The contemplative Ryuzaki sat sentient in his glamour, his office at Headquarters the sole witness to the sleuth's masterpiece, Ryuzaki himself feeling thoroughly satisfied. His melee of doughnuts and teacakes had been properly organized qualitatively into his private stash cabinet, and formed two immaculate towering stacks of pure, diabetic heaven. It was an architects masterpiece, like M.C Escher with a sugar addiction.

Ryuzaki's triumphant grin slowly formed into a frustrated pout.

A dessert utopia of the finest quality…but no one to indulge with…

He continued to muse, tapping a nearby fork against his temple, lolling about in his chair, discontent. Mind wandering, reminiscing scenes of his dark haired co-worker, Light Yagami, in his rarest form. Ryuzaki's body seemed to tingle instantly, even the briefest passing whim of Light sent waves of nirvana rippling throughout his body. Sure, his limbs reacted to Light's image, but Light's almost corrosive touch sent electric spasms through every existent nerve and synapse, a seizure that overtook his vision, suffocated his vital senses that made him famous as the nonpareil detective in any race or measure.

Ryuzaki paused, cursing himself silently. He had wanted to pursue his effervescent hunger for Light, to leave a scar inside him that couldn't be healed, just like Light had done to him, even just emanating from his presence, was intoxicating to the highest degree. But there had been preceding experiences, contorting such a situation to be most arduous, no matter how the detective's body lusted for Light Yagami, that had made personal contact of that nature purely impossible, a liability.

His hands that rested dormant on denim knees, became clenched as post traumatic stress took its course, the horrific nightmares returning to his intramural psyche . Ryuzaki resided in deep thought, no longer able to hold onto his grip to the present, feeling his mind lose control of his consciousness.

This isn't justified fear…I should be comfortable with Light…but what could be wrong?

Ryuzaki's vision slowly progressed to white, his focus failing. Submitting to his past that he struggled to forget.

…I don't…I don't remember…don't want…

_____________________________________________________________*flashback*

. It was 1990, early November. A small child clung to a dark clothed man donning a fedora hat, thick yet silver rimmed glasses portraying his obvious advantage in economic status. They stood together, outside a rather intimidating gate, a brass plate covering the center, bearing the name of the large campus before them. Rain spattered unrelentingly onto them both, liquid reality of the harshest nature mixed with the young one's tears. Scruffy and unkempt, the young child clasped to dear life onto the silent form. The man turned to face his attachment, patting him on his head, the tapered and mussy hairs resuming their odd position on the boy's head. Elderly eyes met the boy's, icy aqua met the empty yet onyx tainted stare, and the man turned away abruptly. Suitcases lined with fine leather binding splashed puddles onto the boy's drenched clothes as the bags dropped to the cobblestone path at once. The man left, the boy turned to watch, as his guardian left him in the thick of the unremitting precipitation……….

The small boy didn't know his own name. Didn't know where he originally came from, hell, he'd moved to so many homes, he couldn't remember which he started at. But this boy was special, having advanced intellect, able to run circles around fellow toddlers with his cognitive reasoning. Left foot raised, he started to scratch his right leg as he contemplated a next move. Apparently his only means of survival, since the percent chance of a child being employed at his age was 3%, would be to enter this establishment, and learn to coexist with others residing here, despite emotional protest and general cowardice. The young boy resumed his intermitted posture, dragging his suitcases in the rain, into the campus of what would be the beginning of his destiny. The beginning leading to his end. This boy, would become a super genius of the rarest breed. His name hadn't been given, but he'd christened himself a name that sounded elegant, yet had a deeper meaning behind it………..

