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Turnabout Requiem: Day 2.1 - Recess [Part 2]

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July 17, 10:57 AM
District Court


A word of advice, Otsuki Miyabi-san

Miyabi sucked in the stale, processed air circulating the recently tended court bathroom. It was nice for public bathroom standards, lots of gleaming tile, porcelain and chrome, but Miyabi was not in the frame of mind to appreciate the luxury of the fixtures or interior design. The combination of “air-perfume” and cleaning chemicals burned his nose and eyes. Miyabi didn’t care; it gave an excuse for the glisten rimming his eyes. Gingerly, his slender, pianist fingers lifted his t-shirt to shoulder level, black fabric rippling away to reveal a pale canvas marred by a slash of red, extending from his left pectoral and ending on the right side of his sternum, beneath his ribs before they curved up. The fluorescent lights over his head, and attached to the top rim of the mirror, siphoned the brush of yellow within his complexion, darkening the whip-lash upon his reflection. The injury was setting in, an umbra of bruises blotting the pink edges. It would eventually fade; the scar was beneath the surface.

Your voice is worthless on this stage

Hissing did not lessen the sting of fire a touch inflicted but instinct was hard to stop. Miyabi pursed his lips and looked away from himself, down at the wound on his chest. The wound, despite how painful it felt at its infliction, did not hurt as much as much as being hit with a whip seemed to suggest it should. Miyabi supposed that was a good discovery but it was not the physical pain exposing raw nerves in his psyche. He caressed his fingertips along the red diagonal, immediately grateful he was alone in this room. There had been a couple of police officers and a man in a suit like Ryuuichi’s when he first arrived but none paid him much mind before leaving. One of the officers paused when he and Miyabi made eye contact, his gaze narrowing and lips parting in the familiar “don’t I know you?” expression, but rather than ask or pursue the introduction, the officer gave Miyabi an empathetic nod and left without speaking. Miyabi murmured his gratitude to the closing door. He’d been alone since then, giving time for several handfuls of cold water to calm the fever in his face; his soft hair drooped from any rogue splashes. The water helped even if he did look more wretched for it.

Miyabi’s fingers hesitated when they neared the base of his sternum, where a smattering of bruises still marked his skin. The whip managed to miss them, the lingering memory Toshio’s fist had left on his person. Though it was a memory of violence, Miyabi felt relieved the faint bruises were untouched. Harsh as it was, it was all he had left.

The sting in his eyes worsened so Miyabi lowered his shirt and bent to splash more water over his face. Solitude was appreciated but he was now remembering it also meant being alone with only anxious thoughts to fill the void. Miyabi twisted the tap off without rising, bracing his weight on the basin; the cold marble sunk into his palms. He took a deep breath, then a second before facing his reflection again. The same lights sucking all colour from his face could not reach his eyes, the usual flecks of brown deadened in the darkness of his irises. Miyabi blinked, staring hard at such eyes, recognizing them. The irises greyed to a shade of hewn wood, and as Miyabi stepped back, his hair lengthened and lost its natural highlights; his face drew in and down some, features hardening to match the injured glare he’d received two night ago.

I’d rather die--

Miyabi shut his eyes as hard as he could but the sight burned against his eyelids, refusing him escape. He couldn’t feel the wound on his chest anymore, not in the wake of hearing his friend prefer death to reconciliation, then meeting such a fate hours later. It took Miyabi a long, breathless pause to shake off the dread in his spine. When he opened his eyes again, he only saw himself in the mirror, though he was ashamed that his reflection really was him at the moment. ‘I need to get back…’ he thought at his mirror self, stepping forward only to grab his sunglasses from the basin edge before twisting towards the exit. He ignored the rest of the mirrors, busying his attention with any water drops on his sunglasses so that he could hide in their muted embrace.

