15.

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WHAT'S LAMER THAN a boarding-school Halloween party? A Halloween party organized by a bunch of old boarding-school teachers.

The rules? No alcohol allowed and only clothes considered appropriate by the school dress code, which is the closest thing that Wharton High has to the gospel.

Well, at least there won't be any sexy kitten costumes this year, Dawson thinks as he reluctantly wears his fake vampire fangs.

Everyone is already at the party but him. Mad Hatter Milo and Pulp Fiction Maisie-Rae left over an hour ago and he's still debating whether he should go or just stay in his room and rewatch one of his favorite movies.

Cal already texted him twice and he remembers promising Milo he'd help him with her. Sometimes, he really fucking hates how much he cares about keeping his promises.

Eventually, he opts to go to the party and hurries out of the room. As predicted, the rest of the school is deserted. The hallways are silent and the doors are all locked but one.

Hamilton's.

Dawson does not stop to pry inside. He's already quite late to the party to the point where it stopped being fashionable. Hence, he keeps marching towards the gym like he's on a mission to save the school from the lamest Halloween party in the history of ever.

"You're here," Calliope exclaims the moment he makes his entrance in the room. She looks drunk.

Abe is baked. Maisie-Rae is drinking blue punch and she's laughing about something Tom Bigsby whispered in her ear. Milo does not look quite as amused.

"I didn't know there would be alcohol at this party," Dawson murmurs to Milo, who shakes his head in reply.

"There isn't."

Before Dawson can get a chance to argue, he's dragged to the drinks station by Cal. She jumps, squeals and twirls in her tulle skirt like a little girl whose parents didn't control her sugar intake.

She covers his eyes from behind. Her hands smell like peach. "Pick a color," she says. "Blue or pink?"

"Pink," he utters although his mind is screaming Blue blue blue blue!

Cal hurries to pour him a glass full of pink punch. "Good choice, Evans."

"Didn't know there was a right answer," he jokes, avidly drinking from the cup.

"Well, the others had the blue one," she chortles, jerking her head towards the rest of the group.

"You don't look scary," she adds after a few seconds in order to draw his attention back to her. "You couldn't look scary if you tried."

Dawson takes a larger sip from the cup, spilling a few drops on the side of his lips. He walks back to Milo trying his best to keep an impassive face.

"What'd she say?" Milo chirps in a pinched voice.

"Nothing. She really wanted me to try the punch," he lies, gurgling down every last drop of his pink drink.

"She's a bit drunk," the ginger-haired boy murmurs in a disillusioned voice.

"Yeah, about that," Dawson dubiously presses his lips together, "how did that happen?"

"Someone spiked the pink punch," Abe answers, looking completely unconcerned about the matter.

"Oh," Dawson mouths, almost inaudibly. "I'm getting some more then."

"I'm not sure it's a good idea," Milo cuts in, finding the courage within himself to stop Dawson on his way back to the drinks station.

Sadly, that's not even remotely enough to keep him from reaching his destination and Milo ends up following him along the way, powerless but still determined to stop him from refilling his cup.

"I don't think you should have more of that," Milo insists.

But Dawson is already on his second glass. "I thought Cal was the mom friend."

"There shouldn't be alcohol at this party," Milo states, speaking slowly and clearly as if that would help make Dawson understand.

"It's a party, man," Abe hugs him. Milo tries to squirm away from his uncomfortable grip. "Alcohol is part of its definition."

"Loosen up and have some fun," Abe suggests at last, handing him his half-drunk cup.

"I can't have fun," Milo mutters.

"Why not?" Dawson inquires. "I mean, this party sucks and Calliope is hammered, but the night is still young."

"He's paranoid," Abe declares, giving his final diagnosis to Dawson like he's the parent and Milo's the panicking child.

"I'm not paranoid," Milo mumbles. "But teachers don't know and it's only a matter of time before..."

Abe's attention is drawn to the woman who's entering the gym with fury sparking up her dark eyes. She advances fiercely towards the center of it, like a commander on a battlefield. "You were saying?"

