Work Text:
Miles Edgeworth was not an open book; he was an ancient tome buried in the ruins of a history nobody wanted to sift through. Most days, even he wouldn’t go excavating there. Only on lonely nights did he dig through the rubble to find the pieces of himself he’d lost along the years. He’d then attempt to bury them again, so the discovery could remain his and his alone. And in his lifetime of hiding, he thought he’d gotten quite adept at it.
Alas.
1. Gregory Edgeworth
In hindsight, the realization had been building for a while. But in the moment, it struck like lightning–left Miles stunned and his nerves on fire. The nine-year-old laid in bed, his eyes adjusting to the darkness from waking up so suddenly. He couldn’t begin to guess what time it was.
His heart pounded as images from his dream replayed unbidden in his mind. He tried to slow his breathing, but to no avail. The more he tried to force it, the more stuttered and strained it came. He threw his blanket off before the heat could swallow him whole. That nightmare disguised as a dream had a complete hold on him.
Because that was the kicker, wasn’t it? If it had felt like a nightmare, he could roll over and go back to sleep, content in the knowledge that his brain was an odd tangle of neurons.
No. It scared him because his subconscious presented him with everything he didn’t know he wanted. And now he couldn’t deny it. Even as he tried to chase the dream from his memory, the desires had burrowed themselves in his ribcage. He’d have to carry them around whether he wanted to or not.
Miles really didn’t want to.
Before he fully knew what he was doing, he pushed himself to his feet. Water. A glass of water would help him calm down so he could get back to bed. He could deal with all… this later. Preferably when he didn’t have school in the morning.
His socks pattered against the wood floor of the otherwise quiet hallway. His father was probably asleep, and he knew better than to disrupt that. He worked so hard, he deserved to sleep through the night.
When he reached the kitchen, he froze.
There was his father, definitely not asleep, sitting at the kitchen island and looking through a manilla folder. His thin glasses had slid to the tip of his nose. His hair was a mess and multiple soda cans were scattered across the marble.
“Father?”
“Miles,” he startled, rubbing his eyes and turning in his stool to face him. “What are you doing up?” There was no anger in his voice, just concern.
“I-I had a bad dream. I thought a glass of water might help me fall back asleep.”
“I’m sorry. Would you like to talk about it?” He asked, getting Miles his water. The cabinets were too high for him to reach without effort, so he wasn’t quite sure how he’d planned to do this.
“Not particularly.” Miles sat on the stool next to his father’s and sipped at the water. “Why are you up?”
“Difficult case. Would you like to hear about it?” When his son nodded, Gregory elaborated. “My client is Reuben Hero. He’s accused of murdering his neighbor, Eve Draper, because she had threatened to tell people a secret she had discovered. I’m certain he didn’t do it but I’m struggling to figure out who did. And looking through her records, she’s hurt a lot of people, so any of them could have.”
“What secret did she find out?”
His father paused and looked away. He rubbed his neck and seemed to be contemplating something; either how he got here, where to go next, or both.
“She found out he had a boyfriend.”
Miles swallowed the lump in his throat and stared at his water glass. His dream abruptly returned to the forefront of his mind; two teenage boys his brain decided were him and Phoenix, sitting in the backseat of an old car. Their hands remained intertwined as they listened to unidentifiable music, snuggled as close as possible.
“Oh.”
“Doing this job, you learn that not all victims are 100% innocent. Most aren’t, in fact. And I hope you know there’s nothing wrong with being gay. No matter what some narrow-minded people will have you believe. As long as you’re happy, that’s what I care about.”
The words reverberated through his head and their meanings came in waves.
“Are you saying you think I’m…?” Miles couldn’t quite get the word out.
“I’m saying I want you to be whoever you are.” Which, in Gregory Edgeworth speak, meant yes.
“My dream was about Phoenix. I hadn’t realized I felt…” he took a deep breath. “How did you know?”
His father laughed and it was warm. He ruffled his son’s hair with a smile.
“Call it father’s intuition.” He leaned over and kissed Miles’s forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Miles found that his breaths came easy and his head had stopped spinning. “Thank you.”
“Of course. Now, finish your water and go to bed.”
2. Franziska Von Karma
It wasn’t even worth considering what he would have done with that epiphany had his father not been violently ripped from his life. For Miles, “what ifs” were nothing short of an exercise in misery, a waste of his precious energy.
So years went by and he shoved that knowledge to the back of his head. Under Von Karma’s thumb, he had little time to engage in such pointless fraternization, anyway. He was sixteen; school hadn’t been about “friendship” for years.
