Work Text:
When Dennis and Mac move back after the month in the suburbs, Mac goes to Charlie's apartment. At first Charlie thinks he's here to see Frank, get them out of their bet, but Dennis would've most certainly been right next to him to argue, probably with Dee in tow. There was no way either of them trusted Mac, who couldn't argue his way out of a paper bag, to go talk to Frank about their living situation. That couldn't have been it.
"Frank isn't here," Charlie says anyway, but that's all he says. Before he can get another word out, Mac is hugging him, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders, pressing his warm cheek into the side of Charlie's face. Oh, okay.
Charlie doesn't usually do touch. He could really only stand it when it came to Mac, and sometimes from Dennis, but that was really it. And even Mac had been an obstacle when they were younger, until they grew together like vines, and you couldn't separate them. As they got older, Charlie started to recognize that he'd become not only comfortable with Mac's touch, but dependent on it, not feeling quite so safe without his comforting presence, usually made known by an arm around his shoulders, the brush of Mac's hand against his. He wasn't good with words, but loving Mac was a language he understood, and he knew it relied mostly on touch. And, after a while, it became the way Charlie loved him, too. Mac reached out to the things he loved. As he loved Charlie, Charlie began reaching out to him first. He'd shown him the good side of physical affection, and Charlie buried himself in it eagerly.
Mac smells like fresh air and a little bit of sweat, and it occurs to Charlie that he may have run there. He's panting, heavy breaths that turn into a sigh when Charlie wraps his arms around Mac's rib cage and squeezes him. Always willing to be close to others, Mac was never happier than when others wanted to be close to him. And Charlie wanted it. He buries his nose in Mac's shoulder and clutches his hands together at the small of his back, unwilling to let him go.
He thought it would be fine. So what Mac and Dennis were moving a little ways out of the city? He'd still see them every day at work, and they could hang out at Charlie's after if they wanted.
But then Dennis came to work alone one day, and the day after that, and the day after that, and all of a sudden it had been the longest period of time Charlie had gone without seeing Mac since they met when they were five years old.
It was like a physical growth on his chest, every day he went without seeing Mac after the first few days. Every inch of him missed him, to talk to him, to share the day with someone he'd shared almost every day of his life with. And it had only been three weeks. He tried to bury himself in schemes, in conversations, in Charlie Work, but none of it seemed to keep the growth from consuming him, eating through his skin and his bone, sucking the marrow out until he was just…empty. And he hated himself for feeling that way, about Mac , but it was more than that. It was his best friend, it was the person who had shared everything with him. His other half.
That dinner had been a nightmare. All of them sitting at the table while Charlie could hardly follow the conversation, longing to throw all of the dishes onto the floor, climb over the table, and plaster himself to Mac, throw him in Dee's car and tell Dennis to fuck off before they drove back to the city and he never left again. When he, Dennis, and Dee had all gone into the other room to talk, leaving Charlie, Frank, and Old Man to stare at the gleaming testament to just how fucking lovely Dennis and Mac's new life was. Even if it was empty. Even if that incessant chirping noise kept going off every other minute. Even if it was half an hour out of the city they all grew up in, the city Charlie met Mac in, the city Charlie still lived in. Even if Charlie wasn't as big a part of their life anymore.
Charlie burned with a rage he wouldn't admit to, especially on the day when Dennis graced them with his presence, and it all clicked for Charlie that Mac wasn't avoiding coming to work. He hadn't been invited to come to work.
Charlie knew Mac could be annoying, he'd known him for over thirty years, sometimes there was nothing more he wanted to do than put Mac in a room and then drive away, but Christ he never acted on it. The closest they got was to screaming matches and slap fights, not the constant leaving him behind while he got to live normally.
It had made him so angry that he crawled into the Bad Room for the first time in a long time, smashing bottles. Mac was living with Dennis! In their own perfect little world! A world where Dennis couldn't even see that leaving Mac behind was such a shit idea because Mac is constantly terrified of being left behind! Because apparently he didn't care! He might not have ever even noticed! Because he didn't speak Mac like Charlie did! He didn't know how to love him! Not…Not like Charlie loved him. Never like Charlie loved him.
He'd returned to the bar with red rimmed eyes and a cut on his hand from where he clutched a bottle so hard it broke before he could even throw it. Dennis barely noticed him come in, scrolling on his phone and oblivious to the world around him.
"Hey, man," Charlie whispers, and he realizes then that he's crying. His hair is wet, and that's when he realizes Mac is crying too. He saw him last week. But that might as well have been ten years ago. It feels so good to see him again. "Everything alright?"
Mac shakes in Charlie's arms as his breath rattles in his chest. "I-I never want to leave here again. You, the bar, I…I hated it out there. I was going crazy."
