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Joseph climbs into a gondola behind Caesar, wobbling a bit as the boat rocks in the shallow waves.
“Careful,” Caesar says uselessly from his seat at the front of the boat.
Joseph silently mocks him, without any malice, as he reaches for the oar. He uses it to push off from shore. He doesn’t love being the one to paddle, but they agreed to split the trip — Joseph on the way there, Caesar on the way back. The arrangement is fair, but he’ll probably still complain about it.
Caesar looks back over his shoulder at Joseph, eyes narrowed. “If I get wet even once during this thirty minutes, you are buying me dinner,” he says coolly.
Joseph rolls his eyes at him, but his voice is lighthearted as he teases. “Just stop talking, will you? I’m trying to enjoy tonight.”
It’s not often they take a night out like this. Joseph had been bored from days of training, and while Caesar has been much more hesitant to admit it, it was clear he was getting antsy too. They’d finally decided to ask if they could take an evening trip into Venice, just for dinner and a stroll. Not much more; just a break. A night out between two friends.
Lisa Lisa had looked right at Caesar as if she knew some secret of his and then had waved them off with a smile, reminding them to be sure they got enough sleep to continue training tomorrow.
Standing in the gondola, sleep is the last thing on Joseph’s mind. On the contrary, he’s a ball of energy. He feels way too hyped up, jittery. Excitement bubbles at the bottom of his stomach. He can’t stop grinning over at Caesar, who meets him with a confused smile, bangs blown back in the salty breeze.
The boat ride is nice. They talk occasionally, when they have something to say, and the silence that settles otherwise is a comfortable one. There’s a pleasant feeling in the air, backed by a pale sky fading into sunset.
But the closer they get to land, Joseph starts to feel off. His stomach does flips, excitement starting to feel more like nerves. His hands tremble a little too hard. He tries to brush it off.
It’s harder to ignore the way his stomach sinks as they step onto land. He grimaces, feeling anxious all of a sudden.
As he bends to help his companion tie up the gondola, an uncomfortable nausea begins to turn in his gut. He briefly squeezes his eyes shut tight and wills the feeling away.
As they begin their stroll into town, Caesar starts talking about his favorite places to eat. Joseph tries to listen, but something is wrong and it’s all he can think about. He breathes in deeply and puts all his focus into hearing Caesar talk.
“They have the best focaccia in the city, if you want something light.” He talks with his hands as he describes a restaurant Joseph missed the name of. “But maybe we need something heartier. That’s more like an appetizer, isn’t it?”
“Right.”
Joseph’s heart pounds irregularly. He feels as if something is pressing down on his chest. No matter how deeply he breathes, his lungs don’t seem to expand enough. He tries taking even deeper breaths to compensate — at least, until Caesar gives him a weird look.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Joseph says dismissively. “Hey, I’m hungry now. Let’s get gnocchi.” He points toward a food cart nearby, advertising fresh meals and looking mostly empty of customers at the moment.
“That’s all you want? I mean, we can go somewhere nicer…”
“I like gnocchi. Let’s save our money for a nice dessert afterward.” Joseph doesn’t give him any more time to protest. He walks toward the cart at an unnecessarily quick pace, leaving Caesar to trot after him with a confused grumble.
Joseph orders his meal first, picking the first thing he sees on the menu. He barely even knows what he’s ordered. The only time he’s ever eaten gnocchi was at an Italian restaurant in England, and it was inauthentic and much simpler than the dishes sold at the cart.
He finds himself gripping instinctively to the side of the counter, looking for something sturdy to give him support. He’s uncomfortable. He feels cold throughout his core and down his spine; little shivers make their way through his body uncontrollably.
He stands there and listens absentmindedly as Caesar gives his own order. Joseph’s legs feel strangely weak. He tries to hide the way they wobble for no reason. His heart suddenly gives a painful squeeze, and he breaks out in a sweat. A bolt of panic he can’t explain shoots through him.
He doesn’t feel right at all. “I’m going to sit down,” he gets out, trying his very best to put on a brave face and look normal. Caesar eyes him for a moment but shrugs and turns back to the cart.
Joseph stumbles over to a small metal table, legs feeling like jelly. He plops clumsily into one of the two accompanying chairs. Its tin legs screech against the cobblestone. The sound makes him shiver again.
