Edgeworth stared down at the barren mug in front of him, its banal exterior complimented only by the alienated, white, glint of the large-panelled window beside his table at the spacious cafe, wondering how long it would take for the, rather tired-looking, brunette waitress to notice he had finished his drink and kick him out. The 'Peppermint Tearoom' - a name which made the place sound a whole lot more elegant and refined than it really was - had always been a notable point to take the occasional lunch-break in or to visit during after-work hours, in Edgeworth's mind, as the sturdy, green-panelled, little cafe had always had a strange aura of nostalgic charm about it with its quirkily embroidered crockery and its odd assortment of tables in all manners of different shapes, sizes and materials - none of which seemed to match their paired chairs or, even, one another - filling its previously-emptied space with an overwhelming sense of character.

Yes, perhaps that was what had been so special about the 'Peppermint Tearoom'.

Had been.

Despite every word of praise he may have conjured up in favour of the infamous little cafe located just around the corner from the District Courtroom, even the silvery-haired man could no longer deny that the real reason he visited the cafe so often in order to purchase a slightly overpriced earl grey tea was standing awkwardly across the room, oblivious and rather suave in royal blue. It was a humiliating predicament for him to be in, crushing on a man whose heart probably belonged to a woman - a man whom he had little to no chance with -, wasn't it? The prosecutor silently mused to himself, tracing the smooth rim of his slim-skinned mug as he stealthily stole glances at the individual before him, not really wishing to register the spiky-haired man's name in this state of mind.

Edgeworth knew he'd gotten out of control from day 1.

It had simply started out with a dream. A dream which kick-started many more. That hadn't been too abnormal, though. Everybody experiences 'those' dreams every once in a while, after all - they were inevitable, and the prosecutor had just assumed that he'd psychologically used the brilliant man as a test subject. Nothing more.

But then came the ogling. And, oh dear lord, he has a good ass.

He has a good ass.

The silver-haired man felt his face heat up slightly as he caught himself in the act once again, his sleek grey eyes fixated on that... That... Lump. That callipygous backside. That bulge. Oh-

Oh.

Edgeworth's eyes unwillingly trailed away from his crush's 'assets', skimming over the white, flower-dusted, adorning tablecloth until his pupils met his own 'bulge' - luckily being hidden beneath the fanciful embroidery of the wooden table. The prosecutor's heart fluttered, his eyes instinctively flicking back to the attractive curvature of their hips before deciding it was far - far - safer to settle for the spiky-haired man leaning upon the desk's unnaturally styled hair instead, forcing himself to focus on pretending to sip his previously-existent tea from his empty mug - ignoring the fact that the hot beverage would have cooled down by now, had it been left idle, despite his overwhelming loathing for cold tea. The prosecutor mulled over the rest of the situation in his head now that he was, seemingly, back in control of his thoughts.

Aside from the revelation about the man's good ass, Edgeworth couldn't help but feel that what he was doing wasn't normal. Well, of course it wasn't.

Any lawful individual would realise that stalking was an illegal offence - especially a prosecutor. The act was forbidden, yet the silvery-haired man hadn't been able to stop himself when faced with his closest (or, rather, only) confidant's shimmering, heterochromatic, puppy-like eyes staring at him head-on from across the courtroom, being slightly obscured by a rebellious strand of misplaced, silky-black hair which nicely accompanied the attorney's unfairly attractive, dishevelled, appearance. Following the clueless man had become like some sort of drug - suspiciously simple and entirely addictive.

Edgeworth just hoped that there weren't any extra calories.

That was why, the prosecutor supposed, he knew the oblivious individual's address.

And that he went to bed at 10:00pm.

... And that he was meeting up with Larry this Saturday.

Along with a plethora of other facts stored at the forefront of the silvery-haired man's mind, it was a wonder how he ever managed to think about anything other than his crush's life - especially when the majority of his time was spent staring at the man buying pack after pack of those, cheap, tasteless 'Pot Noodles' at the same convenience store from behind a stack of messily-arranged newspapers and magazines of an array of different shapes, sizes and glossiness. It was also a wonder how in hell the defence attorney had never noticed his arch nemesis lurking in the dark, murky, shadows of the popcorn aisle, ogling his every move. Was the spiky-haired man simply more idiotic than Edgeworth had previously assumed? Or was he just pretending not to have see-

"W-Wait, that's really you? Edgeworth? The Miles Edgeworth? Drinking his refined tea here?" If it weren't for that unforgettably light-hearted chuckle and the rich baritone of his sumptuous voice, Edgeworth would never have been woken from whatever stupor he'd previously been in, constantly running in metaphorical circles in order to discover what on earth the spiky-haired man's thoughts on him were. The result of actually being woken from the stupor, however, had caused the prosecutor's normally-steady grip of his cup to slip, dropping the object on the table in shock with a clatter as his sleek grey eyes flew upwards to meet wide, brown and blue, ones, his heart pounding in his chest - acting as a wonderful accompaniment to his clammy palms.

"Idiot." The silvery-haired man muttered the simple statement matter-of-factly - although he didn't really mind the fact that his all-time favourite person in the universe was blinking those thick, black, lashes, dumbfounded, in front of him.

It was quite nice, actually.