Phoenix made his way to the twelfth floor of the building with purpose, heading straight for Edgeworth's office. The embarrassment and self-doubt that followed the riverboat incident had mercifully faded within the past few days, replaced by frustration that grew a little more every time he replayed the events in his mind. They'd been dancing around the subject for the better part of a year--possibly longer, if he were being honest with himself--yet every time Phoenix found the courage to bring it up, Edgeworth promptly shut him down. They'd avoid each other for indeterminate amount of time, pretend nothing had ever happened when they were ready to move on, and then repeat the whole process the next time the subject was breached.
Frankly, Phoenix was tired of it. There was an elephant doing cartwheels in the room, and he was done ignoring it.
Of course, that determination began flagging as he approached Edgeworth's door. There was no question that this was going to be difficult; it may even turn out to be the most difficult thing he'd ever do, outside of the courtroom.
He slowed his pace, struggling with the rising urge to turn and let this be just another memory they can file away and forget about in time. Before he could stop himself, he knocked on the door.
It's been a while again, hasn't it? Work's been keeping me busy, which isn't really a bad thing, I guess, but I do kind of miss keeping up with this place. It seems like I've missed a lot...
...Actually, it seems like I've been missing a lot in general. For some reason, I wasn't able to sleep last night, so it gave me some time to think. It seems like all I've been doing lately is getting up, going to work, eating, sleeping, and then repeating the process. My cases haven't been particularly unusual lately (note that I said 'particularly'; I don't know if I'll ever have a case that passes for normal). The apartment's been quiet. The office has been quiet. Everything's been quiet.
When did my life get so normal? So routine? And why is that a bad thing?
Don't get me wrong. I'm not unhappy. I'm just... well, a little restless, I guess. I feel like something's missing or that I'm missing out on something important. It's probably because nothing big's happened in a while. You would think I'd be thankful, heh...
Anyway, er... I'm rambling, aren't I? I'm not sure where this is coming from, to tell you the truth. I really have nothing to complain about in the scheme of things. I'm sure it's just a weird phase that'll be over soon, so... Consider this the musings of someone who's a little sleep-deprived, I guess.
[the scene opens on a grassy area, possibly that of a playground or a park. off to the right is a tree, and beneath that tree are two boys, one with silver-brown hair, the other with gravity-defying, spiky, black hair; the silver-haired boy rests against the tree, his knees drawn up as he quietly reads a book on his lap, while the other boy lies on his stomach, idly picking at the grass. As other children laugh and run around in the background, these two sit in companionable silence]
[that is, until the boy with spiky hair suddenly says:] Miles? If you moved away, would you still talk to me?
[a frown creases the other boy's brow, and he turns to his friend, obviously confused by the unprompted question] What?
If you moved. [the first boy looks up] Like if your dad got a job in a different city like Alex's mom, would you still talk to me?
[Miles' frown deepens, and he sets his book down to give his friend his full attention] Probably. Why?
Well... Because. [the boy goes back to picking at the grass] Because Alex moved away week before week before last, and Larry was friends with him, but he says they haven't talked at all. So I was just wondering.
Oh. [Miles blinks, as if surprised and possibly taken aback. after a moment, however, the corner of his mouth raises in what promises to one day be a practiced smirk, and he says:] Don't be dumb, Phoenix. Of course I'd still talk to you. Someone's gotta keep you in line, after all.
[this seems to allay Phoenix, who flashes a smirk of his own at the grass. a beat of silence follows, and then he glances up somewhat hesitantly] Would you write to me? [he asks] Like a pen-pal?
[Miles appears to consider this, then shrugs] Sure. I guess so.
Okay. Cool. [Phoenix smiles and, with the conversation seemingly at an end, returns to his unhelpful version of pruning]
[Miles watches him for a while longer, an unreadable expression on his face, before he smiles softly and turns back to his book. from there, the video fades to black.]
Did somebody send me flowers...?
Hey, Edgeworth...? How are you feeling?
If anyone needs me, I'll be holed up in my office for the next few days.