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A new Kira is rising from within Yotsuba’s own hallways, and Reiji Namikawa is fearless. It is arrogant of him to be this apathetic towards a serial killer who murdered his co-workers as an example to the rest of them. He knows that nothing will happen to him, his death does not possess any logical sense. Besides, what else does he live for other than success anyway?
The first time Reiji sees Taro Matsui is within the headquarters, ironically enough.
Eight men are sat around a wooden circular table in a room filled by yellowed artificial light and an excitable tension. Reiji does not fiddle, because that is not what dignified men do. Instead, he allows his mind to wander astray. He does not need to advance himself using the power of Kira, he is talented and influential enough to be promoted without it. He does not live so vicariously through the entity of Yotsuba that seeing its success is the only source of joy in his life. Therefore, these meetings served no other purpose than Monday evening amusement. The lives of these businessmen does not possess any more value than oddly shaped vegetables in the wooden boxes at supermarkets. They will eventually be disposed of, and once they are, no one will think anything of it.
He does not hear the man outside the door, none of them do. He will later wonder how much he heard, how he managed to sneak through the staff at the front office and enter the elevator without being seen. Reiji’s mind is considering the possibilities currently being discussed. Yes, that businessman would do just fine. He does not anticipate his death, nor does he dread it. It is nothing more than a wasted life being cut; an oddly shaped vegetable being discarded by the sorting team.
The doors open and a man falls to his hands and knees. Reiji’s eyebrows raise in alarm; however, he externalises no other indicators of surprise. He has never seen this man in his entire life. Features of his, yes, but not this man in his entirety. He appears like any other, the epitome of the common Japanese man – five foot seven with black hair and dark eyes. His frame is thin and his face is slightly plump. He wears a suit from one of the many popular brands in Japan, it is not expensive enough to align with Namikawa’s taste but he cannot dismiss it as cheap either. The man’s eyes are wide and he stares at the eight with a pitiful kind of fear, like a lost puppy who cannot find his way home.
The man is painfully average in every way possible.
That does not stop Reiji’s curiosity.
“Please consider using Misa-Misa in your next commercial!” The man exclaims with a grin, a grin so wide that his whole face is smiling – his eyes are narrowed and his cheeks are flushed pink.
Taro Matsui is an idiot, Reiji quickly realises. He blunders through his words in a way only chronically awkward men are able to. Any thoughts of him potentially being a detective silence with the simple discovery that a man that stupid could not possibly be a detective. A detective would consider getting caught out, he would not show emotions as genuine as the man in front of him does. It is an absurd motion, this man being anything other than an idiot blundering his way through life.
No matter how little Taro Matsui knows, he knows too much. Taro Matsui must die.
A celebration is held on the top floor of the building hours later. It is hosted by up-and-coming actresses and models which all associate themselves with Misa-Misa – the most famous of all the women. The sky outside is dark, but the blank space in Reiji’s mind is darker. In his hand is a red solo cup of root beer. The venue, the paper cup in his hand, the taste of the root beer, it all screamed cheap and disorganised. Sophistication is entirely absent. This gathering is a mere excuse for sleazy men to flirt with women who do not know any other response than to giggle and ask about money. Artificial yellow light swarms the room, the walls are plain; the same sight could be witnessed at an American teenager’s party.
He sits alone, unbothered by the others around him. Co-workers and guests alike at their lowest points in their pathetic existences do not faze him.
The door to the bathroom slams open, and Taro exits. Reiji does not care to note his previous disappearance. He raises his voice to the people in the room, to whoever would listen. Taro is drunk; this, Reiji knows. The man does not hold any significance in Reiji’s musings, Kira will murder him very soon. Even if Kira does not bring Taro to his demise, his own incompetence will.
“May I present to you… the Taro Matsui show!”
In the background, Misa Amane encourages him loudly.
“Go Matsu!”
Reiji inches closer, watching as the man walks on the edge of the balcony. Even with his apathy, he is impressed. Successfully walking across a balcony whilst drunk is an impressive feat.
“It’s fine, I do this all the time!”
Performing a handstand on a balcony whilst drunk, however, is dizzying. His legs are perfectly straight and his form is flawless – he has to be a gymnast or acrobat of some kind.
“What the fuck does he think he’s doing?”
“This freak’s going to get himself killed!”
