Undeclared Tenant

I haven't told anyone about Maya.

It's already been two weeks since she's come back to the city after training for a bit in Kurain, and as had been previously arranged, she's living in my apartment right now. But we don't tell people about it.

It's not that we're trying to keep our living together a secret—I mean, we're not living together that way. It's just that I haven't gotten around to telling my landlord yet. Basically, I guess that makes Maya an illegal boarder.

This is bad, I know. Me being a lawyer and all, I should know these things, and I should be the last person to break rules like this. But things just got so busy since she came back; I didn't realize two weeks had already passed without me declaring Maya as an additional occupant in my flat. Besides, how am I going to explain Maya to my landlord now, anyway?

"Hello sir, this here's Maya Fey. She's going to be sharing my flat for a while. She's my assistant at the law office and a really close friend. By the way, she's a minor. I'm not her legal guardian, but her late sister did trust me to look out for her, so that shouldn't be a problem, right? Oh, and I did file a few Extended Stay forms for her in the past already, so maybe you could just let this late filing slide for now?"

Yeah, that's totally going to work.

Anyway, our living conditions have never really bothered any of us - aside from the occasional complaint from the neighbors about "my" loud declarations of seeing the Evil Magistrate in hell – but that's beside the point. I'm sure Maya's glad to be on the receiving end of free food and lodging every time she's down here in the city. It's always been this way, and we've never had any major problems, so we never felt the need to change anything. She'd just crash into the office in the morning, and then go home to my apartment at night. And then she'd live here until she has to go back up to Kurain again. It's that simple.

"Nick, your closet's a mess," Maya says, facing my open closet. I haven't gotten around to sorting the clothes out yet, I admit. But wait, why is she going through my clothes?! "Where am I supposed to put your clean clothes in here?" she asks, gesturing towards the basket of newly folded laundry beside my bed.

"I'll sort it out later. Just put the clothes on the bed," I say, turning back to my own spring-cleaning task: scrubbing the toilet.

Earlier that morning, Maya and I agreed to stay in since it was a weekend and we didn't have any cases coming in lately anyway. Not soon after, she suggested we do some spring-cleaning around my flat, even though she and Pearls had already cleaned the office last week. We divided the tasks between us—I'd clean the bathroom and the living room, and she'd be in charge of the bedroom and the kitchen.

"But I'll never finish cleaning the bedroom if I leave your clothes out here!"

I can hear her taking the clothes out of my closet and dumping them all on the bed. I take a peek out of the bathroom into the bedroom, and I see Maya seated on my bed, surrounded by a mound of my clothes. She's carefully unfolding and refolding everything and sorting them into some system I don't quite understand.

I smile. You know, it's nice having Maya around, even if she has a bottomless stomach or three that's inversely proportional to my wallet's depth. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying she's great just because she keeps things tidy for me. She's great company. She's fun, and her cheeriness is infectious. And although she'd probably disagree with me if I told her this, she makes solving even the most complicated of cases easier.

I turn back to the toilet. "There's still some laundry yet to be washed," I say as I resume scrubbing. "Should I—"

"No, I'll do it!" she cuts me off immediately. Another basket sits on the floor of the bathroom, next to the small washing machine. "Don't bother with it, Nick. Just keep scrubbing that toilet," she adds, with a bit more force than necessary.

Too late, I already saw them, Maya.

The laundry basket is filled with her clothes and other"things" of hers (she shouldn't have put them on top where I could clearly see it, really. I think I'm blushing on her behalf). But respecting her wishes, I push the basket further towards the washing machine and out of sight. Forget the fact that she overruled my earlier objection and is now folding up all my garments—outer or otherwise. The last time anyone's ever done that for me was before I moved out for college… Sigh.

("I'll miss having to do your laundry, Phoenix. At least let me do this one last time before you go off to Ivy?" Whatever you say, Mom.)

"Hey, Nick," Maya calls out from the bedroom again, hopping over to the edge of the bed to get a better look at me squatting by the toilet still. "I'm hungry."

I knew it.

