piano man, he makes his stand in the auditorium
looking on, she sings the songs: the words she knows, the tune she hums
but, oh, how it feels so real— lying here, with no one near
only you, and you can hear me when i say softly, slowly:
"hold me closer, tiny dancer / count the headlights on the highway
lay me down in sheets of linen / you had a busy day today"

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

"Please, she's so overrated! Lisista's good, but she plays like a computer."

"She does not! Playing with emotion doesn't have to mean looking like an idiot, like Perahia does! And Kempff skips half of the notes! You can go on and on about the emotion in a piece all you like, but it hardly counts for anything if you can't nail down the technical basics."

"Yeah, but speed isn't everything, either. Have you heard Lisista play the first movement? She barrels through it! Technical skill means very little if you can't understand the basic language of the piece!"

Miles sighed in annoyance. He had nothing to add.

He was in his music theory class, and the other pianists had asked about his orchestra audition. His mentioning that he played the Moonlight Sonata had caused an argument about whose version was best. It seemed that no one could agree. Armando's tapping of his podium brought the argument to a sudden stop.

"Now that I have your attention," he began teasingly, "I'd like to announce to those of you in our orchestra that we'll be increasing after-school practice to four times a week, in preparation for our upcoming performance at the local symphony theatre. I'll go over the details at this evening's practice."

Miles feebly began to raise his hand.

"And yes, Miles, that includes you. We'll be performing a piano concerto. You'll be informed of which later this evening."

Miles nodded, somewhat weakly, and felt one of the other students pat him on the back. As loud and obnoxious as they could be, the students here were kind. The other pianists at Prestige had scoffed and turned up their noses at him when he was selected for his first performance.

Within moments, Armando dismissed the class, and Miles made his way for the Literature building, where Ema, Maya, and Iris waited for him. He arrived early. As always, the girls had saved him a seat. Dahlia, thankfully, seemed to be busy preparing her latest victim— or, rather, talking to a boy who was interested in dating her. Phoenix had told Miles all about what happened to men who dared get too close to either of the Hawthorne girls, though he'd been curiously vague about how he'd come by the information in such intimate detail.

Ema forced Miles into his chair while Maya sat on the desk directly in front of him, wiggling back and forth. He'd made the mistake of sending her a brief text message on his way over. He wasn't sure why he'd felt compelled to do so.

"Tell us, tell us! How do you feel? What do you think you're gonna play? When can we come and see you?!"

Miles stopped her there.

"Coming to watch seems a bit, er, excessive—"

"It's not!" Ema insisted. "It's what friends do, silly! They support each other's endeavors! ...Besides, Iris is gonna be there, and so are Adrian and Franzy!"

Miles flinched at the mention of his 'sister'. Ema frowned. She always realized what she'd said just a moment too late to retract it.

"Has anyone spoken to her?" he asked tentatively. Franziska had been very busy recently. So much so that she had little time to spend with any of her "friends"— especially with how often her father had been calling her, or, allegedly, stopping by to check on her. She didn't seem to be intentionally avoiding anyone, but she hardly ever ate lunch with them anymore, and she hadn't tagged along for an outing in a while.

Iris patted Miles' shoulder.

"I haven't seen her in a short while, but I did get a chance to speak with Adrian. And... she says that they got a chance to properly talk. Franziska swears that she isn't angry with any of us, but that she needs the space right now and isn't yet ready to talk about it. Give her time, okay?" She squeezed the shoulder that she held— gently, but hard enough to be convincing. Miles could only manage a slight nod. Ema jostled one of his feet with hers.

"Cheer up, now! You've gotten good news— her, too! This concert might be just the thing to bring her back to us!"

Miles had to ponder that for a moment. It was a fair point. Music was the only language in which Franziska could freely express herself. And maybe— just maybe— music would be the thing to bring her to her senses.

Perhaps he was being too hopeful. He'd been doing a lot of that lately. It didn't suit him. Maybe he was falling ill.

"...You're right. I suppose that the important thing is for us to be there for her, yes?"

Ema gave him one of her crushing side-hugs.

"Such a sweetheart," Maya chirped. Miles scoffed and looked around the room, hoping to find an excuse to avoid the inevitable tsundere comments. His eyes settled on Dahlia, who swooned sweetly over a poor and unsuspecting freshman boy.

"Quite the actress, isn't she?" he whispered.

He'd made the mistake of forgetting how often Maya forgot to whisper.

"Yeah, you wouldn't know that she's literally Satan just by looking at her, would you?" Maya said far too loudly. "She always goes for the younger guys. They're too naive to suspect anything!"

Dahlia snorted, loudly and obnoxiously, and threw her hair behind her shoulders in a way that was somehow threatening.

"Oh, I go for stupid guys? You should be directing those comments at my dear sister!" She directed her malevolent gaze at Iris, who crumbled beneath it and moved to hide behind Maya. "I guarantee that a hundred of your last boyfriend couldn't hold a candle to a single one of mine."

Maya jumped off of her desk and assumed what looked like a fighting stance. Iris desperately tried to pull her back. Miles didn't think that Maya would actually throw a punch, but she looked angry enough to surprise him.

"You leave him out of this!"

Dahlia rolled her eyes. The boy she'd been talking to had escaped, but she didn't seem to care.

"Defending him, are we? Because you're not a whole lot smarter than bird boy himself. I highly doubt that you can do anything useful."

She sneered, and Miles glared at her, sitting up straighter in his seat.

"Don't speak to her in such a—"

"PHOE-NIX," Ema shouted. "P-H-O-E-N-I-X. Not bird boy, and certainly not stupid!"

Miles paused. Was he misunderstanding Ema, or had—

"H-He can be a little scatterbrained sometimes, but..." Iris started to stammer. Ema cut her off.

"UGH— don't make excuses for her! See, this is why he dumped you!"

Iris, much like a flower, seemed to wilt. Miles put two and two together, and he wasn't sure how to react. Maya gently slapped at Ema.

"Don't say things like that!"

Dahlia seemed convinced that she had made her point. She huffed, victoriously, and turned to face the blackboard. Ema tried to apologize, but Iris said nothing. She simply kept her head down and took her seat beside her sister. And, to Miles' surprise, she mumbled to Dahlia that she was sorry.

Sorry for what? Miles wondered. She hadn't done anything even remotely wrong. Not to Dahlia, anyway. Her refusal to stand up for Phoenix (apparently her ex-boyfriend?) was truly perplexing.

Was she a pushover? Was it fear? Or was it some combination of the two?

Miles tried to ask Maya what had just happened, but it was too late. The professor arrived, announcing that it was time for class to begin.

Miles didn't get a chance to ask Maya until he just barely caught her in the hallway before they had to part ways.

"Iris and Phoenix," he huffed, out of breath from his chase. "They were an item?"

Maya looked at him strangely, and then a devious smile slowly crept over her features.

"Oh, those two? Yeah, they dated. They met freshman year, and they dated for almost seven months. They broke up pretty early in their second year. Why? Does that..." her smile widened into a grin. "...bother you?"

Miles flinched, indignant, and furrowed his brow.

"No! It just strikes me as strange that no one had bothered to mention it to me thus far, as well as the fact that they're still such close friends! ...Especially if that earlier fiasco was any indication of—"

"Relax, Mr. Thesaurus," Maya teased. "Some people are better as friends, and that's the case with those two. They didn't work together because they're both too nice. Dahlia made Nick's life an absolute hell, Iris was too nice to stop her, Nick was too nice to get mad at her— and, well, it couldn't last."

