Prologue To Madness

By LoveAnimeForever

1) Career Choice

It was an obvious choice, if, perhaps, a somewhat ambitious one. Teru, fresh out of law school, had graduated at the top of his cohort. Despite his inexperience, securing a job wouldn't be a problem – and he would aim for the top, to be a corporate lawyer for one of Japan's most successful conglomerates. His starting salary would already be considerable; if he played his cards right it would eventually become immense. And when his fellow graduates framed his choice thus, they understood it, and they detested him out of jealousy and spite.

And that was why he preferred not to associate with them.

He was different from them; the money involved barely registered in his mind aside from that it would be more than sufficient for him to live on. His true motivation – that was, he'd studied to be a criminal prosecutor, but he'd come to realise he could do better elsewhere. Kira, after all, no matter who he was or what he seemed to be, wasn't God. God didn't need names or faces to deliver judgment. So Teru would root out the hidden crimes, especially the corruption that went unseen behind the paperwork of corporations, and that false god would have those names and faces, and Teru would have his justice.

2) Job Interview

"I hope you understand, Mikami-san, that we're not currently hiring. If not for your outstanding grades we would have rejected your application immediately."

"Of course. Thank you very much for giving me a chance, gentlemen."

"You're welcome. Very well, then. Let's proceed – what do you think you can do for Yotsuba Group?"

3) Suspicious Candidate

"Well, Shimura? He certainly seems qualified for the job."

"…You could also say he's dangerously intelligent. And why is he applying now? As Kida said, we're not hiring."

"He's just ambitious. I doubt he has any interest in Kira, let alone any suspicions that Kira is among us."

"I motion we give him the job-"

"But-"

"But one of us will have to keep an eye on him."

Reiji swept the room, his gaze landing coolly on each and every member of the board. "I have no objections."

Cowed, perhaps, the others chorused his decision.

4) First Day

"Ah – you're the graduate from the other day, aren't you. Mikami, I believe?"

"Yes, sir. Mikami Teru, sir."

"Namikawa Reiji. Please, no need to be so formal. Are you heading home, just now?"

"Ah, yes, Namikawa-…san?"

Reiji smiled slightly, a touch of (divine) approval on his lips. "You'll forgive my interest; it's rare that we draft someone straight out of college. How was your day?"

"Oh, very well, dare I say. It's a privilege to work with such experienced colleagues. I'm already learning very much from them."

"Good, good." Sufficient pause, continued approval in the curve of his lips. (Teru shifted his briefcase from the one hand to the other.) "Well, I was just about to have a drink, would you care to join me?"

By societal standards, Teru wasn't allowed to refuse, although he had his own reasons for accepting. He nodded, although it was more a duck of his head – the obligatory submission of junior to senior.

"Of course." Pause, break in breath, sufficient hesitation. "Although, I'd hate to impose-"

Reiji seemed to approve of this, too. "Not at all. This way, please."

5) Blue Labels

("Welcome, Namikawa-san, Mikami-san; the usual table?")

"I feel I am imposing, instead." A blatant lie. "I'm sure you would rather spend your weeknights otherwise."

"No, not at all, Namikawa-san. It's an honour to be in the company of such a successful businessman as yourself."

The compliment barely grazed Reiji's flawless cheek. "The other executives are just so dry, even over drinks." Sip. "Your companionship is much, more enjoyable."

Teru swiped his tongue across his lips. "As is yours, of course."

Reiji laughed softly, and the ice in his glass clinked as he brought it to his lips again.

Teru would forever remember the colours of those nights; the luxuriant amber in their drinks and the lighting, the plush red of the velvet armchairs and the burn of the liquor. The walnut wood in the chairs, the tables, the sideboards – dark as Reiji's liquid eyes and the smoky lashes that framed them.

6) Subtle Investigation

"Tell me about yourself, Mikami-kun."

"Ah, I wouldn't quite know where to start…"

"You studied, I believe you said – criminal prosecution?"

"I did, yes."

"Tell me about that, then. Why become a corporate lawyer?"

Pause.

