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It's a little alarming, he thinks, how easy it had been to come by; but then again, to Zero, the hero who had slaughtered the Demon Emperor, nothing was unattainable, not even a dose of a certain dark, syrupy drug. The vial is cold in his warm, clammy palms – precious, he cradles it like a newborn child – it's too precious to waste, too valuable to misuse. The idea of wasting a drop makes the darkness curl at the edges of his consciousness, the claws and fangs of the monsters that have been hiding at the back of his mind grow ever sharper.
Lelouch's war hadn't stomped out the subculture of users, only repressed it. Driven deep underground they still lay on stagnant beds surrounded by clouds of memory, wispy and vestigial. Even with Japan's independence there are still those who cling to the old days, crawling around the underbelly of a nation risen like a phoenix from ashes watching their own personal movie reels of memories through hazy, unfocused eyes. It's something he can identify with, the hunger for a time when things were happy. He knows he should be strong for Nunnally, his sweet empress with her weighty political duties - busy cleaning up the mess her brother had made, trying to atone for the red in Britannia's ledger and the blood her family spilled – and he is, an ever-present figure at her side as she rules but it's hard to be so constantly perfect when she talks about Lelouch, wonders if he'd be proud of her, if she'd approve of a decision.
Lelouch. It had taken a long time to reach a point where they could talk about him: her brother, Suzaku's best friend, worst enemy, emperor, lover (soul mate – he wonders what soul mates are supposed to do when one dies at the other's hand) and now he sneaks like a ghost into their conversations.
A ghost, that's all Lelouch is, but that's what the vial's for. It's a ticket to paradise, a euphoric escape. It's heaven (when all he deserves is hell) to press that needle against his arm and feel it break the skin in the crook of his elbow because then, he doesn't ache.
(At least, that's the plan.)
Like he does every time he gets high, he wonders if he's an addict. A low scoff dismisses the thought as soon as it surfaces, like a net catching fish from a pond. He doesn't fill his veins with the viscous drug to cope with life; it is not an everyday crutch to stand on (the past was not his present and he refuses to sour the future with delusions), instead he uses it like a blanket, cowering in the security and warmth on the days he feels the coldest. It's always the same, dingy room, the same desperate dreams; countless nights now that he's spent high as the kites that Japanese children are no longer afraid to fly, silk dragons and paper cranes in a sky not darkened with warships.
Nine months of highs and no sign of stopping, and he knows this is not what he wanted to become.
The Refrain shoots into his blood like a bullet fired from the machine guns Euphemia had christened herself the mistress of genocide with, like a speeding torpedo of rushing sensation and he breathes in deep, lets it wash over him like waves on the shore. Even the stale air of the apartment he's been staying in (hiding in, dead men don't rent, he reminds himself acidly) tastes like the old days, like sun-dappled stone walkways and clean pond water. He wonders idly if Refrain is really that dangerous, if It's possible to overdose on happiness, but nothing stops him, no supernatural power, no red flicker at the edges of his vision, no geass stops him from letting more slither into his veins like a serpent, emptying the vial as he sighs and flops back on the bed.
The visions are always the same, and there's comfort in familiarity. Cloudy visions, the same plot with small variations. First comes the Kururugi shrine, high atop its small mountain surrounding by lush trees and chirping birds, somewhere he had grown up – racing up and down the steps, running through sun-warmed path with light filtering through the tree – and seeing it makes his heart swell. There are so many happy memories there, and his mind climbs up, up and Nunnally is there, small and naïve, sitting still so butterflies will land on her palms. These are the days, he knows somewhere deep in his mind, that he was truly happy, in the midst of childhood without a care in the world, before wars, before everything had changed.
Lelouch is the start and the finish, the opening act and the finale, beginning and end. Ouroboros. Lelouch is love and pain, happiness and heartache – the boy who had captured Suzaku's heart in a vice grip and twisted. He looks so pretty there atop the shrine next to Nunnally, a face so young but eyes so old. Suzaku remembers wanting to be older, to be the type of person who made things happen (oh, to have known then how easy it is to lose control), to be the type of person who, together with Lelouch, could make a change.
