My friends, Miles Edgeworth thought miserably, are trying to kill me.
True friends, he added mentally, did not leave their fellows out to die in the middle of a frigid winter morning on an uncomfortable park bench. Not by themselves, anyway. He adjusted the white scarf around his neck and looked about glumly. There were very few children outside at this time of day, despite the fact that winter break had just started.
All the sane children are indoors, Miles thought vehemently, brushing his wind-blown gray bangs away from his face. He stifled a sneeze against the sleeve of his striped sweater and looked around once more. There was no sign of either of his friends anywhere, and Miles was beginning to doubt if they’d show up.
Either way, he was determined to be anywhere but home. His father, he supposed, was preparing himself for a case against an allegedly fearsome prosecutor. He had invited Miles to come with him and observe the trial, but Miles had declined. He didn’t want to be near a courtroom ever again. Not after yesterday.
But those were thoughts Miles didn’t feel like revisiting at the moment. He had agreed to meet his friends today, in spite of the god-forsaken weather, to distract himself from his darker thoughts.
With a sigh, he scuffed his boots against the ground, kicking up snow over a small bunch of drooping daises. He reached down and picked one. It was small and pathetic, and looked very much like how he felt at the moment. He twirled it between his fingers for some time, lost in thought. He barely even noticed the breathless boy who ran up and came to a stop in front of him.
“Sorry I’m late,” the boy gasped, causing Miles to start and nearly drop his flower, “Larry just wouldn’t stop talkin’ to this girl and… well, you know…”
Miles looked up at the boy before him, who grinned apologetically and ran his fingers through his dark spiked hair.
“Yes, I suppose I do know,” Miles sniffed. Phoenix Wright took this as a sign of forgiveness and threw himself down on the bench beside him. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his light blue sweater and turned to smile at him.
“I just left ‘im back there,” Phoenix added, as if the lack of a certain loud-mouthed boy hadn’t indicated that. Leave it to Wright to point out something so obvious.
“I can see that,” Miles said, stifling a grin. He stared at the ground and absently plucked a petal from his raggedy flower, watching it flutter to the ground.
“So, are you gonna tell me what’s wrong, or do I hafta guess until I get it right?”
Startled, Miles glanced up at him. The other boy was looking at him expectantly; his face was pleasant but his blue eyes were sharp. It was unnerving, really, the way Phoenix could see right through him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Wright,” Miles answered tersely.
“I think you do. And stop callin’ me ‘Wright’ all the time. You sound like an old man. Or like your father or somethin’.”
“I’m not like my father, Wright,” Miles snapped. Phoenix looked shocked at his sudden outburst, but pressed on.
“But, aren’t you always goin’ on about how much of a hero he is and stuff, and how you’re gonna be just like him?”
Miles looked as if he were going to reply, but then appeared to change his mind, settling for plucking at another petal. Phoenix shrugged and let his head fall back on the bench, looking up at the clouds. There was a rather lengthy and uncomfortable silence, during which Miles’ guilt continued to gnaw at him. He shouldn’t have snapped at Phoenix. He was just trying to help, in his own forward and imposing way.
“Phoenix,” he started, by way of an apology. The other boy’s attention snapped to him immediately, looking so ridiculously hopeful and eager that Miles felt his heart ache. Phoenix had a talent for reading people, but unfortunately he was just as easily read.
I’m sorry for snapping at you, but there are just some things I’d rather not discuss at the moment, is what Miles meant to say. Instead, he blurted,
“My father lost his case yesterday.”
There was a short silence before Phoenix spoke up.
“What?”
Smart as a whip, that Phoenix Wright. Miles sighed. He might as well elaborate. In a way, it was a relief to get this off his chest.
“My father was the defense attorney in a case yesterday. It was a murder case. His client… confessed his guilt almost as soon as the trial started.”
Phoenix frowned at him. “Well, that doesn’t make sense, does it? Why would he do that?”
Suddenly, Miles felt all the rage and grief he had felt the previous day. Thoughts of betrayal, thoughts of liars, thoughts of criminals filled his head. It was enough to make him sick.