"-Well. As you know the crime rate has decreased rather drastically in recent times…"

"Ah, yes – due to the Kira killings?"

Teru took a sip of his whiskey, let it burn in his mouth and down his throat, through his chest. Conversation didn't have to be hurried – no, on the contrary, time to calculate one's next move was a mandatory courtesy, an obligatory part of the game. Reiji waited, placid, eyes shuttered but intensely alert.

"I… would say- thanks, to the Kira killings. Wouldn't you?"

"You might. I suppose you could look at it that way." Reiji drank as well. "A matter of job prospects, then?"

Not necessarily untrue. "I – suppose you could look at it that way."

Smile. "And why Yotsuba?"

"It seemed the natural choice. Your stocks are soaring right now."

"Yes; yes, they are."

Reiji set his glass down. Shimura had been right – Mikami Teru was dangerously intelligent. But… perhaps conveniently mistaken.

"Well, I'm done here." Perfectly calculated; so was Teru.

"Ah, as am I. At least once-"

Reiji held a graceful hand up for the bill. "No, no; please. Let me."

7) Tokyo Skyline

That night, Teru found himself in Reiji's apartment, the penthouse of a skyscraper-condominium, in one of the most expensive districts in town. If he had to describe it, he'd say it was sleek, just like the man himself. It was fronted with full-length glass windows and an impressive view of the skyline; Reiji stood by them now, having put his blazer and briefcase away, and he looked down on Tokyo as if he owned it – which wasn't at all inconceivable.

"It's safe here," he said at last, as he turned, "Will you tell me what you really think of Kira?"

He had a hand in his pocket and a gentle, seraphic smile on his lips that lit up his face but not his eyes. Teru, seated on one of the sofas close by – smooth white leather and gleaming metal frames – was careful to keep his eyes away from it. That smile, he could tell, was deadly.

"I have questions of my own, Namikawa-san. If you don't mind-?"

"Oh, of course not." Reiji moved to sit beside him, "Why don't you start?"

Ah, but Reiji had already made the first move – and, at such proximity, simply keeping your eyes away wasn't enough.

Teru steeled himself. "Your – that is, our, Yotsuba's – competitors haven't been doing particularly well, recently."

"Yes, there've been many industry names in the papers, recently, haven't there."

Teru hadn't mentioned the deaths, but this was a direction Reiji had planned to go in, anyway. Better to cut to the chase. Or, at least, a little – closer – to the chase. He met Teru's questioning gaze with a shrug and a smile.

"Perhaps you think me paranoid for paying attention to these things." Of course not. "But, sometimes, I do wonder if I ought to fear my life."

"The – deaths have all been reported to be accidents; surely you have no reason to fear?" Teru was careful to look away. Do you?

Reiji leant back, an arm slung along the back of the sofa, and laughed. It was a dark, liquid sound, and warm like his breath, which just reached Teru's ears. "You tell me, Mikami-kun."

"They – seem – to be accidents, after all. And there has yet to be a victim from Yotsuba."

"It does seem rather skewed, when you put it that way."

Teru turned, and was entirely caught in the muted radiance of Reiji's smile.

"Namikawa-san," Reiji murmured, and it was between a purr and a growl, "don't you think it's too skewed?"

"-I didn't say that."

"You were about to. But come, Mikami-kun. Let me have my turn."

Teru nodded mutely. Perhaps he should fear for his life.

"Kira."

A single, so very loaded word. "I- don't think he's wrong."

"Does that mean you think he's right?" Reiji tilted his head, and his hair shifted to re-frame his face.

Of course it did.

8) Of Course

"Those accidents – have you considered that all the victims have a criminal history?

A recent, contrived criminal history of recent, contrived black market deals, money laundering, and siphoning company resources. But Teru might not know that.

"Well, yes-?"

"And have you considered, if Kira could kill in ways other than by heart attack…"

Teru's eyes widened. "Surely not…"

Reiji laughed again, and his hand slid along the back of the sofa and onto Teru's shoulder. "A jest, Mikami-kun. Of course not."

