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Mac hated the seminar.
He hated the acting, the stupid speakers who obviously had no real idea what they were doing, the weird thing between Charlie and Dee that he wanted no part of - but mostly, he hated Dennis.
Well, not really Dennis himself; as much as he pissed him off, constantly, Mac was sure he could never truly hate Dennis. But what he had said at the seminar… It didn’t leave his mind, but instead left him with a bitter taste in his mouth and a sick feeling in his stomach.
And then, the revelation, the curtain drop - that Dennis had planned all of it just to… what? Tell his friends they all suck? He wasn’t necessarily wrong, of course, except when it came to Mac. With Mac, with his weird speech about him, the pointed remarks about him being gay, it made him feel a whirlwind of negative emotions. Anger, disbelief, betrayal. Pity.
Ever since he’d come out for real, since he’d stayed out, it seemed like Dennis only pushed him further away. It never made any sense. Dennis was always telling Mac to just come out, to accept his gayness, to stop pretending to like women, and on and on and on to the point that, maybe, maybe Mac did stay out a little bit for him. Because Dennis had wanted him to.
And now he was out, and everything had taken a sharp turn for the worse. Dennis stopped touching him, stopped sitting so close to him, stopped smiling lazily at him when he knew Mac was looking, stopped with the petnames and the tenderness and stopped being Dennis. Whenever Mac thought about it, his head spun fast with vertigo, made him feel nauseous and unsteady, except now he no longer had Dennis to fall back on to when he was about to topple over. Now, he just fell and fell until his heart hit the floor and smashed into mocking little pieces.
It wasn’t right, or fair. He knew it wasn’t. How could it be? What could he even have done to deserve such a response, or really lack thereof, other than simply exist?
Well, for Dennis, that on its own could be enough.
Mac knew Dennis didn’t hate him, never had and never could. He knew that in his heart, an intimate yet sure feeling that he’d had since Dennis had signed their first lease and helped Mac carry the roughly three boxes worth of things from his mom’s house into his new room.
Yet, sometimes, when Dennis turned away from his touch a little too sharply, or when he made a scathing remark to Mac that didn’t quite hold the usual humorous undertone, or when he shouted at him just a bit too manically, Mac could feel his belief wavering and cracking.
He had always believed in his heart that Dennis would always care for him and be his best friend just as strongly as he believed in God. But as the latter belief had been twisted and questioned and used to choke him and his very being until he couldn’t breathe - as he could feel even God turn on him, he felt that it was only a matter of time until Dennis did the same.
The seminar, the speech, it all pushed his doubts and worries to the forefront of his brain until it pressed against his skull, daring to crack it open and swallow him whole.
There was no more skirting it. He had to talk to Dennis.
As soon as they’d arrived at their apartment, and the door was shut and locked, Dennis made a beeline for his bedroom, a new normal for them. They rarely shared the same space at the same time anymore, because if Mac was somewhere in the apartment, Dennis had to be somewhere else. The only exception was for meals - ones that Dennis usually skipped regardless - and the less-often movie nights they still had occasionally, just as a desperate plea for some semblance of how things used to be.
But Dennis wasn’t going to run away this time. Mac would make sure of it. As soon as he noticed Dennis making his escape, he put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him dead in his tracks and clearly causing his skin to crawl, if the tenseness in his stance was any indication. Slowly, Dennis turned back to look at Mac, his gaze guarded and questioning.
“Dennis, can you please not do that? Not tonight?” Mac asked, his voice quiet. His pleading eyes met nervous and exhausted blue ones, eyes that were searching him for intent, searching the room for a way out, searching and searching and refusing to stay in place.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Dennis responded curtly, and in that moment Mac wanted nothing more than to scream at him and shake him until he dropped that stupid, stupid facade. Mac was so tired of the lies and the defenses, ones that Dennis seemingly never ran out of.
He dropped his hand a bit, down Dennis’ arm, until it grazed his forearm and his fingers clasped with a gentle hold to his wrist. “You do. You do know, because you’ve done it every night this month except for Tuesday, because I made you. Can we just talk in here for a minute, dude?”
Dennis hesitated, his ever-searching glassy eyes drifting down to the grip Mac still held on his wrist; the grip, he noted, that Dennis for once didn’t shake away. He looked back up then, his gaze still wary. “...Okay. Okay, fine. We can talk.”
“Great,” Mac breathed in relief, a small smile growing on his face. “Good, okay. Um-” He paused, then broke his contact from Dennis’ skin, feeling a cold chill immediately. He made his way over to the couch, sitting down on one end and gesturing for Dennis to sit on the other. Just the way he liked to sit, these days, with as much distance as possible.
