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Sometimes, there were nights where Mac and Dennis would stay at the bar long past closing and the rest of the gang would go home. It used to be a common occurrence, nine or ten years ago. They’d start drinking and decide they wanted to continue, and they would sit together at the bar, slurring emotional recounts of usually forgotten anecdotes, laughing at each other’s jokes or sitting in silence, because sometimes that felt right. Sometimes, their hands would brush against the others, sat atop a bar mat damp with beer and ten years ago, they wouldn’t be inclined to pull away, but more inclined to hook a finger around the other’s.
It wasn’t like that anymore. Hadn’t been for years. And over those years, their nights alone at the bar became far, few and in between, and if their hands brushed, they’d jump metres apart and make their way hurriedly home, drunk or sober, driving or not.
Tonight was the once in a blue moon occasion where Mac and Dennis were alone in the bar, except it wasn’t planned by any stretch of the imagination. Mac was in the back office, because he’d promised Frank he’d try and get rid of the malware he’d downloaded onto the laptop accidentally, and Dennis wanted to drink. Needed to drink? Want or need - he was drinking; sat alone on a rickety barstool, face set in a frown, throwing back shot after shot of vodka until he started to feel sick, at which point he’d twisted the cap firmly back on the bottle.
It was only when Mac emerged from the back office was it that both men were harbouring a full understanding that this was one of those rare nights where they had time to themselves outside of their apartment. Mac blinked, like a deer caught in headlights, before his face twisted into an innocent but deeply perplexed expression.
“Dennis?” He said, in that infuriatingly Mac-like tone of voice Dennis hated. Loved. Feared? “What are you still doing here?”
Dennis wasn’t even sure of the answer himself besides needing a drink. That excuse wouldn’t hold up though - they had plenty of alcohol at the apartment.
Quick, Dennis. Think on your feet.
“I figured you’d need a lift home,” he mumbled almost incoherently, forcing as much definition into his pronunciation as possible. He cleared his throat and tried to reset, upon hearing the jumbled and drunk slur adhere to his words. “You’re my roommate, after all.”
“Well, great - thank you?” Mac tilted his head and twisted the back office door knob, closing it behind him now he’d gathered himself and the situation. “And look, buddy, you know that I know you’re a great driver,” Mac walked across the sticky wooden floor, boots clumping unceremoniously, and maybe tiredly, across the bar. He reached the door and flicked the light on - had Dennis been sitting in the dark? “But you’re piss-ass drunk and I don’t want to die in a car crash tonight, so either let me drive or we’ll get a cab.”
“Well, I don’t particularly want to die in a car crash either so... you’re not driving,” Dennis rolled his head from side to side, alleviating a creeping tension in his muscles. “And I’m not getting a fucking cab. ‘S not like we’re made of money, Mac.”
“Okay, Mr Sensible. We’ll stay here for a bit then,” Mac said, pacing over to stand behind the bar, grabbing a beer from the cooler and twisting the cap. He chucked it behind him where it clattered amongst the stacked glasses somewhere and he took a long swig. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”
“I always have better ideas than you,” Dennis defended. Mac raised an eyebrow at him, and it was only then that Dennis realised he really didn’t have a better idea. He frowned and glared at Mac - his lips were shiny in the light... Gross. “But I can’t be bothered to come up with an amazing scheme right now. I’m drunk and tired. So shut up.”
“Didn’t say anything, bro.”
“You said things with that fucking look on your ugly face,” Dennis mumbled. Mac spluttered a laugh, and shook his head, placing the beer bottle on the surface of the bar. The clunk almost sent a flinch through Dennis. “Why are you in such a good mood, asshole?”
“Ain’t that I’m in a good mood and more that you’re in a bad mood,” Mac pipped. Dennis didn’t react, besides reaching for the bottle of vodka he’d previously screwed the cap onto. Mac slid it out of his reach, to which Dennis grumbled incoherently and swiped his index finger around the insides of the shot glass, sucking the dregs of bitter alcohol from the skin. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing. None of your business, anyway.”
“Sure thing, Dennis,” Mac said, and Dennis could’ve sworn it was sarcastic.
Dennis sighed, and looked at the surface of the bar. Something was suddenly very interesting about the old stains of beer mugs that had never been cleaned properly. Or maybe it was the sheen of alcoholic grime that had built up for so many years, it was shiny - was that the interesting bit?
Mac had walked round from behind the bar, but Dennis didn’t follow him with his gaze, didn’t turn back to see where he’d gone. He was curious, but he was trying not to care.
Dennis would normally question why he had to actively try to not care, but there was no point asking a question he knew the answer to already, and had done for too many years of his life - he had to make an effort to not care, because if he didn’t try, he would always care. And that was too much for a brain like Dennis’ to handle, if he was honest.
Truth be told, all Dennis wanted to do was watch as Mac walked off and turn around to see where he was going. He wanted to watch as his grossly muscular and bulky body lumbered away, what his annoying hands would touch next and how his ugly eyes would reflect the light as they looked left and right. And truth be told again, Dennis didn’t think his body was gross or his hands were annoying or his eyes were ugly, but that was a tiresome truth that Dennis couldn’t particularly be bothered to be preoccupied with that night. It was probably an issue that his truths had truths, and those truths had truths, and the further into the rabbit hole of truth Dennis fell, the more discomfort he felt at his core. It was probably an issue he should face at some point other than that night.
That night, he needed to drink and try not to care about Mac, and that was the simplicity he was going to try and stick to.
So he didn’t look behind him and tried not to care. His eyes landed on the beer bottle Mac had left on the bar, and without any thought, took the bottle, swirled it once, and took a sip-
“Hey, asshole! Put my beer down,” Mac said lightly. Dennis shrugged, and placed it back down on the bar. The clunk didn’t make him flinch that time.