"...So it was Dahlia, then?" Miles muttered. Maya gave something between a nod and a shrug.

"Well... Yes and no. I don't know all the details, 'cause Nick doesn't really like talking about it, but Dahlia was..." she paused to think. "...I think that he could have withstood her. He wanted to make things work, y'know? B-But Iris never called Dahlia out. To him, it must've felt like she wasn't even trying. Like she didn't even care, and he was the only one fighting for them. And... Well, this is just speculation, but I think it made him realize that she wasn't perfect. He was infatuated with her, really."

"That's... Hmm." Miles frowned. He tried to imagine how badly Dahlia must have treated Phoenix, if it was bad enough to make him give up on a relationship. He almost didn't want to know.

"He's better off helping her from a friendship kind of distance, I think," Maya added. "He can't fix their relationship for them, but he can still be there to support Iris, to give her some encouragement. That's why I think that they're better off as friends."

Miles swallowed everything that she had said, and then he nodded. He understood. Or felt that he did, anyway. Maybe he'd ask Phoenix to elaborate later.

For now, he had a class to attend.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Phoenix stopping by Miles' dorm so that they could study and complete their assignments together had become a regular routine, something that took place at least twice a week. After the first time, Miles had asked if there was something he could do to help Phoenix focus. Phoenix had suggested letting him listen to the radio, and Miles had agreed. He didn't use it much, so it was always set to Phoenix's preferred station.

On most days, the soft and familiar background music worked in keeping Phoenix focused.

Other days, he used it as an excuse to "annoy" Miles.

"IIIIIII was a willow last night in my dream—"

Miles groaned. He tried to ignore Phoenix and stared intensely at his notes, though it was clear he wasn't actually doing or absorbing anything in doing so.

"Not this agai—"

"I bent down ooover a clear-running stream—"

"God."

"And sang you the song that I heard up above, while you kept me alive with your SWEET FLOWIN' LOOOOOOVE—"

The note wasn't even slightly correct, and much more loud and piercing than Phoenix had intended it to be. He immediately covered his mouth, laughing in his embarrassment. Miles sighed.

"Now, if you're finished with your attempts to shatter my windowpanes—"

"Hey! It wasn't that bad!"

"Whatever makes you feel better, Wright."

Miles let out a haughty, joyless chuckle of some sort that was dripping with disdain. He only ever called him "Wright" condescendingly, as if he was pretending that he didn't know him. Phoenix raised an eyebrow and smirked.

You're a bit of a shithead, aren't you? An adorable little shithead, but still.

Miles was glaring at him when he returned his attention to him.

"What's so funny?" he demanded. Phoenix wiped the smirk from his own face. He tried to, anyway, and probably with little success. Miles didn't look appeased.

It was funny— Miles has technically been nicer to Phoenix when they had barely known one another. It seemed that politeness had only been a layer of professional formality, and that now that that barrier had been removed, Miles sometimes showed an extra layer of defense that revealed itself in the form of scoffs and sarcastic quips.

"...Fine, suit yourself. Go and get a snack or something, then. I intend to pass all of my classes instead of goofing off," he grumbled. Phoenix only giggled.

Phoenix was sure that he should probably be offended, and maybe someone else would have been. But as bitter as Miles' remarks so often were, Phoenix couldn't take them seriously.

There was no real bite to them. They seemed more like a reflex than anything else. He knew that Miles wasn't trying to hurt him or drive him away— if he wanted to do so, why would he bother to ask so many questions? Why would he check up on him via text message, or tell him when he'd gotten good news?

Miles gave his true feelings away in the subtle things, like the slight quirk in the corner of his lip just now as he had pretended to be annoyed. Other people might not have seen it. Phoenix did.

Of course Miles wouldn't admit that he found Phoenix's singing funny. It was silly and childish humor, and he had to keep up his image of being a stuffy intellectual, right? He couldn't dare laugh at such a thing. Phoenix understood.

It never ceased to amaze Phoenix how he felt like he'd known Miles his entire life when they'd only known one another for several months.

"Okay, okay. I'll get back to work," Phoenix relented.

He patted Miles' shoulder as he properly took his seat once more. Miles always reacted a bit oddly to being touched. Sometimes he flinched. Other times, like now, he would stare at the hand that had touched him until long after said contact had faded, like he was trying to process what had happened. Was it really so uncommon for people to touch him?

Maybe Maya should hug him more often, Phoenix thought. He wouldn't dare do it himself. His heartbeat would give him away.

They studied in peace for a while. Phoenix usually didn't start conversations until they had gotten the majority of the work out of the way and had started to work on their own separate assignments. Miles had a tendency to multitask during these talks. It meant that Phoenix got to watch him go through his files and scribble down notes without fear of judgment. He wondered if that made him creepy.

"Do you know what you're going to play?" Miles' pencil slowed somewhat, and his brow lowered, but he didn't look up. "The concert, I mean. You already had practice tonight, right?"

Miles shrugged. He was dismissing the note of concern that he heard in Phoenix's voice.

"It's nothing too serious. One of Beethoven's early concertos. I'm comfortable with my Beethoven, as even you likely already know."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

They playfully bickered for a moment, and then Miles' facade fell.

"I... I am nervous, I suppose. It'll be my first time playing with everyone here. I don't want to let anyone down."

"But Professor Armando said you're better than Wellington was, remember? Besides, an orchestra is a unit, isn't it?"

Miles furrowed his brow. He stopped working and looked up at Phoenix, who pretended that he hadn't been studying the way that he occasionally clenched his jaw.

"...I suppose you wouldn't understand, would you?" He said, mostly to himself. He cleared his throat. "Er, see... A piano isn't always part of an orchestra."

Phoenix felt his eyes go wide.

"Wh— What? It's not?!"

"No," Miles reiterated. "It's not. In fact, the pianist is almost considered a separate performer entirely. It's somewhat rare for an orchestra to keep a regular pianist in their ranks, save for a growing trend towards it in the last couple of years, particularly in this area... Anyway, the point is that there's a lot of pressure on a pianist playing with an orchestra. If I mess up, it could ruin everyone else's timing, and..." He squeezed his eyes shut as if trying to keep that image from playing in his head. "...Also, piano concertos are long. And Professor Armando wants me to perform a solo piece to open up the act— something short, but still."

Phoenix nodded as he listened, trying to absorb it all and correct his mental picture of what an orchestra was.

"...So does that mean that you'll always have to perform piano concertos? I don't imagine there are as many of those as there are other things. Or will you have to sit some concerts out so they can perform the pieces they want to?"

"Professor Armando has been wanting to perform certain pieces that include a pianist for a while now, so he doesn't seem too worried about that. Neither do any of the others. That said, I passed my flute audition. So, if the group wishes to perform something without piano accompaniment, I can simply switch over to the flute. It may take more practice, but it's nice to have the options open to us."

"He made you audition again?!" Phoenix could hardly believe such a thing. Miles didn't seem to think it was a big deal.

"It wasn't as formal as the piano audition. I just had to prove that I can keep up with our other flutist. What, was he simply supposed to take me at my word and allow me to ruin everything? That's not how these things work, I'm afraid!"

