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Air Supplena Island isn't one for comfortable corners or rooms meant for relaxation, every place is lingering with the fleeting desire to lay down and let your worries drift away while sleep cradles you gently. Instead, it's packed to the brim with propaganda that makes you train, and if it isn't your Hamon or body, it'll be your mind.
That's why moments like these were savoured between Joseph and Caesar. The night was young, the cold air biting down on their sweat clad limbs like a hungry dog, and it was uncannily quiet. The tension between the two had melted and slipped through their fingers that were previously curled into fists, the ache from their previous exercises still hovering under their skin.
The balcony felt like a safe haven in a way, the quiet swish of the waves crashing off the jagged landscape of the island, followed by the quiet hum of Hamon behind Caesar as he had his elbows propped up on the railing, a cigarette dangling dangerously from his mouth. It was the calm before the storm, a moment to regain their senses and reset any thoughts that'd been polluting their minds before heading to bed.
It's not the first time the two ended up like this. Caesar started sneaking out during the night for smoke breaks, and Joseph eventually found out about his secret hiding spot ; A balcony tucked away on the far East of the island, just overlooking the sea and the tip of Venice. It was a quiet area, with black metal railings and sandstone coloured tiles that lined the floor, a chair or two strewn about for comfort, neatly tucked in side by side next to an old, creaky wooden table that’s lost its colour to the wind and rain.
Eventually, when Caesar slipped out into the night, Joseph did, too. For him, it was a moment to observe Caesar closer, to understand the cogs and functions of his brain when he isn't high on adrenaline or delivering odd lines that'd be considered mixed signals. It was an opportunity for Joseph to see Caesar with his mask off, his guard down, and his head clear.
For Caesar, it was uncomfortable eyes on his back as he felt the tobacco work it's magic. He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the comfort, but he supposed it'd be nicer if conversation was made, or if Joseph tried to be more discreet about staring at him, but, to no avail.
“Any luck?” Caesar finally speaks, his accented tone cutting through the silence surrounding them like an anvil falling in a church, his hushed tone sounding nearly like a yell. Joseph looks up at the other, shuffling his legs to sit on the ground in a more comfortable position.
He huffs, the sound muffled by his ‘muzzle’, as Caesar has called it, although they both knew it was primarily for training purposes. “Not at all. If I had cracked this, I'd be more chipper than I am.” Joseph all but groans, the sound of Hamon becoming louder and sharper as his frustration bubbles to the surface.
Caesar finally snuffs out the butt of his cigarette on the railing and turns around to face the Joestar that's been sitting with his legs crossed on the ground. In his palms was wine, red, to be precise. The Hamon was causing it to not slip through his fingers, however that wasn't the aim.
Caesar recalls Joseph trying to grasp the whole idea of ‘Sun Energy’ a few days ago at the dinner table as coach Lisa Lisa was explaining the history of it. Therefore, the genius had come up with the idea that ‘Well, if the Sun is hot, surely that means it can boil liquids, right?’
Bringing himself back to the present, Caesar recalls why Joseph is here, cupping wine in his hands, with his head dramatically lowered at an angle that makes him look like he's dragging his hands along his face. He's been trying to boil the wine so the steam gets him drunk. Right.
The Zeppeli can't help but chuckle to himself, leaning down to grab the bottle sitting idly next to the other man, twirling it around to see the brand. “Yeah, good luck with that.” Caesar feels himself smirk, but when he looks down at the other once more, he feels an ounce of pity in his chest. Is he really trying this hard to get drunk?
He clears his throat, making Joseph peer up at him curiously. “Why do you want to get drunk, anyway? You know we have to train-” before the words are able to leave his mouth, Caesar gets cut off by a muffled “-We have to train tomorrow morning, yeah, I know.” Joseph rolls his eyes slightly, however not being able to hide the smile in his voice.
“I gotta take the edge off somehow. Being tasked with killing three ancient beings is sort of stressful, no?” He raises an eyebrow at Caesar, feeling his concentration slip slightly, along with a droplet or two of the beverage staining his pants, cursing himself mentally and swearing that he'll try to get the blotches out.
