Archive of Our Own

Five Times Mac and Dennis Got High and Touched
and One Time They Didn’t Need Weed

1.

“Am I going to regret skipping Chemistry for a dumpster and a ratty boy?”

Mac, squatting slumped against the brick wall behind the high school, leapt to his feet and twisted his arm to hide the joint in hand behind his back. Panic flooded him for a split second until he saw the sharp face of Dennis Reynolds, managing to look both bored and amused at the same time as only he can do. Mac put his hand to his chest in relief, joint burning out between his fingers. “Shit, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Thought you were a teacher. Hey, man.”

Dennis wasn’t looking at him. His cool blue eyes scanned the space that Mac has come to think of as another home. Dennis always looked displeased with his surroundings, like he could always do so much better than where he was. The wall between the emergency exit door and the dumpster was grimy and there was always notebook paper glued with a mysterious lunchroom substance to the cement beneath their sneakers, and it was gross, Mac knew that, but it was his place. The Freight Train would hide away back here when high school was too much to handle.

“How much do you want?” Mac asked.

When Dennis swung by Mac’s locker between the change of class, he told Mac in a low voice that Mac couldn’t help but lean into that he was coming here to buy from him.

Dennis’ eyes cut directly to the loose brick that Mac, Charlie, Dooley, and Pete kept a small stash behind. Mac noted silently to himself to find a new hiding place for their weed.

“What are you smoking?”

“Skywalker. It’s not what I have in stock today.”

“I’m not interested in what you have in stock.”

Dennis slinked closer to him, head held high and eyes watching Mac carefully, making him feel small. This was an intimidation game of some sort, and it made Mac feel a little dizzy. Dennis was handsome, and even though they were just about the same height, somehow felt so much taller than Mac. He would have to start standing up straighter to compensate. Mac squared his shoulders and tilted his head back, looking just down his nose at Dennis.

Long hands reached out and plucked the joint from between Mac’s hands. He’d forgotten he was holding the piece and was leaning the once-smoldering end against the thin fabric of his t-shirt. It left the smallest burn to his flesh. When he looked back up at Dennis, he found the other boy looking right in his eyes, standing so close. His heart skipped a beat. He tilted his head back a fraction farther. Dennis held the joint up. “What were you lighting this thing with?”

Mac had sunk into the heavy haze of his high before the other boy showed up. Everything around he and Dennis had run together and turned grey. His limbs and his brain were no longer communicating; his mind said, “just give him the lighter”, but his hands flicked the lighter and held the flame to the burned edge of the joint.

Dennis quickly pulled the paper between his lips, Mac’s hand following with the flame, closed his eyes, and inhaled slow and deep. The tawny lashes batting over his pale skin captivated Mac, and the sharp cheeks that hollowed out to inhale made him appear even more angular, even more untouchable and dangerous. Mac wasn’t breathing. Dennis pulled the joint from his lips and opened his eyes, his mouth shut tight as he held in the smoke. Mac exhaled with him, and the white smoke left Dennis’ dragon mouth and flooded Mac’s face. He blinked through the cloud until the breeze carried it away. When he was finally able to see him again, the corners of Dennis’ pink lips twisted up a fraction into a smile. “That’s good shit.”

Dennis took the joint with him, pushed past Mac and leaned against the wall. Mac wanted to warn him, tell him that he should not dirty up his nice expensive sweater, but the words could not touch his tongue. He was too lost trying to handle a guest in his space, a guest who looked so out of place standing beside the dumpster smoking weed in his clean clothes. Mac did not know where to stand or what to say.

He settled for standing beside Dennis, and the two of them passed the joint back and forth as they slumped farther and deeper into the wall. By the time Mac hit his limit, his head was spinning, he was squatting inches from a coffee puddle, and Dennis’ bony knee was pressed against his, radiating heat that seeped through Mac’s weightless body.

Dennis was staring out ahead of them, though Mac couldn’t find what he was looking at. He was loose and talking about some guy whose name Mac missed the first time it came around. His words were slow and thoughtful, “I was so, so mad at this guy. I like, exploded in the middle of class,” he told Mac about a classmate who hit on his project partner. “Ripped up all of our notes. She’s not going to want to work on the presentation with me anymore. And it’s like, now I don’t even care.”

“Yeah,” Mac said in foggy agreement. “Don’t.”

Dennis turned his head to him and Mac was washed into the arctic of his eyes. They were so close together that Mac could taste the smoke on his breath, heavy and dark. He thought for a moment that he was being pulling into Dennis, and imagined diving into the warmth of his body and the intensity of the color of his eyes. Mac had dreams about being inches from Dennis, about what it would be like if their chests were touching, if their fingertips grazed each other’s skin. He dreamed of Dennis’ pink wet mouth sliding down Mac’s belly and enveloping his cock. He wasn’t thinking about that now. He wasn’t. But the thought was so warm and so inviting that he yearned to kindle the fire building low in his stomach.

“I’m not going to pay you,” Dennis’ lips seemed to move separate of the words. It took Mac’s spinning head a moment to catch up after he was ripped from the heat of arousal.

“What?

Dennis didn’t repeat himself.

“Did you come here just to smoke weed with me?”

