h a l v e s [1]

"See you tomorrow," the receptionist smiled. The besuited man looked over the rim of his glasses and returned the smile absently. He dropped his gaze back to the stack of papers on his desk as the receptionist sashayed out of the office. His hand reached for a cylinder of pills and tapped two white spheres into his palm. Swallowing them dry, he loosened his tie and with a great sigh, picked up his pen and began to write.

/Another late night, Kazuo-san?/

The middle-aged manager blinked, grimacing slightly. "So much to do, so little time," he muttered to himself, putting unnecessary force onto his pen. "If this isn't enough, there's that stupid presentation tomorrow morning, and I haven't even done anything about that!"

He continued his irritated muttering as he worked. Finally, at a quarter past midnight, he put his pen down and stretched. The stack of papers had halved, thankfully, so he could go home now. He decided to come in early the next morning to tie up the loose ends. Standing, he gathered up his folders, stashed them into his briefcase and made his way out of the office, switching off the lights as he did so.

The elevator was waiting for him when he reached the end of the silent corridor. He yawned as he stepped in, and when the doors smoothly slid shut, he let his eyes close for a moment.

He missed the long silhouette that detached itself from the stairway.

The lift reached the ground floor and the manager strode out, nodding a brief greeting to the security officer who was about to commence on his nightly rounds. When he pushed the glass doors open and stepped out onto the street, he stiffened and turned his head minutely.

"What was that?" he asked himself, squinting around the deserted street. He'd felt a strange sensation. Peering into the darkness for a second longer, he shrugged it off, attributing it to his fatigue. Continuing on to where his car was parked, he whistled a tune under his breath.

/Assuming is fatal�/

He was fishing around in his pocket for his keys when he looked up again, beady eyes narrowing. He'd felt it again, that distinct feeling of concealed danger. He let his hand fall to his side as he studied the surroundings again, willing himself not to start. He ignored the cold sweat that had broken out on his skin.

"Who's there?" he called out shakily, gripping the handle of his briefcase.

The shadows seemed to swirl.

"Who's there!" the manager called out again, lips quivering with fear. "Answer me!"

/As you wish./

A breath, very much like a sigh, close by his ear.

"Death."

The manager barely had time to register the soft voice before he felt something slam into his chest. His lips parted in a silent gasp as his knees buckled. Someone held him up, a solid presence right next to him. He turned his head, struggling against the burning agony threatening to consume his being, and tried to make out his attacker.

All he could see was a pair of brilliant eyes, mismatched but no less captivating. One a mystifying green, filled with emotion, the other a stark contrast of blank snow.

"I'm sorry," the voice said again, saturated with enough suffering for the both of them. "I'm sorry�."

The manager felt his consciousness slipping away, and he couldn't do anything else. Before he succumbed to the stifling darkness, a sudden thought flashed across his turbulent mind.

The brilliance in his murderer's gaze -

- was the brilliance of unshed tears.