"No." Trembling, bony, pale hands wavered in front of the prosecutor's tear-laden face, a wretched sensation crawling up his arched spine as he remained knelt down on the cool, tiled floor.
"Phoenix."

It was too late.

Sluggishly rising once again, his vision blurring more and more by the second, the silvery-haired man began to stagger amidst the crimson forestry of his corridor, stumbling into various ornaments upon his pre-determined path.
"I've got to call him." Edgeworth already had enough inbuilt common sense to know that it would have been futile to chase after the attorney in person - besides, if he used his house phone, Phoenix would be unaware of who it was and would be more likely to actually talk to him than if he confronted him face to face. Groping for the pale white phone upon its makeshift pedestal of a table was the next task - though this became increasingly difficult when attempted several times.

When was the last time he'd gone to the doctors or opticians for a checkup? He'd never felt this groggy before - and had certainly never seen in doubles.

"Damn it..." The prosecutor swore under his breath, his slurred dialogue breaching only his own ears, as his violently quaking hand finally clamped down upon the required device, willing his fingers into submission in order to spell out that familiar, carefully memorised, number. A monotonous ring sounded several times, an unsatisfactory rhythm acting as a raw version of the infuriating 'on-hold' tunes that big companies' helplines played when avoiding answering your query. Then, bliss.
"Hello? Phoenix Wright from the Wright Anything Agency speaking."
"H-Hello!" Edgeworth clutched his stomach tightly, desperately trying to ignore the nauseating feeling clinging to his insides in light of hearing his crush's rich voice.
"Uh, hi, do I know you?"
"I'm-" The silvery haired man instantaneously widened his eyes in shock, his knees buckling and giving way as he slid to the floor, with an increasingly paralysed sensation spreading across his limbs. They were locked in place and refused to move. He couldn't retrieve the neglected phone from midair as it fell to the floor, its human scaffold of fingers having fallen limp, with a pained cry for help.

He was in agony.

His entire body contorted as something strange - something peculiar - stormed determinedly upwards from the back of his throat, taunting his vocal chords by cutting their main method of communication off entirely, a muffled, strangled, wail being the only noise to leave his lips as the sticky substance eagerly escaped his body.
"You're what?"

It was a brief flurry of pink before him - unlike anything that the well-educated prosecutor had ever witnessed before - and he found himself crying miserable tears of defeat, the erratic rhythm of his pulse beating in his ears.
"Hello?"
"H-H..."
"Are you alright?" A warm, concerned, buzz became the beat of this defeatist little ensemble - playing the part of an overexcited drummer whose main goal in life was to maintain euphorically high adrenaline levels within their bloodstream -, adding a strange tone to their cacophony of sounds with its extremely dire-sounding lyrics (much unlike the conventional big hits of the radio stations).
"Ph... Phee.." The taller man had now ended up as a curled up ball upon the floor, his lips now firmly pursed when not groaning and his arms wrenched tightly around his stomach, hugging himself as he desperately dreamt - desperately prayed - that the deceitful body-warmth cocooning him was emanating from the one man in the Universe who would never hug him again.
"I-Are you in pain?"
"O-Only.. S-Slight... ly..." Came the incoherent groan.
"Ok, um.. Are you immobilised? L-Like, as in not able to move?" When yet another animalistic grunt was heard - accompanied by an equally alarming thud which abruptly ended whatever symphony of sounds had been created -, the defence attorney took in a deep breath, willing his adrenaline to cease making him so damned shaky;
"I think you need an ambulance. I'll call one for you - do you think you could tell me where you are?"
"Phee... I.. Love... Y-You..." With that, the mystery caller sank his teeth into his bottom lip as firmly as he could, wretchedly sobbing in defiance against another incoming wave of overwhelming nausea, his limbs once again falling limply into the arms of paralysis as some peculiar surge of... Whatever it was regained control of his body.
"Oh, no." The prosecutor whined in response, his vision nothing more than a contorted mixture of colours, his brain also deciding to surrender itself entirely to the gnarly clutches of paralysis.
"Edgeworth that's you, isn't it?" The violent buzzing of silence filled both men's ears.

The silvery-haired prosecutor's only coherent thought at that moment appeared to be an alarming premonition that he was going to go insane and die alone.

Perhaps it was Phoenix's cold disregard seeping through the plastic of the phone that had caused that particular idea to pop up. Or perhaps it was the silence gnawing away at him, stealing every last gospel that he wished to fill the attorney's ears with.

Edgeworth really didn't care.

Edgeworth just wanted Phoenix. If he'd had Phoenix to hug through this unyielding agony torturing his entire body, its precious contents and all, then his pain would have subsided long ago for sure; but Phoenix had gone away and left him, hadn't he?

Silly Phoenix.

And it was with this last thought that Edgeworth became dead to the world with the faint smile playing across his lips becoming his partner in crime.

Phoenix.