Well. Would you mind telling us about your relationship to the victim, then?” the judge prompted. Phoenix took a deep breath, the coughs subsiding.

“Um, I...I admit that I was there! But all I did was find his—” Phoenix faltered for a second before picking back up again. “Anyway! I hardly knew the guy to begin with! You think I’d talk to that—that stuck-up, British wannabe?”

“Oh, this is bad,” Grossberg mumbled. Mia didn’t need to get into a cross-examination to figure that contradiction out. She pressed on anyways.

“You ‘hardly knew him’?”

“Y-yeah,” Phoenix said. “I mean, why would I even—”

“Then how did you know he was a ‘stuck-up British wannabe’?”

“Because he always walked around with a Union Jack on the back of his shirt. And he—” Phoenix swallowed. “He was always wearing it. That’s why.”

You already said that, Mia thought disparagingly. But, alright. If he was going to be like this, then...

“So he was wearing it when you came across the body?”

Phoenix startled, then chirped, “Um, yeah!”

Mia took a deep breath. She really, really, hoped that he would cut with the lies soon. For both of their sakes.

“Mr. Wright,” she said. “If you accidentally stumbled upon the crime scene, then there’s no way you could have known he was wearing a Union Jack. According to the crime scene photo—” She held it out and tapped it; Phoenix looked away. “—he was wearing a leather jacket. So either somehow this photo’s been fabricated, or you’re lying to me!”

“A-ah…um…”

“Of course he’s lying to you,” Payne said smugly. “It’s quite clear that the defendant did not simply ‘stumble upon’ the scene of the crime!”

It was obvious, Mia begrudgingly agreed. Phoenix was doing a terrible job of keeping his story straight. But it was far too early for her to give up yet—there must be some reason behind all the lies.

Payne tossed his head, fluffing his pompadour. “Now tell me, Mr. Wright, have you been taking any medicine for that cold of yours? Perhaps the brand Coldkiller X?”

Phoenix sneezed and sniffed, adjusting his mask. “Um, yeah.”

“And do you happen to have this medicine bottle on you right now?”

“Um, well…that is...I think I lost it?”

“Hm,” Payne shook his head, grinning widely, and Mia didn’t like where this was heading at all. “Shall I tell you where your cold medicine is right now, then?”

Phoenix looked up, confused, until Payne flashed a close up image of Swallow’s hand. 

“Your Honor, please look at this photo from the crime scene!” he said.

The judge gasped. “What’s this? In the victim’s hand, it’s—Coldkiller X?!”

“H-hold it!” Mia cried. “How do you know that belongs to the defendant? Anyone can have Coldkiller X—I’ve even got some in my apartment!”

“Foolish little girl,” said Payne. “We know for certain this belonged to Mr. Wright, because his fingerprints are all over it!”

Shit! Mia thought, glancing at Phoenix. He still seemed stunned, staring at the photo of the bottle in Swallow’s hand.

“Sensing his murderous intent, the victim must have picked up the bottle of medicine with the purpose of identifying his killer as Phoenix Wright!”

“No!” Phoenix shouted. He devolved into a fit of coughs. “That’s not—That’s not what happened!”

“Oh?” Payne sneered. “Is it not? So you truly only happened to stumble across him after he was already—”

“Alright, fine!” Phoenix said, cutting Payne off. “So we did meet up beforehand. But all we did was talk for a bit, and then I left, and later, when I came back, he was...he was…”

“You met up with him?!” Mia cried. Across the courtroom, Payne snickered. 

“Um, yeah. He wanted to talk to me, so I—”

“And you’d really never met the victim before then?” she interjected.

Phoenix perked up, his eyes shining guilelessly under the courtroom lights. “Nope! Never!”

I don’t know if I believe that… she thought, but didn’t press further.

“So, what was it you were talking about?”

“You know, ah…” Phoenix sneezed again, echoing loudly in the courtroom. “That...maybe we should hang out again sometime.”

“HA!” Payne screeched. “As if that could be true when you were RIVALS!”

“Rivals?!” the judge said. 

“Yes, Your Honor,” said Payne. “Rivals in love!”

“Ahh, I see. So it was one of those nasty love triangle situations.” The judge nodded.

“Right! A love triangle! Because he was jealous of me and Dollie,” Phoenix added brightly, and Mia wanted to strangle him. “He’s always been jealous of us, always trying to—”

“Mr. Wright,” she said sharply. “Where did you say you met up with the victim, again?”

He blinked at her, and for one frustrating second she thought that she might have to repeat herself. Is he paying attention to any of this?! “Oh. Um. We met behind the pharmacology building.”

“That’s right. The victim was a pharmacology student, correct?” said the judge.

“He...was.” Phoenix seemed a bit disoriented at being directly addressed by the judge, and cleared his throat. “He was studying how to manufacture and improve pharmaceuticals.”

“Oh? He sounds like he was quite the ambitious young man.”

Mia caught Phoenix nod stiffly out of the corner of her eye. 

“How do you know so much about the victim, anyway?” she asked.

Phoenix flinched. “I mean, he was one of the top pharmacology students, right? S-so I just heard it through the grapevine, you know?”

Another lie, then. Jesus, kid.  

“So you talked with him about...something, and then left.” Mia pinched the bridge of her nose. “But then you came back…?”

“Y-yeah,” Phoenix said. “And when I went back, I just found him…” He shrugged, gesturing towards the floor. “...lying there.”

“Yeah, but why did you go back in the first place? Weren’t you angry with him?”

“Well, th-that’s right, I was…”

“Then why, Mr. Wright? Why did you go back there?”

“Umm…” Phoenix hugged his elbows, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I thought that...maybe we could make up?” 

Payne cackled. Mia gritted her teeth. 

“Does he truly believe anyone is buying this?” Grossberg said, eyebrows twitching.

The judge closed his eyes and frowned, thinking. “So the victim and the defendant met up at approximately the time of his death. And then the defendant returned to the scene of the crime for some unknown reason.”

“I, for one, do not trust his testimony at all, Your Honor,” Payne sniffed. “And besides, he’s the only one who had the opportunity for the crime!”

Mia slammed her hands on the bench. “You can’t know that for certain, Mr. Payne!”

“Hmph. I knew this would be too much work for a little girl.” Payne shrugged and chuckled. “Evidence is everything, didn’t you know? And I’ve got some more evidence for you. Irrefutable proof, even.”

