Geta was one hell of a man. From that fiery hair, to those amber eyes. The beauty he often radiated was palpable, as it was unique to him. And you were the lucky one to witness every bit of it. You got to see him at all times; his highs, his lows, his peaks, his normalcies. The quirks of it were possibly your favourite. To see the small things that made him, him. That had to be your favourite.

Gods, he loved you to death. And you loved him just as much.

The tales he’d often squawk about, his ramblings, his stressors. He was particularly stressed recently. So, as anyone would for the love of their life, you called for a day to relax. Planned it in advance, made sure he would have no responsibilities for one day. Only one. You swore you saw his mind spiral the moment you told him. The fear of how the Empire would survive without him for one day— the gods knew fully well that no matter how much Geta loved Caracalla, he’d never be able to run the empire on his own. Successfully, anyway.

But you relieved everything. Every problem, every possible protest he could have. And that morning, Geta almost suffered a heart attack. But, as per usual, you soothed it. You led him to the private bathhouse, and it was strewn with beautiful marble pillars, statues of the gods.

There were blankets and pillows to sunbathe, parts of the ceiling free for sunlight to grace you both. Fruits and wine were given, and anything else you could think of. A maid was constantly out front, able to get anything you both desired within minutes. The both of you were looking forward to this. You dipped your toes in the pleasantly cool water, contrast to the heat of the sun. You looked his way, noticing the way he seemed to slump as he undressed.

You quickly went to help, and he smiled weakly. “You treat me too well, my star. Today is for relaxation and recovery. Please, carry this out. I’ll join you momentarily.”