Day 14, and a new face appeared at Phoenix's doorway. Rather rectangular, stubbly and almost hidden beneath the tacky pink plasters adorning it. They appeared to be swathed in a large green trench-coat which he could recall having seen on sale somewhere for 50% off of 50% off. God, shopping. Commercialism. Being ripped off for no reason would have been equal to a hotel resort at this point: how long had it been since he'd been out? His scabs had almost healed.
"Hello, pal! I'm Dick Gumshoe, Guards' Captain!" Phoenix blinked from where he was sat, cross-legged, upon his luxuriously springy bed (it had been upgraded from a single to a double for some reason) before lying back down under the covers with a sigh. Gumshoe's smile faltered - but he didn't press him any further. The guards' captain left.

It was only later in the day that Phoenix, who'd resorted to lying inanimately on his new silken mattress, was accompanied by another visitor who appeared at his ornate, assigned door. He didn't even bother looking this time, far more excited by the prospect of swirly patterns on the ceiling - although it did surprise him that they did not make any attempt to converse with him at all. Instead, a creeping sensation - creaking floorboards and soft, padded feet (perhaps the malicious scratchings of a spider) - seemed to engulf the space; even the steam wafting around the ominously untouched plate of spaghetti - which had been fine all day - spontaneously agreed and started to suffocate him. Only after this torment had been endured for a while did they disturb the silence:
"Your food remains untouched." Stern and deep and Phoenix wanted nothing to do with it. They persevered, stepping closer.
"You have not spoken to anyone for days." Closer.
"I have even had reports sent to me detailing that you have not left your bed for days." They were now so unmistakably close that Phoenix was forced to acknowledge the fact that Leader Edgeworth had specifically removed himself from his working life - a prospect which had presumably infuriated him - in order to heckle him into submission and that the silvery bangs taunting his cheekbones were, in fact, real.
"Is the room no longer to your liking? Perhaps it is the change of bed." Phoenix shifted in reply, turning his head away: to the right upon the pillow.
"Don't turn away from me, Wright." A hand nonchalantly reached out to nurse the spiked head back to face its Leader.
"I am trying to be civil with you. I do not want to have to hurt you again." A sigh.
"Why are you not cooperating? I was informed that you were integrating well originally." Nothing, but Leader Edgeworth clearly wasn't leaving.

Muffled garble arose from somewhere. Leader Edgeworth rose an eyebrow before perching upon the edge of the bed.
"Pardon?" Again, since it was muffled by fabric, the Leader was left perplexed. Phoenix found himself gingerly exposed to the world as said fabric was peeled away and shivered.
"Rude," He mumbled more loudly.
"I don't care. What did you say before?"
"I'm on strike."
"Strike?" The Leader incredulously exclaimed:
"Isn't it a bit late for that since you have already been here for two weeks?"
"How am I supposed to know how long I've been here? I don't even have a window." Phoenix snapped back, grimacing into an uncomfortable sitting position with a cold deadness lingering in his eyes - the dark bags beneath them adding to the grotesque conceit, the sculpted skeleton beneath almost teasing the silvery-haired man with a premature end to its owner's antics, acting as a testament to night-time torment.

Any queries about the shorter man's strike were immediately expelled. Phoenix's body was rebelling against itself. The fool was only catalysing the process by starving himself. Phoenix Wright was dying like a fly confined in a human home.
"You are more frail than any of the others on the team." Phoenix frowned as slender fingers brushed against his cheekbone, grateful for the fact that the gesture no longer felt as though gravel was being painstakingly dragged across an open, bleeding wound.
"What's it to you?"
"I am worried about your wellbeing."
"You slaughtered almost everyone in the bar. You're probably going to have the rest executed, too."
"Is that why you are 'on strike?'" Leader Edgeworth rolled his eyes as he groped for the swiftly cooling plate of spaghetti - well aware of the pair of watchful blue eyes cast upon him as he did so - and smirking at the substance as its vat of steam considerably weakened in the process. The meatballs looked up miserably at their impending doom.
"It's not poisoned."
"It may as well be." Both parties found themselves fixing glares upon the deflating edible article in a completely undisturbed silence. After establishing that neither individual possessed the power to move inanimate objects by will alone, Leader Edgeworth broke it off:
"Do you always hold grudges like this?"
"I do against murderers." Another sigh.
"I am aware that we got off on the wrong foot, but I want you to understand my point of view." Gracefully, the Leader rose to his feet, firmly planting himself upon the polished expanse of floorboard in meticulously designed Italian leather shoes. He placed the plate of pasta back down. In fact, pasta was Italian too. Italy was a country of sophistication, clearly - Leader Edgeworth mentally noted that he should familiarise himself with the language.
"What, a homophobic and intolerable one?"
"No." The shorthanded reply left Phoenix with nothing more to add, a peculiarly unanticipated shiver squirming its way up his spine and a shed-load of uncertainty - or 'doubt', for the more concise -, his eyes fixated on a particular part upon the silvery-haired man's upper-back in response to the firm glare it was giving him.
"Contrary to popular belief I don't relish in signing death warrants, Wright."
"Then why-"
"I am not even homophobic." Phoenix frowned at that, determinedly lifting himself from the bed whilst outstretching a pointed finger at the other:
"Uh, yes you are."

The spiky-haired man shakily became witness to a resigned shake of the Leader's head, somewhat bewildered by the ability of his silvery bangs to remain majestic during movement and somewhat perplexed by the response itself. He faltered when his brain struck upon the disturbing epiphany that Leader Edgeworth may actually be rather attractive - for someone so repulsive, he quickly added. It must have been the aura of the dimly lit room, Phoenix reasoned as he squirmed: dim lighting always carries with it the heady atmosphere of romance.
"H-How can you say that you aren't?" The shorter man quivered, his hand inadvertently feeling for something to rest on before deciding that the bedside table, beside the now miserably cold food, was a suitable place to bunker down.
"Stop fighting me," Leader Edgeworth softly pressed, turning to finally face his acquaintance once again, an unguarded emotion lingering hesitantly in his eyes. Phoenix couldn't meet it yet, let alone define it.
"No," Phoenix mumbled as he looked away, his own eyes perhaps interpretable as mirroring the grey ones they were observed by, before swiftly meeting the Leader's pair again:
"No. Never."

Leader Edgeworth cocked his head ever so slightly with pursed, dry lips. Ruminating.
"Come with me. I will show you around."
"You said it yourself: I've already been here 2 weeks. I know my way around by now."
"Please."