“Are you going to show me or are you just going to gloat all day?” she snapped. 

Beside her, Grossberg hissed, “Don’t goad him!”

“Hmph! Don’t go crying to me, then, little girl. But fine, since you asked...Here’s proof that your precious defendant is the one who pushed the victim into the wire!” Payne pulled out another photograph, this time of Swallow’s jacket. “Ha! A palm print, preserved perfectly on the victim’s leather jacket!”

“What!?” Grossberg gasped, as the gallery erupted into chatter. 

“Bearing the defendant’s fingerprints, no less,” Payne continued, and Mia itched to slap the slimy grin off his face.

“His fingerprints!” the judge exclaimed. “Why, that’s very decisive indeed! It seems that we can conclude this cross-examination.”

Mia’s stomach dropped. This trial couldn’t be over, not when she was so close— “W-what? But, Your Honor—!”

“No further evidence is required to convince me of this man’s guilt.”

“I knew it,” Grossberg muttered. “I knew that boy was guilty the instant I laid eyes on him.”

“N-no!” Mia insisted, aghast. “I know he’s innocent!” She turned from Grossberg to the judge, who was shaking his head, and then to Payne, who was still beaming that infuriatingly condescending smile. Phoenix himself had been eerily silent throughout the reveal, the only indication that he was paying attention being the slight tremble of his shoulders.

“Is this what you want, Mr. Wright?” she demanded. “I know you still haven’t told us the whole truth. If you don’t say something now, the judge will hand down his verdict!”

“B-but…” Phoenix cast about the courtroom, wilting under the glares from the gallery. “I can’t! If I told you what really happened, then I’d b-be…”

“Mr. Wright!” She slammed the defense bench again, startling Grossberg, and met Phoenix’s eyes. “I believe in you. No matter what you have to say, I’m here to represent you until the very end.”

Phoenix’s eyes widened, and he nodded. 

“We’ve already established the defendant’s guilt,” Payne said. “There’s no further need for him to say anything!”

“W-wait a minute!” said Phoenix. “I-I’ll tell you what really happened!”

“Ha! I’ve already told you, Mr. Wright, there’s no further need for—”

“Okay, I admit it! I pushed him!” Phoenix burst. “It’s my fault that D—” His breath caught, voice cracking on the syllable. “That Doug Swallow is dead!”

What?! Mia reeled, gripping the bench. That had not been what she meant when she said he should tell the whole truth. Or at least, definitely not phrasing it that way. 

The gallery flew into an uproar. The judge banged his gavel, fruitlessly demanding order. Phoenix continued on without any regard for the havoc his outburst had caused.

“That guy, he just...said what he wanted to say to me. A-about Dollie, and making shit up about her and I—” Phoenix swallowed and closed his eyes. “I shoved him, and he fell, and there was some loud cracking sound, I think? And then I left right away, but I started to get worried, so I came back—”

“It really is that simple then,” said Payne. “You pushed him into the electrical wire. He died from the shock. And that, as they say—” He tossed his head, glasses glinting. “—is that.”

“N-no!” Phoenix cried. “I swear there weren’t any electrical cables nearby when I pushed him! I would have...I would have noticed something like that!”

The judge had managed to finally calm the crowd and inclined his head towards Mia, sighing heavily. “I’ll let you cross-examine the defendant one more time, Ms. Fey. But if it doesn’t yield any new facts then please know that I’m prepared to hand down my verdict.”

“Understood, Your Honor!” she said. She couldn’t waste this opportunity—this time, for sure, she would unveil the truth. “So you heard a cracking sound, Mr. Wright?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Any idea what it might have been?”

“The sound of an electric shock, obviously!” Payne interrupted. “The shock that killed the victim!”

Mia had still been watching Phoenix during Payne’s outburst, and caught him wince again. Was he hiding something about the sound he heard, then? Or about the wires? But—no, that didn’t make much sense… 

“Mr. Payne!” she snapped. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t interrupt me while I’m cross-examining my client!” She turned back towards Phoenix and gently prompted, “Mr. Wright?”

“It was like a sharp crack,” he mumbled. “I think maybe...oh.” His face dawned with understanding. “He dropped his umbrella when I pushed him. I think he fell on it and it broke?”

“His umbrella, huh?” Aha!

“Yeah, I remember now. It was a plastic umbrella. Cheap and frail, just like its owner!” Phoenix laughed, loud and abrupt, and Mia was briefly stunned by the casual cruelty in his voice. Not doing yourself any favors here, kid!

“Well, Ms. Fey?” prompted the judge.

She shook her head. “I think I’ve heard enough to counter the prosecution’s arguments, Your Honor.” Across the courtroom, Payne spluttered and squirmed. 

“According to Mr. Wright, the v—Mr. Swallow fell on top of his umbrella. But if we take another look at the crime scene, we’ll see that the umbrella is nowhere near where Mr. Swallow was found.”

“Oh!” The judge squinted down at the photo. “You’re absolutely right!”

“The conclusion here is obvious,” Mia continued, relishing in Payne’s outraged protests. “After Mr. Wright left, Mr. Swallow got up and moved. In other words, he was still alive even after he was pushed!”

“I see…” the judge said. “In that case, as long as the smallest doubt remains, I cannot render final judgment.”

“Hmph,” Payne huffed, seemingly recovered from the blow against his argument. “It seems I was expecting too much of a free ride. It was foolish to think I could establish guilt through cross-examination alone.”

Mia narrowed her eyes at him. “So you have another witness.”

Payne smirked. “Precisely! And her testimony will be incontrovertible!”

“‘Her’? You can’t mean...Dahlia Hawthorne herself?” said the judge.

“I do, Your Honor. The defendant’s very own lover, a witness at the scene of the crime when the murder took place!”

“What?!” both Grossberg and the judge cried.

Payne leaned forward, sneering at Mia. “Sorry to break the bad news to you, my dear.”

Mia met his gaze haughtily. “‘Bad news’? You couldn’t be more wrong, actually. I’ve been waiting for this.” 

Dahlia Hawthorne...I hope you’re ready for what’s coming for you.

The judge released them for recess while preparing for their next witness. Mia followed Grossberg back to the defendant lobby, where they regrouped with Phoenix. He was sitting on one of the couches, staring down at the lobby rug with a slight frown on his face, but he startled and jumped to his feet as soon as he saw her.

