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[The fact of the matter is Joseph has had weeks to think about this. On the whole, things have been calm. Quiet even. It's a huge difference from the past few months, anyway, because Joseph doesn't feel like he's waiting around for the other shoe to drop anymore. It's already dropped repeatedly since he's arrived here. Maybe there are more secrets or things he hasn't been told about, but it's such a low probability that he hasn't put any thought or energy into it. No, the only thing he's thought about is how to tell Caesar.]

[When he asked, the general consensus was that he shouldn't wait too long and in the end, he agrees with it. He shouldn't wait because he knows that he can't. Joseph isn't the sort of person who's very good at keeping his feelings to himself. He lets people know one way or another what he's thinking and feeling because his heart's always right there on his sleeve. Either he said something or his heart betrayed him and it came out anyway. Joseph's... Joseph's not afraid per se, but he does worry about something as clumsy as having his feelings for Caesar come out of nowhere or at the wrong place and the wrong time.]

[Or even worse, having Caesar figure it out before Joseph can even say anything in the first place.]

[That's probably what he's been worried about most of all because Caesar's not stupid. Even if he couldn't see Joseph like that, even if he didn't feel the same way, he still can read Joseph like an open book. Over the past few weeks, since Joseph figured it out for himself, there have been times he thought that's exactly what happened. Times when Caesar looked at him for a little longer than expected after Joseph said something and he thinks maybe he gave it away without meaning to, his mind frantically retracing his steps and his words to find where he might have screwed up until Caesar resumes the conversation like nothing at all. Then he can breathe.]

[But there have also been plenty of times where Joseph's almost blurted it out. It comes to him during some of the most innocuous times, making holding back harder because he's almost not quite aware of it in time to stop himself. It leaves him frustrated every time, not because he hasn't said anything, but because he can't figure out why then. He understood it the other night when they talked about things. He knew why he wanted to say something that night beyond just that it was a sudden revelations that happened only hours before. But he shouldn't want to just come out and say something like that when there's a lull in dinner conversation or when Caesar's giving him a hard time for making a mess and not picking up after himself. But he does. All the damn time. Out of nowhere.]

[And that's about how any of this comes about today. It's not something Joseph's thought through. It's simply a recognition that trying to keep this to himself is exhausting. That there's never going to be an ideal time or way to say it and any of the hundred and one times he had the chance, he probably should have then and there. So when the spur of the moment hits him and he's nowhere near Caesar, he takes a detour to the greenhouse. It's time. It just has to be. As much as he hates walking into a situation where he doesn't necessarily know if the outcome will be in his favor and as much as he'd rather have more of a plan formulated than just saying it, he realizes he's not going to know until he says it and he doesn't really need to do anything more than just say it.]

[So he takes a moment, outside their apartment door, to take a deep breath before he fully and completely decides to throw caution to the wind. The outcome, he tells himself, doesn't matter so long as their friendship remains intact. And he thinks it will. It's survived so much and only grown that even this can't mess things up. Not that he think it will. Well. He's not counting on it starting to mess things up because that's not what love is or does. It's complicated and difficult sometimes, but love is a good thing. And this love especially is both complicated and good.]

[Joseph adjusts the bundle of sunflowers to one arm, careful not to crush any of them, to open the door. When he steps through, he looks and sounds much more at ease than he feels.]

Caesar, I'm back and I got something for you!

[Joseph closes the door behind him his foot as he unwinds his scarf—no, that's Caesar's, he must have grabbed it by mistake—from around his neck.]

[He's in the kitchen, and he's happy.]

[Which is strange to think about, much stranger still to say, even if just to himself. The idea of being happy, of having his own home to feel happy in, of feeling happy with someone else whether or not some objective measure of success has been met . . . that's unusual. Almost unheard of. It's been ages. Years, maybe. Longer than that.]

[But at the same time, it feels perfectly natural. They've settled into a routine here, the two of them. It wasn't easy, but he thinks that finally they might have made it work — and the strange thing about it is that it feels like slipping into a suit that's been tailored to fit. Even the hard days, of which there are more than a few, don't feel quite so awful together as they would alone.]