However, part of being a professional was networking. And if Manfred Von Karma had an opportunity to show off his proteges, he would take it. After what felt like hours of scrutiny over their outfits, posture, and personal hygiene, along with a reiteration of lectures they’d heard dozens of times, the Von Karma siblings followed the prosecutor into a lavish ballroom.
A glistening chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling. It seemed every wall, every tablecloth, every window was outlined in gold. Quite frankly, it felt tacky. It was a style in which he never saw the appeal. He did not let himself grimace or scoff, instead quietly following his mentor to their table.
There were plenty of faces Miles didn’t recognize amongst the mingling crowds. Some he was certain he was supposed to, but their names wouldn’t come to him. No matter. He knew well enough how to pretend.
As he scanned the room, his brain halted.
Leaning against a wall, sipping on a flute of champagne like it was a plastic cup of cheap beer, was a classmate named Gryphon. He was the son of a prominent businessman. That was why he was continually allowed to enroll in their prestigious private school despite everything about him; he rarely studied yet somehow aced every exam, he instigated most of the classroom antics Miles had been an unwilling witness to in the past three years, and his uniform was never properly ironed. Sometimes the top button of the cardigan would be undone, even, or his sleeves would be rolled up to the elbow. And his hair was never combed, instead left a wild mess of soft curls. It was immensely distracting.
…Because it was out of place. For no other reason.
At least, that was what he had convinced himself. Until this moment. In a well-fitted suit—albeit unbuttoned enough for his tanned chest to barely peek through—with his curls professionally styled, it was hard to ignore how radiant he looked.
Miles didn’t know how long he spent staring, but it was too long. This was a professional event where he was to present himself worthy of being the protege of a most renowned prosecutor. He couldn’t let himself get distracted by a frivolous little crush.
Once the word revealed itself, it took hold of his mind and refused to let go. Crush. He hadn’t had one of those since… Phoenix. Since before. But now that he realized it, the past few months came into sharp focus. Whenever Gryphon would speak out of turn and Miles would feel his hands twitch with the need to shake some sense into him, lingering too long on what touching him would feel like. The amount of times he could appear unprompted in his thoughts when he had more important matters to attend to. The desire to be seen by him.
He had thought he wanted his respect. Instead he wanted his affection.
Across the room, the other boy caught his gaze. Before Miles could register the fact he’d been caught, he was greeted with a smirk. Gryphon took a drink without breaking eye contact, and it felt like an invitation in a way he couldn’t explain.
“Don’t even think about it, little brother,” Fransiska hissed. Miles tore his gaze away from Gryphon, but he couldn’t look his sister in the eye.
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Miles Edgeworth.” She acted so much older than she was, it was hard to believe she wasn’t even in middle school yet. “You may have father deceived, but I am no fool.”
“Sincerely, I have no idea—“
“You foolishly risked papa’s rage by sneaking out to retrieve a foolish trinket gifted to you by that foolish friend of yours. And now you’re drooling over yet another fool.”
Miles felt his cheeks heat up, glancing around the room to see where Von Karma was. Luckily, he was on the opposite side of the room.
“I-I wasn’t drooling. ” He took a breath to steady himself. “Please don’t tell your father.”
When he dared to look his little sister in the eye, he noticed a softness he’d seldom seen before.
“I haven’t yet and I have no intention to.”
He smiled and nodded, mouthing a quiet thank you. When he looked at Gryphon, his gaze seemingly never left.
Beside him, Fransiska sighed.
“I’ll distract papa.”
Miles startled.
“W-what? But you just said—“
“Don’t make me change my mind, fool,” she said, standing straight and making her way to her father. At that moment, Miles realized he may never get another chance like this.
On the roof of the plaza twenty minutes later, he had his first kiss. And when he sat in the backseat with Fransiska, the little smile she gave him told him she knew, and she was happy for him.
3. Mia Fey
It was three days after the Terry Fawles incident, and Miles hadn’t fully recovered. He wasn’t sure he ever would. Von Karma had told him to get a grip, that this was the reality of the job, that he needed to learn to shut off his sentimentality if he wanted to succeed.
This was the first time in over a decade where he wasn’t sure if he wanted that. His first case, and he watched a man intentionally poison himself on the stand. Granted, he wasn’t an innocent man, regardless of his involvement in the murder, but that image, and those last words, had a death grip on his mind. And the more he thought about it, the more the truth became obvious.
It was that girl.