Dennis kept staring ahead, eyes now occupied by the dusty bottles of cream liqueur that were in the back corners of the shelves. The only person to ever drink those liqueurs was Cricket, if he sauntered in one day looking for unneeded booze after Dee over-ordered and they’d ran out of space. Well, Cricket and Dennis, but Dennis had stopped drinking the Irish creams. Too rich, too dense, too unsustainable. If Dennis wanted liqueur, he’d return to his affinity for créme de menthe, which at least wasn’t kept behind the jukebox now, and instead in the top drawer of his dresser at home.
Mint, Dennis noted to himself absently, was a pretty nice flavour. He really enjoyed it - toothpaste, chewing gum, booze, certain brands of cough syrup. And as he sat there, he started to try and figure out why that was such a comforting taste, he expected the discovery to be a long an arduous process; it wasn’t. The answer came to him immediately.
Mac had first kissed Dennis after he’d brushed his teeth. It was 2010, if Dennis recalled correctly, and it was dark outside and Mac had gone to get ready for bed, before reappearing in the lounge to sit beside Dennis and watch whatever crap TV show was playing. Man, he really had tasted of mint as well. Had he used mouthwash as well? Had he used breath spray, because he’d known what he was about to do? Then again, Dennis didn’t think Mac would have the initiative to even own breath spray in the first place.
There was no need to overthink it. It was a pretty good first kiss, as they went. If Dennis had known that their last kiss was going to be their last, he would’ve made himself more attentive to the situation. But he didn’t know, and Mac probably didn’t either, and now it had been at least seven or eight years and Dennis couldn’t place it at all.
Whatever. Dennis picked Mac’s beer bottle back up and took a gulp, trying not to think much more; he was doing an improbable amount of thinking that night.
Mac was cursing under his breath, mumbling to himself a little incoherently, although Dennis could hear some words like “... the fuck is it called?...” and “... piece of junk...”, which led Dennis to the assumption that Mac was engaging in a battle with the ageing jukebox in the corner of the bar.
He was proven right pretty instantly - the jukebox blared the drum intro to ‘Higher Love’, very suddenly, very loudly, without warning. Dennis leapt out of his skin and dropped the beer bottle, which clattered to the bar and although didn’t smash, projected the entirety of what beer remained onto Dennis’ shirt and jeans.
“Jesus fuck!-“
“Shit- shit! Sorry- fuck TURN DOWN! Fuck sake...” Mac spat, banging the side of the jukebox before taking initiative to use the volume button. He exhaled with relief and looked up at Dennis, who was now very much facing Mac with an unimpressed expression, the hem of his shirt and the thighs of his jeans sodden and stinking with cheap beer. “Oh my god I’m so sorry dude,” he pursed his lips to prevent a laugh and hurried over, face contorting in amusement as he watched Dennis glare at his reaction.
“You’re an idiot, Mac,” he was supposed to say that in a cold tone, but it came out as tired and forgiving. Was he really that drunk that his own voice was betraying him? Was he even that drunk? He was pretty drunk. Was he?
Yeah. Very.
“In my defense, it was for a good cause,” Mac raised an eyebrow with an infuriating smile. He grabbed a bar cloth that had been left on one of the tables and skipped towards Dennis quickly, immediately pressing and patting Dennis’ beer-soaked jeans. “It’s one of your favourite songs, right?”
“Well yeah, Steve Winwood is... yeah, he’s good,” Dennis was losing words from his mouth. Maybe because he was intoxicated or maybe because Mac was unashamedly pressing against his thigh. He shook his head with a sigh, furiously shoving down memories of Mac holding his thigh but not because of a spilled drink, or even over the cloth of his jeans- “I can dry myself, thanks.” He tugged the cloth from Mac’s hand and tried to ignore the teeth sinking into the flesh of his cheek. What the fuck was wrong with him tonight?
“Sure, Dennis. Okay,” Mac’s voice was a little quieter than usual. Dennis wished he was telepathic. Dennis wished he hadn’t taken the cloth out of his hands. Dennis wished he had a glass of water to sober him the fuck up.
“If you want to be helpful, get me a glass of water,” Dennis sighed, staring at the patches of beer on his leg, staring at his hand that was hesitantly patting down the damp denim. “If that’s alright.” He didn’t know what possessed him to add that to the end of the sentence. Maybe it was the weird and unwanted visitor of sentimentality in his brain that evening.
“You got it,” Mac said. Although Dennis wasn’t looking at him, he knew that Mac flashed a smile - Dennis had learned to recognise how his voice sounded when accompanied by a smile.
Dennis had stopped patting his jeans because his arm grew heavy fairly quickly. He felt drowsy as he listened to Mac’s footsteps, to a glass clinking, to a tap running. Drowsy in the sense that his brain was a little hazy and he really wasn’t thinking straight, in the sense that his body felt heavy and he couldn’t imagine smiling or becoming any less drowsy any time soon. Drowsy in the sense that he wasn’t tired and he wasn’t sleepy but he felt encompassed by a shroud, acting as a shield between himself and the rest of the world.
Maybe he wasn’t drowsy. Maybe he was sad.
Dennis chewed his lip and raised a defeated eyebrow at his own train of thought.
Yeah. He was sad.
Mac returned with a glass of water in his hand, his boots still fucking squeaking against the floor. Dennis exhaled, and lifted his eyes from his lap to the approaching clutz of a man. His eyes softened, so he counteracted it with a frown.
Fuck sake.
Mac handed Dennis the glass of water, expression wary as Dennis took it slowly. His eyes darted up and down Dennis, trying to figure out if he was angry, drunk, empty or depressed.
“I’d drink that,” Mac said after a minute of Dennis staring blankly into the surface of the water. “It’ll sober you up sharpish, and uh, it doesn’t look like drinking put you in a good mood...?”