“Ms. Fey!” he said. “Um...sorry about all that…”

“It’s fine,” she said. “You got around to telling us the truth in the end.” Or, most of it, at least. There were still some suspicious holes in his story, but she had bigger fish to fry at the moment. As long as he didn’t interrupt and incriminate himself during Dahlia’s testimony, he should be fine.

“Well…” Phoenix shuffled his feet, tugging at the sleeve of his horrendous sweater. “The next witness is Dollie, right? She’ll save me, I just know she will!”

I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Mia thought. She wouldn’t be the one to break it to him though—he would likely find out soon enough, in any case. “And why do you think that?”

“Because she’s the love of my life, that’s why!”

Hoo, boy. This was going to be unpleasant. “I...see,” she said carefully. “Would you mind telling me more about your relationship with Dahlia Hawthorne?”

Phoenix brightened immediately. “Yeah, sure, of course!” he said. “We met about eight months ago, here in this courthouse, actually. I’m studying to become a lawyer on the side so…” He laughed a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway! We just bumped into each other in the reading room one day and it was love at first sight! She even gave me this—” He reached under the collar of his sweater and pulled out a necklace with a heart-shaped, crystal bottle attached to the chain, “—as a symbol of our love! I’ve been wearing it every day since then.”

“Every day, huh?” Mia said. “And since when was that?”

“August 27th,” he recited. It wasn’t a surprise, necessarily, to hear him confirm her suspicions, but even so, she had to brace herself as her stomach dropped.

“August 27th…” she repeated. “Mr. Wright, I—There’s something else that happened in this courthouse on August 27th that I think you need to know about.”

She pulled out another file from her briefcase, the one that she’d kept over this past year, labelled “Hawthorne”. It had started in reference to a different Hawthorne, but had become infinitely more useful since August.

She passed a newspaper clipping from the file to Phoenix, who looked down at it curiously.

“What is—” He paused, eyebrows furrowing as he skimmed the article. His grip began to tighten at the edges of the clipping, and Mia gently extricated it from him before he could crumple it completely.

“What are you reading there?” said Grossberg, peering over Mia’s shoulder. He spotted the article and his moustache quivered. “Ah! I see… So you believe that there is some relationship between the two cases, do you?”

Mia tucked the Hawthorne folder back in her briefcase, right next to Phoenix’s file. “I’m not sure if I have enough evidence to prove the connection yet, but yes.”

“I mean, didn’t that happen a while ago?” Phoenix interjected. “Sorry. I’m just not really sure why you’re showing this to me.”

Did you read the article at all? she stopped herself from saying, and took a deep breath instead. She wasn’t sure how much more hand-holding she needed to do at this point. The band-aid had to come off eventually. But then the bailiff returned, ushering them back into the courtroom, and she put Phoenix and his willful ignorance out of her mind.

Dahlia Hawthorne took the stand as if it was her first time entering a courtroom, tripping through the doorway and trembling with nerves. Her acting skills were truly impressive—Mia could admit that much. She had both the judge and Payne wrapped around her little finger within the first thirty seconds of her introduction, eyes wide and teary as she spouted some feeble affirmations of Phoenix’s innocence.

Her first testimony was so obviously contrived that it was laughable. Mia interrupted halfway through Payne’s wheedling reassurances, the sound of her desk slam echoing through the gallery.

“That’s more than enough, witness. I don’t intend to win my case on your paper-thin lies.”

“Ms. Fey!” the judge spluttered. “Wh-What do you mean by that?!”

But Mia didn’t answer, too intent on scouring Dahlia’s expression for any flicker of emotion. I’ll rip off that mask of yours if it’s the last thing I do.

Dahlia leisurely turned to meet her gaze, then laughed. “You haven’t changed a bit, Madame Fey.”

“What’s this?” Payne said, taken aback. “So you two are...acquainted?”

“We’ve met before. Once,” Mia said. She didn’t take her eyes off Dahlia. 

“It’s good to see you again,” Dahlia said, smiling placidly. “Well then. You had some questions about my testimony, I assume?”

More than a few, Mia thought. There wasn’t too much to work with in Dahlia’s testimony—it was pointlessly vague and contradicted everything they had established so far. But lies beget more lies, and all Mia had to do was pull at the thread until it came apart.

Phoenix had already testified to pushing Swallow, so it was easy enough to combat Dahlia’s claims that Swallow fell on his own. As to her statement that they didn’t look like they were fighting, when asked about what it looked like to her all she said was, “I thought they were having a nice, friendly afternoon conversation.” Sure.

But there was one other thing bothering Mia that she couldn’t quite reconcile yet.

“Mr. Wright said that the wire wasn’t broken when he was talking with Mr. Swallow,” she said. “And you never mentioned anything about it either. So in that case when did the wire break?”

“Ah—” Dahlia began, but Payne cut in with haughty huff.

“The pharmacology department reported an outage at around 3pm that day, which aligns with the time of death listed in the autopsy report. Clearly the defendant is lying about not having seen the wire, considering that he pushed the victim into it!”

“B-but he couldn’t have,” Dahlia protested weakly. “Feenie never did a thing to Dougie!”

“It’s alright,” Payne cooed. “You can tell us the truth now.”

Enough was enough. Mia slammed the desk, startling everyone but Dahlia.

“You can drop the feeble lies, Ms. Hawthorne. It’s not very becoming of you.”

High spots of anger formed on Dahlia’s cheeks, but Mia continued on before she could say anything in response.

“Your entire testimony reeks. We already know that Mr. Wright pushed Mr. Swallow, and we know that there was a loud cracking sound when he did so, which we’ve proven to be the result of Mr. Swallow falling on top of his umbrella. Which, if you would see here—” She flashed the photo of the crime scene again. “Means that the push occurred by this far pole.”

“So his shove caused the wire to break, obviously!” Payne declared.

“And then the victim was electrocuted as a result,” said the judge, nodding. “I see, I see. It all makes sense.”

“I’m sorry, Your Honor, but no. It doesn’t make sense at all,” said Mia. “Because if the victim was shoved into the far pole, then he couldn't have been electrocuted by this severed cable in the foreground here. Which means…” She paused, taking a deep breath as the implications of her logic began to sink in with the prosecution. Her veins coursed with adrenaline. Grossberg looked to be on the edge of an aneurysm, or more likely was experiencing another hemorrhoid inflammation. But this was the best chance Mia had had ever since that horrible trial from last year, and she was going to take it. “Which means that someone other than my client must have electrocuted the victim!”

