Chapter Text
The chair is too cold.
It's the first thought that comes to him, not where he is or why. It's the uncomfortable weight of the atmosphere, the pressure that sinks into his bones and reminds him how good it feels to be grounded.
His wrists are bound to the chair with thick cuffs, and the moment he tested the restraints by shifting his body, he noted how little give there was. It wasn't painful, not exactly, but it had the weight behind it that said the movement was hardly encouraged.
Megumi stills.
The room is bare, save for the table before him and the chair he occupies. There are no visible doors or windows. Only the smooth white walls and the screen embedded in the table, which currently shows nothing.
He flexes his fingers, and the cuffs make a soft noise as the metal shifts with him. Not much room to move, not much give.
"...Hello?"
There's a pause before the camera whirs to life, and Megumi tenses. He doesn't turn to the screen, instead focusing on where his reflection would be if there was anything to see. When he looks back at the camera, there's a slight frown on his face.
"...Where am I?"
"I am Mercy. I will be overseeing your trial."
Trial. The word makes his stomach twist unpleasantly. Megumi tests the restraints again, this time more thoroughly. He moves his arms, feeling the pressure of the metal against his skin, noting how little slack there is. Either they're exceptionally strong or exceptionally willing to hurt him. He suspects the former, but it's hardly a comfort.
"...What trial?"
There's a pause. Not a long one, but long enough for him to wonder if he's understood incorrectly.
"You have been formally charged with a capital offense."
That doesn't make sense. Doesn't make any sense at all, really. Megumi's jaw tightens. "...You have the wrong person."
"You have been formally charged," Mercy repeats. "All evidence has been reviewed."
Evidence. The word is heavier than it should be. Megumi's hands flex unconsciously against his restraints. "...For what?"
The screen flickers. Mercy does not hesitate. "...Fushiguro Megumi, you are formally charged with the murder of..."
Something cold coils unpleasantly in his chest, and Megumi blinks rapidly. "...No."
It isn't that he objects to the charge. He just knows, with an uncomfortable certainty, that it's wrong.
"That's not-"
It comes out sharper than he intended, and Megumi exhales shakily. If he looks down, he's certain he'll find his hands clenched, but he looks up instead. "...You said the wrong name... Check it again."
Mercy does not falter. "...Charges have been verified."
Megumi stares at the screen for a long moment. "...That's not possible," he mutters, almost to himself.
If the name was correct, if Mercy isn't lying to him, then every other word is meaningless noise. He looks down at his hands, as if willing them to move, to do something. They're bound to the chair, and even if he wanted to, there's nothing he could do. He swallows, feeling something tight in his throat. "...That's not possible."
Mercy does not respond, and the silence stretches until finally Megumi looks up.
"...Proceedings will commence shortly. You will be given the opportunity to review all evidence presented in court." Mercy's words are calm, as if nothing has happened.
"...You said there's evidence," Megumi says quietly. He looks up at the screen. "...If that's the case, then it can't be wrong."
Mercy responds immediately. "Correct."
The screen changes, and the room vanishes. It doesn't exactly disappear, not entirely. Megumi is still bound to the chair, and he can still feel the uncomfortable tightness of the restraints around his wrists. It's just that he's no longer in the sterile white room.
It's his apartment.
His front door opens, and he hears the familiar click of metal as his keys hit the counter. He's exhausted, and the moment his shoes are off, he sighs.
"You're finally home."
He turns. "...What?"
Yuji's arms are crossed, his expression one of mild disappointment. "...How long were you going to be gone?"
"I told you I was working."
"That's not what I asked."
Megumi exhales. "...Yuji."
"No." Yuji takes a step forward. "No, because every time I try to talk to you, you do this."
Megumi raises an eyebrow. "...Do what?"
"You shut down."
"I'm tired.“You’re always tired.”I want to believe you," Yuji says, his voice softer than before.
"I don't want to argue."
Yuji lets out a quiet laugh.
“Of course you don’t.”
Megumi's brows furrow. "...What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you don't want to deal with anything unless it's already falling apart."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?"
A tense silence fills the room, thick with something unsaid. Yuji steps forward. "...You think I don't notice?"
"...I'm tired." Megumi's jaw tightens.
"See?" Yuji's voice is quiet. "That's what I mean."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Megumi watches him carefully. "...You always make it sound like you're the only one trying."
"I never said that."
"You don't have to," Yuji says. He looks at Megumi closely, as if searching for something. "...I want you to let me in."
"You're letting me in," Megumi says, staring at him. "...You're already in."
Yuji's jaw tightens. "...I don't think so."
Megumi doesn't say anything, but his expression darkens. "...I can't do this right now."
"There it is," Yuji says, his expression falling. "...That's always your answer."
Megumi's stomach twists. "...What?"
"That's always your answer." Yuji's voice is quiet and bitter. "...you think I don't care about you?"
"I think you're trying to take advantage of me," Megumi snaps, his voice sharper than he intended.
"...You think I don't know how to let someone care for me?"
The silence that follows is heavy with something else, something unspoken. Yuji looks away. "...You always leave."
"That's not fair," Megumi says, his stomach twisting. "...That's not-"
"Isn't it?" Yuji stares at him, his expression hard. "...You always leave, Megumi."
The sound of their voices is distant, muffled. Megumi can't see what's happening anymore, only hear it. He feels something twist unpleasantly in his chest. This wasn't a memory, not exactly. It was something between a memory and an emotion, a sensation he can't put a word to. He knows it's real, though, because it's familiar.
"...You always leave." Yuji's voice is softer now, almost sorrowful.
"I'm sorry," Megumi says, but he doesn't sound sorry at all.
The recording ends, and Megumi finds himself back in the sterile white room. "Audio recording verified." Megumi looks up at the screen, his expression dark. "...You're using an argument as evidence."
"The argument establishes conflict."
"Conflict isn't guilt," Megumi snaps. "...No."
Mercy does not respond immediately, and for a moment, Megumi thinks he's won.
"...You were the last person with him," Mercy says finally. "...He trusted you."
Megumi looks up sharply, but Mercy does not meet his gaze. "...He was found shortly after this recording ended."
Megumi stares at the screen, but his reflection is the only thing he sees. "...I know that," he says quietly. "...I would have known if he was hurt, if he was..."
Mercy does not answer.