Gevanni wonders what He would have done for His birthday. He would have been turning twenty-eight. post series, mild Mikami x Gevanni
It was just a simple note, the first thing recorded in a huge file of information. A date. June 7. It was His birthday.
Gevanni wonders what He would have done for His birthday. He would have been turning twenty-eight, just like Gevanni is going to in three short months. Maybe, to celebrate, He would have bought Himself something - a new penholder, or a briefcase, or He might have even splurged and ordered a brand new laptop. His secretary, respectable and devoted woman that she was, might have placed a few flowers on His desk, or a card with a generic gift certificate.
He might have found himself in court that day - it was a Monday and Gevanni had noticed that was when His heaviest work was done.
Gevanni had noticed a lot of things in the month and a half that he watched Him. He noticed He only drank black coffee, one sugar, and adhered to a strict healthy diet. He went to the gym every Monday and Thursday night, and worked first on His legs, then His abs, then His arms. He always ate alone, and on Friday nights He would allow Himself a treat by dining out at the expensive looking restaurant down the street, where the maitre d' knew Him by name.
Of course, a lot of the things Gevanni had found out about Him were useless to the case overall. But somehow he couldn't forget the sight of Him, when He sat alone at His table in the coffee shop, sipping His black-with-one-sugar 100-yen coffee. He would stare pensively out the window, one hand under His chin and His eyes half-closed, and watch the cars go back and forth on the street outside. Sometimes it rained and the wheels would splash grimy puddle water onto the frosted windows, but He never flinched, not once.
Gevanni had always wondered what it would be like to go and sit across from Him. He would introduce himself first, maybe using a fake name but preferably as "Stephen". They would maybe shake hands, and then He would say His name. "Teru. Mikami Teru." And He would use that ice-cold voice of His that, although he had only ever heard it from a distance and never really addressed to him, had always sent shivers up Gevanni's spine.
Perhaps Gevanni would have been disheveled from sleeping in his car the night before. He began to do it more frequently as the Kira case wore on, and he continues to now, even when everything is settled. It is cheaper than finding a hotel room, and less nerve-wracking than staying at the old headquarters of the SPK. Old habits die hard and he finds it easier to sleep if he parks outside His old apartment, as strange as that sounds.
Perhaps He would have just returned from a successful day at court, and would be flushed and slightly more animated with His victory. And Gevanni would watch the way His dark eyes glinted with a hint of satisfaction, and the way the blood rose to highlight His cheekbones with a faint flush of pink.
He would notice Gevanni watching but He wouldn't say anything; He never said anything in all of Gevanni's daydreams except for His name, because Gevanni had always been watching Him. And He knew. And later, too late, Gevanni had realized He had always known.
But neither of them had ever done anything about it, and now it is June 7 and exactly four months too late, and as Gevanni remembers this he sighs, and leans back in the ever-uncomfortable government issue chair, and wishes something would have turned out differently.
He still has dreams about Him, sometimes. They happen most often when he sleeps in his car, parked directly outside of His apartment with the parking pass Near obtained for him six months ago. And he wakes up flushed, and panting, and sometimes with His name at the edge of his lips, before realizing he was asleep and settling back down uncomfortably, wiping the sweat from his forehead and clenching his teeth and trying to forget about that horrible feeling of need.
And that's just with the milder ones.
Actually, Gevanni has the key to His apartment too, and the rights to the room itself, and maybe one day he will unlock the door and step inside, and inhale His scent - expensive cologne and just-showered cleanliness - and touch the coffeepot with His fingerprints, the sheets with His smell, and maybe one day he'll lie down on those sheets and finally have a home of his own.
But he knows he'll never be able to do something like that, because it would be sacrilege. And because, in the back of his mind, with a deep-seated conviction he finds hard to shake, he knows that He will be watching. Now it's His turn, and He is always watching.
Stockholm Syndrome is defined by Encarta dictionary as "a condition experienced by people who have been held as hostages for some time in which they begin to identify with and feel sympathetic toward their captors". Although this isn't anything related to a kidnapping or a hostage situation, Stockholm Syndrome typically begins with the hostage (or "the good guy") realizing that the kidnapper (or "the bad guy") is also a human being with needs and feelings, and begins to relate to them. This happens especially under high pressure, stressful situations that are experienced by both parties rather than outside forces (using a classic example, the captives will feel closer to their captors, whom they are with at the moment, than the police forces trying to rescue them).
I realize this is a bit of a crack pairing, but comments are always welcome.