For The One Time A Month I Remember To Draw

“I dunno, that sounds like a migraine to me,” Wright replied after his lengthy explanation. He opened his mouth to argue but Wright cut him off and called down the hall, “Gumshoe, how often does he get migraines?”

“Hm maybe once every week or two,” the detective called back, “the calming tea is in the blue box on the shelf for it, pal.”

Edgeworth groaned and put a hand to his temple.

“I daresay I wouldn’t have a headache at all if my office were empty.”

The remark came out weaker than expected, as turning up to glare at his unwelcome visitor made Edgeworth’s head spin. 

“Are you sure you’re alright? You’re looking a little pale to me.”

The genuine care in Wright’s voice made him feel more nauseous than the pain did, and his stomach did another flip. 

“I am perfectly finngh!” Edgeworth slammed his hand on the table and winced at the sound. Sitting up made his vision swim again. He tried to look Wright in the eye again, to prove how serious he was, but the corner of the room housing Phoenix Wright became a blur that wouldn’t clear no matter how much he blinked. 

“Objection,” a voice said much quieter than usual, and Edgeworth felt a hand come to steady his shoulder, “I don’t think you are. And I don’t think you’re going to take a break unless I make you.”

Now his coat was being slipped around his arms, the way someone would coax a child into one. 

“Wright…” Edgeworth realized how little energy he had left to argue. 

“Charge me for a consultation or something if you can’t stand not working, but I’m consulting you on how to walk you home.”

“You couldn’t afford it,” was all he could muster as he was marched out of his own office. 

--

It would feel weird, having Wright in his house, if the pain in his head wasn’t distracting him. A hand prompted him to take off his coat, guided him up the stairs, and tried to get him to sit down; he obeyed all the suggestions mechanically, feeling like he was in a dream. 

“I found some ibuprofen in your medicine cabinet, but you’re almost out,” Wright reappearing in the doorway started Edgeworth back into reality, “I got you some water to take it with too, unless you don’t drink tap water and have some fancier bottled kind you-”

“I am fine,” Edgeworth interrupted. 

Nonetheless, he took the painkiller with a few swallows of water. 

“I’m not going to argue if you’re fine again, but can I ask what makes your migraines go away?”

Edgeworth shrugged. 

“Sleep, I suppose. When I wake the next day, the pain is gone, even if my head still feels a bit cloudy afterward.”

“So why not sleep?”

Again that earnest voice made his stomach do a flip. 

Perhaps it was because they were in his home, a place with none of the expectations of their usual offices, that he found himself answering. The dim light and drawn curtains of the bedroom reminded him of the confessional feel of sleepovers from long ago, whispering secrets to a friend obscured by the dark. 

“It is, for lack of better word...boring,” he turned his face in case Wright could see it growing red, “it may hurt to read or watch anything, but it doesn’t mean I’m tired, and sitting in the dark with nothing but a pounding head…and once I lie down, it’s too hard to get back up.”

He could feel his hand grip his sleeve in embarrassment. A hand was on his back but he couldn’t meet Wright’s eye; he didn’t want to see his pity. 

“Alright, you got me,” the cheerful voice took him by surprise, “I guess you get to add another hour or two to this consultation bill.”

The bed creaked Phoenix Wright, rival attorney, made himself at home on the other side of the bed. 

“You lie here and I’ll keep you company until you’re tired. Don’t worry, I have notes for a case on me that I can review, and I’m sure talking to me will bore you to sleep pretty fast.”

The absurdity of it all made Edgeworth laugh. He closed his eyes and leaned back into the bed. 

“Yes, do enlighten me about what goes through that head of yours.”

--

Just as promised, he couldn’t remember what story Wright had been telling; Edgeworth didn’t realize he had even fallen asleep until he awoke hours later. It must have been late, because the room was completely dark, silent except for what sounded like the rhythmic breathing of someone sleeping. Edgeworth tried to remember Wright’s departure, if there was one at all, but his head felt too fuzzy to conjure up any memories. Finally, he rolled back over, grabbing the pillow next to him, and drifted off again. 

The next time Edgeworth awoke it was morning. The daylight that peeked through the edges of the curtains was brighter than he was used to; he must have overslept. He bolted up at the realization and got his second shock of the morning. The pillow he had held on to last night was much larger than he thought. In fact, it was sporting crumpled up work clothes and a serious case of bedhead. 

“Wright!”

The disheveled form of Phoenix Wright jolted up in bed next to him. 

“Oh man, my bad, I must have dozed off too,” he said with a sheepish grin. 

“Besides the point. What time is it, Wright?!”

“Don’t worry Edgeworth,” Wright yawned, “you didn’t oversleep. You were talking about how out of it you feel the day after a migraine so I had Maya cancel your morning appointments.”

“What?”

“Yeah, she said she just told everyone you had an urgent case against her to prosecute or something. It’s kinda sad that works, huh, but now you’ve got plenty of time to rest.”

