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Life was full of wonders, some would say. Others would say it was full of surprises. Miles Edgeworth was a firm believer in the latter sentiment. After being steeped in the rougher side of humanity, it was hard to find much wonder in things. Simply surprising, at best.
Maybe if he had the eye for it, Miles would’ve called what he found inside the Wright & Co, Law Offices one gloomy afternoon a wonder. At the very least, it was one of life’s many surprises.
The surprise started small, as they often did when a certain Phoenix Wright was involved. A setup before the punchline. The defense attorney had come to the prosecutor at 11:37am with a harrowed expression, a harried co-counsel at his heel, and a hurried request for aid. Having just come from another panic-inducing trial, all Wright had managed to pass off was a scribble of a note and a rushed plea for Edgeworth to look into a cold case with a particular interest in the details of the cause of death and what was known about the possible perpetrator. In less than a second after Edgeworth agreed, Wright was already out the door, bolting off like a greyhound after a hare without so much as a thank you. The young Miss Fey at least had the courtesy of bowing to the prosecutor with a quick “thanks, Mr. Edgeworth!” before she was back on Wright’s tail.
Miles could call that experience alone surreal, but he had long since accepted the chaotic force known as Defense Attorney Phoenix Wright as a staple of work-life. He even had the nasty habit of bleeding into his personal-life, often through small lunch outings or invites to the odd event or party. The prosecutor was particularly well acquainted with that man’s requests for case summaries. Whether they were opposed in court or not, Wright had long since gotten accustomed to turning to Edgeworth for information regarding older cases. His library of case files far outshone what the late Ms. Fey left behind for her successor to add to, and even if Miles didn’t have what Wright was asking for, he could find it in record time and easily consolidate the information the defense needed. Never once had Miles caught himself regretting handing over that information to the defense. Hence, Miles had, once again, obliged.
Information gathering had to be spliced between Miles’ actual obligations as a state prosecutor, but he did manage to get his full summary completed, copied, printed, and organized in a manila folder just before 4pm hit. That meant that Miles had time to hand off the file to Wright before his office closed at 5pm. It wouldn’t be too close, given the 30 minute drive from the prosecutor offices and Wright & Co. Law Offices. At worst, he’d be catching the attorney as he was leaving. Miles just wanted to make sure he didn’t have to hand the file off before trial the next day. The folder was nothing to scoff at, and if Wright intended to dredge up an old cold case for a trial, then Miles definitely didn’t want to be the reason he was left trying to ensure he was right to try to connect two murders together. Wright had a frankly irritating talent for quick deduction and bluffing, but even he had his limits.
And so, letting personal duty override more reasonable and expected commitments, Miles left the office early to hand off the case summary. Wright’s case was worth it. He wouldn’t let himself think about any sub-surface reasoning as to why the decision was so easy. Plus, it’d be quick. In and out. He’d be back to finish off his day before he knew it. It was practically nothing.
Soft gray clouds coated the sky, rolling lazily overhead and letting out a meager sprinkle. Miles didn’t even consider running his wipers to get the sparse droplets off of his windshield. It might’ve just made them more of a problem anyway. Even so, it was raining, however lightly. So the prosecutor tucked the folder under his overcoat, pinning it under his arm to keep the papers safe and dry.
Wright & Co., thankfully, was only up a couple flights of stairs. It was quick ascent in comparison to the 12 stories Miles had to climb in order to get to his own blasted office. He checked his wristwatch as he approached the familiar frosted glass. It was 4:38pm. Most certainly, Wright had to still be in his office. If he left early for some unknowable reason, then Miles was perfectly content to count his colleague– in one Miss Fey’s words– “shit out of luck.”
Readjusting the file quickly, Miles raised his fist to knock on the door.
Not a moment later, he heard a ruckus that sounded suspiciously like books falling to floor, followed by an indignant shout.
It was most likely due to combing through all manners of terrible cases that ended in death more often than not, but still, Miles’ heart plummeted straight into is stomach as he already feared the worst. He reflexively tried the door and grew sicker when the handle easily spun to open. Count on Wright to leave the door unlocked, and count on him to get into some monumental trouble. The door flung open easily with a hefty push.
Just as quickly as it came, the panic washed away, leaving a lack of any feeling in its wake. Then, a steady growing confusion. Life’s surprises often had that effect on him.
