Chapter Text
Zero crosses the threshold of an ultra-secure, super-secluded house, reverts back to being Suzaku Kururugi the moment both of his feet reach the genkan. The remains of who-what-why Suzaku Kururugi is.
He changes clothes right then and there, once the front door slides shut and the lock goes into place. It’s been months—the first couple of weeks spent sweating in the constricting outfit has long passed. Now it’s almost thoughtless, the way he peels off the costume that’s more than just clothes – it’s practically his entire life, at this point.
Like a snake molting out of its skin, Suzaku balls his Zero-garments and dumps them to the laundry bin conveniently placed near the doorway. Like a snake that eats its own tail, Suzaku dons on a simpler outfit, loose cotton shirt, loose cotton shorts, as though he’s the child from way back then.
He makes his way deeper into the house, barefooted against the heated wooden floors. He has no head for technology unless it’s piloting Knightmare Frames, but being Zero has its perks. Having Schneizel around to bully a couple of scientists to design a self-sufficient house that can’t be traced by any satellites is hardly the perfect trade-off, but he makes do with it.
Suzaku surveys the living room and carefully doesn’t linger on the fact that there’s a thin layer of dust over the tables and the television. The TV isn’t plugged to the normal cable lines; it only shows limited channels, none of them broadcasting anything about current events. He swings by the kitchen and also very carefully doesn’t measure the thickness of the layer of dust there.
Once he’s satisfied—will he ever be really?—with the state of the first floor, he makes his way upstairs to where the house’s occupant is located.
Suzaku knocks softly on the door before sliding it open after a few seconds, imagining a voice that tells him to come in.
“I’m home,” Suzaku says gently, but the even rise and fall of the other’s chest doesn’t change with his presence. Suzaku stands on the threshold of the bedroom, waits a couple of moments with his imagined Welcome back filling his head.
Lelouch—if the person on the bed, mostly catatonic, can still be called the same as that proud, regal dearest friend of his—doesn’t acknowledge his presence.
Suzaku crosses the distance and kneels on the bed, uses hands that have helped push the Empress’ wheelchair earlier today so she could meet with dignitaries to finalize the new world trade agreement. Suzaku uses those hands to prop Lelouch up to a sitting position, fluffs the pillows so that the other’s back and neck don’t hurt.
Lelouch’s eyes are half-mast, the only other indication that he’s currently awake. There’s a faint glow there, of amber-gold.
C.C. has made herself scarce after the end of Zero Requiem and Suzaku hates and envies her in equal measure. Most of all, he wants her back here, so she can explain what’s going on. It doesn’t matter if she’s more liable to speak in riddles that only someone of Lelouch’s intelligence can understand easily. As long as she’s around to tell him why Lelouch doesn’t completely wake up, despite the fact that his wounds (all physical, that is) have healed. Sluggishly, but they have healed completely.
There’s only a faint greyish crease to mark where the sword had pierced Lelouch’s skin. If only the mark on Suzaku’s psyche, on his heart, on his soul, is as faint. Sometimes, Suzaku thinks that he can taste the blood that Lelouch has smudged over Zero’s mask, nearly a year later.
Just like the previous days-weeks-months, Suzaku spends the rest of his time as Suzaku here, hands clasped around Lelouch’s. Just like before, the contact only breaks for a moment when Suzaku shifts Lelouch back to lying flat on his back again, once Lelouch’s eyelids start drooping close.
And then Suzaku spends the rest of his night there, cuddled close to his dearest friend as though they were children huddling in the middle of the night as a storm rages on outside.
Once morning comes, Suzaku gingerly untangles himself from Lelouch, makes sure that the other man is comfortable in his bed. If only it’s that easy to untangle his heart and soul… but it’s not something that he’s interested in attempting.
Suzaku doesn’t take a bath yet because he always prefers to extend the feel of Lelouch’s skin against his. He takes it at the safehouse that he goes to before facing the rest of the world as Zero. He brings up a thawed meal, always on the off-chance that Lelouch actually manages to rise up from bed and eat Suzaku’s paltry cooking efforts.
