Chapter Text
Miles Edgeworth loved spring.
It was his favorite time of year, when the winter’s chill relinquished its cold grasp to the world’s rightful owners — tree buds, flowers, and birds. The sky lost its overcast grey, turning blue once again. It was particularly delicious to return to the California spring after a month away, to leave the chill and return to a more gentle, refreshing city, not yet mired in the stifling heat of a Los Angeles summer.
It was far colder in the Alps.
He took a deep breath as soon as he stepped out of the airport — the air was smoggy, but it was spring air nonetheless, and even the late (technically early) hour of his arrival couldn’t blunt his satisfaction.
He had to take the little victories. It had been a very long month, and he was glad to be back home.
The thought stuck with him on the taxi ride back to his house — a house that wasn’t his home. He didn’t actually particularly like Los Angeles. It was just the place he happened to live and work most of the time. And yet returning to California relieved a weight in his chest the way only a homecoming could.
He would never be rid of the place where he grew up, and that wasn’t such a bad thing. Los Angeles was stiflingly hot, far too flat, and sucked to drive in, but it also held his fondest childhood memories. It wasn’t in Germany where he went on bike rides around the park, drank hot chocolate with his father, fell asleep marathoning Signal Samurai, and — good Lord, he was getting sentimental. Perhaps it was because the Iris Hawthorne trial had not yet left his mind, and he was still reflecting on the past. On what Phoenix Wright had been doing while Miles was making his debut as a lawyer.
That was another thing about Los Angeles — it was the unquestioned domain of Phoenix Wright, and Edgeworth saw the man in every street, every sign, every storefront.
Phoenix Wright and his father’s grave. His two anchors lived in LA.
He debated calling or texting Phoenix, but brushed it off. It would be too familiar. There was still that barrier between them, the things left unsaid, the year of silence. Phoenix knew that Miles wouldn’t leave again, so Miles didn’t need to let him know he was back in America.
His house was dark and unchanged. He could afford a far bigger one, but all the houses in the upper end of his budget felt…empty, full of a peculiar kind of agoraphobia. Still, the living room alone was bigger than Wright’s whole office. He supposed that, despite growing up in Gregory Edgeworth’s cramped apartment, von Karma had left his mark in this manner, making Miles used to a certain level of luxury.
Fatigue was making him maudlin. Miles decided to go to sleep.
That night, he dreamed about Phoenix.
Phoenix was a common presence in his dreams. Sometimes his victim, sometimes his killer, sometimes his accuser.
That night was different.
He was on his couch, sitting in front of his blank TV. Phoenix sat next to him. It was like a memory, so cleanly did the man fit there, but Phoenix had never been to Miles’ house. It felt like a bridge too far, an admittance that Phoenix was welcome in his heart. They stared at the TV together, unblinking, hands a millimeter apart on the couch between them. Miles didn’t see his reflection, and knew he was dreaming. The realization allowed him to grasp at the fabric of his dream as if eating soup with a fork — ineffectual, but some soup was indeed eaten.
It was just enough to allow Miles to turn his head. Phoenix was wearing Miles’ court suit, complete with the jabot, but it was blue. He looked good in blue.
“We watched Signal Samurai together,” Phoenix said.
“Yes,” Miles said.
“We argued about a trading card.”
“Yes.”
“You cried, and I apologized to you.”
“Yes.”
Phoenix nodded once, sharp and terse. “So you remember. That I apologized.”
“Of course I remember.”
He remembered everything. His childhood with Phoenix was preserved in amber, an heirloom held close then shoved away but never discarded. He knew Phoenix’s memories were even more well-engraved. Their past was written in Phoenix’s bones, carved in his veins, encoded in his neurons.
That apology had mattered so much to Miles, at the time.
Phoenix smiled, and God, that smile. It made Miles’ heart try to escape his ribcage.
“Okay,” he said.
Phoenix did not look at him. He did not look at him as Miles lost the ability to breathe. His head did not turn as Miles knew he was dying.
Their hands were a millimeter apart. Miles could grab that hand with the last of his soup-fork strength. But he didn’t.
He died on the couch, and he let Phoenix keep watching Signal Samurai.
And then he was in an elevator, and what happened from there was at least predictable. Perversely comforting.
Besides, he couldn’t kill his father if he was dead.