Caesar feels his eyebrows furrow, a nervous smile if anything appearing on his features, crinkling the edges of his eyes slightly. “Maybe so. Just get Lisa Lisa to take it off, then.” Caesar says, his tone lighthearted nonetheless, something Joseph gets to rarely hear.
“Can’t you do that?” Joseph murmurs under his breath, going against the others advice and sitting put, his posture slightly straightening as he focuses on the liquid in his hands, treating it as if it’s fine China. The gentleness in his hands is abnormal, especially to Caesar, as he’s only seen Joseph use fists in a fight or threaten others with erratic hand movements.
The gentle curl of the Joestars fingers allow for the wine to follow the bend of the surface, forming a spiral-like shape along the ridge of his palm. “I mean, you take it off for me when I gotta eat and brush my teeth- This is kind of like eating,” Joseph begins, making Caesar stare down at him with a consideration in his eyes.
On one hand, this is getting pathetic, and knowing Joseph, he'll give up and have an hour or two of being mad and irritated by everything. Also, Caesar is pretty sure he didn't wash his hands and is getting all his dirt and grime from their training all over his fancy wine.
On the other hand, Caesar Zeppeli is a man who keeps his promises, and he agreed with Lisa Lisa to train Joseph to his best. Taking the mask off is hindering his ability to focus on training and distracts his mind from the uncomfortable situation they find themselves in.
But staring down at the other, watching the concentration in his eyes and his eyebrows furrow as he keeps his gaze locked in with the crimson substance, looking for any sort of steam or smoke emitting from it, Caesar feels obligated to reward him after the last.. what? 30 minutes or so that he's been sitting here trying to do this.
He settles on that conclusion and ignores the painful beating in his heart at the thought of seeing Joseph without that bulky mask on his face.
“Yeah, I can't do that. This is still training, JoJo I'm not going to.. intervene with training.” Caesar cuts Joseph short, trying to groan and seem annoyed but it more so comes off as neutral. Joseph, however, continues to try and persuade the other before continuing. “I mean, I’ve had you take it off for the night, can’t you do it for like an hour or two?” Joseph keeps pushing, leaning back slightly to make his posture more playful, his sly smile twisting the curve of his eyes up gently.
Caesar puts the bottle back down next to the other, leaning his lower back against the cold railing behind him, the sensation leaving a chill burn down his spine, making him tense lightly. “I can’t do it for unprofessional reasons, I agreed to that.” He speaks bluntly, the current height difference causing a strain in his eyes, but Caesar thinks that looking down at him like an angered parent might kick some sense into the Joestar.
“I can't ask Lisa Lisa! She'll just yammer on about Hamon and stuff- Come on, I know you're not that much of Momma's boy,” Joseph begins to argue, his fluttering eyelashes and persuasion dissipating into a bark and bite. Caesar scrunches his face up lightly, and he decides that being the bigger person in this moment will do him some good, and he pushes away the impending urge to jump at Joseph and dangle his little country ass off the balcony.
He clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes, the feathers hooked to his headband giving a gentle bow, as he digs in his pocket for another cigarette to grasp onto. Once he finds it, he places the stick of toxins between his lips before doing the same ritual to find the lighter. “Give me one good reason.” Caesar says after a moment of silence between the two, eyeing the younger through his shagged hair, absentmindedly lighting the cigarette, the warm hue of the light making him look much brighter than he feels.
Joseph returns the silent moment with a thoughtful hum, letting the breeze bouncing off their skin do the talking, before he peers his head back up, and without even seeing it, Caesar can tell he has a shit eating grin on his face. “Don't you want to.. I dunno, talk? Granny used to say she can't shut me up when I'm buzzed,” Joseph pauses briefly to look over Caesar's face, and tries to read every expression he provides like a starved man. Consideration? Annoyance? One or the other. It's in the eyebrows.