It still seemed a little excessive to Phoenix, but he had no choice but to accept it. Armando knew what he was doing. Mia had always held a great deal of respect for him, Phoenix remembered.

"We're gonna go and see you," Phoenix insisted after a moment of quiet had passed. "Whether you like it or not."

"Oh, I don't doubt it," Miles scoffed. He rolled his eyes and went back to his scribbling.

Phoenix watched him, smiling to himself. Miles had pretend to be annoyed by the way that his new friends smothered him, but Phoenix knew.

He knew that Miles was grateful.

It was just then that he got a text message. It was one that he was careful to keep away from Miles. He tried not to grin as he read it.

"What are you so chipper about all of a sudden?" Miles asked. Phoenix winced, realizing he'd failed to hide his smile.

"Uh, nothing. Just, uh, a cute picture of a dog."

"...That's it?"

"That's it!"

Miles gave him a withering stare, but seemed to give up rather quickly. Phoenix thrust his phone back into his pocket. He'd have to check in with Maya and the others about things later. Miles couldn't know. It would ruin the purity of the surprise if he did. So, as much as Phoenix didn't like keeping secrets from Miles, he was faced with no other choice.

It would be more than worth it in the end— if he could keep his mouth shut. He finished his studies and gathered up his things, pausing near the doorway as he always did.

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"I told you I won't be in my classes," Miles reminded him. "I have to help out at the store, so I have people taking notes for me in some classes and have already contacted the professors for the others."

Phoenix winked.

"I'm sure I'll find some way."

Phoenix left before Miles could demand that he explain just what he meant by that.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

More customers filled Vintage Volumes than what was normal for a Thursday night.

Miles found himself running back and forth, helping coordinate things between Uncle Ray and the event organizers and, at the same time, ringing up customers. It was the store's first time hosting such an event. This, of course, meant that things were slightly disorganized.

That said, the customers seemed excited. Miles was grateful to live in an area so intrigued with the arts. Some people stopped him to tell him how great an idea it was, and others had their own suggestions for ways to host similar events in the future.

Miles breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Kay arrive to take his place at the register. She had, as promised, arrived in costume. As far as he could tell, she was some kind of pirate.

"Why didn't you dress up?!" she demanded. Miles rolled his eyes.

"Because I am an adult. That's why."

Just as he said this, Uncle Ray walked up beside him, sporting a different outfit than what he'd had on before. And before he could say something about it, Ray put something on Miles' head. Kay clapped, laughing hysterically and saying something about how it suited him. Miles reached up a hand to feel it, and then he scoffed.

"Devil horns? Really?"

"Hey, I knew you'd never agree to a proper costume!" Ray put up his hands defensively. "It was the only thing I could find that works on its own. Just humor me this once, will you?"

Miles sighed.

"Fine. But I'm not happy about it."

Ray chuckled, patting him on the shoulder.

"Yeah, you never were into Halloween, were you?"

"I'm not one for holiday spirit in general."

"That's true. Anyway, I wanted to let you know that you're officially relieved of duty for now, since Kay is here. Go and get a drink or something. Your friends should be here soon."

Miles raised his eyebrows.

"Who... Why? No one said anything to me about that."

"Oh, no? They must have wanted to surprise you. Miss Skye is entering the contest. I've been told that she'll most certainly win."

Miles smirked.

"If Larry and Phoenix are to be taken at their word, she just might. They insist that the last time they allowed her to read them a story, they were unable to sleep afterwards."

Ray laughed before tossing they keys at Kay and heading to the back of the store once more. His cape fluttered behind him as he did.

"He makes a convincing magician," Kay giggled. "Makes the top hat look normal somehow."

Miles shrugged.

"I suppose he does."

Miles bought himself a cup of tea and waited on the couch. He glanced around the store. Kay had really outdone herself in decorating the place. There were bats and spiders and pumpkins just about everywhere.

Nothing had been scheduled for the actual day of Halloween, which was on Saturday. Ray knew that people likely had parties to attend, or trick-or-treating to do, and weren't likely to flock to a bookstore. So, instead, the store always celebrated 'Halloween Week'. Sales were offered on horror and thriller and mystery books, Kay decorated everything, and employees were given permission to dress up. Now that they had the televisions and the stage, they screened Halloween movies and had scheduled some relevant events. The café, meanwhile, was serving themed food and drinks that Miles had to admit were cute.

Today marked the store's first short story reading and contest, and the theme was scary stories. They'd teamed up with a local radio station that would provide a panel of judges, air the stories on their station, and award a check for five hundred dollars to the scariest story of them all.

Ema arrived with about a half hour to go until the contest started. She carried her printed story with her in a binder, and she'd dialed her usual ensemble up to an eleven, resulting in a mad scientist costume. Miles cracked a smile when he saw her. She did the same when her eyes focused on his headgear, but she didn't comment on it.

"So you decided to come in costume."

"Uh-huh! Helps me really get into it, I think. Everybody else is on their way."

"And who's everybody?"

"Oh— well, I guess not everybody. Larry's bringing Maya and Nick, and Iris is coming. Pearl wanted to join us, too, but her aunt didn't want her hearing scary stories. They dropped her off at the train station already." Ema frowned very slightly, clearly disappointed that she hadn't gotten to see Pearl. There was always next time, though. Maya had her over at least once every couple of weeks, and she sometimes stopped in for quick visits if her aunt had to go into the city.

"I see. ...Should I be expecting any more costumes?" Miles tried to imagine what kind of costume Larry would wear and immediately regretted it.

"From Maya, yeah!" Ema confirmed. "I don't know about the others, though. Larry and Nick probably forgot."

Miles laughed.

"Probably."

He invited Ema to sit with him as they waited. He watched as she read through her own story, as though she was mentally rehearsing. The others arrived at roughly the same time around ten minutes later, and as Ema had guessed, only Maya was in costume. She wore robes similar to her normal clothing, but she had unusual makeup on as well as two furry ears and several fluffy tails, all that carefully matched the color of her hair. Miles didn't know what she was supposed to be.

"Hello, everyone. Don't mind my 'costume', Uncle Ray insi— you wipe that smile off of your face, Wright." He glared, and Phoenix did as he was told. Miles looked at Maya. "Er, Maya, what are you dressed as? If you don't mind my asking..."

Maya giggled and spun around, allowing her sleeves to billow.

"I'm a kitsune!"

Miles glanced at Phoenix, who laughed, somewhat embarrassed. Miles had started looking at him and not saying anything, as if silently begging for help, whenever any such subject was breached, be it Japanese foods or anime tropes. Phoenix couldn't complain, as he'd started doing the same to Miles whenever Adrian used complicated musical terminology or Franziska shouted something in German.

"U-Um, it's, like... A troublesome fox spirit... demon... thing," he explained, and poorly. "Japanese folklore. It's kind of hard to describe. They shape-shift and play tricks."

"Ah," Miles said, nodding. "That's... actually rather sophisticated for a costume."

Iris sighed sadly, looking almost longingly at Maya.

"Oh, I do wish that I could wear costumes. But... my parents wouldn't approve. They don't like Halloween."

"What kind of parents do you have?!" Maya asked angrily, reeling in her surprise. Iris blushed, but didn't seem to want to elaborate. Larry, seemingly in an effort to cheer her up, grinned, and spoke loudly so that everyone looked at him.

