Fever

'His' Apartment

He pushed the handbrake down firmly, grabbed his briefcase and keys and stepped out of the car, catching a flash of his own furrowed brow in the mirror. Miles Edgeworth craned his neck to peer up at the block of flats his best friend lived in. Fifth floor, he repeated to himself as he pressed his keys to lock the car and crossed the road, his iron gaze clamped on the entrance doors.

 As he walked into the reception area, he caught sight of a digital clock above the main desk – it read 14:15. He should have been attending his last lecture of the day at college but instead he had taken it upon himself to visit this particular friend who had been in bed with a merciless fever for nearly a week now. Miles grumbled at the guilt that was working its way up his insides from missing the Physics lecture but he weighed it down with more pressing matters such as his desperately ill friend.

 Walking up to the check-in desk, the receptionist stopped and momentarily took in his appearance before smiling sweetly and repeating the flat company's name and 'how could she help him today'. Although being a somewhat regular visitor here, the staff never failed to stop and stare for a while at his peculiar outfit; a carmine suit with embroidered frills and a white cravat that strangely complimented his angular, grey fringe. The attention didn't bother Miles; it merely made his exterior manner even colder than before, earning him the Von Karma name even more so.

 He cleared his throat and stepped up to the counter, pulling his extravagant jacket around himself. "I'm visiting my friend on Floor 5", he pronounced every syllable with a straight-cut edge of authority and loftiness, making sure his profile was straight and that it profoundly spoke, 'I am better than you, so move'. This typically Von Karma trait had been viciously ingrained to the point it genuinely worked. The receptionist gave a slight nod and splayed her hands out on the desk in discomfort.

Raising a grey eyebrow, Miles strode off in the direction of the elevator, before sharply turning to the stairwell, narrowly avoiding a group of unruly college students (which he regrettably recognised).

He caught wind of stifled sniggers from the group as he moved past them but restated to himself there's no way I'm going in an elevator, even if it is to the fifth floor. Miles agreed the brush with the other students was better than re-living a hell he was trying to leave behind and bury with the work of becoming a prosecutor.

Ascending the 5 flights of stairs and sweeping his coat behind him, he reached the fifth floor and quickened his already urgent pace.

'#26381: Wright, Phoenix', read the plaque. The font traced a familiar pattern in his memory as he'd seen it countless times before, reflecting the warm glow of the hall lights.