The shortest way to put it was: Miles Edgeworth had walked into a battlefield.
Wads of paper were crumpled and scattered over a cleared carpet space. A particularly large and dense ball of paper was wedged in a bookshelf, surrounded by books that had fallen out at the impact. The couch and coffee table that normally sat out for pending clients were pushed against bookshelves to create a sufficient no-mans land. Set on either side of the entry room, two behemoths of cardboard construction stood proud and opposed. Veritable fortresses were primed for combat. There were some evidence of previous combat marred the dull brown paper. Cuts, tears, and pencil-sized holes littered the surfaces on both bastions.
For all the similarities, the two cardboard fortresses were quite notably different in quality and construction. Off to the left was a fairly plain design. A flat wall with crude holes punched through, presumably for throwing various ammunition at the enemy. From what Miles could see behind the facade, there were a lot of quick patches and hastily put in supports from all the weak points in the wall, whether it was from too big of a piece of thinner cardboard or from a fold in a former box. Opposite to the simple fortress, was more akin to a castle. The facade was solid and straight, remaining rigid against attack and clearly showing signs of careful mending with plaster of paris and whole new, grafted on squares of cardboard. The wall had a battlement on the top, and clean arrow slits cut into the cardboard. The facade was well supported by intricate and formidable supports to keep it upright. Just behind the outer wall, another facade stood that looked like a sort of keep, just as well if not better maintained than the other wall.
Stationed at either fortress was Maya Fey and Phoenix Wright. Miss Fey stood hunched over her shabby facade, fingers gripping the uneven cut of the top of her wall with a boxy sort-of helmet balancing precariously on her head and some flat pieces of cardboard held together with twine to make a chestplate. A few strips of cardboard were secured to her arms with intricate, woven twine to pull the armour together. Across from the young Fey sister, Phoenix Wright stood proudly, wearing more evidence of his unique sense of craftsmanship. He had a more fitted helmet on his head, a long, flowing plume of orange tissue paper sprouting from the top like he was a real knight heading for battle. His chestplate had sharpie marks to give it some feather and fire patterns and indications where jewels were supposed to be inlayed. The two knights glared at each other from their posts, hands poised over plain paper towel tubes that lay at their hips like sheathed swords. Neither seemed bothered by Miles bursting in, if they had even noticed his entrance in the first place.
One who had seen Miles come in was the even younger Miss Pearl Fey. She was sat crisscross on the ground with an art pad open to a page full of scribbled down crayon drawings depicting what Miles could only assume was moments of grand battle between the two employees of Wright & Co. Law Offices. She smiled brightly up at the prosecutor and waved at him, which he took as an invitation to come closer to the scene.
“Hi Mr. Edgeworth!” Young Miss Fey greeted cheerily as Miles knelt. “Why are you here?”
“Oh. Uh.” He floundered for a moment, temporarily forgetting why he stumbled into the battleground in the first place. “I have a file to hand off to Wright.”
Pearl nodded in understanding. “Then you better sit, Mr. Edgeworth. Nothing stops the Paper Towel War! You can give it to Mr. Nick after.”
“Paper… Towel… War?” he couldn’t help but ask.
At the prodding, Pearl lit up more, pushing her drawing pad over to be in better view for Edgeworth’s perusal. “Yeah! It’s a great saga! An epic battle! Terror, drama, victory, defeat!”
As she talked, she flipped to older drawings. All depicted two ends of a conflict. Some scenes were of Maya (marked by her long, beaded hair) and Wright (marked by the obnoxious orange plume) at their respective battlements, throwing paper and pencils. Others were of melee combat, paper towel rolls clashing and poised for strikes. There were a few victory scenes as well, with either or standing triumphantly over the other, who was often drawn as a corpse on the ground.
“That is… fascinating,” was the only way Miles could think to respond as he took in all of the drawings he was being shown of his close colleague and his co-counsel acting like overgrown children.
“Mr. Nick also has a tome!” Pearl emphasized with an air of mystique and reverence. “He keeps track of the battles and history! He even puts some of my drawings in it!” she declared proudly.
Edgeworth couldn’t begin to wrap his head around all the things he was learning about and subsequently watching with his own two eyes. There was simply too much effort put into childish smacking with thin rolls of cardboard.
Just as he had gotten the official summary of the scene, Wright spoke up, his voice loud and commanding as he projected it to the room– or more specifically, to Maya.