[They're better. Everything's better. And he's comforted by the fact that if he wakes up in the night and needs to be even less alone than the shared space of their apartment ensures, he can make his drowsy way to Joseph's side and be welcomed automatically, always.]

[So he's relaxed, now. Relaxed and happy, such a novel state, curled up at the kitchen table with tea and a book. He can hear Joseph bustling in, loud like he always is — sighs and puts the bookmark in his place, rises and stretches and steps to the living room's doorway to see.]

Mm? What did you — ?

[And then he stops, and he loses his words.]

[Those . . . are sunflowers.]

[Which are out of season. And — and that was a throwaway piece of nonsense, anyway. Weeks ago now. He'd been so sure Joseph would have forgotten by now, if not immediately. And even if he hadn't, there would be no reason for him to bring him a present like that, he thought — he thought something for you was a book from the library, or—]

[He's staring, a little.]

Edited 2016-04-09 03:14 (UTC)

[By the time Caesar appears in the doorway, Joseph's in the process of toeing off one of his boots. (He remembers sometimes to take his shoes off when he comes inside.) He looks up when Caesar starts to speak with a smile that surprisingly doesn't get bigger when Caesar seems to freeze in place, but it does change into something that's less overtly proud and into simply being pleased. He can tell this isn't a bad freezing up. Caesar's just surprised to see the flowers. Joseph glances down at the flowers in his arms briefly and then back up at Caesar before becoming a flurry of motion again. He can't get his second boot off fast enough, stumbling a little as he ends up turning around (hopping on one foot, naturally) and kicking it off before hurrying over to Caesar. As he is in the process of freeing his foot from his second boot and making his way over, he starts chattering excitedly,]

I remembered you said you like sunflowers the other day. So when I stopped by the greenhouse and they had some already grown and everything, I thought I'd grab you some.

[Joseph holds the flowers out once he's in front of Caesar. There's some of that earlier boyish pride back in his smile.]

. . . You remembered, did you.

[And there Joseph is, all of a sudden, right up in his face. Well. Not quite, in fairness, but it feels like it. It feels like he's very close, with how boisterous and happy he is, and how childishly pleased with himself he is.]

[He just . . . looks happy to be making Caesar happy. And that's . . .]

[How many people does he know who would react like that to his happiness?]

[(More than he expects. But this one, at least, makes perfect, effortless sense.)]

[After a pause, he reaches out and takes the flowers. He feels a little stupid, like a girl or something. Like he doesn't know how to put words together. But he's smiling.]

Thank you, Jojo. Mm.

. . . I have to put them in water so they last.

[It's good that Caesar takes the flowers. Not that Joseph was about to just shove them at him or something like that—because then they would have likely gotten bent or broken—but he's simply so full of nervous energy at this point he doesn't think he could take standing still for too long. So, it's good and it's a relief that Caesar takes them, and Joseph feels like he's on cloud nine because Caesar's smiling.]

I'll get you more when those ones start to fade. I didn't take all of the sunflowers out of the greenhouse, [he says as he moves back over to the door, shrugging off his jacket now. Once he hangs that up, he grabs the boot that he kicked haphazardly and tosses it over with the other one.]

[As he's doing all of this, of course, the gears are starting to grind in trying to figure out how the hell exactly he's going to segue into telling Caesar. He can milk the conversation about sunflowers only for so long before he has to say something. And he has to make sure that Caesar's paying attention to him still, not going back to whatever it was he was doing before Joseph got home or worse and Joseph loses the nerve.]

Oh?

[That's surprising, too. It struck him at first as a one-off gesture, something Joseph did on the spur of the moment without any thought whatsoever. But now it seems like something Joseph's decided to do regularly, another tradition to add to their schedule, to all the things they do with and for each other all the time.]

[He doesn't know what to make of that, not at all. So he tries not to think about it, for the most part, crossing into the kitchen and trusting that Joseph will follow him, because . . . Joseph always does, doesn't he.]

