Chapter Text
About a month had passed since that night.
Much to Dennis' chagrin, there hadn't been a night since then that had even come close to what they shared. The way that he could still feel how his head fit perfectly in Mac's shoulder had almost been criminal, like he was on the ground, wincing from the pain of a broken spine only after remembering that he broke it in the first place.
It was unfair that something that had been so beautiful could hurt him so much, but then again its not like it had been the first time something like that happened. Dennis was convinced that life was just a series of instances in which beautiful people hurt others, and so far, he was right. High school, college, adulthood, they were all the same- quiet and lonely. Exactly the way that anyone with hopes of feeling alive would've feared.
He tried to chase the high he felt from being there with Mac every night since. Living in this dead, or dying, dream that he could recreate the same feeling again, knowing he couldn't ask for intimacy even if he wanted to. And here he was, in a bed filled with nothing but his own discomforting body, brows knitted together, gaze fixed on the popcorn ceiling, about to make the same mistake all over again.
Tonight was different, he could feel it.
Dennis stared at his designer shirt clad torso in the mirror, going over his hair with a comb one last time , and just to be sure, deciding to carry his shoes by hand out the door- any noise could lead to waking up- to asking questions.
Even though he figured Mac already knew that he would leave every night he always aired on the side of caution, dancing around the inconveniently placed clutter and shelving of the apartment in order not to wake him, stopping only to grab a lighter and a spare set of keys.
The way his heart skipped a beat when his hand hovered over the front door's handle made him feel like this was a mistake, turning halfway around to glance at Mac's door. It felt like leaving something behind, he didn't exactly know what it was though, all he saw was a quiet room and a kitchen table with two chairs, and a door.
The walk from the parking lot to the club was the most nerve wracking part.
Every stranger seemed to shoot him down with just one glance, somehow already knowing why he was there. They could see it in his shaking hands and the poorly concealed bags underneath his eyes; he was going through withdrawals.
At this point he wished it was drugs, but it had been years since he and Dee's short stint with crack and he'd managed to stay relatively sober since, which over the years had earned him some unspoken pride and figurative pats on the back from his sister. Truth is, the only chemical that was responsible for this hard of a comedown was love.
The bar had always been too obvious. Despite their complete disregard for each other's feelings Dennis knows the gang would've asked him why he was drinking so much, so he'd wait until after he and Mac said their goodnight's, savoring the light buzz he got from such a domestic gesture, darting out the door; hoping to forget whatever it was he felt that day and to be back by sunrise. Both of which he often failed at, resulting in confused looks from a few regulars at the bar who noticed his attire.
"Agh, shit!" there was smoke in Dennis' eyes and ash on his arm. He pulled from his mouth a cigarette he barely remembered lighting, or even having for that matter, realizing the few minutes he thought he was standing in line for ended up being much longer, the previous stretch of people around the corner having disappeared leaving him in front of an open door and two mildly concerned bouncers.
Putting out the half smoked cigarette under his heal, Dennis regained a long forgotten composure that he used to put on, straightening out that same designer shirt and walking past the bouncers.
The whole club was a little too much to handle; the bass thumping in his chest, the colorful strobes, the sea of strangers, it was all too much.
It was only after making a beeline to the bar that he realized he knew the shady figure he was standing next to,
"Cricket!?"
The man slowly turned his attention away from a conversation he was having, a regretful look plastering his clean shaven face, "Goddamnit, can you people never just leave me alone? Its like you ruin my life for years-"
Whatever bullshit Cricket was bitching about wasn't the least bit interesting to Dennis, who decided to take notice of whatever sketchy situation was taking place before he got the man's attention.
There was a fidgety, paranoid twenty-something impatiently waiting behind Cricket who hadn't left him alone since their conversation had been (admittedly) rudely stopped. Cricket looked like he had really cleaned up too, new haircut, new clothes, and an almost scar free face.
"What's going on here man? You look great, finally raised prices for your Johns or somethin'?"
The other man scoffed, pulling out smokes from a cigarette case and tapping one.
Wow he really has cleaned up
"I told you i'm trying to conduct some business-" he does a quick glance around looking out for prying eyes, leaning in to whisper " So unless you want in I suggest you stop wasting my time and let me get back to it."
The offer came as a surprise to Dennis, not the strangely kind gesture itself, but the fact that he found himself actually being interested in whatever shady shit he'd be missing out on. There was a small pit in his stomach thinking about whatever was in store for the rest of the night, like an ominous feeling he knew he wasn't supposed to enjoy.
But there he was, shooting back whatever top shelf alcohol the plastered person on his right had ordered, turning his back to the bar and whispering in to Cricket's ear,
"What'd you have in mind?"
