now don't hang on: nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky
it slips away, and all your money won't another minute buy
dust in the wind / all we are is dust in the wind

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Raymond Shields had become accustomed to the quiet.

He was used to running a small business with a regular, often elderly, clientele of bookworms, the type who didn't make a lot of noise. They got their books, they read at the sitting area or standing by the shelves, and then they left with a nod or a quick word of thanks. Quiet.

Miles, who he more or less considered his own son now, was the same— almost painfully silent, really. Anyone else would have constantly pushed him to talk more when he was growing up. The boy could go hours without speaking, and he'd been that way since he was seven or eight years old. Ray had always wanted him to make more friends, as he often worried that the boy was lonely, but he had never pressured him to become more talkative.

Anyway, it seemed that he wouldn't have to. Others had done that for him.

Ray always knew that Miles' new friends had arrived because that quiet he'd become so used to would be suddenly shattered. He'd hear the bell ring in rapid succession and hear the movements of several pairs of feet, one clad in strange wooden sandals (The spiky-head said they were called geta, right?), the others in sneakers or boots. They were usually talking about something amongst themselves, and then they would spot Miles or Ray himself, and the voices would rise in volume. Phoenix always seemed a little embarrassed and hung back, but Maya and Ema and Larry were different, and they didn't seem to care what other people thought of them.

This particular day, Miles' face was one that he hadn't seen in a little while. He had given Miles permission to spend his first week or so living at his new school, getting used to the new environment and getting his classes in order. He'd told him not to worry about coming in to work. Now, it seemed, he was back, and with his new posse in tow, ready to tell him all about how things had been going so far. He offered up a nervous and tired smile as he bowed in greeting. Ray couldn't help but laugh whenever he did that. "I'm your Uncle, not your boss," he'd said far too many times.

As always, topknot girl was the most excitable and the first to talk. She'd been chattering already, but now her attention was focused in on him.

"Hi, Uncle Ray! We've been having the best time ever. And the world is so small— you won't even believe what happened!"

"Oh?" Ray fixed his gaze on Miles. "What's the big news?"

"Fran," Miles said. Ray raised his eyebrows as soon as he heard the name, apparently unsure of how he should feel. "Franziska Von Karma. She's in attendance there as well."

"...Funny coincidence," he said with a shrug. Something in his eyes looked suspicious, like he didn't think it was a coincidence at all. Phoenix decided not to comment on it.

At some point in the conversation, Miles mentioned that he had finally gotten his classes picked out. It would still be a short while before he was actually placed in all of them, but the paperwork was there, which was a load off of his shoulders.

"I'm surprised you didn't mention that you write, though, seeing how Ema and Iris and Dahlia all do it," Larry commented. Miles frowned, and Phoenix cringed. He'd forgotten to tell everyone to stay off the topic of Miles' writing and, more specifically, his father.

Just as Phoenix wondered if he should be sounding a mental alarm, he saw Ema nodding along with Larry, and then she squinted at Miles' face and tilted her head to the side as if she was seeing him in a new light, or trying to recall something. He shook his head, trying to warn her off of that train of thought, but was too late. Her eyes lit up with recognition and she gasped.

"Oh, that's where I remember that name from— are you related to Gregory Edgeworth?! The author?!"

Phoenix visibly winced as Miles' expression hardened and he seemed to shrink into himself, withdrawing back to the protection of the counter. Ray stopped counting money and fixed Ema with something akin to a glare, making a motion with his hand that said "stop", that said "drop it". Ema did not notice and continued to press.

"...Th-That's correct," Miles stammered. "My father."

Ema cheered.

"That's so cool! Your dad is famous! I don't know how I didn't notice it sooner, since you guys have that same odd hair color and that angry eyebrow thing going on. Oh, this is the coolest thing ever! You should totally introduce... us..."

Ema trailed off as she noticed Ray gravely shaking his head and making a throat-cutting motion. Miles was looking at the floor with an expression that was far too blank for Phoenix's liking. Ray gripped onto his elbow. Miles shrugged the hand away.

"U-Uh, unless you don't want to, and that's okay," Ema added in an attempt to save herself from Ray's wrath. "I mean, I'm sure he must get tired of people asking for his autograph and stuff like that."

Miles' eyes flickered up for a moment. Ray stood strangely still as he waited for a further reaction.

"...It's not that," Miles said so quietly that everyone could just barely hear him. Ray quirked an eyebrow. He looked somewhat fearful, or at least apprehensive. "And I'm afraid that I cannot introduce you to him."

"No?" Ema replied. "Does he live far away?"

"I suppose you could say that."

Ray grimaced. He didn't seem to appreciate Miles' comment, but Miles gave him a pleading look and he seemed to simmer down.

"...Miles," Phoenix pleaded. Miles locked eyes with him, and then with Ray (Ray seemed caught between being encouraging and being nervous), and then with Phoenix once again. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He closed it, swallowed, and then tried once more, and this time, he spoke, and they were words that Phoenix had hoped he wouldn't hear.

"He... passed away. Many years ago, in fact."

"...Huh?!" Ema squeaked. "But I thought... I mean, I know he hasn't written anything in a while, but I thought he must have just retired. Why was there no announcement?!"

"Are you trying to accuse me of lying?" Miles snapped. "Tell me, why would I lie about such a thing?" He was squeezing his own elbow again, this time a little too tight.

"N-No one's accusing you of lying, Miles. We're just... Well... Surprised. I-I mean, I feel like I should have known, based on how you reacted when I brought it up, but..."

Phoenix trailed off to look at Maya, who had a sad and uncertain look on her face. She didn't say anything. It seemed that she was too shocked.

"Didn't that guy write, um..." Larry whispered. Phoenix nodded.

"What happened?" Ema asked. "I-I mean, if you don't mind us asking."

Miles looked at Ray. Ray shrugged, but still looked wary.