Dennis was the one leaning in this time, narrowing the space between their faces. His eyes were glazed over, the whites of them rimmed with bloody red, and Mac felt like they were floating on the same plane, floating into each other. Mac watched as Dennis’ eyes began to slip closed, and his eyes darted between the translucent purple of his eyelids and light splash of freckles over his nose. Dennis’ lips were a breath away from his. Mac inhaled the “Yes,” Dennis exhaled.

He didn’t care that Dennis was not going to give him money for what he smoked. It was the way things started, and it was the way things always would be: Mac taking what Dennis offered, and Mac giving Dennis everything he had. They met over a drug deal, and Mac let him slide with a lot of pot and not a lot of pay, even though everyone knows the Reynolds twins come from the good part of Philly. Even without Mac around, The Freight Train started to let Dennis get by on half of what they charge everyone else. Mac suspected that this would be the start of Dennis getting weed for free. He didn’t mind as much as he should; they were friends now.

-

2.

Mac hid his pipe and his weed in a metal canister in the bottom of his backpack when he and Charlie took the four-hour bus from Philadelphia to Penn State to stay with Dennis and Dee for the weekend. They had not been to visit their friends at college yet and Charlie said he didn’t want to spend a weekend at a stuffy, fancy school without something to get high off.

It took two years for Dennis to admit that he didn’t have a ton of friends at school and missed his friends from home. The Reynolds twins came home over holidays and breaks, and they would never miss the opportunity to spend a summer wasting away as a group, but the weeks apart during the semester felt long.

Dee was the one who invited them. She said she had been telling Dennis to invite them since freshman year, but he always made excuses. She said Dennis reluctantly agreed if she did all the planning and made it sound like it was her idea.

After spending a full day there, Mac wasn’t sure if Dennis was trying to show off his college acquaintances to his friends from home or the other way around. Either way, Mac felt uneasy whenever they bumped into someone Dennis knew. Charlie kept up appearances, but when the party they went to Friday night consisted mostly of Dennis getting hammered and introducing them to every person he came across, Charlie had to drag Mac outside for a smoking break just to get away from Dennis’ self-important voice and douchebag friends.

Mac remembered that he brought weed while they ate a 2 PM breakfast in the cafeteria. They had finally dragged themselves out of bed and out of their dorms; all of them pale, hung over, and swearing off alcohol for an exaggerated forever. Marijuana felt like the perfect substitute for the rounds of shots they did the night before when they crashed a frat party. Their evening fell into place.

They spent the night in Dee’s dorm, smoking bowl after bowl after bowl out the window and making jokes at Dee and her absent roommate’s expense. Mac wasn’t sure if it was just in his head, but the entire room seemed to be filled with the haze of translucent white smoke and no one was saying anything.

Mac sunk back onto the roommate’s purple comforter and watched the nighttime breeze roll in through the window and disperse the cloud. Before long, Dennis climbed in the bed next to him. Mac’s heart dropped in fear. Dennis whispered, “I hate it here.”

Mac tried to fight it, tried to shove him off, but Dennis’ red puffy eyes were closing and his lips barely moved in protest. He shuffled around on the twin sized bed until he found a comfortable spot leaning up against Mac and with a quiet mumble of “-issed you,” fell into a sleep.

Defeated and cramped for space, Mac wormed an arm under Dennis’ head and stretched his legs long. His eyes were burning and although he felt heavy and drowsy, sleep was not coming. He didn’t know what “-issed you” meant, but it made him feel a little queasy and a little excited.

Mac breathed slowly, matching the pace of Dennis’ inhales and exhales as they drifted away from Earth together.

Distantly he heard his friend’s drawling voices as he faded in and out of consciousness, feeling his thick body spinning in orbit around the weight of his slumbering friend on his bicep. Mac closed his eyes and felt himself being drawn in a circle, felt himself anchored to Dennis and the small hot breaths seeping through his t-shirt against his skin.

“So gay.”

“Ah, I don’t know, Dee. I’m pretty high right now and Mac looks like a really comfy pillow.”

“That’s different. This is Dennis we’re talking about.”

“Yeah, exactly. Dennis is, you know,” Charlie trailed off, as though there were a million words for Dennis and yet none. “He’s Dennis.”

Dee shook her head. “So gay.”

And Mac fell into a warm, dreamless sleep.

They were jarred awake into the Sunday morning light by Dee screeching about a cockroach on the floor. Everyone shot up, dreary and heavy, and as soon as words came to them, started to argue with Dee.

“It’s in my room, I sleep here!” She yelled in defense.

Charlie groaned and stood up off the floor where he slept, tracked the small insect and scooped it up into his hands.

“Oh my god, Charlie! Gross!”

“God, Dee, do you want me to take care of this or not? Will you open the door for me, please!”

Dee rushed to let him into the hallway and followed him out, eyes on Charlie’s cupped palms. The door shut behind them, leaving Mac and Dennis alone and silent on a twin bed.

Mac’s mind was stuck on waking up with Dennis still tucked into his side, head on his bicep. He didn’t get to savor it. All he got was a split second to see Dennis up close in the morning light with the soundtrack of screaming before Dennis’ blue eyes popped open. Now the moment was long gone and all Mac had left was his morning wood. “You stupid bitch, Dee.”

Dennis rubbed his eyes and turned to look at Mac, still bleary and tired and very snuggable. He seemed to be studying Mac, looking at where they found themselves and the state of the bed around them. Mac started to panic. Dennis could be thinking anything. He could be angry with Mac for not giving him space when he came into the bed last night. He could be thinking that Mac is a gay loser. Dennis’ thoughtful eyes met Mac’s again and his lips parted.