By the time Miles woke up, midday sun was streaming through his bedroom window bright enough to peep through his eye mask. It was tranquil for about three seconds until Miles realized that his phone was ringing.
He debated not picking up. He wasn’t working that day. But then he realized that it was the Steel Samurai theme that Ms. Fey had set as Phoenix Wright’s ringtone — Miles pretended he didn’t know how to change it. And Phoenix had some…understandable hangups about being ignored.
“Wright,” he grumbled, eye mask still on his forehead. “Why are you calling this early?”
“First of all, Edgeworth, it’s half past noon. Second of all, I need to ask you something.”
Miles groaned and turned his face into the pillow. No matter how sunny Phoenix’s voice was, it was unwelcome within ten minutes of waking up. Unless it was quieter, maybe a bit gravelly from sleep, maybe a breath on Miles’ neck more than words — nope, no, he was blowing that train of thought’s tracks up with dynamite.
“If two astronauts were on the moon and one killed the other with a rock, could they be charged with murder?”
“…Goodbye, Wright.”
“Hey, wait, don’t hang up it’s for Maya!”
“What?”
“We just need you to settle a disagreement.”
Miles heard the muffled sound of Maya yelling “no prosecutors on the moon!”
“The short answer is yes. They would be subject to criminal charges under the law of the country of which they were a citizen. You cannot get away with murder just by doing it on the moon. I don’t see why you specified a rock as the murder weapon in your question.”
“But why would you want to kill someone on the moon?” Miles heard a little girl — Pearl? — ask. “The moon is such a nice place! It’s nice and romantic!”
“Tell Pearl not to worry about it,” Miles said. “If anyone ruined the romantic sanctity of the moon, they would answer to the court upon their return. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have far more important matters to attend to.”
“I know you just woke up, Miles Edgeworth.”
“Which is why I need to get a start on my day posthaste.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. I wanted to ask for your advice on a murder case.”
Miles was going to kill this man. “And you led with space bludgeoning?”
“Okay, look, it wasn’t out of nowhere! The victim was technically murdered in international waters and we got to discussing it and it turns out space kinda is in the same legal category? Technically speaking. So technically my question was relevant. Technically. Wana come over and talk about it?”
Miles sighed, tempted to refuse — but Phoenix had invited him in such an easy tone, it was almost like how he talked to Miles before he…left. The ghost of that year hung over them still, but perhaps this olive branch would ease the shadow. “I’ll be over presently.”
Wright & Co. Law Offices was, as usual, a mess. It put Miles at ease. It would be a frigid day in Hell when Phoenix Wright’s office was nice and tidy.
“Mr. Edjiworth!” Pearl greeted him. She was tucked between Phoenix and Maya on the couch, playing games on Maya’s phone while Phoenix and Maya looked over the papers strewn haphazardly over the table. Pearl’s necklace seemed different — ah, she was wearing the magatama. Probably to charge it.
“It’s Edgeworth,” Phoenix corrected her.
“Edjiworth is fine,” Miles said dryly. “I heard you wanted advice — do you know who’s prosecuting this case?”
Phoenix waved his hand. “It’s just some newbie. No one too hard to deal with.”
“Some guy was killed on a romantic cruise,” Maya said, predictably more forthcoming with actual important information than Phoenix. “They suspect his girlfriend. She’s our client.”
“It’s not her,” Pearl said with great conviction. “She’s in love! People don’t kill the people they love, right, Mr. Edjiworth?”
“I suppose not,” he said carefully — the subject of homicidal girlfriends was no doubt still a sore one. “I certainly wouldn’t kill someone I loved.”
At least not while awake.
“Is there someone you love, Mr. Edjiworth?” Pearl asked.
“C’mon, Pearl, you can’t just ask people that!” Maya said. “Especially not Edgeworth. He’s more repressed than…than…than the Evil Magistrate in the season 1 finale!”
“I resent that,” Miles snapped, and Maya stuck her tongue out at him, unfazed by the patented Edgeworth Courtroom Glare. “Who’s your suspect, Wright? You must have someone in mind.”
Phoenix sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, it honestly could be anybody.”
Miles sighed, secondhand anxiety building in his gut.
“Don’t give me that look!” Phoenix said defensively. “I’ve come to trial with way less and won.”