"...A car accident," Miles explained, his voice flat. "It was... rather sudden. It's been nearly twelve years."

Phoenix felt his heart crumble a little bit. Larry whistled.

"That long, huh? I'm, uh, sorry to hear about that." He frowned, glancing over at Phoenix as he contemplated whether or not to add something else. After a moment, he coughed. "I-It's pretty common. My mom was in an accident when I was little. She's still alive and all, but she's had health issues ever since. It's amazing what can happen just because some idiot stops paying attention for half a second, or it's too foggy out, or... Well. Y'know."

"Right," Miles mumbled, looking only slightly relieved.

"B-But still, why doesn't anybody know?! How come it never made the news or anything?! He was pretty popular," Maya asked, woefully confused. Phoenix was glad that she was at least saying something.

"We asked for privacy. It's as simple as that," Ray said matter-of-factly. "Technically speaking, Miles owns the rights to his works and his name and could continue writing in his stead if he wanted to. ...The publisher's been good to us."

"I can understand why you'd want privacy," Phoenix said as reassuringly as he could. "God knows the tabloids love to jump all over any bit of news they can get."

"He hadn't written anything in a while, anyway," Miles grumbled. "Everyone drew their own conclusions... Mostly that he'd given up on the business."

"Had he?" Ema asked, frowning. "I know he had a couple of flops, but that's bound to happen to anyone who writes enough."

"...No," Miles breathed. He looked down to study his shoes. "He wasn't giving up. He was just working on something that required a bit more research."

"I should know," Ray added. "The man sent me out for the strangest books."

"You were his research assistant?" Phoenix asked. Ray gave a half-nod.

"Slash proofreader, slash apprentice, slash babysitter."

Which is why you took Miles in after he passed, Phoenix mentally confirmed. But what about his mother? ...One thing at a time, Phoenix.

"I— I'm sorry," Ema blurted out. Miles shook his head.

"N-No, it's..." He trailed off. Ray looked at him for a moment, and then he clapped his hands together.

"You know, kids, it's getting late." Phoenix looked outside— it wasn't. It was only late afternoon, and the sun hadn't begun to set yet. "Miles and I are planning a celebratory dinner, just the two of us. I'm sure you all have plans, right?"

"But—"

"Yeah, we do," Phoenix confirmed, interrupting Maya. He put a hand in her shoulder. Firm, but not too tight, just enough to tell her that they needed to leave. A few more friendly words of parting, basic formalities, and the group said their farewells and left the store behind. The last thing Phoenix saw before leaving was Ray reassuringly patting Miles on the head.

He couldn't help but feel that he and his friends had ruined their evening. To say that this was a feeling he disliked would be an understatement.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Miles ate his dinner in relative silence.

Uncle Ray asked him, only once, if he was okay. Miles told him that he was, and then his Uncle dropped the subject. He knew by now not to try and pry anything out of him.

Miles had agreed to stay the night before heading back to the dorms the next day. He didn't want Ray's memory of the night to be of awkward silences, and so he did what he always did when he wanted to cheer him up— he sat at the bench of the piano and began to play. He played, and he played, not stopping until Ray fell asleep on the couch with a book on his chest. As soon as he was certain he was asleep, Miles took the book and laid a blanket over him before making his way to his own bedroom.

He knew that he should sleep, but had a feeling it would be difficult. His new friends (is that what they were?) had asked a lot of questions, forcing him to recall things he hadn't thought about in years. It wasn't that he consciously blocked it out— after a while it had become a habit that required little effort.

Which also meant that he wasn't good at flipping a switch and shutting it all out.

Miles sighed. When it got like this, he had no choice but to confront it directly, at least for a little while. He rummaged around in his things until he found his flute case and gently caressed the edges of it.

He'd been playing the piano ever since he was big enough to reach the keys. He hadn't developed an interest in the flute until he was nearly nine, and his father had encouraged him to pursue it. He'd surprised him with a brand new flute in a custom case, a shiny leather box with handles and an engraved silver nameplate. The instrument itself had long since been replaced (the old one was in a box in their storage closet somewhere, he was sure), but Miles would use no other case.

He hesitated with a hand over the velvety interior. When he'd given it to him, Gregory had winked and explained that it had a secret compartment that he could use to hide anything he wanted. If one lifted up the tray that held the flute and its extra pieces, they'd find a false bottom with a lock that required a four-digit code to open. Gregory had told him not to use it until he needed it. Over the years, Miles had forgotten, only remembering when he felt the faint line that betrayed the secret. Even now, it tended to slip his mind. He rested his hand there. He could do it, if he pushed himself— he could open the compartment.

Miles froze, letting his hand fall away. He couldn't open it. He never had. He wasn't sure that he could ever explain why— he was afraid that it would be empty. He was also afraid that there would be something inside. He was afraid of holding on, but he was afraid of letting go. He was afraid, and that was all there was to it. He closed the case and put it back underneath his bed.

Just as he had made up his mind to go to sleep, he heard a gentle knock on his bedroom door. He couldn't help but jump, though he told the person that it was okay to come in. He saw Uncle Ray's face peeking through the door.

"Can I talk to you for a little while?" Ray asked.

Miles hummed a confirmation, and Ray entered and took a seat at the end of the bed. The only light was from the rooms outside, shining on his face through the crack in the door. The sharp lighting highlighted the bags under his eyes and the grey hairs hidden in his stubble and at his temples. Miles felt a pang of guilt.

Raymond had no obligation to care for Miles. He never had. There had been volunteers, other families who could've taken the burden for themselves. Instead, Ray had insisted on being appointed his legal guardian. He'd barely been an adult himself at the time. Now, the many years of struggling to make ends meet showed on his face. He looked older than he truly was.

Ray cleared his throat, distracting Miles from his train of thought.

