"When you were in my place, how did you do it?" you ask.
"What do you mean?"
You're having your fifth cup of coffee, sitting not in the kitchen but in the main room. With the curtains open, the skyline is a clear, glittering thing; and you stare at it willing your heart to calm. It's a beautiful day, outside the concrete and glass. A beautiful, vast, endless day.
It's too much. You stare down into your cup, instead, and focus on the conversation you'd like to have.
"You've got the most stringent need for control of anyone I've ever met," you explain. "I can't even imagine how you put yourself in the proper headspace for belonging to someone."
"Well, maybe I didn't," Ryuzaki says, stirring his spoon idly so that it clinks against the side, and you drown the constant repetition from your senses until it becomes nothing but background noise. "But then, I've never really cared about the proper way to do anything. I suppose you would've found me much the way I am now. Bossy and particular. It was all very violent."
You half-laugh. "I can't even imagine what you would call, 'very violent.'"
"Oh, he would beat me up quite a bit," Ryuzaki says fondly. "We liked to play, 'escape'—you know, I would get fed up with him, prepare a whole scenario in which I'd run through the house screaming bloody murder until he managed to catch me, and then he'd tie me up and do his worst. It was almost as terrifying as actually getting kidnapped."
"And you… liked that?"
Getting defeated? Humiliated? Ryuzaki is a sensualist in quite a few unexpected ways, but somehow you can't imagine him truly finding something like that bearable, even for a game.
Although… when you'd had that sugar-cube fight, he had been quite willing to play as the defeated party. Until now, you've never quite thought of it that way, because he had been unequivocally in charge of the entire encounter. 'I will let you take control,' his demeanour had said. 'Because it pleases me at the moment to allow you.' There had been nothing real about it.
You wonder if your submission reads just as fake to him, and you stop your mouth from twisting only with effort.
There's no way he'll ever believe me if he thinks I'm just playing games.
"It was great fun," Ryuzaki says. After a moment, he adds, "was that what you wanted to know?"
"I don't think I'd enjoy that," you say.
"I wouldn't ask you for that, Light-kun," Ryuzaki says. "You're a different person than I am."
"But all you're asking me to do is these little things, and—"
"What? Tired of the rules already?"
"No, I just…" you can't ask him to humiliate you.
But it's clear to you that the moments Ryuzaki feels the most confident is when he feels he's caught you off guard, pushed you, controlled you. The more he's used to doing that, the more he will believe you, was your thought process when you'd created the rules; but instead of using it for his worst impulses, all he's done is be even more careful of you. Stepping back; coming up with all these reasons why he doesn't want to hurt you. It's completely backfired.
You can't say that.
"It's just…?" Ryuzaki prompts.
"I don't know how I'm supposed to do it," you say. "Belong to you, I mean."
"I think you're doing a fairly good job so far," Ryuzaki says.
Only a fairly good job?
You give him an unimpressed look.
"Light-kun," Ryuzaki says, with tired humor, "I don't need you to be whatever perfect thing it is you think I want. And, if it makes you feel any better… you don't have to 'know' how you're 'supposed' to do it. You already belong to me. What do you think this chain means?"
"It means you suck," you say automatically.
"Well, there you go. I suck, and you're mine."
/
"Light-kun, I've come up with another rule," Ryuzaki says. It's Monday, and you're still thinking about how to fix the conundrum you've found yourself in. Belonging to Ryuzaki was supposed to make things finally go smoothly. Of course, Ryuzaki never can oblige.
It's what makes him fun, but it's also what makes you quite possibly dead.
"Okay," you say, pulled from distraction. "What is it?" You put on your shirt while Ryuzaki draws shapes in the steam left on the shower wall.
"I would like for you to find something to be curious about," he says.
And… there's another one.
Another completely kind, and reasonable request. You want to shake him.
"What do you mean?"
"Just that. It might be facts Light-kun is interested in and decides to google, or it might be a whole new field of study. The important thing is that it is totally disconnected from anything you would consider useful."
"Ryuzaki, that's so—"
"—pointless? That's the idea."
You frown at him. "I'll do it, but can't you give me something?"
