His anger lasted all the way home. For Phoenix, this was a record; he rarely got truly angry and even when he did, it tended to be in quick, irrational outbursts that ended as suddenly as they had begun. So the fact that he stayed mad for the two hours it took to go home (he'd missed his bus and then was too irritated to wait for the next, so walking had taken much longer) was pretty significant. He fumed and kicked nearly every trashcan he passed, with the result that his toes were now aching and his shoes were scuffed, which just made his mood even worse.

But something about the sight of his cheap, scratchy couch and empty kitchenette just leeched all that fury out of him, and Phoenix trudged over and fell into the couch with a deep sigh. He lay there, face pressed directly into the cushion so that his nose was squished and it was hard to breathe, for several minutes, before finally dragging himself to a sitting position. Wearily, he freed his aching toes from their socks and shoes, and shrugged his jacket off before slouching over to the kitchen. He opened his fridge door and examined the contents.

A six-pack of cheap beer, half a watermelon, two eggs, and some leftover takeout stared back.

Phoenix sighed and took out a beer. He really needed to go shopping. He actually liked cooking; there was no reason for his fridge to be in this state, except the perpetually empty state of his wallet, and the fact that lately, he'd been spending a lot of time at Miles'.

Eurgh. Phoenix chugged half the beer without taking a breath, then sat down on the kitchen floor and put his head in his hands. Miles. Shit.

He would have to apologize, he knew that. Sure, Miles' joke had been in poor taste – it was quite unlike him, but then, he had been very irritated about Phoenix's interview. In truth, Phoenix really hadn't said all that much – but he'd been so flustered at the thought people wanted to interview him, that he'd shared some of Miles' personal life with a group of people who really had no right to the knowledge, despite knowing how much he valued his privacy. Phoenix still thought Miles was more upset about the interview than he needed to be (it had been two months, he should just get over it already), and that joke tonight had been cruel… but that wasn't the point right now.

He'd overreacted. He knew that. Of course Miles didn't think of him as nothing more than some kind of sexual outlet. Miles valued his companionship highly; Phoenix was well aware of that.

And clearly that whole allegation about his lack of sexual prowess was just the sort of bull people blurted out when they were arguing. Phoenix was pretty convinced that he did all right in that compartment; sure, he didn't exactly have the kinkiest habits, but Miles never seemed to care. Right from the beginning, he had always been very appreciative of Phoenix's efforts in bed – almost oddly so, really. Sure, he was good, but Phoenix hadn't thought he was quite that good… But over time, Miles' stamina had gotten much better and Phoenix always assumed he'd just come out of a long dry spell when they first started going out.

Anyway, the point was that Phoenix had overreacted, and he knew it, and tomorrow he would have to make it up to his boyfriend. Miles had been a jerk, but not to the extent that he deserved a cliché 'We're through!' speech (Phoenix winced at the memory). Not to mention the elevator.

Phoenix winced again, drained the rest of the bottle, and elbowed open the fridge door in search of another one. Using the elevator had just been going too far. He was intimately acquainted with Miles' elevator issues, and had made it a point to avoid them himself whenever they were together. He'd never used the elevator in Miles' apartment building at all before today, and it felt sort of like a betrayal.

He'd just – he'd just been so angry. No, not even that, really… It hadn't been anger that prompted the fight, so much as hurt. Hurt that Miles actually cared so little, that his emotions for Phoenix were so clearly shallow enough to allow him to make a joke like that.

This wasn't news, of course. Phoenix had known from the start that there was a wide difference in their emotions, and he hadn't let it bother him until now. He'd told himself that every relationship was like this; one person always cared more than the other, it was just a question of how much. Given Miles' emotional reticence, the little he offered was more significant than three times as much from someone else would have been. So Phoenix didn't mind that Miles never asked him out, and rarely initiated physical contact. He'd only said he loved Phoenix a few times, looking supremely uncomfortable (and sounding supremely unconvincing) whenever he did so – but the fact that he even tried to reciprocate meant a lot. Miles cared as much as he was able.

Normally, Phoenix wasn't bothered much. Today was just so… unexpected. He'd been smacked in the face with something he normally pretended did not exist; and he'd lashed out more harshly than Miles deserved. He wasn't truly angry at his boyfriend, not anymore.

Phoenix wasn't angry, and in retrospect he wasn't even all that surprised. Mostly, he just felt tired. And sad.