"I..." He began slowly, sounding uncertain. "I've never really discussed this arrangement with you, have I?"

Miles bit his lip and averted his gaze.

"No. ...Not that I've asked."

"Well, I think you're old enough to know." He paused as he searched for the right words. "...You've never had a whole lot of family. And Gregory felt bad about it. His parents were— probably are— still alive, but... Well, they wanted him to become a doctor or a politician. Something prestigious. But he chose to study journalism anyway. They apparently told him that if he went to work for some no-name small town paper, they'd never speak to him again. It seems they were serious. I doubt they even know that you exist."

"I don't need people like that in my life," Miles scoffed.

"Ha! ...Your father shared your sentiment. Anyway, since he'd never had any siblings, and your mother was gone—"

"What happened to her?"

Raymond seemed to choke on his words.

"She... left."

"Really...? I'd always assumed that she was dead." And what a morbid assumption, Miles thought for a moment, though not one unique to the pattern of his life thus far.

"Nope. Your father didn't like to talk about it much, and he didn't want you to feel bad. Gregory told me that she just disappeared one night while you were still a baby, and she left him a letter and signed divorce papers. ...She didn't like living on a reporter's income, or waiting for him to get published."

"...That's awful," Miles spat incredulously.

"Heh. It's her loss. Had she stuck around a little longer, she would've been a famous author's wife." Ray paused to laugh for a brief moment before turning serious again. "...Your dad was your only family. Soon as I started hangin' around, he admitted that he was worried you'd get lonely. I told him I could be your big brother, if he wanted. He laughed it off, but... I think he appreciated it."

Raymond swallowed down a lump in his throat and his expression turned uncharacteristically hard. He always made that face for the same reason, Miles knew.

"...I still remember the day I got the call. I thought it was some kind of sick joke. He was barely thirty-five!"

Miles frowned. He, too, remembered that day, and a bit too well for his liking.

"I know," he quietly agreed.

"...And you... didn't have family to take you in. When that came up in court, the judge asked about foster families. ...They wanted to send you as far away as Maine. The closest family was in South Dakota, of all places. And I... had promised. I'd promised your dad that I would look out for you. How could I do that if you were so far away? It's not like I could win legal visitation— I mean, who was I? Just some writing assistant."

"Don't say such things." Miles had some difficultly working up the nerve to casually scold his Uncle. All of this was news to him. Ray patted his leg.

"Right. Well... Had it been any other judge, things probably would've turned out differently. But that old man heard me out, and gave me a chance... Can't say I was very good in the beginning. I'm sure you remember. I'd like to think I've gotten the hang of it."

Miles smirked.

"Just barely."

Ray chuckled before turning to look at Miles.

"...The point I'm making is that I took you in because I didn't want to lose you, not because I felt guilted into it. And your dad..."

Ray paused to think once more. When he didn't speak, Miles raised an eyebrow.

"Well?"

"...He wouldn't have liked all this secrecy. What he wanted more than anything else was for you to be happy, not for you to walk around with some chip on your shoulder. ...Look, friends are gonna ask some tough questions. And they don't mean any harm. They don't wanna put you on the spot— they just wanna get to know you better, maybe help carry some of the burden. There's no use being angry."

Miles reflexively shook his head.

"I'm not angry with any of them."

"Oh, I know," Ray teased. "I meant there's no use being angry with yourself. There's nothing wrong or selfish about wanting to have friends, and the same applies to your boundaries. They'll understand. Real friends always do."

Miles blinked in surprise. Was he really that transparent? Or was it only Ray who could read him so easily? Perhaps it was some mixture of the two.

Ray sighed happily and ruffled Miles' hair.

"You should get to bed, kiddo. Don't want you dozing off in the middle of class, now, do we?"

Miles smiled softly, leaning forward to squeeze his Uncle's hand.

"Right. Sleep well, Uncle Ray."

Raymond laughed at something as he left, gently closing the door behind him. He stopped just inside the doorway of his own bedroom, turning to look at the framed photograph on his nightstand. He smiled at it.

"It's crazy, you know?... He's turned out so much like you."

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

"Look at all the colors!"

Maya cheered and clapped her hands together. Her young cousin beamed happily up at her as Larry set the large tray full of clay and sculpting tools down on the table.

"I'm sure you know the basics of firing clary already, right, Pearls? No parts too thin, and avoid leaving air bubbles. Be sure to knead it carefully!"

Larry instructed her as gently as he could. Pearl nodded to indicate that she understood. Of course she did— she was a Fey. She'd probably learned to use clay before she'd learned to walk.

Today, she was excited. Her school year was starting soon. Though she was schooled in a small group in her village, she looked forward to it, and the village teachers tried to assign fun projects to make up for the lack of field trips. This year, her first project was to make a clay diorama of her favorite memory from over the summer break. She already seemed to have something in mind, and she'd drawn a sketch.

"Who else is coming?" Maya asked. Phoenix grinned.

"Ema said she's going out somewhere with her sister, so I got Iris. Thankfully, no Dahlia today. Pearls likes Iris a lot."

Maya smiled.

"She does. Pearly says she hopes she'll be that pretty someday."

Phoenix chuckled fondly at that. When he heard the door open, he turned, assuming that Iris had arrived earlier than she's said she would. He found himself surprised by the face he saw there.

"Miles? What are you doing here?"

Miles furrowed his brow, looking confused.

"I was invited here. Did Maya not inform you?"

Phoenix turned to Maya, who gave him a pleading look.

Miles had been eating lunch with the group for the past two days, and he'd acted normal enough when they passed one another in the halls or sat together in class, but he hadn't gone out of his way to spend time with any of them and hadn't called or texted anyone. Normally Phoenix would have visited him at the store to see if he was alright, but he'd more or less barricaded himself in his dorm to study and practice piano. Phoenix couldn't help but worry that they'd begun to push him away.