Sufficient pause. And then, as if he was genuinely curious – and he was, of course – "If he could, though?"

"Then Kira would be – a little closer – to God."

"God."

Teru tore his gaze from Reiji's lips, tilting ever-so-slightly and so-very-enchantingly upward. "Yes. Kami. Of course, no god needs a name and a face to kill. But-"

"How nice, if such a god were on our side."

"…Is he?"

"I never said that."

You seem to be. "Of course. I was- actually wondering if the accidents were being caused, not by Kira, but-"

"They aren't."

"I didn't even finish my question."

"No matter how you do, my answer remains the same. And it remains true."

"…You – seem – quite interested in my opinion of Kira…"

"A mere matter of curiosity, I assure you."

Of course it was.

9) Thread Count

Reiji's hand had remained on Teru's shoulder; he had been beautiful his entire life, beautiful and elegant and charming, and he knew how to use it against people – he knew when people had fallen to his spell. Mikami Teru, he had not planned to ensnare. But he certainly wasn't a bad prospect. No – if Reiji were honest with himself, Teru was diligent to a fault, highly intelligent, highly capable, and perfectly able to play the games they had to play. Not shy, but endlessly tactful if not yet fully experienced in subtlety. Not just Reiji's ideal subordinate – although he would definitely have the man transferred to his division in time – but also, if only they were equals, an ideal companion.

And equals he would make them, as he gently shifted his grip on Teru's shoulder and the other turned in response.

"Namikawa-san…?"

"Yes, Mikami-kun?"

The air was suddenly charged, thick with dull heartbeats and risk calculations. Reiji gently took Teru's glasses, folded them and placed them on the coffee table.

But that was it. If this was going to happen, it was going to happen –

When Teru kissed him.

Teru's lips were chapped, his mouth dry; but he yielded easily – hungrily – when Reiji ran his tongue along those chapped, dry lips, moistening them with saliva. He caught the fabric of Reiji's shirt in his hands, and Reiji tangled his hands in Teru's hair, and they remained there, lying along the sofa, for a short, heated moment in eternity, lips and hands wandering. Within the next, Reiji had pressed another all-consuming, breath-stealing kiss to his lips, then he'd sat up, got up, and padded away.

"N-amikawa-san?" Teru sat up as well, found his glasses on the coffee table and slipped them on.

Reiji came back into focus, a little away, his shirt – usually perfectly pressed – just very slightly rumpled. He turned, and Teru could see he was undoing the buttons on his shirt as if it were the most natural thing in the world – which it was, but –

"Reiji, please, Mikami-kun. You sound as though you didn't just kiss me – and, I think, leave a few marks on my neck."

So nonchalant – despite a rising blush, Teru attempted to mirror his tone. "-Reiji-san. What-?"

"Do you love me, Teru? May I call you that?"

"Of course-" Pause. "Of course you may call me Teru."

Reiji chuckled and turned away, shrugging his shirt off as he did so. Teru's eyes ran along the alabaster shoulders, back, the subtle curve near the base of his spine, and then he got up and followed.

Once they were both in the bedroom, Reiji closed the door and pinned Teru against it. Between wet, scalding kisses, he stole Teru's glasses once more – left them somewhere, somewhere – and rid them both of their remaining clothes. Eventually they fell onto the bed, still tangled around each other, lips still melded. Teru, the bare skin of his back coming into contact with the bed sheets, couldn't help but moan into the kiss. Reiji's pulled away, smirking, and dipped his head again, almost touching his lips to Teru's ear.

"Egyptian cotton," he purred, "I like them too."

10) Not Love

Later, after Teru had retrieved his glasses – you could see the skyline through full-length windows, too, even in the bedroom – and Reiji lay beside him, idly languid, he turned so he faced him and pressed close against his side. A warm arm curled around his shoulders, pulled the quilt covers up, then pulled him even closer.

Calculated. "I don't love you, Namikawa-san."

"Correct." Reiji turned to face him as well, smiling. "But really, call me Reiji."

11) Welcome Home

"Okaeri, Kami."