“Lady Fey!” he addressed the apparent Lady Fey. “I know your ammunition is sparse! I suggest we end this battle like true Lords and Ladies of the Land! Face me on the battlefield with your sword drawn!” He punctuated his sentence by finally pulling out the hollow tube at his hip and pointing it at his opponent like he would at Miles during court.
Miss Fey– or Lady Fey– gritted her teeth. A brief moment of deliberation passed before she responded tersely. “Very well, Lord Wright! Like true Lords and Ladies of the Land. For the glory of Her Majesty, the Queen!”
“For the glory of Her Majesty, the Queen.” Lord Wright concurred.
The Lord and Lady stepped out from their bastions, paper towel rolls drawn in anticipation. They took measured and even steps towards each other, their cardboard armour scraping softly against itself. The moment was well practiced, like performing a ritual for the umpteenth time. They met face to face on the carpeted waste, shields in their left hand and swords in their right. They stood just perfectly apart so they could give each other a deep, respectful bow before taking a stance. Lady Fey stood tall and proud, both arms lax and leaving her chest exposed as she glowered down at Lord Wright. Conversely, the Lord held his shield out front, ready and waiting for the first move from the Lady Fey; however, he was well prepared to swing back, with his roll poised just behind the flat cardboard piece.
True to their postures, Lady Fey came out swinging first, going on the offensive while Lord Wright blocked the initial blow with his shield and kept himself on a firm defense.
“Reckless abandon. I expect no more from the Most Gracious Lady!” Lord Wright taunted as he skirted around Lady Fey.
The Lady glared and lunged for another attack, which was deftly dodged. “Save your venomous pleasantries for a Lord who gives a damn!” she sneered, taking another wide swing.
Lord Wright hopped back, staying light on his feet and shield at the ready. “Great power on that one, My Lady! However, too sloppy!” he bit back with a sly grin. In the next moment he darted out with his right hand in the lead, trying to aim for a poorly guarded shoulder.
Swift as a hare, Lady Fey leaned her head out of the way of the jab, bringing up her bracer and deflecting the roll away from her shoulder. Pushing back, she collected herself for a second before launching into another flurry of attacks. “If you think that just because I’m pressing my advantage, I will be complacent to your attacks, you are sorely mistaken Lord Phoenix Wright!” Her rush of swings and jabs was quickly followed by a spin, pushing her shield into her opponent’s and sending him staggering back.
In that brief moment of an opening, she took her opportunity to hit true.
Lord Wright grimaced as he stared the incoming attack down dumbly, narrowly pivoting on his front foot to swing his chest out of the way of the jab. The Lady was carried with her momentum, giving the Lord a chance to swing for her armoured back.
The whistling of air through the tube gave away Lord Phoenix Wright’s attack, giving Lady Maya Fey the chance to duck and roll off to the side, ensuring all tube would hit was air.
After a moment longer, Miles elected to stand while he watched the battle happen before him and Pearl resumed doodling the new development in the action. He watched as the two danced about in the little space they had made for themselves, trading blows to the shields with their paper towel rolls and dodged other strikes that would’ve knocked against their armour. As much as Miles told himself that the whole thing as utterly outrageous and pointless, he didn’t correct himself when he admired the commitment to the theatrics. The whole time, they traded verbal blows at each other, all in these weird characters they seemed to have made. The prosecutor began to recognize Wright’s apparent need for a book full of history for… whatever this all was. They cited previous battles in their taunts and sneers, arguing like old generals who had fought each other over decades.
Ever further into combat they went, and Miles watched with something akin to awe. He recognized the way Wright would fight; it felt familiar to him. Letting his opponent get the first word in before finding small openings to strike upon. Pull back at the retaliation, rinse, repeat. All the while– despite being on the back foot– he dodged with deliberation, leading his opponent around the battlefield to be exactly where he wanted them to be before attacking again. Miles himself had been that opponent many times, playing out that same dance with the defense attorney in court. He bit his tongue as he squinted. It was not jealousy bubbling up in his chest. He certainly had no desire to participate in this bizarre fantasy world before him where knights wore corrugated armour.
Then, there was a shift in the air. The atmosphere seemed to become charged and that energy seeped into Miles’ chest.
