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Caesar was anything but a poet, really. He’d spent most of his life on the streets, hurting people, not admiring the beauty of the world. And he rarely thought about feelings. But despite it all, words always came to him.
Maybe it was a talent. He never understood why other guys seem to have problems with talking to girls, while he scored with every single one. He knew what to way. Sweet nonsense, fool’s gold - it all appeared in his head on its own and he let it pour from his lips without shame. He usually didn’t believe any of what he was saying, but it didn’t feel like lying. It was the difference between saying “The weather is nice” and “The weather is absolutely splendid”. One seemed to imply more emotion, because it was said in different words. So all he did was pick the right words. Was it lying, simply because the implied emotions weren’t really there?
All in all, Caesar understood a lot about the art of expression and the beauty of words. He knew how to work with them, how to form them and in the end, it all seemed to come down to that.
When he found himself unable to sleep in the middle of the night, his mind heavy with complicated reflections, regrets, hopes and sentiments, it made sense, he supposed, that he would find solace in words. They were something he understood; perhaps the only thing he did.
And since there was no one to listen to him talk and he didn’t particularly feel like talking to himself (he’d likely only succeed in making himself feel like he’s going insane and add another to the many concerns that plagued him) writing his words down seemed as the only logical solution.
He turned on a lamp, hoping no one would notice the solitary light and come investigate. Joseph, Lisa Lisa and everybody else had to be asleep by now. It had been a hard day of intense training. Really, not even he had any business being up. Only he didn’t feel tired when he sat down to his desk and took out a few papers from the top drawer. He felt full of things he needed to express.
The first paper had some signs of his previous attempts at clearing his head on it.
His eyes quickly flew across the text. Most of it was so loose it couldn’t even be considered free verse. He was just letting words out back then. Only a couple of lines made him hesitate for a few seconds before he tore the paper to pieces (since Joseph could find, unwrap and read a paper ball) and threw it away. What he’d write tonight would be different, he could feel the words tickling him at the tips of his fingers. He positioned the lamp closer to the paper so he’d see better, absentmindedly wondering how many moths are going to get lured in by the light and then he leaned over the paper and started writing. His scribbling was fast at first, as he tried to get the words out quickly and slowed down only after the first verse.
It was in a horrible place, in a dreadful storm,
Among shadows where no child was ever born,
Where monsters and men are ruled by nothing but death,
It was there: on a battlefield, where two hearts have met.
One bright was as the sun itself, a child of song.
Like a lion, so wild and brave and strong
And cheerful and smart, of handsome face,
Lacking in nothing, but - perhaps - some grace.
Caesar chuckled quietly as he wrote down the last line. A fond smile has made its way on his face as he lovingly curved the letters, his mind far and gone from the dark room he found himself in.
For a while, he simply sat in a daydream. When he returned back to the poem, his smile slowly faded.
And as of the other? Oh, a different story there -
He’s nothing but harsh words and a harsher glare.
For much was it that he in his time already knew
And yet, for all the experience, he wiser never grew,
Just colder and – well, the opposite of good
Since even the greatest gesture of love he never understood.
He gritted his teeth painfully as his pen flew across the paper. He was barely keeping his hand steady enough to make the text readable. He didn’t even want to write about this – the words just came on their own and he was powerless to stop them.
He never understood and felt nothing but contempt
For a man who of nothing but his safety for years on end had dreamt.
But that is another story, of a past dark as coal.
For now, a different question torments that man’s soul:
Why would god in heaven (though he never prayed)
Why would he see fit to pair a sun with its shade?
How could the two of them, different as night and day
Find a common ground, or even a common way?
He bit his lip. The words pressed on his mind, but at the same time he almost felt petty for letting them bother him so much.
And who was he to him? A guide? Companion? Friend?
And why’s the judgment painful? Why’s his anguish without end?
Could it be – though it’s better not to guess –
That god was playing with them his little game of chess?
In which when two hearts meet, in a place without hope,
Something greater is sparkled – something without antidote?
He stopped and stared off into the darkness. He didn’t know what he was doing here. He needed to sleep, tomorrow’s training was going to kill him if he stayed up much longer.
He tried to think of an ending for the poem.
