Breaking Expectations [Ace Attorney; Miles/Phoenix]
It's been a little hard getting myself motivated to write when I'm trying not to hack my lungs out - walking out in the rain during winter is not a good idea, because I think I made myself sicker no worries, there has been no fever! On the other hand, I looked at my fic-list and despaired at how much I have yet to write, so I sat myself down for a good fic-writing session.
This one's for cannedebonbon. Here it is, on my LJ, with waaaaaay more. Happy... Boxing Day? O_o
Title: Breaking Expectations
Fandom: Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney
Character/Pairings: Miles/Phoenix, Maya, Larry
Word Count: 2908
Warning/Spoilers: PG-15
Summary: Phoenix didn't realize he was staring at Miles' hands, the way those long fingers stopped and released the strings, the subtle shift and flex of muscles. [sort-of Band!AU]
Alternate Summary: Miles and his sexy black electric violin makes an impression on Phoenix.
Status: Completed
They rocked the crowd. Phoenix could feel it, through crowd's indecipherable roar, the way his guitar felt like a living, lively creature under his hands, the acoustics and sound vibrations from the sound system palpable on his skin. They trooped off the stage to screams from the appreciative crowd, and maybe they were just in the town auditorium, and this was just their high school's battle of the bands, but Phoenix loved the adrenaline rush he got every time he leaned in low to the microphone. Maya was surprisingly adept at the drums, and Larry enjoyed the riffs on his bass a little too much. It was weird, not having a keyboardist, but Phoenix couldn't do both, and they needed a lead guitarist. Besides, between Larry's improvisations and Maya's unique drumming, they sounded good even without the keyboards.
They tumbled into the audience after their turn, Maya grinning her head off, Larry babbling something about how "the chicks all dig a rocker, yo!" Phoenix was coated with sweat, the air chilling on his skin, but the next band was up in five, and the crew bustled across the stage, moving the keyboard and microphones back, and that piqued Phoenix's curiosity.
When Diego took the drums and Franziska appeared on stage, already running her bow down her viola, Phoenix knew, but he didn't quite believe until a violin joined the viola's rich, dark tones. Miles stepped into the center spotlight, dressed in a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up just under his elbows, his fingers and bow dancing across a sleek, black electric violin.
Phoenix had heard Miles on the violin countless times, loved the soulful classical pieces he played, but he had never seen this violin - an electric violin - or this Miles before. There were extra strings on the violin, Phoenix could hear them, and Miles moved as if he, not his violin, were hooked up to the outlets and the amps.
Phoenix didn't realize he was staring at Miles' hands, the way those long fingers stopped and released the strings, the subtle shift and flex of muscles as Miles drew the bow up and down the violin. Then, something prompted Phoenix to look up, to find Miles staring right at him, his bangs messy, a challenge in his eyes. and Phoenix felt his stomach drop out under him.
"Nick, I never knew Miles could play like that," Maya was yelling at him above the crowd, and Larry was staring bug-eyed at Miles - Phoenix was vaguely thankful that he wasn’t the only one who was shocked. He couldn't tear his gaze away from Miles, each violin note pulling at something within him, until Miles threw his head back, and began singing, low and rich and powerful even without a microphone.
Phoenix's fingernails bit into his inner hand, and a shiver shuddered its way through his body, from the back of his neck down to his spine.
Miles and his classical-rock-pop group had just trampled all the competition to the ground, but Phoenix didn’t think he could bring himself to care about that at the moment.
-----
Perhaps it started a month and a half ago, when the student council made the announcement about the battle of bands. Phoenix didn’t think much of it - he was more of a thespian than an instrumentalist, even though there was something about the span of delicate black and white keys under his fingers, or the feel of the strings as he strummed his acoustic guitar that gave him a different but similar kind of jolt a soliloquy on stage did.
But then Larry had latched onto his shoulders in with his usual goofy grin, accompanied by a starry-eyed Maya, and Phoenix knew there was no escape.
“It’d be awesome, Nick, really!” Maya said, popping two fries in her mouth. “What do you have against it - you love the stage!”
Phoenix pushed the salad in front of his fries, then tore away at his pizza. “You know this is just a gimmick by the student council to boost their popularity, right?”
“They can gimmick me any day, ‘specially if Lana’s the one doing it,” Larry cut in happily, flopping his head onto his hands and staring into the air with a grin Phoenix knew meant trouble. “Come on, Nick, it’ll be like the good old days - rocking it out with our six strings!”
