Archive of Our Own ^beta

1998

When the initial novelty of the bar wore off, it became a chore to drive to work every morning - weekends included - and sit on their thumbs all day waiting for customers to grace them with their presence. It was more so for Dennis, because his commute was an hour long, impeded by afternoon traffic on the highway, and he was only greeted with reproach when he finally made it to Paddy’s.

“You’re late,” Charlie noticed. “Again.”

“Yeah, well if you haven’t noticed, I live pretty far away, Charlie,” Dennis shot back, taking a seat at the bar next to Mac, who was engrossed in the newspaper. “It takes me a while to get here.”

“Why do you still live there?” Charlie demanded as he wiped down the counter with unnecessary hostility.

“My house is there, for one.” Though Dennis wouldn’t feel quite as comfortable living at home when his father returned from his business trip, he hadn’t told Mac or Charlie about that little incident yet.

“But you own a bar in South Philly,” Charlie reminded him. “Jesus, you and Mac. You’re 22 years old, isn’t it time to move out of your parent’s house?”

“Where would I go?”

“Get an apartment here! There’s plenty of rooms for rent in my building.”

“Ew.”

“Well, you don’t have to be mean about it,” said Charlie, stung.

“Charlie, your apartment is infested with rats.”

“Hey, looks like there’s a listing here,” Mac piped up, tapping on his newspaper. Dennis leaned in to get a look. 

“$900 a month, that’s not bad,” mused Dennis. Mac and Charlie shared a smirk and Dennis felt the back of his neck heat up because he knew he must’ve said something incredibly naive.

“Yeah, I pay $750,” said Charlie witheringly.

“Well, this one’s got two bedrooms,” Dennis pointed out. “What do you say, Mac? We could rent together.”

Mac pursed his lips. “I don’t know man. My mom kind of needs me at home…”

“Screw your mom -”

“Screw my mother?” Mac repeated, scandalized.

“She’s a grown ass woman, she can take care of herself,” said Dennis in a tone that he was well aware bordered on whiny. “I can’t, live with me.”

Mac smirked, lifting an eyebrow. “That’s why you want me to live with you? You wanna play house?”

Dennis grinned. “Yes, Mommy.”

“Okay, come on,” Charlie cut in, repulsed. “If you guys are gonna live with each other, don’t be gross about it.”

“We’re just joking,” Dennis said defensively.

“Yeah,” added Mac. “But uh - were you joking about wanting to move in together, too?”

“No, I think it could be fun,” Dennis replied reassuringly. “Keep that clipping, we’ll check it out later.”

And so began Dennis and Mac’s apartment hunt, lasting only for a few days because they were young and impulsive and Dennis could not take one more ride from Main Line to South Philly littered with incompetent drivers who didn’t know how to seize gaps. Dennis always liked his childhood house - the opulent mansion perfect for dinner parties and soirees that made his friends (Mac and Charlie included) gasp and demand to see every inch of, though even Dennis hadn’t scoured the whole thing that well. But lately, he was a bit disillusioned with the whole thing, flashes of that night in the hotel room with his father and a prostitute seizing his stomach and infecting him with his father’s same sickness, he was sure. It was better to leave before he found himself on his father’s side.

But the apartments in South Philly were so terribly squalid, abysmally uninhabitable. There were cracks, water stains, chipped paint, creaky floors, leaking and discoloured bathrooms. They found a crack pipe behind a cockroach-infested couch in one of them, which Mac found hilarious and Dennis found revolting. Dennis could barely walk around in most of them, too afraid to catch a disease or mark up his shoes. Mac - the unworldly dumbass - actually considered most of them. He was always shut down with a stern look and head shake from Dennis, though.

It was harder than Dennis expected to find a two-bedroom apartment up to their standards in South Philly - and yes, he was aware that he was going to have to make some adjustments, stoop down a bit to Mac’s level; it would take some getting used to, that was all. 

A showing they went to on the third day wasn’t too bad. The lights were a bit faulty, but they could work with that, as long as the other appliances worked and there was the two-bedroom expectation that Dennis was a stickler for.

“Only one bathroom,” he noticed, as the two of them toured the room on their own. “It’s alright. It’s manageable. As long as I don’t catch you jerking off in here.”

