Mia Fey had left two things to Phoenix that he refused to move out of the office. The first was of course Charley, who kept his silent vigil year after year, steadfast and green even when they forgot to water him every day. When he felt particularly lonely, or afraid, Phoenix would pat the leaves, and be reassured by the living tissue under his fingers. Sometimes the leaves fluttered in a soft breeze, though the window was closed and the AC off.
The second constant was far less flattering and far more functional. The couch from Mia’s office had probably been new when she bought it, but after nearly a decade and a half, it was no wonder it had begun to show it’s age. They’d covered the cushions which couch covers, and Trucy had attempted a moderately successful patch job that left the couch still usable, but noticeably less fancy.
But Phoenix couldn’t bear to move it out. (And it wasn’t because he was ‘too old and out of shape’ to manage to get it out the door, thank you very much.)
He’d helped Mia move it into the office when she first set out on her own. She’d sat down with him and drank to her new place, had spread his textbooks and flash cards across their laps and it’s cushions and quizzed him long into the night.
She’d thrown her arm around him, laughing at the fact that the dumb kid who’d swallowed a poison bottle was too nervous to open his bar exam results. Then he’d spilled wine on it when they celebrated him passing the bar. Mia had even let him sleep on the couch when he all but passed out, because despite being friends with Larry, who was a partier in college, Phoenix had been a lightweight who could barely handle his wine.
The memory was hazy, and he was certain Mia hadn’t known he was slightly awake, but he remembered lying on that couch, trying to smother himself in the pillows and Mia tsking as she covered him with a spare blanket she kept around for particularly cold office days. Sleeping on the couch hurt his back these days, but sometimes he liked to fall forward onto it, bury his face in the new throw pillows, and let the memory come to him, all the clearer for the re-enactment.
This couch is magic, she had told him when he woke up the next morning. It was brought up without prompting or preamble, but Phoenix listened intently. He always did whenever she told him something.
“Yeah, whenever two people who are in love sit on it, they’ll always end up having their first kiss,” she explained.
“Really boss?” He tried to raise a skeptical eye brow, but it probably looked like he was awkwardly winking due to his residual sleepiness.
Of course, she’d said. And then she went on to explain in far too much detail how the couch had gotten her her first kiss with Lana and Diego respectively. And further than that of course, she’d said with a wink and Phoenix did not want to think about that, god Mia was his boss for crying out loud!
She just punched him in the shoulder, laughing at his prudishness. It’s magic, she insisted. Just watch.
Phoenix didn’t believe in magical couches. But over the years he would learn how wrong he’d been.