Summary: Bored and annoyed by life ruled by the Damocles, misanthropic Lelouch finds a cure to his boredom in the form of a seemingly altruistic immortal Suzaku .AU set 150 years in the future.

Warnings: It will get gay, but just a little gayer than the real thing. Tons of character death as memories, because it's set 150 years in the future, and Japan loses.

The Libertine

Sweeping his monogrammed hankerchief across the page, he cleared the eraser marks off his paper.

Somehow this answer seemed wrong. Lelouch Asplund couldn't quite place his finger quite on how, but it was. Being gifted with a photographic memory, he rarely forgot things he needed to know like formulas. As such, proficiency in subjects like mathematics were as reflexive as breathing. However, he his true genius came not from memory, but the sublime ability to process. Numbers, words, formulas, were never isolated pieces of data, but catalysts and results of relationships.

He knew inherently knew the order and manner in which things fit. It was math and formulas, it was logic and addition, it was ordered pairs and separation, and it was a fundamental motivation that caused everything to fit. But something, something here did not fit. And it bothered him immensely.

Truth be told, he viewed his grades more as a formality, rather than measure of anything in particular. Missing this problem wouldn't be the difference between him being smart and not, but he wanted to know why he was wrong. And numerically speaking, in terms of transcripts and examinations and employers, they would be unbothered by this rare miss.

But if he were to be honest with himself, as he prided himself on being, he didn't care what anyone thought of his transcript. He couldn't envision himself donning a suit and tie, waking up every morning for the sake of a hefty paycheck. But he was certain: ultimately the numbers and letters of his transcript would add up to whatever future he desired. The problem was just ascertaining what he desired.

He redid the problem and found the same result. His meticulousness and natural aptitude told him that each step was done as it should be, but his tendency to form compositions out of the pieces he was given told him otherwise. He had no choice but to undo the problem—only in its base form would he know exactly how it fit. He broke it down piece-by-piece, writing proofs of proofs, and saw the end of his work.

It was a small, insignificant number, derived from broken processes, like his father's half speaking robots. The only difference was that in his father's robots, they could both see in a tangible way just how broken they were (electronic discharges of the eyes, static for sound in the mouth, complete non-recognition of sound). In this answer, he could not recognize he was wrong, aside from the fact that he knew that something was fundamentally wrong in the process.

Growing up as the son of a scientist, Lelouch had no particular fears. He reasoned that any actions could be rationalized and any physical response could be diminished. Of course, he was operating on the theory that responses came before stimuli and that all stimuli was predictable, but it was enough to mollify him.

After all, there was nothing he had seen which proved him wrong. When Schnezel's monotone from the Damocles reminded them they could lose their lives any minute, he wasn't plunged into his deepest fears like those around him. Instead, he felt disdain for the people around him lived in constant fear of dying. They followed rules, whims, desires, of a god in the sky in hopes of living longer, but to what end? They were living just to live and failed to do anything meaningful because of it.

He blamed the Damocles, but thought maybe he would grow to appreciate it. Maybe the Damocles would finally drop from the sky and he'd be free of his mundane existence. Invariably, freedom beats imprisonment. He could only hope.

Ordinarily, Rivalz would have driven him home, but he took the exam slowly, noting each bit of oddness. He gave the correct answer, knowing how he was told to get the answer, but sought the mathematically thorough answer as well.

Rivalz finished first. His professor, suspecting misconduct, sent the green haired man home when he saw him waiting by the door. As he sheepishly left, Rivalz gave a wave of apology, but a smile remained affixed to his face. Typical, Lelouch thought, we use actions to indicate our feelings, but we never quite mean them. Still, he knew in his heart of hearts, what he felt for Rivalz was genuine companionship, even if it was shallow, as all relationships tended to be.

Lelouch didn't mind walking, really, he merely accepted relying on Rivals as a means of transportation as an order to maintain. Despite his criticisms, he found it easy to content himself with ordered systems, even if they didn't particularly matter to him. You live your life based on what's presented to you, he told himself. Whether or not it was a good or bad thing, he did not ask.

Still, he relished in the walk for giving him something else to do, despite the cold wisps of wind that chapped his face. He looked to the bright moon. It was disarmingly reflective in the dark sky. The brightness made the sky look less empty than it was. The iridescent beams made the objects it reflected its light upon seem brighter than they were. Even the pavement shone like silver. It must be ancient, he thought of the pavement.

