[Man oh man this place is so neat and clean, Will feels like he's walked into a sterile environment. Which reminds him of labs and hospitals, but he imagines the food here is better. No vending machine granola bars gradually eaten over talk of murder, no prodding at mystery puddings and meats. In fact, there's a brief moment where all he can think of is how this feels like a spot Hannibal would choose, settling in and briefly imagining Miles Edgeworth wearing one of those paisley suits without an ascot in sight, the man across from him morphing into someone else...

Nah. He's Perfectly Safe.

There's a shake of his head as he looks over the menu, that's all. He's far too used to his imagination running wild to give away the game every time it happens.]

Hard to go wrong with pancakes. [He spots it on the menu, nods, and turns it over to slide into the middle so they can be taken. Or whatever it is this place does with their no longer needed menus.] Looks good to me. Was there something on your mind or you just wanted company?

[He's not expecting it to be a truly Personal Thing, but. Rarely do people call on Will Graham at odd hours (or any hours) for no reason, outside a select group. If Miles has joined that select group, well. Will would be thrilled.]