Indeed. He’d nearly given Miles an aneurysm on quite a few occasions. Miles would be more annoyed, if not for Phoenix’s brilliance — looking back on their cases together, the highs loomed larger than the lows. He was truly a sight to see in court, a shining star.
“And anyway, I didn’t call you over to do my job for me,” Phoenix continued. “I want to hear a prosecutor’s viewpoint. What kind of arguments is the opposing counsel gonna make?”
It was the sort of exercise that first-year law students did. If Phoenix couldn’t predict the opposition’s moves — well, he’d never really needed to. He stumbled into any trap laid before him, yet still managed to keep finding the truth.
“The first thing will be motive,” Miles said patiently. “Romantic relationships are a goldmine for motive. They’ll seize on anything that could be used to hint at discord. Any quarrel, any slight — the tiniest disagreement could be brought up as evidence. Make sure your client tells you about any such conflict so you’ll be prepared for that.”
“That’s scummy,” Maya said.
“It’s logical,” Miles replied. “Nearly one out of five murders are committed by an intimate partner.”
“No way!” Pearl gasped. “That’s not right, Mr. Edjiworth. It’s not nice to tell lies, especially not to Mystic Maya!”
“Wright, why is Pearl here?”
“Well, Maya couldn’t find a babysitter.”
“This is a murder investigation, Wright.”
“And I’m very helpful!” Pearl insisted. “You’re dodging the question.” Well, Phoenix was certainly rubbing off on her. Given who her mother was, Miles couldn’t bring himself to be frustrated at that. “People don’t kill people they love! You said so!”
“Yes, well.” Miles looked at Maya and Phoenix pleadingly for help, but Phoenix was muttering over the autopsy report and Maya just gave him an encouraging thumbs-up. “Sometimes people don’t love the people they’re in relationships with.”
“But why?”
“I-I don’t know,” Miles admitted. “I personally couldn’t imagine being, ah, that close with someone I did not love.”
Pearl’s hand flew to her mouth. “So you really don’t have a special someone like Mystic Maya does?”
“No.”
“You don’t love anyone?”
“No.”
Pearl pointed a finger at him. “Stop lying to me, Mr. Edjiworth!”
Miles’ blood ran cold as he remembered too late: Pearl was wearing the magatama.
Suddenly, Phoenix’s head snapped up, and he laughed nervously. “H-hey, Pearl, we don’t have much time. I need Mr. Edgeworth to help me brainstorm what the prosecution is gonna do about the bloody handprint.”
“But Mr. Nick!” Pearl cried. “You’re so happy with Mystic Maya, don’t you want Mr. Edjiworth to find someone too!”
“I, er,” Phoenix stuttered, clearly falling prey to Pearl’s puppy dog eyes, “well, sure, I’d love for him to go find someone, but that’s not relevant—“
“You’re lying too! I can see your locks!”
Phoenix was lying? There was only one statement that may have prompted Psyche-Locks, and that was the allegation that he wanted Miles to get a romantic partner. But what reason could Phoenix have to lie about that? Miles trusted Phoenix — he knew that the man wouldn’t wish for his unhappiness. If only for the sunk-cost fallacy. He could figure this out. He knew Phoenix, probably better than he knew himself — which wasn’t saying much. Miles didn’t know himself very well.
Turn it around. Think about it from another angle, from the prosecution’s bench. It was actually a familiar situation. Miles wished for Phoenix’s happiness, and would state outwardly that he would be happy for Phoenix to find a partner, yet it would be a lie. But if Phoenix was lying for the same reason as the hypothetical Miles, then that would mean…
He locked eyes with Phoenix, and his stomach swooped like it did when he knew exactly what objection the man was going to make a moment before he made it.
Phoenix knew why Miles’ locks had appeared. Phoenix knew that Miles knew about his own. Of course. Obviously. Miles was a fool, an idiot. Why had he ever thought he could hide something this huge from Phoenix? It was fine. It would be fine. Phoenix would let him down easy, or in the best case felt the same…he wouldn’t be cruel, he wouldn’t be dismissive, he’d reply awkwardly but somehow say just the right thing to allow them both to forget about it, and the awkwardness would fade within a month. Or two. Or three. But wait, the feelings were returned! So that meant. So that meant. Could Miles really have what he wanted?
Except Phoenix didn’t look like someone who had just realized his friend had romantic feelings for him, requited or not. He looked like…
He looked like he had after that year away, when Miles met him again in the Criminal Affairs Department. He looked too angry to speak. He looked made of ice, and Miles suddenly wanted to run.
