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The boy's warm breath feels like a soft feather on his equally hot skin. It's there only for a second, a moment too short for him to savour the feeling, but enough for his skin to tingle and for a shiver to run down his spine. Caesar looks up, eyes blown wide, their crystal clear green almost black. A second too long passes, and he goes back to gently caressing his wounded and bruised skin with the wet towel in his hands, red with blood but still soft.
Joseph catches his own breath hitching, and let's out a sigh he didn't know he was holding the moment those eyes leave his. If it wasn't for the intensity of Caesar's stare - or the pain that still lingers on his flesh - he'd think this was a dream. It sure feels like it.
He only let himself dream about being so close to the other man, enough to smell his strong scent - fresh, musky, soft around the edges - and let his blonde hair tickles his own nose, in the darkness of his room, where he can imagine Caesar standing close to him for other reasons, far different from cleaning his wounds and patching him up, that he'd never talk about out loud. What's even the point, anyways? Caesar would laugh in his face, slap his chest or his arm, and tell him to "stop fucking around, tell that to someone that would fall for it."
«Take off your shirt.»
Joseph suddenly looks up at him, all wide-eyed and confused, his mind slow at catching up after being so focused on his daydream. It must show on his face, because the other just snorts and lightly hits his shoulder.
«There's blood, so there must be an injury, let me see so i can help you, idiota»
Oh.
He feels heat rising to his cheeks, setting on the tips of his ears, but he doesn't say anything, just lifting the seams of the green crop top he's wearing.
He lifts it of a couple inches, but a shooting pain goes up his wrist and to his shoulder, and the boy winces, letting go.
Caesar, who was carefully looking at him, sighs and comes closer, mumbling under his breath; «Here, let me help you.» and easily takes off the piece of clothing, throwing it in the bathtub carelessly.
The moment his skin is exposed to the chilly air of the bathroom, the blond draws in a sharp breath, whispering something in italian that suspiciously sounds like "oh merda", and Joseph can't see what he's looking at - he doesn't really want to - but judging by the face he's making, it must be pretty bad.
«How did you even end up like this?» it sounds a little like a scolding, a little like a real question, but Ceasar is still wetting the towel with more disinfectant, so he can't be too mad.
Joseph ponders for a second, then, he slaps on the brightest grin he can muster, «Well,» he starts, and he can already hear Caesar sighing in his head, «there were some jackasses around here, i think they were your classmates? whatever,» at this, the other boy perks up, glancing at his face for a brief moment, «they recognized me and said some dumb stuff, a couple of punches were thrown, one of them had a knife, and voilà! I still won, obviously.»
At that, Caesar sighs - haha, knew it - and looks at him, really looks at him, with his too-clear eyes, and stupid gorgeous little birthmarks and that worried scowl on his plump lips.
«Jojo, seriously? How many times have i told you not to pick random fighㅡ»
«They were insulting you.»
The atmosphere suddenly shifts, and Caesar stops mid-sentence, surprised and maybe a little upset, but his face turns into a scowl again; this time he looks kind of mad, his lips pressing into a thin line.
«You don't have to defend me, you know that.» his accent sounds thicker than usual, the sentence so familiar on his tongue and to Joseph's ears.
«I know that I don't have to, but i want to! They- they called you names, and I couldn't justㅡ I couldn't stand there and do nothing! They started screaming at me, too, at some point, so it's not like it's my fault or something.» he mumbles the last part, because the guilt of knowing that Caesar is worried because of him, has that expression on his face because of him, is a little too heavy on his shoulders, so much that he slumps forward, looking down at the other's shoes.
He can't see the way Caesar's lips quirk up for a second, doesn't know about the warm feeling spreading in his chest, doesn't see the fondness in his eyes, but he can feel his warm hand on his head, ruffling his hair.
«I really want to be mad at you for being a complete fucking idiot, but i think getting beaten up is enough for today, no?»
Joseph looks up at him, a little, sincere smile spreading on his split lips; «Yeah, i definitely deserve to rest before getting scolded like a child.»
Caesar snorts again, pushing his face away with his hand, and relaxes his shoulders a little. He doesn't look as tense as he did before, and when he starts cleaning his skin again, he's gentler, his touch feather-like, and he even laughs at one or two of Joseph's jokes. The atmosphere feels lighter, now, maybe a bit because he's dizzy, maybe a bit for the fuzzy feeling blooming in his chest, - and every place Caesar touches, really - but he's content. Relaxed.
He lets Caesar take off his dirty clothes, bundle them up in the bathtub to wash, and, after all of his cuts and bruises are clean, he helps him walk to bed on unsteady legs.
And just when Caesar is about to leave his room, Joseph takes his wrist, head clouded with tiredness and a little of pain from the fight, and whispers at him to stay.
Caesar looks at him, and under the filtered rays of the moonlight coming in from the half shut window, he looks ethereal, barely human, and definitely something Joseph is not worthy of looking at. But the blond smiles softly, his eyes lighting up in a way he learned to recognise, and the taller feels his heart leap in his chest, warm with affection, and maybe, just maybe, Joseph thinks, he has enough love for the both of them.
The bed can hardly hold both of them comfortably, all wide shoulders and long legs, but it doesn't really matter, since they're pressed closed together, limbs tangled, faces inches apart.
«Hey, Jojo,» the boy opens his eyes, lids heavy with sleep, and hums to let the other know he's listening. «Thank you.»
And joseph smiles, nuzzling closer to him, slurring out a "you're welcome" before closing his eyes and letting himself fall asleep.
The last thing he feels is a faint kiss on his head, and maybe something mumbled in italian once again, but he's too tired to react, or remember it long enough to annoy Caesar the morning after.
(The day after they wake up even closer than when they fell asleep, bodies completely pressed flush and limbs a little sore. Neither of them mentions it, and neither of them mind, so there's no need to.
Caesar does scold him, more than once, but he still takes care of him while doing it, with that fond look in his eyes, so Joseph doesn't really mind.)