“I thought you wanted to know me.” Joseph teases, and Caesar's dangling feathers stick up like cat fur. Bingo. The Joestar feels himself sneer beneath his veneer, and if there’s one thing he understands is that he has to push and pull with Caesar Zeppeli, and so he does. He grasps the reins and tugs hard, stretching his legs out beneath him until his foot barely grazes the metal railing caging them in the small space, letting himself get comfortable now that he doesn’t necessarily need to dig up countless of begs and cries that’ll satisfy the man looking down at him with furrowed eyebrows and smoke slightly clouding his features.
And Caesar does, really, truly consider it and weighs out the consequences. If Lisa Lisa finds out, he’s doomed and would have proven he can’t be trusted, and if Joseph does something stupid under the influence of the wine that’ll grapple his brain and hence his actions, it’ll also be completely Caesar's fault. He’s chalked it down to ‘if anything beyond the ordinary happens, it’s on me’, but the clawing and scratching on the inside of his skull that’s seeping with curiosity isn’t pleased with that answer. It yearns to feed and gnaw on new information, to explore a possibly completely new territory with a man he’s learnt to feel conflicted about.
Caesar sighs, the smoke he puffs out exaggerating his emotions as his entire body seems to droop down with reluctance, sighing once he kneels to be eye level with Joseph. “One bottle, and I’m not drinking. I’m making sure you won’t do anything stupid.” At every other syllable, Caesar jabs a finger into Joseph's mask to further implant the idea into Joseph's head that everything Caesar says right now goes, and he complies with an eager nod.
And with another exasperated sigh, Caesar brings both of his palms up to Joseph's face, something he’s deemed ‘necessary for the process’, but he knows it’s just an excuse to be able to get a fraction of the touch he manages to sneak in throughout their day. Joseph hears the hum of Hamon overlap his own, and in a blink he feels the breeze sweep over his lower face, smelling both the smoke wafting up to his nose from their fairly close distance and the sea, the bitter saltiness hitting the back of his throat quickly.
“Oh, finally!” Joseph groans, and brings his cupped hands up to his face to finally drink down the wine he’s been playing around with, the steaming technique clearly not doing anything good for him, and Caesar can hear the drink stop in his throat. He raises an eyebrow, before examining Joseph closer, and- .. Did he just drink Hamon..?
Caesar needs to bite back laughter, feeling his teeth tear into the butt of his cigarette. “Is it- .. Is it good?” He snickers, unable to hide his taunting smile, and the moment the two make eye contact Joseph begins to cough up whatever he’s drunk, every hair sticking up like a startled animal, which only makes Caesar lose his temper and burst out in laughter. “What did you think was going to happen?!” Caesar mocks the still hacking Joestar, his fit sending his lower body colliding with the cold tiles Joseph’s been sat on, where the once clear sandstone colour was left clean and bare was replaced by a spillage of wine.
They both mentally swear they'll get it off before it seeps deep into the crevices of the stone, trying their hardest to leave no traces behind of their (mainly Joseph's) escapades. It feels as if they're two teenage boys sneaking drinks around at night, desperately shushing one another to not wake up one's parents, and it makes them both feel a childlike giddiness.
It doesn't take long for the two to kick the night off. They use the chairs provided, quickly seeping into them from both comfort and tiredness, and Caesar finds himself fighting to keep his eyes pried open to make sure the other doesn't do something horribly idiotic under his watch.
“Are you sure you don't want some? You're making me feel like an alcoholic.” Joseph jokes, and Caesar quickly makes a mental note on how much less stone cold he looks without the breathing mask, the Joestars smile nearly warm while he extends the green bottle towards Caesar.
He eyes the bottle with a tempting gaze, but uses his hand to push it away and back to Joseph's chest, trying to be surprisingly gentle in the moment. “No, no. I said I have to make sure you don't be an idiot, if I'm also being an idiot that's sort of hard to do.” He speaks with a slight edge in his tone, trying to give off the impression he's being serious, but Joseph just laughs and raises his eyebrows in a ‘really?’ fashion.
“I thought you were Italian, come on, I know you can take a glass.” Joseph continues his nagging, pushing the bottle back to sit between them, a reminder of Joseph's need to constantly push and try to claw his way to victory, using any form possible. Insults and petty taunts are his favourite, it seems.