Dennis stepped into the shower but caught Mac’s glare from where he was, experimentally flushing the toilet.

“Shower room’s nice and spacious,” Dennis continued aloud. “Could fit two people.”

Mac’s tentative stride towards the shower room should’ve set off Dennis’s suspicions, but unfortunately, he was too busy imagining where he’d put all his toiletries to notice that Mac was surreptitiously turning on the tap.

“Fuck - Mac - you fucking bastard!” Dennis spat out the water that cascaded over him with intense pressure. Before Mac could run away, Dennis unhooked the shower head and sprayed it defensively over Mac’s giggling body, aiming right for the head.

“Excuse me!” came the landlord’s booming voice, and Dennis shut off the water immediately.

He and Mac walked out of the building, sopping wet and snickering to themselves, sure that they definitely would not get approved to live there even if they applied.

The showing after that also wasn’t too bad. Cracked walls and peeling plaster, but the bedrooms were spacious and everything was running smoothly. There was a laundry machine and a dryer on the main floor and the landlady was a nice woman, which was uncommon, Dennis discovered quickly. She didn’t seem from South Philly, someone from upstate who bought the place to fix it up. Mac didn’t like her quite as much.

“We’re a very welcoming space, and we hope that you feel at home here,” she gushed as Mac inspected the sink for any mould. “There’s even a lesbian couple who lives downstairs if you’re looking to find community.”

Mac narrowed his eyes and frowned at Dennis, who returned it with a blank look.

“Unless you don’t want to,” the landlady added, “I don’t wanna make assumptions.”

“Lady, do you think that we’re gay?” Mac blurted out accusatory.

She instantly backtracked upon hearing Mac’s tone, regret flashing in her eyes. “Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry, I just thought - um…”

“Dennis, stop laughing, it’s not funny!” 

Dennis clamped a hand over his mouth to silence the fit of giggles that had escaped him. Normally, he wouldn’t be too fazed by an assumption like that - he’d heard it too many times to count - but it was certainly thrilling to hear it attributed to Mac, and watch his repressed Catholic reaction in real-time.

“It’s a little funny,” Dennis said weakly.

But Mac was fuming. He turned back to the landlady. “You know what, I don’t think this place is really what we’re looking for.”

Dennis sobered immediately. “What? Mac -”

“I’m really sorry to have offended you,” said the landlady profusely.

“You’ve got some really backwards thinking here, and I for one don’t wanna be a part of it,” Mac declared, and he marched out of the apartment before Dennis could get out another word.“I’m sorry about him,” Dennis said to the nice landlady as he resignedly followed Mac. “He’s… he’s an asshole. I’m not like that.”

The landlady nodded but looked unconvinced. Mac let the elevator doors close before Dennis could join him and was already halfway towards Dennis’s car when they both got to the parking lot, though Dennis hadn’t unlocked it yet.

“Hey, the 1950s called, they want their bigot back,” said Dennis sarcastically as he approached the car, pulling open the door to his seat. “I’m serious, Mac, that was fucking humiliating. Why do you have to be like that?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t live together,” mumbled Mac as he slumped into the passenger seat.

“Oh, come on!” said Dennis, irritation scratching at his chest. “Cause of that?”

“Well, if people are gonna think we’re gay…”

“Who the fuck cares what people think? We know what we are, right?” Dennis continued, half-comfortingly, because now was not the time to get up in arms about Mac’s gay thing, he knew. “It’s not gay for two friends to live together.”

“Yeah, but maybe it is for us.”

Mac didn’t look Dennis in the eye as he said it, and that was how Dennis was certain what he was talking about. The flirting, the lingering glances, the drunken kisses that sometimes became more. They never discussed them afterwards, kept them locked away under a tight lid that was only to be opened after enough alcohol and weed to create plausible deniability. It made Dennis’s breath stutter to hear it brought up in the daylight.

“I don’t - um…” He cleared his throat, trying not to sound so unsure. “Are we seriously talking about this?”

“Look, I just -” Mac sighed, stroking a hand through his hair and glancing out the window. “If we’re gonna live together, then we have to make one thing perfectly clear. No fooling around, okay?”

“Well, yeah, that goes without saying.”

