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Hot.
The first thing Edgeworth felt was the heat.
Edgeworth was awoken — not by his alarm-, but by the fact that he was being both boiled and frozen alive in his sleep. His body was rousing itself into an uncomfortable temperature, no matter how he shifted under the covers.
His skull throbbed in the pattern of the rain that poured just outside the foggy window.
Regardless, he still got up.
He still insisted on brushing his hair and straightening his suit despite the throbbing headache that lulled itself in, he still insisted on brewing his morning blend of tea and making sure the Wrights were up.
He chalked his aching back and unsteady footing up to the previous night's late study session, something that had become near tradition in preparation for Wright’s return to law.
Edgeworth knew well that he wasn’t as young as when he was studying for the bar, so it was only logical for him to assume the symptoms were nothing more than a little exhaustion.
“You look terrible.” was about the first thing Phoenix said to him upon his arrival to the kitchen.
“You flatter me, Wright.” Edgeworth countered. Phoenix smiled in acknowledgment, but brushed it off in favor of prepping them both some toast.
A usual early morning silence fell upon the pair, yet each second felt longer and longer as Edgeworth tried to heal his congested throat with hot tea.
Nonetheless still, he got up to see Trucy off, making sure she had her apartment key and didn’t miss the bus. His legs shook as he did so. A failed attempt at hiding a small coughing fit inevitably led to Trucy giving him a knowing look, but she didn’t bring it up.
As he stumbled back to the kitchen, Phoenix shot him that same exact look.
“You sure you’re feeling alright?”
“Yes Wright, I assure you I’m quite fine.“
Maybe something cooler would help? He downed some water and a moment later, an accursed coughing fit was wrangled from his scratched throat. Damn his luck!
Phoenix raised him an eyebrow and threw a knowing smirk.
“Sure, what was that about you being fine?”
“Wright-“
Wright moved toward him, walking to place a hand over the prosecutor’s forehead.
After a moment of deliberation, he pulled back. “Doesn’t feel too good, at least let me take your temperature?”
“I assure you, I am fine-“
“If you really are, then you should have no problem with, what— a two minute temperature check?”
Edgeworth scowled at him, but he didn’t budge.
After a moment of eye contact, Miles finally let out a congested sigh, relenting with a nod.
He followed Phoenix carefully to his own room, the man insisting he take it whenever he stayed over.
As he sat down, a flare of pain rolled over his creaking joints. He tried to keep his mental state sharp, even in his sluggish state by deducing the cause of all his woes today
Focus. A runny nose, some horrid congestion—
“Slip this under your tongue real quick for me?” Phoenix murmured while handing him the thermometer. There was a tinge of concern flickering in his eyes.
—A pounding head, and aching bones…
“Oof- 100.4, that’s definitely one hell of a fever.”
Oh.
Miles Edgeworth had somehow fallen sick.
Wright got up from his bedside, placing the thermometer on the nightstand. “Well, that settles it. Get changed, there’s no way I’m letting you go to the prosecutor's office with a fever like that.”
“What- absolutely not! There are responsibilities I must attend to, Wright!”
“And is getting everyone there sick included in that?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, I can just wear a mask — which I highly suggest you do too, if you’re going to be around me all day.”
“Obviously, but still; Do you really think you can get anything done like this?”
“Yes, it’s just a simple cold.” He got up in a huff, (and far too fast for his body’s liking). Quickly, Phoenix held his hands out with a “careful now-“ to catch the man if he fell.
His concern proved to be founded as Edgeworth found himself practically clinging to the doorframe not a moment later, a particularly bad sweep of nausea flooding through him and nearly knocking the man flat onto the floor.
He closed his eyes for a moment to breathe and regain his composure, his face twisting into a grimace, his head reeling from whiplash. He opened his eyes only to be met with Phoenix’s hand and a stupid smug grin.
Damn it.
Taking the hand offered, he stood up once more, albeit slightly leaning on the warmth the other provided.
“I would offer to pick you up when you inevitably pass out at the prosecutor’s office, but unless you wanna take a bike ride home, I doubt I could.”