Caesar bites his tongue but can't help to slightly raise his voice. “What's that supposed to mean? Those two have nothing in common-” He begins to argue, before he's cut off by another nudge of the bottle against his palm he didn't realise was still pressed up against it. “It means you love your wine, man, more so you can drink your wine.” And almost as if he reminded himself of the purpose the wine provided serves, Joseph takes a swig and his nose scrunches up slightly after he drops the bottle.
“No good?” Caesar asks, raising an eyebrow curiously. “I forgot I don't like how bitter wine is.” Joseph responds blatantly, his eyes locked with the slightly foggy glass he holds in his hands. “Which is exactly why you could, well, I dunno, help me?” Joseph smiles slyly as his eyes drift up to where Caesars are pinned on him, unimpressed. Joseph's words cling to him like an angered cat, scratching up his mentality and confidence while hissing arguments he understands well.
Caesar huffs, and he feels his feathers droop down towards his ears and he blames it on the faint wind. His shoulders sag as he grips the bottle he was once pushing away and eyes Joseph with a glare that's been passed down to said Joestar many times. “You aren't going to give up, are you?” Caesar asks, even though he knows the answer the other will provide, and the shake of Joseph's head serves to prove Caesar right.
He sighs, looking over the bottle with a careful eye, taking note how much is in the bottle before he grasps a handful of the cotton of his shirt and cleans the finish of the wine, and is pleasantly surprised to find it not stained, just slightly wet, and that quickly turns his relief into minor disgust.
Caesar glares at Joseph one more time, that shit-eating grin the other man across from him serves to make Caesar's facade crack gently, feeling his eyebrows release their tension by a fraction and the dark, thick bile building in his stomach come to a gentle sway rather than an aggressive boil, and he takes a small swig of the beverage.
Placing the bottle back down between the two with the same glare he had moments ago, Caesar is now met with a more satisfied look on the Joestars face. The kind of one he does when he wins one of their petty competitions, finishing dinner quicker, having Lisa Lisa address him first in their training, stealing an extra minute or two to breathe fresh air that isn’t tainted by the breathing mask.
All those stupid little things that manage to have Caesar feeling like he needs to be just as, if not more, competitive back, and it usually ends with them yelling at each other and being punished by being made to help Suzi Q with chores or running laps around the island while bickering back and forth. Those sort of things that have his blood running hotter than before and his teeth gritting like an angry, untrained animal.
“You didn’t even wince!” Joseph’s comment snaps Caesar out of his momentary daydreaming, his glare fading into a confused look, his eyes panning back to the bottle. The waterline looks close enough to how it was before. Good. Keep it that way. Tiny sips to have the asshole shut up. After a moment of thinking, Caesar smiles teasingly, his eyes still glued to the bottle. “What? The burn isn’t so bad. Have gin, that’ll have your face scrunched up.” Caesar mocks, and after a sharp exhale, he’s ready for the berating that’s to come, the comments of ‘Oh, you don’t know what you’re talking about! You can naturally take it! I had to train myself’ and such.
But it never comes.
Instead he begins to hear a gentle snickering, a warm smile on the others face as he peels his gaze from the foggy glass bottle. “I guess so. Can’t really be complaining, I haven’t managed to get a drop of anything in months.” Joseph begins, continuing the silent game of hot potato between the two as he goes in for another sip, and Caesar finds himself physically cringing at the lack of care.
“I could have diseases, you know.” He comments haphazardly, his finger pointing accusatorily at Joseph when he raises an eyebrow, and it becomes apparent that the alcohol is actually managing to somehow affect the other, his cheeks already being a gentle shade of red. “You’re meant to wipe the glass before you drink it. It’s.. unsanitary.” He continues, retracing his finger to fold his arms over his chest comfortably, slumping back into his chair, and Joseph only lifts his own finger up to return the point, this time feeling more charged.