When Suzaku opens his eyes from the dreams of yesterday, Lelouch is always there, sitting on the edge of the mattress and wearing the satisfied, self-assured smirk he'd worn so often in life. His beautiful (not always on the inside) and perfect (but far from it) Lelouch, with mesmerizing violet eyes – there is no geass in Suzaku's dreams – and pale skin that shines in the moonlight trickling through the barely open blinds. Sometimes he is Zero (Suzaku rubs his eyes hard with his knuckles, banishing that vision), sometimes he is the royalty he once was in intricate white silk, jewels glistening. Sometimes, it's the Ashford uniform he wears, so simple, the way Suzaku wishes things could have been but always he is there, just a little bit fuzzy, a little bit out of focus to Refrain-clouded eyes. He teases him, mocks his weaknesses, but he never truly means it (Lelouch had meant so few of the cruel things he'd said, Suzaku had come to understand, only used them like carefully sharpened weapons) but the words sting just the same. Inevitably, the Refrain wears off and his visions sour, and even though Lelouch presses against him – aching to touch him again, to make him feel something other than guilt – he is reminded stubbornly that it's just a dream, it's just a drug. Oblivion is the embrace of an unconscious, silent stupid, sleeping as still as the dead.
--
"I hate it, I hate all of this," Suzaku whines as he slams the door behind him, throwing the iconic helmet he's just removed to the ground with a loud clunk. "I'm not cut out to be Zero."
He doesn't expect a response. "You should be more careful with that, Kururugi Suzaku," an all-too-familiar voice chides from behind him in near-flawless Japanese. "It is, after all, a national symbol."
He's tired and sad, exhausted but alert enough to register that someone in the room is a problem – no one is supposed to know who Zero is, and he's spent a year working to keep it that way. Kururugi Suzaku is supposed to be dead; he died in the final push for Damocles, beaten by Kouzuki Kallen and buried – his gravestone, he's seen it: a consummate and invaluable knight – and no one should know he's alive.
What's even more troubling, however, is that the owner of that voice is the reason that no one should know that. After all, he's been dead for over a year, too.
His first thought? It isn't possible. He'd seen the blood, felt the way that flesh gives under the press of a blade biting through it. A smooth, sharp slide of broken skin and then a few sudden, abrasive cracks of bone and he'd seen the Emperor die, seen his pretty purple eyes flicker, seen soft lips breathe their last in a beloved sister's arms. It sounds like him, though; the same depth and emotion in his voice, the range – though he's speaking a bit quieter than Suzaku remembers, with less flaming conviction and none of the venom – are all familiar, familiar in a way that makes his eyes burn and heart twist, makes his throat burn from the bile threatening to rise up.
"Lelouch," it comes out as more of a broken whisper than he'd intended, cracking sadly on the familiar name like he isn't sure how to say it anymore, as if he doesn’t say it every night in his dreams. The last murder he'd committed, the one he'd wanted to commit the least: Lelouch. "B-but..."
His tongue is heavy, and he guesses that he's incapable of coherent speech, stumbling over syllables and tripping over thoughts that aren't entirely clear any longer. He doesn't remember taking any Refrain today (he remembers a press conference, Nunnally discussing plans to erect a memorial to the fallen instead of rebuilding the Britannian government building in the Tokyo settlement) but when he's not with her, he forgets a lot of things.
It takes a deep breath before he can bring himself to turn to look at him. The boy sitting atop the neatly made bedspread smiles, prompting him. "How? Is that what you're trying to ask, Suzaku? You were never as good with words as I was." It looks like him, too, when Suzaku looks at him again – gone are the pure white of the royal robes (glorious, virgin white that he'd stained scarlet, watched the blood spread in a sickening, tacky pool as he'd bled out on Nunnally's lap) and instead, the only real friend he's ever had is wearing a dark gray jacket over a simple black shirt and the form-fitting black jeans he'd always favored. It's an outfit he's never donned in Suzaku's drugged daydreams before and that scares him a little, breaks his heart to be foolish enough to even hope that this is real.
It can't be real, but then again – Lelouch looks different than when he last saw him (true, he's not covered in blood) – a little sad, a little guilty, out of place but beautiful none the less. It doesn't matter, though. He isn't real, this is just another daydream, and it's the last thing he wants on the anniversary of Lelouch's death - a national holiday, they're calling it – the day the tyrannical 99th Emperor of Britannia met his end at the hands of a hero – and so he resists it.
"You're not real," Suzaku says levelly, barely keeping his voice from shaking. "I don’t want you. Not today." He's nervous, voice cracking on the last few syllables. He covers his eyes with his hands, presses the hollows of his palms into his eye sockets and hopes that when he opens them, Lelouch is gone or he's pretty sure he just might claw his eyes out.
He doesn't get his wish. When he opens his eyes, Lelouch is still there, head cocked slightly to the side and looking slightly wounded. He knows that look, he can't escape it; he knows by all counts Lelouch deserves to hurt as bad as he'd made everyone else hurt and the expression suits him best but it still tugs at Suzaku's heart to see it.