Higher Love drifted quietly from the jukebox, but Dennis was more focused on how uncertain and almost scared Mac’s voice was. How fearful he was of saying the wrong thing. How fearful he was of Dennis’ reaction.
How fearful he was of Dennis.
Dennis nodded at Mac, and sipped the water tentatively at first, until the refreshed feeling swept his dry tongue and textured teeth, at which point he gulped down at least half the glass.
Mac half-smiled, but he looked nervous. Dennis’ stomach turned. Then, he noticed his stomach turning and questioned why it was only now he was feeling such incredible remorse for treating Mac the way he had for over half of his life. His stomach turned again.
Mac sat down on a barstool, leaving a respectable distance between them, and sighed for a second, wringing his hands in front of his abdomen.
“Bro, do you have any idea how hard it is to get a virus off a fuckin’ laptop?” He tried, with his normal voice. Dennis looked up and raised an eyebrow; a distraction from the void of guilt enlarging in his stomach was greatly appreciated.
“You wouldn’t have to get one off if you didn’t put one on in the first place, you know,” Dennis would normally have cracked a joking smile, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to. Mac either didn’t notice or didn’t mind. “Go on, tell me about your dumbass laptop exploits. And leave out the details about the inevitable PornHub breaks, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mac sniffed indignantly. “Uh, totally unrelated question but, how do you delete your search history?”
Dennis knew Mac wasn’t that stupid but he appreciated the otherwise convincing comedic relief, and half-smiled with a gentle laugh, shaking his head in mock-irritation.
“So, apparently there’s like these, anti-virus websites, right? But they’re so expensive and Frank didn’t wanna pay for it. And I said that he was a grumpy asshole and anyway, it’s his laptop in the first place! Right, so I went on Google and...”
Dennis zoned in so hard on Mac’s words, he almost tuned out. Listening to any other person ramble about the most mundane story possible would normally make Dennis want throw his glass against the wall and use the shards to cut his own ears off, but Mac was an exception and more importantly, that night was an exception, or at least it seemed. By the time Mac had come to the end of his spiel of words and it was up to Dennis to respond, they were both facing the bar again, arms resting against the damp beer mats and sticky wooden finish. So Dennis said something, and then Mac said something else, and a lot of somethings were passed back and forth. The jukebox moved on to the next song and then the song after that and everything seemed to be concussed with innocently useless somethings for a second or a minute or an hour or a week or a lifetime, until it wasn’t something anymore, it was nothing again, and Mac had finished speaking with a gentle smile on his face and Dennis was staring into his empty glass and the heaviness of his body seemed to have increased tenfold and he was sinking through the floor.
Mac chuckled at the conversation that had just finished and looked at Dennis, who was gazing rather intently at the glass on the bar.
“Want a refill-“
“Do you ever get sad?”
Mac blinked, blankly. Blinked over and over again. Bewildered. Dennis looked at him with a forced neutral expression.
“Why?”
“Does there have to be a reason?” Dennis snapped. Mac instinctively twitched at the tone of voice, and Dennis’ stomach was churning again - so fast he felt like he could puke.
“No,” Mac shook his head, more in irritation at himself than in response to Dennis. “No, obviously not. No.”
Dennis wanted to push the question, but he didn’t know how to phrase it even remotely politely, so he didn’t. He just ran his tongue over his teeth in frustration - frustration at the fact that he’d tried to initiate a conversation with Mac about feeling so God awful for the first time in years.
It was one of their nights alone at the bar, and they’d really got to the level of dysfunction where Dennis couldn’t even feasibly speak about feeling sad? How had they gone from fucking on the pool table and talking about deep shit to awkwardly stumbling around the subject of a glass of water or feeling a bit sad? Christ, they couldn’t even sit next to each other without at least a metre between them.
It fucking sucked.
“I wanna go home,” Dennis said after a moment of silence that lasted far too long.
“Yeah, it’s late,” Mac scratched the back of his neck, trying hard to not look at the floor but finding his eyes directing to it every few seconds. “You sober enough to drive?”
Dennis was, but he didn’t want to drive. Although he’d driven before at times where he’d been lots more drunk, he rarely drove when drunk and sad, because his sadness would stop him from caring about traffic laws and nine times out of ten, would get pulled over. So he shook his head.
“Wanna get a cab then?” Mac asked, clearing his throat where a nervous clog had arisen in his voice. He couldn’t tell if Dennis was pissed off or upset, which meant Mac had no idea how or what to say without fear.
Dennis could hear that from the uncertainty in Mac’s voice and in the clearing of his throat. How had he turned into such a piece of shit that Mac couldn’t talk to him?
“Nah, you can drive,” he sighed and looked up, raising his eyebrows tiredly with a forced, tight-lipped smile. He didn’t want Mac to be scared. That’s not how it should be. So he smiled and tried his darnedest to not look so miserable and unpredictable. “If you crash, though, you’re staying at Dee’s for a week.”
“That’s a pretty powerful motivator to drive carefully,” Mac offered a small smile with a knowing twinkle in his eye - a knowing twinkle that told Dennis that Mac could see he was trying, and that he cared. “Lets go, Den.”
Dennis’ eyes widened, although he tried to stop them from doing so. He also tried to avoid his brow from upturning and his eyes shine with familiarity at the revived nickname. He blinked and nodded, inhaling deeply before expelling it in an unstable sigh as he sorted out his bewildered facial expression.
Den.
Mac always used to call him that in tender moments. Then, in everyday moments. Then, not at all. Dennis missed being called the pet name when they were laying in bed together before they’d separate to their respective rooms. When they shared a cigarette, leaning against the windowsill of their apartment at four in the morning. When they’d just kissed, were about to kiss, against his lips whilst kissing. Were Mac’s lips still soft? Would his name sound as whole and fulfilling in a situation like that nowadays?