He directed his eyes to the irresistible moon again. Some idiots with nothing other to believe found it auspicious to see such a full moon. He wasn't one of them, but he did see something humanizing in the moon, like the companion he believed he would never have. Even the air felt damp, like the touch of a lover's kiss.

He walked meanderingly with mind to observe. He found this tendency towards voyeurism in himself a little disturbing and possibly invasive. Or maybe he found it disconcerting that he wanted to see how people lived and interacted, considering how pointless it was. But he sought nothing in particular, so at least he wasn't a stalker.

He supposed that he should wish for closer relations as he saw the contented people and guiltless children around him. They believed in friendship, because they didn't know what the real world was like, what they would be forced to become. He saw a child take another child's hand and wondered if it was really true. Did he really have not one single friend in his life? Did he not have a friend, aside from people who made his life easier, which he viewed as in equal?

Looking at the people around him as they turned to mouth-breathing adults, he didn't wonder why.

He noticed how people tended to assimilate in lines as they walked. It was almost as though they had grown so used to following and order that they no longer believed in how they walked as a choice. He wondered if he should follow them. Maybe something would click into place if he followed them as well. He put in his hands in his pockets and adjusted his posture to match the others before something caught his eye.

Green. In the moonlight, they were especially reflective and luminescent. But they were hard and reflective like a precious stone, not particularly warm. Rather than absorbing something behind their surface, these eyes reflected back the emotions and lights of those around him. Empty, he thought, like the crystals built upon crystals to form a diamond.

He widened his focus to observe the setting. He saw heavy wisps of reddish-brown hair. They were pretty--but not inapproachably pretty—like something you could touch and not worry about ruining. Just like his face. His face was obviously attractive, but not so blindingly attractive that you couldn't trust it. Tanned skin, as well. Individually, all of these features were beautiful and eyecatching, but as a composite, they were nothing that should cause him to stop and stare.

He watched anyway, transfixed by his warm features and expressions, but seemingly empty eyes.

The boy was leaning against the tree, eyebrows raised and lips stretched in an exaggerated expression. He must have something rather exciting to tell the old man that accompanied him. They made an odd pair, but any pair so friendly in public was odd. Most people avoided speaking to others in public for fear of arousing suspicion. People traded secrets for positions and sought to incriminate anyone they could. Context wasn't particularly important, because the population needed to go down. The Damocles told them that global degradation was upon them and that everyone needed to trust them and let them take care of it. So, the quiet elimination of people began. He hoped no one was listening to this pair. He hoped there was nothing wrong. He listened to check anyway.

He saw the boy warm his hands in the crocheted sleeve of the man's sweater, as he leaned in closer. He then smiled, yet again, before telling him something that had to be even more exciting based on his facial expression.

This pair didn't seem merely friendly, but rather…romantic. With the exception of state-written televised romances, he'd never seen a couple in love before. And these romances, which were designed to be primarily education, painted love as a cloying, pernicious thing designed to cloud reason.

He didn't see the passionate yelling between these two. He didn't see the hair being pulled as one threw the other across the ground. He didn't even see the spite and jealousy that seemed would accompany these relationships. He saw something else entirely.

Lelouch wanted to use the word sincere to describe it, but he wasn't sure he quite understood what that word meant and suspected he never would. For people of his age, wealth, and health, there were services for people to find others for the purpose of reproduction and recreation. He had never been tempted before, but watching this pair, he had to admit he had more curiosities than he would've liked to admit.

When he saw the boy insinuate himself in the crook of the man's arm and started to imagine the words the man must be saying in the boy's ear, he felt like he should be compelled to look away. And he did for a second before turning his eyes back to the boy. He seemed perfectly and completely harmless with all of the advantages of youth, like one of the few who deluded themselves into thinking they had something to look forward to.

In contrast, this old man seemed to be watching the end of life, each year was a turn of the die. For those that desired, there were ways of extending your life. Why wouldn't this man who seemed to have one of the few things the world had to look forward to opt for one before it was too late?

He saw another odd thing. Although the boy had warmed his hands before and wore only a thin, oversized jacket, he gave his jacket to the man. He watched as he unbuttoned the brass buttons of his brown coat. The way his deft fingers moved, wasn't merely efficient, but something else entirely. It was violent. He could tell as those small, tapered fingers tore needlessly through the buttons of that jacket that they held an odd power.