“I’m not sure I want to remember the ‘good old days.’” Phoenix winced a little at the memory. He picked up the guitar only because Larry wanted to try out bass, and during their first go at it, Larry managed to snap all four of his strings, and then wailed that he was bleeding all over his gorgeous lady-magnet, as he insisted in calling his rather pricey bass guitar.
Sometimes Phoenix thought the only reason why he became this good at the guitar was so he could prevent Larry from trying to learn on his own and accidentally taking out an eye or worse.
“Come on, Nick, it’d be fun. You’ll sing, of course, but Larry and I can back you up!”
Phoenix watched his plate of fries rapidly disappear to Maya’s insatiable appetite. He reached for his pizza, only to feel cold plastic under his hand - Larry was eating his second slice of pizza. He sighed. “You play anything, Maya?”
Maybe the keyboard. Or the flute, perhaps. Certainly not the-
“The drums, of course!”
Drums, because where in the world would a girl from mystic village like Maya learn them?
“What?” Phoenix asked, rubbing at his head.
Maya flicked her hand at Phoenix’s forehead. “The drums - I mean, we’re trying to be a rock band, right? Diego sticks around and plays with Pearls when sis is busy sometimes, and I learned the drums from him.”
“And what did Mia think of that?”
“She got headaches, but they’re less frequent these days. It’s been two years, after all!”
Phoenix looked at Maya’s bright, smiling face, and then at Larry, still muttering to himself in the corner - was he practicing pickup lines? Phoenix hoped so, because he couldn’t imagine any other situation where “I’ll make you scream the way my bass does in my hands” was vaguely appropriate. He glanced at the sign-up sheet Maya was not-so-discreetly pushing towards him across the cafeteria table.
“Okay, fine,” he said, and held out one arm to catch Maya before she could tackle-hug him. “But we should try to find another member. We’ve got a bassist, a drummer, and I can play either the guitar or the keyboards, but one more person would be ideal.”
Maya held a finger thoughtfully to her lips. “How about Miles? You’re always going on about what a great musician he is, although he refuses to play for me when I ask.” Maya’s mouth slips into a pout.
“Edgey?” Larry looked up. “No way! He’s all about his strict classical music. I can just imagine his glare every time I do my riffs. Nick! You gotta let me do my riffs! I live for my riffs!”
Phoenix ignored Larry’s teary-eyed look and thought about it for a moment. A violinist would add an interesting twist to their band, but he couldn’t imagine Miles throwing himself into a band or performing any of the raw sharp, staccato notes rock or pop needed on his precious acoustic violin. Not Miles, who performed in front of paying audiences at concerts or classical festivals.
“No, not Miles,” Phoenix conceded, and ran his hand through his spikes. “He’s a fantastic violinist, but he’s not really cut out for rock. I mean. It’s Miles.”
“Right on, budd-oh hey! Oh hey, Edgey, what’s up?”
Phoenix whirled around, almost knocking over his soda, to find Miles behind him, dressed impeccably in a sweater vest and collared shirt, not a hair out of place, which was normal, except Miles was staring at him intensely, which was not normal.
“Did your meeting end early?” Maya piped up from beside him, and Miles looked away.
“Yes, it did. We were planning for that ridiculous battle of bands, which I’m sure you all heard on the announcements this morning.”
Phoenix breathed out - Miles hadn’t heard him, or else he wouldn’t be so calm - and scooted over so Miles could pull a chair up if he wanted, although Miles never did.
“There’s nothing wrong with some musical competition,” Phoenix said, forgetting in a moment that he had been rather opposed to the idea just a few minutes ago. “Lighten up, Miles - you’re part of the organizing group, after all.”
Miles narrowed his eyes at him. “Indeed. If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with Lana. Wright, you haven’t turned in your history assignment.”
Miles gave Larry and Maya a nod and turned away while Phoenix spluttered over his soda and scrambled to unearth his assignment from his backpack.
“That’s weird. Didn’t he just come out of a meeting with Lana?” Maya asked, and ate the last of Phoenix’s fries.
-----
In hindsight, Miles had probably heard him, and that’s maybe what started this whole image-changing, sexy black electric violin-playing - something.
The crowd gave Miles, Franziska and Diego an even louder applause than they did with Phoenix’s band. At least, that’s what Phoenix surmised.