But he was here now. Maya had thought to invite him. She could be very persuasive, that one.

Miles took off his black sweater and hung it on the coat rack near the door, leaving him in his crisp burgundy button-up shirt. Phoenix gulped. He had the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He didn't know when that had become a turn-on of his. ...Maybe just now.

"So what are we doing here?" Miles asked Pearl as he sat down on the ground near her. He didn't seem bothered by Maya's lack of proper chairs. Pearl clicked her tongue at him scoldingly.

"You're sitting wrong!"

"...I beg your pardon?"

Phoenix laughed, no longer blushing, as he began to kneel to sit on the other side of him.

"Like this. Watch." He sat the traditional way, like Pearl was. Miles frowned.

"That looks uncomfortable."

Maya laughed as she kneaded red and white clay together, trying to make a pale pink.

"It can be," she agreed. "I think it has do with the clothing? You can't really cross your legs in a kimono-style garment. The fabric is too stiff, and even if you could, you'd flash your underwear at everybody."

"Yukata are okay," Phoenix recalled. "I could actually run around in those. Those are lighter summer-y robe... things. I had a short-ish blue one with stars on it for festivals. Really cool, I know."

"Sounds better than lederhosen," Miles snorted, scrunching up his nose. Phoenix burst out laughing at the mental image.

"You had to wear that?!"

"The Von Karmas are quite proudly German, I assure you. Lederhosen are even more uncomfortable than they look." Miles readjusted his legs as he said this until he was sitting in a way that Pearl deemed appropriate.

"So this is the plan," Maya explained as she showed Miles the sketch. He raised his eyebrows, but looked strangely touched.

"Is that..."

"Yep! It's all of us! She's sculpting her favorite summer memory. She says our trip to the park was her favorite day of the whole summer."

Miles smiled down at Pearl, touched, and he just then noticed something pink just beneath the table.

"What's this?" Miles asked, pointing to it. Pearl lit up as she pulled the strangely-shaped plush toy out for everyone to see.

"It's my new Pink Badger!" Pearl hugged the (very non-badger-like) creature as Maya looked quizzically at her.

"Oh? I thought you only had the Blue Badger that Scruffy gave you. When did you get that one?"

"Mr. Armando! I saw him out in the hallway on my way here."

"You came here by yourself?" Miles asked, sounding mildly alarmed.

"She insists on traveling alone most of the time," Phoenix whispered to him. "She can even take the trains and buses by herself. We do have some safety measures, but for the most part it's just because she's stubborn..."

Pearl glared at Phoenix for a moment, not allowing him to finish his explanation.

"...That was nice of Mr. Armando," Maya finished, clearly suspicious. Phoenix had to agree— how had he known Pearl would be coming by, and how did he know she liked those characters? Did he really talk to Maya that often?

Iris finally arrived just then. Pearl jumped up to give her a hug. Iris was delighted to see that she was to be included in the sculpture. Pearl told everyone that she couldn't let them do anything too major, as it was her project, and she was being graded on her own work. Everyone else could only knead clay and help her save time by assembling pieces and doing as she instructed them to do.

Miles looked nervous for only another couple of minutes. Then, Pearl shouted in glee and held up a freshly mixed ball of clay, holding it next to his head. She'd made a silver that roughly matched his hair and eye color, and she looked quite proud of herself. Miles didn't know how to react, so he turned slightly pink.

"...Um... You did a good job with that," he offered lamely. Pearl smiled at him anyway.

Larry had to show Phoenix how to use most of the tools, as he'd never really tried his hand at any form of sculpture. They decided that he should try taking sculpting classes next year. Maya and Pearl could sculpt and talk at the same time. Phoenix was especially mesmerized when she replied to a text from Aunt Morgan with one hand and continued to sculpt with the other.

Miles, to Phoenix's surprise, seemed to have trouble with detail work. Because his slender fingers were so delicate on the piano keys, Phoenix had assumed he would be generally skilled with his hands. Instead, Miles regularly fumbled and dropped his clay or his tools. Phoenix tried not to laugh— he didn't want to embarrass him.

The sculpture was nearly finished when Miles made the unfortunate decision to look around Maya's dorm room. Maya had a small bookshelf underneath one of the windows, and it was lined mostly with books about pottery and Japanese artwork. One book in particular stood out, and as soon as Phoenix realized that it was there, he felt his stomach twist into a knot. He tried getting Maya's attention, but she was too fixated on her cousin. And it was too late, anyway— Miles returned to being quiet and withdrawn as soon as he'd seen the book.

When Pearl's project was done, she said her goodbyes and left with Larry, who refused to let her walk back to the train station by herself. He told her she'd get a chance to say goodbye to Mr. Armando before they left. Iris left to return to her sister, and Miles made some excuse as he tried to slip out. Maya had to remind him about his sweater.

"Miles— uh, what are you doing this evening?"

Phoenix asked before he realized that he was going to. Miles froze.

"...I was going to study until practice. Mr. Armando has offered to let me practice with him on some evenings until my audition for the orchestra."

Phoenix nodded. All of his musical friends had told him about how grueling the audition process was. Only the best of the school's players were allowed to perform with the traveling symphony group, as they could earn a portion of the ticket sales for themselves, and they represented the school. Mr. Armando liked to coach people before their auditions and give them pointers about how they could improve.

"Right... Okay. I'll see you later," Phoenix said casually. Miles looked mildly suspicious of him, but shrugged.

"Right."

As soon as Maya and Phoenix were alone, she turned to him and folded her arms.

"What was that all about—"

"You left it on the shelf."

"...I left what on the..." Maya trailed off, and then seemed to realize what Phoenix meant. She gasped and covered her mouth. "Oh my god, I... I totally forgot! I didn't mean to... to..."

Phoenix patted her shoulder and smiled down at her.

"It's okay, Maya," he reassured her. "I know what to do."

