[Those rough fingers press into his hips-a gentle touch, one that doesn't hold any familiarity to the bruise inducing grip he's used to. Nothing like the intense hold that would preface them throwing one another face first into the ground.

The motion is soothing-feels like it's rubbing away an age old wound he didn't know existed. He allows it because it's nice. Because it's quiet. Because it's a reminder that he is alive to feel those fingertips press against his bare flesh and stare down at his best friend who did accomplish everything Caesar hoped he would.

Maybe it's okay, then, to give him a bit of a break.

Not that he's about to let the man know their hamon training is cut short and that all it took was a little massage against his hips. He's sure JoJo's mouth will ruin it soon enough anyway.]

Wishing away hard work won't change the outcome. Do you think I'm so easily swayed? That I won't forget your antics this morning?

[He moves to ruffle that brunet hair again, his hand mussing the front and instead of pulling back-

He starts to brush his hand through it again-a rhythmic pattern to match the fingers moving against his skin.]

Your ploy won't work against me. You should know that by now.