lustastarte

[lustastarte]

♤ fragrancia | jocaesar ♤

genre: fluff/teeny tiny bit of angst

soap fragrances jumpstarting caesar and joseph’s 1940s secret love story

published: 2023

Whistling as he steps out of the steam-filled bathroom, Joseph shook his thick, wet hair like a dog and lazily held the fluffy beige towel around his waist. The sound of his water-logged feet softly popping against the beautiful marble floor echoed in the silent room, distracting Caesar from his daily devotional. 

"Will you sit down somewhere?"

Joseph released his grip on his towel, which sat just below the horizontal apex of his hipbones, and began pulling clothes out of the hotel dresser. Without giving Caesar so much as a glance, he snorted and shook his head.

"You are such a pain in the neck, you know that?"

The brunette turned around, his bare torso now fully exposed to his roommate. "You betcha."

Caesar couldn't help but eye him up. He tried his hardest to look as though it were out of anger, but he knew deep down that it wasn't. "Twat."

"Go get in the shower, you dud. Then you can complain all that you would like."

Rolling his eyes and huffing through his flared nostrils, he grabbed his clothes and towel, making his way to the bathroom. The chilly marble floor and off-white plastered walls were covered in a layer of water droplets from the suffocating steam condensing; the air smelled of dark, sweet amber, musky, sensual sandalwood, and just a hint of sunny, juicy candied mandarin oranges mixed with the sweat and dirt the British man had just washed away. As embarrassing as it was, Caesar always requested to take a shower last, just to smell Joseph's unique scent. It wasn't anything weird, he just enjoyed analyzing different fragrances and the bar soap that Joseph used just so happened to be one of his favorite so far. He often wonders what it smells like on the other's skin, if it will sweeten and develop undertones of exotic Madagascar vanilla or warm up to reveal a smoky ginger incense undertone. Of course, again, not in a questionable way. Caesar always shakes the thoughts from his head for fear that they may become (or, less admittedly, already are) about more than a fragrance, yet continues to give in to his guilty pleasure of showering after Joseph.

After cleaning himself up and getting dressed, he shuffled out of the bathroom and toward the bed.

"Thank God you're out, I really have to go," Joseph said as he headed for the bathroom.

"Why did you not go when you showered?"

"Hold on!"

Joseph shut the door as if he were in some sort of a hurry. He didn't have to pee, he did before he showered. He just always pretends that he does after Caesar showers so he can smell the scent of his bar soap. Joseph certainly isn't a fragrance expert or buff, he considers himself much more of a casual fragrance enjoyer that just so happens to enjoy his training partner's scent of choice. It wasn't odd. He excused it by comparing it to a perfume shop, where you take sample strips of your favorites. Except, in a perfume shop, you typically sample more than one and usually buy something... And you don't have to pretend to be doing something else... And it's not smelling other people's post-shower air... Oh, whatever!!! None of it matters, it's just not weird, okay?!

Each time he stepped into the misty bathroom, the heavy air washed the blonde's smell all over him. The palo santo is always registered first, the bright and refreshing mix of pine, mint, and citrus lighting his brain up. Then the deep, earthy spiciness of patchouli follows, ballroom dancing with the light, floral herbyness of lavender. It was so refined and sophisticated, yet so, so masculine. The longer Joseph stood there and smelled, the more he felt as though he had just taken Valium. Suddenly jumping back to his senses, he rushes out of the bathroom. How long had he been in there? Would Caesar notice?

Caesar lifted his head as Joseph sped out of the bathroom. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine."

"I don't exactly want to sleep near you if you're feeling ill," Caesar sighed.

"I am not ill, Caesar," Joseph responded. "You don't exactly have a choice if you'd like to sleep in the bed with me... You either do or you get the floor."

The Italian scoffed and pulled the comforter back on his side. "As if."

"I'm glad you decided to come 'round," the brunette commented, a smug grin lighting his face up while he climbed into the bed. Half his body hung off the side of the bed for fear that he would end up much too close to Caesar for 'friends.' His back faced Caesar's, and vice versa, to ensure they would not wake up facing one another, or worse, touching one another.

"Good night, Caesarino."

Caesar took a deep breath in, yawning on the exhale as he nuzzled the side of his face into the cool, firm hotel pillow. "Good night, Jojo."

The next evening, after hours and hours of training, the two strode through the arched entrance of the hotel, an ornate Renaissance-era palazzo refurbished into a hotel around 1890. Stone pillars surrounded them, supporting the vaulted ceilings and complimenting the frescoed walls with their blankness. Lavish and extravagant Venetian chandeliers hung overhead, lighting up the atrium and a grand marble and mahogany staircase that led to the outdoor terraces which overlooked the countless acres of lush, vibrant terraced gardens dotted with beautifully crafted stone fixtures such as fountains and birdbaths. The two boys took the side stairs up to their room and completed their shower routine, climbing into bed right after.

Sometime around 3 a.m., Joseph woke to the feeling of something against his back. Soft, hot breaths tickled his spine as the hand resting across his waist and tucked between his body and the bed pulled him closer. He froze, slowly turning his head to look behind him. As he peered over his shoulder, the blonde tucked his face into Joseph's back, curling the rest of his body up into the other's like a cat. His hand moved down from just under his pecs to the middle of his stomach and Joseph shuddered. 

What the fuck does he do? Should he wake him up? Oh no, oh no, no, no, what if someone sees them?

He decided that the best thing to do would be to never speak of it again. Of course, Caesar could not be blamed, it was impossible that he knew. He was out cold the second his head hit the pillow, overly exhausted from their rigorous training. Caesar didn't have to know, either. 

Even with the unexpectedness, Joseph felt oddly safe and comfortable with the situation. The warmth against his back and resting on his side was soothing; knowing Caesar trusted him enough to feel so secure that he is unconsciously drawn to him in his sleep made his heart flutter and heat pool in his stomach. Most of all, he felt ashamed. Ashamed that he hadn't moved, ashamed that he didn't feel uncomfortable, and absolutely mortified that he enjoyed it. Joseph was enjoying his best friend accidentally attaching himself to him in his sleep. What does this mean? This isn't right. Why does he like it? Caesar is his best friend and they're both men. This shouldn't be happening. He must be lonely because this just isn't normal. His worst enemies, fear and social rejection, began to win the mental battle. And while every cell in his body screamed at him to stay, he left Caesar's warm embrace to get into the bed on the other side.

Around 6 a.m., the birds began to sing. While beautiful, Caesar thought them to be much too loud and wants nothing more to do with them. Finishing up with being angry at the birds, he began to notice his surroundings had changed. Why was he on a different side of the bed? He turned over to find Joseph out cold, arm outstretched to him on his side of the bed. What in hell happened last night? Is Joseph okay?

After waking up, Joseph acted... different. He was normally quite a touchy man, but he seemed to be keeping his distance from Caesar. What did Caesar do to him in his sleep?

"Jojo?"

Joseph hummed, barely looking over at the blonde.

"Are you okay? You're acting odd... Do you know why I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?"

A swift, barely noticeable look of fear washed over the Brit's face before returning to his collected composure. "I'm stressed... And I-... I got sick this morning and when I returned, you were in my spot so I slept on your side." 

He hates lying. Lying makes him feel dirty, as if covered in corn syrup, caked with semi-dry mud, or doused in tar. The guilt immediately set in, evident on his face as he swallowed nothing and cleared his throat.

Caesar scanned his face, scrutinizing each and every detail. Joseph's shifty eyes and clenched jaw were all he needed to know that he had been lied to. 

"Why are you lying to me over something so simple?"

"Fine," Joseph huffed. "You had rolled over and ended up nearly on top of me, so I moved because I felt that that was not your intention in the slightest."

Caesar chuckled. "What, are you afraid of parking with your sweet ol' mate?"

Joseph's face contorted, lifting his lip and dropping his eyebrows in disgust. "We are not parking, you insufferable twat! I would never hold you and certainly never kiss you, not in a million years!"

Caesar faked a gasp, placing his hand over his heart and throwing his head back and to the side as though a shocked, helpless maiden in an old film. "Oh no! What ever shall I do? Jojo can no longer understand jokes! Oh, the horror! The sorrow!"

The brunette balled his sleep shirt and threw it as hard as possible at the other. "You are not funny, Caesar."

"Is it truly that offensive to you to have a joke made that you're a queer?"

"I am not a queer, Caesar. I have no problem with it, but it just isn't me." 

Caesar watched as Joseph's eyes shifted, looking anywhere but him, and decided to drop it for now. Maybe he could bring it up later. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to joke about a sensitive subject for you, I truly did not know. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again. Will you forgive me, Joseph?"

"That's fine. Thank you for apologizing to me."

"Always. Now, what do you say about getting coffee? It will be on me," Caesar offered, both to break the awkward silence and make up for his unintentionally cruel joke. Joseph looked off to the side to think before flicking his gaze to Caesar's bony, clasped hands that sat limp in his lap and nodding, a large yawn overtaking his ability to speak.

So out on the town they went. Though he had been in the city for a couple weeks, its ancient aura never failed to capture Joseph's attention, and even native Italians such as Caesar have a hard time pulling themselves away. History seems to ooze and flow from each crack and crevice, no matter how small. Classical, arched and pillar-supported architecture remnants celebrating their 2,000th birthday mingled with Italian Gothic pointed arches, elaborate statues, and large windows. Narrow, tricolored cobblestone streets fenced in by towering plaster and stone buildings, some left bare, some painted a singular color or two, and some frescoed with the most beautiful scenes. The salty, fresh smell of the sea mixed with the delectable smell of Italian sweets, waves crashing against the shore as shop owners work to fill their display cases with countless treats. Tourists were around each corner, marveling at the scenery, and Joseph couldn't blame them. However, they walked much too slow for his liking and he was not fond of them. They often wore clothes that did not reflect the city's fashion trends and perfumes that smelled of too much tuberose, white florals, and... peppercorn? The smell of sickly sweet bubblegum, chewed for a minute and spat onto a plate of freshly crushed pink peppercorn hurt Joseph's nose, made him sneeze over and over. One could pick them out in the hordes of people with ease, even if inexperienced with people-watching. Their colognes were also much too strong, the harsh metallic odor of it mixing with the straight alcohol and cigarette smoke clinging to their shirts so overpowering at times that it could cause Joseph and Caesar to choke up from five feet away. Because of the tourists, most places were continually packed, a 30 minute wait on their slowest days. Fortunately for the two men, their favorite place to have coffee stayed a heavenly secret among the locals. The two stepped through an unassuming door and into the cafe, where they were immediately greeted. 

"Buongiorno! Un marocchino e un cappuccino per favore," Caesar said sweetly to the barista, his voice lower and smoother than when he speaks English. While he had been studying a little, the only thing Joseph recognized was 'cappuccino,' and only because they have those in England (albeit much, much less artisanal and much, much more... vapid).

Standing at the bar, they quickly finished their drinks and began the short walk back to their hotel.

"Is there anything you would like to do after this?"

Joseph hummed. "Aperol spritzes on the terrace?"

Caesar smiled at the brunette. "I love the way you think, Jojo."

They swung by a small market just outside of their hotel for the Aperol and Prosecco, with soda water already waiting in the mini refrigerator in their room. Without measuring, Joseph pre-made 7 glasses of the drink so when they inevitably wanted more, they could simply get up and grab one, and that they did. Feeling a bit tipsy, Joseph stopped on his third, offering the fourth one that they originally were to split to Caesar alone. Caesar, being a bit smaller in height and weight than Joseph, was more tipsy; while a 4th drink would not necessarily get him 'drunk,' it will elevate him from tipsy to a bit woozy.

"Y'know, Jojo, I feel bad for what happened earlier," Caesar sighed, guilt evident in his eyes as he attempted to make eye contact with the brunette. 

"That's okay, you couldn't have known," he responded with a smile. 

They sat in a semi-awkward, painful silence for what felt like hours before the blonde broke it.

"Do you mind me asking why it's sensitive for you?"

Joseph swallowed and clenched his jaw. "Can you promise to tell absolutely no one?"

"That I can do, I swear on my life that no soul will hear what you have to say."

The Brit nodded, biting the inside of his mouth and taking sudden interest in the striations of the mahogany planks that make up their wooden terrace. 

"The reason it's sensitive is because of my father. He might kill me if even a single person has a single thought that there is a single, sub-microscopic chance that I may like men. He's not the most accepting, which I find odd because I've been told Grandpa Johnathan was accepting of anyone and anything, so long as they were of good heart. Not to mention that the outside world is cruel and full of hate. In Germany, they've begun imprisoning people who don't fit their definition of normal. And to be quite frank with you, I'm scared of what could happen if someone suspects anything of me."

Caesar slid his chair closer to the other, flashing a gentle smile as he stopped. "You take after your grandfather, I hope that you know that. And I intend to as well. It does not matter to me what you find yourself attracted to. Now that I think about it, I have something to tell you that may ease your mind. Can you keep a secret, Jojo?"

The brunette nodded, anxiety skyrocketing. What was he going to say to him?

"Yes, I can."

"I trust you with my life, Joseph, so I will tell you this only once. No one else must ever know."

"No one will ever know, I swear to you."

Caesar's heart pounded in his chest. Was he really going to tell him this? He knows that Joseph won't run or hide from him, he assumes he'll be indifferent at the very least. Still, he had never, ever entertained the thought of telling someone. Hell, he had never even entertained the thought of entertaining the thought of telling someone. Yet here he was, about to explain everything to a man he met less than two months ago.

Granted, Joseph was... different. Different from the Italians he's used to, different from the way others dress, different from the way others' bodies are built, different from the way Caesar interacts with others, different from the way Caesar talks about others, different from the way Caesar thinks about others. He really doesn't think of anyone else anymore. Maybe it's because he has to spend all of his time with him? No, no he doesn't. He's allowed to go out on the town by himself, he's a grown man for fuck's sake. But each day after training, when he's given the chance, he chooses to spend his free time with Joseph. He has the choice to have a coffee alone in the morning, the choice to eat lunch by himself, the choice to enjoy a lonely dinner; and every single day, he finds himself following Joseph everywhere he goes and asking him to tag along when they may have to separate.

Joseph was Caesar's best friend. The best best friend that Caesar has ever had and will ever have. Never before had he met someone so willing to lay their life down for a friend, save for himself. And lay his life down he would; all Joseph has to do is ask. Caesar trusts Joseph with his life, so why not allow him to know this? Too late to back out.

The blonde took a shallow breath. "I- Well... How do I say this?"

Joseph raised an eyebrow, but stayed silent as he concentrated on Caesar's features, his piercingly viridescent hooded eyes, his streamlined Roman nose, his slightly flushed lips that never seem to crack, his jawline, his cheekbones, his eyebrows, and the little pink triangles that sit upon the apex of his cheeks. He found himself staring against his control, focus lingering on the middle of Caesar's face. He had never thought about how handsome his friend was, only heard it just about a million times. Yet there he sat, admiring the other man.

"Joseph, did I ever tell you that I have had... er- relations, if you will, with a man?"

The Brit's eyes widened and he leaned forward. "Are you serious?"

Oh no. Oh no. Caesar hesitated to answer, his heart threatening to crack under the weight of the possibility that he could lose his best friend over something so trivial. He bit the inside of his cheek, gaze dropping from the brunette's, and nodded. The fear of rejection, especially from someone so important in his life, brought pain to his chest and pushed his stomach acid up into his throat and mouth.

"Caesar? Caesar?" Joseph tapped the underside of the Italian's chin with the side of his curled index finger twice, gently lifting upward on the second tap to encourage Caesar to refocus. 

"Caesarinoooo?" He cooed. 

Caesar only matched his gaze, words unavailable to him. 

"Now that I am sure you're listening, this changes nothing. You are still my best friend, still the same Caesar I met and fought with two months ago," he grinned.

"So... you don't mind? What about sleeping in the bed and getting changed and-?"

"Hey," Joseph interrupted. "Did you not listen? I don't mind. It makes no difference with me."

Caesar's eyes seemed to brighten, the pain in his chest subsiding. "Are you sure?"

"You are still m- Caesar. Even if it may not be for me," he broke their eye contact to look around, face fading of its color, then rejoined their gazes.  "I have no problems with the fact that you've been with a man. Truthfully... I think you're brave."

Caesar knew he was lying, he just didn't know about what part. Was he lying about still seeing Caesar the same? Or about seeing him as brave? Or about it not being him? No, no, the last one couldn't be right. Caesar had seen the brunette kiss so many women! Well... sort of. He had seen women fawn over him, rubbing his biceps and kissing his cheeks, but he never tried to push them away and certainly never seemed uncomfortable... 

"Brave? Why's that?"

"You're confident enough to do something dangerous. I'm... not like that."

"Not confident? That doesn't matter, I think if you want to try something, you should. You seem quite brave to me, considering you held your ground against me when we first met," Caesar reasoned with a fond smile.

Joseph flashed a half-smile, shrugging his shoulders. "I know, but this is... different. I can hold my ground, I cannot-," he shook his head with a small huff. "Anyway, we should clean our mess up, yeah?"

So close, yet so far... It drove Caesar insane trying to figure out what was with Joseph's sudden topic changes. What was so badthat he couldn't bear to talk about it?

Weeks passed and Caesar never brought the subject up. Whatever it was, Joseph seemed to be conflicted, maybe even scared. But of what? Caesar worried that he may be judgemental of his lifestyle, even if he denies it. If he were, would he not want to have separate beds or even rooms? Would he not insist on being fully dressed around Caesar or refrain from touching him? It made him ill, nauseated to think that Joseph would feel anything but amicable toward him. Every single day, the sight of Joseph tanked his confidence and encouraged him to dispel any food inside his stomach (or to be more exact, the lack thereof). He was so worked up that Joseph himself began to notice, which could be considered a miracle under different circumstances. For now, it's an extremely unpleasant truth. 

"Caesar, are you sure that you're well-off?"

Caesar lightly sighed. "Yes, Joseph. I am just wonderful."

Normally, Joseph Joestar is one of the easiest people to lie to. Normally. Unfortunately, not today. 

"Stop lying to me. I can't truly be your best friend if I can't help you when something is wrong," Joseph spoke with a stern tone, stepping closer to where Caesar sat on their shared bed. The blonde pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, eyes nearly devoid of life. 

"Let me crush your worries, alright?"

Caesar nodded as Joseph gently sat down next to him, closer than they had ever been. Before, they would sit close, but never touched one another. Now, Joseph's thigh pressed against the other's, their torsos and faces mere inches apart.

"Give me your hand, please," Joseph extended his own hand, palm up and fingers relaxed. The blond placed his hand in Joseph's, who brought it closer to himself and clasped his other hand around it, slightly squeezing. Caesar's face flushed a near beetroot red, green eyes filled with confusion and another feeling Joseph couldn't quite make out.

"I never lied about accepting you. You are still you," he paused. "You're still the person I met and became best friends with. You are still my Caesar."

Uh oh. He could only hope and pray that Caesar didn't register what he said. Oh, God... Oh, God, Oh, God! Why did he say that? Why did he say Caesar was his? How does he explain what he really meant? Why didn't he stop at the best friend part? He can never speak again. Yeah, that's the plan. Never speak ever again. To anyone. 

Caesar's face lit up with a childish playfulness, a thick, blonde eyebrow jumping up his forehead. "Your Caesar, huh?"

Of course he wouldn't let it slide. "No, that's- I didn't- It isn't-," he stuttered, dropping the other's hand, dying to crawl into his own grave. Nothing would be better than his lungs filling with dirt at this moment. Death is his only escape, he's convinced. 

Caesar snickered, placing a hand on Joseph's knee. "Shhh, I know what you meant. You don't have to explain yourself."

"But I didn't mean it the way you think I-!"

"You said 'my Caesar,' meaning the Caesar that you personally know because you see more of me than other people. You see a different Caesar than anyone else, so you said 'my Caesar,'" he said matter-of-factly, shrugging with a smug smile. 

"Oh..." Joseph's heart finally stilled.

"Ah, il mio dolce Jojo. You're an open book, so long as one is fluent in your language," he teased, leaning forward. "Easily one of my favorites."

Joseph couldn't help but smile, teeth on full display. He admired Caesar's half-lidded stare, the way his cold eyes soften before the top lid brings shade to those beautiful, shamrock green irises and his cocky, almost flirty grin, flaunting his lightly stained teeth as he said 'il mio dolce Jojo.'

He had no clue what 'il mio dolce' meant, but the gentleness of his sugary, rich tenor voice with a deep Italian accent made up for it all. Joseph believes Caesar could tell him to off himself with that near sultry voice of his and Joseph would still feel the butterflies in his stomach. Excitement struck; the rest of Caesar's words sank in. Easily Caesar's favorite 'book to read.' What a wonderful title to have! Caesar's favorite! He's Caesar's favorite!

"I'm truly honored, Caesarino. Just one question, what does all of that Italian stuff you said mean?"

Caesar's mind froze, paralyzed between lying or explaining that it's just meant to be endearing without coming off as odd. He wouldn't want Joseph thinking that he was flirting because he wasn't. He wasn't flirting. 

"It means fat-head."

"My head isn't fat!" The brunette looked distressed. "It's not fat, is it? Caesar, do I have a big head?"

The blonde giggled, hand flying to his mouth as he attempted to hide the small snorts. "No, Jojo, it's uh... Italian endearment. Almost like 'love' in Britain." Smooth. He'd never question that!

"Oh! Well then, hello il mio dolce Caesar!"

Caesar's breath caught in his throat. It's fine when he says it, but Joseph can't just call him that! It'll make him-! 

And there it was, again. The return of the heat in his stomach and accelerated beating of his heart. His hands were suddenly damp with sweat and the room seemed so much brighter than usual. He could smell Joseph's soap; the answer was that it developed into smoky, spicy ginger incense against his soft, freckled skin. He could hear everything, even Joseph's heartbeat. The beaming smile on Joseph's face made his legs weak and his body shaky. Caesar feels as if he had taken the strongest stimulant available on the market. This is not good.

"Was I not supposed to say that? You look... worried," Joseph questioned, interrupting his thoughts. 

"No, no! It's fine to say!" Caesar began thinking of a way out.

"Then why do you look so-?"

"I'm going to the garden pool! Don't wait up!"

Joseph stood up just as fast as the other, eager to accompany him. "Why don't I go with you?"

"NO! I mean-," Caesar cleared his throat and attempted to regain his composure. "You need to sleep! Training was quite harsh today..."

Joseph cocked his head to the side, his eyebrows diving down and his lips puckering slightly as he bit the edge of his tongue. "What are you hiding from me?"

Oh, why is he so observant today? Of all days! What does he do? What can he do?

Caesar suddenly has an idea. "Oh, I can't believe you'd even suggest that! I would never hide anything from you, tesorino," the blonde insisted, his voice suddenly sickeningly sweet and drenched with admiration again. Manipulation tactics never fail Caesar, and a white lie (or a few) never hurt anyone before. 

"Mhm... Well, have fun down there, I'll most likely be asleep by the time you return," Joseph said with skepticism. Caesar was hiding something from him, he knew it. He just had to wait.

"Thank you, goodbye Jojo!" He wasted no time exiting the room, next to running through hallways and down staircases to get to the hotel's garden, to get anywhere that wasn't his room, wasn't under Joseph's strangely observational surveillance, wasn't exposed to his voice. His beautiful, brassy baritone voice that made even Caesar's bones quiver. 

Joseph watched as the blonde fled. He tried to move from his spot or think about anything else, but Caesar had taken hold of his mind. He thought back to when they sat on the bed, so much closer than they had been before. Joseph thought about how the butterflies in his stomach seemed to hold an uprising as the blonde teased him. That sly grin, the barely visible sliver of teeth and the smug look on his face made the Brit imagine scenarios that were not so normal for best friends. This can't be real. He can't like men, and he definitely cannot like his best friend! This is so, so bad...

He changed into his sleep clothes and climbed into bed, but he couldn't sleep. Not until Caesar came back, at least. 

Caesar never made it down to the garden. Each time he looked out of the window, there were more people. Instead, he sat at the end of the hallway for half an hour, just long enough for Joseph to fall asleep. Entering the room and hearing nothing, his worries subsided. He completed his nightly routine, finally getting to feel the soft touch of the silk sheets and weight of the downy comforter.

"Caesar?"

The blonde jumped, gasping at the sudden sound from someone he thought was asleep. "Y-Yes?"

"How- Uh," Joseph lightly cleared his throat. "How did you... know?"

"Know what?" Caesar was confused, hoping that Joseph was just a sleep-talker. Those hopes were crushed as the brunette rolled over to lay face-to-face with him. 

"How did you know that you were- ah- attracted to... men?"

Caesar squinted. "I just knew, Jojo."

"No, no," he rolled his eyes. "I mean how did you know? When did you... find out?"

The Italian snorted, grinning at his roommate. 

"It isn't funny! Stop laughing! This is a serious question," Joseph whined. 

"Okay, okay, sorry," Caesar said between giggles. 

"You're still doing it!"

"I am not," he insisted, still snickering under his breath. 

"Answer the question, twat!"

"Fine, fine," the blonde sighed. "I believe I began to notice when I first entered adolescence. All of my friends had these bootleg stag films... We would all crowd around the television and watch these pretty broads shooting for the moon with these hunky men. They would always talk about their whangs sticking up because the woman was so attractive and would sometimes be so aroused they would bash it in front of one another," he explained.

Joseph nodded to show Caesar that he was still giving him all of his attention. 

"Except I never found the women attractive. I would watch the men, imagining that the woman underneath him was just a very effeminate man. I would leave the room when they began jerking it because I would feel so guilty in a room with a bunch of men with their snakes out, knowing what I was."

"So you have to only think men are attractive? To be a queer, I mean," Joseph asked. 

"No, why? Have you found yourself looking at both, Jojo?"

Joseph sighed with a hum, clenching his jaw and rolling onto his back. "Never really looked at men until recently... There's this one I noticed recently that looks better than any broad I've ever seen. Am I... Am I allowed to be attracted to both? I'm not a monster, am I?"

Caesar gave him a comforting smile, reaching out and grabbing his forearm. "Jojo... il mio dolce Jojo... You are no monster and you certainly have done no wrong. Do you understand me?"

The Brit nodded, finally turning his head back toward Caesar.

"Do you mind answering with words? I want to be sure that you understand that you are a stark contrast to a monster."

"But," Joseph turned his body back toward Caesar, this time scooting a bit closer. "What if I am?"

"Mio caro, have I ever told you that I dislike books with monsters? If you were a monster, you certainly wouldn't be my favorite book. In fact, I would have never chosen to read you at all."

"Do you... Do you mean that?" Joseph leaned forward, hoping to hear confirmation.

"Yes, of course I mean it, Jojo. You are my best friend, I adore you and everything you stand for."

Best friend. Best friend. Best... Friend... Why did that hurt him? Caesar said he adores him, why is his heart not jumping out of his chest?

"Thank you... I guess we should-"

"Yeah I think we should sleep, goodnight Jojo."

Joseph rolled over so his back faced the other. "Night, Caesar."

Caesar took a deep breath, unable to close his eyes. Why couldn't he cheer him up? He said the things that normally would help, why did it hurt him? He saw the pain in his eyes. He knows he saw them change. 

After some hours, he finally fell asleep. His dream was wonderful; he was cuddling with a firm pillow that had Joseph's exact scent on it, as if he had slept with it for weeks. His face held a smitten smile as he pressed his face into the pillow and took a deep breath to get all he could of his wonderful smell. He never, ever wanted to wake up. 

Joseph woke in a cold sweat from his nightmare. It was horrific; he and Caesar had to separate and he had been made to watch him die, unable to do anything. The terror coursing through his veins dissipated and he finally stilled as soon as he felt the familiar arm around his waist and the pretty face buried in between his shoulder blades. He fought with himself on if he should move again or stay. If he moved and Caesar's awake, he may think he's rejecting him. If Caesar wakes up and sees that he's moved again, he may distance himself. If he doesn't move, he can have gratification for a few hours... until Caesar wakes up. Should he move or stay? Move or... Stay. He's staying. He can explain himself in the morning. 

And stay he did. He turned over so they lay face to face, gently lifting Caesar up to place his toned arm underneath him and praying he won't wake up. Joseph hesitated for a second, nearly letting fear take over, then shook his head. Not this time. He won't mess up this time. Snaking his other arm around Caesar's lower back, he pulled him closer, the blonde's face now pressed against his chest. His head immediately gravitated toward the pile of thick, soft, messy hair lying just above his collarbone. As he breathed, he could smell the woody, citrusy, floral aroma that stuck to Caesar's body. He felt the Italian squeeze him, a small hum coming from behind his smile. How Caesar smiles at him even in his sleep... he feels like he normally would when around Caesar except for one feeling; there's something different. He no longer wants to just admire him, he wants to hold him close and... Oh, god. He wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him so badly. He wants to marry him. He loves him. His best friend. He loves Caesar. 

Joseph's mind was racing. Attempting to reassure himself only helped a little, trying to forget was pointless. But when Caesar pulled him closer, whispering his name in his sleep, Joseph had no further problems sleeping.

Caesar woke up feeling so warm. A wonderful dream, a comfortable bed, warming comforter, and Joseph's arms around him... JOSEPH'S ARMS AROUND HIM?! He wanted to panic, to move away and pretend it never happened, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. This is what he wanted, right? This is exactly what he wanted. So why did it scare the fuck out of him? He didn't dare to move a muscle in fear that Joseph may wake up. Surely Joseph didn't mean to be cuddling with him, right? The only thing he could do was lay there, either leaning back into the other's chest or admiring his face. His gorgeous face. His chiseled jawline, sharp chin, and nearly colorless lips. His long, slightly upturned nose. And those eyes; those deep turquoise eyes, half shielded by eyelids mustering the strength to fully open. But he can't see his eye color unless they're open...

Oh. Oh, fuck. 

"Caesar?" Joseph's voice was deep and raspy from sleep as he spoke. 

So much for not getting caught. Caesar pretended to still be asleep, going so far as to fake a snore, but Joseph had watched his head drop when they made eye contact. 

"Caesar, I saw your eyes open," he giggled sleepily, his chest shaking against the blonde's face and his voice echoing inside his body. Caesar's face, his body, everything was suddenly too hot. He felt as though he had walked into hell. Quickly, he rolled out of Joseph's arms, muttering apologies over and over as he scrambled to get out of the bed. 

"Wait," Joseph urged, propping himself up on his elbow. "Please."

Caesar turned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I know it was a mistake and that you didn't mean to... You don't have to remind me."

"Is that what you want it to be?" Joseph waited anxiously for his answer, his heart pounding. "Just a... mistake?"

The blonde's eyes were overcome with a fog of guilt and despair. "I guess..."

He was lying. Why couldn't he just tell him the truth?

"What if..." Joseph trailed off, looking at the sheets. "What if I said that it wasn't?"

"What?"

Joseph cleared his throat. "What if I said that it was intentional?"

"Are you trying to extract some sort of confession from me or something?"

Joseph looked back up at Caesar, sitting up. "Do you not have one? I'm certain I didn't read you wrong."

"Joseph, drop it. It was a mistake." Caesar's voice was filled with agitation. 

Joseph paused, tears waiting patiently to drop from his bottom lashes. Should he just rip the bandaid off? Or spend the next few weeks pining after a man that he knows loves him too?

"No. No, Caesar, it wasn't a mistake. I woke up and you had wrapped yourself around me again. This time I didn't run, this time I turned to face you and held you too."

"Why? Why would you do that?"

"I didn't want to move. And there were... other reasons."

Caesar sat on the bed. "Other reasons?"

The Brit sighed, running nervous hands through messy brown bed hair. "I wanted to know what it felt like to hold you... to feed the butterflies, even if just a little bit."

"The butterflies? Joseph, what are you talking about?"

Joseph released a frustrated sigh, preparing himself to finally say the quiet parts to Caesar's face, everything that had built up over the months. 

"Ever since the day we met, I've had this odd feeling toward you that I have never had for anyone. You explained how you realized you liked men, and now I can explain mine. I realized something was different about you when I first woke up to you behind me."

The Italian's eyes widened with each word, his mouth slightly open. What was Joseph saying to him?

"What I mean to say is that I believe I have loved you from the beginning. I have loved you every second of every day since I first met you. I find myself addicted to your scent, admiring your features, reveling in that you should even look my way, much less speak to me and honor me with your time and presence. I loved you so much that I denied it because I could not bear to lose you, even if I would have to spend the rest of my life tormenting myself with unrequited love," his voice cracked as he attempted to hold back his tears. 

"I could be tortured, beat to the brink of death with the promise that it will end with my denial of you; I would insist that I love you a thousand times, it would be said with my last breath. If that makes me a monster, then so be it. No matter if I am Scylla or Charybdis, the Minotaur or a Cyclops. If I must become a monster for loving you, then a monster I am because 'I love you' is no longer enough for how I feel toward you, Caesar."

The blonde's mouth gaped, opening and closing his mouth as he tried to speak. He felt the urge to cry sitting in his throat.

With a shaky breath, he spoke, "I could have only hoped that you would tell me that. I never shower before you just so I can wrap myself in the comfort of your fragrance. I find myself wishing to have a life, a family with you more often than I should admit. The highest title given to anyone is that of the person Joseph Joestar chooses to love, and I am not sure I'm worthy of it. I would give my life a million times over if it ensured you would live a long, happy life. Joseph, I do not believe you are a monster, but if you were, I would become one too. Kraken, Hydra, Basilisk, or Medusa, it doesn't matter in the slightest. For if you were a monster, I would still love you."

The side of Joseph's mouth turned upward, his eyes trained on the man in front of him. He left his spot on the bed to sit next to the other man, placing a hand over the blonde's. 

His voice was a near whisper. "Can I kiss you? Please?"

Caesar never answered, only placed his hands on the sides of the Brit's face, looking from his eyes to his lips while holding a love-stricken smile an inch from his lips. As he moved closer, one hand found its way to the nape of Joseph's neck, running his fingers through his hair. Joseph instinctually supported his chin, his free hand settling on Caesar's hip, thumb slowly swiping back and forth over the bone. He mustered the courage to close the gap between them, passion and adoration immediately evident in their kiss. Their lips moved in syncopated rhythms until the nervousness melted away; then, they were one.  They matched pace, Caesar pulling Joseph closer, closer, closer, until they had to separate unwillingly to breathe. 

"I've wanted to do that for so long," the brunette sighed, lips brushing against Caesar's as he spoke.

"Me too," Caesar laughed, grinning and planting a small kiss on Joseph's lips. "You should've asked me sooner."

"I would have if you had told me that 'il mio dolce Jojo' meant 'my sweet Jojo,'" Joseph pressed their foreheads together. "You know, you're a terrible flirt."

"Oh, like you aren't?"

The Brit giggled and stuck his nose up in the air, turning his head away from Caesar. "I never said that."

The blonde grabbed the bottom of his face and pulled him back for another kiss, still as full of fire as before.

With each kiss, their scents mingled. Dark sweet amber marrying bright palo santo, woody sandalwood befriending earthy, spicy patchouli, and citrusy candied oranges relaxing with beautiful, herby lavender. The most beautiful scent either had ever smelled, uniquely theirs forever.

[lustastarte]

♤ it's a gay thing | josuyasu ♤

genre: fluff/tiny bit of angst

rohan gives josuke the wrong number for koichi as a little joke, but josuke is determined to beat his boredom.

published: 2023

lots of texting,,, like half the one-shot

Wednesday, May 17. 7:30 a.m.

Josuke:

hey, is this koichi?

rohan gave me the number but idk if he was playing around or not

xxx-xxx-xxxx:

no

i know koichi, but i'm not him, who's this?

Josuke:

sorry, i'm just a friend of koichi's

sorry for bothering you man, especially this early

xxx-xxx-xxxx:

it's okay, don't worry about it : )

so how are you, friend of koichi's?

Josuke:

i'm okay i guess

i'm bummed that rohan japed me tho

xxx-xxx-xxxx:

... japed you?

Josuke:

pranked

xxx-xxx-xxxx:

oh!

okay, that makes sense

Josuke:

yeah, sorry abt that again

9:00 a.m.

Josuke:

hey random stranger

here you go

❀❀❀❀❀❀

xxx-xxx-xxxx:

why did you send me flowers

i mean i'm not complaining, they're pretty

but why?

Josuke:

because you deserve them

xxx-xxx-xxxx:

oh? well thanks

Josuke:

of course man

12:21 p.m.

Josuke:

heyyyyyyy stranger

xxx-xxx-xxxx:

hey?

why do you keep texting me?

Josuke:

bc you seem cool and i really need friends

unless you want me to stop

xxx-xxx-xxxx:

oh, thanks

also you don't have to stop, i just don't really understand lmao

5:39 p.m.

Josuke:

hey you free?

xxx-xxx-xxxx:

yeah why

Josuke:

i wanna call someone

can i call you?

xxx-xxx-xxxx:

sure i guess?

calling xxx-xxx-xxxx...

"Hello?"

"Ooh, I like your voice. It's deep. Makes my skin tingle."

"Thank you, I like yours too."

"Thanks man."

"So... why did you need Koichi?"

"I was gonna ask him to set me up with a date. He knows a bunch of people and a lot of them are cute guys."

"Guys?? As in... men?"

"Uhh yeah," Josuke laughed into the phone. "My favorite thing to do is kiss men."

"You can do that? Like- I mean... Guys can... Guys can be with other guys?"

"Yeah! It's nice, you should try it sometime."

"Oh, I didn't know that was allowed... I might if I ever get the chance. But just for the record, Koichi can't set up relationships for shit. Try texting Rohan."

"You know Rohan too?"

"Yeah, I know him and his boyfriend."

"Well damn, all the twinks seem to know each other..."

"Twink? What's that?"

"Oh, it's uh-... It's a gay thing."

"Oh, okay?"

"Yeah. Anyway, I'm gonna go text Rohan, goodbye! Thank you for your help!"

"Mmhmm."

call with xxx-xxx-xxxx ended.

Friday, May 26. 1:01 p.m.

Josuke:

hey, i never got your name

xxx-xxx-xxxx:

oh, sorry about that

i'm okuyasu

and you are??