If Dennis could be bothered to cry, he would’ve done, but he couldn’t and he didn’t, so he slipped off the barstool and left the glass of water, the vodka bottle, the empty beer bottle and the shot glass on the bar counter. He pocketed his phone, that had been sat on a beer mat, neglected, and started heading out, walking behind Mac, who flicked off the lights as they left the bar.
Dennis decided not to put any music on in the car. He didn’t really want to listen to any, and although the reasons probably sunk to a far more complex level than that, he didn’t contemplate them. Just watched out of the car window as Mac drove the Range Rover through the emptying streets of Philadelphia, observing the orange light of the street lamps illuminate his fingers, his lap, the dashboard, before looking back at the streets, watching the night owls and the drunks with a conflicting mixture of curiosity and disinterest.
“Yeah, I do,” said Mac into the silence, with no prompting conversation beforehand.
Dennis looked across to him, noticing that the orange beans of light lit up parts of Mac’s face, casting shadows beneath his cheekbones and his brow bone.
“What?”
“I do get sad,” Mac said quietly, licking his lips in what Dennis presumed to be apprehension, before he raised his eyebrows to try and present a more casual feeling. “A lot.”
Dennis frowned, and nodded.
“Okay-”
“I get sad whenever Poppins comes around, because I know he’ll leave again, but I also know that it might be the last time I see him,” Mac watched the road, adamantly keeping his eyes away from Dennis or his general direction. “I get sad whenever I remember my Dad, because I remember that he’s in prison. But then I remember that I’m not sad that he’s in prison; I couldn’t care less anymore. I get sad when I think of him because I know he doesn’t care about me. Or love me, at that. Then I get sad that it took me so long to realise that there was no point trying to get him to be my Dad, because all he’s ever going to be is Luther, the meth dealer who hates the woman he knocked up and the kid she had.”
Dennis blinked. His frown upturned. A lump rose in his throat. He swallowed it down.
“I got sad when you left for North Dakota,” Mac sniffed with pride and readjusted his posture. “I was sad for the whole year you were gone. I was sad because I’d convinced myself you weren’t coming back, and realised that you didn’t mistype a number when you left me the mental health line. Then you came back, which I thought would be cool, but you were a fucking asshole to me, and that made me even more sad.”
Dennis looked away. Looked anywhere. His stomach stirred and he felt sick again.
“I get sad when I remember that you hate me, because the blindly idiotic part of my head that’s still stuck in 2010 hopes that it’s the opposite. I get sad when I see you get sad, and drink the same amount of whiskey as I do beer, and suddenly get allergic to all the food you used to love, and get angry at things that used to make you laugh,” Mac’s face was forced into the most deadpan expression possible. “I get sad all the time, bro. And it makes me even more sad that you have to ask me if I’m sad, because you can’t tell me that you’re sad without some weird, deluded premise before being open with me.”
Dennis found that his leg was bouncing a little bit.
“So yeah, I get sad,” Mac finished, raising an obvious eyebrow. “Are you sad?”
Dennis felt like a 5 year old kid who’d just been told that his mother wasn’t angry, just very disappointed. He was picking at dry skin along his cuticle, trying to process everything Mac had said, trying to process everything he could say himself.
“Yeah. Obviously,” Dennis shrugged. His eyes were absolutely glued to the sidewalk that was blurring with motion.
He waited for Mac to say something, but he didn’t. Dennis took this as a silent request to continue. And although he wouldn’t normally? He started this. He needed it, actually.
“I think I’m losing myself- no. Lost myself. I think I’ve lost myself,” Dennis sighed tiredly. “I don’t feel right and I haven’t felt right for years, really. But the rightness keeps slipping and now there isn’t a single part of me that feels right at all. I feel wrong. All fucking wrong.”
“Why?”
Dennis wasn’t expecting that. Not at all.
“I don’t know,” he responded weakly. “Maybe it’s because I’m old and lonely.”
“Consider me offended,” Mac said, with an attempt at a more lighthearted tone.
“I- no I mean... You don’t understand.”
“No, I understand, it’s okay,” Mac finally turned his head to look at Dennis and offer a comforting smile, only to see Dennis looking in the polar opposite direction. “You’re lonely in a different sense, right? Haven’t got some girl to like, be in love with, stuff like that. I get it.”
“No, asshole, it’s not that kind of lonely,” it was a sentence that Mac expected to have been snapped with venom, but Dennis sounded exhausted. “I don’t need somebody to be in love with. I don’t even need somebody to love me back. I don’t need ‘somebody’. It’s not that kind of lonely, because- I, I don’t know! I’m pretty sure I’ve already got that. I’m lonely because I’ve forced some weird, self-pitying loneliness into me. I forced myself to be mentally isolated, right?”
“What do you mean, mentally isolated?” Mac asked, electing to tackle the first part of what Dennis had said later on. “How does that work?”
“Made myself disconnect from people. Dee, Charlie. You. Frank not so much, I’ve always been a bit disconnected from Frank and that’s never been on me,” Dennis said. “It’s fucking stupid. I’ve cut myself off from you, even though we live together and work together and spend every waking moment together - how does somebody cut himself off from a person they spend every second with?”
“We don’t have to spend every second together.”
“Wow, you’re totally misunderstanding my point,” Dennis huffed, chewing his fingernails absentmindedly. “I like spending this amount of time with you, obviously. We always have. The point I’m trying to make, is that I hate the way I’ve cut myself from you. I want to spend every second together with you without being an emotionally stunted asshole. Like we used to.”
“Like we used to,” Mac frowned quizzically, echoing those words back. “Which bit? We’ve lived together for over twenty years. Like we used to, when we’d just moved in and everything was totally normal and kinda boring? Like we used to, when we were banging every other night? Like we used to, when things were either fine one second, or yelling the next?-”
“Oh my God, don’t be so fucking stupid,” Dennis groaned in frustration. “What, you think I meant when things were boring? Or when we were arguing all the time? Fuck sake, Mac, you’re so dense.”
