The house was emptier than usual thanks to Gabby's return to Red View. Kenzie took Annie and Layla out to dinner to meet her closest friend, and Marshall tagged along to welcome her home. With Lillie Mae and Roman staying home tonight, Jack and Dawson were alone for dinner—something that hadn't happened in months.

Last time, they'd had an argument after getting in each other's way in the kitchen and ended up eating in separate rooms. It seemed like Jack was trying to avoid a repeat of that by staying in his office, not even bothering to come to the kitchen despite the smell of soup and grilled cheese that was now filling the house.

Dawson hovered over the stove, wondering what the hell he was doing. Grilled cheese and soup weren't exactly the world's greatest peace treaty, but they'd have to suffice, because he was out of any other ideas. Layla wanted him to talk to Jack, and he was going to, whether his brother liked it or not.

How hard could it be to have a nice conversation? Why did old times have to stay that way? They could be friends again—if only Jack wouldn't behave like such a dick sometimes.

Not helping, Dawson reminded himself, slicing into a fresh tomato as the bread sizzled nearby. He'd make Jack's sandwich just the way he always liked it, he'd bring it to him in his office, and the two of them would talk, maybe even crack a few smiles. How hard could it be?

Still, irritation had him setting down plates on the counter harder than he meant to. Why was he the one trying to make amends? He wasn't the one who woke up one day and started acting different. He wasn't the one picking arguments about the most mundane things, or pretending like his brother didn't exist whenever they were in a room together.

It doesn't matter. He tried to believe those words as he ladled out soup into ceramic bowls and organized the food onto two trays. He stacked them and made his way to Jack's office, telling himself to be the bigger person. It didn't matter how or why all this arguing got started, but it'd be a damn good thing for them and everyone else around if he could put an end to it.

The door to Jack's office was open a crack—usually he'd just walk inside, admittedly to irritate Jack on purpose. But this time he balanced the trays on one arm and used his free hand to knock on the door.

"Yeah?" Jack called from the other side.

Dawson figured that was as much of an invitation as he was going to get and opened the door, managing a weak grin that felt almost like a grimace. It was hard to believe things could feel this awkward between them when everything used to be so easy. "I brought dinner."

Jack looked up from scattered paperwork, pushing his glasses up as his gaze landed on the trays in Dawson's hands. "Oh. Thanks."

"It's just soup and a sandwich," he said as Jack gathered the pages and stacked them at the edge of his desk, clearing a space to eat. He took the top tray, setting it down as Dawson lowered into one of the seats across from him, earning a look of blank surprise.

"You need to talk about something?" Jack took one of the napkins from his tray and spread it over his lap, protecting his slacks.

"It wouldn't kill you to work in sweatpants, you know," Dawson said, biting into his grilled cheese. He wouldn't admit it, but he was being cautious about crumbs and not spilling soup—getting food all over Jack's office furniture would be a fast route to a fight. "We've been closed for hours."

"I can't focus in pajamas," Jack muttered, stirring his soup, glasses fogging from the steam. In the fifth grade, when Jack's eyesight got so bad he couldn't see the whiteboard in class anymore, Dawson would help him copy notes or cheat on tests, prolonging the inevitable day when Jack would have to get glasses. The day he finally did, he locked himself in his room for hours, giving his parents the silent treatment because they'd said he was too young for contacts. The glasses were the one thing Dawson never poked fun at growing up—even though by the time he was a teenager, Jack embraced the spectacles and probably wouldn't have cared anymore. "It'd be like trying to file paperwork in bed."

"I guess you're used to dressing nice," Dawson grasped at the topic. "I'll be lucky if I make it through Kenzie's wedding without coming back here to change into jeans."

"She'll either be too swept up to notice, or she'll kill you for breaking the dress code." The small, breath of a laugh that escaped Jack had Dawson looking up from his food in surprise. "I guess you'll have to weigh the risk."

Dawson shrugged a shoulder, smiling at the thought of the upcoming wedding. "I'll stick it out. I can survive one night in a tux, if it'll make her happy. She's handling all this wedding stuff better than I expected—especially with Gabby being gone for so long."

"And Cliff not showing up until the last fucking minute." Jack paused, looking down to dip a piece of sandwich crust into his soup. "I'm trying not to be mad at him, you know? I want to believe he'll show this time. But if he would just get here earlier, then Kenzie wouldn't have to be so anxious that he isn't going to get here at all."

"Did he seem flaky the last time you spoke to him?"

"He always seems flaky."

"Well... he's had his reasons," Dawson vouched for his older brother, earning a second-long glare from his twin. Cliff's career, from the sound of things, was extremely demanding and had a schedule that could change on a dime.

