Two weeks and half a day following Teru Mikami's exchange with God, his cell phone rang. He dropped his chopsticks- he'd been in the middle of dinner- and rushed to retrieve the phone. It could've been from Kira, after all. Mikami did not typically receive a large volume of calls at that hour. Most of his clients called during his office hours, and he had no close family to speak of. When Mikami glanced at the screen and saw that the caller's phone number was blocked his heart leaped to his throat— who else but Kami?

"Hello?"

"Mr. Mikami?" the static-coated voice of Mr. Watanabe, a rather nervous client who Mikami was to represent in court the following week, effectively deflated his excitement in a matter of milliseconds. "Did you ever get that evidence report from the police? How's the case looking to you?"

Teru Mikami, already considered a prodigal prosecutor, could hardly remember what the case was about. Petty theft—or was it grand theft? He was so absorbed in his mission from God that he had severely neglected the outside work that needed to be completed for his job. In fact, so worried was he that God would call on him and be sent to voicemail because Mr. Watanabe couldn't restrain himself, that he ended the conversation long before it would have been polite to do so. After it was over Mikami sat there, phone clutched in a slightly damp palm, too riled to think about finishing his dinner. He could scarcely bring himself to care anymore. What was the monotony of work, the chore of eating, or bathing, or exercising, when there was justice to be served? Every minute of the day, Mikami longed for the ecstasy of killing the evil. He sat down at the table again, adjusting his glasses and running a napkin across the tips of his chopsticks where they had fallen into the food. He ate again, because he was obligated to keep himself healthy and alert, but he could hardly taste whatever he was chewing.

When the phone rang a second time, twenty-two minutes later, Mikami nearly let it go to voicemail. However, when he glanced at the screen, an actual phone number was displayed. Kiyomi Takada's. He snatched up the phone and pressed it hard to his ear, preparing for another exchange with Kira.

"God?"

Sure enough, that rich voice filled his ear once more. "Mikami, listen carefully. Are you alone?"

"Yes," Mikami answered back in as businesslike a voice as he could muster. He pressed a hand to his chest as if that might hush his choking heartbeat.

"I want you to come to the Imperial Hotel tomorrow evening at ten o'clock. Room 345. Bring your Note. Do you understand?"

"Yes-…" his breath hitched as he added quietly; "will you be there, God?"

"Yes. I want to talk about our next move." And the line went dead.

He clutched the phone hard and lifted it above him, fingers inadvertently pressing keys as they trembled, and breathed deeply to regain his composure. The voice was deafening in his head in bed that night. For the first time he also saw things. Not a face, but a pair of eyes of piercing red and a flawless hand, reaching down to bless him with life.

Mikami was beside himself that night and the next morning. He couldn't make himself concentrate on anything—the only task he truly put his mind to that day was getting dressed and making himself look presentable for God. He would, of course, refuse to call it "primping," but in the end that was all it was. He stood in front of the medicine cabinet mirror for over an hour trying different ties with his best suit, checking his teeth again and again for scraps of food, pushing his thick hair this way and that, wanting nothing more to impress Kira. Eventually he chose a particular red tie, which as soon as his eyes set upon it had reminded him of the red eyes from the night before. He looped it around his neck, flattened his collar, and smoothed down his coat. In the mirror, Mikami broke his austere expression to crack a smile.

"It is an honor to meet you, Lord Kira," he said, still smiling. No, that felt too forward. God needed to be treated with the utmost respect and solemnity. Mikami dropped the smile.

"It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Lord Kira." This time he lowered his voice, bowed his head slightly, and did not meet his own eyes as they stared back at him from the mirror. He felt unusually stuffy beneath his layers of clothing.

Ten o'clock was still two hours away when Mikami left his house. The Imperial Hotel was far away, and the slim chance that some anomaly would cause him to be late was terrifying enough to force the prosecutor to allow himself a ridiculously long window of travel time. Needless to say, the trip went on without a hitch and left him with nearly half an hour left. Mikami took a seat on a bench in front of the large hotel and stared upward, into its hundreds of tinted windows, wondering if God was behind one of them. It was not until just then that he recognized the monotony of what his life had been for the past few years. None of his dreams of a perfect world seemed entirely recognizable, even to him, before Kira chose him. Perhaps today would change that, forever. His excitement helped the time slip by a little faster.

The seconds following Mikami's knock on God's door were the longest of his life. When it opened and he entered, the room was bleeding with shadows and the face of his God was hidden. The first things he noticed were God's shoes—simple, dusty black, and of a recognizably common brand. His pants were black as well, and the tails of His shirt were white and untucked.