A heavy sigh, a prolonged exhale –a heavy silence that Suzaku finally breaks as he loosens the collar of Zero's jacket. "I told you to leave, you know," he says acidly. "You never were good at listening."
The pain on the former emperor's face is real, tangible, turning the remnants of a small smile down at the corners and it's all Suzaku has to remind himself that this isn't real.
"Suzaku, I'm sorry," he starts with, and it's an unfamiliar sound. Even when they were discussing the Zero Requiem, even when Lelouch had explained himself (Euphemia, Geass, everything), Suzaku has probably heard him apologize less than twenty times. That's unusual, atypical to his nightly forays into a dream world – that Lelouch doesn't apologize, doesn't talk about all the things that happened back then; that Lelouch is everything that Suzaku had wanted him to be. "I thought that you'd miss me, but, as you've said is typical for me, that was both naïve and arrogant. I suppose it's good that you've moved on and come to realize that the Zero Requiem was and is best for -"
"Moved on? Moved ON?" He squeezes his eyes tightly shut again, dampening his cheeks with fresh tears and tossing the cravat from Zero's uniform to the ground. "I'm never going to move on, Lelouch."
Lelouch's face flashes through affront, concern, and pain in a manner of seconds. "Suzaku –"
"No. You're going to listen," Suzaku chokes out. I'm damned to live an eternity alone, without anyone, without you, because of this awful geass, because of what you did. Why the hell would you think I've moved on? You tease me about it constantly."
"Suzaku...?"
"Every time I even kiss you, you mock me and say that I need to give up, but I won't! I'm never going to forget you and I told you that, so just stop it." Lelouch's frown softens and he reaches out to touch him, slender fingers that look so real that Suzaku jolts away and Lelouch recoils like he's been burned, swallowing thickly before he speaks.
"I don't understand, Suzaku," Lelouch admits. "I'm back now. You don't have to live eternity alone. It had been my intention to live out eternity with CC, but...well, like you accused me of once, I'm more sentimental than I wanted everyone to believe."
Suzaku flops down onto the bed and faces the wall, curling his knees up to his chest. He's still wearing the Zero outfit, boots rumpling the bedspread and wrinkling the fabric. "That's what you always say, but then I touch you and you go away," Suzaku whispers weakly. "It's never really you, it's just the Refrain, and I know that, it's just – "
The rest of Suzaku's mumbles become blurry, hazy whimpers sobbed into a dirty pillow, and for the first time Lelouch glances around the dimly lit room in the dying glow of the setting sun outside. It's littered with Refrain vials – at least twenty of them carpeting the floor, half-broken and stepped on or still intact – all sharing one thing: they're empty, drained to the last delirious drop. Soft, broken insistences come from Suzaku's bed, I couldn't still be high from last night, right? I didn't take that much...why is he here? Did I take some when I got home?
Lelouch sneers at the vials, kicking one near his foot and sending it skittering across the floor, startling Suzaku. He's in terrible shape, trembling and tugging at his curly hair like he wants to tear it out and another wave of guilt washes heavy and acrid over Lelouch. He wonders if he's been like this for the past year or if it's more recent, wonders yet again if he made the right decision in returning. Looking at Suzaku curled up on his side, turned in toward the wall, he isn't sure.
"Suzaku," he says as firmly as he can manage, resting a hand on his friend's shaking shoulder. "I'm real. I'm not a hallucination, or a mirage. I'm Lelouch vi"
(a sigh, a shake of his head – no longer an heir, that empire was dead and so was he)
"Lelouch Lamper-"
(no, he's not that either – he'd never truly been Lelouch Lamperouge, that was only a false name he'd never seemed to fit into)
"your Louch." He remembers hating that nickname at first, remembers the day Suzaku told him that his name was confusing to shorten, too Britannian when Suzaku had only been familiar with Japanese names. Even more than that, though, he remembers the way Suzaku's green eyes had lit up when he called him that, when Lelouch had insisted that if he had a ridiculous shortened nickname then Suzaku would as well, had christened him Suza to tease him and the idiot had loved it.
He takes a deep breath before he continues. "I'm your Louch, and I came back to you. See? I'll even let you call me by that silly nickname, and I won't call you stupid any longer." He's sure he sounds desperate by the end, pleading in a way he hasn't in a long time (not since the last time he'd seen the Kururugi shrine) and there's a moment of hesitation in his mind – he hadn't planned on this, hadn't planned on his friend, his knight, his lover being a drug addict.
