When he awoke the following morning, Phoenix had no idea where he was or how he'd arrived there. He was distantly aware of light streaming in from some nearby location, and gradually he realized how cold his legs, face, and neck felt. As soon as he recognized these sensations, he was assaulted much more prominently by splitting agony inside of his skull. For a moment he wanted nothing more than to black out again to avoid what he'd come to recognize as a colossal hangover, but it was already too late to go back. Phoenix noted miserably that his mouth felt as parched and raw as sandpaper, and upon turning his head to the side, the entire world spun, causing him to groan as he was hit with a wave of nausea.

Maybe drinking really wasn't worth it.

Still not ready to open his eyes and face the full consequences of his actions from the previous night, Phoenix lifted a hand from beneath the blanket covering him and pressed it over his eyes. He savored the darkness and warmth of his palm against his cool face for a moment before pulling himself into a seated position. Again the world swayed and he was temporarily destabilized with vertigo. Ugh… last night… how many beers had he drunk? He wasn't sure he wanted to remember the happenings of the evening just yet; he was almost certain that his plan to get wasted had backfired. There was no way he hadn't done or said something stupid and regrettable.

His eyes still shut to protect against the glare in the room, Phoenix shivered violently as the blanket fell away from his chest. Why was it so cold? He clearly wasn't outside, but it felt like he might as well be. Edgeworth wouldn't have just left him at the chilly bar… or at least, he didn't think Edgeworth would.

Deciding that this guessing game wasn't worth playing when he could open his eyes to find out, Phoenix reluctantly rubbed his face into his palms a few times more before looking at his surroundings. He was startled to discover that he was in his own office. Huh. The events of the previous night were still so fuzzy that he couldn't put the pieces together of how he got back here. The defense attorney glanced around the room once as if it might clue him in on what had happened and then struggled to his feet. He was about to stagger to the bathroom in search of painkillers when his eyes dropped to the couch he'd previously been sleeping on.

Phoenix's breath hitched in his throat when he spotted what was instantly identifiable as Edgeworth's coat lying there. That hadn't been a blanket covering him earlier – it had been the prosecutor's jacket. But why? Feeling flushed with heat despite how utterly freezing the room was, Phoenix tried not to get too ahead of himself. There had to be some good explanation of why he'd apparently stolen Edgeworth's jacket to use as a blanket. It was probably… probably something foolish he'd done or insisted upon while drunk. If he could just remember something…

He was so lost in contemplation that for a moment he was able to block out even the pain and dizziness of a night of hard drinking, but the moment didn't last long. When the memories Phoenix sought didn't instantly flood back to him in a sudden rush of awareness, he shook his head in frustration. He just wanted medicine and to go back to sleep… preferably somewhere very dark. The meager shades in the room weren't doing much to keep the bright morning sunlight out. Yawning, Phoenix turned to move toward the bathroom once more before noticing that the end table had a bunch of stuff laid out on it.

Moving in closer, the lawyer noted with a surge of undeserved joy that there was a glass of water already waiting there for him. And pills! He grabbed them and swallowed them within seconds, then downed what remained of the glass of water as if he'd been dying of thirst. After wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he also noted a folded piece of paper, which he grabbed and opened immediately.

Holding the note before his face, he quickly recognized Edgeworth's elegant, precise script. Scanning the message it contained, he could feel himself growing increasingly warmer with fresh embarrassment as it confirmed a number of his fears. So Edgeworth had done all of this for him… even though he'd made a drunken fool of himself. He'd even parted with his beloved jacket willingly; Phoenix didn't think he'd ever even seen the prosecutor NOT wearing that pink outfit since they'd been reunited after all of these years. Well, great; now Edgeworth assumed that he was too poor to pay his bills. That wasn't true. He thought he'd paid them…

Deciding not to focus on trivial details, Phoenix quickly skimmed the note once more. Edgeworth's words in the postscript seemed to have lost the quality of neatness that exemplified the body of the message, as if he'd been in a hurry or exceptionally angry while penning them. Phoenix assumed the latter. Still, the fact that Edgeworth was willing to spare him a jacket had to be a sign he cared. The image of the cold, inhuman Edgeworth who was prepared to get him a guilty verdict just three years ago seemed nearly irreconcilable with an Edgeworth who felt sympathetic enough to offer him the shirt off of his back, so to speak. Even if Edgeworth had done so angrily or reluctantly or because he felt obligated, he'd still done it. Despite how utterly wretched he felt from a night of heavy drinking, Phoenix couldn't fight back the giddiness that had threatened to overwhelm him earlier.

