A/N: Well! I finally finished this little piece. Haha. It took me quite a while (THREE MONTHS), but at least I finally got the job done. I'm happy. :D
On another note, this particular fanfic is dedicated to one of the best reviewers I have ever had (not that I've had much), Enigma of the Eclipse! It's not that big of an honor, but I feel she deserves it. I told her I'd finish this way back in November 2011, and here we are three days before the end of February. How fabulous.
Anywho! Warnings, warnings. Um... Probable language? I don't really remember. Weird flow of events. Cliff hangers. Awkward phrasings. Vagueness is vague. Maybe some repetition. Unedited! Pretty heavy on spoilers, if you haven't gone that far into the series yet.
Disclaimer: Code Geass does not belong to me. Instead, it is owned by Sunrise and... CLAMP, I guess? Haha. This whole piece, however, belongs to me, characters aside.
Word count: 1,815 words
And now, without further ado, I present to you Amet'visto! I hope you enjoy!
Sometimes, he felt like he was going crazy. After living for so long, it became hard to tell reality and fantasy apart. He didn't know whether what he saw (heard, felt) were real, or if they were just figments of his imagination. Was he dreaming, or was he actually awake?
Walking along the streets of Tokyo, he would see a tall, slim youth with straight black hair, and he would pause. His heart would ache, and he'd look back. But he'd see that it was not the same person: the man was too short, the hair a little too long, the voice much too high. More than that though, there was one glaringly obvious difference—the unknown man's eyes would be blue, or green, or gray, but never the exact shade of amethyst that he could remember with (not so) surprising clarity.
He could still visualize the various emotions that those amethyst eyes showed him, the various faces their owner would make. He would see the amethyst eyes light up with joy, darken with sorrow, and quaver with fear. He would see that face, the beautiful pale face, always masked with indifference—but the man never could hide completely from Suzaku. He could remember, though, three particular times wherein the face the man showed him remained burned in his mind, like a brand in his soul.
The first time was when they were still boys, the point in which their lives did a complete one-eighty. It was when Britannia had completely taken over Japan back in the year 2010. He could still see the burnt buildings, could still smell the ashes that floated around. Most of all, he could still hear the young boy's promise, see the determination burning in his eyes (Suzaku, I'm going to destroy Britannia!, he says). It had filled his heart with warmth and gratitude, but at the same time alarm and concern as well. He could not let the other dirty his hands with war and death! He would take on that responsibility, and he would strive to make the world a better place for them to live in.
The second time, they were much older, but not much wiser. They were still young, really, but already they were both trying to act as if they could shoulder the weight of the world (I'll rule the world!, one says, while the other goes, Things from now on have nothing to do with you! I will save Nunally!). And he spoke words he would never mean (Your existence was a mistake!), words he should never have said. He could never take them back, just as much as he would always remember the (miserable, hurt, utterly devastated) face shown to him then, a face the other man had never shown to anyone before. He would remember the rush of elation he had then at the thought that he had that much control over the other. And so he continued speaking, continued down the destructive path he was taking. It was only later that he would realize that the feeling back then was an empty one, that his heart would clench in pain and regret as he would remember that broken face the other had shown. But by then, he had no other choice—he was too far down the path he had chosen to take, and he couldn't turn back. He could only walk on forward, and walk on he did.
The third time… Remembering the third time hurt, almost physically. The expectant smile, the relaxed pose—they had both known what would happen then, but only one of them truly accepted it. Suzaku could still feel the other's body pressed against his as the rest of his life (and warmth) faded away. He would see the hand caressing the black and blue mask, and he would wish that the piece of plastic were out of the way, that he could really feel that bloodied hand caress his cheek. He would think that if he had done things differently, if they both had done things differently, things would never have become the way they were. They could have prevented themselves from hurting each other so deeply. He kept that memory close to his heart, the memory of Zero's sword plunging through the other man's body, if only as a form of self-punishment. That sad, expectant face would haunt his dreams from that time on.
He would sometimes (always) wish that he would just die, that he would finally get the eternal sleep he had always wanted. He had never feared death, not when it came to himself. He'd never been scared that, in his next battle, he might actually be defeated. He'd never been scared that he would be the next to die. In fact, he looked forward to it. And yet, no matter how hard he tried, he could not die. He had tried, over and over again, but nothing would work.
