Work Text:
I'm in the corner, watching you kiss her
I'm right over here; why can't you see me?
I'm giving it my all, but I'm not the guy you're taking home
So I'll keep dancing on my own
-Dancing on My Own by Robyn
Of course he’d received the letters.
The harder question was why he’d never responded; one that Miles could have given any number of excuses to answer with. I was busy. I was worried that I’d get in trouble. I moved back to von Karma’s home from school and no longer got mail at that address. They were all true, technically, but not reasons that could have really stopped him from writing back. He had found the time to read every single one, keeping them like a secret so that no one would even know he had them. If he had truly wanted Phoenix to keep writing to him, he could have had the letters forwarded or even sent him von Karma’s address, made a point to check the mail himself every day. But the real reason that he’d never once responded to Phoenix was something much more simple, if more shameful: for as much as he treasured each letter, they hurt too much.
When he’d received the first one at boarding school, three years since he’d last seen his dear friend, he’d cried. It had been forever since he’d seen anyone from his old life, and reading Phoenix’s stories about just how much things had changed – and worse, how much he was missed – had been distinctly painful. At first, he’d meant to reply, but staring at the paper, pen in hand, had been too daunting of a task to start. What could he even say when all he wanted was to have Phoenix there at his side, to have the chance to live out those same adventures with him instead of reading them from afar? Eventually, he had waited so long that the next letter came. And the next. And the next.
When he’d moved back full-time to von Karma’s home, he’d missed receiving them, but he’d quickly come to realize that going without those updates and the emotions that came with would probably be for the best. With finally settling on avenging his father’s death and upholding the honor of the family that had taken him in by choosing to become a prosecutor, he had been thrown into studies, breezing through courses but devoting all his energy to them. Von Karma had made it clear that there was no room for distractions, and at the end of the day, Phoenix (and the way his persistence and care was making Miles feel) was quickly becoming one.
Law school came and went without much incident. He’d passed the Staatsexamen in Germany and the Bar Exam in America. He’d taken up work in the LA Prosecutors’ Office, and he’d won cases to the point that the news and skeptics had begun to question his methods. It didn’t bother him as much as it perhaps should have; if the criminals he sent to their rightful place feared him as the Demon Prosecutor, then he must have been doing something right. He paid no mind to the rest of it - the rumors of false evidence were just that, and why would he apologize for making plea deals when they got results? He took only cases where he was certain the defendant was guilty – Which was, in all fairness, usually every last one that came across his desk. But if he let even one criminal walk free, everything he’d worked for…
It was in the same week as an article critiquing him for his courtroom demeanor made headlines that a letter made its way across his desk with his regular caseload. He felt a familiar pang in his chest as he saw the sender’s name: Phoenix Wright.
“Detective,” he asked Gumshoe as he was about to leave the room. “What is this?”
“It’s a letter, boss,” he said unhelpfully. “Looks like personal mail. Kinda weird that someone wrote to you here, huh?”
“Undoubtedly…” He muttered, turning it over in his hands. It was just like Phoenix to do this, just as he had years ago – persistent as ever, it seemed. It was foolish to be so taken aback by this – it was a distraction. One that he didn’t need. But he found part of himself still longing for the same warmth he’d received back then, and it was painfully hard to ignore the feelings he’d kept buried away for so long that were suddenly coming to the front of his mind.
He managed to school the emotions off his face. “That’s all, Detective. You may leave now.”
He shooed Gumshoe out of his office, staring at the letter for a long moment. This was stupid. He didn’t need any of the feelings that came with this; Phoenix was surely in a different world than he was by this point. It was weird that he’d even written to him at all after so long. But his curiosity won, and he caved in the end; he sighed as he took the letter opener from his drawer and ripped the envelope open.
He noticed first how little Phoenix had seemed to change since they were both fifteen - the same quick scrawl and casual, comfortable tone from the letters ages ago covered the page, and he softened slightly at the thought. His second thought was how much care was put into the letter. It hurt to think about.
Dear Miles,
I hope that it isn’t weird to write to you like this, but I guess I couldn’t really help myself in the end. I know it’s been a really long time, and I never got a response from you before, but maybe you’ll give me a reply to this one. I hope you’re doing alright! Since it’s been so long, I guess I should catch you up on things. Larry and I have been doing well (he says hi). We both made it through high school, and he’s been working odd jobs and dating around a lot lately. So I guess the same as when I was trying to keep you updated back in middle school. I’m going to college at Ivy University right now, studying theater. Remember when we found that copy of ‘Romeo and Juliet’ at the library when we were kids? I guess it just kinda stuck with me, because I think I’ll probably end up going for Shakespearean theater as my focus. The other stuff is really cool too, but I think I’ve just always had a soft spot for it. I was wondering what happened to you when my letters started coming back, and I’m sorry I didn’t end up trying to find a new address to write to. I guess it’s kind of silly to pick it back up now. I saw that you had a job and everything now (that’s how I found this address). Maybe you’re a little too busy for this. But I guess I wanted to give it one last try.
Speaking (or writing) about jobs, that’s kinda what pushed me to write to you again. I saw that article about you in the newspaper a few days ago - the “Demon Prosecutor” one. I was kind of surprised to see it, actually. I remember how badly you wanted to be a defense attorney as a kid, so it threw me off a lot. Then again, the man who took you in is a prosecutor, right? So I guess it makes sense in the end. The way they wrote about you was weird, though. I know it’s crazy, because I haven’t seen you in eleven years, but it just doesn’t sound like what I remember you being like, and it feels weird to hear people say that you changed. I’m sure it’s just bad press, but I wanted to check on you anyway.
