Same thing Dante would've been wondering, if it hadn't been for Ada. There was too much hope on this fucking island; it got in your head and fucked you up.

He got his pants on quick and easy, frustrated only marginally by the way his fingers briefly lost their way and got all tangled up over the button of his pants.

Well. Maybe more than marginally. It made him drop his hands back down to the mattress for a second. He squeezed it, staring back up at the ceiling. Then back over his shoulder, at Ezra.

He was quickly losing track of what he was feeling about this whole fucked up meeting at all.