His dinner consisted of all six beers and a few spoonfuls of watermelon before Phoenix gave up and sprawled across the couch, watching crime dramas in a depressed, drunken stupor until three in the morning.

Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow he would apologize and set this right. Just now, the thought of calling Miles made him feel sick to his stomach, but tomorrow Phoenix would fix this, and everything would go back to normal.

He sighed, watching the hero face off against the enemy-of-the-episode, and tried not to notice that normal only made him think of the disdainful curl to Miles' lips during his 'proposal', and how his gut had dropped all the way to the bottom of the Marianas Trench.

-xxx-

Phoenix woke of his own volition at one in the afternoon. When he blearily checked his phone to see why the alarm hadn't woken him on time, it was dead. He took that as a sign that he should take the day off. It was only Tuesday and he had a hugely important trial to prepare for in two days, so it was not exactly the best timing for a day off, but Phoenix didn't care. Despite the extensive press coverage, this was actually by far one of the easier cases he'd ever taken. He already knew the 'murder' was nothing but an accident, and had a solid alibi for his client, so he did not much care about preparing.

Well, not for the trial, anyway. There was still plenty that could be done.

After a brunch of leftover Chinese food, Phoenix dressed in casual clothes and headed out to do some shopping. He scoped out all the on-sale items and managed to scrabble together enough ingredients for a cake. It was frivolous to bake a cake instead of getting sixteen boxes of ramen or oatmeal or something, but Phoenix didn't really mind. In a few days he'd be getting paid for his 'big trial', and he could last until then.

He ambled slowly back home, enjoying the sunshine, and then turned the radio on a classical music station while he baked. To be honest, he didn't even like classical music, but Miles played it all the time and it got stuck in his head. Phoenix didn't know the names of anything he was listening to, but there was something soothing and fond in the music, and it went well with the bright sunshine and flour for some reason. He found himself humming along.

Miles didn't actually like cakes, Phoenix knew, but that was mostly because they were too sweet, so a lemon cake might be appreciated. He hoped it would be, anyway, because he knew how to change a vanilla cake recipe into a lemon cake one, but that was the extent of his relevant baking knowledge. He didn't have a cookbook or computer at home to look up a different recipe, so he could only go by memory. Miles would probably eat a piece to be polite even if he didn't like it, but Phoenix was pretty sure he'd enjoy this. He got it in the oven, then went into his bedroom and dug around throughout the back of his closet for a long time before finally finding what he was looking for: a rare limited edition Steel Samurai collectible card that Will Powers had given to him as part of his payment. Phoenix had been hanging onto it for sentimental reasons, but he knew Miles would be thrilled to receive it – even if he pretended not to know what it was.

The oven beeped, so Phoenix went and rescued the cake, which looked decidedly amateurish but smelled tasty nonetheless. He noticed he'd forgotten to put his phone on the charger so he did that, and then took a lengthy, thorough shower before spending far too long picking out which clothes to wear. When he was finally dressed (in a regular t-shirt and jeans, despite all the deliberation), he put the cake on a plate and strewed some plastic-wrap over it, then headed out the door, grabbing his phone and wallet on the way. Miles wouldn't be home for hours yet, but it was a nice day. He could hang out on a park bench for a while.

Phoenix knew he was being a little ridiculous. A cake and a collectible card weren't going to solve any problems, not really. But it felt better than showing up empty-handed. And he didn't really want to solve whatever problems festered beneath the comfortable surface of his and Miles' relationship. There was this low ache in his throat every time he thought about those problems, the sort of ache that came of knowing Miles would probably leave rather than work through them. If it were even possible to work through something as simply uncontrollable as their problem.

No, all Phoenix wanted was to apologize and be forgiven, and then never mention this again. Which was probably extremely unhealthy, but – the sun was warm, the sky blue, a light breeze was in the air, and he didn't want to think.

Phoenix lay on his back across the bench, cake on his lap, and closed his eyes. Then he opened them, and reached for his phone; if he didn't set an alarm for himself he'd end up falling asleep and staying that way until nighttime.

It was still off; he'd forgotten to turn it on when it was on the charger. As soon as Phoenix powered up the device, it started buzzing in his hands: he had twenty-three missed calls, eight voicemails, and twelve text messages. Blinking, he sat up – then fumbled for the cake, which was slipping towards the ground.

Most of the calls were from Maya, so he called her back first. She answered on the first ring.

"Nick! Oh, Nick, are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said dubiously. "What about you? Maya, is everything all right?"