Mia basked in the excited tittering of the gallery. Finally, she was getting somewhere. But Dahlia didn’t bat an eyelash at the direction the trial had taken; she merely looked thoughtful, fiddling with the handle of her parasol.

“Um, sorry… Mr. Judge, sir?” she said. “Sorry, it’s just… the madame attorney said some things that are a little different from how I remember them.”

“Oh! Yes! Then please, continue with your testimony, witness.” The judge inclined his head towards her. 

Oh how the canary changes its tune, Mia thought, as Dahlia completely rearranged her testimony to claim that Phoenix had pushed Swallow twice. Or rather, pushed once and then “crashed” into him the second time, to explain away the lack of a second pair of handprints. But there was another contradiction that had arisen from this updated testimony, even more glaring than before. I’ve got her now.

“That’s enough, witness,” Mia said, and something about her tone must have put Dahlia on edge. She turned towards Mia, eyebrows knitting delicately.

“Yes…?”

“Do you see this picture here?” She waved the photo of the close-up on Swallow’s hand.

“Oh, yes,” Dahlia said, face relaxing again. “That’s the medicine Feenie likes to take for his cold.”

“It’s not the medicine I want you to look at.” Mia tapped Swallow’s wrist. “It’s the watch. It stopped at the precise time Mr. Swallow was electrocuted. In other words, 3:05pm.”

Understanding flashed briefly through Dahlia’s eyes, before falling back into her naïve façade. “A-and?”

“Mr. Payne,” Mia said, and he straightened to attention. “When did the power go out, again?”

“Well, according to the report from the pharmacology department, it was…” Payne squeaked and turned pale. “A-ah...2:55pm…”

“Precisely.” Mia smirked, crossing her arms. “Ms. Hawthorne claims that my client killed Mr. Swallow in less than a minute after the push that caused the power outage. Which can’t possibly be true, because Mr. Swallow died after ten minutes had passed!”

“T-ten minutes?!” Payne croaked, forehead glistening with sweat.

“So, Ms. Hawthorne,” said Mia, “would you care to explain what happened during those ten minutes?”

The judge’s eyebrows rose. “Ms. Fey, you can’t possibly be insinuating—”

“I am, Your Honor!” she said, interrupting with a powerful desk slam. “The defense proposes that it was during this interval that the real killer electrocuted Doug Swallow. And the only person who had the opportunity to do so is none other than Dahlia Hawthorne herself!”

Dahlia flinched, her face falling into a grimace. “I—How dare you—”

“WAIT!” A loud cry tore through the courtroom; there was a clatter and a scramble as Phoenix leapt from his seat and grasped the edges of the defendant’s stand. “I—Please, Your Honor, strike everything the defense just said from the record!”

Mia reeled from his outburst. What was he doing, trying to defend that girl when his own life was on the line? Was he really that stupid? The judge whipped his head between the witness stand and the defense’s bench, gavel raised tentatively in confusion.

“You’re wrong, Ms. Fey! Dollie wouldn’t… she couldn’t do something like that! There has to be another explanation!” 

“Are you daft?!” Mia blurted.

“Exactly! What motive would I have to kill my Dougie?” Dahlia said, recovering from her earlier slip. She clutched her hand to her chest, eyes shining with tears. “And to say that I would try to pin it on my poor, sweet Feenie… It-it’s ludicrous!”

“Is it really so ludicrous?” Mia snapped.

“Mia, what are you doing?!” Grossberg hissed. 

“I can’t let her get away with this,” she shot back. There had to be a motive—Mia knew it. She feverishly shuffled through her evidence, eyes catching on the rumpled newspaper article from August. The image of Phoenix’s hands flashed through her mind, the nearly imperceptible shaking of his fingers. We met on August 27th, here in this courthouse.

Aha.

“The defense requests further testimony from Ms. Hawthorne!” she cried. “About the events of the day when she first met Phoenix Wright!”

“What could that possibly have to do with this case?” Payne said. “That was over half a year ago, wasn’t it? How could it be in any way relevant to this murder?”

To be honest, Mia wasn’t quite sure either. But she knew that Dahlia was guilty, and that if she kept pressing she’d somehow arrive at the truth. “The witness claims she has no reason to frame the defendant, correct? Well, I have evidence that suggests that she did, in fact, have a very good reason!”

“In that case, I hope you don’t mind that we ask you to stay a bit longer, Ms. Hawthorne,” the judge said apologetically.

Dahlia smiled up at him. “Of course not, Mr. Judge. I’m happy to answer any questions the madame attorney here has.”

“Good,” Mia said. “Because I’d like to start with your motives for being at the courthouse in the first place.”

“Ah, yes,” said Dahlia. “Well, I’m studying literature, as you know, so I was visiting the courthouse library to conduct some research—”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Ms. Hawthorne,” Mia said, viciously satisfied by the sour expression on Dahlia’s face. “There was an incident at the courthouse on the exact same day that you met Mr. Wright. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?” 

She flashed a copy of the newspaper clipping for the court. Payne leaned forward, frowning. 

“I still don’t see how that—”

“An attorney was poisoned,” Mia interrupted, “while conducting an investigation involving a murdered detective by the name of Valerie Hawthorne.”

“H-Hawthorne…?” Payne stammered. 

“And the prime suspect under investigation… was Dahlia Hawthorne.” Mia tossed her bangs from her face as she glanced towards the witness stand. “Ring any bells, witness?”

“I did hear about it,” Dahlia said smoothly. “That poor attorney… poisoned right after he questioned me. But it was some special kind of poison, wasn’t it? I wouldn’t even know where to get something like that.”

The unraveling begins, Mia thought. Every ounce of her attention was now laser-focused on Dahlia; every nerve on edge for the moment she could pounce and put her away for good.

“Your lies are catching up to you, Ms. Hawthorne,” she said. “Surely you can’t believe we’ve forgotten who your ex-boyfriend was? A pharmacology student, who would have had easy access to those kinds of rare poisons.”

“Ex-boyfriend?” the judge exclaimed. “Ms. Fey, you can’t mean… the victim, Doug Swallow?”

“That’s exactly who I mean, Your Honor.”

