Archive of Our Own ^beta

It all starts when Dee bursts into the bar, a flurry of blonde hair and birdlike excitable squawking. 

“Hey, guess what, dickwads?” she all but yells. She’s met with a crowd of exasperated groans from the four men sitting around the bar, each clasping a bottle of cold beer in their hands. She doesn’t bother to wait for their vague interest before continuing.

“So, you remember the audition tape you guys helped me film? In the back alley a few weeks back? You know, where I taped over Mac’s project badass films?”

“No,” comes the disinterested reply from the bar.

“You taped over Project Badass?” Mac says, only half paying attention. He’s ripping the label slowly off of his beer bottle, almost entirely zoned out from the admittedly one-sided conversation.

“Ugh, yes, idiot,” Dee groans at him. “But anyway, it was for this super cool film where I get to play a woman getting married and I got the part! I start filming next week and – you guys aren’t even paying attention, are you?”

None of the guys reply to her.

“Fine, well. I get five free plane tickets to London, but I guess none of you dickheads are—”

“Wait, free tickets?” Dennis exclaims. It seems to get the rest of the gang’s attention almost instantly.

“Oh, we get something out of this?”

“London? I wanna go to London!”

Dee suddenly regrets telling them at all. They might be her ‘friends’ and all, and she might be ‘relying on them so she can pay her rent’ or whatever, but fuck knows if she has the patience to deal with them in an entirely different continent. She can barely deal with them in the bar.

It’s not like she has any other people she can take with her, to be fair.

With a sigh, she resigns herself to her fate and nods. “Yeah. Five tickets on a first class plane and fancy-ass hotel rooms for all of us.” Dee’s face very slowly turns into a tiny smile. “But some of you guys might have to room together, I think there’s only three rooms available.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, we don’t care, Dee. London’s what we care about, not you,” Dennis says, waving his hand at her in dismissal and frowning. 

“Yeah, Deandra, shut up,” Frank drawls at her. It’s a weak insult, especially from Frank, so Dee just rolls her eyes in response and walks behind the bar, grabbing herself a beer. 

“So we’re all going to London?” Mac asks, the rest of the guys nodding in agreement at him. “Dee, we’re coming to London with you.”

“Yeah, I got that, asshole,” Dee snaps back. This is gonna be a stressful few days.

“So, why are we actually going to London?” Charlie asks much, much later. The last patrons are slowly trudging out of the bar, some stumbling considerably more than others. He’s clearly not paying full attention to the world around him right now. It’s debatable if he ever really is.

To his credit, it takes Mac a full few seconds to realise Charlie’s talking to him – Mac’s not exactly sober and his eyes are following Dennis around the bar absentmindedly, as they often do. It’s a force of habit after – well, all that stuff they don’t talk about – to make sure Dennis is still there, and still as okay. As “okay” as Dennis is able to be, at the very least.

“Some shit for Dee,” Mac mumbles to Charlie in response. “Sh’got some acting job in London and we’re going with her? Fancy hotel and shit.”

Charlie instantly perks up. “Fancy hotel?” At Mac’s nod in agreement, he continues, almost spilling over his words. “D’you think they’d have shampoo there?”

“I… I guess?” Mac replies, confused. “Wait. Y’just gonna steal it all, aren’t you?”

This is clearly the wrong thing to say. Charlie slams his beer down onto the bar and pushes his stall back, standing up in a rush. He makes his way over to Mac and attempts to intimidate him by towering over him. Except Charlie is pretty small, and his freckles, illiteracy, and constant desire to huff paint don’t really give him the intimidating aura he’s going for. You can’t blame him for trying, though, and Mac feels a small twinge of guilt for pissing Charlie off. Only a small twinge though – it’s not like he’s going to feel guilty for implying that Charlie Kelly of all people is a petty criminal.

“Of course I’m gonna steal it all, Mac, what do you think I am, an animal?!”

“Jury’s still out,” Dennis chimes in from across the bar. Charlie looks like he could commit bloody murder. Dennis simply makes a half apologetic face, holds his hands up in sarcastic surrender, and goes back to whatever it is he’s actually doing. Mac’s been watching him for at least the last hour, and he’s not entirely sure what Dennis is actually doing.

“Anyway,” Charlie continues pointedly. “there is no point in going to some fancy-ass hotel if you’re not gonna steal everything you can. It’s like, basic knowledge.” He shrugs and takes a swig from his bottle.

Mac frowns at him, confusion growing by the second. “Dude, have you even stayed in a hotel before? How the fuck do you know that?”

He makes a good point. Charlie had been known for years as the guy who never even left the state, reluctantly left Philly even, until relatively recently. It’s not like him to know anything about – well, anything really, but especially not hotels.

“Doesn’t everyone know that?” Charlie rebuts.

“Well – yeah, but –“

“Well, dude, I’m not stupid. I watch – y’know, TV and stuff. I’m cultured,” Charlie says earnestly. Mac raises an eyebrow at him.

“Watching TV makes you cultured,” Mac replies, disbelief clear in his voice. “Learning how to control the remote even though you don’t understand the words on it and watching whatever has the most colours is cultured.”

Charlie just nods in response, satisfied, and Mac rolls his eyes. He doesn’t have the heart, nor the effort, to tell Charlie he’s being sarcastic. He’s not entirely sure Charlie knows what sarcasm is, and honestly, he’s not sure if he has it in him to explain it five times until he vaguely gets it. 

3 days until London

“Can you fucking get off?”

Mac sighs in defeat and pushes himself up from the suitcase. In traditional Mac and Dennis style, they decided for some convoluted reason to share a suitcase, and it’s not exactly going well. Mac’s been trying to shove all their things down by putting all his body weight on it but somehow that hasn’t worked.

“Fine, fine,” Mac says. “But I don’t understand why you have to pack a 10-step skincare routine and a bag of makeup, we’re literally going for five days, you don’t need –“

“Oh my God, Mac, we’ve been over this –“

“I know, but we can’t fucking fit anything else in here!” Mac exclaims. Dennis falls silent, his face filled with rage. He stares intently at Mac like he’s goading him to keep talking.

“Can’t you just take some of it out?” Mac says. Dennis just glares in response.

Mac sighs. “Okay, Jesus,” he mutters under his breath. “But I’ve packed literally five shirts and a pair of pyjamas, I just don’t get why you need to take your whole life to London.”

For a long, stretched out moment, Dennis remains silent. The anger slowly seeps out of his face as he lets out a long, world-weary sigh. “Fine,” he says quietly. “Fine. I’ll take some of the clothes out. I can wash them in the hotel.”

Well. It’s a win, Mac supposes. Not the one he wanted – he’d much rather see Dennis without makeup, it’s not like he really needs it that much – but they might actually get through airport security now.

“Oh, shit, wait,” Dennis says, face suddenly scrunched up. “We’re flying. I’m gonna get that shit confiscated, aren’t I? All my face stuff?”

Holy shit. God really is real. 

Trying to contain a huge grin from spreading across his face, Mac nods slowly.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he says as nonchalantly as he can. “Oh well, I guess you’ll have to leave it here, then?”

Dennis rolls his eyes. “Get that smirk off your face, you dick. I’ll take it out. But I’m buying more stuff when we get there, I’m not walking around looking like I have polio.”

Groaning at him, Mac begrudgingly agrees. At least he’s convinced him.

“Dude, do you even have a passport?” 

Charlie’s barely paying attention, eyes fixed on the shitty TV in the apartment. It probably hasn’t been changed since at least the early 90s, judging by its battered condition and barely audible sound. He’s still watching the same TV show, determined to find out more about what to do in hotels so he can make sure everyone knows he’s cultured. But they’re just in some shitty bar that’s definitely based on Paddy’s.

Frank grunts in response. It somehow manages to get Charlie’s attention, and he finally stops watching TV and turns around to face him.

“Well, do you or not, Frank? It’s not a hard question,” he asks.

“Do you even have a passport, Charlie?” Frank shoots back, already looking annoyed.

“Uh, of course I do?” Charlie replies, genuinely sounding confused. “You need one to fly, I got one when we went to LA.”

Frank blinks, slowly, a few times. Sighs. Rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands in pure exhaustion. “You got a passport to fly to LA?”

Charlie just nods, dumbfounded.

“You don’t need a passport to fly domestic, Charlie, you know that, right?”

It’s clear from Charlie’s face that he did not know this.

“Jesus, Charlie, how didn’t you know that? What did you think the reason was for them not asking for any of our passports?”

“They forgot?”

Frank can’t even bring himself to respond. Charlie just shrugs at him and turns back to the TV. At least he has a passport to get to London, he guesses. Frank very clearly doesn’t, and he’s not sure why, but he doesn’t care too much. He’ll get one somehow and come to London with them – he probably has a passport guy.

“I kinda have a passport,” Frank finally says quietly, making Charlie jump. “It’s complicated. But I got a guy. I’ll get there. Trust me,” he drawls.

That’s that, then.

Dee can barely contain her excitement. Sure, she has to go with the guys, at least now she’s told them it’s happening, but she’s still going to London. All the money her parents had, all the times Frank had gone travelling when she was a kid, but she’s somehow not once left the continent. She dreamed about becoming a world traveller for a brief time when she was in middle school, fantasies about going to every country in Europe with no one there to tell her what to do or how to behave.

But then the rest of school happened, and then college, and then the bar and the resulting alcoholism that came from it, and well. That dream died pretty fast.

Maybe it’ll finally come true, just a little bit.

More than anything, she can’t really believe she’s finally landed her dream role and got her acting career on the roll. She might have never mentioned wanting to play a bride in her life or ever really cared about marriage whatsoever, but it feels like fate. She doesn’t even have to put on an accent, even though she definitely lied on her resume and said she could do one. They didn’t even ask her to do it in the audition, so she’d figured it didn’t really matter. They really didn’t seem that picky when she auditioned, if she’s honest. They were clearly desperate for an actress who could uproot for a few days to film a wedding scene in Europe. 

When she was actually auditioning – it was barely an audition, really – they’d seemed a bit hesitant to tell her the filming schedule. The entire film was about a London wedding but she was only filming in London for a week? It felt weird. But the director was insistent that most of the filming would be in Philly for what he’d described as “plot reasons”. But still. Dee’s pretty sure it’s legit. It doesn’t matter if she’s getting a free trip to London.

But anyway. She supposes she needs to start packing.

2 days until London

Of course, in true Dee Reynolds fashion, things are never as simple as they first seem to be.

She’s woken up with a start by her phone’s shrill ringtone. Her alarm clock blinks dully at her across from her bed, the fluorescent green informing her of the time. 8:17am. Too early for a phone call.

“Hello?” she answers groggily, stifling a huge yawn.

A perky voice on the other end answers. “Hi, is this Dee Reynolds?”

Dee hums in affirmation, too tired to have a conversation this early in the morning. Who the fuck calls this early, and who the fuck manages to sound that awake?

“I’m just calling about the audition tape you sent us a few weeks back. Did they inform you that you’d got the part?”

“Uh…” Dee hesitates. This can’t crumble, not now. Not after she’s told the guys. She’s not sure she can handle their ridicule. “Yes, yes they did. Why, is everything okay? Everything’s alright?”

“Yes, of course,” the woman replies quickly. “But they actually wanted to do a screen test with you before you start filming in a few days, were you aware of that?”

A screen test? A fucking screen test? The people making the film clearly have no clue what they’re doing if they haven’t thought to contact her about a screen test. Dicks.

Still, she’s getting paid for it. A lot.

Dee is suddenly very awake.

“No, they didn’t tell me. Do I actually have the part?”

It takes a few seconds for the woman to reply, but Dee is sure she can hear a muffled swear word followed by a heavy sigh. “Sorry about that. You’ve got the part but they just want you and your co-star to meet before filming starts, make sure you’re a good match.”

“Okay, okay, whatever. When and where?”

“Today at 9, the rec center on South 16 th – “

Dee hangs up abruptly before jumping out of bed. The next half an hour consists of a rush around her small apartment at an honestly super-human speed in an attempt to look even halfway decent. She nearly falls over at least three times struggling to tug on a pair of jeans before admitting defeat and wrestling them back off her legs. She finally, finally manages to get dressed and is ready to go when the first gag hits.

But instead of letting it wreck her day, she glares at her reflection in the mirror. “Not today, you bitch.”

And with that, she sprints out of the apartment and almost throws herself into her car.

“Hi, I’m here for the screen test?” Dee says hesitantly. It’s not like her to be this nervous, but to be fair, it’s not like her to have an opportunity that might actually matter. The guy behind the desk nods, barely looking up from his computer, and gestures to a glass door across the room disinterestedly. Dee glares at him momentarily before walking away. 

Pushing the door open, she sees there’s only one other woman in there, who must be auditioning for another film. Dee opts to ignore her entirely and sits on the opposite side of the room, flipping some beauty magazine open and pretending to read it. Except she can’t read anything right now, not really, not while her hands are shaking this goddamn badly or while she can’t breathe properly. The reality of the situation is getting more and more real by the second, and it’s fucking terrifying.

She luckily doesn’t have much time to settle her nerves before she’s called in. Oh, joy.

“Dee Reynolds and Erin Ashcroft?”

Who?

Dee grimaces, stands, and throws her magazine down onto the chair next to her, suppressing another gag. 

“Right this way, please.”

She doesn’t even look at the other woman in the room, her eyes trained on the floor. She’s going to throw up. She’s genuinely going to throw up everywhere. She thought this was a dead shot, she thought she had the part , but what if she fucks this up now? Would they take the part from her if she fucks this up?