Milo's eyes widen in shock. "Mrs. Wang knows," he frets.

Dawson puts down his cup. "Told you this party sucked."

"Everyone back away from that punch," she thunders. Scanty Spiderman and Horror Cinderella drop the ladle they were using to help themselves.

"I'm leaving," Dawson announces in a prolonged yawn.

He walks away from Milo and the others before they even have the chance to reply.

"No one leaves until we're done analyzing your breath," Wang shouts, looking overtly histerical. "And, make no mistake, if we find out you've been drinking alcohol tonight, there will be consequences."

*

Dawson has almost reached his dorm room when a tiny, tipsy voice inside his head tells him to veer in the direction of Hamilton's door.

It's still slightly ajar and there's music coming from inside the room. Dawson can hear Adam distractedly hum the lyrics of the song.

He knocks once, before peeping in. Adam's lying on his stomach, elbows propped up against the mattress. Judging by his vacant stare, he's probably mulling over something.

"Hey, Hamilton," he pauses and grins, "trick or treat?"

Adam's initial surprise quickly turns into amusement. "Nice fangs."

Adam jumps off the bed, standing up in all his glory. He's wearing baggy green and blue tartan pj pants and a long-sleeved midnight blue shirt that fits him like a glove. The tattoo on his neck is showing.

Dawson clears his throat. "I see you're having your own party here," he ascertains, taking in his surroundings.

"Jealous?" Adam teases without facing Dawson. He takes advantage of the opportunity to take off the vampire fangs.

"A bit."

Dawson finds himself staring at Adam's hands as the boy carefully rests the stylus on the spinning record. In an instant, the music is back on. The song playing is (Sittin' on) the Dock of the Bay by Otis Redding.

"That's a cool record player," Dawson comments, stepping further inside the room.

"Thanks," he replies, unimpressed by Dawson's unusual politeness. He looks straight at him and, in a way, it's like he can see right through him. "Can I help you with something?"

The direct eye contact makes Dawson flinch.

"Just dropped by to say hi," he shrugs without showing any intention to leave.

Adam tilts his head to the side, suspiciously squinting his eyes. He looks like he's trying really hard to decipher his words. He opens his mouth to speak, but he's preceeded by Dawson's phone loud chiming.

Milo has been blowing up his text box.

Dawson locks his phone and sneaks a look outside. Remington is forcing his neighbor Patrick Wembley to blow into a breathalyzer.

He quickly shuts and locks the door, then presses his forehead against it, taking one deep desperate breath; dreading the words he's about to speak.

"Look, Hamilton," he begins with caution like he's handling a time bomb. "I really need you to do me a favor."

Eventually, he turns around to find Adam looking back at him, baffled and preoccupied.

"Mrs. Remington is running alcohol checks. She's outside your door right now and if you don't help me hide it's gonna be the second strike for me."

"I thought you wanted to get expelled."

"I–"

I thought so, too. His conscience says but he's too much of a coward to give voice to it. The words get stuck in his throat.

Three loud knocks on the door interrupt Dawson's sudden eye-opening revelation.
"Mr. Hamilton, are you in there?"

Adam turns to Dawson. He sighs. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't rat you out to Mrs. Remington now."

Dawson smirks. "I don't have one."

"Mr. Hamilton, open the door immediately. I can hear you move," Remington demands.

"Get under the bed," Adam whispers agitatedly.

Dawson shoots him an unimpressed seriously? look before complying with his directions.

He slides under the bed, adjusting the drape of the blankets to hide from view. Before he can realize it, he's holding his breath in the attempt to be as quiet as possible.

Adam opens the door for Mrs. Remington. The woman steps cautiously into the room. "Is there somebody with you?"

"No, I was sleeping," he answers with confidence and, if Dawson didn't know better, he would think he's telling the truth.

"I see," Mrs. Remington's voice is cold and clinical. "So I'm assuming you did not attend the Halloween party?"

"No, ma'am."

"Someone brought alcohol to a party full of minors," she reveals, putting the breathalyzer back inside her bag. "We're looking for any student who may have made use of prohibited substances."