Dahlia Hawthorne. She was supposed to be a sweet, innocent witness who had just lost her dear sister. Instead, she was sugar laced with cyanide. He had the wrong guy, and had Terry Fawles not died on the stand, he likely would have died in prison while she walked free. Maybe that was part of why he did it; he knew he had nothing else to lose.
Miles slammed a fist on his desk. No. Now was not the time to dwell on that. He couldn’t tarnish professional reputation before he even had one. Terry wasn’t innocent, he still dated a girl six years his junior when he was twenty, and the girl being a sociopath didn’t change that.
There was a knock on the door. He forced himself to sit up straight with a deep breath. To whoever was on the other side, he would be the very model of stoicism.
“Come in,” he called.
He wasn’t completely able to suppress his surprise when Mia walked into his office.
“Miss. Fey,” he started, then plastered on a grin. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
To his not-so-subtle sarcasm, the woman simply rolled her eyes. She strode across the room and dropped into the seat across from his desk with an air of confidence he could only hope to achieve. A much different version to the unsure defense attorney he faced at the beginning of the trial.
“I just need you to sign this,” she said, placing a manilla folder in front of him.
He knew what it was—or, at the very least, had an idea—but he asked anyway. “What is it?”
“Post-trial paperwork. From… that case.” The air in the room was heavy. The confidence Mia had exuded mere moments ago was beginning to falter. It was obvious; she hadn’t gotten over it either.
He shouldn’t have found comfort in that. If anything, he should have been disgusted he was brought down to the level of a lowly, weak defense attorney. But somehow, knowing he wasn’t alone in carrying this burden, made it the littlest bit lighter. It lifted some of the shame from the top of the pile, anyway.
Miles began reading through the file. He didn’t want to, but he was a lawyer; he’d never sign something without reading it first.
“I still can’t believe Dahlia ended up being so…” It didn’t seem like she was talking to him, but he answered anyway.
“Evil?”
Mia let out a dry chuckle and brushed a piece of hair out of her eyes.
“I was going to say manipulative, but yeah. That too.” There was a beat. “She had every man in that courtroom tied around her finger. Except you, thankfully. That’s not surprising, though.”
He froze, clenching his jaw so tight his teeth risked shattering. How did she know? How could she possibly know?
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Her eyes went wide and she raised her hands waving them across herself like she was being wholly misunderstood. Like Miles wasn’t hearing the implication loud and clear.
“Woah, hey, I just meant that you’re too much of a professional to let yourself get distracted by a pretty witness,” she said.
He didn’t know what to do or what to say. If that was true, if she really hadn’t known thirty seconds ago, she sure as hell did now. His reckless outburst revealed too much.
The silence stretched on for what felt like hours, but was likely only seconds. He tried to keep reading but the words wouldn’t stick.
“You know,” Mia started, and he dreaded whatever she was about to say. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but it only seems fair.”
“Get on with it,” he said, barely above a whisper.
“Back in college, I had a thing with Lana Skye.”
Miles laughed involuntarily. He examined the smirk on Mia’s face for something, though he wasn’t sure what.
“Are you serious?”
“Dead,” she said. “We broke up when she graduated. Said she didn’t want any distractions.”
There were too many emotions swirling around his head. He felt naked. This wasn’t a part of himself he wanted the legal world to ever know about, and yet, here was this rookie defense attorney. Who saw it immediately. Who was saying she was the same. Was she mocking him? The sincerity in her voice indicated otherwise, but maybe she was just as convincing as Dahlia had been.
“Why weren’t you susceptible to Ms. Hawthorne’s charms, then?”
Mia barked out a laugh, far too loud, and Miles was aware this meeting had gone on far longer than it had any right to.
“Oh please, she is not my type.”
“Mine either,” he said, almost automatically. “Clearly.” He couldn’t look Mia in the eye when he said it, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught a shy smile.
“When did you… you know, figure it out? About me, I mean?” It was already out in the open, and if he didn’t get an answer now, he knew it would drive him mad.
“You want the truth?” She barely waited for him to nod. “I suspected it from minute one. Takes one to know one, I guess.”
Miles had more questions bubbling in his throat. Did anyone else know? Would she keep quiet about this? Were there already rumors about his sexuality?
He asked none of them, however. Instead, he quickly signed the documents and handed the folder back to her. With a polite nod, she was gone. All Miles could do was force himself not to dwell.
He convinced himself nobody else knew. That even she hadn’t known until this conversation. The only reason she had scrutinized him in such a way was because she was in a similar boat to himself.
Takes one to know one.