“If I could clear something up, Mr. Judge,” Dahlia said, that pleasant smile still plastered on her face. “A poison like that would have needed a container, isn’t that right? But I was searched immediately after the incident took place, and they didn’t find any suspicious container anywhere.”

Shit! She was right. But Mia was so close, now—she couldn’t let Dahlia squirm her way out of another trial. Out of another goddamn murder.

“W-well, you could have easily gotten rid of something that small!”

“Excuse me, Madame, but this is a court of law!” Dahlia said, eyes shining with indignant tears. “I think you need some kind of proof before making those sorts of baseless accusations!”

Clearly Dahlia didn’t have anything on her person at the time of the poisoning. It was unlikely that the police wouldn’t have investigated the trash cans on the scene either, disregarding the fact that Mia didn’t have access to potential trash-evidence from eight months ago. 

Turn your thinking around, Mia!  

Desperately, she looked towards Phoenix, racking her brain for everything he had told her about their meeting. They had met in the courthouse reading room, and it was love at first sight, allegedly, and she had given him her necklace—

Mia froze. That’s right. The necklace. Which had a small, beautiful crystal bottle affixed to it. It was sitting there, even now, still worn proudly atop Phoenix’s chest.

“You didn’t throw away the container,” Mia said, becoming steadily more sure of herself with every word. “Instead, you gave it to someone else, didn’t you? Someone you knew wouldn’t be searched.”

“W-whatever could you—” Dahlia began, but an exclamation from the judge drowned her out.

“Who, Ms. Fey? Who is this person?”

“Mr. Phoenix Wright, of course.”

She saw Phoenix flinch out of the corner of her eye. It couldn’t be easy for him to hear, but she had Dahlia cornered at last. The timing was right, the evidence aligned; the truth would have come out sooner or later, and Mia was determined that it wouldn’t come at the cost of anyone else’s life.

“It’s strange, isn’t it? How Mr. Wright suddenly receives a present from Ms. Hawthorne the day that the man who was questioning her was poisoned? A present that conveniently has the shape of a bottle, perhaps to hold a few tablespoons of poison—”

“N-NO! STOP!” It was Phoenix’s voice, again. He leapt to his feet and gripped the stand, knuckles white and eyes wild. “On behalf of Dollie, I object!”

“Mr. Wright, control yourself!” Payne snapped.

“No!” he said. “I-I won’t let you bully Dollie like this!”

Mia swallowed back a reflexive fear. She had to get through to him. He had to see the truth, for his own goddamn sake. No one else will die on my watch! “Mr. Wright, why are you going through so much trouble to protect her?!”

“Because… because I’m madly in love with her!”

Are you?! Mia thought. She wanted to scream, to sit him down and shove every last piece of evidence in her Hawthorne file in his face if that’s what it would take. “You told me yourself, didn’t you? That she gave you that necklace the day that you met?”

“Yes, as a symbol of our love!” Phoenix said. “Not to… not to hide evidence!”

“Think about this for one second, Mr. Wright!” Mia pleaded. “For her, that necklace is irrefutable proof of her crime that day. If you would just let us examine it—”

“NO! That’s… You’re lying!” 

“Mr. Wright, please—!”

“It’s a lie, all of it!” he cried. “It-it has to be, or—”

He swallowed, face twisting, and abruptly turned on his heel, shouldering past the bailiffs and out the courtroom doors. 

“Stop him!” the judge cried. “Don’t let him get away—!”

Chapter Text

The necklace that Dahlia gave him was very pretty. He’d thought that from the second he’d seen it, had seen her—it had that quality that cut crystal did, that blinding shimmer. It was, to be entirely fair, a breath away from looking cheap. Phoenix could imagine—

Well then. There were approximately three pathways through this mess.

Option one was figuring out where on God’s green earth he could put the necklace such that it wouldn’t be immediately seized by the bailiffs currently pursuing him. This was looking… unlikely. The closest bailiff was at most a corridor away, and gaining rapidly; Phoenix had never been a track-and-field guy, okay? In any case, the best hiding spot would be in the ceiling, which would require a step ladder. Failing that, the next best place was a plant pot. 

Option one sunk, then.

The second was that it would be possible to swallow the thing whole and wash it down with some water, like a vitamin supplement; a pill wide enough to choke him, and probably sharp enough to open up his windpipe. Given that Phoenix had been wearing this necklace for months now, he knew this was less of a realistic pathway and more of a beautiful and distant hope. If Ms. Fey was to be believed, this necklace would be poor medicine.

Option two was a very bad idea. Option three was worse.

Option three involved Phoenix tugging the chain against his neck until it snapped; option three involved him pushing against the bottle until it snapped out of his housing. Option three involved him putting the bottle in his mouth; the glass was warm from being huddled under his scarf, and the fragmented edges were sharp. 

The first bite was less terrible than he’d expected, in that the glass didn’t actually break, and nothing particularly hurt.

A loud, “This way!” echoed from down the corridor. 

It probably didn’t say anything good about Phoenix’s mental state that his first thought on a cut crystal bottle shattering under his molars was, there we are. It felt bad, it felt bad, this was a bad idea. What felt like a sizable shard embedded itself in his lower lip, and before he had the wherewithal to register it, punched straight through. He tried to suck it back into his mouth and gained an agonising slash along the tongue for his troubles.

He put the rest of the pendant in his mouth, chewed and twisted and pushed against the solid wire with his tongue, a coppery taste filling his mouth as blood mixed with cheap, plated metal; until it was all he could taste, all he could think. It was worse than the pain—invasive, disorienting. He touched a finger to the puncture wound below his lip and somehow felt a measure of surprise when it came away bright red.

“Alright, son,” the bailiff said as he rounded the corner. “Back we come. No more of this nonsense”

Phoenix’s hands were already over his mouth; a few fake sobs and the bailiffs were borderline sympathetic as they ushered him back towards the courtroom. 

Now came the difficult part. A mouthful of glass, Phoenix assumed, was nothing compared to a stomach full. He swallowed once, twice, poked another stubborn splinter of glass back through his lip back into his mouth and swallowed that too. 

He tried not to scream. 

Dollie was innocent. That thought was the only thing that took him away from his body and its agony. Dollie is innocent. 

When he finally took his hands away from his face, thin streams of blood were dripping from his palm down to his wrist. But—at least his scarf was already red. 

Doug hadn’t been bleeding. Maybe it hadn’t even hurt.