Mac didn’t know whether to smile or cry. He did neither.
“Well, why didn’t you say?” Mac asked. “It’s been like, so many years. And it’s not like you haven’t known that I’ve missed it every day for like, eight years. You’re not that fucking stupid. You could’ve said at any point. You could’ve kissed me again and that last time wouldn’t have been the last. You could’ve done any of that, so why the fuck have you been torturing yourself about it when I’ve been right here?” It was as that spell of words left his lips, Mac noticed himself getting more and more irritated at the situation.
“I don’t know,” Dennis closed his eyes and grit his teeth. “I’m an asshole? I’m stupid? I’m a pussy and I’m just as scared of my sexuality as you were for so long?” He pursed his lips, irritated at himself, and opened his eyes, to see Mac changing the direction of the car, driving towards an open parking lot that was not far around the corner. “Where are you going?”
“I’m not talking like this whilst I’m driving, or I’ll crash and then I’ll have to stay at Dee’s for a week,” Mac said quietly. Dennis didn’t reply. Just watched as Mac pulled the car into the parking lot, parking randomly in the middle.
He turned the engine off, and opened the door, stepping out of the Range Rover. Dennis watched in confusion as Mac walked round to the front and leaned against the hood of the car, folding his arms and waiting, staring ahead, expecting Dennis to follow with any prompt.
He did, opening the door and climbing out, before heading towards Mac, who’s head was tilted back in an attempt to glimpse the stars through the light pollution. Dennis rested against the hood for a moment, before standing up straight. Mac looked at him with a raised eyebrow, watching as he clambered onto the hood, and then pushing himself up onto the roof, letting his legs rest against the windscreen.
Dennis gestured with his head for Mac to do the same - he did, and with more considerable ease than Dennis.
“Let’s summarise,” Mac said, leaning back on his palms that pressed atop the car roof behind him. “You’re sad, because you’re not right and you’re all wrong. But you don’t know why, so you guessed that it’s because you’re old and lonely. But not lonely because you haven’t got somebody to love - you have, apparently,” Mac half-smiled, before continuing. “Lonely because you’ve cut yourself everyone, including me. And now you want it to be less cut off, aka how things used to be, aka you want to do the gay shit we used to do. But you didn’t do anything about it, because you’re an asshole, and an idiot, an a pussy, and you’re just as scared of your sexuality as I was for so long.”
“Great summary,” Dennis’ voice was a deadpan sigh.
“You’re scared of your sexuality. What is your sexuality?”
“Let’s figure that out together. The only times I’ve ever really loved sex were when I sucked off some random dude at a frat party, who ended up fucking me at the next frat party... and when me and you were banging for that year or so or however long it was,” Dennis said. This may be the only night for the rest of his life he was going to feel comfortable enough to talk like this. Might as well get it all the fuck out. “The only times I’ve ever felt actual genuine romantic shit, like, in the heart, have been every day I’ve fuckin’ known you. And you’re a man, so. It probably makes me gay.”
“Probably, yeah,” Mac half-smiled across at Dennis. “Hey! Snap. Both gay.”
“I should hope so,” Dennis mumbled, scratching his eyebrow.
“So, what else? What else can we try and stop making you feel sad?” Mac asked, watching as Dennis leaned back into the same casual position as Mac.
“Get rid of my brain.”
“I’m not a trained neurosurgeon, but Frank probably has a guy,” Mac chuckled, and he watched as an amused smirk found its way onto Dennis’ face.
“Okay, then like, help me look for a decent therapist.”
“Therapy?” Mac frowned suddenly. “How fucked up is your head for you to wanna go to therapy?”
“Quite fucked up,” Dennis raised an eyebrow. “Childhood shit. Kid shit. I don’t want to talk about that right now.”
“Is that why you’re sad tonight?”
“No, dude, not everything that makes me mopey and sad is from childhood shit I need therapy for. I’d like therapy, and it’ll probably help some other sad feelings. But tonight’s sad is just, sad. Can it just be sad?”
“It can just be sad, sure,” Mac nodded.
There was a little bit of silence. Dennis shifted his legs so his ankles crossed over. His heels bumped the windscreen.
“You want to start our thing again, then?” Mac asked quietly. Nervously. God, he was always so nervous.
Dennis nodded.
“Yeah, if you can put up with me like that again,” he chuckled.
“Shut your mouth,” Mac shook his head lightheartedly. “Dynamic Duo, back in effect.”
“Do you think it will last this time?” Dennis asked cautiously. “Because like... I, I mean. You’re out as gay, I’m out to you as gay; the gay part is established. Not an issue anymore. And I don’t want it to just go on for a couple of years, not telling anybody about it, pretending we’re into chicks, being too scared to call it a relationship, you know? I’m. I. I think I...”
“Why don’t we start it differently to how it was before?” Mac suggested. “Instead of pretending to be Hugh and Vic, getting blasted off grain alcohol, plowing and then just carrying on like that, without labelling it and keeping it secret, why don’t we like... Start this differently, and make it better.”
“Okay, how?”
“If you’d listen, bro,” Mac rolled his eyes. “My idea is this: I ask if you want to be my boyfriend, or partner, or whatever terminology is least childish... then, we can go home, do whatever, maybe watch a film, maybe drink tea, maybe bang, maybe argue about that awful Cowboy Cerrone fight for the thirtieth time - whatever. Then tomorrow, we’ll go into Paddy’s, and if you want to, tell them we’re together, and if it follows, that you’re gay. Then, when we do fuck, we don’t have to be drunk or feel like it’s technically friends with benefits. It can just be two dudes in a badass gay relationship having sex because they want to and they can. And then, when you wanna kiss me, you don’t have to glance around to make sure the gang aren’t there, or close the curtains in the flat. Everything else will be the same. Just Mac and Dennis, but with a hopefully less grumpy Dennis who stops being such a fucking asshole to me all the time, and with a less pining, desperate and irritating Mac, who might just take up karate again. How’s that idea?”
