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Suzaku dreams.
He’s on top of the convoy again, sword plunged through the demon emperor’s stomach, narrowly missing his heart. His death would be quick, not painless. A sharp, clean cut was all that was needed; anything more would be meaningless.
And yet, he couldn’t halt the tremor in his hands when Lelouch slumped against him, the faint warmth of his skin maddening through his cloak. He fought the urge to return the embrace, but when a bloodied hand caressed the side of his face, he crumbled. Suzaku closed his eyes and tilted into his touch, pretending for a moment they weren’t separated by his mask.
Their mask, the symbol of justice marked in blood by his best friend, his—
Suzaku jolted awake, cheek cold from the tears that stained his pillow. He was to deliver a speech later that day; while the world celebrated the birth of a new era, Suzaku mourned the death of them both, hugging the Zero helmet at his chest as though it were Lelouch himself.
Did I ruin it?
He held it up where light seeped through a crack in the window sill. When he saw that the bloody handprint remained unsmudged, his shoulders relaxed slightly, though its vibrant red had begun to rust into a sickly brown.
How ironic it was to try to preserve Lelouch’s mark when Suzaku knew fully well that he would have to remove it soon.
Suzaku was adamant on wearing Lelouch’s own Zero outfit, turning down his suggestion of making another suit. This was their requiem, their shared fate. A part of him wanted to keep Lelouch with him even after he’d passed, although he never admitted that to him out loud.
He’d slipped away following the crowd’s chants of Zero’s name, spending the rest of the evening curled up around what remained of Lelouch. He’d heard Lloyd and the others as they returned, but no one disturbed him; the silence was for him alone.
A soft knock at his door made him jump.
“Lord Zero,” Jeremiah’s voice drifted in. “It’s about time.”
“I-I’ll be ready soon,” Suzaku stuttered, swallowing a hiccup.
There was a long pause before the man replied, and Suzaku could see the shadow lingering beneath the door. “…May I come in?”
No.
“Yes,” the knight rasped.
He wiped at his eyes hurriedly, hoping to compose himself, but knew it was pointless when the hallway light poured in and he met Jeremiah’s sympathetic gaze.
“…If it’s too much, we can get you a spare helmet,” he offered.
He shook his head fervently. This was his responsibility to bear, entrusted by the man he’d killed, the man he’d—
In a way, the mask felt like a memento — an ode to everything they’d sacrificed.
Traditionally, knights weren’t allowed to have mementos; the royals made it clear. Euphy had objected, telling him he worked far too hard for his own good and that it was the least that he deserved. He supposed he got them in the end — her bloodstained brooch, her tarnished name, the destructive path he’d paved.
He could imagine the indignant snort by his ear: “Fuck tradition,” Lelouch would say. “They exist to halt the flow of time. What is our mission, Suzaku?”
To destroy the world and create it anew.
He sighed feebly — a brittle sound unbecoming of a knight — looking down at where Lelouch’s eyes would’ve been. Uncovering his memory of receiving Lelouch’s geass had been difficult, but Suzaku had glimpsed that purple eye right before the geass sigil appeared. He’d recognize those eyes anywhere, a shade of amaranth so rich it made him giddy if he lingered a heartbeat longer.
All of Lelouch’s geass commands — the intentional ones, at least — had been purely tactical, but for him…he’d pleaded like it was a personal wish.
And now, the curse of living weighed on him like an unopened parting gift.
What I wouldn’t give to call you ‘Your Majesty’ one more time.
“You loved him, didn’t you?” Jeremiah murmured.
It wasn’t a question. He traced the edges of Lelouch’s dried blood on his helmet, imagining his fingers following the slender contours of his face instead.
“Kururugi, you have all the time in the world to grieve for him,” the other man chided gently. “But as Zero—”
“I know. Zero Requiem didn’t end with Lelouch. Our work has only just begun. And for everything we’ve done, I…I won’t falter.”
“Well, looks like we have nothing to worry about,” Jeremiah smiled. He exited the room, leaving the door ajar. “We’ll be waiting for you in Bay 3.”
Suzaku carried the mask to the bathroom with a shaky exhale, wincing at his haunted look in the mirror. The puffiness around his eyes wouldn’t subside for a while, though he supposed that’s what the mask was for.
How convenient.
When he’d unveiled Zero, Suzaku had been torn; as cunning as Lelouch was, he was just as kind and caring. How many times had Lelouch wept behind the mask whenever he stole a life dear to him? What torture it must have been to lead the Black Knights like nothing was wrong while trampling on his own heart.
Of course, that didn’t absolve him of his sins, nor his own. He hadn’t just murdered Lelouch that day; Lelouch had murdered Suzaku, buried him twice beneath an empty grave.
Setting the mask on the countertop, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wetted it, working some of the lavender soap into the cloth. After smelling it on him the first time, Suzaku asked Lelouch to keep using it; Lelouch had protested — at least initially — claiming that it was a one-time thing because he’d run out of his usual soap. Suzaku never told him the real reason. He wanted to breathe in the remnants of him even after he’d passed. Lavender was more pungent.
He hovered over the handprint, pausing before the fabric met the surface. Nunnally told him, many years ago, that a warm hand helped with tears. She had meant well, but when Lelouch’s hand had sought his face, Suzaku only cried harder, bruising his lips as he fought to stop trembling.
Don’t hold me like this, Suzaku had begged silently. Don’t hold me like you—
He slammed his fist on the counter, rattling the toiletries. His razor, beside the toothbrush Lelouch would never use again—
“Dammit,” he hissed, tears stinging his vision.
Lelouch had insisted on sharing Suzaku’s washroom even though they all had their separate rooms. “The morning light hits better in your bathroom,” Lelouch had said. A blatant lie, but a fond excuse nonetheless.
He forced himself to wipe away the blood streaks, mumbling apologies with every stroke. He reassured himself that it was just a helmet, but the tenderness in which he held it was anything but. If Lelouch was watching from somewhere, he was sure he’d tease him for refusing to let go.
Suzaku allowed himself a small smile when the mask gleamed again. He slipped it on, inhaling Lelouch’s faint musk mingled with lavender.
And if Suzaku deliberately left a tiny patch of blood untouched near the darker parts of the mask, that was no one’s business but his own.