Oh, if one continued guessing, one’d waste so much ink,
He finds it better not to wonder, simpler not to think.
And if their hearts then stood connected by a feeling small or great,
Whatever was it (and what else matters?) it certainly wasn’t hate.
He stopped, feeling somewhat reassured by the last line. He briefly read the poem, almost reaching to turn the light off and head to bed, but then he stopped.
There was something else. One more thing, deep-seated in the shadows of his mind, that he didn’t dare confide to the paper. He frowned at the words.
No, he wasn’t going to write about that. All that the poem needed was a light-hearted epilogue that would help him relax. Then he would fall asleep and hopefully avoid unpleasant dreams. Who said he only needed to write about his pains? It couldn't hurt to write about his dreams for a change, could it?
He smiled shyly.
So let it be said over again: one time two have met
And though under circumstances must unfortunate
In the end, they know the Ripple, they can tame the sun,
Light’s on their side, their war’ll be ended and all will be won.
They’ll go home – wherever that is – filled with joy and free,
Maybe even stay together, if they wished to be.
Now he was lying.
He did try to remain positive, but somehow, all the happy words were turning bitter on his tongue and he felt disappointed in himself for writing this. He may have been the sweet-talker, but that didn’t mean that he was one for living in a lie. He preferred his truths harsh and honest, if he had to deal with them. And he just couldn’t close his eyes to what was happening.
With a sigh, he changed the tone of the poem.
But oh, he’s dreaming! Sweetly dreaming! For today’s yet not that day
And though one tries, the present moment, it can’t be wished away.
As fate would have it, the shattered heart just isn’t meant to mend
Even now, death’s on their track, it already has their scent.
Air around him seemed to grow colder and he felt more awake than before.
The one whose name means “he will add”, the ever clever man,
Though he tries and schemes and teases, he doesn’t have a plan.
By two rings of poison to death he’s been betrothed,
As if always fated to die sooner than by growing old.
Like the stars that burn twice as bright, then leave the world to grieve,
It’s an ancient rule, prophets will tell you: miracles are brief.
Caesar stopped writing. He stared at the paper, wishing he was somewhere far away, all alone, where he would scream his emotions out without fearing someone would hear him. Slowly, he put his pen down and clasped his hands over his face, hoping against hope he could somehow fight down the wave of nausea that painfully gripped his stomach. This wasn't fair.
He sat silently, thinking about what he had written and drowning in the same fear that had bothered him so many times before.
Then, out of nowhere, like a spark of hope, new words resurfaced in his mind, in the response to the last line. He picked up the pen and wrote off to the side in smaller letters a little remark. A smile that was more of a grimace twisted his features before he even finished the first line, in expectation of the second.
But let me tell you, before I begin on poisons and cures,
The miracle I personally know - he likes breaking rules.
He laughed over the verse and tears came to his eyes with that laughter. He felt as if he was falling apart, something inside was hurting too much and burned as if getting whipped by icy winds. There was absolutely no comfort in these thoughts, just more nauseating affection that twisted his insides until he couldn't breathe. He was lying all over again. He only liked to think of Joseph as the breaker of the chains of fate, because he couldn't stand to think about the truth.
He couldn't continue the poem from here. He couldn't continue writing at all. It was all too raw. He knew that getting these feelings out of his system was exactly what he was doing here, but it hurt too much. He laid the pen back down and returned to sitting quietly, motionlessly, doing nothing but focusing on his own breathing. He wasn't sure how long he stayed that way, listening to the ocean splash against the cliffs outside.
He made sure to continue writing only once he was cool and collected again. With his lips twisted in an expression of disgust he leaned low over the paper. A quite creek sounded somewhere far away, but he paid it no mind, engrossed in his thoughts. If he was going to write about his pain, then he was going to write it all.
So is it strange, that the stoic would almost feel betrayed
That in his life he’s loved so many, yet not one ever stayed?
And by now, it’s like a curse that he’s been deemed to bear
That terrible fate would soon befall whomever for he’d care.
His hand trembled. He gritted his teeth harder, but it didn't help keep the corners of his eyes from stinging with new tears.