And wasn’t that a blessed thought.

The bailiffs dragged him back into the courtroom. It had been inevitable, but at least the necklace was safely out of the picture. They may have won the battle, but Phoenix had won the war. HA!  

He squinted as his eyes readjusted to the light. Had it always been so bright in here? Bright and hot. He was sweating, even though his hands felt alarmingly cold. He reached up to wipe the sweat on his forearm, but caught himself just in time. Not on Dollie’s sweater—he’d probably ruined it enough already.

The judge stared down at him, looking particularly grave; Phoenix watched the movement of his beard, and then his mouth, and then finally, as if from underwater, or lightyears away, the words trickled through his ears and into his mushy brain.

“—behavior is unprecedented in the history of this court!”

Phoenix swallowed. Bits of glass were still stuck in his teeth, dislodging from his gums and gritting up his saliva. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could convince himself he was at the beach: the bright heat; voices muffled by a crashing surf; his mouth full of sand. It was like he was ten, getting tumbled by the waves. The judge could be his dad, reprimanding him for being reckless. Maybe he’d bitten his cheek—that would explain the blood.

His tongue brushed against a shard too large and sharp; he blinked, and was back in the courtroom. “S-sorry.”

“Your apology is not enough!” the prosecutor shrieked, and wow, okay, his ears were working fine now.

“Mr. Wright!” 

He startled at the sound of Ms. Fey’s voice. He’d forgotten that he’d have to face her, and felt a brief tug of guilt. “Mr. Wright, please. What did you do with the necklace?”

“I… I’m sorry. I—”

She relaxed slightly, eyes softening. “It’s okay, Mr. Wright. Just give back the necklace, and it’ll all be fine.”

He shook his head. She wasn’t getting it. It was never going to be fine—the only reason it was marginally more fine now than five minutes ago was because the necklace was gone. No more necklace, no more stupid accusations. Now they could all focus on the real facts, like how it was impossible for Dollie to have done anything. Ten minutes was nothing. No time at all. Certainly not enough time for Dollie to have killed anyone. They’d have to start over, find someone else to blame. Anything could happen in ten minutes, couldn’t it? Like a lightning strike. That had come up at some point, but had been dismissed far too quickly, in Phoenix’s professional opinion. It was certainly a much more reasonable explanation than a live wire that had snapped after a collision with a utility pole, because that would require an unrealistic number of coincidences: negligence on the university’s part, for starters, not to mention negligence on both Phoenix and Dollie’s parts, in not noticing the hazard. That was too many failures to be acceptable. It would be manslaughter at best, and murder at worst, which would mean that Dollie had… and Phoenix had…

The courtroom shrunk until all he could see was the witness stand. For a brief moment he considered taking a bite out of it too—he’d read somewhere that wood could settle stomachs. Or was that bark? No motive. She had no motive.

“Mr. Wright…?” Ms. Fey prompted again.

Get your shit together, Phoenix. He straightened, meeting her dead in the eyes. She’d figure it out without the necklace. She had to, because it wasn’t relevant. “I ate it.”

“You… what?!”

“You… you… ate it…?” the judge repeated.

Phoenix wasn’t sure what more there was to understand. His mouth was full of blood and grit. Doug was dead, and Dollie was innocent, and yes, he had eaten the stupid glass bottle necklace. 

“It was too big to swallow, so I had to chew it into little bits first…” He was rambling, but it was suddenly imperative that they know this. It was imperative that they understand this.

But the judge was staring at him, slack-jawed. The prosecutor’s face was twisted into a sickening combination of revulsion and pity. Even Ms. Fey, his lawyer, the only person in this room who should be on his side, was watching him fumble through his explanation with a look of absolute horror. 

“Mr. Wright! Are you feeling okay? Your Honor, you’ve got to stop the trial! The bottle— You might have ingested a deadly poison!” 

Ms. Fey jerked as if to move towards him; he wanted to tell her that she was still wrong, that this fixation on the bottle wasn’t helping his case and that’s exactly why he got rid of it, but his tongue had become stiff and sluggish. Instead she was interrupted by a high, wheezing laughter.

“This isn’t funny, Prosecutor Payne,” she snapped. 

“Oh, but isn’t it? I certainly wouldn’t be laughing in any real life-or-death situation, of course, but…” He clicked his tongue and waved his hand dismissively. “It seems the defendant has proven the prosecution’s case for us.”

Phoenix was back at the beach—the argument crashed over and around him, apathetic to his floundering. But the prosecutor was right—he’d eaten the bottle, the bottle supposedly full of poison, and he hadn’t died, had he? And he was feeling fine, great, even! Ms. Fey had been wrong, which meant Doug had been wrong, too. Dollie had never used any poison, and she never had any motive to kill anyone. 

The facts were all there, Phoenix was sure of it—if he laid everything out, maybe someone could pull them together.

“Ms. Fey,” he said, over the roaring in his ears. “There’s something I forgot to tell you.”

“Y-yes, Mr. Wright?”

“I… um. The day I met Doug Swallow…” He squeezed his eyes shut against the vivid memory. “He told me some poison had gone missing from his lab. And that the same thing had happened eight months ago. On August 27th.”

He heard a sharp intake of breath from the defense’s bench. It was a lie, he wanted to add, as we’ve proven. See evidence: Me. He wasn’t even sure why he’d mentioned it at all, except that he felt the need to start somewhere. Why not start at the beginning? Except—no. Their first meeting had gone a little differently, hadn’t it? Poison had been mentioned, but nothing had been stolen. That was the last time he saw Doug, not the first. Now he was the one getting his facts mixed up. 

Focus, Phoenix. Back to the end.

“And there’s another thing, too… After I pushed him, I got worried and came back to have a look. And… she was there. Dollie. She was crouched down next to him… she told me never to tell anyone about it, but…”

There: all the facts he’d kept locked up were now out on the table. It might look bad for Dollie, but it had looked bad for him too, and Ms. Fey had still managed to turn things around. She would know what to look for; she would tease out the contradictions, find the hidden truth, and everything would be fine.

“Ms. Fey, you have to tell them! Dollie didn’t do it, sh-she’s innocent!” She has to be.

Ms. Fey nodded slowly. Phoenix breathed out in relief. He was getting through to her. 

“Given my client’s testimony…” she began, “the defense believes Ms. Dahlia Hawthorne stole some poison on the night before she killed Doug Swallow.”

