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The key in his pocket hadn't seen its lock in nearly two years. Even speckled with rust, the key still fit. Somehow still twisted. Still opened the door that now creaked as he stepped through the doorway.
L took in a deep breath of stale air and slowly closed the door behind him. The ache in his chest dulled, just slightly. Had this floor even seen sunlight since it had been condemned? He took a step towards the nearest window, then thought better of it. Best not to draw attention. He belonged in the dingy, dim light anyway.
A building couldn't escape the legacy of a name. What makes you think you can?
L paused, gaze drifting over the suspicious stains that painted once vibrant walls. Red. The colour of blood. How fitting. He traced over gouges in once carefully maintained wooden tables that were now swollen and splintered from neglect. At least something had found safety in that tainted name. Or had some frustrations to take out on the next best thing…
Years worth of work, millions in assets and productivity, reduced to a rather expensive playground for wild Pokemon. L snorted at the waste as he slipped behind the counter. Broken glass and ceramic crunched beneath his shoes. Something had been curious, judging by the tufts of fur and splattered drops of dried blood. He wasn't surprised no one had come to clean up.
Guilt nagged at him.
I should have.
It was his name on the deed, on the maps, on the damn cafe itself. Yet…it had taken nearly two years just to work up the courage to even enter the building. L nudged the debris at his feet into a loose pile and pushed it against the cupboards. The Pokemon living here deserved better than this dangerous mess. L resolved to clean it up himself - he had made a mess of it, after all.
Strange… L had picked up an odd…affinity for Zygarde, yet as he scanned over the cafe and its furnishing with a more meticulous eye, he didn't see a trace of the creature. Not even a single cell. What I did must have been too much, even for order itself, he thought drily.
L had frequently found Zygarde's presence a nuisance, like a hovering supervisor with nothing better to do, yet as he slowly explored the remains of his kingdom, he couldn't help but long for a watchful eye.
Fortunately, that feeling of being watched settled in not long after he'd found a broom and had begun sweeping.
Unfortunately, he felt no relief, only a chill down his spine and a prickle in the back of his neck. A pair of eyes like chips of ice watched him reacquaint himself with his old business, yet he could never quite meet them when he stole a glance at the darkness of the once hidden doorway. Whatever was there would turn to follow L as he moved back and forth across the floor. They would blink, every so often, though it wasn't of much comfort to him.
L didn't know how long he'd been attempting to tidy up (mostly pushing shattered pieces and piles of dirt and debris into bigger piles) but eventually a man stepped out of the shadowed doorway. Ah, perhaps someone else in a similar situation to his had already claimed this place. Or perhaps, for better or worse, he'd be tackled to the ground any moment now and restrained and informed of his crimes…
The man stood tall and proud, ginger hair ablaze under lights that didn't even work anymore, chilling blue eyes fixed on L. He moved with such easy grace and familiarity, even among the broken cafe, practically gliding toward L. He seemed to suck the warmth from the air as he approached, yet none of it reached his smile.
“Welcome to Lysandre Cafe. I am Lysandre.” The man held his hand out and, after a moment's hesitation, L reluctantly took it. Lysandre had a firm handshake. Almost painfully so. L stood up a little straighter, flexing his fingers when he got his hand back. He got the feeling that strength was specifically for him.
“...L.”
“Lysandre.” The sharp correction made L flinch; made him feel like a child being scolded. He wasn't going to correct it. L swallowed and conceded with a nod. Was this really what he'd been like? Uptight and petty?
Lysandre made no secret of looking L up and down, a frown settling on his face. “I see you have lost all sense of pride. Surely this is not what's in style these days?” Lysandre lightly tugged at his beard, lip quirking up in a smirk, and L self consciously ran his fingers through his own. It wasn't neatly groomed and, though it was clean, was noticeably longer and rather coarse to touch. Nevermind the immaculate, tailored suit Lysandre wore, compared to his own rather tatty attire that was held together by repair patches and his shoddy stitching. There was hardly a scrap of pride to be found on L, that much was clear.