He wanted to see it for himself. He wanted to know who this boy with the eyes of endless spring and smiles of summer content with the destructive finger was.

After watching the two part as lovers would, he followed the boy.

"Hello…Lelouch, it's been a while," the green eyed boy said in a mildly accented voice, once they made their way to the residential part of town. His lips made an odd curvature that was so mechanical, it reminded Lelouch of those cats on the wall with the shifting eyes. There was something so unnerving about him. He immediately recognized that Suzaku's eyes held the same geniality for him as he did for the old man.

'I'm sorry, have we met?" Lelouch asked politely. Politeness was the best defense against insanity, he was sure.

"Oh, I suppose not," he said smiling to himself, "I'm Suzaku." He brought his hand forward to meet Lelouch's. It was cool from the air (where was his body heat?) and unbelievably soft. Soft like he'd never touched a rough thing in his life. He looked at the sweet, but hardy features of the boy, trying to reconcile them with the softness of his hand. He was beautiful, but he wasn't delicate. Not like this hand.

Where was the violence he saw? He clenched the hand in his harder to see how he would react; hoping that he would clench or maybe he would see the force he saw before reciprocated back at him. The hand and body remained impassive and still, but his face betrayed him a little. Brown eyelashes fluttered in something at recognition of being tested. He clutched the hand even tighter to see if his expression would intensify, but his face already composed itself into its pleasant form. Admitting defeat, he dropped the hand that had been in his.

"So, how do you know who I am?" Lelouch asked nonchalantly. He sounded like he was asking him about a tennis match.

"I knew…you…150 years ago," he replied in a soft tenor. Lelouch was taken aback. This boy didn't seem to be the type to construct half-assed metaphors to meet people or to stupid enough to make preposterous lies. Suzaku had to believe it was true.

"But I'm only 22, that's impossible," Lelouch replied.

"I suppose you're right," he said, shrugging his shoulders and laughing at his mistake ruefully. Did he not think it was weird to mistake him for at least 150 years old?"You tended to be right."

Lelouch's curiosity was piqued, but he could tell early on that this boy-slash-150-something-year-old (?) was going to be annoyingly vague and wasn't quite connecting all the dots himself. Maybe he was broken, Lelouch thought, looking at the seemingly perfectly formed boy in front of him. Coaxing what he wanted out of him was going to require more research than he had at his hands right now.

If it were Suzaku's nature to deny absurdity in this conversation, then it would be his as well. "So, what do you want to do with me 150 years later?" Lelouch asked, sounding more conversational than he recognized, even to his own ears.

"I grant wishes." Undeterred by Lelouch's tone, the brunette responded in the same expressionless good cheer of someone who has answered the same question many times. Lelouch could tell by adding small, imperceptible differences, that this was comfortable territory, while the discussion before had not been.

"A wish," Lelouch repeated. It wasn't like Lelouch didn't know what a wish was, but he felt a desire to know exactly what a wish was for the boy. A wish was different for the brunette than it would be for him, he was sure. The difference was important if the boy made it his life's goal. "What could that mean?"

The brunette gave him a careful look, which made Lelouch consider just how dumb his question was, but answered anyway, "A wish is," he paused in fake contemplation, which Lelouch found cute, rather than cloying, "what you desire above all things. For example, that man wished to feel love before he died."

"And did you love him?" Lelouch asked, surprised. He wanted to know what happened when two wishes collide. What bound this man to his grant the wishes of others? How could he change the fabric of his own being to do so?

"It was his wish."

"Was that your wish, to be loved by this man?" Green eyes glanced up, catching the light.

The brunette was never going to answer explicitly, he could tell in that glance. He said without inflection, "I live to grant wishes and that is all." He smiled mechanically to finish. He reminded him of a cuckoo clock emerging from his wooden home every day, with its bright plumes and winding, how strange it was. Just because it happened regularly, that didn't make it any less bizarre.

"You must be lying. No one can be so selfless," Lelouch hissed, abandoning his policy of politeness. He saw the boy flinch a little and knew he'd done something, maybe hurt him a little. He would've called this a victory, but he only felt like a jerk. He had lived his entire life without motivation, without concern for himself or for others, and here he was criticizing this boy for how he lived when this boy only wanted to do good things.