Phoenix was exaggerating his own confidence for now. He hoped that he was making the right decision.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Miles found Phoenix waiting for him just outside the school's music building when he finished practice. As the sun finished setting behind him and turned the sky a faint purple, Phoenix sat on the bench, quiet, with his hands in his pockets. He smiled.

"Hey. I was waiting for you."

Miles fidgeted nervously. Something about Phoenix's expression seemed distant and sad, and it didn't suit his face.

"Oh? May I ask why?"

Phoenix didn't answer at first, and stood up from the bench to walk briskly to his side.

"Wanted to walk you back to your dorm. That's all." There was a long, awkward pause in which both men blinked at one another and didn't say anything. "...Please," Phoenix added. Miles clicked his tongue.

"...Fine. Fine. You can come along... If you insist."

He turned in the direction of the dorms. Phoenix sped up his pace until they walked side by side. Whenever Miles glanced in his direction, he would find Phoenix sneaking looks at him or staring down at his own feet. He wasn't sure what to make of the sudden shift in behavior, of his unusually serious demeanor.

"...The art teachers aren't as good as she was," Phoenix said after about six minutes of silent, slow walking. "As Mia, I mean. Mia Fey. She used to be the head of the department, and she taught just about every single visual arts class. Now they've got a whole gaggle of teachers just to replace her, and not a single one of 'em can touch her."

Miles furrowed his brow, focusing in on one particular part. He didn't question Phoenix having suddenly brought this up— he'd been able to see him mulling something over, and it must have been this, even if he didn't understand why he wanted to discuss it.

"Fey? As in..."

"Fey," Phoenix repeated. "I'm sure Maya mentioned her, um... older sister."

Miles frowned.

"She said her elder sister was murdered after she tried to move the clan into the modern day world." He parroted what Maya had told him as best he could remember it. Phoenix nodded. "It's... It's awful."

Phoenix's smile turned wistful.

"She was my mentor, you know. It's why I decided to come here, and it's how I met Maya. Guess in a way it's how I met you, too... She's the one who told me to constantly practice, and I need books to do that effectively."

Miles stopped for a half-second, a reflexive response to his surprise, before he continued walking and hoped that Phoenix would not notice.

"...Is that so?"

Phoenix let out a long breath and stared at the setting sun. His face was lit by the soft orange glow, and it illuminated the fond twinkle in his eye.

"Yeah."

"How did that happen?"

"Well..." Phoenix intentionally slowed his pace. Miles understood, just then, why he had wanted to walk him back to the dorms. He'd wanted to talk to him alone without putting any pressure on him. "I've been drawing since before I can remember. It started because my mom and grandma got me into anime and manga pretty early in life. I would try to draw my favorite characters... My notebooks probably had about eighty thousand doodles of Astro Boy." He chuckled as a slightly embarrassed blush lit his cheeks. Miles didn't understand what he was so embarrassed about.

"My father used to give himself headaches trying to explain to people that I liked being cooped up reading. Other parents always assumed he was pressuring me into becoming an academic recluse," Miles said. To anyone else, the comment would've sounded random, but he knew Phoenix understood why he'd mentioned it. Watching the embarrassment fade from his features only confirmed this. ...When had they learned to communicate this way, anyway?

"R-Right. Well... I never showed anyone my drawings. I think I must have thought that everyone drew when they were bored. So I constantly worked at it, and tried to get better, but I never thought I'd do anything with it. Then...

"Then I went to my first art museum. It was a field trip. Third grade, if I remember right. And it was like... It was like this lightbulb just went off. I wanted to be just like those guys, and I was sure that I could be just as famous if I just worked a little harder. When you're surrounded by all that art and your head's swimming with ideas, it seems doable, y'know?"

"...I do. I remember my first symphony." Both of them sported fond, reminiscent smiles now, and Miles didn't feel like concealing his for once.

"Yeah. Well..." The smile faded, and he shook his head. "My hopes were shattered pretty quickly after that. I signed up for art classes and started to show my parents my pictures, and I quickly learned that for every drawing I was proud of, there would be some kid who could doodle something better with his left hand and his eyes closed. I'm only kind of exaggerating. And I let it get to me. So I got to this place where I still considered myself an artist, but I had resigned myself to the thought that I'd never be a professional and stopped showing anybody my drawings. I decided that I wasn't good enough."

Miles couldn't help his chuckle. Having seen the man's artwork for himself (and he was a difficult man to impress), it seemed silly to him that he'd ever had such a thought. Then again, all artists were like that— their own worst critics.

"So what changed?" Miles asked, genuinely intrigued. Phoenix nearly slowed to a stop, and Miles saw something pass through his eyes. Phoenix was no longer seeing what was in front of him.

"...I was drawing in the park. Studying trees, the clouds, people who sat on the benches... That sort of thing. And I was getting frustrated, because it just wasn't turning out the way I wanted it to. Just as I was about to give up, this lady approached me. Just like that, out of nowhere, she sat down next to me and asked me what I was drawing. She even tried to look over my shoulder at the book."

Miles involuntarily shuddered, remembering the first time his father had overheard him playing a terrible note on his flute.

"Oh."

"Mmm-hmm. Naturally, I freaked out! I hid the picture from her and told her it was nothing. And y'know what she said?" Phoenix stopped to look Miles in the eye. "She said, 'Oh, I'm sorry. I thought that you were an artist.'"

Miles' face went blank, and Phoenix laughed.

"What?"

"That's what I said! And I told her that I was an artist, but that I didn't think I was good enough for her to see my drawings. They weren't as good as hers, I was sure. And she..." Phoenix chuckled and shook his head. "She tore into me. Told me that an artist creates art for it to be shared with the world, and has to be willing to bare their whole soul even knowing that other people might tear it down and there may always be somebody better. If I wanted to be an artist, I had to put myself out there. And...