The swordplay slowed. Both Wright and Miss Fey were breathing heavily, getting quite the workout from running about the office. The clouds outside darkened and rumbled. The moment shared in a different world darkened to match.
With a look of steely determination, Lord Phoenix Wright darted forward, pushing off of his back with his sword tucked across his chest. Lady Fey startled at the sudden advance, the exhaustion from playing so aggressively so early slowing her move to defend herself in a crucial moment.
Lord Wright swung wide…
… and hit true.
With a hollow thunk, the tube struck Lady Maya Fey’s hand that held her roll, and her grip failed. The Lord’s opponent’s sword spun through the air, tossed far away from it’s owner.
Lady Fey stumbled away, visibly dreading the shift in the tides she found herself caught up in. Her breathing was labored and her empty hand grasped at nothing.
On the other hand, Lord Wright’s grin grew wicked, savoring the taste of impending victory. The shadows grew deeper. The storm outside brewed.
“Lady Maya Fey of House Fey,” he addressed his opponent again with faux pleasantries. His facetiousness was palpable. “You seem to be caught in a vulnerable position. I would say it’s a pity, but I find I’m rather satisfied with this outcome,” he leered, walking slow, tall, and proud. Lady Fey didn’t quite cower, but she felt the shadow of Lord Phoenix Wright bearing down on her. “Come now, Good Lady of the Land! Your defeat is at hand. All there is to do is reach out and grasp it.”
His smirk dropped, face growing quiet, yet dangerous.
“Surrender.” The command was more of a threat.
Lady Fey’s eyes darted about. From her enemy, to her sword, to her fortress, to—
Miles’ heart was seized by something he couldn’t describe. In that moment, he knew his fate was sealed.
Lady Maya Fey saw him.
Their eyes met from across the room. She was still hunched, a small animal caught in the snare of a long-laid trap. He was standing on the sidelines, just a foot away from the scribe that toiled away at the records. The moment was no longer than fraction of a second, but that was only as long as it needed to be. It was long enough for Lady Fey to get a look that Miles knew far too well. It was a look of pure wickedness. He could see the harebrained scheme that was rapidly coalescing in her mind.
A violent chill raced up Miles’ spine. That moment was all he needed to know that he was officially an actor in this play. He suddenly feared for his life.
The Lady turned her devious grin to Lord Wright, making the man narrow his eyes at her.
Not a breath later, she bolted, making a clear line towards Miles. It was happening too fast for him to force a response, though he didn’t know what he would’ve done. There was nary a place to run where she wouldn’t catch him first, and he certainly wasn’t going to tussle with Miss Fey.
The Lady collided with Miles, arm wrapping around his chest to hold him flush against her cardboard armour. She reached under the cardboard on her back and pulled out a hidden toilet paper roll to hold against Miles’ bare neck. Though he knew that it was just paper and that he wasn’t in any true danger, he couldn’t keep himself from gulping against the pressure and trying to lean away from the roll, only exposing his neck further. There was some kind of power behind the conviction through which the two of them had acted.
Now he was really quite lost on what he was supposed to be doing, or what was even happening. Despite his own wishes, he had been dragged into this scene with Wright and Miss Fey. Miles was awash with confusion and shock, left to stare dumbly out as the two actors continued to play their roles. A little voice in him wondered what the point of this move was. He had no idea what was even happening; what horse did he even have in this race?
Confusion only continued to win in Miles’ mind as he made eye contact with Wright. Lord Wright.
The Lord looked like had been struck. Or… maybe it was more accurate to say it looked like he was being skewered in the heart. Any smug posturing or cold threats drained out with the blood in his face, leaving him pale and frightened. No more was he a Lord of the Land, but a simple, scared man.
Lady Fey chuckled, finally enjoying the direction of the tide.
“Tell me what the matter is, Lord Phoenix Wright! You look quite ill!” she taunted, getting high on the power she found herself in the possession of. Miles despised being the object through which that power was channeled.
Lord Wright visibly clenched his jaw, eyes frantically flitting between the Lady and her hostage. “Fowl Lady of the Land…” he hissed through his teeth. “Your quarrel is with me. Release Lord Edgeworth at once!” he demanded. His commanding presence had fully wilted, leaving only a veil to hide what his words truly were. A desperate plea.