“Oh.”

Edgeworth found himself at a complete lack of words, unsure if he should be angry or touched at the ways his rival had tried to look after him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a morning to himself, and he had most certainly never had a late morning-in with someone sleeping next to him. The reality of it made his cheeks burn; he looked over at Wright to see if he was anywhere near as flustered, but Wright had already rolled over to fall back asleep. 

The sight made him feel one hundred different things at once that he couldn’t pin down. He had almost found a word for some of them when Wright sprung up from bed once again. 

At first, he had been the one scared to fall asleep. Maya had insisted it was a sleepover, and that a true sleepover ends with everyone crashing in the living room together. She had refused the guest room and refused to let him leave for his own room, and somehow, despite being a famed prosecutor that argued for a living, Miles Edgeworth could not stop her. 

She had almost kicked down the door when she arrived, box set of Steel Samurai seasons in hand, announcing they were going to binge the series until the finale aired that night. He was shocked, but somehow deeply touched. Nevertheless, he had put up a fuss and resisted, until somehow they were two seasons in and arguing about the plot, Maya laughing and teasing him like they were old friends. And now somehow it was 3 am, and he was lying on his couch trying to fall asleep, professionalism cast aside for a childishness he hadn’t felt in years. He had never realized how uncomfortable his couch truly was. 

He was still thinking about that when he heard it. A small yelp as Maya rolled over in her sleep below him on the floor. Then another, louder cry, as her body tensed into a ball. The sound was almost familiar. He had been waking up to his own night terrors for the past decade. 

“Ms. Fey?” 

Edgeworth bent down and tapped her on the shoulder. Maya yelped again. She was tossing and turning frantically now, trapped in her nightmare. It sounded like she was hyperventilating. 

“Ms- Maya?” he tried again.

He awkwardly tapped her one more time to no response. Then, something took him over, and he found himself brushing her hair back and rubbing her shoulder, the way a parent would. The way he always wished he could have awoken from those horrible memories. 

“Maya, it’s alright. Nothing will harm you here.”

“Nn? I-” her eyes fluttered open and her fear was replaced by a look of confusion, “Edgeworth?”

“You were having a bad dream.”

Maya sat up next to him but avoided his gaze. 

“I’m sorry for waking you up like this.”

“Nonsense,” he felt a smile creep into his voice, “I thought my sleeping problems were common knowledge by now.”

She didn’t respond. She looked so young in the dim light, younger than he ever realized she was. For a moment, he wanted to reach out, to sweep back the hair covering her face that had fallen from her messy bun. He felt frozen in place. If Wright were here, he’d surely be hugging her by now. Wright would have her smiling again easily, while she complained that he was ruffling her hair or not letting her go, or any of those annoying ways a brother is supposed to show they care. Those kinds of gestures didn’t come easy to Edgeworth; they felt years out of practice. He realized his hand was still awkwardly resting on Maya’s shoulder.

“I’ll make us some chamomile tea,” he finally said, “would you like to come with me to the kitchen or do you feel alright waiting?”

“I’ll be okay waiting. You don’t have to trouble yourself, though, I don’t want to make you get up.”

“Ms. Fey, I am only doing my proper duty as a host. I have already failed as a host once tonight, not offering you enough blankets to sleep comfortably here.”

Despite how late it was, brewing tea came easy to him. He had been doing it on autopilot for hundreds of other sleepless nights. Within a few minutes, he returned with two cups, and set them next to Maya. After a moment’s pause, he also fetched a large comforter from the spare room to drape over her. 

“Thank you,” Maya said, looking down into her cup, “I’ve been having bad dreams more often after, after…”

She trailed off, but the possibilities hung in the air. How many times had that poor girl been forced back into the witness stand?

“I understand,” he took a sip of tea, “the last few years have been very hard for you.”

Maya nodded and brought her own cup to her lips. Her mouth twitched like she wanted to say more, but no sound ever came. 

“They get easier,” he heard himself saying, “they’ll happen less frequently too, as time passes.”

The residual perfectionist in him shuddered at the admission; he could feel his face grow hot with embarrassment. 

Maya exhaled deeply and leaned back. Her head was almost in his shoulder now, the weight of her arm pressing against his. He wanted to say so much more. Did she feel the loss of a parent the same way he did, dreaming that it was still somehow all her fault? Did the pressure of being the survivor weigh on her with a suffocating sense of responsibility? 

The bags under her eyes were still visible in the dim light, and seeing them made him feel ashamed. She was still barely an adult, with the weight of years of trials on her back. Badgering her with questions was the job of a prosecutor, and tonight, he was not a prosecutor, he was her friend. Neither of them needed to relive the memories that kept them up at night..

“While I may find many of its areas lacking, I do have a box set of Pink Princess on hand,” he said with a smile, “I’m sure the nonexistent plot will put me to sleep again easily, so we’d best watch it.”