“You’ve thought about that a lot, haven’t you?” Dennis laughed warmly.
“Obviously, bro,” Mac defended.
“It’s a good idea, for somebody who’s terrible at ideas,” Dennis’ smile softened. It was tight-lipped, and his eyebrows raised a little bit. “Besides the karate bit. Please don’t inflict us like that again-”
“Wanna be my boyfriend?” Mac asked confidently, looking at Dennis with a cheeky glint to his eye.
“Okay,” Dennis said. And he still felt heavy and he still felt sad but at least he could finally call Mac his boyfriend, which was something that lifted the darkness of his bad day. He looked at Mac for a moment, shrugging with a gentle nod, before looking away. Mac nudged him with his elbow, chuckling casually.
“What do you want to do about your sad thing tonight?” Mac asked after a peaceful moment of quiet.
Dennis exhaled a sigh through his nose, and thought for a moment.
“Don’t think there’s much to do. I’m in a lousy mood, and I’m still sobering up, so, I don’t know. Or care, that much,” he pondered out loud, not coming to any conclusion. “I don’t know.”
“Wanna smash some shit?”
“No, Mac, I’m not a degenerate who deals with his emotions with violence, like you,” Dennis said lightly, a glimmer of a smile working it’s way onto his face.
“I can’t believe my boyfriend just called me a degenerate,” Mac sighed with faux-upset, restricting a laugh. “Asshole.”
Dennis lips slipped into a thin smile. He sighed. Revelled as the word ‘boyfriend’ lingered quite comfortably in the air.
“Can we just... go home? Have a coffee or - or whatever. Tea. I don’t know. I don’t care- it doesn’t matter. Just,” Dennis closed his eyes and shook away his stumbling words, replacing them with a sense of literacy. “I’m tired, so a hot drink and sleep would be... nice.”
“Sure thing, Den,” Mac said quietly. He wasn’t nervous now, and Dennis noted this, but it still made his stomach turn. He didn’t feel sick this time though - no. He felt warm.
“Softie,” Dennis smirked, turning his head to look at Mac who wasn’t smiling, but looked content, eyes pointed up at the sky where stars were fighting to show.
Mac shook his head, and it was at that point, a smile did slip onto his face. Looking at Dennis with a sideways glance. Narrowing his eyes with a glint. Pushing himself off the roof of the car, taking a careful step down the hood and hopping to the floor. Dennis followed with less ease, his balance threatening to wobble as he stepped down the hood of the car.
Mac held out his hand, to which Dennis sighed, pursing his lips.
“Been a while, right?” Mac raised an amused eyebrow, faux-mocking Dennis’ hesitation to hold his hand, keeping his hand still in the air, waiting for Dennis to inevitably lose his anxious pride.
“Something like that,” Dennis exhaled a sniff from his nose as a replacement for a smile. He looked at Mac’s hand. It looked gentle in the parking lot street lights, less calloused and rough than usual. Dennis paused, before clasping Mac’s hand, using the support to jump down from the car hood.
Their hands didn’t break apart when Dennis’ feet were firmly on the ground, but this was not a surprise to either men. Mac looked at Dennis with a playful expression at first, watching as Dennis’ face went from exasperated to amused to small, emotional. Eyes, focused on Mac’s fingers gripping his hand, not too firm but not too gentle. Brow, hardening into a borderline overwhelmed expression.
“Your hands are still sweaty like they used to be,” Dennis forced a breathy laugh to combat the sudden intensity his brain had thrown upon the situation.
“You’re still holding it though, so I don’t really see that as a complaint, dude,” Mac noted. He felt Dennis’ hand squeeze his.
“Shut up,” Dennis sighed, and went to step away - he didn’t, not completely, because he couldn’t bring himself to let go of Mac’s hand. “Idiot.”
Mac smiled and frowned at the same time, feeling Dennis’ slightly cold fingers press firmly into the back of his hand. It felt sad. It felt quiet. It felt like many things that were unfamiliar to Mac.
He contemplated what to say for a moment. Took his time, putting together a sentence in his head, before giving up and speaking whatever came to mind, before the silence had dragged on for too long.
“You’ll be alright, dude,” he simply said. Dennis closed his eyes. Nodded. “I’d pinky swear it, but we’re not teenage girls, so I’ll save you the embarrassment.”
“‘S not like you can feasibly promise that anyway, so it’s okay,” Dennis slipped his hand out of Mac’s after much self-convincing. He looked up and offered a small, but genuine, half-smile. “I appreciate the idea, though. And yeah, I will be. I’m not under the impression that I’ll never be okay again- like... that sounded- no, what I’m t... what I’m trying to say, is thanks.”
Mac nodded. A small silence followed.
“Reset the momentum, quick,” Dennis said suddenly, almost energetically. “Call me an asshole, say something mean.”
“You’re a fuckin’ asshole,” Mac broke out into a stupid smile.
“Fuck off, you’re annoying,” Dennis tried not to laugh, although this was a very difficult feat, a childish grin emerging briefly. “Let’s go home. I’m driving.”
Mac had never felt warmer after being told to fuck off because of how annoying he is. He’d normally sulk, but he knew that with this context, with this conversation, with this night, Dennis meant the exact opposite. Mac didn’t - Dennis was an asshole, but God, Mac could never find it in him to see that as a deterrent.