"Yeah, dude, I know. You…We could tell when we came over for dinner," Charlie lies. Not lies, but not the truth. He was the only one who could tell, but he figured out Dee found out too, eventually. Frank had been none the wiser, though.
"No, you don't even know . I fed Dennis a dog , dude. And he didn't even fucking notice until I said something because I cooked it really good . Like, I looked stuff up and shit for it. I was off the deep end."
Charlie laughs. "How could he not tell? Dog meat tastes so weird, dude."
Mac turns his face toward Charlie slowly, but they still can't see each other wrapped in their hug. Yet neither of them pull away. "...Charlie…How do you know that?"
"When me and Dee were cannibals we tried it. It's not good."
"Oh thank god. I thought you were gonna say you've been eating dog meat for real."
"Nah, shit's nasty." He sniffs and buries his face further into Mac's shirt. "I missed you, man."
Mac's eyelashes flutter against the side of Charlie's head. "I missed you too."
Charlie cherishes the words and damns them at the same time. He's happy Mac missed him. He's thrilled , but the words lack the details Charlie aches for. He wants to pick Mac apart, root around in his head and learn just how many minutes he spent missing Charlie, how strongly he felt it, if that thing had been gnawing at his skin, too, or if Charlie was alone. He wants to know if it felt the same, if they love each other the same. He wants to know if Mac ever thought about crawling into Charlie's skin and hiding there like an egg in a nest, just so he couldn't be without Charlie again, like Charlie thought about Mac. He wants to know how many times he picked up the phone and didn't dial, how many times he stared at Charlie's contact and decided better of it. He wants to hold onto Mac until he can't anymore. He never wants to let go.
He pulls away to look at Mac, his eyes wide and wet. "I didn't forget about you when you were gone," he admits. It's the truest thing he's ever said. It's also the scariest thing he's ever said. "I thought about you every fuckin' minute of every day, wondering when you would be back, when Dennis would bring you back. I thought about stealing Dee's car and going to you guys' house, but I didn't know the address and I don't remember how to drive. But I wanted to. I want to see you every day, dude. Nothing pissed me off more than not getting to see you everyday. Remember that time you had the flu? And you didn't come into school for, like, two days?"
"You got mad at me for leaving you in gym class alone," Mac recalls, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You made me cough on you so you could stay home with me."
Charlie nods. "Worth it."
"I swear, dude, you almost died. That's why your mom fucking vaccinated you, like, seventy times."
" Worth it ," he repeats. "I never wanna go that long without seeing you ever again. I…I wanna be with you every day."
Mac nods, but it's clear he doesn't understand what Charlie is truly saying to him. "Me too."
"No," Charlie insists. "I wanna be with you. Every day. Like—"
He's interrupted by Mac kissing him. His arms slide from Mac's shoulders but Charlie squeezes his waist, fearing for a moment that Mac is trying to pull away from him. He isn't. He isn't going to. Mac only moves to cradle Charlie's jaw with one hand, the other on the back of his neck. His palms are sweaty but Charlie doesn't mind, kissing back with all of their past in mind. His blinds are drawn but there's a sunshower in his head, sending sparklers burning in his chest, the kind that kid Tucker would sell them behind the Sunoco after the Fourth of July had already passed.
"Me too, " Mac repeated, this time his words heavy and meaning exactly what Charlie knows they mean. He's breathing is still quicker than normal, but so is Charlie's now, as they trade shy smiles like they aren't nearing forty years old.
A pang of sadness strikes Charlie's heart like a gong. "I'm sorry I didn't realize earlier."
Mac shrugs, the weight of regrets popping off his shoulder like they're nothing. "We realized now." He kisses Charlie again, warm and half-assed because he can't keep a straight face to save either of their lives. "Besides, we both always kind of knew. Didn't we?"
Charlie smiles as he thinks of holding hands walking home and conversations on the porch in the middle of the summer, night so thick with humidity and mosquitoes that it threatened to melt them both. He remembers fondly of splitting ice cream cones and comparing halves of hoagies to see who would get the bigger side, making snowmen in abandoned parking lots and smoking just to be cool. He thinks about drinking in the park and holding Mac's curled up frame in his lap when his dad went back to prison. He thinks about throwing rocks at trains and going stag together to every dance they ever attended, to Mac sticking up to all of Charlie's bullies and the punches he's taken from Mac's.
He thinks about building a life with Mac from here and realizes he's already done that. He thinks about love, and about family, and about how all those words are right under a mental picture of Mac in his mind, weaved into the web of him Charlie has wrapped himself in before he knew what any of it meant.
Charlie thinks of Mac, and his words, and he smiles. "Yeah. I guess we did."