originally posted to AO3 06/12/2015
still remains my most kudosed/read fic on the archive, which never fails to surprise me. a ~1000 word fic skews almost eighty percent of my statistics. wild.
Caesar hasn't touched much of whatever liquor Joseph has been buying them. The gin is oily and filmy, the rum watery. Joseph, on the other hand, has been knocking the stuff back all night.
Caesar gently drums his fingers against the table, glancing over at his companion. Another glass, empty. Joseph grins at him.
'Cae-sar...' he starts, wagging a finger and trying very earnestly to compose himself, 'you know what I wanna do?'
Caesar looks down his nose at him, putting another cigarette between his lips. 'No, Jojo. I don't.'
'I wanna dance with you!' Joseph says and laughs, tugging at Caesar's sleeve.
With a lit match in his fingers, Caesar finds it only half as endearing as he ought to. He struggles to light his cigarette, resisting Joseph's drunken groping.
'Don't be so uptight, Caesar,' Joseph tries, almost barking out the last syllable of his name, still grinning like an idiot, 'I'll teach you how to lindy hop!'
Caesar mumbles his discontent, shaking out his match. He blows out a plume of smoke and leans back. Joseph is half out of his chair—placing an alarming amount of his weight (and trust) on their small table—smiling down expectantly at him.
'No.'
'Caesar, c'mon,' Joseph pleads, raggedly rolling up his shirt sleeves. His cheeks are beginning to look rosy.
'No, Joseph.' Caesar sighs, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. A lazy trail of smoke issues from his lips. He nudges his drink towards Joseph.
Joseph looks down skeptically at the glass, silent for one brief (but blissful) moment, muttering something with a smile. Whatever he says is lost on his lips as he begins to drink. Caesar shakes his head softly, tapping ash off the end of his cigarette.
Perhaps, he thinks, looking at the mass of crumpled cigarette butts, he ought to loosen up a little. It's not all so bad. Joseph inelegantly places the empty glass back on the table, gazing at it listlessly as it topples over and offers the tablecloth the dregs.
Caesar partly wishes that he'd said yes to dancing.
Beyond their table is a sea of sequins and pearly smiles, glittering away in the soft light. The joint is packed with girls with daring new haircuts and gentlemen on their arms, their chatter lost under the music. Joseph is an altogether different entity.
He's flushed pink cheeks and messy hair, brooding (rather laughably) over Caesar's last drink. His thick brows are furrowed, lips caught in a pout as he raps his fingers against the upturned glass.
Caesar brings his cigarette to his lips again, smiling gently. It's rare to see Joseph like this. And it's bewildering for him to not be sporting a toothy grin.
The soft illusion playing on his features is all too quickly lost, his lips curling into a snarl.
'Jojo,' Caesar warns him, softly.
Joseph's glassy eyes slide over to him, sulkily.
'Don't pull nasty faces at the bamboline.'
The furrow in his brow deepens. 'They were staring at you.'
Caesar laughs, exhaling a short burst of smoke in Joseph's direction. He wrinkles his nose at that, fixing him with a sour look. Caesar quirks a brow as he eases back in his chair. 'Jealous, are we?'
'You... you-' he pauses, expression vacant, trying to find his words, 'y-you wish!' He laughs a little too giddily, dimples on show. The flush of colour in his cheeks appears to have travelled to his nose, too.
'You have such a...' Caesar trails off; gestures blankly at him, 'way with words, Jojo.' He smiles as he takes another drag.
Joseph doesn't have anything to say to that.
Caesar hears the soft thud of what he presumes to be Joseph folding over, head in hands. He's so childish that it really shouldn't be so endearing. But Caesar all too often finds that it is.
Caesar takes another drag of his cigarette before glancing back across the table. His easy smile turns into a roll of his eyes and a tut. Out like a light.
He stubs out his cigarette, biting out a sigh. 'I think,' he begins, lurching out of his seat, 'it's time we went home.'
Like most things involving Joseph are wont to be, this is much easier said than done.
He's uncooperative as Caesar struggles to get him into his jacket, muttering under his breath and unable to do so much as bend his arm a fraction to the left. He's wobbly—as if the drink has hit him all at once—but he manages. Joseph stumbles outside all but draped over him, and though Caesar's irritation is evident on his face, he doesn't make a fuss. He just pulls Joseph that little bit closer, shaking his head softly. New York is still odd to Caesar, even after all this time, but he finds it most tolerable in the small hours of the morning.
Less noise, less crowds, less of Joseph chewing his ear off.
There are only a few stars out, streets quiet as they cross another road. The fresh air has dulled Joseph's flushed cheeks; allowed him to open his eyes and walk a little more steadily.
'Caesar?'
He glances over at him, (as well as he can, seeing as Joseph is all but glued to his side), only registering the thick brows knitted together and his unruly hair.
'We never got to dance.'
The sadness in his tone may have affected Caesar more strongly if he wasn't stumbling down the avenue all but carrying Joseph home (again).
'Next time, maybe.'
Joseph hums in reply, nodding, then lurches over to gift the sidewalk with the evening's liquor. Caesar bites down a retort, gently combing Joseph's hair away from his face. His eyes are still glassy, lidded from tiredness as much as the drink. He swipes away spittle from the corner of his mouth, Joseph doing little else but wrinkle his nose.
'You're a mess, sciocco.' Caesar tells him with a sigh. Joseph just nods.
The next twist in the avenue and the apartment steps are, thankfully, less eventful. Joseph leans against the wall and scrubs at his eyes whilst Caesar fishes around in his jacket for the keys. The trouble he has finding the lock and getting the key inside, let alone turning it, tells Caesar that he's also probably had more than he intended.
That, or Joseph is contagious. Caesar doesn't think that's completely improbable.
Joseph flops unceremoniously onto the loveseat, mumbling to himself and burrowing down into the paltry, saggy cushion available. He mutters his discontent when Caesar bats him to one side to sit down. Then he reconsiders, glancing tiredly over at him, and drapes a heavy arm around his middle.
'Hey, Caesar?'
He turns to him slowly, halfway through unwinding his tie, yawning as he does.
'You know w—' Joseph struggles to keep his eyes open for a moment. 'Know what?'
'What?'
Joseph settles down properly, his face nestled against Caesar's shoulder, arm still slung over his chest.
'This is my favourite part.'
'Lo so, Joseph,' Caesar mutters, losing the will to keep his eyes open. 'Lo so.'