Miles blinked at the title had been suddenly handed. He had nothing to do with any of this mess, and yet he was some Lord of the Land in their silly game? Miss Fey didn’t miss a beat, cackling in Wright’s face. Either this had been long since established or she was marvelous at improvisation.
“I think not!” she bit back, still grinning madly. “Tell me, Lord Phoenix Ollweys Wright of House Phoenix: at what cost do you weigh your Beloved’s head at? Think carefully now! My hand is straying…” She pressed the toilet paper tube harder against Miles’ neck to drive the point home.
Hey. Wait.
BELOVED!?!?!?
Once again, not a single beat missed by either of them! All the while, Miles was left absolutely floundering at how quickly the entire world was rushing by him. What was even happening!? What parallel universe did he fall ass-backwards into!? Surely none of this was real!
Wright didn’t even correct her! He just kept glaring at Miss Fey, trembling like an ill man! Like she really had “his Beloved” at knife point!!! “Lady Fey…” he whispered, quiet and desperate (DESPERATE!!!). “Unhand him. Please.” Did Wright have to sound so broken when he said that!?
“Oh, Phoenix,” Miss Fey cooed with sickening sweetness. Her smile was wide, edges as sharp as real knives. “You know what I want.” Now it was her turn to drop that smile and level Wright with a dead-eyed stare.
“Surrender.”
Lord Wright didn’t hesitate for a moment.
Sword and shield falling sharply to the ground, Phoenix Wright fell with them, knees hitting the carpet with a painful thud. He hung his head, arms limp at his sides. “I surrender.”
Miles could hear Pearl’s tiny gasp off to his side, but he didn’t bother tearing his bewildered stare away from Wright, who didn’t move after yielding.
“Perfect. Victory is mine,” Miss Fey declared, smug at her sudden and unseen win.
Wright glared at her through his cardboard helmet. “I hope you rest well with your ill-gotten victory. May the snakes welcome you to their den.” His lips pulled back into a snarl as he lobbied one last insult from the ground.
Though, it seemed that it no longer held weight, as Miss Fey casually dropped her arms, releasing Miles and cocking her hip to the side to stare bemusedly at the lawyer. “You can stop being dramatic now, Nick.” Miles nearly collapsed with relief. He had never felt more happy to hear someone call Phoenix “Nick.”
However, “Nick” wasn’t so pleased. He righted himself, flinging his tissue paper plume out of his eyes. “Come on, Maya! You can’t just shrug off the best line I’ve come up with this whole battle!”
“Pfft! That was your best!? Thank god you became a lawyer, Nick. Now, get ready! It’s burgers tonight!” She stepped around Edgeworth, leaving him to keep staring at Wright. “How’re the records coming, Pearly? Do I look cool?”
“Of course, Mystic Maya! Look, look! I’m almost done with the victory pose, see?”
Phoenix sighed, standing and removing his prop helmet from his head. His hair wasn’t so spiky anymore, having been crunched down by the constraints of the cardboard. Sweat had collected on his forehead, causing a few strands of hair to stick. Miles watched with far too much interest. He watched as Wright disassembled his handiwork, stripping the odd armour and revealing his dress shirt and tie underneath.
Wright looked up, catching Edgeworth staring him down. Edgeworth did not look away, and silence prevailed as they held eye contact. All Miles was waiting for was the other shoe to drop.
And drop it did, as realization dawned on Phoenix. Quick to follow was the horror. All the while Miles just stared at him, self assured that he was the same shade of red as his blazer.
“Oh my god,” Wright barely whispered. Now they were both trying to colour match Miles’ suit.
Miles belatedly cleared his throat, covering his mouth with one fist. “Uhm. I came to… pass off. The file.” He extended his other hand, not caring about how creased all the papers were getting from how tightly he was gripping them.
Wright didn’t move to do anything. Like a record stuck on a scratch, he just stared and stared, face frozen in slack-jawed shock. Not even the beginnings of words were trying to get out. By now, even Maya and Pearl were looking at the two of them.
Clearing his throat again uselessly, Miles quietly shuffled over to the displaced coffee table. “I’ll just. Leave this here.” Well, the file was successfully passed off! It was time to disappear into the rain and book the first flight to the other side of the god damn world. “I bid you adieu.”