She huffed into the speaker. "Of course I'm fine, I'm worried about you! What happened with Mr. Edgeworth?"

Phoenix wondered momentarily if Kurain had branched out to mind-reading. He glanced guiltily at the cake. "Um, nothing." He looked at the cake again. "Okay, so we kind of had an argument, but I really don't think it's anything you need –"

"Don't lie to me, Nick!" Maya scolded. "I know it wasn't just an argument!"

"…What?"

"Nick," she sighed. "He told some reporters. The story is on the front page of the Litigator's Libel."

"What is that," Phoenix asked in mild horror. "Is that a gossip magazine about lawyers? That is a terrible name for a magazine. The name actually tells you they're lying."

"It's an online magazine," Maya said haughtily. "And I like it. They called me your 'trusty sidekick' a while ago."

"What kind of lawyer has a trusty sidekick?" Phoenix asked. "You are not my trusty sidekick."

"I am too!" Maya snapped. "Stop trying to distract me!"

"Distract you from what, exactly?"

"From the fact that you broke up with Mr. Edgeworth, of course! What else?"

Phoenix dropped his phone. When he picked it up, Maya was saying "-orried! Where are you? I've been waiting at the office all day!"

"I took the day off," Phoenix said slowly, still processing. "Sorry, I forgot to tell you."

"Oh." Maya's voice grew very small. "No, it's okay. I was just –"

"–worried, I get it. Thanks." Phoenix smiled slightly, as if she could see him. "Um, just to clarify, Miles told a bunch of – he told the press that we broke up?"

Maya cleared her throat, and said, in an oddly deep voice, "'Just Not Wright For Me'. That's Wright with a 'w', you know, so it's like –"

"I get it, Maya," Phoenix sighed, and rubbed a hand across his face.

"That's the title of the article," she said quietly, then adopted her reading voice once more. "'We've broken up,' announces Miles Edgeworth, widely known as the Demon Prosecutor, voted Solicitor Stud three years running, a bitter smile playing about his refined features. The heartbreak is evident in his eyes –"

"Okay, okay, just – stop. Stop reading," Phoenix said. Then, "He said that? Not the stupid 'Solicitor Stud' crap, but – he said that we broke up. To – to the presses."

"Yeah," Maya agreed hesitantly. "I thought – I thought you knew."

"Oh, no, no, of course I did," Phoenix laughed. It came out rather hoarsely. "I was the one who suggested it, actually. I'm just – surprised he went through with it – you know, because he hates reporters…"

He cleared his throat. His eyes were stinging. Maya was silent on the other end of the line.

The sky was very blue.

"You know what, Maya," Phoenix said. His voice cracked a little on her name. "I'm just going to – I'll see you tomorrow, okay? And we can talk then. You don't have to worry about me."

"But –"

"I'll explain it all tomorrow," Phoenix said. "So just… go home, okay? Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

The sky looked quite blurry. He closed his eyes. Maya said, "Nick–"

"Tomorrow, Maya. And… thanks for letting me know."

Phoenix hung up very gently, and tucked the phone back into his pocket. He sat in the sun, head hanging over the back of the bench. He felt very warm and very heavy and like he should have seen this coming.

He had not seen this coming.

Eventually, he got up, wiping at his cheeks. He picked up his lemon cake, battled an urge to drop-kick it, and walked until he found a homeless person.

"You like lemon cake?" Phoenix asked.

The man gave him a look like he'd found Phoenix on the bottom of his shoe. Which, in turn, had been in a dumpster. "No. I like chocolate."

Phoenix stared. He wanted to think something witty and sarcastic, but all that seemed to come was you are not very nice, which was neither.

"Oh," he said, and walked until he found a different homeless person. He shoved the cake at her and left before she could refuse it too, then walked home.

The classical music was still playing on the radio. He had forgotten to turn it off.

Phoenix burst out laughing, (because he hated classical music) and unplugged the radio so violently it fell off the counter and broke into a million useless bits of plastic. He kicked the piece of junk, which hurt his toes again, then went to bed fully dressed and laughed and laughed, rolling around in the sheets.

He didn't even know why he was laughing, except that he hated classical music and he loved Miles Edgeworth and that was all over now and he had seen it coming but he just didn't want to admit it, and they were in court together two days from now and that was somehow just the funniest thing.

His laughter was wet, and gasping, and hurt deep beneath his breastbone. He laughed for a long time.