4. Iris Hawthorne
The fact Miles was even here—in Japanifornia, sitting across from a girl who looked distressingly familiar, with Wright’s attorney badge fastened to his lapel—was ludacris enough. The more he thought back over the last twenty-four hours, the more ridiculous he felt.
Before he had even hung up that damn phone call with Larry, he was haphazardly throwing clothes into his suitcase. Many hours and thousands of dollars later, he had stood at Phoenix’s bedside. Bruised and sick, but fine. No broken bones, no surgery required, nothing.
He had wanted to be angry at Larry for exaggerating Wright’s condition, but somewhere deep down, he couldn’t. That man fell through a burning bridge into a raging river forty feet below in February on a mountain. If he was there, he would have assumed Wright was dead, too.
The thought made him nauseas and he forced himself not to think about it. Because he wasn’t dead. He was resting in a hospital with an odd hood over his head. One that, apparently, belonged to the girl across the glass from Miles. The girl Phoenix practically begged him to defend, despite all the evidence stacked against her. He didn’t know what their relationship was, but he could make an educated guess.
There was that nausea, again.
“Mr. Edgeworth, what is Phoenix to you?”
The question came out of nowhere. Instinctually, he wanted to say I could ask you the same. He held his tongue, though. Coming across as combative would be counterproductive to this meeting.
But how should he answer that question?
“He’s my courtroom rival.”
“He’s my childhood best friend.”
“He’s the man I think I’ve always loved.”
“He is a very dear and indispensable friend,” is ultimately what he settled on. It was enough for this purpose. He wasn’t the one being interrogated, after all.
Their conversation yielded little bits and pieces of useful information. Iris insisted she never went to the Sacred Cavern. She had been scared by something, a blackmail letter, as it turned out. A blackmail letter threatening to reveal her “secret.” It was obvious there was only one person she was truly hiding from.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
There’s a beat. She looked over him with intent, like she was looking for something specific.
“...Mr. Edgeworth. Is it just possible that maybe… you yourself have a deep, dark secret in your heart?”
Miles sputtered before he could stop himself.
“Why would you say that!?”
“As they say, it takes one to know one.”
That conversation with Mia emerged from some deep recess in his brain. He hadn’t thought about that interaction in years. The connotation felt different this time, yet ultimately meant the same thing. Iris had figured him out as easily as if she were peering into his soul.
“...It’s true there is a deep-seated darkness in my heart,” he conceded. There was no use fighting her. They both knew she was right, despite how meaningless his own secret was. It wasn’t like he stood a chance, after all. “However, the only way I can get rid of it is to fully uncover the truth.”
“You mean… the truth behind my secret?”
Miles nodded. A part of him felt like a masochist, practically inviting this woman to confess her love to a man who clearly held her in high regard. But they’d never get to the bottom of this case if she didn’t, so he swallowed his pride alongside the hope that threatened to spill. He felt too much about everything this case involved.
By the time he left that detention center, all he felt was tired.
Miles held his breath when the case ended, waiting for the moment when Iris would sweep Phoenix off his feet. But even after she confessed her secret, Phoenix remained solidly on the ground. It didn’t make him breathe any easier, though.
5. Maya Fey
A knock on his door at eight p.m. on a Thursday could only mean one thing.
“Good evening, Miss Fey.”
“Hi Miles!” She bounded into the living room and headed straight to the television. Within moments, the DVD menu music filled the living room. He’d never admit it, but his home rarely felt brighter than on Steel Samurai nights with Maya. It was a relatively new tradition, meeting up once a month like this to watch the original Steel Samurai from twenty years ago—this was only their fourth time—but it was one he hoped would continue.
“Hurry up! We might be able to finish season two tonight!” she called to him when he stepped into the kitchen.
“Yes, perhaps,” he said, bringing in the bowl of popcorn he’d popped just before she’d arrived.
“Extra butter?”
“Of course.”
Maya grabbed a handful with a smile. She enjoyed snacks like a child did, but quite frankly, he was jealous. His own childhood had been cut far too short, and he had spent too much of his adulthood trying to act like he didn’t mourn it. These nights were, in some aspect, a way to fix that.
Miles took a few pieces as well before he started the episode. Even after all these years, the Steel Samurai theme song never failed to energize him.
“Last time on The Steel Samurai; our titular hero discovered a treasure hidden in the mountains of Neo Olde Tokyo—a gem that legends say grant unspeakable power. But now, it’s in the hands of one Evil Magistrate.”
