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Joseph dreams.
When he was still a child growing up in the quiet rolling hills of the english countryside, he dreamed of a far away place across the Atlantic, of a city whose buildings rose up high and tickled the sky. When he was younger Joseph dreamed of the great American city of New York, the one he'd only ever heard of in Uncle Speedwagon's stories. This foreign country where any man could make himself a name. This new land, a place with morals so starkly different from the traditional values of his english upbringing. When he was but a boy, Joseph Joestar dreamed of one day setting foot on American soil, of staking his claim of the new continent and seeing all it had to offer.
While the other boys his age took notes and solved math problems, Joseph drew the imaginary skyline of his dream city.
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When Joseph Joestar is nineteen years old he does indeed get to visit New York. He gets to walk its crowded streets. New York is more a beast then a city, a writhing mass of bright lights and human life. Joseph loves it instantly. It is wild, a city whose streets he cannot wait to tame beneath his feet.
He doesn't get to spend much time there, not nearly enough in fact. No, a freak accident involving a traitorous vampire and his Uncle Speewagon's kidnapping sends Joseph barreling down to Mexico. A lot of things happened under that harsh sunny sky; Joseph wears a dress, infiltrates a secret German military research facility, encounters a horrific creature from times past, watches a brave man die for his country and manages to save the only father figure he has left in his life.
The chaos in Mexico leads to Italy, Rome specifically, and the hopes of meeting some acquaintance who could teach him about using the ripple. Joseph had expected to meet some wizened old man, a master of the arts, ready to impart his great wisdom upon Joseph as some sort of gift to humanity. What he got was a stuck up Italian Casanova, a suave young skirt chaser by the name of Caesar Zeppeli.
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Caesar Zeppeli is a condescending prick and Joseph hates guys like him, hates the way he struts and sits, hates the way he preens and the way his upper lip curls in barely veiled disgust when he says Joseph's name. He's also really hot which sucks because Joseph's always been weak for a pretty face. It's not fair he moans to himself, attractive people are always mean (with the exception of himself because he's hot and he's never felt the need to be a complete and utter prick). Joseph dreams of punching the bastard's smug expression right off his stupidly pretty face, shoving a poor unsuspecting bird into the blond's mouth does little to improve Joseph's irritation towards him, or the other man's shitty attitude either.
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One near death encounter with three immortal vampire eaters later, Joseph is forced to reevaluate his opinion of Caesar Zeppeli and he begrudgingly admits that he does have some respect for him.
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Training on Air Suplena, nineteen year old Joseph Joestar dreams of many things. He dreams of New York City's glittering skyline, of afternoon tea with Granny Erina, of the man he saw fall between his fingers, of the horror that curled in his chest when he chopped off Stroheim's leg, of Mark's half-eaten face, of the rings binding him to his fate and Caesar Zeppeli.
He has a lot of dreams about Caesar, more than he'd like to admit. The kind of dreams that are perfectly normal for any nineteen year old guy who has to live in close quarters with someone who has an undeniably attractive physique like Caesar Zeppeli. It's just his subconscious directing his frazzled teenage hormones towards the closest warm body, or that's what he tells himself when he wakes up with cock still hard and a mess in his underwear. It's what he keeps telling himself, even when the explicit sexual fantasies turn sweet and sensual, even when visions of Caesar's smiling lips make him go as red as the thought of having them wrapped around his dick. It's nothing, probably just some byproduct of spending so much time training together.
They're just dreams after all.
----
The first time he dreams of Caesar dying he cries.
Joseph wakes up unable to breathe, mouth gasping for air behind constriction of the mask. He wakes up with tears in his eyes and a desperate need to make sure the bed beside him is still occupied and to see if Caesar is still sleeping soundly. He knows that he shouldn't feel so terrified, that it was just a dream, that it doesn't mean anything, that he should stay in his bed and focus on calming his breathing.
The sound of blankets being tossed to the floor makes his pounding heart jump into his throat and he yelps in surprise. When he turns around Caesar is awake and approaching his bed tentatively and at the sight of his friend, (because yes, Joseph may not have liked him the beginning, but now he can safely call Caesar his friend) he can already feel the tightness of his lungs begin to ease. Joseph wants to drag him down into bed with him, wants to feel the even rhythm of Caesar breathing against his chest, wants to be comforted in the fact that they are both truly alive.
So he does, he grabs Caesar's wrist and pulls him down on top of him. Caesar doesn't resist, let's himself be dragged down into a heap on Joseph's messy bed sheets.
"What is this, Jojo?" The Italian asks him, lips brushing against Joseph's ear.
"I don't know." Joseph whispers into warm skin of Caesar's neck, his arms wrapped firmly around the blond's waist. "I don't know," he exhales, repeating himself as though Caesar could've missed him the first time. "I don't know," he continues,"but I need it."