His plans to go back to sleep had to be called off, at least temporarily, because he had every intention of returning Edgeworth's jacket to him as soon as possible. Still, Phoenix wasn't going anywhere until he was certain he didn't look like death itself. As much as he desired an extensively long and warm shower, with the gas turned off this didn't seem possible, and going back to his apartment seemed unnecessarily time consuming. With a sigh he moved into the bathroom once again, turning to stare at his reflection.

Phoenix figured it wasn't possible for him to look worse. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes, his hair was a mess and instead of sticking out behind him in exact spikes, it had deflated into limp strands, and he looked sickeningly pale and tired. Really, the appearance fit his mood quite aptly, and Phoenix assumed he deserved it for what he'd done the previous night. He turned on the cold water and leaned over the sink to splash some on his face in a half-hearted attempt to revive himself, taking a moment to seriously try remembering what had happened the previous night.

He recalled the first part well-enough. Edgeworth had made it difficult to discuss stuff initially, but eventually they were able to move on to talking about the shared trials between them. That had gone on for quite a while; Phoenix remembered putting forth a conscious effort to not include Maya in any of those conversations, as he didn't want the prosecutor to assume that their discussions had anything to do with romance. With that established, though, he also hazily remembered asking Edgeworth questions that Maya had inspired. He just couldn't remember if he'd mentioned his spirit medium friend in relation to them or not.

Phoenix shivered as the cold water dripped from his chin to the sink, and he grabbed a hand towel from the nearby rack to rub vigorously against his face. The cold water and air was supposed to revive him, but Phoenix felt more exhausted than ever. What else was there…?

He'd asked Edgeworth something about his type… and the other man had stated that it was intellectual. Or at least, that's what he remembered. After that, everything got really, really fuzzy. He remembered yelling at the server for more drinks and Edgeworth looking at him disapprovingly… he remembered even more indistinctly Edgeworth practically dragging him to his car, but beyond that: nothing.

Sighing, he put the hand towel back and looked at his weary face in the mirror again. Well, no use lamenting over the past. Maybe Edgeworth could fill him in on what he'd forgotten. The defense attorney summoned a smile and, while studying his reflection carefully, ran his hands beneath the cold sink water again and worked on fixing his hair. Even if he couldn't feel perfectly revitalized, he'd at least look appropriate before heading over to Edgeworth's office.

That thought alone was "giving him butterflies", though Phoenix refused to consciously acknowledge it as such. He just hoped that Edgeworth wouldn't shut the door in his face after taking his coat back.

Phoenix ensured that his hair looked presentable enough and soon after returned to the outer room of the office, sinking heavily against the couch. His eyes couldn't help but stray to Edgeworth's coat. He averted his gaze guilty as if someone might be watching but eventually reached a hand over and pulled the jacket toward him. The expensive article of clothing was just that: an expensive article of clothing. But somehow… it meant so much more than that.

Feeling more guilty than he'd ever felt for almost anything else in his life, Phoenix shut his eyes and leaned back against the couch, clutching the jacket to his chest and hugging it tightly. He pushed himself into at lying position on his back, still clutching the jacket close to him. It smelled vaguely floral, which was probably due to some kind of fancy cologne. Whatever it was, it reminded him of Edgeworth.

He remained like that for a long while until the guilt overwhelmed him and, shamefaced, he sat up and folded the jacket so that it looked appropriately neat. The polite thing to do would involve taking it to the dry cleaners first, but Phoenix both hoped and expected that Edgeworth wanted it back as soon as possible. He placed the folded jacket on his desk and stopped in the bathroom once more to look at his bedraggled appearance before deciding to move out. Though it was still morning, Edgeworth seemed decidedly like a 'morning person', night out for drinking notwithstanding.

He was about to leave when he remembered one more thing – Maya. If he didn't keep her up to date, he was sure that the spirit medium would storm angrily into his office demanding the details. He called her reluctantly and was relieved when he was instructed to leave a message by an automated service.

"Hey, Maya. Um… I'm not sure what to tell you about what happened last night, mostly because I got too drunk… I really can't remember much. But um… I do kind of remember asking Edgeworth what his type was and he said he didn't have one and that it's all intellectual to him. I guess… make of that what you will? I really can't remember anything past that except him apparently helping me get back to my office. I woke up this morning to a freezing cold office and with his jacket on me. On that note, did you remember to mail in my bills? Anyway, I'm going over to return his jacket now. If you want to know more, call me back and we can talk about it later today."

He hung up, his heart racing as he stated everything so explicitly, and the feeling of unreality only got worse as he picked up the jacket and left his office. Phoenix fully expected Edgeworth to be extremely hostile and angry about the night before, but he couldn't stop himself from feeling openly optimistic at this point. The hope might have been impractical, but if Edgeworth hadn't intended to give to him any hope at all, he shouldn't have left such a potentially meaningful sign.