He couldn’t really hear over the loud, shrill screams the girls behind him emitted when Miles swept his bow down his violin in an explosive finale and smirked at the crowd, a lopsided grin and eyelashes lowered over his eyes.
Phoenix wandered if Miles had been working too hard at the student council and finally snapped and went all musically rebellious. Because he really didn’t think it was healthy for the population to witness Miles like this.
-----
There was a short briefing for the band leaders after that first round ended, and Phoenix went only after much poking and prodding on Maya’s part. He didn’t relish being in the same room with Miles after outright gawking at him, but Phoenix was a man of the stage, and schooled himself into a mask of calm friendliness before slipping into the tiny dressing room with the other ten band leaders. He trained his eyes on Lana and tried his best not to look at anyone in a white top.
Lana launched into the specifics of the second round with quick efficiency, and Phoenix followed her words until two quick knocks interrupted her. The door opened to reveal Miles, a stack of paper in one hand, his violin case in the other.
Phoenix had a moment to think oh, and then right, Miles is in the student council as Miles passed the handouts to Jake in his ever present cowboy hat. Miles gave his fellow council members a quick nod, then walked past Phoenix to take a seat on the opposite side of the room, his eyes never once turning towards Phoenix.
Phoenix fidgeted in his seat. He thought Miles would… do something, like mock him or at least throw him a self-satisfied smirk after that whole act on stage, but no, the he was ignoring everyone around him, focusing only on taking that beautiful black violin out of its casing and checking the strings before running a soft cloth down the instrument’s body to clear it of dust and residue sweat.
Trust Miles to prioritize his violin over everything else, even listening to the president of the student council.
Phoenix gave up listening to Lana and watched. Miles’ movements were quick and efficient. This was a side of Miles Phoenix was familiar with, one that was almost fanatically obsessive and very much in control, nothing like the person that moved and touched his violin on stage earlier as if trying to push himself beyond his limits and more.
The scrap of chairs broke Phoenix out of his musing. Lana was pulling her scarf on and everyone else was leaving, and he scrambled to his feet, instinctively joining the crowd making its way towards the exit.
“Wright. A word with you.”
Phoenix started, and stared over his shoulder. Miles was tucking his violin back into its case, his back half towards him, so Phoenix worked his way to a corner and waited.
Miles took his time, so that when the door swung shut on the last person - Jake, who shot Phoenix an arched look and a lopsided, knowing, smile - he still held his bow in hand. He turned, and Phoenix thanked years of drama-training that he could keep his composure, because that dangerous, unpredictable look was back in Miles’ eyes.
“You didn’t tell me you were joining the competition,” Phoenix said.
Miles smiled, and paced across the dressing room. “I never said I wasn’t, either. You should know better than to make assumptions, Wright.”
“And Diego? Why do you even need a university student? It’s just a high school battle of bands.”
“You’re looking at the small picture, as always. If I’m going to bother joining a competition, I’m doing it to win. Armando is a talented drummer, and Lana authorized his membership, seeing as he is an alumnus.”
The way Miles turned his bow round and round between his fingers was weirdly hypnotic, and Phoenix pulled his gaze away and matched Miles stare for stare, refusing to fall into whatever game he was playing.
“What are you trying to prove, Miles?”
There was something strangely familiar about the ambiance, not that Phoenix was used to being alone in a cramped backstage dressing room with an increasingly predatory Miles.
“I thought you’d know the answer.”
Phoenix ran one hand through his hair and tugged impatiently on one spike. “I have no idea what you’r-”
Miles stepped closer, right into his personal space, and trapped his bow behind Phoenix, catching the ends of it in his hands. Phoenix backed instinctively away, and felt the flat of the bow dig into his small of his back.
“If you break my bow, I’ll be extremely displeased,” Miles said, close enough that Phoenix could feel the of air against his throat each time Miles spoke. “So tell me, Wright. Do you think I’m cut out for rock now?”
Phoenix swallowed, because damn, Miles had heard him that lunch break a month and a half ago. He glanced down, at Miles’ arms and hands framing his hips, gripping his violin bow at either end and boxing Phoenix in between Miles and the bow, and suddenly Phoenix got it.
He looked into Miles’ grey eyes and said, “Yeah. You were brilliant.”