"I can't just go breaking out my costume early," he boasted. "It's a once a year kind of surprise!"

"And I forgot," Phoenix admitted. Ema's guess had been half-correct in that regard. "Maya and I match, though. I'm gonna be a demon hunter."

"You have Halloween plans, then," Miles guessed. Larry nodded.

"I'm the only one who goes to real parties, though. These squares just go to the school's movie thing."

"It's a costume party and a movie screening," Phoenix corrected. "The cinematography people host it. Ema and Maya aren't old enough to drink yet, and I'm not really into drunken dancing or hangovers, so..." Phoenix winced, likely recalling an unfortunate experience. A moment, and then he smiled. "You should come with us! Costumes aren't mandatory, and there's comfy seating and lots of snacks. It'd be fun."

Miles averted his eyes.

"I'll think about it. It depends on how long practice runs."

"OH!" Maya seemed to remember something. She ran to the back of the store and returned dragging Uncle Ray with her. "...So. Since you're a magician, and Miles refuses to wear a real costume... Ta-da! I got them the same place I got mine." She used one hand to point at the ears atop her head and the other to hand Ray something that she had hidden in her robes. Ray let out something between a laugh and a victorious cheer. He removed the devil horns from Miles, who glared at him, and replaced them with the new costume.

Bunny ears. They even matched his hair.

Phoenix slapped a hand over his mouth in an effort not to laugh. Or did he want to squeal? It was probably both, he thought. Miles inhaled a long breath, almost like he was keeping a violent outburst suppressed.

"In the meantime, we'll put these where they really belong." Ema took the horns from Ray and placed them on Larry's head. He feigned offense, but made no effort to remove them.

"We match now, Miles!" Ray laughed. "You're the rabbit I'll pull out of my hat!"

"You'll need a much larger hat than that," Miles muttered, sounding defeated. He looked to Maya once more. "How did you know?"

"Hmm?"

"How did you know that Uncle Ray was going to be a magician?"

Maya looked a bit panicked, but casually waved a hand.

"Don't worry about silly things like that!"

She snuck away to hand Kay the duffel bag she'd been carrying. Kay hid it under the counter for her. Miles wanted to ask her the same question again, but the store's lights dimmed, and he heard one of the radio DJs announce the competition's start. He and the rest of the group ran to the stage area.

Ema, who was scheduled to read her story last, sat in a chair near the stage with the other contestants. The chairs lined the back wall, allowing the contestants to chat amongst themselves without disturbing the audience. She seemed to befriend several of the authors almost instantly.

Miles, in the meantime, joined Ray, who sat with the DJs. They were told beforehand that the station would ask them some questions about the store. Miles frowned as a female host playfully flicked one of his rabbit ears. She laughed. Miles didn't look anywhere near as amused.

It was Ray who took the microphone to officially announce the contestants and their story titles. All of the authors had dressed up— like Ema, they'd worn outfits that fit their stories. They were all very enthusiastic about narrating, and some had brought along friends to voice their characters. The radio's DJs provided backing music and sound effects. It was a truly professional event. It was also quite scary. Phoenix felt a chill run up his spine every once in a while, and Maya let out a scream at one point before he hushed her.

Ema was finally allowed on the stage after over an hour of stories and commercial breaks. Miles braced himself. He truly hoped that she was good. He was sure that she could use the money, too. She'd perfected her narration voice. She didn't need extra actors to tell her story, mostly because it had very little dialogue.

Hers was a longer story than many of the others, one that masterfully built suspense through subtlety. That was the case, at least, until she suddenly and casually released cosmic, eldritch horror upon the little world she had built. It was a monster of unspeakable size born from human wastefulness and greed. Which, of course, made it immune to any human efforts to fight back.

There was no happy ending— only despair, only hopelessness and a feeling of impending doom. And when she'd finished the narrative, she reminded the audience, with a wink, that the monster had been given its life by people just like them.

Hers was a different kind of scary story, but it was terrifying in a way that far surpassed any cheap jump-scare.

It came as no surprise that she was crowned the victor. She proudly danced about the stage with her grant check, posed for photos with Ray and Miles and the radio hosts, and thanked the judges for choosing her. She left, very suddenly, with Maya, who retrieved her duffel bag from the cashier's counter and skipped happily away, arm-in-arm, with her friend. Miles wished he'd gotten a chance to properly congratulate her. A text message would have to suffice until he saw her next.

Miles wanted to speak with Phoenix (and the others), but Ray surprised him. He grabbed him by the forearm, preventing him from leaving, and yawned dramatically.

"Y'know, we've still gotta help the radio guys pack up, and close shop, but I'm way too tired to do any of that. Could you help Kay while I go turn in early?"

Miles frowned and glanced to the doorway. He barely caught sight of Larry, Phoenix, and Iris leaving, all shouting quick and casual goodbyes as they did. It was too late to catch them.

"Alright," he huffed. "You've worked hard enough for one day. Go upstairs and get some sleep."

Ray gave him a thankful pat on the shoulder and left, presumably to do just that. Miles sighed as he looked around. It would likely be another thirty minutes or so before he could leave. He made his way to the DJ's table to help them move their equipment.

Forty-five minutes passed. He'd been dragged into conversations by the radio hosts— the female one wouldn't leave him alone, and couldn't take "no" for an answer. Miles contemplated telling her that he wasn't interested in women, but he wasn't about to "come out of the closet" for something so ridiculous. The street was nearly empty by the time he made it outside. Kay, the only one left, had told him to simply go home, had promised she could close up by herself.

Miles trudged up the stairs, wincing at the loud creaks of the wood under his feet. He knocked, as always, just to announce himself to Uncle Ray before he let himself in. There was no response. He wondered if Ray was really already in bed. He instinctively removed his shoes and sweater before he turned to the direction of the kitchen.

"Uncle Ra—"

All at once, a flash of movement as several figures burst from various hiding places in the apartment. There was a thunk as one of them hit his head, and another as a girl bumped into the counter.

"SURPRIIIIISE—!"

Miles, terrified out of his wits, braced his back against the door and put a hand over his rapidly-pounding heart.

"Christ, you scared me half to death! What is this?! For what occasion?!"

"For the orchestra, of course," Ray said, as if it should've been obvious. "We're celebrating your acceptance and your upcoming performance! You never let me do anything fun for your birthday, so... Here we are."

Miles took a moment to process the scene, and then he looked to his right.

"...Larry, are you alright?"

Larry laughed it off, but his expression was tight, and he held a hand to his scalp.

"Nah, I'm fine, don't worry. This apartment isn't exactly made for hiding people in, y'know?"

Maya laughed along with him, hoping no one would notice just how hard the corner of the counter had hit her hip.

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"So it was your doing."

Miles narrowed his eyes at Phoenix. He wasn't asking. He was already certain, and it came out as an accusation.

Phoenix, Larry, Maya, Ema, and Iris stood with him by the apartment door, and Ray lingered in the kitchen. He and Maya and Ema had changed out of their costumes. Miles saw Maya's duffel bag on the sofa and knew that they must've all come here right after the contest's ending to change and to wait for him. Then, Ray must have instructed them to hide when they heard his knock.

Phoenix raised his arms in surrender. Miles knew he was the mastermind. He was the ringleader of this odd group, and he had been hiding something just before leaving Miles' dorm the previous night. Had Ray texted him the plans then?