Taking a deep breath, she walks into the room quickly. She forces herself to actually breathe properly while Erin and the man follow her in.

“Good morning, you two. Thank you so much for coming in at such short notice. I just wanted to apologise to you both for how late you were told about this screen test, but rest assured you both have the role. Unless one of you hugely screws up today, of course.” The man’s voice drills into Dee’s head irritatingly, but she’s still struck with nerves. She’s not sure if this guy is joking with her or not. She might pass out before she finds out.

“I’m just kidding!” he laughs. Oh. Well, thank god. But his laugh is beyond annoying – shrill and nasal. “We’re just doing a small screen test today to see how you two work together in front of a camera, if that’s okay.”

It doesn’t matter if it’s okay, Dee thinks to herself. We’re here anyway.

“Of course,” Erin replies next to her. Her voice is smooth and she manages to sound pretty damn polite for an unexpected 9am appointment. Her perfectly styled hair - brunette, short, dead straight - instantly makes Dee feel conscious about how unprepared she must look. And she’s British. That makes a lot more sense. Dee only hopes she comes across as put together, for the sake of the paycheck.

The actual screen test is a blur. Dee is entirely too nervous to actually pay attention to what she’s doing or saying, but Erin has managed to get her out of her shell, just a little bit. Two hours later, they’re laughing at a joke Dee makes about the decaying drywall that covers the entire rec center. Dee feels comfortable with this woman. Almost too comfortable.

Of course, that feeling doesn’t last.

“Okay, great,” the guy says, clapping his hands. “You two get along really well, so I think now might be the time to give you copies of the final script to read over.”

A script is plopped into Dee’s hands, and she instantly feels her hands start to shake again. This time, she thinks it might be from excitement. She reads it through, the feeling growing with every page until she’s nearly beaming, until – 

“Uh, wait. Wait just a minute, I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding here,” Dee says, stumbling over her words. The man looks at her, confused. “Where’s the man? I was told I was playing the bride.”

“Well, yes, you are. You both are, it’s a film about a lesbian marriage. We told you when you got the part.”

He fucking didn’t.

“Is there a problem with that?” Erin asks, a tinge of snootiness in her British accent. She tucks a lock of stray hair behind her ear as she gives Dee an almost disappointed glance.

“No – no, not at all, I’m not homophobic or anything, I have a gay friend –“

Erin visibly cringes next to her, her grey eyes shutting for a second. Dee can feel Erin’s anger in the air.

“I’m really not homophobic, I just didn’t know it was – it was gay.” Dee looks down at her script, mortified, only to read the phrase “they kiss passionately” written there. Clear as day. A kiss? That’s not something she’s sure she can deal with. She promised herself years ago, on a dark night where she considered giving acting up altogether, that she would do anything to get onto the big screen. But she’s not sure ‘anything’ ever included kissing another woman.

Even if Erin isn’t exactly ugly.

“Well, Dee, the thing is,” the man says softly. “It’s the main plot of the film, so we really need you to be okay with this. We don’t exactly have the time to hire another actress to take your place, you know.”

Dee’s heart sinks to the pits of her stomach. She really, truly doesn’t think she’s okay with it. She doesn’t think she can convince herself to be okay with it in less than a week’s time. Or ever, really. The thought of kissing another woman isn’t repulsive, or anything of the sort, but it’s a lot of pressure. She’s only ever kissed men before – because she’s straight, clearly – but women are a whole different ball game. Especially Erin. She’s nice and they get along, but Dee is honestly a little intimidated by her. And the thought of kissing her to get paid isn’t the worst thought in the world, but it still gives her this tingly, painful feeling in her stomach that she doesn’t think she likes. 

She hasn’t even begun to think about the logistics of it all. All of it, this whole film, relies on her kissing this woman. She is literally taking a plane across the world in 48 hours to be filmed kissing this woman. Her friends – her friends are flying across the world to watch her kiss another woman. And no matter how pretty and British Erin is, that’s a lot to take in.

God, the thought of their reactions makes Dee’s skin crawl. Even Mac, a man who constantly likes to remind everyone that he is, in fact, gay, is going to laugh at her for years. Her brother is never going to let it go. She doesn’t want them watching her kiss a woman. She doesn’t think she can take their cruel jokes at her expense, not about something like this. Not while she’s making money from it, and not while random people are going to see the film, and probably jerking off in the theater at the thought of lesbians kissing. 

It’s agonising. She’s stuck, truly, about whether she can betray her own dignity for something like this. No matter how much she might try to convince herself over the next few days that it’s ‘only a kiss’, the guys will never, ever view it that way.

And honestly? She’s not entirely sure she’ll think of it that way, either. Not when so much is riding on this, and not when she’s kissing someone who looks like a model.

Hey. Maybe she can put her in contact with Dennis when this whole thing is over. He might be grateful enough to momentarily forget about his sister kissing a woman.

Regardless, what other choice does she have? She’s kind of broke right now. This is very much her last chance to become an actress before the ship sails on it forever, leaving her stranded on minimum wage working at a shitty bar in one of the worst areas of South Philly. Being employed, as an alcoholic, by four other alcoholics. She internally shudders at the thought of being stuck at Paddy’s forever. 

It takes all of her courage. All of her ability to suppress not only a nervous gag, but a full on panic attack right there in the white-walled room. All of her nerves, and all of the imagery she can conjure up about how god damn rich she’ll be after the film comes out.

But Dee finally says, “okay, fine. I’ll do it.”

Charlie has never known frustration. Okay, he has, but not quite like this.

“So let me get this straight,” he says for what’s probably the fifth time today, “do you or do you not have a passport?”

Frank is still refusing to meet his eyes. Normally, Charlie would leave it unaddressed, not giving enough of a shit to actually pursue the reason, but it’s not like Frank to be so quiet. Which tells him that something is definitely, certifiably up .

“I-“ Frank starts hesitantly, a look of almost fear in his eyes. Charlie rolls his eyes in annoyance, starting to get seriously pissed off at him.

“Well, it’s not really that simple, these things aren’t really concrete –“

Charlie groans, head falling into his hands. “It’s literally one of the most concrete things there is,” he gets out through gritted teeth. “It’s a fucking blue book, how do you not know if you have a passport?”

That gets Frank to snap, after over an hour of this stupid, stupid argument. “Fine,” he exclaims suddenly. “Fine. I’ll tell you the story, but you ain’t gonna like it.”

With that, Frank takes a deep, world-weary sigh, and launches into the story.

“It all started about a year ago,” he begins. “I saw this trick on TV where the guy goes into an airport to pick up women with a suitcase – “

“Wait, wait,” Charlie interrupts, earning him a glare from Frank. “You – you put women in the suitcase? Dude, did you kidnap someone?”

“Charlie, what the shit are you on about?” Frank replies, confused. “No. That’s not what happened. Let me finish the damn story.” With a slow nod from Charlie, Frank continues.

“So the whole idea of the airport thing is that you take a suitcase with you so they think you’re just getting off a flight from somewhere fancy. And you wear a nice suit, ‘cause you’re there as a fancy international businessman getting ready to get an international flight somewhere else just as fancy.

“So once you’re at the airport, in your suit with your suitcase, you find your target, and you start to flirt with her. Convince her you’re an important international businessman. Make her feel wanted, but that you don’t have the time to actually give her attention, y’know.

“Then you tell her, ‘I’ve got a private suite nearby, if you wanna spend a little longer with me’, and of course she agrees. So you take her across the street to the seedy hotel and you bang her with the condoms you had with you.”

“The condoms?” Charlie says, face slowly filling with mild disgust.

“Oh, yeah,” Frank replies, a drawl evident in his voice the more he explains himself. Whether it’s pride, horniness, embarrassment, or a weird mix of the three that makes his voice change, Charlie doesn’t know. “The suitcase is filled with condoms.”

Charlie makes a face. “So why don’t you have a passport?” he asks, silently wishing he hadn’t.

“It’s complicated,” Frank replies slowly. When Charlie sighs in exasperation, he holds his hands up in surrender. “I technically have a passport, but I’m on a watchlist and if I try to fly out of Philly again I’ll get arrested for loitering.”

Finally, finally , it makes sense. 

“But what about your guy?” Charlie says accusingly. “You told me you only kinda had a passport but you had a guy to sort it out.”

“Guy fell through,” Frank grunts in response. “Got arrested or deported or something.”

“But you have a passport,” Charlie responds.

“Technically, yeah. But it’s been out of date for three months,” Frank finishes.

Charlie could kill him.

1 day until London

Mac and Dennis’ apartment is unusually serene. They’re sat side by side on the couch, Dennis on the laptop and Mac on his phone, both researching random facts about London. They’re completely packed for the airport, something that surprised them both as much as it surprised Dee when she came by earlier that day to make sure they weren’t going to make the rest of the group.

(“You two might be the only ones I can rely on for this trip,” she’d said, shock evident in her voice. “I’m not sure if Charlie is packed, and Frank can’t come because his passport’s out of date.” That had caused a rush of relief throughout the apartment at the prospect of being without the dickhead that is Frank Reynolds for a week. A whole entire week.)

Mac, forever an insufferable person to go on a trip with, has spent the last three hours looking up tourist attractions in central London and meticulously planning the best route to see them all. He can’t wait to go and see Westminster Abbey and Saint Paul’s Cathedral and Southwark Cathedral and – well, maybe he’d better start planning something that isn’t a church. Dennis and Charlie wouldn’t want to go with him if it was only about God, even if that’s his dream. Maybe the museums? Mac’s sure he read somewhere that museums in London were free. Charlie won’t be able to read the descriptions for anything, but he’s sure he’ll appreciate all the skeletons and old paintings. 

Mac’s not sure he really gives a shit about museums – they always felt out of his reach and too posh for him to be allowed inside – but Dennis and Charlie will appreciate it. He supposes that matters too.

The apartment’s so quiet. It feels like tension, something that Mac can’t quite grasp, but the silence seems to be comfortable. He at least senses that Dennis isn’t mad at him for whatever inexplicable reason he wants to choose. He’s just always … on edge, he guesses. Bracing himself for the explosion and hoping that when it finally happens, he’ll survive it. There’s always such a fine line to tread with Dennis, Mac finds. Say something slightly wrong and everything will go to shit, even if it’s normal again two days later. 

Quite honestly, Mac doesn’t know if the feeling of tension would be best resolved by leaving forever, finding friends who are better for him in some other city, far away from Dee and Charlie and Frank and Dennis and his mother and father, somewhere far, far from South Philadelphia. 

Or maybe it’s the type of tension that Mac can hardly bear to think about, even after all these years; he might be an out gay man but the thought of anything happening between him and Dennis strikes a chord of fear inside him that he gets with no one else. Even the idea of reaching across the last few inches of space between them right now and taking Dennis’ hand in his own gives him heart palpitations. 

For decades he’d thought it was because being gay was forbidden in his life for such a long time that it started to become an objective truth, but now all that had changed. His fight with internalised homophobia is almost completely over, and Mac is almost entirely certain that he’s been crowned the victor. And yet he still has this feeling inside him whenever he thinks about Dennis that he’s too weak to put a name to just yet.

The thought of going to London has been exciting him for nearly a week, but now, on the eve of their flight, it’s making him feel sick. Nothing is going to change, he’s certain of it, but there’s still something inside him, a voice that snarls, ‘but what if something does change?’. And he can’t quite fight that off. He’s never been too good at winning arguments against his head, especially when his head actually presents a good argument. What if something actually changes? For worse or for better? Mac doesn’t know what scares him more.

In a cautious voice, Mac says, quietly, “didn’t Dee mention something about sharing rooms?” He knows that’s what’s scaring him most. He doesn’t want to be locked out of their room when Dennis inevitably parades women in front of him like he doesn’t know the effect that has on him.

Unfortunately, Dennis speaks over him. “Did you know the flight is seven hours long?” he says curiously, glancing over at Mac for a moment. Mac is mortified. He feels so tense that he can’t tell if Dennis has intentionally spoken over him or if he just didn’t hear him speak. Either way, uttering that sentence out loud again – making it a real and tangible possibility – would be agonising.

He feels like he can’t move. He shakes his head slowly, so slowly, feeling like it’s been cast in clay. 

“I thought it was six,” Dennis continues, oblivious. “I don’t really give that much of a shit, but I’m actually looking forward to going to London. Can’t wait to see Dee fuck up and get fired an hour into the shoot.”

Mac can’t breathe. He can barely hear Dennis talk, hasn’t even really registered that he’s talking at all, but he can’t breathe. He hates it. He clears his throat, hums in acknowledgement, and tries to remember what he was researching on his phone.

Dennis peers over his shoulder to look at Mac’s phone, and smiles at him. Mac suddenly realises that he must just be feeling unwell. Maybe sleep will fix it.

“Looking at tourist spots?” Dennis asks. Mac nods mechanically, tilting the phone so Dennis can see more clearly. “The markets are meant to be good in south London,” Dennis remarks quietly to him. Mac nods, again. He barely feels awake or conscious but he opens up the Notes app and types it in before setting his phone on the couch and standing up.

“I feel tired and sick,” he says abruptly. “G’night, Dennis.”

Dennis barely has time to reply before Mac almost runs across the living room and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Once his breathing has returned to normal, he lays face down on his bed, and sleep comes to him almost immediately.