Though his show of nonchalance has convinced the world
That diamond is the mask he wears, the one so icy cold,
The truth is, if he lost him, though he’d try to hide,
He would scream and he would blubber, devil take his pride!
It was too much. He had opened too much and now he had no idea how to close the rift he’d created. The words were nothing but his heart bleeding all over the paper now, admitting to things he would never speak to anyone. On one hand, he almost found it laughable, that no one in the world seemed to understand something so basic about him... Simply because of his cocksure attitude. But on the other, just having written this left him feeling completely vulnerable. His only luck was that he was safe, alone and in absolute privacy...
“Heeey, what are you writing?”
Caesar almost screamed.
He had no idea that anyone had walked in. In that spit second, when he turned to regard his visitor, he felt ready to die.
“Can I read it? What is this, a letter home to your mom? Dear Mommy, the food here is terrible and that bastard Jojo is so mean to me…” Joseph’s hand reached for the paper.
Caesar slammed his own palm down over it, to cover as much of the text as possible and keep it pinned down to the table.
“Don’t touch it! Who let you in here?!” he barely had enough breath to try and force the words out. Staying in shocked silence would have proven him guilty like nothing else.
“Don’t shout, you’ll wake everyone up! What is it? Poetry? It’s kind of shaped like poetry…”
“Joseph,” growled Caesar, mortified, attempting to sound threatening. He desperately tried to cover the poem with both hands. He needed to keep it hidden from Joseph’s sharp eyes at all costs.
“Is it a love poem? Eww! What, when you flirt it’s not bad enough, so you have to rhyme it now, too? Are you writing this for some dumb girl?” Joseph made a gagging noise.
He would never understand a word of what was on that paper. The knowledge just clean ripped Caesar’s heart in two. He let out a quiet sigh, like a shot doe about to collapse. A different kind of agony than what he had been drowning in before began spreading from his chest up to his head, twisting his face.
Joseph fell strangely quiet.
Caesar looked at him, just a glimpse, to see what was going on. The Joestar’s face was frozen as if he saw a ghost.
“Are you… crying?” he asked.
Is he crying? Could those be tears? No! They’re, beyond all doubt,
Just wounded heart’s burning blood drops, from his eyes spilling out.
Can you blame an injured soldier, for shedding too much red?
Or his abused, worn-out instincts for giving in to dread?
Everything in the world was wrong and he was unable to suck it all in and lock it away in his core. Tears he couldn’t fight glistened in his eyes. There was nothing to say.
“Is it something important?” Joseph was thrown completely off track. Suddenly, he had no idea how to behave.
“Get out,” hissed Caesar.
Joseph bit his lip, his eyes quickly moving between Caesar and the paper. When he spoke, he vaguely gesticulated with his hands as if it somehow helped him convey his ideas: “Um… okay? But you promise to turn back into the Caesar I know and then come explain to me what’s wrong?”
“Get out!” he raised his voice impatiently. Speaking more loudly unfortunately also meant that the trembling in his voice was more easily hearable.
Joseph cringed but didn’t back away: “No, seriously. You can’t just ask me to leave now. I want to know what’s up with you!” He crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly, although he still didn’t look as self-assured as usual. “And you shouldn’t keep secrets from me.”
Caesar used the moment when Joseph wasn’t attempting to grab it to shift the paper over the desk and quickly stuff in back into the drawer he originally took it from. He slammed the drawer shut and stood in front of it, to prevent it being opened with his own body.
“Don’t make me laugh,” he said, his voice deep and raspy, when he turned to frown at Joseph, his hands firmly gripping the edge of the desk. “I can keep as many secrets as I want and you wouldn’t care. Have you ever thought about how all you know about me came from Speedwagon? Right now, you what to know only because I’m telling you that you can’t. You normally wouldn’t even want to come near one of my poems.”
Mindlessly and hungrily, greedy flames lash out like whips
He barely knows what devil’s ploys are falling from his lips.
Like a child he craves reassurance, bends his speech to cruelly tease,
Like the girls he’s always lied to, he tricks another, to feel at ease.
“What the hell are you saying?” Joseph leaned forward, his feet far apart as if steadying himself before a brutal fight. “I would care! I want to know everything about you, it's not like there's some - I don't know - reverse psychology or something at work here!”