A moment of deliberation.
“Come on, would it kill you to take a sick day?”
What Phoenix didn’t say was that —for the first time in a long while—he wanted to be the one helping Edgeworth. Sure, Miles had said they were even.“You are in no debt to me Phoenix, I do this because you’re a dear friend to me. I… care for you, I care about you. If anything, I would be the one who owes you.”
He didn’t say that this was never about debt—rather, this was always about him. This was about caring. He wanted to be the one offering a safe place and a welcoming hand, the one offering to stay late into the night and reminding him to take care of himself, to show that he was there and loved him because no matter what he said he always deserved it.
For Miles, something about his tone was... endearing. It tapped into a deep recess in the back of his mind- an unusual want to stay home. To stay and curl up under the warmth and scent of the covers of Phoenix’s bed. Of Phoenix.
The implications and undertones of such wants he’d rather not think about. Not that he can even think coherently at all with his pounding heachache.
Miles sighed. Contrary to what his sister would have you believe: he was, in fact, no fool.
“…Go grab my phone off the kitchen counter. I need to let the prosecutor's office know I won’t be in the office today.”
Phoenix gave a thumbs up at that, silently cheering as he helped the prosecutor back down.
Some time later, Edgeworth was once more bundled beneath the welcoming sheets of Phoenix’s bed, just as warm as he remembered them being, although his joints and muscles ache much more.
“Alright, do me a favor and actually try to stay in bed? I promise your work can wait.”
“No promises,” Edgeworth responded, clearing his throat some as he tried to suppress the taste of cold medicine.
“Try to get some sleep too; you do actually look miserable.” He sighed, absentmindedly glancing at his sweat stricken bangs- now laying defeated against his head. “If you can get up later, try to shower too, it’ll help with your congestion and get all the inevitable sweat off you.” Miles stealthily leaned into the admittedly pleasant touch.
“Want me to make you some soup later?”
“Mm... sure, but I don’t want you to burn the kitchen down.”
“I promise I won’t. If you need anything, call me.”
He nodded, laced with exhaustion and fading back with the lure of unconsciousness.
It's cold.
It’s cold and dark and-
Oh.
He couldn’t quite place where the feeling originated from, but there was an overall looming sense of sheer and utter dread that bloomed out from his heart.
He’s been here before.
A rabbit quick pulse— his breathing was so heavy that no matter how much air he tried to take in, little of it was actually received. Everything was shaking, rattling, as if beaten like a drum.
He’s afraid.
The fear wormed its way throughout his body- carried by blood like a foreign ailment, it boiled his chest first. Then his arms, which quickly grew clammy with a sheath of sweat, then his head and finally—his legs pinned to the ground, he already knew there was no hope of movement. It’s spreading only further smothering his body in anguish and forcing him to rot.
He’s been here before.
But that doesn't make it any less terrifying.
He’s cold. The elevator was cold and cramped and he was dying-
His lungs—no—his entire body was burning white hot. A suffocation in his coffin surroundings. He’s dying. He’s been living on borrowed time his entire life—time he never deserved—time that should have been his father’s.
He’s dying and he’s going to do it alone, rot isolated in this elevator like he deserved. His regrets and sins, those he’s wronged and will eventually wrong again had piled too high and he will be suffocated under them.
He can’t breathe.
I don’t want to die alone.
He can’t breathe.
He tried to yell, to pathetically scream for someone—anyone—to come for him. To come save him, to come rot with him. Yet barely a whisper escaped his lips.
He can’t breathe.
He tried to move—yet he couldn’t even cry. His body’s too painful to stir, his head too heavy to rouse –. He’s going to bleed out and they’ll never find him.
It’s too much—the ringing in his head, in his body, in his bones, the static that fills his ears and surrounds him in a rotted cacophony of pain.
Soon, he’ll succumb to suffocation. He’s sure of it.
He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe he can’t breathe he can’t breathe he can’t breathe he can’t breathe—
Phoenix would consider today to have been a slower day. Not unwelcome, mind you.
