Touch

a/n: lyrics below are from the song in video above.

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I want to reconcile the violence in your heart

I want to recognize your beauty's not just a mask

I want to exercise the demons from your past

I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart

—Undisclosed Desires by Muse

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Touch

One more night...

A sigh doesn't do the gravity of Lelouch's grave reality justice but it's all he can seem to muster as he reaches his chambers, lacking even a hint of wistfulness or ruefulness in the breath ghosting past his weary lips. Maybe it should depress him that he isn't depressed about his foreboding day ahead and yet... well, what's the point in pitying a future he decided for himself? From day one Lelouch knew; maybe not how or exactly when, but he knew he was destined for death at the expense of something greater than himself – he practically started with one foot in the grave. There's no use in lamenting, not now – not when he hasn't allowed any spare brain-power to wander to those grievous thoughts.

Perhaps what bothers Lelouch more than not yielding to a repressed remorse that claws his black heart to ribbons when reveries of his past get the better of him is the fact that he is currently walking through his last night alive without so much as a last meal in his stomach. He would indulge himself, surely, if he could summon a single indulgence to the surface of his consciousness.

What are his last cravings?

What are his last desires?

What are his last wishes...?

There is one desire he craves but it is a wish neither he nor anyone else can fulfill: If only he could glimpse over his shoulder once he walks into Death's embrace to witness the rebirth blooming from his demise, to see the world safely nestled in Nunnally's palms. But Lelouch knows that with Death's arm around his shoulder, ushering him to the lake of fire, his view may very well be blocked. If not shrouded by Death's suffocating cloak, it will be that neutral grip around Lelouch that forces him to look upon his punishment rather than revel in the bittersweet sight of his greatest atonement in the guise of his greatest accomplishment. Despite that, this yearning isn't growing from the purest place in Lelouch's mind. In a dark pit far from his bleeding heart is where his insecurities fester, the most relevant of all is scratching up from the dark recesses with poisoned thorns that make him question every detail until his mind is spun into a mad vertigo of doubt that clenches his gut with nausea—

But he shouldn't welcome doubt anymore than he welcomes distress.

After all, if the King doesn't lead how can he expect his subordinates to follow?

The lack of guards at the entrance of his quarters doesn't alarm Lelouch anymore than the breakneck speed of invisible strength that arrests him once he steps through the door. Lelouch's arms are twisted and pinned at the wrists like a pretzel behind his back in a steel grip as his chest and face are slammed against the door that was kicked closed by a foot outside his own pair, locked with a quick click – all in a roll of milliseconds that happen faster than Lelouch's crown can hit the floor, roping Lelouch faster than he could try to fight off this attack even if he wanted to. The wood against his cheek is cold and lifeless but the body flush against his back with hands clasped in his hair and around his wrists is hot with an energy that Lelouch doesn't need to see to identify (even if he hadn't been informed of a certain dead man's activity by one certain cyborg).