Drabble Writing Post

[psithurism]

So, my dear journal reader(s), if you wish to ask me for a drabble, simply post a prompt as well as a character/paring in the comment section and I shall endeavor to fill it to the best of my ability.

You can check my tags or my FFN for a list of (a small portion of) my fandoms, if you're unsure about what I follow. [A hint: everything.]

Mostly for fun, and I need more writing practice.

Comments

[lifelink.livejournal.com]

Sorry I'm so late in writing this, even after I offered. I haven't written in this fandom in years, but I love these characters so much. Sorry for any confusing timeline issues, I didn't have a lot for relative dating references.

Also, Vienna Teng prompt! She's awesome. and it really fits.

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Suzaku remembers the beautiful world.

He remembers the time when his smile would come easily and he no longer felt the need to scream, just let his words work where fists hadn't and played under the Summer sun–

He remembers schooling, Spring, and secret codes, those exclusive things that friendships were made of, carved as something thoughtlessly eternal in the back of their minds–

He remembers Autumn and the way his companion would curl against him, pale and cold and perfect, and how he would let tanned fingers brush through the others hair, press laughing kisses into his neck–

He remembers his sword and how easily it slid in, how little effort it actually takes to make even the worst and the best fall equally, how hotly his tears had stained, away from Winter air and burning words.

But his memories aren't the truth, even if he doesn't quite understand the alternatives, just that his world is tiny and all his happiness is insignificant. He did what he needed to fix the world, drew the lines in blood, in hopes and dreams and smiles. Suzaku does what he must, because sometimes just being himself isn't enough.

And it's worth it, he can't regret anything now. They haven't created utopia, just let life move as it should, let peace slip in and fill the cracks in ways only chaos had previously. This way keeps people together, keeps the weapons locked away, keeps them all as safe as possible. There is no way they could have just continued as they had, no way to remain young when war ages and tires all.

There was no other way, he thinks.

(But he doesn't really know that and now he never will. No matter how much they payed, it would have to be worth it because the alternative is unbearable.)

Zero's mask is heavy on his skin, tiny edges gouging deep wrinkles onto his forehead, plastic trapping in all the heat and making him sweat like with fever or fear. He doesn't remove it, though, doesn't even think to. This is his price, for everything he didn't do before.

(Sometimes, when he looks into the mirror and sees the empty expanse of the mask's reflection, he wonders if there could be anyone in here. Zero is just an idea, just a hope, and it could so easily still be Lelouch, smiling like he did when they both knew nothing, staring back at him, still here somewhere. But Lelouch is dead and Suzaku killed him and he must live in this world, no matter how many people twinkle out like stars.)

(But if he keeps the mask on, he can pretend, just for a bit. Even if it will never be enough. Even if he would give anything for the impossible.)

And this world is beautiful too, because Suzuku would do anything to keep it that way.