He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, but he has to get it under control. This could interfere with training. And, besides that, it’s just not comfortable. It’s ruining his evening out with Caesar. This was supposed to be relaxing!
He glances at Caesar as he walks over, change clutched in his right fist. He grins cheekily at Joseph as he sits across from him. “I should have known you would pick something like this. I’ll take you to a real restaurant next time. And we’re having seafood, not gnocchi.”
Joseph doesn’t answer, feeling weird. His stomach whirls like he might get sick right now. His body is cold and sweaty. His heart is pounding. His chest is too tight. It’s way too tight, he can’t get air in. He’s not breathing. His lungs don’t feel right. It’s all wrong. Something is very, very wrong.
He looks up at Caesar suddenly, intending to ask for help of some sort, but finds that his voice has completely shut off when he tries to open his mouth.
The expression he wears must be worse than he realized because as soon as they make eye contact, the smile drops from Caesar’s face. His brow furrows with worry. “What?” he says, a hint of urgency edging at his voice. “What’s wrong?”
“I—“ The words won’t come out. Joseph swallows, tries to get himself together enough to speak. His voice is thin and almost nonexistent as he manages, “I feel like I can’t breathe.”
Saying it aloud is almost like speaking it into existence; he tips all the way into panic, tears filling his eyes and breaths coming short. The moment he stops breathing steadily, the training mask abruptly cuts off his airflow. He chokes.
Caesar looks terrified himself — it takes Jojo a moment to realize why, but it makes sense when Caesar jumps up from his seat and hurries around the table to inspect Jojo. “Is it your heart?” he demands. He grabs Joseph by the chin and looks him up and down as if he’d be able to see if something were amiss. “Your throat?”
The wedding rings. It hadn’t even really occurred to Joseph, but he realizes now that they’ve been on the back of his mind all along. Oh, god, he’s going to die. Is it really possible the rings could have dissolved early? Maybe he did something during training to accidentally set them off. It’s happening right now, he’s dying, they’re spilling poison into his system…
He grabs his chest, frantic.
“Hang on.” Caesar is trying to sound calm as he reaches behind Joseph’s head, fumbling with the back of the mask. His shaky movements give him away; he’s scared. He uses hamon to get the mask open and tugs it off, dropping it on the table with a metallic clatter.
“Is that better?” he asks firmly, searching Joseph’s face for a reaction.
Joseph shakes his head tightly in blind panic, his voice little more than an exhale as he wheezes, “I can’t, I can’t—“
Caesar grabs onto his shoulders too tightly. “Try, Jojo. Try to breathe,” he orders, voice sharp. He holds him secure to the chair, strong hands squeezing his shoulders, manicured nails digging into freckled skin.
And to Joseph’s surprise, he realizes that he is getting air now. With the mask gone, he’s finally able to gulp in oxygen, albeit at an unsteady pace. He breathes too quickly, little terrified pants forcing themselves through his trembling teeth, far too shallow to really pull in enough air.
Caesar squeezes his shoulders again. The feeling is surprisingly grounding. Joseph hears him say, “Slower,” and does his best to obey.
It doesn’t come easily, but he fights through it, wheezing and coughing as he pulls himself back under his control. As he takes in more air, his head starts to clear a bit and his heart rate grows closer to a normal pace. It occurs to him that he’s crying, and has been for most of the ordeal. He swallows.
Caesar starts to pull his hands away. Joseph moves without thinking, grabbing harshly onto his wrists to keep him there. He needs that solid touch to keep him secure, to help him stop trembling.
“Okay,” Caesar says, a little startled. He gives Joseph’s left shoulder a reassuring pat. “I’m not letting go, it’s okay.”
Nodding, Joseph drops his hands into his lap and takes a few more deep, shaky breaths. His stomach turns with some sick combination of nerves and shame. His face is a mess of snot, tears, and spit. He feels dumb and annoying, like a little kid.
Caesar leans close and uses his own scarf to wipe away the tears, which is painfully nice of him to do. Joseph sniffles and swipes a wrist beneath his nose.
They don’t talk for a minute. Joseph’s breaths still shudder a little, and Caesar watches to make sure he’s okay. He feels hot under the other’s gaze, not in a good way. He really embarrassed himself just now.
He coughs to clear his throat. “I’m okay,” he mumbles, studying his hands. “Thanks.”
