"Woah.." Edgeworth smirked as his companion's slurred wonder reached his earlobes, flamboyantly pocketing his sleek red car's keys after using them in order to lock the vehicle. It was 6:30pm and, after many apologies to the other guests at the convention and some tackling of Phoenix's attempts to get out of his car on the motorway, the duo had finally arrived at their immaculately-kept destination;
"You live in a... How... Hoo... House?"
"Is that so unusual?" The prosecutor sidled up behind the shorter man, nudging him towards the right.
"You're going to have to move if you want me to unlock the door,"

There was no response from the intoxicated attorney.

"Stop being difficult, idiot," The silvery-haired man light-heartedly chuckled, gently nudging his companion once more - with a little more force this time - next to his pale pink potted petunias - which seemed to be doing remarkably well, in Edgeworth's opinion, despite the recent grey skies.
"I don't live in a how... house." The shorter man blurted matter-of-factly, still staring blankly forwards despite having been nudged so that he was now facing a plain wall. The taller man ignored the statement, continuing with the task at hand - not that the defence attorney noticed as he curiously peered into the entrance of the venue once he'd heard the familiar 'click' of the fancily embroidered, wooden, door unlocking. Edgeworth smugly grinned as he savoured his gorgeous companion's stunned expression, complete with its very own set of squiggly, jet-black, raised eyebrows, misplaced strands of silky hair and widened, glazed-over, blue eyes.
"I see that it's to your liking." Phoenix blinked in response to the affirmative statement, all methods of speech that were familiar to him having been instantly cut off by the magnificent sight before his very eyes, the alcohol rendering the shorter man unable to focus on more than one thing at a time.

In a word, the interior of the place was grand.

In 2 words it was absurdly beautiful.

And, in 4, it was too expensive for Phoe-

Was that an honest-to-god chandelier attached to the exquisitely pattern-laden ceiling in the hallway.

There was a chandelier in the hallway.

Edgeworth owned a chandelier.

And, as the defence attorney stared up at the item accusatively, he started to notice that it was no run-of-the-mill chandelier. No, sir. This chandelier had fancy, glass, decorations embroidering its edges which - presumably - reflected the light's warm glow whenever it was switched on, illuminating the scarlet-covered hallway in a welcoming shower of yellow. Even before his thorough examination of the chandelier had finished, another item suddenly caught the defence attorney's eye as he continuously squinted up at the ceiling; Edgeworth had a-
"Alright, enough ogling." The prosecutor rolled his eyes and manhandled Phoenix into coming indoors, his bony, pale, hands shamefully lingering around the spiky-haired man's pride and joy - selectively ignoring the irony in his statement, considering the fact that he'd been the one ogling his best friend's derrière whilst he'd been preoccupied.
"You have a shan... Shawn... Chandelier." Phoenix nodded up at the ceiling as the prosecutor hastily locked his front door behind them, sneakily stealing glances at different angles of the shorter man - as per usual.
"Well done. What else can you recognise?"

At this point, the prosecutor was seriously questioning whether or not it had been worth it to turn his crush into a brick wall in order to loosen him up a bit.

"Do you want to go and watch something while I make dinner or would you prefer just standing here and staring at my chandelier?"
"Dunno," Phoenix mumbled, his glistening blue eyes still fixated on that damned lighting-fixture. The prosecutor scowled. If he'd have known about how entranced his favourite person in the universe was able to become over chandeliers sooner, perhaps he wouldn't have had to bother with all his pathetic attempts at flirting and he could have, instead, carried a ginormous chandelier with him and used that to mate with his crush.

Knowing Phoenix, it probably would have worked.

"Are you hungry?" The prosecutor deliberately entered the shorter man's line of sight, blocking his view of the glass distraction off completely with his broad shoulders and jauntily-angled hairstyle. It seemed to bring the defence attorney back to reality - much to Edgeworth's relief.
"Depends,"
"I'm taking that as a yes." And, with that, the prosecutor deftly (yet incredibly carefully - Edgeworth would never want to hurt Phoenix in a million years) steered his oblivious crush into his elaborately furnished living-room, gesturing to his his crimson, velvet, sofa. A TV remote was planted in Phoenix's hand in order to make the indications more obvious and then he was left to his own devices for a while as Edgeworth briskly strode out to the kitchen, his lesson well and truly learnt;

Having his way with sober Phoenix was difficult enough, but drunk Phoenix was as good as a brick wall.

Never make Phoenix Wright drunk again.