Page 125 of Should the Sky Fall

It’s longer than Cal ever let it grow, religiously getting a haircut every month. He hasn’t had one in almost two, and the difference shouldn’t be so stark, but, for some reason, it is. Or maybe it’s because his hair isn’t gelled and slicked back in an immaculate style which had always pronounced his facial features and the cut of his jaw.

Dawson never knew that Cal’s hair has a slight curl to it in its natural state, a few strands falling over his forehead and curling at his temples. It makes him look softer, younger, as does the short scruff on his face. Dawson always thought that facial hair makes men look older and more mature, but on Cal it has the opposite effect.

It also has the effect of making Dawson want to pull Cal down and find out if what he felt in the kitchen the other day was just a fluke, just a moment of weakness and confusion.

So he does.

He rises on his tiptoes, putting the slightest pressure on Cal’s neck. Cal gives into it, meeting Dawson halfway this time, not standing stock still like he did the first time, as if he was too shocked to reciprocate.

Cal’s eyelids flutter, his mouth parting on a sharp inhale, and he lets out a small, desperate sound as their lips slot together.

One thing becomes abundantly clear: it wasn’t a fluke.

Dawson sighs into the kiss, only now realizing how much he’s been wanting to do this the whole day. Now that he’s here, he doesn’t want it to stop, never wants to forget the feeling of weightlessness that envelopes him with each press of Cal’s lips against his, or the way his head empties of any worries and fears.

Jesus Christ, it was not a fluke.

A whimper lands Dawson on his feet, grounding him in the moment. When he opens his eyes and finds Cal already looking at him with worry, it occurs to him that the whimper came from him. It sends blood rushing to his face, but at the same time, he can still feel the ghost of the kiss clinging to his mouth. Suddenly, his bloodflow changes direction, causing warmth to pool elsewhere than his face.

It's been so long since he’d felt like this that he takes a stuttering step back, staring at Cal like he was the one to spring the kiss on him out of nowhere. He doesn’t get far, because Cal has his arm wound around Dawson’s waist.

Cal licks his lips, the blue of his irises clouded over. He tears his gaze away from Dawson, looking down at their plushies. Dawson does the same, watching as Cal brings his plushie closer to Dawson’s until their faces are touching. With a shy smile, he says, “There. I figured they deserve a kiss, too.”

Laughter bubbles up in Dawson’s chest, sounding on the verge of hysterical and kind of incredulous, but mostly really, really happy.

I’m happy. I’m actually happy.The realization makes the ground under his feet quake, shaking up his very foundation.

Fuck. When did this happen?Howdid this happen?

Most importantly, what does he do about it?

Fuck. His appointment with Ash can’t come soon enough.

Chapter 20

DawsonconsidersaskingKieranto drive them to the shelter in the morning, because he ‘doesn’t trust himself not to drive into a ditch on their way there, he’s that excited’.Cal insists they’re going to be fine and to ‘just drive slow’.”

They don’t drive into a ditch, but Dawson does run through a red light.

Aubrey and Donut are already waiting for them when they arrive. Donut’s tail swishes through the air like he understands he’s going home with Dawson. Dawson drops into a crouch to greet him, and Donut practically leaps into his arms, licking all over his face. Naturally, he ignores Cal.

There’s a bit more paperwork to be signed, but less than half an hour later, Dawson is driving them home with their new family member strapped in the backseat, his tongue out and lolling as he pants (and probably drools over the seats).

Last night, Dawson gave Cal a rundown on taking care of a dog. It wasn’t as overwhelming as Cal feared. His main worry remains that Donut will never like him. Dawson assured him it would change, that Donut just needs time to get to know him and trust him.

“Look,” Dawson says as they step into the apartment and unclips Donut’s leash. “This is your new home.”

Donut’s little flat nose twitches as he sniffs the air, then bends his neck to inspect the floor, wandering further into the apartment. He stops, lets out a small huff, and takes off like a bullet.

“I think he’s going to like it here,” Cal says, snickering.

“Yeah?” Dawson sounds uncertain, which is ridiculous. Of course, Donut’s going to love his new home. He loves Dawson, for one, and he doesn’t have to be around other dogs. Win-win.

“Definitely.”

The day passes in a flash. Cal doesn’t remember ever seeing Dawson so happy. He doesn’t even care if Donut doesn’t like him, as long as he makes Dawson beam like this. And Cal was right; Donut loves it here, which he demonstrates by rubbing his butt over all available surfaces. At least he doesn’t pee anywhere.

He also loves the beach, letting the crashing waves wash over his paws and chasing seagulls when they go for a walk together.