Turnabout Requiem: Day 1.X - In the Margins

July 16, 4:51 PM
Detention Centre, Room 4

Breaths lodged in tracheas when their eyes met across the small room. She was not expecting to see him; he was ill-prepared to see her despite the confidence mantras he’d muttered all the way up the hall. Cheeks dusted pink, the cold shock melting to temporary relief over seeing a familiar face. The frigid winds of reality did not remain still for long, greedily devouring whatever warmth they felt.

Yumi broke eye contact first, pressing her hands into her lap while she stared at the pristine tile floor; though clean, it distorted her reflection. It seemed fitting.

“Why are you here, Miyabi?”

It took a couple swallows to dislodge the lump in his throat, then faint smile quirked Miyabi’s lips. He fussed with his hair, tangling some of the black strands amidst his slender fingers. “Because I played Shu and Aki at Rock-Paper-Scissors until I won.”

Yumi looked up at Miyabi, eyes wide, confused; after a pause, a soft laugh tumbled from her lips, which Yumi attempted to hide behind her hand. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” Miyabi finally clicked the door shut behind him and entered the room proper. There was a single, thin-cushioned chair opposite of where Yumi was sitting; a wall and window in the center divided them. It may as well have been a continent of distance to Miyabi. He was relieved his witticism helped Yumi to laugh because it was the only one he had, and all too soon, the pain and the sadness embraced her again.

Silence invaded, thickening the air, prodding heartbeats into speaking, to admitting this was no dream. Both had to endure this cruel game already that day; one in the presence of friends, the other with strangers ruling the silence as a sign of guilt. Still, there were no words capable of ending this hell.

“Are you going to ask me what happened?” Yumi breathed, her gaze still lifted but not meeting Miyabi’s. Her eyes were misty, the bold brown deadened to wintered tree branches, stripped of their vitality as the frigid air blusters in. She’d washed and rubbed most of her concert mascara away, but dark shadows still lingered, and beneath her left eye, the butterfly Miyabi was fond of seeing lit up with stage lights, its wings fluttering with her every smile, was in tatters; Miyabi thought of a moth to close to flame and how much he wished he was the one burned by its unforgiving touch.

“No.” Miyabi shook his head, his unstyled hair resembling dry sand in gentle gusts. He did want to know, more than anything – he’d barely slept, the questions in his mind haphazardly attempting to complete a puzzle missing half its pieces. However, he believed in Yumi, and would rather sit with the curiosity burning in his throat than ask a question that implied he suspected her too. “I just wanted to see you, Yumi. I wanted you to know we’re all here for you.” Miyabi paused a moment, his hand nudging at the sunglasses hooked on the collar of his shirt. It was the pair she gave him for his birthday, the only ones he wanted on his person. He kept the end of the glasses caught in his grip as he leaned forward to rest his arms on the counter beneath the window. “I’m here for you, Yumi.”

Silence scrawled its barbarous touch into the divided room, chasing Miyabi’s sentiment, vying for the last word. Miyabi’s hands chilled, then prickles sparked from his elbows to his fingertips; the ledge felt wet and cold beneath his palms. The seconds dragged by as Yumi finally looked upon Miyabi, as if realizing he was indeed real. A slow smile made its way over her lips; it bore no happiness, only exhaustion and desperation for this nightmare to end.

“They keep saying I killed him, Miyabi. All of the evidence proves it.” Yumi released a sigh, and looked down, at her hands fussing in her lap. She kept tracing her fingertips along her bare left third finger, her smile fading like smoke. She swallowed but that hurt, the lump in her throat only swelling. Her head ached in time with her heart, and though her eyes would sting less if she closed them, she dared not; when her sight darkened, she saw him there, barely visible in the dim, a spectre she could not disbelieve out of existence. “I can’t help thinking it might be true.”

“Don’t…” Miyabi murmured, his mouth pressing into a frown. The light of the room got caught in his eyes, the shade like raw obsidian, with every nick and crack reflecting the tangled emotions within. He took deep breaths to contain them, tightening his hands upon the counter; it didn’t calm the arrhythmia though. “Don’t talk like that, Yumi.”

The soft reproach in Yumi’s voice lifted Yumi’s face towards him again. Her hands stopped their fidgeting and lay still on her thighs. Yumi’s lips parted, breathing Miyabi’s name. The fright in her eyes, the only life left in the once luscious brown Miyabi could find from any angle of a stage, struck deep. Behind a stoic face, Miyabi could only think of some way to break down the wall and embrace her until that fear was quelled.

“Naruhodou-san has won some near impossible cases.” Miyabi recited from Shuya’s earlier reassurances. He shifted on the uncomfortable chair, struggling for right words. “He’ll…we’ll get to the truth, Yumi.”

Yumi’s chest rose and fell with deep, slow breaths. No confidence sparked in her expression at Miyabi’s words; to his confusion, she seemed to wilt instead. Yumi dropped her gaze to nowhere in particular, her lower lip quivering. When Miyabi attempted her name, Yumi shook her head. Her eyebrows crinkled into a tangled mess, telling of the pain striking her temples.