"I am giving you something. Light-kun said he never had the chance for this, right? Since he always had to focus on his studies and his future. And you'd never do it for yourself, just like I'd never remember to eat breakfast. That's why you have to do it for me."
You cross your arms, while Ryuzaki crouches down to unlock the cuffs around your feet. "Okay, but what are you getting out of it?" you demand.
"Personal satisfaction," Ryuzaki says.
"That doesn't make any sense."
"It doesn't have to, Light-kun. You said you belonged to me, yes? That you'd do as I say?"
"I'm doing it," you answer. "But I never promised to do it without question, especially when you're being stupid."
"And I don't expect you to. You can complain as much as you like."
"I'm not complaining, I'm just pointing out how much of a—"
"—terrible waste of our valuable time it is. I know, isn't it wonderful?" Ryuzaki says.
"If you're that bored, you could go back to dragging around frogs."
"I much prefer dragging around you," he says, starting out the door with a sharp tug on the chain.
Your eyes burn a hole into his back. But, of course, he doesn't notice.
/
Downstairs, you're so focused on your thoughts that for a second, you almost fling yourself into your chair, even though without having to look, you know Ryuzaki hasn't sat down yet. He's waiting, trying to trip you up again. Your hand on your seat, you check yourself before sitting down. The rules. You'd gone over them last night as you fell asleep, just to make sure you didn't forget a single one, not that there are really enough to start slipping your mind. Behave honestly. Do what he says. Make him eat at least some breakfast. Wait till he sits down, and only then sit (to his right). And of course, the new addition: find something to be curious about.
Ryuzaki glances over at you, his lips barely quirking in a smile as he notices you standing; he sits down, toeing off his shoes and then pulling himself into his usual position.
In an indignity to end all indignities, that single half-smile ignites a kind of quiet triumph in you, as though you'd aced a test—doing just as well as people expected and getting accolades in return is not exactly Kira-case-level interesting, but Ryuzaki knows how to play it for all it's worth.
You sit down feeling annoyed with yourself, something that quite effectively manages to chase away whatever remains of good-feeling Ryuzaki's praise had instilled in you.
The Kira Program is up and running for the first time, and you've moved from having too much data to work with, all floating beyond your reach in a sea of incalculable numbers, to rows of things you can put your hands on.
You start with the hypothesis that Kira is in Japan. In the lists of deaths collected by the task force, it had become clear that a .6% majority of those killed by Kira were in Japan, so it seems to be a good place to start. There's also the fact—though this piece of information can't be used as your official reasoning—that L had built his task force headquarters here, and not anywhere else in the world. Kira started this case in Japan, and you have a feeling he wants to finish it here too. It would make sense that whoever he'd picked to be the Third Kira, that person would also be in Japan. Close enough for L to discreetly keep an eye on. Close enough that it wouldn't require a sudden influx of resources to go after him and finish the case. So you filter by region and input data-points of all known Kira kills. This system has everything: police reports, online media, prison records, family registers, any and every piece of information on people's lives and deaths you could ever dream of. But you have a hunch, and go for it—the Third Kira isn't in law enforcement and has no connections to prisons; he probably isn't a public servant either. All those can go. You filter out the police reports and the prison records and the family registers, leaving only information available to the Japanese public. Transcripts of news broadcasts, scanned copies of local papers, websites… the search takes a long time to populate, and in the meantime you drag Ryuzaki upstairs for lunch and to get a book.
By evening, however, a pattern is apparent: all the known Kira kills correspond to local Japanese sources, with most kills coming soon after the names and faces of the criminals were broadcast.
This is really nothing but double-checking the work the task force has already done; no one's doubted for a while that Kira was in Japan or that he worked from Japanese sources. But it allows you to get familiar with the program as well as prove to your satisfaction that the Third Kira is also in Japan.
You need to widen your scope.
/
It's Tuesday morning, (or the equivalent, which is actually twelve o'clock), when you wake up. You sit up, grin at him; and Ryuzaki slowly unwinds from the pretzel configuration he's sitting in, one leg folded upward and held almost behind his head.
"...Yes, Light-kun?" he asks.
"Nothing," you say, still grinning.
"I find that hard to believe," Ryuzaki says.
"I've decided what to be curious about," you say, putting on your most innocent tone.