“It’s not that serious! Besides, it’s not like I’ll die if I get a cold or something.” Joseph waves his hand dismissively, and like it all began, it’s now Caesar's turn to take the bottle up and take a sip, or be faced with a crazily stubborn Joseph who can get very annoying very fast.
The night continues on like that, both throwing jabs and comments at each other back and forth like a game of tennis, while the bottle goes from one man to the other, Joseph taking significantly larger gulps than Caesar. By the time they’ve reached the bottom of the bottle, Caesar has had a total of half a glass. The rest had gone to the uncomfortably giddy and friendly Joestar, who’s stopped scrunching his nose at the taste of the concoction, and for some reason, knowing he can’t tease him over it anymore makes Caesar feel some sadness in his heart. It’s no fun when you have significantly less things to insult Joseph with.
“Do we have any more?” Joseph grins playfully, trying to make the question sound like a joke, but it falls on deaf ears with his giggling and sort of dopey state. Caesar just looks at him with a slightly concerned look. It’s a new sight to see, the proud and great Joseph Joestar stumbling over his words in a gentle slur and being tinted by a warm red over his face, wearing a smile that could split stone.
It has something in Caesar's stomach flipping, having him carefully stepping around cracking ice, ready to be plunged into uncharted territory. It’s like when you’re younger and you check out an unstable bit of ground by putting some of your body weight on it. Testing the waters, others say. “Even if we did, I’m not letting you have any more,” Caesar remarked with his own grin, trying desperately to match Joseph's mood. “Also, I’m very comfortable at where I am. I don’t really feel like getting to your level.” He barks out a laugh briefly, letting himself feel the warm vibration of his chest at the gently ‘buzzed’ vibe he’s got going for himself, a stark contrast to the slurring man in front of him.
Joseph stands up abruptly, the chair behind him giving a painful scrape against the tiles of the balcony, which has Caesar following, imagining the man falling directly onto his face in an instant. “I can take care of myself, then.” Joseph strings his words together, mending them to a sentence only using his breath, which effectively makes it sloppy. Caesar instinctually reaches over the short distance between them, clasping Joseph's shoulder with his hand, and for a brief second he has to figure out why he’s grabbing at Joseph.
“If Lisa Lisa sees you stumbling your ass around, we’ll both be dead.” He manages to say quickly enough to not make it seem like a half-assed excuse, and Caesar mentally pats himself on his back for the effort. He can see the cogs turning in Joseph's head, and it’s a pretty funny image. The witty, quick on his feet and deceitful man Caesar had met being replaced by an uncannily fog-brained version of himself has him struggling not to laugh.
His hand slowly slips off of the others shoulder, and feeling the warmth seep away from it has him feeling an uncomfortable negligence to his senses, feeling his chest squeeze in confusion. Joseph's glare only serves to humor him more, and with every second, it gets harder to not alert the other members of Air Supplena with mocking laughter. “I really don’t feel like running seven laps around the island at like what.. five in the morning?” Caesar throws in an extra comment, trying to convince Joseph to not go on and look for more of the alcohol that got them trapped on the balcony in the first place.
It was also the fact that their surroundings made the moment seem more impactful, something more meaningful than it would be in a living room or kitchen. It's easy to slip into the role of an intimate human being when your surroundings are so secluded from the world. Caesar watches Joseph grumpily fall back into his seat, the tiles screeching once more, and Caesar finds himself relaxing, the feathers he hasn't noticed go pin-straight easing into a more natural state.
“Why’d you care so much about somebody seeing us? We're both grown adults..” Joseph murmurs a complaint, and it has Caesar feeling a bit giddy. ‘Getting caught’ had some undertones the Zeppeli didn't want to acknowledge, but it still made him feel that familiar boyish way as it did when the night began, feeling like two sly boys hiding away from their mothers after doing something wrong. “Well, I broke a promise of not taking your mask off,” Caesar begins, haphazardly using his hands to further cement his point.
“And I'm not supposed to be drinking at all.” He continues, and reconsiders his next few words carefully. It's not like him to speak to Joseph with such natural fluidity, so why do the words just leave his mouth like they would with a good friend or some girl he'd pick up on the streets of Venice. “Lisa Lisa- It's kind of funny thinking back on it now, but apparently she's banned me from drinking.”