“No homo,” Mac said quickly to fill the space. He tried not to show the cringe that crawled under his skin.

Dennis shut his mouth, looking surprised and irritated.

The doorknob jiggled but didn’t turn. Multiple hands pounded on the door and both Charlie and Dee yelled for them to open the door. Dennis gave Mac a look to say ‘we’re not done here,’ before ushering Mac to open the door. Mac’s skin itched. He didn’t want to talk about it, terrified of what Dennis might say to him, terrified of being called out.

By the time they were alone again, the subject was dropped, attention spans short as always. Mac tried not to feel disappointed the entire bus ride back to Philadelphia.

-

3.

Only an old couple and some teenagers were in the movie theater, and they were all sitting near the front, which was the only reason Mac pulled out the joint he rolled up in his jacket pocket, that and because Dennis told him to. Dennis convinced him to bring it in the first place, insisted that without the rest of the gang to join in on the commentary they would need something it keep the shitty action movie fun. Mac resisted for a while, saying it was illegal, they’d get caught, and the only stuff he has right now is super potent.

Only twenty minutes of the movie went by before Mac handed the joint and a lighter to Dennis at his insistence. Mac watched as Dennis, illuminated by the giant screen, cupped a hand around the joint and lit it. They passed the piece back and forth a few times, taking deep drags and exhaling into an empty soda cup to hide the smell.

“I used to make this contraption in high school, it was so cool,” Mac shared even though he and Dennis were almost inseparable back then, and the empty soda cup they were using in the theater was clearly a bastardized version of it, “a scented dryer sheet, a rubber band, and a big empty soda with a lid and a straw. That’s all I needed to smoke in public.”

Feet up on the backs of the seats in front of them, they passed the joint until Mac felt fuzzy around the edges. He was pretty sure the theater must reek of pot, but no one reacted. He tucked the weed away and settled into his high.

Even in the back of the dark movie theater, Mac could see Dennis’ red eyes. Being high is when Dennis loses his composure the most, slumps backwards with their feet touching and watches without a snide remark or even a mild air of superiority. Mac likes him like this. He likes everything about Dennis, even mean Dennis, but something about seeing him without his guard up always makes Mac feel warm and intimate.

“I’m hungry,” Dennis said, rolling his heavy head to look at Mac, their faces suddenly close enough for Mac to feel the words on his face. “Pass me your popcorn.”

Earlier, Dennis swore he didn’t want snacks for the movie when Mac was waiting in line at the concession stand.

Mac didn’t hesitate to share with him. He handed him the bucket he bought, tall, in anticipation of Dennis wanting some of it. Dennis, often slow and ginger with junk food in case he looked like he wasn’t in control of his craving for snacks, shoveled back handfuls of popcorn. Mac laughed and Dennis glared at him. “What are you… why are you watching me? Don’t judge me! You said I could have this.”

Mac laughed again. “Sorry, buddy. Sorry. Keep eating. I wasn’t judging you. I want some.”

Dennis held the bucket out to him, but kept it firm within his grasp, clearly not ready to give it up. Mac took a handful and let Dennis reclaim the bucket. The movie wasn’t very interesting. They watched something eerily similar in plot on their last movie night, and Mac felt like he knew every turn before it came. It freed him up to watch Dennis eat, which was weirdly erotic. He has spent years in Dennis’ presence, escalated since they moved in together, and escalated further still when they opened Paddy’s Pub together two years ago. It’s harder to pinpoint time they don’t spend together than time they do. But despite thousands of shared meals, Mac never sees Dennis being indulgent. Dennis always savors his food, always makes sure he’s in total control. Mac watched as Dennis dropped a piece of popcorn on his shirt and put it back in his mouth.

“Mac. Hey, Mac.”

“What is it, buddy?”

“Get me a soda?” He asked, fumbling for his wallet and handing Mac a twenty.

Mac knew he wasn’t too high to handle the task. Dennis was a lot farther gone than he was, but the bright lights in the lobby were blinding. He held it together when he ordered and paid for a large diet coke. By the time he made it back to the theater, Dennis had blown through half the large bucket of popcorn. He didn’t thank Mac, but Mac didn’t need the words to know Dennis was grateful. They didn’t need words like “please” and “thank you” when they knew each other so well.

Dennis drank half his soda and sighed, patting Mac’s arm and leaving his hand there. “Awesome weed.”

Mac stared down at the big, graceful hand on his wrist. This was a new kind of body contact. They touch a lot, an arm over a shoulder when they’re talking to the rest of the gang, legs touching when they’re sitting, but this felt different. It felt intimate. He liked it. Touching like this was so rare, it fueled Mac’s desire for months every time it happened. He savored it. It lasted only a few minutes before Dennis needed both hands to continue eating.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” Dennis said, startling him. Dennis knows him so much better than he knows himself. “Have some popcorn.”

Mac couldn’t help but smile as he snagged a few pieces from the scoop Dennis had in his hand. Dennis flashed him an exaggerated affronted look, and Mac laughed. The moment of quiet intimacy was broken, but Mac is happy to be laughing and swatting at each other like best friends.

-

4.

It had been a long night, and Mac could finally breathe when Dennis slowly, decisively sat on the couch and sank into it. He stared at the blank television, which Mac did not like, but he could live with it for now. Anything was an improvement over the evening they were having.