"...She told me that the only standard I had to beat was mine. I had to work to be my own personal best, not anybody else's, and that's what really matters."

Miles nodded.

"...Wow."

Phoenix grinned, a painfully bright smile that was equal parts mournful and joyous.

"Yeah. She was really something. I, uh, asked her who she was. Because in only a couple of minutes, I had decided that I wanted to be just like her. And she told me. She taught at Ivy University, and every other Saturday, she taught classes at the community center. Sometimes she tutored people privately, but only if they caught her attention. I went straight home and begged my parents to sign me up for the classes."

"And I take it you caught her attention?" Miles prodded, slowly walking forward. Other students had started to stare, wondering what they were doing standing in the middle of the sidewalk like that.

"I did. And I got her to tutor me. My first night in her condo, her little sister happened to be visiting, and, well..."

"...And the rest is history," Miles finished. Phoenix chuckled.

"It certainly is. Maya was set on Ivy, of course, and she got attached to me pretty quickly. Mia told me she was always asking if 'the spiky guy' was coming by. God, was she embarrassed that she told me that. But..." He smiled. "...I always kind of hoped she would be there, too. She was like the spunky little sister I never had."

Phoenix fell silent until they were both back inside the dorm building and had moved past the crowds of rowdy boys. When he spoke again, his voice had gotten quieter.

"It's a shame," he said. "Sometimes I feel like I should have seen it coming, because... She was my professor for a whole school year, and we were about a third of the way into my second year when it happened. I was close to her. I... I should've—"

"You can't predict murder," Miles scolded. "Besides, how would you have saved her? There's no use in casting blame. It won't bring her back."

Phoenix winced. Miles' words were harsher than he had perhaps intended them to be, but he was right.

The pair finally made it to the top floor, and Phoenix followed Miles to his dorm. He waited until he was invited inside. As soon as the door closed and Miles made his way towards the couch, Phoenix placed a certain book on the table, one that he'd been hiding in his hoodie all this time. Miles froze when his eye caught sight of the hardback cover— of his father's name. It was the same book that he'd spotted on Maya's shelf. He'd convinced himself that it had been something else.

"Don't get all anxious— I'm trying to thank you, since I can't thank your dad." Phoenix gulped before continuing, his confidence quickly fading under Miles' scrutinizing gaze. "...It was all because of this book. Your father's work served as the evidence that led to finding Mia's killer."

Miles' eyes widened. Everything seemed to be coming together, and it sent a cold chill down his spine. He wasn't sure whether to be pleasantly surprised or terrified— everything seemed to be falling together a bit too neatly, like some unseen hand was guiding it.

"H-How... How can that be?" Miles stammered. He grimaced. He didn't like to stammer. Phoenix smiled.

"...Mia was smart. Like Maya said, she wanted to move the Fey clan more into the mainstream, and into the modern day... Its archaic structure has caused it a lot of problems, after all. So when she came to the city, she brought her art with her. She did shows, and she did custom work for local celebrities and politicians... It was smart. She was smart, and the artwork sold for ridiculously high prices."

Phoenix glared down at the book. More specifically, he glared at the pompous man depicted on the cover, with his dazzling rings and smug smile. Uncovering the Truth about BlueCorp and other Corporate Monsters, the title read.

"Redd White, and his BlueCorp. Your father's book dissected all of the rumors surrounding how he really conducted his business. Without access to any legal documents, of course Gregory couldn't prove anything concrete, but his investigation was thorough, and the book became extremely damaging to Redd's business. It was a best-seller, after all— cost him millions of dollars. He needed to bring in a lot of money to keep his charade going, and he got so desperate that he got reckless."

"But what does he have to do with the Feys?" Miles asked. He didn't know much about the contents of his father's books. By the time he was deemed old enough to read them by Uncle Ray, his father had been gone for quite some time, and he hadn't wanted to subject himself to an onslaught of painful memories. Phoenix sat down on the couch, and Miles slowly moved to sit beside him.

"Well," Phoenix began, "Redd White started producing counterfeits of genuine Fey Clan artwork and selling them as originals. Most of them were pretty convincing, but Mia knew something was wrong. She was in charge of the clan, after all. She'd recognize her own family's work. Redd got careless, and she caught onto him. She was apparently going to go to the police with what she found, and Redd knew that would be the final nail in his business' coffin—"

"And so he killed her," Miles finished. "...In cold blood?"

Phoenix sighed heavily.

"...Exactly. And she was the last person on earth who deserved to die like that, bludgeoned to death with one of her own sculptures. But... There was hope. She was smart, and so she had left some clues... One of which was a copy of your father's book that she had hidden in that office. She'd written a note in the front warning the police to look into Redd White if anything should happen to her. The guy ransacked the whole place and stole everything he thought was important, but he had limited time, so she misled him about where he could find it."

"Hmmph. I imagine that was that," Miles scoffed.

"Mostly. The book itself ended up being evidence in the trial. The police had to confirm everything your father had already found to be true. It was enough for the jury, even with his 'witness' on his side." Phoenix's glare hardened. "...Redd White is serving life with no chance of parole, as your father was right in suspecting that he had forced dozens of people into suicide by pressuring them with info he had on them. He was a sick man, but..."

"...But he's been put away now," Miles quietly added, completing the thought. Phoenix only barely nodded. "...He can't hurt anybody else."

Phoenix looked around like he'd forgotten where he was and then scratched the back of his neck.

"That's the only reason Maya has it. The police still have Mia's, so she got her own copy. She wasn't trying to corner you or anything. When I reminded her that it was on her shelf, she felt really bad. I think they're all trying to figure out how to make it up to you, actually."

Miles shook his head, incredulous.

"Make what up to me? It's not their fault that I haven't properly dealt with my own problems."