Miles had always loved the Emperor's Gem arc, though he’d never been quite able to articulate why.
“You won’t keep the gem, Evil Magistrate.”
“Give it up, Steely. You’re cornered,” The Evil Magistrate said, stepping closer to his nemesis. “Your back is against the wall. You…” he pulled out his sword, pressing it against the Samurai’s throat. “...are in no position to make demands.”
“You misunderstand me. You won’t keep it.” The Steel Samurai didn’t look scared. “You don’t want the power.”
“What? Of course I do!”
“You say that… but then I ask you… why haven’t you used it?”
The Evil Magistrate stumbled back a step.
“If you wanted the power that badly, you would’ve activated it the moment you got your hands on it.”
The Steel Samurai steps closer, crowding into his space.
“No…” Magistrate muttered.
“You’re scared. The idea of having all that power at your fingertips, having the gods at your command… that terrifies you.” Now it was Evil Magistrate’s turn for his back to hit the wall. “Because with all that, if you still manage to fail, you’ll have no excuse. Nothing to blame but yourself.”
“What do you know, Steel Samurai?!”
Their faces were inches apart.
“I know you.”
At that, the scene switched to the B plot with an over-dramatic music sting. Miles hadn’t had any more popcorn, but his mouth was dry nonetheless. His stomach swirled and all his muscles tensed. Suddenly, he was nine and looking over his shoulder as he wrote in his journal. Suddenly, he was eleven and being told off by his teacher for forgetting an assignment. Suddenly, he was fourteen and standing before Von Karma, listening to a lecture about the importance of minimizing distractions.
Has that scene always been so…?
“Wow, I forgot how gay this show got.”
Miles coughed, taken aback by how crass Maya was, how casually the words came out.
“Y-yes. Quite,” he stuttered. He didn’t look over at her, trying to focus on the show. Unsurprisingly, his brain wouldn’t cooperate.
“You know I don’t judge you for shipping Magisteel, right?”
The question caught him off-guard and he was unsure of how to respond. After a few seconds of trying, Maya thankfully continued.
“I’m ace. And probably a lesbian? Or aromantic? I’m not really sure, I don’t know what romantic attraction is supposed to feel like.” Maya smiled when he finally met her eyes again. “I’m just saying, you don’t have to hide what you like from me.”
It was apparent she was having two different conversations at once. Miles didn’t mind. Much like his father had many years ago, she was giving him an opening without forcing him to take it.
“Is it really that obvious I’m gay?” he asked with a chuckle. The words felt like they came from a different version of himself, one more carefree and completely uncloseted. A Miles Edgeworth free from the weight of his past.
Maya laughed so hard she snorted.
“Hate to say it, but yeah. At first I didn’t want to stereotype, but then I saw how you acted with Nick and it—“ She bit her lip and awkwardly hit her fist against her leg. “—I wasn’t supposed to say that part.” She seemed to say it more to herself than to him.
Instinctively, Miles straightened his back and gripped his elbow, refusing to meet her eye.
“My feelings for Wright are… complicated,” he said. When Maya didn’t say anything, he realized she expected him to continue. “…You won’t tell him, correct?”
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
+1. Phoenix Wright
Miles felt a little silly, if he was honest, sitting in a diner with a cardboard party hat snuggly tied to his head. But this was what Pearl wanted for her birthday, and who was he to say no? Lord, he really had gone soft. Nevertheless, there he was with Maya and Phoenix, each with their own little hat, waiting for the waitress to bring out their food.
Phoenix sat next to him in the booth, animatedly telling a story to the two girls across the table. Miles probably should have been listening. Instead, he was too captivated by his smile, by his exaggerated hand gestures, by the sparkle in his eyes. He was so far gone on this man it was getting embarrassing. Still, he couldn’t pry his eyes away, and he didn’t particularly try.
He kept telling himself he’d confess. After all these years, the risk of disaster was all but gone. Even if Phoenix didn’t feel the same—probably wouldn’t, given that his interest didn’t seem to extend beyond women—the chances of him walking out of his life completely were slim. That man had an intense sense of loyalty towards those he cared about. It was one of the things he loved most about him. And Miles, somehow, made that list.
It was never the right time, though. They were too busy, they weren’t on the same continent, they were celebrating the birthday of a little girl thoroughly convinced Phoenix would end up with Maya. Even before learning she wasn’t attracted to men, the idea of those two dating had made him uneasy. And not just out of jealousy.
Miles was brought from his trance when the waitress appeared with a tray full of cheap burgers and fries. She set each plate down in front of them with a corporate-approved smile, her blonde hair tied in a tight ponytail behind her ketchup-red uniform.