“It should. But you know it doesn’t.” And then Mac turned to Dennis and Dennis was the one to break his gaze away.

“Okay, man, I get it,” he conceded. “It’s not gonna be that hard for me .” And it wasn’t. The only reason Dennis entertained Mac all those times was because it was fun for him, too, not because he really wanted it so badly himself. He just liked seeing how riled up he could get Mac at different levels of intoxication.

Mac sighed, but he kept unwavering eye contact with Dennis, ready to say something serious. “I know that we don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. Especially this. But if we live together, you’re gonna have to deal with the parts of me that you don’t like. I can compromise with you on a lot, but not this.”

Even as he said it, Dennis’s mind was already concocting ideas on how he could, indeed, get Mac to compromise on that. But he shouldn’t have, he knew that. Everything that Mac was saying made sense. 

“Okay,” said Dennis. Inwardly, he hoped that living with Dennis would change Mac, make him more tolerable and more tolerant. He couldn’t actively do it, though. Or he shouldn’t. He couldn’t let Mac know he was actively doing it, more like.

They decided to call it a day after that, driving back to the bar and leaving Charlie puzzled as to why the two were determinedly avoiding each other. By the next morning, Dennis had had quite enough of this whole apartment touring business and Mac was right there behind him, disappointment after disappointment piling up like matchboxes getting ready to be lit on fire any moment. Fortunately, the first apartment they visited was surprisingly up to par. There were two bedrooms - which was a necessity - and the walls were painted a pleasant olive shade that wasn’t scratched up. They were tinged with a bit of discolouration, but Dennis could look over the minor details.

They were in the other bedroom, the one by the kitchen that was significantly smaller but still adequate, checking out the second bathroom and rubbing the sleep out of their eyes because this showing was way too early and Dennis was operating on even less rest than he usually was.

“It’s not a full bathroom,” Dennis noticed. “So I guess you’d have to come to my room to shower.”

“Wait,” said Mac with a smirk that wasn’t exactly vicious, “you just automatically assumed you’d get the bigger room?”

“Oh, well…” Dennis certainly had. “We should probably discuss it, right? The thing is, I have more stuff than you, and definitely more toiletries so I’d kinda need access to the bigger bathroom all the time -”

“Dennis, it’s okay,” Mac assured him. “You can have the bigger room, I don’t really care.”

“So you’re interested, then?” said the landlord from behind them. 

Dennis shot him a glare. “You wanna step outside and let us discuss for a minute?”

“I like it,” said Mac earnestly after the man had left. “It’s got what we wanted. It doesn’t have a smell, it’s a good location - close to the bar, close to Charlie’s. Plus, it’s rent-controlled, which I know doesn’t mean much where you’re from, but it’s pretty goddamn important down here.”

“Okay, shut up,” grumbled Dennis like he always did when Mac brought up his family wealth. He bit at his nail, looking around anxiously. He wanted this search to be over more than anything, but he didn’t want to settle. Although compared to what he’d seen over the past few days, this was the Four Seasons.

“I don’t know, I can see us here,” Mac continued. “Can’t you?”

Dennis tried to. Mac’s bed in here, with his band posters and his Jesus figurines and the light filtering over everything. A TV and a couch in the living room, framed pictures of them on the wall, a treadmill and a workout bike and their dishes in the kitchen sink, their grocery list on the fridge. Watching movies with their feet up on the coffee table, cooking dinner together, brushing his teeth with Mac in his shower, smelling of the same soap and laundry detergent.

“Yeah,” said Dennis softly. “I can see it.”

Mac grinned and they traipsed out of the bedroom, one after another, to speak to the landlord, Randy, in the empty living room.

“We’re interested,” Dennis announced, and the man beamed at them.

“Great, I’ll just have you fill out these application forms,” he said, passing each of them a bunch of documents stapled together off his clipboard. “You can drop them by tomorrow, and you’ll have to pay $30 each for the application fee.”

“Why is there an application fee?” Mac asked skeptically.

“For the screening - rental history, credit checks, background checks. It’s not free.”

“And how much did you say the rent was?” Dennis chimed in.

“$925 a month. But you’ll have to pay first and last month up front, as well as a security deposit. And then there’s $100 for utilities, because they’re not included.”

