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"Oh." Right. Making a one second motion, Dawson lumbered over to the spot and hid his cache of food and trash, though he was visibly reluctant to leave it alone. This food was precious. But he dutifully went back to Chel, offered his arm again like it was the first time, and repeated, "M'lady!"

Pleased (as hand holding was an upgrade to him), Dawson led them into their walk, inches from the waves, and let their hands swing a little. "Oh I got jokes alright," he replied with a grin. "You ready? Lessee...What's a nosey pepper do? Get ja-la-pe-ño business!" He cackled. "How come ya can't hear a pterodactyl go t'the bathroom? 'Cause the P's silent! What kinda shoes do sneakers—w-wait, I mean ninjas—s**t—" He tugged his cap down and sighed.

"Nooooo," he whined, "not my hat, noooooo." But she was smiling, even if it was more because of the doofus status than because his jokes were a stroke of brilliance; and even though this was some Date Between Friends thing, he couldn't help but blush some more witnessing it. Don't tug the cap down, Dawson, don't lose your cool now.

"I-I, uh...Aaron, y'said?" he repeated quizzically, trying to remember how to talk. "I gotcha beat fer weird ones: mine's Kimberly. Dawson Kimberly Grace. But, uh, day after Valentine's, that's funny, huh? Easy t'remember," he added happily with a tap to his temple. "May 4th here. Lotta Star Wars jokes n' all. Glad I wasn't named somethin' like Luke, woulda been so much worse...

"My turn, uhhhh...Ya always been a good cook, or didja have ya learn when ya got to Deus?" he asked. "Got a favorite dish y'like t'make?" Then he kicked himself; stop it with the food thing really.

"Never?" he asked with a little frown. Not joining the family for dinner was too foreign a concept to him. "Well, hey, ya got a good skill! Makin' someboy happy someday, yeah?" Like Momma did. "'Specially here when s'all crap at the caf..."

Dawson swung their hands a little more and hummed in thought, dropping his gaze to the sand, the way his boots sank and her toes wiggled. He almost said he didn't have secrets, but that wasn't true anymore and it greatly saddened him. "Well, uh, didn't know I was adopted 'til I was eighteen," he admitted with embarrassment. "Mosta my family's blondish n' I never figured t'ask why I wasn't neither. Ain't nobody a real fatass either either," he added, keeping it light, laughing at himself because it was a familiar motion. "Well, 'cept Uncle Georgie, but that's a beer gut, that ain't the same, hah. I mean, I had some cousins who were, y'know, bit too heavy on the fast food, but me, I've always been kinda...'husky', I guess, that's the word Momma uses." Used.

He snapped his fingers with an epiphany. "Husky! Maybe that's my animal," Dawson said with a laugh, talking to get over the growing homesickness. Noise was always the answer. Noise and keeping busy and hopes for pretty smiles.

Maybe that was a bit much to land on a Fake Real First Date, s**t. He flushed self-consciously at the praise. "Nah, i-it wasn't super hard. I mean..." He shrugged as well. "Is what is it, yeah? Like ya said, family's who's been there, not who made ya. Never felt like a stranger in my house before, wasn't gonna start actin' like it after."

And quite honestly, Dawson wasn't willing to think of the larger implications of adoption, of the range of options between being given his best chance and being a mistake.

"Aaaaanyway, mite too heavy talk there, my bad. But now ya gotta tell me a nice juicy secret too."

"Well that's a right shame," he lamented, only half-understanding the clam innuendo (closed up, hard skinned, possibly smelly since things from the sea did normally right crap that meant he was one-third clam then crap crap--); Dawson surreptitiously as he could sniffed his armpit as Chel tugged him to the water, smelling nothing but the salty beach air. Thank God for coats and a s**t ton of deodorant and cooler weather. Next time he was out, he needed to buy cologne or something, be at least a little more decent next time he went out with someone.

His clothes weren't a terrible sacrifice to the water, though. Those jeans had seen worse days, as had his boots. Dawson had the common sense to remember not to just wade right in, though, and with a quick motion for her to pause, he toed his boots and socks off before quickly taking her hand again and waddling after her. "Right behind ya, Skittles."

He didn't think they would be going much further than their ankles, but the deeper Chel took him, the more visibly antsy he got: a furrowing brow, a slight squeeze of her hand, the nervous chuckles accompanying her laughter even though he wasn't sure what was so funny or what would make it sound so strained. "Y-Yeah, y'know, 'cause've yer hair...photos...n' all..."

It was Way Too Cold in the water. He could mask his confusion behind the shakes, hide his very rude question (What are you doing if you know there's monsters?) behind the excuse of keeping his teeth from chattering together. They were still able to touch the ground with their feet, it was still okay. His toes scrunched and he disliked the slimy feeling of the cold sand between them. Think of that. Don't think of the monsters. Cold water and pretty smiles on pretty faces with hair on fire.

Dawson kept his mouth shut and waited patiently like a good date.

"Uh, well, yours--" he started to say, but the rest of his words turn into a startled yelp as the water slaps against his shirt and face. Chel got a good head start, and even if she hadn't he never would have won: his body couldn't handle the shock of cold and running after his previously brutal schedule, much less while still on a mostly full stomach. Splashing and whimpering, Dawson hobbled to shore shortly after Chel reached it, violently shivering and rubbing his arms.

He didn't think to ask why they had gone into the water at all. He had babysat his niece a number of times: he innately accepted that chaos was a part of some people's lives and just went with it unless it became too much. Docile was appropriate to use--he didn't even call her out on splashing him. Rather, the first thing out of his mouth was, "Uh--I-I-If yer cold, we c-can g-g-o insid-de? Huddle up i-in some blankets?" He would have offered his coat if the bottom of it hadn't gotten wet and wasn't partially clinging to his shirt.