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Okay. Okay, okay. Let’s. Look at it again.
The witness had been there at the scene of the murder. This much is true. Everyone knows this.
She had seen things, but the question is what things, because for the past, at least; twenty-four hours Phoenix and literally all the other human beings with brains thought she saw the exact moment the murder took place, she had testified as much on the stand; but no! No, no, no, because the world is cruel and people are nothing if they are not liars and dishonesty comes as easily as blood in their veins, trials can’t be easy, god forbid! Justice must be served and justice is built on fraudulence and deceit and people who make things so, so much harder than they need to be-
“Wright,” Edgeworth murmurs from the far end of the couch. Phoenix almost forgot he was there. He did forget. “Would you quit complaining about how ugly the world is and,” He gestures vaguely with his hand. “Do the case.”
“I am doing the case. The case is stupid.” Phoenix slaps the hefty pack of files against the table, “I think I’m gonna withdraw.”
“No, you’re not.” Edgeworth’s words sound slow and slurred, like he’s drunk; though they’ve been drinking strictly water and coffee these last few hours (Phoenix had suggested wine at least, but Edgeworth simply side-eyed him and said, that is a very stupid idea). If he were to pin down a culprit, he’d bet his money on fatigue. “Do not be a coward.”
“I’m not a coward,” Phoenix whines, lifting his head up a bit to look at Edgeworth. “I’m sleepy-hey, are you closing your eyes? Your eyes are closed.” Phoenix sits up, snapping at him. “Stop that. We have work to do.”
“It’s late,” Miles rolls onto his side like he is in a bed and not on Phoenix ’s ratty apartment couch. “I can hardly keep them open. Retire the case for the night and sleep. Now."
“What?” Phoenix frowns, and oh, he can't really blame Miles for sounding drunk because now he does too. Maybe he is a little bit. Delirium leads to crazy shit. “Objection-”
“That was the weakest objection I’ve ever heard-”
“Shut up. I don’t think there's a time I’ve said it louder.” Which sounds like a snarky, playful remark, but it is not. That was very loud to Phoenix ’s ears. And also very overstimulating to the rest of his body. “Didn’t you just tell me not to give up?”
“Yes, and you shouldn’t. You won’t give up. The case.” Miles’s voice is muffled now, his lips smushing into the couch cushions. Phoenix is about to warn him about that, there’s definitely bacteria in there, but then doesn’t because when has he ever given a shit about that? “You can seize assessment of the evidence. In fact, it was recommended you do this do hours ago.”
“But,” Phoenix pouts, letting his head fall back on the floor which, god that was a horrible idea. That really sucked, because now his head hurts and he feels lightheaded. “I’ll be a mess in court tomorrow if I don’t figure something out now.”
“You are always a mess in court. Nothing will change.”
Phoenix glares at him for this, except he doesn't, because he’s looking up at the ceiling instead of his face. He blinks languidly, each slower than the last, and then blurts, “Are you staying?”
Edgeworth slots himself further into the couch cushions. “What?”
“You look like you’re about to fall asleep. Are you falling asleep on my couch?”
“For the night?”
“Yeah.”
Edgeworth seems to contemplate this, silently staring into fabric, and because he’s still a bit of a bitch even when he’s on the verge of passing out he says, “Your arm rest is very uncomfortable and hard. It will put a crick in my neck.”
“There's this thing called a pillow, you know,” Phoenix realizes halfway through his words that, mortifyingly enough, Edgeworth’s snark is contagious; but proceeds to pay it no mind because this is warranted. Who does he think he is, anyway, criticizing the quality of his couch armrests? “Supposed to prevent stuff like that. It works pretty well. I think it’s something you should invest in.”
“Your pillows are threadbare.”
Phoenix frowns, opens his mouth to combat that claim, and then decides against it. He isn't wrong. Damn it. “The pillows on my bed are fine,” Phoenix huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. he's still laying down. “If you’re so particular about it, sleep there.”
There is a silence. A very, very loud silence. Phoenix revels in it for around 39 seconds, under the impression that he has finally achieved the impossible task of stamping out Miles Edgeworth’s obnoxious ego; but on the fortieth second he begins to think, did he fall asleep?, on the forty-first he thinks that something might be seriously wrong, and on the forty-second he realizes that something is, because the last words that came out of his mouth could very easily be misconstrued as an invitation. Or an innuendo. Or all of the things except what it actually is.
Ah, shit, Phoenix mentally grimaces, because now Edgeworth is surely thinking. He always is, but he’s doing the bad variant of thinking that coerces his to run away or tell his kind childhood friend to never exist in his presence again or to fake his own suicide and come back a year later like nothing is wrong when things are so very wrong.
Phoenix , despite what an active part he’s playing in his mind at the present moment, seems to forget Edgeworth is actually in the room with him, because when he speaks again he startles. “I’m not going to sleep in your bed, Wright.” It comes out very choked and sober.
Something very interesting happens in Phoenix’s chest when he says that, something pulls at his heart and makes it droop, just a little. Which is weird as hell, because of course Edgeworth doesn't want to sleep in Phoenix ’s bed, rest his body along the papery, cheap sheets he’s had for at least a decade now; he’s probably too accustomed wrapping himself in Egyptian silks, or something. And that’s fine. That’s fine, Edgeworth is a priss when it comes to the quality of most things, this is absolutely fine. Phoenix is not disappointed. Why would he be disappointed? Why is that a thing he even has to consider? ..Is he disappointed?