"Still," Phoenix argued. "They feel bad. ...We feel bad. I thought that maybe if I explained, you wouldn't be upset with Ema, at least."

"You can tell her that I was never upset with her."

"Why don't you tell her that yourself?"

Miles stiffened at that, but relaxed after a moment of consideration.

"...I should."

A long silence.

"I'm not upset with you, either," Miles added. Phoenix flinched. He tried insisting that he'd never thought that to be the case, but his blush betrayed that he was lying, and he quickly gave up the act.

"...Thanks," Phoenix grumbled. "I should... I should get back to my own dorm." He stood up, leaving Miles on the couch by himself, and made his way for the door. He stopped with his hand on the knob. "You're working at the store after your classes tomorrow, right?"

"I am. I promised Uncle Ray. Why do you ask?"

"Just checking," Phoenix replied nonchalantly. He left the room, having forgotten Maya's book on the coffee table. Miles watched him leave and stared at the door until he was sure that the other man didn't intend to return. When the room was empty once more, he let out a long and shaky breath, one he'd apparently been holding in.

Miles looked to the book on the table. He studied it for several minutes, mentally debating what he should do with it. He knew he'd eventually return it to Maya, but it was the question of what do with it in the meantime that haunted him.

After working up his nerve, he picked it up. He opened it to the preface, and as soon as his eyes began to absorb the words, he heard them narrated in a particular voice— deep but not unfriendly, familiar but nearly forgotten. He found himself mouthing the words as he read.

The corporate world is no stranger to scandal, nor is it unfamiliar with the abuse of human rights. For centuries, the pursuit of money has led people to mistreat one another and to turn a blind eye to the law...

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

"Are the manga really this popular?" Miles asked as he encountered what was probably his sixth box of them. Ray laughed.

"You bet. We've attracted a new teenage clientele. A couple of kids have told me that they can't find our stuff anywhere else, at least not for as cheap as we can sell it."

"That's nice." Miles put the books away as quickly as he could, finding that the shelf was stuffed once more and that he had to lay some of the books atop the others. With these taller shelves, he hadn't had to do so in a while. It came as a strangely relieving feeling.

He heard the bell ring just as he had finished flattening the box, and he heard the distinct sound of familiar sandals. He paused, and heard Ray laugh at him. He wondered if his Uncle had also learned that sound. He'd been wondering where they had all gone. He'd hoped to say his goodbyes before he had to head to work, just to be polite, but he hadn't been able to find them, even at their dorms.

"We made it!" Larry gasped, heaving for breath. Everyone seemed to be exhausted, like they had run a great distance.

"...Where on earth did you lot run off to? I haven't seen you since classes ended," Miles wondered aloud.

"Litcon," Ema replied, barely intelligible through her wheezing. Miles raised an eyebrow.

"Litcon?"

"Literary convention," Phoenix clarified. He wasn't quite as tired. It seemed he was in better shape than his friends when it came to traveling long distances, which wasn't surprising— he did travel everywhere on foot or with his bike. "Lana took us, but she wants to stay longer, so we got back here ourselves. Larry didn't think to drive us there separately so that we wouldn't have to run back like maniacs... Not that it was too far away."

"Right... Lana. She's your elder sister, isn't she? The literary professor?" Miles looked at Ema, who nodded.

Just then, Miles noticed that everyone had bags, some bigger than others. Phoenix carried a large paper one, while the others had smaller ones with little handles and the convention logo.

"We would've invited you, but you had to work, and you said you don't like crowds," Maya explained. Miles scrunched up his nose.

"I'm not at all fond of crowds. Was it that bad?"

The group shared a collective shudder in lieu of a verbal response. It told Miles everything that he needed to know, and he imagined how each of them would react in a situation where they had to elbow their way through a group. He knew, somehow, that Maya and Ema had no trouble. Maya, especially, was terrifyingly strong for someone so small. He'd seen her pin both of her older male friends down at the same time with little effort.

"Tada!" Maya suddenly declared, shoving her bag in Miles' direction. He looked inside of it almost automatically before he could express confusion or refuse the gift, as he would normally try to do at least once. "I don't know what you normally like to read, but I was told this guy was good."

"Glen David Gold," Miles read aloud. His tone told Maya that it was a good choice. "I've been meaning to read something of his."

"And I got this one because you said you hadn't read it yet, and I simply can't allow that," Ema added as she joined her bag with the collection. "It's one of my favorites, so I wanted you to have your own copy!"

Phoenix caught a glimpse of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? inside the bag. A very Ema sort of gift.

"That's... awfully considerate of you, but I must ask why—"

"I don't read a whole lot myself. You could probably figure that much out. So I just went where all the dudes were going and got this one," Larry explained. Miles nearly dropped the bags he was already holding in his effort to grab Larry's in time, as he'd more or less thrown it in his direction. Miles saw Phoenix elbow Larry as he struggled to look inside the bag. He raised an eyebrow.

"Not bad, Butz. Patrick Rothfuss is good."

Miles set the bags down on the counter, hoping he'd have time to question everyone else. Instead, Phoenix cleared his throat, donning a strangely proud smile.

"Now, now. You all did pretty well considering how little you've talked with him about books. But I'm sorry to inform you all that I win."

Maya huffed and pouted an angry lip at him.

"How could you have won?! You stayed in one place the whole time!"

"For good reason," Phoenix argued. "I had to get to the front of the line to get these signed, after all."

Miles couldn't help the curious twinkle in his own eyes, nor could he help but snatch the bag from Phoenix as soon as it was moved in his direction to desperately search its contents. Inside he saw four hardcover books, all part of a series entitled All the Wrong Questions. As he did not know the name, he found himself confused and pulled out the topmost volume. There, in the light of the store, he saw the author's pen name and everything made sense. His mouth fell open.

"This is—"

"I didn't even know he'd written prequels. Now that the books are all finished and the online series is successful, he's going around to book signings and stuff again. Now your collection is actually complete."