She pauses.

"You're one of our best students, Mr. Hamilton. I trust you will notify me about any suspicious behavior of your classmates."

Dawson rolls his eyes so hard it gives him a headache. He thinks, maybe, it's the effects of the alcohol that are starting to kick in.

Or maybe, it's the stinging disappointment that comes with being unable to recall anyone in his life telling him something like that. No one ever confided in him like that. He only ever roused suspicion and envy. People didn't trust him the way they trusted Adam.

Part of him knows he made his own bed and now he ought to sleep in it, yet most of him feels like no one ever cared enough to get to know the best side of him; the side he can be proud of, but chose to never show.

He's a bad song that gets good towards the end, but, by the time it does, no one's listening anymore. Everyone has already lost interest.

"Yes, ma'am," Adam's voice violently brings Dawson back to reality.

"Excellent."

And with that she leaves the room, followed by the echo of her heels clapping against the wooden floor.

"Well, aren't you the teacher's pet?" Dawson teases, dusting off his clothes.

"I earned her respect, Evans," Adam drawls. "I can't exactly say the same about you."

Dawson furrows his eyebrows. "Is that why you decided to lie to her face?"

"You begged me to help you five minutes ago," the boy protests. Dawson can tell he's growing frustrated, but he can't stop teasing.

"Why d'you do it?"

Hamilton doesn't seem to know the answer to his question. Or maybe he does, and he's simply too proud to say it out loud.

"If there was so much at stake for you, why did you help me?" he insists, walking up to Adam so that only a few inches are left to separate them. A few inches of electric air; a wall so dense only a fool would try to step through.

"I don't know," the boy mumbles, avoiding his gaze, too arrogant and self-assured for him to sustain.

"Let me relieve you of your duty, then," Dawson utters in a broken voice. "Wouldn't want to tarnish your golden-boy reputation."

"What's your fucking problem, Evans?" he snaps. By doing so, he reveals the bulging vein tracing his neck like a river in flood.

"You," Dawson exhales in exasperation. For a second, he feels like he's just rid himself of the weight he's been carrying on his chest for the past six weeks. "You are my problem."

Adam falls silent and so does the rest of the room. The only sound filling the air is the subtle whirring the stylus makes once it has reached the end of the last song.

"The record's over," Dawson breathes.

Adam blinks twice before realizing the proximity of their bodies. He looks like he's just woken up from a deep state of hypnosis that he's reluctant to let go of.

He backs away slowly and turns off the record player. The record stops spinning.

"You know I could kick you out right now and you'd be screwed, right?" he murmurs after a while.

"Go on then," Dawson shrugs, shooting him a defiant glance. "Kick me out."

Adam's fiery eyes are fixed on him. His hands clench into fists and his body turns rigid, but only for a second. Soon, the rage begins to melt into confusion then into nothingness, until Adam can no longer find the strength to fight. 

"Stay, if you need," he says in resignation, showing him to the floor. "But this is the last time I'm helping you."

"Noted," Dawson sighs, sitting down on the carpet.

He follows Adam around the room with his eyes until the boy finally settles under the covers, ready to sleep. He switches off the light without saying a word and silence falls once again.

Dawson wants to apologize. God knows he should say "I'm sorry, I don't know why I act like this", but the words won't come out.

He stares at the dark ceiling with his head propped up against his clasped hands. The sound of Hamilton's soft breathing cradles him. He shutters his eyelids, trying to force himself to sleep.

An eternity later, he's still wide awake. His thoughts won't give him a break, it almost feels like karmic torture. And why the hell is his heart beating so fast?

Hamilton should be asleep by now or so Dawson thinks when he whispers the words, "Thank you for letting me stay."

"Just go to sleep, Evans."

"Alright," he smirks. "Good night, Hamilton."

"Good night."

*

A/N:

wow i feel emotionally drained rn

as you know, i love to hear your thoughts on each new chapter so please don't forget to vote and share any comments you may have on both this chapter and the previous one <3

love you,
ellie

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