He did not get the chance to put the sunglasses on. He finished with the lenses by the time he was in the hallway, but as he lifted his head and the sunglasses to wear, he encountered someone he did not expect. His arm dropped back to his side, one glasses arm between his index and middle fingers; the bathroom door thudded closed. “Oh, Asami-chan…”

Asami flinched, awakened from her disconnected thoughts and unrequited gaze with the patterned tiles of the floor. Her head shot up, allowing her widened eyes to see and recognize Miyabi standing a half a yard from where she was. She had been en route to the bathroom, pointedly avoiding eye contact or pleasantries with anyone who passed her; she had neither the words nor the heart to engage curiosities and sympathies from strangers who only knew her via Toshio’s connection to Orochi. She’d excused herself from the private room that Mei set up for her and her mother to use, promising to return soon, and was fortunate not to be hindered by anyone who was permitted passage in this hallway. Had Miyabi not said her name, she would have continued on to her destination, using peripheral vision to guide her past the human obstruction. “Oh…” she breathed, her gentle eyes finding Miyabi’s and promptly glancing to the left. Her hands met in front of her thighs, holding onto their partners with slow presses. “Miyabi-san…”

Silence intervened without asking for the next dance, dividing the two individuals until the distance, not just physical in nature, brought with it a different kind of pain. Miyabi needed more force to swallow than it should have taken but was unsuccessful in dislodging the ache in his throat. In the brief connection of their gazes, Miyabi couldn’t keep from seeing how similar Asami and Toshio’s eyes were. A deep, liquid brown that could chill or warm the senses, depending on the emotions within, Asami’s milder in hue but no less potent. Miyabi also noticed that even though her face showed no signs of crying recently, her eyes glistened with a despaired wish to do so.

“Asami-chan, I’m sorry about Toshio.” Miyabi offered, voice tight and just as ill-equipped to speak grieving sentiments as his mind was in considering them. He did not know what was appropriate to say, what sort of words he could attempt that would ease the hurt, the loss so recently suffered. He did not remember what sympathies were offered to him when his mother passed away, for when he lost her, the rest of the world ceased to matter; his feelings remained such for a long time afterwards. “I can’t believe this…I—”

“Thank you,” Asami interjected over Miyabi’s struggling sentence. Her voice was stiff, straining against the sorrow waiting to break through, but the reply came so fast, it left an awkward density in the air when the sound faded. Miyabi dropped his gaze to the floor while his hands fidgeted with the arms of his sunglasses as if some obscure sequence would restore his voice. It was not clear if Asami was trying to spare Miyabi from the emotional burden of speaking helpless words or spare herself from his attempts.

Realizing her response was abrupt, Asami breathed deep and let the reflex loosen her body language. She only found mild success. The last time she and Miyabi saw one another was Seattle, when the world was falling for a different reason. Though her ochre* eyes were already filled with emotion, there were questions tangled in between. She only asked one.

“Are…you all right?” Asami tipped her head, looking up at Miyabi from beneath her bangs; the tips were no longer a uniform line, upset by repeated strokes of her hand to calm her nerves. Before he could speak, however, Asami compounded the question. “Being hit by Karuma-san’s whip…it must have hurt.”

The words caught in Miyabi’s throat, not all of them valid when Asami clarified her inquiry. He swallowed hard but couldn’t dislodge them or the disappointment creeping into his heartbeat. His left hand lifted to his chest; Miyabi didn’t realize he’d grabbed hold until the cottony friction caressed his fingers. “I’m fine,” he replied, trying to curve his lips into a smile and only managing a stressed quirk on one side. Once more the privacy was maddening; all Miyabi could hear was the doubt in his throbbing heartbeat. “It hurt at first but the pain didn’t last as long as you’d think it should.” His attempt at a laugh for mood improvement stuck the sound in his throat too; the tight sound it produced falsified his answer.

