drabble twoshot written for my hc_bingo card. :B

titled Rain comes down
pair Kururugi Suzaku/Lelouch Lamperouge
rated pg, pg-13
warnings for blatant inconsistencies & wannabe sex scene & broken shift keys
no summaries provided because these fics suck fat balls.


[R2] PNEUMONIA - like a slasher film


s.

"your hands are like ice," he hears suzaku murmur from somewhere above the sky, hovering below the atmosphere but only slightly there and slightly not, eyes unfocused and mouth half-closed. from here, he looks like he's on the other side of a glass door and he's lost, he's lost and lelouch is the one who doesn't find him. there must be a word for how he's feeling right now, but he can't find that either. the shot rings in the back of his mind and it unwinds and wraps around his arm like a scroll. so he crumples, he crumples like he's made of paper and it's so painful that he can't feel it at all.

there's a wooden drawer in his mind. it's dusty on the outside and it creaks if you have the right key, there are flakes of rust that decorate the lock and the air inside the drawer is stale and the thoughts are bone-dry, they have shriveled in the dark like plums. he'll get up in the morning and make coffee and it'll be black and suzaku will be gone.

"Lelouch."

he must have not heard the news; that is the only logical conclusion, and lelouch is good at those. he must have not heard the television broadcast during his breakfast tea or the radio program at twelve o'clock or the young Eleven with whom euphy often exchanged pleasantries in the afternoon, the one who delivered newspapers to her apartment on a red motorbike. she was very fond of anoraks and her parents were immigrants from the Chinese Federation.

his lips crackle on dry leaves. "i-i can't breathe."

"then don't," suzaku says, "don't breathe. just. stay like this and i promise i'll take care of the rest."

"and euphy?" he rasps.

"don't worry about her."

but see, he doesn't worry about euphy. he doesn't need to worry about euphy just like he doesn't need to worry about what kind of food they serve on campus during christmas holiday just like he's never had to dip his hand in scalding water just like he doesn't give a fuck about the characters in shirley's favorite soap opera (Nishikido Ryo, ten minutes from TV Asahi; Ninomiya Kazunari, two hours west of Hollywood). so he opens his mouth a little to speak, but his breath is suddenly cut short and he can't think and maybe that's what is the most frightening, his eyes flicker blindly and his body panics and thrashes inside, he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die

"tell me, Suzaku," he gasps, opens his eyes wide and the sun, it's too bright.

suzaku traces a finger against his lips, and if he had enough strength he might have flinched. "stop talking, Lelouch. you need to recover."

"do you think it's right?"

he doesn't answer, smooths a thumb over lelouch's cheek. the sun is too bright, the grass is too thick and the sky is too hard and too white.

"i-is it?"

"it's not."

"then why are you still here?"

"..."

"why?"

"i-i'm not going to be here anymore."

and they are both teetering, but lelouch's teetering must have been more obvious because he's the only one when it comes to the edge of the world. the ocean slips from his grasp, the sky opens wide, the swan begins to compose a new song. and meanwhile, suzaku grips his shoulder like it's made of metal.


c o n t r a


[R1] BULLET WOUNDS - i am the fucking angel of death


i.

You have to keep the barrel clean, the trigger well-oiled, the gears locked in place. You can saw off three more centimeters from the shotgun and hear blood splatter against the walls, but it won't do a fucking thing if the gun doesn't function well in the first place; if you spin and kick at the same time, you better damn well know which crotch you're aiming at. Or so he says, and Suzaku listens and takes small notes. They twirl on the floor later, and it almost looks like dancing if you take out the weapons.

"This one shatters on impact," said Lloyd cheerfully, "It's awfully expensive, so I'm afraid I can't let you use them until the official practice. But congratulations! Here's a nice set of lead ones; they're very clever about piercing skin and you can reuse them when your aim gets good."

"Thank you."

"Oh, don't thank me, thank Mister Gottwald! He may not look it, but Jeremiah Gottwald is an excellent example of what to avoid. He was the one who misfired and set his own Sutherland on fire, after all!"

ii.

"So you're an Honorary Britannian now," Lelouch swallows, flashes a smile. "How do you feel, I wonder? Amazed? Powerful? Blessed?"

"Of course not," Suzaku says with a laugh. "You know me better than that, Lelouch."

"Actually, I don't," says Lelouch, "I don't at all. I don't understand you, nor do I want to."

And then his fingertips are brushing against Suzaku's face, his eyes are in Suzaku's eyes and his lips are hovering over Suzaku's skin, a kiss and three and seven and suddenly his face feels too flushed and his hands feel too sweaty and his pants feel too tight and there's a music class in the room next to theirs and you can hear Mendelssohn on piano but Lelouch's palm is hot and unabashed, and this must be how it feels like when a bullet runs through your heart.

iii.

"But he was waiting for you," said Euphy. "Kururugi-kun, Lelouch was waiting for you and you came here instead."

"Forget him," he said. "Just forget him, Euphy-sama. He's gone crazy."

"He's always been batshit." Her laughter is tinkly.

"I don't want to talk about him."

She lifts her hand and points at the sky. So many thoughts and stars gathered in a collective unconscious, she wants to say, do you see them all? Scattered wounds and holes in the wall and red strings of fate, lost loves, lost lives, lost times. She can name thirty-three archetypes off the top of her head. "You don't want to forget about that. You don't want to forget about him. I can see it."

"I must be too stupid to see it," he said.

"Never."

"I apologize."

And she wants to be selfish for once, so she lets it go.

iv.

"Aim for the center of the target, or up to the right," his tutor says. Her eyes are well-trained and her grip is solid, her shoulders relax at the trigger and the recoil is quiet and muffled, the bullet drives a hole deep into the wall. Perfect shot, 60-degree-angle from the northwest and it's still a perfect shot. "Now you try," she smiles grimly, repositions her safety. Suzaku nods. She refastens her headgear and offers her watercress sandwich to him as a reward if he makes the target.

He swallows and loads the shotgun. The strap swings heavy against the thin bones on his back and the safety clicks and he's gone.

The shot misses the board by two-point-seven centimeters.

Her shoulders relax. There had been tension for three seconds. "Better luck next time," she pats him on the back with a smile. "I rather like my watercress sandwich, either way."

v.

(but then)

But then Lelouch can murder Clovis with a single bullet and a fucked-up mind.

But then Suzaku is sitting behind the command panel for the Lancelot and people are dying without looking back.

But then Euphy shoots and kills three hundred people with four hundred and sixty-three bullets.

But then Zero's helmet cracks open like an eggshell, and neither of them can deny the truth: Kururugi Suzaku is a fucking good shot.


the end


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