"We missed you yesterday!" Matsuda says, when you and Ryuzaki get to the main workroom at one thirty on Tuesday.

"Oh?" Ryuzaki says. He glances over at you for a moment and then back to Matsuda, then says, "we were just upstairs."

"Yeah," Matsuda says, "but you didn't come down."

"Thank you for your consideration, Matsuda-san," Ryuzaki says, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I appreciate it."

"Uh, no problem?" Matsuda says, smiling.

It would've been the perfect opportunity to say something, but already the moment's passed you by. And somehow Ryuzaki's come out of it looking polite and sociable, while you were just standing there. It probably has something to do with the fact that you've been staring at Matsuda wondering what Misa even sees in him. Is it the fact that he's so cheerful? They would make a good match in that respect.

Matsuda walks off, humming a little, then pauses and pulls out his work phone. Speak of the idol. "Hi, Misa Misa! Yeah, I'll be right up. See you!" He changes direction, waves at you as he walks past. You smile back at him, the expression falling from your face as you watch him get into the elevator and the doors close.

If the past few days have gotten Ryuzaki back on his feet, it seems to have done the opposite to you. You've barely spent a moment in a social situation and you already feel jittery and annoyed—at Matsuda, at yourself—and exhausted. Everything's one step forward, two steps back. Whatever. It's not important. Matsuda is even-keeled and he obviously likes you already; and he practically worships your father. You don't even have to try.

Everyone in the task force lives under L's thumb, not just you. He's the key to this whole situation. He's the creator of the puzzle you spend the afternoon solving as you scroll through the program's lists of identified Kira-related deaths, June 14 through today, August 17. The Third Kira. What's his pattern? If he's going to be someone easily caught, which I still think L probably wants, he'll have to call attention to himself. It can't be another child; if he were a child, unless he were on our level he'd be too easily caught and the game would be over—and if he were on our level he'd be too dangerous. So that leaves someone with greater means; an established adult. Someone with monetary motives.

Which means.

Perhaps identified Kira-related deaths isn't the place to be searching.

You open up browser windows on a number of major newspapers that have an online presence. There's no way to know where in the world the Third Kira is stationed, but you'll start in Japan since at least here you already know where to look and don't have to get anything translated. After that you'll try Europe and America.

You open the obituary sections and begin clicking through, scanning for recent deaths by heart attack, starting today and going backward. Older people. Otherwise others would've put it together with Kira's kills already; the heart attacks have to be believable as natural causes. Established areas; inherited wealth, businesses, anything of the sort. You start a small list of names in a private document hosted on the computer, titling it innocuously with a random sequence of numbers. You don't want anyone else on the task force stumbling across this lead before you're ready.

The work is slow, but progresses more steadily than you expect. At around four you take a break, switching to a game of solitaire. It's something to focus on, and if your mind wanders it's easy enough to recapture your place. The trouble is, you think as you look at the virtual cards laid out on the screen in front of you, you have to make a move on the investigation. But if you resolve that aspect before everything else is in place you'll risk your own death. Ryuzaki depends upon you now, he relies on you, but it's all circumstantial. He still wants to see you hang, and easily would. Keeping you around has to be the obvious choice by the time you catch the Third Kira, and at this point… who knows? It could still be years, but you can't act like you have that time. You need to hook him fast, as extensively and personally as possible.

You drag a card. A queen high up a row. It all revolves around that security footage you saw him watching. Sexual acts remain one of the most primal and effective ways to create attachment. But you still don't want to throw yourself at him. It has to read as honest, and the less you can get away with, the better. Until now you'd thought—or fooled yourself into hoping—that either it wouldn't be necessary or it wouldn't be possible to seduce him. You still don't think it's possible in the ordinary sense of things. He's not attracted to you.

But then again, you've never been attracted to anyone, and you've had sex once, because it served another purpose. You wanted to know how it worked. Idle curiosity; a present to yourself when you reached legal age; something to privately know you've done and checked off on a list of things Yagami Light, ordinary college student should do.