If you’re not too swamped, I’d love to hear how everything’s been going for you. Have you been doing well? What’s work like? Maybe if you have time, we can try to hang out. A lot has changed and there’s a lot I want to update you on that would take way too long here, but more than that: your Signal Samurai miss you.
Please write back.
Sincerely, Phoenix
He read it probably three or so times before finally putting it down. How could he still be so… bright? It felt impossible, after so long, that he was still exactly the way Miles remembered him. He’d said things had changed, and he was sure they had, but Phoenix was still undoubtedly… Phoenix. It had been a perfect time capsule of everything he’d missed.
Overwhelmed, he put it in his desk, slamming the drawer shut as though it would try to escape otherwise.
Work was, just as he’d predicted, hard to focus on for the rest of the day. It had been stupid, after all, to give the letter that much of his focus; to get that wrapped up in it. It had just opened the floodgates for memories and feelings that were completely and utterly unnecessary.
When he was fifteen, just before he’d left boarding school and started his path to becoming a prosecutor, he’d had a frightening realization, one that he’d immediately pushed out of mind and refused to think about since. But now, reading the sincerity in Phoenix’s words once again, it came creeping back.
For a brief moment, he’d begun falling for the boy in the letters.
Phoenix had always, in his eyes, shone the brightest in their little group, with a sunny attitude and a smile that could light up the room. He’d always put Miles first, too - Larry had been an important part of their trio, but even if he couldn’t hang out, it never put a damper on things for the two of them. Sometimes, Miles would admit, he’d preferred hanging out when it was just him and Phoenix. The letters had only, in the end, served to amplify that – the only thing he consistently looked forward to, constantly reminding him of just how much he’d missed Phoenix. It was no substitute for the real thing, but he made Miles feel like he was there sometimes, and always made him feel that he was wholly and truly cared about. It wouldn’t have been a far jump to make, had he not been whisked away in the aftermath of his father’s murder, or better - had his father not been murdered at all. When he’d had the realization the first time, he’d shoved the thought away in horror. Since then, he’d come to terms with a lot, but never the fact that he’d fallen for someone he’d been sure so he’d never see again, at the time.
Now, though? He couldn’t quiet the voice in the back of his mind nagging him to at least see his friend again. It could be… cathartic, perhaps. The crush from before (how he hated the word) was stupid now, almost certainly his hindbrain just processing old memories, but maybe he could lay those thoughts to rest, reminisce over old times… Learn to think of him as a friend again instead of some mirage just out of reach, or as a painful reminder of days from a lifetime ago.
The letter’s return address had been a dorm at Ivy University. It wouldn’t be hard to pay a visit…
Miles hemmed and hawed over what to do about the letter for far longer than he would ever admit. He could have given any number of excuses why: I was working on an important case. I went to visit my sister for a weekend. I had to review some old cases. They were all true, technically, but the real reason was much more simple, if more shameful: he was afraid. Phoenix had invited him to respond, wanted him to, but that made it no less intimidating to think of seeing him again after over a decade.
He caved again, in the end, finding himself standing in front of the student center at Ivy University nearly two weeks later, a letter of his own tucked into his coat pocket in case all else failed.
It felt strange walking into the building, bustling with students who were all giving him strange looks. Palms hot, he walked past, trying to not focus on them. All he had to do was get a visitor’s pass, find out where Sholmes Hall was, and if all went according to plan, find Phoenix.
That last step ended up being easier than he thought.
His breath hitched, and he made a beeline to the common room because there he was, across the room by the window, scribbling something in a sketchbook. He still had the same hairstyle he’d had as a kid, though it suited him far better now; made him look more grown-up instead of as though he’d gotten stuck in a windstorm. His expressions were just as they once were as well – he wore a look of focus strikingly similar to the one he had when he’d gotten lost in the plot of their cartoons, trying to predict what the twist was going to be. There were differences, of course - his beloved Signal Blue shirt and shorts had been replaced with a band tee shirt and skinny jeans, and he’d never worn jewelry before… But it was still so undeniably Phoenix that he had to pause just outside the doorway to collect his thoughts. Maybe this would be harder than he’d thought.
And then Phoenix looked in Miles’s direction, face lighting up, and Miles’s expression softened…
“Dollie!”
He was sent crashing back to reality as he watched Phoenix set his drawing aside, as he watched Phoenix get up to give the red-haired girl who’d just walked in the room a big hug, as he watched Phoenix leaned down to kiss her. Miles could feel his face heating up.
A lot has changed and there’s a lot I want to update you on that would take way too long here.
Of course he’d moved on. He didn’t have anything to hold him back; not in the same way that Miles did. And Miles… he couldn’t blame him for it, because Phoenix deserved this more than anyone else he could think of.
But he also couldn’t stand to watch how Phoenix smiled at her the way he’d smiled at Miles a lifetime ago, the way she playfully teased him about his necklace until he laughed and took her hand in his. He just seemed so… happy. Perfectly content, even. Miles had to look away, ashamed of the jealousy he felt at seeing them.
It had been a stupid idea to come here anyway, to keep clinging to a memory the way he had been for so long, he decided. He could still go in there. He could have given any number of reasons why he still should: Because he asked me to. Because I hated not being able to see him. Because I had wanted to see him as a friend again anyway. But for as earnest as Phoenix's letter had seemed, it wouldn’t be fair to crash into his life again just like that.
Pursing his lips, he took the letter from his pocket, tearing it in two and throwing it in the trash on his way out of the building.
Across the room, Phoenix suddenly turned his head, brow furrowed as he scanned the room like he was searching for something. It was probably just wishful thinking, but for a split second, he’d thought he’d seen a familiar face. A flash of burgundy, a familiar swoop of starlight-colored hair.
“What’s wrong?” Dollie asked, following his gaze, eyes wide with concern.
“Sorry… It’s nothing,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just thought I saw an old friend…”