a/n: Code Geass is all about futon jokes.

Proper Sheep ; PG - humor/gen - Lelouch/Anya, maybe impl. Lelouch/Suzaku

It was enough when they told him that as Emperor, no. He could not just wear his school uniform. He had to wear real clothes. Proper clothes.

He sincerely doubts the royal tailor's (laughable in this century... all centuries) sense of taste.

Because this?

He looks like the damn pope.

Lelouch huffs before his bedroom door, full intent on sleeping, with the upcoming battle that would surely come, he wouldn't be getting any thereafter. Schneizel had to show his face some time) and managing end upon end- issues in not only the Britannian homeland itself, but also the settlements... it was no wonder his father turned from reality (but of course Lelouch would never, never really think that. Just joking frustration, that was it. He was going to change the world, he was going to-)

Sleep.

For a busy man, it was different from being Zero... as the Emperor he could sleep at a set schedule (or order people to be shot otherwise), it was a glorious given, having spent nearly a year running on three hours and skipping nights. But now?

He could go to bed at 3:00pm if he wanted (he never did... but still the option was left for it.) It was refreshing, yet there was however another pressing matter. The Emperor's bedroom. The Emperor's bed.

Lelouch was not, dear god- not sleeping on that.

So he slept on the floor. Makeshift bed on the carpeted surface, scowling every single time some advisor or some such other weaseled their way from dealing with that giant heavy monster that was not only a bed but also a relic of history! These were after all- the royal chambers, and as the Emperor... dammit he was just going to have to shoot them too. Burn down the room. And shoot them some more.

Sometimes C.C. came in, gambling on his so called forgiveness and hinting- haughtily teased him. Fluffing the pillows, didn't he want to sleep in a bed? And not on the floor? It was going to spread more rumors about him being an Eleven-loving...

And he couldn't sleep in any other room, for why oh why would their Emperor sleep in any place but his room? Those mentioned unsavory rumors would pop up and be encouraged in every way possible should he hole himself else where.

It was frustrating.

He turns the knob of his bedroom door when he hears light foot steps behind him, only a few were allowed down this hall now.

"Lelouch,"

Turning-

"Anya."

She looks at him stoically; though he knows what many (few) features may flicker across it. When they had met her from beyond the Sword of Akasha, the System of Raganok... they had hastily, while making their getaway through the woods and securing the Emperor's ship- explained to her "everything". Least enough. C.C. sullen all the while.

It irked him at times, when she spoke quietly, repentantly. That woman who had used to easily ridicule him over little, large, encompassing things. You should keep to your agreements.

"What is it?" he incurs further. She looks on almost thoughtfully. When he had first worn these new clothes she had taken a picture which had been startling in its own way.

Her lips look like she has just licked them. "You lied to me."

A statement.

When? He wonders. Looking back on their conversation, geass, Marianne, her lost memories... before he can ask for elaboration she gives it. "Back then."

She holds up her camera, that picture of him in the garden, a younger boy, before mother's ‘death', before Nunnally could not walk, before everything.

"Is this you?"

Being hounded for dates, crouching behind, about bushes- "Me? Oh no! I'm just a regular commoner..."

Right.

His hand rests still on the doorknob, an awkwardness folding over him.

"I'm sorry?" he says questionably, brow knotted in vexation.

Anya snaps a picture of that and spares him a small knowing smile he's never seen before.