Josuke:

i'm josuke

i like your name, i've never seen it before

Okuyasu:

thank you, i like yours too

you're the one with the hair, right? i think i remember rohan talking about you

Josuke:

yeah, the super cool really fashionable amazing magazine worthy hair is all me

wait, rohan talks about me?

Okuyasu:

it's never anything good if i'm honest, but he talks about you

Josuke:

nice!!

he talks about you too, but it's sometimes good

Okuyasu:

oh? i'm surprised he has anything nice to say lmfao

Josuke:

off topic, but all your friends say you're hot

is that true?

Okuyasu:

maybe? idk i've never really thought of myself as hot

rohan says you look like a monkey's ass, is that true?

Josuke:

i'm gonna fucking kill him

Okuyasu:

have fun, don't get caught

Josuke:

oh i will

so what do you look like?

Okuyasu:

goodbye

Josuke:

but i wanna see your face : (

i like knowing who i'm talking to

Okuyasu:

lmao no

Josuke:

please?

Okuyasu:

no

Josuke:

okuyasuuuuuuuuuuuuu

please

Okuyasu:

what's in it for me?

Josuke:

a picture of me ; )

Okuyasu:

um no thanks

Josuke:

wtf : ((((((

Okuyasu:

fine, i'll send one

Okuyasu holds the phone out in front of him and takes a quick snap of his half-smile. He notices that he looks a little awkward, but there isn't much he can do about it. He's not really a selfie kind of guy, but Josuke gets what he wants.

Josuke:

YOU'RE SO FINE WHAT THE FUCK

OH MY GOD EXCUSE MY LANGUAGE BUT HOLY FUCK

man to man, like honest for real time, you are quite possibly the most handsome dude i've ever seen holy fuck

Okuyasu:

okay whatever, it's your turn

Josuke:

uh okay hold on

Josuke takes a swift picture of himself as he rides the bus home. He studies it, then decides he doesn't like it. Something in him just won't let him send the first picture because he doesn't look just right. He retakes the picture after swiping a comb through his hair and deciding the best angle. He's got to look good for his friend, of course. That's what it is, he just wants to make a good first impression.

Okuyasu:

well shit

Josuke:

??? did you die

hello?

Okuyasu:

yes i died

you're a very attractive guy

i mean like no gay shit or anything yknow because i'm not gay

just making an observation

Josuke:

awww you're so nice, thanks man!

Okuyasu:

yeah, of course

did you ever text rohan?

Josuke:

yeah

he said he thought i'd be cute with one of his friends

Okuyasu:

did he say which one?

Josuke:

nah, but he just said he was texting them now

Okuyasu:

...

rohan just texted me

Josuke:

US?????? A COUPLE?????

LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I CANT BREATHE THAT'S THE FUNNIEST FUCKING THING IVE HEARD ALL DAY

Okuyasu:

???

Josuke:

WHAT IS HE ON

Okuyasu:

wtf are YOU on?

Josuke:

a seat on a bus lmaoaoaoao

Okuyasu:

goodbye josuke

Josuke giggled at his phone, bright smile on his face. He's developed an attachment to Okuyasu, he thinks. It's become so strong that he feels the need to text him all day, every day. All of his funny comebacks and clueless questions make Josuke's days so much easier. He can't lie, he's begun to crush on Okuyasu. It might be just because he's lonely and wants attention, but something about him made Josuke's heart spiral. The way he talks was enough already, but his looks sealed the deal. Josuke feels like he's going insane, there's no way he can be pining after someone he's never met before...

Monday, July 24. 6:16 p.m.

Okuyasu:

you know, we've been talking for like two months now and i still know nothing about you

Josuke:

???

yes you do, you know my favorite color, ice cream, video game, book, song, flower, animal, etc etc

i could go on and on about how much you know about me

Okuyasu:

yeah but nothing like important yknow

i think you should tell me where you live 

Josuke:

kinda stalker-ish bro

Okuyasu:

shut the fuck up it's not like that

i wanna know how far we are from each other

Josuke:

i live in morioh

like two houses down from you i think lmfao

Okuyasu:

you do?

Josuke:

yeah yeah rohan told me where you live

oh btw, i frogot to ask

how old are you?

Okuyasu:

frogot?

Josuke:

*forgot

Okuyasu:

frogot

Josuke:

shut up

Okuyasu:

frogot

Josuke:

stop it

Okuyasu:

frogot

Josuke:

STOP IT 

SHUT UP AND ANSWER

Okuyasu:

not as old as you

Josuke:

what the fuck

i'm only 17 dude

HOW OLD DID YOU THINK I WAS?????

Okuyasu:

yeah i'm 17 too lmao

idk probably like 21

Josuke:

no way you just called me old and we're the same fucking age

AND thought i was 21 in the same two messages

Okuyasu:

i think you're still older than me

what's your birthday

Josuke:

august 19

Okuyasu:

what year?

Josuke:

1983

Okuyasu:

YES YOU'RE GERIATRIC

Josuke:

what the fuck we're only like a few weeks apart you ASSHOLE

Okuyasu:

no.

YOU'RE OLD

Josuke:

i thought you said i was hot ;)

Okuyasu:

goodbye josuke.

As the two boys talked, something began to bloom in Okuyasu's stomach each time he got a text from Josuke. He had never met him, never even seen him around Morioh before, but he felt... drawn to him. Like each time his phone lit up, his social battery was suddenly recharged. He was sure that, for him at least, Josuke was the kind of person you could be around even if you were at the point in your day that the thought of talking to other people wore you out. That realization came with another indecipherable emotion, one that pooled just behind his ribcage and dripped into his stomach. The feeling he used to get when he would see his ex-girlfriend was the most similar, but that couldn't be right. Right? Okuyasu shakes the thoughts from his head, but that makes them no less real or confusing. He doesn't like men at all... Right?

Sunday, August 13. 8:59 p.m.

Josuke:

hey <3

Okuyasu:

hey...?

what's with the heart? lmao

Josuke:

i'm gonna say hey and send a heart and you say it back okay

my family thinks i have a boyfriend and as my friend you gotta help, idk why they think that but they do

just play along with what i do okay?

please

Okuyasu:

but i'm not gay.

Josuke:

i know, i know, but i am and my family knows

and they think i have a boyfriend

Okuyasu:

then get someone who's gay to pretend to be your boyfriend?

like rohan or even jotaro idk

Josuke:

JOTARO?????

JOTARO KUJO?????? 

THAT'S MY NEPHEW WHAT THE FUCK DUDE

HE'S PART OF THE FAMILY IN QUESTION

and rohan is jotaro's boyfriend, plus he fucking hates me so either way it wouldn't work

Okuyasu:

damn man chill out, i didn't know

how was i supposed to know that you and a dude i've met maybe once are related??

stupid fucking bitch

Josuke:

we have the same nose duh

but that's not the point, you're the only person who might help me.

i need your help dude, please. i'll do anything.

just pretend to be my gay boyfriend for like five minutes

Okuyasu:

i want $20 sent to my venmo and you have to doordash food to my house if you want effort put in

Josuke:

okay fine, sure, whatever

hey <3

Okuyasu:

not so fast, my venmo is okuniji4 and i want pasta from tonio's

payment before performance.

Josuke:

oh my god you ASSHOLE

Okuyasu:

: )

Josuke:

sent the money on venmo and the order is placed

dick

Okuyasu:

okay, sure man, i got you

Josuke:

hey <3

Okuyasu:

hey <33

Josuke:

what's up baby?

Okuyasu:

not much, what about you sweetheart?

Josuke:

trying to prove to my family that i have a boyfriend

can i call you?

Okuyasu:

of course baby, always

calling Okuyasu...

"Hello?"

"Hey baby. Can you do me a favor and tell my family how much you love me?"

Okuyasu sighed quietly before mustering up all of his courage. "I love you so much my heart hurts when I see you."

"And?"

"...And?"

"And what else?"

"And I think about you every second of every day?"

"Aww, thank you, I love you too!"

"Alright... Well... I gotta go, I- Um, I love you."

"I love you too baby, bye."

call with Josuke ended.

It felt so strange to say those words to Josuke, to call him baby and tell him he loves him, yet somehow, it was... refreshing. Like Okuyasu had needed this his whole life. Like something was coming together in his head. As he sat and thought about the phone call, Josuke's voice, the way he said he loved him, it clicked. It didn't matter if Okuyasu likes men or not. What does matter is that Okuyasu likes Josuke.

Josuke:

THANK YOU SO MUCH I OWE YOU ONE

Okuyasu:

it's no problem really

i like helping my friends out, especially for $20 and some bomb ass food

i also think i wouldn't mind being your boyfriend|

i also think i wouldn't mind being yo|

i also think i wouldn't|

i|

if you need me again hmu

Josuke:

you were really good at pretending to be my boyfriend|

you were really good at pretending to |

you were really good|

you we|

you know, i kind of liked it when you called me baby|

you know, i kind of liked it when you c|

you know, i kind of liked|

you know, |

alr, thanks again man

Okuyasu:

yw

2:30 a.m.

Josuke:

hey

you up?

Okuyasu:

are you just pulling some fuckboy stunt on me?

because i'm not here to be used and dropped

Josuke:

what?

okuyasu, are you okay?

i just wanted to talk to you about a bad dream i had but i'm not concerned about that any more

you seem upset, what happened?

Okuyasu:

i'm upset because i'm tired of being used! everybody is using me and i'm sick of it! my ex girlfriend used me when i dated her, and now you're trying to use me!

Josuke:

what happened?

okuyasu, what's wrong with you?

Okuyasu:

oh stop acting like you care

just stop

i'm so fucking sick of all of this

for four fucking months you've only texted me when you were bored or needed something from me

and i'm done

Josuke:

what?

no, okuyasu, i texted you because i wanted to!

Okuyasu:

just shut up

goodbye josuke.

3:00 a.m.

Josuke:

please talk to me

okuyasu?

7:00 a.m.

Josuke:

okuyasu, please

i want to know what happened

i didn't mean to make you feel used earlier

i was trying to hint at how i felt about you, i just suck at flirting

my family thinks i have a boyfriend because of the way i talk about you to them

1:08 p.m.

Josuke:

okuyasu

please

i need you to answer... even if you just tell me to go die

5:05 p.m.

Josuke:

okuyasu...

seen 5:06

okuyasu!

please talk to me ⚠︎ message not delivered ⚠︎

okuyasu, please!! ⚠︎ message not delivered ⚠︎

you can no longer text or call this number. 

"Jotaro, I don't want to go."

"Come on Josuke, it won't be that bad once you get there, I promise."

"But what if-"

"If he's there, then I won't make you talk to him. You can stay with Rohan and I."

Josuke made a face at the other man. "I don't want to spend a whole party with you guys practically fucking beside me."

Jotaro sighed, adjusting his hair underneath his hat. "Whatever, you're still coming with me. Let's go."

Josuke was sitting in a corner, a drink in his hands and his eyes closed. He didn't want to be here. Not only did he see Okuyasu, but he saw Okuyasu making out with his ex. It broke him inside, and though he was strong, he couldn't help but cry. Honestly, he really liked the guy, and seeing him like that, especially for the first time ever seeing him in person, wasn't pleasant. 

"Hey, you okay?" A slightly drunk Koichi crouched down in front of him.

"What? Oh, yeah- Yeah, I'm fine," the taller said quickly as he wiped his tears away frantically.

"No you aren't. What's wrong?"

Josuke began crying again, an accidental squeak coming from his mouth as he opened it and tried to speak. "It's just that Okuyasu and I got into a fight and now he's here and it's the first time I'm ever seeing him and he's kissing his ex and I have a crush on him and I saw them kissing and-"

"Josuke." Koichi interrupted, sighing and sitting down beside the other man. "He's here because Rohan told him you were coming. He wasn't kissing his ex. She forcefully kissed him, I had to pull her off of Okuyasu a few seconds after you ran away," he explained calmly, placing an arm around Josuke's shoulders protectively.

"It's not like it matters anyway though, he's not gay, he told me himself. He likes women."

"You can still talk to him and see if he wants to fix things, yeah?"

"He blocked me..."

Koichi shook his head. "Yeah, but he's here just because Rohan said you would be here."

Josuke ran a hand over his hair unconsciously. "Can I... Can I talk to him?"

"Of course you can. Do you want Rohan to come with him?"

"No, I wanna talk to him alone... Only if he's okay with that..."

"Alright," Koichi said, leaving the room to search for Okuyasu.

A few minutes later, Josuke heard footsteps. He clutched his cup as the waves of nausea and anxiety ripped through his body.

Stay cool. Stay cool. You've got this, you can fix this.

"Okuyasu! Please, please, please just let me talk to you, I promise I won't take long and..." Josuke trailed off. Fuck! What happened to staying cool?

Okuyasu slunk down into the spot Koichi had once been, although nowhere near as close. Avoiding eye contact, he laced his fingers together and sighed.

"Why did you continue texting me? Tell me the truth please. That's all I ask."

Josuke clenched his jaw, ready for rejection. "In the beginning, it was out of boredom. But after a few days, I realized that you're really cool and decided I wanted to be friends with you. But the more we talked, the more it became... something else," he admitted, eyes glued to the floor and lips pressed together. 

"So it was a fuckboy stunt? I knew that-."

"No! Please, I'm not finished," Josuke begged, desperation evident in the tone of his voice. "Something else doesn't mean 'wanting to get in your pants' for me."

"Then what is it, Josuke? Because to me, getting a text late at night asking if I'm awake is a little telling," Okuyasu sighed, slightly annoyed at this point. 

"Something else is the longing to run my fingers through your hair, hold your hand, look in your eyes, and... call you mine."

Okuyasu squinted, his top lip curling up on one side and eyebrows dipping together. "What are you talking about?"

"Listen, I don't wanna fuck you. Never have. Okuyasu, I-... I just want to love you. I don't want to introduce you to people as my friend, I want to call you mine. Fuck being your fucking friend, I want you to be my boyfriend."

Okuyasu took a deep breath in, the semi-silence crushing Josuke. All he could hear was the bump of the bass and some electronic dance melody, then of course his own heart beat. 

"Josuke, I just... I don't know."

Josuke's face fell, tensed shoulders dropping from his ears. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you anything. I know you're straight-"

"I just don't know what to think."

Josuke felt the hot tears prick at his lower lash line. "We can go back to being strangers if that's what would make you most comfortable... I'm sorry I fucked it up. I'm lucky to have gotten to know you for a few months, at the least."

Okuyasu, without thinking, grabbed Josuke's hand. It fit so well in his, felt so warm and comforting. He dragged his eyes from the other's shoes to the stray hairs surrounding his hairdo like a halo, and that was it. His decision was made, no more questioning. 

"Josuke, you aren't going anywhere. I don't know what to call it, but I think I like both. You shook it all up. You came into my phone and you knocked my entire world on its head."

"I'm sorry, I really didn't mean t-"

"Don't," Okuyasu interrupted. "Please don't be sorry. I thought I was just getting close with you, but all of a sudden, there was heat in my gut and my heart beats tripled in speed each time you texted. I ignored it, but the night you asked me to pretend to be your boyfriend felt so... right."

Josuke snapped his head toward Okuyasu, eyes newly full of hope.

"It felt like-"

"I was born to fall in love with you," Josuke confirmed quietly, finding it a bit odd that he had had the exact same thought during that interaction.

Okuyasu flicked his eyes away, nodding. "Yeah. It doesn't matter what I like, it only matters that you know that it's you. I know I barely know you, and this is our first time even seeing each other in person, but," he took a deep breath. "But looking at you here, hair a little messed up, cheeks red, nose runny, and eyes a shade of blue I don't think I've ever seen before, I know that I need to be with you for the rest of my life, no matter if it's a day or 80 years."

Tears once again tickled Josuke's lower lashes, a heart-warmed smile creeping across his face. "Do you mean that?"

Okuyasu nodded, smiling gently. "Can I- Uh, can I-?"

"Please," Josuke's heart fluttered as he squeezed Okuyasu's hand. 

The taller's eyes jumped up and down as they switched from Josuke's eyes to his lips over and over. With his free hand, he cupped the older's face, rubbing the peak of his blushed cheek with his rough thumb.

"You're so handsome," he whispered, barely audible over the booming EDM music. He moved in to kiss Josuke, but hesitated. "I... I don't know how to kiss a boy..."

Josuke giggled, the sound lighting Okuyasu's heart on fire. He watched as the older's nose scrunched and his eyes nearly disappeared before his teeth-flashing wide smile morphed into a shy, flirty smirk. 

"Like this," he whispered back, closing the gap between them. Okuyasu felt his entire body tingle, every bone becoming noting more than jelly and muscles useless. In their shared kiss was an unspoken promise of love and companionship for countless years and the almost overpowering sweetness of finding the love of your life. The kiss made them feel as though they could move mountains and walk on water, turn water into wine and heal the sick. They felt like gods, each worshipping the existence of the other. All the words they wanted to say and the thoughts they thought were condensed into that single kiss. If nothing else that night had confirmed it, the two finally got what they wanted. Josuke is Okuyasu's. Okuyasu is Josuke's. And absolutely nothing, not even the most powerful being to exist could rip them apart. So long as they were alive, they had one another.

[lustastarte]

them 💎💜

[lustastarte]

✧♤ colorblind | bruabba ♤✧

genre: fluff/EXTREME angst

abbacchio spent his whole life living in greyscale, until bruno, an upcoming superstar’s manager, steps into his office.

published: 2023

sprinkled with giomis and fugonara au where they’re all in the music business, also based off a soulmate au where you are colorblind until you meet your soulmate

TW: CHARACTER DEATH(S), MENTIONS OF DEPRESSION, SUICIDE

if you wish for this one-shot to have a happy ending, please stop reading when bruno asks abbacchio to move in with him. after that, it becomes very, very dark in nature and i am informing you again as a friend that if it will put you in a bad mindset, DO NOT go any farther than the scene i mentioned before.

Ever since he was born, Abbacchio only saw the world in black and white. He walked the sidewalk, watching the dull, dark, dreary skyline pass by. It was like watching a film from the 1930s, except this one had sound. ‘Achromatopsia’ is what the doctors called it, but they could never tell him why he had it so he never let it stop him. Abbacchio could hear the city life bustle around him, each unique voice standing out to him. He could taste the smog in the air, the pollution dancing on his tongue. He could smell the unique scent of New York City, hot dog steam mixing with a middle-aged man's body odor, an unknown woman's perfume colliding with the exhaust from a bus.

Everything around him told its story in colors, but he would never know. This was how it's always been; an uncolored life made interesting only by his other fully functional senses. His job? Producing music, selling hit songs with colorless album covers. Listening to beautiful voices coming from colorless people. Releasing genius albums, consumed by colorless customers. Answering important calls with colorless managers in his colorless office. Abbacchio was so tired of the day-to-day experience being nothing more than a charcoal sketch.

It’s not that he dislikes the greyscale world he’s been placed in, not at all. Black is an elegant color to him, it reminds him of licorice, his favorite flavor as a child, and of protection. He loves grey, it makes him think of the smell of rain on pavement and compromising on a place to eat dinner. White is delicate to him, it reminds him of the snowy winters he’s used to and the fluffy clouds that dot the light grey sky.

After staying all day in his black and white studio, he returns to his black and white apartment, greeting his roommate as he walks through the door.

"Hey Nara, I'm back," Abbacchio called as he shuffled his way toward his room.

"Did you sign that uh-," Narancia paused, trying to remember the artist's name. "-Mint guy?"

Abbacchio furrowed his eyebrows and lifted one half of his upper lip in confusion, and Narancia tried again. "Mister? Mista? Whatever the fuck his name is."

"Oh, him. Yeah, he came by today and showed me his skills. I think I'm going to sign him."

"You should, we need to get a new artist out there. Imagine the headlines! 'NG Record Company: The Big Break!' " He swiped his hand in the air as he spoke.

Abbacchio sighed as his friend rambled on and on about how big their company would make it once they signed Mista. Narancia was wired to think this way; he was the company's CEO, after all.

"But don't you need to listen to his demo first?"

"I guess I do. Did you bring it home?"

"No," Abbacchio laughed. "You know I never bring work home."

Narancia sighed and propped his forehead up with his palm, leaving his head in his hand for a few seconds before lifting it back up.

"I'm so distracted right now that I forgot, I'm sorry," he explained, smiling.

"Ooh, what are you distracted about?"

Narancia chuckled after seeing the sly smile on his roommate's face. "Well, you see, it's kinda complicated."

"How about I order dinner and you tell me every little detail? I have all night," Abbacchio suggested.

"You've got yourself a deal."

Within minutes, there was a knock at the door signaling the arrival of their pizza. Abbacchio paid, closed the door, and then set the two boxes down on the coffee table. He fell back onto the couch, looking over at his best friend and whispering, "Spill."

Narancia sighed heavily. "Okay, so you know how today was my day off, right?"

Abbacchio nodded, and the other continued.

"I decided I was going to treat myself today, maybe go shopping, go out to eat lunch, grab a coffee. You know, stuff for me. Anyway, there was this really cute guy at the restaurant, who I somehow got into a conversation with. He had this platinum blonde hair and these big red eyes, but his voice blew me off my feet. He had this bright green suit on that was obviously from a top-level designer and he didn’t seem even the slightest bit insecure. He was so beautiful," Narancia gushed, thinking about the man.

"What's his name?"

"Pannacotta Fugo," the oldest swooned before continuing. "I ended up getting his number, and I'm scared to text him. I don't know how to function, I'm awkward, how the hell am I supposed to text him? I can't even pick up my phone without shaking!"

Abbacchio laughed, shaking his head; he had never seen Narancia get like this over anyone. He stopped laughing when he was hit with a remote.

“Hey, what the fuck? Quit throwing shit at me, brat!”

"Don't laugh! This is serious!"

Abbacchio rolled his eyes. "Do you want me to text him for you? I promise I won't say anything weird."

"Sure," Narancia agreed, handing Abbacchio his phone.

Narancia:

Hey, it's Narancia

The older man handed the phone back with a small jerk. “See? I told you it wouldn’t be weird.”

“Thank y-”

Ping! 

Fugo:

Hey  You know, I thought you were a pretty cool guy

Narancia squealed, ripping the phone out of Abbacchio's hand.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, what do I say?!”

“What you would have said in person, stupid bitch.” Abbacchio bit into a slice of pizza.

Narancia:

Thank you! You're really cool too  We should talk more

Fugo: 

Yeah, we should

Abbacchio was cheering for Narancia, a piece of pizza hanging out of his mouth. "I told you it would be fine! I’m happy for you, Nara!"

But even though he smiled and cheered for Narancia, he felt lonely. He didn't know what Narancia meant when he said Fugo had blonde hair, red eyes, and a green suit. He didn't know what it felt like to even crush on someone. He only knew his lonely, black-and-white world. With his mind running like this, there was no chance at sleep that night.

"I'm heading to the studio, are you coming now or waiting until we open?"

"I'm coming with you," Narancia said from the bathroom as he neatly combed his black hair and straightened his tie. Abbacchio held the door for him, yawning and rubbing his tired eyes as he walked out and climbed into the passenger side of the younger's car.

Luckily, parking was easy to find that morning, and traffic wasn’t nearly as horrific as it could have been.

"Good luck in your meeting, Nara," Abbacchio said, patting Narancia's back.

"Thanks Abba, I'll need it," he responded with a nervous smile, walking into his office. Abbacchio kept walking, making his way to his studio. He had a few good hours to make tracks before he had to call Mista's manager, and he would be damned if he didn’t put them to good use.

Time flew by as he laid down samples and recordings, creating a masterpiece. He could have cried as he played the finished track. Never in his entire career had he finished a track that fast, and never in his career had he been so proud of a track of his. As the track ended, he heard a knock on his studio door.

"Come in," he said, just loud enough for the person on the other side to hear.

"Hey, Mr. Abbacchio? Your conference call with Mr. Buccellati is about to begin," his assistant, Giorno, notified him.

"Thanks for the heads up, Giorno," he said with a nod at the blonde.

Not five minutes later, his phone rang in his office.

"Hello?"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Abbacchio," a bright tenor voice said from the other end.

"Please, call me Leone. And what should I call you?"

"Call me Bruno. Mr. Buccellati is much too formal." 

"Will do. How are you?"

"I'm great! How are you?" 

"I'm doing just fine, thanks for asking. Anyway, let's get down to business."

"Yes, how was the demo?" 

"It was beautiful, I'm quite pleased by it. Personally, I think he'll be a great addition to the company, but I have to talk to the higher-ups first."

"That's great news! Do you mind if I bring Mista in?" 

"Yes, please, call him in. I want to tell him how he did."

Abbacchio heard the door open and close softly on the other line, the shuffling of feet, and a chair being moved.

"Hi, Mr. Abbachio." 

"Mista, can I just say your demo was amazing? I was amazed by your vocals, and I think you'd be a great addition to NG. If the big man says yes, you're in. What do you say?"

"Are you really offering me a spot?" 

Abbacchio could hear the disbelief in the boy's voice. "Yes, definitely. So? What do you say?"

"Of course!" 

"And what do you say, Bruno?"

"I say let's do it." 

After that, Mista left the room and the two men decided on a date to have a meeting, and ended the call. Abbacchio had never had such a good feeling on any given day, much less about a new signee. His studio door swung open, scaring him.

"Abba? Abba!"

"Shut up, Nara. You know I'm in here."

"Listen, that was the single most boring meeting I've ever been in. All the board talked about was money, not the music!"

"Jesus Christ, calm down Narancia," Abbacchio said. "It's not like they care about the music, you know that. They aren't like us."

Narancia shrugged, plopping down in the chair beside his roommate with a heavy sigh.

"And that isn't even the worst part," he sighed. "They gave me a shit ton of paperwork. I'm gonna be here until 3 a.m.!"

"I mean," Abbacchio started, sitting up. "I could stay and help you. Maybe Giorno might even join."

The younger nodded, before asking about the conference call.

"I think it went well. Bruno certainly seemed happy, and so did Mista. I think we should sign them," Abbacchio said, looking toward Narancia.

"I think we should too."

"So it's a yes for Mista?"

Narancia smiled and nodded just as someone knocked on Abbacchio's door.

"Giorno, you don't have to knock," he said, being able to pick out his assistant's timid knocking.

"Sorry Mr. Abbachio," the young man apologized, shyly smiling.

"It's okay, but just walk in, okay?"

"Alright. Anyway, I was sent here to help Mr. Ghirga with his paperwork by the other assistant."

"You can go home if you'd like, you've worked hard all week."

"I think I'll stay and help," he says happily, smiling at the two men.

"Thank you, Giorno. You're a big help around here," Abbacchio admits.

"It's no problem, Mr. Abbacchio."

"Please, call me Abbacchio or Leone."

"O-Of course! And Mr. Ghirga, I'll get started on that paperwork now, if you'd like," Giorno said, eager to work. 

"You can call me Narancia. Here's a third of the stack, thank you again for helping me out.”

"It's my pleasure!"

The trio finished the stack of paperwork at 11 p.m., far earlier than Narancia had expected. Abbacchio dismissed Giorno, giving him half the day off the next day, then he and Narancia locked up and left for their shared apartment.

"Narancia," Giorno's voice poured into Narancia's office through the intercom.

"Yes?"

"You have a visitor by the name of Pannacotta Fugo. Permission to send him up?" 

"Oh!" Narancia jumped up out of his chair. "I mean, yes, please send him up."

"He'll be there in a few minutes." 

Knock knock knock. 

"Come in."

Fugo walked in confidently, brushing a stray hair back into place. "I was wondering... Is your lunch break free?"

"It always is," Narancia said, smiling at the man. "Why?"

"Well," he whispered, looking up. "I was wondering if you'd let me take you out for lunch?"

"No," Narancia began. Fugo looked crestfallen before he continued, "but I'll take you out."

"Why won't you let me take you out?"

"I just feel like paying for you today."

"But you did this last time...?"

Narancia laughed. "I guess I feel like paying for you every day. You better get used to it."

Fugo smiled and shook his head, chuckling. "Well, are we going or not?"

"Of course we are," Narancia confirmed, getting up from his chair and grabbing Fugo's arm to lead him out.

Narancia:

Hey Abba, I'm going with Fugo for lunch, if anyone asks, I died and I don't want them looking for me  I’ll be back at like 2 I think maybe

Abbacchio:

Okay, I’ll be in the studio  Have fun  Wear a condom, no stds

Narancia:

Ew wtf???? You’re stupid and gross and I hate you  Read by Abbacchio at 12:59

"Giorno," the sound of Abbacchio's voice booming from the intercom made Giorno jump.

"Y-Yes sir?"

"You don't need to call me sir, its okay, and come to my studio ASAP." 

"I'll be there quickly," Giorno said, cleaning his desk a little before nearly running to his boss' studio. He was nervous, anything could happen. Had he done anything wrong? Was he going to get fired? These thoughts only scared him even more as he knocked on the door.

"Giorno, what did I say about knocking? You don't have to knock on the do-," Abbacchio abruptly stopped speaking when he opened the door and saw his trainee's face. "Oh my god, are you okay? You look like a piece of paper, do you need to go home?"

"Sorry, I forgot. I'm just nervous, I don't know if I'm about to get fired or what," he said apologetically.

"Don't apologize, it's okay. But why would I fire you? You're the hardest worker here. I'm making you my understudy."

Giorno choked. "You're what?"

"Teaching you how to make music. And once you do that, I'm going to give you a production spot here."

"Why?"

"I've seen the way you study music. You clearly know a lot, I mean, you can do my paperwork with no problem."

"Thank you," Giorno managed to get out, attempting to keep his composure. He had been dreaming of this position for years.

Abbacchio pulled him into a short, father-like hug. Giorno was like his son, although he didn’t know that yet. He motioned his apprentice into the studio, and began working with him. Hours later, Giorno knew the basics of making a track, and as he sat there doing that, Abbacchio snuck out to buy them both a coffee and some snacks. They'd be there all night.

Around 3 a.m., both men had fallen asleep. Giorno had his head on Abbacchio's desk, and Abbacchio's head was on his hand, supported by his arm. Empty coffee cups and wrappers lay all around the room and clustered around the trash can. The track Giorno was working on was playing quietly in the background. A soft ballad, reminiscent of a lullaby or an 80's love song. The pages of lyrics Abbacchio was writing were scattered around his portion of the desk, his pencil attached to one of them. It was a chaotic mess, but somehow beautiful nonetheless. It must've been the coffee or the music, but a bond was created that night that could never be broken.

Narancia walked into Abbacchio's studio the next morning, looking for the roommate that never came home. Inside, he found Abbacchio and Giorno asleep, and while it was adorable to see them bonding, he needed to wake them up. Abbacchio had a meeting later that day with Mista's manager, Bruno Buccellati, and Giorno had to interview Mista and keep him out of the way.

"Hey idiot," He said, smacking Abbacchio's arm out from under his head and laughing when his forehead hid the desk. "Get up, you have a meeting in two hours."

He then gently shook Giorno awake, earning a slap to the back of the head and a few not-so-nice words from Abbacchio.

"Good morning, Giorno."

"Morning, Narancia."

"Hey, you have an interview with that Mista guy today, you need to run home and get ready. Take as long as you need, just be back before 1 p.m.," Narancia said, patting a sleepy Giorno on the back. "You too, Abbacchio."

Both producers left to get cleaned up, and Narancia spent the time they were gone texting Fugo and grabbing food for them. When they returned, he handed out coffees and breakfast to each and told them to eat quickly. Within no time, Mista and Mr. Buccellati were standing in front of Giorno's desk.

Giorno put on his brightest smile and straightened his posture. "Hello and welcome to NG Records! How may I help you today?"

"We're here for a meeting with Mr. Leone Abbacchio," the shorter out of the two strangers stated as the tallest stared in awe at Giorno.

"Which one of you is Mr- Uh-” Giorno looked down at his clipboard. “Mr. Guido Mista?"

"Me," the tallest said quietly, smoothing his shirt.

"Alright," Giorno began, smiling at his nervous antics. "When I lead Mr. Buccellati to Mr. Abbacchio’s office, you’ll continue following me."

"Sure," Mista managed to get out before Giorno stood up and began to walk down the hall. He couldn't help but stare at the man in front of him.

His small frame, perfectly braided hair, sharp jawline, slightly pointy nose, long legs, and his bright green eyes were all too much for Mista. Only when Giorno turned around did he stop staring, but even then, he continued to concentrate on the man's beautiful face, eyes forcefully wandering every once in a while to appear less obvious.

"Here you are Mr. Buccellati," Giorno said, smiling, before he knocked on the door. "Mr. Abbacchio, you have a visitor."

"Come in," Abbacchio said, Giorno immediately opening the door for the man.

"Thank you, Giorno."

"No problem, sir," he said, closing the door and motioning for Mista to follow him.

Once they reached Giorno's office, he held the door for Mista. 

"Please, have a seat."

Mista sat down quickly, watching the man's every move.

"Okay, these are pretty cliche questions, but they’re all very important, so please take them seriously and answer honestly.”

“I can do that,” Mista gave the other a sort of dopey grin, smoothing his clothes out again.

“Thank you. Can you tell me where you see yourself in five years?"

"I see myself with a family and a place at this company as an international superstar."

"Those are some big dreams," Giorno said quietly before smiling. "I like it. Why did you pick this company?"

"The others turned me down when they saw me, they thought I was 'too pretty to sing.' But then I visited Mr. Abbacchio one day, and he gladly listened to my demo. I just felt like I needed to apply here."

Giorno nodded in an approving manner, making Mista turn his head away and blush. He began writing furiously in a messy cursive that Mista couldn’t quite read, looking back up at the other every couple of sentences.

"Alright, one more question. Can I uh-," Giorno stopped, rubbing the back of his neck. "Can I have your number? It's just for business and… medical… purposes..."

Mista knew that Giorno wouldn't need his number for business, he had his manager's.

"Can I see your phone?"

In the contact information, he put "Guido Mista; for personal use," and handed the phone back to Giorno with his dopey, shit-eating grin. Giorno laughed, hiding his face a little.

"I think I should get you back to Mr. Buccellati. You answered the questions well, though. It's a yes from me."

"What are the questions for anyway? Or can you not tell me?"

"Leo- Mr. Abbachio just does them to throw people off, but also to see if they have a good heart. We don’t want any of those two-faced celebrities here."

"Oh, that makes a lot of sense," Mista said, chuckling.

"Cute," Giorno whispered, smiling and pulling out his phone.

"W-What?"

"I said cue! Mr. Ghirga just messaged me saying that Mr. Abbacchio and Mr. Buccellati are almost done. We should get going."

"Alright…"

Mista could've sworn Giorno said 'cute,' not 'cue,' but apparently he misheard. Maybe he should stop listening to his music as loud as he has been. They stopped just outside Abbacchio's office, standing awkwardly close.

"Thank you for coming, Bruno! I'll get back to you later."

"Oh, it's no problem, Leone," Bruno said, slightly flustered. "I enjoyed our conversation."

Abbacchio opened the door for Bruno, shaking his hand on the way out.

Giorno nodded toward him with a soft smile. "Shall I lead you out?"

"Of course, Mr....?"

"Giorno Giovanna, sir. But just call me Giorno," he finished, smiling at Bruno, but his eyes lingered on Mista.

"Well then of course, Giorno."

And with that, Giorno turned around and began walking with a simple, "Follow me."

"Mr. Abbacchio, you have a visitor."

"Come in. Thank you, Giorno," Abbacchio said without looking up.

"No problem, sir."

The door closed, and Abbacchio finally looked up.

It started from the man in his office, and spread around the room. Abbacchio could only sit there and watch as his office turned from black and white to an otherworldly looking place. He couldn’t help but stand silent in his shock and graze his eyes over the room.

There was this one trinket in the corner of his office that looked like it had been painted the color of anger, of endless love and passion. Of heartbreak and your wildest dreams. Primal energy, the heat of the desert, and the urge to rise to power. The color looked like the taste of cinnamon and the smell of strawberry wine.

The pencil on Abbacchio's desk had been coated with a pigment reminiscent of warmth, determination, and flamboyance. It reminded him of his success, gas-lit lamps, glow sticks, and summer. Abrasive prestigiousness. It was the taste of honey and the smell of sweet, tropical citrus.

The drink on his desk was bright, but pastel. It was the epitome of happiness; it made Abbacchio excited. It looked like what it felt like to stand in the sun on a spring day. It was both the feeling of being sick and being thrown a surprise birthday party. Intelligence and positive energy, the warmth of a fire. It was the taste of sour candies and the smell of flowers.

The plants in his office were a pleasing color. It looked like the smell of a freshly cut lawn. It was like the feeling of morning dew on grass. It reminded him of a filthy rich person, or the gut-sinking, chest-burning feeling of envy. A fresh start, a mountain retreat, and good-health. It was the taste of mushrooms and spinach and the smell of pine needles.

He focused on Bruno's eyes. They were a rich color, one that radiates the feeling of safety. Of coming home to that special someone, or swimming in the clouds. It was sadness and calmness all in the same. Just like the one before, it screamed nature, even though it seemed so unnatural. It was the taste of freshly baked muffins and the smell of the sea.

He looked at the flowers in the vase on his desk. They were a deep color, but vibrant nonetheless. He loved this one the most. You'd expect such a color to be on the shoulders of noblemen and women. It reminded Abbacchio of wisdom, dignity, independence, and devotion. It was the taste of a lavender-vanilla tea and the smell of a velvet dress doused in high-end perfume.

Finally, he looked down at the desk. Out of all the others, it matched the most with the plants in the office. It was a deep color, one crafted by Mother Earth herself. Strength, stability, and even comfort. Antiquated furniture and jewelry, nature, the safety of one’s home, and the heart of bustling cities in one. It was the taste of tiramisu and coffee and the smell of old books and fresh, soft soil full of humus.

"Leone? Are you okay? You look startled," Bruno cooed, snapping Abbacchio back to reality. 

"Y-Yeah, yep, I'm great, I just um-... Remembered something."

"Alright, let’s get started, shall we?"

"Yeah! Okay, so far, Mista is looking extremely eligible for this job."