Caesar remained quiet, staring at the ground at his feet. He provoked this reaction and felt petty for it, but the words had just fallen from his lips before he could think about them.
“What the hell is your problem?” The taunt had dug deep, perhaps even deeper than Caesar had realized and now, Joseph was just beginning to heat up. “I find you writing something in the middle of the night and freak out when I want to read it. And then you expect me just leave and not be even a little curious? Because you think I don’t give a fuck about you?! Are you insane?!”
“All I’m saying is that as far as we’ve known each other you’ve shown nothing but ignorance for my personal affairs, Jojo,” Caesar looked up with ice in his eyes. “And I don’t see why you need to break that pattern now, when I’m expressly telling you to leave me alone.”
“I didn’t know you had secrets!” argued Joseph, his voice rising in reckless frustration. Not even he seemed to be thinking too much about what he was saying. “I thought you were boring! If I had known, you can bet your ass I’d try to find out everything! I thought you knew I always stick my nose where it doesn’t belong and I thought you hated that about me!”
“I do!” barked Caesar aggressively. “I just - “ He cut off and groaned, pressing one hand to his temple. “Why am I even talking to you about this?! I already told you to go away!”
“But you know I won’t!" Joseph frowned, looking almost disappointed. "So just tell me and be done with it, no? What’s all this about?”
“I won’t tell you.”
“So you want me to guess?” Joseph tilted his head forward until a shadow fell over his eyes. For a moment, he looked and sounded dangerous. “Do you really want me to guess?”
Caesar feigned nonchalance. Joseph could never figure out what the poem was about and even if he did, Caesar wouldn’t let him know he’d guessed right. This was absolutely pointless.
“I don’t want you to guess, I want you to leave me alone,” he muttered, knowing he won’t be acknowledged.
“You know, the fact that I found you writing something in the middle of the night when everyone else is asleep is pretty suspicious,” spoke Joseph grimly. “And I’m sorry for what I have to say, but I have to be cautious. The way you’re acting, it makes it looks like you’re writing messages to our enemies. Ratting out all of our secrets.”
Caesar’s expression changed to one of utter disbelief.
“And of course, you’re going to try and tell me that you wouldn’t make it a poem, if it was a secret message. But to that I say,” Joseph pointed at him with both hands, “of course you’d make it a poem! It’s the perfect disguise! It works with your image, so we don’t become suspicious and you can encode all sorts of classified information in the complicated analogies. Bonus points, you would have the added benefit that most people wouldn’t read them, because everyone thinks poems are boring!”
Caesar blinked a few times, processing all of that.
“That was…” he began slowly, “a fascinating deduction, Jojo. Completely, horrendously, hilariously wrong… but fascinating.”
Joseph smiled, probably taking that as a compliment.
“And it only proves you are exactly as ignorant as I said you are," continued Caesar, his voice growing harsher. "How dare you even let such words out of your mouth! How can you suggest, you blabbering idiot, that I’d betray everything my ancestors stood for?! How dare you even think that I’d stain my family’s name?!”
“Hey, I said I was sorry!” Joseph grinned. All tension seemed to have left him. “I just had to probe that possibility! And now, since the worst case scenario isn’t true, whatever it is, you can tell me!”
“No,” said Caesar simply, briefly shaking his head in disbelief at Joseph's logic. “I can’t.”
“But you have to! You can’t just keep a secret from me and think everything will be fine. I know how this stuff works!”
Caesar felt his eyes growing weary and closed them for a moment, to give them some rest: “What are you even saying, Jojo? Was that supposed to be a threat?”
“No!” Joseph waved his arms, attempting to keep a serious expression. “Not a threat, it’s a warning! It’s how things work! When there are two partners that are all awesome and undefeatable because they work perfectly together, what always happens is that one of them has some horrifying dark secret he didn’t let the other in on. And then, in the final battle, the bad guy uses that secret against them, either to blackmail the one that wants to keep it secret or to shock the other and get him to hesitate or doubt his partner. That’s how it goes!”
So Joseph apparently thought rather highly of their partnership. Even something as small as that was enough to get Caesar to be fully alert again. Although his posture was still one of impassive disinterest: “I think you watch too many movies, Jojo.”