“Perhaps there is simply little room for anything except remorse, in my new world,” L countered, a bitter note in his voice. Lysandre simply gave a soft hmph and let his hand trail along the countertop as he rounded it, coming to stand toe to toe with L, narrow eyes peering ever so slightly down at him. Making him feel small despite his height. Perhaps, if he hadn't been such an unsettling presence, he might have had someone care enough, back when it might have mattered.
Lysandre reached for him, his arm rising painfully slowly, yet it wasn't as though L had anywhere to go - not unless he felt a burst of athleticism to vault over the counter behind him. There was no warmth in the fingers that almost tenderly gripped his cheeks, forcing him to stare down a ghost. L didn't blink, didn't shy away from the cold fire in those eyes - couldn't blink, couldn't shy away. Lysandre examined him, fingers tightening, tilting his head this way and that, humming to himself.
Then L could move of his own accord again. Feel the life return to his cheeks where a dead man had held him, only for the chill to slowly creep down his cheeks, down his neck–
The hand at his throat immediately tightened into that firm grip, thumb efficiently working to crush his ability to breathe. He couldn't quite swallow, saliva pooling in his mouth and threatening to choke him out first. The edges of his vision darkened and he was suddenly aware of his chest heaving, as though the manual action could suck in enough air to get past the blockage. Perhaps if someone had done this sooner, an awful lot of suffering could have been prevented…
“Where's the fire? The drive?” It sounded an awful lot like disgust. L couldn't blame him. He was disgusted with himself too.
Then the pressure was gone, and L finally sucked in a deep breath. His throat burned. His head spun. He felt…relief, as musty air filled his lungs, over and over. Lysandre merely looked at him as though he were shit smeared across the bottom of his shoe.
“Surely I am not reduced to…to you? A rather sorry excuse…” Lysandre gestured at him, nose scrunched in a grimace. It was a fair assessment. L's rather lackluster reaction only served to irritate Lysandre, who roughly seized L's hands and brought them up to his own throat. “Go on, then. You wish to play hero now, do you?” Lysandre sneered at him and L allowed himself to hold him, fingers wrapping around Lysandre's throat. “If all you feel is remorse, then here is your chance. Don't get cold feet this time, Lysandre. There's no one coming to stop you. That's why you did it, right? You wanted someone else to come clean up the mess you made, before you could make it worse.”
L's grip tightened ever so slightly. Holding Lysandre was like hanging on to a metal pole; cold and unmoving. Lysandre's chest didn't rise and fall, the man remaining eerily still aside from L's own breath stirring the fur that lined his collar. L blinked, and for a moment, just a heartbeat, he didn't see anyone, only his hands hovering in an empty space amongst a ruined legacy.
“I don't…I cannot hurt you.” L shook his head, but didn't loosen his grip, didn't take his eyes off Lysandre's throat. If anything, he pressed down even harder, pushing Lysandre down. His own throat burned as he pressed his thumbs into the steel wall that was Lysandre. He wouldn't die. His name would be immortalised, just like AZ’s before. He already continued to exist, two years after his death, in newspaper clippings and hushed warnings like a bogeyman. A fool who thought the salvation of humanity rested entirely on his own absurdly padded shoulders. A warning to the future, if there was even one to still be had.
Arrogant. Out of touch. Image obsessed.
L dug his thumbs in deeper, not that the man beneath his hands even seemed to notice. There was no joy in the smile he saw, just simple…acceptance.
Lysandre smirked at him. “By my own hand? My own hand? I suppose it would have happened eventually.”
With that, L released him.
“No,” L barked out a hoarse laugh, rubbing his fingers over his own throat. “That would be too simple. Too easy. Clean.” Oh, he didn't deserve to go peacefully. He deserved to immortalise the pain in his mind, to carry it with him beyond even the grave. For three thousand years, even.
“A shame. Don't you think they're all better off believing it?” The way Lysandre moved, the way he practically sprung back upright and brushed himself down, was far too smooth. Unsettling.
“They do.” No one had come looking for him. They'd all believed him dead on that very day. No doubt the entire region had been happy to bury him. To leave him buried.