It seemed that, even in death, Lelouch still held some sort of control over him.
Looking back, it all became clear to Suzaku: ever since Lelouch had come into his life, it had always been about him. About getting his forgiveness, about becoming his friend, about keeping him happy, about making the world a better place for him and Nunally— and then it became all about killing him.
That was the one choice the Suzaku would regret the most. The moment he made the decision, somehow, he just knew that he had made the wrong one. It wasn't just because Lelouch was supposed to be his friend—no, his best friend. Something just told him that what he'd done would change things for the worse.
The thing is, though, it had never been about Euphy; it had never really been about avenging her death. It made him feel horrible, but her death had really just been the excuse he needed to strengthen his resolve and finally go after Zero with his all. If he had known beforehand that Lelouch was Zero, would he have still sought revenge? As it was, part of the reason why he chose to kill Zero (Lelouch) was because of the feeling of betrayal that coursed through him when he V.V. told him. Why didn't Lelouch tell him? Weren't they best friends? They were supposed to trust each other with everything, weren't they? So why? Why hadn't he thought to trust Suzaku with such a thing? (He, of course, conveniently forgot that Zero had tried to 'recruit' him before, but he had refused.)
Sometimes, he would just lie on his bed and think. He hated sleeping, hated the shade of purple that would always haunt his dreams, so instead he would lay awake and think of things, other things, things that weren't amethyst. More often than not, though, he would fail, and he would see them anyway, those eyes that haunted him every moment of his life, whether awake or unconscious. It made him sick, sick to his stomach, sick to his very core. He just wanted to forget, wanted so much to just let the memories blow away. His memories were unneeded, unwanted, and he wanted nothing else but for them to disappear, lest he finally lose his mind.
Then again, he supposed, he would not be able to survive without his memories either. As much as it haunted him, it was the thought of amethyst eyes that kept him going. It was the memories of black-haired elegance that kept him sane. It was the thought that he'd somehow see all that again which kept him going. Without those memories, he would lose himself, and he couldn't afford that on top of everything else he'd lost.
That one day when everything changed once more was nothing short of miraculous, in his eyes. It was one of those days, those days when he would just walk around Tokyo and hope for a glimpse of amethyst, a flash of black. He would just walk aimlessly, passing by places he could remember going to before. Some of them were exactly as they had been, so many years before. Others were gone, replaced by new places. He could do nothing else but remember, and hope.
And then, from the corner of his eye, a flash of green—it was very bright, that shade. And although it wasn't exactly what he was looking for, it sent his heart racing. Never in his life had he ever seen hair with that particular shade. And he had not seen it in a very long time, not since... Not since that day, way back then. And he knew, somehow―he just knew that this woman, this woman who had lived far longer than he had, was leading him. Being the kind of woman she was, it was quite impossible for her to not know he was there. It was not a coincidence that he spotted her on that day of all days (surely, it wasn't, considering what day it was exactly).
And so he ran after her, ran as if his life depended on it (and to him, it did―he needed to run after her, needed it like fish need water, like humans need air―). And he felt like he couldn't breathe, like the air was getting sucked out of his lungs. His heart beat fast in his chest, fast and hard and thumpthumpthumpthump. He saw her head tilt a little, just enough for him to see part of her face―and he knew that was a smirk, that little minx.
He couldn't help the grin that pulled at his lips. There was only one possible reason he could think of as to why she would actually show herself to him after all this time. Finally, after all those years of waiting and hoping, finally, finally―
In the distance, he spotted familiar dark hair, a young man with his back turned. He stood alone on the sidewalk, looking as if he were waiting for someone. He had to swallow the lump in his throat at the sight. Finally, finally―
He did not even notice as the woman, the woman who had led him, vanished into the crowd, a satisfied smile on her face. He did not notice the flash of pink to his far left, a woman with light blue eyes cheering him on. Instead, all his focus was centered on the man standing on the sidewalk, waiting, waiting―
He had stopped running by then, instead walking purposefully, his strides long and sure. His heart had calmed down, beating slowly and evenly. There was only one more thing to know, just one more thing before he was sure. He stopped behind the dark-haired man, who in turn tensed as he sensed the other man's presence. A hand reached out to a shoulder, and his head turned, hoping, hoping―
And finally, finally, amethyst meets emerald.
End?