"Hey, would you mind sparing some change?"

It had all started with that stupid, ridiculous question.

"Hey?"

He'd heard him before. He asked everybody that. Sometimes he got change, and most often he'd strike out. That was how being homeless worked. He passed by him everyday, never stopping, never caring.

"Help a guy out?"

All it took was one time.

"Excuse me…"

One trivial time, when he was walking alone in the middle of the night, enjoying some fresh air. It was the dead of winter, and he was on his way to his car parked just down the road in the private garage. He had a few quarters in his pocket, and when the bum in the blue beanie asked him politely if he had any change, he had tossed them into the man's cup with a flick of his wrist. Seventy-five cents.

He wouldn't have granted it a second thought if he hadn't heard those three words out of the bum's disgusting mouth:

"Hey, thanks, Edgeworth!"

It had stopped him cold.

He was accustomed to people recognizing him. After all, he was the best prosecutor around. He did not, however, expect or appreciate a homeless crackjob knowing his name. Turning, he faced the man still curled into a tight ball on the sidewalk.

"Excuse me?"

"I said thanks. That was really nice of you."

"How do you know my name?"

The man's teeth were chattering, and the prosecution attorney could see that the tattered gray sweatshirt and filthy hat were doing nothing to keep him warm. There was stubble on his face and his skin was chapped and cracked in places. Weary, crystal blue eyes rose to meet his. "How could I forget?"

He wondered what his face had looked like.

"Phoenix Wright?!"

He must have looked positively outrageous.

"Yeah, heh. Fancy that, huh?"

"You…! How—"

"You know, I'd really rather not talk about it."

It had been his former rival. Sitting on the sidewalk, filthy and freezing. A far cry from the spunky defense attorney he had once battled.

"Anyway, I won't keep you. Thanks again for the change, I really appreciate it."

And with that, he had put his head back down onto his knees, still visibly trembling in an attempt to warm himself.

"Get up."

He couldn't say what had gotten into him.

"What?"

He had no idea. Not the faintest clue.

"Get up off of the sidewalk, Wright."

"But—"

"Now."

Let it not be said, however, that Miles Edgeworth was without a heart.

"Edgeworth?"

But he had already started walking. It had begun to snow lightly, sending down sparkling dust upon the streets. He wanted to get home before it collected on the streets, and he was going to take Wright with him.

"What—"

"I didn't ask you for small talk, Wright, I asked you to follow me." They were nearly to the parking garage, and his own muscles began to tense in response to the harsh winds blowing. He was shocked that the other man was still alive, but then again, Phoenix always had been a stubborn git.

He briefly considered the consequences of allowing such filthy clothing to touch his leather interior, but he had little choice. "Get in the car."

"Edgeworth, I don't expect you to—"

"Wright!"

"Right! Car. Got it."

The engine purred with power, as always.

Oh, what had he gotten himself into?

His fingers scanned the console systematically before flicking both seat warmers to "on". The ride was thankfully quiet, as Edgeworth had no inclination as to why or what he was doing, and Phoenix was too bewildered to ask questions about it.

Though the car heated quickly, he had underestimated the cold, and Phoenix was still shivering violently. The snow was swirling in the parking lot when they arrived at Edgeworth's loft, and he breathed in deep to prepare himself for another blast of cold air.

"Come along, and don't touch anything."

Phoenix had followed him, silent. It was unnerving, really, and Edgeworth almost found himself missing the talkative idiot his rival had once been. He didn't know how long the man had been on the streets, but it had obviously changed him a great deal.

"You're going straight into the bath."

"Edgeworth, I—"

"Wright, you're repulsive. If you so much scratch an itch in my apartment before you clean up, you're a dead man."

He was stern, but he allowed a bit of warmth into his words. God knew the man needed it.

"The bath is through there," he pointed vaguely, "and the towels are in the cabinet beneath the sink."

Silence. Not a "Hey, thanks!" or a "Wow, this is really strange," or even a nostalgic "Objection! The defense has no clothes for afterward!"

Just…quiet. He frowned.

Phoenix had shuffled to the bathroom, kicking his shoes off inside and leaving the door open while he searched for a towel. Edgeworth watched with mild interest as the man stripped, revealing greasy, flattened hair and flushed skin. He wasn't sure whether Phoenix had wanted him to watch or if the former attorney had simply forgotten to shut the door, but he was presented with the image of a toned behind before the door was kicked (mostly) shut.

Oh, what had he done, inviting this strange new man into his home?

There was commotion in the bathroom before a voice called out to him. "Edgeworth? I uh, I don't know how to work your bathtub."

He had to go in.

Well, he didn't have to go in.

But he went in anyway, and it was the beginning of the end.

When he opened the door, Phoenix was bent over the bathtub, examining the mechanisms for turning the water on. His muscles were tense with the pose, and Edgeworth was quite sure that his tongue had turned to cotton upon the sight.

Even as a wretched, grimy hobo, Phoenix Wright was still very beautiful.

A lack of food had forced his muscles to atrophy a bit, but his frame was still fit and enticing with its boyish charms.

"Really, Wright, couldn't you at least have worn a towel?"

The man jumped, not having expected Edgeworth to encroach upon him.

"Oops! Er, I'm sorry, here—"

"Don't worry about it." He masked his awe with an irritated sigh. "After all, the damage is done." He casually made his way to the front of the tub and turned the lever to an appropriately hot temperature. Water gushed from the spigot, steaming the room as well as filling the bath, and he nodded once it reached an acceptable level.

