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LA traffic had a personal grudge against him, Lang decided. Especially when it had doomed him to this fate.
He never had any particular fondness for Japanifornia—he found its cities too crowded, its people too energetic, and its goddamn string of Interpol smuggling cases (which he had to solve) too puzzling. After a while, though, he also found himself wishing to stay in the city of angels, wanting to get swept up in the hustle and bustle of the streets. Much to his surprise, he also missed his eccentric Japamerican workers, even when they pulled him out for a celebratory meal at some glorified Italian place with what might as well be cat piss for food. The change of heart had nothing to do with wanting to spend a bit more time with a certain bossy prosecutor in maroon, Lang would tell himself.
Said prosecutor was now sitting opposite him in the backseat of a police car, pointedly not looking anywhere but the view outside. He should be concerned about how Edgeworth had been staring at the SUV next to them for too long , Lang bitterly thought—holiday traffic had had them stuck on Fifth Route highway for an hour, and if Edgeworth was trying to avoid him, he should have at least had the decency to be subtle about it. Even when it’s not fun to be stuck in a car with your ex for an indefinite amount of time, with your nosy, loudmouthed, eccentric coworkers either dozing off in the seat behind him, or driving and jamming out to the Top 40s radio. The coworkers, who were pointedly not paying attention to the heaps of tension radiating off of the two men behind.
Another noisy pop song came on the radio. Lang hoped Gumshoe felt the intense loathing emanating from his glare into the detective’s neck.
“Detective,” Edgeworth awkwardly cleared his throat, the first word he had said ever since getting inside the car, “what is the estimated time of arrival?”
The Detective behind the wheel sighed and turned around to face them, “two hours until Westwood, if we are lucky. Are you both, um, alright with that?”
Edgeworth scrunched his forehead in a way Lang’s traitorous brain thought was adorable. “Why wouldn’t we be?”, he snapped.
“You don’t have to express your displeasure at being stuck here with me, you know? Spare a guy’s feelings,” Lang said in a voice he hoped was nonchalant.
Judging by the way everyone in the car tensed up anyway, he had failed. Edgeworth’s jaw clenched, Kay Faraday straightened up from her seat in the back, accidentally waking Sebastian Debeste up, and Franziska von Karma audibly told Gumshoe to turn up the radio volume.
Edgeworth sighed dramatically and sank further into his seat.
The story went like this: Lang, Interpol agent, arrived in LA one day in search of a counterfeit ring, and encountered Miles Edgeworth, law enforcer extraordinaire. They got off on the wrong foot, because of course they did, but their relationship improved after they both overcame their initial prejudices. Under fifty layers of ice, Lang found someone intelligent and dedicated—a perfect fit for a wolf like him. And Edgeworth must have seen something in Lang too, if the intimate shared meals long after dark, or AM hours spent quietly working until they both doze off next to each other, meant something. At the very least, the nights spent inside Edgeworth’s hotel room had to.
Lang had never been an attachment kind of guy, but Edgeworth intrigued him to no end. He never fully understood the attraction, never truly knew where he stood, and never completely grasped the gravity of the casual relationship he shared with the man. He didn’t consider romantic dalliances a big priority in his life, anyway, so it should not have been that painful when Edgeworth told him to end things and treat each other with professionalism from then on. Except it was that painful. And his coworkers chose the worst time to finally be perceptive for once, because they all understood what had transpired the moment they saw Edgeworth and Lang interacted that day.
Lang let his head drop back onto the seat, faux feathers from his coat sticking at his chin. He would have to actually pretend to pay attention to Gumshoe’s pop radio, if he wanted to get out of this alive.
-o-O-o-
Kay Faraday had always known her and Sebastian’s dad-in-honor to be an emotionally stunted mess, but this was crossing every single proverbial line there is for awkward ex behavior. Given how Mr. Edgeworth almost bolted out the door when Lang arrived at the scene, and how they had barely spoken to each other in anything other than monosyllables; it was a miracle the car had not exploded with the sheer unpleasant tension.
“....Are you both, um, alright with that?”
Kay jostled awake from her state, kicking Sebastian’s shin. He grumbled at her for waking him up, and blearily stared at the two men at the front, as if he was trying to detect traces of a bloodbath occurring as he slept. He widened his eyes, having realized the severity of the situation.
“Why wouldn’t we be?”
Kay facepalmed at Mr. Edgeworth’s clumsy response to Gumshoe’s (admittedly clumsier) well-meaning question. Sebastian, horrifyingly, looked close to bursting into laughter.
“You don’t have to express your displeasure at being stuck here with me, you know? Spare a guy’s feelings.” Agent Lang rolled his eyes, his voice shaking just a little. She had to applaud him for trying to keep it together. At the very least, it was kind of entertaining.
Scoffing, Franziska surprisingly had enough social tact to turn up the radio. Sebastian sent Kay an amused glance, which she responded with another grin, watching the two men above grumpily focus on the radio program.