Without hesitation, Joseph bursts out laughing, and it takes Caesar a strenuous amount of effort to not join him, trying to keep the two fairly unnoticed. The Joestar is hushed repeatedly, and once he calms down, it takes Caesar an extra second to jump back into his story-telling, taking that second to just look at Joseph. He admires how the younger of the two of them still manages to carry himself with such a care-free wit despite the situation he’s in. It amazes Caesar, and he swallows a bit harsher when their eyes make contact. “Don’t laugh! It’s a serious problem. They’ve shackled me and you’re making fun of me.” Caesar jokes, which only makes Joseph chuckle a bit longer, and Caesar finds himself making more stupid quips to hear that laughter.
Oh, God. What is he doing?
“What! Why? I can’t imagine Mr. ‘Posh Proper Zeppeli’ doing something that’d make a woman who’s the same age as him ban him from having a drink.” Joseph snickers, his smile only stretching wider, and Caesar finds him going back to his teasing, mocking role, and he feels so much more comfortable handling that rather than the Joseph that seems to be giddy and open to conversation.
“Oh no, I couldn’t. It’d tarnish my image forever.” Caesar argues, and he can instantly tell Joseph had taken it as a challenge, his eyes squinting into a more playful bite. “Alright.. Whatever you say. I’m just going to assume you like, threw up on Suzi or brought some lad home-” Joseph bickers, and he can instantly see Caesar get frustrated. Joseph had realised how easy it was to get a rise out of Zeppeli, and now that he doesn’t have a filter tying his tongue to his mouth, he’s free to annoy him more. On the contrary, Caesar regrets letting Joseph drink.
“Well.. Okay, yes, Suzi was almost vomited on.” Caesar looks awkwardly to his side, and as much as he wants to argue about him not being a faggot, and about how stupid Joseph is to even mention such an idiotic scenario, but Caesar finds himself too stubborn to say anything about it. He’s worried about driving Joseph away, ending the moment the two are sharing.
It’s something he’s found himself yearning for. The human connection in conversations and jokes. Understanding one another despite the arguments and bickering. The enjoyment in spending quality time with another person, the mutual understanding that the other person is there and going the extra step to make sure they’re together. Caesar is a man who tries to steer further away from faux, manufactured feelings that you can get anywhere with the right pretty face.
“I got home so drunk after a night out that I fell and broke a vase- Lisa Lisa made me pay for it,” Caesar begins to explain, using his hands to further elaborate his point, and he finds himself speaking a bit slower so that the man across from him can relax his face, rather than keep his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “It woke up Suzi, and she said it was the most.. Well, let's just say the rudest she’s ever seen me.” Caesar feels himself going a light red with embarrassment, and Joseph's light huff of air across from him doesn’t help him feel any better about himself, and it only has his nervous smile growing in a bit of an awkward frenzy.
He finally looks at Joseph, and seeing his eyes so wide and trained on him has his heart flipping and his stomach drawing up to his throat, twisting in such a way he’s about to recreate the scene he’s describing. “After that- well.. Lisa Lisa had some stern words with me. Told me I’m to never be in such a state again under her roof.” He continues to explain, deciding it’d be wiser to look out towards the sea.
“So basically, you’re going against Lisa Lisa’s orders? … Wow.” Joseph sneers, leaning back in his chair playfully as he watches Caesar's expression turn into a more natural one rather than the embarrassed state he was in after hearing that Joseph has graced him with a lack of verbal impacts. “I think this is your first time like.. Going against her orders! That’s cool..” Joseph comments, grinning widely, and he presses the top of his thumb up against his chest proudly, puffing it out slightly. “And, it was for me!” He grins wider, and Caesar's embarrassed, flushed state returns almost as quick as it had drained from him.
What Joseph said wasn’t exactly wrong, either, which was the worst part. Caesar, whenever finding a way around Lisa Lisa’s orders would find some fancy way to prance around it, to ensure he got his way meanwhile there was no chance he could face backlash, finding some clever loophole. Meanwhile, compared to the situation he’s found himself sat in the midst of, goes completely against what he was told to do.
