Edgeworth wondered if he was some kind of masochist; that must’ve been the only reason he kept letting Wright pick which movies they’d watch on the rare nights when they were free.
The latest offender was A Night at the Roxbury. He’d tried to tune it out, but his musical training meant that the melody was impossible to ignore.
Then Wright caught him humming on their way to the office the next morning.
“Hey, Edgeworth! What is love?”
Edgeworth ground his teeth. “Wright, if you don’t stop trying to make me quote Haddaway, I will make your existence quite unpleasant.”