Suzaku froze, hands stilling and lips parting in surprise as he looked up at Lelouch. What? He hadn't fully believed -- he hadn't hoped for -- the details of what Lelouch said were lost in the shuffle as Suzaku tried to process this revelation. He'd thought that Lelouch considered Shirley's death to be wrong, but that was different from -- from whatever this was. He wasn't sure if Lelouch regretted what he'd obviously considered a strategically necessary murder, but to call it a tragedy conflicted with every image Suzaku had of him, even after last night. And to go so far to make up for his transgression and prevent it from happening again. . . Admittedly that was what they had decided to do now, but the fact that Lelouch had felt this way (the same as me, the weight of the new thought stuck out uncomfortably against the old ones) the entire time and Suzaku had had no idea was just, was just -- that had to have happened just before Suzaku had decided to grind Lelouch's face into the dirt.
Suzaku's fingers trembled where they still clutched Lelouch's shirt, the Prince's face swimming toward him through a blind haze of confusion. Flickering, shifting in his gaze, just like his identity did in Suzaku's mind. Even now, when Suzaku thought he had drowned every drop of selfishness he had left in a sea of self-recrimination, the knowledge that he had been too quick to judge someone burned like a knife between his ribs. How could Lelouch -- this conflicted with everything Lelouch was, everything he had to be, everything Suzaku knew him to be. It conflicted with what he'd been not ten minutes ago. This couldn't be true, it just didn't add up, and he couldn't understand how this could be the person who'd ordered Sam's death, who'd burst into tears last night, who'd claimed responsibility for Shirley's death. Suzaku must just be too stupid to understand the common thread, but all he could feel was inchoate rage that he'd made such a mistake. That nothing in his life made any sense. That Lelouch had the nerve to be so completely incomprehensible.
"Then why do you have to act like you're enjoying it?" he snarled before he could think, furiously ripping through the last few inches of shirt. He stilled his hands, however, just before they roughly shoved the shirt off Lelouch's shoulders. He felt dizzy with self-hatred, fingers shaking even more with suppressed violence as they slowly peeled the blood-soaked fabric away from the wounds, his touch so light it barely grazed the skin.
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Suzaku's fingers trembled where they still clutched Lelouch's shirt, the Prince's face swimming toward him through a blind haze of confusion. Flickering, shifting in his gaze, just like his identity did in Suzaku's mind. Even now, when Suzaku thought he had drowned every drop of selfishness he had left in a sea of self-recrimination, the knowledge that he had been too quick to judge someone burned like a knife between his ribs. How could Lelouch -- this conflicted with everything Lelouch was, everything he had to be, everything Suzaku knew him to be. It conflicted with what he'd been not ten minutes ago. This couldn't be true, it just didn't add up, and he couldn't understand how this could be the person who'd ordered Sam's death, who'd burst into tears last night, who'd claimed responsibility for Shirley's death. Suzaku must just be too stupid to understand the common thread, but all he could feel was inchoate rage that he'd made such a mistake. That nothing in his life made any sense. That Lelouch had the nerve to be so completely incomprehensible.
"Then why do you have to act like you're enjoying it?" he snarled before he could think, furiously ripping through the last few inches of shirt. He stilled his hands, however, just before they roughly shoved the shirt off Lelouch's shoulders. He felt dizzy with self-hatred, fingers shaking even more with suppressed violence as they slowly peeled the blood-soaked fabric away from the wounds, his touch so light it barely grazed the skin.