"It was Uncle Ray's idea! He only had me recruit everybody! I tried for Adrian and Franzy, too, but... They're busy. They're together, actually." Phoenix felt no need to elaborate. He was sure Miles understood. Some alone time would be good for those two. "They sent their best wishes, though. Franzy told me to tell you that she's being generous by not embarrassing you with her superior pizza-making skills. ...I don't know what she means by that, though."

"Pizza-making?" Ema echoed, scrunching up her nose. Ray laughed as he bent over in the fridge, retrieving several items.

"She guessed correctly, actually! We always do the same things for our little parties. We make..." Ray plopped the pile of ingredients down on the countertop— ingredients that painted a clear picture.

"Mini pizzas!"

Iris clapped, and Larry let out an excited whistle. Larry was always in the mood for pizza. But then, did anyone dislike pizza? Phoenix had never met such a person.

"Mini pizzas, huh? Reminds me of those reading programs that they used to do at school. You know, the ones where you get your own tiny pizza in a tiny box when you read a certain number of books?"

There was a brief silence as Ray stared at Phoenix. After a moment, he smiled and let out an incredulous chuckle, looking knowingly at Miles.

"That's... That's exactly why this tradition started."

"What?! Really?!"

"M-My school stopped offering the rewards program," Miles explained, looking horribly embarrassed. "My father offered to simply buy me a mini-pizza of my own, but it just... It just wasn't the same!"

"So you made your own together," Maya finished. Miles nodded. "That's really cute!"

"And we've been doing it ever since," Ray said fondly. "To mark an accomplishment."

"Then why are we here?" Miles grumbled. Having such a party for Ema would have made more sense, but what had he done that was worth celebrating? Surprisingly, it was Ema who clicked her tongue at him.

"We told you already, didn't we?! The orchestra! Quit selling yourself short!"

Miles muttered something under his breath, but offered no other protests. Everyone gathered around Ray in the kitchen. Maya noticed the problem right away, and didn't hesitate to vocalize it.

"We can't all fit in here at once."

"Looks like we can't, huh?" Ray sheepishly agreed, fiddling with the brim of his hat. With the kitchen so crowded, not everyone could reach the ingredients or even see the counter. "We'll have to think of some way to—"

"I have an idea!" Phoenix saw Maya's eyes glow with wicked anticipation. She hopped, just once, her sandals making an unpleasant sound against the linoleum. She put her hands on her hips and grinned. "We can pair up and take turns! Uncle Ray stays so he can show everyone what to do, but only two other people are in here cooking at one time. How's that?"

"It works," Ray said, shrugging. "And it's faster than going one by one. If you guys wanna go ahead and pair off—"

"I call Maya!" Ema grabbed her friend's hands. She kicked Larry in the ankle, sending him a clear message.

"A-And I call Iris! Which leaves Miles with Nick. Bummer." He winked. Phoenix shot him a glare, but didn't say anything. How did his friends manage to turn everything into a romantic conspiracy?

It wasn't something he could complain about, though— at least not in this instance. Making food together. It was something that married couples did. The thought made him blush, but the heat stayed in his ears and didn't pool into his cheeks.

It was eventually decided that the order would be determined by drawing straws. Larry drew the longest one, meaning he and Iris got to go first. Ema took Maya with her to the living room, where they snooped through the family's bookshelves. Ema's squeals indicated that she was having the time of her life. Phoenix took a seat beside Miles at the piano bench and smiled at the trio in the kitchen. He could smell the cheese and the dough from here, could overhear Ray's instructions. Miles absentmindedly plucked at the keys. Phoenix noticed a metallic quality to the sounds it produced.

"Why does it sound like that?" he asked, hoping that the question wasn't rude. Miles' laughter told him that it wasn't.

"Because it's very old," he replied. "Almost impossible to tune, too. Poor Uncle Ray's had to learn to do it himself. No professional will lay a finger on it."

"It's true," Ray lamented. "And even I can't really tune it. By the time a piano gets to be as old as Lizzie there, it can easily be rendered unplayable if you're not careful. If I wanted to do a proper tuning... Well, I don't think she'd survive being taken apart like that."

Phoenix whistled.

"How do you even practice on a piano like that? Doesn't everything have to be tuned for you to know if you're playing the song right?"

Both Miles and Iris laughed as if Phoenix had suggested that the moon was made out of cheese.

"I— I don't, Phoenix. This one is useless for practice. I have an electronic keyboard in my bedroom. I use that or the one in my dorm room."

"Oh," Phoenix breathed. He felt silly. "U-Uh, what's the difference between these and the big ones?"

Miles laughed again. Was he more open when he was tired? Or was he just in a good mood? Sure, his laughs were just barely laughs, but it was still unusual to hear so many from him.

"This is an upright— a vertical. There are a few kinds of those, uprights being the biggest. The 'big ones' are grands, either proper concert ones or baby grands. There are also spinets, but those are notoriously troublesome due to the setup... A grand piano is objectively superior. The sound is louder and more clear, and with uprights, there's a delay between the depression of the key and the sound. It's more difficult to play fast pieces on an upright... Sometimes impossible."

Phoenix chuckled and shook his head.

"So this one is also really slow, I'm sure. Can you not afford a new one, or are you just attached to it?"

"It's about a fifty-fifty," Ray answered. "Not that we can fit a grand in here."

"...It was my father's," Miles quietly admitted. "His grandmother was planning to throw it away, but he purchased it from her instead. Just because he'd grown fond of it."

"That old?!"

"I'm afraid so. And with an instrument this old..." Miles made a point of pushing down on a particular key several times. It didn't depress. "...Things like this are to be expected."

"Well, who cares about all that?!" Larry shouted. "A piano's a piano! Let's get some jams goin' in here!"

"You sound like an old guy trying to be hip," Ema teased. Larry rolled his eyes.

"...I suppose it's fine," Miles relented. "Though I do need to warm up first."

Warming up, apparently, consisted of bars and chords and simple melodies, played quietly, that stretched Miles' long fingers to their limits. Phoenix watched, fascinated.

"You have every single Sherlock Holmes?!" Ema suddenly cried. Phoenix couldn't tell if she was happy or jealous. Ray nodded.

"You'll find just about every great mystery book ever written over there. Most of that collection was Gregory's."

Whether it was Miles or Ray speaking, Gregory Edgeworth was always mentioned with a tone that was both fond and sad. Phoenix let his eyes flicker to the little photo on the mantle. The man that stared back had a permanent crease between his eyebrows, and he wore his hair slicked back in an almost stuffy way. His expression was serious, even stern. Even so, there was a reserved warmth that pooled in his eyes.

Just like his son.

"You look a lot alike," Phoenix murmured. Miles hummed. He didn't look up.

He didn't have to.

Larry and Iris eventually finished their pizza. Maya and Ema followed. Miles and Phoenix went last. Phoenix was so hungry by then that he snuck pieces of pepperoni. Ray put everyone's pizzas in the oven, announcing that they would take around an hour to bake properly. In the meantime, he stole Phoenix's seat on the piano bench and pulled out his harmonica. He nudged Miles and gave him a wink.

"This one's for you, spiky," Ray laughed.