“No, it’s a sure thing! Can’t you see? Everything fits. You have to tell me now, so I can be shocked now and then only laugh in Kars’ face when he tries to use it against us!”
Caesar spoke slowly, stressing each word: “Kars will never use this against us.”
“Famous last words! You can’t tempt fate like this, you idiot!” Joseph threw up his arms in frustration. “And it can’t be nothing considering the way you reacted earlier!”
Caesar was really beginning to regret what had happened. He couldn’t do anything about it at the time, but now he wished he could wipe that moment from time. How was he ever going to get Joseph off his tail? And worse, considering that the longer he kept him in the dark, the more time Joseph’s imagination had to run with the premise and imagine something extravagant, once he’d actually see the poem, he’d likely only be disappointed. What were Caesar's pathetic feelings compared to the universe-bending secrets that truly interesting partners hid from the heroes in whatever adventure stories Joseph based his understanding of the world on?
It was really making him feel petty and he wished he never wrote anything in the first place. If he just wasn’t so overwhelmed with his own emotions. If he just wasn’t so bothered by Joseph and what was happening to Joseph and what Joseph thought and felt. If he just didn’t care…!
“Show me,” begged Joseph. “There's nothing that could break our friendship, we just need to work it out now!"
Through all his life, one thing’s been certain to his lonely mind:
Don't expect sun in the shadows; don't search for daylight if you're blind.
Was it possible that he would understand? It felt insane, wanting to show Joseph what he had written. They would have to live in a completely different universe for Joseph to react positively in any way. He wasn’t going to like the poem. He wasn’t going to understand the feelings. The best Caesar could hope for would be that Joseph would shrug and laugh, because he would have no idea what the words are supposed to imply.
“Look, if you don't think we are close enough or don’t trust me enough to tell me,” said Joseph and moved forward, “that won’t change unless you decide it should. And, you know, it’s never too soon for that. You can just decide that we’re close. Right now, because when, if not now?"
To the blond boy’s surprise, Joseph reached out and took a careful hold of Caesar’s wrist. His fingers were rough from the training, but the touch was anything but unpleasant. Caesar had to fight down a shiver and focus on keeping his breathing even.
Joseph might not understand the poem, but what if he understood the way Caesar’s chest clenched when he came near? What if he understood how desperately Caesar needed him to stay close like this forever and what if he knew just what to do to make sure things stayed this way?
“It’s stupid,” he sighed. “And embarrassing. Stop, Jojo, just stop this.”
“Just say one word," Joseph smiled impishly. "What’s the poem about, your insomnia?”
“I’m not going to say anything, you’re wasting our time.”
“If you can spend the time of the night writing something super secret, then I can take the extra time making sure it doesn’t come and bite us in the ass later,” said the Joestar, as if it was part of his duties. “But as a matter of fact, I think I just figured out what the poem’s about and why you reacted the way you did. There’s evidence all over and I have finally put together all the clues.”
“Do tell,” said Caesar dryly. This game was getting old. He didn’t care to hear another phantasmagoric deduction based on god knows what.
“You’ve been writing,” Joseph spoke slowly, gazing intently into Caesar’s eyes, “about me.”
“Wow,” drawled Caesar. “Just how egoistic do you have to be to assume that?”
“A shot in the dark,” admitted Joseph. He whizzed and his expression turned to one of playful smugness, when he delicately added: “But the moment I mentioned it, your heartbeat went crazy, so…”
With a sharp intake of air, Caesar tried to yank his wrist away from Joseph’s grasp, from where - he realized too late - the Joestar’s fingers were reading his pulse. He had kept his voice, his expression, his entire posture from showing any disturbance when Joseph’s words startled him. For a moment, he really had believed that there was some evidence that gave him away and only sheer force of will helped him keep his composure. But he couldn’t control his heartbeat. And Joseph knew that. How naïve was he, to think the touch had anything to do with romance! All Joseph knew was how to trick people.
He was about ready to shake Joseph off and either run from him or tackle him and try to choke him, since either would help him deal with the emotional storm that threatened to rip his chest apart... But before he could, Joseph's hand slipped down from his wrist to his palm. And just like that, as if it made any sense in the world (which it didn't), they found themselves holding hands.