Lysandre blinked, surprise flashing across his face. A flicker of uncertainty followed. “No one…knows?”
“It is…better for them.” L chuckled bitterly, looking down at the hands that had caused such panic and pain, yet had been unable to prevent it when offered the chance. “Augustine, Diantha, Malva…” Surely, to suddenly show up after such a horrendous miscalculation, would only reopen wounds best left alone. L lifted his chin, standing straighter. If he had confidence in anything, it was that he was better off in this strange state of limbo. “Regardless, they would never find who they're looking for. Just a broken man who could never answer them...”
“Hah! Still thinking like that, am I?” Lysandre laughed, though he didn't sound too pleased. He tugged at his jacket and smoothed down his sleeves, a look of scorn settling on his face. “I will not let you come to pass. I cannot fail my one duty.”
Arrogant. Egotistical. Overconfident.
Lysandre didn't move, didn't even try to struggle, when L grabbed the lapels of his jacket and yanked him closer. Face to face, barely a whisker apart, L could see the regret that haunted himself, hidden behind a cracking mask of indifference. Was he…scared?
L kissed him. He wasn't sure why - perhaps he simply couldn't bear looking at his own pitiful reflection - but he kissed himself. Lysandre was cold and tasted bitter. L leaned into him, feeling Lysandre tense beneath him as he claimed his space. The question of what, exactly, Lysandre was, briefly flashed across his mind. Finding out wasn't particularly high on his priorities, though.
Lysandre took a step back, and L followed, crowding him, cornering him, just as he had done minutes before. He didn't let go, his grip firm on Lysandre's jacket, even daring to bundle more in his fists to subtly close the distance further.
L was pretty sure he hadn't kissed anyone before this. Well, himself, apparently, but that didn't count. He took the opportunity for a second and, this time, Lysandre returned the act. Lysandre leaned back as L leaned forward, one arm hooking over L's shoulder and tugging at his collar. If he hadn't kissed anyone then Lysandre certainly hadn't, and that much was rather obvious with how he awkwardly mouthed at L. Of course, not like L had much more of a clue. Lysandre grunted into his lips, surprisingly pliant given his earlier intensity.
Lysandre finally pushed back against him, though there was hardly any real force. Just enough to briefly separate. “Hah…what a…what a fool I must be, to feel myself worthy…deserving of such…” L’s jacket tightened over his shoulders, pulling him in closer. Lysandre had a firm grip on him and wasn't about to let go now of all times. Maybe the aching loneliness L felt wasn't just his own…
Regardless, Lysandre needed to shut up. Oh, what would he know about being deserving of this? He hadn't even done anything yet! With the thorn of frustration (and admittedly some part deserved self loathing) firmly lodged in his mind, L pushed Lysandre down, his back thudding dully against the counter, and leaned down over him, staring at cold blue eyes.
“Ahh. Is this where you redirect all that passion nowadays? I can feel it radiating-” Lysandre winced and cringed beneath him, cut off by a sharp bite. L stared as he ran his tongue over his lip as though surveying the nonexistent damage. Nothing. Hardly even a lingering dent. When he leaned down again it was gentler, just a kiss this time. He briefly contemplated using his tongue - people did that, right? - but a flash of teeth against his own lips shut that idea down. As if incensed by the threat, L pressed his weight down on Lysandre, pinning him, fists gradually unclenching to splay across Lysandre's chest. He still didn't move, didn't breathe. Not that it was something worthy of concern at that moment. L's hands slowly slid down Lysandre's chest, blindly picking at the tiny buttons on his jacket while he kept Lysandre distracted with awkward kiss after kiss.
L slipped his hands beneath Lysandre's jacket, pushing it over his shoulders and biting down on him at the same time. Lysandre jerked up against him, something halfway between a whimper and a grunt escaping him. Fair was fair, L conceded, sucking in a sharp breath when the tang of blood spread through his own mouth. His lip throbbed where impossibly sharp teeth had pierced, blood still mixing with saliva. He was certain Lysandre could taste it too, suddenly much more active against him. Fighting back, almost. L would nip at him, his teeth too blunt to do the same damage but enough to rip a grunt from behind Lysandre's fangs, and Lysandre would chase with the one-track mind of a Pyroar hunting a Stantler. L winced with each hair plucked from his face, each snap of teeth, but it wasn't going to deter him.