Suzaku's shivers worsen, racking his shoulders with sobs and shuddering at the touch of Lelouch's hand. "I KILLED YOU, Louch," he insists, like he's trying to convince himself of it too. "You died, I saw the...the blood. Stop DOING this to me."
Lelouch kicks off his shoes and nudges closer to Suzaku on the bed, draping an arm awkwardly around his leanly muscled frame and reaching to entwine his soft fingers with Suzaku's calloused ones. "Suzaku...sweet Suzaku, I promise," he starts, sighing and laughing quietly to himself. "I know my promises don't mean much after everything, but I'm as real as you."
Suzaku doesn't move for a few long moments, but when Lelouch presses a kiss to his neck he tenses then relaxes, tightens his fingers around Lelouch's and stays there. Eventually, Suzaku's sobs quiet and their breathing harmonizes; the sun sets out the window and a tiny sliver of the moon illuminates two boys that were never meant to be separated for any reason.
It feels like an eternity before Suzaku speaks again. "Louch...promise me that when I turn around, you won't be gone," he whispers, voice trembling like he's trying to stave off sobs yet again. Interesting, Lelouch has always thought, how strong Suzaku could be (one of the best, if not the best pilot that Britannia has ever seen and a great soldier before that, strong of body, will and morals) but how easily he could be brought to tears.
Smiling wryly against the skin of his neck (skin no longer as tan as it had once been in healthier days, Lelouch notices in the moonlight – now almost a sickly pallor from sadness and time indoors) and relishing in the way it feels to touch him again, Lelouch realizes how much he'd missed this, how much he's missed everything. For the past year, the first year of his eternity, he's ached for Suzaku and Nunnally, but he isn't quite ready to reveal himself to Nunnally yet. He doesn't quite feel worthy for that yet, but Suzaku is a different story.
"That's a promise I can keep."
Suzaku rolls over slowly, mussing the bedsheets in the process and ripping them off to expose the dirty mattress underneath. It's almost obscene, Lelouch thinks, how little he seems to care about his surroundings, how little everything matters – there's something that looks like the dark brown of dried and clotted blood on the cream-colored mattress, dirty clothes in the corner, Refrain littering the floor – and it's almost scary to see someone who had, at one point, cared so deeply for appearances disregard all of that.
His face is mere inches from Lelouch's when he's done, their lips almost touching as he breathes the familiar name out slowly, wrapping his tongue around two syllables that have always been harsh but soft, just like their owner. Lelouch barely has time to say Suzaku's name in response before he's snatched up in familiar arms. It's been so long since either of them have felt affection like this - CC has offered love and support to Lelouch's misery and Suzaku has never sought Nunnally for anything beyond a hug – and Lelouch knows Suzaku will lecture him for his selfishness and over-dramatics later but for now it just feels good to have him again.
Suzaku clings to him like he'll die if he lets go, only pulling away long enough to stare, kissing his forehead before wrapping his arms around him again. "How?" he breathes, whisper-soft, amazed. "How in the hell? I...I killed you. I don't understand. There's a lot I don't understand."
Lelouch throws his head back and laughs. "That's nothing new," he teases, frowning when Suzaku is scowling when he returns his gaze to him.
"You lied," Suzaku points out. "You lied to me again."
Lelouch averts his eyes, staring at a loose stitch on the Zero jacket (he'll have to repair that later, he notes) and sighing. "I had intended to stay away forever," he starts, reaching to rub his shoulder absently. "I didn't realize that I had taken Charles's immortal code when I took his life for quite some time, but when I realized I thought it was better to not reveal it. I did not think you'd want to hear any more about Geass at that point."
"You thought right."
"I am immortal. I cannot die, not unless I make a contract and my code is taken," Lelouch says. "That is the final form of Geass."
Suzaku's entire body stiffens, tensing at the mention of the hated power that has pushed countless people to Lelouch's whims. The driving force behind two rebellions, behind a coup that overthrew the largest empire the world has ever known, the force that had driven Euphy to the murders that would be her downfall. In short, he reacts just as Lelouch had expected he would.
Suzaku lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Your body didn't get stolen..."
Lelouch looks confused. "Did you think that it had?"