Dennis and Mac gaped at him wordlessly, never having heard someone ask for so much money so gracelessly in their lives.

“What the fuck is a security deposit anyways?” Dennis demanded irately.

“It’s the money they use for damages and repairs, you get it back at some point,” Mac explained placatingly. “But how much is that all in all, like…?”

“All in all, it’s $2,850.”

Dennis swallowed down the sour taste in his mouth and cocked his head for Mac to join him for a hushed conversation across the room.

“I do not have half of $2,850,” Mac told him. “I hardly have $475 for one month’s rent.”

“I… I think I could get the 2,850,” Dennis admitted, licking his lips.

Mac blinked at him. “From where, your ass?”

“No, from my mother.”

Mac pressed his lips together, doubtful.

“We’d pay her back,” Dennis insisted. “Once the bar starts turning a profit, we could pay her back. Just for, you know, now. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“That’s almost three grand, Dennis, that’s a huge deal!” Mac said, struggling to keep his voice down.

“Not where I’m from,” Dennis reminded him with a reassuring smile.

Mac was still unconvinced, biting down on his bottom lip like it contained all his misgivings, but he relented. They took the application forms and got to filling them out, which was more challenging than necessary - they didn’t have employers, or a steady income, or rental history for references. Dennis put down his mother and Mac put down Charlie because his father was in prison and his mother was a chainsmoking welfare recipient who mostly spoke in grunts and groans.

Personally, Dennis didn’t think Randy should’ve expected any more of a tenant in South Philadelphia, but they sat tight the next few days while they underwent the screening process. Mac was overly enthusiastic, roping Dennis along into helping him pack up his childhood room into a suitcase, even though Dennis hated being in his house, with its stale cigarette smell and crumbling plaster walls. Any of the apartments they looked at were surely a leg up from here, Dennis thought as he sat on Mac’s bed listening to Black Sabbath and watching him pack up all on his own.

Then his cell phone rang and he sat up, holding a hand to stop Mac, stop everything. It was Randy.

Mac lowered the music and dropped to his knees in front of the bed, waiting. He listened to Dennis’s words with bated breath and watched Dennis’s eager smile fade into disappointment.

“What is it?” he asked desperately, and he kept it up throughout Dennis’s entire phone conversation, buzzing in his ear. 

Finally, Dennis hung up to deliver the sombre news. “They didn’t approve us. You failed the credit check.” He tried not to make it sound so inflammatory but the emphasis on the you spilled it out unbidden.

Mac looked taken aback. “That - that can’t be right. I’ve never owned a credit card… what even is a credit check anyway?”

“I don’t know, I’m calling Dee,” said Dennis absentmindedly, dialling his sister’s number and holding the phone back up to his ear. He would’ve called his dad, he was good at this sort of thing. But Dee was his safest bet right now. “Hey, Sweet Dee.”

“What do you want, dickwad?” She sounded like she was eating something, the slob.

“Nice way to greet your brother,” Dennis retorted sardonically, putting the phone on speaker. “What’s a credit check?”

Dee chewed loudly in his ear and then swallowed. Mac aggressively rolled his eyes.

“You’re asking me what a credit check is?” said Dee amusedly.

“Yes, Dee, would you be useful for once in your fucking life and tell us?” Mac growled at her, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s just a check of your credit history, your score and everything,” Dee explained listlessly.

“Real helpful, Dee!” snapped Dennis. “Fucking elaborate, would you?”

“Okay, calm down, assholes. It’s just, like, something that people use to determine whether you can pay back your debts or not. They look at credit cards, loans, rent, mortgage - they’re just trying to figure out if they can expect you to give payments on time and shit.” She took another bite of her food and Mac furrowed his brows.

“But I’ve never taken out any loans or paid rent,” Mac told her adamantly. “How can I have bad credit?”

“No credit can be bad credit.”

“Dennis doesn’t have credit either, but he got approved!”

“Well, you know what, I’ve actually heard of a lot of parents that take out credit cards in their kids’ names,” said Dee pointedly. “And then they rack up debt on there that they don’t have to pay back.”

“Parents do that?” Dennis asked dubiously.