[He digs out the best approximation of a vase he can find — a particularly tall glass, found somewhere he doesn't remember anymore, a rummage maybe — and fills it with water. Thinks about clipping the stems and doesn't in the end, because in a way he doesn't want to focus on the flowers. (In a way he does, very much, to press his nose against the petals and remember his table at home, always with flowers; but in a way he'd rather think of anything else.)]

[So he turns, leans back against the counter, sets the quote-unquote vase aside, and quirks a small grin at Joseph.]

You didn't think I deserved all of them at once?

Edited 2016-04-09 04:45 (UTC)

What?

[Now it's Joseph's turn to freeze up. He followed Caesar into the kitchen as he is wont to do, but when Caesar starts challenging him a little like that there is a brief moment of panic where he thinks maybe he messed up and he starts to wonder if maybe he could get away with sprinting back to the greenhouse to grab the rest of the flowers before Caesar would notice he was gone in the first place. You know. Somehow.]

[But when that doesn't make logical sense, Joseph takes the time to rewind what Caesar just said and match it up with the grin on his face and—oh. He's... Okay. Joseph flushes a little and looks away from Caesar, folding his arms.]

When did you get so greedy all of a sudden? If this is going to give you a big head, I can take them back.

[He doesn't realize what he's doing, is the stupid part. It's just automatic, easy, especially when there are parts of the situation he doesn't understand but most of it is just comfortable. And that's how it is with Joseph: comfortable, safe, sweet. Even if there have been moments in the past few weeks when something hasn't quite seemed to add up, it's still nice. It's good. It's—]

[It's just what he wants. So he smirks, pleased at the reaction, at being played with, at the attention, honestly, because he wants Joseph's attention more than he ever used to — and shrugs.]

I've always been greedy.

[A beat. He tips his head to one side.]

Don't take my flowers back, Jojo. I love them.

[Joseph looks at Caesar again. He's trying to pretend like he's not amused with Caesar's attitude, but his lips twist up into a smile and ruin the whole look entirely maybe two seconds into looking at Caesar. He loves them. Joseph thought, no knew that he would. But it's nice to hear it said out loud. Really nice.]

Then don't be a brat about it and I won't have to.

[He can't even make the warning sound even legitimately threatening with as much as he's smiling.]

I was just teasing.

[Is that what we're calling it? Okay. Well.]

[In some kind of cosmic justice, he does look a little bit less — that, now. Not shy but heading that way, a touch less certain of himself even in the safest place he knows, with the safest person he knows. He pushes himself to stand a little straighter against the counter, giving Joseph a curious look.]

I was surprised, that's all. That you did something so . . .

[What's the word. He has to search.]

Thoughtful.

[It's Joseph's instinct to want to pull hard back into where they were just a second ago. All it would take is one playfully agitated what's that supposed to mean? and Caesar would quickly take that bait to give Joseph a hard time. They'd fall into that comfortable pattern of back and forth in no time at all if he said something like that. But that's not the right thing to say, not with what he wants to say. So, Joseph doesn't say that even though his smile fades a little. Or rather, it doesn't fade so much as it softens to match the shift in Caesar.]

[He shrugs a shoulder.]

I don't know. I just listen to you when you talk. Well, not when you're lecturing me like you're my mother or something. I usually tune you out then. [His smile gets a little teasing again, but it fades quickly back to what it was because the joke was impulsive and he doesn't want it to derail him from where he's trying to get to with Caesar right now.] And I like doing stuff for you. You do a lot for me and for other people, but you don't always let people do stuff for you. So when you let me, I like it.

[Oh. That's . . .]

[He bites his lip, then feels stupid for doing it. Joseph's right, of course. Even though he tries hard not to act like he's helping, he does like to. Feels a little useless if he doesn't have any helping to do, in fact. But he doesn't ever let anyone else help him, because.]

[Well. No one ever has. He's never had anyone to take care of him like that since his father; ever since then, everyone who's been in that position of power over him has betrayed him. So it's hard. It's so hard to give that power and control away to anyone, to seem anything less than perfectly poised, to admit to needing anything.]