“W-wait!” Finally, Wright seemed to find himself again and tried to follow Miles out of his office. Despite how fast he was trying to walk without outright running, Wright had no qualms with running after him. He snagged the back of Miles’ overcoat, using enough force to get him to stop. “I-I’m sorry! Uh… yeah, I know you came into something… weird. Uh. But! Uhnm…” He struggled, not even sure what he was even trying to say.
“The Young Miss Fey filled me in on the most of it,” Miles explained shortly. “I wasn’t expecting to become an active participant.”
“Ahahah! Yeah– uh.” He dropped Miles’ coat to rub at the back of his head with a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I guess Maya just got a little too into it, ya’ know?”
Miles pulled a face, brows knitting together. “‘Into it?’”
“Yeah! Like. Too in character! Got really swept up in it!” he emphatically explained, practically begging for the other man to understand.
Studying Wright closer, Miles narrowed his eyes. “And you playing along.”
“UUH. W-wh… what about it?”
“You also, quote, ‘got swept up in it?’”
A brief second. “Yes.”
“So you were playing a character named ‘Phoenix Ollweys Wright’ who was in love with a man named ‘Miles Epert Edgeworth.’” Edgeworth got in closer, putting the pressure on to ensure he got the truth, whatever that may be.
The proximity seemed to do the trick, because the near instant reaction was an offended, “OF COURSE NOT!” before he, apparently, thought better of it and tried to stammer over it to cover up the slip. “A-a-a-a-h! I-I mean! Of COURSE! A character! HAHAHA! J-just… you know! When you just do things! Ha! Ha.”
Miles leveled Phoenix with a serious glare.
At that, his poorly made front crumpled. “Eh. Well… You weren’t really supposed to find out.” Phoenix averted his gaze, trying to find something interesting to look at on the floor. “This whole thing started because Maya and I would hit each other with old paper towel rolls. And then we started using boxes as helmets. And then… well, now we have fortresses, a scribe, and a whole book about the lore that ended up getting made about the whole thing.”
Crossing his arms, Miles finally leaned back to let off the pressure and tapped his finger against his arm. “And I ended as your…” he choked on his words a bit, feeling an uncomfortable roil in his chest as he tried to force them out. “I was your… Beloved.”
Phoenix didn’t say anything. Miles supposed there wasn’t much to say.
He huffed, a bitter smile slipping in as he commented, “I suppose you and Miss Fey would find that amusing.”
“That wasn’t it,” he interjected. Not hasty, not frantic. It was an even, simple correction. He still wouldn’t look at Miles. “It was already a fantasy.”
In turn, Miles met Phoenix with the same, level-headed statements. “It was something you wanted, but didn’t have.”
Phoenix hefted a deep sigh, his hand returning to his neck to rub at the tension there. “I’ll stop, if it makes you uncomfortable. Again, I… didn’t expect you to ever find out.”
“If I’m not allowed to put words into your mouth, Wright,” Miles pointedly said, “then you cannot do it either.”
Phoenix’s jaw clacked shut, catching all the layers of intent underneath the correction.
Still, the hallway was quiet as the two sides waited for the next move. Miles knew he wasn’t ready to address the elephant they were determined to dance around, and from the looks of it, neither was Phoenix. So it was the two of them in the middle of an office building hallway, refusing to make eye contact with the other as a storm rumbled just beyond the walls.
Phoenix opened his mouth first, but only to backpedal. “Thanks for the file.”
Miles closed his eyes and bowed his head a bit. “It’s my pleasure.” Curse the both of them.
“I really appreciate when you do that for me. You never have to,” he specified further.
“I want to,” he said, like it was the most natural conclusion.
A few seconds longer passed. Had any more gone by, Miles would’ve simply left it at that, not willing to go nowhere fast. However…
“I’m not doing anything this Saturday.” A question.
Miles opened one eye to peer at Phoenix. He was looking off to the side, waiting.
“A coincidence. Neither am I.” An answer.
Phoenix finally looked back to Miles. “Would you want to do nothing together?”
“Or we could do something,” Miles countered, not fighting the slight smile.
That earned him a little chuckle. “Either works. I’m not married to doing nothing.”
“How does 4pm sound?”
“Like a good time to do nothing or something.”
Miles nodded, finally turning to leave. “Very well. 4pm on Saturday. Doing nothing or something.”
He got halfway down the hall when he heard Phoenix shouting after him, “It’s a date, then!” Excited, but nervous.
He didn’t speak up to deny it.