Philadelphia International Airport

As all of the gang probably should have expected, Charlie is absolutely insufferable when he’s in an airport for more than ten minutes.

In a shocking twist of fate, the four of them – shoulders already lighter for not having Frank with them – have actually managed to get to the airport on time. Their flight is delayed by an hour, because of course it is, but it’s just meant that Charlie gets more time to go, in Dee’s charming words, “absolutely fucking apeshit”. She’s completely right, for once in her life.

Charlie is all but running between all of the stores, the rest of the gang trailing behind like a group of disgruntled parents. When Dennis mentions this, Dee simply replies that they practically are Charlie’s parents. 

“Have you guys seen this?!” Charlie practically yells with excitement, brandishing a giant candy bar in his hands. “I don’t even like candy but it’s huge. And it was only 15 dollars in the – the – “ he squints at the name of the shop to try and get it right. “Duty… brie?”

The gang collectively sigh at him. “Duty free,” Dennis corrects him. “It’s meant to be cheaper because you don’t pay tax on the stuff. But idiots like you get scammed into paying 15 dollars for a nasty looking candy bar.”

Charlie elects to ignore his last comment, instead stuffing the candy bar into his backpack. After swinging it back onto his shoulders, he goes to run, full speed, to the next store, but he sees something across from him that makes him stop and narrow his eyes.

“Murphy’s,” he grits out angrily.

Mac follows Charlie’s eyeline until he spots it: an Irish bar, positively decked out in as many shamrocks and Irish flags they could fit onto their store front. And sure enough, Murphy’s Irish Pub is splashed along the top in that overused Irish font.

“Talk about tacky,” Dennis says under his breath.

Charlie begins his slow march towards Murphy’s, anger growing with every step. By the time he’s finally at the pub, he looks like he could spit flames.

“Hold on,” Dee says hesitantly. “I get we’re supposed to hate other Irish pubs, but why is Charlie so angry?”

Dennis and Mac just shrug. Charlie doesn’t look like he can form coherent words.

The very second Charlie steps over the threshold, an overly enthusiastic server comes to greet them, green apron and all. “Hi! Welcome to Murphy’s, how are – oh, fuck. Not you again.”

The rest of the gang exchange confused glances.

“Dude, I’m sorry, but Duggan isn’t here right now. We haven’t done anything wrong.” The server frowns, looking slightly afraid. “Uh, can I help the rest of you?” he asks carefully.

“Yeah,” Dee pipes up. “What the hell is going on? Who’s Duggan?”

“I’m not really sure I can tell you right now,” the server grimaces at them. “We’re not allowed to talk about it to customers. But Duggan is the manager. Are you with this guy?”

The gang simply nod, becoming more and more confused.

“Uh, then I’m sorry, but you need to leave the premises, it’s company rules,” he says. He might be an utter dick, but he at least has the guts to actually sound sorry about it. “And you need to take him with you.”

He points at Charlie, who’s practically foaming out of his mouth.

Dee, too confused to protest, simply nods. “Okay,” she says quickly, putting a shoulder around Charlie. “Charlie, come on. Let’s go.” He shrugs her hand off but obliges, fury still evident and frankly a lot more threatening than any of the gang had ever seen him.

When they finally find a free bench to slump down on, Charlie begins to calm down enough to get words out of his mouth. “Stupid Murphy,” he fumes. “Stupid Duggan and his stupid bar.”

“You’re gonna need to tell us what happened,” Dennis says. Mac nods in agreement, still casting quick glances over to the general vicinity to make sure no one’s coming to kick Charlie’s ass.

“Remember those assholes who tried to steal our merch ideas a few months back?” Charlie explains, visibly trying to force himself to calm down. When Dennis nods in acknowledgment, he continues. “Well, Duggan was one of the guys who kept emailing Frank to put pressure on him to sell him merchandising. Saying we were, like, not allowed to copyright the designs or something.”

“Oh, shit,” Dennis concedes. “Okay. But that all got solved, didn’t it?”

Charlie nods stiffly. “But we’re sworn enemies. It’s not fair.”

“I get that,” Dennis replies. “But – wait, is this why you keep getting Frank to drive you around everywhere? So you could come here and threaten them?”

“You betcha,” Charlie responds instantly. “Little scumbags.”

Dee has been barely paying attention this whole time, but she waves her arm at the guys to get them to stop talking. They glare at her collectively, but they fall silent, so she takes it as her signal to speak. “Our flight’s boarding. We need to go.”

On a plane over the sea

“Mac. Please. Let me sleep.”

Dennis is gradually growing more and more pissed off with Mac. They’ve been on the plane for two hours and already Mac has resorted to throwing peanuts at him for fun. By the time he actually manages to hit Dennis in the face with one, he’s considering murder. Or maybe just throwing open the door of the plane and pushing him out of it.

But he’s snapped out of his happy place by another peanut hitting him squarely in the cheek, hurting more than he’d care to admit and leaving an unpleasantly greasy feeling on the site of impact.

“Stop being a dick and let me sleep,” he hisses at Mac. And under any other circumstances, Mac would look like a kicked puppy and apologise instantly, asking Dennis how he could ‘make it more better’ in his stupid, whiny voice. But being over international waters makes Mac brave.

Before Dennis can react, he’s hit on the bridge of his nose with yet another peanut. Mac simply gives him a wicked grin, closes his eyes, and begins to drift off to sleep. Dennis is left sputtering in anger at Mac’s pure audacity . He sits there stewing for at least another half hour, before clenching his jaw and forcing himself to fall asleep before he actually does make good on his plans to murder Mac.

Next to him, Mac’s heart pounds with an odd, mildly painful mix of anxiety and adrenaline. Whatever this tension is, it’s making him act like a girl on a schoolyard. This isn’t a feeling he gets when he hooks up with some dude from the Rainbow, nor does it match the vague echoes of feelings he got when he used to sleep with women. It simply doesn’t add up.

He spends the rest of the flight pondering silently, almost paralysed. Dennis is a light sleeper and for the life of him, he doesn’t want to make him realise that he was pretending to sleep. Mac can’t think of anything more embarrassing than that, not when Dennis already believes he’s superior to Mac on every level.

But for the remaining five hours, he can’t come up with a single explanation for the reason he’s acting like he’s a girl with her first crush. Not an explanation that doesn’t feel forbidden, against the rules, not allowed. Mac has been there before and it nearly ruined him. He can’t go back to that . And besides, while it felt nice, it hadn’t felt quite like this does – this burning sensation inside of him at all times, threatening to set him aflame at any moment if he’s not careful enough. The feeling that he’s treading a tightrope that he’s predetermined to fall from, but that the fall isn’t as deadly as he fears. The feeling that it should be obvious what he’s feeling, but that it doesn’t seem like the perfect fit. 

Or that he’s scared of how well it already fits.

All of this, over throwing some peanuts at his friend. Mac truly is pathetic. He sighs, shifts in his seat, and waits impatiently for the plane to land.

Day one in London

Charlie has noticed two things.

First, London isn’t at all what he expected.

Second, his new camera is great .

Frank had given it to him the evening before the flight in a surprisingly tender exchange – “make some memories, Charlie,” he’d said, voice full of emotion – and so far, he’s taken pictures of everything he wants to remember.

Which, to the rest of the gang’s dismay, seems to be just about everything. New road sign? “I gotta take a picture,” Charlie gushes, before taking a photo of each and every one. And a photo of every pigeon he sees. And every building. And constant photos of the gang looking more and more pissed at him.

“Charlie, I’m losing my patience, stop taking damn pictures of us!” Dee screeches at him. When she hears another snap, the lens pointed at her, she lets out an incoherent squawk of annoyance before stalking off. Charlie’s not exactly sure why she’s still with them, but she insists they’re nearly at the set, and that they may as well walk with her from the hotel because it’s near all the tourist attractions. For once, the guys seem to have a semblance of faith that she’s actually telling them the truth.

And, sure enough, a few minutes later Dee points at a grey building. “Well, this is it,” she says. “This is the set!” It’s the happiest any of them have seen her in a long time, even if none of them will ever admit it to her. She looks at peace, even if it’s obvious she’s nervous.

“How do you know it’s the right building?” Charlie asks incredulously. “All the buildings here look the same. They’re, like, all grey, Dee.”

“Because it has a piece of paper that says ‘film set’ on it, you dick,” Dee snaps in reply. “And because Citymapper says so, too.”

Dennis and Mac collectively roll their eyes at her. 

“Anyway,” she continues, embarrassed, “all the tourist shit is that way.” She points across the road at a gigantic building, before shrugging and opening the door to the set behind her. By the time the guys turn back to her, she’s gone.

“God, finally,” Dennis pipes up. “What first? The big building?”

Mac smiles serenely, his research into the city getting to be put to good use. “That’s the British Museum,” he says smugly. “It’s really big. Loads of shit from a long time ago.”

“That’s the idea of a museum, Mac,” Dennis replies, partly pissed off, partly amused. “But let’s start there.”

They turn to Charlie, who’s rooting around in his backpack. He pulls out a map and begins to unfold it until he struggles to hold it, then places it carefully on the ground.

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing?” Mac says, stepping out of the way to let people pass him.

“Stepping into the map,” Charlie states simply. And sure enough, he steps onto the map, staring down at it intensely and nodding. “’Kay, got it,” he says a few moments later. He steps back off, folds it up, and stuffs it back into his backpack. Mac and Dennis stare at him blankly, completely bewildered, waiting for him to say something. Charlie blinks back at them for a second or two before he points towards the museum. “It’s that way.”

“Oh my god,” Dennis complains, “no shit, Charlie. Stop embarrassing us, let’s go.”

They, of course, nearly get kicked out of the museum.

Charlie is now the proud owner of both a camera, which he uses to illegally take pictures of the exhibits, and a huge, ridiculous foam top hat, patterned with the Union Jack. When a security guard tells him to take it off in a hilariously posh accent, Charlie simply grins, tips his hat at him, and walks away into another room.

Meanwhile, Mac absolutely insists on talking at full volume about everything he sees. When Dennis quietly laughs about the stupid staff forgetting to charge them for entry, Mac almost shouts that it’s free. His eyes almost bulge out of his head when he hisses at Mac to shut up. Every piece of art that Mac thinks is “totally badass, dude!” means that he has to yell that across the gallery to Dennis. Well, at him, more like. Dennis is just pretending not to know him.

While on the Tube to wherever Mac’s taking them next, Charlie very nearly gets slapped by someone for trying to take a photo of them. Dennis watches, still in the act of pretending he’s not with them, while Mac intervenes, explaining to the woman that they’re tourists and he wants to take pictures of everything. She looks furious and gets off at the next stop, but at least Charlie doesn’t have a handprint on the side of his face. At that, Charlie vows to stick closer to them and not take so many pictures. And it finally feels like it’s going back to normal.

Once they’re finally off the Tube, Mac takes them through two more museums, smugly explaining everything to the pair of them like he works there. Dennis knows it’s almost entirely for Charlie’s benefit, but Mac keeps giving him this soft, hopeful smile that does something to his stomach. It’s just because Mac is being uncharacteristically sweet to Charlie. He’s surprised. That’s all.

The front lobby of the Natural History Museum houses a gigantic skeleton of a blue whale. Charlie is in awe, standing stock still and staring up at it with glazed over eyes. 

“That’s Dippy,” Mac says quietly to Charlie. He breathes out in amazement, unable to tear his eyes away. Mac grins, satisfied that his planning has worked out so well, then suddenly turns to Dennis. “Cool, right?”

Dennis starts. “Uh – yeah,” he says quickly, his face lighting up in a soft pink blush. He’s not too sure why. “Yeah, dude, it’s, uh – it’s pretty awesome.”

They share a smile for a long moment. It feels, strangely, like a scene out of those god-awful rom-coms that Dee used to force him to suffer through when they were young; the voices of everyone around them fade into the background, and all Dennis is actually able to see clearly is Mac, smile fading from a delighted grin to a softer one, eyes twinkling with happiness even in the muted colours of the museum’s lobby. They stay like this for a few moments longer, Dennis feeling like he’s entered into a trance. But inevitably, Mac breaks it by clearing his throat.

“Should we look around a bit more?” he says, so quiet that Dennis isn’t sure he’d actually said anything at all. But he nods, finding it hard to vocalise any agreement. 

Charlie sounds like he’s barely paying them any mind when he asks, “do you mind if I stay here with Dippy? He’s really cool.”

“Sure, dude. See you later,” Mac says casually, gesturing for Dennis to follow him. Internally, Dennis breathes a sigh of relief, knowing that Charlie hadn’t seen his and Mac’s weird moment. Even thinking about it makes his heart clench in a weird, uncomfortable way.

Dennis doesn’t remember much of the museum and, by the time they’re back in the front lobby over an hour later, it feels like both only a few minutes and several hours have passed at once. It’s all showing him a new side of Mac, one he never thought he would see, or even existed. One where Mac is knowledgeable and delights in telling Dennis interesting things about the museum’s exhibits. One where, when they take the elevator up to a section about space, he notices for the first time how nicely the light hits Mac’s face, framing his features and making them softer. It might bounce jarringly off of his hair gel, but when Mac is like this he hardly notices. A world where Mac is telling him about the history of the giant sequoia, frowns, and trails off.

“Everything okay? You look kinda sick,” he asks softly, face scrunching into one of concern. Truth be told, Dennis does feel a bit feverish, and he’s been fighting off a blush the entire time they’ve been slowly walking around the museum.