Phoenix couldn't help but grin as Miles played the opening riff of a song that the painter knew far too well. Ray joined in with his harmonica, and Larry once more took the role of lead vocalist. Together, everyone performed a lovely rendition of Piano Man, even if Phoenix kept breaking off to laugh at Maya's overzealous dance moves.

It evolved, from there, into a strange karaoke game— Miles (sometimes with Ray's help) would play the opening of a song, and every time, Larry managed a perfect impression of the singer. Phoenix laughed so hard that he felt like his gut would burst as Miles progressively got more and more frustrated, determined to foil Larry somehow. And though he never managed, it made for good fun.

The hour flew by like it was nothing.

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"So is it just me, or can you actually sing?!" Ray asked Larry. Larry snickered through a mouthful of pizza.

"Oh, no— trust me, I can't sing for shit. If you just put some song in front of me and told me to sing it, I'd burst your eardrums. What I..." he trailed off for a quick second, trying not to laugh at the way Iris was giggling. "Ahem. ...What I can do is mimic. If I hear a song enough times, I can learn to imitate the singer, and then hitting all those notes seems like no big deal."

"That's pretty amazing, if you ask me."

"You're just saying that because you don't have to live with him," Phoenix interjected. "I'll be making breakfast and waiting for him to get out of the shower, and suddenly I'm like 'is... Is that Bon Jovi in my bathroom...?' I mean, what—"

Ray burst out laughing, slapping his own leg and elbowing Ema in the process.

The kitchen table had not been designed for seven people. In order to fit everyone, Ray had been forced to bring extra chairs from downstairs, as well as pulling out the one that sat before the typewriter in his office. Even with the extra chairs, it was a cramped fit. Ema had switched seats with Phoenix at the last second so that he had no choice but to sit beside Miles. He was pretending not to notice the way that Miles' leg gently brushed against his whenever he moved it.

That complaint aside, the table was full of friendly conversation, banter, and laughter. Being amongst good friends was like that, Phoenix noticed— even if something wasn't particularly funny, the simple act of hearing a friend laugh was contagious. Miles let out a quiet kind of giggle every once in a while. The shockingly sweet sound of it made Phoenix's heart do little flip-flops every time. He wanted to hear it more often.

"I miss grade school all of a sudden," Ema pouted as she pulled up another slice of her pizza. "I mean, can anything truly match the high of a Scholastic Book Fair? And if I still got pizza rewards just for reading... Wow! I'd never have to buy food again!"

"But wouldn't you eventually get sick of pizza?"

"I'll NEVER get sick of pizza."

"We all know how you feel about it, Larry, but most people would get sick of it."

"I sometimes wonder if that school stopped offering pizza just because of you," Ray teased, looking at Miles.

"Mr. Shields! That's not very nice!" Iris gasped. Ray laughed her off.

"No, really! Gregory and I had to go in and sign paperwork and PROVE that Miles was really reading the books that he said he was. They eventually made him take quizzes on the plots and everything. They just couldn't accept it! They'd shout, 'he's only eight! There's no way that he's already reading Tolstoy!'"

Phoenix nearly spit out his soda. Tolstoy? As in War and Peace Tolstoy?! Miles was an almost ridiculous and unbelievable person in terms of how smart he was. Ema found it hilarious.

"I believe it! But maybe it really was his fault! If they had a to write a quiz every time he he turned in his sheet—"

"Hey!" Miles objected. He pointed his fork at Ema. He was one of those people who ate pizza with a fork— he probably didn't want to get his hands greasy. "It's not like I did it on purpose!"

Phoenix fell into a fit of giggles.

"You had the exact opposite problem that Larry had—"

"Shut up! Nick, you shut your filthy whore mouth!"

Larry pounded his fists on the table. Phoenix pressed on.

"He NEVER did the assigned reading, and he always made me tell him about the books so he could pass the tests. By the time we got to high school, I was sick of it. So when he asked me about the Scarlet Letter, I—" Phoenix could barely talk through his own wheezing laughter. "I-I told him that the plot twist is that the A on the minister's chest actually stands for Autobots, and—"

"Oh my god!"

"—I convinced him that he turns into a giant robot and fights off his accusers, and that it was the first example of a transformer in literature—"

"Larry, please don't tell me that you actually wrote that on your test," Miles pleaded. Larry threw a balled-up napkin at Phoenix.

"You bet your ass I did! Nick had never led me astray before— why would my best friend lie to me?!" He threw another napkin. "I was a fool! A naive fool!"

"Well, maybe if you had just read the book in the first place—"

Miles became the next victim of a napkin attack.

"Shut up, nerd!"

The night continued like that, even long after the food had been finished. It was Iris who eventually looked at the clock on the wall and realized that it was nearly 2 AM, at which point everyone scrambled for their keys and their jackets and their bags and purses and shoes.

"Oh, Dahlia's going to kill me!" Iris squealed.

"Probably," Larry muttered through his teeth.

Phoenix, the last remaining guest, insisted on staying to help with the cleanup and dishes, and then he, too, had no choice but to leave (as hard as he tried to find an excuse).

Larry had already passed out by the time he got to his dorm, and so he crept silently into his bed without changing or turning on any lights. And as exhausted as he was from biking all the way to school, it took him an embarrassingly long time to fall asleep.

It was hard to feel sleepy when he was replaying Miles' quiet laughter in his head.

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Phoenix was about twenty minutes early for his study session.

He stood awkwardly in front of Miles' door, wondering if it really would be okay to let himself in. Miles had told him that he could, but he still didn't want to assume.

He hadn't arrived early just to do so— he'd picked up some food for the two of them when he'd been out with Maya. Would Miles appreciate the impromptu dinner date? The man certainly didn't eat often enough. He was always practicing or studying, it seemed.

For a moment, his hand wavered, and he thought of knocking. He decided not to. Miles had, quite literally, told him to let himself in. And so, he did just that.

"Hi, Miles! I've got foo—"

Phoenix nearly dropped his plastic bags. Miles leapt off of the couch, like a startled cat, and quickly turned off his television. He stood angrily, his face an unusually bright shade of red, with his hands on his hips. Phoenix could only gape at him in awe.

"What on earth do you think you're doing, barging in like that?! You—"

"Uh, Miles, were you watching—"

"You nearly scared me half to death! What if I had been naked, or—"

What if? Phoenix thought briefly. He quickly dismissed it as a thought more suited to Larry than to him.

"Were you... Were you watching The Steel Samurai?"

Miles froze halfway through a word, absolutely mortified. His face got darker.

"Absolutely not! Why would I be watching some rubbish children's sh—"

Phoenix casually snatched the remote from the coffee table and clicked the TV back on. Sure enough— Steel Samurai: Warrior of Neo Olde Tokyo. Phoenix smirked and glanced at Miles out of the corner of his eye.

"At least change the channel if you're gonna try and pull the wool over my eyes."

"O-Oh, is that what it is? I was just trying to... Er..." Miles gave up and hid his tomato-colored face in his hands. Phoenix suppressed a laugh.

"Maya and Pearl love this show. Right now they're all into Pink Princess, though."

Miles peeked out from between his fingers. Phoenix could see one silver eye studying him.

"...You... don't think that it's stupid?"

Phoenix shook his head.

"Pfft— no! I still watch Signal Samurai with Larry sometimes."

Miles watched him, no doubt trying to determine if he was serious or not, and then managed to regain his composure.