For Joseph Mother-Fucking Joestar.
And he felt like a crazy idiot for it.
“God, yeah. I feel a bit evil about it, to be honest.” Caesar manages to scratch up enough words to form a sentence that doesn’t sound wrong, and he has to feel a bit proud of himself for that, because every other alternative that ran through his head was something along the lines of admitting to Joseph that he’s a dumb idiot that has been grabbed head-first by his instincts and not his brain, or straight up telling Joseph this wasn’t worth it and he hates hanging out with him, which isn’t true at all.
“Why? Isn't this fun?” Joseph continues to grin, and it makes Caesar feel a little less stupid. If Joseph is just so giddy to be talking to Caesar, the rule breaking was surely for a reason. Whether that reason was good will plague Caesar until he dies, probably, but he decides to swat that thought away like an annoying fly near his ear, and instead raises an eyebrow at Joseph.
“I mean like-..” He begins, and the slur of his words already has Caesar on edge, not sure if he’ll mishear a sentence and misread the room, or he’ll miss some character altering dialogue that Joseph will just refuse to rehearse again, so he takes the extra effort to strain to make sure he can hear every syllable rolling off of Joseph's tongue.
“We never talk unless we argue.. Usually.” Joseph comments, and Caesar feels a twinge of guilt build in his gut, and before he has any time to mull over it deeper, Joseph continues. “Obviously, there’s times where we don’t bicker.. And they’re like- really nice, y’know?” He speaks with such a certainty that sort of makes Caesar anxious, like he’s convinced that everything he says is true. The comment is obvious, blatant, it’s clear you’ll enjoy times you’re not riled up or angry, but it doesn’t fail to make his heart stop for a single beat, his chest aching dramatically.
He tries to play it off with a roll of the eyes, a gentle scoff and a “Yeah, duh.”, just to slip back into a comfortable state where it doesn’t feel like his body is about to fail on him. What it is about Joseph's drunken state that has his very brain and consciousness on the brink of going through emotional constipation, he doesn’t know, but he does know his cheeks have been uncomfortably warm for an uncomfortable amount of time.
“Well, okay, don’t be a nonce about it. I’m trying to say, you’re really agreeable right now. You’re nice to be around, we’re having actual fun and talking.” Joseph smiles softly, and he looks down at his fidgeting hands, which makes Caesar fidget with his own. Well, okay, Joseph Joestar is complimenting Caesars general vibe, what is he meant to say to that? ‘Thanks, you too’? Shake his hand? Get up and leave and hope Joseph forgets about this so he doesn’t have to go through this?
Why is talking so hard right now?
“I wanna.. Keep talking to you. Learn more about the stuff you can and can’t do, the stuff you wanna do, I guess.” Joseph continues to talk, and it makes Caesar's blood run cold briefly. For a moment, it’s because he doesn’t know how to reply. He doesn’t know how to agree and support the idea without sounding totally odd about it. He isn’t sure how to keep Joseph just this close, close enough where they can talk and laugh and be comfortable with one another, but far enough where he doesn’t have to know about the weird kicks his body does whenever he’s looked at funny.
And once he processes that, he’s hit in the stomach with a kick from realisation herself. Joseph wants to get to know him. Joseph wants to hang around Caesar for long enough to learn about his ins and outs, and it does more to his insides than his exterior, and he reiterates his point first point silently, and makes sure to double check that Joseph can’t see the dark, warm black tar that’s pooling at the bottom of his stomach like a gross, uncontrollable mass.
He just nods silently, looking at Joseph with a certain caution in his eyes, not saying much to keep the other talking. If one of them can speak their minds, then he’ll have that much, and he’ll savour every word like he’s a starving man getting the scraps of the rich thrown at him. “Can we do this more? Not even with drink, just.. Y’know, talk. Like normal people.” Joseph comments, still staring at his hands like a kid in trouble, or like he’s sat in a confessional, speaking of his desires with such a quiet passion.