“I’m fine,” Dennis croaks out unconvincingly in response. “Just surprised about how much you know, is all.”

Mac looks a tad sheepish. “Well, yeah. I’ve been brushing up on my knowledge –“

Suddenly, they’re interrupted. “Is everything okay?”

A curator stands next to them, smiling widely as she bounces on the balls of her feet.

“Oh, yeah,” answers Mac quickly, returning her smile. “Just telling him about the history of the tree.” He nods in Dennis’ direction as he speaks, and Dennis can’t bring himself to enter the conversation other than to mutter something about it being “really interesting”.

“Well, we normally volunteer to help tourists when it’s not very busy so they can find what they’re looking for,” the woman says, “but you two seem to be okay.” She pauses for a moment, glancing between the two of them before turning to Dennis. “Hold on to him, he’s pretty smart.”

Dennis’ mouth falls open in shock. His heart plummets, stomach flipping and making him feel sick. He can’t lie to himself: this is far from the first time they’ve been mistaken as a couple. Hell, they’ve actually pretended to be a couple on multiple occasions while taking part in schemes, usually on the demand of Frank. But this time, it’s floored him. They’re doing nothing weird, or out of the ordinary, they’re just two tourists in a museum in a different continent. It could be a thing here in London, this could be a common date activity or something, but Dennis severely doubts it.

Before he can spiral any more, Mac interrupts him to move on entirely. “So about this tree…”

Dennis can’t concentrate. He stands there idly, mouth still slightly open, staring between Mac and the curator. If this was a normal situation, he would be trying to flirt with her, get her into bed. Prove that actually, he’s not gay, it’s just his roommate’s overpowering gayness that makes him look gay sometimes too. 

But this is not a normal situation, and Dennis is in despair. If people assume so often that Dennis is in a happy, long-lasting relationship, then how come it hasn’t happened? How come his mother told him that he’d have a wife and a home by thirty? What’s gone so wrong that none of that has happened, and that when he looks in the mirror, all he can see is a slowly wrinkling, aging face, with no one to love it but his obsessive roommate?

“Dennis.”

What makes him so fundamentally unlovable? He knows he hasn’t done anything desirable to seek it out, but there must be something.

“Dennis.”

Maybe it’s his personality – he knows there isn’t much of one left, but the fragments that remain are just that: broken. Or maybe it’s Ms. … oh, let’s not go there today.

There are hands on his shoulders. Dennis jumps, and snaps suddenly back into reality so fast it takes his breath away.

“Dennis. Are you okay?”

He nods numbly, unable to meet Mac’s eyes.

“C’mon, let’s go meet Charlie,” Mac says to him gently.

He nods again, trying to find the right words to reply with. But instead, he mumbles dejectedly, “I’m never getting married, am I?”

And that, well, that stops Mac right in his tracks. He looks shell-shocked, and Dennis can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows nervously. “What?” he replies hollowly.

“I’m never gonna get married,” Dennis repeats. This time the emotion has almost entirely left his voice, but it cracks slightly on the very last word.

To his surprise, Mac bursts out laughing, looking at Dennis like he’s deluded. “Oh, please,” he wheezes out. “Of course you are. Who wouldn’t want you?”

The breath is knocked from Dennis’ body like he’s been hit with a truck. Maybe more like the giant sequoia has decided to fall off the wall and land on him, killing him instantly. He can’t breathe. Mac’s face morphs into an expression of barely contained panic as he goes bright red. “I mean –“

“Leave it,” Dennis chokes out. “Let’s go.”

And so they go to find Charlie, telepathically promising each other to never bring the moment up again.

Several hours later, the three of them argue about who has to share a room. It lasts the entire journey home and gets them all a truly impressive amount of glares from commuters on the tube. Lesson learned: the tube is as busy during rush hour as people tell you. And people will glare at you if you talk at all, let alone argue.

Dennis has kept quiet for most of the afternoon, even when Mac and Charlie were arguing about where to eat in a food market somewhere south of the river Thames, and he chooses to remain silent during this argument, too. Well, except to pipe in occasionally and make it very clear that he will not be sharing a room with Charlie, let alone a bed. (That’s Charlie’s suggestion, “just in case it’s because you think you’ll have nightmares, dude,” he’d said wholeheartedly. Dennis had shuddered in distaste. 

“Well, I’m not sharing with Charlie either,” Mac says firmly. “I’m not sleeping in a room that smells of piss. I’m not doing that to myself.” When Charlie starts to protest, he sighs. “Dude, no. Not happening.”

“You two can share a room then, if you’re gonna be like that,” Charlie sulks. Mac and Dennis share a quick, panic-filled glance. Really, the last thing either of them need after the tension that’s haunted them for this entire trip. 

But it’s not like either of them have a choice. It’s either signing up for tension or signing up to be pissed on by Charlie.

“I guess we live together…” Mac says quietly.

“It’s only for a few nights,” Dennis reasons, trailing off.

“Exactly,” quips Charlie happily. “Besides, I don’t really wanna room with either of you, you’re both really annoying to share a room with.”

“Thanks a lot, Charlie,” Mac says sarcastically.

“No problem!”

The best thing about London so far, for Dennis, is that the hotel’s bar is relatively cheap.

He’s on what he thinks is his ninth drink, and he’s drunk. He’s sat idly at the bar, glass of whisky firmly in his grasp, watching it swig around. The numbness from earlier in the day has begun to fade, but it’s still present, lurking like it’s a pile of sludge wrapped around his heart and squeezing it tight every time he even thinks of Mac.

“Who wouldn’t want you?”

It’s been echoing through his head since the words wrestled their way out of Mac’s mouth. He might have regretted saying it – but as Dennis’ brain likes to remind him, he still said it .

And it’s true. He did. But there’s nothing he can do about it.

Who wouldn’t want you?

“Hey man, what’s up?”

Mac’s voice makes him jump, nearly spilling his drink. He places it on the bar and turns to face him.

“Hey,” he says slowly. “Want a drink?”

Mac shakes his head, taking a seat next to him. “Nah,” he says. “Charlie got some beer from the store a little while ago, I’m already a little buzzed.”

Dennis shrugs before Mac continues. “Should’ve known I’d find you here.”

Dennis punches him lightly in the arm. “What do you mean by that?”

“We’re all alcoholics, dude,” he chuckles. “Dee’s gonna be here soon, she texted me a minute ago. Wanna come watch a movie in the room?”

He knows Mac has forced himself to not call it our room.

“Yeah, sure.” Dennis downs the last of his drink, making a face as he does so – cheap whisky isn’t exactly to his taste, not after he’s stolen the good stuff from Paddy’s for years – and gets up from his seat. They walk back to their room in a comfortable silence, Mac leading the way. His face is guarded as he glances back at Dennis a few times, holding the door open for him when they finally reach their shared room.

As the door clicks shut behind Dennis, Mac’s expression changes completely: first into a smile, then into a worried expression as he looks at Dennis fully. “What’s going on, Den?” he asks softly.

Dennis sighs. “Nothing, Mac.” Mac’s response is to raise an eyebrow at him and step closer. “I promise nothing is up, I’m just…” it takes him a split second to come up with the perfect excuse. “I’m just jetlagged, is all.”

“Sure?” Another step closer.

“Yeah, I’m sure. But the day out was fun,” Dennis says hesitantly. “Charlie loved it. And I didn’t know you knew so much about history. I’m impressed.”

“I’ve been looking forward to the trip,” shrugs Mac. “Wanted to make sure you and Charlie had a good time here.”

“Oh.” Dennis is taken aback, but it makes his heart feel all weird and warm. It’s nice to be appreciated. “Well. Thank you.”

“No problem,” Mac replies, smiling. He steps closer still, close enough that Dennis has to very slightly crane his neck to look up at him. They’re drifting closer. Closer. Closer.

But Mac pulls away slightly. “Wait, how drunk are you?”

“Drunk enough that I know I want to do what I think is about to happen.”

A frown appears on Mac’s face as he goes to step away. But Dennis feels bold enough to grab his toned arms. “But,” he murmurs, “not so drunk that you should feel guilty for taking advantage.”

Dennis is almost certain that Mac has stopped breathing entirely. He’s fallen back into a trance, the only sound he can hear being his own heartbeat. They’re so close. His hand slowly winds around the back of Mac’s neck, the tips of his fingers being tickled by his hair.

And then, almost out of nowhere, their lips meet and they’re kissing. Dennis feels like he’s been set on fire. It’s not exactly the rom-com moment either of them could expect, though Mac is a damn good kisser: the nerves that have come out of nowhere make him shake, skin tingling wherever Mac gently places his hands. 

Who wouldn’t want you?

And then…

Well. It’s pretty obvious what happens next.

Dennis is awoken the next morning with a quiet grunt, vaguely sounding like a morning greeting, coming from above him. He wants so desperately to fall back asleep, because the bed is so damn comfy. It rivals even his bed back home, which was chosen through an experience so irritating that he’d nearly pulled his hair out. He wonders if he can steal this mattress and somehow sneak it onto the plane. It definitely won’t work but the thought of the attempt tires him out enough for him to be able to slowly begin to drift off to sleep again. 

It takes an embarrassing amount of time for Dennis to realise he has a pair of warm, muscly arms slung around him. As Mac shifts in the bed next to him, his arms tighten, until he’s practically holding Dennis in an embrace. Dennis’ breath hitches until he can hardly remember how to breathe at all, and he can feel all the blood rush straight into his face. He can feel his heart hammering inside his chest, like it’s begging him to cut it out entirely. His body tenses up, out of – fear? He’s not too sure.

And then – and then – Mac leans down slowly, and presses the softest kiss to the shell of his ear. Dennis thinks he’s literally going to combust right then and there. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, doesn’t even breathe.

Somehow, the sex last night hadn’t really freaked Dennis out at all. Maybe it’s because he’d done it with so many people before. Even though the number was indeterminable by now, they were almost entirely women. There had been a few men, because of course there had, he’d gotten curious when he was in college and a bit – okay, a while – after that too, but he by and large considered himself to be a straight man. Largely because that’s what he is. Or that’s what he’s always thought.

The second their lips had met for the first time last night, Dennis had resolved to himself that this was an outlier. Him and Mac fucking was considered, by himself, Mac, and the rest of the gang, to be inevitable. It’d been that way for decades now. But even the twenty-year build up, with Dennis telling himself that when it happened, it would be a one-time thing that meant nothing, couldn’t have prepared him for all the emotions going haywire inside of him.

He’d been able to deal with all of it up until now, but being held and kissed on the ear is what’s making Dennis have an internal breakdown. Go figure.

“I know you’re awake, Dennis, I can hear you thinking from here,” Mac mumbles into his ear, voice still rough with sleep. His hand absentmindedly strokes Dennis’ bicep, slowly encouraging him to try and find his voice.

“Sorry,” Dennis whispers, the word barely audible. The apology feels foreign in his mouth. “G’morning, Mac.”

“Sleep well last night?”

“Uh-huh. Th’bed’s comfy.”

Mac hums in reply, too busy pressing gentle kisses down his neck until he reaches Dennis’ shoulders. Dennis’ heart rate manages, somehow, to increase even more. He can’t remember the last time he felt like this. Not with any one night stand, even with the men, definitely not Maureen Ponderosa. It’s strange, and new, and slightly uncomfortable, but Dennis isn’t sure he actively hates it.

All of this – all of the affection, the soft, gentle touches like Mac’s afraid he’ll break him – was the reason that Dennis hadn’t allowed anything to happen before now. There have been more occasions than he likes to recall where they’ve been agonisingly close. One time when they were alone in their apartment, drunk after closing the bar, Mac’s hand had been dangerously close to his ass, faces so close their noses had touched. But Dee, bad timing as always, had burst into their apartment with no warning, to squawk at them about something utterly fucking unimportant.

Speaking of which. He knows those heavy footsteps anywhere.

“Oh, dude, I don’t know, it’s a bit early for a – oh. Dee. What the fuck do you want?”

Dennis forces himself to keep deadly still. He prays that Dee’s freaky twin instincts don’t kick in. He could really do without her knowing what had happened last night. 

“Who were you talking to?” Dee asks accusingly.

“Myself,” Mac replies quickly. Dennis rolls his eyes silently. “I, uh, I talk to myself when no one’s around. You know, when I’m alone.”

Oh god. Dee’s gonna find him if Mac keeps floundering like this.

“Right. Okay.” She really doesn’t sound convinced. “Where’s Dennis? Have you seen him today?”

“Dennis? I’m not seeing Dennis! Why would I care where Dennis is?”

“God damn, I was just asking! Have you not seen him?”

“He…” Mac trails off. God, Dennis can practically feel the cogs in his brain turning slowly, trying to think of a good answer. “He went for a walk,” he finishes dumbly.

“He went for a walk,” Dee repeats sceptically. The room is silent, and Dennis is able to sense the awkwardness between Mac and Dee. The seconds tick on slowly, until he’s not sure if Dee has left the room without making any noise somehow. That would be a first.

“Okay,” Dee says finally. “Just – if you see him, tell him to come find me? I’m not sure if this film is 100% legit, and I wanted some advice.”

Mac laughs derisively at her. “You want advice from Dennis? Good luck, bird.”

“Oh, god damn it – just tell him, okay?” Dee sighs, and Dennis hears her clomp out of the room, slamming the door way too hard on her way out.

