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“There.” Lelouch tightens the bow of Suzaku’s apron, stepping back.
“Thanks.” Suzaku rolls up his shirt sleeves. “What do you want me to do?”
“Chop those vegetables. I’ll sort them out when you’re done.”
“Sure.”
Suzaku picks up a knife and obediently gets to work. Lelouch watches him for a moment, admiring his speed, his efficiency, before returning to his own station. He’s been in the Student Council kitchen all morning, working on food preparation alone, quite content—but Milly has been able to “spare” Suzaku for twenty minutes so here they are. Just the two of them. By themselves. Together.
They work in companionable quiet, the sun beaming in through the windows, Suzaku humming to himself under his breath. Lelouch doesn’t speak to him, every now and then glimpsing him in his peripheral, the sunlight bouncing off his curls. Yesterday, he’d have been happy with this, enjoying his company, his closeness.
Suzaku catches his eye, grinning wide and white. “What?”
Lelouch looks away. “Nothing.”
Suzaku shrugs, fluid and lazy, the whole motion rolling through his broad shoulders. “Okay.” He says this with an infuriating lightness, a smugness, like he’s got nothing to hide.
Lelouch stares savagely at the strawberries he’s been neatly arranging into a pastry case, each one aligned with mathematical precision. His fingers tremble ever so slightly as he puts the last few in, ensuring their placement is perfect. Last night, Suzaku was revealed—to him, to the Black Knights, to the whole damn world—as the pilot of Britannia’s prestigious Lancelot KMF prototype. The cursed White Knight, the piece he can never predict, the soldier who doggedly refuses to die… Now he stands beside him in a mint-green apron, chopping carrots with that stupid brute strength, completely oblivious. The universe has a cruel and unusual idea of a joke. Lelouch’s throat is still sore from laughing.
“Oh, hey,” Suzaku says with a suddenness that makes him jump. “Didn’t you want to ask me something?”
“Oh.” Lelouch bites his bottom lip, considering for a moment. No. No, he can’t ask him to be Nunnally’s knight. Not now, knowing how deeply embedded he is within Britannia’s war machine. The risk is too great. “Did I?”
“Yeah.” Suzaku laughs. “Did you forget?”
“I suppose so.” Lelouch exhales, pushing aside the pastry and reaching for the next one. “Can't have been that important, hm?”
Suzaku looks at him for a moment. He, too, seems to consider. “...I guess not.”
“Are you done with those carrots yet?” Lelouch changes the subject, feeling irritable. “They have to go in soon or they won’t cook. Hurry up.”
“O-oh, sorry.” Suzaku goes back to his task with renewed fervor. “Got distracted.”
“Do you lose focus like that when you’re at work?”
“No.” Suzaku slams the knife through a carrot with unnecessary force. “Just around you.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Lelouch says witheringly.
“Nothing. Stop talking to me. It’s distracting.”
“You’re the one starting a conversation every two seconds,” Lelouch retorts. “I can’t help it if you can’t concentrate on two things at—”
Suzaku hisses suddenly. He drops the knife with a clatter, clutching his hand to his chest. “Oww…”
“Did you cut yourself?” Lelouch turns to him, wiping his hands on his apron. “You should be more careful.”
“Shut up,” Suzaku grumbles. “You’re no help, nagging in my ear.” He gingerly examines his fingers, startlingly red, and sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Ouch, god, that hurts…”
“Let me see.” Lelouch takes his hand without waiting for permission, looking at the clean cut across his first finger. “It’s not that bad, you baby. Run it under the tap.”
“I told you to stop talking to me,” Suzaku complains, going to the sink.
“Can’t you take a simple order?” Lelouch snorts. He bends down and gets the first-aid kit out. “I thought you were a soldier.”
“I’m sorry I came to help you. I should have known better than to interrupt when you’re lording it up in the kitchen. Milly said even Shirley didn’t want to come in here.”
“I see my reputation precedes me,” Lelouch says archly. This is how he likes it in all matters, truth be told. He puts the first-aid kit down on the kitchen table, opening it. “Come here and I’ll dress it for you.”
“I don’t think it needs anything on it.”
“You can’t handle food with an open wound on your hand.” You probably can’t pilot a Knightmare with one, either, idiot.
Suzaku does come, patting his hand dry. He sits obediently in the chair Lelouch pulls out for him. Lelouch carefully goes through the kit, taking out an antiseptic wipe and a band-aid. The kitchen is silent again, full of something expectant, unspoken. Maybe Suzaku is waiting for an apology. Lelouch, selfishly, is waiting for one, too.
“Give me your hand.”