[Except with Joseph, it just . . . doesn't scare him anymore.]

[. . . When did that happen?]

[Something flickers in his eyes, still uncertain but closer to some measure of understanding, now. He wants to understand, feels like there's a piece he's missing that he can't quite reach.]

. . . I like it.

[Mm. He clears his throat.]

Too. I like it too. But . . . only when it's you.

[Only when it's you.]

[Before he can stop the thought, hope manages to make it into Joseph's eyes. He knows that's wrong. He knows he shouldn't put so much weight into Caesar saying something like that. He shouldn't take it as a sign that maybe there's a chance Caesar feels the same way. He shouldn't see it as a sign that he can say it right now and it will be perfectly okay. He can't do any of that because it's not fair and it's just not right, and he doesn't know. Joseph ducks his head, letting his gaze drop down to the floor.]

[But he'll never know if he never says anything.]

Caesar—...

[The dozen or so different ways he's tried to come up with how to say it immediately start battling it out in his head the second he says Caesar's name. Each of them have sounded good at some point or another. He spent so many night staring up at the ceiling or over at the wall trying to plan exactly how he was going to say it. He'd settle on one and finally be able to get some sleep, but by morning? It wouldn't sound right anymore and he'd be back to debating. Now none of them sound right. They sound like they're setting limits and conditions, or they're too long-winded, or they sound too childish.]

[Joseph doesn't feel afraid for himself, not in the least. But his stomach feels like it's tied itself into knots because he's worried about how this is going to affect Caesar. Joseph licks his lips and draws a short, sharp breath in and out. He tries again, lifting his head back up and putting his gaze back on Caesar.]

Caesar.

[He starts to open his mouth to say something, but comes up short. Somehow... It doesn't take away all of the anxiety. There's too much, he thinks, for anything or anyone to do that. But being able to look at Caesar helps because Caesar's the only thing that Joseph can even see right now. They're not even standing all that close to each other right now, but he's acutely aware of everything to do with Caesar from the way he's standing a little straighter rather than relaxing against the counter to the look on his face to how green his eyes are. Joseph's mouth starts to close and he looks away, but then he draws another breath and looks at Caesar again, and then slowly he starts to speak again, smoother this time.]

I don't know how else to say this. So I'm just going to say it.

[Maybe he shouldn't step closer, but he does. Because being close to Caesar means safety for the both of them and maybe it won't make it easier to say, but it will make it easier to hear. It has to.]

Caesar, I love you.

[I love you.]

[And it's like everything stops.]

[Not the way it did before he died, when everything felt strange and cold and molasses-slow. This is warm and bubbly and uncertain and terrifying, and surely fake, some trick, some misunderstanding or miscommunication. It is. It must be. He knows.]

[It shouldn't matter anyway, even if it were true. It shouldn't, because he's heard it before, not all the time but often enough, when a girl got too close or he got too careless, right before he made himself alone again. Love, it's barely something he believes in, really; it's barely something that's ever occurred to him to think about.]

[And this isn't love, what they are. What they have. This is friendship. Isn't it? Friendship, closeness, mutual protection and comfort, that's what friends do for each other. Friends take care of each other. Friends—]

[(How many times has Joseph leaned in to smell his hair in the last week, two weeks? How many times has he stepped close, just like this, with his eyes so earnest and soft, honesty burning in the air around him like a halo? How many times has he thought, If we could just stay like this forever, nothing could ever hurt me again?)]

[He's frozen. He knows he is. He must look panicked, caught out, lost, because he is all of those things. Not afraid, but so confused. He wants — he just wants—]

[To understand? To have it taken back? To have Joseph say no, it was a joke, even though it so obviously wasn't? To be able to disbelieve and discard it, because if it's true then that means he's going to ruin everything, which . . .]

[Par for the course, isn't it?]

[He pushes the thought away.]

[Caesar, I love you.]

[And swallows. His voice comes out shaking.]

What do you . . . ?