Phoenix was in the water before Edgeworth had even exited the room.

A few joyful grunts escaped the former attorney before he dunked his head under the surface, and after reappearing, Phoenix laughed out loud.

It was good to see him smiling, Edgeworth had thought. Good to see him back to his old self.

If only he'd have known.

"This is fantastic!" A large dollop of shampoo squirted unceremoniously onto a head of nappy hair. "Ahhhh!" He didn't even notice that Edgeworth was still standing, watching. Perhaps he did.

Perhaps he didn't care.

Amused, the prosecution took a seat on the toilet. "How long have you been on the streets, Wright?"

Blue eyes were clenched shut against the onslaught of bubbles, and Phoenix wrinkled his nose to keep them from reaching his lips. "Couple months. It isn't as bad as you'd think, really. I managed to get a job in a lounge, but they don't pay me enough to afford rent. So I sleep outside." He disappeared under the water, causing a pattern of froth to dance on the surface.

Edgeworth watched with interest as masculine hands ruffled black hair frantically to loosen the lather, and then smoothed the excess water down a graceful neck once above the now-sudsy bathwater.

A comfortable silence fell upon them as Phoenix began working diligently on cleansing his body, scraping weeks' worth of grime from his skin. Once in a while, hidden areas peeked out from above the ever-darkening water, tantalizing their audience.

Oh, what had he done, inviting this beautiful idiot into his home?

"Hey, do you think you can do me a favor?"

His eyes focused back onto a cheerful face. "Hm?"

"Wanna get my back for me? I'm sure it's just as dirty as the rest of me."

What could he say? He had just sat there and watched the man bathe himself; what excuse did he have to say no? His jacket was hung neatly on the hook beside the door. His sleeves rolled easily as he tucked them above his elbows. His stomach, however, was furiously tying itself into knots with each step he took toward his former rival. He chose to say nothing, though it seemed no loss.

Phoenix handed him the washcloth he had been using, and after rubbing the bar of soap over it several times to buy himself a minute, Edgeworth set to work.

He anticipated the happy sigh he received for his efforts, but not what it did to his insides.

He was falling for a hobo. A Defense Hobo.

He worked a lot longer than was necessary, but Wright didn't seem to mind. Eventually, he had leaned back against the porcelain, and instead of stopping, Edgeworth simply moved to his neck.

And then his chest.

And then his stomach.

It wasn't anything special. Just small circles and swoops, working the chill and stress out of muscle. He kept telling himself it was because he owed Phoenix for defending him, for believing in him, but he also knew that he was just deluding himself.

That's when he saw him.

Phoenix Wright.

Looking at him.

Looking at him with his stupid blue eyes, and his stupid smile. Not even staring at him. Just…looking.

"You've changed a lot, Edgeworth."

"So have you, Wright."

A chuckle bubbled from the former attorney. "Hey, do you mind if I drain this dirty water and soak for a while in some cleaner stuff? I'm not sure when the next bath I'll get is gonna be."

For some reason, it had bothered him. It shouldn't have; after all, it was just honesty. Sometimes the truth can hurt, though. They had both learned that.

"Don't be stupid. I invited you here. Do as you wish."

Phoenix refilled the bathtub, and Edgeworth considered his options.

He had come this far, after all…

"Wright…"

"Yeah?"

"…"

With the bath full of clean, hot water now, he frowned deeply and sighed at himself. It was his fault, after all. He got himself into this. He could get himself out of it, really.

Or he could drop his shirt to the floor.

And then his pants.

And also his socks and underwear.

"Lean forward."

"Geeze, another backrub?" Phoenix laughed once more as he leaned forward obediently. "You must be toasted or something. Don't think I can pay you back for this, unless my undying gratitude is enough."

He certainly felt intoxicated. His right foot slipped in behind the cheerful man, followed by his left. When he sat, he grunted a bit at the drastic temperature change. He then took Phoenix by the shoulders, and, he hoped, by the heart as well.

Before the reality of the situation could sink in, he pulled his former rival backwards to rest against his chest.

The body in his arms startled at the contact, and he turned to whisper quietly into Phoenix's ear. "You'll be bathing quite frequently, Wright. I have no tolerance for poor hygiene."

Instead of the sputtering, shocked reply he had come to expect, his only response was a sopping head gently resting on his shoulder. Then: "You really have changed, Miles." It was a gentle accusation.

This time, he snorted. "Making assumptions is a poor habit to get into, Wright." He let his hands wander aimlessly over the body leaning against him, enjoying the feel of slick skin. "Although my tolerance for bumbling fools has grown somewhat, my taste in them has not changed."

He waited patiently for the information to be considered, and busied himself with drawing circles on skin.

After a long while, Phoenix spoke up timidly. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"I think we both know the answer to that."

As he wrapped his arms around a lanky waist, he admitted to himself that he knew exactly what he had gotten himself into.

To be honest, he was more than a little grateful for it. There would be growing pains, but Miles Edgeworth was nothing if not adaptive. Resting his forehead against a slumped shoulder, he sighed and let the tension leave his body. Quite frankly, it felt fantastic, and he rumbled with a bit of laughter as he thought of all of the irritations he was inviting into his lifestyle.

Of all the nuisances in his life, none were so welcome than the naked, formerly-homeless body of Phoenix Wright.