"Lawliet! Lawliet!" A young boy screeched excessively. The class had been chattering amongst themselves, but the most obnoxious kid in the class, to Lawliet's utmost displeasure, had fixated himself to him. "Tell me what you're doing! I know you're trying to beat me, but my test scores are better!" Exhaling deeply, Lawliet jammed his thumb into his mouth, his toes resting on the edge of the desk, entangling themselves, all part of an odd yet underminingly brilliant thought process. "B. You're becoming unpleasant. Please, I need to concentrate." he said simply, raising a foot only to push B's desk farther away from his own……

………….It had been 2 months later when Lawliet's sanity was forever fractured. Only an accident. A fluke, an unseen variable. Lawliet had been reclining, if you want to phrase it in such a manner, watching the rain in his dark bedroom. Biting his thumb thoughtfully, he stared at the miniscule droplets. Life was truly a paradigm. Then "he" walked in. That annoying boy, who wouldn't shut up about a "supposed competition." He continues to accuse me of cheating or plotting to defeat him somehow. No such plan exists. He's quiet and withdrawn. Trudges in, a slow gait. His eyes don't meet mine, partially hidden beneath thick, wolf-like obscure locks of hair. He's face to face with me, mimicking my crouch in seconds. He's shaking now. A slender hand swathed in tiny scars, brushed against my face, and he presses his form to mine, his lips to mine, his heart to mine, wherever it doth dwell………

……….Lawliet's hands shook, they removed B's shirt for…must've been the millionth time. His small yet delicate fingers skimmed B's milky skin, his tongue running down the small boys chest, feeling his every molecule perk and oscillate with arousal. "Uhn…Lawliet…a beautiful name…so fitting…" B managed to escape as a moan conquered his speech, his hands and mouth eager to please the older orphaned boy whom he'd lusted so indomitably for since his arrival to Wammy's House…..

…….Darkness. Remorse coursing through my veins as thick as maple syrup. Tears just won't come. B's killed himself they say. He wrote in blood a last statement as harsh as reality's descending upon the youth's tortured mind. "The light, fragile, yet flawlessly beautiful flower has stung the antagonistic pest." They found him in his room, alone, a shard of glass from a frosted rose statue, once placed in his room, now gripped in his bloody hand, his wrists slit deep. This all was caused because of me. Blood. Everywhere. I needed you, B, you were my sanity, in a sick way…it just seems to make sense. Blood. Everywhere. The aroma of blood in the room is punishing my nostrils, a sour pungent odor. Blood. Everywhere. I've caused death, it's my fault, I told you I no longer wanted you, how ruthlessly my words have scarred you. Blood. Everywhere. My mind has snapped, B, whether it was your plan to lay this upon me, I'm unsure. Percentages unimportant. I want to die.

I want to die…

To die……

_____________________________________________________________________________*end of flashback*

Ryuzaki emerged from a seemingly endless torpor. As if a light switch, his mind clicked on, resuming it's ultimatum of function. As if nothing had happened. Nothing. He was still in his office, still upon his chair

So…it's been fear leading the inertia.

……I'm afraid for Light…to lose him now…like I lost B….

And that's…its…..inexplicably terrifying…

…..to lose the one I love to the fate of addiction… manipulates my mind to permanently pause with his intentional movements and motives…the only one who's managed to hold my focus, to calm the war waged within me. To heal the burns of rejection, to soothe the consistent ache of loss.

A rare occasion of a tear trundled downwards, landing onto Ryuzaki's hand.

Before he could turn around, Ryuzaki was rendered incapable of shouting in alarm. A single arm clutched his chest, pushing him fully into the seat of his chair roughly. Another arm slapped a cloth against the detective's pained face, holding it, and Ryuzaki could hear the barely audible tone of a count down, uttered in a murmured, yet tenor voice.

"5.……."

"…..4"

"….3"

"…2"

"………..1."

As if on a known cue, Ryuzaki's eyelids fluttered shut…..

….Whirring back to life, his conscience was aiding the bare movement he was able to achieve. Dusky locks ensnaring his eyes, making vision nearly impossible. His arms, bound. His legs, bound as well, with thick tape, of the electrical sort, Ryuzaki guessed. Respirating the best he could, with rope attaching his slender torso to his easy chair, Ryuzaki attempted to observe what had previously occurred. As he correctly guessed, quite a length of time had passed.

….telling by my rope burns on my chest, it's been about 6 hours, give or take…

…I'm no longer in Headquarters. No…it's much darker here…damp…

…It's hard to breathe….I'm bound…and chloroform was used as a slick move to a criminals advantage, to enable easy capture…

…and…

…I'm currently held hostage inside the belly of a warehouse. And my captor is an inconceivably choleric Light Yagami.