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As a child, Geta had never been able to get his head around the idea that he and Caracalla might be parted one day. It wasn't that Geta hadn't understood death as a child. He had loved death dearly from a young age, and it has never grieved him the way it did Caracalla, who often formed attachments to hunting dogs and nannies, two things which were often short-lived.
It was only that they had shared everything, the womb firstly, so Geta had always assumed the grave would be shared as well. In his mind, up until he was nearly a man, he had always assumed their hearts would stop as one. Whether in sickness or violence, they would both expire in the same breath.
Now, he knew he would outlive his brother.
Caracalla lay under him, half dozing, murmuring his nonsense, his gold tooth peeking out in his smile. They had done this for years, having one another, lying skin to skin. Geta would cushion his cheek against his brother's chest, and he'd listen to his heartbeat and know it was the same as his own. Caracalla would toy with his curls, tugging meanly sometimes and laughing if Geta complained. Geta often complained just to make him laugh.
Tonight, Geta watched him, taking in every pockmark and rash, the feverish blush on his cheeks (makeup) and his pale, spotted tongue (the illness). He thought to himself, not for the first time that evening or that day or that month or year, that Caracalla was not well. Caracalla would likely die, and Geta had no idea when, no matter how many doctors they consulted. And no matter how much he held his brother, the illness could not transfer to him. It seemed they could not share this.
A terrible sadness poured over him. He thought, for one moment, that he might begin to sob like an old woman. Instead, he hid his face, pressing it into his brother's perfumed neck. Caracalla giggled, squirmed, and so Geta kissed him, down his neck, down to his shoulder, pecking each freckle. When he finally met his brother's eye again, Geta saw that Caracalla's eyes were lucid. He was smiling, and his eyes were so clear it was almost like they were children again.
No, Geta assured himself, in a moment of madness, I promise I will not outlive my brother.