It started with a plan that derailed early in the day. Or rather, there was a plan this morning, and by noon, Dennis sabotaged it. Mac sensed their doom the moment they walked into the Starbucks. Dennis was supposed to flirt and distract the barista while Mac and Dee snuck behind the till to the back room, but the young woman was professional and unimpressed by Dennis. Another female barista appeared and was even less amused than the first. Mac and Dee watched through dark sunglasses from a table by the stock room, frozen in place as Dennis’ calm demeanor started to slip. His posture tensed, his eyes glazed over.

“Stop flirting with us, we’re at our jobs. Besides, you’re old and you reek of desperation. I’d never go out with you.”

There was a moment of silence. Dee and Mac made eye contact. And Dennis exploded, all composure lost as he started shouting and ranting at the baristas. In seconds flat, Mac and Dee abandoned their table and grabbed him by the arms, dragging him out of the Starbucks to the sidewalk where Dee slapped him until he was calm enough to get in the car.

Dennis couldn’t explain to Frank and Charlie why his group wasn’t able to complete their task, but the pointed looks between the rest of the group conveyed enough to Frank and Charlie that they decided it was best to let it go. Dennis spent the rest of the day hot, standing a little too far away from anyone and clearly ready to explode at the slightest disturbance. He yelled when Dee dropped and shattered a bottle behind the bar, and he threw a chair across the room when a customer suggested that he didn’t want to pay for the wrong mixed drink that Dennis brought him.

Finally, they were home in Dee’s apartment without further incident, and Mac thought to best to give him space, but Dennis did not share that opinion. He disappeared into Dee’s bedroom for a quiet fifteen minutes before he emerged seemingly only to pace the living room. Mac didn’t want to ask, he knew what would happen if he did, but he had to. It was his duty as a best friend.

“Are you okay?” He asked, and then the ranting started.

It took over an hour before Mac was able to deduce that Dennis ran out of the medication for his BPD a few days ago. It wasn’t until they were fast approaching hour two that Dennis finally sat down, looking drained. The day sucked. Dennis had not had a day that bad since he started taking the pills regularly.

Mac stood behind the couch, not sure what to do with him. He couldn’t just leave him like this. An idea struck him.

“I want to watch The Italian Job, do you mind if I put it on?”

The delicate phrasing worked, or at least Dennis did not say anything, just waved his hand noncommittally to communicate “do whatever you want,” and didn’t move off the couch. Washed with relief, Mac grabbed them beers from the fridge and flicked off a few lights around the apartment. He set up the DVD and sat down next to Dennis, sure to give him some space, a tad more space than Mac usually likes to put between their bodies.

The movie was fast paced and usually the time flew when Mac watched it, but this time was different. It was hard to enjoy one of his favorite movies when just before he started it his best friend spent two hours screaming at him, at himself, and throwing shit around their apartment. All of their shot glasses are officially broken, shattered logos and landmarks all over their kitchen floor.

Mac sucked down two beers before he noticed that Dennis had barely touched his first beer. He did not want to ask about it, asking about it might spark some frustration or rage. Dennis seemed calm, he looked like he was mostly paying attention to the movie, and Mac learned a while back that distractions are important. Mac watched him carefully out of the corner of his eye, monitoring every shift in his body in hopes of diagnosing and solving the problem without having to ask any questions.

“Do you have any pot?” Asked the raw, quiet voice of his best friend.

Mac jumped, not expecting Dennis to speak. His heart pounded, worried he’d been caught studying him. “What?” He asked stupidly.

“Do you have a stash of weed somewhere?”

“No.”

“You were the biggest dealer in high school, how could you not have pot?”

Mac shrugged. “Well, dude, high school was twenty years ago.”

Wrong answer. Dennis’ eyes grew wide and glassy. Mac snapped into action. He paused the movie, pat his friend’s shoulder, and walked away from the couch, “Let me see what else I have.”

“I don’t want anything else, I want pot. This beer is garbage. Doesn’t even get me drunk,” He said as he picked up the warm bottle and took his second sip of the evening.

Mac chose to ignore Dennis’ jibe at their shared favorite brand.

“We always have something lying around,” He said to fill the silence and let Dennis know he was still with him. He couldn’t find anything useful in the medicine cabinet. Where it was once filled with prescription pills addressed to fake names, now it contained stuff they needed like aspirin and Band-Aids.

He dug around in the back corners of their dresser in the living room, but found only empty containers of weed. His pipe only had ash left in it. He shut the drawers and moved to Dee’s bedroom to search her closet and nightstand. He heard no movement or words from Dennis, so he yelled, “Still looking!”

The bedroom was a bust, the bathroom was a bust, all that was left was the cabinet under the kitchen sink. That was the intense stuff, the stuff they were probably too old to be huffing. Mac crouched down in front of the base of the sink and eyed bottles of bleach and Drano. They hadn’t done any inhalants in a long time; their trips would be insane. If Dennis started to hallucinate, Mac was certain he would be too far gone himself to stop Dennis from doing something stupid.

Then he saw the small dark bottle of adhesive and snatched it up, turning it around to read the ingredients. “I think I got something!”

He returned to the couch with the bottle of glue and a plastic bag. Dennis frowned when he saw what he was holding. “Oh, dude, no.”

“What? This is the best I could find. You should be thanking me.”