The rigorous testing and studying day in and day out was exhausting, but ultimately he knew it would be worth it in the end. The thought relaxed him some as he gently stirred Miles’ soup.
A lot was on his mind, which was a given seeing as what’s to come.. It filled the silence nonetheless.
His return to law was prompted with anxiety and uncertainty, but he knew it’s what he wanted. The thought of a shiny golden badge once more pinned to his suit filled him with a sense of wonder. Wonder and security at the fact that all of his struggles would pay off.
He’d be able to stand on his own two feet once more, be able to argue not in a shady pub over poker, but in a cleaned courthouse over a case once more.
Admittedly, he didn’t think stirring soup alone with his thoughts would ever contribute to that goal (or if said goal is even possible) but here he was.
He’d be able to work both with and against Edgeworth again, properly this time. He was grateful for that, more than the prosecutor could ever know.
He could finally stand fully at his side.
A blood curdling yell pierced the silence, coming from his room.
Instantly, the soup was forgotten, the stove quickly tapped off through instinct as Phoenix made a mad dash to the door.
A thousand worst-case scenarios flashed through his mind as he nearly busted down the door trying to get in.
Did someone break in? Was he hurt? Injured? Dying—?
Upon stopping at his bedside, Phoenix was confused (but grateful) to seemingly find no major cause for alarm.
Edgeworth was essentially cocooned in blankets, breathing heavily as he muttered incomprehensibly. His chest was heaving hard under the covers. Phoenix placed a cautious hand to his forehead. As he suspected, Edgeworth was absolutely burning,sweating to no end despite the fan being turned to its highest setting.
“Edgeworth—Hey, Edgeworth-!” Phoenix whispered as he shook Edgeworth with increasing desperation. “Wake up—”
He only gripped the sheets tighter.
“C’mon now—Miles!“
Mile’s eyes snapped open, darting around the room in a panic, looking for something, someone—
Analyze your surroundings.
“Hey—hey! It’s alright—”
Go in order, identify a way out: a duvet, ceiling fan, closed blinds, breathe in. Phoenix Wright, a door, drawers, breathe out. Photo frames with various things on the drawers, a painting of a landscape, in. A chair, desk, papers and envelopes on the desk, out. A hamper, and potted plants.
He blinked, his moment of unconscious terror falling back. “Wright?”
“Everything alright there? Could have sworn I heard you scream.”
Oh.
“Nothing—it was nothing. I apologize, you can go back to whatever you were doing.”
Hesitantly, Edgeworth rolled back over in a vague (foolish) attempt to go back to sleep- not that he even wanted to.
“You sure? I know a high fever will mess with your dreams and stuff.”
“I’m fine, Wright.”
With a heavy sigh, Phoenix sat on the bed. He wasn’t going to leave, much to Edgeworth’s dismay.
The two sat in silence for a moment.
“Y’know, a while back—I think a few months ago? I had a pretty nasty fever too. Gave me weird dreams as well.”
Miles shifted his gaze towards the man.
“I didn’t want to take the cold medicine we had—bad experience with it in the past. So I just had to ride it out. The symptoms weren’t as bad as the dreams really.“
“Where are you going with this?”
“…Nowhere in particular, really. Is that a bad thing?” Wright smiled.
Edgeworth sat up as best he could with his aching joints. “No, no I suppose not.”
“.. How are you feeling?”
“In all honesty? Horrible.”
“Eh, shoulda figured.”
Tense. God, Edgeworth was tense. Too wound up, too tight, too damn tense for his own good.
Should he even tell him?
It’s silly really, he should have already gotten over it— yet why does it still persist? Why does his own mind betray him like this? Why was it always in front of Wright of all people?
No matter how much time passed, it was still always there. Nowhere near as bad as before (the constant nightly terrors had stopped long ago) but...
“...I don’t understand.” He curled up slightly . Childish, you’re being childish, he scolded himself.
“What?”
Miles can’t look at him, he can’t bring himself to look him in the eye. Shameful. Phoenix didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve any more hardship after all he’s been through. But the words kept falling out.
“I... I had thought I was over it, truly.”