He wasn’t sure which of them moved forward first, because in the next moment their lips crashed together, Miles taking Phoenix’s lower lip into his mouth and biting down, and Phoenix had his hands in Miles’ hair, pulling so tightly he was surprised all Miles did was growl, let go of his bow with one hand and fit it to the curve of Phoenix’s hip, clenching so tightly that Phoenix was sure he’ll leave finger-size bruises.
So that was what it was, why this feel of this conversation felt so familiar. It was like being on stage, like hearing the crowd as a blur of white noise at the back of his mind and the spotlights bright and burning on his skin, like the rush of adrenaline and energy running through his veins. It’s like feeling far too alive to fit in his own skin, where all his senses were on overdrive, like the tangy shock of swiping his tongue down the end of a battery.
It was only a minute or two before Miles pulled back, breathing heavily and licking at his lips. The bow was a sharp, slanted line across Phoenix’s back, and he unclenched his fingers from Miles’ hair. Miles smiled at him, and pulled away, completely out of his grasp, holding his bow out towards Phoenix like a saber when Phoenix made a low noise of protest.
“Don’t getting too far ahead of yourself, Wright. It’s only the beginning of the competition.” Miles picked up his violin case with his free hand.
“What, and this was just a trial run?” Phoenix asked, tucking his shirt straight and watching Miles carefully.
“Perhaps.” Miles tucked his bow under one arm, then moved forward to whisper into Phoenix’s ear. “And perhaps you’ll see other sides of me that you’ve never noticed before, Phoenix.”
“Miles-”
The smile on Miles’ face looked less innocent and more self-satisfied, and he shoved a sheet of paper into Phoenix’s hands. “Here. Written procedures for the second round. You didn’t pick it up during the meeting because you were too busy daydreaming.”
Phoenix glanced down at the instructions, then back up at Miles. “Thanks, but-”
“No need to thank me,” Miles cut him off. He pulled the door open, and turned around in the doorway to look back at Phoenix. The smile was a downright smirk, now. “It’s my duty as a student council member. It’s the only reason why I held you back after the meeting. Good night, Wright. Don’t get complacent, or I’ll win.”
“Like I’ll let you!” Phoenix immediately said, but Miles simply chuckled. The door swung close behind him.
Phoenix was clenching the sheet so tightly in his hand that it was a crumpled ball now, but he quickly smoothed it out and skimmed the instructions. He nodded to himself, and grinned, because Miles had just thrown him a challenge he couldn't ignore.
It wouldn’t do to let Miles win so easily, right?
end
.
This one's for cannedebonbon. Here it is, on my LJ, with waaaaaay more. Happy... Boxing Day? O_o
Title: Breaking Expectations
Fandom: Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney
Character/Pairings: Miles/Phoenix, Maya, Larry
Word Count: 2908
Warning/Spoilers: PG-15
Summary: Phoenix didn't realize he was staring at Miles' hands, the way those long fingers stopped and released the strings, the subtle shift and flex of muscles. [sort-of Band!AU]
Alternate Summary: Miles and his sexy black electric violin makes an impression on Phoenix.
Status: Completed
They rocked the crowd. Phoenix could feel it, through crowd's indecipherable roar, the way his guitar felt like a living, lively creature under his hands, the acoustics and sound vibrations from the sound system palpable on his skin. They trooped off the stage to screams from the appreciative crowd, and maybe they were just in the town auditorium, and this was just their high school's battle of the bands, but Phoenix loved the adrenaline rush he got every time he leaned in low to the microphone. Maya was surprisingly adept at the drums, and Larry enjoyed the riffs on his bass a little too much. It was weird, not having a keyboardist, but Phoenix couldn't do both, and they needed a lead guitarist. Besides, between Larry's improvisations and Maya's unique drumming, they sounded good even without the keyboards.
They tumbled into the audience after their turn, Maya grinning her head off, Larry babbling something about how "the chicks all dig a rocker, yo!" Phoenix was coated with sweat, the air chilling on his skin, but the next band was up in five, and the crew bustled across the stage, moving the keyboard and microphones back, and that piqued Phoenix's curiosity.
When Diego took the drums and Franziska appeared on stage, already running her bow down her viola, Phoenix knew, but he didn't quite believe until a violin joined the viola's rich, dark tones. Miles stepped into the center spotlight, dressed in a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up just under his elbows, his fingers and bow dancing across a sleek, black electric violin.