[Stupid. Stupid, fucking stupid. His fingers tighten on the counter 'til his knuckles go white.]

[Joseph sees the look on Caesar's face, sees the way he's gripping the counter, and it all reads like panic. Against his better judgment, Joseph steps in closer. He's screwed this up, hasn't he? He didn't think it through and there's no do-over. There's no taking it back. But Joseph doesn't do well with quitting. He doesn't want to quit. He has to try something, so he tries.]

Please just— [Joseph stops himself, looking at the flowers briefly. He's not going to sound like he's begging Caesar. That's not going to help. He draws a shaky breath and looks Caesar in the eye.] Just listen, alright? That's all I'm— That's all I'm asking for.

[He should probably wait for an answer, but he doesn't. At the very least, he doesn't touch Caesar. He wants to. He hates seeing Caesar this tense and this uncomfortable, but he's afraid if he touches Caesar right now, he won't listen. He'll only lash out and that point, let his panic and likely confusion shift over into anger because that's easier to manage. Joseph doesn't think he could take Caesar being angry with him right now, at least not that angry, and his eyes start to sting just thinking about it. He blinks rapidly, trying not to get angry with himself for reacting that way because not right now, and he forges on ahead.]

I've been trying for...almost a month now, trying to figure out a way to tell you. I don't— I don't know how long I've felt this way, but I just... I don't expect anything, okay? I don't. I— [Joseph shakes his head a little. He's trying to explain, trying to make everything make sense and take some of the pressure off, but he's doing a piss-poor job of it when his own panic is starting to rear its ugly head.] I can't pretend like I don't feel this way and I can't lie to you about something like that. I can't lie to you about anything.

I love you. I just want you to know that and that's it.

[Except that's not all of it right now because he still wants to touch Caesar. He wants to touch him and hold him and let him know that way that it's going to be okay. But he still doesn't dare and he knows that for Caesar's sake, he has to acquiesce to what Caesar wants no matter what that might be, as painful as some of the options might seem even just contemplating them.]

A — a month?

[That alone would be enough to make his head spin, if it wasn't already. A month, a whole month, of Joseph wanting to tell him something and not doing it. Controlling himself that well, sitting on it for that long, keeping silent throughout all of this because they're happy and he doesn't want to ruin it, but he doesn't want to lie, either.]

[Is that what it is? That he's stuck between two difficult options, trying to make the best of a ridiculous situation? And it is ridiculous, because he's not — Joseph shouldn't love him. Joseph should love Suzie, who is such a better person to love, who will make him happy and give him a family and smile at him and make him laugh instead of scowling and pushing him around, Suzie who is so beautiful and deserves the best, and he doesn't, and Suzie, his Suzie, their Suzie, he can't, he can't.]

[I want to.]

[He starts a little, seemingly out of nowhere. I want to, he thinks, and again, I want to, and rolls it around in his head a few times, tries to fit it into everything, everything, everything.]

[He does. He wants to. And once he figures it out, once he realizes, he can't un-realize it. If it's love (and it feels like it, but he doesn't know, not really, how would he), then it's the kind of love that throws you backwards and knocks you dizzy, which is how he feels now, dizzy and short of breath and desperate.]

[But his Suzie, their Suzie, he doesn't . . .]

[He licks his lips. He feels raw, exposed. He wants a lot of things, right now.]

Jojo, I — I. I'm.

[I don't know if I — but I do. Want, need, love, yes. I think — yes.]

. . . Suzie?

I don't... I don't know.

[It's not that he hasn't put any thought into it because he's spent nearly as much time thinking about how to tell Caesar as he's tried to predict the fall-out with Holly and Jotaro, especially. But he really doesn't have the answer to the question that Caesar's asking.]

I don't know how all of that is going to go in the end. I didn't even before I realized what I feel for you. So complicating something I don't even really know in the first place just doesn't...