The blond pulls away, bringing his head down to rest against the brunet's. Their foreheads are touching and they're close, very close, almost too close. Joseph can feel the warmth of Caesar's breath as it fans across his face and he can see the pale freckles on the bridge on his nose, clusters of spots that appeared after so many hours spent training under the sun, he can see the tired lines below his emerald eyes, the slight crease where his brows meet and the faint pink of Caesar's almost, but not quite sunburnt cheeks from this close Joseph can see all of Caesar's perfect imperfections and aglow in the haunting silver moonlight Joseph is rendered speechless by his beauty.
"What do you need?" Caesar murmurs, his hand coming up to cup Joseph's face and the pad of his thumb tracing slowly down the line of the younger man's jaw.
There's a nagging voice at the back of his head that tells him that he should run away, that at this very moment he has reached a crossroads and the path that he's about to take might very well lead to heartache, but there's a swell in his chest and a bruise on his heart that tell him that he's most probably definitely more than a little bit madly in love with Caesar Zeppeli. There are a million things that Joseph wants to say, a thousand and one things he wants in the world, but the one he does manage to utter somehow manages to encompass all the wanting need that he feels in his bones.
"You." And as the word falls from his tongue Joseph watches the older man's eyes go almost comically wide with emotion.
"Are you sure?" He asks, fingers stroking over Joseph's face, apprehension clear in his features.
"Absolutely, don't you trust me?" He replies playfully, smiling behind the mask.
"Not at all." Caesar deadpans.
"You wound me." He says huffily, feigning hurt and giving the blond his best kicked puppy expression.
"Idiota," Caesar laughs, rolling his eyes and flicking Joseph's cheek,"I trust you with my life."
The younger man bats the offending digit away, releasing his hold around Caesar's middle.
"Glad to know it goes both ways." He says and he means it. Caesar's saved Joseph's skin countless times already. He's grateful to have met him and perhaps some of the tenderness he feels slips into his voice, but the blond's expression melts into one of almost overwhelming affection. He takes Joseph's hand in his and presses a reverent kiss to his knuckles.
"Ti amo." He exhales against the rough skin and new callouses of Joseph's work worn hands.
Joseph has a vague inkling of what it means, but he's too stunned to say anything in return. It's one of the few moments in Joseph Joestar's life when he has no idea what to say. He wants to kiss the blond, he curses the wretched barrier of the mask because where words have failed him, he knows his lips could have conveyed the absolute sincerity of the emotion he reciprocates. He can't kiss Caesar, not like he wants to, not like he so desperately needs to. So he does the next best thing, pulling his hand from Caesar's hold, cupping the other man's face in his hands and running the pads of his fingers over the birthmarks under his eyes, against his cheekbones and down to trace the plush curve of his lips.
"What are you doing?" The blond asks almost indignantly.
"I can't kiss you because of the mask, duh." And he slides his thumb between Caesar's parted lips," But you know if I could, I'd kiss every inch of you."
Caesar laughs and it's bright and beautiful and Joseph wants to hear it every day for the rest of his life.
"Don't laugh at me." He huffs." I was trying to be romantic." He'd be a little more offended if Caesar didn't look so totally and completely gorgeous with a smile on his face and laughter in his eyes.
"It's fine, I'll kiss you enough to make up for it." He replies sweetly, in a tone Joseph has dubbed the Casanova voice.
"You better." He grumbles, embarrassed despite himself.
"It's a promise." Caesar tells him before kissing wetly at his neck.
"I love you." He says as Caesar pushes him down against his bed. "I love you." And now that he's said it he can't stop and he repeats it like a mantra. Caesar kisses every inch of his skin, plants a kiss for every one that could never grace his lips and Joseph utters his love in return. The whole universe exists in his bed, throat raw and passion wrecked they keep each other awake till the early hours of the morning, a tangle of sweat and limbs.
----
Joseph has the whole world in his hands and he's reluctant to let it slip away, but it does. Perhaps because at the time, he was still too young, young and stupid and in love and too young and stupid to know how not to be. Maybe he'd been too young to love Caesar back then, too clueless and selfish and immature. He'd hurt him with all the things he'd said.
Those words that had sunk into Caesar's flesh like lead, but how could he have known all the secrets Caesar hid beneath his skin and saying that he "hid" them feels like an exaggeration, Jojo never asked, never even contemplated the Italian's past. Perhaps because he'd been naive, or maybe it hadn't seemed to matter with the future looming over him. Joseph had only been able to focus on the Caesar that he held, the one in the present, that trailed kisses down his neck, that he pressed his body up against. Holding and being held. He'd been consumed by the raw need, by the desire and infatuation. He'd been a fool, a fool in love, head over heels for a man he'd hardly met and known forever. He'd felt the heady intoxicating rush of love and he'd been drunk, silly and stupid and painfully happy.
At the time, it had felt like a dream. Now, it was but a memory.