“Miles?” Phoenix said quietly, trying to draw him from his own thoughts.
“I’ve always dreamed of following in my father’s footsteps,” Miles said, careful to keep his composure, “I’ve always wanted to protect the weak. But now…” he trailed off, picking at his flower’s petals. Phoenix watched him curiously.
“Now?”
“It’s impossible.” He looked at Phoenix in exasperation.
“What’s impossible? I’m not a mind-reader, Miles. Say what you mean, for once.”
Miles grimaced, but he complied. “Trying to protect people is impossible,” he clarified. “People lie. They cheat. They’re criminals, Phoenix. How can I ever trust in my client if I don’t know the truth about them? I’ll end up betrayed, just like my father.” He plucked at his flower furiously. So much for composure.
There was a short pause before Phoenix started to laugh. Miles stared, bewildered.
“This is hardly anything to laugh over, Wright,” he started icily, but the raven-haired boy simply shook his head and grinned.
“Do you even remember the day we became friends? Maybe you really are an old man. You’ve got the hair for it, at least.”
Miles shot him a look, not in the mood for games. “Explain yourself, Wright.”
“Phoenix,” he corrected him, but quickly went on to spare himself from another terrifying Edgeworth-glare. “What I mean is, you defended me before, right? You didn’t even know if I stole the money or not. You just went with your gut feelin’ and protected me. Y’know, People get betrayed all the time. I know I’ll get betrayed one day, and so will you. But that’s life, right? You gotta do what you can to defend the underdog. Isn’t that what bein’ a defense attorney’s about? Protectin’ people no matter what?”
Miles stared at him, his expression unreadable.
“Phoenix,” he said, finally, letting another petal drop, “You would make a terrible defense attorney.”
The boy beamed at him, and Miles felt his heart ache once again. This was his friend, possibly his only true friend, sitting across from him and grinning like an idiot. If—no, when— Miles became a defense attorney, he prayed that he’d have a client who would smile at him like that. Somebody true, somebody believable. Somebody who was unmistakably and undeniably real.
“I guess I’ll just hafta leave all the defense attorney-ing to you, then.”
“Yes, please, for both of our sakes.”
“Promise me you’ll defend me when Larry decides to do something stupid and lands us both in jail.” Phoenix said, holding out his pinky in mock-solemnity.
Against his better judgment, Miles accepted, wrapping his pinky around the other boy’s in the most respectable and sacred oath of the 9-year-old boy: the pinky-swear.
“Of course. Nobody else will.”
Phoenix laughed and stood up, stretching and looking around the park. “Well, I guess we should find the Butz. All we gotta do is follow the smell.”
Miles made to stand up as well, but paused, twirling the sad remains of the daisy in his hands.
“You know, my father has another trial today. I think it started half an hour ago. He invited me, but…”
“You outta go. Gotta get some experience if you wanna go around defendin’ people like me,” Phoenix joked and nudged him affectionately.
“Right. The courthouse isn’t far. I can still make it.” Miles plucked off another petal and dropped the bare stem back on the ground before standing.
“She loves you.”
Miles blinked. “Excuse me?”
“She loves you,” Phoenix repeated, grinning like a fool. He was going to split his face in two with that grin, Miles mused faintly. He followed Phoenix’s gaze, which had come to rest on the small pile of daisy petals on the ground at Miles’ feet.
“I was counting,” he added, proudly. “The last petal was ‘she loves me.’”
“Phoenix…” Miles sighed.
“See? She loves you. Things can’t be all that bad, right? Now you’ve got something to look forward to, no matter what.”
To his own surprise, Miles nodded. Perhaps there was some form of logic, underneath all of Phoenix’s inane rambling.
“I’d like that. I’ll see you later, Phoenix,” Miles said, starting in the direction of the courthouse.
“In court!” the other boy shouted.
Phoenix turned and began his search for his young womanizing friend, the sound of Miles’ laughter slowly fading in the distance. He smiled to himself and shivered, pulling up the hood on his jacket and sticking his hands further in his pockets. The wind whirled, cold and indifferent, scattering a small pile of forgotten petals.
The next day, Miles was gone.