Ryuzaki perks up. "Oh, did you? What did you decide on?"
"Well, I've been thinking… I've always wondered why we have two basements if the second one is off-limits to everyone," you say.
Ryuzaki freezes.
"It's a good question, don't you think?" you say, your grin growing even wider. "Unless there's something you want to hide down there…"
"Are you sure you don't want to be curious about something else?" Ryuzaki asks hopefully.
"No, I think I'd like to be curious about that," you say. "Of course, if you don't want to show me, I'm sure I can do some external research…"
"I can show you," Ryuzaki says, standing up.
Without even allowing you to get changed he's on his way toward the apartment's exit and you follow him into the elevator, intrigued. What secret is Ryuzaki keeping in the sub-basement? It can't be that bad, if he's actually willing to show it to you—but he's spent so long making sure no one has access that it has to be something he wants to hide.
When Ryuzaki presses the button for the sub-basement he has to do both a fingerprint scan and a retinal one just to get it to go down to the level, and when the elevator finally reaches its stop and opens up, its onto an undesigned lobby of bare concrete with only one door, straight ahead. This, too, requires a print and retinal scan. The metal door pushes open under his hand after that, and you push past him into the room quickly, eager to see whatever terrible secret Ryuzaki's so protective of. Your feet echo against the concrete floor, so even in the dark you can tell it's a huge, wide, tall-ceilinged room. A moment later, buzzing electric lights overhead illuminate the space, flickering on over the course of a minute so that what's inside becomes ever-more illuminated.
You stare. To every side, this vast underground room that probably takes up the whole floor plan of the basement is filled with tables, and on the tables is… a whole bunch of stuff.
It looks like the dealer's room from an anime convention but without the people. Every table is piled with celebrity merchandise from all over the world, organized somewhat by language and celebrity. There's everything from posters and prints to cups, cosplays, props, glass cases with signed items inside, racks of nendroids and trading cards and toy cars and just… stuff.
All. Over.
This explains why Ryuzaki's room looks like it was created by an interior decorator without a single personal item in it. His whole personality's down here.
You stop in an isle between towering pink flamingos and those glasses with the fake nose and mustache attached.
"Ryuzaki," you say. "You have a problem."
"They're collectibles!" Ryuzaki explains. His shoulder bumps against a metal rack and, ponderously from above, a body pillow of Ryuga Hideki falls to the floor.
You both stare at it, while Ryuzaki presses his thumb against his teeth.
"Collectibles, huh?
"Light-kun doesn't understand—it was a limited edition."
"M-hm."
"There are only three hundred like it in the world."
"And this?" You grab one of the glasses with the fake nose and dangle it from your fingers. Ryuzaki grins.
He takes it, and puts it on.
You snort.
"See?" he says, pointing at you. "It's funny."
"It's really not funny," you say. Somehow, with the glasses on, he looks more like a panda than ever.
A panda wearing glasses and a fake mustache.
"It's very funny," he says, pretending to twirl the mustache.
"It's pathetic and sad, that's what it is."
"If you can't appreciate it, you'll have to be disinvited," Ryuzaki says. He holds out a hand toward the exit, but neglects to take off the glasses, so you grab it from him and toss it over your shoulder. He grasps after it ineffectually, and pouts.
As you follow him toward the exit, you say, "That's not exactly what I was expecting to be in there." Ryuzaki lets the door swing shut behind you and checks to make sure it's locked before going over to the elevator.
"What, you thought it would be full of top-secret material?" he asks, looking over at you quizzically.
"I don't know, maybe," you say.
"Hm," Ryuzaki says. "If I had top secret material, then hiding it here would be like putting it in front of the detective's eyes and saying 'don't look.'"
"So you do have top secret material?"
"Well, you're welcome to go through the room and try to find out."
You think back to the sheer mass of everything in there, and shudder.
"You know, I change my mind," you say. "I think you've got that room for torture purposes."
Ryuzaki presses the button going up. "It's true," he says drily. "You've figured out my nefarious plan. What will I ever do now?"
"Kill me?" you say.
The elevator doors open, and he steps inside, giving you a sudden, serious look. He grabs hold of your sleeve and tugs you closer, and you step over the threshold into the box.
"But I don't want to."
.
.
.