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It—he...Lysandre—is most vocal at night.
When the sun descends over Lumiose and L hunts for a place to curl up and rest, only when his eye finally closes, does it make itself known.
“I hate you.” The voice mutters, tone so very close to his own. Maybe somewhat less rough and hoarse... But laced with a spite matching the severity of the chosen words.
L‘s own response is near-monotone, a mere: “I know.”
“You should have stayed dead.” It hisses next, the words slithering harshly into his ears. All L does is blink his eye back open, contemplating each and every one.
It wants L to react, to lash out, show weakness, do anything to prove it right...
But they’ve played this game many times at this point.
“I agree.” L says instead. An attempt to throw the voice off. “Alas, the immortality prevents it.”
“You should have tried long before you even considered firing the weapon. It would have saved the whole of Kalos the trouble. Saved yourself the embarrassment. A Legendary Pokémon wouldn’t have to babysit your pathetic existence.”
L's lips tighten minutely at the mention of Zygarde. He didn’t need the reminder that his charge wasn’t here with him tonight. He's alone, once again.
Shrugging an aching shoulder, he sighs. “Maybe I already did and failed... I cannot remember. You know that.”
“I can...” It sing-songs now, and L is left to wonder if Lysandre would ever let himself sound that way. Was he ever whimsically cruel?
Probably not... But the voice is.
“You were too prideful. Egotistical. A monster... You became no different than the filth you so wanted to eradicate and—”
He raises a bleached brow and interrupts only then. “You know as much as I do.”
Or it should.
L does not hold those memories. They are lost to him. Gone.
“I can know whatever I please... Now where was I?” It lashes back, a hint of anger weaving between the words. Showing it's hand, L's lips quirk into a smirk for a brief second.
“’I despise you,’ I assume? And they say I am the one with memory problems.” He snorts with a mirthless laugh, pushing back.
“That too. Though, did you forget all your manners when losing your memory, hmm...? It is rather rude to interrupt your betters, Lysandre.” It jumps to scolding, and more insults. To a tone that L believes a younger him would have cringed at. However, he does not know for certain.
“Perhaps I did, but did you know it’s rude to keep others from sleep? I would prefer you stay quiet.” He pauses with a roll of his eye. “And my name is L now, you know that. Use it.”
“Hmm, fine then, L. We both know your time in unconsciousness will be unpleasant. Why not stay awake and suffer with me instead? I know you want to...”
Ignoring the taunt, L crosses his arms and glares into the dark.
“I’d rather not. I quite like the quiet.”
“Now that is definitely not true. You love the sound of your own voice. The speeches. The arguments. And demands. All of this. You don't have to address me... But you do, L...” He jeers, searching for cracks and pushing in until L buckles.
And he does.
“I’ve changed!” L snaps. Finally showing his distaste. Losing his advantage. Losing the game entirely.
“Sure you have.” He can hear the triumphant smile, the cruel joy coiling around every syllable.
“Perhaps, one day, you could too.” He mutters into the dark. It felt far too close, choked full of the unknown yet so lonely.
“Impossible. We are unable. We only take and destroy. No atonement will ever resolve us. Why even try?!” It cackles now, finally making a noise L is unsure he can even produce. It starts small until it echoes everywhere, reverberating in his own skull... Filling the spaces between his scattered thoughts until there is nothing else.
He could demand for it to stop,
But screaming, crying, begging... It doesn't help.
Clamping his hands over his ears does little either.
L simply must endure the mocking laughter. So he does.
He lost, after all.
Eventually it fades, yet unlike a person there is no wheezing for breath afterwards. The stabbing sound simply stops. A terse silence fills the darkness afterwards.
“Well, the nihilism had...to come from somewhere, I suppose.” Voice shaky, L lets what little dignity he has shatter and curls up into a ball, hiding his face in his hood and burying it in his knees. Wishing for not the first time that he could drown out that awful voice.
Alas, he never can.
It will always remain.
It says so every time:
“Yes, indeed. And it will never go away.”