“Hey, Pearls,” Phoenix said, “you wanna go get burgers with Maya?”
“Hey, Nick, you should come and take a break—“
“Maya. Please take Pearls to get a burger.”
Phoenix fixed Maya with a steady glare, and Miles realized with a start that he was pulling rank. He hadn’t believed Phoenix capable of such a thing.
“I can go with and pay,” Miles offered.
“I need your help with the bloody handprint,” Phoenix declared — no ordered. “Stay.”
And God, even despite the fear, the stunned silence, that tone sent a shiver up Miles’ spine. Because, to some degree, Phoenix wanted him. If Phoenix used that tone, Miles would do about anything.
“C’mon, Pearly,” Maya said, taking Pearl’s hand and ushering her out of the office, “Nick and Edgeworth really need to talk, so let’s go get burgers, okay?”
The door closed, and Miles was frozen.
“Ah,” he finally said, “what was that about?”
“You tell me,” Phoenix said. “What was that about?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Cut the bullshit, Edgeworth,” Phoenix snapped. “Please. Tell me. Tell me why you had Psyche-Locks.”
“I told you, I don’t know what you mean.” Miles’ hands balled into fists in an effort to stop shaking. There was too much information to process, more than any case he’d ever been in. “The bloody handprint, Wright, you wanted to ask me about the bloody handprint—“
“It doesn’t matter what you say, actually,” Phoenix interrupted with a little laugh. “You know, don’t you? You know, and you still won’t say it.” He drew a hand down his face. His whole posture was dejected, but he was still laughing. “Honestly, I think I’d rather you just didn’t return my feelings.”
“So…so you do. Have feelings. For me.” Miles swallowed a lump in his throat. “Ah. Which ones.”
“Does it matter?”
“It. It does.” Miles wished he were sitting on the couch. As it was, his knees were locked — hopefully he’d pass out before the conversation could go any further.
“What do you want me to say, Edgeworth? That I’ve been pining after you since you left the first time? That I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you ever since you came back from the dead? That I love you so much it scares the shit out of me?” Phoenix threw his hands up. “Well, there! I said it!”
“You…you love me? And you think that doesn’t matter to me?” It was a ridiculous concept. Miles could feel the world shattering beneath his feat. He could see the euphoria of dreams at the edge of his vision, and pinched himself. This couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t. He was going to pass out or start crying.
“Yes. I do. And it doesn’t matter.” Phoenix put his head in his hands. “You should probably just leave.”
“Wait, Phoenix, I…I also…that is to say, I have certain…feelings…“
“Don’t,” Phoenix ordered. “I know.” He peeked through his fingers, staring at the coffee table. “I notice everything about you, and then I analyze it. It’s all I know how to do these days.”
He sounded like he was about to cry. Miles hoped he didn’t. Because if Phoenix started crying, so would he.
“So what’s the problem?”
“What’s the problem?” Phoenix repeated incredulously. “How the hell do you think relationships work, Edgeworth? You couldn’t even say how you felt about me when you knew it would be well-received.”
“You don’t trust me?” Miles asked, hating how his voice broke, hating how pathetic he sounded because of course Phoenix didn’t trust him.
“No, I do,” Phoenix said with a breathless laugh. “I trust you completely. With my whole life and heart. I’d eat glass for you, Edgeworth.” He wiped tears from his eyes. “I can’t…when I fall for someone, I can’t do it halfway, and it almost killed me once. My heart trusts you.” His hands balled into fists. “So I can’t…you understand, right? I love you, and I trust you, but I also know that makes you so, so, so able to hurt me.”
“Like Dahlia.”
“I know you’re not like her. But…Edgeworth, when you left…I’ll be honest, that hurt me more than what she did. If we were any closer than we were at the time, I wouldn’t have survived it.”
Miles’ ears rang.
“So I made up a little test,” Phoenix continued. “If you could actually deal with your issues enough to confess to me, that would mean maybe, just maybe, we could give it a try.”
“But that test won’t work now,” Miles realized. “Because I realized how you felt first.”
“Meaning that any confession wouldn’t be truly vulnerable. And in the end, you still couldn’t do it.”