Phoenix had heard Miles on the violin countless times, loved the soulful classical pieces he played, but he had never seen this violin - an electric violin - or this Miles before. There were extra strings on the violin, Phoenix could hear them, and Miles moved as if he, not his violin, were hooked up to the outlets and the amps.
Phoenix didn't realize he was staring at Miles' hands, the way those long fingers stopped and released the strings, the subtle shift and flex of muscles as Miles drew the bow up and down the violin. Then, something prompted Phoenix to look up, to find Miles staring right at him, his bangs messy, a challenge in his eyes. and Phoenix felt his stomach drop out under him.
"Nick, I never knew Miles could play like that," Maya was yelling at him above the crowd, and Larry was staring bug-eyed at Miles - Phoenix was vaguely thankful that he wasn’t the only one who was shocked. He couldn't tear his gaze away from Miles, each violin note pulling at something within him, until Miles threw his head back, and began singing, low and rich and powerful even without a microphone.
Phoenix's fingernails bit into his inner hand, and a shiver shuddered its way through his body, from the back of his neck down to his spine.
Miles and his classical-rock-pop group had just trampled all the competition to the ground, but Phoenix didn’t think he could bring himself to care about that at the moment.
-----
Perhaps it started a month and a half ago, when the student council made the announcement about the battle of bands. Phoenix didn’t think much of it - he was more of a thespian than an instrumentalist, even though there was something about the span of delicate black and white keys under his fingers, or the feel of the strings as he strummed his acoustic guitar that gave him a different but similar kind of jolt a soliloquy on stage did.
But then Larry had latched onto his shoulders in with his usual goofy grin, accompanied by a starry-eyed Maya, and Phoenix knew there was no escape.
“It’d be awesome, Nick, really!” Maya said, popping two fries in her mouth. “What do you have against it - you love the stage!”
Phoenix pushed the salad in front of his fries, then tore away at his pizza. “You know this is just a gimmick by the student council to boost their popularity, right?”
“They can gimmick me any day, ‘specially if Lana’s the one doing it,” Larry cut in happily, flopping his head onto his hands and staring into the air with a grin Phoenix knew meant trouble. “Come on, Nick, it’ll be like the good old days - rocking it out with our six strings!”
“I’m not sure I want to remember the ‘good old days.’” Phoenix winced a little at the memory. He picked up the guitar only because Larry wanted to try out bass, and during their first go at it, Larry managed to snap all four of his strings, and then wailed that he was bleeding all over his gorgeous lady-magnet, as he insisted in calling his rather pricey bass guitar.
Sometimes Phoenix thought the only reason why he became this good at the guitar was so he could prevent Larry from trying to learn on his own and accidentally taking out an eye or worse.
“Come on, Nick, it’d be fun. You’ll sing, of course, but Larry and I can back you up!”
Phoenix watched his plate of fries rapidly disappear to Maya’s insatiable appetite. He reached for his pizza, only to feel cold plastic under his hand - Larry was eating his second slice of pizza. He sighed. “You play anything, Maya?”
Maybe the keyboard. Or the flute, perhaps. Certainly not the-
“The drums, of course!”
Drums, because where in the world would a girl from mystic village like Maya learn them?
“What?” Phoenix asked, rubbing at his head.
Maya flicked her hand at Phoenix’s forehead. “The drums - I mean, we’re trying to be a rock band, right? Diego sticks around and plays with Pearls when sis is busy sometimes, and I learned the drums from him.”
“And what did Mia think of that?”
“She got headaches, but they’re less frequent these days. It’s been two years, after all!”
Phoenix looked at Maya’s bright, smiling face, and then at Larry, still muttering to himself in the corner - was he practicing pickup lines? Phoenix hoped so, because he couldn’t imagine any other situation where “I’ll make you scream the way my bass does in my hands” was vaguely appropriate. He glanced at the sign-up sheet Maya was not-so-discreetly pushing towards him across the cafeteria table.
“Okay, fine,” he said, and held out one arm to catch Maya before she could tackle-hug him. “But we should try to find another member. We’ve got a bassist, a drummer, and I can play either the guitar or the keyboards, but one more person would be ideal.”
Maya held a finger thoughtfully to her lips. “How about Miles? You’re always going on about what a great musician he is, although he refuses to play for me when I ask.” Maya’s mouth slips into a pout.
“Edgey?” Larry looked up. “No way! He’s all about his strict classical music. I can just imagine his glare every time I do my riffs. Nick! You gotta let me do my riffs! I live for my riffs!”