"Let's get something delivered then," I say, stretching my back as I stand. Ah, that feels good. Man, am I getting as old as Maya says I am? "What do you want to eat?" I walk into the bedroom to get my phone. We bounce off several options, both of us getting hungrier with every suggestion, when the doorbell rings.

"It's the delivery guy!" Maya says excitedly, though obviously in jest.

Who could that be? I wonder as I go to answer the door. I take a look through the peephole first, as a precaution. Maya, on the other hand, does not, and that's another reason why she's not allowed to answer the door—aside from her being an undeclared tenant, that is.

"Crap!"

"Who is it, Nick?" Maya asks innocently, padding to the entrance barefoot.

It's the landlord! I completely forgot that he was going to inspect the flat today. This isn't good. I can't let him see Maya!

"Hurry, hide!" I tell her, pushing her back into the bedroom.

"Huh? What's wrong?" Maya asks, completely oblivious, before realization hits her. She puffs out her cheeks in anger. "You forgot to fill out the Extended Stay forms again, didn't you?" She asks accusingly, and although I do plead guilty to that, now is just not the time for this!

"He's come for the monthly inspection," I explain in a hushed tone, my eyes darting across the room as I try to figure out where I could hide her.

Behind the shower curtains? No, too obvious.

Under the pile of my clothes? No, too small a pile, especially now after Maya's begun folding them up.

Under the bed? She's not going to fit under that no matter how slim she is.

At the fire exit? No, what if someone spots her from the outside and thinks she's a burglar?

Hmm, there's Charlotte, but that tiny succulent by the window could barely even hide Maya's topknot...

"Mr. Wright?" I hear my landlord call faintly from outside. "Mr. Wright, are you in there?"

"Just a sec!" I call out, while motioning for Maya to climb into the closet. It's the best thing we've got at the moment. I shut the closet closed, mumbling a quick apology to Maya before running back out to the entrance.

"Ah, there you are," my landlord, Mr. Stafford, says, craning his neck upwards as he talked to me. "I was thinking you might've forgotten about my visit and was out."

Mr. Stafford is a small, old man. He looks just like your typical kind, old grandpa, but looks can be deceiving. I mean, sure, he's generally kind and accommodating, but if you break any of his rules, you're on his list. And you do not want to get in his list, because that almost always means eviction.

That sounds terrifying, I know, but Mr. Stafford is a reasonable fellow. He actually only has five simple rules for his tenants: no pets; no loud noises; no unsegregated garbage; no unauthorized, permanent redecorations; and, finally, no undeclared visitors can stay beyond three days per week. Though there is still some fine print about that last rule.

I'm undeniably screwed if he finds out that I smuggled Maya in again.

I usher Mr. Stafford into the apartment. "Sorry, I was in the middle of cleaning," I say, scratching the back of my head. Mr. Stafford doesn't say anything.

Because of his age, Mr. Stafford moves quite slowly. Every passing minute makes me more and more anxious. I could feel the sweat forming on my forehead, on the back of my neck, and on my palms. It's almost as bad as being in court. But just thinking about Maya, stuffed in that closet… it's a lot worse for her, I'm sure. I hope she's alright in there (and still alive… Urk.)

"Anything you'd like to get added to your unit, Mr. Wright?" Mr. Stafford asks all of a sudden, making me jump. He had already finished checking the kitchen for gas leaks, and the living room to see if the heater and air conditioning still worked fine. I tell him I'm good with the current facilities as we move to the bathroom. I stand in the doorway as he checks the pipes, the drain, the toilet (which was literally sparkling clean), the shower...

"Hmm?" He hums, looking down at something beside the washing machine.

Oh shoot. Maya's clothes!

"Uh… um… those are…" Dang it, how am I going to explain having a girl's clothes in my bathroom?! I can't bluff my way out of this!

Mr. Nick! I know you can always turn things around and save Mystic Maya! Because she's your special someone! I hear Pearl's voice in my head all of a sudden. Wait—that's it. I got it!

"Those are, uh, my girl…friend's. She… likes the way I do the laundry, so I told her I'd wash her clothes! Ahaha..." I laugh nervously, and out of impulse I turn to peek out to my bedroom across the way. Still quiet in there—good.