Miyabi flinched at Asami’s noncommittal “that’s good,” not missing the edge whispering through the cadence of her voice. Another bout of silence awakened, thicker to swallow this time;  nothing seemed to move, not even a fluorescent flicker or internal building grumble, just an uncomfortable moment when the nothingness is impervious to words.

Asami found the strength first, her right hand clutching the left until the tension shot up to her shoulders. Trim nails bit into the flesh of her palm, wounds as hidden as the words still left unsaid. She’d been afraid of this sort of meeting ever since their eyes crossed paths in the courtroom, and her fears were not unfounded. The muscles in her back and neck kinked up, her discomfited state of mind translating into the physical. She wanted escape more than companionship, dipping into a polite, textbook bow to initiate such a plan. Her pensive eyes concentrated on the third file straight ahead of her feet, at the chip in the blue gleam. “Please excuse me,” she spoke to the ground. The quiet hush in her voice did not mask the clinical feeling the words betrayed.

“Uhm, Asami-chan!” Miyabi blurted out when Asami went to stride past him. A faint grimace pulled at his lips, telling of the shaky discomfort in his abdomen. He didn’t expect Asami to be in a warm or talkative mood but the sudden digestive pains, unrelated to food disagreement, persisted. His deep breath of recycled air, tasting quite manufactured, did not help. “Why don’t you come sit with us?” Miyabi let go of his shirt and gestured the face-up palm in Asami’s direction. The elation he felt from asking the question faded when Asami’s impassioned eyes met his. “It’s…” he continued, struggling to recover, “Less crowded and—”

“Thank you, Miyabi-san.” Asami shook her head with the refusal; fluorescent ribbons tangled within her ink-black hair as it swept back and forth against her neck. Her heart throbbed at such an answer, encrypted Morse code posing a reconsideration, but she stayed firm. The chance at companionship in this time was tempting but it was not enough. When their eyes met again, Asami finished her thoughts, speaking slower now. “But I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

Miyabi almost dropped his sunglasses, the slim, smooth arm gliding through his fingers and only last second instinct kept them from certain death. Distrusting himself not to do it again, Miyabi folded the precious object and secured it to the collar of his shirt. He had no plans to lean over, so they seemed safe enough there; his trembling hand felt otherwise, fingertips lingering upon the frame. Asami watched the incident with an unsettling stillness.

“If,” Miyabi began, his voice strained and not at all becoming for a singer, “You’re worried about your mother, she can sit with us too.” Miyabi breathed deep, concerned by his inability to read Asami’s pensive expression. The uncertainty made it harder to convince himself her refusal was so simple. Slender fingers combed through still-damp bangs, trying for nonchalance where his words were failing. “There is plenty of room,” he attempted when Asami stayed quiet, “And—”

“No…” Asami murmured, tipping her head to a slight angle, half-lidded, distant eyes replacing Miyabi with the floor again. The answer had been easier to say than she thought it would be; that scared Asami a little. She hooked her right hand on her opposite elbow and squeezed. “That isn’t what I meant.”

Miyabi shifted his stance, staggered by the weight of the truth. Realization and disbelief spun drunkenly across his thoughts until he was dizzy. He visibly paled for the second time that recess. “No…Asami-chan.”

Asami did not try to correct his breathless denial though her teeth fussed with her lower lip. Still imperceptible tears prickled against her eyes. Miyabi’s voice had more effect on her than she suspected it might.

“You don’t really think that—” Miyabi’s throat closed over the words; he made a noise somewhere between a cough and a strangled laugh. Asami and Yumi’s friendship underwent some strain after the incident in Seattle and the Matsumoto family moved two hours away, which Miyabi knew. He also knew it was not fair to judge Asami in these kinds of circumstances but the knife in his heart would not budge. “That Yumi…” Miyabi gritted his teeth together, unable to complete the sentence. “That s-she—”

“I…” Outside, the clouds shifted, casting partial sunlight over the courthouse; it streamed through the windows and glistened upon the tears cutting the first fractures in Asami’s mask. As they trailed down, some continuing to her neck and others plummeting from her chin, deep trembles rocked her small frame. “I don’t know what to think.” The shaking reached her throat, infecting her voice with soft sobs. Her hand held onto her arm with the desperation of a drowning child.