Reiji could no longer see Taro after that, but he does not need to. Screams and shouts of disbelief elicited seconds later, and Reiji knows. The idiot has fallen from the balcony and he now lies dead on the ground. He follows the men outside without hesitation, none of them wish to be caught. They passed by Taro’s dead body without creating a scene.
Taro Matsui is dead.
Despite that; when Reiji closes his eyes he does not see darkness. Instead, the picture of Taro Matsui’s perfect handstand etches itself in his brain.
--
The second time Reiji sees Taro Matsui out of his car window at the traffic lights.
The sky is black and the stars are invisible to all. The city of Tokyo is alive with people, alive with lights and alive with spirit. The city of Tokyo never dies, it is bustling with life and with light, and tonight is no different. The November air is rigid, but it does not faze Reiji. Students finishing cram school and drunk salarymen all walk the same road to their respective destinations. The streets are lit by black lamp posts which shine yellow onto the city and the colourful, blinding lights of signs in front of flashy night clubs.
Reiji waits at the lights, a bottle of water from a vending machine nearby in hand. There is a small crowd waiting with him, all intending to walk the same path. The group cross the lights together and Reiji’s driver is waiting at the door of his passenger seat. Reiji climbs into the car and his driver shuts the door. The driver drives to the next set of lights and waits to turn left.
Reiji turns to glance out the car window and scans his surroundings. There is a smaller group of people at the traffic lights; schoolgirls, salarymen, businesspeople, convenience store employees and Taro Matsui are all waiting together. His eyebrows raise in disbelief and he nearly presses his face against the window with how close he is hovering to it.
It is unmistakable – it cannot be anyone else. Reiji verifies this when he spots the man’s sheepish smile whilst rambling on the phone. He held an identical look in his eyes when he was rambling about Misa Amane in the conference room the previous week. It is him. The man does not wear a single bandage or band aid, there are no indications of injury at all. He had fallen from the fifteenth floor, how is he still alive?
Reiji is in shock for the first time in a long while. He is visibly shaken as the car drives away from the sight of Taro Matsui at the lights. How do dead men perform necromancy upon themselves? Taro Matsui is dead, no, should have been dead. He faked his own death; it is the only conceivable way.
Is Taro a detective with freakishly perfect gymnastic abilities?
The deliberation behind the question follows Reiji and it never leaves him.
If Taro Matsui is alive, then why does he haunt Reiji Namikawa’s mind as though he is not?
--
The presence of Taro Matsui does not leave him.
Seven days, and this fool is still mentally taunting Reiji. Reiji would scream if he possessed more emotion. The most common of men, the least remarkable of men has the audacity to haunt him in this way. Questions burn in his mind; they remain unanswered by either choice or ignorance. Everything Reiji does holds a question about Matsui to it. He cannot do anything without his mind wandering away to him.
Now, Taro is the only concept he can picture perfectly in his head.
Taro Matsui; the gymnast, the detective, the alive man.
Even if Taro dies at any point in those seven days, his smile is perfectly alive in Reiji’s mind. It is beautiful in a way that surprises the man. It is bright, radiant, and perhaps one of the only unique features Taro possesses. He never forgets it, not when a man as beautiful as he should have never lived this long. Beautiful people die young, Reiji is surprised that Taro still lives with this thought in mind.
A mortified part of Reiji finds himself charmed by this stranger. There is a thrill to dancing with this intrigue. With every thought of Taro, an obsessive wonder is revived. Taro is an escape from the dull world around him. All he has to do in order to escape is envision a pretty face with bright sparkling eyes, flushed cheeks, a sheepish glance and a beaming grin.
Taro’s dimples show when he smiles. Reiji wishes he never smiled at the thought of it.
“Only fools fall in love with what they cannot have,” Reiji scoffed.
Reiji does not think of himself as foolish. If he is to be foolish, then the mystery that is Taro Matsui is solved without a satisfactory conclusion.
--
The third time he sees him is at the gym. Reiji only goes once a week, but it is more than enough for him. At night, when it is nearly empty and the people are busy drinking away their hard work it is peaceful. The preferred way for it to be, in his view.