Dennis took his seat, his body still visibly tense. His hands dropped to his lap, clasped together, ankles crossed as he seemed to fold in on himself - probably mentally and emotionally, too, Mac thought with a pang of annoyance. He pushed it away, instead attempting to seem as open and casual as he could.
There was an uncomfortable beat of silence, the air thick and heavy between them, until Mac cleared his throat and spoke up, “So, Dennis. I wanted to tell you, because you’re my best friend, okay, and we’ve known each other for, like, ever. But, uh… I just - I feel like-”
“Oh, is this a ‘feelings’ thing?” Dennis interjected, a bored look on his face. In contrast Mac’s grew dark at the interruption, glaring daggers at his roommate. “Mac, you know I’m not - I don’t do feelings, okay? I-I don’t feel things.”
“Dennis, I might’ve believed you with that unfeeling bullshit a few years ago, but I know you’re not like that, dude. You think I forgot Valentine’s, man, really? God, just - Dennis, can you please just let me talk? Can you do that, for once? Let me talk to you?”
Dennis’ eyebrows raised along with his hands in a surrendering movement, and Mac sighed before continuing on. “Listen, I just… I feel like, ever since I came out as gay, you’ve had, like, some kind of problem with it or with me or something, and I want to know why. ” Now, with the words hanging in the air between them, unable to be taken back or refuted, Mac felt nervousness creep up his spine. He wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he was afraid of, really - maybe Dennis asserting his worst fears, or maybe saying what Mac so desperately wanted him to.
He didn’t answer immediately. In fact, he only drew further inward, his eyes never looking back to meet Mac’s. Suddenly he looked very vulnerable and, Mac realized with a great sadness, incredibly afraid. Guilt gnawed at him, and Mac spoke again, voice soft and fast, words stumbling together, “I’m sorry, man, you don’t need to - I mean, I - it’s not that big of a deal, it’s just…”
“Do you remember,” Dennis interrupted, his voice low and rough. He was clearly putting in effort to keep it steady, that much Mac could tell. “The way you felt - back when you… before you - you came to terms with it?”
Somewhat lost on his train of thought, Mac pushed him to keep going. “Um… yeah, I guess so. Yeah. Why?”
Dennis’ hands shook, his fingers picking desperately at his cuticles in his anxiety. Despite this, he seemed almost unaware of it, his gaze fixated far away on something that he likely wasn’t really looking at anyway. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, biting at his lip. Finally, he said, “You were scared, right? Scared of what people would think, I guess, or what God would think for you, but… but more than that, scared… Scared of admitting it to yourself, owning it, accepting it. Right?”
Mac shifted closer to Dennis, his arms practically aching in his desire to reach out and touch him and hold him close, to share his body heat and his presence and let Dennis know with his body that he was okay. Instead, he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it. Dennis, do you…”
“I’m not, Mac,” spat Dennis with a sudden vitriol, but the trembling of his voice betrayed him. “I… I’m not like you, Mac. I - I can’t be, alright?” Dennis’ eyes never moved from where they stared off sightlessly, his entire body shaking. Mac recognized this - he knew the telltale signs and mannerisms of Dennis’ various breakdowns and meltdowns, knew the why and the how and the way the outward trembles of his body were only a small reflection of the whirlwind going on inside Dennis’ mind. He knew how to help some of them, too; not fix, because really with him there never was a concrete fix, only a banking back to shore to fare the storm and prepare for whenever the next one would hit. That was just how it was with Dennis, a constant battle for sanity, but Mac never complained.
So he waited, just like always, patient, letting him work and plan it out in his brain before he advanced any further. Mac could almost see the gears turning in his brain as his expression changed subtly, his composure regaining slowly. Dennis finally broke his one-sided staring contest and instead looked towards Mac. He wasn't quite able to meet his eyes, not yet, but it was something. It was progress.
A shallow breath in, then out. Fingers red from the picking buried themselves in a blue shirt sleeve, forced to lay still. Then, “What if… I was, though?” Dennis’ voice was quiet and nervous, like toeing the surface of a pool. “What if… I…” A pause; one hand relinquished from its post moved up to rub anxiously over his face as he pondered more, still biting his lips raw.
“I-It’s just hard, Mac,” he managed, eyes squeezing shut. And Mac understood. He didn't always get the things that Dennis stressed over, the things that plagued his brain and drove him mad until he was at his wit’s end. He didn't have the same kind of inner turmoil that Dennis seemed to always be fighting every second of the day. But, for once, this time he understood. This time he knew exactly what Dennis was talking about, how he felt, how much it hurt and confused him and made him put his entire life and being into question.