“I finally had my brother back after almost six years and now he’s gone forever.” Asami lifted her head, paralyzing Miyabi with emotion-stricken eyes, the dark brown blanched from a cruel mix of tears and sunlight. More of the mask cracked and chipped away, stripping her of the years the cold distance had aged the young girl. Miyabi winced, finally seeing Asami as the sixteen-year-old, little sister she was. “My mom can’t stop crying, so I have to be strong for her but it’s so hard.”

Faster and faster the confessions fell, syllables quaking. A single touch seemed capable of shattering what remained of her composure. Asami didn’t even want to stop now, needing this release if she hoped to see this situation through. “We can’t even say goodbye because of this trial.”

Then, an icy shiver trailed sharp nails down her spine, near freezing the tears upon her skin. Even Miyabi could see that tremble was not emotion-induced. He bit his cheek, afraid to ask. Asami lowered her head, hiding her eyes beneath her bangs as a sad, weak smile pulled at her mouth. “And…the only suspect in my brother’s murder is a friend.”

Asami released her elbow and pressed her hands to her face, legs buckling under the weight that the words failed to unhook from her shoulders. The red mark on her skin did not fade after the pressure was released. “I can’t take…” Another sob, harsher than its predecessors, broke her down, “m-much more.”

“Asami-chan…” Miyabi couldn’t think of anything more than her name, muted by the image of Asami reduced to tears. He still remembered her smile, vibrant and gentle, when Toshio brought her everywhere, trying to replace time lost. Her stance, her voice, Asami seemed utterly alone to Miyabi’s eyes, at a distance with the St. Othello crowd and trying to be a pillar for her mother, bearing a weight no one her age should have to bear. He knew such a burden too well.

A few men in uniform passed through the restricted hallway, using their eyes instead of words to accuse Miyabi of heinous things even after Asami insisted through hiccups that she was fine. He could only look away, not guilty of the specific accusations glinting in their displeased eyes, only of causing Asami’s tears to break free, a wicked crime in itself. Incapable of consoling Asami, Miyabi waited until her sobs ebbed, hoping his mind would think of something as he came forward. His hand drifted from his sunglasses and hovered across the divide between them.

And that’s where Asami left his good intentions.

“I’m sorry, Miyabi-san.” Asami spoke in that chilled, unnaturally distant voice she had used when their conversation began, and stepped back before Miyabi could get too close to her. She swiped her knuckles across her face, erasing the tears; she could not heal the swelled redness around her eyes, however, leaving her every expression stained with hurt. Miyabi pulled his hand back, fingers curling to his palm as if stung; he pressed his hand against his thigh, hoping to hide its trembling.

Asami lowered her hands, stiffening her spine to feign the strength her heart struggled to keep alive. “I’m Toshio’s sister first.” Her lungs deflated from a sigh stricken with challenged loyalties. Sunlight glinted in the dark shade of her eyes, irises lighter than Toshio’s, yet it was getting harder to notice the difference. Miyabi looked away before those eyes looked too deeply into his own. “Finding out what happened to him is more important to me…even if Yumi won’t forgive me for it.”

Miyabi’s lips parted, prepared to deliver the words he could not form. There was plenty he could tell Asami—Yumi will forgive you without question; Naruhodou-san was seeking the truth too so she didn’t have to face the search alone; she didn’t have to pick only one—but no sentence in his mind pieced together quite right. Asami’s guarded eyes, her pinched lips and defensive body language, none were subtly asking him to convince her to remain. The throb in Miyabi’s throat deepened as the sensation of failure prickled up from his churning stomach, a sensation he was becoming unbearably familiar with, self-inflicted or otherwise.

