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After spending over sixty hours fighting his way out of an oil-slick pit, and meeting their two new teachers on top of that, Jojo was too exhausted to fight. He was too exhausted to even question the fact that he had wound up as Caesar's pillow. It was too much trouble to get worked up over, and way too much trouble to move.
Honestly, he might have been up to the effort but there was nothing left to fight about. Somewhere in the time he had spent dragging himself up out of that hell, looking up at Caesar's ass from the corner of his eye as a way to gauge his own progress, the simmering animosity between them had faded. They had fought their way past the same obstacle. They were comrades now, no matter if they had been denying it before.
It didn't hurt that they had stumbled back from a long delayed meal with their arms thrown over each other's shoulders for support. Caesar had headed for his old dormitory cell, seemingly by instinct, and Jojo had just gone along with him. They tumbled together into the single bed without a passing thought for pride or personal space.
For Jojo it was just as well he hadn't cared he was being used as a pillow. Having Caesar there, sprawled on top of him, probably saved his life that first night.
Jojo couldn't keep his breathing rhythm up in his sleep. He woke suddenly, unable to draw breath as the mask cut off his air. He would have panicked and torn fruitlessly at the mask, perhaps passed out and suffocated until he was dead, but for Caesar.
The firm, steady feeling of Caesar breathing against him reminded Jojo what was happening. He provided a steady rhythm for Jojo to follow, to recover his ripple breathing.
It was only by breathing in sync with Caesar that Jojo could breathe at all.