“Hey, I don’t mind if you write about me,” Joseph was trying to catch Caesar’s eyes that desperately avoided him. He laughed a little: “If I had any inclination to write anything, I think I’d write about the two of us, too. We’re awesome.”
Caesar looked up, hardly believing his ears.
There’s a fire, there’s a rainbow, of all’s been lost control,
Something shimmers, warmly, fondly; sunrise in his soul.
Oh, affection, reason’s downfall, why’s your touch so sweet
That even freezing grip of self-doubt is melting in your heat?
“Now, what is it that you’re writing?” wondered Joseph, smiling smugly at Caesar’s meek muteness. “Is it like some epic song about our quest?”
“Yeah, something like that,” agreed Caesar. There was no need to complicate things.
“Okay. Just a quick check, worst case scenario, since I think I saw you blush before. The poem isn’t smutty, is it?”
Caesar stopped and stared at Joseph in absolute horror.
“Is it?” Joseph barked with laughter.
“No!”
"Oh god," Joseph seemed to find that disproportionately funny. “What do you rhyme with ‘dick’?”
He only laughed harder, when Caesar smacked him over the top of the head, until his laughter was lost in Caesar’s yell of: “I have goddamned standards, you dirty scumbag!”
His eyes were alive and shining into the night. How could there be so much life in someone who carried death itself in his body, Caesar could never understand.
“I hate you,” wailed Caesar, squeezing Joseph’s hand in his.
“Oh, I get it,” Joseph’s blue eyes got a strangle glint in them. “The poem is an ode to everything you hate about me, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what it is,” replied Caesar, looking straight in Joseph’s eyes. He felt lightheaded, as if they were speaking in code and he just revealed everything.
“Nice,” commented Joseph simply. Did he know the key to the code? Did he understand what Caesar was saying? There seemed no way to know for sure.
“Okay. Are you satisfied? I’m going to bed,” announced Caesar, before Joseph had enough time for another question. He’s had enough. His heart was going to jump right out of his chest if he continued balancing on the edge of this cliff any longer.
"Can I sleep over?" Joseph didn't seem to see anything wrong with asking that.
Caesar hesitated. "We're not five-year-olds, Jojo."
Joseph groaned and stretched his free arm lazily: "But I'm too tired to walk all the way back to my room!"
"Sure you are," deadpanned Caesar. He reached behind his back, trying to find the button that turned off the lamp without looking. "Why are you up at this time of night anyway?"
The Joestar winked at him: "I have a special sense that tells me when there's someone writing poems about me."
"Your ego?" suggested Caesar. The last thing he saw was Joseph's amused smile before he found the switch and pressed it without second thoughts. In an instant, the room was engulfed in total darkness.
“See? I don’t think I could even find the door,” continued the brunette, when Caesar turned to walk to his bed and Joseph followed, letting himself be led by their connected hands. “It's not like I want to, I just have to stay here with you.”
“Dammit, Jojo,” whispered Caesar in a breathless euphoria. Out loud he said: "And that's supposed to be believable or what?"
He heard Joseph laugh by his side. When he found the bed, he sat down and carefully shifted over the mattress, so that he could lie down without having to let go of Joseph's hand. The other boy followed him, settling down next to him and apparently just as keen on keeping their hands connected as Caesar.
"Sure it's believable. You don't believe me? Why else would I willingly submit myself to having to share covers with a greedy hoarder like you?" mumbled Joseph in between little snorts of laughter. Their shoulders collided when they tried to adjust themselves on the bed, blindly fumbling and touching each other way more than necessary to simply lie down on their backs next to each other.
Letting his head finally sink into his pillow, Caesar sighed: "Jojo, do you seriously expect me to forget how nosy you can be when you set your mind to something? You aren't here because you're tired. You want to sneak out of the bed once I fall asleep and secretly read what I've written."
While he spoke, he heard only rustling of cloth rubbing against each other and then a soft thud, when Joseph's head landed on the wide pillow next to him. When he finished speaking, a complete silence answered him. That immediately told him he guessed right.