"He ran off to some other country and hasn't sent any of us a single picture in four years. I don't know about you, but I'm beginning to forget what the hell he even looks like. He never made time to video chat with Kenzie so she could show him her dress—he kept telling her he was busy until eventually she just gave up like the rest of us. If it wasn't for the odd text and call, Mom and Dad wouldn't even know he was alive. So I don't exactly have my hopes up that he's not going to come up with some excuse again." He locked eyes with Dawson. "But don't tell Kenzie I said that."

Dawson shook his head, too stunned to do anything else. With how focused Jack was on the business, Dawson hadn't thought he noticed, let alone cared about how absent Cliff was. "I miss him too."

Jack looked away, jaw tight. But instead of denying it, he just returned his attention to his soup and changed the subject. "Why are you in here, Dawson?"

He almost wanted to laugh at the bluntness of the question, but it stung a little too much to do so. "Just... trying to be civil, I guess. For a minute there, I thought it was going pretty well."

"Yeah, that's the what, but not the why." Jack finished a bite, then continued, "The why has red hair and an engagement ring that's been suspiciously absent for the past week or so."

Dawson choked on a bite of bread and cheese, struggling to keep the tray on his lap steady as the coughs rocked him. He set it on the ottoman beside him and reached for the mini-fridge that held bottled water for anyone who came to meet with Jack. As he opened one, he looked up at his brother with watering eyes. So much for a poker face. "What?"

Jack wore a smirk, one that made him look like a gloating teenager again. "Layla. You two are... well, I don't know, exactly. You tell me."

"Layla's engaged," Dawson said before taking a sip of water, as if the words would refute anything. When they were out of his mouth, he realized he hated saying them. It was easy to lie to himself when they were together and pretend it wasn't true, that Colin was already completely out of the picture. But the reality was, he was still very much in frame.

"And yet the two of you are sleeping together. And I suspect more than that, if she's got you cooking me dinner and hanging out in my office."

Dawson rolled his eyes. How the hell had he figured it out? The two of them didn't even talk anymore, and yet still Jack could read him like a book. "She thought it would be good if I tried to get along with you, and I agreed. Things are complicated between me and Layla. She's... her fiancé isn't part of the equation, alright? Let's just put it that way. There's a lot for her to consider, but she wants to come clean soon, so I guess it's fine that you know. As long as you don't tell anyone—especially not Kenzie."

"Like I'd want to be the bearer of that news." Jack shook his head.

"It's good news. Telling everyone the truth about everything will hopefully make it so she's more likely to stay here than go back to New York."

Jack nodded, already knowing about her potential decision to open her own business in Red View. "So I take it this thing between you two isn't casual."

"No," he answered, and felt a swell of pride at the fact. He and Layla were serious. Maybe a bit unconventional, but a hundred and ten percent serious. "What I'd like to know is how the hell you knew about it."

Jack shrugged, glanced down at his desk, and finally brought his gaze back to Dawson with a resigned look. There was the slightest hint of a smile as he said, "I could just tell, Dawson. You know how it is."

"Yeah." Dawson let out a short laugh, leaning back in the chair. They were twins, and not too long ago, they'd been best friends since they were born. Dawson could tell with a single glance the difference between when Jack was angry about an incorrect shipment or an overload of paperwork. They just knew each other, whether they wanted to or not. "Yeah, I guess I do."

A silence fell over them, one that Dawson wasn't quite sure how to break. He wasn't even sure if he should. Silence, after all, was better than fighting. 

So they ate, clearing their plates and bowls as Dawson wondered if anything had changed at all. He could just come out and ask what went wrong, when and why things had changed, and get to the root of the problem so they could do something about it. 

But maybe there wasn't a root at all. Maybe two boys grew up into men who were just too different to do anything more companionable than eat dinner together.

It was the fear of that that kept him from asking, scared him away from the prodding that he usually couldn't help.  

"Well." Jack cleared his throat, sat up in his chair when he'd finished his last bite. "Thanks for dinner. I didn't realize how late it was." He stood, crumpling his napkin and setting it on his tray. He tapped the base of his desk lamp, turning it off, clearly done for the day. "I'll take dish duty."

"Thanks." Dawson let Jack take his tray when he came around the large oak desk. He stood too, and struggled to find something to say as Jack used his elbow to flip the light switch. Jack was already into the hall when he managed to come up with nothing more than, "Night."

"Night," Jack echoed back as he turned the corner, leaving Dawson alone in the moonlit office.

It could've gone worse, Dawson reminded himself, feeling stuck somewhere between relief and disappointment. It could've gone a hell of a lot worse.

I was so excited to post this chapter! 😅 Jack and Dawson's dynamic is one of my favorite parts of the series for some reason. They've got a long way to go, but hey, it's a start, right? 🥲