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Joseph Joestar is one-of-a-kind, and Caesar is just starting to think that’s a compliment.
It’s true that Joseph had rubbed him all the wrong ways when they’d first met, and there’s still a bit of tension between them, but Caesar has decided that that’s just what happens when two hot-blooded individuals are shoved together and put under so much stress. They don’t even mean half of the insults they spit at each other anymore. Everything is just a game to them, a dance of barbed words that bounce right off the other’s skin because they know it’s just meant to fill the silence. (And God forbid they ever admit that they don’t mind the other’s company. There’s just too much ego between the two of them for that.)
There’s a bit of a downside with Joseph being... well, for lack of a better way to explain it, Joseph. Because he’s so him, Caesar can’t understand what goes on in that huge, beautiful head of his. And especially not on days like this.
He’s quickly learning Joseph’s ticks and tricks, but this is something he hasn’t encountered before. He’s never seen a Joseph who hasn’t spoken a single word all day, not even when his mask was taken off for him to eat and then brush his teeth. He hasn’t seen a Joseph whose hands are constantly wrapping and re-wrapping his scarf around his hands so tightly that the tips of his fingers are turning bright red as the blood is squeezed into them. He hasn’t seen a Joseph who reacts so slowly to things, gotten so tripped up during training and so unfocused. He hasn’t seen a Joseph whose eyes are always looking right through whatever they’re supposed to be focused on and instead are looking at something so incredibly far away that Caesar doubts it’s even in the same hemisphere.
He doesn’t know what’s going on with Joseph, but his gut is telling him that it’s not good and that he needs to fix it. So when Lisa Lisa dismisses them from their afternoon training early and Joseph drifts away without a word or any sort of acknowledgement of his newfound freedom, Caesar follows.
He follows at a distance, at first, because he needs time to try and figure out the best approach. Direct and rude typically works well with Joseph considering that’s usually how he approaches Caesar, but Joseph isn’t acting like himself today - not one bit. Caesar gets the feeling that a more subtle approach is necessary, and that’s exactly what he’s afraid of screwing up.
Before he can figure out what he needs to do, Joseph sits down on a long, low railing overlooking the Adriatic Sea and gives Caesar an expectant look. He still doesn’t say anything, but Caesar can tell that he’s fed up with his silent shadow and wants Caesar to explain himself. Still not quite sure what he’s going to do, Caesar sits next to him.
“Sorry for following you,” he says first.
Joseph’s expectant look fades back into the dull neutrality he’s adopted for 99% of the day. He half-turns away to look out at the ocean; more specifically, at the waves battering the cliff far below them.
“You’re not talking,” Caesar blurts. “Why not?”
Joseph sighs - at least, Caesar thinks he does. He can’t hear it over the tide, but his shoulders rise slowly with a deep breath and then fall just as slowly. He still doesn’t answer or look at Caesar.
“What’s wrong?” Caesar presses.
Joseph raises his hand and draws an invisible “X” over his Adam’s apple.
Caesar is more confused. “Did you lose your voice?”
Joseph’s eyebrows furrow a bit, and he makes a “so-so” gesture.
“So you’re not sick?”
Joseph shakes his head but still doesn’t clarify. His fingers are tangled in his scarf again. If Caesar didn’t know how soft the yarn of it is, he’d be worried Joseph was hurting himself.
“But you can’t talk.”
Joseph shakes his head again, this time slower and looking almost ashamed of himself.
“That’s okay,” Caesar says quickly, wanting to wipe that look off his face. “I... Sometimes when I get angry, I can’t say anything. Nothing coherent, anyways. Are you angry?”
Joseph shakes his head again and twists the scarf tighter.
Caesar tries to put himself in Joseph’s shoes. He’s only been eighteen for about three months now, and he has to face off against three vampire-gods in less than a month because he’s got two ticking time bombs lodged in his throat and heart. He’s being forced to work with a man he barely knows and being trained by a woman who is... not exactly the softest, most understanding teacher.
The answer comes so easily: he’s scared.
When Caesar voices this so quietly it’s almost lost to the oceanic breeze, Joseph’s grip on the scarf goes white-knuckled and his eyebrows dip so low over his eyes that the hazel color is hidden by deep shadows. Caesar can’t see the lower half of his face, but he can imagine the scowl underneath so easily. It pairs perfectly with the suddenly tense lines of his body.