Phoenix ignored Larry’s teary-eyed look and thought about it for a moment. A violinist would add an interesting twist to their band, but he couldn’t imagine Miles throwing himself into a band or performing any of the raw sharp, staccato notes rock or pop needed on his precious acoustic violin. Not Miles, who performed in front of paying audiences at concerts or classical festivals.
“No, not Miles,” Phoenix conceded, and ran his hand through his spikes. “He’s a fantastic violinist, but he’s not really cut out for rock. I mean. It’s Miles.”
“Right on, budd-oh hey! Oh hey, Edgey, what’s up?”
Phoenix whirled around, almost knocking over his soda, to find Miles behind him, dressed impeccably in a sweater vest and collared shirt, not a hair out of place, which was normal, except Miles was staring at him intensely, which was not normal.
“Did your meeting end early?” Maya piped up from beside him, and Miles looked away.
“Yes, it did. We were planning for that ridiculous battle of bands, which I’m sure you all heard on the announcements this morning.”
Phoenix breathed out - Miles hadn’t heard him, or else he wouldn’t be so calm - and scooted over so Miles could pull a chair up if he wanted, although Miles never did.
“There’s nothing wrong with some musical competition,” Phoenix said, forgetting in a moment that he had been rather opposed to the idea just a few minutes ago. “Lighten up, Miles - you’re part of the organizing group, after all.”
Miles narrowed his eyes at him. “Indeed. If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with Lana. Wright, you haven’t turned in your history assignment.”
Miles gave Larry and Maya a nod and turned away while Phoenix spluttered over his soda and scrambled to unearth his assignment from his backpack.
“That’s weird. Didn’t he just come out of a meeting with Lana?” Maya asked, and ate the last of Phoenix’s fries.
-----
In hindsight, Miles had probably heard him, and that’s maybe what started this whole image-changing, sexy black electric violin-playing - something.
The crowd gave Miles, Franziska and Diego an even louder applause than they did with Phoenix’s band. At least, that’s what Phoenix surmised.
He couldn’t really hear over the loud, shrill screams the girls behind him emitted when Miles swept his bow down his violin in an explosive finale and smirked at the crowd, a lopsided grin and eyelashes lowered over his eyes.
Phoenix wandered if Miles had been working too hard at the student council and finally snapped and went all musically rebellious. Because he really didn’t think it was healthy for the population to witness Miles like this.
-----
There was a short briefing for the band leaders after that first round ended, and Phoenix went only after much poking and prodding on Maya’s part. He didn’t relish being in the same room with Miles after outright gawking at him, but Phoenix was a man of the stage, and schooled himself into a mask of calm friendliness before slipping into the tiny dressing room with the other ten band leaders. He trained his eyes on Lana and tried his best not to look at anyone in a white top.
Lana launched into the specifics of the second round with quick efficiency, and Phoenix followed her words until two quick knocks interrupted her. The door opened to reveal Miles, a stack of paper in one hand, his violin case in the other.
Phoenix had a moment to think oh, and then right, Miles is in the student council as Miles passed the handouts to Jake in his ever present cowboy hat. Miles gave his fellow council members a quick nod, then walked past Phoenix to take a seat on the opposite side of the room, his eyes never once turning towards Phoenix.
Phoenix fidgeted in his seat. He thought Miles would… do something, like mock him or at least throw him a self-satisfied smirk after that whole act on stage, but no, the he was ignoring everyone around him, focusing only on taking that beautiful black violin out of its casing and checking the strings before running a soft cloth down the instrument’s body to clear it of dust and residue sweat.
Trust Miles to prioritize his violin over everything else, even listening to the president of the student council.
Phoenix gave up listening to Lana and watched. Miles’ movements were quick and efficient. This was a side of Miles Phoenix was familiar with, one that was almost fanatically obsessive and very much in control, nothing like the person that moved and touched his violin on stage earlier as if trying to push himself beyond his limits and more.
The scrap of chairs broke Phoenix out of his musing. Lana was pulling her scarf on and everyone else was leaving, and he scrambled to his feet, instinctively joining the crowd making its way towards the exit.
“Wright. A word with you.”
Phoenix started, and stared over his shoulder. Miles was tucking his violin back into its case, his back half towards him, so Phoenix worked his way to a corner and waited.