You spent the time daydreaming about monsters, and had privately vowed never to get yourself into a situation like that ever again until the moment you got married and it was unavoidable. It hadn't been awful, per se. Being locked in solitary confinement is objectively worse. But it had been odd, uncomfortable, alienating. You'd felt grossed out for reasons you couldn't name, even though there was nothing actually repulsive about either Shiho or Emi; both were conventionally attractive, pleasant enough to look at and touch. You'd had no trouble getting it up because there was physical stimulation involved, and you figure the same would apply even with L being the active partner.

If you think about the actual mechanics too much you're going to lose your nerve.

You have to focus on your strategy.

And for that, you have to figure out where L stands.

What is it that Ryuzaki likes?

It's unconventional, whatever it is. It involves spying on coworkers and Kira-suspects when they aren't aware of it. You recall, then, that on the day you asked to be put into confinement, Ryuzaki had told you he'd at one point put you under surveillance too. You'd already known it; you'd found some of the cameras when you were under surveillance. At the time you'd been shocked and horrified by the revelation, but you can't bring up any righteous anger now, or even a sense of violation. It's just… what you expect from him.

So you have a segue. You know he's obsessive, he's demonstrated that enough, and you're already the object of plenty of that obsessiveness. Right now Ryuzaki's directing anything sexual towards Misa, but you can't let that stand. Misa's seduced Matsuda and she can have him; maybe it'll help her if she ever gets definitively named as the Second Kira—the detective seems like the type who would hide his lover from the law if he had to. But Ryuzaki has to feel like you're a person—the only person—who isn't expendable.

There's a phenomenon called the scope of justice that describes how the very basic human idea of a community, and the boundaries between inclusion in that community and exclusion to outside of it can drastically change what a person in that community perceives to be fair and moral in how people are treated, in how justice gets distributed. Outside of an individual's scope of justice, people can go hang. It's nothing personal. (Until it is; religious or patriotic conflicts are a perfect example of this in-versus-out-group thinking and the extremes it can lead to in otherwise ordinary individuals.) It's this precise phenomenon at work in the case of Kira; there's a reason public perception of him is so mixed, with such a high percentage of positive voices, even though Kira is an unrepentant murderer. And it's because he goes after social outcasts— not just any social outcasts but criminals, people who have chosen to throw away any attachment to society, been excluded not through any accident of politics or birth, but through violent, unforgiveable acts against others.

Ryuzaki's scope of justice, you think, is narrow. It might even consist of only him. Sure, he talks about justice as though it's an ideal, but to him it's all part of the game; he's on the winning side, which is society, even if he's playing against himself through the shadow of Kira.

Justice, as always, is created and described by the decisions of the majority. What is just is what is acceptable to the masses, and it is fickle and changeable as any woman.

These handcuffs… you idly play with the side of yours, even as you stare at the cards laid out before you—they go two ways. As long as they're on, you're not Yagami Light, you're "Ryuzaki and Yagami Light." A community of two. You've felt it; he's felt it; everyone knows it.

You need to use the advantage while you have it.

/

There's something faintly ridiculous about a standing wardrobe that holds mostly a collection of casual sweaters, shirts, and khakis, a thought that frequently strikes you when you open the polished wood doors and look inside; although it pales in ridiculousness to the one on Ryuzaki's side of the room, which holds identical pairs of long sleeved t-shirts and jeans set up on hangers like they were designer suits.

"You like to have power over people, don't you Ryuzaki," you say, as you reach down to strap your ankles together in preparation for the handcuff to come off for a moment.

"Most people do."

You pause. Lean back up without having attached the strap to your feet, leaving it on the floor as though something has struck you; you lean against the wardrobe, arms crossed, and face him squarely.

"It's more than that," you say. "You were getting off on watching Misa and Matsuda-san, and don't tell me it's because of her looks. On an infrared camera you could barely tell. It's about power and maybe even humiliation. Am I on the right track?"

"Light-kun has evidently put a lot of thought into my sexual preferences," Ryuzaki drawls.