He didn’t need to now, anyway. There was no fear of being rejected, because he’d been accepted, and vice versa. This was just Mac and Dennis being Mac and Dennis; calling each other names and being dicks to each other, but knowing that it was definitively without spite and ill-meaning.
Mac and Dennis were Mac and Dennis again.
They were back at their apartment now. Dennis was sitting on the sofa, wearing pyjamas. The room was dimly lit, as the lamps and city streets from outside were providing light instead of the main one. It was cosy. Calm. Nice.
Mac approached from the kitchen, his bare feet softly padding across the carpeted floor, a cup in each hand. He too, was wearing pyjamas; slacks that were slightly too big and an old, sleeveless tee with a likely offensive quote on it, that was unreadable as it’d faded over the years.
He placed the cups down, before flopping onto the sofa gracelessly, exhaling gently.
“There wasn’t any almond milk left, so I opened the other nut one that was in the cupboard - whatever it is,” Mac said, to which Dennis nodded.
“Thanks,” he smiled a little, before letting his face relax into his resting expression. “I’ll let it cool.”
Mac hummed in response. Dennis noted how comfortable he sounded.
After a short moment of quiet, watching the steam disperse in wispy clouds through the semi-illuminated room, Dennis allowed some of his weight to rest against Mac’s arm; an unspoken and subtle show of affection.
Mac turned his head a little, far enough so he could comfortably see Dennis, who was looking into his lap peacefully. Mac let himself feel a fairly unfamiliar sense of contentment, and returned the leaning weight against Dennis, only slightly shifting, enough for Dennis to recognise.
Dennis exhaled a breath from his nose, short and soft, holding close semblance to a laugh.
“It’s refreshing,” he said. Mac knew what he meant - and he was right. It was refreshing. Mac and Dennis, that is, and the fact that they were sitting like this. They’d grown so divided, it had been at least over a year since they’d chosen to sit this close together, this strange level of emotional vulnerability that could almost be described as intimate.
“Yeah, it is,” Mac agreed looking at his knee, at Dennis’ knee, at Dennis’ hands that were resting gently in his lap. It was a good time, a good opportunity, for Mac to take his hand, so he did. Slipped his hand casually into where Dennis was resting, sliding his fingers between Dennis’ knuckles.
He could clearly hear Dennis swallow a lump in his throat, before settling his hand comfortably into Mac’s. Squeezing, gently, after a moment.
“I missed you,” Dennis said. He choked it on a disbelieving exhale of a chuckle, face settling into a slightly overwhelmed frown.
“I never left to be missed, Den,” Mac would’ve laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “That was you.”
Dennis nodded.
“No wonder. Your hands are clammy as shit-”
“Dennis,” Mac said. Firmly. Sadly.
Dennis nodded again. Breathed out. Unsteady.
“Yeah, I know, I... yeah,” he stumbled, trying to keep himself eloquently spoken. “That year I was away. You know, North Dakota and all...”
“I know the year, asshole,” Mac said tiredly.
“I regretted every day that I was there that I gave you a fake number,” Dennis admitted, brow twitching as he felt Mac’s thumb absently run over the back of his knuckles. “And I was too fuckin’ stupid to pick up the phone myself. Being a pussy, you know?”
“You came back, though,” Mac managed to say, choosing his words. “Kind of.”
“Kind of?”
“Yeah, you weren’t yourself, were you?” Mac raised an eyebrow, unsure of whether Dennis was looking at him to see, but did so anyway. “Like I said, you were a bit of a dick to me. ‘Specially at that conference, where you outed us all as bad people. Remember that?”
Dennis sucked his bottom lip in and winced.
“I remember,” Dennis said. It came out as a croak - he cleared his throat, before repeating, “Yeah, I remember.”
“So yeah, I missed you too. Because you know, not to be a whiny, serious, bitchy boyfriend, but I actually lost you to miss,” Mac laughed awkwardly. “It’s okay, though. To clarify - it... it is okay.”
Dennis closed his eyes and squeezed his face up, before relaxing it, trying to relieve some tension. He still had his eyes closed, trying to focus on mustering up some confidence to say what he needed to say.
“I’m sorry,” Dennis said as normally as possible, as sincerely as possible without it being weird.
Mac just laughed. Gently, not teasingly. Incredulously, not cruelly.
“Don’t be stupid. You never apologise, nor do I,” Mac leaned further into Dennis, squeezing his hand; tightly. “Don’t apologise,” his smile faded. “Please.”
A couple of moments of silence passed. The steam from the tea was growing thinner.
“I don’t hate you, you know. I never did,” Dennis said, unprompted. He found the courage to look across at Mac, whose face was a confusing mess of sincerity and confusion and unconditional adoration. He hooked his foot around Dennis’, and nodded.
“Yeah,” he whispered, making eye contact for a second, before naturally looking away, nodding ever so slightly.
“You said earlier, in the car, that it makes you sad when you remember that I hate you. And I know I said that I did - I know. I know. But I fucking don’t and I never have and I never will,” Dennis said firmly, trying so hard to be assertive in those words so they stuck with Mac and they imprinted themselves in his head. He then quietly added, “Quite the opposite, really.”
Mac’s eyes blinked, lips pursed, chin threatened to wobble. He looked at Dennis firmly, but softly. He noticed that Dennis had shifted his position a little, turning to face Mac with his whole body.
Mac’s lips upturned into a quietly amused smile.
“You’re not very subtle, Den,” he said gently, watching as Dennis forced a casual demeanour, but couldn’t hide the look in his eyes. “Pretty cliché really. If you want to kiss me, just say. Just do.”
Dennis narrowed his eyes faux-offended.
“I’m not cliché,” Dennis defended himself, using the hand that was in Mac’s to gently tug him a little closer.
“Kind of are, bro,” Mac half-smiled, allowing himself to feel that fluttery, childish excitement as Dennis hooked his leg fully around Mac’s.