Caesar looks away and finds solace in the waves below, just like Joseph had. “I am too,” he says. “If someone was in our place and not scared, I’d question their sanity.”
He looks back over at Joseph and hesitantly sets his hand on one tense shoulder. He squeezes lightly, and the muscle almost melts under his touch. Joseph leans just the slightest bit closer, his eyebrows lifting and his eyelids fluttering gently. Caesar has to fight to stay focused.
“You’re not alone, JoJo,” Caesar says gently. “I’m right here with you. So is Maestra and Loggins and Messina and even Suzie, to some extent. We’ll face those monsters together, and we’ll win because we’re strong. You’re strong. I’m not going to tell you to stop being scared; that’s probably what’ll keep us alive during our fights. But don’t think you’re facing this all on your own. In fact, if you don’t leave a piece of Kars for me, I’ll throttle you instead.”
Joseph lets out a soft chuckle, and Caesar glows at his win. That’s pretty much the first sound he’s made voluntarily all day, and it’s a laugh. A small one, but Caesar will count it.
Caesar starts to withdraw his hand, but Joseph suddenly lets go of his scarf and grabs it before it’s out of reach. Hesitantly, and without looking up, he laces their fingers together and squeezes: a constant, firm pressure. Caesar squeezes back, though he’s not quite sure if this is what Joseph wants. Considering Joseph doesn’t draw back, he thinks it’s the right way to go.
They sit there in silence for a while. Joseph keeps staring down at their joined hands, and Caesar eventually looks back at the sea when it becomes obvious that Joseph isn’t going to return his eye contact. The air between them is still heavy, but it’s not as bad as earlier. Joseph, at least, is actually focusing on the things in front of him now, and he’s stopped fiddling with his scarf.
Eventually, Joseph clears his throat. Caesar looks back at him, hopeful. Slowly, hesitantly, shyly, Joseph lets go of Caesar’s hand and draws him into a tight hug, pressing as close as he can and burying his face in the crook of Caesar’s shoulder. After a moment of shock, Caesar returns the gesture. Strangely, the more pressure Joseph applies, the more relaxed Joseph gets, until it feels like he’s hugging one big, warm pile of goo.
Above his chest, he can feel Joseph’s heart pulsing in strong, measured time. Joseph’s sweat and shampoo swirls in his nose, more pleasant than it has any right to be. The stone railing is unyielding to his pelvis, though, even layered under thick muscle and a layer or two of fat. As reluctant as Caesar is to move, he can’t stay here forever. But he’ll sure as hell stay here as long as Joseph needs.
Because of their proximity, Caesar feels more than hears Joseph gearing up to talk again. He feels the other’s chest expanding against his own, slow and with the intent to talk, and feels the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows and no doubt tries to moisturize his voice box. It doesn’t really work; his voice is quiet and raspy and incredibly un-Joseph-like. But he’s finally talking and Caesar listens intently.
“Thanks,” he says.
“No problem,” Caesar replies. “Are you feeling better?”
Joseph shrugs.
“That’s okay. Do you want me to let go?”
Joseph shakes his head slowly. “Feels nice,” he mumbles into Caesar’s shoulder. The Italian fights not to shiver at the warm breath ghosting up and over his pulse point.
“I... have an idea,” Caesar says. “But you’ll have to let go for a little bit.”
Joseph tenses but starts to draw back. Caesar catches his wrist and entangles their fingers again. There’s a reddish tint to Joseph’s sun-kissed skin, right above where the mask juts out from his high cheekbones. He isn’t quite able to look Caesar in the eye, but the quick glances he takes are enough to assure Caesar that he’s not as lost in his own head anymore.
“Come on, stellina. I think you’ll like this.”
Joseph follows Caesar upstairs and into his bedroom, the one place Caesar knows Joseph hasn’t seen more than quick glimpses of. Caesar is very particular about his privacy, and this is the first time he’s ever felt comfortable enough with Joseph entering his personal space. Even still, Caesar feels a bit tense as he watches Joseph look around slowly, no doubt taking in every detail with those sharp eyes of his. Still, he doesn’t try touching anything or nosing around, which Caesar appreciates.
He leads the two of them to the edge of his bed - neatly-made, piled high with warm blankets, and just barely big enough to house one burly man, let alone another burly man who is several centimeters taller and slightly broader as well. Still, he thinks this’ll help, and he can’t think of a more comfortable (and, more importantly, private) place to do this.
