Work Text:
April 5, 1995
5:20 PM
On a Wednesday
“I need to study,” Dennis mumbles, but, like, it’s way more of a whine than a mumble, and that’s just a fact. Really, Dennis is facing the wall of his dorm room, nose grazing the wallpaper as he shields himself from the world. “Seriously, Mac. Just leave me here to die. I’m gonna bomb this chem test hard, and I must die in peace.”
Mac rolls his eyes, plopping down on the too thin mattress to coax Dennis out of his crumpled pity ball. “You’re not gonna die, dude. You aren’t gonna fuck up the test either. You’ve been studying like crazy for it. You know this shit.” It’s true. It really is. Mac rode the bus up here from Philly a few days ago and just sorta hasn’t gone back home because he missed Dennis, but don’t tell him that. It’s nice being around him. But Dennis has been hitting the books hard. He’s barely taken the time to show Mac the campus or the killer parties. Shit, he’s barely even eaten.
Huh. He does look skinnier. Paler. Less like a golden moose – or something like that – and more of a lackluster reptile, scaling windows without a fucking clue that his shirt’s hanging completely off his right shoulder, and Mac can see smooth, milky skin. Shit. Fuck. Quit. So what if Dennis looks, like, really amazing right now? So what if Mac’s trying to hide his boner with a pillow as he traces his fingers across Dennis’ chest lazily? So what if he’s... Never mind.
“I don’t like college,” Dennis murmurs, rolling over to koala himself around Mac.
Mac chuckles. “No one likes school, dude.”
“I still have three years of this shit left,” he says. “I should just drop out while I’m behind.”
Mac shakes his head, carding his fingers through Dennis’ curls, still damp from the shower; he inhales the scent of lavender and vanilla shampoo. “You’re not gonna do that, Den. You’re the smartest person I know. Three years will fly by more quicker than you think.”
“It’s soul crushing, Mac. I think I should reconsider –”
But Mac leaps out of bed before Dennis can finish his sentence. Screw sentences. Mac puts his socks and shoes on, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get outta here, man!” he exclaims. “You’ve been cooped up for days. A little fresh air can enlighten you. Y’know, give you some perspective."
Dennis scrunches his eyebrows. “Were you reading my philosophy book?”
Mac shrugs. “I may’ve glanced at it while you were asleep last night. But that’s not the point, Den,” he says. “The point is that you deserve a break.”
“Well, I have been working very hard,” Dennis reasons, licking his lips and smiling at Mac; Mac tries not to die right there. “And I could use a drink.”
He grins brightly. “Break out that fake ID! Let’s go rage!"
“This is so not what I had in mind,” Mac states.
It’s because they’re a restaurant, an actual fucking restaurant, with tiny chandeliers all over the place, crystal clear glassware, a huge assortment of wine, and bathrooms with attendants and breath mints. Mac feels ridiculously underdressed in his navy pants and t-shirt with a hole near the collar. Dennis wore this shirt to sleep last night, and it still smells like him, so Mac just wore it without making it into a thing. But Dennis is at least wearing jeans and a light green button up. He’s definitely more prepared than Mac is. He thought they were going to a party or some shit.
“They have the best wine in the city,” Dennis states after their waiter shows them to their table. It’s extremely small, which obviously means it’s fancy. Mac unfolds the silverware napkin and drapes it over his lap because he watches Dennis do it first. He takes a careful sip of his water, trying to avert gazes from the wrinkly raisins and soccer moms staring at them both. They’re misplaced, and Mac doesn’t like it; his heart pounds, vision swimming.
Mac tugs at Dennis’ sleeve like a four year old lost in the mall. “Um, isn’t this place a little, um, y’know...” he trails off.
“Expensive?” Dennis asks. “Nah, man. I got it.”
He shakes his head almost wildly. “No. Not that. I mean... like, fancy?”
“I’m rich as shit, Mac,” Dennis points out.
“But I’m not.”
Dennis rubs his thumb over Mac’s knuckles, and, for whatever reason, that nearly soothes all of Mac’s worries. “You are when you’re with me, baby boy.”
Mac lets Dennis handle the ordering, listening to his smooth, clear voice fill up the void in Mac’s chest. Dennis has a great palate, so it only makes sense. Plus, Mac doesn’t even want to attempt pronouncing these things. It’s an Italian place, and he’s definitely Italian, he thinks, but Dennis is more smarter, and he just seems to know what he’s doing, while Mac takes it day by day. Sometimes, really, hour by hour or minute by minute; it all depends.
