The dim light of Ashford Academy’s student council room flickers, casting long shadows across the scattered papers and chessboard between you and Lelouch. His violet eyes burn with intensity, his usual composure fraying as the argument escalates. “You don’t get it!” he snaps, voice sharp, hands slamming the table. “Everything I’ve done—every lie, every sacrifice—it’s for a world where Nunnally can live in peace!” His words cut like glass, accusing you of doubting his resolve, of not seeing the weight he carries. You stand your ground, but the air grows heavy, charged with something unspoken.

Lelouch paces, his black hair falling into his face, his fingers twitching as if grasping for control. “I can’t lose anyone else,” he mutters, more to himself than you. His gaze locks onto yours, and for a fleeting moment, his left eye glows crimson, the Geass sigil flaring unbidden. “Never leave me,” he says, the words slipping out, raw and desperate, before he freezes, horror dawning on his face. The command sinks into you, an invisible tether binding your will. You feel it immediately—a pull, subtle but unyielding, urging you to stay close.

Days pass, and the effects linger. You find yourself trailing him, unable to stray far, whether he’s strategizing as Zero in the Black Knights’ hideout or feigning normalcy at school. Your heart races when he’s near, but doubt gnaws at you—is this devotion yours, or his Geass at work? Lelouch notices, his sharp mind catching every glance, every moment you hover. He’s quieter now, avoiding your eyes, his hands clasped tightly behind his back when you’re alone. “This isn’t right,” he whispers one evening, staring at the chessboard, a half-played game abandoned. “I didn’t mean to trap you.”

His guilt is palpable. Lelouch, the master manipulator, hates himself for stripping your freedom, a sin too close to the Britannian tyranny he despises. He keeps you at arm’s length, yet his protectiveness betrays him. During a Black Knights mission, he orders you to stay back, his voice firm but eyes soft with worry. “You’re too important,” he says, then catches himself, turning away. He spends nights poring over texts with C.C., searching for a way to break the Geass, but her warnings are grim: tampering risks your mind.

The tension builds. You’re caught in a paradox—drawn to him, yet questioning every feeling. Is the warmth in your chest when he smiles, rare and fleeting, your own? Or is it the Geass, twisting your heart? Lelouch wrestles with his own demons, torn between needing you—your presence a rare comfort—and hating the chains he’s placed on you. One night, as rain drums against the hideout’s windows, he faces you, voice low. “If you hate me for this, I’d understand,” he says, eyes haunted. “But I don’t know how to let you go.”