As he steps off the treadmill and wipes the sweat from his forehead with a white towel, a figure moves in the corner of his eye. He follows it, and Taro Matsui meets his gaze once more. Taro is very pretty, even in this light, and Reiji wishes for it to not hold any credit in his mind. Taro is extremely flexible, stretching his body so his hands touch his toes whilst in a vertical split. His back leg lifts to a ninety degree angle and Taro moves forward to accommodate it. He then switches to a horizontal split and continues his stretches in that position. He does his warmup routine with an ease that answers a question for Namikawa. Out of the infinity of questions he holds, ‘is Taro Matsui flexible?’ is answered with an affirmative yes.
Taro stands up and Reiji briskly walks in the opposite direction. If Taro sees him, he will run, and when Taro runs, Reiji will never see him again. Reiji will wonder and he will have no answers. In this moment, nothing infuriates Reiji more than the thought of a world without radiance, a world without Taro Matsui.
His life has never been so electrifying before, this captivating.
Something within him pulls him to this force of radiance, like a moth drawn to a flame. Taro is an exhilarating heat, his laughter drawing Reiji in to experience it, consume it. It is as if he has never left the excitement and delight of America, the country that when it is late at night and no one else is near, he yearns for. Five years is not enough, Reiji’s one regret is leaving.
Reiji thinks the word ‘crush’ is juvenile, therefore it is not in his vocabulary. The sentiment; however, does not leave him.
“I do not have feelings for him, I do not have feelings for him, I do not have feelings for him.”
If he says it enough, he might just believe it.
--
The fourth to seventh times that Reiji Namikawa sees Taro Matsui is at the local convenience store in the dead of night.
The light is always blindingly white and the employees at the counter are all obnoxiously cheerful throughout their lacklustre interactions.
The fourth time is in the frozen drinks aisle. It is 11pm and Reiji anticipates a long night ahead of him. He sighs a long sigh and opens the freezer door. His favourite iced tea flavour is gone, and so are all of the flavours he actually likes. Though he does not wish to buy instant coffee once more, he must. As he exits out of the aisle, he hears a man speaking on the phone to his colleague.
“I’m almost done with the shopping! I just forgot your energy drink, why do you drink that stuff anyway? Yes, I’ll get you three of them, sir.”
He passes Reiji without a thought. This time, Reiji does not stare. Instead, he wanders off. Another question has received an answer and he cannot let Taro see him. ‘Is Taro a high ranking spy?’ is answered with a resounding no. Definitely not high ranking, and likely to not be a spy.
In the distance, he hears Taro’s loud voice apologise into his phone.
“I’m sorry, sir! I know I’m taking a while! I saw a pretty display…”
Reiji is now at the counter; he can no longer hear Taro but he can see him. His cheeks are flushed and his expression is apologetic. His eyes are wide and his smile is sheepish. He moves his hands as he talks with a fervent passion despite the basket in his hand and nearly topples all of the items onto the floor below him. He is clumsy, unorganised and foolish. Such traits do not endear Namikawa; at least, he sure hopes they would not.
The fifth time is in the sushi section. Reiji is irritated, his junior co-workers are utterly incompetent. They cause hours of meetings and paperwork, only for it to amount to nothing. He needs sushi to refrigerate for the next day, he has been running low on quick food to eat. He questions himself, what is Taro’s favourite kind of sushi to eat? Quickly, he shakes his head and curses at himself in silent Americanised English. He does not need to know Taro’s favourite kind of sushi; he does not need to experience anything from the bright-yellow lenses he presumes is the way Taro views the world around him. As he approaches the counter with the sushi in hand, his body stiffens.
Taro Matsui is here, again.
He is conversing with a cashier; his smile is tired but genuine. It is beautiful and Reiji hates the rush of serotonin through his veins as a result of it.
“Night shift must be exhausting; I hope you’re doing alright!”
Taro continues his conversation with her, he is sympathetic and emotional, animated in a way that only the brightest of people can be. He offers her a peach from a cloth bag and tells her to eat healthily, she giggles and she is noticeably feeling a lot better than when Reiji first sees her. He bows politely and wishes her luck on her studies; she wishes him luck on his late night shifts.
For a brief moment, Reiji wonders if Taro endears everyone in the same way or if he is the only fool.