“Take off your shoes,” he instructs Joseph.
The brunette complies, a bit clumsily since he refuses to let go of Caesar’s hand. While he’s struggling to undo the laces, Caesar shoves off his own and sits down. Joseph mirrors him after a minute.
“Tell me if this... makes you uncomfortable,” Caesar says. “Or just-- I don’t know, signal it somehow. Pinch me.”
Joseph looks a bit confused, but he nods to show he understands, and Caesar lays down slowly on the bed, taking Joseph with him. Caesar’s face feels hot from their proximity and the intimate contact, but he presses slowly on. Eventually, after a bit of rearranging and silent coaxing, he’s laying on his side with one arm tucked under Joseph’s head, playing with his hair, and the other slung over his waist. Their legs are so tangled together it’s hard to tell whose is whose, and with their combined body heat, there’s no reason to bother with the blankets underneath them.
Caesar expects Joseph to protest somewhat at being the little spoon, but he doesn’t. The brunette is fairly limp in his arms, the only sign that he’s processing what’s happening being the red in his cheeks. Caesar is just about to ask if all of this is alright when Joseph sighs, rests his forehead on Caesar’s collarbones, and closes his eyes. He looks so relaxed suddenly.
Caesar isn’t sure how fast Joseph falls asleep or even if he does fall asleep, but he knows he’s sure as hell feeling tired. This used to happen when he was a kid: the second Caesar shared his bed with any of his siblings, he’d be knocked the fuck out. He hasn’t done this in years, but apparently it’s still true. Somnus is singing his sweet siren song, and Caesar can’t help but heed his call.
He falls into a warm, dreamless sleep, and when he wakes up, Joseph is smiling down at him. Even with the mask in the way, Caesar can tell.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” the brunette teases before Caesar can gather his thoughts. “I’m glad you didn’t need True Love’s Kiss to wake up, cause with this stupid thing, I can’t really help.” He taps his mask. “And God knows no one else would put up with your shit.”
Caesar rolls his eyes and shoves Joseph off his bed, ignoring his shriek. “I regret being nice to you.”
Joseph rubs his head and pouts. “See what I mean? You’re so terrible, Caes! Especially to poor me. What happened to being so nice?”
“You seem like you’re back to normal, so I hardly see the point.”
Joseph looks away for a moment, eyes darkening. They fall into an awkward silence. Staring intently at Caesar’s dirty clothes basket, Joseph blurts, “I know you’re dying to ask, so just ask.”
Of course he could predict that. Caesar doesn’t know if he should actually ask, but his curiosity wins out. He wants to understand Joseph and be able to help him if something like that happened again, and he can only hope that Joseph wouldn’t tell him if he didn’t want to. “What happened?” he asks.
“Don’t know,” Joseph says stiffly. It almost sounds like he’s forcing the words out. “That just happens, sometimes. I get upset, and the words just-- stop. Like I couldn’t make a noise even if I wanted to. And I can’t focus on anything - I’m just so lost in my own world. It feels like it’s just me, watching the world go by and unable to do anything at all. I don’t like it. Not one bit.”
Joseph closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I don’t know what causes it. I really don’t. But... You helped. Kinda like how Granny used to help. So... Thank you, Caesar.”
He opens his eyes and smiles shyly at Caesar. Caesar tries his best not to look absolutely floored and probably fails miserably.
Joseph gets to his feet and rubs the back of his neck. “Um. Suzie knocked a few minutes ago and said that dinner’s ready. So... We should probably get our asses down there before that old hag kicks our asses for being late.”
He offers his hand to Caesar, and even when Caesar uses it to stand up, he doesn’t let go. They walk in comfortable, if flustered silence down to the dining room. Suzie definitely sees their conjoined hands. She gives Caesar a smug, knowing look, and if Caesar wasn’t busy holding the hand of a very pretty boy, he’d jump across the table and throttle her.
Lisa Lisa, for her part, gives Caesar what he can only read as a grateful smile while Joseph starts piling up his plate with mashed potatoes and chatting away with Suzie about something inconsequential. Caesar ducks his head shyly and reluctantly lets go of Joseph’s hand to start serving himself as well.
Things aren’t perfect - he and Joseph still have the threat of the Pillar Men hanging over their head, and Joseph might have more days where he can’t talk - but Caesar doesn’t mind. He and Joseph are a damn good team. They’ll figure it out.