Their entrees come. Mac and Dennis get drunk off red wine and atmosphere. They split a slice of cheesecake for dessert. Or two. Mac tells Dennis not to worry about physique or appearance because he looks wonderful, and Mac pretends he doesn’t see Dennis’ cheek blush bright red. He wonders if Dennis feels it too. But he isn’t gonna ask because he doesn’t wanna ruin this. This may not be a rager, – or anything close to it at all – but it’s so much more.
“I like the chocolate one better,” Dennis announces, spooning a tiny bite of vanilla cheesecake into his mouth.
Mac grins. “You like chocolate more better anyway, dude. You always have.”
“Vanilla is good, but it’s kinda boring,” Dennis states. “I need some excitement in my life. Dude, you have crumbs on your lips. Here, let me help.”
Dennis dabs his napkin over Mac’s lips.
Mac dies. Straight up dies. He is deceased. He is no more. He isn't sure he ever even existed.
Consequently, after his death, he gets a boner. Jesus fuck. What the hell? He can’t... This isn’t... But he doesn’t...
Thank God his own napkin covers the swelling in his pants.
“Do you have a boner, dude?” Dennis whispers, gesturing to Mac’s downstairs region nonchalantly, as if Mac doesn’t have a fucking BONER in the middle of a Goddamn restaurant. He’s so going to Hell. He’s gonna burn for all of eternity because he had cheesecake crumbs on his lips, and Dennis wiped them off with his napkin, the one that was covering his own dick. Well, Dennis is wearing boxers, – Mac saw them earlier when Dennis bent down to tie his Chucks (they were blue and red plaid) – but fucking still. “Mac, Jesus Christ, we’re in pub –”
“I know we’re in public!” he shrieks, voice jumping three octaves, making him sound like a chick or some shit. Other people in the restaurant stare. Mac’s face reddens. “I can’t help it, dude! It just, like, woke up...”
Dennis scrunches his eyebrows.
Fuck, Mac’s gotta get outta here.
“Did I give you a boner?”
Jesus Christ.
He shrugs frantically, running his fingers through his hair before downing his wine like nothing even matters because it doesn’t because Dennis just gave him a boner in a restaurant and is asking about it like it’s a common thing. “I don’t know, Den! I don’t fucking know! I’m gonna, like, go to the bathroom or something...”
Mac wants to stand up, but he can’t. He’s still got a hard on. It’s going away, but he isn’t taking any chances. Dennis takes his hand instead.
“Don’t go, dude. Let’s just forget about it, okay?”
“Like you’ll ever let me live this down,” Mac murmurs.
Dennis pinches him. “This is your one free pass. I’ll never mention it again.”
Mac’s eyes widen. “So we’ll just pretend you didn’t give me a boner?”
“Ha! I knew it!” Dennis exclaims excitedly, and Mac wonders what the fuck he’s excited about, but then he remembers it’s Dennis. “I knew I gave you a boner, dude!”
“Dennis!” Mac hisses.
He waves him off with the hand that’s not holding onto Mac’s. “Sorry. Yes, we’ll pretend I didn’t give you a boner.”
“You swear you won’t say anything about it?”
Dennis holds up his pinky. “Pinky swear.”
They interlock pinkies, but Mac’s queasy and is still super uneasy about this whole thing. “You can’t go back on a pinky swear, Den.”
“I won’t,” Dennis promises.
He rubs his thumb absentmindedly over Mac’s knuckles again. Mac doesn’t know what to do or say; he wants to scream because it feels nice and soothing and comforting, but he doesn’t even think Dennis knows he’s doing it. Mac gulps the rest of Dennis’ wine too just in case. He’s a little hard, but it isn’t noticeable or too big of a problem right now.
“We should do this more often,” Dennis says, voice soft and quiet.
Mac nods. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
“Maybe we should make a tradition?”
“Yearly dinner?” Mac suggests.
Dennis shakes his head. “Nah. That’s too sporadic. I don’t wanna wait a whole year before eating dinner with you again.”
What?
What is happening right now?
This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.
He didn’t hear that.
Move past it. Just move past it.
Mac swallows hard. “What about once a month? We could take turns picking the place.”
Dennis grins, and the whole world beams brightly. The room is happier than it was before. “Great idea, dude! Monthly dinner it is.”
“I’m takin’ your bitch ass to Burger King, though,” Mac tells him. “Not everyone is loaded as shit.”
Dennis keeps doing the thumb rubby thingy. Mac smiles and dreams of their next monthly dinner.