“That’s good.” Caesar still looks concerned, but he moves to pull his hands away again and isn’t stopped this time. He takes a step back to give Joseph some space.
It’s awkward now, and Joseph doesn’t want him to walk on eggshells for him. He feels humiliated and drained and just wants to go to bed. “You should go check on the food,” he says, hoping to get Caesar’s eyes off him for a moment. “I think they already called your name.”
Caesar hesitates. “Are you sure you won’t—“
“I’m fine. It wasn’t the rings.”
“I know.” Caesar looks back and forth briefly between Joseph and the food stand. He chews uncertainly at the inside of his cheek. “I’ll be right back, then.”
He goes to pick up their food, finally giving Joseph a moment to himself. He can’t help but feel small and ashamed. For a moment there, he’d been so convinced that he was actually dying. But after all that fuss he made, he’s perfectly fine. Now Caesar has seen him cry and hyperventilate like a child, not to mention the multitude of passersby who witnessed the event.
He keeps his head turned down as Caesar approaches with two plates of food. “Here’s your gnocchi,” he says, voice uncharacteristically soft as he places the dishes on the table.
“Thanks,” Joseph murmurs back. He picks up his fork but doesn’t do much with it. His usual appetite is missing, replaced by a swirling nausea that won’t go away.
Caesar doesn’t eat much either. After a few minutes of awkward silence interrupted only by the occasional clinking, he stops pretending and puts his fork down altogether. “Jojo…”
Joseph twirls his pasta. “I- I don’t know what it was. I’m sorry you saw it. Can we just not talk about it?”
His companion shakes his head insistently. “No, Jojo. You scared me. I need to make sure that’s not going to happen again.“
“You’ll make anything about yourself,” Joseph mutters even though he doesn’t really mean it. Redirecting Caesar to anger would just be easier than dealing with his worry.
For quite possibly the first time ever, Caesar doesn’t take the bait. He gives a small sigh, fingers twisting absentminded, swirling folds into his cloth napkin.
“I’m worried,” he admits. His voice sounds so off that Joseph finally looks up. He’s not expecting the genuine fear he sees in Caesar’s eyes.
The deep discomfort, the faint sheen of tears; seeing him like that; the heaviness of the situation hits Joseph all over again. He feels a lump in his throat. He tries to come up with a retort. Tries to tell Caesar to stop worrying so much. Tries to make fun of him, or crack a joke, or change the topic. But he comes up blank.
There’s nothing funny about the situation. There’s poison inside him. He’s scared.
He stares at Caesar, and all he can manage to get out is a small, cracked, “I’m gonna be okay, right?”
Caesar licks his dry lips and nods. “Yes. I promise.”
“Okay.” Joseph wraps his arms around himself, feeling small.
A heavy silence threatens to stretch between them before Caesar grits his teeth and speaks up again. “We just can’t forget how important this training is. Your life depends on it. So no slacking, you hear that?” He looks Joseph in the eye seriously and points his fork at him.
Joseph manages a weak smile. “Obviously.”
Caesar gives a final nod and dips his fork back into his dish. “Now, eat. And then we’ll go for a walk by the water, and then we’ll go back to Air Supplena and get some rest.”
Joseph obeys, taking a deep breath of the clear evening air and reaching for his fork. It’s easier to think about eating now, and much easier to breathe. Getting that energy out may actually have been a good thing, in the long run. But a different method would be preferable.
They finish dinner and stop for tarts for dessert before they go down to the water. For once, Joseph lets Caesar pull him along without a fight. He knows all the best spots, and it’s even a little charming to watch him take the lead.
As the end of their evening out approaches, Caesar points out a nice spot to sit, on the rocky edge of a public beach that has cleared of people for the day. Baby waves crash against the sand, splashes not quite big enough to reach their feet. The setting sun casts glittering across the sea.
Under a purple-orange sky, Joseph feels daring. He nudges his fingers closer and closer to Caesar until he feels cool skin against his. A moment passes, and then he goes further, spreading his fingertips atop Caesar’s.
He leaves it that way for a few minutes until Caesar gets impatient and simply grabs his hand.
Joseph smiles to himself and presses his shoulder against his companion’s. “Where are you gonna go when this is all over?” he asks.
Caesar looks to the side with a smile, and he holds fast to Joseph’s hand. “Wherever you do, stupid.”