Dennis waits a few more seconds before he emerges from under the covers, twisting himself ungracefully so he can face Mac. The second they make eye contact Dennis’ nerves amp themselves straight back up to full intensity. He’s told himself for decades that him and Mac would only ever work as a one night stand. They work well as roommates, but that’s about it, really – but now, after last night and the way he’s felt all morning, something tugs at him. The inevitable discussion they’re about to have, where Mac says he’s not looking for a relationship with him, but it was fun, but let’s just stay friends, already hurts. Dennis isn’t sure any more about the one thing that’s been a constant since he left college.

“Do you think she knew I was here?” Dennis asks.

“Nah.”

Mac leans forward to press a kiss to his forehead, and all Dennis can think of how patronising it is to do that when you’re about to say that it was only a one-time thing. But then Mac gently rests a hand on Dennis’ cheek and pulls him into a kiss. It feels like he’s been charged with electricity, and he’s so surprised that he can barely pull himself together enough to kiss him back. Mac can feel his hesitation, the fear that’s bubbling inside him, and pulls away enough that they can lock eyes again. “Is this okay, Den?” he asks softly, anxiety clear as day in his own voice. 

“Yeah,” Dennis breathes. “Just wasn’t expecting it, is all.”

If this was a rom-com, Mac would take that as an opportunity to swoop back in and kiss him some more. But it isn’t a rom-com, not in the slightest. “So, can I kiss you, or – “

“Oh, god damn it, Mac,” Dennis replies irritably. He takes a moment to move his arm so it sits behind Mac’s neck, playing with the baby hairs he finds there. They’re surprisingly soft. “Just kiss me, you don’t need to ask.”

Mac isn’t really the spontaneous type, so he shoots Dennis a quick, still-nervous smile before leaning back in. Dennis lets himself pretend he’s not going to be disappointed by the end of the trip.

They lock the door and don’t leave their room for the rest of the day. Or until the evening, at least, when Mac starts complaining that he’s getting kind of hungry.

“Well, what do you fancy?” Dennis asks him, voice muffled slightly from where he’s resting his head on Mac’s chest. 

“I’m feeling wings.” Mac runs a hand slowly through Dennis’ hair, trying to neaten it up a bit. Dennis tries to stifle a soft smile at the sensation.

“Think you can get them on room service?”

“Dunno. I’ll look. Budge.” Dennis finds his head being pushed away so Mac can stretch across the bed and grab the room service menu. Dennis huffs, shifting to a more comfortable position.

“Nah, it’s only nasty sounding British food. The Brien O’Bryan thing put me off fish and chips, and everything else looks gross.”

“We could go out and get food?” Dennis suggests, half-heartedly. He can’t really be bothered to move right now.

“Yeah, I guess. I think I saw a diner near here, you wanna sneak out?”

Dennis feels like a damn teenager again, and it’s almost freeing. He doesn’t like the idea of getting caught but if it makes Mac happy and stops his stomach from growling so loudly, it’s worth it for Dennis. The more distractions he has, the easier it might be to forget that this is probably the only chance he has left with Mac. “Fuck it. Why not?”

And so, after a surprisingly easy escape from the hotel, Mac and Dennis find themselves sitting across from each other in a badly lit booth. The décor gives Dennis a headache, all the fake American shit everywhere. It’s tacky. Who the fuck buys fake license plates and decorates with them? Especially when the lumpy, peeling red seats so clearly need to be replaced. 

“This is so cool, right?” Mac beams at him. Dennis feels his face soften into a blush. Mac’s not behaving weirdly, not at all, but the attention he’s getting feels different. Dennis has managed, for years , to get that slightly crooked grin out of Mac, but it’s either been for the wrong reasons or as a result of being manipulated and being too stupid to realise. The fact that Mac’s smiling at him like he’s hung the stars, for no reason other than he gets to spend time with Dennis, feels almost wrong. But if this is going to end tonight – or, at the very latest, before they get to the airport in a couple days to go home – he may as well enjoy it.

“It’s kinda tacky,” Dennis begins, frowning slightly when he sees Mac’s face start to fall. “But I saw some food go past as we walked in, and it looked nice.”

Mac’s smile is back, full force. “Oh, great,” he says enthusiastically. “Should we order now then, b – bro?”

Dennis’ heart stops. Mac was going to call him babe . He was going to call him babe , but he pussied out. The thought makes his stomach twist around uncomfortably. What stopped him, and made him say bro instead? Maybe he shouldn’t get himself worked up. It probably didn’t mean anything.

“Sure,” Dennis manages to get out. He feels, strangely, like crying. “Just get me whatever you’re having.”

Mac nods, flashing a grin at him before sliding out of the booth and heading to the counter. Dennis can’t tear his eyes away from him. If Mac was a chick, he’d be staring straight at his ass, but he can’t even bring himself to do that. He knows they don’t have much time left until they have to go back to Philly, a place where they both have to at least try to pretend they don’t want this. It feels weird to be lewd in public, especially when the entire situation is so fragile.

Instead, Dennis opts to shift his eyes to the counter, where Mac’s arms were resting as he jokes with the waiter. Dennis isn’t particularly a fan of the chiselled, muscly look per se, because it just reminds him that he doesn’t feel masculine enough in comparison. But on Mac, it just works – it suits him so well that it’s hard to remember how he looked when they first moved in together. The soft, twink look had worked on him too, but Dennis always felt like he needed to pity him. He was clearly too terrified to go to the gym, in case someone had clocked him for letting his gaze linger on the other men for a second too long to be innocent. Hell, even when Mac was fat, he didn’t look ugly, despite all of Dennis’ protests to the contrary. 

But none of it compares to how comfortable Mac looks in himself now. He holds himself more confidently than he used to, even if he’s still a whiny little bitch, and his features aren’t as sunken as they used to be. Not out of a bad diet, but out of the fear that had haunted him for forty years. Now he’d let all of that go, even Dennis had a hard time disagreeing with the notion that he was attractive. He feels like he’s barely been able to hide it since he got back from North Dakota. Really, all that’s helped him conceal it is that Mac is painfully obvious with his feelings. Any teenage girl-like emotions are easily hidden when someone like Mac is near. 

He gets so caught up in his own head that he doesn’t even notice Mac’s return to the booth. He proudly sets an obscenely huge milkshake on the table, poking a second straw precariously through the whipped cream. Smiling at Dennis, he asks, “chocolate’s your favourite, right?”

Dennis nods numbly. He’s flatlined entirely. It’s not the food – the milkshake looks okay, and Mac is right, chocolate is his favourite – but the whole setting is intense. What if the waiter comes over and assumes they’re on a date? What if this is Mac’s way of saying he does want to start a relationship with him? Or worse, what if it’s his way of asking if they can just be friends?

Dee’s words, forever ago now, echo in his head.

“You guys are two co-dependent losers who are so wrapped up in each other that it’s hard for you to see how pathetic your lives are.”

Dennis can’t do this. It’s too much. He’s not even gay, and here he is, on what isn’t a date but definitely fucking looks like one, with his roommate of twenty years. He can’t seem to breathe, all of a sudden.

Shakily, he stands up from the lumpy seat, his hand nearly slipping with how clammy it is. Mac can’t do anything but frown as Dennis turns, emotionless, and walks quickly from the diner. The door rings merrily as he yanks it open, and he glares at it before starting to run, not even waiting for it to shut.

Once he’s a few blocks away, he slows his pace to a jog, his breath ragged. He’s so weak, so terrified, that his throat hurts from trying to drag in some fresh air. He can barely focus with all the ringing in his ears, but Dennis manages to find his way back to the hotel. Somewhere along the way he’d started crying but he’s not sure why. All he knows is, when he collapses on the bed in their room, Mac just wanted a nice evening with him, and he ruined the entire thing.  

He’s been ruining it all for years. Mac’s probably not even surprised. If anything, storming from a restaurant at the first hint of emotion is pretty consistent behaviour. But that’s what hurts the most: the fact that Mac still seems to want him. Dennis would never let himself fall for someone as volatile as he is: any relationship he’s ever been in has either been over before it could really start or borderline abusive. Mac’s been there for all of those failed relationships, has picked up the pieces (sometimes literally) for him, has even comforted quite a few of his one night stands when they realised Dennis lied to them. All of that, all of the times he’s run away from what he wants, and Mac has still stood there by his side.

Dennis figures that maybe that thought should comfort him. But in truth, it makes him feel like his lungs have been set on fire. He’s barely taken a relaxed breath all day and he’s clearly not about to start now. And right on cue, he feels his phone buzz gently in his pocket. As he checks his texts, a wave of nausea hits him. How could he be so awful to Mac and still manage to be worried about? It doesn’t sit quite right in his chest.

Hey den, r u ok? U looked sick

8:34pm

Den? Where r u?

8:37pm

Dennis??

8:41pm

Omw back 2 hotel room. Bringing food w me. Pls check in

8:46pm

Fuck. Okay. That’s one way to make him panic. He types out a reply as quickly as he can, hands shaking.

In the hotel room. I’m fine. My phone didn’t buzz.

8:47pm

Sorry Mac

8:48pm

He throws his phone onto the bed, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. His head is racing a mile a minute, trying desperately to think of what he’s going to say to Mac when he arrives. Saying sorry over a text doesn’t really feel like enough. It’s certainly not enough to convince Mac to not end whatever they have going on.

All he can really do is try to even out his breathing so he doesn’t throw up. He sits there for a few minutes longer, staring blankly up at the ceiling and shakily breathing in and out. Once he hears the door creak open, he forces himself up until he’s cross-legged, struggling to meet Mac’s eyes.

“Hi,” Mac says softly, still standing in the doorframe.

“Hey,” Dennis croaks out in reply, glancing at him before fixing his focus onto the floor.

“Sorry I took so long. Thought I’d wait until the food arrived so I could bring it back.”

“It’s fine.”

“So,” Mac starts cautiously. This is it, Dennis thinks. It’s all over. “What was wrong in the restaurant?”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Was it the milkshake? I didn’t think about all the milk in it, but I thought you might like it regardless.”

“Kind of.”

“Was there too much of it? I know you’re weird with food –“

“No.”

“Oh,” Mac says. “So what was it?”

Dennis shrugs. He can’t really put it into words. “Dunno.”

They’re both quiet for a little while, the only sound in the room Mac’s footsteps as he kicks his shoes off and sits next to Dennis on the bed.

“It just felt like a – a – “ he can’t bring himself to say the word date out loud. He thinks he’ll explode. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you think it was?”

“Kind of. But I dunno if it was.”

“If you wanted it to be,” Mac says gently. “But if that’s your idea of one, I’ll have to show you a real one when we’re back in Philly.”

Oh. Oh . 

“Oh,” Dennis says, struck dumb. 

“It’s fine if that’s not what you want,” Mac says quickly, holding his hands up. He frowns. “There’s no pressure. I get it.”

“No, you don’t,” comes Dennis’ automatic reply.

“Actually, Den, yeah, I do. I know exactly how all of this feels. It feels like you’re not allowed to do things like that, like they’re forbidden in a way fucking someone isn’t, and if you actually want to go out with someone, you don’t feel like you deserve it. I lived with that for years , Dennis. And every time I tried to accept it all, I just pushed myself further in, because it felt weird but not in a bad way. I can sense all that in you. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong,” Dennis replies flatly.

“Now say it like you mean it.”

Dennis opens his mouth and tries to repeat himself, but he can’t. It’s impossible. 

Mac’s voice softens from the harsh tone he’d begun to take. “Look, it’s hard. Sometimes it takes years. But that doesn’t mean anything’s wrong with you. I mean, you might not be gay, but if you are, you can take all the time you need to get to a point where you can say that. It gets easier if you learn to deal with it more better.”

“What, like doing a rain dance in a prison?” Dennis replies. If he was less terrified, there might’ve been some malice in his tone. He thinks he sounds more desperate, clutching at straws to defend himself from what he deep down knows is the earth-shattering truth. Mac doesn’t pick up on it.

“Sure, that helped me,” Mac shrugs. “But I mean more – accepting that you can change as a person. Especially that you’ve changed since you were in college.”

“Well, I’m – I’m not gay,” Dennis says hesitantly. “But I thought this – “ he gestures between himself and Mac – “was just gonna be a one-time thing. So I’m confused.”

“If that’s what you want,” Mac replies. He looks a little deflated.

“I don’t know what I want. All of this is new.”

“That’s fine.”

“I need some time to adjust to all this – new stuff.”

“Okay.”

“It – hurts, I think. I don’t know how it feels. But it doesn’t feel bad. I just don’t understand how I’m meant to feel.”

“I know. It’s hard. But I promise it’s all worth it when you figure it all out.”

“Promise?”

Mac smiles at him reassuringly before holding his hand out. Dennis takes it hesitantly, and Mac gives his hand a soft squeeze. “Promise.”

“So – wings?” Dennis asks.

Mac’s smile breaks into a grin. “Fuck yeah.”

Dee is so pissed off.

She should’ve seen it coming, but she’s so goddamn pissed off.

It all seemed too good to be true. She’d seen an ad for a rom-com pasted outside the Wawa, taken a picture of the flyer, and decided to audition. Went round to Mac’s apartment, stole his camcorder and tapes, and ran before she could be caught by their neighbours. Spent hours deciding what monologue to film, before deciding, lazy, on the one from Macbeth she’d memorised in senior year. She hated Shakespeare, but that monologue stayed with her. She set the camera up, doing a few takes of her cursing and screaming about a damned spot until her neighbour banged on her walls. Turned her apartment upside down to find an envelope and sent the tape off with a copy of her resumé. 