Phoenix ignored Ema muttering something under her breath about her general aversion to prequels after what George Lucas had subjected her to. Ema's feelings on The Phantom Menace were already well-established amongst the group.

"I... can't believe you remembered all of that," Miles gasped. Phoenix grinned.

"Open it!"

Miles opened the cover, and there he found an autograph. To Miles, From Lemony Snicket.

"You didn't."

"I did! I told him to sign them like that, also. I mean, his real name is so boring by comparison. Apparently he was glad I asked? He laughed."

Miles shook his head as he shut the book and returned it to the bag, placing it on the counter with the others. He didn't try to insist that they all keep the books, as it seemed they'd gone through a lot of trouble to get them for him, even if he couldn't fathom why. Ray whistled at the collection. He put a hand over his heart, almost protectively.

"Alright, now— I'm grateful for the thoughtful gifts, but I need at least one of you to explain this to me. Why? Why this all of a sudden?"

Larry, unfortunately, was the first to pipe up.

"It's the 'we're sorry for bringing up your dead dad' collection!"

Maya wound an arm back and punched Larry right in the sternum, knocking the wind out of his chest. As he gasped for air, Ema tried to save the situation.

"What he means to say is that it's our way of apologizing for putting you on the spot the other day. We should have just taken the hint, and it wasn't any of our business anyway."

"I'm not angry," Miles insisted. "No one forced me to disclose anything."

"But we should have dropped the subject as soon as we could tell that you were uncomfortable! For Uncle Ray's sake, too. We..." Maya paused to collect her thoughts. "We want you to know that you can talk to us about anything, anytime, but we also want you to know that you don't have to do anything you don't want to. We can support you without pushing you past your boundaries."

Miles looked to Phoenix, who nodded furiously in strong agreement. The others added their agreement verbally. It took Larry a few seconds longer than everyone else, as he was still recovering from Maya's blow.

"...I appreciate that. I'm sorry if I made you all feel any kind of shame," Miles nearly whispered.

"It's alright. You never had anything to apologize for," Phoenix said dismissively. Miles rolled his eyes.

"Why didn't anyone tell me that having friends would mean being fussed over and coddled all the time?" Miles mumbled in Ray's direction. Ray snickered and patted him somewhat condescendingly on the head.

"It's part of the package. You learn to live with it." He smiled, clearly thinking of a specific person.

"Ha!" Maya suddenly exclaimed, hopping victoriously in place. "You said it! It's too late for you now!"

Miles froze in fear.

"...I said what now?"

"You said friends," Larry pointed out. "And now you can't take it back."

"That's right!" Maya grinned wickedly, putting her hands on her hips. "And d'you know what friends do after they've resolved something?"

Miles gulped and tightened his expression.

"...N-No. What do friends... er..."

Maya spread her arms wide and beamed as brightly as a person could. Phoenix suddenly realized what she was doing and contemplated stopping her, but decided against it. He'd allow it, if only as a test.

"They hug each other!"

"Th-That's—"

"Come on, guys, give him a nice group hug!"

Miles looked frantically back and forth. He had little space to run away, and it seemed that Ray didn't plan to let him escape.

"Th-That's a bit excessive, don't you think?!" Miles shrank into himself, but he didn't say no, and that was enough for Ema. She wrapped her arms around his from behind him, pinning them uselessly against his sides. He let out a groan. Ray covered his mouth in a futile attempt to conceal his laughter.

"Group huuug—!" Maya nearly tackled Miles, knocking him slightly into Larry, who joined in the embrace. Phoenix could only laugh awkwardly and offer an apology under his breath as he formed the hug's outermost wall. Within seconds, he felt his friends shift around so that at least a small part of Phoenix— one of his shoulders and the upper portion of the attached arm— actually touched Miles.

Before anyone could let go and before Miles had time to voice his protests, Phoenix saw a flash of light. He peeked over Miles' head and caught sight of Ray putting his phone away after having discreetly snapped a picture. He flashed Phoenix a thumbs-up.

"Now, now— That's quite enough!" Miles wiggled helplessly. Everyone laughed, but heeded his request nonetheless.

"Your face matches your sweater right about now," Ema teased. Miles spun around to face the opposite direction.

"I-If you don't mind, I have work to do!"

He scurried off before anyone could stop him, in very tsundere fashion. Phoenix could still see his ears, though, and they were definitely pink. He smiled.

Miles was proving to be difficult to crack sometimes, but it was already worth it.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

A/N: this is the second long-ass fic in which i have described a yukata. Why does that keep happening?? also miles is kinda clumsy, inspired by the paper crane thing from t&t. i've actually seen some fics interpret him as being autistic or suffering from dyspraxia based on those apparent motor skill issues and his "edgeworth noises".
and so some of the angst begins! it's not the last of it, TRUST ME, but don't think that the fluff is coming to an end. this fic is largely about personal growth and fluffy friendships, so there is always a balance of angst to fluff if i can manage it. think of it as hurt/comfort more than anything.
i haven't actually read anything by glen david gold or patrick rothfuss, but i totally blanked on authors and have heard good things about both, and the former wrote one of the reviews for the cover of the welcome to night vale novel. for those who didn't get phoenix's gift, he got miles signed copies of the four prequel books targeted at young adults written for a series of unfortunate events (as a gift to those who read them as kids, i suppose). it was one of my favorite series growing up, and i've been keeping an eye out for them in bookstores to restore my collection and re-read them all! and the first season of the netflix show (the "online series" that phoenix mentions) was pretty well received. the author's pen name is lemony snicket, who is also a character in the books, while the real man's name is david handler. i appreciated the books for being kid's fiction that dealt with serious topics and found some morbid humor in the woes of life, and i feel like miles would have liked them for the same reason. he can relate to suddenly orphaned characters. :'D