Leo sun, Aquarius moon.

You are the king who keeps defecting to the crowd.

Sun and moon oppose: the crown and the commons in one body. You need to be exceptional and to belong, and the two take turns starving. The remedy is a small court of equals: peers, not fans.

Togetherness with an exit is still togetherness.

An Aquarius moon refuels at one remove: the long view, the odd hobby, a room of your own inside the crowd. You come back warmer from an hour alone than from an evening of company, and the people who last understand that math.

What enters your heart gets a room with its name on it; evictions take years.

You hold and you keep: the steadiest architecture a person can run. Loyalty is not a decision you revisit; it is a load-bearing wall.

You are not a typical Leo; nobody with this moon is.

The internet writes Leo off as vanity in a warm coat. Your Aquarius moon rewrites the chemistry: the needs underneath are narrated, argued, and footnoted. What looks like feeling less is thinking about feeling, at length, in private.

Feed the moon first: say the inner weather out loud, to one person or one page.

Unspoken it becomes static; spoken it becomes weather you can fly in. Keep one correspondent who receives the unedited forecast.