"You don't know that," argued Joseph after a pause. Underneath the covers, his thumb absentmindedly stroked the back of Caesar's palm, while he stared at the ceiling, trying to think of something clever to say.
Caesar's breathing next to him was comfortingly steady.
"If you really believed that," continued Joseph, speaking as words came to his mind, "you'd take some precautions. Otherwise it's just empty words." He smirked towards where he guessed Caesar’s face. "Like, you could hold onto me, to prevent me from sneaking out."
The darkness between them, in which neither could see the other’s expression, stilled in total silence. Joseph noticed that he could no longer hear Caesar breathing. What he didn't notice was that Caesar’s heart had jumped up to his throat and he was noiselessly choking on it.
“I was joking,” added Joseph somewhat indignantly.
“Very funny,” growled Caesar.
They were lying next to each other on their back, staring up on the ceiling. Neither really tried to close their eyes and fall asleep. They kept shyly holding hands and neither felt like letting go, but even despite that, doubts seemed to crawl all around them and underneath their skin. The night was too quiet, all they could hear was each other’s breathing and the rhythms of their hearts.
Joseph was the first to change his position. He turned to his left, facing Caesar. He stared at the other boy’s silhouette in the moonlight, before tightly shutting his eyes.
He didn’t even realize when he reached out and wrapped his free arm around Caesar’s torso. It must have been an instinct, build from years of sleeping with plushies: whenever there was something soft and huggable next to him, he automatically reached for it.
The other boy, still lying on his back, froze underneath Joseph's touch and made the quietest sound of surprise.
Joseph was immediately awake. But he didn't feel like changing his position. Instead, an avalanche of words came to him: “Er, I – I’m kind of still not completely convinced that you aren’t an enemy spy yet, so I need to hold you here and make sure you never get an opportunity to run off and give your message to the enemy behind my back.”
“Ah,” breathed Caesar. He wasn’t even thinking straight. Jojo’s explanation was laughable and he should have been insulted, but all he could think was how firm Joseph’s chest was when it pressed to his side and wonderful it felt to have the warm, muscled arm wrapped around him. “That makes sense, I guess.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it does,” agreed Joseph, as if he hadn’t been sure himself.
Another while passed quietly. Joseph kept his eyes shut, attempting to sleep, although finding he could barely do anything but think about what he had done. Caesar next to him was keeping his body rigid, terrified. What if he shifted and Joseph pulled away?
When his back began aching and he realized he will have to turn to one side, he bit his lip and tried to ignore the urge. Why wasn't he satisfied with what he had, getting to fall asleep next to Joseph like this was all he could ask for and changing positions in this state was absolutely illogical...
Joseph's arm around his body slightly tightened, as if trying to tug him closer.
He didn't know how it happened and he could swear he didn't do it. His body seemed to move on autopilot. Before he knew, he was lying on his side, facing Joseph and snuggling closer to his firm, warm chest.
"Caesar?" muttered Joseph who noticed when he shifted and adjusted his hold on him. They seemed almost synchronized in finding the right positions for their free arms on each other’s body.
“Oh, you were right," mumbled the blond boy in a careless monotone. "I can't have you sneak out and read it, so I need to prevent you from moving, yeah."
"Right," sighed Joseph happily. He relaxed now that Caesar returned his embrace. Their bare feet were touching, creating the gentlest sensation against the neglected skin that rarely saw such attentions. “How about in the morning?”
“Forget it,” responded Caesar. “I'll never let you read it, even if I had to hold you for eternity."
"Really?" murmured Joseph, with a smirk in his voice.
"Yeah." What else was he supposed to say?
They snuggled closer, attempting to act as if they didn’t notice how tighter and tighter clenched into each other they were getting.
"I wouldn't mind if you did," whispered Joseph, smiling, with his eyes closed.
And Caesar remained silent.
If among the lies and pretenses a seed of truth was found
And if my hand to yours with a string of fate was bound,
If you stayed and laughed forever, brightening my days
And if we always walked together, never parting ways
And if we build a steady vessel to sail the streams of time,
Slowly growing old together, I - yours and you – mine,
If everything I’ve ever dreamt of turned out to be real…
I don’t think I’d really need words to express how I feel.