“…Swift is releasing her third re-recording album next week, which will be her third studio album, Speak Now,” the radio host’s jubilant voice rang out to every corner of the car, “she had no choice but to re-record her music, after her record label sold her Masters without her permission, and Swift effectively lost all rights to her creative works.” Great, legal jargon, maybe Mr. Edgeworth would find himself distracted. “While we await Taylor Swift’s triumphant return, let us listen to the song that shook the charts upon being released from the vault, despite being ten minutes long! This is an emotional break up ballad that inspires emotions in every one of us—All Too Well, by Taylor Swift, everybody.”
Sebastian sat upright, blinking furiously. He pulled her jacket: “Kay!”
“What?”
Kay watched as Sebastian fearfully mouthed, “The song!” and frantically gestured at the radio. The first few notes of the ballad rang out, and confusion overtook her at Sebastian panicked whisper, “This is the break-up anthem, Kay! We need to act—“ he lunged forward, “Wait—“
It was too late. Glad to be granted a reprieve, Franziska turned the volume almost all the way up, effectively drowning out all kinds of noises. Sebastian grimaced, “Out of all moments to listen to Taylor Swift–”
Kay scoffed at his remarks. “It’s just a song, Seb. Can’t be that bad.”
…. Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place
And I can picture it after all these days
I know it’s long gone and that magic’s not here no more
And I might be ok but I’m not fine at all…
(Lang tensed. The pictures painted in the song were very specific, but did a good job of capturing the uncertain, tumultuous feeling that welled up in his throat the entire day. The sweet voice, and the pained delivery in every line didn’t help either.)
“See?” she whispered back, “not that bad.”
Sebastian slumped back and covered his face with his hands. “Just you wait.”
The horror did dawn on her, as Agent Lang turned his head to look at Edgeworth. Please be a generic break-up song , she prayed, we can’t endure anymore romantic projection. Mr. Edgeworth’s “That Man” ordeal is enough already.
...`Cause there we are again on that little town street
You almost ran the red `cause you were looking over at me
Wind in my hair, I was there, I remember it all too well...
Fate had other plans in store for them, because the pre-chorus saw agent Lang looking at Mr. Edgeworth with a soft gaze that could be described as “longing”. Kay shuddered. The look on his face was so tender that it made her stomach churn with guilt, even when she was not the one who broke his heart.
..And your mother’s telling stories ‘bout you on the tee ball team
You tell me ‘bout your past, thinking your future was me...
(This time, it was Edgeworth who was taken aback. Did Lang consider him his future? Lang was open about his feelings, shared the intimate details of his fears and insecurities, talked to him about the pain regarding his turbulent past—all of which he didn’t share with anyone else. And Miles listened to every word of it, tried to sympathize or offer a bit of kindness, like Wri- he had offered to him all these years.
He was beginning to find guilt a bit too tiring. It was wrong to lead Lang on, yes; but how was he supposed to know his heart never belonged to anyone else?)
... And I was thinking on the drive down, ‘anytime now, he’s gonna say it’s love’
You never called it what it was, until we were dead and gone and buried…
Sebastian and Kay exchanged worried glances. Mr. Edgeworth did not seem like a guy who appreciated love, or even worse, knew love when he looked at it. Judging by how agent Lang seemed like a dejected puppy for the entirety of the investigation that day, Taylor Swift had proven herself to be a mind-reader.
(Lang smiled bitterly, feeling a distinct pang in his heart. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the feeling was. Was what he felt for Edgeworth ‘love’? Edgeworth would say it was too soon to draw conclusions based on the evidence at hand, as if Lang didn’t know all too well the truth they both refused to acknowledge.
It didn’t hurt, he tried to convince himself. It didn’t hurt when Edgeworth pretended like he had never heard Lang pouring his soul out for him to see. Like Edgeworth had never held him quietly every night they spent together, two hearts beating, side by side. Like what they had was not something. )
(Edgeworth shifted in his seat. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could pretend he did not make any mistake with Lang as well.)
Sebastian closed his eyes. Kay could see him praying. She tried to wave to the rearview mirror, telling Gumshoe or Franziska to turn the radio off.
. .. And here we are again, when nobody had to know
You kept me like a secret, but I kept you like an oath…
(It should be embarrassing, how a top 40’s radio song is cutting his heart open. Lang treasured his acquaintances, for God’s sake, much less someone he deemed important. Do you see this? He mentally chided himself, this is what happens when you let someone in. He got attached to easily--he knew this better than anyone--from Shih-na, to the President of his country, they all have betrayed his dedication. It was excruciating, knowing that his effort was once again being treated as something Edgeworth and he both had to hide. Something shameful .)
Franziska carefully observed her brother and her agent’s uncomfortable fidgeting through the mirror, ignoring Kay Faraday’s panicked signals. The song increased in intensity, the instrumental moving to a richer, more powerful rise. She smirked.
...Well, maybe we got lost in translation, maybe I asked for too much
Or maybe this thing was a masterpiece until you tore it all up
Running scared, I was there, I remember it all too well…
Mr. Edgeworth blanched. Kay met Sebastian’s eyes, openly gaping, flinching as Agent Lang gave a pained huff.