The boy moved closer, beautiful, sad green eyes pinning him in place, before reciting,

"We have desires because we have things we wish to protect. I have no such things."

"How masochistic."

The boy only smiled genially. His eyes weren't sad anymore.

Lelouch had never been close to anyone in his life. Born without a mother to a single scientist, he knew the circumstances of his birth were odd and felt compelled to live a life to reflect that. He was born from the cells of a former prince, long dead, but why? His father would never tell him and it wasn't like he would believe Lloyd even if he did. That man was made of whims, weird whims that made no sense, despite their undeniably genius and scientific basis.

It was like his birth was given a purpose, but his life itself was left blank. This was never a particular source of conflict, because he viewed the whole notion of having a life based around a purpose as unfathomable, but Suzaku claimed to have a life based on a purpose. A life only for purposes. Purposes not even his own. Wishes for others.

Wishes. What is it you wish for? He could hear Suzaku asking in his head. Obviously the rational answer is that he wished for Suzaku to get out of his head, to let him go, and live his life as though they'd never met. But that wasn't true at all. He knew whatever he wished for was related to him—his means of granting that wish or the boy himself.

He thought about how Suzaku knew his name. He knew him 150 years ago, when he was a prince, when he had a sister, when the last thing he would experience was at age 10. He lived in Japan.

He remembers (Japan) from a chart in a history book in parenthetical in a history book. It was a chart of the biggest bombings and casualties in all of history. At the time, the numbers appeared theoretical and the chart was divided by cities, not countries. (Japan) was scattered throughout the list, but nestled underneath the Jakarta, Paris, Bombay, London, Beijing, was Tokyo, Kyoto, Sapporo, Nagoya. The list was cut off at Budapest. (Japan's), smaller cities didn't fit into the neat chart, but the map told him everything he needed to know; everything in the constellation of Tokyo, Kyoto, Sapporo, and Nagoya was gone.

Curriculums much preferred the present. He once heard a professor tout history as evil. History, the man said, would only lead to the recognition of our lack of equality. Instead, his professor reasoned, we should concentrate on our collective present.

With no physical space, where did Japan fit into the collective present? Were Japan's cities and earth no more than a method of showing what it meant to defy the Damocles? Japan was one of the many ghosts that haunted the collective present of fear.

After 150 years, only one thing must be left: Suzaku of the eternal youth.

He repeated Suzaku's name to himself, relishing in the ill-fitting syllables that pushed his tongue in weird ways. He kissed each syllable slowly: he knew something, which no one else in the world knew.

He pondered as the bell rang and pretended to be sleeping when the teacher, eager to catch the "perfect," but taciturn student off guard reprimanded him for straying too long.

"Oh, you're home," owlish green eyes greeted him clad in only one of his larger dress shirts. The place looked…different. He was used to crisp corners, 90-degree napkins and towels, sparkles of cleanliness. He saw smudged corners and broken creases.

Lelouch flushed. He didn't know if was turning red with annoyance at the intrusion (and disrespect of his private property!) or embarrassment at his inability to decide where place his alarmingly interested eyes. He settled for reprimanding soft brown curls with his eyes before asking why they were there.

"Granting your wish, of course," Suzaku said turning onto his stomach, letting Lelouch see a just a hint of an obnoxiously rounded backside trailed by beautifully tapered thighs and graceful legs. Even his feet were perfectly formed and blessedly clothed, unlike his treacherous legs. He never read romance novels, because he knew they were poison which only gave people false hopes to dream for, but he saw himself as some charlatan kissing his way up those tanned legs, parting that soft flesh. He thought of the gloves in the Age of Innocence and willed his fantasies to be a bit more elegant.

He watched as green eyes shifted towards him over his shoulder and he flipped back over his stomach to give him a glance of a sharp collarbone and rounded shoulder. Ugh, how could such a seemingly polite boy be so impudent? Was he even wearing underwear? Lelouch covered his eyes with an arm, as if trying to block of out sunlight.

"Stop that. How old are you, anyway?"

"158," he said like the number meant nothing to him, smiling at Lelouch's look of surprise at the figure, "but 16 physically, if you were feeling morally bankrupt." In what ways, Lelouch wanted to know. Or didn't. He read Lolita once. Pure drivel. What kind of man would allow himself to be so undone by his desire like that to the point of transforming decimating every shred of logic he'd ever had? Ridiculous.

