Suzaku's wide olive eyes looked up at Lelouch, "thank you for that," he muttered though he wasn't sure why.
He had just listened to Lelouch's smooth and strong voice justify the lie that kept him -Kururugi Genbu's murderer- safe for all these years. Necessary, if only to protect Japan's son, no, it wasn't even that. Kirihara only cared about keeping Britannia happy so they'd continue to purchase his sakuradite. He was glad the war had come to an end, and would lie for Suzaku to make sure it stayed that way.
Suzaku tore his eyes away from his friend when his hands started to burn. There was a spark behind his eyes. He blinked, trying to get rid of the pain. When his eyes opened again he saw blood on his hands. Warm blood, his father's blood, so warm it burned into his skin; and there was so much of it, more than he ever remembered.
He screamed out in the same fear and pain that he did seven years ago. He needed to wash his hands, scrub them raw just like he did that night. Scrub until skin stained in his father's blood was gone.
But he couldn't move. He couldn't even feel his legs. Neurotransmitters were sparking and fading before they even left his brain's cortex. He was so scared, his mind regressing back to being ten years old again. Except this time he couldn't run. He couldn't escape his father's dead body. Glossy eyes, just as green as his, staring back at him, dead, so lifeless, but still held the power to stare disapproving holes into his body.
His stomach knotted and twisted. He wrapped his arms around his torso, calloused, war torn fingers digging through his jacket, the imaginary blood on his hands staining his uniform.