The apartment felt so quiet with Pacey gone. It wasn't just silent, it wasn't just empty, it was like it was a completely different place, like a fellow named Pacey had never even been there. The bedroom seemed untouched except for the indent in the blankets where the suitcase had been. No loose change on the nightstand, no tissues in the bin. There weren't even any photos on the walls with Pacey in them. Joey made a mental note to take pictures next time she was with him.

Joey walked into the living room. The silent hum gave her a headache. She could hear the faint sound of traffic outside, so she opened the large windowpane. The hum broke out once the sound of the streets poured through. She turned to her desk that sat in front of the window and grabbed a manuscript that was piled over top of others. With the manuscript under her arm, she lifted the fuzzy brown blanket off the side of her couch and wrapped herself in it as she sat on the couch, her knees raised to support the thick, recently printed manuscript. The small font made her eyes squint as she reached for her reading glasses on the coffee table next to her. She never used to wear glasses, but ever since she became a junior editor, spending hours upon hours reading manuscripts with small fonts, she eventually gained the disability of imperfect eyesight – something she was completely proud of, for it showed the hard work she had managed to accomplish.

She was a few chapters in when there was a knock at the front door across the room. She slipped her pen in the crease of the manuscript so she wouldn't lose her page as she closed it down onto the coffee table and headed for the door. The visitor continued to knock as she unlocked the door.

"I'm coming!" Joey said in annoyance. As she opened the door, she was surprised by who it was.

"I need help," Dawson said. He seemed out of breath and his face had a look of desperation.

"Dawson, what are you -" Joey was lost for words as she opened the door wider to let him in. He carried a suitcase in with him. "What are you doing here? You're gonna miss your meeting with -"

"That's why I'm here, Joey. I'm freaking out, I need your help," Dawson said in a rushed tone.

"I don't get it?" Joey closed the door and watched as Dawson placed his suitcase on the couch and opened it.

"You were right, I have no idea what to wear." He held up two collar shirts, one blue, and one white. "Which one?"

Joey looked at the shirts and then at Dawson in complete confusion.

"Let me get this straight. You took a plane all the way from L.A to ask me which shirt to wear to your meeting with Spielberg?"

"Yeah."

"Are you insane?"

"What?"

"You're supposed to be meeting him in what, a few short hours? How are you going to make it back in time?" Joey panicked.

"Joey, I'm meeting him here in New York."

"Oh." Joey's face blushed. "Well you could have told me that before." She took off her glasses and placed them down on the coffee table. "I'd say the blue one. I've always thought you looked good in blue, and the white might look too formal for a lunch date."

"It's not a date." Dawson threw the white collar shirt back into the suitcase and headed for the washroom with the blue one.

Joey smiled and rolled her eyes. She walked over to the window and closed the windowpane.

"How does it look?" Dawson asked as he walked back in, buttoning the shirt.

"It looks great, you'll have him eating out of the palm of your hand." Joey winked.

"This is a big deal, Joey. Stephen Spielberg wants to meet me. He's obviously seen my show which means he's probably well aware that it's based off of my own adolescence, therefore understanding that my whole life's passion and dream is to be a movie director just like Spielberg himself, and he still wants to meet me," Dawson said with a smile of excitement.

"He accepts your insanity, I think it's meant to be." Joey crossed her arms, still smiling.

"Whatever, if you were going to meet, say Louisa May Alcott, you'd be just as thrilled."

Joey rolled her eyes and her smile raised to the side. As Dawson began to close up his suitcase, Joey moved closer.

"Dawson?"

"Yeah, Joey?"

"I completely understand if you don't want me to, I really do. But I just felt the need to ask you," Joey said, holding her hands in front of her.

"What is it?" Dawson turned away from his suitcase.
"Well, I was sort of wondering if I could come with you to meet Spielberg?" Joey bit her lip in uncertainty.

"Really?" Dawson replied.

"Yeah well, I know he's your favourite director, but he's also the director of my favourite movie, and much of my fond memories of childhood involve watching E.T with you countless times, and well -"

"I would love for you to come," Dawson said, smiling.

"Really? Are you sure?"

"My obsession over Spielberg has sort of always been a thing that only you totally understood, and I'd love it if you were there with me. Plus, you can help me remind myself to stay sane."

Joey smiled. "Okay, I'll go get ready." She walked quickly to her bedroom but stopped in her traps. "Uh oh."

"What is it?" Dawson asked.

"What am I going to wear?"