"Great! What did you think of his demo?"

"Not only did I love it, but Mr. Ghirga, our CEO, loved it. He hardly ever approves of clients."

"Oh wow," Bruno breathed in. "That's amazing!"

"Yeah! And don't worry about what will happen to you, you'll still be his manager, but you get a job here too if he makes it through. The only hurdle is that he does have to make it through Giorno."

"The kid who brought me here?" He doesn't look threatening," Bruno was confused. What could that skinny boy even do?

"He only asks two questions, but can almost completely figure out how a person works through those two questions," Abbacchio explained. "Only two, and he knows almost everything about you but the specifics of your life story. It's freaky, but really amazing and kind of helpful."

Bruno smiled. He really liked Abbacchio's voice. And his hair. And his face... He liked everything. Although he doesn't believe in love at first sight, he feels like he's liked this man for a while. All he did was walk in the room and boom , he's crushing. Bruno fell hard for no real reason. Was it love? Bruno doubted it. It was probably just a temporary crush, started by his brain getting tired of being lonely.

He was so concentrated on the said crush that he didn't notice when Abbacchio said, "I think we're done for now."

"Bruno?"

"O-Oh, sorry, I zoned out for a second."

"This is the seventh time you've zoned out in the last 5 minutes. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Bruno said, hastily gathering his papers into a folder.

"Alright," Abbacchio muttered, not believing the man in front of him.

"Oh, before I go, take this," Bruno spoke quickly, handing Abbacchio a piece of paper, telling him goodbye, and closing the door behind him.

Abbacchio opened the piece of paper.

Bruno B. - xxx-xxx-xxxx :D

Abbacchio's heart fluttered for some unknown reason, but he only blamed it on the coffee he had earlier. He opened the door and stepped aside for Bruno. Giorno greeted him as he walked out the door and began to lead him out.

"How was the meeting, Mr. Buccellati?"

"Good! It went well," Bruno said, beginning to walk down the hall. "How was your interview with Mista?"

Giorno spoke first. "Mista did well. I still have to evaluate his answers, but overall, he's looking good."

Mista opened his mouth to speak, only to whisper, "Giorno was nice," to Bruno.

Soon the trio reached the door, and Giorno held it open for them as they exited.

"Thanks, Giorno. I'll message you later about... business stuff," Mista said quickly, waving awkwardly and running to catch up with Bruno.

Giorno bit his lip to hide a giddy smile as he walked back inside. He grabbed Narancia's attention on his way to Abbacchio's office, excited to hear how the interview went. The men almost kicked the door down in their haste to talk to Abbacchio.

"Jesus Christ!"

They had startled Abbacchio, who was already shocked as he tried to take in all the new colors around him. Hues he's never even imagined before.

"So, how'd it go?"

"What were you doing just a second ago? You’re acting suspicious."

Abbacchio rolled his eyes. "It went well, and I was... looking at everything."

"What?" Narancia laughed.

"I can see color now! I don't know how it happened, but Bruno just walked in and everything exploded before my eyes!"

"Whoa, really?" Giorno asked, eyes wide.

"Yeah!" Abbacchio laughed in excitement. "It's all so..."

"So pretty?"

"No, bright was the word I was going for, Nara. But yes, pretty too,” he paused for a second. “Is-… Is it all like this?”

“Is what all like this?” Giorno tilted his head, brows tilted down.

“The world, everything?”

Narancia grabbed Abbacchio’s hand. “We need to show you something.”

"Hurry up, idiot, you're gonna miss it all!"

"Listen," Abbacchio panted, placing his hand on his knees and hunching over in an attempt to catch his breath. "I think I'm dying."

"You'll be fine, grandpa. Just because you’re old doesn’t mean you can’t move."

"And you'll be fine without a job, I'm guessing? Cause that's where you're headed Giorno."

Giorno laughed, knowing full well Abbacchio would never fire him. "Alright, grandpa, your break is over. Let's go, you have things to see."

“I can’t see shit if you don’t let me take my blindfold off.”

Narancia almost dragged Abbacchio out of the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel, and into Battery Park in Manhattan. He told him to stand still and finally removed his blindfold. Any breath Abbacchio had regained was ripped out of him as he looked out upon the park that he had never seen in color.

"Look, Abbacchio! You see those trees?"

"Yeah?"

"Those are green and brown. And that taxi? That's yellow!"

"It's really bright."

Giorno pointed to the sky. "That's blue."

Abbacchio smiled. "I like blue… Bruno’s eyes were blue."

"You see that girl's shirt? That's orange. And Giorno's suit? That’s pink. And that bird over there! Look at that bird, that's red!"

Narancia was ecstatic about pointing all the colors out to his best friend. "Look at those flowers. They're purple, or violet, whichever you want to say," He said, beaming.

"What's that one?" Abbacchio pointed at a girl's bright hair.

"That's mint green. It's a pretty color," Giorno explained.

"What about that one?" He looked at a man's shirt.

"That's maroon.”

Abbacchio stopped, taking a deep, cleansing breath. He could've cried as he looked over that color-filled park for the first time. He never knew something could be so beautiful, so colorful. He looked over at Giorno, almost choking when he saw how green his eyes were, how his blonde hair glinted, and his suit stood out against the natural green of the park.

He turned his attention to Narancia, jumping back at the sight of his hair. He never knew black could be purple in the sun. His skin was tan and his orange accessories stood out like a neon sign against a vantablack wall. His eyes were the same royal purple Abbacchio saw on his desk.

"Wait… What do I look like?"

"Oh my god, you've never seen yourself in color before," Giorno said in disbelief.

"We need to get you a mirror now," Narancia said before grabbing Abbacchio's hand again and dragging him back onto the subway, in search of a shop with a mirror inside.

Almost two weeks later, Abbacchio had just gotten used to a life in color. He had just gotten used to the feeling he gets when someone even mentions Bruno. He had just decided on whether he was going to sign Mista or not. He had just decided on how he felt about Bruno. He had just decided that when his heart flutters and all the blood rushes to his face, it was because of Bruno. Abbacchio had just decided that he should send his first message.

Abbacchio:

Hey, it's Abbacchio  Hey, it|  H|  Hi Bruno  Hi Bru|  Hi|  Heyyy, it's that sexy man Abbacchio  Heyyy, it's that sexy|  Heyyy, |  He|  Hey Bruno, it's Abbacchio

Bruno: 

Oh, hey!  I'm glad you texted, I was just thinking about you

Abbacchio:

Oh wow, that's strange  I mean I'm not complaining  I mean I'm no|  I mean|  I|  So how are you?

Bruno:

Better now that I'm talking to you  Better now that I'm ta|  Better now t|  Bett|  I'm good, how are you?

Abbacchio:

Great, thanks for asking :)  So anyways, I have something big to tell you

Bruno: 

Ooh, what's up?

Abbacchio:

I need a countdown  10  9  8  7

Bruno: 

Abbacchio just tell me

Abbacchio:

No  6  5  4  3  2  1  I'm.....

Bruno: 

Abbacchio, I will not hesitate to block you

Abbacchio: Okay, damn  I'm signing Mista!  You both start Monday

Bruno: 

ARE YOU SERIOUS??  THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!

Abbacchio: 

Welcome to NG Records, I'm glad to have you  Welcome to NG records, I'm glad to ha|  Welcome to NG records, I'm|  Welcome to NG Records, we're glad to have you

Bruno: 

I need to thank you, can I take you out for dinner later?  I'll pay for it  Wherever you want to go  We need to talk about business

Abbacchio:

Yeah, that'd be great, see you later :)

Bruno: 

See you :)

Abbacchio met Bruno at a semi-crowded, semi-fancy restaurant, dressed like he was going to an important meeting.

"How many?"

"Just two," Bruno said, smiling at the hostess behind the desk, who quickly became flustered.

"O-Okay, right this way!"

"Looks like you have a girlfriend," Abbacchio teased, wiggling his eyebrows at Bruno.

"What? I don't even like girls."

"What?"

Bruno shrugged, sitting down at the table the hostess stopped at. Abbacchio brushed off what Bruno had said, figuring he was just joking.

Not long after they had gotten their food, they began talking about business. And not long after that, they got sidetracked.

"So, I need advice."

"Spill," Abbacchio said, placing his hand on his fist, propping his chin on it and smirking at Bruno, who felt his heart leap out of his chest.

"Alright.  This is gonna sound like I’m back in high school… I think I have a small crush on one of my friends, and I don't know how to even function around them. I want to tell them, but I can't because I don't know how."

"What are they like?"

"Well," Bruno began, the dreamy smile already on his face. "He- They're really nice to me, but also mean, but in a joking way. They really like music, and they're really cool and hot and I just-."

He sighed, looking at Abbacchio. "You know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Abbacchio confirmed, eyeing Bruno. He was strangely envious of the person Bruno was gushing over.

"So what do I do?"

"I'd tell them as soon as possible. Don't keep them waiting."

"Thank you so much," Bruno said, grinning from ear-to-ear.

"So what do they look like?"

"Oh, well, they have the softest looking skin, such a sharp nose, and these eyes that have a color I’ve never seen replicated. I love looking at them and I love being with them. It’s been nice because I’ve spent a good deal of my time with them recently."

Abbacchio unknowingly formed fists under the table, clenching his jaw and forcing himself to smile. Why was he so angry? He doesn't even know Bruno that well.

"Maybe it's just a false alarm," he thought to himself.

Soon the night ended, and the two men parted ways. Abbacchio took the shortest route home, eager to get Narancia's opinion on the situation.

"I'm home, stupid."

"Hey, you're back! How'd it go?"

"It was... good."

Narancia raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"

Abbacchio sighed. "He was talking about his crush and I just-," he looked around. "I got jealous, but I don't know why. Why was I jealous?"

"Ooh, sounds like someone has a crush," Narancia teased, poking Abbacchio repeatedly.

"I do not have a crush."

"Yes you do, don't deny it!"

"I don't ."

"Whatever makes you sleep at night," Narancia said, shrugging.

About three months later, Bruno stood outside a nice sweet shoppe, waiting for Abbacchio. He was eager to see Abbacchio, even though he sees him every day at work. He was excited to see Abbacchio even though they meet almost every day for lunch. He was excited to see Abbacchio, even though they talk for hours a day.

"Hey!"

"Hey," Abbacchio said, chuckling at the way Bruno ran up to him like a puppy that hasn't seen their owner in a year. They gave one another a friendly hug, both of them wishing it were more.

"Fugo has our food out on a table for us already, so we should go inside."

"Fugo? That's the name of the guy Narancia won't shut up about."

"Oh really? Someone I know is head-over-heels too, I'll tell you about it inside."

"But wait, how did you know what I'd want?"

"You order the exact same thing every single time we come here," Bruno said, laughing at his forgetfulness. Abbacchio rolled his eyes in a playful manner and opened the door for Bruno.

The pair sat down at their usual table, waving at Fugo before continuing their conversation.

Bruno took a few shaky breaths. “I need to talk to you about something."

"Shoot."

"Well uh..."

"Come on, you can tell me."

"Y-You know what my shirt is made out of? Boyfriend material."

Abbacchio laughed. "That's cute, who's the lucky one?"

"You."

Abbacchio shook his head. "Come on, quit playing."

"I'm not! I really do like you, Leone. A lot, actually," Bruno said shyly, awkwardly smiling and looking away from the man he was talking to.

"I-"

"I know you don't like me back. I know you're straight. I know whatever is about to come out of your mouth. You don't have to tell me."

"Bruno, you're wrong. To be honest, I have feelings for you too and I have for a while now. So yes, your shirt is boyfriend material, but now it's Leone’s boyfriend material."

"What?"

"We are dating, right? Or do I have to ask?"

"I-I don't know, do you want to?"

"I think I do. Do you?"

"I think I do too."

Abbacchio smiled. "Then it's settled, you're mine."

"I- Okay," Bruno gave in, grinning like an idiot.

"Leone’s boyfriend, Bruno," Abbacchio mumbled to himself. "Has a nice ring to it."

Bruno pushed him slightly, a big, blindingly bright smile on his face.

"So anyway, I think I have an idea for Mista's first album."

"Yeah?"

"Imagine this. Pop, but with more acoustic backgrounds and lyrics that aren't all about love."

"I like that a lot, actually," Bruno said, his eyes lighting up.

Bruno watched as Abbacchio's smile widened when he began talking about music. He watched as Abbacchio rambled on and on about how much he was going to enjoy making Mista's tracks. He watched as Abbacchio fell into his own world, a dreamy smile on his face.

Abbacchio rambled on and on for hours, and finally, he was overcome with the sudden urge to sleep. He said his goodbyes to his newfound lover, and headed home.

"How did it go, lover boy?"

"It was amazing, Nara."

"Tell me about it. Everything."

Abbacchio almost exploded with words because he had so much to say. He talked and talked, then talked some more. Narancia listened for an hour or two, and then it was his turn to speak.

"So... I think I'm going to ask Fugo out soon."

"Don't fucking chicken out this time."

"No promises," Narancia said, shrugging. "Also, guess what I saw at the studio today?"

"What?"

"Giorno was flirting with Mista. And guess what else? Mista returned the flirting!"

"I fucking called it," Abbacchio said, smirking. “I told you!”

"Giorno, don't come in to work today." 

"Why?"

"Just don't, okay?" Abbacchio urged through the phone.

"Okay?"

The call ended, and Giorno was still as confused as before. The more he thought about it, the better a day off sounded. It wasn't until he had finished getting ready that he realized why Abbacchio said not to come into work.

Knock, knock, knock. 

He swung open the door to see Mista standing there, grinning and holding a bag.

"Guido?"

"Don't question it, I'm going to set this down inside and then we're going to go get breakfast."

Giorno laughed, having no idea what was happening. Mista came back out of the kitchen and began talking.

"After breakfast, we're gonna go and play hide-and-seek in the woods."

"Why hide and seek?"

"I'm trying to low-key get rid of you and if I do this then I can act like I couldn't find you and just leave," Mista said, giggling. "Actually, I just think it'll be fun."

Giorno fake-pouted, shoving Mista out of the door and following him out.

"And then we can do whatever you want."

"Why didn't you tell me beforehand?"

"Because your dumb ass is really predictive, and I knew that if Abbacchio gave you  the day off, you'd go somewhere. And I'm determined not to be left out."

The small cafe was packed with people, but the couple found a nice, tiny table on the outside patio area. They ate in near silence, until Mista spoke softly.

"Giorno?"

"Yeah?"

"I have something to tell you, but first you have to promise me that this won't make anything weird between us," Mista said worriedly, his fingers twitching out of nervousness.

"Of course it won't," Giorno reassured his friend. "What is it?"

"I think-," Mista stopped, looking around quickly. "I think I like you. I mean, it's obvious, isn't it? I'm always looking at you and trying to make you smile because that beautiful grin is all that I live for, I'm always trying to get closer to you, even though I know you'll never feel the same, I'm always trying to take you on a date, but I call it friendly just so you won't be suspicious, and I- Fuck, I'm rambling," Mista spoke in one burst of air, the sentences pouring out of his mouth at break-neck speed.

Giorno's entire body shut down and went into panic mode. Should he tell Mista how he feels? Should he wait? Should he- 

"I like you too," the words escaped his mouth before he could stop them, much louder than he intended.

Shit. Now everyone is looking at them. But the thought of everyone else looking at them melted away when Mista's face lit up. Giorno felt like he had just run a marathon, his heart felt like it was planning on jumping out of his chest and into Mista's palm.

"You do?"

"I- Yes, I do."

Mista had to turn away in an attempt to comprehend what had just occurred, his face glowing and his heart almost punching his rib-cage. He attempted to calm himself down, but with Giorno in front of him, that didn't work.

"Guido? Are you okay?"

"No, I-," Mista stopped speaking, unable to find the words.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No, I just didn't think you'd feel the same about me. No one ever has."

"Well, I do, and I don't think it's going away anytime soon," Giorno said softly, smiling and grabbing Mista's hand from across the table.

Mista grinned as he studied Giorno's smile. The smile that brings him so much joy. The smile that he'd do anything for. Giorno laughed as he watched Mista slip into his own world.

Should he ask him out? Would it be too early? Maybe he should wait. 

Mista was dreaming about asking Giorno to be his boyfriend. Maybe he could do it when they play hide-and-seek. Maybe he could do it when he takes Giorno back home. Maybe he could do it at work the next day with a small song.

Giorno wonders what Mista thinks about when he zones out. Animals? Music? Food? The possibilities are endless. 

"But what if he's thinking about you?" A voice in the back of Giorno's head says.

"Impossible," Giorno answers back internally.

Later that evening, after they had played in the woods, Mista brought Giorno home.

"Hey, do you want to spend the night? We could have a movie marathon."

"Oh, I was already planning on it," Mista said, opening the door. He walked into the kitchen where he had put that bag down originally and took out four things: two bottles of wine and two boxes of cookies.

"Let's get this fucking party started."

If someone had told Mista three years ago that he'd be a worldwide superstar, he would have asked them what drugs they had done that day. If someone had told him three years ago that he'd be married to the man of his dreams, or that he'd have his newest album pre-ordered by 65 million people, he would have put them in a mental facility. But here he is, waking up next to the love of his life each day, preparing to release a new album to his plethora of international fans.

Abbacchio and Bruno's relationship gets better each day, as does Narancia and Fugo's. In fact, Narancia's relationship is moving faster than Abbacchio's, but Abbacchio likes things to be a little slower.

"Hey Nara," Abbacchio said, walking into Narancia's office.

"What's up, ugly?"

"I need you to sign this, dumbass," Abbacchio feigned a mean-spirited snarl, handing Narancia a clipboard.

"Why can't you just forge my signature?"

"Because you're stupid, and you can't fake stupid."

Abbacchio whipped around as he heard Bruno's bubbly laugh coming from the door.

"Hey, Leone, can I have you for a second?"

"Yeah," he said, smiling and stepping outside the office door.

"I'm taking you out tonight. When you get off, go home, get dressed up, and be ready at 6."

"I-"

"Nope, no objections," Bruno said softly, placing his hand on Abbacchio's cheek and grinning.

"O-Okay," Abbacchio muttered nervously, the hand on his cheek spawning butterflies in his stomach. His heart fluttered as Bruno leaned down to kiss him quickly before going back to his job. He stood there, smiling and blushing as if he had been embarrassed, for a few minutes. He walked back into Narancia's office, only to grab the clipboard and leave.

4:58 p.m.

It was so close to Abbacchio getting off work.

4:59 p.m.

All he could think about is getting home and getting dressed up.

5:00 p.m.

Abbacchio fell out of his chair in his haste to get home. He waved to everyone as he almost ran out of the building, Narancia trying to keep up.

"Wait up! You're riding home with me, stupid!"

"Hurry up, dick! I have to get home!"

"Jesus fuck," Narancia panted, placing his hands on his knees and bending over after finally reaching the car. Abbacchio was already inside and buckled up when Narancia raised up to open the door.

The car ride was short, as Abbacchio wouldn't let his best friend go under 50 mph. Once they reached the apartment buildings, Abbacchio jumped out of the car and hurdled toward their door with the key. In he went, bounding toward his closet, and yelling at Narancia to come help him.

"Wear purple. You look hot in purple, all homo."

"Okay, so a purple shirt and...?"

"Hold on, let me go get something," Narancia said, jumping up and racing to his room. He came back with black dress pants.

"I am not wearing that."

"Yes you are."

"No," Abbacchio said, shaking his head. “I don’t like the loose-fitting shit.”

"Yes, you'll look hot. Let's go, we don't have all day."

Abbacchio changed pants, tucking the front of his shirt into the pants. Narancia squawked, clapping his hands and nodding.

"Do I really look that good?"

"Let's just say that if I was straight, I'd go gay for you."

They were sitting on the bed talking when Bruno rang the doorbell at 6:00 p.m. sharp. Abbacchio shot up off the bed, and Narancia gave him a quick pep talk.

"Go get your man," he said, slapping the older’s back swiftly before pushing him into the living room and waving to him as he left the building.

"You look great, Leone," Bruno mused, fixing his white dress shirt and tight-fitting pants.

"So do you."

"What are we doing again?"

"You'll see," Bruno spoke, slyly smirking at the man in his passenger seat.

They pulled into the parking lot at the park. Bruno got out and opened Abbacchio's door for him. He pulled a picnic basket and blanket out of his trunk, smiling like an idiot.

"Come on, handsome," Bruno said, walking toward a clearing in the middle of a couple trees. He laid the blanket down, and sat the basket on top of it, beckoning Abbacchio over. He sat down quickly and cleared a spot for him. They ate, talking the whole time. They talked about everything from political scandals to types of trees. By the time they had finished talking, night had fallen. New York was still awake, its lights shining brighter than the sun. But where the two men sat, there was nothing to be seen but the moon and stars.

"The stars are really beautiful," Bruno muttered, looking over at Abbacchio. "But I've seen prettier."

"What could possibly be prettier than this?"

"You," Bruno said before he was pushed off the blanket.

"Oh my god, shut up," Abbacchio said, suddenly flustered. Bruno laughed, rolling back onto the blanket. He planted a kiss on the older man's cheek, grinning at him.

Later that evening, as Bruno was dropping Abbacchio off at his apartment, he said something that shook Abbacchio's world.

"Hey, Leone? You know I love you, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Do you love me?"

"With my whole existence."

"Do you think you might want to live with me?"

"Of course!"

"Will you?"

"Yes!" Abbacchio yelled as Bruno began to jump up and down in excitement. He grabbed Abbacchio, kissing him deeply. Narancia watched through the peephole before opening the door and scaring the couple.

"Really, Nara? You fucking asshole!"

Narancia only laughed, and Bruno frowned.

"Well, start packing your stuff, and I um... I love you," Bruno said shyly, walking back to his car.

Bruno was driving home from the record company building, a smile on his face as he thought about them having a life together one day. He laughed to himself, thinking about their future kid calling Abbacchio old. He knows it's too much to ask, they've only been in a relationship for three and a half years and they had both been determined to take it slowly. They don't even live together yet. Sure, they're always over at the other's house, but they don't live together.

However, Bruno pushed the worrisome thoughts aside, resuming his thoughts about a family life with Abbacchio. Watching him put makeup on their daughter, or hearing the sound of Abbacchio's laughter from the side when their son hits him over the head with a ball he tossed. Cooking for Abbacchio when he's sick, taking the kids to work, them sitting on a couch together, watching Giorno play toy dinosaurs with their son, and Mista playing dress up with their daughter. He thought about how they'd make good grandparents, how Abbacchio would be a good husband. He thought about how beautiful Abbacchio would look after waking up in his arms. He thought about how they'd stay up all night making tracks.

Bruno thought about how he would propose.

Now that was something he couldn't just smirk at. His whole face shifted to accommodate his smile. That big, bright smile that his Abbacchio loves so much. It was only a couple of thoughts, but those thoughts made Bruno the happiest person alive. His eyes were like crescent moons, his nose scrunched up, his teeth on full display.

It all happened so fast. 

He only saw the rogue car fly down the road toward him, not the drunk driver passed out in the seat.

It all happened so fast. 

Bruno swerved, trying to avoid the car, but it failed. He shut his eyes, cowering as the uncontrollable vehicle slammed into his at breakneck speed.

It all happened so fast. 

Those soft, bright blue eyes never opened back up. His smile wasn't there anymore, but if you looked for it, you could find it, limp and hidden by blood and glass shards. His body was crushed. His last thought was of Abbacchio. His Abbacchio.

It all happened so fast. Too fast. 

Abbacchio blinked. When he opened his eyes again, the world was grey. He shut them again, rubbing them in disbelief. He opened his eyes again, only to be met with a black and white world.

"Giorno? Narancia?"

Both of them hummed in response, never looking up to see the sudden fear in his eyes.

"I can't see color anymore, I don't know what happened... All I did was blink... It's gone, all of it."

"What?"

"What happened?"

"I don't know… I don’t know, I don’t know! Maybe I should call Bruno... I mean, I did start seeing colors after meeting him," Abbacchio reasoned, picking up his phone.

Ring...... Ring...... Ring...... No answer. Abbacchio tried again, getting the same result. Finally, he left a voicemail.

"Bruno, are you okay? Call me as soon as you get this, I need to talk to you. I-... I love you, Bruno. Please tell me you're okay." 

Then he hung up. He stood up, pacing around the studio.

"He's probably asleep, don't stress yourself, Abbacchio," Giorno spoke softly, hugging his mentor. Abbacchio, though he thought that was strange of Giorno to do, hugged back. Narancia grabbed Abbacchio's hand, drawing on it to calm Abbacchio down. He needed affection.

"Why don't I drive you home, get you to sleep, and then Giorno and I will finish this project, okay?"

Abbacchio nodded, too tired and distraught to argue. Giorno helped him out of the building, and Narancia ran to start the car.

The two men had just finished getting Abbacchio to sleep when Giorno felt his phone ring in his pocket.

"Hold on, Narancia, I need to take this," he said, slipping out of the room and onto the balcony.

"Guido? Are you okay?"

"N-No," his voice cracked, he sounded heartbroken. "Gio..." 

"What happened, baby? Do I need to come get you?"

"N-No, it's not me... Bruno, he-," Mista stopped abruptly, sobs racking through his body. Giorno felt his heart drop into his stomach, every strand of hair on his body standing straight up.

"Bruno? Bruno what?"

"C-Car accident- I- He- It-," Mista tried to speak, but it wouldn't come out.

"He was in a car accident? Is he okay?"

"No," Mista finally got out, breaking down with a near blood-curdling wail. He was close to screaming, the urge to break everything he owned just to feel something other than his heart being ripped to shreds. His father figure was gone. One of his best friends is dead.

"Is he hurt?"

"He's dead, G-Giorno, he's dead and I can't-." 

"Oh my god.... Guido... I'm so sorry, I-," Giorno, as strong as he is, teared up. His voice began cracking and his breathing became shallow.

"Giorno, don't cry..." 

"But I-... He just-," Giorno couldn't breathe. He couldn't think, and hung up with Mista after a hurried goodbye and frantic ‘I love you’s. He ran back inside, salty tears staining his beautiful tan skin, breathing rapid, teetering on hyperventilation.

"Narancia," Giorno called, his voice wavering.

"Giorno?"

"Bruno just- He- Car accident- Guido- They said he- Oh my fucking god-”

"What? Slow down," Narancia interrupted him, fear slowly seeping into his veins.

"Bruno was in a w-wreck... He didn't make it," Giorno muttered, losing his grip on his emotions. Narancia pulled him into a tight embrace.

"I- Abba... How are we going to tell him? We-," Narancia stopped, briny, almost painful tears threatening to fall from his usually happy eyes. "We can't tell him right now. L-Let's wait for tomorrow."

Giorno agreed with a solemn nod, weeping into Narancia’s shoulder.

"Abbacchio, Bruno passed away last night in a car accident." 

It sounded like he was underwater, like he had suddenly lost his hearing. All he could hear was the rush of his own blood to his head and back down to the rest of his body. Abbacchio never knew that a simple sentence could hurt him so badly, that it could destroy him. His face became a slide for salty tears, his eyes bloodshot. His hands were raw from hitting the wall in anger. He was furious with himself for not getting to say goodbye. Yes, he did say, "I love you," but he wanted Bruno to know how he truly felt so terribly bad. And now, he couldn't let him know.

Never could he move in with him. Never could they get married. Never could they raise children. Never could they spend their lives together.

"the night after you left i woke up so broken the only place to put the pieces were the bags under my eyes" - rupi kaur, "milk and honey"

Abbacchio never experiences color again. How could he? All the color in his world left when Bruno did. All the color died when the love of his life did. He spends every waking hour staring at the spot on his bed where Bruno would lay, wishing it weren't empty. He spends every hour of the day having to tell himself over and over that he can't message or call Bruno. He spends every hour of the day convincing himself it isn't just a bad dream that he'll soon wake up from.

Abbacchio constantly reads over their messages, constantly listens to voicemails Bruno had left him. Abbacchio constantly watches videos, constantly stares at photos. Abbacchio constantly sleeps so he doesn’t have to be awake to feel the pain. Abbacchio constantly misses meals because he feels that if he eats, it’ll be easier for him to stay alive. Abbacchio constantly rain-checks on his friends' plans because they don’t deserve to see him like this. Abbacchio constantly denies that Bruno is dead.

"No, he isn't really, maybe he's just going off the map for a while. Yeah, that's it, he's not dead, just hidden. He'll come back soon," Abbacchio repeats in his head, over and over, one million times a day. Abbacchio knows Bruno is gone, but he doesn't want to believe it. He doesn't want to face the fact that he'll never see that beautiful smile again. He doesn't want to believe that he'll never hear, "I love you," from Bruno again. Abbacchio doesn't want to believe the nevers. He isn't okay, and never will be.

He tells his therapist that he's getting better each day, but he deteriorates every time that comes out of his mouth. He puts on a brave face for Mista, but breaks down between meetings. He tells Giorno he's fine, but can only think about how much he's hurting. He lets Narancia feed him, but throws it all back up and refills his stomach with liquor. He promised Bruno he'd stay safe, but here he stands, a bottle of pills in his right hand and a bottle of high-proof liquor in his left.

It was nothing his friends did. They loved him, they took care of him even though they were hurting just as badly. They tried to help him in any way they could. Abbacchio was just too far gone to fix, and his friends were far too late to help.

The top of the pill bottle clatters against the floor, and Abbacchio stares into the opening, met with a hundred little white pills, all staring back at him. He carefully opens the bottle of alcohol, not wanting to waste a drop. He had to do this. He needed to do this.

Within seconds, the whole bottle of pills is down his throat, a hefty swig of the 192-proof liquor on its tail.

Within seconds, the lethal concoction was coursing through Abbacchio's veins.

Within seconds, Abbacchio was taking another drink of the booze in his hand.

First, he was only dizzy. Next, sleepy and dizzy. Then short of breath. Abbacchio couldn't breathe. He couldn't stop himself from falling to the floor. He tried breathing, but received little air from the attempt. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest, delivering the man-made venom to his body. He could feel his organs shut down one by one. He drew the biggest breath he could, only to say three words.

"I'm coming, Bruno." 

His eyes grew heavy as he felt his heart rate slow dramatically, almost coming to a complete stop. He became numb as his whole body stopped functioning, his heart beating for the last time, sending its last pump of tainted blood through his veins.

He'll finally see color again after all this time. He’ll never have to be without the love of his life again.

     Dear Nara, I'm so sorry I had to do this. I really didn't want it to come to this, but I was struggling through each day. I really love you, you were such a great friend and I'm glad I got to share my life with you. I want you and Panna to have half of my possessions, and Giorno and Guido to have the other half. Please use my savings for your future kids and Giorno's future kids. I want Giorno to have my studio and inherit my half of the company with Guido. I love you, and I’m so sorry. - Leone Abbacchio

     Dear Giorno, You were like a son to me, and I'm so sorry for this. I already told Narancia this, but I want you and Guido to get half of my savings for your future kids, and half of my possessions. I want you to take my place at NG Records, and my studio is in your name. You and Guido are getting my half of the company. Please take care of yourself. I love you. I’m so proud of you and I’m so sorry. - Leone Abbacchio

     Dear Guido, Please take care of Giorno for me. I'm giving you both my share of the company, half of my possessions, and half of my savings for you to use on your future kids. I'm so glad I got to watch you become a worldwide superstar, and I'm glad that I'll get to watch you grow even more. You were one of the best decisions I ever made. Remember to take care of yourself. I love you, and I’m so sorry. - Leone Abbacchio.

And finally, through a bittersweet chain of events, Abbacchio was reunited with his true love forever. His soulmate. His Bruno.

[lustastarte]

about me

hey everyone :)

i am 20 and my pronouns are he/him and they/them.

this is NOT a space for bigots (homophobes, transphobes (this includes terfs), racists, etc.).

i ask that those under 18 do not interact with any nsfw posts of mine.

you can find me and my works at @lustastarte on both ao3 and wattpad

thank you for reading and i appreciate any reblogs, likes, and comments! <3

[lustastarte]

♤ drop that | caejose ♤

genre: fluff/angst (some sexual themes)

joseph meets his soulmate in the club, caesar believes he's just another friend with benefits

published: 2023

modern au

Blinding neon lights, incoherent chatter, deafeningly loud dance music, scent of sweat and sex, taste of alcohol in the air. Mindless bodies moving with and against each other, slurred 'I love you's and scattered kisses, liquor-stained breath meets lust-tainted flesh. The uncontrollable primal instinct to hold someone close and dance as one, separate and together at the same time. Joseph can no longer tell if he loves the club for these qualities or hates it. Yet, he finds himself there every single weekend, 10 p.m. to 3 a.m., getting drunk out of his mind and dancing with whoever will dance with him. He's not normally picky, but tonight wasn't normal. His eyes were trained on the man that had just walked in. Out of all the attractive people in the room, he was standing out to Joseph. He didn’t know if it were his voluminous blonde hair, his body-complimenting outfit, or the strange marks on his cheeks, but he had Joseph’s full attention from the moment he walked in.

"Do you know who that is?"

"Yeah, he's a regular," the bartender, Lisa, said.

"I mean, does he have a name? Do you know him?"

"Oh! His name is Caesar, and I think he's coming over to you right now," she finished, wiggling her eyebrows and walking off to make another patron’s drink with a simple, "Have fun, use a condom."

The other regular made his way to the bar, nodding at Joseph.

"I've seen you here a lot," Caesar yells over the music. "You dance well."

"Yeah, I'm here every weekend. Why don't you let me show you some moves?"

"Only if you'll buy drinks."

"Deal."

One drink became three. Three became five, and Caesar decided he was finally ready to dance. Joseph grabbed his hand and led him gently to the dance floor. The once reserved Italian was freed by the alcohol, allowing his lust for the British-American man to shine through. Their bodies moved to the beat, working together to attract one another. Soon, their lips moved in sync, crashing into one another in an attempt to gain dominance. Caesar grinded on Joseph, urging him to do the same. Joseph had had more than enough. Caesar was teasing him relentlessly, and now he wants to take him home. Who wouldn’t? It wasn’t like Joseph got a chance to be with someone this attractive often. So, like any normal person would do, he grabbed Caesar’s hand, led him out of the club as quickly as possible, and hailed a taxi.

The backseat of the cab was overflowing with sexual tension. And not long after the men stepped inside the front door, Caesar was pinned down on his bed, with Joseph preparing to make that night something neither of them could forget. He would be damned if this strange man ever forgot about him.

There was something comforting about Joseph. Caesar felt safe talking to him at the bar, dancing with him on the dance floor, and lying under him while being showered with wet kisses and pillow talk. He even felt safe enough after their rendezvous that he could fall asleep, which was uncommon for him. He actually slept. And if you asked him, he'd tell you it was the best goddamn night of sleep he's ever gotten.

Joseph squinted, groaning. The sun was shining directly into his eyes, and his head hurt like hell. He turned over, hoping to get a small nap in, feeling his phone buzz under him. Only when he opened his eyes did he realize he was not in his own bed, and there wasn’t just a couple of pillows next to him, but a half-naked, grown man beside him, sleeping peacefully. Last night was a blur for him. All he remembered was drinking and dancing. Nothing more. He did, however, faintly remember the man's name. Caesar. Though he didn’t agree to it, his job was calling him away from the bed. But, hoping to meet him again, he left Caesar a note.

Dear Caesar,Sorry I had to leave, I had to go to work. If you want to talk sometime, here's my number.xxx-xxx-xxxxThanks for last night :)Hopefully I'll see you soon,Joseph Joestar.

At work, he couldn't focus. He couldn't even get a simple black coffee with cream right. He forgot the fucking coffee. Joseph could only think of the beautiful man he woke up next to. He could only imagine the things that drunk him got to see and do, because god knows he can’t remember it. His mind wandered all day.

"I'll bet his lips taste like strawberries, and his skin tastes like cake. I wonder if his hips are wide enough to keep him balanced on my face. I'll bet my hand fits perfectly in the small of his back, and that one day, that gloriously large ass will be mine," Joseph would think from time to time, accidentally arousing himself with obscene thoughts and images running through his head.

He could just imagine Caesar sprawled out on the bed, begging to be touched. He could just imagine watching him unravel under him. He could just imagine him riding him into oblivion. He could just imagine the beautiful noises that he would make. He could just imagine him screaming his name as he drills into him relentlessly. He could just imagine teasing and playing with him, watching him whimper and shake. He could just imagine being his nightly routine. He could just imagine holding him in his arms. He could just imagine kissing him goodnight. He could just imagine his head buried in his chest. He could just imagine running his fingers through his hair and drawing on his back, lulling him to sleep. He could just imagine him lightly kissing him awake. He could just imagine being his daily routine. He could just imagine calling Caesar his.

Wait. What the hell is he talking about? It was just a one night stand. That's it. He probably won't ever see Caesar again. He should just forget it. Yeah. Just forget it.

Joseph’s entire work day went like this. Simple orders, even regulars he saw every single day were screwed up. He couldn't even write a name on a cup. Just forget it, Joseph. Pull yourself together. But he can't. You can do this, forget him. Joseph can't get him out of his head. Caesar who? You don’t know him. Doesn’t ring a bell.

Joseph just can't forget.

He sighed as he took off his apron and name tag. He really hated working at a coffee shop. The orders were outrageous, the people were rude, and worst of all, the lovers flocked to the building. They were all so sickeningly sweet to one another and it made him want to puke and cry at the same time. He waved to his coworkers and walked quickly out of the building, hurriedly driving home. After opening the door, his face lit up. Finally, he could check his phone! He whipped out the small device and grinned when he saw the notification he had waited for all day.

xxx-xxx-xxxx 1hr agohey joseph, it's caesar

xxx-xxx-xxxx 1hr agodo you wanna meet up sometime? maybe when we aren’t drunk?

xxx-xxx-xxxx 1hr agoi'd be more than happy to, just not today. i can't even walk :/ limping around my house as we speak

Joseph smiled. He didn't know whether it was because Caesar wanted to try to take it further, or because he couldn't walk and he knew it was his fault.

