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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DAWSON GENTLY LAYS THE SACHET DOWN, his finger still tainted with the evidence of his misconduct.
He's expecting to be fired at with questions he doesn't know the answer to. His parents truly had a flair for that; sparking up a fiery interrogation, yet failing with each passing second to pick up on the real issue. They deflected the obvious, as it would inflict all the blame on them and their carelessness. They bent the problem to the point that it snapped into a thousand pieces, making it impossible to discern, which just made it so much easier to blame it all on Dawson and his reckless behavior. Matter of fact, he wasn't even sure anymore whose fault it was that he ended up in that situation.
Maybe he was the problem all along. Maybe there was no saving him from himself.
"You're using," Adam says, in a constricted exhale.
Dawson lifts his head to face him. The lump in his throat makes him question whether he'll be able to utter a single sound.
"No, I-"
"I was looking for you," Adam deadpans.
Dawson stands up. "Well... you found me."
Despite the impassive look on Adam's face, Dawson notices his jaw is clenched and his eyes tell a whole different story. They look confused like he's trying to make sense of what they just witnessed, and, perhaps for the first time since he stepped into that classroom, he's at a loss for words.
Speak, for fuck's sake! Say something. Anything.
Is he disappointed by him? Did he let him down once and for all at last? The news comes as no surprise to Dawson. It was bound to happen and, alas, there they stood, barely 3 feet apart, divided by the deafening silence they breathed.
"Listen, can we leave?" Adam asks in a tiny voice, jamming his hands into the pockets of his worn-out jeans.
Dawson nods slowly and washes his hands in the pearly sink. He looks at his reflection in the mirror once. His eyes are stinging and bloodshot like he's about to cry. Truth is, he feels like crying. He has this weight on his chest he can't seem to get rid of. It's like a hand pressing down and into his lungs.
"I'm sorry for bringing you here."
Adam doesn't say anything back.
It's quiet again.
*
Life at Wharton is back to what it used to be.
Milo is back in his dorm room with his brand new home-knitted sweater he's been sporting every day. Maisie-Rae couldn't stop talking about the cherry cheesecake Abe's mom made for Christmas and how wrong she was for "knocking it before she tried it". Abe claims he has gained at least 10 pounds over the Holidays and— to everyone's skepticism— swears he'll never eat again. Calliope came back with a haircut, and quite the radical one at that.
