Chapter Text
Phoenix still doesn't have his license.
"Neither does Larry," Phoenix says easily, adjusting the passenger seat so he can slump as far backwards as possible.
"Larry has actually attempted the test," Miles says back, refusing to take his eyes off the window. "And get your feet off the dashboard!"
Phoenix complies, reluctantly. "Yeah... he's up to, what, four times now?"
"Five," Miles replies absently. He is looking out into the night stretching before them, the dark occasionally interrupted by the dusty, enigmatic glow of streetlights or the windows of homes. The best Greater Los Angeles has to offer. "Where is Larry, anyway?"
"Huh?" Phoenix is fiddling with the radio absently. A warped medley of static, pop music, talk show commentary and jazz plays from the speakers as his fingers turn the dial.
"Why am I not being cajoled into going 15 minutes out of our way to pick him up as well?"
"Oh." Phoenix turns his head to the window, as if there's anything to look at in the dark besides the streets he's seen a hundred times. "He had something to do. His aunt was visiting. Or a girlfriend? I don't know. Something."
"Hm." Miles feels both relieved, somehow, for some reason, but then there's the part of him that feels a strange kind of tension, under his skin. It reminds him of how he keeps waiting for something to happen, though he can't begin to really understand what it is.
Phoenix is still looking out the window. Miles keeps his hands steady on the wheel.
They're going to a QuikTrip because Phoenix wants one of those terrible slushies.
"Come on, you want one too, Edgeworth. They still have those commemorative Steel Samurai cups," said Phoenix's voice on the phone earlier. Miles had been sitting at his desk when it rang, using his laptop, transferring some of his father's case files to a digital format. It was productive work that he happened to enjoy, thank you very much, Wright . He likes reading his dad's neat, square handwriting; (he signs each report “ Gregory Edgeworth, esq.”) he likes poring over defense strategies and evidence lists and outcomes even though he knows them all by heart already.
Yes, that’s what he was doing- working, and waiting. Still waiting, for something to happen.
Miles had gritted his teeth at the sound of the grin in Phoenix’s voice. "I told you, it was one time, nothing else was on!"
"Yeah, okay. Hey, can you come by at nine? Please? What are you even studying for? It's summer!"
"Maybe. Bye." He'd hung up to Phoenix protesting. Then he'd gotten to him at 8:55 anyway, in his father's old car.
--
"Turn left here," says Phoenix, later, slushie in hand. The clock on the dashboard reads 9:47.
"What's here?" Miles says, frowning suspiciously.
Phoenix grins. "You'll see. It's a surprise." He sucks on his straw and yelps. "Shit! Brain freeze! Hey, turn here!"
"Christ," Miles mutters. He turns there. Somewhere along the way, he started trusting Phoenix almost completely. What a terrifying thought.
There's a short silence then, save for the radio and Phoenix's occasional directions. It feels strange, being in the driver's seat but simultaneously having no idea of the destination, much less control over the way there– like one of those trust exercises, and Miles is the one falling blindfolded into Phoenix's grip. In the dark, Phoenix's voice seems almost like an anchor, pulling Miles back from the brink of reverie.
Four minutes later: "Oh, we're here. Look, Miles–” the grin in his voice again, even though Miles isn't looking– "memories."
"Huh? But this is–" Miles pulls up to the side and groans. "You took me to the elementary school?"
"Our elementary school." Phoenix is already unbuckling his seat belt.
"Why are we here at night in the summertime?" Miles snaps, because he hates being in the dark.
"C'mon, stop the car! It's just fun."
Miles hesitates, scowls, and parks. The engine cuts off with a low growl. Phoenix is out the passenger side door before Miles opens his own. "I wasn't aware trespassing is now an amusing extracurricular activity for you."
Phoenix smiles. He looks strangely luminous in the brilliant white light of the street lamps. Miles shakes his head a little to clear it.
"I just want to go on the playground."
"The playground?" Miles stops for a second and tries to decide if entering the playground would be a breach of civil trespass law, and the extent to which Phoenix and himself would be prosecuted if they transgressed.
"Come on, it's just–"
"Fun, I know." He gives up and follows Phoenix– why is he always following Phoenix?– over the fence and takes a look around. "The same as I remember." Sandbox in the corner. Wood chips beneath his feet. The seesaw over by the slide. The only thing that seems different is that everything looks smaller.
"Yeah. It's nice when things don't change."
"I suppose." Miles gravitates towards the swingset, just like he did as a child, and sits down, looking at his feet.
Phoenix joins him a moment later. "I haven't sat on one of these in forever."
"Me too." Miles allows himself to sway a little back and forth but drags his feet in the sand before he gets too high.
Phoenix swings wildly for a minute or two before coming to a slow halt. They sit in companionable silence for a moment before he speaks. “Hey, do you remember that one time…” He trails off.
Miles doesn’t like it when people trail off. “What time?”
“It was when we were in fourth grade.”
“Hmm.” Miles unconsciously swings a little back and forth but stops himself. “I don’t remember much of fourth grade.”
Phoenix smiles. “Never mind.”
Miles snorts. They sit in silence for a while until he speaks up. “Did you only bring me here to revel in nostalgia?”
Phoenix shifts his gaze to him, and Miles feels that strange tension again at the sight of his blue eyes. "Hey, Edgeworth–" he points a finger straight at Miles– “you know what's wrong with you?" He's grinning slightly.
"Oh, please, Wright," Miles drawls, "enlighten me."
"You think everything has to have a point." His voice is thoughtful, almost apologetic. Not accusatory.
Miles didn't expect that. "Well, isn't it true?"
"Uh-uh." Phoenix shakes his head. "Some things just are ."
Miles frowns. Phoenix points at him again and adopts a motherly voice. "If you make that face too much, it'll get stuck like that!"
"Ha ha." Miles rolls his eyes and avoids Phoenix's eyes. He manages not to start swinging again and calls it his one victory for the night.