"Edgeworth."

Edgeworth very carefully feigns deafness. It is the best response to a drunk Phoenix Wright, he has decided. Trying to have a reasonable conversation with the man is hard enough while he is sober; five beers in he is guaranteed to be entirely unmanageable.

Unfortunately, "best" does not necessarily equate to "effective."

"EDGEWORTH." A pause. The bartender is eyeing Edgeworth but gives no indication that he is going to sweep in to help. Gumshoe is on the other side of the bar, tucked away in a booth with Maggey, and the rest of the patrons are ignoring him. Pointedly. Edgeworth is absolutely certain every one is laughing internally.

"Miles."

"What do you want, Wright?" He finally hisses. Trust Phoenix Wright to revert to informality when he goes tipsy. Edgeworth can't stand friendly drunks, mostly because they offend his own tendency to go cold and distant in an attempt to cover up his own intoxication.

(It is an attempt. It always fails. Phoenix has never told him this.)

"Miles, Miles, Miles, listen." Phoenix is laughing, mouth open so Edgeworth can see the row of his white teeth and the edge of pink tongue. "Listen."

Edgeworth sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose and shuts his eyes for a minutes. "I'm listening, Wright."

"Okay, okay. Miles. Miles. Miles."

"What?"

"Are you a district attorney?"

Edgeworth opens his eyes, glares at the bartender so hard the man flinches, and drops his hand as he twists towards Wright. "What are you -"
"'Cause you're a pro-se-CUTE-or."

Everything he was about to say dies on Edgeworth's lips. Phoenix is smiling, pleased with himself and loose with alcohol and his eyes are sparkling and the bar is utterly, breath-holdingly silent.

There is a laugh, very tiny, repressed almost before it escapes, but unmistakable. Edgeworth's neck flushes warm, color climbing up into his jaw and cheeks until his whole face is red, and then something snaps. He tips over to rest his head on the bar, lets his shoulders shake silently for a few seconds.

"M-Miles?" Phoenix asks. Edgeworth can feel Wright's hand come to rest tentatively between his shoulder blades, and then he sucks in a breath and his laughter explodes out into the quiet of the room and he can feel everyone exhale in relief.

Phoenix is smiling, happy with himself this time, and Edgeworth reaches out to touch the edge of his smile before he stops himself. His hand hangs in midair for a minute, weighted with potential, and then he pulls it back in and looks back at the bartender, clearing his throat and trying to pull back his blush as well, attempting to hold back the affection in his irrepressible smile.

(It is an attempt. It always fails. Phoenix has never told him this.)