“I get it,” Mac said softly, and he took the hand still poised nervously by Dennis’ face into his own, intertwined the fingers, moved it down to rest on the cushion between them. Dennis watched the movement, followed it helplessly, and he could tell tears were brewing there like a dam ready to burst.
Dennis hit that point a lot, Mac knew. Sometimes he just needed to let the dam break.
“I get it, Den,” he repeated, tracing circles on Dennis’ soft skin with his thumb, watching the movement absently. “It's like… it's like - having to shed away all this fake skin you piled on without even realizing it, so you don't know it was all fake and hurting you until you take it off. You think it's too complicated and scary to just… face head-on, and go ‘yeah, that is who I am,’ because sometimes you don't really know. But… It's better, once you admit it, Dennis. It really is better. And you don't need to hurt anymore.” Mac squeezed his hand, then gazed back up at Dennis’ face.
He was met with wide, teary eyes, a mouth just slightly ajar, an expression so full of emotion that it almost threw Mac off guard. He reminded himself of where the tissues were, noting just how close to crying Dennis appeared to be.
“Don't know who replaced Mac, but w-whoever you are, you really are wise,” Dennis mumbled, joking, but his tone didn't quite sell it and his face crumpled. “Guess you… you were better off with me gone, weren't you? I-I mean - getting to… to be you, to understand who you are. Why'd I ever come back?”
Mac felt his heart break, and he knew it no doubt showed on his face. If he didn't know any better, didn't know Dennis, he might have been a little upset at the insinuation, angry at what sounded like means to leave. But he did know Dennis, and he knew what it really was - further self-hate, blaming himself for, in his mind, making Mac’s life worse. That did almost make him mad, that Dennis would ever genuinely think that his absence actually helped Mac, when it only did the opposite. Call him codependent or whatever, he didn't really care. He just knew that he needed Dennis, and that Dennis needed him. Distance could never fix them, especially not now.
“Dennis, I was never better off without you. I kind of can’t believe you would actually think otherwise,” he said, giving his hand another gentle squeeze. “I'm happy you came back, man. Can you let yourself be happy about it too?”
Dennis was quiet, his body still shaking slightly. Instead of a verbal reply, he suddenly moved forward, wrapping his free arm around Mac and collapsing into his chest. Mac felt cool liquid bleed through his shirt, but he didn’t mind. He broke their handhold to put another arm around Dennis, pulling him closer, into his lap. Mac pressed a soft kiss to the top of Dennis’ head, gently stroking up and down his back.
Minutes passed, the shakes of anxiety slowly leaving Dennis’ body, and Mac spoke up, voice soft, “Hey, listen man, I - I'm just really tired of all the awkwardness, you know? I want us to be able to do the stuff we've always done without it being weird, just ‘cuz - uh, y’know.” He neglected directly mentioning the elephant in the room; though he knew Dennis was probably gay too, all things considered, he was still having a hard time with it, so Mac didn't want to set him off again.
Dennis breathed out on his chest, then sat up, still in Mac’s hold. He moved one hand back to touch Mac’s toned bicep gingerly, hesitantly, then dropped it down between them. Mac could hear his heartbeat in his ears, or maybe Dennis’, or both, fused into one loud synchronized beat, digging at his skull. Dennis bit his lip, then inched his hand forward, resting it just above Mac’s waist, his fingers drifting over his abs as he did. The sensation sent chills up Mac’s spine, but he tried not to show it, instead waiting and allowing Dennis to explore his torso. His other hand followed, both then on Mac’s hips. A stray finger dropped downward, brushed the hem of his pants, until Dennis took in a sharp breath and suddenly the hand drew back and covered his mouth, his eyes squeezing shut.
“Hey, hey,” Mac murmured, holding Dennis just a bit closer to him. “It's okay, Den. D’you wanna talk?” He kept his voice quiet and gentle, tilting his head a little as he asked.
Dennis took in a few breaths, dropped his hand down to Mac’s bicep and held it there for support, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I think - can I ask you some things? Mac?” he inquired a bit nervously, still appearing a bit on edge.
“Of course, dude. Anything you want,” Mac replied almost eagerly, his eyes just as bright and warm as ever. He watched patiently as Dennis composed himself, psyched himself up.
“Okay. What's… what's it like, being, ah - unafraid? You know, to - to admire men?” Dennis seemed to choke out the words, like they were trapped in his throat and had to pry themselves out. It was likely that they were, in a way.