[He almost says doesn't matter or change that Suzie's not here, but while both of those things are true? It's not what he means. Caesar isn't some kind of consolatory prize or something to tide Joseph over. It's not like that. He'd never say anything to Caesar in the first place if it was like that. He's also not so unimportant that it doesn't change things, it's just that there's nothing that Joseph can do about the situation to begin with. So why stress over that part of it? Holly and Jotaro on the other hand... Well, those are conversations that he'll have to have later. Maybe. He doesn't know that for sure either and he's not going to get ahead of himself just yet.]

What I know is that whatever I feel for Suzie, doesn't change the way I feel about you, or vice versa.

Is that . . .

[Where is he going with this? What is he trying to say? What's his point? It shouldn't matter, he knows. No matter how much he wants, needs, loves Joseph, it shouldn't matter, because Joseph has his job to do, his legacy to carry out, his family, and Caesar — Caesar is dead.]

[Except he can't stop thinking about it now. Guilt swarms in the pit of his stomach thinking about Suzie, but he's thinking about Joseph, too, how safe it feels curled in the crook of his arm in the night after a dream leaves him shaking, how easily he got used to the snoring and the boots left in a pile by the door and the differentness of him, the way he takes up space.]

[He can't stop thinking about the space between them, and how much he wants to close it. He shouldn't. God, he shouldn't, but . . .]

And what you feel about me. That's — love.

[Slowly, so slowly, his fingers loosen on the countertop. They flex and fall to his side, just for a moment, and then he lifts them again and reaches out, but only halfway, as though he's afraid he'll be bitten if he makes the wrong move. Not by Joseph; maybe by karma.]

Is that right?

[Joseph nods and then tentatively begins to reach back. This is always the way it goes. It's habit. Caesar always reaches for Joseph just a little bit, like maybe he's not sure he's allowed to, until the moment they make contact. From then on out, Caesar holds on tight. Joseph hopes this will be the same. He wants it to be the same. But the context is different now, isn't it? Things shifted and changed during the party, but they've irrevocably done so from Caesar's perspective as well with Joseph telling him that he loves him and the consequences of that love can be damned for all he cares. Joseph lets their fingers slide together before curling his to hold onto Caesar's hand. His voice is softer this time when he says it.]

I love you.

[He feels like he's said it a hundred times or more already. It's possible and even likely at this point he doesn't need to say it anymore. But he keeps saying it anyway and he'll say it as many times in as many different ways as he thinks he needs to, as he wants to, or until Caesar tells him to stop. Because Joseph knows what he feels is real and it matters. And it matters that it's Caesar that he loves because Caesar matters in ways he's not sure that Caesar can really see for himself or fully understand. And that's okay. Joseph believes there will come a time when he does. It might not be in the next hour, next day, next month, or even the next year, but he'll see it eventually. He'll see himself the way Joseph does.]

[. . . So.]

[Joseph loves him. And Joseph is holding his hand.]

[Which is not new. Not really. They've done this for a while now. Since Joseph got here, actually, that first night when closeness born of fear slipped seamlessly into a desperate need for touch. He's never been so insistent on it since then, but that's just because he's known it was possible, accessible, that he didn't have to fight for it.]

[To lay his hand over Joseph's and twine their fingers together. He doesn't have to fight for that.]

[He doesn't, it's just . . . there. Like he deserves that. Like it's obvious, somehow. But it never has been to him.]

[His breath catches in his throat. He looks up from Joseph's hand to his eyes and gets caught there, looking at him looking back, the absolute unfathomable depths of his eyes, the way his whole body is angled to welcome him close, if that's what he wants — and it is; it always has been, maybe. Or—]

[Does it matter, when and why and how, or should he not care? Should he pick everything apart and analyze, or fly into this uncaring? He doesn't know how to find the middle ground.]

. . . What happens if I say it. If I say I love you. What happens after that?

[But he can at least try.]

[Hearing Caesar say that—If I say I love you.—is enough to cause Joseph's heart to skip a beat, to feel a flutter in his stomach that doesn't feel like anxiety trying to make him throw up on the spot. It's something that makes him have to struggle against getting too far ahead of himself because if is not really the same thing as saying it. Is it? He's really not sure, but he doesn't want to put pressure even now because Joseph's sure that if he does, Caesar will shut down on some level. He'd rather not have an answer right now than have Caesar shut him out.]