“That’s a Charlie drug. I’m not doing a Charlie drug. If I start medicating with that shit it’s all a downward spiral from there, and I wouldn’t make a good homeless person.”

“We’re already technically homeless, and it’s all we have,” Mac said, sitting down and squeezing the glue into the bag without letting Dennis stop him. Mac set the bottle down and breathed in the contents of the Ziploc. Dizziness struck him instantly.

He passed the bag to Dennis and watched as he hesitantly readied the bag and looked down into it. He seemed stuck for a moment. Mac considered asking him if he was okay, afraid that Dennis would dive back into yelling before even taking a hit, but Dennis sat up straight, held the bag to his face, and took a long, deep inhale. His eyes rolled back for a moment, and he sank back into the couch, exhaled, and breathed from the bag again.

Dennis handed the bag back, and Mac set it down on the coffee table, watching Dennis carefully. Anything could happen to him. He might start puking. Maybe glue was not a good idea.

But despite the risks, nothing happened to Dennis. A few minutes after Mac pushed “play” on the movie, Dennis closed his bloodshot blue eyes and didn’t open them again until it was over. Mac kept tabs on him, saw that he was still breathing. The longer he looked at his best friend, a dark pit opened up in his stomach, filled with worry and affection for Dennis. He was having meltdowns more and more often as of late, and while the gang was starting to understand how to best deal with them, they were all temporary solutions.

The medication was supposed to work, but Dee shared with Frank, Charlie, and Mac that when Dennis was given the medication, he was told it might take a few months for him to stabilize, and that the pills might not even be right for him. He might be on one medication for months before the doctor ruled it out and switched him to a new one. It might be nearly a year before he could be alleviated of the breakdowns. It’s about tolerance and chemistry, and Mac didn’t understand any of it.

It was late when the credits started to roll. Mac reached over and gently shook Dennis’ arm. “Hey, dude, you asleep?”

Dennis, eyes still closed, mumbled, “No, ‘m not.”

“Let’s get you to bed.”

“No.”

“Den—”

Dennis’ eyes cracked open to look at him blearily, but firmly. “No.”

Mac rubbed the skin under his thumb, mind turning to find the best solution. He knew he would never be able to force Dennis into anything he truly did not want to do. Mac had a very short mental list of things that make Dennis feel better: his sex tapes, drinking, weed, and now movies. Without asking for an opinion, he switched out The Italian Job for Rocky.

“Rocky is like the greatest movie of all time,” Mac said, not really expecting an answer.

“You just like it because it’s about a jacked Italian guy in Philly.”

Mac also liked it for the love story, but he didn’t tell Dennis that. “Sylvester Stallone is in peak physical condition. If I worked every day for a month like Rocky does, I could look like that. Maybe I should join a boxing gym.”

Dennis released a grunt that sounded almost like a chuckle. “You can’t run up all those stairs.”

“If I start training and packing on body mass, I could do it.”

Dennis groaned, eyes still shut. “No, no, no more body mass. I thought we were done with body mass.”

Mac was a little offended, but Dennis sounded almost normal and he’s so grateful for the relaxed banter after such a tense day. He thought briefly about taking another huff of the glue, but he does not want to be irresponsible when they are so close to normal.

An hour into the quiet movie, Dennis started shifting around on the couch, occasionally grumbling unintelligibly to himself. He ended up draped over the armrest. His rail thin body was contorted into jagged shapes, but he seemed comfortable enough. Mac didn’t want to bother him. Mac knew rest was good, his mom used to sleep a lot after his dad went to prison. It seemed to help her cope. Mac sometimes heard his roommate clattering around in the bathroom late at night. Dennis probably didn’t sleep enough.

Mac pulled the throw blanket from the armchair to drape over Dennis, who doesn’t bother to argue. Mac likes when Dennis doesn’t protest affection. It makes their whole “thing” seem normal. He flicked off the rest of the lights in the apartment so the only illumination was the blue of the television screen. It wasn’t until he was seated and shifting until he was comfortable on the couch that he heard the very quiet muttered, “Thanks.”

The high he settled into was comfortable. Everything was fuzzy around the edges. Shapes in the darkness felt familiar and a part of him. The world around him was something he and Dennis built together in a shared space after they lost everything in the fire; they’d been living in cramped quarters at Dee’s apartment for months with only backpacks of clothes and a few items that weren’t burnt to ash. Mac dug himself further into the couch.

“Mac,” Came a voice that startled Mac out of his haze.

Dennis was sitting up, slumped forward and looking barely awake.

“What, dude?”

Dennis stared at him a moment longer, then collapsed slowly toward him, head resting easily in Mac’s lap.

Mac’s heart started to race. “What are you doing?”

“’M tired. Be a pillow, please.”

Mac has done a bunch of things for Dennis tonight, but as Dennis willed his legs up onto the couch and dug his chilly hands under Mac’s thighs, Mac decided this is his favorite. Mac has been so good about controlling his feelings over the past few years. He’s had a few slip ups, knows he’s found himself lost in Dennis’ gaze a few times, knows he’s almost kissed him one or twice, and had a few illicit dreams, but those things are to be expected. These feelings have been settled in his gut for years, of course some things are going to build.

