Leto leaned back against the iron frame of his large bed, which was unmade; the cold, crisp sheets a delightful contrast to the hot desert air just outside.

”you need to sleep, sir-“ you’d begin, a small smile dancing on your lips, but he’d cut you off when you’d reach for the small glass of water and sleeping pill precariously set on the headboard.

“no- no. not like that.”

he let his head fall to your lap, and your fingers assumed their welcomed place on his thick eyebrows, tracing over the expressive lines of black hair, soothing him.

“i should’ve married you.”

his statement was spoken aloud- just above a soft whisper, and you could tell he didn’t mean for it to be publicly announced, with the way his mouth snapped shut; his fingers tracing your exposed knee coming to a stop.