Joseph:

hey, i'm glad you texted i really want to be something more with you| i really want to be something more wi i really want to be someth| i really wan| i re| do you mean meeting up as a date?| do you mean meeting up| do you mean me| do you m| i really hope you mean more than friends| i really hope you mean mo| i really hope you| i rea| i think i like you| i think| i'd love to meet up :D i hope you feel better btw, i'm sorry if i was too rough with you

Caesar:

okay, how about this saturday at 7:30? we could do whatever you want to do also please don't apologize, it was amazing. in my book, it's only good sex if you can't walk afterward ;)

Joseph:

i'll make sure to remember that ;)) and saturday sounds great! you don't have to dress up, just be ready for me to come get you

Caesar:

sounds like a plan :) also i have a question is this a date date or just a friendly date?

Joseph:

whichever you want it to be

Caesar:

then it's a friendly date : ) 

Joseph:

oh, i was kinda hoping it'd be a date date| oh, i was kinda hoping it| oh, i was kin| oh okay

Caesar:

are you upset?

Joseph:

very| yes, i really like you| yes, i rea| yes,| i really fucking like you and you're friendzoning me yes i'm upset why the fuck wouldn't i be| i really fucking like you and you're  friendzoning me yes i'm upset| i really fucking like you and you're friendzoning| i really fucking like you| i really| nah, i'm good anyway, i'll see you saturday i gotta sleep, i have a really early shift tomorrow night caesar

Caesar:

oh okay good, i thought i had upset you goodnight joseph

Joseph put his phone on his nightstand and sat down on his bed, placing his head in his hands.

"Maybe it was just a one night stand. Maybe I'm in over my head. He doesn't like me," he thought, changing out of his clothes and into sweatpants. He fell onto his bed, frowning.

When he woke up, he shot him a quick text.

Joseph:be ready at 7:30

And then he began his dull, lifeless work routine.

Caesar was nervous. But why? It's just a friendly meet-up.

He was so nervous, in fact, that he had called his friends and fellow teachers, asking them to come over.

"I just don't know why I feel like this!"

"You might have a little crush," one of them suggested. "I felt like that when I first met up with my husband."

"How? You had only talked through instagram before you met."

"Yeah, but I fell for his personality, and I knew he was hot. But I mean, 7 years of keeping up a long distance relationship was worth it. Look at us no-!"

"We get it," another interjected. "You guys are now happily married and have two sons. Quit rubbing it in our faces."

"I'm not, I'm just-"

"Rubbing it in our faces," the third said with a blank face.

"But I-"

"It's like talking about having a great wife in a room full of newly divorced people."

The first friend sighed violently.

Caesar furrowed his brows, leaning forward. "But how is that supposed to help me? You and your husband were already dating when he got off the plane. Joseph and I aren't!"

"Well, sucks to be you, I guess?"

"Try staying casual with him. Don't try too hard," the second friend said quietly. "Be calm."

Caesar nodded, listening intently as the others gave their input. Not long after they had all left, the time was approaching 7:30, and the teacher was nervously sitting in his living room.

Honk! Honk!

The man jumped up as fast as possible, grabbing his phone and keys, and walked out the door. At the restaurant, the two talked about everything from jobs to friends, and Caesar’s fears slowly disintegrated. They had a real connection.

Joseph couldn't breathe. Caesar looked so damn beautiful in his outfit. He wasn't even wearing anything fancy, but he looked like a prince. The younger man could just feel himself falling in love. Every time Caesar smiled, his heart flipped. Every time Caesar laughed, he wanted to tell him every joke he's ever heard just to hear him laugh again. Every time he spoke, Joseph could only hear him. With every heartbeat, he fell harder and harder for Caesar.

Caesar was stunned. Joseph was cute when he smiled, funny when he didn't intend to be. Joseph was kind when he was not required to be, quiet when others were talking. He was a good guy when it was almost impossible to be. And Caesar? He was falling at the speed of light. But Joseph doesn't feel the same about him. He knows this, and sadly, has come to terms with the fact. Maybe if he stopped focusing on him altogether- Look at how he smiles when he takes a bite of his food... Stop it!

However, when Caesar was dropped off later at his place, the only thing running through his mind was him. Caesar just can't clear his head.

"Let me see you drop that like you did the night we met," Joseph whispered deeply, running his hand over Caesar’s ass.

"Only if you're willing to pull an all-nighter," the blonde said with a wink, suggestively trailing his fingers down Joseph’s chest.

"Deal."

The two men were spending tonight at the club. Joseph wanted to see if Caesar really liked him or not; Caesar wanted to have fun and get drunk.

The brunette felt the blood rush to his pelvis as Caesar danced. The way he moved should be illegal. The way he looked at Joseph drove the latter insane. The way he felt him up, innocently brushing his fingers over the younger's growing bulge 'by accident.' The way his lips moved perfectly against his should be impossible. Caesar made Joseph want to fuck him on the spot.

Caesar’s lips trailed down Joseph's neck, the latter groaning softly and tightening his grip on Caesar. Joseph's hands slid down Caesar's back, stopping at his ass. The blonde boy began sucking on his date’s neck, making sure he left a mark. Joseph brought one arm up to Caesar's hair, running his fingers through it before using it to pull his head up. The hand traced his jawline, tilting his head up so he and Joseph were eye to eye.

He froze as he saw the almost animalistic look in Joseph's eyes.

"We're going home. Now."

Caesar wasted no time hailing a cab for them and no time dragging Joseph into his room.

When Caesar opened his eyes, he heard his door open and close.

"Caesar?"

The older man pretended to sleep as Joseph walked into the room. "Caesar? Oh," the younger whispered. "He's still asleep."

Joseph walked over to Caesar, kissing him on the forehead. "God, you're so beautiful. I don't think there's a moment in each day that you aren't. You were exceptionally beautiful last night," the brunette said with a smirk. "I'll be back in a second."

And with another forehead kiss, he was gone.

"he only whispers i love you

as he slips his hands

down the waistband

of your pants

this is where you must

understand the difference

between want and need

you may want that boy

but you certainly

don't need him"

-rupi kaur, " milk and honey"

Caesar sat up, wiping his eyes.

"Am I just here for him to have sex with? He's taken me on one date, and it wasn't even a real date... Was that just to make me think he actually likes me? Just to make it seem like I'm not another one of his late-night booty calls? Maybe I am just that. A drunk, late-night booty call. He only does this when we're drunk. All I am to him is drunk sex. A friend with benefits," Caesar thought to himself, trying not to cry. He had started to fall for Joseph, but he didn't know if he could handle just being someone's sex ticket.

When Joseph opened the door, Caesar was sitting on the couch.

"Hey! You're awake," Joseph said, grinning. "I got breakfast."

The younger man went to kiss the older's forehead, but was pushed away softly.

"Caesar?"

"Joseph, I can't do this."

"Do what?"

"Be just friends one day, and then fuck each other the next. You only want me when I'm drunk and horny."

"No, it's not like that," Joseph's eyes widened as he spoke. "I wasn't drunk last night, and I don’t just want you for sex."

"But I was. What if I wanted to get to know you better before we had sex again?"

"I- But you were the one grinding up on me!"

"I was drunk!"

"You're honest when you're drunk! You said so yourself!"

Caesar sighed, tears beginning to collect in his eyes. "Am I just sex to you? Is that all you want me for? Someone to fuck whenever you please?"

"Caesar, it's not like tha-!"

"I don't want to hear it. All you want me for is sex. You only text me when you want to go clubbing or something that always ends up with us fucking. I'm sick of it! I mean nothing to you, I'm just another sex toy," the older said in a croaky whimper before bursting into tears. "Please leave."

"Caesar, please let me explain," Joseph begged.

"I think you've done enough explaining. Please leave. Take your goddamn food with you."

Joseph grabbed the bag he had brought in, opening the door. Right before he stepped back, he whispered to the older man. "Caesar, please."

"Leave."

As Joseph closed the door, he broke down. He tried so hard to stay strong in there, but he couldn't keep holding it in. The boy he adores thinks he only wants him for his body. But he's wrong. Joseph loves Caesar's personality, his voice, his smile, his eyes, and everything in between. Joseph has fallen hard for Caesar, and to hear him say that Joseph doesn't want him for anything but sex drove him crazy. The brunette hailed a cab and hopped in the back, tears streaming down his face.

"Just t-take me wherever you want," Joseph said in between sobs.

"Rough day?"

"Y-Yeah..."

"You can talk to me if you want," the driver said softly, turning the radio down. "I'm here for you."

Joseph half-smiled. "Thank you. Where do you want me to start?"

"Wherever you feel comfortable starting."

"Okay... So I met this guy at a club last weekend, who I ended up having a one night stand with. The next morning, I had to go to work, so I left him my number and name. He texted me later that day and we agreed to meet up, but he wanted to meet up as friends, which kinda hurt me since I already had a little bit of a crush on him."

"Alright, what happened after the meet up?"

"We decided to go clubbing together, and he got drunk. He started dancing on me, and of course I got aroused. He kept teasing me, and then we went back to his house and did it again."

The driver nodded and hummed to let Joseph know he was still listening.

"And then I left to get food for us. When I came back, he was awake, and he started pelting me with questions. He thinks I only keep him around for sex and I don't," Joseph said, his eyes watering up again. "I- I've only known him for a week, but I think I need him in my life. I think he belongs with me. And when he told me to leave I-... I broke..."

"I'm so sorry... I know how you feel, my ex broke up with me because she thought I only wanted sex... I really miss her."

"Hey, I never caught your name," Joseph said quietly.

The taxi driver smiled. "I'm Suzi. You are?"

"Joseph. And I think you should try to talk to your ex. Explain it to her."

"Thanks, I think I will."

The cab went silent before Joseph spoke again. "Can I have your number? You seem nice and I want to be friends with you."

"Yeah! I was about to ask you the same question, I want to make sure you're doing okay every once in a while. My number is xxx-xxx-xxxx."

"Thanks man," Joseph said, wiping the tears from his eyes and smiling.

"Now where to? I've been driving you around aimlessly for 30 minutes," Suzi said with a laugh.

"xxxx Magnolia St., XX xxxxx."

"Home, I'm guessing?"

"Yep. I don’t really have anywhere else to go…"

Soon, Suzi was dropping her new friend off, and telling him the expense of his ride.

"It's $xx.xx, but I'm not making you pay for the aimless part of the ride."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. You call me if you need me, and text me later, okay?"

Joseph nodded and Suzi grabbed his hand gently before getting back into the taxi.

“Be safe now, okay?”

“Yes ma’am, I will,” he assured.

Once inside, Joseph was left to think. He quickly lost any happiness gained from his friend, tears forming once more. His thumb hovered over Caesar's contact, but he never clicked it.

Joseph really likes Caesar, and he can't forget him. Suzi visited him often, as did his co-workers, but they couldn't fill the hole in his heart. Each time he thought of the blonde, it felt like some invisible force was sat on his stomach, ripping his chest open, and pouring concrete in to dry. The weight made him feel as though he were breathing in corn syrup. Why did it hurt him so much? He had only known the guy for a week, yet the misunderstanding hit Joseph like a hurricane. It flooded his heart and leveled his mental state. Nothing was left but a pile of everything that could have been between the two of them, now rotting and molded in the stagnant water.

Joseph was absolutely empty.

"Joseph, I think you should try to talk to Caesar," Suzi said while she attempted to shove food down the man's throat. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to eat for a few days.

"I'm not hungry right now, and I couldn’t if I wanted to anymore. He won't answer any of my calls or texts..."

"Then try a different way," she suggested, closing the plate of takeout. "He's a teacher, right?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Send him flowers. Tell him to meet you somewhere on the note."

"He won't if I put my name though."

"Then don’t put your name," Suzi concluded. "Just get flowers and have them sent to the school for Caesar. I could get one of the other teachers to ask what his favorite flower is, I drive a few of them to and from school."

"Please," Joseph sighed. “I don’t have any other ideas.”

Later that day, a couple hours after she had left, Suzi returned.

"Carnations. Light pink, to be exact."

"Thank you Suzi, you’re the best," Joseph said, smiling. "Will you stay here while I write the note?"

"Why are you writing it now?"

"I'm bringing it to the flower shop today, they said they could deliver the flowers tomorrow."

Suzi nodded. “Let me go switch my taxi out for my car, I’ll be back.”

Not long after that, she was honking her horn outside Joseph's house. Once inside the car, they made their way to the flower shop, placed the order, and prayed that it would work.

Caesar sighed as he walked into his classroom, flipping the lightswitch. He froze, however, upon seeing a vase on his desk. The large glass container was filled with several large, baby pink carnations, and in the very middle was a small, sealed blue envelope. Carefully, he opened the envelope and pulled out a small note.

Please meet me at the cafe next to the school at 4:00 p.m.-your secret admirer

4 o'clock had never come so fast.

Caesar rushed out of his classroom after finishing the stack of work on his desk. He drove the short distance to the cafe and walked in, his hands shaking.

Who could it possibly be?

The teacher looked around the room, trying to find the stranger.

"Are you looking for someone?"

"Yeah, they-"

"Over there, the booth in the corner."

"Thanks."

Caesar made his way over to the booth cautiously and sat down quickly. When the person sitting across from him moved the menu in front of his face, Caesar got up to leave.

"Wait!" Joseph cried, grabbing Caesar's wrist. The entire cafe was deafeningly silent, the customers watching the couple like hawks.

"What do you want?"

“I want to talk to you. Please…”

“No! What the fuck dude? I told you to fuck off and you stalked me instead? Do you know how fucked that is?!”

"You wouldn’t answer my texts or calls and I’m fucking desperate, okay? I wasn’t even sure if this would work, but I have to talk to you! I don’t even care if you believe me or not, I just need to know that I tried. Please, just stay for a second and let me explain," the younger begged. "Please..."

"You have one minute, and that's it," Caesar said coldly, arms crossed as he sat back down.

Joseph took a deep breath. "Listen. I know you think that I only want you around for fun and games, but what you don't know is that every night that we're apart, I dream of being yours. I wish on every shooting star I see that one day I'll be able to hold your hand in public and say, 'This is my boyfriend.' I pray to every deity I've ever heard of in an attempt to make you see that I'm not here for fun and games. I belong with you, Caesar. My soul is literally chained to yours. You’re meant to be with me. I don't care about having sex with you. I want to love you. I remember when I first met you, my heart quit beating. Time stopped, and all I could see was you. All I could hear was your voice. I want to love you with every inch of my being, and if that isn't enough to show you that I don't just want your body, then I'll leave you alone. I'll quit trying to win you over. I'll delete your number. I'll disappear so that you can forget."

The younger boy slammed a $20 bill on the table and continued, a steady stream flowing from his eyes. "Use that to pay for both of us. I feel like I'm making you uncomfortable, so I'm gonna leave... Sorry..."

Caesar couldn't move for a second, stuck in shock. Suddenly, he jumped up out of the chair and ran to the younger boy. He grabbed his shoulders tightly, spinning him around before grabbing his face and pressing their lips together. Every customer in the building looked on as the boys kissed. Caesar ran his thumbs over Joseph's cheeks, wiping away the tears as he pulled back from the kiss and connected their foreheads.

" I belong with you too, Joseph. "

Joseph laughed, kissing Caesar again. "Let me do this right. Caesar, will you be my boyfriend?"

Caesar could only nod frantically as he pulled Joseph in for a hug, holding him as if his life depended on it. Joseph's world was finally right again.

He has successfully taken Caesar on many dates over the two years they had been dating, but this one was special. Yes, they were only going to the park for a picnic and to watch the fireworks, but there was something special about it. After picking his boyfriend up and driving to the park, Joseph grabbed the blanket and basket from his trunk. Caesar helped him lay the blanket out and unpack the small basket. The two ate quickly, getting up to play tag together. Joseph disappeared from Caesar's sight at one point, but was found when he gave the older's ass a swift pop and yelled, "You're it!" before running away.

"Ah! Joseph, get back here!"

Within an hour, both men were back at their blanket, laying down and panting. The two sat there for hours, talking about everything you could imagine, when the park founder announced that the firework show would start in a few minutes.

The blonde took the time that he had left and grabbed Joseph's hand. "I'm sorry if I annoy you or make you want someone else sometimes..."

Joseph grabbed the older boy's other hand and smiled, looking him dead in the eyes.

"Caesar, you'll never annoy me. I'll want you every day, no matter what has happened between us. I want you even when you're mad at me. I want you even when I piss you off. I want you. I want your happy days and your 'I don't wanna be alive days.' I want you in the middle of the night and I want you in the morning. I want to kiss you and I want to be in your arms. I want to stay up all night talking and I want to hold you."

Joseph took a breath, tears threatening to fall from both his and Caesar's eyes.

"I want to be the reason you smile and the reason you're laughing every day. Even if you have a bad day, I want to be the one to make you happy, if only for a second. That's why I'm about to say this," the brunette said, fishing a little black box out of his pocket.

Caesar held his breath, not knowing what was happening. The park was completely silent, any background noise blocked from his ears. Joseph pulled Caesar up, holding his hand. Now that both of them were standing, Joseph dropped to one knee, still holding one of the teacher's hands.

"Marry me. We can spend our weeknights eating cereal on the floor, even though there's a table right behind us. We can go to the movies and sit in the back row, just to make out like kids falling in love for the first time. Marry me. We'll paint the rooms of our house, but end up with more paint on us than the walls. We can hold hands and go to parties we'll end up ditching to drink wine straight from the bottle in the bathtub together," Joseph spoke, both men in tears at this point.

"Marry me. Slow dance with me in our bedroom, candles lit on our nightstand and an unmade bed next to us. Let me love you forever. Marry me, Caesar."

There was now a crowd of nosy people around them, waiting with baited breath for the older man's response, mumbling and murmuring in suspense. No one in the small crowd cared about the firework show any longer, they wanted to see this. ‘Aww’s and gasps filled the air as he finished, the crowd’s hearts rejoicing at how Joseph looked at the man in front of him.

Caesar was crying. His throat had closed, preventing him from speech, so he began nodding. Just as Joseph had slipped the ring on his finger, the older man tackled the brunette, kissing him as if it was the last time they'd ever see one another. The crowd lost it, most of them cheering and congratulating the couple, and some videoing them.

Just as Caesar slammed his lips onto his fiancé's, the fireworks went off.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Caesar pulled back from the kiss, giddy from the fairytale proposal.

"Did you plan this?"

"Maybe," Joseph laughed before kissing the older again. "I love you so much."

"I love you more. Thank you for this," Caesar whispered, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"Anything for you, beautiful."

Caesar laid his head on Joseph's chest as they watched the fireworks illuminate the sky. And even though the sight and sound of the fireworks were beautiful, Joseph's heartbeat was all Caesar cared to hear. Caesar was in love and Joseph didn't want to forget anymore.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

The first bell of the year rang as Caesar prepared for his new class. Last year, he was known as Mr. Zeppeli, and that's what the kids in his homeroom know him as. Once they had all sat down, the teacher cleared his throat.

"Good morning," Caesar began.

"Morning Mr. Zeppeli."

"Actually, I got married last month. I'm Mr. Joestar now," the man explained, writing his new surname on the whiteboard. "Keep in mind, it's Joe star, not Joe star ."

The mention of a wedding sparked the children's interest, so instead of teaching, Caesar answered their questions the entire class period. With each class, he had different questions thrown at him, but for the most part, there was one frequent question.

How do you decide which man will change his name?

"Well, we looked at who would sound better with the other's surname," Caesar would say with a laugh. "Joseph Zeppeli sounded weird, but Caesar Joestar was beautiful."

When Caesar got home, his husband pulled him in for a kiss. "How was work?"

"The kids wanted to know every detail of our marriage," Caesar giggled. "One of them even asked me if I was gonna get pregnant."

"Well, they're second-graders, they don't know any better. What did you tell them?"

"That I personally am not able to get pregnant, but some men can."

Joseph smiled, kissing Caesar again. "I got home about a minute before you did so I haven't cooked anything, sorry."

"Cereal it is, then."

So the two sat in their floor, wrapped tightly in a blanket, watching Aladdin , and eating cereal from one bowl. This was a normal occurrence for the men, and neither of them would want it any different. After the movie ended, the two washed up and climbed into bed. Joseph wrapped his arms around Caesar, peppering his face with kisses.

"Good night, beautiful. I love you."

"Good night, handsome. I love you too," Caesar said, kissing his husband's nose lightly.

[lustastarte]

✧♡rude | josuyasu♡✧

genre: fluff/a little angst

pretty, preppy boys like josuke never want anything to do with delinquents like okuyasu. the feeling is mutual.

published: 2023

no stands, college aus (the college is run more like a high school because i hate how actual college is run)

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Okuyasu shot up out of his chair as the class bell rung, signaling the end of second period. The sophomore jogged through the door, elbowing people in the hallway to get by. He only wanted to get to science.

Science was his favorite subject. It didn't even matter which branch, he adored it all. Despite everyone believing he was some delinquent whose goal was to barely pass, he loved messing with chemicals, studying different animals, and calculating the force between objects. But there is another reason he's drawn to that class. That science class is full of juniors, and he has, in the least complicated way possible, a slight crush on one of them. His name is Josuke, and he takes Okuyasu's breath away.

The sophomore walked into the classroom and almost fell when he saw the school's leading "pretty boy." He was sitting in the very back, combing through his beloved, shiny deep indigo hair, Italian dress shoes propped up on the desk adjacent to him. With a slightly condescending smirk on his face, he raked his soft eyes over Okuyasu. It felt as if he had been shocked, rings of electricity encasing him. Josuke's custom-designed school uniform jacket draped across the back of his chair, his yellow shirt clinging tightly to his broad shoulders and prominent chest.

"Oh my god," the black-eyed boy thought to himself. "He even wore his expensive earrings."

Okuyasu, in an embarrassed frenzy, scanned the room for a seat. The only one empty, however, was the one Josuke had his feet on. Taking deep breaths in with every other step, he attempted to look confident on his way over to the seat. The façade didn't last long.

"I- Um-," Okuyasu huffed, frustrated at his inability to hold it together. "Hey, would it be- can I sit here?"

"Mmm... sure. But only you," he muttered, dragging his gaze slowly over Okuyasu's cowering form. "Maybe I'll let you sit here tomorrow too, if you can fix your acting."

The younger man nodded quickly, organizing his supplies and sitting down. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, he saw right through me... It might be easier to transfer sch-"

"Why are you so jumpy? I won't bite," Josuke questioned with a sour tone and sickly sweet smile. It looked almost evil. "At least, you know, not if I don't have to. So just stay out of my way and we'll be fine, yeah?"

"Yeah! Uh, yeah, of course," Okuyasu agreed quickly, looking away as his tan cheeks turned blotchy red.

All of the surrounding chatter in the classroom died down when the teacher entered. Class went on, and Okuyasu stole looks at the man beside him. Unfortunately, he was horrible at being subtle, nearly turning his head a full 90 degrees each time.

"What the fuck is your problem?" 

"What?" Okuyasu was frightened by the sudden harsh whispering.

"Why the hell do you keep looking over here? Wasn't my only condition to not bother me?"

"I-," Okuyasu began.

"You what? Do you have a problem?"

"N-No! There's no problem!"

"Are you looking for one?"

Fear flashed in the younger man's eyes. "No! Of course not," he answered with a pleading tone.

"That's what I thought," Josuke said matter-of-factly, turning away from Okuyasu, who felt as though there was a black hole in his stomach, turning his limbs to strings.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Once again, Okuyasu shot out of his chair like a rocket. He tried gathering his binders and notebooks quickly, but he didn't gather them quickly enough. Josuke forcefully pushed past him, knocking him down. The sophomore landed on the floor, wincing as his ass and thighs went numb. However, once the room cleared, Josuke turned and backtracked, reluctantly picking him up off the ground without a word, swiftly leaving his behind in the room, smiling ever so slightly to himself.

"Shit, I just knocked him down, but at least I helped him up.... He's kind of cute, why haven't I ever talked to him before?" Maybe he should ask one of his friends who he is?

"Hey, Yukako," Josuke called as he strolled toward the group, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Who's that kid?"

"The one walking out of Dr. Brown's room?"

"Yeah, him. What's his name?"

"Keicho, I think. Wait, give me a second," she paused, spinning around to face her boyfriend. "Koichi, honey, who's that kid?"

Koichi whipped his head around, taking a good look at the sophomore walking down the hallway. "That's Okuyasu Nijimura. He's in our literature class, remember?"

"Oh yeah! The delinquent! He never turns in his papers," Yukako giggled behind a piece of her long, thick black hair, nose and eyes squinching as her bright white teeth revealed themselves.

"He's in my science class," Josuke mumbled, boring holes through Okuyasu's back.

"I think he's in my world history class," Rohan muttered, absentmindedly chewing on the end of a pen.

Josuke snorted. "How would you know, dickhead? You're always asleep in that class, said so yours-"

"Fuck off Josuke," the green-haired man spat. "Fucking asshole."

"Okuyasu. I like that. Josuke and Okuyasu... Why am I putting our names together?"

He snapped back to reality to find Yukako poking his shoulder with a good bit of force. "Josuke. Josuke! Helloooo, are you okay? You look confused."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Let's just go to lunch."

Josuke was honestly questioning his own sanity. He couldn't want anything to do with that kid. Okuyasu was a delinquent, he was the school's most popular 'pretty boy' and had a reputation to hold up. Okuyasu was supposed to be the background character and Josuke the main character. He knew that if he fell for him, he'd have to keep it a secret.

"Josuke. Josukeeee. JOSUKE," Yukako yelled, getting louder as she smacked her friend's arm.

"What?" He snapped out of his daze and whipped his head around to the woman.

"You're staring again."

"No, I'm not. You just came to school fucking high again, dumbass," he retorted.

"It was one time!" she complained, Koichi snickering next to her.

"Well, I wasn't staring so you can go suck a big, fat dick," Josuke sang, shit-eating grin lighting up his face.

She sighed, flicking her eyes to the side and shaking her head. He knows he was staring, but god forbid the man let on that he has the ability to experience emotion. Whether he liked it or not, he couldn't control it. Josuke was drooling on the table like a dog faced with meat as he recalled Okuyasu's face.

He involuntarily swooned as Okuyasu laughed at one of his friend's jokes. The corners of his lips turned up as the other almost fell out of his seat, smacking the table. A woman with powder pink hair at the table was high fiving everyone. Okuyasu, smoothing out his navy blue uniform, helped himself back into the chair, lightly patting his carefully styled  hair to make sure it was still in place. He looked up, his large, circular eyes and deep black gaze accidentally catching Josuke's pacific blue stare, causing the older man to gasp and turn away.

"What?" Rohan asked, spooked by the sudden movement.

"Nothing, I-," Josuke breathed, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest.

"Is it that Okuyasu kid? For the fifth time in the last 30 minutes?"

"Whatever, just eat your food."

The artist licked his lips, glancing over toward Okuyasu. "I think he's hot."

"Fuck off Rohan, you have like twenty guys in your phone already."

"Well, you talk to him or I'll make my move. Your call," Rohan threatened, smirking and shrugging his shoulders.

Okuyasu began laughing as Reimi finished making a harsh joke about him being straight. She received a round of high-fives from the others as Okuyasu lost his balance. After hysterically laughing in the floor, he pulled himself back up into the seat, wiping tears from his eyes and fixing his hair. He naturally looks around the room, and on his way back to his starting point, something stopped him.

Josuke was staring straight at him, mouth slightly open and eyes glossed over. One hand was on the table, his head cocked slightly to the side as he rested his teeth on the side of his thumb. His round eyes were widened slightly, dark, well-kept eyebrows moving up and back down again. He closed his mouth and smiled. A millisecond later, the junior noticed he was looking. His shiny hair levitated as he snapped his neck to the side, pretending to have been looking around the room, but it was much too late. Okuyasu knew he was staring, but not what for.

"Why was he staring? Am I going to get hurt? What did I do?" He was suddenly confused and slightly terrified, which his friends caught on to quickly.

"Hey, what's wrong, Oku? You look like you're gonna be sick," Mikitaka asked from across the table, grabbing his hand.

"Josuke was just looking at me," he explained, his eyes widened, brows furrowed, and nose flared. "Not even like a quick look, he had to have been staring for a bit. And he has this smile on his face..."

"Ooh, your boyfriend is looking at you," Keicho teased. "Josuke and Okuyasu sitting in a tree-!"

"He is not my boyfriend, stupid. That will never, ever happen, not even in a million years," Okuyasu sighed, looking down and pressing his lips together. "He's too popular and pretty for me, plus he has a reputation as the school's resident fuckboy."

"Oh my god dude," Reimi whined. "I just watched the school's most sought-after guy drool over you for about 20 minutes before you caught him," she said, cocking his head matter-of-factly.

Okuyasu shook his head. "He's probably planning to murder me for taking the desk he had his feet on."

"No, bitch," she flicked his forehead, "Listen to me, just this one time. He was actually drooling, like a leaky faucet drooling."

"I just... don't think he has a thing for me. I'm pretty sure I saw him making out with Rohan the other day."

"Actually," Mikitaka interrupted, pointing his finger at the scared sophomore, "that's how he plays around with everyone in that group. I've heard Rohan has his eyes on someone, but I can't figure out who."

"But he flirts with everyone," Reimi added, throwing her hands up. "He was flirting with me the other day."

"I don't even know who's who," Okuyasu mumbled.

"I got you" Keicho lightly smacked his brother's arm. "You see the one with the purple shirt, green vest, and green hair? That's Rohan."

Okuyasu nodded, humming, and Keicho continued. "The girl with the blue uniform and really long black hair? That's Yukako. You know Josuke already, of course. Grey hair, green uniform? That's Koichi."

Okuyasu nodded again, looking back at his friends. "And what's the probability that any of them would try to hurt me?"

"None! How many times do I have to tell you? Shut up and eat," Reimi commanded.

Okuyasu only wanted to leave the school and go home, not be detoured. He wanted to escape that concrete prison and rush to the safety of his home to ensure that no one would be attacking him. It didn't matter what his friends said, Josuke and his friends were dangerous. He had heard especially nasty things about that Yukako girl.

Josuke, however, had a different plan for him. As the sophomore stepped out of the school building, the confident, stylish man beckoned him over with his finger. Okuyasu, once again terrified, complied and walked toward him. There was absolutely no point in acting. Even if he could hide the deer-in-headlights stare, his sudden lack of color, and full-body tremors, Josuke would see right through it.

"Hey, calm down bro, I promise I'm not here to hurt you... Unless you give me a reason in the future," the junior said gently, poking his elbow into Okuyasu's side with a chuff of laughter. "I just want to apologize for knocking you down earlier. I didn't mean to."

"I-It's okay," Okuyasu stuttered, shocked that Josuke, the Josuke, apologized to him, much less waited for him in the parking lot. "Thank you for helping me up."

To be honest, Okuyasu had no idea how he managed to even speak. Josuke looked like a piece of art to him. Like a statue that had been carved out of the finest marble, and then painted to absolute perfection. Not even Venus de Milo could compare to Josuke in his eyes. Okuyasu saw the older boy open his mouth to speak, and he hyper-focused on the way the older man's lips wrapped around each syllable. He had no idea what he said, the blood pumping in his veins sounded like crashing waves in his ear, harmonizing with the melodic lilt in Josuke's voice.

Nonetheless, he nodded with a soft, "Yeah."

"Then let's go," the junior said, offering his hand to aid Okuyasu in getting on the back of his motorcycle.

"Wait, what?"

"I asked if you were hungry. You said yes, so now we're going to eat somewhere."

"What? Why?"

"I want to get to know you better, and I'm apologizing for knocking you down," Josuke explained without skipping a beat. Okuyasu gave him a funny look, one that he couldn't quite describe, and he continued. "What, I can't be a normal guy for once?"

Okuyasu face flowered with a warm rose tint at the mere sight of the junior's sly smirk. "I just didn't think you were... that kind of person, no offence," he admitted as the older man helped him onto the bike. "Or that you would want to hang out with someone like me."

Josuke rolled his eyes and jumped onto the bike, plopping down right in front of Okuyasu and revving the engine.

"Shut up and hold tight, we're going for a ride." And with another devilishly handsome smirk at the younger, the motorcyclist tore out of the school parking lot, leaving behind exhaust fumes and Okuyasu's entire soul.

He never expected to have a mental breakdown on the back of a motorcycle. Truth be told, he never expected to get on the back of a motorcycle in the first place. Okuyasu doesn't really put his trust into personal vehicles. Yet here he is, close to tears and clutching onto Josuke so tightly he would find fingernail indentions in his chest and stomach when he goes to shower that night.

"Slow down!" Okuyasu cried, trying his best to be heard over the roaring engine.

The older let out a deep belly laugh. "We're not even going that fast! It's only 60," he said, barely audible although yelling.

" Only 60?!" Okuyasu screamed, pulling Josuke closer. The vehicle slowed as they reached the entrance of a quaint diner furnished with decor from the 80s. Okuyasu had his face buried in the older boy's back, arms in a death lock around his waist, and legs trembling on either side of Josuke's hips.

The junior parked the bike and offered his hand to help Okuyasu off the back.

"Holy fuck, I am never, ever, ever getting on a motorcycle with you again."

"Oh, but you will. How do you think you're gonna get home, hotshot?"

Well, fuck. Maybe he didn't think this through.

"I-"

"You won't. I'm gonna take you home, end of story," Josuke interrupted with a determined (and pleased) air about him. "Now get your ass into the diner."

Once they had ordered, Okuyasu sat down in front of the other at a booth, back to the door.

"You really don't have to-"

"But I want to," the junior said. "So, you're a sophomore, right?"

"Yeah, I am," Okuyasu was fidgeting with his napkin and sweating bullets.

"I've gotten word that you're some delinquent, but you must be a genius. You have an A in science, right?"

The obsidian-haired boy focused his field of vision on an old poster on the wall. "I am... not a genius, by any means, but yes, I have a good grade in science."

The waiter swung by their table, dropping their food off quickly.

"You," Josuke began as he shoved a large bite of pomegranate pancakes in his mouth, "are a genius."

Okuyasu shook his head and chuckled. "You," he said, taking a bite of his burger in attempt to playfully mock Josuke, "looked stupid doing that."

The junior couldn't stop himself from laughing. "Maybe I did," he said with a cocky tone. "Anyway, tell me about yourself."

The sophomore scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting back and forth against the vinyl print on the tables. "My fucking crush is asking me about myself," he thought.

"What do you want to know?"

"Anything you deem fit to tell me," Josuke quietly replied. The corners of his lips were upturned, and all his attention was on the man in front of him.

Okuyasu sighed as the realization set in that Josuke was interested in him, and especially in what he had to say. For the first time, he returned the gaze, no matter how nervous he was. "Well, I like reading, but I get made fun of for it sometimes. All of my friends do."

Josuke tensed his jaw, the muscle visibly rippling up his jawline. "Who?"

"Akira and his fucking goons."

"That'll stop soon," the older said, voice dripping with something Okuyasu couldn't decipher. Malice?

"But they've been doing it for years-"

"That'll stop soon. That's not a threat, that's a promise," Josuke repeated, the malice now obvious in his voice.

Okuyasu didn't understand. "Why do you want to help me? This is the first day we've ever spoken to one another."

"Listen, I think you're cool. My friends think you're nice. Honestly, we were talking at lunch and we'd love to meet your friends. You can come over to our table whenever you want to. Actually, we want you to every day, or at the very least twice a week. Akira and his dumbass worshippers bother you at lunch too, don't they?"

"And in every class," Okuyasu admitted, studying the linoleum floor tiles.

"Yeah, that settles it. You're coming to our table."

"But I-"

"No buts. I expect to see you and your friends at my table tomorrow and for the rest of the year," Josuke said, softly smiling.

Okuyasu watched as his crush smiled at him, as his eyes narrowed, his nose scrunched, and his teeth shined between his perfect lips. He could have fainted at the sight. Hell, he could have died happy right there. Josuke was so beautiful to him, no wonder everyone wants to get their hands on him. His shiny, perfectly gelled indigo hair curving up and away from his clear, shimmery skin, his vibrant, tropical blue eyes narrowed in happiness, his perfect nose wrinkled cutely, his lips stretched slightly over his teeth.

"Okuyasu? Are you okay? I'm sorry if I freaked you out, I just don't want you to get hurt. You don't have to sit-"

"Yeah, I'm okay, I just got distracted. I'll be there, I promise."

"Good, I was worried. Hey, can I ask you something?"

Okuyasu took a deep breath and nodded, preparing himself for the worst.

"I noticed you staring at me a lot in class today. Wh-"

"Oh!" The younger man checked his watch frantically. "Looks like my mom will be home at any minute, I better beat her there."

And even though it was the last thing Josuke wanted to do right then, he took Okuyasu home. The ride back was less stressful for Okuyasu, and Josuke, although not used to others riding with him, quite enjoyed the feeling of the sophomore's chest against his back. They rode in silence, and once they arrived, Josuke once again offered his hand to help the other off the motorcycle. The only words he could muster were, "See ya," with a clap against Okuyasu's back.

Okuyasu turned to jelly the second his door shut. This was going to be a long, long semester, but he still didn't mind because at the very least, he would be friends with Josuke.

The next day, as Okuyasu rushed out of his first class and into his second like usual, he spotted Josuke. His buff arm, covered with his silky, royal purple uniform jacket, laid across the back of an empty seat and a smirk lounged on his face, the junior nodded his head toward the chair when the sophomore walked in. Lifting his arm only when Okuyasu had sat down, Josuke turned toward him.

"You still sitting with us at lunch?"

"Yeah."

"Your friends too?" Okuyasu nodded.

"Good," Josuke said, barely audible over the old air system, just before their science teacher entered the room. All throughout the class period, Okuyasu did what he knew best; taking long, hard looks at Josuke while thoughts of them together ran through his head like a movie. Each second, another clip of their life appeared, one of them decorating a college dorm together, one of them buying a house, one of them dancing around the warmly-lit den, one of them finally seeing sleep after taking care of their kid, one of them cooking together in the kitchen, another one of them dancing. He adored every second spent looking at Josuke with his own eyes, simply because they're his, and that means the junior is locked into Okuyasu's brain now. Meanwhile, back in reality, they were given a worksheet and permission to work with partners, but because the junior is stubborn, he refused to work with anyone. No, he absolutely did not get what they were doing, he doesn't understand a single word on the page, and Okuyasu could tell. Halfway through the period, the junior felt someone tap his shoulder.