The most important thing is that they remain friends. As long as he doesn’t make a real mistake, they will be okay. He’s sure Dennis will forgive him. Dennis is his best friend. But he knows he can’t break the trust of best friends by acting on his desires, even if Dennis laying in his lap gave him the most unfortunate erection. Before Mac was even aware of it, his hand was in Dennis’ soft, fluffy hair, petting it and smoothing it down.

Dennis seemed calm while he laid in Mac’s lap, a feral wolf letting his guard down and settling with his pack after a long day of hunting. Mac has spent a lot of time in his life conflicted over his sexuality, his desires, his religion, his decisions, and he has spent a lot of time thinking about what to make of his feelings for Dennis. It’s love, of some sort. They’re best friends, they’re brothers, they’re so much more, but the “more” is indefinable. Mac almost liked it that way. The ambiguity lets him pretend he is not a sinner. There is no God in Dennis. He carded his fingers through the waves, scratching along his scalp.

They near the end of the movie. Rocky and Apollo Creed tie.

“Adriaaaaan,” Dennis called sleepily along with movie.

“Adriaaaaaaaaan,” Mac repeated.

On screen, Rocky kept calling for his love. Adrian, Adrian, Adrian. Rocky, Rocky. Mac laughed quietly as Dennis rolled his head to look up at him. The blue illumination of the television screen made Dennis’ eyes appear black. Dennis pulled his hands out from under Mac and sleepily shook a fist. “Adriaaaan.”

For a painful moment, Mac wished he and Dennis could kiss and embrace like the couple on screen.

They let the credits roll and the screen go black, leaving them in pitch darkness. Mac wasn’t sure what to do. Dennis sat up drearily and took another hit off the glue. “What are you waiting for, put on another movie.”

When Mac sat on the couch again, Dennis fell back into his lap, breathing quietly and never quite falling asleep.

-

5.

It was the most successful night Paddy’s Pub had seen in a while, possibly ever, and for once they purposely let the bar stay open far beyond their closing time. When the buzz died down and the last patrons stumbled out the doors just after 4:30 AM, the gang slid into a booth together.

“This could be it, this could be the start of a new Paddy’s Pub,” Dennis said slowly, pressed between Frank and Dee, a genuine excited smile dawning on his face. “We’re gonna be big league.”

As it turned out later, this was not true. Another bar nearby was closed for renovation and the glory of their runoff was short-lived, but the gang reveled in it.

On the first night, it did not matter that it was temporary. It was still money, patrons, attention; Dennis practically glowed and Mac couldn’t help but feed off his best friend’s energy. Everyone was smiling, but all Mac saw was Dennis’ straight white teeth.

They gathered in the backroom around 5 AM with the till and the tip jar to watch Frank tally their reaping. Charlie and Dee cheered every time they hit one hundred, but before long the integrity of the count was compromised, and the gang’s excitement turned to arguing. It was not long before Dennis had enough.

Mac had not thought about Dennis in a long time, not in the dangerous way, so he felt safe following his friend’s private smile, and whisper of, “I’ve been saving something for a night like this,” to the back alley.

Dennis pulled a small plastic bag from an inside pocket of his coat, opened it, and held the little white joint up so Mac could see it through the darkness of the alley. He could feel his eyes growing wide. He hasn’t smoked in years. He snatched the joint from Dennis’ hands, and an almost fond smile appeared on Dennis’ face as Mac looked it over. “Oh shit, where did you get this?”

“I banged a chick a while back whose roommate was a dealer. Figured I may as well buy off her before I got to Separate Entirely. I thought you might wanna share it with me, buddy, since you and I are the real owners of Paddy’s. It’s our baby and we should celebrate our own way.”

Mac wasn't listening. He was already digging around in his own coat pockets for a lighter.

“Tonight is a celebration,” Dennis began one of his wise rants. “Tonight, we finally came together and made it happen: Paddy’s Pub is going to thrive; we’re going to be legends in South Philly.”

Mac fumbled with the lighter and the joint in his hands, as he so often fumbles with multitasking. It was late, he’d kept himself on a good buzz for ten hours, and being out in the cold night air standing so close to Dennis made him shaky.

“You think this is good,” Dennis said with an amused smirk, sort of asking but mostly just entertaining himself. “This is just the beginning, the tip of the iceberg. Tonight marks a new chapter.”

Mac took a long, slow hit off the joint, sucking the smoke deep into his lungs. It was warm and the tension in his body left when he exhaled. He groaned in appreciation. “God, that’s good.”

“Well, don’t tell me about it, I bought it. Pass it to me.”

Mac handed off the joint and lighter then paused a moment to breathe into his high. He was flooded with memories of being stoned with his friends, all of them pleasant moments. Long forgotten was the fear he felt or the escapism he relied so heavily on. He felt like he was smoking behind the high school with Pete, Dooley, and Charlie. He felt like he was standing next to the St. Joseph’s Prep dumpster passing a joint back and forth with teenage Dennis Reynolds, a memory that made his heart thump one excited beat.

The zip-swoosh of the lighter filled the black alley and Dennis dipped the joint pressed between his lips to the flame in his palm. Mac found himself enraptured by the adult Dennis, the Dennis with thin hair and crow’s feet. He released the wheel and the flame that lit his face left. Mac could still see him through the darkness, the sun slowly rose somewhere far away and a blue light crept in around them. Dennis tilted his head back just slightly, eyes shut and face frowning as he hollowed out his cheeks to suck down the smoke. Mac couldn’t stop staring.