If you say it then. . . Then you say it and we figure it out together from there.

[Because nothing needs to happen immediately. Maybe they'll need time for things to settle, to let it sink in that they love each other and that it's okay that they do. Maybe they'll need time to get used to the idea of being more than just friends. Those things seem just as likely to Joseph right now as the both of them jumping headlong into something they don't know quite how to define. Or maybe they do. But the specifics of what they do from that point forward doesn't matter nearly as much as that they do it together.]

But we'll do that, too, even if you don't say it or feel that way. You're always going to be my best friend, Caesar. Nothing can ever change that, remember?

[Nothing can ever change that.]

[He does remember. He does. Joseph's promised that to him time and time again, and Joseph's never broken a promise to him. Not ever. Joseph's the only one who never broke a promise. Joseph cares enough about him never to lie.]

[. . . Joseph cares enough about him never to lie.]

[So if he says, We figure it out together from there, then that's the truth. Because of all the people in the world, he can trust Joseph Joestar most of all.]

[That feels like love, he thinks. But he hesitates, all the same.]

I don't kn—I n—

[Never, ever loved anyone. Let myself love anyone. Let myself believe that I would, or could, or should. But Joseph looks so fucking hopeful. So hopeful, and he's almost smiling, and he brought flowers.]

[God, what a stupid gesture. Stupid and romantic and sweet and, god, he brought flowers to confess his love, fuck, and Caesar can feel his face heating up when he gets it, really gets it, how planned this was, how it wasn't just these things that coincided but that Joseph has been sitting on this for a month, and he decided the best way to bring it up was to bring sunflowers, his favorite flower, and tell him while he had something beautiful in his hands.]

[Something beautiful.]

Jojo, [he manages, and before he can think better of it he's moving, their fingers still tangled together while his other hand finds its way to cup his jaw, hold him still (and oh, god, is he ever aware that this is Jojo, his Jojo, not some girl but his, and he feels strange and uncertain and viciously possessive and dizzy all at once), hold him still, and just.]

[Just kiss him.]

[Because he wants something beautiful, and there's nothing more beautiful than this.]

[It's always a struggle for Joseph to be patient. He's never been good at it. He went from being an impatient child to an impatient teenager to an impatient adult. But he's learn to exert more of it. To ration it out in small pieces so that when it really counts, he can fall back on a large reserve of it. Or maybe that's not it. Maybe it's that when it really counts, he's able to find a hidden reserve. That seems more likely because as Caesar stammers and doesn't seem to know how to say what he wants to say, Joseph can only think that it's okay. It doesn't matter how long it takes, he can wait for Caesar to say what he needs to say.]

[And Caesar talks. It's just not with words.]

[Joseph inhales sharply through his nose out of surprise—which he feels completely foolish for being surprised because one things were set in motion, there really wasn't any other way it could have gone—but he kisses back almost immediately. He kisses back and he pulls Caesar closer yet to him by his shirt with his free hand because with that kiss comes the end of Joseph's patience for the space between them. It doesn't occur to Joseph to think about how he's wanted to do this for weeks. It doesn't even cross his mind that this is his first kiss. He can only think about how warm Caesar's hand is in his and the taste of his kiss and how dizzying the happiness he feels at being kissed like this is.]

[It's beyond what he had ever dared hope for. He knew this, all of it, was a distinct possibility as much as the less desirable scenarios, but he didn't dare hope for it. He didn't dare let himself get attached to the idea that Caesar would want him back, would let himself love Joseph the way Joseph loves him because if it didn't work out that way, he'd be okay in the long-run, but he would also be crushed. He'd be crushed and it would take so much longer for Joseph to be okay again because it would hurt being around Caesar. It would hurt and it would feel like they had taken twenty steps back in some ways with Caesar becoming even more hard and sharp edges than he'd been in the beginning.]