"...R-Right. Someone's hobbies don't have to determine their level of maturity or intelligence, yes? It doesn't matter. I don't care."

You're awfully emphatic in saying that, though...

"Right! But, hey, do you keep up with Pink Princess? Because we could all have viewing parties together. It'd be fun, and it would make Maya really happy. Pearls, too."

The mention of a hyper Maya geeking out over TV shows made Miles flinch, slightly, and bite his lip. Phoenix snickered.

God, you're so cute.

"I'll keep it in mind," Miles replied, very unusually noncommittal.

Phoenix decided, just than, that the viewing parties were absolutely going to happen.

"...So." Phoenix set his books down on the coffee table and held out his bags. "D'you wanna eat this with me or not?"

Miles eyed the food somewhat warily.

"What is it?"

Phoenix smiled, excited.

"It's hibachi! There's a cheap place around the corner from here. I've got fried rice, hibachi shrimp and pork, and some veggies with dipping sauce."

Miles fidgeted.

"I've... never actually had hibachi. I've never gone to one of those restaurants, either. ...The ones where they cook for you on those large grill tables?"

"Those are called teppanyaki grills. I'll have to take you! I mean, I can't just let that stand. Have you really even LIVED if you've never watched a chef douse your food in flames?"

Phoenix laid all of the food out. He handed Miles most of the stack of napkins. Miles sampled both the pork and the shrimp and decided that he liked the pork better, which worked out well for Phoenix, who was partial to the shrimp.

"It's my favorite food in the world," Phoenix sighed happily. "I'm like Larry with pizza. I could eat hibachi every day for the rest of my life."

"That's... nice, I suppose. If I was forced to choose only one thing... Hmm. If it were allowed, I would pick French cuisine. If it must be a single dish, I'd likely stick with coq au vin."

Phoenix nearly choked on his shrimp.

"It'd be WHAT now?"

"Coq au vin...?" Miles blinked innocently at Phoenix. "It's... It's a French stew. A chicken and red wine braise. Have you not heard of it?"

Phoenix gulped. He could feel his face heating up with embarrassment.

"I-I— I, uh, th-thought you said something else, and I was, uh... Well, it caught me off guard!"

Miles squinted until he finally processed Phoenix's implication. It seemed that he'd had to replay the phrase over and over in his head until he heard what Phoenix thought he had. He sighed, looking terribly disappointed.

"Are you twelve years old, Wright?"

"I guess so. Just be sure to enunciate in the future!"

"Hmmph."

Miles got back to his food. Phoenix had been wondering why it was taking him so long to eat it, and he finally understood— Miles was stubbornly trying to use the chopsticks. Phoenix laughed softly and touched his wrist, making him flinch.

"No," he said, opening up the other packet and prying them apart. "Like this, see? You'll give yourself carpal tunnel doing it like that!"

Miles looked back and forth between their hands until he had correctly adjusted his fingers. He tried picking up another piece of pork, and this time, he experienced success. His eyes lit up. God, did Phoenix want to hug him.

Miles took a few more bites of his food in total silence. Phoenix had learned to be okay with this. Miles was rather introverted. Sometimes he simply didn't feel like talking, and Phoenix knew by now not to push him.

This time, however, Miles surprised him.

"...What's your favorite book? You're always asking me so many questions that I never actually got to ask you."

Phoenix looked over to find Miles staring intently at his food. He was making sure not to drop any rice. Phoenix wordlessly retrieved his own pair of chopsticks and put his fork away. Miles narrowed his eyes at it. If he wanted a silent competition, he was going to get one.

"I don't know," Phoenix replied, casually scooping up rice and pretending not to notice Miles mimicking him. "It's hard to choose just one. It changes, you know? I think it has a lot to do with where you are in life."

"Fair enough. I'll phrase it this way, then... What's the book you can always go back to regardless of your age or circumstances? It's likely the book you've reread the most."

Phoenix thought on it for about a minute. In that time, Miles nearly dropped some rice and barely saved it in time to avoid making a mess.

"Treasure Island," Phoenix finally answered. "And I still love the Muppets movie, too. I don't care if I'm too old. If it's on, I watch it."

Miles nodded, looking surprisingly impressed. Phoenix was grateful, now, that he knew Miles liked children's shows— it would be hypocritical of him to tease Phoenix about his fondness for Jim Henson.

"And what's your other favorite book? I know you can't pick just one," he asked. Phoenix fiddled with his pencil. He noticed, suddenly, that Miles was almost directly quoting their first conversation about books, but decided not to comment on it. He was sure Miles would be embarrassed.

"You'll think I'm lying."

"I won't. I want to know."

"...It's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory."

Miles scoffed.

"It is not!"

"Is too!" Phoenix insisted. "What, is it so unbelievable that the same guy wrote both of our second favorite books? Everybody likes Roald Dahl! The guy truly understood how to write books for kids."

Miles sighed and settled down again.

"...I suppose you're right. ...His books make wonderful films, don't they?"

"They do! I think it's because the directors actually seemed to care about the books, and to understand their tones. I don't know if they could make those movies again today. A lot of movies these days get so caught up in ticket sales and production values that they lose the soul."

"Unlike so many Henson films," Miles added, laughing softly. "I don't blame you for liking them. ...They're almost always fun."

Another few minutes of literary conversation, and then Phoenix finished his food and closed his takeout container. Miles grumbled something about his having an unfair advantage as he finished his vegetables. Phoenix stacked the empty boxes and put them back into his bag, promising he would take it with him and dispose of it elsewhere. Miles inspected the table for crumbs, and when he looked satisfied, Phoenix clapped his hands together.

No more goofing off. It was time to study.

The first test of the semester was coming up, and both men wanted to be fully prepared for that. As usual, Miles' organization and preparedness were top-notch. Phoenix always ended up embarrassed when they compared notes.

But it seemed that being around him had made some of his smarts rub off. Phoenix got most of the questions right the first time Miles quizzed him, and without any prompting. Miles couldn't hide the fact that he was both surprised and impressed. Phoenix didn't know how to react to that at first— should he have been happy to have made him proud, or offended that he'd been expecting worse from him? He settled on being happy. He'd surprised himself, so it wasn't like he could fault Miles for it.

Since he'd mostly remembered everything, studying didn't take long. Both men finished the work and packed up their things. Miles didn't kick him out, so Phoenix took the opportunity to start another conversation.

"So... that Halloween party. It's tomorrow night. Did you find out if you can come along?"

Miles grabbed his elbow reflexively. The gesture warned Phoenix to proceed with caution.

"I'm... free that night," Miles admitted, "but... I don't know. Wouldn't I be something of a spoilsport if I didn't wear a costume?"

"Of course not! Only about half of the attendees do."

"...Really?"

"Yeah! Either you go all out, you wear Halloween-y prints or colors, or you wear PJs. It's honestly like a giant slumber party."

"And what, exactly, is a Halloween-y print?"

"You know what I mean! Bats, ghosts, candy corn— that sort of thing!"

Miles frowned as he thought. Had he never been to a slumber party before?

"I have black pajamas," he mumbled. "And I do still have the horns and the ears from Uncle Ray and from Maya..."

"That works! You can just wear the PJs if it makes you feel more comfortable. Then again, I'll be a demon hunter, so if you wore the horns, you would fit with Maya and I."