Suzaku obeys, stretching his upturned palm out towards him. Lelouch sits on the edge of the kitchen table, tearing open the wipe with his teeth, unfolding it to clean the wound. It’s already welling with blood again but it’s not deep. Suzaku inhales through his nose but he doesn’t make a sound otherwise. He’s a soldier, after all. He’s had far worse; Lelouch has seen it. He rubs absently at the callous on Suzaku’s thumb, something he’s noticed before. He’d assumed it was from work, of course, but now he knows. Kallen has the same welts in the same places.
“Now who’s getting distracted,” Suzaku says quietly.
Lelouch withdraws. “You need to moisturize, that’s all.”
“Heh. Maybe.” Suzaku examines his hand himself. “Don’t know if it would help much.”
“...Probably not.” Lelouch opens up the band-aid. “Come on.”
Suzaku puts out his hand again. Lelouch very carefully wraps the plaster around the wound, making sure the edges are stuck down. He did this more times than he could count during that summer, Suzaku an avid gatherer of gravel-scraped knees, with nobody who cared enough to patch him up prior to Lelouch’s arrival.
“Thank you, Nurse Lelouch,” Suzaku says now, admiring his handiwork.
“I’ll slap one over your mouth next,” Lelouch threatens.
Suzaku sticks his tongue out as Lelouch closes the first-aid kit and puts it away, suddenly feeling warm and claustrophobic. Suzaku gets up, too, and moves right behind him.
“Did you remember what it was you wanted to ask me?” he asks.
“No,” Lelouch replies. He turns slowly, aware that Suzaku pretty much has him penned in. The Japanese boy is an inch or so shorter but his broader frame makes him immovable. Lelouch meets his gaze for a moment, acutely aware that he could Geass him and instantly solve all his problems, before looking aside. “If… if I remember, I’ll tell you.”
Suzaku holds his position a beat or two longer before backing down. “Okay.”
“You sound disappointed.” Lelouch turns around, the back of his neck prickling, and starts reaching for the strawberries once again.
“Well,” Suzaku says, still behind him, “it’s just… that thing the other day, you know, with that guy—”
“I told you, he won’t be back.”
“I know. But that was… well, serious, and I appreciate that you confided in me and let me help you rescue Nunnally.”
“Yeah,” Lelouch says, knowing full well he couldn’t have done it without Suzaku.
“So, if it’s something like that… I just want you to know that you can trust me. You can tell me anything, Lelouch. You know that, right?”
“Of course I do,” Lelouch says, holding in the urge to begin laughing hysterically again. “You too, Suzaku. You can tell me anything. We’re best friends.”
“I know I didn’t tell you about my father. ...I’m sorry you had to find out like that.”
“I understand why you kept it to yourself.” Lelouch pauses to look at him again. “Suzaku, it’s fine, really.”
Suzaku nods. “I mean it, though,” he insists. “I promise I’ll listen.”
Lelouch feels the thump of his heart fill the kitchen as he gazes at Suzaku, his first and oldest friend. His green eyes are piercing, sincere, completely honest. Maybe, even with things as they are, he could trust him…
“I—”
Suzaku’s phone suddenly starts ringing. He mumbles his apology, fumbling for it. “It’s work, sorry, I have to take this.”
Lelouch nods. He distractedly lines up the remaining strawberries in size order as Suzaku talks quietly. He decides he will do it: he’ll entrust Nunnally to him. And then, maybe, they can talk about other things. He’ll offer his hand to Suzaku once more. Perhaps this time he will take it.
“—ah, okay, I guess if it’s important… Yes, of course, I’ll come right away.” Suzaku hangs up and begins untying his apron. “Lelouch, I’m really sorry but I have to go into work. Can you tell Milly for me?”
“Oh.” Lelouch frowns at him in confusion. An emergency? It’s not as if the Black Knights are mobilising. He’s standing right here, after all. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.” Suzaku tosses the apron over the nearest chair. “Princess Euphemia wants to see me, that’s all.”
“I guess you’re in trouble,” Lelouch says.
“I hope not!” Suzaku bows his head apologetically. “Sorry to bail.”
“It’s fine. We can talk later.”
“Don’t forget what you want to say this time,” Suzaku teases.
“I won’t,” Lelouch replies, waving him off.
Suzaku leaves the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him. Lelouch finishes off the pastries and puts them in the oven to bake, then moves to Suzaku’s abandoned station and picks up the knife. There’s a faint tinge of blood on the blade, which he washes away before beginning to chop the remaining vegetables.
He works slowly, divides them neatly, reshapes them as he sees fit.