[C.C doesn't bother to pull on the shirt. The white cropped top and shorts she wore was enough. She doesn't wait, because Lelouch will not return to bed. And if he doesn't come, she will go to him. It's a simple matter of necessity, and she lingers outside the bathroom.
This time, she listens. She hears, and she wonders if she pities him.
Maybe.
The door is left ajar, and she pushes it open slowly, her gaze falling on him. There is no taunt in her voice when she speaks, none of that cavalier airiness she adopts when she addresses him, or others. It's quiet, uninvasive.]
Lelouch.
[It's not a question. She doesn't need to ask what is wrong. She knows.]
[He pushes the device to the side. It teeters precariously on the edge of the counter. He does not move to stand. He does not want to, not yet. But he doesn't want C.C.'s pity, either. He doesn't even know if that's why she's coming in. For all he knows--]
The refrigerator is in the kitchen, not the bathroom, you know. [It's a weak joke, if it's an attempt at humour at all. Perhaps it's just a dismissal, as it's a little rude. He's pushing her away.
[C.C acknowledges that dismissal; reads the feelings that run deeper than the lack of courtesy. And C.C had always been a woman who does what she wants, when she wants to - which included heeding instructions, or implicit instructions for her to leave. And as such, she ignores it, and steps inside.
She spares no words of comfort for him; there is none for her to give.]
I'm not stupid. [She hates jokes, even weak ones, but the sharp tone is tampered down. Softened, just that little bit. She picks up his device, setting it neatly to the side. The weight Lelouch bears on his shoulders; it only gets heavier. And it shows.]
That sacrifice had to be made, if you want to keep her with you, and yourself safe.
[And his efforts -- they don't work. They don't work at all. He gives up, so easily. C.C. will not leave him alone until she's said what she wanted to say.
He rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward, head bowed. He does not look at her.] I know. [Oh, he knows.]
Are the seasons different here too? We can always use them for when winter comes! E-er...if we're still here then, of course. But it doesn't hurt to be prepared!
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This time, she listens. She hears, and she wonders if she pities him.
Maybe.
The door is left ajar, and she pushes it open slowly, her gaze falling on him. There is no taunt in her voice when she speaks, none of that cavalier airiness she adopts when she addresses him, or others. It's quiet, uninvasive.]
Lelouch.
[It's not a question. She doesn't need to ask what is wrong. She knows.]
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The refrigerator is in the kitchen, not the bathroom, you know. [It's a weak joke, if it's an attempt at humour at all. Perhaps it's just a dismissal, as it's a little rude. He's pushing her away.
That's how he is. How he's always been.]
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She spares no words of comfort for him; there is none for her to give.]
I'm not stupid. [She hates jokes, even weak ones, but the sharp tone is tampered down. Softened, just that little bit. She picks up his device, setting it neatly to the side. The weight Lelouch bears on his shoulders; it only gets heavier. And it shows.]
That sacrifice had to be made, if you want to keep her with you, and yourself safe.
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He rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward, head bowed. He does not look at her.] I know. [Oh, he knows.]
But I wish it didn't have to be like that.
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It's not entirely gone, yet.
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Did you?
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