Wait, no. Phoenix felt as if he’d been knocked sideways. That was all wrong. “Ms. Fey—”

“Naturally, her motive for stealing it was to kill someone!”

His stomach dropped. He swayed and caught himself on the stand. “No, that’s—” 

“And just who was Ms. Dahlia Hawthorne planning to kill?” asked the judge. Not Doug, Phoenix thought. He had been electrocuted, not poisoned—that didn’t align with her modus operandi. Alleged modus operandi. And there was no one else she’d have a possible motive to kill. Ms. Fey was likely on the cusp of realizing this too, and would surely point that out—

“There was one person standing in Ms. Dahlia Hawthorne’s way.” She paused to glance quickly at Phoenix, as though in apology. “And that person was Mr. Phoenix Wright!”

“M-m-m-me?!” Phoenix’s voice sounded tinny and distant. This was a nightmare—he was drowning, his mouth was sewn shut, his teeth were made of glass and shattering in his skull; maybe he really was still ten and having a horrible, post-beach day dream, haunted by the memory of choking on spit and blood and sand. 

The judge sputtered. “But… I thought they were in love!”

We were, Phoenix thought desperately. We are.

Ms. Fey shook her head. “As I’ve said before, the only thing Ms. Hawthorne cared about was the necklace. It was the one piece of evidence linking her to that incident eight months ago.”

The necklace—it all came back to the stupid bottle necklace. But the necklace was gone, grinding to bits in his teeth and sloshing around in his stomach, where it didn't have a chance of incriminating anyone ever again.

Ms. Fey was still talking. “Mr. Wright refused to return it to her. To him, it was a cherished treasure. He even showed it to everyone he met!”

Yes, well, that was true. He’d told her so himself. But that in and of itself couldn’t be a motive. Dollie loved him, there was no reason that—

“You mean… that’s why she tried to kill Mr. Wright?!” the judge exclaimed. 

“Correct, Your Honor. It was all to retrieve that piece of evidence.”

The necklace, which at this very moment was, hopefully, digesting smoothly. The necklace—he wiped his hands on his pants, why were they so clammy—which Dollie had asked about every single day for eight months. How many days was that? Thirty in September, thirty for every other month, plus thirty-one for the months in between, not including February…Fuck, he had already lost count. Over a hundred days, at least. She’d asked for it back over a hundred times, sometimes more than once a day, especially in recent weeks, and especially the last day he saw Doug alive… 

He grasped at his chest, but of course it wasn’t there. It was gone, he had eaten it— “N-no. That…that can’t be true!”  

He looked desperately to Dollie. She would explain. She would tell them how much she loved him; she would say this was all a huge misunderstanding. She hadn’t meant to kill Phoenix, and definitely didn’t kill Doug; she had just stumbled across him, as Phoenix had. She had… she had found the poison, not stolen it, and intended to bring it back. It was so simple, even Phoenix could see it. The facts that he had so carefully laid out all hinged on this one, easy thing.

“Feenie…” Dollie said, in that soft, chiding tone he was so used to. And then her eyes hardened and her mouth curled into a sneer. “What a joke you are.”

He was so startled that he bit down on his lip, jamming a surprise shard of glass straight through. His vision swam; he thought he heard himself yelp, or maybe whimper. Dollie heaved a sigh of disgust and ran her fingers through her hair, white gloves flashing through a curtain of red.

“Honestly, how could any woman ever count on you for anything? I told you time and time again to keep your mouth shut about me and that necklace, and look where it’s got me now!”

“M-Ms… Hawthorne?” the judge ventured. The prosecutor was similarly shocked, his mouth agape and sweat beading on his forehead. Ms. Fey was the only person who didn’t seem surprised.

“Oh, sorry. Do you prefer me like this, Mr. Judge?” Her voice dipped back into a mockery of her usual tone, too bright and cloying. She smiled that soft, pleasant smile that made Phoenix’s stomach wobble. “I know he does.”

“Ms. Hawthorne.” Ms. Fey pulled Dollie’s attention away, and Phoenix choked out a sob. “Are you going to continue badgering my client, or respond to the allegations against you?”

Dollie huffed. “What’s the point? You’re going to make me out to be a criminal no matter what I say.”

“That’s because you are a criminal!”

“Hm, we’ll see about that. You still don’t have any evidence, do you? Since your sniveling crybaby of a client’s eaten the bottle as a snack.”

And didn’t even die from it! That was important, Phoenix thought, and wasn’t sure why Dollie hadn’t mentioned it. No poison, no evidence, no motive. She was acting so strangely—it must be something about this courtroom. It was making him act strangely too.

Gasps surged around him—Ms. Fey had said something that sent the gallery into an uproar. He shifted his concentration over to her; she was holding up a bottle of Coldkiller X, for some reason. 

“Oh, come on now,” Dollie said in response. “Surely none of you are fooled? This stupid woman is just grasping at straws. She’s a filthy, stinking liar!”

“Th-that’s right!” the prosecutor hastily added. “This is nothing but a show of pure desperation!”

This had to be the end. Dollie was right. The prosecution was right. But Ms. Fey remained unfazed, and the corners of her mouth twitched.

“So, Ms. Hawthorne. You wouldn’t mind taking some of this medicine, then? If I’m such a filthy, stinking liar.”

Dollie made a strange hissing sound, but by the time Phoenix turned to look at her she had already composed herself.

“Mr. Wright ate that necklace of yours, right? Now’s your chance to prove your own innocence. What do you say?”

Phoenix’s eyes were glued to Dollie. He couldn’t tear them away any more than he could have when he found Doug lying there. These are the facts, his eyes were telling him, and you will witness them: 

Doug, carted away under white sheets.

Dollie, face twisting under her parasol.

There were steps in between, something to explain what connected these disparate events, but none of it was coming together. Look away, his mind begged, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

And oh, Dollie was furious. That was the only thing that made sense—he had betrayed her, after all. He had known this would happen, hadn’t he? He’d done everything he could to avoid letting things come to this, to keep from betraying her, to keep her from finding out—

He was slipping away again. This was his own trial; he had to pay attention. He coughed, and hoped no blood had gotten on his mask. 

