Dawson is- most people who don't know him would say- as straight as they come. And senior year away from home promises to be a big year for him: no parents in sight, a whole new set of friends, he just seems to have it all. Not to mention that all t...
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"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN MIND?" a man in a denim jumpsuit screams as a shirtless cowboy accidentally spills his whole drink on him. His cowboy hat is so tilted to the left it seems to be on the brink of falling.
Adam yanks Dawson away just in time. Dawson gives the cowboy the stink eye as they make their way through the crowd.
The room is brimming with people, mostly drunk or somewhat intoxicated. The rotating lights flash Dawson's eyes, intermittently blinding him. He doesn't know who thought it would be a good idea. He already wants to leave.
Adam smiles in amusement, "Having fun?"
Dawson shoots him a baffled look. "What?"
"I said, are you having fun?" the boy yells in his ear. Dawson can't help but fixate on how good he smells.
Dawson glances at the table to his right. By the looks of it, the party must have started hours ago. Half of the cups are full and the other half is either lying down or spread unceremoniously across the floor at their feet. Three men around the age of thirty are drinking from the keg. One of them– seemingly the youngest– locks eyes with him. Dawson shies away as he grabs one of the filled cups and immediately takes a sip.
He reaches out for Adam's hand, making their fingers intertwine. The boy gives him a soft smile, though his eyes say he wasn't expecting anyone to be holding his hand tonight, much less Dawson.
They spot a quiet corner to retreat to and get a break from the commotion of the party. Dawson's stare is still lingering on the crowd a few steps away. Their exuberance looks so liberating.
"You didn't have to hold my hand."
"Why not?"
"It–" he fumbles.
Just as he's about to elaborate, he feels a hand gently resting on his shoulder. The dismay on Adam's face tells him everything he needs to know.
He dreadfully turns around as he takes in the view of Hyppolite Jones, standing before them naked to the waist, exhibiting the most self-satisfied grin Dawson has ever seen. He's wearing red lipstick embellished by gems. His eyelids are masterfully painted gold, the shine spreading across his upper cheeks and temples. He's glowing, quite literally.
"You came," the boy says. Then, he cranes forward to get a good look at Adam. "With Hamilton."
"He–"
"I was visiting my family for the holidays," the words shoot out of Adam. "We bumped into each other last night."
"Right," Hyppolite smacks his shiny lips. "I almost forgot. Merry Christmas," he chimes the tiny bell hanging from his chocker.
"How festive," Dawson points out.
"I feel like I'm under-dressed for the occasion," Adam speaks out softly.
