[If Joseph was alive- he wasn’t, and this was the point of all of this, and they had wasted so much, but...if he had been, and through some miracle they were actually talking (ha, and then they could fly to the moon and turn back time) about it all, this would’ve been the point in which- it didn’t matter what Caesar would’ve done, could’ve done, might’ve done, what he should’ve done. It didn’t matter. It really didn’t matter.
Caesar looked at Joseph, then, looked away. Some things he couldn’t see, not without breaking down, and he didn’t need tears: he needed stone. He needed fire. He kept his hand over Joseph’s, wrapped his fingers around it, gave it a squeeze. A small thing. Pathetic, really. By rights he should be draping himself over his idiot and crying for him. If he was a...but he wasn’t. That was the point of this. He wasn’t.]
Let’s face it. He was better to you than I ever was, Joseph, and we both know this. [Even with how things ended. And then Caesar forced his tone lighter, or tried to: it fell flat, but...he tried.] What did he call you- no, don’t tell me. Whatever he called you, Jojo, I can do better. My dove- no, if anything, you’d be a goose. [Laugh, damn you.]
I’m sorry. [His hand squeezed again.] If I say anything more serious now it would come out all wrong- if you- [And Caesar squeezed his hand again. He wanted to do more: lean over, cradle Joseph in his arms, say something reassuring, something right, fix things. A corpse would be far from the most disgusting thing he handled recently, and, besides, it wasn’t just a corpse. It was Joseph. But he couldn’t. Because if he looked at Joseph he’d start to cry. If he was a better person, he could, but he wasn’t.] If you heard it you wouldn’t- it would sound all wrong, Jojo. All wrong. And I won’t be outdone by a...a...thing that went and...dammit.
[He could feel himself starting to break. He looked away. Out. Stubbornly stared away. Out. Towards the water and the sky, and the worst part was that, as he stared, Caesar realized that it was likely going to be a pleasant day, clear and bright.]
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Caesar looked at Joseph, then, looked away. Some things he couldn’t see, not without breaking down, and he didn’t need tears: he needed stone. He needed fire. He kept his hand over Joseph’s, wrapped his fingers around it, gave it a squeeze. A small thing. Pathetic, really. By rights he should be draping himself over his idiot and crying for him. If he was a...but he wasn’t. That was the point of this. He wasn’t.]
Let’s face it. He was better to you than I ever was, Joseph, and we both know this. [Even with how things ended. And then Caesar forced his tone lighter, or tried to: it fell flat, but...he tried.] What did he call you- no, don’t tell me. Whatever he called you, Jojo, I can do better. My dove- no, if anything, you’d be a goose. [Laugh, damn you.]
I’m sorry. [His hand squeezed again.] If I say anything more serious now it would come out all wrong- if you- [And Caesar squeezed his hand again. He wanted to do more: lean over, cradle Joseph in his arms, say something reassuring, something right, fix things. A corpse would be far from the most disgusting thing he handled recently, and, besides, it wasn’t just a corpse. It was Joseph. But he couldn’t. Because if he looked at Joseph he’d start to cry. If he was a better person, he could, but he wasn’t.] If you heard it you wouldn’t- it would sound all wrong, Jojo. All wrong. And I won’t be outdone by a...a...thing that went and...dammit.
[He could feel himself starting to break. He looked away. Out. Stubbornly stared away. Out. Towards the water and the sky, and the worst part was that, as he stared, Caesar realized that it was likely going to be a pleasant day, clear and bright.]