“Of course.” He leans his head into Suzaku’s hand. “You don’t need to ask permission.”

It’s obvious what Suzaku wants - proof his skin is whole, proof his bones have healed, proof that behind his eyes everything is functioning as it should. He’s happy enough for Suzaku to prod and poke at him without having to ask for permission to thumb over every new area. And L.L himself is, underneath his little smile and deliberate relaxation, still shaken from that horror. There’s reciprocity here: if Suzaku’s assures that he’s all fine, if his face relaxes from this strange intensity that comes over him, then L.L will truly be able to put their mutual suffering.

Under Suzaku’s fingers his skin is soft but for the faintest hint of stubble just under his jaw, a patch he’d missed when preparing for his execution and now forever uneven.