"Josuke, do you want to be partners with-?"

"No," the struggling student barked back angrily, irritated at himself for not understanding. He was glad Okuyasu wanted to help, and knew that he would be able to come to him for any question, even minor, but he was so angry at himself that his voice came out a threatening snarl. "What about after your classes? I can come to your house if I need to. I have nothing important to do and this topic is one that you really have to know," Okuyasu attempted to whisper, hoping to calm the older boy down. He assumed (for the most part) that he meant no harm toward him. Josuke flicked his blue eyes up at him, breathing a quick, "Whatever," and continuing to make no progress on the worksheet.

Okuyasu had finished with the assignment a few minutes beforehand. Although he was happy to help, it made him sad that Josuke seemed mad at him. What could he have done?

After class, Josuke casually walked out behind Okuyasu instead of with him. Their last two classes came and went, and the two boys shuffled toward the lunchroom, 5 meters from each other, the distance getting larger and larger because Okuyasu's legs were determined to find a way out of the tension created that morning. He should've waited and endured the slight awkwardness to walk in behind Josuke. He should have done anything but speed up. The fastest moving object on the field will always draw the attention of the predators. The second he stepped into the cafeteria, Akira was hovering over him.

"Hey faggot," the bully breathed down the back of the sophomore's neck. The anger began to bubble in his chest, but Okuyasu chose to say nothing and continued walking toward the table where his friends sat with Josuke and his.

"What, are you deaf too?" Against his better judgement, Okuyasu once again said nothing and moved faster. He had the right idea, but wrong choice. Akira forcefully grabbed his bookbag, yanking him backward. Okuyasu was trembling, but he wasn't sure if he was scared or infuriated. His eyes shut themselves automatically, and he braced himself for whatever the asshole planned to do with him. He heard the cackles and jeers from Akira's friends, and then it all stopped. Absolute silence. Okuyasu opened one eye, and Akira was sulking back to his table with his goons. 

"What happened? Why did they just leave?" Okuyasu's head was spinning, until he spotted Josuke striding toward him.

"Come on, let's go eat," the junior said, walking past Okuyasu with a grimace. With no complaints, the sophomore made his way to the table where his friends sat talking to Josuke's. The funny thing about it, to him at least, was that they weren't getting made fun of for once. It was strange to him that the misfits were so welcomed by their school's version of the Plastics.

"Okuyasu!"

"H-Hey guys," he smiled sheepishly, giving them a half-hearted wave.

"Don't be nervous," Josuke whispered into Okuyasu's ear before turning to everyone, "They don't bite either, but Rohan might hit on you. He's a bit of a man-whore."

Okuyasu snickered to himself, sitting down between Rohan and Reimi.

Koichi laughed. "You guys look like you've seen a ghost! We're not going to hurt you."

"We're just not really used to being surrounded by popular kids who actually want to be friends with us, you know," Keicho explained.

"Better get used to it then," Josuke winked. "You guys roll with us now. And we mean it, even if you have to use us as scapegoats sometimes."

The entire lunch period passed without taunting from anyone, something that hasn't happened in years, and the group of misfits had never been more thankful. Words could not describe how grateful they were for the judgement-free haven they now had, and as it turns out, the popular kids are closer to the new additions than one would expect. Okuyasu beamed as Josuke talked about his fashion obsessions, raving about his favorite designers, and as Rohan told them all about his manga, letting them read parts of it before release. Each day, they sat there with the golden group, and each day, the bullies avoided them like the plague.

However, Josuke and his friends couldn't protect Okuyasu and his all the time. Different schedules, different buildings, and different paths were the group's worst enemy. Akira and his gang found them all by themselves a few weeks later during the last period of the day. The gym locker room had just emptied as other students left the school. It was much too easy. With his friends all pinned to the wall, Akira had no problem keeping Okuyasu on the floor, kicking him repeatedly. Even though the fury filled his chest, Okuyasu couldn't bring himself to get up and fight. Just as the senior lifted his foot to break Okuyasu's nose, the room seemed to fill with smoke. Keicho, Reimi, and Mikitaka were being forced to watch as Akira beat the life out of Okuyasu, and they would be forced to watch him stomp his face into the ground. Each time they tried to cry out, they were hit by one of Akira's goons. Okuyasu felt hopeless as he prepared himself for the final blow.

But the blow never came. Instead there was an indecipherable yell, the sound of skin against skin, and the sick crack of a bone breaking echoing throughout the dinghy locker room. Okuyasu's eyes shot open, taking in the sight of Akira on the floor and Josuke hovering over him. In one swift motion, Josuke pulled him up by his collar and pressed his forehead to the now trembling bully's.

"I thought I told you to leave them alone," Josuke snarled, a look on his face that Okuyasu hoped to never see again. "I did, didn't I?"

Silence, followed by another skin-against-skin slap and a crunch, this one much louder than the last. Akira yelped, not unlike a small animal being wounded.

"I asked you a question, dickhead. The best choice for you is to answer it."

"Yeah, but they're all faggots. They're disgusting, we don't need people like them in our school. You know you're embarrassing yourself for sticking up for scum like that."

"I don't give a fuck what you think they are. Your opinion only matters to your mindless zombie fucks. There's no reward for fucking you up. None. It's just necessary. You love to hurt people, but can't take it from others. Two punches and you're already cowering? What a fucking joke. If I see you near them again, I will not hesitate to put you in the hospital. Do you understand that?" Josuke threatened through his teeth, mere millimeters between them.

Akira nodded, fearing for his life at this point. The junior threw him back to the ground, a few feet from where he stood, walking out with the others in front of him.

Once outside the locker room, Josuke made sure the others were okay as they joined up with Rohan, Yukako, and Koichi. Josuke volunteered to clean Okuyasu up, as none of the others wanted to come in contact with blood.

"Hey man, are you guys okay? How long had you been in there before I showed up?"

Okuyasu pulled his hand away from his nose to check if it were still bleeding, and a crimson waterfall followed. "I really don't know," he sighed, pain and blood loss onset dizziness taking him over. 

"Sit, I'll be back," Josuke said, running to grab wet paper towels. He returned with two handfuls, plopping himself down next to Okuyasu and beginning the cleanup process. Okuyasu tried to help, but Josuke slapped his hand away as he cleaned his face and clothes with a tender touch. Okuyasu began giggling, morphing into laughter. He couldn't stop himself, the situation was just so strange.

"What?"

"It's just that you-," he paused to laugh a little more, "you were just the scariest motherfucker alive and now you're cleaning me up like a mom!"

Josuke grinned, rolling his eyes. "Shut the fuck up and come on, Let’s get you home," he teased, helping Okuyasu out of the floor. By the time they had finished, the others had already left for home, so Josuke offered to take Okuyasu.

“Well I could go home, but I noticed you were struggling in science… Mind if I help you?”

“I’ve got it, I just… didn’t wanna do it at school, that’s all,” Josuke sighed, the pitch of his voice raising with each word.

“Josuke. Just let me help you dude,” Okuyasu grabbed his arm. “I know what you’re thinking, but if I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t offer.”

“Fine, if it’ll get you to shut up about it. Let’s go.”

Josuke unlocked his front door, letting Okuyasu in first.

"Sorry about the mess, I forgot to clean it up like Mom asked me to… Uhh, we can go back to my room if you'd like."

"Whatever is best for you," Okuyasu assured him, flashing a soft smile.

The indigo-haired man awkwardly ushered the younger boy into his room and shut the door. 

“We can sit on the bed or the floor together, or one of us can sit at the desk and the other on the bed. Your pick.”

Okuyasu scanned the room, analyzing his options. “If he’s at the desk he’ll have somewhere to work. Floor together could be nice, but it might hurt after a bit… The bed… Us together on his bed? Would I be able to-?”

“Well? Which one? We have work to do,” Josuke said with a playful grin.

“We can sit on your bed, if that’s okay of course,” Okuyasu responded quietly.

“That’s perfect,” he sort of threw himself on his bed, straightened up, and patted the comforter. “Come on, I won’t bite.”

Okuyasu sat down next to the junior. He felt himself sink into the mattress because every single muscle in his body was rock solid. The two sat in a tense silence fog for what felt like an hour until the host spoke up.

"So... Science, yeah?"

"Yeah," the younger agreed, snapping out of his anxious haze. "Let's um... Get started."

The two spent hours working through Josuke’s questions, and Okuyasu kept his eyes on the other for the majority of the study session. He wasn’t even sure he was giving him the right answers, Josuke was just so easy to stare at.

“I wish I could kiss him... His lips look so soft. His nose is so cute, his eyes are so beaut-”

"Hey Okuyasu, quit zoning out and help me. I really don't wanna fail this class."

"S-Sorry, there’s a lot going on right now," he explained, and the two continued their work.

The sophomore's head spun as Josuke took him home. Just how much did he zone out? Still, with his chest against Josuke’s back, he couldn’t manage to construct a single thought. The ride was over sooner than he’d like.

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Bye, Okuyasu."

"Goodbye, Josuke."

What was he going to do? Maybe he can get through the year without cracking, but the odds seem less and less in his favor with each passing second.

Josuke let Okuyasu into his house again, placing his backpack down in his room.

"Okuyasu Nijimura. Science. Let’s go."

"Yeah, yeah, yep, sorry," he rambled, snapping out of his obvious staring and frantically opening his binder.

"It's okay, I know you zone out sometimes, don't apologize," Josuke comforted him, blue eyes scanning his face from top to bottom, then making their way back up to his own eyes..

“He's being a lot nicer... That's strange. And what was that look? Am I going crazy??”

The black-eyed boy half-smiled as he began re-teaching the junior what they had learned that day.

The next day came and went, and once again, Okuyasu was walking into Josuke’s house. Confidently, this time. They sat and went over the same chapter in their textbook for an hour, and Okuyasu asked Josuke to do a problem related to the chapter. He attempted it for a full minute, before he got frustrated. He threw his binder on the floor and placed his face into his hands.

"I don't fucking get it! Why can't I do a simple problem?"

"Hey, Josuke, it’s oka-"

"No! No, it isn't okay! If I can't get my shit together, I'm gonna fail! But of course, you wouldn't know how that feels," the junior snarled.

"I understand, but you-"

"Listen, if all you're going to do is tell me to calm down and stare at me, you can leave! I don't want you if you can't do anything but stand there and stare like you have for the past two FUCKING DAYS!"

"Josuke," Okuyasu growled, grabbing his collar and pulling him forward to get in his face. "I’m not here to tell you to calm down. If you would fucking listen to me, I'm trying to tell you that I won’t let you fail. Do you understand that? I know exactly how it feels to fail. I fail tests all the time. I am just here to help you."

Josuke took a long, heavy breath. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap like that. I'm just.... so overwhelmed and I-"

"It’s okay, Josuke. Don’t apologize. We can take a break if you’d like."

"Yeah, I wanna take a break."

They moved to the kitchen and grabbed a soda as they gave their brains time off.

"I know it doesn’t seem like it, but you’ve been getting better."

"I have?"

"Yeah! You haven’t noticed?"

"No, not really..."

"Well, you have," Okuyasu told the older boy. Josuke only smiled and patted Okuyasu on the back, glad that he thought he had improved.

Yet another school day comes to an end, and Okuyasu was walking into Josuke’s house for their antepenultimate tutoring session. For some reason, it makes his heart hurt. The sophomore had noticed that the junior was being nicer toward him each day, and he couldn't figure out why. Maybe it’s because he’s helping his grades?

The session went by quickly, as Josuke barreled through all the problems Okuyasu threw at him. At this point, Okuyasu could safely say that he and Josuke were friends, and might even dare to say that the older man actually liked having him around. He was just glad to be spending time with him, even if it wasn't the way he wanted it to be.

It was another normally planned day, and Okuyasu was in Josuke’s living room, helping him with his science homework. Neither of them could focus, Okuyasu thinking about the junior, and Josuke thinking of absolutely nothing.

"Hey, Josuke?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"If it’s science, fuck no. If not, sure," the junior said, staring at Okuyasu intently.

"Why have you started being so nice to me? You’ve been really nice lately, it’s kinda throwing me off."

"I- Uh..."

"Josuke? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"It's okay, I'll tell you, just don't laugh."

"I won’t laugh. Pinky promise," he grinned, sticking his pinky out.

The junior took a large, shaky breath and reached for Okuyasu’s outstretched pinky, but instead of interlocking and letting go, he held onto it. His eyes locked onto their hands as he contemplated telling the other. Finally, he looked up, and straight into Okuyasu’s soul, before flicking his eyes back onto their hands.

"The truth is that I've sort of developed a crush on you. You're so kind and smart and funny and I couldn't help falling for you,” he began as he played with Okuyasu’s fingers absentmindedly, staring at the same freckle on his skin the entire time.

“You're beautiful, by far the most handsome man I've ever seen. I know I act like you get on my nerves sometimes, but to be honest, I like being with you because you get me. If I talked to anyone else about the things I talk to you about, they'd think I was crazy or an awful person. But not you. You just laugh, and make me feel less alone. We get each other, I like to think. I hope you know how happy that makes me. I really like you, Okuyasu. I like you a whole fucking lot. You make me feel like I could do anything. I just... wanted you to know that." Josuke sat silently, waiting to get rejected. He waited and waited, but nothing ever came. So he started rambling.

“I still want to be friends even if you don’t feel the same, I honestly don’t expect you to, I don’t know why I said that, please forget about that-”

A hundred thoughts ran through Okuyasu’s head at the same time, before one pushed through and sat at the front. “Kiss him.”

He hesitated, staring at the rambling man. Suddenly, he grabbed Josuke’s face and swiftly, but gently, placed his lips onto the latter's in an attempt to show him how he feels. The junior's eyes widened before he realized what happened, kissing back with ease. His hand slipped into Okuyasu’s black and grey hair, and the sophomore's hand rested on Josuke’s face, pulling him closer. Okuyasu pulled back some time later, pressing his forehead against Josuke’s and smiling.

"Don't do that."

"Don’t do what?"

"Don't smile like that," Josuke muttered. "You're making my heart hurt, and if someone else sees you smiling like that..."

Okuyasu kissed his nose. "They’ll what?"

"They might snatch you up and make you theirs before I can."

“Impossible."

"No it isn't," Josuke contradicted, slightly shaking his head.

"Now that I know you feel the same as I do, how can someone else make me theirs if I’m already yours?"

Josuke went silent, his face burning and a smile pushing its way through his usual frown.

"Oku?"

"Y-Yeah?" The black-haired boy was stammering at the sudden nickname. He loved how it rolled off the other’s tongue.

"You don't have to if you don't want to, but do you maybe wanna... Wanna be my boyfriend?"

"Mmh, I don't know, Suke," the sophomore said, startling him with his own new nickname. "Do you maybe wanna be my boyfriend?"

"Only if you wanna be mine," the junior said with a laugh.

"There is nothing that I want more than to be yours."

Josuke couldn't help but giggle. He felt like a teenage girl getting complimented, but he just really had something for Okuyasu. He had never thought he would feel this way about someone. And oh, was he glad that Okuyasu felt the same. He wrapped his arms around the younger, hugging him as if the world was about to collapse. As they embraced, Josuke realized never thought he'd find a guy like Okuyasu, especially not one that liked him for who he was instead of simply his looks. Okuyasu had seen him happy, frustrated, and royally pissed off. But here he is, with the boyfriend of his dreams, and he couldn't be happier.

Tomorrow is test day, and both men were extremely nervous, even after having finished their studying for the day.

"So, how do you feel about the test?"

"I think I'm gonna do well," the junior sighed.

"We could watch a movie in celebration," Okuyasu suggested, getting a nod of approval from the older boy.

Josuke tossed the remote to Okuyasu and sank back into the couch, watching his lover from afar. Once the younger had picked something, he sat back down and, like clockwork, the junior fell into his arms. It was almost comical how Josuke could punch a kid and break his nose with no remorse, but had to be cuddled by his boyfriend. Okuyasu placed his arms securely around Josuke’s torso, sighing contentedly. He brought his head down, kissing him. His black bangs hung down, tickling the junior's neck. His nose grazed his lover's chin, his lips sat on top of the junior's, curved into a smile. He had fallen hard, so very hard, for the boy lying on his chest. For the boy who’s held above everyone else by the school, save for him. For the boy who acts big and bad, but just wants love. For the boy named Josuke.

Reluctantly pulling his lips off his lover's, Okuyasu sat up. He stared at Josuke for a second as the older shifted to the other end of the couch. He followed, flashing a love-drunk grin, and crawled into the space between the junior and the couch, pulling the older boy as close to him as possible. Once again, he connected their lips.

"I like you a lot, Suke," Okuyasu whispered in between kisses.

"I think I might like you more, Oku," Josuke responded, smiling and kissing the sophomore once again.

"You know you can kiss me anytime you want, right?" The black-eyed boy asked the other. "I don’t mind, you're beautiful and I like you."

"I'll keep that in mind."

One kiss became five. Five became ten. Ten became fifteen. Fifteen became twenty. Twenty kisses, and Josuke was absolutely breathless. He was melting in Okuyasu’s hands, ice cream on a sunny, scorching, sticky summer's day. With all that he had left in him, he deepened the kiss. Okuyasu responded quickly, changing his pace. He moved his left hand from the side of Josuke’s face to the nape of his neck, tangling his fingers in his deep indigo hair and pulling him closer. His right hand left its place on the tawny couch cushion to rest on the older’s hip.

As the minutes fly, their kiss becomes something more. In an almost animalistic show of affection, Okuyasu had Josuke pinned to the couch, and was planting swift, open-mouthed kisses down the boy's neck. His intention was to rile the older boy up, and that is exactly what he did. Just as Josuke had begun running his fingers through the younger's ebony hair, a phone went off. The two nearly jumped out of their skins, and both instinctually looked toward the coffee table, sighing agitatedly at the sight of Okuyasu’s bright phone screen reading, "Text from Mom." He removed himself from above the junior, grabbing his phone and opening the message.

"Goddamn it, Mom, why now?"

"What is it?"

"My mom is telling me to come home," Okuyasu said with a frown.

Josuke sat up. “But you’re a grown man, can’t you tell her no?”

“Fuck no, she pays for my tuition.”

Josuke pressed his lips together. "Oh, well I could bring you home, if you'd like?"

"Yeah, I would like that."

Okuyasu hopped off the back of Josuke’s motorcycle, placing a quick, but nonetheless passionate kiss on his lips before walking up to his door.

"Bye! Please text me when you get home. Thanks for driving me!"

"Anything for you, and of course I will. Bye, Oku," Josuke said affectionately, waiting until he was inside the house before driving off.

Today is the day. Josuke clutched his pencil, knuckles white. The science exam was insanely hard for him, even though he had studied with Okuyasu for a month. Okuyasu . That's why it's tough.

“All I can think about is Okuyasu... His eyes, his smile, his voice, his- Stop it. Stop it Josuke, pull yourself together.” The junior inhaled deeply. “I've got this.”

Once he had answered the first question, everything fell into place. He was the first to finish, with Okuyasu right after. Once they returned to their seats, the sophomore slipped the older a piece of paper.

How did you do?

Josuke grinned and wrote his response.

I think I did good. What about you?

I’m pretty sure I did well.

Good. If I pass, I'll never be able to repay you.

You do not have to. <3

"You two! Yes, you guys! Are you passing notes?"

"No sir," Okuyasu lied, round eyes ready to guilt trip their professor.

"Then what were you doing?"

Ding! Ding! Ding!

The raven haired boy jumped up, grabbing the older's hand in excitement. They're getting their tests back, hopefully to see their hard work pay off. The teacher handed Josuke his test, and then gave Okuyasu his. The two boys left the classroom, and outside in the hall, they looked at their scores.

"What'd you make?"

"Hundred," Okuyasu laughed. "And you?"

Josuke beamed, quickly turning the paper to show the other. "One fucking hundred! Thank you so much, Oku," he exclaimed, pulling the younger in for a hug enthusiastically.

“I need to repay you."

“No you don’t-!”

“Just let me!”

Okuyasu rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

"Twelfth floor library bathroom, right after classes end," the junior said with a smirk.

Okuyasu thought for a second, and then shook his head. "I thought we were meeting up with the others after school?"

"It’ll be quick."

Okuyasu knocked on Koichi’s door at 4:50, about 40 minutes after they were supposed to be at his house. Both of them looked disheveled, hair sticking up, clothes wrinkled, and some red spots on each boy's neck.

The door swung open. "Where were you guys?"

"Sorry, I was busy doing stuff," Josuke said as he walked in.

Okuyasu chuckled lowly from behind him. "I'm stuff," he whispered as he entered the house.

Yukako giggled. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

The others cheered when they entered into the living room.

"Party time!" Mikitaka cheered, pulling out his phone. "We're playing truth or dare! I'll go first. Rohan, truth or dare?"

"Dare."

"I dare you to tell us who you like."

"Fuck you," he sighed. "I like the student teacher in my biology class... Happy?"

Yukako smiled. "I don't know if he is," she started, dragging out her words. "But I am! I just won a bet," she giggled, winking.

"Damn it," MIkitaka whined.

"I'd like my $200 now. You heard the man, he said he has the hots for Mr. Kujo. No questions," she stated.

"Okay, fine," he groaned, reluctantly pulling a wad of cash from his jacket pocket.

“What the fuck guys? You betted on if I liked the student teacher?” Rohan stared at the two in disbelief as they happily nodded. He gave them a nasty look before continuing the game. "Okuyasu, truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Why were you and Josuke late?"

"I was busy getting fucked in the library bathroom," he smirked.

Josuke screeched in embarrassment, hands flying to his face. "You were not supposed to tell them that! The plan was to say we had ‘bro bonding’ time dude!"

"Oh my god, I didn't need to know that," Reimi complained, shutting her eyes and grimacing in disgust.

The room finally calmed down again five minutes later, and Okuyasu said, "Yukako, truth or dare?"

"Dare."

"I dare you to tell us the most horrible thing you've ever done."

"I put laxative powder in my 5th grade teacher's coffee every day because she told me to redo a project I had done in the beginning of the year. One day she was teaching and shit herself in front of the class, and everyone but her knew it was because of me," she said, hysterically laughing.

"Damn, that's cold," Koichi said, laughing. “I can’t believe you never told me about that!”

“I love being a bitch,” she giggled. "Ummm, Josuke! Truth or dare?"

"Truth," Josuke said quietly, unsure of his choice.

"Who topped, you or Okuyasu?"

Josuke paused, waiting for Okuyasu’s answer. He was completely flustered.

“I don't want them to know that I'm not a-!”

"He topped," Okuyasu answered for his boyfriend, smirking.

“Well, fuck.”

Rohan gasped. " YOU bottomed?"

"Hell yeah I did. Pretty boy couldn't bottom if he wanted to. He was loud, too."

"GOD, OKUYASU! " Josuke shrieked, eyes wide and face crimson red.

"Sounded kinda like that," the younger added, laughing.

"I'm going to kill you later. I’ve watched enough television to know how to hide your body." Josuke rolled his sharp blue eyes. "Any fucking way, I vote we play a different game.”

For hours, the group played party games, and once it got late, they all laid down and talked until they fell asleep.

The end of the year was upon the group, and it was finally the night of spring formal

Okuyasu was absolutely terrified. What if he didn't look good enough? What if Josuke ditched him? What if Akira got him alone again? What if-?

"Okuyasu! Josuke’s here," his mom yelled from downstairs. He straightened his navy blue suit jacket, making sure that his silky hair was in place. He almost ran down the stairs, and when he reached the bottom, his mouth hung open in awe. There stood Josuke in a royal purple suit, a hint of makeup dusted over his face. His indigo hair wasn’t styled how he normally would have. Tonight, he wore it down, shoulder length locks shining in the light, albeit a little messy. He grinned at Okuyasu with that stupid smile that he adored.

"You look beautiful," the sophomore whispered, walking toward his boyfriend. "Can I... Can I kiss you?"

Josuke nodded, blushing, and Okuyasu gently placed his lips on the other man's.

"This one's going on facebook!"

"Mom!"

"Alright you two, have fun, don't do anything you'll regret! Also, Josuke, if you'd like to stay here with him after prom, I'd be more than happy to let you," the black-eyed boy's mom said with a smile.

"Thank you!"

"It's no problem. I’ll be gone when you get back but I should be back in the morning with breakfast! Bye boys!"

Josuke stepped outside, hand in hand with Okuyasu. He helped his boyfriend onto his motorcycle for what felt like the five-hundredth time this semester, then pulled himself up. The junior kissed the other over his shoulder before starting the vehicle and driving off. After eating, the two boys pulled up at the building where prom was being held, along with their friends. The dates, with their fingers laced together, walked inside the building, and people began to go silent. Their classmates couldn't believe their eyes.

"Josuke? You're here with Okuyasu?"

"I sure am," the junior bragged, kissing his date’s cheek. The night went by so quickly, one minute, the two were attempting to teach Koichi and Yukako how to dance, and the next, Josuke was slow-dancing with Okuyasu, their foreheads pressed together, and smiles playing on their lips.

"You know, I think I love you, Suke. I really do."

“I think that I love you too, Oku."

The night sadly came to an end, and everyone went their own ways. Josuke took a quick detour to his house to get clothes, and then he brought Okuyasu home. Okuyasu turned to look at Josuke as they closed the door behind them. "Hey, now that we have the house to ourselves, we could-" "There's no ‘we could.’ We are ," the junior stated, kissing the other suddenly.

Chirp! Chirp!

"Fuck those stupid ass fucking ass birds man," Josuke groaned, burying his face in the base of Okuyasu’s neck.

The sophomore laughed, half awake. "Fuck you too."

Like lightning, the junior popped his head up. "Been there, done that." Okuyasu grinned, planting a kiss on the older boy's lips. It was a long, sweet kiss, and both boys loved every second of it. "I think we need to put some clothes on, Suke."

"If you can even get up."

"Hey!" Okuyasu smacked him with a pillow. "You're not that big," he reasoned, attempting to stand up, only to wince and sit back down.

" Oh, you're not that big! Pfft, Josuke isn't big!" He mocked. "Who's not big now, hmm?"

"Please just shut your fat fucking mouth and help me up. This is your fault anyway," Okuyasu said, slightly annoyed and more than embarrassed. After Josuke had helped him up, they got themselves dressed and headed into the kitchen, where the sophomore's mom was making breakfast.

"Morning boys! How'd you sleep?"

"Good," they simultaneously answered.

"Good, good," the woman said, turning around. "Are you boys planning on going anywhere today?"

"Yeah, I'm going to take Okuyasu to the mall and stuff," Josuke said, smiling at her.

The black haired woman smiled. "Then you may want to cover that hickey up, sweetheart."

Okuyasu flushed. "I-"

"It's okay, I knew that you two probably made out at prom."

He nodded and his mom smiled warmly at the two boys. The junior was in awe, but he just kept his mouth shut. After breakfast, the boys showered and put on some nicer clothes, bid Okuyasu’s mom goodbye, and walked out the door, jumping onto the motorcycle. They spent the entire day together, and honestly, it was the happiest either of them had ever been. Okuyasu stole kisses throughout the day, often catching Josuke off guard. Hopefully every day will be like this for the rest of their lives. Josuke was so thankful that he knocked Okuyasu over that day. If he hadn't, he would have never talked to him.

"Josuke?"

"Yeah?"

"You're so beautiful," Okuyasu whispered, gazing at his boyfriend. The sun was cascading off his hair and skin perfectly, causing him to glow.

"W-What?"

"You're beautiful."

"Shut up, Oku."

"You're so pretty," the younger marveled.

"Shut up!”

Okuyasu wrapped his arms around Josuke, kissing him quickly before talking.

"I love you, you fucking jerk," he said with a smile.

"I love you too, you fucking idiot," the junior couldn't help but laugh. He had Okuyasu wrapped around his finger, and vice versa.

At that moment, everything else didn't matter. There was nothing more important to them than the boy sitting in front of them. It was just them, and only them. It was just them, and that's how they hoped it would stay forever.

"some people are so bitter

to them you must be kindest" -rupi kaur, "milk and honey"

[lustastarte]

♠of love and sex | giomis♠

genre: smut

mista convinces don giorno to take a vacation

published: 2020

written by request

Knock knock.

"Yes?" The blonde received no answer. "Come i-"

"Mr. Giovanna~," a sculpted man sang, suddenly behind Giorno.

"Mista. For the last fucking time. I can and will put a bullet between your eyes if you don't stop doing that every time you feel the need to talk to me."

The brunette mocked him. "No you won't. I'm the only one that runs your errands without mistakes."

Giorno sighed, rubbing his thumb and index finger just above his brow, moving them apart, extending his hand before rubbing it over his forehead and loosely tied up hair. "What do you even want?"

"I feel like you could use a break," the older began massaging his counterpart's shoulders.

The blonde scoffed, taking a long sip of his hot, dark beverage. "A break? I run the mafia, Guido. If I take a break, this whole thing crumbles. Besides, I can't go anywhere without my body guard, and I don't want to overwork anyone."

Mista tilted his head, a puzzled look spreading across his face and shining out of his eyes. "Giorno. I am a 24/7 body guard. I live with you as your full time body guard."

"... You live with me because we're engaged, you absolute deadshit."

Mista giggled, running his hand through Giorno's hair. He strolled over, thick wooden soles clicking on the pristine marble floor and sat down on the younger man's desk.

"Come onnn," the older whined. "You need a break... Please? Just for like three days."

Giorno stayed silent, thinking about the problems that would arise from him leaving for just a few hours, not to mention days.

"Fine," he answered defeatedly after a full five minutes of sitting silently, ignoring Mista's eyes.

Giorno's golden blonde hair whipped behind him as he basked in the sunlight and cool breeze generated by the speed of Mista's stolen convertible. Taking a deep breath, he surveyed his surroundings. The beach seemed to go on for miles, salty waves kissing the sand, driftwood and seaweed docked just above the tide as decoration. Directly across the highway stood a rickety, wooden, top-heavy dock house, a weather-beaten, mini cabin of pure, disintegrating mid-eighteenth century raised up on bowed, waterlogged, rotting supports for the purpose of enabling elderly ladies in tea dresses and floppy hats with ribbons to sit out on good afternoons to watch the sailboats tutting along the horizon at their work - a setting rendered completely imagined and unreal by the thick, suffocating saline air surrounding the coast. Waves repetitively crashed over the warm, sunbaked sand, spreading it's webbed foam like the edge of a nightgown. The costal wind blew in bitter gusts, temporarily sending chills down the blonde's neck. The salty, fishy air lay heavily on his tongue and aggressively filled his nostrils. A golden comforter outlining the shimmering, tropical teal sea, creating a picture perfect image. The large, blazing sun was perched high in the sky, shining like Elijah's fiery chariot to heaven. The sun beat down on the calm ocean as another, chilly gust of wind forced itself past Giorno. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the faint taste of salt on the breeze that was complimented by the godly, ambrosial aroma of the flowers growing around the rolling dunes of sand.

The seaside cottage has mortar walls like cold set oatmeal, painted canary yellow with window frames of birch and shutters of grey. Inside is the gentle whirr of the overhead ceiling fan, chairs relaxed in the sunlight outside. The old windows are mullioned, overlooking the garden of flowers and towering palm trees. The rickety little building hunkered low on the coastal moor like a child in a heated round of hide-and-seek trying to keep from being caught. The cottage looked as if it was straight out of a fairytale with a happy ending or a picture book for little kids. It was rusty, old, and quite dusty from the outside, but rather welcoming inside. The whole house was made of birch and mortar. A tiny stove, two small wooden chairs, a circular table, a full sized bed, and that was it. Quaint and calming. Succulents, tropical flowers, and so much more flora. A wrought iron gate with paint chipping and flaking off was the door to the property, leading onto a narrow sandy path with small shells and pebbles. There was a tiny tide pool with barnacles, starfish, urchins, sand crabs, tropical fish, anemone, algae, seagrass, and a few seagulls. The dune grass was green and yellow, scorched and toasted by the sun in the balmy Italian summers.

"See? Are you happy you took this break now?" Mista opened the door to the cottage, breathing in a briny mix of cypress, blood lily, hibiscus, and African violet. He dropped their luggage on the creaky birch floor, sending a cloud of sand into the air.

"Not yet. It's pretty, but I kind of have a really important job to do."

"Awww, Gio-Gio, come on," Mista whined, pulling the other man into his chest. "You know you like it here~"

The blonde's face began to heat up, but he tried to keep a poker face. Mista connected their lips softly, smirking as he ran his hands down Giorno's sides. Giorno shuttered, leaning into Mista's chest. What was this feeling?  He felt as though he needed to throw up, but instead of stomach acid, he wanted to throw up his entire heart. Heat pooled in his abdomen.

He was all logic, feigned, cool detachment until Mista touched his skin. Then, something primitive, something carnal not only stirred in him, but completely took over his thinking. The rest of the dull, drab world became an unimportant blur that was quickly banished into the far, compartmentalized recesses of his subconscious mind. The only thing that mattered to him was being touched even more by Mista, kissing his slightly chapped lips, surrounded by scratchy stubble, feeling his large, warm hands on his stomach, trailing to his legs. Mista tried to be gentle with Giorno's clothing, not having the slightest desire to replace a $10,000 suit, but it was so hard. Giorno tried to keep his breathing steady, but soon began panting, not quite sure if out of nervousness or arousal.

With the front door closed and locked, every former falsification falls. The façade the mob boss and his guard show the world instantaneously melts away and all Mista wants is to fuck every drop of life out of Giorno. Every kiss he gives has a raw intensity as he glides his tongue down the blonde's body - Giorno's breathing fast, but his heart rate's much faster. Before they know how it happened, the two are naked, skin moving softly and desperately together, like the finest of Mulberry silk. Giorno groans as he feels Mista's hand enter from below, one finger moving against his most sensitive parts, their tongues entwined in an aggressively passionate kiss. Then Mista has three fingers inside, changing Giorno's heavy, desperate breathing with every thrust, taking pleasure in hearing his moans, which were so perfectly timed to his body. All at once, he stops and kisses from Giorno's neck to his stomach, his greedy hands light; then, he's licking and using his fingers all at once, watching the blonde's reaction, feeling and laughing at how his spindly legs move, watching his body writhe with each brush against the deepest parts of him.

"I'm gonna make you beg for this, you know that?"

Giorno whined in response, unable to form anything intelligible.

In seconds, he's on Giorno again, fucking him hard, just long enough to intoxicate his mind before stopping completely.

"Please- Please- Guido, I-"

"You what?" Mista smirked at the blonde, tugging on his hair as he pushes just his head in. Giorno cried out in misery, needing to feel his fiancé inside him. "Hmm?"

"I need you! I need you to- to fuck me sen-senseless! Please," he wailed, never before having this feeling.

That was all it took for Mista to give in, holding nothing back as he slammed into the blonde. Mista's hands pinned Giorno to the bed, hair coming undone and toes curled. He left every part of the younger man untouched and as quick as the two started screaming, crying out for one another in the heat of the moment, it was over. Giorno arched his back, almost drooling out of pure pleasure, and Mista pounded into him, biting his neck and squeezing the headboard with one hand. The blonde screamed out, digging his short, manicured nails into the older man's tan back. Mista's thrusts slowed and he gently kissed Giorno's soft lips.

"Oh- Oh my god..."

"Was that a good first time?"

"I- Honestly, I think it's the best," Giorno giggled, panting and still shaking from pleasure.

"Happy you took the vacation now?"

"Oh, definitely."

[lustastarte]

♤good enough | jotahan♤

genre: angst (lots of it)/fluff

rohan believes he isn't good enough to catch jotaro's eye, so be begins changing himself

published: 2020

!transgender rohan! trigger warning: dysphoria/depression

written by request

Rohan sighed as he thumbed absent-mindlessly through his closet, looking for something decent to wear. Truth be told, his clothes were all very nice, but he didn't think they were nice enough to impress the man he was after. He knew he needed to pick something quick, before his anxiety got him, because it's much harder to breathe in a binder when you're convinced you can't breathe at all. He scanned his clothes a little longer before deciding on something simple. A turtleneck and ripped jeans wouldn't be enough, but that's all he could think of that wasn't over the top or similar to what he had been wearing for the past two weeks. He had bought new shoes, new jewelry, new clothes, new everything. He changed his makeup. He had begun changing his attitude, body language, and speech patterns. All for him to notice, but he never did. All for nothing.

Slipping out of his apartment, he glided across the road and into a small bakery for breakfast. After grabbing his food, he found a nice table in the back and began working on his latest manga. He was so invested he never noticed the man that walked in. Jotaro ordered his usual, but instead of leaving, he decided to get a table. While looking for the perfect spot, he spotted Rohan, so instead of taking up an extra table, he just slid into the chair in front of him. Surely he wouldn't mind.

Rohan looked up, and upon seeing Jotaro, he slammed his sketchbook shut and shoved his work items into his bag, pretending as if he hadn't been doing anything. "G- Uh, Good morning," he managed to stutter as his face deepened by forty shades.

"Morning," Jotaro returned. "Why did you put away your work?"

"Oh- That's- No reason! I was done..." Rohan had overheard Jotaro talking about his dislike for manga, so he had gotten an entirely different job, yet still worked for his publisher, only now publishing under a new name.

"I don't mind if you work on it, you know. I only sat here because I didn't want to take up another table."

Rohan's heart hit his stomach and pain flared up in his chest. Jotaro didn't want to sit with him.

"Oh... well, I-I think I should probably go."

"Why? You're not even halfway done with your food," Jotaro questioned suspiciously.

"I have... stuff to do. Plus, I wouldn't want to bother you any more, so I'll be off."

"But you-," Jotaro looked up at the younger man.

"Goodbye, Dr. Kujo."