It makes Caesar jump a little bit, makes him squirm in his seat, before he takes a deep breath in through gritted teeth, letting the words fester and die down on his tongue. He lets himself think before he blurts out a loud, uncomfortably willing ‘Yes!’ into the other man's face. Instead, he peels his eyes from the ground and looks at Joseph’s anxious figure. This is also new and uncharted territory, and for a second Caesar soaks it in, and he’s grateful he’s seeing anything beyond the gloating mask that’s screwed so tight to the Joestars features most of the time.
“..I’d like that.” Caesar picks his words carefully, but even those feel too intimate, too honest, maybe a bit too direct. He feels his stomach lurch the second the words are out in the air, and he feels a need to cover it up, with a joke or maybe a jab, or anything that veils the uncomfortably raw moment, but seeing Joseph look up and smile again instead of having those nervous eyes glaring down at himself, the edges of his eyelids crinkling slightly, and his cheeks lighting up a lighter colour than they were moments prior makes Caesar rethink about adding anything to the moment.
“Yeah?” Joseph adds to the conversation simply, a quick attempt at reassurance through his still hazy state, and Caesar relaxes back into the chair. “Yeah.” he replies simply, and the tone of the area around them lifts partially, or at least Caesar feels his chest lift with more ease than it did a second prior.
The silence that continues the conversation for the two feels long and dreadful, all the while it holds a sense of comfort in it. Caesar dreads the next words that'll be spoken, holds his head up high as if he's about to be plunged into water and not let up for air until he can feel his vision going, so he appreciates the moment. He appreciates the silence they can share, the silence that doesn't necessarily feel forced, rather like an embedded part of their exchange.
He sits there, looking over Joseph as the mentioned man looks out towards the view on the balcony. He looks comfortable, which is the most important part of this all. His unruly hair sticks and jabs out at angles that shouldn't be possible, but it ties the tired look together. Caesar never had enough time or care to notice the carefully painted eyebags under slightly sunken eyes, and he isn't sure whether he should bring it up later as a concern or insult. His lips are curled in a gentle pout, and Caesar wonders if he manages to naturally look sulky, or if there's something hanging in the air between them that's causing it.
It's nice. Dreadfully nice.
The rest of the evening is spent in small conversation, talking about plans for tomorrow, the day after, and such. They laugh, make fun of their trainers despite Caesar urging Joseph to show them respect. They laugh and it feels as if they've been childhood friends. It's as if they've spoken of everything, so they speak of the little things, despite not ever saying much at all.
When Caesar finally manages to convince Joseph to wrap up the story of how he crashed his first plane (which he regrets supporting so much), they step back into the hallway after what's felt like years, and the warmth of the inside makes the two feel alive again.
Caesar walks Joseph to his room, despite the fact he's mostly sobered up now and keeps complaining in a hushed tone that he's ‘not a child anymore’ and ‘remembers where he sleeps every night’, which is all disregarded as they walk side by side, and Caesar can't help but feel like the air around them is clearer.
He feels more confident in his stride next to Joseph, feels as if he's supposed to be there in the moment, and the conviction is a bit worrying once it fully develops in his brain, and leaving him at the doorstep of his bedroom feels like a dramatic good-bye, and Caesar decides to ignore the fact he'll wake up to see the same man devouring a plate of food in a few hours.
The silent walk across the hallway is almost neverending, and it leaves Caesar in a silence that rings in his ears, the only thing to keep him company is the thoughts bouncing around his cranium, and he sighs every time he remembers the moment Joseph had said he wants to ‘get to know him’, making Caesar's breathing freeze up in an odd rhythm, which he mentally scolds himself for. It's almost like a taunt, a reminder of a moment that shouldn't have occurred in the first place, which just makes him feel more guilty about the entire scenario.
Reaching his room and falling face-flat into bed feels like a blessing from above, and the last thought that graces his mind before he manages to lull off to sleep is the image of a tired Joseph spacing out into the vast sea, his soft features looking relaxed for what feels like the first real time ever.
God, is it weird to think of your friend with such admiration?