“Am not,” Dennis frowned grumpily. Mac raised an eyebrow, trying to keep his look of pure mischief and infatuation under control. He noticed Dennis’ free hand hover by his neck, too hesitant to actually touch him.
Dennis closed his eyes in frustration. Exhaled sharply.
“You kiss me,” he said. “I can’t do it first, not after being like I’ve been.”
Mac’s cheeks warmed as his honesty, smiling properly now.
He feigned confidence in ignorance of the churning in his chest and throat and stomach, and took Dennis’ chin between his forefinger and thumb. As he did, Dennis’ hand finally fell to Mac’s neck.
Mac felt Dennis’ pulse faintly against the top of his forefinger, as it gently pressed the flesh beneath Dennis’ jaw and chin. Mac’s smile faded because it was real now. It wasn’t bad, but it was real. It was scary, if he was honest.
“Mac,” Dennis whispered. “Don’t leave me hanging, baby boy.”
And then, Mac was kissing Dennis in an instant. It wasn’t as gentle and as romantic as he’d planned, but as his lips instinctively crushed against Dennis’ upon hearing those words, it was somehow more genuine, more characteristic of them, for their first kiss after so many years to be imperfect and clumsy.
It wasn’t desperate, though, nor was it heated by any shape of the imagination. It was as quiet as it was loud, and God, Mac could practically taste the sadness on Dennis’ lips - how shaky they were, yet how firmly they closed around Mac’s own.
It almost hurt.
It did hurt.
And it took some time to readjust. To get used to it. For it to stop being foreign and for it to feel like the norm again. But when it did, it was like nothing had changed, not even their age.
But it didn’t need to last for more than was necessary.
“Dennis,” Mac mumbled against Dennis’ inhumanly soft lips. It felt weird, to speak; it seemed to disrupt the sincere silence.
“Mac?”
“You should drink your tea,” he gently kissed Dennis’ bottom lip, the corner of his mouth, with hesitation between each press of his mouth. “It’ll go cold.”
Dennis nodded. His breath gently graced Mac’s mouth. It was comforting.
“Yeah,” Dennis whispered his reluctant agreement. He didn’t pull back for a moment, but tapped his fingers against Mac’s neck, almost erratically. It was juxtaposing the stillness of the rest of the situation, and Mac didn’t realise why it was that Dennis’ fingers were tapping so desperately, until Dennis had yanked himself forwards into Mac, burying his face in his neck. Breathing deep. Arms around Mac’s torso. Brow furrowed so tightly, Mac could feel the ridges of his forehead against his stubbled neck.
Mac’s chin wobbled. He wrapped his arms around Dennis in return, firmly, tightly. He closed his eyes. Rested the side of his face against Dennis’ wavy hair.
“Tea,” Mac mumbled. “I’m not making another one.”
“Yeah,” Dennis exhaled heavily, and prised himself away, hands lingering on Mac’s back, slipping away to his sides, slipping across his front innocently, before his fingers lifted away, and he sat back a little, looking at Mac knowingly.
Mac looked back, just as knowingly.
“Good to have you back, Den,” he opted to smile with his eyes instead of his lips. Dennis did the same. Picked up a cup, passed it to Mac. Picked up his own. Sat back comfortably and took a sip.
It was the perfect temperature.
“You should sleep in my room tonight. If you want,” Dennis said after a sip, feigning the same confidence that Mac had when he’d kissed Dennis.
Mac raised an eyebrow.
“I’d like that,” he simply said, because it was a simple answer to a simple question.
“You know, just because couples do that, and we never used to when, I... you don’t have to say yes, obviously, and I’m not thinking with my dick right now, I just-” Dennis huffed a sigh. It rippled the tea aggressively. “I just want to sleep next to you. It sounds fucking babyish, doesn’t it? I-”
“Dennis!” Mac laughed, to get his attention, to reassure him. “I said I’d like to. So it’s okay. I knew what you were getting at.”
Dennis sighed, exhaling a laugh.
“I’ve really lost my mojo, huh?”
“You don’t need it, dumbass,” Mac rolled his eyes, sipping some tea from his cup. “It’s fine. You don’t gotta worry that it’s not fine. Sleeping next to you is especially and totally fine. It’ll be cool. Drink your tea.”
Dennis looked comforted, through a level of casualness he was forcing to retain an element of ‘Dennis’.
A couple of minutes passed. Comfortable silence, that settled between them, besides soft puffs of air against the surface of the tea, and the sips.
“How’s the sad?” Mac asked, placing his cup down. He’d drank most of it, but the dregs had grown cold.
“Not as deafening,” Dennis replied, swirling the liquid in his cup, eyeing it with consideration - the sweetener was more concentrated at the bottom. It was almost sickly. He placed his cup down too. “I’ll sleep the rest off. I’ll be all good tomorrow - you watch.”
Mac nodded. He chose not to comment, because he knew as well as Dennis there was a chance he wouldn’t be ‘all good’, and Mac wasn’t about to point this out and jinx it for him.
So he picked up the cups and stood up, gesturing to Dennis’ bedroom door with his head.
“Get comfy.”
Dennis smiled slightly, shaking his head incredulously, and pushed himself off the sofa slowly.
“I’m bringing you a glass of water and all, you were fuckin’ wasted earlier.”
“My hero,” Dennis quipped sarcastically, offering a more characteristic upturn of his lips, before heading to his room, not quite closing the door all the way behind him.
Mac looked at the cups, looked at the door, looked at the dip in the sofa from where they’d been sitting. Looked back at the door. Back at the door. Back at the door.
Dennis was sad.
He was also being honest. Open. Something Mac rarely got. They’d kissed, that was nice. Everything was quiet, but in the most peaceful, refreshing was possible.
Dennis was sad, sure.
But that was okay.