Within a few days, a guy – Walter? Andy? – sent her an email with details about the filming. Her heart had sunk to the bottom of her heart when she saw mentions of planes and travel and London . Even if she begged Frank to give her a raise, there was no way she could afford all that. And for her first serious acting role, she wanted to do it on her fucking own. Regardless of how much fun it always was to steal Frank’s credit card. They were paying her, really fucking well, but she knew how the industry worked. She wouldn’t get that money until it had been released. Dee’s finger hovered over the reply button on her phone, about to break the news that she just couldn’t afford it, when she saw the three simple words that changed her life.

All expenses paid.

Holy shit. It had felt way too good to be true.

Looking back on it now, Dee realises she really should’ve just trusted her gut. If it’s too good to be true, it almost definitely is. It’s the only thing Dee’s mother ever taught her: well, that, and that she was ugly and would never find success in life. Those two cardinal truths had dominated Dee’s life, and it’s turned her into a spiteful, angry, hateful woman. She despises it almost as much as she despises her mother. She just hopes the witch is burning somewhere below the Earth’s surface, just like she deserves.

But anyway. Dee had had a sinking feeling in her heart the second she boarded the plane, but she was damn good at hiding it. It’s so much easier to feign vain obliviousness than it is to be honest with your emotions, after all. Dennis had shot her a few weird looks on the flight, but she either ignored him or flipped him off. 

She’d barely slept the night before filming had started, jet lag and nerves ripping her insides apart. Staring at the ceiling at probably 4 in the morning, Dee felt chaotically, categorically terrified, but an immense sense of calm washed over her at the same time. If her gut feeling was true, then it was true. But if she fucked it up? If she came all this way to fuck it up, she wasn’t sure she could live with herself. The kiss was the only thing the truly had forgotten, but when she remembered it, alone in the dark, she had no clue how she felt, or how she was supposed to feel. It was just acting, but there was so much riding on it. 

Sure, she’d accidentally – accidentally – kissed a woman before, which she didn’t even count as a kiss, but that’s a story for another time. She secretly knew why she felt so… strange, she guessed, about kissing a woman, but it wasn’t like it mattered. She wasn’t a lesbian, she was pretty sure, and regardless, the gang doesn’t have room for more than one gay person. Mac was insufferable enough, and she had a sneaking suspicion that Dennis wasn’t as heterosexual as he liked to constantly boast about. 

She supposed it didn’t matter. But she knew, internally, of course, that a lot was riding on this kiss for her, too.

The next morning, when Dee said an abrupt goodbye to the guys to start filming, her conscience was screaming at her. It was going to give her a headache if it didn’t shut the fuck up , but it didn’t matter. She felt like she’d just walked into her own death, but it was time to be a professional.

That day, they’d filmed some small scenes. They weren’t very intense and, while Dee was thankful to start with easy sections, it didn’t help her take her mind off of everything she was thinking. The guy who she’d sent the tape to – Mike? Jonathon? She didn’t care enough about him to get his name – was the director, which did nothing to calm her down. He had one of those personalities that just made people uneasy. Unfortunate, really, that his job was to make the actors comfortable. But Dee had powered through, and ignored the fact that when the director told her and Erin that the kiss scene was tomorrow morning, he definitely had a boner. 

Dee and Erin got on surprisingly well, but Erin’s personality had started to shine through. Dee was… not exactly the hugest fan, but Erin had instantly got her respect.

“So,” Erin says while they’re standing in a small changing room, “how do you feel about the big scene tomorrow?”

Dee sighs shakily. “Not great. I’ve never done anything like this before. It’s actually my first professional job.”

“I’ll bet,” Erin replies, a crooked grin on her face. “Are you at least comfortable with kissing yet? It’ll help when we’re filming everything else.”

Dee shrugs. “Dunno. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“We could practice?” Erin suggests, clearly trying to not sound mischievous. It's not working.

“What is this, high school?” Dee scoffs. “No. It’ll be fine. And if you stop flirting with me, it’ll be a lot easier.”

Erin simply pouts at her before turning away to change her shirt. Dee quickly tears her eyes away, face heating up, and changes out of her shirt – a dusky blue tank top, slightly too small for her, to match Erin’s light pink shirt. Wrestling her jumper back over her shoulders, she turns back around, only to find herself staring at Erin, standing there in only a barely-there bra, hair not frustratingly perfect for once.

“Uh, sorry,” Dee stammers, embarrassed, and grabs her bag off the bench for something to do. The room is much too warm all at once, and the smell of dust fills her nose. She’s rooted on the spot, wanting nothing more than to find the leg strength to run out of the room.

“Keep it in your pants, Dee,” Erin drawls. “Thought you didn’t want me to flirt with you.”

“I don’t!” Dee insists. “It’s been a long day. I’m not flirting with you.”

“I know. You’re not a lesbian, and everything.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay.”

Dee sighs. “Whatever, just… see you tomorrow.”

Erin snorts and turns away to find her shirt.

And with that, Dee finally manages to walk away. It hadn’t meant anything, she was tired. It meant nothing.

On her fifth rum and coke of the night, slouched over a table in the hotel’s bar, Dee admits to herself silently that it meant something. For fuck’s sake, she knew it meant something. If it was a man, she wouldn’t have necessarily hesitated to kiss him, but she would’ve ruined the filming by gagging and breaking character out of nerves. But with Erin… none of that was happening. She was nervous about kissing her, but it had felt entirely different than it ever had with any man. No gagging in sight – well, except when she saw a cockroach in a dark corner of the set – and her nerves were just plain different. Even thinking about the kiss, the only thing Dee was truly nervous about was impressing Erin. 

Dee isn’t stupid, even if everyone in her life insists she is. Even Charlie was adamant about it, and the guy’s illiterate, for fuck’s sake. And she doesn’t have a stick up her ass about not being straight like Mac had for years, but  she’s just… never really considered it. Her mom told her she was attracted to men, so she assumed it was true. She wasn’t always sure of her reasoning when she fucked someone, but she knew – or thought she knew, at least – that she didn’t look at men the way she did at women. 

Men were always something to have , to gain , to prove a point to whoever she needed to. It’s always been the perfect defence. If she gets called ugly, she can just find a dude to have sex with to prove she’s not. If someone thinks she’s going to die alone, she fucks some ugly guy to prove she has value – both to them and to herself. And the more she thought about it, the more she realised how much she sounded like Dennis. She’d just assumed it was normal, but if she can compare herself to her frankly psychotic twin brother, then it’s definitely fucking not.

So, in the bar, Dee had downed the rest of her fifth rum and coke, and resolved to herself to kiss Erin – not because she was being paid to do it for a film on camera, but because it might have finally confirmed what all the signs seemed to be pointing to.

But it turns out, it didn’t fucking matter.

She hasn’t been able to calm her nerves since the day before. Dennis is still, to all intents and purposes, missing from the face of the earth – but please don’t think that’s why Dee is nervous. She doesn’t give that much of a shit. He’ll turn up. But she’d wanted to talk to him yesterday morning. Dee is truly unsure about the filming: it feels off . There isn’t a huge camera crew like she expected, just a couple of guys and the director, her and Erin, in a poorly ventilated filming studio that looks like it’s been out of use since at least the early 2000s. They’d gone out and filmed a couple of scenes by tourist attractions, to be fair – some walking around the centre of the city that had ended in a staged argument right in front of Big Ben. Or what was meant to be Big Ben, at least. They’d moved to the London Eye when they saw the tower was covered in scaffolding. 

But it just felt weird. The whole thing did. Even as Dee stands in the centre of the studio, waiting for the director to yell “action!”, she feels like she’s missing a joke. The director looks thrilled that Dee and Erin are about to kiss on camera, and even Erin looks a bit apprehensive about his beam. 

Despite their collective apprehension, the kiss happens anyway. Of course it does. The second Dee set the plan in motion, back at the hotel’s bar, it was going to be completed. The kiss feels staged – probably because it is , Dee thinks to herself angrily, before forcing her brain to shut off – but Erin’s lips are so soft. Softer than she expects them to be. Dee melts into the kiss, and it’s better than any other kiss she’d had: the lips touching hers are soft and moisturised, kissing her with such care. She’s waiting for the inevitable moment that she has to pull away so she can suppress a gag, but it never comes. In fact, she doesn’t feel sick at all; she feels like she’s flying.

And then, suddenly, Erin’s hand comes up to softly cradle her cheek, and Dee has to turn her brain back on for a second to remind herself to not fall for this woman . With all her practice of kissing men, she’s meant to be good at this, but she feels almost embarrassed about her own lack of ability.

She’s brought back to land when Erin pulls away. Dee can barely catch her breath as she stares into Erin’s shockingly grey eyes. The moment stretches into an infinity, and Dee and Erin are the only two people in the room. ‘Was that okay?’ Dee tries to say with her eyes. Erin shoots her a tiny, almost imperceptible smile. ‘More than’, Dee thinks she replies. She’s mesmerised. And, more importantly, she’s right – maybe it’s the nerves, but if kissing a woman feels like that , then perhaps she isn’t straight after all.

She might keep that inside for a little longer, though. Test the waters. She can’t be sure.

“Excellent,” the director exclaims as he claps his hands together. Dee is very aware that he has a boner that hasn’t yet started to fade. “So, let’s get ready for the reason we’re all really here! Can we rearrange the set so we have a bed centred?”

Wait, what? “Wait, what?”

“We’re doing the rest of the film,” the director replies vaguely. Dee shoots a look at Erin, panicked.

“Did they not tell you?” Erin says. “This is an adult film.”

Half an hour later, Dee is still shouting.

“They didn’t think to fucking tell me?” she yells. Too furious to stay in the main set, Erin has taken Dee to the changing rooms so they have a bit more privacy. Dee, having plonked herself down onto a bench, rests her head in her hands.

“I’m sorry, Dee,” Erin says soothingly, “but I really thought they told you. I assumed that’s why you freaked out when you realised it was two women.”

Dee laughs humourlessly. “Nope. I was just that freaked out over a kiss.”

Erin grimaces, but it only takes her a second to realise what Dee’s implying.

“You’ve… never kissed a woman before, have you?” she asks, like she’s scared of the answer. Dee simply shakes her head in reply.

“I’m sorry,” Erin mutters. “I should’ve guessed.”

“Do I really come across as a lesbian so much that you didn’t know?” Dee says, voice starting to rise again despite her best efforts to control herself.

“No offence, but yeah,” Erin laughs. “But you don’t have to know what your sexuality is, because it’s hard. You have time to figure it all out if you want to. Just know that if I’d have known you hadn’t kissed a woman before, I would’ve made it a lot nicer.”

Despite herself, Dee laughs. More like cackles. Erin looks taken aback. “I’m sorry,” Dee says through her laughter. “I just can’t take you seriously with your accent. It’s like talking to the queen.”

Erin snorts, hitting her lightly on the arm. “My accent’s great. Don’t mock it.”

Dee holds her hands up in mock surrender, grinning. “Whatever you say, your majesty.” Erin just smiles back, clearly not bothered to be offended. And then they’re both leaning towards each other, slowly, like they have all the time in the world. They kiss softly, gently, slowly, until Dee has to pull apart so she can shift closer to Erin. She tentatively loops her arm around Erin’s neck, and Erin grins when Dee’s hand finds its way into her soft, brunette hair and stays there. Erin’s hands, around Dee’s waist, feel like they’re going to set her on fire: the feeling of being touched sends tingles all over her body. They stay like that for a while, with Dee feeling no urgency to take it any further although her every instinct tells her that’s what to do. She wants to cherish the feeling of being kissed. She doesn’t get to kiss anyone that often, especially not a woman. 

Eventually they pull away. Erin smiles at her, and all Dee can do is smile back, paralysed. If her heart trying to beat out of her chest is anything to go by, she’s pretty sure she’s not straight. 

“You good?” Erin asks her quietly.

“Yeah,” Dee replies, voice hoarse. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Even for Mac and Dennis, 11am is a little early to be drinking. It’s the damn jet lag that they’re still struggling to get over. They swear.

“So,” Dennis begins nonchalantly, “it’s our last day in London.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What do you wanna do?”

“Uh…” Mac falters. “I’m not sure. I’m still tired from last night.”

Last night. Last night was a scene straight out of a movie. They’d stayed in their room, had a heated argument about what film to rent, and only ended up watching half of it before giving up on pretending they didn’t just want to have sex. Three times.

“Uh, yeah,” Dennis says awkwardly, a blush colouring his cheeks. “Me too.”

Mac takes a sip from his drink – vodka orange, real girly of him – and sits silently in thought for a few moments. “We could just chill in the room, maybe get a head start on packing?”

“Is Mac McDonald proposing that we do something productive ?” Dennis says, half-impressed and half-disgusted. “Wow. Okay. Sure, if you want.”

“Well –“ Mac stutters, “it’s an early flight, and we both know we won’t do it tomorrow.”

“Fair point.”

They both take synchronised sips from their drinks. Dennis is having a vodka orange too, not that he had much of a choice: Mac had insisted that he pay for the drinks. Dennis had requested a beer, but Mac clearly paid that no mind.

The drink is almost as nice as the beer. They share a smile over the rims of their glasses, before Dennis downs the rest of it. He feels almost awkward as he watches Mac finish his drink, much more slowly, before placing the glass back on the table. A single drop of water runs down the side of Mac’s glass and Dennis watches it intently, glad to have a distraction. He knows how creepy he probably looks when he stares at Mac. Probably as creepy as Mac always used to look when he stared at Dennis, even though Dennis never truly minded. 