The sixth time is outside the convenience store. The seventh is at the register. Each time, he never interacts with Taro, he merely stares for a while before determinedly walking away. With each interaction there is less he wishes to know and more he wishes to see. He has answers to many of his basic questions, he now wants to experience each of these things. At night, he yearns for Taro’s sweet voice to whisper in his ear and tell him that he is exactly what he has been waiting for. He will go two months without seeing Taro but he will still daydream of him every day. Married couples pass him on the street and he knows, he just knows that Taro would enjoy married life if it is with him. He purchases sunflowers and places them into empty wine bottles not because he likes flowers, but because they reminded him of Taro.
This entire time, Reiji thinks of him as an idiot. Because he is an idiot. A gorgeous, clumsy, oddly loveable idiot. However, he is not nearly as much of an idiot as Reiji is. Reiji Namikawa knows two things amongst the abundance of things he knows. He knows he can never have Taro Matsui, and he also knows that he is utterly in love with the man.
--
The eighth time Reiji Namikawa sees Taro Matsui is in a quiet street in the upper-class suburbs of Tokyo. They are the only two walking along the street, Reiji’s umbrella is open to shield himself from the rain. It is his driver’s day off, something he grants upon the realisation that he would be fine to walk to places himself and that his driver has not had a day off in a long while. Taro’s umbrella is also open, it is cheap and flimsy, but it does the job. The two walk the same path in opposite directions, each intending for different locations. Reiji, to his house; Taro, to the city.
Something is different about this eighth time, however.
Taro sees him.
Reiji stops walking upon the realisation that Taro’s eyes are stalking his. He is horror-stricken, anxious. Reiji’s expression is cold, but his heart is pounding with the knowledge that if Taro leaves, the ghost behind him will stay. Taro will haunt him just as his departure from America haunted him all those years ago. And then he will linger much like a regret of an opportunity not taken does.
Taro is trembling under Reiji’s gaze; his eyes are straying to the side and he cannot quite maintain eye contact. This is new, Reiji has never known Taro to be shy. Awkward, yes; shy, no. He finds Taro’s lack of action mildly annoying; he is impatient for his next move. Do something, say something, anything.
Reiji steps forward, and Taro flees.
He sprints in the opposite direction; his umbrella is abandoned on the side of the path and his wrist slams painfully against a pole at some point. Reiji walks towards the umbrella and plucks it from the ground, closing it and holding it in his empty hand. The reckless abandon deep inside him tells him to chase, pleads him to chase after Taro Matsui and begin a new game of experience. The rational logic pushes it down, tells him that he has lost and that Taro Matsui is now nothing more than a dead man inside his mind.
Taro Matsui could live for another eighty years or he could die within the next eight seconds and Reiji Namikawa would still grieve for him here and now either way.
--
The ninth and final time Reiji Namikawa sees Taro Matsui is at the supermarket in the fruits and vegetables aisle, ironically enough. Taro stands in front of the basket of peaches and hums contently whilst he sorts through the batch. Glancing from the basket of apples next to him, Reiji is stunned. He genuinely and truly thought he would never see Taro again. Thought that Taro would change all of his local routes and search for him in every crowd in a desperate attempt of paranoia. Reiji Namikawa knows Taro Matsui is alive and that is electrifying.
Reiji stares more, Taro will turn his head when his presence can be felt. A minute later, a still-humming Taro turns around and the dopey smile falls from his face. His breathing is calm, but he is in a visible state of panic. Reiji wants to place his hand on his shoulder, to reassure him. He wishes Taro would smile again, even if only to reassure himself that he would be able to see him again. There is a stiff tension in the air caused by Taro’s fear. His eyes are wide and they do not gaze away from him until it becomes physically awkward to continue looking. His cheeks heat up and a hand moves to the back of his neck and rubs there. Reiji stares into his eyes with his arms crossed, observing each behaviour.
“I first saw you in November,” Reiji assured him softly, to calm the tension more so than to calm Taro, “You were not exactly smart about the aftermath of your fake death. No one else knows, only me.”
Taro’s head snaps in his direction and he stiffens, then relaxes. The expression on his face is pure relief, and Reiji is just glad that he does not have to wait anymore.
“I would be dead by now if they knew… I’m just grateful you haven’t told them!” Taro chuckles, “My real name is Touta Matsuda, by the way. My family name Matsuda is written with the characters for ‘pine tree’ and ‘field’, my given name Touta is written with the characters for ‘peach’ and ‘thick’. Pretty funny, huh?”
