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Joseph was at a spot that no man, no matter how old or how spiteful, wanted to be in.
Loss was no one easy thing, for anyone, really. Whether it be of one who had passed, loss of something small you cared about, or the loss of a part of yourself, nobody liked it.
Especially Joseph. To see the cross— the one that flattened his lover— killed him every time he thought about it. He reminisced on holding Caesar's hands, and he remembered resting with him.
He loved it when they bickered, hated it when they really fought, and rejoiced more than anything when he and Caesar always re-conjoined. To see the blood ooze out from under it, in a distasteful dark red, made him lose the feeling of anything around him.
He missed him every day. He dedicated himself to Caesar— pouring his life out for him and caring for him— just for him to be gone after one fight. He figured his love would persist, like he always did, but this death was quite uncharacteristic of him.
That disturbed Joseph deeply, and he hated it. He was always curious, but sometimes that lead to his hatred of not knowing things when he got passionate, so his heart break was tangible. He only knew Caesar had died at the hands of Wamuu, but that was quite it.
A part of his dedication came to studying the own meaning of the cross— he found it represented the Lord and love, right? Then why must it so cruelly take Caesar, out of his own two hands?
Even so, even if Caesar wasn't destined to spend the rest of his life with him, he wanted him so badly. He needed him and loved him more than any lousy girl Caesar could've ever found— and now he was here, missing him for longer than he had even known him.
It was cruel. Perhaps this was some sort of divine punishment— made up for Caesar's reek of destruction only just a few years ago, and Joseph's own tomfoolery, but surely this was too unfortunate.
He thought a lot about Caesar. Always. His good looks, but also everything he'd left for him, not just memory. It took strength to acknowledge, but Caesar (who had come up with very little), had very little to give him.
Just a stupid necklace.
Joseph planted a kiss on it every night— he treated it like a beam of light and love, like Caesar— and slumbered, but never without wretched tears. Those tears, he cried a lot.
Joseph hated how he would likely only live on as a memory. Perhaps, he'd save it for his sappy stories, when he grew older.
No amount of storytelling could replicate the raw grief and love Joseph held, however.
Never.