“Well, uh, it's pretty nice, actually. It's kinda like doing what I've always done, except I don't really feel ashamed of it anymore. And I can say whatever I think about men's physiques without trying to not seem gay, because it totally is gay, bro.”
Dennis nodded along as he spoke, as if he was being lectured on some profound idea and not just Mac’s lack of restraint in complimenting beefcakes. But, regardless, Dennis didn't seem to react much to it otherwise, just nodded and pondered. “And,” he went on, his fingers growing restless and ghosting shapes over Mac’s bicep as he spoke, “how's it like, being with a man once you're out? L-Like bar hookups and… stuff.”
Mac’s face flushed, but he held fast. “Oh, uh… I mean… I haven't really done it a lot, just a couple of times when I really felt like it, but… It's way more better than being with a woman, bro. I dunno what it is, but men are, like - super in-tune when doing stuff with you, and, um, y’know, they just… feel better.” He looked a bit sheepish saying it out loud, to Dennis; for some reason, admitting he'd fooled around with men to him felt like he was saying something he shouldn't have. Almost as if he'd admitted to cheating, except they weren't dating, so that wasn't exactly right.
Dennis was a bit pink in the cheeks as well, but furthermore he appeared to be lost in thought, gaze drifting both to Mac and past him and through him all at once. Then, he shifted a little where he sat and looked back to Mac - to his face, this time.
“Do you…” Dennis paused, his breathing shaky. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes grazing over Mac’s body, stopping on his face - his lips, really. He tried again, “Can you show me? Just so I - so I know.” His voice was deathly quiet and small, like he was asking for the whole world and that it'd all break if he spoke too loudly of it.
It felt like all the air left Mac’s lungs, leaving him winded. His mind replayed the question, over and over again, taking the words and examining them piece by piece, processing exactly what Dennis had just asked of him, letting it all sink in, hitting him like a rushing freight train. He didn't respond at first, hot blood rushing to his face, but then he regained his bearings and nodded a little too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, of course, man.”
Dennis nodded back, still appearing far more vulnerable than he usually allowed, and he adjusted his hands, pressed them gently to Mac’s cheeks. Mac didn't move, giving Dennis the time and space to initiate it on his own terms. He met Mac’s eyes briefly, and then closed the gap between them, lips pressing against Mac’s.
It was soft enough, which surprised Mac just a little considering how much of a deviant Dennis was. But, he took it slow, kissing Mac sweetly. It felt good, even as light as it was, and Mac savored the feeling, the taste of him as he kissed back. Then, Dennis broke away and peppered small kisses to the side of his mouth, his cheek, then dropped his head into the crook of Mac’s neck and left small, adoring kisses there, too.
“Mac,” Dennis said quietly, his face still buried against his skin, still leaving small kisses where it was exposed.
“Yeah?” he replied dreamily, still on the high of kissing Dennis. He had one hand in Dennis’ hair, stroking gently, rhythmically, enjoying the feeling.
“I am gay,” Dennis spoke, his voice sure and steady for the first time that night. “And I think I'm in love with you.”
Mac’s hands drifted, took Dennis by the jaw and lifted his head up to face him so that their eyes met. Pure adoration poured from Mac’s, his expression one he held when looking at Dennis often, only now with more fervor. A little smile was on Dennis’, one he rarely ever was allowed to see, but that he drank in like it was sparkly, clear water in an oasis.
“I love you too, Den,” Mac beamed, and to his delight, Dennis didn't freeze up or wither away at the confession but instead grinned back, and for the first time in an uncomfortably long while it felt like he was actually looking at Dennis, himself, in the flesh, rather than a closed off carbon copy.
Dennis leaned in and kissed him again, though this time with more certainty and, Mac quickly realized, more passion. He figured Dennis wouldn't keep up the vanilla sweetness for very long, anyway, and as the kiss grew deeper and more intense, he knew that he didn't mind at all.
Later that night, as he lay in bed with a sleeping naked Dennis resting against him, he briefly wondered what they would tell the Gang. Ultimately, though, he realized that they wouldn't care, because everyone knew that Mac loved Dennis and Dennis could never function without Mac. So nothing would change, really, except that now they would kiss and fuck and wouldn't skirt around the edges of what was “too gay” because they were, really, always had been, but with both now at peace with the fact, they left that line behind and forgotten.
Mac pressed a gentle kiss to Dennis’ head, smiled and gazed lovingly at the man in his arms because he could do that now, all he wanted, and he felt happy. “Goodnight, Den,” he said quietly, though more for himself, and his eyes drifted shut.