Asami created no fanfare in her attempt to leave this time, no bow or polite dismissal, just tipped her body to walk past Miyabi with as few strides as needed just as she originally intended. Miyabi almost let her go, ninety percent of his being defeated. The last ten, stubbornly tugging at his thoughts, called out her name before she pushed the bathroom door from her path and escaped. For a tense moment, it seemed Asami had no intention of stopping.

“I…was surprised when I saw Toshio the other night.” Miyabi did not turn around at first, head tipped down and hands unsteadily tapping scales against his thighs. His sombre voice drifted like cigarette ash in the hallway.  “He’d dyed his hair red for so long; seeing it black again was strange.” He paused, taking the time to still his hands and finally spin to face Asami again, though her back was to him now. When she said nothing, Miyabi gently tried again, peering out from beneath his own jet bangs.

“I didn’t get the chance to ask him why.” Miyabi stiffened at his own lie even though he’d chosen it over saying he and Toshio descended into an argument after only a few exchanged words; the latter tasted too much like blame. And he had wanted to ask, the unposed question mutating into regret as the concert night drifted further away. Miyabi’s voice dulled, reflecting the tone of a last request. “Will you tell me?”

The silence returned, somehow thicker than before. The courthouse continued its internal musings but they were no longer perceived. Asami’s watch counted the seconds out on her wrist; she could not feel them above her throbbing pulse. The young girl stood there, in a hall of justice, at war with herself. She had an answer for Miyabi but it lay tangled in a web of broken trust and hurt feelings. More important still was a question she had for him, a burden she’d borne for quite some time. Asami’s kinder side resisted—she bit her lip to keep the words within—but the longer she stood there, thinking about Miyabi’s query and the melancholic tone it was wreathed in, the harder her feelings became. The twisting in her abdomen insisted she would never be at peace with these barbed-wire words trapped inside.

“Miyabi-san…” she began. Her hands curled up, not yet fist-tight, only enough to show the tension pulling at her voice. “Did you really want my brother back in Orochi…or were you just feeling guilty about Seattle?”

To say Miyabi flinched did not do the reaction justice. It came back, that overwhelming, bone-bruising pain inflicted by a single punch; Asami didn’t need a fist to do it. His stance faltered, forcing him to readjust on wobbly legs. He pressed his palm against the near-faded bruise pattern, not feeling the current discomfort of Mei’s whip at all. “Why would you say that, Asami-chan?” Miyabi shuddered; a cold, damp sensation clung to his nape and drooled dread down his spine. He’d meant to insist to Asami that it was the first choice, no question, but a question came out instead. The realization tightened his throat when he spoke again. “Is that what…Toshio thought?”

Asami did not hesitate. “Please answer my question.” Miyabi’s wounded tone did affect her but the avoidance siphoned more of her faith in Miyabi’s genuine intentions. Toshio hadn’t been the one worrying over Miyabi’s reasons, not then, but Asami chose not to impart the knowledge.

“Yes, Asami-chan, I wanted him back.” Miyabi’s t-shirt twisted and tangled in his fingers as his fist became tight enough to send shudders through his shoulders. His voice was firm, and he did not look away from the space between Asami’s shoulderblades, yet he felt a sense of weightlessness in the words. Toshio had not been the only one to screw up, especially where Orochi was involved, and Miyabi wanted to give him the second chance he received before Seattle occurred. He held off hiring a new drummer, regretfully taking advantage of Kazuki to placehold for him despite the trouble it caused for ~PHANTASM~. He was sure of his feelings from the start until Asami’s question highlighted the fractures he hadn’t seen. “Orochi isn’t complete without Toshio.”

“I see…” Asami sighed, the two words breathed with sadness instead of relief. She tipped her head back, staring up into the bright hall lights, hoping the position would encourage the tears to recede; they slipped over her temples instead. “He knew about you and Yumi.” A quick bite of her lower lip didn’t abate the tension in her throat. “We both did.”