“I-I can!” Miles said desperately. “I’ll say it, if that’s what you want, if that’s what needs to—“
“Miles, don’t,” Phoenix cut him off. “I know you understand. I know we’re on the same page. So please, don’t try to convince me.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Because if you ask me, I’ll do just about anything. I’d go along. I’d love you recklessly for as long as I could until everything fell apart.” He attempted to put on a smile. It wasn’t convincing. “You understand, right? I don’t think a whole alphabet of exhibits could convince me you’re ready for a relationship that would actually be good for both parties.”
It was then that it hit Miles, fully hit him, that Phoenix loved him. Loved him, completely and selflessly. Loved him so much he was scared of it. And because of who Miles was as a person, he could not have that love.
And what was Miles supposed to argue? That he wouldn’t hurt Phoenix? He had. He’d changed since then…but was it enough? Phoenix was right. In the end, Miles hadn’t even been able to say the three simple words that Phoenix deserved to hear.
Too little, too late. The story of Miles’ life. But he wanted. He wanted to hear that declaration of love without underlying pain. He wanted to let Phoenix do what he wanted, to kiss him, to— it was no use dwelling on it.
Even a whole alphabet of exhibits, 26 confessions, wouldn’t be enough now. And Phoenix wouldn’t change his mind. For all his chaotic actions, he was remarkably consistent.
Phoenix had sat on this for who knows how long. Had let Miles flounder about in a game he didn’t even know he was playing.
“You’re being a hypocrite, Wright. You’re saying I’m too wrapped up in my issues to be open with my feelings, and then you make up some sort of asinine little test as an excuse to avoid saying anything? Very mature.”
“I did want to say something. I thought I was very clear with my explanation. And we can’t be held to the same standard. I wasn’t the one who faked my death.”
Miles bristled. “That was—“
“You never even apologized, Edgeworth. We just acted like it never happened.”
“Well, you never brought it up!”
“I was sparing your feelings, because apparently you have to be handled like a fucking eggshell or you go off and kill yourself!”
“Excuse me?” Miles demanded incredulously. “You think I left because of hurt feelings? My apologies, Wright, I assumed that since I explained my reasons quite clearly you’d actually hear and understand me, but clearly that’s not the case. I should have known from your performance in court that it takes far more than that for you to comprehend the obvious.”
“Oh, right, you left to do your little moral prosecution boot camp. So what happens next time you determine you have more to learn?”
“I thought you’d have more faith in me than that.”
“I did.”
So there it was. Miles could have had him, if he hadn’t fucked things up spectacularly. A dim part of Miles’ brain was aware that he should back down, but Phoenix had a way of dragging his entire soul into what should have been simple legal arguments, so of course he was drowning when it came to something more personal.
“If we’re talking about closed-off attorneys who don’t trust their friends, I think you’ll find there’s more than one suspect,” Miles said coldly. “I heard from Maya that you didn’t even let anyone mention my name around you.”
Phoenix’s face stilled like a riptide.
“There wasn’t anything to say,” he said. “You’d made it very clear that you didn’t care about us or want anything to do with us, so I decided to respect your dying wishes. But if you want to make the argument that I don’t have a leg to stand on because of how I reacted to your manipulative little stunt, by all means.”
“Manipulative?” Miles repeated. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, Wright.”
“Do I, Mr. Demon Prosecutor?”
Miles crossed his arms, tapping his finger against his upper arm. “That’s not fair. I’m not that person anymore.”
“Then what kind of person are you? I can’t figure it out.”
“Then how about looking at the evidence?”
“And now we’re back to where we started. I did look at the evidence, and I came to the conclusion that you’d be closed-off and I’d be too scared to say anything and we’d fall apart and lose each other. And the evidence suggests that I can’t lose you again.”
“You won’t.”
“You’ll have to present some evidence, Prosecutor.”
Evidence. Evidence. Evidence. Miles did not have exhibit A through Z, but Phoenix issuing a challenge finally forced out the words that had been building in his throat. When Phoenix issued a challenge, Miles would always rise to it.
“What about our last case? If you’ll recall, I chartered a private jet specifically to be by your side.”
“Yeah, that would have been the perfect time to confess, wouldn’t it?”
“Stop deflecting, Wright!” Miles demanded in frustration. “You’re being immature, and frankly, I don’t think you get to take the emotional adjustment high ground here. Which I don’t blame you for, given what happened recently with Dahlia and Iris —“
“Oh, so you noticed how hard on me that was? Did you also notice that I didn’t fake my death?”