Was Dollie…confessing? That couldn’t be possible. She made some vaguely threatening statement about conceding “for the time being”. Conceding on what? Doug’s death? Phoenix hadn’t conceded on that, though. He hadn’t even seen the body, after they took him away. That was a common twist in crime shows, wasn’t it? If he hadn’t seen the body, how could he be certain Doug was dead—

“You and I will meet again, I’m sure of it,” Dollie said sweetly, interrupting his thoughts, and he cringed in reflex. But she was speaking to Ms. Fey, not him; she hadn’t spoken to him since transforming into this nightmare creature. 

It’s not true. It can’t be true. This wasn’t his Dollie, the Dollie who loved him. Whom he loved. “D-Dollie,” he murmured, and at last she met his gaze. 

I’m wearing your sweater, he wanted to say. I destroyed your necklace for you.

She knew. She had to know. Her gaze passed through him, cold and terrible, and then, in a whirl of white, she was gone.

Phoenix adjusted his mask; it kept slipping down, close to where he could feel his lip bleeding into his mouth. He fought the urge to wipe the cut with his sleeve. There was already blood on his sweater, and it was only polite to Dollie that he didn’t let it get any dirtier. 

Ms. Fey was talking to the older lawyer who’d been assisting her, and wow that guy’s tie was very yellow. Phoenix cringed away from the brightness of it; he tried to find something else to look at, and landed on the painting behind the two lawyers. Its composition was… strange. Phoenix almost felt like he was falling into it, with the way the path seemed to spiral. He suddenly felt the need to hold onto something.

Ms. Fey said something to him. It took him a moment to realise that she was—congratulating him? Phoenix scrabbled for a reason she’d possibly want to congratulate him, and he swallowed down the blood in his mouth, and he tried to come up with something to say.

“Th-thanks,” he started. He didn’t know how to continue, but Ms. Fey was looking at him expectantly, patiently, so he blurted out the first thing that came into his head. The feeling he couldn’t quite shake. “Um, you know… I was thinking…” He trailed off. 

She gave him a puzzled look. 

“Go on…”

He swallowed again, shook his head to clear it—and it had the exact opposite effect to what he’d hoped, oh God. He tried to move towards the wall, which was now… further away than it was before? He blinked hard to settle the lights bursting behind his eyelids; the wall swooped back to its original position.

He frowned. Shook his head again. Stumbled.

“The Dollie that I saw up there on the witness stand... I don't think that was really her.” Out in the open, the feeling looked hollow, but it wasn’t her. It was very obviously not her. His Dollie would never say those horrible things to him—she loved him, and he loved her too. So much. Even now.

He tried to focus on something other than the horrible jagged twisting sensation in his stomach; luckily for him, the pervasive buzzing of the fluorescents did a wonderful job of distracting him. Ms. Fey had narrowed her eyes at him; her eyelashes were very long, he noticed, long enough that he thought they might brush her cheekbones if she closed her eyes entirely. She was saying something again. A question? He responded as soon as he thought she was finished.

“Yeah... The Dollie I know could never have said those kinds of terrible things…” The longer he thought about it, the more sense it made. That wasn’t Dollie. Dollie wouldn’t do these awful things—Dollie wouldn’t try to kill him! Dollie wouldn’t try to kill Doug, even if she knew about—

No. Not now, he couldn’t think about that now. He reordered his thoughts, tried to think his way past it instead. “Maybe... Maybe she was like... I don't know... A fake or something.” 

Ms. Fey looked slightly sympathetic now, so she clearly didn’t believe him. He clenched his jaw to brace himself for whatever she said next, ignoring the swell of pain that accompanied the motion.

“You need to forget about her, Mr. Wright. For your own sake…”

A wave of nausea rolled through him. He felt the muscles in his arms tense up, then relax. You can’t just forget things like this, like them. He remembered the softness of Dollie’s hair against his shoulder. His arms tensed again. The memory of Doug’s face when he’d brushed his bangs out of his eyes— stop thinking. What did Ms. Fey want to hear?

 “Yeah, you're right... That's probably for the best.”

She winced. “Also... You need to relax a bit more. Try to grow up a little.” Phoenix fought the instinctive urge to roll his eyes. Ms. Fey would get along great with Doug. Would’ve.

Phoenix fought the urge to scream. 

“B-But... Out of all my friends, everyone says I'm the most grown up!” he replied, desperately attempting to regain some sense of normality, of equilibrium. The ceiling was lower now, the fluorescents buzzing louder, closer. Ms. Fey looked unimpressed.

Distraction. He needed to get away from this crushing feeling of wrong. Her badge glinted in the light. “Right now I... I'm studying to become a lawyer myself.” The badge seemed to shine brighter as he said that, and he brought a hand up to subtly protect his eyes. 

“That's what you keep saying... But I thought you were in the Art Department?” God, had she never heard of a double major before? He was fine with the workload, because it meant…

Miles. He could forget about all of this for Miles. He could do anything for him. It was suddenly imperative that Ms. Fey knew this. “Well, yeah... I guess I am… But there's a friend that I desperately want to help! And if I hurry, then I should still be able to save him in time!”

There was a light dawning behind Ms. Fey’s eyes; Phoenix grinned, the motion splitting his lip even further. She understood! He adjusted his mask again and tried his best not to let any blood escape his mouth. He was holding his head with one hand now, the other tangled in the hem of his sweater; he didn’t know when that’d happened, and didn’t have time to question it. Ms. Fey nodded slowly, almost glacially slow. 

“I see.”

He could do this. He knew who he was, he knew what he was doing. “Say, Ms. Fey? A lawyer is someone who can help people when they're in trouble, right?” 

Ms. Fey nodded again, sharp. “Mr. Wright, I’m still new at this myself. But... I think that’s exactly what a lawyer is.” Phoenix didn’t smile. He already knew this, now he just needed to act on it now. 

“OK... I’m going to do it.” He shook his head, and why did that hurt so much? No more, it didn’t matter. “I'll study my butt off. I'll become a lawyer for sure!” The painting behind Ms. Fey twisted in the corner of his vision. He looked somewhere else, anywhere else. His eyes landed on her face. His heart was beating so hard he could feel it in his chest and fingertips. 

“I hope…” The room gave a sickening lurch, and Phoenix wondered for a delirious second if this was how Doug felt before his heart stopped. “I hope we see each other again someday, maybe even in court.” The room was too bright now. Both hands came up to support his head, leaving him untethered. 

He coughed, saw Ms. Fey’s eyes widen, and thought, fuck.

The brightness swallowed him up.