Page 71 of Should the Sky Fall

Cal, who’s been planning to do exactly that, shrugs. “If you don’t mind. I’d like to learn.” Plus, there’s also something relaxing about watching Dawson do…anything, really.

It earns him another of those odd looks. “Well, just remember it’s been years since I cooked,” Dawson warns, then proceeds to utterly blow Cal’s mind. Dawson’s hands are a blur as he chops up garlic, cuts up chicken breast, slices mushrooms. In a matter of minutes, the apartment is filled with a mouthwatering aroma while ingredients continue to sizzle in the pan where Dawson is constantly pushing them around, a saucepan filled with pasta boiling on the other burner.

Cal is so fascinated by the whole process that when Dawson announces, “That should do it,” he can’t quite form words as a plate is put in front of him. He inhales the scent as Dawson fills up a plate for himself. He hands Cal a set of cutlery before diving into his own plate. His expression is thoughtful as he brings the first bite to his mouth and chews.

“Looks like I still got it,” he says after he swallows.

“You do. It smells wonderful.”

“Thanks.” He gives Cal a smile that’s adorably shy. “Hopefully it tastes like it too. I went easy on the cream. The doctors said to avoid anything heavy for the first few days.”

“I’m sure it’s amazing.” Taking his fork, Cal stabs it into the pasta and eagerly shoves it in his mouth. He instantly regrets it, sputtering and coughing.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Dawson gasps, grabbing a glass and filling it up with water.

Cal mutters something unintelligible as he fights to swallow, his eyes watering. He downs the whole glass Dawson slides towards him. His mouth burns and his face must be bright red, but he manages to say, “I was wrong.” At Dawson’s crestfallen expression, he quickly adds, “It tastes even better.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he says, already scooping up more food. He remembers to blow on it this time.

Dawson’s gaze drops to his plate, his cheeks turning pink. “I’m, um, glad you like it.” He pushes the pasta around, a small smile on his face.

“What kind of dish is it?”

“Dawson Special,” he says with a laugh. “Uh, I don’t know. Kind of like stroganoff? It’s mushroom and chicken. Like a super basic version.”

“Well, I really like the Dawson Special,” Cal says, just to see that blush darken. It fascinates him to see Dawson react so strongly to a simple—and well-deserved—compliment.

They finish their food in comfortable silence. He can feel Dawson’s eyes flick to him here and there, but whenever he looks up, trying to catch him, Dawson quickly looks away, pretending to be engrossed in his food. It’s kind of…cute. He’s been rather bashful since they’d left the hospital, even though he has no reason to. It’s Cal who’s out of his element, feeling like a stranger in his own home and not knowing which way to turn.

Too busy ogling Dawson—he can’t seem to stop—Cal manages to drop the last piece of pasta on his t-shirt. His white t-shirt.

“Crap.”

Dawson looks up, then cracks a laugh. “Guess it was bound to happen, since you eat like someone’s going to steal it away from you.”

Heat crawls up Cal’s neck. He thinks back on how he demolished the pastries at the coffee shop. Dawson must’ve been so embarrassed to be there with him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m used to it from Kieran.” He takes their empty plates and puts them in the sink. “I was about to do laundry today, anyway. Just leave it in the hamper when you shower.”

“Can I see?”

“What?”

“How you do laundry. I can do it next time.” Just another of those things his brain has decided to send into oblivion.

And there it is again. That look that makes Cal feel like some alien creature.

“I mean, if you want? But you don’t have to. I’ve always done it.”

That pulls Cal up short. “I must have done it too at some point.”

Dawson shrugs. “You were busy. I was at home most of the time.”

You were busy. You’re a busy man.He can’t count the number of times he’s heard that line from Dawson.