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Not every bad thing has a silver lining, Joseph decides, though Caesar’s injuries most definitely do, and it’s the fact he’s alive. The Pillar Men have left them both something to be remembered by. Case in point: Joseph’s new metallic hand, which will definitely take some getting used to. Caesar is wheelchair-bound now and the doctors are split on whether he’ll walk again; his eyes have been damaged as well, by Wamuu, who ironically then blinded himself, not long before his defeat at the hands of the two hamon users. Thankfully Caesar can still see, though everything’s a blur. Another silver lining is the golden rim of his glasses.
Maybe it’s just another aspect of his infatuation with Caesar, but Joseph loves the glasses. Lisa Lisa calls them ful-vues and Joseph takes her word for it because he doesn’t know shit about fashion. What he does know is that there’s something refined, elegant even, about the way they frame Caesar’s green eyes. They harmonize with his features perfectly. Early morning sunshine falls in through the window and catches on the gold; it’s captivating.
“Don’t think I can’t see you staring at me.”
Joseph snaps back to reality. He’s half-sitting on Caesar’s bed with his own blanket and is supposed to be sleeping; after another failed attempt to spend the night alone, separation anxiety keeping him restless, he gave in and came here. Caesar’s used to it by now. He takes being apart better than Joseph, but still by far prefers having him close. Brushing against death’s shoulder has made them both realize that, among other things.
“Well,” Joseph chuckles, “it’s not my fault you’re so pretty.”
Caesar rolls his eyes but smiles. He’s reading a book, trying to get used to seeing everything through the lenses. The rings under his eyes betray the fact that he hasn’t slept particularly well, which is admittedly slightly better than Joseph, who hasn’t caught a wink and still refuses to.
“Get some rest, JoJo. I’ll still be pretty when you wake up.”
“I bet.”
Despite that, he doesn’t close his eyes. Not until he leans towards Caesar and meets his lips in a most gentle display of affection. Joseph, of course, has already perfected the art of tilting his head just right so he can kiss Caesar without taking the glasses off.
“You’ll fog them up,” the blonde huffs half-heartedly. His complaint is quickly forgotten, so is his book and the rest of the world. Metal meets metal when Joseph’s prosthetic hand strokes his face and brushes against the rim of his glasses. Caesar refuses to be bested, his fingers tangle in his friend’s, lover’s, Joseph’s hair.
“I’m glad you’re here,” one of them whispers but both are thinking it.
Another kiss.
“Go to sleep now.”
“Only if you’ll hold me.”
Caesar could bargain, he loves teasing Joseph before eventually giving him what he wants, but not this time. They’re alive and exhausted and could spare a few hours; the world will wait. He takes his glasses off and gingerly places them on the nightstand along with the book. He’s already forgotten what it’s about.