"Well, yeah...lots of people wanted it. They wanted to do awful things, Lelouch," Suzaku explains, shoving him away as his fact contorts into another scowl. "You let me think that I'd failed you, let me think that I'd let them get a hold of what was left and –"
"I'm sorry – "
"No, Lelouch," Suzaku stops him, scooting away. "If I didn't kill you, and you've been alive this whole time...it's been a year, Lelouch! A year of heartbreak and loneliness that makes my heart hurt and you didn't come to me. You didn't even go to Nunnally, you never even gave me a sign you were alright, you left me alone for a year to...to –"
"To become a drug addict?" Lelouch scoffs, and he knows he deserves it when Suzaku smacks him, but he doesn't like the look in Suzaku's eyes when he pulls his hand back. Suzaku has always had a violent streak, and he's hurt Lelouch more than once – when they were kids, when they were Zero and a Knight of the Round, when they were friends-turned-enemies – but he feels guilty within a heartbeat after hurting him and it registers on his face."
"Yeah," Suzaku sighs. "Being forced to kill the boy you've been in love with since you were ten years old will do that to you."
Lelouch rolls away and gets out of the bed, stepping over the crunch of Refrain vials and retrieving the Zero mask. "I wasn't going to come back, I told you. I assumed you would be happier without me, so I wanted to leave you to your new life with Nunnally. Happy."
Suzaku pouts, blowing a curl off of his forehead with his insistent head shaking, snapping "You were wrong. Yet again, you think you know everyone and you're just wrong," he accuses. "I need you. I'm not happy without you."
The words hang in the air for a few moments and Lelouch refuses to turn around, refuses to let Suzaku see the blush creeping across his cheeks or the relief in his eyes.
"Why come back now if you weren't originally planning it?" Suzaku demands. "Are you planning something? If you ruin Nunnally's world I'll –"
"I would never do that," Lelouch tells him as he sets the Zero mask on the desk in the corner of the room. "No lies?"
"No lies," Suzaku re-affirms.
"I came because I missed you," Lelouch explains. "I'm as selfish as you always claimed I was, and I missed you. CC is excellent company, but she's only a friend. You...I wanted you to miss me, but I wasn't expecting you to."
Suzaku rolls off the bed and crosses the room to where Lelouch is standing, wrapping his arms around him and holding him there. "I did," he answers simply, honestly. "Don't expect me to just forgive you for everything, though."
"I expected nothing of the sort," Lelouch says bitterly as he pulls away, looking out the window and tossing over his shoulder "Although if you did, it would be in your typical foolish fashion."
The subtle jab earns no laugh, no indignation, no reaction at all and when Lelouch turns to look at him again, Suzaku's face is a mask; unreadable, unchanging, his voice flat as he continues. "Because I don't. I won't ever forgive you for the wrongs you committed against me, and more importantly the entire world. You won't ever earn repentance for those things, Lelouch."
"I spent the better part of a year thinking about tha-"
"I'm not done, Lelouch," he says, and the anger in his voice is enough to silence Lelouch instantly, to send him recoiling again. "You always did interrupt my sentences. Let someone else talk for a change."
He pauses for a few moments, watching the play of emotions across Lelouch's face. "I won't ever forgive you for what you've done, and I won't ever forgive myself. I killed millions with that FLEIJA, you killed millions with your schemes. Both of our hands are covered in blood, blood that will never wash out."
"We've been through these conversations before, Suza-" Lelouch interrupts, and Suzaku holds up his hand to silence him again. Lelouch relents, surprisingly – he doesn't have the stomach for arguing like he once did.
"It's like you said that day while we were still in the Sword of Akasha, when you asked me to help you until the end: the demon who made a contract with the devil and the angel of death, you called us, saying we belong together. A just reward for patricide, deceit and countless lies."
Lelouch's smile this time isn't pleasant; instead sadly disappointed and grudging, and it takes a few moments before he speaks again, alarmingly quietly. "Perhaps...with new lives, after a sort of rebirth, the angel of death can become the shining beacon he once strove to be. As for the demon, well...there isn't much hope for the man whose name will be spat from the lips of people for years to come. I want you to be good. A symbol of peace. We are no longer meant to be. I just needed to see you, even if you do hate me."
Suzaku's expression softens considerably, and he seems to notice for the first time in a few moments that Lelouch is hugging his chest like he's cold, nervous, sad. "You're right, I do hate you," he whispers quietly, and before Lelouch's expression can truly contort to agony, he explains himself. "I hated what you could be, what you had become. I hated you almost as much as I love you. But deep down, I always knew my Louch was under this façade. Under all the lies, under the mask, and I guess I've always held onto the belief that he'd return someday. I've always been naïve."
"That's what makes you Suzaku," Lelouch reasons. "Stubbornly clinging to ideals."
Suzaku steps closer again and wraps Lelouch into a hug. "I think it's just love," he whispers against the side of Lelouch's head, cradling his thinner body to him like he'll die if he lets go.