__________________
The walk to the bathroom seemed never ending, passing countless hallways lined with all kinds of eye catching people until they finally reached a heavily graffitied unisex bathroom.
Cricket, after checking the stalls to make sure there weren't any hidden bystanders, let in the young stranger who's name Dennis couldn't remember, shutting and locking the door, pulling out an assortment of pills.
White pills, blue pills, pink pills, and ones with little red beads in their capsules.
The methodical way Cricket's actions played out painted the entire situation in an even more sinister light. The overwhelming feeling of doing something wrong, of no return, of being caught. That he had done this before should've calmed Dennis' thoughts, but his inexperience contrasted with Crickets laid back "unconcerned expert" attitude made him feel an even greater sense of unease.
This is kind of just him now isn't it? Back in school before all this he didn't seem like himself, like there were pieces missing or covered up. But now? Now with him going down the path he did, maybe this is who and how he was supposed to be? D irty people, dirty deeds huh?
"-And dirt cheap at that!"
Hearing that made Dennis' focus snap back to the very apparent drug deal going on in front of him.
"And hey look, I get all my shit from pharmacies, so its a hell of a lot safer than any half fent, baking soda, laundry detergent bullshit you'll get somewhere else."
Cricket's confident pitch didn't seem directed at him, more so like he was rehearsed a script that he'd written, having used a tone that funnily enough, probably got 'scripts' written for him.
The person that had been part of whatever deal that was being talked over when Dennis arrived looked longingly at the array of differently colored and shaped pills, reaching out for a small baggie of light pink pills that were shaped like footballs. Cricket's hand swiftly reached out to swat it away, fake disappointment spreading across his face,
"Oh come on, like I didn't see you take three shots just twenty minutes ago? Seriously Sam?"
Ahh so that's what this kid's name is
"You say that as if I haven't done it before-" The kid Sam. Sam said, while retracting his hand from its creeping pace towards the drug paraphernalia.
"-Yeah, and you say that as if I give a shit! I'm not gonna be held responsible for you dyin' tonight okay?" Cricket snatches the bag from it's place on the little rolled out mat he displayed it on, "You can do whatever the fuck you want with your health-" Cricket said, still keeping an eye on Sam while talking to him and also handing off the pills to Dennis, "-just not on my time, and not with my shit. I'm not getting a visit from the cops again!" - words that truly shocked Dennis out of his passive state.
"-WAIT, WHAT?!" The volume of his voice causing all three of the men in the bathroom to cringe, Cricket and Sam shooting scolding and incredulous looks towards Dennis.
"WH-" Cricket starts, capping some of his anger, forcing it down to whisper scream, "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
Now this was somewhat of a first, Dennis being shunned for not following the proper unspoken social rules. Him being in the wrong to where he can't manipulate someone into thinking he isn't.
"Look man," Dennis raised up his hands in defense, "I just don't wanna get involved with the cops." He had listened to 'Z' tell some stories about various run ins he had with police, knowing that if they'd caught up to him they could easily follow him back to Patty's and throw the whole gang in jail for a very long time.
"Oh and you think we do?" - Cricket kind of has a point there, "Okay how 'bout this, you unlock the door, leave, and do whatever the fuck you came to the club to do. Because the Dennis Reynolds I knew wasn't as green as the motherfucker I'm talkin' to right now." The hand Cricket put on Dennis' shoulder gave him a condescending pat before turning him around towards the door giving him a light push, prompting his feet to start walking.
Oh, so that's what that felt like for him
Seconds after closing the door behind himself a grungy looking stranger stops him,
"Hey, uh, is Cricks in there?"
Unsure if this is some undercover sting operation he hesitates to answer, a guilty sounding "Uhhhh" being his only response.
Muffled, but loud enough to hear, is Cricket's voice on the other side of the door,
"Yes, I am."
The stranger offers something reminiscent of a positive acknowledgement following a sigh of relief, pushing past Dennis into the bathroom to be met with a warm welcome from Cricket.
"AYYE COSKO HOW YOU BEEN?"
The door swings closed a few times as he stands there watching what seems to be Cricket's reunion with someone named Cosko, the both of them sharing a hug and a few pats on the back.
He was on the outside this time.
Dennis lightly scoffs before ambling back down the hallway.
If anyone ever told me there'd be a time i was jealous of Rickety Cricket's social life i'd think i was still high
Speaking of which, it was now at the door where the hallway began that he noticed something crinkling in his hand.
"Oh fuck."
Daring to peak into his coat pocket, Dennis saw a glimpse of exactly what he'd hoped to not see-
"Oh, oh, fuck."
A sandwhich sized baggie of Cricket's pills.