Our Sonnets // Narumitsu

Goodbye

Info
Song: Von - Zankyou No Terror OST
Note: Another sad one IM SORRYYY, angst is fun to write & Phoenix's disbarment perfectly fits the bill :(
I promise the next chapter will be happier!! (Probably the last chapter)

Story
Looking out over the edge was serene. The wind brushed his face with its cool fingertips, caressing and welcoming the trembling form. Buildings drifted in and out of wobbling peripherals, some surrounded by gentle, green, swaying shrubbery and others not. Some looked homely, as though they housed families, others didn't. Phoenix had always wondered what it would have been like to live in a skyscraper, to be immersed in this soft gush of air only attainable from somewhere high above each morning, to have the clandestine crimson sunrise be your neighbour and bathe in its warm golden rays at whichever point of the day suited you most. It seemed idyllic - dizzying, even - as he hugged thin, blood-stained (or was that the estranged tint of wine?), grey fabric closer to himself, as though the fragile protection of his shivering arms would serve as any form of shield against the chills ripping open his clothing at the seams, clawing at his pale and exposed skin so violently that a rash of goosebumps rose in its wake. The tears bravely abseiling down quivering white cheeks never made it very far: each one sabotaged by the incessant whiplash and he found himself almost ready.

Everything was in place. Prepared for departure. A crumpled note on cheap, tatty, lined paper and spilled bottles of alcohol littered about at home would tell the story later. Phoenix knew how forensics worked - he'd worked alongside the damned unit for many years (but that was a while ago, now) - and was aware that there'd be little doubt about it: suicide; Not murder. It didn't matter, anyway. He wouldn't be at the after party.

After party. Would he have an after party? Was the afterlife real or just the warped illusion of a mind drowned with Xanax? If it was, perhaps someone in purgatory would make conversation by a sturdy coal fire: maybe they'd ask him what brought him there.
"Well," He'd say; "It's a long story." And they'd both chatter away until nothing was left but the scraggy remainders - rattling bones laughing with dislocated jaws by the dying, scarlet embers of what once was an almighty coal fire. The more terrifying proposition, however, was that there was nothing after death - just an eternal hollow pit where one kept falling into nothing after having made the leap. A Tardis with all the lights turned off. Phoenix shook his head. That line of thought would only serve to make his final moments queasy - and, if he felt queasy, he wouldn't have time to shake it off: it was now 6:00am and people would be starting to turn up for work. They probably wouldn't take too kindly to a trespasser committing such an unmarketable sin atop their roof; after all, it was unlikely, despite modern interests, that the tagline 'come and experience where Phoenix Wright had a depressive episode whilst you purchase our delicious bananas - all 2 for 1!' would attract much business. One foot dubiously scraped along the uneven concrete until it was free, dangling over masses of eager Sunday shoppers and a plethora of unsuspecting cars in a spectrum of colours. His palms became clammy, shaking, and drowning blue eyes wearily shut as he let the sobbing commence. It sounded like a drowning cat, wailing, and he gave little thought to the innocent victims below - who'd probably put the salty liquid gushing atop their naked heads down to the gloomy weather. Then something warm and secure seemed to engulf the weeping man, as though he'd suddenly become entangled with a duvet, and all intentions collapsed in a similar way to how his knees weakened as he was carefully nursed backwards - away from the edge and its despairing beckoning.
"Shh. It's going to be okay." The familiarity of the friendly, clinging scent of cologne and that rich, welcoming voice left nothing but a bewildered longing in its wake. Phoenix let out a hiccuping sob as he turned to weep into an unmistakably familiar ruffled accessory.
"Did you really think," It softly enquired:
"That I was going to let someone so kind - someone so beautiful, that so many people rely on whom I hold so dearly in my heart - die so prematurely?" And it hurt because he couldn't do anything but wail, his jaw locked in that screaming posture, as though his body was in the process of rejecting its own organs.
"You have so much to live for, Phoenix; every day of your life has been spent making the day of someone else, and we're all eternally grateful to be blessed with someone as giving as you, but I think it's about time we take care of you for once." The fuzziness shifted and made itself known: a pair of arms wrapped around him, not a duvet. Homely, strong arms. Phoenix felt secure in his sadness as a thumb slowly brushed against cheek.
"I think it's about time I took care of you for once." His pinkish heart swelled, compelling watery eyes to glance up at his saviour - the light a subtle smattering glistening atop - who gently smiled back, reassuringly, even with tricklings of their own as Phoenix released another mournful cry.

It was a wordless contract: Miles was here - Miles was alive. He wanted to ask how he knew, but nothing was appropriate. The wind whistled calmly, birds contently swooped past, and Phoenix found a reason to keep on going.