Our Appetite // Narumitsu Fanfiction

Who Are You?

Phoenix trembled as he silently willed himself to keep going forwards towards the front of the classroom.

One foot in front of the other, Wright.

That's it, dodge her desk.

Ignore their laughter.

Blot them out.

He timidly clenched his clammy fists, feeling extremely hot-headed as Ms Carlton, who was dressed in a rather monotone array of beige and brown in a distinct contrast of the bright sunny rays filtering through the large, glossy, window panes, placed her large hand upon his uniform-clothed back in order to urge him forwards to the dark green chalk-board which everyone usually abused by writing obscene messages upon when the teachers weren't looking. She pushed the thin, golden, rim of her rounded glasses up the bridge of her nose as Phoenix shyly stood beside the board, facing the whole class of insolent youths and feeling so completely alone.

So completely lost and alone.

They were all snickering at him behind their cheap wooden desks, whispering nasty rumours and messages about him to each other, Phoenix bet. All bar one. The silvery haired, popular, pristine boy whom all the girls doted upon - or, in other words, Miles. He, in comparison to the others' childish behaviour, was perched calmly upon his seat, his dark grey eyes watching his best friend's every move like a hawk and slowly edging his chair further away from all of his other classmates. It still baffled Phoenix, to this day, as to exactly why someone as graceful, as handsome and as loved as Miles Edgeworth would choose him, a lowly, clumsy, unpopular boy, as his best friend. In fact, it made the spiky-haired boy feel giddy just knowing how many people sat in front of him in that large, tatty classroom would kill to be in his position - well, only the bit about being Miles's best friend; no one would want to be him for any other reason, because...

Well, to put it quite simply, Phoenix was nothing special.

He was an incomplete shell of a wannabe lawyer and a klutz who was always the last person to be picked to be in anyone's group in class activities. He was that one student who never quite fit in, and that one student who no one besides Miles ever noticed - or cared - whether they were there or not. His entire existence was insignificant, and he was fully aware of that fact. He was also fully aware that Edgeworth was most likely to only be pretending to be his 'best friend' so that he could feed the countless secrets that Phoenix trusted him to keep to the others so that they could all gang up on him and treat him like an outsider again. After all, what did Miles see in him? The prosecutor-to-be was the complete opposite of him and could have chosen practically anyone better than him as his closest friend, however Phoenix truly wanted to believe that his best friend was telling the truth, and that their friendship was gospel - so he did.

That's why, when he was called up to the front of the classroom, he didn't feel completely alone. Miles was there, making direct eye-contact with him and urging him on, despite the increasing nausea rising in his throat. Scorching heat rose in his sensitive cheeks as he attempted to try and smoothen out his slightly creased shirt, listening to the teacher's every word as carefully as he could;
"Now, Phoenix, it is your turn to answer the question." Edgeworth's best friend's bright, glittering, blue eyes slowly trailed to Ms Carlton and then instantly flicked back to the empty desk at the front of the room, lightly brushing atop the various pieces of vandalism which had been scrawled upon it over the years, before finally landing at his feet, too scared to face the class. Miles leant forward on his desk intently, clearly eager to hear what his best friend had to say, his heart mutely thumping inside his ribcage, sending short pulses of adrenaline coursing around his veins and maximising his anticipation.
"W-Well I, um..." Phoenix stuttered, wincing at his own uncertain words and sudden overwhelming anxiety and trying, desperately, to block out the noises of the world around him.

Answer the question, Wright.

"I-I'm not sure..."
"Go on, don't be shy. We're all your classmates, and we're all going to support you, no matter what you say," The teacher persisted, placing a heavy hand upon Phoenix's slumped shoulders as he trembled and licked his lips in order to summon some sort of non-existent courage from within him;
"I th-think I'm..." Edgeworth's pupils surveyed everything about the petrified boy standing before them all, taking in every last detail and relishing the memory; Phoenix stood there, shifting uncomfortably as he was mercilessly questioned, the molecules of the humid air bunching up and hovering around him, adding to the mediocre layer of sweat building up on his slender artist's hands, that silky, beautiful, black hair which always caught the light in a glorious sheen and somehow always looked like someone had mussed it despite the hours the poor boy slaved away at making it look 'presentable', and his slightly scruffy school uniform and ocean-blue backpack which accompanied it, making Miles feel slightly dizzy with an overwhelming feeling. Phoenix was an imperfectly perfect canvas (which was a sentence which the prosecutor-to-be had never expected to be telling himself), but... Somehow, perfectionist Edgeworth felt drawn to his best friend in a magnetic way which he'd quashed for a very long time due to its stupidity.

Some part of him desperately wanted Phoenix to be his imperfectly perfect canvas.

Perhaps that was why he was so interested in his best-friend's answer. Perhaps that's why had a lingering sense of dread within him. Whatever the defence-attorney-to-be would now say would permanently impact his future happiness, Miles knew. That's why he had to hear it straight from the horse's mouth.

Was his dream an impossibility?