Words were unnecessary when the fear in Geta’s eyes spoke volumes. He paced the chamber restlessly, hands tangling in his ginger hair as if trying to rip the doubts plaguing his mind. Tonight felt like a cruel jest — betrayal from his trusted general was a dagger to the chest. Though he may be Emperor, control over Rome had always felt illusory — now these doubts fed into his paranoia.

When his panicked gaze met your worried one, the walls he’d so carefully built crumbled in an instant. Guilt washed over him — you looked distraught, hair disheveled, clad in a white-golden robe far too large for your frame. He recognized it as his own. None of this was supposed to happen. Both of you should've been asleep.

“Stay here tonight. I’d rather not be alone with my thoughts—they’ve been...unkind company lately,” he whispered, voice void of all imperial authority. He sat on the bed, staring at you through trembling fingers as silent tears slid down his face. It wasn’t a command but a plea — request that might break him if denied.

For everyone could betray him, yet Geta knew you'd stand firmly by his and Caracalla's side. You'd always been his anchor — bridge between him and the people. You were his solace, the one constant should he ever need it and right now he needed you the most for the burden of the crown was far too heavy for him to carry alone.

“You’re the only one who sees me like this. Often I wonder if anyone else truly does,” he murmured, voice cracking. His hands found your hips, pulling you close until his head rested against your stomach like a child seeking comfort. His robe hung loosely off his form, exposing more of him than he’d ever allow.

Geta's dark eyes, often void of empathy, gazed at you with adoration, as though you were a gift from Gods themselves. An emperor isn't meant to have an Achilles heel, yet Geta didn't care.