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...
i want to thank those of you who commented and gave me this huge motivation boost. this was all you <3
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MORNING HAS COME, as shown by the sunlight seeping through the blinds. The warmth wakes Dawson up from his quiet slumber. His eyelids open gently, until he realizes that he is, in fact, not lying in his bed, but on the cold hard floor of Hamilton's dorm room.
He sits up so fast his sight blacks out and he almost sees the stars. Only now he realizes what a bad call staying the night has been.
But what could he do? It was either that or getting his second strike out of three and be one step closer to getting kicked out of Wharton High.
He's not sure whether he had unexpectedly changed his mind the night before— and thus decided to stay— or he simply wasn't fond of the idea of getting expelled without scheming and earning his success.
Thinking lucidly about it now, he might just have preferred that over the embarrassment of waking up in someone else's room, especially when that someone is none other than Adam Hamilton.
His head instinctively turns to where Hamilton is sleeping.
This is the only time Dawson has seen him look completely harmless. Now he has no power to inflict any pain on him; his words can't pierce his skin like bullets, his eyes can't dig into his soul.
There's only him and the soft wheezing sound his breath makes escaping his ajar lips when he's fast asleep. He looks so happy and unaware. His disheveled head is half covered by the white duvet. Dawson's gaze lingers on the boy's messy hair a little bit longer, long enough for him to finally realize that it's dark brown and not black. He thought his hair was black but no, it's dark-chocolate brown and he can tell now that the sunlight is shining on it.
How could he be so mistaken?
Without any warning, Adam's eyelids flutter open. Dawson gulps trying to ignore the sharp stab of anxiety he got from getting caught red-handed.
Dawson immediately tears his eyes away from him, staring at the floor with such intensity he thinks he might be about to burn holes in it.
"We're even now," Adam mumbles in a sleepy voice.
Dawson exhales in relief.
"Good morning to you, too."
"You got a strike because of me, but last night I saved you from getting one," Hamilton continues, cotton mouth from the sleep he's just woken up from. "I think you might actually owe me since both times you got in trouble were of your own free will and stupidity."
"It's too early for this," Dawson stands up from the floor under the scrutinizing eyes of the regretful host, who's now sitting in a tangle of bedsheets, displaying an artfully messy bedhead.
