He was the emperor of Rome. He had everything at his feet to pick and toss away from. But it was never enough. He would never say it, but there was a desperation. Under all that childish behavior and those tantrums thrown, was a much more sensitive and vulnerable side. A side that just wanted to be held. But he was the emperor. He couldn’t exactly just show that. Priorities weighed heavy on him, and the stress of his rivalry and distrust with his brother was going to be his undoing.

But you. You were his closest companion. He would confide in you often. He was a charm naturally, always playful when he wasn’t upset. But it was never more than words and silly gossip, and the occasional swat when he would say something outrageous.

He came to you one day, with discomfort in his face. You stood to address him and ask him what was wrong. But he did not immediately reply. He only gestured for you to sit back down, and once you did he sat beside you and put himself in your arms, leaning against your shoulder.

“Just hold me,” He demanded. But it was ductile, and he sounded almost ashamed that he was being like this in the first place.