Just like before, Suzaku brushes a kiss over Lelouch’s forehead.
“I’m off.”
Suzaku stops by the threshold of the bedroom, ready to transform back to Zero for the next half of his day.
Usually, Suzaku goes straight downstairs, doesn’t linger any further.
But today, just today, because today is the first anniversary of Zero Requiem’s success—
“I love you. You know that, right?”
Because Lelouch knows everything even if he pretends not to.
Lelouch doesn’t react, continues sleeping on in that strange stasis of his.
Suzaku takes a deep breath and makes his way downstairs.
***
Zero crosses the threshold of an ultra-secure, super-secluded house, reverts back to being Suzaku Kururugi the moment both of his feet reach the genkan. The remains of who-what-why Suzaku Kururugi is.
He’s a little late, compared to his usual.
There’s a worldwide party thrown in the honor of Zero’s success and the Empress Nunnally’s continued reign. There’s a long list of people who suddenly wanted to shake his hand – the only consolation is that it helped him hide from the Order of the Black Knights and anyone that he really didn’t want to talk to. Especially not today. Especially not on the day when everybody celebrated the fact that Lelouch was dead.
A day that reminds Suzaku that it’s been a year and he still hasn’t moved on—not that he wants to.
He changes clothes right then and there, once the front door slides shut and the lock goes into place. Mechanically, he slithers out of the Zero costume and balls it tightly, wrinkling the fabric, before forcefully dumping it on the laundry bin. He then changes into his usual outfit and starts to walk, barefoot as usual, deeper into the house.
Suzaku surveys the living room and—
Immediately goes into red alert.
He palms a gun hidden underneath the coffee table. He’d usually prefer fighting hand-to-hand, but he has Lelouch to consider. Distasteful they may be, guns make things faster, simpler.
The layer of dust is gone.
The TV’s remote control is off by a few centimeters.
Someone’s been to the house and it’s supposed to be a safehouse. He swallows down the urge to shake Schneizel and the scientists he had introduced to him. Untraceable and untouchable—that’s his only stipulation.
There’s a faint scent in the air, like some lingering fabric softener and something that vaguely smells like food. Unfortunately, after a year of not bothering with things such as home-cooked meals and fresh air, his nose is a little out of practice.
Suzaku crushes the urge to immediately run upstairs – if there’s an intruder here watching him, he doesn’t want to make it too obvious where the only thing that matters is. Negotiation tactics—if they don’t know how important Lelouch is to him (how could they not, how could they not think Lelouch is precious) then that gives him more options. If they’re sympathizers to the Demon King persona then Lelouch should be safe; if they’re the more radical haters, then they’d probably want to torture Lelouch instead of killing him outright, so that gives him a slight window at least before he can swoop in and break their necks.
He resolves to drop by the kitchen so he can complete the sweep of the first floor—
“Suzaku.”
And promptly drops to his knees.
Lelouch is standing, half-propped by the kitchen counters as he stirs something on the casserole one-handedly. He looks fatigued, muscles weakened, but he’s—
He’s Lelouch.
Lelouch raises an eyebrow at his gun, but doesn’t comment. He coughs, a faint blush on his cheeks.
“…I know.”
Lelouch becomes blurry, but that’s probably because Suzaku’s eyes are filled with hot tears. His ears is filled with a rush of blood, a ringing of his heartbeat, but that’s not enough to make him miss the next set of words, uttered with a very Lelouch mix of embarrassment and haughtiness.
“…me too.”
Like a snake without any limbs, Suzaku valiantly crawls over the floor, uncaring as to how pathetic he looks. He thinks about stopping once his hands manage to circle around Lelouch’s legs, but he doesn’t, continues to crawl upwards, bit by bit, until he’s able to nuzzle at the spot where—
“I’m home,” Suzaku says through his tears.
Lelouch places his free hand over his nape, like a king calming down his pet. Suzaku only cries harder, laughing and crying and shaking in equal measure.
It’s good to be home.