“That exhibit is getting tiresome, counselor.” Miles couldn’t help the scathing fire that crept into his voice, but at least it was free of the classic von Karma contempt.
“It’s the crux of my case, though you do have a tendency to ignore the relevant arguments, so I’m trying to be accommodating in pointing it out.” Once again, Phoenix could give as good as he got.
“You’re projecting. As if you don’t hyperfixate on every little inconsequential detail.”
“How about you win another case against me, and then you can criticize my courtroom performance?”
“You’ve never taken criticism to heart in your life, have you?”
“Nope!” Phoenix said cheerily. “But that’s because I became a defense attorney of my own volition. I bet there isn’t a single part of your courtroom strategy that wasn’t subject to von Karma’s criticism—“
“Stop,” Miles ordered. “That’s…”
“That’s not even criticism, but you’re still shutting me down.”
“Apparently, I’m not even allowed to have boundaries with you!” Miles felt a spark of inspiration in his chest, a thread snapping taut like it did when he found the right argument. “Tell me, what would you have done if I hadn’t needed your help? Still pursued me? Still followed me to court like some sort of stalker?”
“I never asked you for anything! I never—“
“Oh? So you didn’t feel that I owed you anything? And yet you were despondent when I left.”
Phoenix was losing his composure. “Why don’t you just come out and say it! You already did once. Say that you wish we hadn’t met again, and it all would have been better if you kept winning your cases and ended up on death row for two murders. Because that seems to be what you’re thinking!”
“Is that really what you believe?” Miles asked incredulously. “Phoenix, it doesn’t become you to lie. Do you really doubt how much you mean to me? How much you changed my life for the better?”
“If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“Unbelievable. Unbelievable! As usual, you refuse to believe the obvious evidence right in front of your eyes.”
“If I didn’t do that, you’d be in jail right now. You have to admit, the evidence against you was pretty—”
“We’ve reached the limit of our courtroom metaphor, I believe. You’re using evasive tactics to justify your own bullheaded obliviousness to my feelings.”
“Objection. I’m not oblivious. I’ve known you’re in love with me since the Engarde investigation.”
That long? That long, and Phoenix hadn’t said anything? He’d just let Miles stew and pine for an entire year?
At least he hadn’t let Miles think he was dead. Miles had no right to be mad, but apparently he was very good at having feelings he had no right to, so that wasn’t going to stop him.
“Whatever,” Phoenix continued. “We’re getting nowhere with this. We’re just going in circles.”
It wasn’t fair for Phoenix to play both defense and judge and cut the debate off when it suited him, but Miles got the feeling that pressing the issue would well and truly push Phoenix to a breaking point.
Which was unfortunate, because as the unparalleled adrenaline of arguing with Phoenix Wright faded, far more inconvenient emotions bubbled to the surface, and Miles couldn’t breathe properly.
“So there’s nothing I can do.”
“It’s not my job to answer that question.”
The corollary hung in the air between them: that Phoenix had made up his mind, that it was all up to Miles from there. It made sense. Phoenix had done all the legwork to bring them close. It would be unfair to expect him to carry Miles across the finish line. Whatever that finish line was. Maybe they should just pretend this never happened.
There was only one thing that Miles knew Phoenix wanted, but giving it to him would take courage that Miles might not have.
He had to say it. He’d ruined everything between them, but this was the only bandage, the only thing that might redeem him the tiniest bit in Phoenix’s eyes.
And he wanted. He wanted so all-consumingly that, in that moment, he could see nothing beyond it, and it was that shameful desire that stirred his lips to finally speak.
“I love you,” Miles croaked out, so quietly that he feared (hoped) Phoenix may not hear it.
“I know,” Phoenix said, tired. “I love you too, but Miles, I told you, it doesn’t matter—“
“I know,” Miles told him.
There was so much more he needed to say. So much more he needed to ask. But he was going to cry, and not an easy cry either — ugly tears were building behind his eyelids, and he couldn’t, wouldn’t cry in front of Phoenix, not after all that, and he didn’t remember the stairs or the halls or the street, but at least he made it behind the wheel of his car before he broke down.
“Stupid,” he whispered to himself through sobs. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
It took him quite some time to compose himself enough to drive.