Miles took his time, so that when the door swung shut on the last person - Jake, who shot Phoenix an arched look and a lopsided, knowing, smile - he still held his bow in hand. He turned, and Phoenix thanked years of drama-training that he could keep his composure, because that dangerous, unpredictable look was back in Miles’ eyes.
“You didn’t tell me you were joining the competition,” Phoenix said.
Miles smiled, and paced across the dressing room. “I never said I wasn’t, either. You should know better than to make assumptions, Wright.”
“And Diego? Why do you even need a university student? It’s just a high school battle of bands.”
“You’re looking at the small picture, as always. If I’m going to bother joining a competition, I’m doing it to win. Armando is a talented drummer, and Lana authorized his membership, seeing as he is an alumnus.”
The way Miles turned his bow round and round between his fingers was weirdly hypnotic, and Phoenix pulled his gaze away and matched Miles stare for stare, refusing to fall into whatever game he was playing.
“What are you trying to prove, Miles?”
There was something strangely familiar about the ambiance, not that Phoenix was used to being alone in a cramped backstage dressing room with an increasingly predatory Miles.
“I thought you’d know the answer.”
Phoenix ran one hand through his hair and tugged impatiently on one spike. “I have no idea what you’r-”
Miles stepped closer, right into his personal space, and trapped his bow behind Phoenix, catching the ends of it in his hands. Phoenix backed instinctively away, and felt the flat of the bow dig into his small of his back.
“If you break my bow, I’ll be extremely displeased,” Miles said, close enough that Phoenix could feel the of air against his throat each time Miles spoke. “So tell me, Wright. Do you think I’m cut out for rock now?”
Phoenix swallowed, because damn, Miles had heard him that lunch break a month and a half ago. He glanced down, at Miles’ arms and hands framing his hips, gripping his violin bow at either end and boxing Phoenix in between Miles and the bow, and suddenly Phoenix got it.
He looked into Miles’ grey eyes and said, “Yeah. You were brilliant.”
He wasn’t sure which of them moved forward first, because in the next moment their lips crashed together, Miles taking Phoenix’s lower lip into his mouth and biting down, and Phoenix had his hands in Miles’ hair, pulling so tightly he was surprised all Miles did was growl, let go of his bow with one hand and fit it to the curve of Phoenix’s hip, clenching so tightly that Phoenix was sure he’ll leave finger-size bruises.
So that was what it was, why this feel of this conversation felt so familiar. It was like being on stage, like hearing the crowd as a blur of white noise at the back of his mind and the spotlights bright and burning on his skin, like the rush of adrenaline and energy running through his veins. It’s like feeling far too alive to fit in his own skin, where all his senses were on overdrive, like the tangy shock of swiping his tongue down the end of a battery.
It was only a minute or two before Miles pulled back, breathing heavily and licking at his lips. The bow was a sharp, slanted line across Phoenix’s back, and he unclenched his fingers from Miles’ hair. Miles smiled at him, and pulled away, completely out of his grasp, holding his bow out towards Phoenix like a saber when Phoenix made a low noise of protest.
“Don’t getting too far ahead of yourself, Wright. It’s only the beginning of the competition.” Miles picked up his violin case with his free hand.
“What, and this was just a trial run?” Phoenix asked, tucking his shirt straight and watching Miles carefully.
“Perhaps.” Miles tucked his bow under one arm, then moved forward to whisper into Phoenix’s ear. “And perhaps you’ll see other sides of me that you’ve never noticed before, Phoenix.”
“Miles-”
The smile on Miles’ face looked less innocent and more self-satisfied, and he shoved a sheet of paper into Phoenix’s hands. “Here. Written procedures for the second round. You didn’t pick it up during the meeting because you were too busy daydreaming.”
Phoenix glanced down at the instructions, then back up at Miles. “Thanks, but-”
“No need to thank me,” Miles cut him off. He pulled the door open, and turned around in the doorway to look back at Phoenix. The smile was a downright smirk, now. “It’s my duty as a student council member. It’s the only reason why I held you back after the meeting. Good night, Wright. Don’t get complacent, or I’ll win.”
“Like I’ll let you!” Phoenix immediately said, but Miles simply chuckled. The door swung close behind him.
Phoenix was clenching the sheet so tightly in his hand that it was a crumpled ball now, but he quickly smoothed it out and skimmed the instructions. He nodded to himself, and grinned, because Miles had just thrown him a challenge he couldn't ignore.
It wouldn’t do to let Miles win so easily, right?
end
.