[But that's not what happened. It's never going to happen. What Joseph has instead is someone that he loves kissing him because they feel the same way. And it's so much more than that. It's Caesar allowing himself to have this, too. Joseph squeezes Caesar's hand in his lightly as his other hand lets go of Caesar's shirt in favor of cradling the back of his head. He doesn't need to say it. Joseph knows now. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, Joseph knows.]

[There's a moment, when he hasn't stopped because he doesn't want to, not for more than the necessary instants between one kiss and another, when he opens his eyes a little bit, just slightly, and gets a look at Joseph, and it feels like the bottom of his stomach drops out. He's so—]

[A month, Joseph said. It's been a month that he's been thinking about it. How long has it been for him? He was so desperate for closeness before Joseph got here, but only this specific kind, the push and pull that Joseph offers him, safety enough to squabble in, the feel of an arm wrapped companionably around his neck. Since he arrived they've been inseparable, day and night, always close, usually touching.]

[Has he just not let himself think about it? Because what he feels now, the way looking at Joseph makes his breath catch and his heartbeat stutter, it doesn't feel new. Just louder, more present in the foreground. Like it's always been there in the back of his mind, and now he can't ignore it anymore.]

[It's very loud, all of this wanting. Because that's what it is; he wants Joseph, wants him close enough to touch and kiss, wants never to have to stop, wants that look in his eyes directed this way for the rest of his life. He doesn't know if it's the same as love. He's got no idea. But it's different from what's happened before, it's so different, it feels like drowning in that his chest feels like it's expanding, but it doesn't hurt and he doesn't feel in any kind of danger.]

[He wants to ask, How do I know?, but he doesn't. Just moves in quick for another kiss, and then thinks better of it.]

Is it okay?

[Maybe it sounds like is it okay if I kiss you, but that's not what he means. He means Am I okay, is it okay that I don't know, that I'm confused, that I want you so much? Is it okay if I'm not doing this right? Am I really what you want?]

[He really doesn't give Joseph a chance to answer, though, because that's all the patience he's got himself. One second to look, one second to ask, and then he's lunging up for another kiss, needy to make up for too long not knowing.]

[Joseph isn't sure what Caesar is asking exactly, or rather he doesn't know specifically what Caesar is asking is okay or not. He doubts it has anything to do with whether or not it's okay to kiss Joseph when they're already well past that. But asking that question means that Caesar's looking for some kind of reassurance and it seems a little impossible to provide it to him if Joseph doesn't know what he needs or wants it for in the first place.]

[There's hardly any time to think about it before Caesar is kissing him again and it seems that perhaps Joseph has found his answer in Caesar's kiss. He laughs at himself into the kiss, soft, gentle, and quiet in ways that Joseph rarely ever is. As ready as he was to try and figure out the right thing to say to let Caesar know it's okay, that's really all he needs to say. Once again, it's the simplest thing that's the best answer. He doesn't tell Caesar it's okay in words, but it's there in the way he kisses Caesar back and the way his fingers card through Caesar's hair. He doesn't treat Caesar like he's breakable, but certainly like he's important and precious to Joseph.]

[Because he simply is.]

[Joseph doesn't know if he could have managed all the things that happened back home and everything that's happened since he arrived in the city without Caesar here. Maybe he could have, but probably nowhere near close to as well as he has because Caesar's kept Joseph both distracted and secure when he's needed it. Joseph's still not really sure how much stock he puts into fate, but they're two parts of a greater whole now and they feel inevitable. But unlike all the other inevitables that have hung over Joseph's head at one point or another, this one doesn't feel scary. It feels larger than the both of them. It feels like something Joseph is a half-second away from being swept up in and losing all control over. But it's not scary.]

[Joseph's hand leaves Caesar's hair as he breaks off the kiss. For just a moment, Joseph rests his forehead on Caesar's with his eyes closed and seems perfectly content to stay just like that. He probably could. But he does open his eyes and he runs his knuckles gently along Caesar's cheek, the pad of his thumb running a light trail just behind. He doesn't bother with saying a word.]

04/08 (•‾⌣‾•)و ̑̑♡

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