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...
this chapter is... a lot. i hope i did them justice and i hope you enjoy.
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The hike up to Twin Peaks summit took about an hour and, to Dawson's surprise, the sparse conversation Adam and he shared turned out to be quite enjoyable.
He would sometimes unconsciously glance at Adam to catch his immediate reaction to something he said, trying to find confirmation of his belief that the boy did, in fact, no longer despise him as much as he used to, and vocally expressed.
The creases at the side of his eyes did not dam up disgust, but rather captivation. His smile wasn't bitter. Dawson enjoyed looking at it more than he should have. Just like most things he liked looking at, he did not simply see it. He observed. He studied it. He found himself growing more and more fascinated with the way Adam bit his lip, with habitual discipline and blissful unconsciousness, only to let go of it and smile. And all his life sprung out of that smile. So much, it could turn the winter gale into a mid-summer breeze.
His laugh sounded like a happy song, with a hidden tragic meaning. Dawson did not understand why. In the grand scheme of things, everyone aches for different sorrows; burns for different longings. Some have learned to live with the pain, some have become it.
Sometimes, Dawson wonders if Adam knows his laugh is a sad song.
"We're here," Adam gasps out of breath, taking the last step up the hill.
The scenery before their eyes is sensational. Dawson blinks twice before his eyes can finally take in the view. He can see everything from up there. He can see Market Street, cutting through the city like a wishbone; Downtown, sleepless with its skyscrapers and flickering windows; the Golden Gate, mapped out by thousands of lights, like fireflies still as a quiet sea. And he can't hear a sound in the immediate vicinity. All chaos faded into a faint, distant murmur.
"Have you been to this place before?" Dawson asks, but he's not sure why he cares to know.
Adam nods silently. "I used to come here with my family every Sunday."
"I didn't know you were from San Francisco."
"No one is from San Francisco," he smirks. "I was born in Oregon, but my family moved here a few years after I was born."
"Why don't you spend Christmas with them, then?"
The smile fades from Adam's lips just as fast as it had appeared. Dawson bites his tongue.
Did he overstep? Did he hit a nerve? He's always testing the waters with him, and he's subjugated by the same uncomfortable worry he feels when he engages in personal conversations with someone he doesn't know that well. It's safe to say, it doesn't happen very often. Maybe, it's only because he doesn't care enough to put himself through that unnecessary nuisance for just about anyone. Or, maybe, he was never that brave.