Jotaro furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, watching the short, paper-thin man power walk himself out of the shop and back to his house. What the hell is going on with him today...? Jotaro sipped on his flat white as he gazed out of the window at Rohan's blind-obscured, curtain-veiled windows. Maybe he just had a bad day yesterday... although, somehow, Jotaro couldn't shake the creeping feeling he did something, and wasn't so completely sure that Rohan's sudden secrecy and coldness wasn't his fault. He only started acting weird after the older man sat down with him. The scientist shrugged, finishing his drink and guiding himself to Josuke's house to help him and Okuyasu with homework.

Rohan found himself just inside his doorway, breaking down as if he hadn't just cried himself to sleep. I'm so stupid, why did I ever think he wanted anything to do with me? I'm not even a real man... he probably thinks I'm a disgusting freak. I'll never be good enough for him. He tried to change into more comfortable clothes, but ended up staring unwillingly at the foreign, unwanted mounds of fat on his chest. The teenagers tried to reassure him before, telling him they're just like pecks. But they weren't like a man's pecks. Rohan was skinny, and fairly muscle definition-less for a man, so he wouldn't have pecks without some muscle. His were taunting and heavy, paired with the emptiness he felt between his thighs. With tears streaming down his stubble-covered face, he ran from his room, leaving the large wall mirror glittering, his retreating form glinting with unintentional malice. He was disconnected from himself, from his identity as a whole, distressed at the thought of being stuck in the body he was currently in. He knew it was no one's fault, as everyone gladly used his pronouns and name, he just couldn't see past the things he despised about himself.

The next day, Rohan found himself in the little shop again, wearing a nice outfit and reading a book on the deep sea. He didn't care much for the ocean, but he knew Jotaro did, and that's all that mattered. Jotaro walked in, ordered his flat white, and instead of sitting with Rohan, he sat across the room. The last thing he wanted was to upset him again like the day before. The older man felt the stare of someone else on his neck, specifically Rohan, but he wasn't sure if it was a longing stare or death stare. Jotaro turned to look, only to be greeted with an empty table and half-eaten muffin. That's when he stood, pushing himself away from the table and leaving the shop, scalding flat white still in hand. He jogged across the street, narrowly avoiding cars, and banged on Rohan's door.

"Who is it?"

"It's me. Let me in." Jotaro got no response. "Rohan, it's Jotaro. Let me in," he waited a moment, hoping for a response from the man hiding inside. "Let me in or I come in on my own."

He heard footsteps nearing, metal being fumbled with, and... the sound of both a deadbolt and chain lock being locked. Without a second thought, Jotaro let Star Platinum unlock the locks, and swung the door open to find a sobbing Rohan curled up on the couch in a large hoodie and flannel sleep pants.

"Get o-out."

"Rohan, wh-?"

"Get. Out." Rohan snapped his head up to look at the older man, eyes bloodshot and face blotchy with color.

"I'm not leaving."

"I didn't ask. Get the hell out of my house," the younger commanded, voice raised and eyes threateningly dark.

"No. I'm not leaving until you tell me what the fuck has gotten into you."

Rohan growled. "Why would I tell you what's going on? You don't care anyway!"

Jotaro stayed silent, eyeing the upset artist.

"That's what I thought," the younger's voice was lowered, yet still full of the pain it held earlier. "Leave. Leave right now."

"Rohan-"

"Leave."

"No! I'm not going anywhere! You can't just keep doing this to yourself and expect us not to notice! Do you think I'm fucking stupid? Just because I'm not a social person does not mean I don't watch how people act. I know you've been changing yourself. Why?"

Rohan shook his head, attempting to deny it. "No, you're wrong-!"

"No, I'm not." Jotaro moved closer, closing the door behind him. "When I first met you, you dressed stylishly, designer clothes and everything. You were a great manga artist, and liked to be with your friends, even if they bothered you. Now, you wear simple clothes, work at a fucking restaurant, and don't ever leave the house for anything other than work! What the absolute hell has gotten into you?"

"Nothing! Now would you leave me alone?!"

Jotaro growled, setting his drink down and pointing a finger at Rohan. "Drop the act. I don't give a damn if it'll hurt your pride, tell me what the fuck is wrong with you!"

Tears welled up in Rohan's eyes as he hid his face. "Fine! You wanna know what's wrong? You wanna know what's fucking wrong with me? The fact that I'll never be good enough for you!" He stopped to take in a shaky, two-layered breath. "Are you fucking happy now?!"

"Good enough for me?! When have I ever said you weren't good enough?! I willingly talk to you and call you a friend, that alone should tell you that you're enough for me!"

The younger man slapped the couch cushion. "No! I don't want to be your fucking friend, Jotaro!"

"Then why are you so obsessed with being 'good enough' for me? Why else would you have to set a standard so high for yourself?"

Rohan's voice dropped in volume again. "Because I want to be yours, not be your friend... I'm tired of trying to win you over, only to get no reaction in return," he scoffed gently. "I mean, I don't even know why I'm so hung up over it. If you even like guys, you'd probably want a real one, anyway."

The scientist's jaw dropped open in frustration. "You're fucking stupid, you know that? You've always been a real man to me. I don't give a flying fuck or shit about what you have in your pants, Rohan! It never crossed my mind! You have to wear a binder? Okay, cool! Doesn't make a difference to me!"

"But-"

"But nothing. There's no difference between us except for our physical forms. And you should know I don't care about that anyway. Even if I wasn't asexual, it wouldn't matter. If you're a man, you're a man. You could wear makeup and a dress, without your binder, and still be a man!"

The artist began to cry again, chest filling with the same pain it had many times before. Jotaro sat down on the couch next to him, stiffly putting his arms out. He wasn't a big hugger, or a good one to be completely honest, but he thought Rohan could use one. The younger looked up at him, a little stunned, before leaning into the older man, sinking into his chest and letting his emotions crash over him. Jotaro held onto him tightly, breathing in a deep, steady rhythm that he hoped Rohan would pick up on.

"You'll always be enough for me... for everyone. If you aren't enough for someone, they aren't worth your time," Jotaro comforted him, speaking in nearly a whisper. "Please believe me..."

"Al-Always?"

"Always."

[lustastarte]

♡fawning | fugio♡

genre: fluff

fugo falls head over heels for giorno and doesn't know how to deal with it

published: 2020

written by request

"...and once we find the stand user, we must take them down at all costs. We'll then meet the Capo in Florence. Any questions?"

Trish gave the white-haired boy a harsh glare. "How do you expect us to know who the stand user is?"

"Buccellati said we would know. All he told me was that we must go to Tuscany, find the stand user, and take him out," Fugo growled, already irritated with Trish. "Anyone else?"

"Do you know his name?"

"Narancia, if I knew his name, I'd tell-," Fugo froze as the door opened and closed. Giorno Giovanna glided through the door frame, taking every bit of breath out of Fugo's lungs. He wore a dark blue suit, decorated with pink ladybug buttons and his long, blonde hair was down. The suit color brought out the sparkle in his eyes, something Fugo never stopped thinking about. "-you..."

"Panna? You good? You look kinda spaced ou-"

"A-Ah, um- any more questions?"

Giorno raised his hand, a sliver of a smile appearing. "Do you mind repeating yourself? I seem to have come in late," he sang, tapping his gloss covered lips with his index finger.

"Repeat what?" Fugo asked, starstruck and unable to tear his eyes or mind off the blonde.

Giorno laughed and Fugo swallowed thickly. "Didn't you just give a briefing?"

"O-Oh! Yeah, um-... so- Buccellati- ah-..." he trailed off, picking at his red suit.

"Panna, are you sure you're okay? You look like you're about to shit yourself." Narancia stood up.

"Y-Yes! I'm good, everything is great, stop asking."

"Hurry and tell him so we can do what we need to do," Mista said, trying to clean his pistol.

"Well, there's- um we go- Buccellati said-"

"Oh my fucking god, there's a stand user in Tuscany, we have to go take him out, and then meet Buccellati in Florence," Abbacchio spoke up. "It isn't that fucking hard, Fugo. Stop fawning over piss boy and do your damn job."

Fugo's face flooded with color. "I-I'm not! I'm not fawning! I just- I just have a stomach ache! Yeah, a stomach ache! I'll be back-," he left off, sprinting to hide in the bathroom. 

"Told you he was gonna shit himself," Narancia muttered to Mista. 

Giorno looked around, eyes filled with confusion. "What the hell happened to him?"

"He thinks you're hot, shit lips. Don't know why, but he does," Abbacchio sighed, swirling his glass of wine.

"Wow, thanks."

Narancia looked up. "No, Abba has a point. You came in and Fugo forgot how to breathe."

"Yeah, he does that every time you come in, Gio. You know that."

"Well I do now..."

Fugo rocked back and forth in the bathroom floor, panicking.

Oh god, I just fell apart in front of Giorno! He probably thinks I'm losing my mind! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK! Think, Pannacotta, think! Of all the times I can't fucking think, it had to be this one? Why in front of everyone? Why couldn't I just lose my shit over him in privacy? Why'd he have to come in with his hair down? Or in that suit? God damn it Fugo! Pull your shit together, you're like a boy-crazed chick! And Abbacchio even called you out on it! Now there's no way Giorno doesn't know... but god, how could I hold it together? The way he came in, looking as though he had just woken up, that beautiful suit, his hair down, and him tapping his lips drove me crazy... who wouldn't go crazy over that? He has to be fucking with me. He has to know what he's doing.

"Go check on him, Gio," Mista suggested. Giorno padded into the bathroom, softly calling Fugo's name, before seeing him in the floor.

"Panna, it's Giorno," he sang.

"Fuck! I mean- sorry, you scared me..."

"What happened to you back there?"

Fugo's eyes widened. "N-Nothing! Nothing, I'm okay!"

"Panna, tell me the truth..."

Fugo sighed. "I just got distracted..."

"About...?"

"You came in with that suit and your hair down and well- I- I just got distracted..."

Giorno giggled. "I looked that much of a mess?"

"No, no! You look so good and I just couldn't stop myself from daydr- uh- getting distracted."

"Daydreaming?"

Fugo shook his head, more than embarrassed. "No! I wasn't daydreaming," he awkwardly laughed. "N-Not me, wrong guy..."

"Panna," Giorno sighed, "you're the only one in that room that likes me."

"W-What?!" He looked up, eyes wide. "Who told you that?"

"I walked in and you, the smartest man I know, reverted to caveman language. But it's fine because I like you too, Panna. I like when you fawn over me, it makes me feel special."

Fugo's mouth was dry, so he nodded. Giorno giggled and gave him a soft, quick kiss and grabbed his hands. "Do you think you could handle being my boyfriend?"

Fugo nodded, still awestruck. "Always, who- who wouldn't, you're- I'm so lucky..."

After they decided to leave the bathroom and track down the stand user, they returned to one another's rooms instead of their own, and cuddled to sleep.

[lustastarte]

♤heartbreak | josuyasu♤

genre: angst (lots of it)/fluff

okuyasu's in love with his best friend and can't handle the guilt any longer

published: 2020

"Wow, Suke, I- You- You look amazing..."

"No I don't... You're only saying that because you have to."

"Just because I'm your best friend doesn't mean I have to do shit, Josuke. If I thought you looked bad, I'd tell you, dumbass."

"Sorry, I just figured that-"

"Josuke," Okuyasu gave Josuke a stern look. "Look at me. I'm not like all the other people you know. I'm not going to say things just to make you feel better. I'm not like that."

The other teen nodded and looked down, mumbling a quick, "Sorry."

 Okuyasu's entire demeanor changed at that small, soft spoken word. "Suke, hey," he cooed, his voice a million times softer than it was not a second ago. He grabbed the other's hands, running his thumb over Josuke's knuckles as he spoke. "Please don't apologize... You have nothing to be sorry for."

"Are you sure?"

"As sure as I'll ever be," Okuyasu whispered, pulling his best friend into a hug, drawing little circles on his back. "I love you, you don't ever need to apologize to me for not thinking as highly of yourself as I do."

Josuke nodded, squeezing Okuyasu's torso before speaking into the larger teen's shoulder. "I love you too."

And as much as Okuyasu wanted him to mean it in the same way, he knew it was never going to happen. Josuke would never love him the way he loves Okuyasu. Every time the Japanese boy says, "I love you, Oku," it's like a slow, brutal stab in his heart. He knows it'll never be real, but it still sets him off each time those three words leaves his crush's pretty little lips. Josuke let go of the other male and began to walk out the door, Okuyasu trailing after him like a lost puppy. He didn't want the blue eyed boy to leave and dreaded the moment a car honked its horn for Josuke.

Honk honk!

"Rohan's here, I gotta go."

"Bye, Suke. Be safe and don't do anything stupid," Okuyasu said, hugging his friend one more time. "Please," he said, so softly that he barely even heard it himself.

"I'll make sure I don't get pregnant, I have condoms just in case," Josuke laughed at his own joke, his large British-American eyes closing and his nose wrinkling up.

Okuyasu barely lifted one side of his mouth, tears prickling up in the corner of his eyes. "Yeah."

"I'll text you if I end up staying the night," the older called as he ran down the stairs. "Bye Oku!"

When the door closed in front of him, Okuyasu stood there, numb. He refused to look away, even as his lips trembled and his shoulders heaved with emotion, unwilling to back down. His dark lashes brimmed heavy with tears; his hands clenched into shaking fists, in a desperate battle against the crushing heartbreak. A lone tear traced down his cheek, and just like that, the floodgates opened. He wept, tears streaming from his black eyes, loud, heaving sobs tearing from his throat, and still, he did not look away. Not until the sobs forcefully drove him to his knees did his determined gaze fall. He felt useless, absolutely idiotic for letting his emotions break him so easily. It took only a second for all of his emotions to hit him, only a second for him to break down in his and Josuke's shared living room, only a second for his eyes to drown his cheeks in salty tears. He patted around the room blindly, looking for his phone through a curtain of sadness. He pressed a contact name, not really knowing who's it was, only hoping it was one of his friends.

"Hello?"

"Ko- Koichi... I-"

"Oku, what's wrong?"

"Josuke left with Rohan and I couldn't tell him how I f-felt and everything hurts and- and I just want to- to die," Okuyasu sobbed into the phone. "I can't breathe and everything is closing in on me, Koichi please, I c-can't do this..."

"You're home, right?"

"Y-yes."

"Stay right there where you are, I'm coming over. I'll be there in a minute."

Okuyasu ended the call and sat in the floor, rocking himself back and forth slowly, head in between his knees, looking for some sort of comfort. He should have been prepared, he knew his depression would hit, it does each time Josuke leaves.

Not too much later, Koichi opened the door. "Oh, Okuyasu..."

All the large teen could do was sit up and look at his smaller friend, shaking and crying silently. Koichi almost threw himself on the floor in his haste to comfort Okuyasu. He wrapped his arms around the tan boy and pulled him over so that most of his weight would be off of Okuyasu and on him.

The small boy cooed to Okuyasu, playing with his soft, black and grey hair and holding him tightly to his chest. Okuyasu's body shook with sobs, his tears staining Koichi's shirt. He kissed the top of Okuyasu's head in a loving, brotherly way, just as he had always done. The silver haired boy began humming, placing his head on top of Okuyasu's momentarily, just to let him know he was still there. Okuyasu sobbed into Koichi's chest unceasingly, hands frantically clutching at his jacket. Koichi held him in silence, rocking him slowly as his tears soaked his chest. A tiny lapse in the sob assault let him pull away, blinking lashes heavy with tears, before he collapsed again, his howls of love induced misery worsening. The pain must have come in waves, minutes of sobbing broken apart by short pauses for recovering breaths, before angrily hurling him back into the outstretched arms of his grief.

When he at last turned his face to Koichi, he was a picture, a spitting image of grief, loss, and devastation. His chest heaved up and down, and his body fell limp against the smaller's.

"Koichi..."

"I know, Oku... I know it hurts. Let it all out," Koichi whispered to the taller boy, wiping away his tears and placing his head back on his chest. Okuyasu did not start crying again, he only clung onto his friend's torso as if it were the last thing he'd ever do.

"Do you want me to call Yukako?"

Okuyasu nodded almost robotically, lying on Koichi's chest.

"Hey, Yukako, you need to come to Oku's."

"What? Why? What happ-"

"I'll explain when you get here, just hur-"

Koichi was interrupted by Okuyasu losing himself again. From the broken man came the most hysterical crying, the ear-splitting, screaming sobs only interrupted by his need to draw breath. It was a primal sound, one Koichi and Yukako were programmed not to ignore. Koichi turned his head, panicking.

"I'll be there in ten." 

And with that, Yukako hung up, sprinting to her car.

Koichi held the man with ebony hair tightly, not thinking about anything else but his friend's sanity. Okuyasu's loosing his mind for the second time that night. He can feel it unraveling, the threads of every happy memory with Josuke he could ever once recall, now all nothing but a disarray of make believe strings scattered about his feet. His sharp knees dug into the floor as he tried to ground himself, his hands unsteady as they silently clawed at the soft fabric of Koichi's jacket. He opened his mouth, but not a sound came out, his head violently shaking as if there was a drill to the back of his skull. His eyes saw nothing; they have lost all sight of what is and what could have been. Okuyasu cried like there was too much raw pain inside him to be contained. He cried like his spirit needed to break loose from his skin, desperate to release an unstoppable rage on the world. The soothing words from Koichi made no difference at all. Okuyasu was beyond all reason, beyond all natural methods of calming. 

"I can't- I can't keep- can't keep doing t-this," Okuyasu wailed into the crook of Koichi's neck, hyperventilating. "Koichi, I can't- I can't- I can't-"

"I know Oku, I know," Koichi reassured him softly, placing a soft kiss on the taller man's forehead. "You're gonna be okay. Yukako will be here in a minute."

"O-"

TingTingTing! TingTingTing! TingTingTing! TingTingTing!

"Who- Who's texting?"

Koichi grabbed the phone, reading the screen. He quickly tossed it back onto the couch, knowing that what was in the text Okuyasu had received was not a good thing right now.

"No one."

"It's Josuke, isn't- isn't it?"

Koichi could see the tears forming in Okuyasu's eyes, ready to prepare another wave of vehement sobbing for him to helplessly choke on. Yet, he couldn't lie to him.

"Yes, it is. Yukako and I are gonna stay with you tonight, okay?"

Okuyasu stayed silent, trying not to cry again. "What did- What did the text say?"

"Nothing you need to know."

"He's staying over at Rohan's tonight, isn't he? That's- That's why he's texting..."

Koichi nodded solemnly, and Okuyasu's dams broke for the third time.

Heart break is a funny thing. Everyone always knows it's going to happen, yet they're never prepared for it. They underestimate its power. Maybe that's why Okuyasu is so distraught. It's so ironic, like giving a murderer a gun, and expecting not to be killed. Why are they never ready for it? 

Because they're in denial. They believe it won't happen. They believe the murderer will not kill them. They believe if we give him their hearts he will not crush it. Because hearts shouldn't be crushed. They should be cherished and protected. 

If only someone had told Josuke that. If only someone had told Josuke that he even had Okuyasu's heart in the first place. Maybe then, Okuyasu wouldn't be as broken and conflicted as he is right now.

On one hand, the teen never wants to see Josuke again, but on the other, he wants to kick in the door to Rohan's apartment and confess his love to his best friend because he can't take it anymore. The desolation Okuyasu felt was all consuming. His mind became an icy wasteland, the wind howled in his soul and wrapped gnarly, freezing tentacles around his heart so tightly it almost stopped beating. Oh, how Okuyasu hated Josuke. He hated his stupid, bright smile, his round, light eyes, his handsome complexion, his near-perfect body. Oh, how he hated the sound of his roommate's voice, his light footsteps, his thick, dark blue hair. Oh, how Okuyasu hated Josuke. He hated that Josuke was so beautiful, so perfect that he drew nearly everyone to him. He hated that Josuke dated one person after another, never giving him any time to confess. He hated that Josuke always came to him for love advice. He hated that Josuke was not his.

But oh, how Okuyasu loved Josuke. He loved his stunning, shining smile, his large, soft, round eyes, his handsome complexion, his absolutely perfect body. Oh, how he loved the sound of Josuke's semi-deep, but quiet, voice, his soft footsteps, his thick, soft dark blue hair. Oh, how Okuyasu loved Josuke. He loved how ethereal Josuke was. He loved that Josuke was a hard person to break when it came to relationships, which meant Okuyasu never had to see him cry. He loved that Josuke thought he was helpful and talked to him regularly, except none of that mattered any more as Okuyasu held onto Koichi, his body racking with strained sobs. Yukako chose that moment to open the door, dropping her bags and hitting the floor at the speed of light. She began to tear up herself, never imagining that she'd see Okuyasu so broken. Koichi looked up at her, wide-eyed, shaking his head as if to say, "Yukako, don't cry, we're busy."

Yukako nodded, pulling Okuyasu onto her chest so that Koichi could go grab them all a glass of water. The woman kissed Okuyasu's head repeatedly, cooing softly in between pecks. It seemed to calm the broken teen down enough that he could talk.

"What happened, Oku?"

"Yuka... I can't keep doing-," he hiccuped, "doing this. Josuke loves Rohan, not me. Do you know how hard it is to be friends with the- with the boy you love?" Okuyasu was talking into Yukako's chest, his friends listening intently. "It's so hard to pretend to be friends with someone-... someone special. Especially when every time you look at them, all you see is everything you want to have..."

Okuyasu looked up, tears streaking down his face. "All I want is Josuke..."

Yukako wiped the tears away. "Oku, please don't cry again... Drink some water," she whispered to Okuyasu, kissing his forehead again. The upset man gratefully drank each drop of the water Koichi brought him. He was so tired he couldn't keep his eyes open.

"Let's get him to bed," Koichi spoke softly to Yukako, who helped Okuyasu up, across the house, and into his bed. Just as they turned to leave the room, Okuyasu called out to them hoarsely.

"Please don't leave..."

So the other two teens climbed into bed with Okuyasu, wrapping their arms around the mentally drained boy, and together, the three friends fell asleep.

Around three a.m., Josuke shuffled into his dark house. Tears stained his soft cheeks as he walked into his bedroom. He popped his head into Okuyasu's room, only to find that Yukako and Koichi were in the bed as well.

"Good for him," Josuke mumbled to himself, throwing his things down on his bed. Why was tonight so rough? Rohan had invited him over to meet his new girlfriend, Reimi, which meant that his days of dating him were over. Then Josuke came home, hoping to talk to his best friend about it, only to find him in the bed with two others. Truthfully, Josuke only really dated Rohan to get his eyes and mind off Okuyasu. Yes, he did have some feelings for Rohan, but he had more feelings for Okuyasu.

The next morning, Koichi and Yukako were making breakfast when Josuke got up.

"What time did you get here, Josuke?"

"Around three a.m.," he responded with a yawn. "I left on my own because Rohan pretty much told me we were going on a date, then took me to meet his new girlfriend."

"Oh, I'm so sorry..."

"It's okay Koi. Anyway, so I came into the house, hoping Okuyasu would still be up so I could conf- uhh- talk to him about everything, and instead I found you guys all in the bed." Josuke laughed stiffly. "There's a lot of things I thought Oku would do while I was gone, but I never imagined that he'd have a threesome."

Koichi choked on his coffee. "Wait, you think we gang-banged him? No way!"

Yukako couldn't stop herself from laughing. "Koichi and I are in a completely monogamous relationship and Oku... Well, let's just say he has his eyes set on someone."

Josuke felt his heart shatter. "Oh..."

"Do you still need to talk to him? He should be up," Koichi said lightly, sensing what Josuke was really upset about.

So Josuke padded into Okuyasu's room without a sound, the taller seeing him for only a second before he was pulled into a hug.

"Suke, what are you doing?"

He got no response from the blue-haired man, who tightened his grip on Okuyasu.

"Suke?"

Still no response save for Josuke's head shifting slightly.

"Josuke?"

Josuke inhaled a slow, shaky breath. "I love you."

"I love you too, Suke... What's wrong?"

The slightly smaller teen closed his eyes, mentally preparing himself for what he was about to do. "Us, Oku. That's what's wrong. No matter how many guys and girls I date, I can't forget you. I can't stop loving you. I know you have your eyes on someone, but goddamn it, Oku, I love you so much," Josuke whimpered while tears escaped his scared eyes. "I cry myself to sleep every night because when I say 'I love you,' I mean it in a completely different way, and I can't stop it."

Okuyasu was frozen, unable to react. He could only stare as Josuke talked, but right as Josuke got up to leave the room, the black headed man's hand shot out, closing around the shorter's wrist. He stood up quickly, pulling Josuke forward and almost literally slamming their lips together. When the two pulled back for air, Okuyasu cupped Josuke's face in his hands.

"I've always meant it the same. I love you Josuke, I'm so in love with you. I had a breakdown after you left because I felt like I'd never have you. That's why Koichi and Yukako are here."

"Okuyasu, I-... Why didn't you tell me? I would've never even left last night."

"I was scared, I was so afraid I'd lose you."

Josuke pressed their foreheads together. "I love you so much, I regret not telling you sooner..."

"Hey, Suke, it's okay, I know now, please don't cry."

After Josuke finished explaining everything to Okuyasu, they sent Koichi and Yukako home. The taller man wasn't sure what had gotten hold of him, but up until this moment, he'd never kissed someone more than he did that day. It was almost as if they were making up for all the lost time. Making up for all the chances they had missed. And for the first time in almost twenty-four hours, Okuyasu was okay. He was happy. He was calm. He was in love. The boy he thought would never be his was now exactly that. For some reason, all of this made him feel so much better. Just knowing that Josuke, the single most beautiful man that he had ever seen, was his, he felt lightened. Knowing that he could say "I love you," and mean it the way he wants to is more than he could ever ask for. Josuke is more than he could ever ask for, more than he thinks he deserves. Okuyasu was euphoric, all because of one man, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

[lustastarte]

♡courting | avpol♡

genre: fluff

a victorian era egyptian prince unavoidably falls for his french fencing instructor

published: 2020

victorian era au

written by request

Jean stepped out of his drawn carriage, legs aching due to the long drive from the port. The Queen of Egypt had him shipped in from France to instruct her son in sword fighting, who he had never met. He bowed to the beautiful Queen when she stepped outside to greet him.

"Hello my beautiful Queen! Have you missed my presence?"

The Queen laughed, pigment coated lips parting to reveal two rows of straight white teeth. "I don't believe so," she giggled.

Jean threw his head back, laughing loudly. "Oh, don't sell me a dog! Grace me with an embrace, will you?" 

The Queen eagerly stepped forward, pulling the French man into her arms, kissing him once on each cheek, leaning into his much taller frame. 

"Have you grown since we last met, Jean?" She studied his buff, pale figure, barely hidden in a soft green cotton dress shirt and pants. His white hair slicked back, face powdered and kept cool with his fan. 

"I am afraid not," he snickered, placing his hands on the Queen's shoulders. "Do you mind showing me around your new palace, mademoiselle?"

The Queen giggled, blushing. "You make me feel so young Jean! I would be honored to show you around, but first, I would like you to meet your student," she said through a bright smile, leading Polnareff through the towering, arched, polished Senegal Ebony doors. The sculptures in the foyer of the palace had been made long ago in Ancient Egypt by masters of the craft. They were set on pedestals amid the water of the fountains and the perfectly manicured flower planters that resembled splatters of neon gouache upon dark, eco green fabric.

"Abasi, fetch Muhammad for me, could you?" The Queen's assistant nodded and rushed off, returning with a young Prince. He was clothed in a beautiful crimson Egyptian cotton suit, and draped with a white wool robe, both with matte finishes that deflected the golden desert sun onto the decorative mass of jewelry and his glowing, flawless warm sepia skin and facial markings, spattered with deep golden highlights and undertones. His black hair, newly and carefully styled into Bantu knots, shone out from under his wrapped cotton headband, and glinted in the sunlight. The Prince took pride in how he looked, easily the most attractive man in his kingdom, because he worked for it. He never spent his mother's money, nor asked his father for his way. Each piece of pure gold jewelry decorating his shoulders, arms, and face were paid for with money he made off the local market for selling eggs, and were hand crafted by the kingdom's wisest woman, blessed with her mental clarity and wisdom.

"Good afternoon, Mama. Who is this?"

"Good afternoon son, this is your new fencing instructor. You do not have to be formal with him, he and I have been friends since I visited France a few years back."

Polnareff bowed quickly, freezing in his tracks upon coming up. His porcelain skin began to heat up as the blood rushed to his cheeks. "I-It is an honor, Prince Avdol."

"Please," Avdol chuckled, his deep, sweet sorghum voice seeping into the French man's chest and sending his heart into his throat. "Call me Muhammad. You are...?"

"Jean Pierre Polnareff, your highness," the French man said, placing his open red fan over his heart and bowing once more.

"Do you mind if I call you Jean?"

"That would be just as ideal as my last name, sir."

"Now then," Avdol flashed a smile. "Shall we begin our lessons?"

Polnareff nodded and followed behind the Prince to a ballroom. He gave Avdol his uniform and shrugged himself into his own. The French man provided the Prince with a weapon, and took his stance opposite him. 

Avdol hefted his own weapon, studying Polnareff's pose. His feet were splayed at right angles, his left arm sticking out behind him like the handle of a teacup. His fencing armor made him look like a walking quilt. Even with his sword pointed straight at him, Polnareff looked more than silly. Still, it was quite adorable on the man.

"More weight on your back foot," he said, breaking his stance to place his sword on the polished lapis lazuli floor and nudge Avdol's boots further apart. "So you can push off when you attack... And always keep sideways to your opponent," he said, placing his hands upon the Egyptian's waist and gently turning him to the side. "That way, your chest presents the smallest possible target," Polnareff finished with a smile before shuffling back over to his sword. 

"Thank you Pol- Jean," the Prince stuttered, heart fluttering from the unexpected contact.

"Of course. Now show me how you would begin..."

For the next three hours, Avdol only did the motions he saw Polnareff do and stare. He couldn't stop staring. What was it that made him so obsessed with a French man rather than the beautiful Egyptian women lined up to be his wife? They had dinner and bid one another farewell for the night, and still, Avdol had the man on his mind. No matter what he did, he couldn't get the sun-spotted milky skin and blue eyes out of his head. He sighed out loud, throwing himself and his silk sleepwear onto the plush bed. Pulling a pillow up against his chest, the Prince held it tightly and closed his earthy brown eyes, imagining his instructor unwillingly as he fell asleep.

Morning after morning came, and once again the Prince was sharing breakfast with his instructor before their lesson. He had improved quite a bit in the month Polnareff has been teaching him, but it wasn't because he was listening. He wanted to impress the French man, and so far, he had succeeded.

"Can I ask you something, Jean?"

Polnareff glanced up from his book and smiled. "Of course."

"How long will you be instructing me?"

"Well," the French man stopped to run a hand through his slicked-back silver hair. "At the rate you're learning, I shouldn't need to stay long."

"I suppose that's true, yes," Avdol muttered, face dropping.

"What's the matter, mon amie?"

The Prince's heart fluttered, Polnareff's French made his stomach fill with large, restless butterflies. "It is nothing, I just assumed you would be here longer than one month."

"I can if you would like me to be, Muhammad. I am in no hurry to return to France."

Avdol's face darkened with an influx of blood to his cheeks. "I am going to prepare for the less-"

"There is not a lesson for today your majesty, I would like to talk to you, if that is acceptable."

Sitting on the stage in the ballroom, the two conversed for hours.

"I have come to enjoy your company extremely, Jean..."

Polnareff blushed softly, looking over his shoulder as he hid the left half of his face briefly with an open fan. "I have come to enjoy yours as well, so much so that I-... ah, forgive me." He closed the fan and slowly drew it across his cheek, then half opened, placed it against his lips before closing it and placing it back into his lap.

Avdol froze, fighting himself over whether to kiss the instructor or not. He grabbed the other's dusty pink cheeks and placed his lips upon Polnareff's. On pulling back, he began to furiously apologize, only to be interrupted by another kiss. 

"So you do understand fan language?"

The Prince nodded and glanced at the floor. "I love you too... I know it's early, but I'm not sure I want to give this chance up. Will you stay here?"

"Of course I will, mon cherie. Always."

Nearly a year later, Polnareff still had a place in the palace, yet now beside Avdol in his own bed and on the throne. The French man was set to become the second Prince of Egypt by marriage. The two enjoyed each day together, working in the garden, taking care of livestock, and running the kingdom. They slept cuddled together as if their lives depended on it, and the Queen praised herself each day for introducing the two.

[lustastarte]

♡questioning them all | kirafumi (jjl)♡

genre: fluff/some angst

kirafumi soft love budding from preschool to present

published: 2020

written by request

It was the first day of preschool, and Kira's parents wanted to make sure he looked his best. They knew it was important for him to make friends, as he only had one. Josefumi Kujo, the boy who lived across the street, was the only kid his age that Kira knew. They had been friends ever since Kira's mom gave birth to him. Mr. and Mrs. Yoshikage had always thought there was something strange about the relationship between the two, but pushed it aside when Mrs. Kujo explained that Josefumi was clingier than the average kid, and he was probably afraid that Kira would leave him.

Kira was sitting at a table when Josefumi walked into the colorful classroom, nervously looking around. His eyes lit up as he jumped out of his chair to greet the other boy.

"Fumi!"

Josefumi gasped, hugging Kira tightly.

"Kiwa!"

After the boys finished hugging, Kira grabbed the other boy's hand and walked him to the table he had been sitting at. There were two other kids there, who introduced themselves.

"I'm Sakunami!"

"I'm Kyo!"

Josefumi waved shyly, causing Kira to giggle.

"Fumi, don't be scared! They're really nice!"

Josefumi only nodded and hugged his friend, something he does often when nervous or confronted with too many things going on at once.

"Fumi," Kira cooed. "Don't be scared... Talk to them!"

"H-Hi Sakuami... Hi Kyo..."

"Hi Fumi!" The two girls smiled brightly at the shy boy, who smiled back just as hard before burying his face in Kira's arm.

"What's going on here?" The teacher squatted down so that Josefumi could see her face.

"No, Miss Holly, he's okay! He's just scared," Kira said, smiling at the teacher.

"Alright..."

The school day went on as Miss Holly taught the kids the alphabet. 

Soon it was nap time for the preschoolers, and the four friends placed their mats right next to each other. They were fast asleep when a small, shaky boy walked through the classroom door. 

He was smaller than the rest of them, obviously a year younger.

"Hey, what's your name?"

"Joshu," the boy whispered softly. "Is- Is this Miss Holly's room?"

"Yes it is," she responded calmly.

"I- I'm your student," the small boy muttered, looking down.

"Oh, well the other kids are asleep so why don't you grab a mat and lay down somewhere?"

"Yes ma'am."

When Kira woke up, there was a boy on his other side, but he could've sworn there wasn't anyone there when he went to sleep.

"Hi," he said quietly to the smaller boy. "I'm Kira, what's your name?"

"Hi Kia... I'm J-Joshu."

"Hi Joshu! Guys, look! This is Joshu."

Josefumi rubbed his eyes as he sat up from his nap. Sakunami began waving furiously and Kyo smiled happily at the new kid.

"I'm Kyo!"

"Hi, I'm Sakunami!"

Josefumi looked nervously at Kira, hoping he would introduce him for him. Kira just smiled and looked back at him encouragingly.

"H-Hi Joshu... I'm Josefumi," the boy almost whispered, trying to hide behind Kira.

The next day, Miss Holly had the kids introduce the friends they had made.

"This is Fumi, that's Sakunami, that's Kyo, and that's Joshu!"

"Good, Kira! Now it's your turn, Josefumi," the teacher said, not noticing that Kira had messed up some of their names when speaking.

Josefumi took a deep breath, and Kira grabbed his hand to comfort him.

"This is Kiwa, that's Sakuami, that's Joshu," the boy whispered, Kira still holding his hand tightly. "And that's Kyo!"

"Sakunami, honey," the teacher corrected.

"Sakuami?"

"No, Sakunami."

"Sakuami," Josefumi said, sure that he had gotten it right that time.

"No. Repeat after me. Saku."

"Saku."

"Nami."

"Nami."

"Put it together," the teacher said.

"Sakuami!"

Miss Holly sighed. "Let's try aga-"

"No! Stop it," Kira yelled, hugging Josefumi. "He can't help it."

"Don't yell at me, Yoshikage Kira. He needs to learn how to say it."

"No he doesn't! He says it just fine! Leave him alone!"

"Time out, Kira. Go."

Kira looked at Josefumi sadly, getting up to go sit in the corner.

"Now, Josefumi-"

"No!"

"Sakunami, do you want time out too?"

"Leave Fumi alone!"

"Get in the corner."

So Sakunami left the table as well, and just as Miss Holly was about to speak, Kyo launched out of her seat to cover Josefumi's ears.

"If he says her name is Sakuami, her name is Sakuami. You're the one saying it wrong."

"Now leave him alone!" Joshu was glaring at the woman, who furiously grabbed her phone, calling the five kids' mothers.

When their parents came to pick them up, Miss Holly sat the adults down and asked the children to tell them what happened. The kids left afterward, Kira leaving with Josefumi. Gradually, Josefumi became less shy, and by first grade, he could even talk to the students he wasn't friends with.

One day after school, he had invited Kira over. They spent the whole day together, and then it was time to sleep. The two boys put on their pyjamas and crawled up into Josefumi's bed, cuddling one another. Some time after midnight, Kira woke up in a cold sweat, tears streaming from his tired eyes. He shook Josefumi awake, who immediately comforted him and distracted him from the awful nightmare he had just experienced. They cuddled back up together and talked about their favorite shows until Kira fell asleep in Josefumi's arms again. When Mrs. Kujo woke them up, Kira's parents were waiting downstairs.

"Kira, honey, your parents are here"

So the two boys got dressed and gathered all of Kira's things up. Josefumi hugged him before leading him down the staircase.

"Bye, Kira!" the boy pulled the other into another hug.

"Bye, Fumi!"

But just as Kira got to the door, Josefumi realized something. He had forgotten their best friend ritual.

"Kira, wait!"

"Huh?"

"We forgot our goodbye kiss!" Josefumi ran up to the boy and kissed him softly, gently connecting their lips for a split second. Kira grabbed the other's hands in return, before being yanked away by his parents.