Lysandre's hair was just as soft and silky as it looked. L grabbed more of it, balling his fist tight in Lysandre's hair, and forcibly yanked his head back. His beard had a clean cut off that neatly framed his throat. L pressed a kiss against Lysandre's adams apple, pausing for just a moment to breathe in the sharp pine scent. Lysandre shivered and groaned beneath him, and L mouthed at the lump, testing it between his teeth. Oh, to rip his own throat out here and now…
“Go on…” Lysandre's voice came out breathy and hushed, his words punctuated by legs wrapping loosely around L's thighs. L's jacket rode up his back, clawed away by Lysandre beneath. “You know you want to. I know you do.” His throat vibrated against L's tongue when he spoke, a deceptive show of vulnerability that wasn't about to fool L.
“I do,” L muttered, “I want to put you to rest. Back down there. My life, for every potential life…” Oh, the agony of being unable to stay dead shouldn't do this, but a twisted pleasure and urge to seek it out over and over was truly a befitting sentence. Perhaps Lysandre agreed, with the way his legs tightened around him and squeezed, encouraging him on with a faint sigh.
He was awful. A lesser man. He shouldn't be so greedy as to tighten his hand in Lysandre's hair and seek out more, with domineering kisses that left no space for any thoughts. He shouldn't be so excited by the prospect of punishment, as to rut against himself like a beast unable to help itself. Lysandre shouldn't be so keen to bring him down, to encourage him and spur him on with groans and breathy panting, providing the exact tools he needed to dig himself deeper.
Self destruction seemed to come naturally to him. How fitting.
But to indulge in it any further, right now, would only be to keep digging. To disappoint. L grimaced, the image of Zygarde flashing across his mind. Hah. Even Zygarde could be wrong.
With a reluctant groan L pulled away, jacket slipping over his head as he extricated himself from Lysandre's iron grip, shaking his legs loose. Lysandre, for his part, didn't seem to be recovering quite as fast. He still looked rather dazed at the abrupt stop, laid out across the counter and still white knuckling L's jacket. L felt a pang of envy at the sight; jealousy, even. Lysandre certainly took his time to find himself, slowly sitting up, face flushed. His pride deserved to take the hit.
L took his jacket back, giving it a quick once over and testing his poor repairs as Lysandre cleared his throat and made an effort to smooth himself out. “I have…matters to attend to, if you would excuse my sudden departure.” Lysandre's tone was curt, despite the subtle waver, a sharp contrast to the low rumble prior. He swayed, ever so slightly, pushing past L and retreating into the shadows he'd come from, swallowed up until he was nothing more than a pair of eyes. A pair of ice blue eyes that slowly blinked at him once twice, then disappeared into the darkness of an overrun laboratory. A taunt. A challenge, no doubt. Come, see for yourself, a voice in his head seemed to say. His previous life's work was down there. All of it.
But go down there? Into Lysandre's den? Straight into his own poisoned fangs? L ran his tongue over his lips, still tinged with blood, and took a step back, as though his own past might reappear and lunge for him, drag him down to truly face himself head on. The counter behind him prevented any escape.
No. If he went down there and whatever he found made sense…if Lysandre got his claws into him, if any of it made sense, would he have any chance? Would Zygarde rescue him again, or would it simply look down on the man who, despite all he'd done, had gone and squandered his second chance at…at achieving his own goal…
L took a deep breath and straightened up. No. No, he wasn't ready for this. He needed more time. Time he was very acutely aware he was not owed in the slightest.
The counter was low. Low enough for L to, somewhat awkwardly, slide over. Perhaps it was only his own imagination that caused the notes of his own Perish Song to drift out of the yawning darkness at the back of the cafe? Zygarde would come looking for him soon - his private excursions rarely went more than a few minutes without some sight of green. It was best for him to get out of the dilapidated cafe; to not give his warden a reason to tighten his leash.