Title: Glass Between Us
The room smelled faintly of dust and lemon polish, sunlight spilling across the tiled floor through the cracked window. It was too quiet for Joseph’s liking. Even the steady, shallow breathing from the bed felt wrong.
Caesar was there, lying against the thin hospital pillow, his head turned away. The bandages around his midsection peeked out from under the sheets, white already stained in deep crimson from where the wounds refused to stop bleeding.
“...Hey, Caesar,” Joseph muttered, leaning against the doorframe. His voice was light, teasing—because Joseph Joestar didn’t do serious, not when it mattered. But his hands in his pockets were trembling, nails biting into the skin of his palms.
Caesar didn’t look at him. “You didn’t have to come.”
“Oh, what, I’m supposed to let you sulk here alone? Not my style.” Joseph forced a grin, stepping closer. “Besides, I couldn’t risk you dying without owing me another favor.”
The corner of Caesar’s mouth twitched, but he still wouldn’t turn his head. “I almost did die. And I don’t think you would’ve cared.”
Joseph stopped in his tracks. The air felt heavier suddenly, the space between them stretching into something unspoken. “Don’t—don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it?” Caesar’s voice cracked for a fraction of a second, but his pride kept it sharp. “You’ve never taken anything seriously, Joseph. Not this war, not our training, not… me.”
There it was. The thing Joseph had felt building for weeks.
He wanted to laugh it off. Make a stupid joke. Instead, he sat down in the chair beside the bed, his knees brushing the side of the mattress. “You think I don’t care? I’ve been watching you throw yourself into every fight like you’ve got something to prove. Like you want to go down swinging before anyone can stop you. And you think that doesn’t scare the hell out of me?”
Finally, Caesar turned to face him, pale green eyes tired and angry and… aching. “Then stop me.”
Joseph swallowed hard, his throat tight. His hand reached out instinctively, stopping just above Caesar’s. “I don’t know how to stop you without losing you.”
The silence between them was too fragile to breathe in. Caesar’s lips parted, but no words came. Joseph lowered his head, leaning forward until his forehead touched the side of Caesar’s arm.
“I can’t lose you, Caesar. Not you.”
And maybe that was the cruelest thing about war—knowing there was no promise either of them could make that would survive the battlefield.