(Taylor Swift was a cruel, cruel woman, Miles decided.)
(It would not do him any good to dwell on what-ifs. But he was happy , the resentful voice in his head said, they were good together. And even when Edgeworth had someone else on his mind, he was enough for Lang. Is there anything more painful than giving something all you have, but still not being enough?)
Sebastian repeatedly muttered “no”, slowly sinking to the car’s floor. Miss Swift raised her voice, her tone downright accusing.
And you call me up again, just to break me like a promise
Kay promptly joined him on the floor.
(Miles debated stealing a glance at Agent Lang. Broken fragments in his memories came rushing back: ringtones, frustrated talking, oh, alright, Miles, so I’m agent Lang now?, as he met the other man’s steely gaze. If he looked hard enough, he could even see through that cold, cocky exterior, catching sight of something wounded. Something broken.
He quickly turned his head away.)
…So casually cruel in the name of being honest...
( “Don’t give me that bullshit, Miles. Give me a reason.”
“I know it is unfair to you. That is why I am ending this--trust me, thit is better.”
“If you wanted things to be fair for me, you would never have ended this through a phone call, without telling me why. What am I? A rebound you’re trying to shake off?”
“.....That is- I-”
“Tell me the truth.”
“.....I have someone else. I was not realizing all we were doing was trying to replace what he meant to me.”
Lang half-expected it, but it still hit him like a truck.
“You wanted honesty,” Miles’ voice was hoarse, “you got it.”)
(Who does this woman work for? Lang winced through the pain. Maybe she could even join his team. Psychological damage sounded useful.)
“We,” Sebastian gritted his teeth, “are not even halfway through."
Kay buried her face in her hands.
…The idea you had of me, who was she? A never-needy, ever-lovely jewel whose shine reflects on you?
Not weeping in a party bathroom, some actress asking me what happened
You, that’s what happened–you….
Sebastian looked at her, a glint in his eyes, and suddenly climbed up to the seat, pulling her up before she could utter any form of protest.
“Ask me who she wrote this song about.”
“What?”
“Just do it!”
Puzzled, Kay followed his lead anyway and loudly asked, “Hey Seb, who did she write this song about?”, her eyes still trained on the two men at the front. That made them both flinch. Franziska finally turned back, levelling them both with a glare that would have killed lesser people, and the tension in the car rose by a dozen notches.
“Jake Governor– I mean Gyllenhaal,” Sebastian said a bit too quickly, seeing their panic.
“Wow cool who is he?” She sent him a glare–‘ you better know where you are going with this.’
“An actor. Nine whole years older than her. Sounded like a real dusk, I mean, douche, too--” Sebastian started rambling about the actor. They were both relieved to see Franziska turn around and the two exes relax.
And to be fair, Jake Gyllenhaal does sound like a douche. Maybe they can milk this narrative.
“--he even laughed at her dreams, according to a song called ‘I bet you think about me’,” Sebastian gasped for air, elbowing her.
“Huh? What? Oh yeah, she went for his kneecaps. And good for her.”
It actually got a laugh out of Mr. Edgeworth, who quickly disguised it with a cough, but they knew better.
(Lang exhaled. It seemed like the worst was over.)
...Time won’t fly, it’s like I’m paralyzed by it
I’d like to be my old self again, but I’m still trying to find it
(Wrong.)
After plaid shirt days and nights when you made me your own
Now you mail back my things, and I walk home alone...
(At least heartbreak is visceral, he consoled himself)
Did the twin flame bruise paint you blue?
Just between us, did the love affair maim you too?
(“Flame” was a way to call it. Lang did not know where it began, he just knew that when Edgeworth’s hand was under his shirt, moonlight pouring inside their shared hotel room in Munich; that flame was already sparkling brightly, circling around him, fire dancing on bare flesh. He was too ready to be consumed by the heat.
It was good while it lasted. And maybe one day, he would be alright with that.)
In this city’s barren cold, I still remember the first fall of snow
And how it glistened as it fell,
I remember it all too well….
Kay let out a long-suffering sigh as the outro rolled. Sebastian wordlessly handed her his phone, Spotify already opened. They looked at each other meaningfully.
“Does anyone want to listen to some themed playlists?” Kay asked in what she hoped was a cheerful tone, climbing all the way forward, ignoring Mr. Edgeworth’s chastisement.
Eager to focus on something other than the slow traffic and the tension in the car, Detective Gumshoe turned around at last: “Sure, pal! What do you want me to play?”
“Seb has a lot of playlists, Gummy! You could pick one.”
“No. I will pick it.” Announced Franziska, snatching the phone. “Let’s see here, ‘them underappreciated side character feels’... Fix your grammar, Sebastian Debeste.”
Sebastian shot up from his seat, “Wait, NO–”
It was too late, the song had already started. Sebastian blanched and slid downward once more, as the first few notes of August – Taylor Swift began to play.
Was it too late to tell everyone that half of his playlist contained break-up songs?