He knows. Phoenix knows all too awfully well what happened. Even with what he thought was blood on his hands, Phoenix still believed in his innocence that fateful trial, in him. He believes in him and that’s all that mattered.
“Do you mean—”
“I was… I was in that elevator again.”
Nothing else needed to be said. He understood it immediately.
“Edgeworth, I—“
“It’s stupid, it’s horribly moronic even. I should be over it by now. An earthquake didn’t even trigger it this time! I just don’t get it—“
“Miles.”
Hands were at his shoulders now, he hadn’t realized how close he was to crying.
Miles took a deep breath despite the protest of his cotton filled throat. Phoenix shifted to rub his palm. “That’s normal, really. I mean, the reason I didn’t take that cold medicine was because of something that happened to me, what — 10 years ago?”
“The poisoning?”
“Yeah, that. My point is that it still affected me, and that’s alright. It’s going to continue to affect me even if I’m over it, and that’s also alright. There’s no shame in it.”
“I… I suppose so. But still, I…”
Miles clutched the other’s hand.
“I’m tired, Wright. I’m so, so tired of it.”
“I know you are, it’s alright. I’m here if you need me, please don’t ever forget that.”
He coughed some, clearing his throat of congestion the best he could.
“Would you want me to stay?”
Maybe if he was more relaxed, maybe if the fever wasn’t nibbling at his very sense of reality, Edgeworth would have declined no matter how much he wished against it. Yet his body betrayed him once more in the form of a nod.
“I.. don’t think I can fall back asleep, apologies.”
“No worries, I don’t expect you to.”
Hesitantly, Miles laid back down and lifted the covers off one side of the bed. An invitation; he didn’t want to be alone.
The chill of the room bit Miles harshly, but it was quickly snuffed out as Phoenix hastily replaced it with his own warmth. An acceptance, a reminder he was there.
“Shouldn’t you be wearing a mask, Wright?”
“Maybe, but I’ve had worse.”
“Phoenix.”
“Oh we’re using first names now, am I in trouble then?” Boldly, Phoenix draped an arm around the other. Before his moment of confidence was slightly diminished by the fact that he’s essentially just asked to cuddle him. “Can I...? It’s fine if not, but it’d probably stop you from shaking.” Only a half truth, really.
A nod, and Edgeworth was caught in a tight embrace, taking on some of the tension that slowly began to unravel itself from his core.
“About the mask. I mean, if you were already staying in my bed last night then I was gonna get sick anyway.”
“Don’t you wash your sheets?”
“Well yeah, but first I’d have to come into contact with them if I wanted to even wash them.”
Phoenix adjusted some, the arms around him only serving to hold him closer, a hug—it’s home. It’s not suffocating, like the cold dimness of the elevator, but something else entirely.
“Plus, if the worst I can manage off a 40-foot drop is a cold, then it probably won’t kill me.”
“Oh? Implying I’ll die to it?”
Phoenix laughed, lightly kicking his leg. “Nah, wouldn’t let you.”
Finally, they settled in. A cocoon of two people, a shared space, a home.
“What were you even doing before this?”
“I was making you that soup- gonna hope you’re not hungry since it’s definitely cold by now.”
“Not really, no. Remind me to pick up some chicken broth later for when you inevitably do get sick from this.”
“Yes sir, will do.” He’d mock a salute if his hand weren’t occupied already.
Held. Edgeworth is being held, when was the last time someone just held him so dearly? Allowing their breathing to synchronize, his core to feel pleasantly heavy in the other’s arms. He didn’t ever want to move, not ever again.
“Don’t be like that, I don't want you complaining when I end up being the one to take care of you then.”
“So you’re saying we’d take turns?”
“Sure, if that’s what it takes to take care of you.”
“We’re just gonna keep passing it to each other until one of us keels over then. Ever considered that?”
“Then I’d live with that, ever consider that?”
“Fever’s making you delirious again, do me a favor and go back to sleep already.”
“Only if you insist.”
A soft light, a hazy warmth. Two hearts beating as one, a gentle exhale of breath along his neck as Phoenix curled into him.
He was home.