Anyway. Mac stands up from his seat, slipping the wallet lying on their table into his pocket and smiling down at Dennis. “Ready?” he asks gently. Dennis nods and gets to his feet. They’re almost at the door of the bar, so close to being able to walk out and go to their room, when Dee blocks their path like the annoying bird she is.

“Jesus,” sighs Dennis. So close .

“I’ve been looking for you for almost two days , Dennis, where the fuck have you been?” Dee snaps irritably. Before he can even open his mouth, Dee continues.

“Doesn’t matter. I have news.”

“I’m gonna stop you there,” Mac says, “and promise you that we won’t give a shit.” Dennis snorts next to him.

“Cool. Whatever. Okay. So the film was a bust. It was a porno and they didn’t bother to tell me. But it doesn’t matter, because I’ve realised that I’m gay, so.”

Mac and Dennis stay silent, shocked.

 “I’m completely serious!” Dee exclaims. “I figured you might give a shit, since you’re my brother, but clearly not.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Mac says suddenly. “You were in a porno?”

“Not technically, but it’s not important.”

“I beg to differ!”

“I didn’t actually go through with it.”

“And yet you think you’re gay now. Admit it, you scissored some chick in a porno and now you think you’re a lesbian.”

Dee makes a face of disgust at Mac. “No, jesus christ. I thought a gay man would be less homophobic, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re the king of internalised homophobia.”

“You take that back!” Mac yells at her, stepping forward angrily.

“No! I’m right!” Dee shrieks back. Dennis’s hands move up to his temples, massaging his head to rid himself of the inevitable headache, before grabbing at Mac’s arm.

“Don’t let her piss you off,” he says quietly to Mac, pulling him backward. Mac looks at the floor.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Let’s go.”

They push past Dee and walk back to their room. As soon as the door snaps shut, Mac turns on Dennis.

“She’s wrong, isn’t she?”

“What?” Dennis is taken aback. Every time they’ve entered their room together, Mac has turned around and kissed the living daylights out of him: this seems almost out of nowhere.

Almost.

“She’s wrong about me being the… the king of internalised homophobia.”

Dennis takes a deep breath, thinking of how to carefully word it. “Dude, you hated yourself for a long time.”

“Yeah, I know. But I don’t any more.”

“But you did.”

“I know , Den,” Mac says insistently. 

“So what’s your argument?”

“It’s just rude. Especially when she pretends to come out for the attention.”

“To be fair, that’s what we all thought you were doing for a while back there.” When Mac opens his mouth, face twisted into an angry frown, Dennis holds his hands up in surrender and continues. “You brought a bike with a huge dildo attached to it into an arbitrator’s office, Mac.”

Mac pauses. “Okay, that’s fair.”

“I know how… hard it was for you,” Dennis says quietly. “We all felt bad when we realised how long you’d kept it inside, because it probably didn’t help. But you didn’t help yourself out either.”

“Oh.”

“It hurt seeing you so upset with yourself. It was – it was normal, but you just seemed so small. But if I’m honest, it hurt more when we all saw you happier after you came out.”

“Dennis, you know that’s unfair.”

“Not because you were gay!” Dennis clarifies quickly. “We all saw it coming. But we – I – thought you knew you could come out to us with no judgement.”

Mac stays silent.

“Don’t tell her this, or I’ll kill you,” Dennis warns, “but Dee’s my sister , dude. Don’t treat her the way you treated yourself. She’s a lot weaker than you, she can’t take that shit. I don’t wanna have to go to her funeral.”

“I –“ Mac hesitates. Dennis can see his brain trying to work it all out. “Okay. Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was hard for you guys, though. I wouldn’t have put you all through it if I did.”

“I know, Mac.”

And suddenly, Mac has his arms wrapped around Dennis in a tight hug. Dennis stands there, unable to move, save for his hammering heartbeat. After a few moments, his arms come unstuck, and he wraps them around Mac’s waist, forcing his breathing to slow. “You okay?” he says quietly into Mac’s chest, voice muffled. He feels Mac nod.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, dude,” Dennis replies.

Mac lets out a long sigh. “There is. I shouldn’t have been so scared to come out to you guys.”

“It’s all in the past.” Dennis pulls back slightly and looks up at Mac, trying his best to be as honest as he can. “We all treat each other like shit. I get why you didn’t tell us for so long. I just wanted you to know we never had a problem with you being gay, just that you didn’t want us to know.”

“I wanted you guys to know, but I just couldn’t bring myself to admit it. You say that like you wouldn’t have made fun of me.”

“No more than we make fun of Dee.”

Mac just raises his eyebrows.

“We would’ve respected you,” Dennis sighs.

“I don’t think you get how hard it is to come out, Den.”

Dennis pulls back entirely. “ Really ?” he says, voice raised. “You really think I don’t get it? How dumb do you think I am?”

“If you knew , we wouldn’t be having this conversation!” Mac exclaims in reply.

“Why do you think I’m so scared of all of this happening?” Dennis yells. “I’ve known for years , but I couldn’t admit it to myself, let alone you and the gang! I know exactly how much it hurts! I know how hard it is! I couldn’t bear to see you hurting as much as I was, but there was nothing I could do to stop it because you were balls deep in hating yourself!”

Mac is stunned. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, unable to get any words out. Dennis sighs and sits on the edge of the bed. 

“I thought you knew,” Dennis says numbly. “I thought it was why you had feelings for me for so long. It hurt when I thought you’d realised, but you were so wrapped up in yourself that it never occurred to you that someone else might be – might be –“

“Den, I had no clue,” Mac replies, crushed.

“Clearly not. You were never alone, not for a second, but you didn’t let anyone help you.”

“You did sleep with loads of women. You had a system.”

“You slept with women, too, dude. You know how this works.”

Mac doesn’t reply.

“This is all new to me,” Dennis says, voice much quieter now. “I haven’t let myself feel like this before, and it fucking scares me. I can’t just… let myself feel the way you do.” His voice wavers, on the very edge of cracking. “I need time to adjust because I can’t fuck this up.”

“That’s okay,” Mac states simply. “You know it gets easier though, right?”

“I doubt that.”

“It does. A thousand percent. If – if it turns out you’re gay, or something, one day you’ll be as happy as I am. Don’t worry, Den.”

“I’m not – okay, fine. Thank you. But don’t tell the others?”

“Course not.”

“Wanna make out?”

“Fuck yeah. I thought you’d never ask.”

“It’s just depressing.”

“I know.”

Mac and Dennis are sat on the edge of the bed in their room, staring dejectedly at their packed luggage. It’s far too early – the “ass-crack of dawn”, according to Mac’s groans when Dennis had woken him up – and their flight is leaving in a few hours. 

“You wanna do it before we leave?” Dennis suggests half-heartedly.

“Eh. I’m tired.”

Dennis is unsure of what he’s meant to say. After his big freak-out last night, he’s pretty certain he’s pushed Mac away, for good this time. Mac is only truly attracted to him when he doesn’t have emotions, after all. In that context, emotional breakdowns aren’t really a good look, even if Mac had promised he understood. It hurts. So much. And so, Dennis figures as he opens his mouth to speak again, this is for the best.

“So, uh, I’ve been thinking,” he says tentatively.

“Mm-hmm,” Mac replies, barely awake.

“This has been… fun, and all, but I think it might be best if we…” he trails off, distracted momentarily by Mac. He’s suddenly bursting with energy, and he’s staring at Dennis with his world-famous puppy dog eyes. Dennis sighs shakily and forces himself to continue talking.

“It’ll be best if this stays in London. You know?”

Mac gapes at him. “What?”

“The gang can’t find out about this, or they’ll ridicule us to no end,” Dennis reasons, “and I think this is just a holiday fling. But it’s over now.”

“A holiday fling?!”

“Yes,” Dennis says firmly, forcing himself to meet Mac’s eyes. “And it’s over. No more of this in Philly.”

“No more what in Philly?” comes Charlie’s voice, out of fucking nowhere.

“Jesus dude, where the fuck did you come from?” Dennis exclaims.

“Just got here. I bumped into Dee and she told me to come tell you we’re leaving soon.”

“Tell Dee to fuck off,” Dennis replies, anger clear in his voice.

“No, dude! I’m not your messenger. But hurry the fuck up with whatever you were talking about, I fucking hate being alone with Dee.” And with that, Charlie stalks off, muttering something under his breath that neither of them quite catch.

“Fuck, man,” Mac says quietly. “Are you being serious? We’re done? We weren’t even together, Den. Fuck.”

“Oh, save the drama,” Dennis snaps. “I can’t deal with you. Are you this annoyed that you can’t fuck someone? You have your choice of every gay man in Philly. Why the fuck do you get so wound up about it being me ?”

“You know why,” Mac grits out, his tone turning dangerous. “Don’t do this. I don’t care if it’s because you’re having a big gay freak-out –“

“I’m not gay! ”

“ – but it’s not fair to pin all this shit on me! You might not think you’re gay, but I’ve fucked you seven times, Dennis! And you enjoyed it!”

“Oh, christ – “

“What, I’m wrong?” Mac yells.

“Of course you’re fucking not! Get the fuck over yourself. This is not all about banging, and you and I both know it!”

The room falls silent, the only sounds coming from Mac and Dennis’s heavy breathing. Somewhere in their fight, Mac had got to his feet, and he slowly sits back on the bed. Neither of them dare to look at each other. The silence stretches on for a good few minutes until Dennis, shaking his head, stands up. Walking over to their luggage, he says emotionlessly, “we need to go.”

Mac doesn’t reply, the two of them wordlessly picking up their suitcases. Mac gives the room a quick scan to make sure they have all their stuff, and when they’re both out of the room, he slams the door behind him. He doesn’t even wait for Dennis, and stalks away without looking back. Dennis watches him go, tears prickling unfamiliarly in his eyes. So much for not ruining it.

On a plane over the sea

They might be over international waters, but the plane journey is awkward .

Charlie can sense the tension, so thick he could cut it with a knife. He wants to hang out with Mac and Dennis, but they’ve both been prickly all day. So he’s been forced to sit with Dee instead. He’s just thankful that she’s equally as annoyed, since her film fell through or whatever. Charlie doesn’t really give a shit, because for him it means he gets to ignore her. 

Occasionally, Dee lets out a deep, world-weary sigh, like she’s some old woman who’s about to die. Charlie thinks it makes her sound like her mom, but he’s not about to tell her that. He doesn’t want to be killed on a plane. She clearly wants him to ask what’s wrong so she can start a conversation, but it’s two hours in and he’s successfully ignored her entirely so far. 

Instead of thinking about it any longer, in case he sends a signal for Dee to start talking by accident, Charlie turns his attention to Mac and Dennis. They’d seemed fine during the trip, even if they both kept getting annoyed at him while they went sightseeing. But this morning he’d accidentally interrupted them during a fight, and now they’re not talking. What could it all mean?

Charlie stews over it for a while. The only evidence he really has is that they’re sitting next to each other, stony-faced and completely still. Well, that, and hearing Dennis say that there’s “no more of it in Philly”. Dennis says some weird shit sometimes, but he sounded pretty sane, if annoyed, when he’d said that. No more of what?

Maybe Philly has run out of something that London has lots of. The hotel bar had loads of fancy-sounding English beers, so maybe it’s that. But Philly, running out of beer? Dennis would have told the rest of the gang by now, so they were all aware they were out of jobs. It can’t be that, unless – 

Oh, shit. Oh, shit . Charlie knows what’s going on.

Getting up, he makes his way over to Mac and Dennis. They don’t even acknowledge him at first, too wrapped up in completely ignoring each other and staring daggers at random passengers. 

“Uh, Mac?” Charlie starts hesitantly. No reply. “Mac, buddy?”

“What do you want, Charlie?” Mac replies sullenly.

“Can we talk?”

“No.”

“Please, dude? Just for a minute.”

“About what?”

“The – “ Charlie falters. “The bar.”

“The bar.”

“Uh-huh.”

Mac rolls his eyes and stands up. “Fine. Come on.”

The two of them walk to nearer the back of the plane, just behind the tiny bathroom. Charlie is almost certain he can hear people having sex inside, but he chooses to ignore it.

“Okay, listen. I know what’s going on with you and Dennis,” Charlie says confidently.

To his surprise, Mac blushes , coughing awkwardly to clear his throat. “Nothing’s going on with me and Dennis!” he says quickly.

“Yes, there is,” Charlie huffs, “but don’t worry, I know the solution.”

“You do?” Mac’s voice fills with hope.

“So when is Dennis planning on moving out?”

Mac breathes out. In again. Out again. “What?”

“That’s what you were talking about earlier, right? You’re not living together any more in Philly? I figured it was either that or Philly was out of beer.”

Mac sounds really confused. “What the fuck – uh, Philly has beer. But…” he stops short, like he’s hesitating.

“But what?”

“But… uh, yeah, you’re right. We’re not together – living together – in Philly anymore.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated, Charlie. It’s a whole thing.”

“We have time. And I’m sure I could understand, dude.”

“Nah, it’s okay.”

“Okay, but why are you guys not talking?”

“He kinda sprung it on me out of nowhere. I’m just shocked.”

“Want me to talk him out of it?”

“No!” Mac yelps, clearly panicked about it. “No. It’s fine, I can deal with it.”

