Page 158 of Should the Sky Fall

“You’re very sweet.” He inhales Cal’s sweet scent mixed with a trace of fabric softener.

Cal’s back grows rigid. He drops what he’s holding and places his hands on Dawson’s, gently coaxing him to let go. Then he turns. “We need to talk.”

A ball of lead drops into Dawson’s stomach. He tries to calm himself down. It’s gonna be fine. He got through to Cal yesterday—he can do it again.

“Can it wait until after breakfast? I’m famished.”

After a second of hesitation, Cal relents. “Yeah.”

With a relieved sigh, Dawson helps him carry the plates and condiments to the table, despite Cal’s protests. Now that his stomach is onboard again, he slathers his crepe in raspberry jam and chocolate sauce, his mouth filling with saliva.

He moans around the first mouthful. “These are amazing. You’re getting the hang of this.”

Cal’s blush is the most adorable thing ever. “Maybe next time I’ll try donuts.” Donut, who strategically put himself between them in hopes of bribing out food, lifts his head, ears twitching. Cal chuckles, reaching down to pet him, but Donut thinks it’s food and licks his hand instead. “No, not talking about you.”

Everything about this—the breakfast, them eating together, Cal baby-talking the dog—it’s all so domestic, so peaceful. It’s Dawson’s dream come true, and hell will freeze over before he gives it up.

“Wanna move to the sofa before we start?” he asks when they’ve polished off their plates and Cal is watching him expectantly. “Because this kind of feels like an intervention.”

Cal’s expression becomes pinched. “I’d rather not. I need to think straight and I can’t do that when I’m close to you.” He says it like it’s something to be ashamed of, to be so affected by another person. Maybe Dawson should feel bad about it, but he finds the admission flattering, and more than a little arousing. Also, more than a little relatable.

“You shouldn’t say things like that, or we won’t get much talking done,” he says, the implication heavy in his tone.

“Dawson,” Cal says, like a warning. A reprimand.

“Sorry. I’m nervous. You’re not going to leave, are you? You promised—”

“I’m not leaving. Not unless you ask me to.”

Dawson relaxes a little, but the relief is short-lived.

“You should,” Cal says. “You should ask me to leave.”

Instead of going off the rails like he’s tempted to, Dawson takes a deep breath and tries to recall the conversation with Ash. Tries to explain it in a way that will make Cal believe him, truly believe him, and make him give up on the idea that Dawson is somehow better off without him.

“Maybe I should,” he agrees. Cal’s shoulders sink. “But that’s not going to happen.”

Cal chances a look at him and shakes his head. “How can you do this? After everything I’ve done, how can you even look at me, let alone…” His voice cracks, and Dawson is out of his chair and kneeling in front of him in a flash, his hands on Cal’s knees.

He waits until he has Cal’s full attention, then waves at the table. “Because of this.”

Cal’s brows furrow. He looks at the table. “Because of…crepes?”

“Yeah, Cal. Because of crepes,” Dawson says, letting affection bleed into his voice until it’s dripping with it. “And French toast and pancakes, even the burned ones. Because of dick paintings and Lady Gaga. Because of pink towels and your sugar obsession. Because of Donut.” On cue, Donut whines, nudging his cold, wet snout against Dawson’s hand. “Yes, you.” After he scratches Donut’s ear, he turns back to Cal. “Because you’reyou, Cal.”

He struggles to read Cal’s expression which is somewhere between wary, hopeful, and terrified. But then his whole body sags, as though he’s finally done fighting this, and Dawson feels the relief in his bones.

“It was not a dick painting,” Cal deadpans, and Dawson wants to laugh, his body vibrating with it, but he senses that Cal is just trying to deflect.

So he goes on.

“You’re asking how I can do this? I don’t know hownottodo it. I don’t know how to look at you and not think how much I love you and how much I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He can feel himself getting choked up, so he pushes on before he breaks down and starts crying. Again. “And I know that you probably think I’m ignoring red flags, pretending that the past never happened, but that’s not the case. Maybe in the beginning, when you came back from the hospital, I was trying to shove those disturbing thoughts into a box and dig a very deep hole for it. But I open that box whenever I talk to Ash and now…now there’s nothing in the box anymore. I remember everything, but it doesn’t scare me anymore.”

“It scares me,” Cal admits, so quietly Dawson almost doesn’t catch it. “I don’t even remember it, but it scares me to death.”

God, I love you so fucking much.

“And that’s exactly why youdon’thave to be scared. Before, you’d never have cared, you’d never have apologized or regretted what you did.” Cal ducks his head in shame, only proving Dawson’s point. “See? You’re nothim, Cal. Whoever the man I spent the last six years with was, he wasn’t you.”