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Joseph had woken up early that morning, it was a normal morning at the very least, except for the lingering sadness of losing his best friend, Caesar Antonio Zeppeli, he missed the blonde Italian, he had such a long life ahead of him, it makes him tear up when he thinks about the young man, only twenty. He, truthfully, wished their last 'conversation' wasn't a fight between them. He wishes he could've prevented him from going into that utterly stupid building, getting himself killed as he did. They couldn't even hold a proper funeral for him, either. They couldn't find his body from under the rock...He could go on and on with how he could've prevented it, really. He should focus on getting some breakfast without crying first, yeah, that was probably a better decision, wasn't it? Yeah. Most definetely. He decides to stop thinking about it all, shaking his head harshly to stop himself from thinking about his smile, his laugh, his eyes, his...
"God, Joseph!! What the hell has gotten into you lately!? Get your head out of the gutter...!!!"
He suddenly exclaimed to himself, slamming a fist on the counter in front of him in anger at himself. He needs to stop thinking about him like that...But god, he missed him. It hurt. It hurt so bad, like a nagging feeling in his chest, his heart, that something important was missing forevermore, unreachable to obtain once more. He loved him, he knew that, of course he loved Caesar, he was his best friend, and either way...Who wouldn't love him? He was an amazingly strong man, a beautiful one at that... 'God, Joseph, what the hell are you thinking??? You just yelled at yourself to get your head away from him, and look at where you ended back up...!!!' He internally exclaimed this time, as to not awaken anyone else at this early hour. The sun hasn't even risen that morning yet...And, he was still terribly hungry. That's the whole reason he came down to the damned kitchen, and he hasn't accomplished even that yet. He really needs to get in gear, otherwise he'll be here crying over his dead best friend all fucking day at this point, and that would be pointless. He wouldn't get anything done that he needed to if he did so, but god, he did. He, once again, shakes his head, facepalming harshly and rubbing his temples before deciding to make some eggs and toast for breakfast, simple enough to not burn or something...Hopefully.
He grabs out a pan and some oil, putting it on top of the stove top, turning the heat to medium, pouring some oil in to let it heat up a bit before adding in eggs, putting a bit too much salt and pepper in it, but it'll be edible. He grabs out some toast, putting it into the toaster with a plate to put his eggs and toast on. He looks out the window for a bit, waiting for his toast to pop up and his eggs to be done...Apparently, he stared out that window for a bit too long, because now his eggs were burnt to the bottom of the pan and his toast was a bit too dark for his liking. He audibly sighed with clear, very clear annoyance on his face. Wonderful. Burned eggs and toast!! How absolutely delicious!! He, reluctantly, served himself the food he made, eating it slowly like it's offended him....In which it had, it had very much offended him personally and his ego, and his ego is very precious, do be reminded. He picks at it for a very, very good minute before taking a bite. It was tasteless. A moment of silent eating for him, he really has to think to himself- How the hell did he mess up eggs, one of the easiest things to cook?? He defeated Kars, the ultimate being, for godsake, but can't cook?? Very shocking, indeed.
He finished his meal relatively quickly, easy enough since it didn't have any taste, and puts his now dirtied dishes into the sink, not caring to rinse or clean them. He stretches a bit, side to side, up and down, every which way his, surprisingly flexible, body lets him to. Then, he decides he's tired and he still has some time to sleep for a bit, so, he does the logical thing and goes up to his room after drinking quite a bit of water. He reaches his room, which was upstairs, and lies down. His drowsiness from not even a minute earlier is gone completely the second he hits his mattress.
"...This is utter bullshit. Complete, utter bullshit."
He tosses and turns over and over in his bed before stilling, staring at his ceiling. He looks around his bedroom, noticing the callender. May 13th. Caesar's birthday was today. He would've been 21 today...Even though he wouldn't recieve it, he felt the need to write a note to him, to maybe act as if he'd recieve it, act as if he was still here with him, just back in Italy is all. Like there was a chance to see him once more, a chance to see his smile, argue with him again, anything. Joseph slowly got out of his bed, walking to his desk, grabbing a pen with ink, along with a piece of paper. He started to write, to write everything he wished he could've said.
"Dear Caesar, I know you won't ever get or read this letter, as you're gone forever now, but I felt as if I should write to you for your birthday, so, happy birthday, Caesarino. I often wonder how I can miss someone as much as I do you, but the world is a surprising place, isn't it, Caesarino?"
Joseph looked down at his paper, tears already filling his eyes. The letter was already off to a bad start, wasn't it? He didn't know where to go from there, so, instead, he crumples up the paper into a ball, throwing it to the side and starting fresh, but keeping some of the same words in.
"Dear Caesar
I know you won't get this letter, as well...Well, you know...Anyways, I felt as if I should write to you all my feelings. You were an amazing man, Caesar. Even though I wanted to pummel your stupid, stupid face in most the time, as you did my own face, I have to admit, I miss you, Caesar, it's quite embarassing to admit that, but...I'd, truthfully, pay any price to see you again, to hear your voice, to see your face, your clothes, your hair, you in general, I'd pay any price to hear you yell at me, instead of underneath all that rubble, motionless and dead, I wish I stopped you from going in there, maybe you could still be here, by my side, laughing with me and yelling at my buffoonery. If I had known what would have happened, I wouldn't have said those awful things that day, if I had known that would be our last day together, with the both of us living, maybe I wouldn't have said that. I shouldn't have in the first place, I realize that now. I should have tried harder to stop you, Caesar, or tried harder to. I'm sorry I didn't try harder, Caesar. I wonder what it would be like if you were still here. I wish we could've given you a proper funeral, you most definetely deserved one. I sometimes wonder what would've happened if we were ever more than friends, if that was even possible. I know that's weird, though...But, concluding everything, I love you, Caesar Antonio Zeppeli, whether that's as a friend or more, I'm not sure, but I know I do. Happy birthday, Caesarino. You deserve to he celebrated, loved, and cherished for.
P.S, sorry for destroying your headband.
From, Joseph Joestar, the one and only."
Joseph looked at the paper, satisfied with the outcome of what he had written, he decides to put it carefully into an envelope, sealing it up, but not signing who it was for. He gets up, stretching once again. The sun was rising now, the birds singing. He looks around his room to put the letter into, and finds a small box. That'll do. He grabs the enveloped letter, and, very carefully, puts the letter into the box, putting it beneath his own bed cafefully before sighing.
"...Well, I suppose that'll do...Hmmm.."
Joseph hummed to himself. What to do now? He could take a walk around the area, see if he could find a field to go to and stare at the rising sun. Yeah. That sounded perfect, actually. He should probably write a small message to tell everyone he was going out, so that they don't think he went missing or something, doubtfully that everyone would be worried about that at his big, grown age, but never say never, am I right? He writes a note that reads, "going out gonna be back eventually", puts it on the table, and gets his shoes, jacket, and whatnot on. He opens the door, the sun kissing his face with it's golden, warming rays of sunlight. He steps out, hands in his pockets, his iconic smirk on his face as he walks about, trying to see if theres anywhere to go. He happens to walk past a florist's shop, noticing there were sunflowers in the windows on the inside. Those were Caesar's favorite flowers, weren't they? Maybe it was a coincidence. He shrugs and goes on about his walk, but maybe, just with a little more energy in his steps. Maybe it was a sign of some sort from Caesar, that he was still there??? Somehow, probably spiritually or something like that, who knows in the end? Certainly not him, that's for sure.
Happy birthday, Caesar Antonio Zeppeli.