Ti Amo

Chapter 1

 Caesar x Joseph art above by @luana_ca.ca

Joseph Joestar looked at the telegram he had received. It was the fortieth or fiftieth time he had looked at it. It was creased and oily from his fingerprints. He didn't know why he kept looking at it. He had never before had a telegram like this. It read only:

MEET ME AT THE VIA VENETTO ON FEBRUARY 27TH. I'LL BE WAITING.

Joseph had told his wife this was a business trip. He didn't say it was Italy, because she might have asked to go with him. He had not been to Italy in twenty years, leaving it behind when he married Suzi. The date – February 27th - had made him stagger as he was standing when he had thoughtlessly torn open the envelope the telegram was in. He had been in his Manhattan, New York office. His secretary had looked up as he almost lost his balance and fell over. Joseph had laughed it off, brushing away her surprise and concern.

At home that evening, he had an excess of adrenaline. Suzi noticed he seemed preoccupied, commenting on how he was jiggling his leg at the dinner table. He had no reason to lie to her, but when he opened his mouth to tell her about the mysterious message, a lie came out easily - allaying her concern then and there, and bringing their focus back to Holly, their young daughter.

The next day, Joseph booked a flight to Italy. He didn't do it through his company. He used a private travel agency in Connecticut to book the trip. He had driven himself there, too, not using his chauffeur.

Now, on the plane, he put the telegram back in his shirt pocket.

"Signore, il suo pasto."

The voice of the stewardess jolted him back into reality.

"Grazie."

He took the plate and almost dropped it in his lap. It was squid ink pasta. Memories came rushing back.

He had seen Caesar; he didn't know his name at the time. Caesar was about to start making out with a woman. He didn't seem to care he was in public. Joseph had a plate of the squid-ink pasta in front of him. He was starving and the food was very good. But instead of continuing to eat, all his attention was on this Casanova. His overtly sexual behaviour just irked Joseph severely. Before he knew it, he was using Hamon and launching some pasta right at the blonde's face. But to his astonishment, it was deflected and returned, without the woman even noticing. The man proceeded with his hot and heavy romancing.

That was how it had all started, how Joseph Joestar had met Caesar A. Zeppeli, the grandson of William Zeppeli, who had been Joseph's grandfather's Hamon mentor.

And they had become very close during the brutal, grueling Hamon training. Joseph's mind drifted to twenty years ago.

He had passed out. He came to and was about to open his eyes, when he heard Caesar murmuring. He felt someone holding him. The arms were strong and warm. He recognized the faint smell of soap Caesar had in his gloves. His heartbeat quickened. If he had just opened his eyes and said, "Boo!" It would have been a good jump scare, a perfect prank. But he liked having the blonde Italian cradling him.

Afterwards, he couldn't forget that feeling. And that night, after training, he had touched himself while thinking of Caesar. Well, not touched. He had handled himself hard, thinking of the smell of the Italian man's soap, the clear emerald green of his eyes, and his lilting English.

The pilot's voice came over the intercom.

"Stiamo per far atterrare l'aereo. Sono disponibili cinture di sicurezza. E benvenuto a Roma."

Joseph buckled his seatbelt and watched as the plane taxied to a full stop.

That evening, he left the hotel and walked to the Via Venetto.

It had crossed his mind, many times, that he could be walking into a trap. But over the last twenty years, in the happy bliss that was his little family, his skills had dulled. He welcomed this chance to hone them.

He looked around, all the fashionable women and dapper men. The high-end shops and restaurants, the movie theater.

Joseph didn't see anyone with a patterned headband with feathers, with wild blonde hair. He felt foolish when he realized what he was looking for. Why would Caesar even be here? He had died twenty years ago.

The tall brunette was about to leave, when he saw a streetlamp in front of a cobblestoned alley. He crossed the street and entered the alleyway. It was empty. His heart sank. He chided himself. Then he heard a voice, lovely, lilting English he hadn't heard in two decades. He turned around slowly, his heart beating faster.

He was about to leave when he saw a streetlamp in front of a cobblestoned alley. He crossed the street and entered the alleyway. It was empty. His heart sank. He chided himself. Then he heard a voice, lovely, lilting English he hadn't heard in two decades. He turned around slowly, his heart beating faster. There was a shadowed figure, silhouetted in the mouth of the alleyway. He recognized that silhouette: the lean, muscular body, the golden hair illuminated by the streetlight. 

"Joseph..."

TO BE CONTINUED