"Kira?"

"Bye Jo-!"

And his sentence was cut short by the front door slamming shut.

"Josefumi Kujo! Why did you do that?"

"Momma, that's what best friends do!"

"And who told you that?"

"Well you and Daddy kiss, and he's your best friend, right?" 

"Yes, but-"

"And Kira's mommy and daddy kiss, and they're best friends. So why can't Kira and I kiss? We do it all the time."

Josefumi wasn't lying. They kissed on the playground, they kissed at lunch. They kissed when one was about to leave the other's house, just not in front of their parents, normally.

"Jojo, you can't just kiss Kira."

"Why not? You just randomly kiss daddy all the time," Josefumi reasoned, more than confused and not getting why his mom was mad at him for kissing his best friend.

"Your Daddy and I are married though."

"Kira and I are married too! We got married on the playground because best friends always get married!"

"I kiss your dad because I love him, and I'm his wife."

"I love Kira a lot, so I kiss him often! I'm his husband!"

The woman sat her son down, sighing.

"Jojo, you can't just kiss him."

"But why not? I don't understand it..."

"...Do you love Kira?"

"Yeah! I love him a lot!"

"No, baby, I mean as a boyfriend. Are you dating Kira?"

"I do love him that much! We're married, and we promised each other that we would get married for real when we got older!"

"But do you like Kira? As in like him as if he were your boyfriend?"

Josefumi froze for a second. Would he get in trouble for lying? Or would he get yelled at for the truth?

"Yeah," he muttered, going with the truth.

"Does he like you like that?"

"Yeah, he told me so! But don't tell his parents, they'll get mad at him..."

"Why?"

"He said they don't support being um... I don't remember the word."

"Gay?"

"Yeah! They don't support being gay, and when two boys like each other, they're 'being gay.'"

"So are you and Kira dating?"

"No, he isn't allowed to date... I wish we were, though."

Mrs. Kujo began to worry. Where would Kira go after this? What if they shunned Josefumi?

Mrs. Yoshikage shut her car door and began to drive.

"Kira Yoshikage! Why the hell did you let him do that?"

"What do you mean? I wanted it!"

"You wanted it?!"

"We always kiss, Mommy! It's what best friends are supposed to do!"

"No it isn't! Did he tell you this?"

"No, I told him."

Kira's mom was furious, her face blood red and steam almost coming out of her ears.

"Kira! Where the fuck did you get an idea like that? Little boys only kiss little girls. Do you understand that?"

"No, Mommy, I love Josefumi! Why can't I kiss him?"

The woman almost wrecked the car when Kira finished.

"I don't want you around Josefumi from now on," she growled.

"But Mommy! Please, he's my best friend! I can't live here without him!"

"Then I guess we'll be living somewhere else."

Kira began to cry. His mom made him start to pack all his things up, and by Sunday, they were moving into a house that they owned halfway across the world in Great Britain.

Josefumi had never known why Kira was dragged out of his house that day, and he never knew that day would be the last time he ever saw Yoshikage Kira, the boy he loved. He never knew until he got older. He never knew until he realized seven years later that Kira wasn't coming back. He never knew until he realized he was the one who drove his first love away with a kiss. Sure, Josefumi dated after losing Kira. From eighth grade to tenth, he dated a cute boy from his science class. They would go on small dates, meeting up at football games and making out under the bleachers, sitting in the very back of movie theaters to cuddle, and meeting in little cafes to study while they hold hands. 

Josefumi was sure he loved the boy, so why did it feel wrong to be with him? The two boys ended up deciding to be just friends, as they didn't feel anything special for the other any more.

In his junior year, he dated a boy he met at a competition, who had just been through a nasty break-up with a girl Josefumi didn't know. They would read together, sit in the park together, and listen to music together. The heartbroken boy never kissed Josefumi, just because he wanted his first kiss to be special, and only once he knew he had found the one. They too agreed on being just friends halfway through the year, and that boy went on to fall in love with Josefumi's eighth grade boyfriend. Josefumi loved seeing them happy, and was a proud third wheel.

During his first year of college, Josefumi met someone on a dating website. His name was something strange, but at least he was charming. They were set to go on a date that day. The two had fun, flirting and playing around, but just as the night was about to end, a stranger walked up to the two.

"You CHEATER!" The man brokenly cried, tears welling up in his eyes.

"No, Aisho, listen, I-"

"No, save it. You bitch, I thought you liked me," the sobbing man whimpered. "I thought we had something."

"Are you guys dating?" Josefumi looked from one man to the other

"We were," the crying man retorted with an edge.

"Screw you, cheating asshole. Don't ask for a second date," Josefumi snarled, pushing his date back and walking toward the stranger. He was pissed to say the least. 

The stranger shot the cheating man an extremely rude hand gesture. "Let's go," he said to Josefumi.

"Hey, I haven't eaten dinner," Josefumi laughed as they walked away. "You wanna go get something with me?"

"After tonight, that sounds nice."

"You're not... upset with me about all this, are you?"

The stranger laughed. "God no! It's not your fault. You seem like a good guy, a good friend."

"Thanks, I'm glad you don't hate me," Josefumi smiled.

The two men ate at a fast food restaurant, talking up a storm. They exchanged numbers before they left, as they had become good friends. 

"You know, you should meet my friends and I at the deli for lunch tomorrow, it'd be fun," Josefumi offered. 

"Yeah, I'd like that," the man said before getting in his car. "Goodbye Jojo, I'll see you later!" 

The next day, Josefumi was sitting outside at a table with five other people. 

Sakunami, Joshu, Kyo, his eigth grade boyfriend, and tenth grade boyfriend were all there, waiting for the stranger. 

"Sorry I'm late," he apologized.

"Guys, this is Aisho Dainenjiyama," Josefumi grinned, pointing up at the standing man.

"Are you guys... a thing?"

Josefumi and Aisho began laughing, the youngest of the two hitting the table.

"No, Kyo," Josefumi managed to get out.

The rest of their lunch went well, the other five men asking for Aisho's number and Josefumi adding them all to a groupchat.

Kira stepped off the plane and into the airport. He missed America, but as much as he'd like to move back, he had a job in Great Britain, and that was the reason he was in America in the first place. He looked around, taking a deep breath in and smiling. His stomach began to growl ferociously, so he searched for nearby restaurants. He walked into a small sandwich shop on the corner of the street. A small bell rung faintly as he walked in. Kira was seated by the hostess, and after a minute, his waiter came around the corner.

"Hi, I'm Josefumi and I'll be taking care of you today. What can I get you to drink?"

Kira couldn't breathe. His first love, his best friend that he's been missing for fourteen years was standing beside him.

"Jo-Josefumi?"

The purple-haired man looked up with a laugh. "Yeah, that's my name, don't wear it out- Kira?"

"I- This can't be real..."

"J-Just tell me what you want to drink and I'll ask my manager if I can have a break."

"Water, please."

 Josefumi returned a few minutes later with two glasses of water. 

"She told me that my shift ended thirty minutes ago, oops."

Kira laughed, and Josefumi began to tear up.

"Fumi? What's wrong?" Kira grabbed his hand from across the table.

"I just-... I missed you so much..."

Kira got up from his side of the booth and climbed in the seat next to the other man, pulling him into a hug.

"I missed you too, Jojo," the younger man whispered, placing Josefumi's head in the crook of his neck and burying his face in the other's hair. He pulled back after what felt like forever, placing one hand on Josefumi's cheek and one inside the other's hand.

          "Do you even know why they made me move?"

"Because of me," Josefumi sighed, looking away from Kira.

"No. It's because you made me question everything they had ever told me about love."

"What?"

"I looked at you as a friend until I realized I loved you. I didn't want a girlfriend in first grade. I wanted you. But they didn't want me to be like that, so they moved me away. That way, I could see all the girls in the universe and not just be concentrated on the brightest star in my galaxy."

"Me?"

"Yes, you," Kira muttered, eyes watering as he glided his thumb across Josefumi's tear-stained cheek. "Only you."

"But it didn't work, did it?"

Kira shook his head. "No, it didn't. I love you, Josefumi. I always have."

"I love you too, Kira."

Throughout the day, the two caught up on everything they had missed. It was only when Kira dropped Josefumi back off at his apartment that it got awkward. Kira didn't know what to say as he watched the other walk away from him. Then it clicked.

"Fumi, wait!"

Josefumi snapped around quickly, and was met with Kira's lips on his. They moved slowly, fitting together like puzzle pieces. After some time, the black-haired man pulled back.

"We forgot our goodbye kiss," Kira whispered, and Josefumi melted.

"You remembered..."

"Of course I did. Now go get some sleep," Kira spoke brightly. "Text me when you get up."

"Okay," Josefumi mumbled, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to stay awake. "Can I- um... Can I have another goodbye kiss?"

Kira wrapped his arms around Josefumi's waist and placed his lips on the other's. He had forgotten how it felt to kiss him, how it felt to be able to know someone loved him, how it felt to hold Josefumi's large hand as their lips moved in sync, how it felt to watch the world disappear around him. He could only see Josefumi, and he only wanted to see Josefumi.

"Goodnight, Fumi."

[lustastarte]

✧ ♤ ♠strawberry boy | fugonara♠ ♤ ✧

genre: angst/fluff/smut

the royal family takes in a charity case, and things don't go over so well with fugo

published: 2020

early 1900s royalty au

written by request

The Fugo Family palace was an old country mansion that had been extended over the centuries. It now had four sides centered around a quadrangle and over five hundred rooms, with a beautiful, gargantuan foliage-ruled garden. It took a small army of housemaids to upkeep such a large abode and indeed most of the rooms were never used. The monarchs dwelled in only one corner on one floor and rarely stepped foot in the rest of their dwelling. But the palace was a status symbol, it set them above the peasants and that is where they believed they needed to be, separate, apart, superior, untouchable.

The palace had architecture like no other in the district. The reigning monarchs some three centuries earlier, Prince Pannacotta’s great-great-great-great-great grandparents had shipped in an architect from an overseas district. They knew his ideas, although perhaps unspeakably common where he came from, would be sufficiently exotic in their kingdom to inspire awe in the populous, to remind their people of their power and wealth. And so instead of the peaks in the roof, they had 24k gold domed towers instead. They had an open porch at the forefront of the palace held up with most ostentatiously detailed pillars, painted in a blinding, brilliant white. Inside, there were no doors on the ground floor, only arches. The marble floor had been shipped in also and was made with a grey stone full of soft pink and gold hued striations that had never before been seen in the district. After completion, its designer had been carelessly executed to fully ensure he could never and would never make a replica.

The palace was high upon the hill overlooking the town, it's many pointed towers and golden domes giving it the look of a gracefully eccentric, somewhat phallic crown. The walls were a green-tinted white stone that glistened in the summer sun and the roof was a metallic grey slate. It was as big as twenty of the ordinary houses in the town and employed a good number of the townsfolk as housemaids. Around the palace were the horse pastures and kitchen gardens for the royal family, and around that was a iron reinforced stone wall topped with wrought iron spikes and guarded day and night, ensuring the safety of the Fugo family.

The prince had been born on a starlit night, amid the cold of late winter. Some say it became part of him, that dull light from above and frozen heart remaining from snow clouds behind and ahead. Everyone he had ever met saw that in him, always assured that there was a speck of darkness in every light, behind every sun was a void. It was as if when the warmth came he was the cold front, as if his baby skin took it all in and kept it safe. His voice had a slowness, as if he had all the time in the world to talk with people, yet his words and thoughts were smushed together in a haughty tone, seemingly repulsed by talking to someone without royal blood. Most can say that there is no person who ever held them in his gaze the way he did, even though another might need use of arms. Yet in all that cold, harsh spirit there was a kind heart, a small boy who would make any sacrifice to save others, to guard them, pay any price to protect the lives of his people.

Fugo woke to the sound of his housemaids conversing loudly in the hallway.

“I thought I told you to prepare the bedroom next to the prince’s!”

He stood and stretched, padding closer to the door.

“Are you sure the King and Queen told you to-?”

Fugo was intrigued, he had no idea what they were talking about, but if it had something to do with the room next to him, he believed he should know.

“Yes! Hurry along now, you’ve wasted enough time! You have two hours before he gets here-“

Pannacotta swung the door open. “Before who gets here?”

The two maids nearly jumped out of their skin. “Prince Fugo! G-Goodmorn-!”

His voice became much colder. “Before WHO gets here?”

“I am not sure we’re the ones to tell you that, my lord,” one of the maids said quietly, hanging her head.

“Where are my parents?”

“Having breakfast, sir.”

Fugo rolled his eyes and retreated back into his room, quickly throwing on a pressed light blue dress shirt and navy suit pants to compliment the pinstripes on his silk shirt. He slipped his small, pale feet into a pair of grey faux suede dress shoes and made his way to the breakfast room.

“Mother? Father? I would like to speak with you,” he called as he rounded the corner.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Why is the room next to mine being prepared for someone?”

“Oh,” his father smiled. “Your mother and I decided to take in a charity case. That way he gets a nice life and we can use him to deflect the townswomen away from you.”

“Why deflecting people...?”

“Just the women, because we have a wedding planned for you.”

“You really think I am going to just be okay with being assigned a spouse?”

His father sighed. “She is very beau-“

“I don’t care if she’s god, I will not marry someone I don’t love.”

The king took a long drink of his breakfast coffee, sighing in annoyance. “You will do whatever I say you will,” he lowly stated. “You will be marrying the princess of Spain, and you will provide me with a second heir. I want their land and money.”

“I won’t do a thing. I will marry if I so choose, and if I decide to, it will be to someone of my choosing,” the prince argued, face heating up. “Who have you let into this palace?”

His mother placed her dainty hands on her lap. “Panna, please calm down-“

“Answer my question.”

“We have taken in a peasant boy. His name is Narancia.”

The blonde prince’s face contorted, turning from white to red. “A peasant?! Did you seriously allow one of those dirty, disgusting, unwashed, inbred slugs into our palace? A perverted, coagulated bottle of expired snake oil like them? Those blasted fiends that take and take from us and never give back? A bony, blubbering buffoon who wouldn’t know a shower if it hit him dead in the face?”

“Pannacotta Fugo! You are going to be kind to him!”

Fugo rolled his eyes and laughed coldly. “He’s a peasant, mother. I don’t even have to give him a thought.”

“He belongs to one of the housemaids!”

“Okay, and?”

A small brunette housemaid scurried through the doorway. “S-Sorry to interrupt my lords, but your guest has arrived...”

“Show him to his room please, Eliza.”

“Yes, my lord!” She turned her back to them, motioning for the person behind her to follow her. The prince watched as a lean teenager followed close behind his housemaid. He couldn’t have been much older than Fugo, maybe a couple years at the most. He was beautifully feminine in the most masculine way. He was built, small, sun soaked frame, defined cherrywood muscles. Over those muscles hung ragged clothes, shredded and stained, pitifully sewn together. But his face is what captured Fugo’s attention. The virtually untouched, androgynous face the boy had, framed by short, choppy locks of purple-stained black hair. His hair was sectioned into two pieces by a cloth headband. Fugo’s eyes traveled with him as he walked timidly through the breakfast room behind the housemaid.

He stared at the arched doorway the boy slipped through for another full second.

“Panna, you ought to make friends with him. He is going to be living next to you-“

“No. I will not ‘make friends’ with him,” Fugo mocked, placing in-air quotations around some of his words. He turned his back to his parents, gliding haughtily out of the palace and into the flora-rich garden. Taking a deep breath, he sticks his hand through a section of bushes, grabbing on to a door knob. He smiled and turned it, the familiar click making his heart soar. Making sure no one was around, he fled his parent’s garden, stepping eagerly into the grandeur of his own.

The prince’s secret garden could easily be described as a formal zen escape. The bonsai trees dotted across the perfectly patterned sand in their wooden boxes. In the very centre, with large, flattened elliptical granite stepping stones leading up to and away from it, there was a two tiered freshwater pond as large as a small lake, with flowering lily pads, a trickling waterfall, and a handmade wooden bridge that crossed the middle so he could look down at the beautifully colored koi fish. The flower beds were an angry riot of vibrant spring colors, and even on close inspection, they were absolutely, undeniably weed-free, as Fugo always kept them.

The orange tree was to be the crown jewel of the prince’s secret garden. The way Fugo planned it, he would be drinking in the aromas of the late summer blooms, drowning in serene bliss, soothed by the waterfall between the two ponds and delicately preparing and sipping homemade, fresh squeezed orange juice. Leaf loam, rough bark, rich colours, iridescent blues and greens, sharp, blade-like leaves, clumps of shaggy, weeping willow trees, a miniature vegetable patch, caterpillar eaten leaves, daffodils, massive flower gardens, geraniums, fushias, heliotropes, chrysanthemums, dahlias, michaelmas daises, begonias, and lavender spotted and lined the beautiful, secret expanse of land.

Fugo came here to escape the stresses of his everyday life, to have a small moment of rest. He gazed calmly across the wind-ruffed pond surface to the lily pads in bloom, their white and magenta petals catching the breeze. The teen inhaled slowly. Peace, at last. His little piece of heaven in this gnarly, tangled royal jungle. As he laid there, basking in the golden warmth of the sun, he caught wind of the two landkeepers conversing in the palace’s garden.

“Did you hear about the charity case the King and Queen took in?”

“Yeah,” a deeper voice responded. “From what I heard through housemaid gossip, the Prince is not happy. I don’t believe they have told the Princess, however.”

“They have, she is very excited to have someone who will actually spend time with her.”

Fugo sat up, listening intently now.

“Good, the Prince is too old to spend time with h-“

“No,” said the second landkeeper. “Prince Pannacotta is not too old, merely too fond of himself to care for anyone but himself. Why hang out with Princess Trish if he could spend all day in his room, sulking and planning for his terrible reign?”

Fugo’s forehead screwed up, as he was absolutely appalled by what the landkeepers had said. He marched to the secret garden door and flung it open, slipping back into the palace garden.

“Excuse me, just what do you think gives you the right to speak of me like that?!”

The men hit the lawn, bowing to the lanky teen. “O-Oh! Prince Pannacotta! How lovely to see you!”

“Cut the act. I would suggest you pack your bags tonight, because as of tomorrow you will be banned from this palace.”

“My lord, please-!”

“Our conversation has ended,” Fugo snarled as he turned and stormed back to the palace.

The menacing click of the Prince’s shoes grew ever louder as the King attempted to enjoy his lunchtime affogato.

“Father!”

“Yes, son?” He turned in his chair.

“Have one of the housemaids find new landkeeps,” he said with a fake smile. “Preferably, they should start tomorrow.”

“What have you done?”

Fugo smiled again. “Just what should have been done,” he turned on his heel and carried himself out of the King’s office, down to his room.

A few minutes after he entered his room, he heard a knock on the door. Refusing to move from his plush, Queen size bed, he looked up from his book and said, “Come in.” His eyes traveled back to the book.

“Hello,” a soft, quiet voice spoke.

Fugo barely lifted his eyes, just enough to see the intruder’s body. The familiar small frame sported a beautifully tailored, dark orange dress shirt, stylishly unbuttoned, and black dress pants that seemed to stick to every curve of his lower body.  His shoes were of the finest leather, stained black and custom made for his feet. Fugo did not recognize him.

“Who are you?” The Prince looked up, still confused.

“I’m the um-... the head housemaid’s adopted son, Narancia?”

Fugo observed the boy, not entirely sure it was the same person. Instead of looking unkempt and dirty, he looked formally feminine. Many beautiful silver necklaces lined his chest as a black lace choker watched over them. His hair had been perfectly styled, accented with an orange headband and large, dangling silver earrings. The Prince’s eyes traveled over the boy’s face. His skin was perfect, even without the layer of powder. His cheekbones and nose shimmered with a beautiful silver tint, and his violet eyes were lightly lined with a dusty orange eyeshadow. His lips looked to be soft, pillowy gloss coating them, parting for his magnificently white teeth to appear with his sun-competitive shining smile. Fugo had to force himself to frown.

“Oh,” he mumbled, flicking Narancia a disgusted look.

Narancia picked up on the obvious hatred radiating from Fugo. “So... I was wondering if you’d like to get to know each other?”

“No. It’s late and I’m tired. I also have no reason to talk to a housemaid’s shit-for-brains adoptive son, so leave me be.”

The violet-eyed boy dropped his head. “Sorry,” he muttered, leaving the room reluctantly. Fugo scoffed in his wake and closed his book. He was asleep before his head ever hit the pillow.

The next morning, as he strolled across the dew covered palace grounds, Fugo thought about his actions the night before. He sat down on the limestone benches installed in the garden, sipping on a cup of highly sweetened blonde roast coffee. Narancia approached him, carrying him breakfast and hoping to start a conversation.

“Good morning Panna-!“

“Why are you here?”

Narancia’s face dropped. “I just wanted to talk...”

Fugo scoffed. “Talk? As if.”

“You don’t have to be so rude...”

“If you’d take the hint that I don’t talk to the lower class, I wouldn’t be.”

The sparkle from yesterday was extinguished. Narancia’s watery eyes moved slower and always more down-cast, skimming the floor, rarely raising to hip level. It was in his voice too, as he spoke. Quieter, with a scrawny meekness that wasn't usually part of his speech pattern when he apologized. Fugo’s only response was an eye roll.

          The defeated teen, with his drooping shoulders and downturned lips, turned and walked away, platter in hand. He wanted so badly to make friends with the Prince, but it seemed as if that was out of the question. Fugo watched as Narancia brokenly stepped toward the place, only having enough strength to carry the breakfast he had made for them. He brought it back inside, handing it to Trish dejectedly.

“Did he-?”

“Yeah... it’s fine, you can have it. I’m not very hungry anymore,” the violet-eyed boy assured her before returning to his room.

“Panna, why are you being such an ass to Narancia?”

“He doesn’t belong here. He’s not fit for this, Trish,”  he responded, not looking up from his coffee.

“At least give him a chance!”

“Why should I?”

“Because,” Trish sighed. “I felt the same as you before he came to get to know me. He’s a good boy, Panna. Just give him a chance.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Maybe you can get some of the unwarranted hatred out of your heart,” Trish spat, shoving her brother.

“You’re the one to talk-“

“I’m not here to argue. Get your pompous ass inside and talk to Narancia!”

“No, I’m not starting a conversation with him.”

“Fine,” Trish huffed. “Be that way. But don’t be surprised when you have no one, asshole.” She furiously power-walked back through the garden and into the living tower.

Later that evening, Fugo sat cross-legged on his bed, eyes glued to a book. Narancia knocked and entered on command, not making eye contact with Fugo.

“I know you probably do not want to talk to me-“

“Sit down,” the Prince commanded, pointing to a brilliantly embroidered couch. Narancia nodded, quickly taking a seat and placing his hands in his lap.

“What do you want?”

The older boy stumbled over his words. “I wanted to get to know you, b-but I get it if you don’t-“

“What do you want to know?”

“Oh, um... anything you mind telling me...?”

Fugo sighed. “I’m 18. My favorite food is fresh strawberry tarts and pastry cream. I like my coffee very sweetened and full of cream, Irish, preferably. My favorite color is green,” he droned in a bored tone, still not looking up from his book.

“I like strawberries,” Narancia beamed, thankful to have found something they have in common. “Do you have any special interests?”

Fugo glanced up for a millisecond. “I like gardening.” He paused. “I have a garden here, actually. I am the only one who tends to it.”

The Prince’s eyes widened as he realized his mistake. Why did I tell him that?

“Oh, is it the one in front of the palace?”

“No... it’s secret. Mine is so much better than whatever those amateur gardeners can do,” Fugo stated snottily.

“I’m sure it is, I’d love to see it one day,” Narancia agreed.

“Sure.” Why did I say yes? I’m supposed to hate him!

The older boy grinned, blinding Fugo with his shimmering smile. “Is there anything else?”

“I like to read,” Fugo replied hesitantly. What could he be up to?

“Must be nice,” Narancia laughed.

Fugo smiled slightly. “Yeah... Yeah, it is nice. Are you going to tell me about yourself?”

“Well, um- Not if you don’t want me to...”

The guilt sat not only on Fugo’s chest but inside his brain as well. What he had done was something he could not un-do. He could attempt to make amends with Narancia in subtle ways, but a confession was out of the question, even to his personal priest. Only in his silent prayers could he speak his guilt-ridden heart to God and beg for His mercy, for forgiveness for the way he had broken the boy in front of him. He closed his book and looked up at the older boy for the first time, genuinely smiling.

“I’d like to know, yes.”

Narancia’s eyes widened, lashes flicking slightly upward in his haste. “Do you really?”

The Prince nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“Oh, alright! I’m 18 too and my favorite food is Margherita pizza. I don’t really enjoy coffee, but I do like Italian cream soda!” His eyes lit up like the stars after sunset. “My favorite color is orange, and I like admiring formal gardens.”

Fugo smiled. “Italian cream soda is extremely addictive, I do not blame you for liking it so much.”

Narancia’s heart fluttered, and he felt the heat rise to his cheeks as Fugo looked in his direction. The younger grinned and Narancia snapped his head away, knowing all too well that if he had continued to stare, he would get lost in his sharp, yet warm red eyes. He could feel his eyes still on him, heart pounding in his head. Narancia silently inhaled and exhaled, hoping that Fugo’s internal thoughts about him were good. He watched the other boy’s mouth move, but he never heard a sound through the fog in his mind.

“Are you listening to me?”

“S-Sorry!” Narancia snapped out of his haze. “I was... distracted.”

Fugo nodded and looked back to his book.

“Do you want me to- Do I need to go...?”

The Prince looked up, preparing to be a jerk once more. “Whatever you feel like doing, I honestly don’t care.”

Narancia’s face fell and he nodded, slowly raising off the couch and carrying himself out of the room. Fugo felt the harsh, familiar twang of guilt in his chest, but chose to ignore it, flinching slightly as the door slammed shut.

Narancia flopped onto his bed, body going limp. His crying was both ferocious and soft. The boy blinked briny tears from bloodshot eyes, violet coated in crimson. His long, thick lashes stuck together in clumps as if he'd been swimming with mascara on. The tears made wet tracks down his face and dripped from his wobbling chin. Clear watery snot streaked from his flaring nostrils down his red mottled skin to his open quivering lips. His hands open and closed, rhythmically clenching as if there could be some violent solution to his pain. Shoving his head into the mattress, he began to sob.

Why did he believe Fugo wanted anything to do with him? He should have known that smile was fake...

Narancia decided to leave the younger boy alone the next day, unable to take any more rejection. Without changing position or clothing, the teen cried himself to sleep, face covering a large, wet spot on the emerald duvet.

Fugo lifted his head upon hearing faint sobs. Was that Narancia? What had he done? He waited until silence had fallen, and left to check on the other boy. He opened the door to find Narancia sleeping face down in a pool of tears. Guilt hit him again, like hail hitting the ground during a tornado. Pulling back the dry side of the large comforter, Fugo gently lifted the older boy, placing him in the cleared space before removing his shoes and covering him up. He left quickly, returning to his own room, hopeful for a good night’s sleep. Yet guilt kept him up. Fugo watched the large, intricate antique clock tick, revealing hour after hour, his red eyes not missing a second. Around 6:30 a.m., the Prince got up, making his way to the palace kitchen. While waiting for his coffee to brew, he thought of what to make to apologize to Narancia.

He said he likes strawberries... and cream soda... but I can’t make him a pizza for breakfast. Fugo fills a gorgeous platter with pastries, biscuits, jellies and jams, fresh fruit, cheeses, and cold cuts. He also prepares two tall, wide glasses of strawberry Italian cream soda, and places them, along with the platter, on a small cart. He leaves his coffee, planning to grab it as he sneaks back through the kitchen and into the garden. Almost silently, he pushed the cart to Narancia’s door and knocked. Never had he rounded a corner so quickly, running at a speed which he had never seen anyone else run. Once safely through the kitchen, he traveled, coffee in hand, to the garden. Fugo enjoyed watching the town as it wakes up in the early hours of the morning, his people bustling around as if they were sugar ants.

Narancia sat up, rubbing his eyes. He looked around, wondering how his shoes neatly placed themselves back in his closet, and how he ended up on the other side of the bed, underneath the bedsheets. He shook his head. Maybe he had just had a strange dream. He changed out of yesterday’s outfit, slipped into a pair of soft house shoes, and walked to his en-suite bathroom. A knock on the door rang through the room, sending Narancia’s soul out of his body momentarily. Shakily, the black-haired boy approached the door, opening it to a small cart of food. He stuck his head out of his door, but could find no one, so he pulled the cart into his room to observe. Two cream sodas and an Italian breakfast platter was all that was there. Did Fugo do this? He furrowed his eyebrows, shuffling across the fluffy carpet to the enormous bay window, sitting on the cushion attached to the extended windowsill. He gazed down into the courtyard, spotting Fugo in a wine-colored suit, in his usual spot with coffee in hand. He turned away from the window and sat on his bed, nibbling on different items from the tray and gulping his cream soda greedily. He knows he shouldn’t take gifts from Fugo, because he only wanted to save his image, but why did he feel as though there was some sincerity in the gift? And someone had to have moved him after he fell asleep. Who else would it be, if not Fugo?

After his breakfast, Narancia decided a day dancing in the ballroom couldn’t hurt him. He did not know how to dance, and with the King and Queen’s party being held in a day, learning to ballroom dance was the only saving grace he had. As beautiful classical music played from a record player, he twirled himself and a mannequin across the floor, occasionally stumbling over his own feet. He practiced for hours before the music ended suddenly, only halfway through a song.

As he made his way up the grand palace stairs, Fugo could hear music from the ballroom. Naturally, he had the overwhelming urge to know what was happening, so he snuck in. To his amazement, he was met with a waltzing Narancia, tripping over his own shoes. Fugo glided to the record player and pulled the needle up, smiling when Narancia looked up.

“Sorry, I-“

“Do you want help?”

“Huh?”

Fugo stepped closer, pointing at the mannequin. “It isn’t very easy to learn with a fake partner, and you look like you need help. Do you want help?”

Narancia looked around awkwardly. “Y-Yeah but I don’t want to bother Trish or the housemai-“

“You won’t bother me.”

Narancia’s face flushed as he dropped the mannequin out of shock.

“Do you want my help?”

The violet-eyed boy nodded, queueing Fugo to step forward, kick the mannequin to the side, and stop a few inches from the older boy. He slipped his hand into one of Narancia’s, placing the other teen’s second hand on his waist, and his other hand on the older’s shoulder. He instructed him on how to move his feet and arms to different dances, and soon, the two were foxtrotting up and down the massive ballroom. Fugo’s determined gaze over Narancia’s shoulder quickly softened and refocused on the other’s face when the vinyl began playing a beautiful slow song, one of Fugo’s personal favorites. He smiled warmly at the older teen, who blushed heavily.

“Panna, I don’t know how to slow da-“

“Just follow me, okay?”

Narancia nodded as he returned Fugo’s deep stare, heart fluttering. Time seemed to stop, and the two had no idea how long they had danced. The slow music twirled like fine, golden thread around them. Fugo rested his head upon Narancia’s chest unexpectedly for ‘practice’ and let him sway his body around and around the polished marble floors again. The angelic voices of the violins came in, then the beautifully tenor-voiced piano, and then the slow and steady tap of a drum.

Narancia had no idea how to act. There was no way Fugo couldn’t hear the intense pounding in his chest. He was so close, and as much as the younger wanted to deny it, he did this for more than just ‘girl practice.’ Once the vinyl had finally run its course, the two decided to take a break on the plush couches lining the walls.

“Why did you leave me breakfast this morning?”

“Oh,” Fugo’s cheeks flooded with a soft pink. “I just wanted to make amends with you... I didn’t mean to make you cry last night-“

“How’d you know I cried?”

“I came to check on you and you were asleep in a puddle of tears. I hope you don’t mind that I actually put you to bed...”

“Why? Why would you do that?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Fugo glanced up. “I thought I hated you but there’s something I can’t get out of my head.”

“Which is...?”

The Prince sighed. “Just you in general. Something about you speaks to me. I need it in my life.”

“So you have a love interest...?”

The blonde’s cheeks darkened, pink to crimson in a millisecond. He looked away. “I don’t know...”

“Wanna find out?” Narancia’s eyes fluttered shut and he leaned forward, planting his soft lips on Fugo’s. Fugo, while surprised, leaned into the kiss with equal fervor.

They separated moments later.

“Did you feel it?”

Fugo nodded. “The butterflies? There were so many.”

“So you do have an interest in me! Good for me,” Narancia giggled. “Let’s keep dancing.”

The party buzzed with conversation, the faint lyrical music could be heard occasionally. Fugo looked heartbroken as he talked to the woman he was supposed to marry. She is not who he wants, but he obviously is exactly what she wants. He seemed like a puppet as he forced himself to dance with her. Thankfully, Narancia asked him to dance as a “joke,” and he gratefully obliged.  The music eagerly spun around them, instantly lifting away gravity. Narancia couldn't count how many times he had squished Fugo’s foot under his own. Still he smiled brightly as their heels clicked over the ballroom floor. Fugo watched as Narancia’s makeup glittered like a piece of platinum more and more with each move and beat. This was Narancia’s form of perfect. This was thousands of years of dancing and art coming to life. For Fugo, all that mattered was the person in front of him. A few hours later, during the prime of the party, because Fugo and Narancia had had a good amount of champagne, the blonde was now somewhat dizzily dragging the older teen to his room. Once the door had been closed and locked, he slammed his lips against the other’s in a passionate display of affection and power.

Narancia slipped a hand into Fugo’s hair as they stumbled toward the bed. The younger moaned as the other pulled on his hair and fought his tongue for dominance. In the dimly lit room, Narancia grabbed onto Fugo’s hips forcefully, carrying him toward the bed and letting him fall with a soft bounce on the mattress. The two locked nervous eyes for just a moment, just enough for them to feel safe with one another. Then Narancia became all business, undoing Fugo’s pants, greedily pulling them off, kissing from the younger’s knees upward, slowly, Narancia’s hands on his legs, always just a little higher than the kisses. Fugo feels his back arch in anticipation, knowing where Narancia’s fingers will soon reach. Eagerly, he throws off his own top. His head gracefully rocks back against the pillow as he does, the first moan escaping Fugo’s thin lips.

Narancia wraps his gloss covered lips around Fugo’s swollen head, looking up at him questioningly. The younger nodded, and Narancia continued, maneuvering his mouth so perfectly Fugo couldn’t think straight. He had never been touched by anyone but himself, it was strange, but more than enjoyable. The younger dug perfectly manicured nails into his embroidered duvet as his hips bucked up into Narancia’s mouth, twisting the tight knot in his stomach. However, it ended early when the older slipped off and undressed himself.

“Are you sure about this?”

Fugo nodded, and Narancia brought his lips to his neck, his collarbone, his chest, his stomach, and back up. He placed two fingers on Fugo’s lips, who took them in his mouth with a gentle moan. Once soaked, the older teen inserted one, then two fingers, comforting and encouraging the younger. Soon, Fugo was pushing his hips back into Narancia’s fingers, whimpering and hiding his face. The older laughed and pumped them in and out, smirking at the way the younger’s body curved in a desperate attempt to get closer.

Narancia gently kissed Fugo as he adjusted to his size, tears in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“Mhmm,” Fugo nodded, exhaling forcefully. Not a minute later, he commanded Narancia to move, seeing stars. He couldn’t help the loud, unfiltered raw noises escaping his body, especially not when Narancia had one hand in his hair and one gripping his hip. He moaned higher and higher pitched each time the older pulled his hair and slammed into him. Despite the fun he was having, Fugo began to panic when he heard his father’s footsteps coming down the hall.

“My- Narancia- My dad-,” he breathed, eyes half lidded. Narancia cupped a hand over his mouth and whispered in his ear.

“Shhh ragazzino , your father might hear,” the older purred, still slamming into him like before. To be a jerk, he decided to thrust into Fugo’s prostate just as the King passed his bedroom door. The Prince’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he moaned loudly, frantically grabbing at Narancia’s arms.

He felt a heat bubbling in his abdomen, and his breathing began to falter. Narancia moved his hand and moved to kiss Fugo’s neck, still thrusting into him.

“Ah! Ahh~ Nara- Narancia~!”

He moved faster, bringing Fugo to his first sex induced orgasm. He pulled on Fugo’s hair as cum splattered across his stomach and his hole tightened around him. The older fucked into him a few more times before quickly pulling out and coming on Fugo’s stomach.

After cleaning up and getting dressed, the two went their separate ways so as to not look suspicious. Fugo returned to dancing with his assigned wife, who kept advancing on him.

“I saw you with that boy earlier,” she giggled, leaning forward. “I can do so much better than Narancia.”

“I don’t want that,” Fugo denied before being forcefully kissed. He pushed her off and went looking for Narancia, only to see him walking pitifully out of the ballroom.

Narancia heard his name from the nearby dancing Fugo’s conversation and tuned in, turning to watch.

“-Narancia.”

“I don’t want that.”

And that’s when they kissed. Narancia turned, walking sadly back to his room. The teen stained the white floor with his love. It ran from his mouth as he choked on the air and his own sobs. It bled from his ears and dripped from his chin in the form of tears. His head hung low, heavy with thoughts of Fugo. After he had given him everything, he betrayed him. It hurt Narancia, it hurt him like hell. He thought the best solution for him is to leave, so he began to grab whatever he had before he came.

The next morning, Narancia ran down the stairs, unfortunately meeting Fugo at the bottom.

“Narancia! What happened las-?”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“W-What?”

Narancia looked up, tears beginning to cloud his vision. “I heard your conversation and I watched you kiss her. I should have-... I should have known you were no better than a skank.”

Fugo let tears roll down his cheeks. “If you had heard the conversation, you’d know I didn’t want-!”

“Didn’t want me.”

“No! I want you! She told me she could do better than you and I said I didn’t want that!”

“Then why’d you kiss her?!”

“I didn’t!” Fugo threw his hands out. If you hadn’t turned when you did, you would have seen me pushing her off!”

