Layton Drownout 2020

The Comforts of Home

Summary: Unable to sleep after that hellish witch trial, Hershel Layton finds himself alone with the only person as out of place in Labyrinthia as he is.

Aka what Phoenix and Layton did while Maya and Luke were out searching for Eve.

Hershel stopped halfway down the stairs so that he could yawn and stretch his back.

He'd had to get up. Compared to his bed back at home, or even the sofa in his office, the bed he'd been given at this bakery was like trying to sleep on a slab of concrete only barely cushioned by loose scraps of cotton wool. He never thought he'd find himself missing bedsprings, and yet here he was, unable to sleep because he'd been so unbelievably uncomfortable.

He rolled his shoulder. Spending so long rolling about trying in vain to find a bearable position had left him sore and even more exhausted than before.

And now, on top of everything else, he was thirsty.

The bakery was silent, he realised as he made his way downstairs. More silent than should have been possible for a building like this. He kept listening for the sound of a vehicle rolling past, kept looking for the comforting yellow glow of a streetlamp, but there was nothing.

He would even have accepted the roar of an insecure teenager's motorbike at this point.

Hang on.

Why was light spilling out of the kitchen? Shouldn't everybody else be asleep?

He'd heard Luke and Maya talking to one another earlier. Could Luke have perhaps waylaid his friend into baking him a midnight snack?

He straightened his hat as he entered the kitchen.

But instead of two youths enthusiastically filling their bellies with bread, he found the young man he'd worked alongside not two hours prior, sat at the table with his face in his hands, devoid of his blazer and tie.

"Mr Wright?"

Phoenix's head whipped up, eyes wide, startled by the sudden sound.

"Oh," he sighed in relief once he saw who it was. "It's just you, Professor. Can't sleep either?"

"I'm afraid not," said Hershel as he sat down around the table's corner from his new friend. "Not to sound ungrateful, but I simply can't adjust to such an uncomfortable bed. I'm far too used to the support of bedsprings."

Phoenix sighed and pinched his brow.

"Is it bad that I'm totally used to it?" he asked. "Like, I agree on the bed being solid as a rock, but I was totally fine with it! The only thing that stopped me getting to sleep is the fact that to be honest, I really don't want to!"

Hershel frowned.

"Why don't you want to sleep?" he inquired. "Surely you must be as exhausted as I am, if not moreso. I fully expected you to at least be in the late stages of REM by now."

Still pinching his brow, Phoenix hit Hershel with a sudden glare.

"Seriously?" he spat. "After what just happened? After we watched a terrified young woman get dropped into a pit of fire, knowing there was nothing we could've done to save her? After she threw Espella under the bus trying to save her own skin and the Inquisition goddamn believed her?!"

His head fell forward again and he dug his fingers into his hair.

"Not to sound like some spoiled kid," he said softly, "but I want to go home."