“Just –“ Charlie sighs. “Just start talking, okay? It’s really weird.”

“Whatever,” Mac grumbles. Satisfied with his answer, Charlie walks away and sits back down. He shoots Dennis a quick glance as he walks past, but he’s ignored. It doesn’t really matter, as long as it gets less awkward.

Mac and Dennis don’t talk for the rest of the flight, but the tension eases up considerably by the time they land. Charlie sees them exchange small, almost shy smiles as they walk through the airport, and shrugs to himself. Good enough.

They are back in Philly. They are back in Philly, in the apartment, where it’s safe, with two bedrooms, and the air. The air feels like sludge.

It’s hard to breathe. It feels way too hot and way too cold. 

Mac reasons to himself that he and Dennis are okay now. They hadn’t talked , but Dennis offered him a little smile in the airport, and he didn’t abandon him anywhere, didn’t snarl at him like he was having a psychotic breakdown. They’re fine. But Mac doesn’t want fine. He wants more – so much more.

Mac doesn’t even want Dennis to be normal, or shower him with affection. A superficial part of him desires it, but in reality, he knows that to expect all that from Dennis is just cruel. He gave up on wanting Dennis to not have a personality disorder a long time ago. No – all Mac truly wants is to be able to actually label Guigino’s as date, rather than disguising it as a “monthly dinner”. He wants Tuesday nights to not be filled with them watching films; the films can stay, but he wants to be able to disrupt Dennis’s focus on them by making out with him instead. Or even having his arm wrapped around his bony shoulders. He’s not asking for the world, just for the simple things. He wants Dennis to be happy.

They’re both sitting about the apartment, too awkward – or scared, maybe – to speak. Mac can barely breathe. He knows how Dennis can get, and he’s too tired to pick up the pieces. He’s been too tired for a long time, but he does it anyway. He can barely stop himself. He’s too scared of what might happen if he stops.

Even despite all of that, the way Dennis had spoken to him back in the hotel room has really floored him. He’d let himself be fooled again into thinking that maybe he’s not the only one in this friendship with stronger feelings, but clearly, he’s mistaken. 

It hurts more than he’s let on to Dennis. But what had twisted his heart and exploded it into tiny little pieces was his admission: that it wasn’t just about banging, not for either of them.

For years , Mac and Dennis lived, bound by a set of unspoken yet unbreakable rules. Touch is fine, if the feelings behind it are hidden. They can both bang whoever they want, as long as it’s not each other. The elephant in the room has moved in, and he sleeps in the kitchen at night, staying hidden in Mac’s room during the day. They don’t discuss the fact that a large and metaphorical animal lives with them, and for fuck’s sake, they don’t discuss feelings.

One rule – two, really – had been broken completely while they were in London. All that’s left is the elephant, who’s sucking all the air from the room so Mac can’t breathe properly, and the fact that they haven’t discussed their feelings. (Mac figures that late-night panic attacks and breakdowns don’t count.)

So, what’s left to do now? He guesses he has to say something. Even if it’s just to break the ice. A quick glance outside tells him that it’s nearing evening, and dinner time. Any food they have in the fridge will be mouldy. Mac closes his eyes for a moment, breathes in and out shakily, and opens his mouth after hours of not speaking.

“What do you –“

“Can we talk?” comes Dennis’ interruption. His voice is small, much too quiet to speak over Mac, but it stops him in his tracks regardless.

“What?” Mac balks. Nervously, he continues, trying to ignore how scared Dennis sounded. “We are talking. What do you want for dinner?”

“We could just order takeout – damn it,” Dennis sighs, “stop ignoring me. Can we talk?”

“Last time we talked, you screamed at me,” Mac says sullenly.

“You screamed back, dude –“

“That’s not the point!”

“It entirely is the point, Mac, oh my god!”

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain –“

“Oh, fuck!” Dennis laughs, bordering on hysterically. “You’re kidding me! Stop being a pussy and talk to me.”

“I’m not being a pussy,” Mac mumbles. “What is there to talk about? You made your feelings very clear.”

The two finally make eye contact, and Dennis grimaces at him. “That’s what I wanna talk about,” he starts hesitantly, clearly trying his hardest to keep his voice under control. “My feelings.”

“Thought you didn’t have feelings.”

“Oh my – it’s painful to talk to you, you know that? Painful .”

“Whatever. My point stands.”

“No it doesn’t. Let me talk.”

Mac sighs, not wanting to let Dennis hurt him any more than he already has. “Fine,” he mutters, waving his hand dismissively.

“I wanted to say – I was pretty harsh, and it wasn’t fair.” At Mac’s disbelieving laugh, he frowns, waiting until he falls silent. “You…” he stops, swallowing, almost like he’s being forced to say it. “You were right. I shouldn’t have pinned my – my freak-out – on you. It’s not your problem to deal with. And the truth is… I don’t know anything about sexuality. Not enough to make an informed decision about what I want. I wanted whatever was happening between us to keep happening, but I get if you have some other beefcake to run off to.”

Mac stays silent for a few seconds. It’s a lot to take in. Finally, he finds the courage to speak. “You’re not a beefcake,” he says sincerely.

Dennis looks absolutely fucking mortified.

“I’m sorry! We can – we can actually talk about this if you want to. I was just trying to make you laugh.”

“I wanna talk about this.”

“I’m not gonna run off to some beefcake because you don’t know if you’re gay or not, dude. I know you. I know you’re not fucking me around this time, so I don’t mind helping you out.”

“I’m not fucking you around.”

Mac smiles softly. “Good.”

In amidst all the fear he knows Dennis is feeling, he manages to smile back.

“You don’t ever have to know what you are, you know,” Mac says casually. “I know you probably want to figure it out, but be patient with yourself, okay?”

Dennis nods. His expression is completely unreadable.

“It took me a long time, but it was worth the wait. Don’t stress it.”

He nods again. Slowly rises from the sofa.

“And I don’t mind helping you figure it out, but you have to be honest with me.”

Steps closer to Mac, who’s hovering in the threshold of the kitchen.

“And you have to – you have to be honest with yourself, too.”

Steps closer. And closer. And closer.

“You might figure out what you want before you have a word for it. And that’s fine.”

They’re standing right next to each other, staring into each other’s eyes.

“You’re gonna be okay, Den.”

They’re so close that they’re practically sharing breath.

“Thank you, Mac,” Dennis whispers, just loud enough for him to hear.

He leans up. Gives Mac a look that he struggles to decipher. Slowly moves his hand until it’s resting on Mac’s shoulder. Kisses him so gently that Mac can feel the fear radiating from him.

They might have kissed a lot in London, but it had never been like this.

He barely gets the chance to kiss Dennis back before he pulls away to look at him. “So, uh,” Dennis says awkwardly. “I’m still on London time. Does that count?”

“That counts,” Mac laughs, leaning back in.

Dee has been back in Philly for a few days now, but she feels like she’s barely breathed. Nothing has felt quite real since what she’s termed The Incident - you know, where she nearly accidentally shot a porno halfway across the world with a woman ? Yeah, that. She’s just been drifting around her apartment since she got back from London, her suitcase sitting next to her bed, taunting her. She knows two things for certain. One, she’s gay, and the gang seem to not be ready to accept that yet. Two, Erin said she’d call. 

She hasn’t called.

It might be different with women, but Dee’s pretty sure that if she nearly shot a porno with a guy and ended up making out with him in a changing room, she could expect him to call, even if he didn’t. Apparently Erin never got the memo about that. She knows most men view her as too ugly to be seen with, but if Erin thinks that too, Dee has to admit that hurts just a little bit. 

As she goes to let out a pained groan, slumping deeper into the indent she’s made in the sofa, she hears a loud knock at the door. “Go away,” she mumbles, making no effort to move. Another knock. “I said go away,” she says, loud enough this time for the person to hear her. A few seconds of silence - relief! Dee thinks, they’ve finally left - and then the person starts hammering on the door insistently. Dee would truthfully rather drop dead than talk to someone right now, especially because she knows it can only be one of the guys. They’re some of the only people in the world with her address. It’s probably Mac, here to tell her to stop “pretending” to be gay. Fuck that. But she knows that if it’s one of the guys, they won’t leave until she answers.

So Dee slowly peels herself off of the sofa, cracking her entire body in the process, and groaning loudly as she trudges to the door. Yanking it open, she expects to see someone she doesn’t want to. But Erin is the face she’s greeted with: hair shiny, sleek, and perfect, eyes bright grey, makeup subtle but stunning, a tiny smile on her face. God, Dee looks like shit compared to Erin. She hasn’t taken her makeup off from the flight and her hair feels and probably looks like a bird’s nest. That’s not to mention the smell she knows is coming from her apartment.

“Hi, Dee,” Erin says softly. “Sorry I didn’t call, but I wanted to see you - can I come in?”

Dee grimaces at the thought of letting Erin into her apartment in its current state. “How did you even find my address?” she asks, trying to stall so she can think of a way out of this. For some reason, Erin seems to think that Dee is worth her time, and Dee can’t afford to let her think otherwise.

“You mentioned that you worked in an Irish bar in South Philly,” Erin starts. “So I went to a few of them and asked if they knew you? And eventually the janitor at Paddy’s told me your address.”

“Oh,” Dee replies, dumbfounded. “Okay.”

“I hope that’s not creepy,” Erin says quickly, looking embarrassed.

“It’s not creepy. I just didn’t think you’d put so much effort in to finding me.”

“It wasn’t that hard.”

“Yeah, but you had to put up with the guys I work with,” Dee says, face scrunching up. “How much did they try and sell you a drink for?”

“Uh…” Erin pauses for a moment. “$9.75 for a beer I didn’t ask for.”

Dee rolls her eyes. “Sorry about them.”

“It’s fine,” Erin smiles. “So - can I come in?”

Dee casts one more embarrassed glance back into her apartment - chip packets strewn everywhere, crumbs littered all over the floor, and a smell of decay. “It’s kind of a mess,” she says sheepishly. “Can we get coffee instead?”

Erin nods enthusiastically, and Dee leans precariously back inside to grab the purse hanging in the hallway. Checking she has a couple of screwed up bills inside and her keys, she slams the door behind her and leads Erin out of her apartment complex and to the coffee shop across the road.

“So how long have you been working in adult films?” Dee asks as they sit down at a small table, her with a tiny, overpriced cup of hot coffee, Erin with an iced coffee. She has to admit to herself that the thought of making out with a pornstar makes her feel beyond uncomfortable, but she’s trying her best to cover that up.

“Not long,” Erin replies quietly. “Only a couple months. If the filming went ahead in London I would’ve had the money to stop.” Dee nods, waiting for her to continue.

“I’m still sorry that they misled you about the shoot, Dee,” Erin sighs. “Most of the directors I’ve worked with have been great, but I guess sometimes that’s not true.”

“Clearly,” Dee says derisively.

“Most of the women I’ve met in the industry love their jobs. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t have to, but I nearly got evicted, you know? Some of the friends I’ve made are there because they enjoy it.”

Dee, taken aback, struggles to reply. She’s not surprised , necessarily, but she’d been told in the past that it was all based on exploitation.

“But anyway. That’s a conversation for another time, I think,” Erin says gently. “As long as me working in porn doesn’t bother you.”

“No, no,” Dee says. “I gotta say, I didn’t chalk you up to be a porn star. But I don’t have that much of a problem with it. Especially if you’re considering quitting soon.”

“I am,” Erin replies, breathing a relieved sigh. She takes a sip from her drink before continuing. “Anyway. I wanted to say - I think you’re really nice, Dee. A lot sweeter than you give yourself credit for. And if you’re up for it, I want to ask you to dinner tomorrow night?”

Dee is stunned into complete silence. If she’s honest, she’d assumed the conversation was about to turn into Erin yelling at her for making her lose money. The silence stretches out a few more seconds, Erin looking increasingly awkward.

“I know you said you weren’t gay, but - “

“I’m gay,” Dee blurts out, way too loud. The old couple next to them turn around, looking pissed off. Dee doesn’t have the energy to flip them the bird.

“Oh, so… okay, so you don’t have feelings for me?”

“I do - I’m sorry, I was just taken aback,” Dee admits.

Erin breaks into a beam. “Well, I’ll pick you up tomorrow?”

Dee nods.

“Does eight sound good?”

“Eight sounds amazing,” Dee breathes, before she catches herself. “I can call in sick to the bar.”

“Okay,” Erin grins at her.

The date goes exactly like any date Dee has ever been on. A few hours of nervous energy while she gets ready, reapplies her makeup and changes her outfit at least three times, until Erin knocks at the door, looking beautiful in a grey dress that brings out the colour of her eyes. Dee lets herself enjoy the giddiness and the lame shit she says to herself in her head for once.

They drink far too much wine in a restaurant that looks remarkably similar to Guigino’s, and Dee orders some seafood pasta that sounds nice but that she can’t pronounce or afford. Erin insists on paying the bill, but not before they hold hands tentatively across the burgundy cloth of the dinner table and grin at each other, wine-drunk.

They get an Uber back to Erin’s place, somewhere Dee doesn’t completely recognise in the dark, and they have to restrain themselves from making out in the back of the cab like teenagers after prom night.

Erin’s apartment is much nicer than Dee’s. The decor is all colour-coordinated, pink and purple and red and white, and it’s meticulously clean. Dee doesn’t pay much attention to it, though - she doesn’t pay attention to much except Erin for the rest of the night, to tell the truth. But like a true lady, Dee doesn’t kiss and tell.