“Do you need anything else?” she asked.
“This looks lovely,” Miles said, earning a snicker from his tablemates. A little formal for such a place, yes, but where would he be without his basic manners? “Thank you.”
“Of course. Oh! And, this is for you,” she said, sliding a piece of paper onto the table in front of him. Her smile was much less forced now. She nodded, and without another word, skittered off. If he wasn’t mistaken, he could have sworn he heard her giggle.
Everyone at the table stared at him without touching their food. That was an odd way to deliver the check. He turned over the paper, but instead of prices and totals, there was a single string of numbers above the name “Dina,” the “i” dotted with a heart.
Miles couldn’t help it. He laughed.
“What?” Maya asked, though he was sure she had figured it out.
“It’s her phone number,” he said, setting it down in the middle of the table. “And you had me convinced everyone who looked at me realized I was gay.”
Maya giggled, Pearl smiled, and Phoenix choked.
Everyone turned to the defense attorney as he worked his way through his sudden coughing fit.
“S-sorry,” he said, clearing his throat and taking a drink of his soda. “Just-just caught me off-guard.”
Miles exchanged looks with the woman across from him, and without saying anything, it hit him. To be fair, he’d known for a long time that he was in love with an idiot, but this was something else.
“Did you not know?”
The silence gave him his answer.
How was it possible that everyone else, from the time he was little, could figure him out in a heartbeat now matter how hard he tried to hide it, and yet his closest friend, who made a living figuring things out, couldn’t?
“I, uh, I don’t think it was as obvious as you think,” Phoenix eventually said.
“Yes it was,” Maya interjected.
“Hey!” Everyone laughed, except Phoenix, who seemed equally shocked and offended. “It’s not like I had any reason to think you weren’t straight.”
“Other than his total disinterest in all the girls who have ever flirted with him, his ‘totally-not-a-crush’ crush on the Steel Samurai, and whatever the hell happened with the bellboy after the Redd White trial.”
“Wh-nothing happened between us!” Miles’ face went hot.
“Sure, he was regularly ‘delivering tea’ from the hotel across the street even though you had your own tea collection there in your office. Totally believable.”
He said nothing, taking a drink of water. It was a short fling, a mere couple of months, and he was certain nobody had caught on.
He really was terrible at hiding, wasn’t he?
“Don’t worry, Phoenix,” he started, hoping to steer the conversation away from this particular topic, and perhaps rile the man up a little more. “Straight men tend to be slower when it comes to these things.”
Phoenix scoffed and Maya bit her lip.
“Hey, Pearly! Why don’t we go play the claw machine?”
“But—” Pearl protested, before scooting out of the booth with her cousin. The two of them disappeared to the other side of the diner.
“Pot calling the kettle black, Edgeworth,” Phoenix said with a smirk.
Miles furrowed his brow. His brain seemed to grind to a halt. The realization hit only a moment before Phoenix spoke again.
“I’m bi,” he said. “It’s, uh, it’s not something I talk about too often. But Maya’s known since forever. It’s not like it was a secret or anything.”
“Oh.” It was the only sound Miles could get himself to make. All the confessions he never made, every fear and hope and daydream came tumbling down on top of him. He wasn’t sure he remembered how to breathe.
“You know, it’s funny,” Phoenix said. There was a pause, and he took that as a cue to continue. “It’s all sort of come full circle.”
“How so?” He almost didn’t hear himself speak over the pounding of his heart. The stakes were suddenly much higher than they had been even thirty seconds ago.
With each second of silence, Miles’ stomach twisted itself into a tighter knot.
“Back when we were nine, you were my bi awakening.”
Their arms pressed against each other on the table. He couldn’t remember how intentional it had been, nor when the distance closed completely. In lieu of words he couldn’t form, he slipped his hand over Phoenix’s. The other man grasped it, capturing their fingers together.
Miles let out a laugh so light and warm he barely registered it as his.
The moment was only a little ruined when Maya rushed back, shouting “finally” loud enough for any other diners to hear. Despite his fears, Pearl’s birthday wasn’t ruined and her heart wasn’t completely broken. Seeing how happy Maya was almost definitely helped soften the blow.
Throughout the rest of the meal, he and Phoenix didn’t stop holding hands. Miles didn’t even remember to be embarrassed about it until later that night, when the two of them curled up in his bed.
His feelings didn’t need to be an open book, but at the very least, he could let them sit on the shelf; visible and within reach.