Miles contemplated the offer. It would be more spontaneous than what he was used to, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, was it? He opened his mouth as if to respond. Before he could vocalize his thoughts, the radio announced a new song.

Phoenix's eyes lit up. Miles just then noticed it— the ring of color on the outer edge. His eyes normally looked dark, a sort of muted brown that looked grey in some lighting. But when he opened his eyes like that, and when the light shone on them, the outer edges looked blue.

What an unusual sort of hazel.

"Is... something wrong?" Miles asked, unsure why he had. Phoenix looked the opposite of upset. He shook his head.

"No, it's— this song!"

"...What song is it?"

"You don't know Africa?!" Phoenix looked horribly offended. He shook the expression off, and then he was swaying from side to side, his eyes closed.

"I-I don't know it, personally. ...Sorry. ...Is it your favorite, or...?"

"Oh, I love it, trust me. But it's more than—" Phoenix stared off at something that Miles couldn't see. The ring of blue in his eyes seemed to spread until it overtook the brown. Was that some kind of disorder? Miles didn't know how to ask. "It's my parents' song," Phoenix explained. "They danced to it at their wedding, and ever since then, we've always danced when we hear it someplace."

"Always?" Miles echoed. "What if you're in a public place?"

Phoenix laughed.

"Even better, as far as my dad's concerned. So, wait, have you seriously never heard this song before?"

Miles blushed. He didn't know why.

"N-No, I haven't. It's... It's nice, though. It's just that my father only ever listened to classical music, and Uncle Ray likes Jazz."

"Figures," Phoenix huffed through a laugh. He moved to stand up, and Miles squinted at him. Phoenix took hold of his arm, suddenly, and tugged.

"Wh-What are you—"

"C'mon! Dance with me! It'll be fun!"

"Surely you jest." Miles glared, but didn't move Phoenix's hand away. Phoenix smiled, trying to look as friendly and harmless as he possibly could.

"No, really, it'll be fun! It's not like anyone can see you, and I GUARANTEE you won't look stupid compared to me."

Miles actually laughed at that. It took everything Phoenix had to not scream when Miles took hold of his arm and used it to pull himself up. Phoenix led him, eagerly but gently, to the open space behind the couch. He'd been so confident, but having Miles standing in front of him and looking expectantly at him made him feel like an awkward preteen all over again. He laughed nervously and scratched the back of his neck.

"S-So how do you normally dance?"

"Normally, I don't."

This is no time for your sass, Miles.

"Franzy said something about culture classes, though," Phoenix reminded him. "She said dance was required. Or were you not in that particular class—"

"I know the basics of ballroom and waltz," Miles admitted. "O-Only..."

"...What? You can tell me."

"I... don't know how to lead."

Phoenix stared until he realized that he was serious. He let out a sputtering laugh.

"R... Really? Why not?"

"Franziska wouldn't let me!" Miles retorted, almost angrily. Phoenix laughed.

"You know what? I don't doubt that for a second. I'm sure she said something about no one leading a Von Karma." Phoenix stepped forward and carefully, very carefully, took Miles' hands. Miles stared at the floor. "That's alright, though. Just tell me what to do."

Miles sighed like he was irritated. Phoenix couldn't help but smirk.

If you're so annoyed, why did you agree in the first place?

"First of all, your hands go here," Miles grumbled. He moved one of Phoenix's hands to his waist and tightened his grip on the other one, raising the arm until it was bent at the elbow. "...And then, you take a step forward..."

Miles pretended to be a strict instructor, but he didn't get nearly angry enough at how often Phoenix stepped on his feet. Phoenix had sworn that he wasn't a very good dancer, and he'd meant that. But Miles explained things well, and before long, Phoenix was able to properly lead.

They waltzed and spun around the room. Phoenix went out of his way to add silly, dramatic flourishes, and he made several failed attempts to catch Miles off guard and dip him. Eventually, even Miles was laughing. It was higher than his usual breathy laughter, occasionally sounding something like a hiccup or a gasp, and it turned parts of his face the faintest shade of pink.

God, did Phoenix want to kiss him.

He wouldn't, though. He'd never jeopardize this closeness they had found together, even if it meant that he'd never get to kiss him. He wasn't sure when he had made this decision, or why he was so at peace with it.

As the song drew to a close, Miles finally allowed Phoenix to dip him. He was laughing when he pulled him back up. The effort of doing so meant that he'd tightened his grip on Miles' hand and waist. Phoenix stared at his face.

Without the song, there was an uncomfortable silence, and no more excuse to hold him like this. Miles put one of his hands on Phoenix's chest, as if to push him away, and paused, looking at nothing in particular.

If the moment had taken place in a movie, it would have been the moment where Phoenix gently pulled Miles forward into a kiss. But his life was not a movie— Miles' eyes flickered up and caught sight of the wall clock, and he pulled away, stepping back. He suddenly looked very self-concious. He adjusted his glasses. Phoenix felt his own fingers twitch as if searching, once again, for his warmth.

"I-It's getting late," Miles said as casually as he could manage. Phoenix nodded.

"It is." He smiled. "Thanks for humoring me, though. You're a pretty good dancer."

Miles wouldn't look him in the eye.

"...Right."

Phoenix retrieved his things and his bag of empty food containers. He paused in front of the door.

"So... Will I see you at the party? ...Tomorrow night?"

Miles looked a bit startled, but finally met his eyes. A painfully long moment, and then he nodded.

"Tomorrow night."

Phoenix grinned, wide and cheesy.

"...Great. Great! I'll see you then. Sleep tight, Miles."

"Right. ...Goodnight, Phoenix."

Phoenix waited until he had closed the door behind him to do a victory dance. He began to half-skip, happily, down the hallways. A figure, appearing suddenly from the shadows, scared him half to death.

"THERE you are!" Maya screeched. "What took you so long?! I wanted to get you to try on your costume to make sure it matches mine, and— Hey." She narrowed her eyes and then smirked, knowingly. "Why are you all red?"

Phoenix implored her to keep her voice down and walk alongside him, and she obeyed.

"You can't tell anybody," he began. She quickly locked her pinkie with his.

"I'll take it to my grave."

"I got him to dance with me. We held hands."

"Wha— you totally did not!"

"Did too! I swear on my life! And..." he looked around to be sure that no one else could hear him. "I caught him watching Steel Samurai. No joke."

Maya looked as delighted as he'd expected her to.

"I wanna know EVERYTHING."

Phoenix had known she would say that. He whispered, telling her about everything that had happened from start to finish. By the time he'd finished, she had started giggling uncontrollably.

"God," she snorted as soon as she had recovered. "You two are perfect for each other. You're both just a couple of dorks."

Phoenix smiled.

"Yeah," he agreed. "...We are."

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

A/N:
(("coq", said aloud, sounds an awful lot like "cock", and that IS in fact what it means, though it's referring to roosters. so just imagine that you're poor, innocent phoenix, and you ask miles a simple question about food, and he's like "if i had to eat only one thing for the rest of my life it would be dICK"))
anyway the "dancing around like idiots" scene is something that's been in my head for a while with these two, and i realized it's perfect for this au, so i used it here. hope it's remotely believable. lol. (this miles isn't QUITE as psychologically damaged or closed off, because he wasn't raised by von karma.)
but anyway, GET READY FOR THE ANGST TRAIN 'CAUSE IT'S COMING AT LIKE 90 MPH