"It's hard not to when I wake up to you jacking off watching my girlfriend and her male lover in the middle of the night," you say. "Misa always accused you of being a pervert and I don't think anyone believed her but… she was right, wasn't she. You liked the fact that she didn't know. That she couldn't stop you. And I've been thinking about the way you set up our confinement, too… bound hand and foot? There was no need for that. I was in a jail cell, what could I have done? But no, you had to go further…" you watch him with narrowed eyes.

"Good point," Ryuzaki says. "But you were—still are, actually—the primary Kira suspect. I guarantee the government would've done worse if you'd fallen into their hands."

You swallow, uncomfortable. It's probably true.

The edge of one of your elbows presses the handcuff into your wrist; you focus on the ache of it to keep your mind clear. "Even when I wasn't the prime suspect you put surveillance on me. Did you watch me the same way you watched her? Excited that I didn't know? That I couldn't stop you?"

Ryuzaki's gaze flicks across you, assessingly. He puts a thumb to his lips, presses it there for a moment. Then answers, "funnily enough, I never got the sense that you didn't know."

"Now you're accusing me of psychic abilities too?" You scoff. "Face it, L. You get off on power and I think you're well aware of it. I just want you to tell me."

"You want me to tell you?" Ryuzaki says quietly. "Or are you looking for a demonstration?"

Your eyes widen. Somehow, even though you've been pressing the issue, you didn't expect this. He takes that moment of uncertainty. Steps forward. "You want to know if I like to see you humiliated, is that it? If I touched myself thinking about it?" he shrugs. "Maybe once or twice."

"Once?" you challenge, still looking in his eyes. "Or twice?"

"Twice," he says. "Once before I met you, while you were under surveillance. But to be honest, that was a basic fantasy. It really had nothing to do with you. The second time… was when you were in confinement. Right after Kira started killing again. I was… frustrated. Is that what you wanted to know? We can stop this conversation here, Light. There's no need to go any further."

It sounds like a warning. And he's standing close, now, using his body to loom near you, take up all the space.

Your back is against the wardrobe door for a reason. You'd figured he might find it appealing.

He pulls at the chain. Your arms un-cross; he holds your left wrist in his palm for a moment, delicately, before taking the chain and looping it around your other wrist. Then he kicks your legs out from under you and loops the chain over the wardrobe handle; you lose your footing, fall, half-sitting on the floor with your arms above your head, and the spike of fear that shoots through you isn't feigned.

You look up at him.

There's a quiet in the room; a stillness like everything else has disappeared. Only your own breath and your own heartbeat seem unbearably loud.

And L, with a blank, unreadable expression, and those black-hole eyes staring down at you.

"What are you doing?" you say, in a shakier voice than you'd like to admit.

"Demonstrating," L says. "If you want to stop, just say Jam. Do you understand?"

"What—"

"Light. Do you understand."

"Yes, but I don't know what—"

"You mentioned your confinement. It was a long time, wasn't it? Fifty days?"

"Fifty-three," you say quietly.

"And you haven't complained a bit. Not during and not after. Do you resent me?"

"Of course not, Ryuzaki, I'm the one who asked—"

"Lie."

"What?"

"You're such a good liar, Light. Does it ever tire you? It must. It tires me. If we're going to be friends we have to be honest with each other."

"Yeah? What did you read that one in, a textbook?"

"Possibly. Now you asked me, once, if I picked you. You've always wanted to be special, haven't you Light?"

"If you're going to interrogate me we can stop right now," you say.

"Force of habit," he says, with a shrug. "Here's something else I know. You've had more trouble than you let on since you got out of confinement. Perhaps this position is better? More familiar?" He tugs at the chain and it pulls a little at both your wrists. "Is that why you brought this situation up? Or did you think you could control me?"

"Like anyone could control you, you're impossible."

"I'm well aware of that. I'm also aware that you think you can get out of this with a blowjob."

"Do you ever get tired of being a paranoid bastard? I'm not—"

"I'm not interested," L says. He grabs your hair, pulls you forward until you lose your balance; you hiss, almost bite your tongue; for a moment there's too much weight on both your arms and then you find your balance kneeling.