Dennis met his eyes. Mac didn’t look away. Dennis smirked and handed him the joint.

Blue eyes tracked him as he smoked. Mac knew he should be afraid of prolonged eye contact with Dennis, it always made him nervous and shaky and needy in the past, but he felt a heavy calm in the moment. Dennis was standing inches from him, Mac could see the lightly freckled texture of his skin. Were they always standing this close? Mac could not remember; he knew it didn’t matter because Dennis would have put more space between them if he didn’t think there was enough. Dennis always takes the lead, and Mac is happy to follow.

Dennis took the next drag, again closing his eyes and breaking their staring contest. Mac started to study him, lean forward to peer through the darkness and count his eyelashes, but Dennis returned to him quickly. “You’re such an ego boost, with the way you’re always staring at me.”

“You’re not that great looking.”

Dennis frowned. “Take it back.”

“I don’t live to please you, buddy.”

“That means you’re not high enough yet.” Dennis’ low voice shook him with arousal.

There was a shift in the atmosphere as Dennis took a swift and deliberate second drag. Mac felt heavy but grounded. He felt like something was coming next. Finally, something would give. Dennis exhaled in his face and Mac shuttered.

Dennis reached out and touched the end of the joint to Mac’s lips. His heart sped up as he gripped the damp paper between his lips. The hand trailed down from the joint to touch Mac’s scruffy jaw and the other hand light the joint. Heart thudding, Mac inhaled, the flame taking to the paper and filling his mouth with heat. He was hot all over. The fingers weren’t leaving his beard.

A mirror of a thousand situations they’ve been in, Mac was completely at Dennis’ mercy. His hands were numb and forgotten at his sides as Dennis held the fire and his face. He breathed in until he thought he would burst and tipped his head back just slightly out of the flame. Dennis pulled the joint from between his lips and set it immediately between his own, finishing the cherry Mac left behind.

Dennis’ held a painfully neutral expression on his face as he looked Mac over. “How do I look now?”

Mac had a bunch of thoughts, things about it being dark, about thin lips wrapped around a phallic shape, about Dennis being vain (a thought he’d never say that to his face). Not a single of his thoughts touched his tongue. He felt brave; his fear a low hum he could easily ignore. Maybe it was the night they were having, the success of the bar, the secretive smoke they indulged in the alley that felt so much like the fumbling excitement of their early friendship in high school. Maybe it was because Dennis was genuinely smiling earlier. Maybe it was because Dennis kept telling him tonight was the start of a new chapter in their lives. Maybe it was the weed or the fingertips pressing against his jaw or the rising sun, but Mac saddled up his courage, plucked the joint from Dennis’ mouth, and kissed him.

The lips were cold and dry against his own. He could feel the tickle of Dennis’ late night/early morning stubble against his own, and he slid their mouths together so he could feel more, take more of Dennis in. The hand on his jaw was unmoving, and Mac clasped it in his own, holding it against his face and slowly letting it sink between their chests. Dennis has not responded. Mac pulled away.

“What are you thinking?” He asked, feeling brave, feeling like Dennis was signaling that this was okay.

Dennis was shocked. Mac could see his wide eyes and gaping pink lips through the dark blue dawn. A pit grew in his stomach as the seconds dragged into an eternity. He felt as though they had been dancing around this for ages. Maybe it was just Mac all along; another lie he hinged on.

“I was thinking fucking finally, Mac, Jesus.”

Mac barely got out a relieved chuckle before Dennis’ grip on his hand tightened and he tipped his mouth against Mac’s. Their mouths slid together, cold masculine lips exploring each other for the first time. Mac groaned when he found the warmth inside Dennis’ mouth and pressed for entrance, dragging their tongues together. He was so cold, and his high drew him into the warmth. He wanted to be deeper, farther, to crawl inside Dennis.

Dennis’s hands were everywhere, on his chest, shoulder, shooting down his back and up under his jacket to Mac’s vulnerable skin. He shuttered and gripped Dennis’ face, tilting him, tilting both of them out of orbit as he frantically searched the inside of his mouth, seeking every inch of him he missed out on all these years. He tasted like beer and pot and something that is so indescribably Dennis. They have so much catching up to do, and Mac doesn’t know if he’ll have all night, the rest of their lives, or just the next five seconds.

Mac whimpered when Dennis’ mouth left his, but Dennis did not leave him, instead trailing messy kisses down his chin and sucking under his jaw. Mac gasped and grabbed Dennis’ narrow hips, even better than the way he always dreamed they would feel in his hands, and ground forward, finding friction and feeling Dennis stutter and gasp against him.

His limbs felt heavy and his movements lacked fluidity, but Mac kept pushing through his high. He wanted to remember this. He wanted to savor every inch he’s given. Dennis was grinding against him, rutting their hips together. Mac could feel Dennis’ erection and it left him gasping. “Fuck, fuck, Dennis, oh my god, Dennis.”

Dennis’ hands were back in his hair, finding a grip and tugging so their mouths sealed together again. Everything about Dennis was hot and spellbinding, and Mac could get lost in him forever.

The bubble they were hiding in popped when Mac heard the door handle turn. He leapt back from Dennis’ mouth, skin, hands and smoothed his hair back just in time for Dee and Charlie to stick their heads out the door and fill the alley with the yellow light from inside the bar.

“What are you doing out here?”