Narancia laughed coldly. “You’ll say anything to save your own ass, won’t you?”

“If I wanted to save my ass I wouldn’t have spoken to you in the first place!”

“Oh,” Narancia nodded as he stood in the doorway. “That’s right. I forgot, I’m nothing but a dirty peasant to you.” He walked out, slamming the door.

Fugo ran after him. “Narancia! Stop! I didn’t mean it like that! If I wanted to save my ass, I’d keep pretending I’m straight! But I don’t want to!”

Narancia turned to look at him.

“I don’t care if I never have a position in the palace ever again, I’d rather have you than my family. I thought I had to hide my feelings at first, but I have had a change of heart, and now I don’t care who knows my feelings for you! I love you, Narancia... Please don’t go,” Fugo ended in barely a whisper.

Tears welled up in Narancia’s eyes. “I don’t know what to believe any more, Panna.”

“Believe me! Please!” Fugo’s face was soaked with tears. “I don’t want anyone but you, Nara! I gave you everything! My first kiss, my first time, everything!”

“Prove it to me.”

Fugo took a deep breath. “Follow me.” He walked out of the palace and through the courtyard, stopping in the garden.

“I’ve seen this before.”

“Not this,” the younger retorted before reaching a hand through the bushes and opening the door to his secret garden. Narancia looked around in awe before Fugo spoke.

“I have never let another person even know about this garden, much less let them in. Only you.”

Narancia looked at him, sad eyes brightening little by little.

“Please stay here,” Fugo begged. “Please.”

Narancia nodded, stepping forward and kissing Fugo as if it were his last day on Earth. He never thought that years later, they would get married in this same spot, hovering over the koi ponds, or that he’d ever be a prince. Yet a decade later, the two began ruling their kingdom, King and King, making the best life they could for everyone.

[lustastarte]

♡ stars & champagne | bruabba ♡

genre: fluff

a young bruabba moment on the roof

published: 2020

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"It's open," Bruno said softly, his face lighting up when Leone sticks his head in.

"I got champagne."

"And?"

"And I need someone to drink it with, of course," Leone said, rolling his eyes and grinning.

"Where are we going to drink it though?"

"Rooftop. You down?"

"Actually, I'm up," Bruno joked, climbing off of his bed and treading lightly out the door, shutting it gently behind him.

"The stars are so beautiful," Leone exhaled quietly, looking up at the night sky.

"But not as beautiful as-"

"Actually shut up. I will bash your skull in if you finish that sentence."

"-As me," Bruno finished, a large, troublesome grin on his face.

Leone sighed. "I regret ever letting you talk to me."

"No, you love me."

"Wrong," Leone objected, laughing and pouring himself another glass of champagne.

This was something he couldn't get enough of. Beautiful stars, beautiful champagne, and beautiful Bruno. He could only dream of this being a real date, not a friendly get-together at 2 a.m. He's mean, but truly does care about the man next to him. He's head over heels in love with him. But, he's bound and determined to keep it a secret.

Leone turned his head toward Bruno, who had his neck stretched, face upturned, focused on the stars. The older man couldn't help but smile at the younger. 

God, does he wish he could kiss him. He wonders how even in the dark, someone can outshine every single star in the night sky. How one person can light the room up better than any light on earth. How one person can be the only thing that lights up his face. How that one person came to be Bruno.

"Leone?"

"Yeah?" he responded, snapping out of his thoughts.

"What was the real reason you brought me out here? Normally you would've done this alone."

"I just wanted you out here," he lied.

Bruno wasn't fooled. "No, the real reason, stupid."

"Okay, fine. I needed you out here. Happy now?"

"Very."

And with that, Bruno turned his attention back on his glass of champagne and the sky, and Leone kept his gaze on the brightest star he's ever seen.

He'd get to call Bruno "my star" one of these days, he'd make damn sure of it. The obsidian-haired man lying next to him would soon be his. The sweatshirt on his body would soon mean more than a close friendship. The name Leone would soon mean more to Bruno than "best friend." The phrase, "I love you," will soon mean more than platonically.

Only if Bruno likes him back, that is. "He doesn't like me. I can't ask him out, he'll reject me! I'd lose him for good..."

"Just ask me out you fucking loser," Bruno thought. "I know you like me, I like you, please just ask."

Bruno's heart jumped as the man with purple hair turned to look at him. Maybe he could start a conversation. Maybe he won't get too nervous.

"The stars are so beautiful," the younger man whispered.

"They're just giant balls of gas, Bruno."

"You know what," he said, displeased with the other's answer. "If you're just going to ruin this then I-"

He stopped in the middle of his sentence, cut off by Leone's champagne-coated lips on his. Bruno froze for a moment, finally relaxing and kissing back with passion. Their lips moved together in a perfect system, like planets moving around their star. He had wanted this for so long. He could taste the lipstick on Leone's lips, smell the familiar scent of his best friend, only amplified. He never wanted it to end.

Leone pulled back slowly after a few seconds, smiling and staring lovingly at Bruno.

"And yet none of them are as massive as my love for you," he confessed.

Bruno inhaled sharply, unable to speak. So, Leone spoke for him.

"Everyone needs a star," he spoke softly, gently placing his hand on Bruno's cheek. "Will you be mine?"

The latter's face heated up quickly as he nodded. Bruno began to smile furiously, kissing Leone again, who immediately responded.

Once they came back up for air, the couple finished their champagne and headed hand-in-hand back inside. Leone brought Bruno back to his room, stopping at the door.

"Goodnight, Leone."

"Night, Bruno."

Just as he turned to leave, Bruno called him back.

"You can stay here... if you want," he mumbled.

"I was waiting for you to say that," Leone smirked. "Let me grab a blanket."

Not a minute later, he returned, walking into the room and flopping onto the bed. Bruno curled up beside him, sighing happily when he felt his boyfriend's arms around his waist.

He wasn't aware that Leone stayed awake for hours, just trying to figure out how he got so lucky. He wasn't aware that he kissed his forehead and played with his hair while he slept. He wasn't aware that Leone whispered, "I love you, Bruno," before falling asleep with a smile on his face and a happy heart.

"you might not have been my first love

but you were the love that made

all the other loves

irrelevant"

- rupi kaur, milk and honey

[lustastarte]

♥ cabin | diegyjo ♥

genre: smut

heavy rain forces gyjo to room with diego for the night

published: 2020

!genderbent johnny!

written by request

"Shit, it's raining."

Joana sighed, wrapping her arms around Slow Dancer's neck for any form of heat. "Gyro, the more you talk, the more body heat you lose. Let's just find somewhere out of the rain to stay."

"We're twenty miles outside of the nearest town, Jojo."

"Surely there's somewhere we can stay- Who's that?" 

Joana squinted her eyes, pointing to an advancing figure in the distance, identity masked by heavy rainfall and darkness.

"Who's there?" No answer.

"Hey! Who are you?" Gyro signaled Valkyrie to move forward. Joana held tightly to Slow Dancer's reigns, ready to turn and flee if need be. 

"Zeppeli? Joestar? Is that you?"

"Diego?"

He came ever closer, teal sweater showing through the rain. "Why are you guys out here?"

"Why do you wanna kn-?"

"We were traveling, but now we're trying to find somewhere to stay," Joana explained, interrupting Gyro and pulling herself even closer to her trusted traveling companion, sticking her frozen nose in Slow Dancer's long, coarse mane to try to get the feeling back.

"I have room in the cabin I found earlier, it's not far from here," Diego offered, moving closer with Silver Bullet.

"Jojo, can I talk to you for a second?"

Joana turned her head and nodded at Gyro, who moved in to whisper in her ear. "Isn't it a little odd to you that your former... whatever you two were- is inviting you and your boyfriend to stay with him?"

"No, not particularly. I think he's trying to be nice, Gyro. Just because he's my old lover doesn't mean you have to be rude to him, I'd actually like if you guys could be friends-"

"Diego? NICE? Are you insane?"

"Do you want to freeze? You're welcome to stay out here, but I'm going with him," Joana hissed, teeth chattering and hands going numb from cold. 

Silver Bullet turned to guide them back to the borrowed cabin. Minutes later, Diego steered his trusty steed into a vacant storage shed behind the cabin, motioning for Gyro and Joana to do the same. After securing them inside the building, the three ran to the cabin, Gyro carrying Joana, Diego holding the door for them.

"Do you have any spare clothes? I only have boxers and one robe with me," he said after quickly shutting the door.

Joana shook her head as she was placed on the floor in front of the fireplace. "I don't have anything, it all got wet..."

"Do you want my robe then?"

"No, it's okay, I don't want you having to walk around without anything but underwear-"

"I'll be fine, you've seen it before, anyway," Diego teased, earning an annoyed grunt from Gyro. "I'd rather you be dry than me. Zeppeli, do you have extras?"

"I have sleep pants and extra boxers, I'm okay. I have a sleep shirt if you'd like it," Gyro paused, taking his soaked hat off. "It might be long though." 

Diego rolled his eyes. "That'd be great, I look good in dresses," he retorted. "You're missing out on a great view though~"

"Not in a million years," Gyro gagged, pulling the clothes out and hurdling the shirt at Diego. "We need to get out of these clothes before we get hypothermia."

"I need help," Joana muttered, a little embarrassed. "I can get my top off but not anything else..."

"Let's get a fire started real quick so when we help you, you can be warming up while we're changing," Diego suggested, weakly chucking wood into the fireplace, pulling two rocks out out of his pocket and using them to spark a flame.

The two boys came to Joana's aid, hanging up each article of clothing next to the fire. Pulled her unbuttoned shirt off her frozen shoulders, hung it up. Slid the soaked skirt off her mud-soiled, knee length shorts, hung it up. Peeled the formerly white shorts off her cold, pale legs, hung it up.

"Do you want to keep your-... you know," Diego looked away, face red, frantically searching for the robe. "Your- Your knickers on?"

Joana realized the position she was in, sitting nearly naked in front of two attractive men, unable to do anything but cover her bare chest and try to hide in her hair.

"I can't, they're wet too."

"Oh, right..." he walked over with the robe, handing it over to an extremely jealous Gyro, who lifted Joana, wrapped the robe around her shoulders, and slid it underneath her hips as Diego tugged the water-compromised boy shorts down her legs. Joana quickly covered the front of her body with the oversized garment, tying a neat bow with the securing ribbons.

"Thank you both," she said, looking up at the two men. They smiled back at her and began to undress themselves, hanging their clothes up just like they did with hers. Shirt off, hang it up. Pants off, hang them up. Boxers off, hang them up. Joana tried to keep her eyes glued to her hands as the undressed boys walked back and forth, grabbing the clothes they needed and pinning the wet ones up. Not long after, a shirtless Gyro sat down next to her, Diego and his oversized shirt drawing water from a basin to boil.

"Tea or coffee?"

"Tea, but try not to ruin it, will you?"

"It's no problem," Diego snarled through his teeth.

"Hey, that's enough you two!"

"Sorry," the two mumbled, throwing angry glances at one another.

"And If it's not too much trouble, coffee would be nice..."

He nodded, placing the kettle over the fire and sitting on the other side of her. She felt her face heat up as she flicked her eyes from one to the other. Gyro's muscular chest was one of her favorite things, but so were Diego's toned legs. She placed her face in her hands upon seeing small red dots speckling both boys. Those places were hot spots for mosquitos, and for good reason. 

"Joana? Are you okay? Your coffee's ready love."

She snapped her head back up when Diego accidentally placed a hand on her knee in an attempt to give her her coffee.

"Oh, sorry! I wasn't looking-"

"Yeah, you've been acting sketchy," Gyro observed, purposefully interrupting and taking his cup of tea from Diego with a sarcastic, but grateful nod.

"Well- I just- um..."

Gyro and Diego looked at one another in heated jealousy for a moment before realizing, their gazes softening. Diego looked at the floor as Gyro cleared his throat.

"It's okay, we- we know."

"Sorry, don't worry about me, I know this is weird enough as it is," Joana apologized, playing with her fingers. "Anyway um- It's still really cold in here..."

"Do you want to wrap up with me?"

She grinned, queueing Gyro to pull her toward him and wrap them both in a blanket he found lying around. Diego slid closer to the fire, Joana's heat now gone from his side.

"Dio?" He looked up. "Do you want to join us?"

His face flushed, burning hotter than the fire next to him. "If- um... If it's okay with Zep- Gyro," he answered, making eye contact with the other man, who nodded.

"Come here."

Diego wasted no time in making his way over there, sliding under Gyro's arm and wrapping his arm around the two. Joana pulled him closer, and Gyro pulled them both toward him.

They sat in silence for the longest time, until Joana pulled her head out of Gyro's neck.

"I'm still cold."

"We're as close as we can all get, Jojo."

"I know," she sighed. "My hands and feet are numb." She reached out to touch them so she could say she couldn't feel it. When her hand stopped moving, the two men had frozen. "Guys?"

Gyro looked at her, eyes wide. "You really c-can't feel them, huh."

"Did I hurt you? What about you, Dio?"

"I- ah, I'm great- I'm great!" He nodded furiously, ears and all becoming red again. "It's just that- well- your hands-"

She looked down, face mimicking Diego's. She lifted her hand. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to touch your thigh, Gyro, did I get your-? Shit! I'm so so sorry-"

"It's okay, it's not like you haven't touched us before."

"Yeah but- I just- And now- I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, love," Diego muttered. "We can fix it, you didn't break us or anything."

"Yeah, we'll be okay."

"I'll fix it, I feel bad!"

"Do you know what we're talking abo-?"

"Yes. I wanna help."

Diego shook his head. "You can help him and I'll just go to a different room, you're with him-"

"I wanna help you both."

"...W-Why?"

"Because I really like both of you... I never got you out of my head and Gyro wasn't just a rebound, I had fallen for him too..."

"Oh," they said in unison.

"It's okay if you're not okay with it, I just-"

"I'm fine with it," Gyro shyly interrupted. Diego's eyes widened. "I wouldn't mind having you both."

The British boy just nodded, mouth going dry at the Italian's comments.

"I thought-... I thought you were jealous of me?"

"I was," Gyro admitted. "Until Joana explained her feelings."

Joana's cheeks became a dusted pink shade as she fixed her robe. "Can I kiss you guys?" She leaned forward when the boys nodded, kissing them both lovingly. The three of them stared into each others' faces, their gaze becoming heated.

Gyro kissed Joana's cheek before going in for a full make out session, and Diego busied himself on her neck. She sighed in pleasure, skin chilled. Both hands, with fistfuls of hair pulled them closer, begging for more. The Italian slid her up into his lap, where she faced Diego and presented her back to him. The boys switched roles, Gyro now focused on Joana's neck and Diego fighting her tongue for dominance. She shivered when the Brit's hands slid from her waist to her hips, rubbing circles into her hips with his thumbs as the Italian's hands made their way to her small chest.

Joana whimpered into Diego's mouth, one hand trailing his body while the other pulls Gyro's hands closer to her, pushing one of his hands under the robe and onto her chest. Diego untied the ribbons so the other man could easily slip it off Joana's shoulders. She took a deep breath in as the cold air hit her pale torso. It was quickly blocked by Gyro's large hands, which massaged her breasts, and Diego's warm mouth, which covered her stomach in purple splotches. The British man looked up into the Italian's eyes for silent permission, and received it. One of Gyro's hands followed Diego's as they moved in between her legs, her stomach tying itself into knots. 

Gyro spread Joana's legs, massaging her thighs as Diego went to work with his tongue. Flattened, he drug his head from bottom to top, barely touching her and driving her wild. She may not be able to move, but she can still feel it. She doesn't know how long she'll last when he kicks it up and goes down on her the way he used to because she can't move her hips to postpone an orgasm. She whines, forcefully pulling on a fistful of Diego's yellow-blonde and Gyro's dirty blonde hair when Diego added pressure, making sure to lightly brush against her clit.

She whimpered softly, tossing her head back onto Gyro's shoulder as Diego's tongue stopped twirling around her, and he attached his mouth to her instead, sucking and kissing her clit gently as he slipped in one finger, then another almost instantly. 

"Ah, fuck," Joana took a deep breath in. "Please."

Gyro lifted an eyebrow. "Please what?"

She responded with a whine, leading Diego to slowly slide his fingers out, angling them upward as he slides back in.

"Ah- Ah," she breathed, and he curled his fingers to rub her G-spot as Gyro licked and sucked on her neck.

"Please- Please fuck m-me," she begs an hour later, after being edged over and over and teased into near madness. Diego lifted her up, holding her just long enough for Gyro to release his constrained cock. He guided himself into Joana as Diego placed her back on his lap. She was frantically cursing under her breath, head still slung over Gyro's shoulder. The Brit stood, beginning to back up.

"N-No... want you too," she gasped, sending chills down Diego's back.

"How?"

"In my mouth."

The boy's eyes darkened, and he glides over to her, shedding his boxers in the process.

When he stopped in front of her, she greedily took his cock in her mouth, moaning in surprise around him as Gyro lifted her hips and placed her back down. A hand in her hair, and hands on her hips, Joana's body tingled, sparking with excitement as they took her. She could hear Gyro's low grunts behind her and Diego's soft gasps and cursing above her, and it all went to her head.

The Italian sped up, and Joana choked on Diego, but it only turned her on even more. She swallowed around him before lifting to lick right underneath his head, making him groan and buck into her mouth.

"F-Fuck, Joana-"

She took the chance to tease him, knowing that was what gets him off. "Aww, did you miss that?"

Gyro picked his pace up once again, groaning and biting into Joana's neck and shoulder, trying to stay quiet.

Joana whined again, tangling a hand in Gyro's hair and squeezing Diego's thigh.

Diego sighed in frustration as she pulled off. "Jojo," he pouted.

"I know what I'm doing, Dio. I don't want to suck you o-off, I want you to- Ngh," she paused for a second after Gyro changed his angle. "I want you to f-fuck me too, please."

"Both of us?"

She nodded and Gyro slowed to a stop. He moaned quietly when Diego once again inserted a finger, pleasuring them both. He slipped in another two, Joana gasping his name and Gyro whispering, "God, Diego-"

Removing his fingers, he lined himself up with her hole, all three of them seeing stars as he pushed in.

"I like this position," he commented. "I get to watch both of your faces. Watch pretty little Joana get absolutely ruined, and cool Gyro lose his mind." With that, he began moving, stringing Gyro along with him. Joana cried out, them immediately hitting her g-spot.

"How do you want it?"

"F-Fast, please, Dio, Gyro, I'm begging!"

"If you say so," Gyro responded, snapping his hips up into her. Diego followed, timing in opposition with Gyro's, increasing the pleasure for all three of them.

"Ah, ah-ah, ah!" Joana clawed Diego's back, and Gyro dug his dull fingernails into her hips.

Each time either of the boys made a noise, it brought Joana closer to her climax.

"Ha-ah- 's so good, fuck, it feels s-so g- ah~!"

"Fuck," Diego leaned down, moving faster. Gyro pulled him into a kiss, throwing him off. Joana was too blissed out to do anything but moan loudly and claw at Diego's back.

"Damn," the Italian panted. "You're good at that."

"I try- Hah," Diego groaned, feeling Joana tighten around him.

"Don't stop! Please I- ah! I'm so- Ah, fuck, s-so close," Joana moaned weakly, eyes glazed over and nearly rolled all the way back, mouth stuck open.

The two sped up again, and clawing against them, Joana came around them, crying out their names.

It took all the boys had not to come then and there. They pulled out, shuddering. Overstimulated and begging for release, their bodies felt like they were going to fall apart. Diego began toward an empty room to finish himself off, but was stopped.

"Where're you going?"

"Oh," Diego turned to respond to the other man. "I was gonna go finish myself off, yeah?"

"Why don't we just finish each other?"

"Really?"

Gyro nodded, walking over and pressing their lips together, his hand finding its way to the other's dick. Diego's hips twitched when he touched him, and Gyro's did the same in response to Diego's fingers. They wrapped their hands around one another's cocks, not hesitating to rut up into the other's hand, moaning into the rare space between their lips.

"Mmm- Gyro, I-"

"Me too," Gyro said, quickly fucking into Diego's hand.

"Ah fuck, ah fuck, ah- ah- Fuck~~!" 

Gyro came a few seconds after, leaning against the wall to keep his balance. “Wow...”

”Yeah, wow,” Gyro sighed. “At least we’re not gonna get hypothermia.”

Diego laughed. “Damn right,” he snorted before picking his underwear up out of the floor. Joana was already asleep when the boys began putting their clothes back on, and when they wrapped their arms around her, snuggling under the blanket to keep warm, she sighed contentedly in her sleep, and received a soft, gentle kiss on each cheek.

[lustastarte]

♤ young & beautiful | jocaesar ♤

genre: angst/fluff (mentions of smut, no details)

joseph visits caesar every year for his birthday, yet each year, the goodbyes get easier and easier

published: 2020

song: young and beautiful - lana del ray

Joseph sat on the ground, squinting at the sunny, cloud laced sky. It was a particularly beautiful day, and he was glad he chose to meet Caesar then. He played with the grass and walked around, picking a bouquet of flowers for his best friend, and the one he loved the most. They've always's known it was right for them to be together, but the rest of the world thought differently. They may not be together in this life, but they will be in the next.

Joseph smiled when he spotted the other man sitting in the shade of a large white jasmine tree. He waved and sighed when sitting in front of him.

"I'm too old to be picking you flowers," Joseph laughed, rubbing his back and placing the bouquet on the ground between them. He appreciated the beautiful smile on the blonde's face, sunlight speckled across his nose and high cheeks, his signature markings highlighted by the nearly white locks of hair hanging off his forehead. Caesar didn't talk much now, but Joseph didn't mind. He never understood how Caesar avoided aging, he didn't look a day past 20, yet here they were, celebrating his 71st birthday in secret. He even had a special glow to him, as if made of gold.

"You still look as perfect as ever... I really missed you, Caesarino." Joseph grinned mischievously at the face he received from the older man. Caesar snorted and shook his head, then turned his attention back to Joseph, who knew what he wanted to hear.

I've seen the world, done it all

Had my cake now

Diamonds, brilliant, and Bel Air now

"I almost didn't get to make it this year," he admitted. "I went around the world, Caesar! I saw Japan and even Egypt!"

Caesar's eyes widened, then he furrowed his eyebrows.

"We- Well, my grandson, his schoolmate, a French guy, a dog, an Egyptian friend of mine, and I had to travel to Egypt to save Holly. There are these things called stands," Joseph paused to breathe. "-and you get sick when developing one, but Holly wasn't doing well at all. So we went to Egypt and ended up battling Dio! Oh- Don't look at me like that! I'm not kidding," he giggled.

"Really, I'm not! He stole grandpa Jonathan's body! Yeah, that's what I said," Joseph responded to Caesar's wide eyes and head jerk forward. "It was crazy as hell, man!"

The two laughed together as Joseph leaned his back against the tree and Caesar laid his head on the younger's shoulder.

"We lost the schoolmate, my Egyptian friend, and the dog, but they fought hard... yes, I know, I know I can deal with it but I'm not sure about Jotaro... He lost three good friends at 17, it's hard just losing one..."

They sat there in silence until Caesar turned his face up toward Joseph's with a nostalgic glint in his eyes. Joseph happily sighed and looked up toward the sky. 

Hot summer nights, mid-July

When you and I were forever wild

"Do you remember when we were young? The way we would- Okay, I won't say it," Joseph gave in to the blonde's stern look, but couldn't help reminiscing.

During the night, the empty, gaping hall grows still like a machine that's powered down. The bright airiness of Roman days fade, and darkness falls over like a downy comforter. All that's left is the low oil lamp lighting that throws short, yellow ochre beams across the polished floor, reflecting in some of the antiqued oak and glass cabinets. Not even a breeze disrupts the papers stacked upon the dusty lacquered desk, yet the slightest thought of movement momentarily blocks the low light, as a sheer swirling mist, with its soft, blurred edges, seeps through microscopic pores in the wall. The sort of movement that's seen on the ill-defined peripherals of anthropoid vision, the kind that breeds insomnia-instigating insinuations of monsters lurking in the dark, towing shadows along as if they weren't immovable. 

Joseph and Caesar stop in the shadows, their bodies shifting to solid in a sudden, dizzying rush. They press back against a cold stone wall deeper in the darkness, where it would have been absolute, save for the warm, dusty hue cast by the hanging oil lamp. Joseph closes his eyes, Caesar focusing on who, or what, could be emitting the unnatural pulsing. It was like ripples, ocean waves through the seemingly solid marble floor, vibrating under their feet, up through their bones and coming to a rest as a dull rumbling in their chests, their heads. They looked at one another in terror — Would they be caught? Surely Lisalisa and Suzie Q couldn't be awake at this hour — and attempted to calm themselves.

They stole out into the darkened, marble-laced rotunda which marked the centre of the building, the towering, vaulted ceiling gaping like an empty void, a black hole overhead. Silvery slants of moonlight pierced the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a magnified cross-hatched spotlight on the shivering teens. They gave it no more than a glance as they slipped past and out of the building with nothing more than the wind off the aged quilts they carried with them and the slight murmur of their bare, worn-out feet on the marble.

Giggling to one another, they ran across the courtyard and into the dark, yet comforting woods. Caesar grabbed Joseph's hand and guided him to a clearing, where they would lay for the next hour staring at the stars and talking about everything and nothing all at once. Falling in love could no longer explain this. This was like being flown into love at Mach 1, ear-splitting, eye-catching love.

"Joseph?"

Joseph turned to the moonbeam bathed boy laying next to him, raising an eyebrow and smiling.

"I... I think-," he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I think- Joseph, I think I'm in love with you."

"You mean that?"

"I have been for a while, I just... tried to forget it. I'm sorry if this ruins our-"

Joseph leaped across the quilt, pulling Caesar into an intense, yet gentle kiss. He slid one hand into the other's soft, light hair, and softly placed the other on his chest. The kiss seemed to last for hours, their lips tingling as they pulled away and snickered quietly, foreheads pressed together. Caesar pulled the other quilt over them, the night breeze becoming a nuisance. They shared many soft kisses, before Joseph spoke.

"Do you want to- you know-? Tomorrow isn't promised, especially not now, and I want to give you all of me..."

Caesar nodded. "Come here."

Sloppy, uncoordinated kisses, tongues and lips crashing together, nervous touches, reassuring words, awkward attempts to be comfortable, shaking bodies, nerves begging to be lit on fire for the first time. Clothes hitting the dew-covered grass, hot, rapid breaths mingling with cool, steady breezes, locked eyes, comforting caresses. Slow, gentle movements, quiet, desperate noises piercing the air, tight grips, clasped hands, declarations of love, beautiful forms, coming together as one under the stars. Nothing had ever felt so good, so right, in every sense of the word. 

The crazy days, city lights

The way you'd play with me like a child

Even the worst training days were better with one another. When they finally got to eat, they sat in the floor of Joseph's room and talked as if they were lifelong friends. Caesar ate slowly, and Joseph ate quickly. Both were nowhere near messy eaters, but the blonde tended to have to wipe his chin down more often than the brunette, mostly due to Joseph's flirtatious antics. 

The wildest cities seemed much tamer when they were together. They could tackle anything, they were the definition of a superior team. When Caesar would describe his idea of an adventure to Joseph it would send chills down his spine, make his body tingle. He wanted to backpack his way across India, sail up the Nile in a small wooden boat and keep a journal of it all, trek through the dense Amazon and climb the towering Mount Everest. He wanted to explore rural China, dog sled in the arctic, tour all of Russia and deep sea dive. Joseph's idea of adventure was trying a new supermarket with Granny Erina, a different café in the city, or a new outfit.

Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful?

Will you still love me when I’ve got nothing but my aching soul?

Joseph flipped through the wonderful memories in his mind as he rested his head upon Caesar's shoulder.

"Caesar?"

The blonde turned his head toward Joseph.

"Do you still... do you still love me?"

The other flashed an angelic smile and nodded.

"I'm glad, I feel the same."

Caesar ran a soft, warm hand through Joseph's graying hair as the two drifted off to sleep.

I know that you will

In their deep sleep they become young again. They dream of things past, things that will never be again. In Caesar's dreams he has comfort, freedom and love. Sometimes Joseph can be visited by those he lost. For those perfect hours of sleep, Joseph and Caesar are whole once again. Sometimes Joseph has nightmares, but those are getting fewer and far between now that life has settled back into a rhythm. Joseph truly looks forward to turning in at night, he has thick duvets and the finest pillows, everything luxury. Not to mention, it's just one more way he can see Caesar, be it real or fake.

I've seen the world, lit it up as my stage now

Channeling angels in the new age now

When Joseph woke up, he was laying down next to Caesar with his head on his chest. They stayed there for a moment, just savoring one another's company.

Joseph snorted quietly. "You know the last time we got to spend some actual time together was before we fought the Pillar Men... I've missed this."

Caesar nodded and looked down, lifting Joseph's chin and planting a gentle kiss on his lips.

Hot summer days, rock and roll

The way you'd play for me at your show

It was the hottest summer on record in Italy, yet Lisalisa had them training harder than ever. Heat licked at Caesar's sunburned face and coiled around Joseph's limbs like a great, hungry hot-blooded serpent. The ground smoldered and sent up a disorientating haze, as if looking through water. Even the birds overhead were silent and the grass stood still as if too hot to move. The one day they had a break, they decided to go find a small lake or creek to cool off in, anything to get away from the heat. They ended up water fighting like children and slowly kissing one another in the shallows, taking advantage of the privacy. They sang their favorite songs and danced with each other, which is such a freeing feeling after the hardships of training. 

And all the ways I got to know

Your pretty face and electric soul

And there Caesar sat, with his feet in the clear, cool water, drinking in the radiant heat of summer. He let his eyes close in a way that appears restful, as if inviting, calling Joseph to imagine what his daydreams consist of. In that way, with such calmness, collectiveness of souls, content to dwell in that ever memorable moment, that they felt the joy of each other's company. Joseph stares at the blonde, a stupid look on his face, giving away how hard he had fallen. He looked away for a second and he found himself falling backward into the creek, Caesar having tackle-kissed him.

When he comes, tell me that you'll let him in

Father, tell me if you can

Caesar used to pray each night, and every night he would ask God to save them both a seat in the clouds, next to one another. He thought about death a lot, much more than normal because of the situation they were in. After he'd pray, he would smuggle cigarettes and beer into Joseph's room, and they'd go to the roof. Staring at the stars and sneaking drunk touches and smoky kisses, talking about their future together, holding hands and playing footsie, giggling like children. Times like these, when the world wasn't ending or they weren't fighting for their lives are the times Joseph would cherish forever. 

He's my sun, he makes me shine like diamonds

It always amazed Caesar how happy and carefree Joseph stayed, even in old age. He often thinks about the summer in Rome, how beautiful Joseph looked in the radiant, deep glow of the sunsets, how perfectly his hair caught his bubbles. He was proud to be the man who made such a perfect man smile and laugh like never before. Just the thought of it made Caesar shiver with pride and love. Joseph was more than just a friend, more than a lover. He was Caesar's world, a spot no one before him had been able to fill. 

Will you still love me?

Conversations neither of them had ever considered having with anyone else, conversations they wouldn't even have with themselves.

"Jojo?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you still love me even if we don't win this fight?"

Joseph grabbed his arm. "Caesar. I will love you until the end of time."

Will you still love me?

"Are you still going to love me when I'm not as pretty?"

"Caesar, I promise I'm always going to love you. Always," Joseph cooed, running his hand through the other's soft blonde hair. 

Will you still love me?

Joseph opened his door to find a crying, shaking, anxious Caesar carrying his pillow. The Italian dropped the thin cushion and latched himself onto Joseph as if his life depended on it.

Joseph wrapped his arms around the blonde. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Caesar said nothing, he only began sobbing, clinging harder to Joseph than before. He tried to take in a normal breath, but could only get sharp gasps and wheezes out.

"Come in here," Joseph pulled him into the room. "Go sit down, I'm gonna get your stuff for you."

Joseph picked the pillow up and grabbed a blanket and a water bottle on his way to his bed. He tossed that stuff at the foot of the bed and climbed up next to Caesar. It was dim, as all the lights were out, but Joseph could see the other's form. He pulled the other into his chest, laying them both down and slipping the comforter over them.

"What happened, love?"

"N-Nightmare- You we- weren't there- I-" Caesar began to sob again, a cry of absolute pain leaving his throat. Joseph held him against his chest tightly and stroked his back, reassuring him softly. 

"It's just a nightmare, it won't hurt you. I'd never let it."

The older boy just nodded and pulled him as close as possible, holding tightly to his shoulder blades and breathing in his scent. Something about that smell, that body, just makes him feel safe and secure. 

"J-Jojo?"

"I know what you're thinking and my answer is yes. I will always love you."

Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful?

Joseph grinned at Caesar when he finished thinking, planting a kiss on his cheek. He was full of joy, until his grandson's beat up SUV could be seen making its way through the field.

Jotaro climbed out of the car and beckoned for Joseph. The old man stood up with some trouble, bones popping like bubble wrap. 

The blonde looked up at him, gaze full of love. "I have to go soon..."

He pulled Caesar into a strong hug, beginning to tear up.

"Gramps, come on- What are you doing?"

"Telling Caesar goodbye. I won't get to see him for a while."

"There... There isn't anyone there."

"Okay, great one funny guy. He's right here."

Will you still love me when I got nothing but my aching soul?

Joseph hugged him tightly one last time before leaving. He wiped the tears from his cheeks as he stood up, bending down to kiss Caesar one last time for the year. 

"Goodbye Caesarino, I'll see you next year. I love you. I always will," Joseph muttered shakily before stepping back, watching the grand, marble tombstone lose it's magnificent lustre as Caesar's angelic form disappeared, materializing into golden bubbles before floating away.

Joseph observed how the bubbles floated away before turning to his grandson.

"Let's go home, Jotaro." He began walking toward the car, but just before reaching it, a gust of wind hit him from behind. Joseph whipped around as fast as an old man possibly could. In front of his face sat a large, golden bubble with a replica of Caesar's headband inside. Gingerly, Joseph reached out to grab it, and once in his hands, it popped.

The man let out a choked sob as he held the headband against the side of his face. Immediately he wrapped it around his head and turned his face up toward the sky, smiling.

"Thank you, Caesar. Remember, forever." A couple tears slipped from Joseph's eye as he climbed into the passenger seat. 

I know you will, I know you will

"Jotaro, have you ever loved someone? Someone you couldn't have?"

Jotaro gave him a side-glance. "Why are you asking?"

"I just don't want you to make the same mistakes I did," Joseph said, taking a deep breath. "If you love someone, don't let anyone stop you from being together. Please."

Jotaro harshly breathed out of his nose. "I think it's a little too late for me. But what are you even talking about?"

Joseph furrowed his eyebrows and looked out of the window at the passing landscape. 

"I fell in love with someone I wasn't allowed to have. We snuck around in secret up until the day-," Joseph closed his mouth and bit his lip, taking deep breaths in.

"Gramps- You don't have to keep going, I think I understand."

"Thank you," Joseph looked over at his grandson. "It still hurts even now... Which is why I'm worried about you-"

"I'm fine." Jotaro quickly shut himself down, he didn't want to talk about his own feelings on the subject. "But are you fine?"

Joseph sighed and touched the replica headband on his head. "I am now."

Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful?

Each year on Caesar's birthday, Joseph was there, in the same spot. He talked to him throughout the year but this was the only time he could see him. He picked a bouquet of wildflowers, he sat next to the grave, and kissed the tombstone before he left, promising to be back. The last time he departed however, at the ripe age of 91, he kissed the large marble slab and said, "See you soon, Caesar. I still love you, by the way," before Jotaro walked him back to the car.

Later that year, Joseph Joestar passed away peacefully in his sleep. He woke up in a strange room, where a woman was waiting.

"Oh, finally! Can you tell me your name sweetheart?"

Joseph smiled awkwardly. "J- um- Joseph Joestar... Where am I?"

"The welcoming room for the afterlife! Here is where you would normally be given a place to stay and meet your friends, but I believe you already have a home!"

 Joseph furrowed his eyebrows. "Huh?"

"You already have a house! Someone requested you live with them," she smiled.

He shook his head in amazement.

"Are you ready?"

Joseph nodded, a grin covering his restored face. He was 18 again, and he felt amazing.

The woman walked him out of the door and the first people he laid eyes on were the crusaders that had passed.

"Avdol! Polnareff! Kakyoin! Iggy!"

"Who-?" Kakyoin and Polnareff whipped around, but didn't recognize him. Iggy stood still until Avdol charged forward.

"JOSEPH!" The two held onto each other, and once the others realized who he was, they too joined the hug. 

"Mr. Joestar! You look so young!"

"Thank you, Kakyoin, you're very kind."

"So you really DID look like that in the 1940s... wow," Polnareff's mouth dropped open in awe as he circled Joseph, who was holding Iggy, trying to get his used to his younger form.

"JOJO! JOJO!"

The crusaders began to look around for Jotaro, yet when they turned back around, Joseph was sprinting full speed at a blonde they had never seen before.

"CAESAR!" Joseph tackled the older man, their lips colliding, and their bodies immediately attaching to each other. They cried tears of joy until they heard a woman's scolding and a man's laughing.

"Joseph! Have some manners!"

"Get a room, lovebirds!"

"G-Granny Erina! Speedwagon!" Joseph got up and ran to them, grinning from ear to ear.

"Jojo, do you wanna see your house?"

Joseph nodded, looking over at the blonde. He waved goodbye to his family before turning his attention back to Caesar. They locked hands and the older man led Joseph through beautiful cobblestone streets and colorful houses before turning into the driveway of a small, light blue house. Caesar opened the door and pulled Joseph in.

"Welcome home," he said, smiling brightly.

"Where- Where do you live?"

Caesar smirked. "That's the thing... you get to deal with me forever~"

"I have no complaints," Joseph laughed, kissing the other softly, running a hand through his blonde hair.

Joseph used to fear dying, but now, he'd rather be dead than anything. There's nothing he would take to leave this place. He was finally where he was meant to be; Caesar's arms. And once again, both have been returned to their original forms, once again young, beautiful, and in love.