8 messages -- Larry Butz
[12:26 AM] -- Did u leavce?
[12:27 AM] -- Brfo wheeed u go
[12:29 AM] -- Nick whyfd yuio leabve
[12:32 AM] -- Nicjk
[12:33 AM] -- Fuck
[12:38 AM] -- Nifck
[12:41 AM] -- Phjno necx
[12:46 AM] -- N i c k
4 missed calls -- Larry Butz
Neither of them had really meant to go overboard. Larry got swept up by a group that appeared to be a party of some sort, and Phoenix just sat, drank, and watched his friend make a fool of himself a million times over. It was entertaining. It felt good, normal, manageable. That is, until he checked his phone just past midnight, and the date flashed in his face.
Then, without quite registering how it had happened, he was wiping tears off his face with his suit’s sleeve in the back of a taxi. The driver threw him a tissue box, with little flowers printed on the side.
“Clean yourself up. Where are you heading?”
“Uh…” Phoenix started. Where am I going? And to his surprise, the address he landed on was not his own. But he had no intention to take it back.
He let his phone ring in his pocket a few times without answering. Larry could manage without him for the night.
“Okay, here we are.” Phoenix paid a bit more than just adequately (a thing he most certainly wouldn’t have done had he been sober,) and tried his best to keep what little composure he had to walk to the door and ring the doorbell. Immediately, a small dog could be heard barking from inside. (Yapping? Yelping? Whatever.) Not a minute later, and a very tired man in pink pyjamas holding a disgruntled dog like one might hold a baby opened the door.
“Wright?” He looked Phoenix up and down. “You’re a mess.” Gee, thanks. Not that he wasn’t, though.
“I don’t know why I’m even here… I should leave.” His words were coming out wrong, and the composure he’d built up was fading.
“No, come in.” Carefully placing the dog back on the ground, he rubbed his forehead like he was trying to relieve a particularly nasty headache. “Even if you’re going to leave, it’s going to be a while before a cab arrives, I wouldn’t make you wait outside.”
“Right, yeah, of course… thanks, Miles….” Miles led him towards a modern gray sofa, and sat down next to him. And then, once again, Phoenix Wright was crying. Except that this time, it was in Miles Edgeworth’s living room, into his shoulder. Miles stood up, letting Phoenix fall onto the couch.
“You need a glass of water. Wait here.” He nodded at the space Phoenix took up, and hurried away. He returned soon after, holding the water he’d left to get, which he placed carefully on a coaster on the coffee table, within Phoenix’s reach should he want it.
“So are you going to explain why you’re drunk and hysterical on my couch, or do you just want to cry for a little while?” Miles had sat back down where he’d been before, and Phoenix had settled his head on Miles’ leg, where his emotions were still not his to control, but did become more comfortable to feel. He let Edgeworth place his hand on his shoulder, and tried to focus on the way his thumb was moving.
“This was the day Mia died -- Mia Fey -- and now,” he hiccupped, jumping at the noise. “An’ I know it’s stupid, because it’s been so long, and any of the Feys can just channel her, but she’s… she’s gone. It’s not the same.”
“If you don't mind me asking, Wright, why are you here? Isn’t there anyone else you can go to?”
“Not really, actually. I can’t go to any of the Feys, I hardly knew her compared to them! I’d look selfish probably, and I don’t wanna remind them anyway. I don’t know anyone at the office well enough for that. Butz can’t deal with anything emotional. Who else is there?” Throwing his one free arm into the air to emphasize the last point, his hand came into contact with Miles’ face, followed by a halfhearted ow . “Besides, I trust you.”
Miles froze for a moment to look at Phoenix. Pondering his own thoughts on this, his features softened. Phoenix was no longer crying.
“If you remember this, I might just be mortified for the rest of my years, but,” he sighed, “I think I trust you too.” With an abrupt change of tone, he put one hand melodramatically on his face where Phoenix had accidentally hit him. “But, I’m not sure if I should , now.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“Objection--” Miles’ professional voice failed to come across in that moment, but it is hard to sound professional mid-yawn.
“Don’t… lawyer me, lawyer man!”
“We’re both lawyers!”
“It’s too late for law….” Phoenix’s hand was still brushing back and forth along Edgeworth’s face.
“It’s past one, Wright. It’s been the morning for a while.”
“Hmph.” he replied. He was almost asleep, still leaning against his friend. “Hey Edgeworth?” Wright blinked at Miles, like he was trying to get something out of his eyes.
“Thank you.” Phoenix let himself sink fully into Edgeworth’s side as he drifted off.
“Oh, I-- uh… do you want me to get you a taxi, or do you want to sleep here?” Miles felt his shoulders tense, and he made an obvious effort not to let that disturb Phoenix.
“Wan’ t’stay ‘ere…” his mouth barely shaped the words he was trying to speak, but it wasn’t yet unintelligible.
“Should I find a blanket for you?”
“I’m ok. You’re… warmer than I thought you’d be.” Phoenix slurred, smiling softly (and incredibly drunkenly, to be completely frank).
“Right, I-- okay. I’m staying here. This is okay.” Wright’s upper body weight fell entirely onto Edgeworth, and he settled his head on his chest.
“You’re a good person, Miles.”