Leo sun, Gemini moon.

You hold court and take questions.

The performer with a press office: fire warms, air works the room. Your charisma is interactive; you shine brightest mid-banter. The risk is charm as reflex; save some voltage for offstage.

Silence is not rest for you; it is hunger.

A Gemini moon refuels on exchange: one good conversation can undo a whole bad day. You metabolize trouble by saying it out loud, ideally twice, to two different people.

That gap is where people misread you; narrate it sometimes.

The face is a keel, the tide is a current: you look immovable and feel everything shifting. Friends call you the stable one and would be shocked by the weather diary.

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

The internet writes Leo off as vanity in a warm coat. Your Gemini 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.