"Damn you, L."

"Don't tell me you're my friend now," he deadpans.

"I fucking hate you."

"Better."

"You disgust me," you spit out. "I wish you were dead."

"I understand. Nevertheless," he forces your face down even further, until it's pressed close to the floor, just about an inch away from his bare feet. "You know how to do this, don't you Light?"

"What the hell are you talking about—"

"Or… you can say Jam."

You test the waters. "Let go of me already! Whatever you're doing, just stop!"

"Maybe you need some guidance," L says with a tone of slight regret. And before you've quite put together what he's going to do, he's sticking his toes in your mouth.

You try to pull back, but he's still got you by the hair. You choke, and he pulls his foot back, his toes glistening with spit. A trail of saliva swings onto your chin.

"You're sick. You're a horrible person," you say, dragging in breath. "In fact, you're not even a person. You're a complete monster—"

He's pressing his toes into your mouth again. If you were fighting him, you could bite down; and a part of you, the terrified part, wants to. Another part wants to say that mysterious word that L promises will end this all. But you're not going to back out now; you've spent too long setting this up and you're going to see it through, even if it's nothing like what you'd imagined you'd be getting yourself into.

You can feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes and there's a hot, tight burning in your chest, like you can't decide between humiliation and anger. Whatever you're feeling, it's rushing through you in pins and needles, and your bound hands are clenched. You hate him. You really hate him. You'd forgotten what it felt like, to be able to hate him, to stop having to be so careful.

He pulls his foot back enough so you can breathe. And without any guidance either way, you act on an impulse—lean forward again. Suck his toes into your mouth, lick around the pads of them and across the dirty nailbeds. It's messy, disgusting, horrible, and it must be the right thing, because he isn't complaining.

You're shaking, and his hand is still in your hair, a harsh, sweaty grip, and you're actually crying before you realize it; not just crying but sobbing, gasping for breath as you move, and your knees hurt, your shoulders and back hurts and even your neck, and he's right, it does feel familiar. You hate him more than ever.

He pulls his foot back at last, and you blink to bring the world into focus.

"Now the other one," he says simply.

You lean down. Run your tongue along his skin, tasting salt-sweat. It's disgusting. Too close, too everything.

You're not even quite aware when it's over, merely that he's pulled back his other foot and you're breathing and sobbing into empty air, your mouth dry, your tongue heavy. He unloops the chain from around your other wrist, lets them down and sits beside you.

"Thank you Light," L says calmly. He pulls you into an embrace and you're reaching back desperately, tugging the cloth of his shirt until it twists under your hands, until your fingers press harsh crescent moons into his back. He's holding you and running one hand through your hair, lightly scratching like a comb might, a soft soothing motion. "You did perfect, Light. You're okay now. You're okay."

It's less that your sobs subside and more like they turn into hiccuping laughs, a wild swing into the opposite side of intensity; and the fit lasts until you have trouble drawing breath. You've always tended to laugh in moments when something impacts you deeply and these moments have never lined up with the socially appropriate definition of laughter. Happiness pales to describe the overflow of sensation you can't pin down in words. It doesn't surprise you, then, that this terrible intensity feels more intimate than letting him see you cry; laughing into his shoulder and knowing dully that you will feel ashamed of this later; but L doesn't seem put off at all. When you've finally caught your breath and been able to regain some kind of calm, and you lean back to wipe the snot from your nose onto your sleeve, L reaches into his pocket. He digs around and pulls out a candy, unwraps it; it's purple, and he holds it carefully between his fingers, bringing it toward your mouth.

"This will make you feel better. It's grape."

You open your mouth and take the candy. Sweet, fake tasting. Very purple. But he's right, it does make you feel better.

He hasn't moved aside. Still sitting close enough that you can feel the heat of his skin, and it's enough, against your occasional shivers.

At some point, you become aware that there's something else you might need or want to do than just stay here. Your thoughts sliding back into your head, slowly, as though the tension in them and the fear have been wrung out.

"Ryuzaki?" you say.

"Yes, Light-kun?"

"…Thanks."

.

.

.