“Where are you sleeping, then?” Phoenix asks, just to put it out there. To silence his thoughts, his very idiotic thoughts, with noise.
“I’m going home.” Edgeworth says, and the sound of rustling clothing from above suggests he means it.
“Wait,” Phoenix sits up—properly, this time—reaching out to grab something, anything to keep him here for a bit longer. Luckily for him, he wraps his fingers around Edgeworth’s ankle just in time. It is only then, when his hand is there and Edgeworth is standing, looking down at him like he’s some stray pup, he realizes how pathetic and horrible this entire situation is. Oh god. “Um,” He soldiers on, because who is Phoenix Wright if not a complete fucking idiot? “Wait. Stay.”
Edgeworth narrows his eyes skeptically. Phoenix can’t tell if he’s just as mortified about this as he is, or some secret, second option he doesn't want to think about at all. “It’s late. Just, stay here for the night. Please? We can work together in the morning.”
Edgeworth doesn’t say anything. He is still thoroughly unconvinced, his face doesn't signify as much, it doesn't signify anything, but it isn’t blatant approval (which, that in of itself is already kind of impossible to draw from Edgeworth, so maybe he’s working towards unattainable things, here), basically making it one in the same.
Phoenix remembers dignity is something he is allowed to have and lets go of Edgeworth’s ankle, rising to his feet. It’s always such a nice surprise to be reminded of the fact that he’s got a couple inches on him. “You won't have to survive a thirty minute drive to get here-”
“Twenty. It’s a twenty minute drive.” Edgeworth finally talks again, the neurons in his brain stimulated by the allure of telling Phoenix that he is wrong.
“You won’t have to drive at all,” Phoenix revises, realizing that he is trying too hard to pitch the idea of staying overnight in his apartment to him. Then, he promptly blows that line of thought off, because he’s been feeling weird and confusing and scary things for a while now, and he’s starting to get really tired again, and caring about things is annoyingly draining. “Isn’t that convenient?”
“Is there..” Edgeworth trails off, his face twisting in that way that says he has resumed his thinking, but this time it's not inherently bad. It’s one of the good ones, where he considers letting himself have nice, simple things for once. “A reason you want me here so badly?”
“Can you just say yes already?” Phoenix whines, crossing his arms again. It feels very Edgeworth. Maybe he should let him drive home, he’s doing terrible things to his psyche. “I want to win this argument and go to sleep.”
“I’d hardly call this is an argument as opposed to you begging to-”
“-Oh fine, Wright, I’ll sleep on your couch with a few threadbare pillows piled on top of each other so I don’t have to endure the horrid peasantry of your armrests. We’ll wake in the morning and continue to work on the case so you don’t fall flat on your ass in tomorrows trial, oh, it’ll be so wonderful!-”
“Oh, stop,” Edgeworth admonishes, slapping Phoenix ’s arm. It is not playful. It hurts. “I don’t sound like that. I am not English.”
“You must know I find that so hard to believe.” Phoenix continues to drawl in Edgeworth’s-not-English accent.
Edgeworth huffs, crosses his arms (which prompts Phoenix to uncross his immediately), looks at a spot on the floor while he thinks and then, with a face that is squeezed taut with premature regret, mumbles, very quietly, “Fine. I’ll stay.”
Phoenix ’s grin clicks into place before he can even register it’s happening. “Sorry? What was that?”
“I’ll-” Edgeworth cuts himself off, looks up at Phoenix and instills the fear of God into him with his glare (Or at least tries to. There isn’t much to fear about bed head and fatigue that prevents you from forming facial expressions properly). “I’ll stay. But only because you need help. Obviously.”
“Oh, of course.” Phoenix ’s grin morphs into a smug smirk. Edgeworth so clearly hates it. It’s great. “I’ll get the pillows and blankets. Make yourself right at home, Mister Edgeworth.”
“I won’t!” He yells as Phoenix descends down the hall. It’s a lie, certainly, but it’s alright. He’ll grant him some mercy.
Phoenix comes back, the promised goods in tow. Edgeworth, the courteous gentleman he is, has already tucked the case files away neatly in a little corner.
Phoenix sets the blankets and pillows down on the couch, bumping Edgeworth’s shoulder when he walks past, pushing something else into his arms. “Here.”
Edgeworth holds the bundles of fabric in his arms awkwardly. Phoenix thinks its a little shameful how amusing he finds it.“What is this?”
“Pajamas,” Says Phoenix, “Or, sweatpants and an old t-shirt more like.” Edgeworth opens his mouth, lips curling around a protest. Phoenix cuts him off immediately. “-And before you start complaining I’d heed you to think about the fact that you really aren’t in a position to say no! Unless, of course, you’d like to sleep in your ever so punctual suit. Knock yourself out.”
Edgeworth scowls. He presses his lips into a very thin line and, between gritted teeth, mutters,” Goodnight, Wright.”
“Goodnight, Edgeworth.” Phoenix strides out of the living room, his finger poised on the light switch. Just before he flicks it down, he pauses, sensing the opportunity to be a little shit, and says, “You want a night light?”
“Wright.”
“Just asking!” Phoenix does a poor job of hiding his giggle. “Is that a yes?”
“Goodnight.”
“Night.” Phoenix smirks, just a bit, and flips the light off.