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Joseph got to the donut place first—which was weird, because he was running late. He double-checked the time, frowning. His phone informed him that it was 12:07, barely legible through the cracked screen. “What the fuck,” Joseph muttered. Caesar was obnoxiously punctual.
Joseph dropped his phone when it started ringing, earning him a scowl from one of the other customers. He shot the guy a grin and a thumbs-up, then scrambled to snatch his phone before it went to voicemail. He answered it as soon as he grabbed it, too quickly to catch who was calling.
“What’s good, dollface?” It was how Joseph usually answered the phone, which had gotten him in hot water on more than one occasion.
The sigh was recognizably Caesar’s. “Really, Jojo?”
“Hey, hey, are you psychic or something? I was just thinking about you.” Joseph staked out their usual spot by the window. “By the way, you’re not allowed to be mad at me for being late ever again.”
Another sigh. “There was an accident, something to do with the roadwork that’s been going on. I wasn’t involved or anything, but traffic is completely stopped. I haven’t moved in fifteen minutes.”
“Couldn’t you just—” Joseph made a snake-y gesture even though Caesar couldn’t see him. “—go around?” Creatively interpreting traffic laws was the best part of riding a motorcycle, in Joseph’s opinion.
“I’m not going to break that many laws in full view of a dozen cops just to get to a date, Jojo.” Joseph didn’t have to see him to know he was rolling his eyes.
“Aw, are you sure? You’ve already got a record in one country. Why not go for two, make it a matched set?”
“One, that is the worst idea I’ve ever heard, and two, the cars are way too close together, even for my bike.”
“Spoilsport.” Joseph tipped his chair back. He wanted to put his feet on the table too, but the manager had threatened to kick him out the last time he’d done it. “Hey, tell me about the accident.”
“The American fascination with traumatic events never ceases to amaze me,” Caesar said haughtily, even though Joseph knew he watched true crime dramas with his cousin with the weird teeth. “I’m not very close to it, so I haven’t been able to get a good look. From what I can see, it looks like maybe a steamroller was involved?”
“That’s wild,” Joseph said, giving in to the impulse to put his feet on the table. The cashier gave him a nervous look, but the manager who reminded Joseph of Lisa Lisa failed to materialize.
“Yeah. I’ve got to go—it looks like traffic is starting to move again. I’ll see you in a few minutes, okay?”
“Sure thing. See you soon, babe.” Joseph hung up. Caesar would bitch at him if he ordered early enough that the donuts were cold and the boba tea warm when he got there, so Joseph stayed at the table. He stared out of the window and thought about their conversation. Something about it had seemed—strange.
“Just to get to a date,” Caesar had said. Was it a date? It could have been a translation thing. Caesar’s English was so good it was easy to forget his accent, even though it was as thick now as it had been when they’d first met. He had called a doctor’s appointment a date, once, six months after they'd met. Joseph had spent a week jealous that Caesar had managed to land a date with a doctor before the truth came out. Neither of them was a nervous freshman now, though. They went to the same donut shop at the same time every Saturday, sure, but that didn’t have to mean it was a date-date. Except—
Except that neither Joseph nor Caesar had gone on a date-date since the donut place meetups had started. They argued, of course, but they almost always made up before they left. It wasn’t quite footsie, but sometimes they got distracted by kicking each other under the table until their legs were a comfortable tangle. They took turns paying for each other. They touched each other a lot, even outside of the donut place. Joseph couldn’t count the number of times Caesar had fallen asleep on his shoulder while they were watching a movie, or how often it had been the reverse.
Joseph jerked his phone out of his pocket in a panic. «help i think im dating cee»
Smokey responded immediately, because he was a good friend. «uh……..yeah?»
«wdym YEAH»
«haven’t you 2 been dating for like 2 or 3 months?»
“Two or three months?” Joseph squawked. The anxious cashier took a step towards him, then stopped and retreated behind the register. «WHAT»
Joseph fidgeted, eyes glued to his phone as he waited for a response.
«wait. are you trying to tell me that you and caesar AREN’T dating?»
«we r definitely not dating!!!!!!!»
«but you 2 go on dates all the time!?!?!?»
Joseph’s knee-jerk reaction was to insist that wasn’t true, but he made himself slow down and think about it. He spent a lot of time with Caesar, to be sure, but they were best friends. Of course he hung out with his best friend more than anyone else. «oh god i called him babe»
«yes???? you call him babe all the time?????»