Lelouch looked at him carefully, trying to wrap his head around what 16 (+140) looked like. He had no way of verifying he was anywhere over 20, but looking at him, he could see 16. He looked closer, seeing hints of baby fat giving roundness to high cheekbones. Looking at the sharp chin, round eyes that tapered in the corners, and wide cheekbones, he was reminded of a cat. As he got older, he could imagine his face elongating gracefully into rather handsome features. As he was, the boy was rather gamine and young looking even for 16. He brought his hand to the immortal face, feeling soft, newly formed skin, trying not to enjoy how long and lush the his eyelashes looked as he turned to respond to the contact. Embarrassed, he reminded himself of his father and the way he caressed his machines in such scientific, but reverent observation. At least my subject is human, he thought. Sorta.

"A device?" he asked distractedly.

"A devicer that cannot die," Suzaku corrected politely.

In an impressive show of wit considering the circumstances, Lelouch saw the figures. Suzaku would've seen the Damocles rise at 18, but he was already suspended in time at the point. What happened two years before that would've made him cease to age? Given the military conflict, being unable to die would've been an advantage. Devicer meant military. Was he harboring some war hero? If he was Japanese, he was sure to be anything but. Instead, he was sure to be…Lelouch didn't want to think about what his new companion went through.

What a way to spend the formative years of your youth. Yet he still seemed suspended in those years. 156 years of lost history was in that boy's palms, yet he only wanted to live his life for the sake of others. It was like he was trying to erase the past by dedicating himself to the present.

Underneath Suzaku's recitations and oblique answers, there was something hidden. He couldn't quite place his finger on what, but it was something he was hiding under his 16th year. Lelouch wanted to touch a year, 17, 137, 89, any of them, just to see what was underneath. History had managed to elude him since the day he was born. Every day, he was told to take his existence at face value and accept life as it was presented to him, but what of the things that had been there before him? History as it is written is only half of the story. But at least history as it was told relied on the idea that one thing could affect another. Life, as it stood, was nothing more than a sequence of events. Nothing that would happen now would have bearing on what happened next.

Scholars knew, Schneizel knew, maybe Lloyd knew, and Suzaku, suspended in time knew deep in his heart, but Lelouch knew each of these sources were inaccessible and shrouded themselves in protective masks. Break Suzaku's mask, he thought, and he could set him free, but he wanted something more. Breaking his mask would set him free, but what of the ghosts that trapped him? Why had they gone unpunished for so many years? He would reap the vengeance Suzaku was unable to sew. He would free the ghosts.

Shaking, he saw the long lashes guard eyes before they yielded their treasure. Frightened green eyes met his, darting like they recognized the sight of wheels turning inside of a dangerous mind. The immortal was alarmed and unbidden alarm was beautiful on him. If smiles made him immaculate like a doll, then alarm made him beautiful like a trapped bird. Lelouch shivered in desire.

He thumbed the brunette's cheekbone aimlessly, just relishing on how poreless the tanned skin felt under his tapered fingertip, and whispered in his ear," You lived to see the Damocles rise."

He felt Suzaku stiffen with recognition, large eyes widening as though he'd been found out. Lelouch suppressed the urge to roll his eyes—it wasn't like didn't know he'd been careless—he must have been waiting, calling for him, even if he didn't know he was. He fixed to move, but Lelouch trapped him in his arms. He was caught.

He moved his lips closer still to the delicate ear.

"And you will live to see it fall."

"Your wish?" Suzaku asked him breathlessly.

Notes

So, if it wasn't quite clear, this Lulu is a clone of the one from 2010. (We'll find out what happened to the "real one" later). So rather than growing up nurturing Nunnally, he grows up as Lloyd's son. Hopefully his character reflects that change w/o being too OOC. It's hard to know how to write Lulu/Suzu without the enemy aspect, but this is crazy bleak AU world. We'll get to know why Suzu is the way he is soon.

Hope you like it and aren't too weirded out by the extreme AUness! This is like the first serious fic I've ever written, so any concrit would be much appreciated. : D

It's odd that Lelouch didn't get any visions when he touched him, no? Silly Suzaku, eternally broken! We'll find out why next chapter. :D

The next couple chapters where more stuff "happens" will be a bit more episodic and less dense/tl;dr. Lulu needs to stop thinking so much!