“What?” Miyabi’s hand fell limp at his side, matching the other and his fallen jaw, the muscle control lost. Only the sturdy positioning of his feet kept his legs from doing the same. He was a trapped breath away from calling Asami a liar; it was so improbable for them to have found out. Even Shuya, Akito and Orochi’s closely knit group only had weighted suspicions, but never official confirmation. “How? How could you have—”

Time did not pause but it felt that way as Asami straightened her shoulders and shifted her feet. She turned; all light reflected off the sorrow in her eyes and upon her cheeks, the beauty in the glistens, however, were compromised by the cold expression on her face. “Last month,” Asami began, remembering the moment with painful clarity. “My brother came home with his hair all black. He asked me to come with him to visit you and everyone else.” A flicker of happiness awoke in Asami, drifting through her eyes and renewing her smile however briefly. It left in a single blink. “He wanted a fresh start.”

Miyabi shook his head, rifling through memories for news he never received. His throat dried up while he thought and wasn’t sure water would soothe the ache. “He didn’t say anything to me.”

Asami looked at the wall, pretending to wonder about the peculiar “non-white” paint. “It was supposed to be a surprise visit.” After another unsteady inhale, Asami looked at Miyabi again, no longer shying from his dark albeit emotive eyes. “Mom was away at a work conference, so we decided to come here for a week to reconnect.”

Had the wall been directly behind Miyabi, he’d have fallen into its solid embrace; instead, he was forced to keep his legs working. It was not Asami’s news of Toshio wanting to make amends twisting the knife into his side; it was the knowledge there was a reason the news remained a secret until now. “So…what happened?” Miyabi grimaced; it hurt to swallow, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat.

“We only made it to the train station.” Asami paused while Miyabi backtracked through the days and settled on the one best matching her time frame. She watched as he realized there was much of the surroundings he missed, that somewhere in those patches of perception fog, Asami and Toshio were standing at the very same station. When she spoke, the words did not touch the “sweet” area of her tongue. “I guess you and Yumi were on a date.”

“I knew he’d be angry…” Miyabi hushed, bowing his head as a grim line pulled at his naturally plush lips. The shock was gone from his heartbeat, leaving the pace hollow and listless. Such a fate seemed inevitable even though he and Yumi both agreed it wasn’t fair to place their feelings in limbo until Toshio sent them just one word in response to their emails, texts and calls. “That’s why we were afraid to tell him.”

The hall went quiet again, that unnerving, bone-deep soundlessness far beyond searching for words to say in an inexplicable situation. Asami dried her face with her sleeve pulled over the heel of her palm, slower than before but also pushing too hard and causing new droplets to well up; this pattern continued until Miyabi lifted his face to her unflinching gaze. He tried to say her name but it dug deep into his throat. Asami’s question was spoken slow, carrying the edge of fallen faith.

“Did you think…” Asami bit her trembling lip once, twice, “…he’d react differently if he was with Orochi again?”

The abdominal twisting stopped, the leg trembling stilled; all sensation drained from Miyabi as Asami’s words drifted deep into his thoughts. He no longer felt weakened or uncertain; he felt nothing at all. “I…” Miyabi dropped his gaze, eyes flicking back and forth across the gleaming tiles, searching, failing. Whatever light reached his eyes dissolved into the inky depths. “I didn’t really think of that.”

“But you must have known he’d find out.” Asami pressed, her voice less afflicted with emotion now. She’d been fighting this pain, this conflict for three months, the moment security told her over the phone that Toshio had been arrested. The words rising into her throat had been smouldering in her chest for the last month; Asami was tired of being burned and hiding it behind a smile. “Maybe you thought my brother would turn you down, so you didn’t have to be honest with him about Yumi.”