"Oh, how nice of you then," Mr. Stafford says flatly, moving past me and out of the bathroom. I think he also mumbled, "Younguns these days."

Great, now he probably thinks "the hippie girl" (that was how he referred to Maya some time ago) and I are some weird couple. But whew, at least he didn't press further. Taking a final, sweeping look at the bathroom, he then makes his way into the bedroom—this is it, the last leg of the race.

I stand in front of the closet and watch him inspect the windows, the heater, and the air conditioning in the room. I sure hope he doesn't check the closet. He never checked it the other times he's been here so I think we're safe, but still. What am I going to say if he finds Maya in there? That she's an artificially intelligent robot being secretly developed by some computer company? Or maybe I should say she's a super special edition collector's item? Like some sort of life-like early model of the Pink Princess… after all, I'm getting quite known in this building as a Steel Samurai fan anyway. Why not push it a little further?

"Mr. Wright!" my landlord half-shouts. I must have been so busy thinking of an excuse that I didn't notice him calling my attention the first few times. "I'm done with my inspection now. Thank you very much," he says, bowing his head a little.

I accompany him on the way out. "Don't forget about this month's rent, all right, Mr. Wright?" he says, with a smile that intimidates more than it calms. "And please remember to keep it down whenever you're watching that… that… what was it again?"

"Uh... Steel Samurai."

"Yes, that," he chuckles, more genuinely now. "Good day, Mr. Wright!" He turns on his heel and heads to the next unit.

I heave a sigh of relief as I close the door behind me. "You can come out now, Maya!" I call out.

"Aaahhh, air!" I hear her gasp, following her tumbling out of the closet. I go in to check on her. As I expected, she had been sweating buckets; her bangs stuck to her forehead, and a few loose locks of hair stuck to her neck. "That was a lame excuse, but I guess it's good your landlord didn't ask anymore." She laughs as I help her up from the floor.

"It's Pearl's fault," I say, tossing her a towel to wipe her face with. "She popped into my head all of a sudden."

"Pearly!" Maya cries, puffing her cheeks out, as if our little matchmaker was there to see.

"Yeah… and uh, anyway," I mumble as I gestured for her to fix her robes. She lets out a little shriek upon the realization and proceeds to straighten her clothes out as I take out my phone again, ready to pick up from our discussion before the whole landlord inspection fiasco. Letting out a cough in an attempt to dispel that brief moment of awkwardness, I continue, "So, how about some lunch?"

In true Maya fashion, she switches gears quickly; the discomfort and awkwardness from earlier was quickly forgotten as she bounds up towards me with a cheeky grin. "You owe me an extra burger with extra large fries on the side for stuffing me in that closet," she demands, hands on her hips.

I guess now that means I have to order four of those heart-attack-in-a-buns.

"And a large strawberry milkshake for looking at my robes," she then adds in a teasing tone as she jumps back into the mound of my clothes and continues her folding.

I sigh. Sometimes I fear that the real threats to Maya's life aren't kidnappers or crazy, power-hungry relatives...

The delivery man arrives half an hour later. Although he doesn't say it, I know he's surprised. I notice his eyes curiously looking into my quiet apartment; he must be thinking that a party of five, or at least some semblance of company, is going to come out now that the scent of burgers has crept its way into the flat.

I'm the only one he's going to see at the door though. He's probably thinking, "Is this man seriously going to eat four super deluxe bacon cheeseburgers, a grilled chicken sandwich, an extra large serving of fries, and a large milkshake all by himself? He's got issues."

I only offer a laugh as an explanation as I take the greasy paper bags from his hands.

After all, I'm the only one who really knows about Maya.

THE END

So I was browsing through Ask Ace Attorney on Tumblr, and I came across these letters: post / 14151991367 / dear-anonymous-no-way-its-way-too-far-to#notes

and post / 29634886197 / s-sir-uhm-thats-just-me-my-voice-just

And the mod and some other people were like, " # someone write me a fanfic of nick hiding maya from his landlord " and after combing through this site (and a ao3), I think no one has written it yet, so I'm finally posting this.

An advanced happy holidays, everyone!

And special thanks to overtlycovert for helping me polish this fic!