You didn't know what you were aiming for. All your life you were floating along the stream, always turning where it directed you: you studied a little better than average, wore ordinary clothes.... And now you've taken an ordinary job in office.

Slipping out of the office room, you moved along the corridor. Soon you saw a door with a sign and stepped inside the tiled room, disappearing in one of the stalls.

The flush rumbled. A few moments later, the door opened again, and you headed to the sink. Squeezing a few drops of liquid soap onto your hands, you wrinkled your nose. The nasty feeling of dirt. Just as you wet your hands, another stall opened with a click. Blond, slightly slicked-back hair, a few unruly strands poking out of a perfect hairstyle, and a slightly crumpled lavender jacket. The man in the green shirt, smoothed out the creases in his suit, adjusted the cuffs on his sleeves and, after taking a few steps, was beside you, opening another faucet.

You slowly rubbed the soap between your palms, massaging the foam over your skin. You intertwined your hands, sliding into the space between your fingers and then paying attention to each one separately. And you didn't even seem to notice the way Kira was looking at you.

His eyes followed your movements tensely. His breathing quickened, becoming heavy and loud. Fuck. Those hands... Graceful, with slender wrists and long fingers, with neatly trimmed nails…

Yoshikage clenched his teeth and averted his gaze, tearing a paper towel off. A hopeless attempt to distract himself. But unable to resist, he shifted his gaze back to you, and immediately clenched his palm into a fist, crunching the paper.

You wrapped your palm around your thumb and ran it up and down a few times, only smearing more of the liquid soap. Up. Down.

Kira lowered his gaze to his own hand. The fingernails had grown back. It had been so long since he'd killed, it was becoming physically painful