“Asami-chan.” Miyabi jolted, head snapping up hard enough to kink the vertebrae in his neck. Asami’s words, spoken in such a barbed tone, seemed unreal until he saw the anger and hurt in her expression. “How can you…”

“You two sent him updates on the band and school,” Asami said, thinking back on those updates and how distant and mute Toshio would become as he fought unsuccessfully with his feelings of loneliness and pride. She’d encourage him to respond as much as he insisted he was not ready, an endless cycle until last month. “Yumi even sent them to me.” Before she could stop them, the tears returned, faster and more frequent this bout. The pains in her chest worsened with every breath, the fragments of broken trust swirling and slashing endlessly. “Yet you chose to hide your relationship. You didn’t want my brother to know!”

“Asami-chan, I…” but that was all Miyabi could articulate. There was no explaining himself, no forgivable rationalization for the decision. Agreeing to keep the information clandestine until everyone was on speaking terms made sense then but it did not negate the reality Miyabi had withheld a deal-breaking secret from Toshio that night.

And break the deal it did.

-Is that it? That’s what you called me here to say?-

Miyabi staggered, pressing the heel of his palm to the throb abusing his left temple. He locked up his legs to keep from chasing the memories; Toshio’s voice echoed so clear in his ears. Everything Toshio said to him suddenly made sense; he hadn’t been sniping at Orochi’s recovering success at all. Miyabi shuddered, sensation flowing back into his body. He felt like he’d been wearing the wrong prescription for weeks and only just had the lenses lifted. Parched, dizzy, nauseous…but nothing compared to the sharp pains in the every beat of his heart.

Asami watched the realizations wreathe Miyabi and found the hurt inside remained. In her heart, Asami knew Toshio shared blame in the miscommunications and relationship strain—still so prideful and struggling to forgive even after the sessions and attempts to improve himself—but she was tired of the secrets. The secrets in Seattle found new homes back in Japan and the results were still the same. Asami trembled, trying again to erase the tears but new ones formed for each brushed away. “I believed you back in Seattle.” She turned her head away when Miyabi broke from his reverie and looked in her direction. “I believed you when you said you forgave my brother.”

Miyabi lowered his hand from his temple, the headache far less important. The lump in his throat was almost unbearable. Asami’s form distorted in the sheen of tears glazing his jet eyes. “You don’t now?” were the only words he could get past the shapeless obstruction in his airway.

Asami shook her head, the motion listless and heartbroken. “Saying you forgive someone is different than meaning it.” She made a face at the ground; the words tasted as bitter to her tongue as they sounded to her ears. There was no anger now, only sorrow. “Actions speak louder than words, Miyabi-san, and your message was clear.”

Miyabi had nothing left, no sentiments or pleas or “objections,” the words ripped out of his throat. He tried to say Asami’s name but his voice was muted. Or gone. He didn’t know.

Their tableau did not last long. One of the stationed guards from Courtroom 7 stepped into the hallway and called a five-minute warning for the recommencement of the Takahashi trial. He left after saying it once, presumably to continue spreading the notice. Asami took the interruption as an excuse to end the encounter, turning towards her original destination. The wood panelling of the bathroom door was cold against her fingers; she hesitated, considering this slight, unimportant sensation, and glanced at Miyabi one more time. He did not reciprocate, head tilted down and unfocused eyes sheltered beneath his bangs.

“I hope Karuma-san is wrong…” Asami whispered before disappearing from Miyabi’s sight.
Prologue: Turnabout Requiem [Prologue] “Guess you had this all planned from the start, huh?” Cigarette smoke curled into the light mist lurking through the streets.
“Please, don’t. I…I wanted you to be happy, I didn’t know this would happen.” Neon lights sparked upon sunglasses, reaching for the morose eyes hidden beneath.
“The hell you didn’t. A kiss goodbye because you’re leaving the band? What bullshit.” Scarred knuckles pressed into skin, the gashes snarling wide. The fists don’t swing, only stay clenched, one nearly shredding the filter between the index and middle fingers. A ring finger stands empty. “I see your resignation upheld…”
“Can’t we work this out?” The attempt to subject-change fell with the embers seeping away from one scarred fist. Hands go into pockets, fidgeting, finding no answers or balm for the open wounds. “We were good friends, I still believe that.”
“Of course you would.

