Always With You (Caejose)

Sick (1/3)

Thanks to Pum_P_Kinnie for the great idea!!

.... Joseph POV ....

Warm light pooled in through the window, slanting across the pale carpeting. 

I blinked awake, yawning as I turned off the alarm.

The bed across from me was still occupied- despite his ungodly habit of waking up before the sun rose. 

Most days he would come in and wake me up, usually by throwing something at me. The object ranged from a pillow to, on one occasion, my own alarm clock.

But today was different. He was still asleep, blond hair nestled into the pillow. I slipped from bed, snagging my dirty shirt from yesterday's training to wake him up with. My plans fell apart as I got a good look at him, however. 

A faint blush spread over his cheekbones, eyes fluttering. His hand was fisted in the sheets.
I hesitated, dropped the shirt. 

My fingers brushed over his forehead, detecting the telltale heat there. 

He stirred, one hand coming up, snapping around my wrist. 

"Tch. Touchy this morning, are we?" I asked. He groaned lightly, buried his face in the pillow. I sat down on the edge of the bed. "Hmm. You have a fever, Caesarino."

"Niente merda, idiota."

This happened sometimes- when he was tired, drunk, or felt like pissing me off. He drifted into his mother language, brain too frazzled to speak English, or to realize he was speaking solely Italian. 

I brushed his hair from his forehead in a rare display of affection. Since he seemed to be out of it, I let him be. 

"I can talk to Lisa Lisa to get you out of training today."

His eyes snapped open, the emerald hue startled.

"No."

I paused, watching him. He sucked in a breath, then sat up. Determination glowed in his eyes.
I watched him, concerned. 

"You're not in any position to-"

"Sto bene."

I watched him, then stood. I stretched, tucking my elbows behind my head as I examined him.

"Maybe if you start speaking in a language I could understand, I'd let you go."

His brow pinched, lips twisting into distaste. He seemed a mixture of perplexed and irritated. I stifled a laugh. He was cute, cheeks flushed with fever and face drawn in irritation.

"I can still train," he got out eventually. I watched him for a long moment, still worried. 

"Messina is going to hand your ass to you," I warned. 

Caesar stood, wobbling for a half moment. I stepped forwards, ignoring that half of me that wanted to annoy him. 

"It's a Tuesday, idiota," Caesar said, rubbing his eyes. "We're sparring today."

I blinked. 

Apparently, he was more lucid than I'd realized. 

"Well. Then I'm going to hand your ass to you."

Caesar gave me a very dry, very skeptical look that told me exactly what he thought about that. The effect was only slightly diminished by the pink coating his cheekbones. 

"You still won't be able to beat me, stupido."

I gave him a slow smile as he pulled off his shirt, reaching into the closet to pull out a new outfit.
"I don't know, Caesarino. Judging by the state of your clothes, I have a pretty good chance."