«no i dont» But even as Joseph typed it, he knew it wasn’t true. He called Caesar crap like babe, honey, and Caesarino all the time. Caesar was only Caesar when Joseph was upset. «oh god oh fuck i think im dating cee»
«i don’t know why this is such a shock to you. do you not want to be dating caesar?»
Now that was a hell of a question. Of course Joseph wanted to be dating Caesar; he was stubborn, and blond, and fiery; he always spoke his mind, even when the smart thing to do was to be quiet, and he was the only person Joseph knew who could challenge his personal record on the bench; he was just as patient with kids as he was impatient with shitty parents. The real question was whether Caesar wanted to be dating Joseph.
The bell jangled loudly, and Joseph looked up to find Caesar standing in the doorway. Caesar met his eyes, gave him a thumbs-up, and joined the line. The midday sun caught him from behind, turning his hair into a golden halo. Joseph returned the gesture.
«i really really want to be dating caesar» Joseph admitted, feeling like a creep for thinking something like that about his best friend.
«so tell him????» Smokey shot back.
«what if he turns me down?????????» Joseph glanced between Caesar and his phone, like Caesar could magically know what he was texting about.
«he already acts like your boyfriend? everyone in our year already thinks you’re dating? jojo hes not going to turn you down»
Joseph drummed his fingers on the table. Maybe Smokey had been the wrong person to ask. Maybe he should just ask Caesar instead. Joseph committed to the idea as soon as he had it.
He waited impatiently as Caesar inched closer to the counter. There were only a few people in line, but it seemed to take forever for Caesar to make it to their table, juggling two boba teas and a variety of donuts.
“Get your feet off the table, Jojo, that’s disgusting.” Caesar elbowed Joseph’s feet, and Joseph dropped them to the floor with a thump. Caesar rolled his eyes but surrendered one of the teas.
Joseph drank half of it in one gulp, chewing the tapioca balls with relish. “This is why you’re my favorite,” he said, mouth full.
Caesar gave an exaggerated groan and rolled his eyes again. “Disgusting,” he repeated, but apparently not disgusting enough to stop him from grabbing the donut Joseph had been eyeing.
Another day Joseph would have been outraged at the insult, but right now he was too distracted, thinking about his conversation with Smokey. “Are we dating?” he blurted.
Caesar choked on his donut. He thumped his chest a few times, coughing. “What the hell, Jojo?”
“Don’t you what the hell me,” Joseph said, jabbing a finger in Caesar’s face. “Answer the damn question.”
“Of course we’re dating! Why are you even asking?” Caesar looked absolutely baffled, so shocked he didn’t seem to notice the crumbs he’d sprayed everywhere.
“Of course?” Joseph echoed. “Since when?”
“Since you asked me out and I said yes! Three months ago!”
The donut dates had been going on for three months, but—“I never asked you out!”
“What are you talking about? You asked me out the night of that shitty party. You said, I think it’s time to blow this joint, just the two of us, whispered it right in my ear, and we went to see a movie instead. You picked a horror movie I’d been talking about even though you hate them, and then you used the jump-scares as an excuse to hold onto me.” Caesar laid it all out, piece by piece. It was awfully compelling evidence. The horror movie trick was probably older than horror movies.
“Then why didn’t you kiss me?” Joseph demanded.
“You didn’t kiss me, either,” Caesar pointed out. “I thought you were trying to be a gentleman.”
That made Joseph pause. His grandfather had been a true gentleman, and was there anyone else in the world who knew how much Joseph looked up to him? “So you’re saying,” Joseph said slowly, “you’re saying we could have been making out for the past three months? We could have been fu—”
Caesar slapped a hand over Joseph’s mouth. “There are children here, you animal.”
Joseph licked Caesar’s palm. Caesar jerked his hand back, then dragged it down Joseph’s shirt. “I’m so stupid,” Joseph said, marveling at Caesar’s beautiful scowling face.
“How do you think I feel?” Caesar grumbled, wiping his hand with a napkin.
Joseph scooted his chair around the table to sit beside Caesar instead of across from him, ignoring the glares the noise got him. “If I kiss you, you’re not going to deck me, right?”
“After all that clamor? No promises.”
Joseph took his chances.
(As with most of Joseph’s bets, he hit the jackpot.)