Previous: Turnabout Requiem: Day 2.1 - Recess [Part 1]July 17, 10:53 AM
District Court
Defendant Lobby No. 3

“That’s not a courtroom.” Shuya vented the moment they made it back to their vacant lobby. He’d bottled the frustration until the flood of curious ears evaporated, but once the doors sealed them in, he unleashed. Slipping into a glare, Shuya pressed his palm to his forehead and freed an exasperated sigh. His temples were throbbing for a cigarette. “It’s a three-ring circus.”
“Have you ever been in court before, Shu-chan?” Akito inquired while returning his messageless phone to his back pocket. Taking a deep breath, Akito closed his eyes and remained that way until he remembered how to smile. His heart resisted, thudding its grim perception through his chest, but Akito persevered, needing the positive energy such a simple gesture could bring. It was stand and smile or drown in the sadness all around them.
“Hmph.” Shuya exhaled, folding his arms across his chest

Next: Turnabout Requiem: Day 2.3 - Witness Testimony   July 17, 11:07 AM
District Court
Courtroom No. 7

    ‘Is…Is she right?’ Miyabi leaned forward in his seat, propping his elbows on his thighs and covering his right fist with his left hand. His hands were cold against his lips when he touched his face to the rim of his sunglasses. ‘When I said I forgave him, did I mean it?
    Across the courtroom, the prosecution’s audience filtered in, all clamour and gossip, their voices saturating the vast room. Many emitted some kind of shrill sound and gestured at Miyabi, sitting alone and facing where they traipsed past, not a single one assuming that what he could see and what he did see were not the same thing, Miyabi thought one or two gestured at their eyes, presumably commenting on his wearing sunglasses indoors, but he didn’t dwell on it; he wasn’t wearing them for someone else’s benefit.
 



Been thinking about what I should write here, but I think this installment speaks for itself. Asami is one of the sweetest characters in TWTYH (in my opinion) but grief and unresolved feelings can embitter the sweetest of tastes. More secrets come to light; how will Miyabi deal with the new context shone upon his last conversation with Toshio?

Recess has come to a close. What new truths will the reconvening trial drag into the light?



Dedicated to Emily Muto, her beautiful and emotional comic, and all of my wonderful friends in the shoutbox.

TWTYH and all of its affiliated characters © :iconpink-killer:
The Way to Your Heart

Gyakuten Saiban (Ace Attorney) fandom and concept © Capcom

"Turnabout Requiem" © Me

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After a lot of thought, I have decided I want to use the Japanese names of the Gyakuten Saiban characters. I know this might cause some confusion for my readers of this story as well as anyone who knows only the English names, therefore, I have created a handy cross-reference chart located here:

Japanese-English Name Translations (GS/AA) by Riku-of-Darkness

I know you might be wondering why I'm doing this. Well, the story is taking place in Japan (which is where the series is originally based before localization takes over), and trust me when I say it is uncomfortable trying to use honourifics on names that are not meant to have them. Since starting this crossover, I haven't felt right using the English names, so I'm reverting them to their Japanese origins. My apologies for any inconvenience, but trust me, you'll pick up on them in no time. ^_^
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© 2013 - 2024 Riku-of-Darkness
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pink-KILLER's avatar
Wonderful installment, I loved going through and rereading everything including this new part. So many brilliantly portrayed feelings and emotions, which I felt were expressed very well. ^_^ I'm always impressed with your writing!

I love that you had it so Miyabi and Yumi started dating and kept that from Toshio, though he knew about it anyway. I love that new things are coming to light and I'm really excited about how things will go back in the courtroom! Keep up the amazing work!!!