Reiji stopped dead in his tracks. "The last you used that honorific, I believe you were referring to Kira…"

"Let me pretend that you are, Reiji-san. That way, my life is perfect." Besides –

Teru's playful smile was possibly the only thing that prevented Reiji from calling for an emergency meeting, even though said meeting had just dismissed a bare half-hour ago. Perhaps this was for the best. The best way to prevent someone from finding out about something, after all, was to wave it in his face and have him believe it wasn't real.

Reiji sighed, exasperated, but there was a smile on his lips to match Teru's as they kissed.

12a) Nightly Routines

Reiji would sling his blazer off the moment he stepped in the door, and it would be folded across his arm by the time the door clicked shut. He'd undo the top button on his shirt then turn and pad toward the kitchen. On the way, he'd drape his blazer across the back of the chair at the head of the dining table – a rectangular glass table for six – and drop his briefcase on its seat.

It was on Fridays that Teru got to watch this routine – the other days he would be putting away his own things. But on Fridays, he would be watching from the sofa, watching from the moment the door slid smoothly open, and Reiji would only ever pay him any notice after emerging from the kitchen, two crystal glasses of red wine in hand. It was strange that Reiji was so partial to red wine in private, when all he ordered at the club had been whiskey, but Teru didn't think much of it otherwise. He, himself, had drunk the whiskey only because Reiji had always ordered two glasses of Blue Label, after all.

In any case, Reiji would pad over and sit by him, leave one glass on the coffee table then lean back and drape an arm along the back of the sofa, and that was Teru's cue –

"Okaeri, Kami."

And Teru would take the glass before leaning back as well. Lean into Reiji and rest his head on his shoulder, relish the feel of the smooth, soft combed cotton of the man's shirt against his cheek. And Reiji would laugh (softly, quietly, as if he were only breathing), and say –

"Really now, Mikami-kun."

"Okaeri, Reiji-san."

"Tadaima, Teru."

And they would drink – sometimes they would talk – and it took precisely one glass of red wine for Reiji to unwind completely. Then, he'd press a feather-light kiss on Teru's temple, get up, leave his glass in the sink, and shower. On Fridays, Teru would already have showered; otherwise he'd take his turn after Reiji was done. They didn't shower together, not really.

They'd have dinner, the two of them at the table made for six, sitting across from each other on the left and right of Reiji's briefcase and blazer. Reiji preferred to sit with his back to the kitchen – that was, on the right. He'd said it made him feel more secure to have the partition at his back. Teru just liked looking at Reiji, fresh from his shower, usually in a thin black shirt and black sweats, his hair towelled only slightly dry and so still glistening with moisture, framing his face closer than usual. A study in black against the white of his skin.

Teru cooked, Fridays, since he came back earlier, although previously Reiji had managed perfectly fine on his own. The other four weekdays they alternated, on Saturday they would eat out at a nice restaurant – Reiji had an endless supply of these, it would seem – and on Sundays one of them would get the groceries and the other would clear out the fridge and make do.

Another glass of wine, red or white depending on their meal, and an hour to read – usually a classic, sometimes a book on shogi, or, rather more rarely, the newspaper, if he hadn't managed to read it through in the morning. Teru preferred to work during this time. He'd sit at the desk at the corner of the living room, back to the full-length windows that looked out on Tokyo, and Reiji would be in the armchair that completed the white-leather sofa set.

The apartment would be dark, because Reiji preferred not to use the direct ceiling lights. Instead, he used the lamps around the room – in particular, a metal one on the desk that shone a bright white light for work and a tall one by the armchair that shone a warm yellow light. Teru had ever mentioned it was bad for Reiji's eyes – the man had perfect eyesight, too, so he ought to treasure it – but Reiji had only raised an amused eyebrow and returned to his book.

Eventually Teru would close his laptop, and Reiji would shut his book, his laptop, his paper, and within a moment or so Teru would feel his gentle hands on his shoulders.

"Gokurousama," he'd say, in an amused lilt, and they would go to bed.