Reiji’s eyes widen in surprise. Taro Matsui is an alias, Taro Matsui is a lie. There is no Taro Matsui, there is only Touta Matsuda. Touta. It suits him, it suits him far better than Taro does anyway. The thought of the character for peach being in his name is endearing and extremely fitting.
“You trust me with your real name?”
Taro- no, Touta, grins brightly.
“Why, is there a reason I shouldn’t trust you?”
There it is, that unfailingly naïve persona Reiji daydreams about when work lulls and the day is dull. Months ago, he had manifested this. Now, it is a reality.
It warms him, oddly enough. His cheeks warm and his heart warms and he is warm everywhere because Touta trusts him. Touta runs away the first time he sees him but trusts him completely by the second time. He is naïve and it is utterly adorable. It would annoy Reiji if anyone else on the planet exemplified those same traits, but it is cute on his precious enigma.
Touta Matsuda is his enigma, someone who successfully seduces him with his mere presence.
He wishes to touch, to consume, to lay next to him, to walk with him, and he for the life of himself does not know why. He does not know why he falls for a man so simple yet so impulsive, for the most painfully average man in all of Japan.
Reiji is unaware that he lives a dead life without the introduction of Touta. He has never felt so inexplicably mortal in all his 31 years of living, and it is exhilarating.
“No, none at all. It is naïve of you, but that is no surprise.”
Touta tilts his head and squints his eyes with confusion.
“’No surprise’? You’ve only seen me three times…?”
“Nine, actually.”
Touta’s eyes widen and he leans forward, exhaling a breath of surprise. He is not glancing directly into Reiji’s eyes; he is far too flustered to manage such a feat. Instead, he stares at the peaches. Reiji glances at the clock in the corner of the store and watches it tick, it is nearing a late time. Impulsively, and he does not know why he does this, his hand reaches for Touta’s cheek. He coaxes the man’s face in his direction and watches for his reaction. His thumb traces his upper cheek and the rest of his fingers creep close to his ear. His palm is lightly pressed against Touta’s lips. He supposes it is a forceful action, but it is too late to recoil now.
“Look at me.”
Touta obeys the command and stares directly into his eyes. After a few seconds of silence, he nuzzles his face into Reiji’s hand and leans against the smooth skin. A gentle kiss is pressed into the corner of his palm, an unconscious action. One of the corners of Reiji’s lips twitch, but he gives no more external validation than that.
“Meet me at the convenience store tomorrow, the one two streets from here on the very end. You know which one.”
The look in Touta’s eyes can be narrowed down to none other than curiosity. The same curiosity Reiji had possessed for the past eight months. Perhaps it is now Touta’s turn to ask the questions and Reiji’s to answer them.
“Okay… hey, can I do something? Do you promise you won’t react badly?”
Reiji’s eyes narrow at the change of topic.
“Why…?”
“Just curious!”
After a minute of judgement, he nods. He supposes that he could indulge Touta, as long as it is quick.
Touta moves forward and he tilts his head upwards ever so slightly. Reiji tilts his head to the side as Touta leans forward. In mere seconds, the two are eye to eye and their noses are hovering dangerously close to one another.
“Please,” Touta whispers.
There is something raw in his voice that Reiji cannot decipher. Lust? Wonder? Desperation? No matter what it might be, Reiji presses his other hand onto the other side of the man’s face and leans in. Touta grips his jacket and pushes him against his body, leaving no room for any doubt. Their lips connect and the two stiffen. They do not give into their temptations to touch more and to move closer. They are in public after all. However, they do analyse one another. They analyse every particle and every shift of one another's bodies.
Despite anticipating it, Reiji is still in shock.
Touta separates himself first, his cheeks flushed and his dimples prominent in his expression.
“Thank you.”
Reiji’s hands fall from Touta’s face and he nods.
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.”
Touta departs with a brilliant grin and an eyebrow raise – both of which are shy but affirming. Reiji bows his head and watches the man walk away with a spring in his step.
Tomorrow is the day that he and Touta Matsuda begin their shared fascination with one another. Tomorrow is the day that he fufills each one of his curiosities and begins a life of fireworks and electricity. Tomorrow, he falls further in love with Touta Matsuda without confusion or shame.
As the car hits him and slams him onto the busy road, he clutches his bleeding head and the tears fall relentlessly. Just as he begins to truly live, he is murdered.
His ghost haunts Touta with countless questions; questions he cannot answer, questions he will never answer.