Dennis turned away from them and dragged a hand down his face. He looks rattled, and struck fear into Mac; even when Dennis loses his composure, he always tries to save himself. He is never just silent. Dennis may have been way too high for what they just did. He might regret it in the morning. He might not want to talk to Mac again. The silence dragged on a moment too long, Mac had no idea what to say to their friends, but Dee shattered the terrifying moment.

“Is that weed? What the fuck, boners? Why are you withholding?” She walked right up to Mac and grabbed the joint from his hand. He forgot he was holding it—all of his senses flooded by Dennis Reynolds.

Charlie handed her a lighter from his pocket and she took a hit off the piece before handing it to Charlie and spinning slowly to look at her twin and his best friend. Despite the look on her face, her open mouth and narrow eyes, she didn’t say anything incriminating. Instead, she laughed and said, “Puff puff pass, you sons of bitches.”

“We’re celebrating,” Dennis told them, a little late but they didn’t seem to notice.

“Next time, why not invite all of us instead of sneaking off?” Charlie said, but he was toking up and any trace of suspicion in his voice seemed insignificant. The spinning gears in his head would slow to a halt with every good hit he took.

“Okay, but no Frank,” Mac said.

“Whatever, assholes.”

Dennis met his eyes and smirked just a fraction and Mac knew they would be okay.

-

+1

Mac and Dennis did not change at all. That was the best part, in Mac’s opinion. Two weeks ago they made out in the alley behind Paddy’s Pub, and they haven’t addressed or repeated it since, but nothing felt different, and nothing felt wrong. Dennis was still his best friend and sometimes he’d look at Mac a little too long and sometimes he would throw a casual arm around him when they ganged up on other people, but it was comfortable. It was Mac and Dennis as they were supposed to be.

Mac could quell his urges. He felt more at ease around Dennis. When they kissed, Dennis said “finally” and that told Mac that Dennis felt their chemistry, too. He didn't get much from Dennis in the past, nowhere near as many hints of deeper feelings as Mac displayed. Maybe he read Dennis wrong all this time, or maybe Dennis didn’t experience feelings the way Mac does—the way most people do. That was okay. Dennis has always been complicated, but Mac has never had trouble understanding him.

They spent the day following one of Dennis’ schemes. It was a little convoluted, and one by one the gang dropped off as they realized how deeply invested Dennis was and how not worth their time it came to be. Mac was the last one standing, and helped Dennis break into the apartment of a man who cut him off in the post office parking lot to steal the only available parking space. After a full day of robbing him, Mac was the only one left to help Dennis smash all the windows of his car. Even at the end of their shift as the two of them closed up shop by themselves, Dennis was practically vibrating with happiness, and Mac could not help but feel it too.

“Today was fun,” Mac told Dennis as he locked up the bar behind them. “I love sneaking around and smashing shit with you.”

“Not everyone is into terrorism,” Dennis replied casually as they started to walk toward their apartment building, the new one they moved into together only a few months prior.

“It’s not the terrorism I like. It’s just like, being bros and finishing a plan. And smashing stuff,” Mac said, punching the air for emphasis, “Definitely smashing stuff, but as a team.”

“The guy deserved it.”

“Oh, don’t I know it!” Mac declared. “You mess with one of us you mess with the brotherhood. I’d follow you into hell, dude.”

Dennis looked at him as they walked with an expression of intrigue and fondness. When Mac caught his gaze, he felt his heart thump. Dennis was the one staring this time and Mac was content to let him, to let himself get caught up in it, too. Everything is calm when they are together, even when they are taking baseball bats to windows and even after they made out two weeks prior. Mac does not have to worry about Dennis like he has to worry about his other attempts at dating, because Dennis is his friend first and his friend always.

“And I trust you completely,” Dennis said, hands in his pockets. “That’s why we make such a perfect team. Let's go down blazing.”

There was a look in his eyes, one that Mac had rarely seen before. It looked like happiness, and it made Mac smile.

Their new apartment was a short distance from the bar, just a few blocks that were peaceful if not a little dangerous at night. Sometimes they drove when Dennis felt like he wasn’t using his Range Rover enough, but mostly they walked, crunching broken glass and smoldering cigarette butts under their sneakers.

Dennis stopped them just outside the apartment building, a wicked gleam in his eyes that told Mac he had a plan. They were turned to each other, seeing each other completely. Dennis placed his hands on Mac’s shoulders and pulled him in.

In an instant, it dawned on Mac exactly what was about to happen. He slipped his eyes closed and softened his lips just in time for Dennis to close the space between them with a kiss.

Their lips slid slowly together for a few long, sober moments before Dennis pulled back and turned toward the door with only one spared smirking glance, looking completely casual like nothing happened, and maybe that was true. Maybe kissing was just a part of who they were now. Mac liked that. All he’d wanted during the lifetime they were friends was to be closer without consequence, and it was almost painful that it was happening so easily, like it could have been like this all along. Despite that, Mac was happy with their lives; they had the bar, their friends, their unequivocal friendship, and Mac wouldn’t want to trade that for anything. It was worth the years of aching and guilt. As Dennis’ long hands brushed along Mac’s back as he passed him into the hallway of their building, Mac knew that Dennis was worth the wait.

“Do you have any pot?” Dennis asked when they were alone in their apartment.

“No, I don’t,” Mac said before he kissed him again, and Dennis was okay with that.