12b) Daily Routines

Mornings were generally brisk. Reiji tended to wake first, and he'd lay his hand on Teru's arm and apply just the slightest bit of pressure, and Teru would be awake as well. A quick breakfast, a shot of espresso each, fifteen minutes to get dressed, five minutes to take the lift down, collect the mail, rifle through it, throw it into Reiji's briefcase, half an hour in Reiji's chauffeured limousine.

Weekend mornings, though –

Teru would wake first, on weekends. He would draw the first layer of curtains – thick, deep royal purple fabric that ran to the floor – so the sunlight filtered through the sheer ones behind them. And then he'd return to bed, slip under the covers, press against Reiji's still-sleeping form and bask in the warmth and light that flooded in.

Reiji would wake at around eleven, and they would have their coffee – not espressos, though, but a latte for Reiji and an iced macchiato for Teru – and brunch while still only half-dressed. This generally meant Teru was shirtless, but Reiji preferred to keep a shirt on his back – for some reason, a white dress shirt that looked exactly like his work shirts, although he seemed to be perfectly able to tell his them apart. He didn't button them up, which was usually altogether too tempting to ignore.

Saturday afternoons they spent at the gym – other days their schedules clashed so they went alone – and Sunday afternoons were spent at Shogi. Teru could hold his own (just barely), but Reiji seemed to take mentoring him in perfect stride.

And then, just like that, it would be Monday again. Their relationship lasted for exactly forty-three cycles of this routine. Nearly a year.

13) Judgment

That Friday evening, Reiji didn't return to his apartment.

Saturday, too, passed without Reiji returning home even once. Teru waited still, but he didn't think too much of it; Reiji was a busy man, and there was nothing to worry about – he was surely intelligent enough to handle himself. And if his side of the bed was empty and cold, if he went to the gym alone and ate alone, that was just that.

Sunday. Teru picked up their mail (he'd forgotten to, yesterday), and shook open the morning paper once he'd returned to the apartment and left everything else on the table –

Seven Yotsuba Group Executives, Dead By Heart Attack.

He collapsed, then, the newspaper rustling as it landed on the floor just a little away from his shaking hands.

Reiji had been judged by Kira. Which meant – Reiji was – evil? He'd loved Reiji. He'd – loved an evil being? And called him Kami – but it had been a joke, a nickname –

No. Teru had entered Yotsuba Group to root out the corruption in its executive ranks and offer them up to Kira. That's what he'd done. Those seven – they had been judged. And Reiji had been one of them. The most beautiful. The most evil.

The most beautiful, the most evil – oh, how he'd loved Reiji. He had. Teru forced himself to stand, and he began to gather his things, his clothes, his laptop, his briefcase. Everything that was – had been – Reiji's, he left in place. He would leave, go back to his own apartment, and he would quit from his current job on account of the deaths. Surely a few other employees would be spooked enough to quit as well. They would be his cover. And he would find work elsewhere, search for Kira. The true god. Kami.

He wouldn't make this mistake again. No point letting himself get so deeply involved in the evil of the world, letting himself get hurt. Kira had known, and had judged Reiji, even without any information, without any names or faces reported. Kira had done it to keep Teru from becoming corrupted as well. Kira was God. Kira. Kami.

He'd brought his clothes and personal effects here in a single suitcase, and now he put everything back, his hands shaking (only very slightly, he told himself).

His laptop. It had a nondescript landscape for its desktop background, but there was an icon in the bottom right corner, away from the default ones clustered in the top left. He double-clicked it.

It was a photo Midou-san (also deceased) had taken of Reiji and Teru when he'd found out about them. He'd figured it out and very subtly asked Reiji about it – Reiji had laughed softly, nodded, and invited him to join them for a drink that night. He'd obliged, and this photo was from that night, after Midou-san had laughed with them about it and somehow convinced them they had to be sentimental at least once in their lives.

Teru had always wondered if Midou-san had had designs on Reiji as well, but the man hadn't seemed to grudge them their relationship.

The photo took up the entirety of his screen now, Reiji smiling serenely, standing beside Teru with an arm around his waist.

...

He closed the window and deleted the file, and that was when he began to cry.