After watching a few awful movies and laughing over their own sarcastic commentary (and god, had it been far too long since Phoenix had heard Edgeworth laugh), Edgeworth and Phoenix made their way to the small kitchen. Edgeworth sat on a stool at the counter and watched as Phoenix cooked, and narrowed his eyes as he tried to determine what the defense attorney was doing with those particular ingredients.

"What are you trying to make, exactly?"

"Beefaroni."

"...What?"

Phoenix groaned and slammed down his wooden spoon, turning to Edgeworth to scowl and put his hands on his hips. The apron made the gesture far less intimidating.

"Beefaroni! It's like... macaroni and cheese, but with beef in it!"

Edgeworth studied him for a moment to determine if he was serious, and then raised his eyebrows, his lips curled firmly downwards.

"...Did you make that up?"

"No! I'm sorry if it's not the fancy friggin' couscous and caviar that you're accustomed to, but—"

"I detest caviar, thank you very much. I strongly believe that people only pretend to like it because it's expensive."

Phoenix did not know what to say to that, and so he said nothing, returning to his work over the stove. After a moment or two of silence, Edgeworth shifted in his seat. He still seemed like he wasn't used to wearing sweatpants, particularly because Phoenix was wider at the hips than he, which meant he had the string pulled as tight as it would go and then triple-knotted.

"...My mom used to make it, and that's what she always called it. I dunno what it's actually called, or if it has a name at all. I just remember that it always made me feel better. All the cheese, probably."

"They call certain things 'comfort foods' for good reason."

"I just wish they were more comfortable for the waistline, if you know what I mean."

Edgeworth muttered something under his breath, and when Phoenix snuck a look at him he saw that his brow was furrowed more than usual and he looked like he was disgusted with himself. Perhaps he had a weakness for certain kinds of food, one that he would never admit to in a professional environment.

When at last the meal was prepared, Phoenix served two plates and pulled one of the barstools to the opposite end of the counter, where he took his seat. Edgeworth couldn't easily hide his face from him this way, and so Phoenix got a good glimpse of his disapproving expression as he smothered his own plate in Parmesan. Edgeworth picked at it, looking tentative, before taking a small bite, and then the harsh lines of his brow seemed to soften.

"So?"

"It's good. It's nice, actually. I don't exactly get home-cooked meals very often."

"You probably don't have the time, huh? Either takeout or instant. Do you even know how to cook?"

Phoenix idly wondered how Edgeworth maintained his figure on that sort of diet, but it was likely that with the kind of money Edgeworth made he could afford nutritious food that he did not have to prepare— a luxury reserved exclusively for the wealthy, it seemed, and Phoenix felt a flare of annoyance at that.

"I do. But it's as you said... I never find the time. And when I do have free time I tend to prefer a cup of tea and a book to standing over a stove."

"That makes sense, I guess. Me, I only ever work in bursts."

"How do you manage to pay the bills?"

Phoenix cringed and felt a bead of sweat or two form at his forehead, and he could see Edgeworth's mouth curve into a smirk even as he continued to eat.

"I wonder that myself sometimes. My clients that do pay end up paying pretty well... Which is only a small comfort seeing as I keep accidentally doing pro bono."

"You could use a more assertive financial manager."

He could benefit from a more professional assistant, Phoenix thought. Or perhaps from one that was less prone to standing idly by and going along with whatever absurdities his clients proposed, or offering up his services and his wallet when he had not volunteered them. Despite the trouble she often brought his way, though, Phoenix couldn't very well wish Maya wasn't his second-in-command.

"Heh, maybe. Sometimes old clients send me some cash when it comes their way just to make sure I'm doing alright. As for the rest, well, I don't spend a lot."

"I can see that."

Phoenix ignored that snide remark in favor of scarfing down the last of his food, and he watched as Edgeworth did the same in his own dainty manner. He hurriedly washed their plates and their forks and joined his friend in the living room once more. Edgeworth had already made himself comfortable and was flipping through channels, until he eventually settled on a game show and smiled to himself, thinking that Phoenix could not see him. Phoenix joined him on the couch and looked at him.

His face was illuminated by the TV, and his hair was pushed behind his ear on one side while the other fell over his eye, and he occasionally blew or brushed it out of his face as best he could until it eventually fell back down again and it finally occurred to him to push it behind his other ear. The sweatpants were too large for him, and Phoenix could see the awkward bulge of the triple-tied knot beneath the fabric of the thin t-shirt he wore.

Phoenix had found himself proven correct in his suspicions that Edgeworth intentionally picked clothing that made his shoulders and chest appear more broad, and without the aid of his many layers and his heavy suitcoat he was much thinner— thin enough that Phoenix's t-shirt, too, was a bit too large for him at the shoulders and hung too long. His feet were bare. No dress socks, no Italian leather shoes. He had refused to wear any of Phoenix's socks.

He looked so oddly normal, and Phoenix chuckled.

Edgeworth half-shouted answers at the people on the TV for about an hour, and then it seemed like a weight had fallen over him and he collapsed into the couch, his mouth falling slightly open and his shoulders drooping. It was a bit early for him to be falling asleep, but he had been awfully tired, and so Phoenix adjusted him carefully. He laid his head down on the pillow and threw a thin blanket over him before leaving to do their laundry.

— ◦ ✦ ◦ —

A/N: "beefaroni" is actually a dish my own mother makes. we named it that and she hates it because we got the name from a similar chef boyardee product. i was literally eating it as i wrote this part.