"Prove to me that you're who you should be." The voice was even more overwhelming in person than over the phone. Mikami was so wrapped up in it that his answer was delayed by about ten seconds.

"I am honored to make your acquaintance, Lord Kira. I am Teru Mikami," said he, as outwardly composed as he always was in court. "I've already made the eye deal with Ryuk. I have the Death Note here." He pulled the jet black notebook from his briefcase.

"Light Yagami," said God. Light; such a fitting name for a God such as Him. He truly was divine, despite His appearance.

Satisfied, Light walked forward to reveal His face. He was young—so much younger than Mikami had predicted! If not for a forceful, violently serious pair of brown eyes, He looked like an average college boy. He held out His hand and said "nice to meet you" like any normal human might, looking up expectantly. Mikami was at a loss—did God truly think him worthy enough of such an equalizing gesture? Bowing his head, he reached forward and grasped God's four fingers in a gentle grip, pulling His hand forward and kissing just above the middle knuckle. There was a jerk of God's arm, as if His first instinct told Him to yank back His hand, but He didn't go through with it. He couldn't be too sure, but Mikami could swear that he heard a small chuckle from above him. Afterward he straightened up, noticing for the first time the difference in their heights, and walked over to the chair toward which God gestured. They discussed how long Mikami would remain Kira's proxy. God gave him advice about creating a few days' reserve of criminals, about concealing pages of the Note, and about staying under the radar. All the while, Mikami watched the man opposite him. The way His lips formed words, the darting of His piercing eyes, and the auburn hair that draped over His forehead all seemed quite ordinary, but at the same time otherworldly. Mikami could still feel the spirit of God's skin on his mouth. The conversation finished entirely too quickly, and left Mikami unsure that he had truly been able to exhibit his intellect and devotion in such a short interlude. As God stood and walked toward the door, he began to panic. He rushed to His side and stood in front of the door, breathing deeply through his mouth. He hardly knew what else he wanted, simply that their exchange couldn't end there. It wasn't long enough, or intimate enough. Mikami wanted to truly know Him.

"Whatever you want from me, God," he breathed. "Anything."

Mikami had not expected what happened after that—how God interpreted his words was a complete surprise. Or perhaps he'd known exactly what he was implying, and hoped that God would do what He ended up doing. Either way, when God slammed one hand against Mikami's throat, pinning him to the door, and thrust their mouths together, the obedient disciple did not complain. He could not, however, bring himself to respond. It was not his place, as tortuous as it was to restrain himself from touching such a perfect being. So Teru Mikami stood with his back against the door, pulling air with difficulty under God's left hand at his neck, aware of His right hand combing and tugging at his hair, opening his mouth wider to accommodate God's tongue. Evidently God noticed Mikami's stillness, snagging His fingers hard in the older man's black hair and pulling his head away from the wall in an effort to make him respond.

"Tell… tell me what you want, Almighty," Mikami whispered between God's kisses.

"Kiss me back, you fucking idiot," God hissed with a particularly savage yank of His disciple's hair. Mikami had little difficulty obliging Him.

As two hands twisted fistfuls of his hair, Mikami cautiously placed his own hands against God's body—one on His stomach and one at His shirt collar. Their mouths melded together messily, teeth knocking against one another, tongues twining, small sighs and hums filling the room. Mikami slid his hand over God's hip to splay across His back, relishing the warmth of His skin beneath the cool fabric of His shirt. Mikami pulled lightly on God's back and their bodies pressed together, and he felt a stiff something against his thigh, just as God likely felt against His stomach. All at once Mikami was overwhelmed with shame—how could he allow God to debase Himself so horribly, and why would lowly Teru Mikami ever think himself worthy of such intimacy? He broke their kiss with a small moan. He was nothing but a human man, a fact made blatantly obvious by the lewd tenting of his slacks.

"I a-apologize… I-" Mikami began, but God cut him off.

"No, you're right. Wait fifteen minutes, and then leave the room. Leave the hotel through the back door and take a detour home in case either of us were tailed. Keep your cell phone on."

And He was through the door and gone in the space of a few seconds. Mikami stood in the open doorway, looking through foggy glasses, seeing nothing, hearing God's voice tearing though his brain. Keep your cell phone on.

.

(A/N) I'll have quite a lot of free time over these next few days so next chapter will happen soon. Bear with me, folks, aaaaaaaauuugh!