“I didn’t even know he was here.” Yumi’s fingers trembled as they reached up to touch the jade pendant that should have been resting just below her throat, but was uncomfortably absent. Not finding the item, her hand returned to her lap where it clenched until her knuckles were ashen. Miyabi noticed this strange detail, but couldn’t find the courage to ask. “We haven’t talked since… There was so much left unsaid.”

“Yumi.” Miyabi’s right hand shifted forward, forgetting their separation until his knuckles struck glass. Frustration rippled across his brow; he’d never felt so far from Yumi, not even when “Little Mouse” always disappeared into the crowd. “It’s not your fault; Toshio just…” He sighed, retrieving his hand to brush his fingers through his hair. “He wasn’t ready to talk yet.”

“He hid so much because he knew I wouldn’t accept his faults.” Yumi tilted her head to her shoulder, loose hair shifting across her paled cheeks. The corner of the room she looked at reflected white fissures in her eyes. “Hm. I wonder…”

“He said that?” Miyabi plumped his lips forward into a mild pout though it did not do much for the increasing lump in his throat. Watching the slight nod provoke guilt into Yumi’s eyes, the minute frown in her lips, divided his heart anew. He still cared very much for his friend, even more as the reality of his death kept crashing through the denial, but Miyabi also cared for Yumi’s well-being; her heart already carried enough weight in every pulse without the extra burden of miscast blame. “Yumi, I need you to listen to me.”

Yumi did not look at Miyabi but she did not reject his request either. Her hand started to reach for her pendant again, then stopped when Yumi remembered it wasn’t there.

“Toshio was…”  Miyabi forced a swallow and pushed forward, “Good at diverting the blame away from himself. I think it was the only way he knew how to cope.” Miyabi paused, folding his arms on the counter again. He knew that defense mechanism well, having used it on Yumi for several months after meeting her. It was easier to breathe believing she was the cause of his unravelling emotions instead of facing the truth he was already frayed and in need of help.

“I…I understand his anger, Yumi, but it does not condone him. It was not fair of him to hide behind a mask only to blame you when it came loose.” Miyabi tilted his head to the left, dark eyes glistening. He sent internal wishes for Yumi to look at him, and was dejected when they failed to reach. “You know that, right?”

“Yes,” Yumi exhaled, finally releasing her necklace then wrapping her arms across her body in a weak embrace. “But knowing doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

Miyabi closed his eyes, brow crumpling. “I’m sorry, Yumi.” It came again, the sting of being useless; it felt like brambles had encircled his heart, and with every beat, the thorns sunk deeper. “I called him the other day, to ask if he’d meet me before the concert.”

Yumi’s eyes focused, realization settling into her body. “You called him?” She looked at Miyabi, studying the way his hair trickled between his fingers, at the red imprint the heel of his palm was leaving on his forehead. She glanced down, bit her lip at the sight of his other hand clenched upon the ledge. For a moment, Yumi forgot her predicament, the danger she was in; all she saw, felt, was the pain embracing Miyabi. Without thinking about it, Yumi leaned on the counter and touched her palm to the glass.

“I was surprised; I didn’t think he’d come.” Miyabi leaned harder onto his hand, sinking deeper into the darkness of memory. He tried to pull away, but the guilt clung, dragging him under. “Not that it did any good.”

“Miyabi…”

Miyabi tipped his head up, lured by his name rendered breathless. His resolve strengthened when their eyes met again; he knew this was not the time to sink below the surface of blame after telling Yumi not to do the same. Yumi was a lot stronger than she used to be, far more independent, but even putting his protective instincts aside, Miyabi knew Yumi’s spirit was fractured; she did not need to be worrying about him now.

“Yumi.” Miyabi straightened up. As the angle of his sight changed, Miyabi noticed Yumi’s hand, still resting against the glass barrier. His cheeks heated at the idea tweaking his motor skills though it did not stop him from pressing his touch opposite Yumi’s. The pane was too thick; they could not feel the warmth of one another’s hand, a realization responsible for deeper aches. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise.”

No sooner did he finish speaking did Miyabi see that earlier haze pass over Yumi’s face again, her eyes foggy and distant. Miyabi leaned closer, trying to ask what was wrong; the words didn’t ignite, smothered by the sound of Sayaka knocking and entering the room in a smooth motion.

“Miyabi, Naruhodou-san really needs to talk to Yumi-chan.” Sayaka leaned against the door, averting her gaze to the tiles below; she knew she’d intruded on their personal conversation, having waited a minute or more before she even had the courage to interrupt. “I’m sorry; visiting hours are almost over.”

“Okay…” Miyabi breathed, forcing his body not to protest and collapse into selfishness; he knew Naruhodou Ryuuichi was the only one in a position to legally save Yumi. His feelings, need for answers—he knew they had to wait.

“Yumi, you can’t give up.” Miyabi pressed as Yumi began to retract her hand. Yumi met his gaze; her eyes tried to hide her fear but only ended up whispering for his help. “You never gave up on me; I won’t let you give up on yourself.”

Miyabi knew he could linger no longer, pulling his hand back to his side, away from the glass separating them. He tried to imagine the warmth of Yumi’s touch as if they were only parting between song sets. If he thought anything else, he’d never be able to go.