“Yeah. You know. Poor people.”

“Poor people?” scoffed Mac, affronted. “Shut the fuck up, Dee.” He ended the call for Dennis and leaned forward, propping his elbows on the bed. “So that doesn’t help, ‘cause my parents wouldn’t do that.”

Dennis cast Mac a withering look and got to his feet, stomping out of the bedroom with Mac at his heels.

“Dennis!” he said pleadingly as he followed him out to the living room. “Dennis, wait!”

“Mrs. Mac,” Dennis addressed her sitting on the couch, puffing on a cigarette. “Your son just failed a credit check. But he doesn’t have any credit history. Is it possible that you or Mr. Mac opened up a credit card in his name?”

“Yeah,” grunted Mrs. Mac, grinding her cigarette into the overflowing ashtray on the armrest.

“Yeah, it’s possible?”

“Yeah, he did,” said Mrs. Mac. “Luther did.”

Dennis raised his eyebrows at Mac, whose face fell. “Are you serious, Mom? How could you let him do that? Now my credit’s fucked and I can’t get approved to rent an apartment! I’m gonna have to live here forever -”

“Okay, calm down,” said Dennis patiently, brushing a soothing hand against Mac’s back. “We can work around this.”

“How?” huffed Mac, turning back to him.

“Maybe we could just sign the lease in my name,” Dennis offered quietly. “Just for a year, until we figure out how to get your credit back up.”

Mac scrunched up his mouth in a childlike pout. “So then it’d just be your apartment?”

“No, it’d still be ours,” Dennis maintained gently. “You’d still pay half the rent. It’s just the lease. It’s just semantics.”

Dennis doubted Mac knew what that word meant, which is sort of why he said it, to end the conversation before it got ahead of them. It wasn’t that he was jumping at the chance to be the sole owner of the lease, trying to push Mac out, but he wanted to get it done as soon as possible. Besides, they were friends before they were roommates. It didn’t have to be either-or.

It took them a total of three days to move into the apartment. Dennis was ready to hire movers, hand hovering over the number on his cell phone, but Mac and Charlie insisted they could do it themselves - and they did, surprisingly so. Stash was nice enough to lend them his van and Dennis let Mac and Charlie get to work, transporting every suitcase and box from Dennis and Mac’s respective houses while Dennis was tasked with buying all their new furniture. He owned the lease, and he was paying for the security deposit and the rent, so he may as well get to pick out all their stuff, Mac said. And Dennis had managed to coax a couple more grand out of his inebriated mother, blitzed on whatever the fuck was in their medicine cabinet.

Slowly, they filled the apartment up with themselves, trinkets and souvenirs from their old bedrooms piling up on shelves and their dishes cluttering the cabinets. Mac wanted to hang up pictures of his parents in the living room but Dennis talked him down to one picture of his mother, on a shelf, and no crosses anywhere outside of his bedroom. They were still in a bubble, a kind of honeymoon phase, so blissed out on the idea of living with one another that not much could irritate them, even Mac’s heavy metal CDs getting mixed around with Dennis’s glam rock.

Once they were done, Charlie was adamant that they treat him to pizza, which Dennis happily obliged, and they spent their first night in the apartment indulging in cheesy junk food and an even cheesier 80s movie. Dennis felt slightly guilty about moving in with Mac without asking Charlie if he wanted to live with them, too - knowing they often left Charlie out of a lot of things - but that was quickly diminished when Charlie left that night saying he was glad they now had a space to do all their weird things in private. Whatever that meant. Mac didn’t hear it, which was good.

And then they were alone. In their apartment. Everything was still so fresh and new, their scent not quite permeating the space yet. It was past midnight, but Dennis was still buzzing with the thrill of it all. He and Mac stood up to go to their rooms, cutting through the silence, but Dennis headed to the kitchen first.

“I have a surprise for you,” he said enticingly, reaching into an empty cabinet for the bottle he’d stashed away in there.

“Really?” said Mac, hanging back, interest piqued.

Dennis revealed the bottle of champagne, French and expensive, ready to be poured out in honour of Dennis and Mac’s new home. “I may have broken into my mom’s liquor cabinet last time we were there."

“Shut up,” said Mac, grinning in disbelief. He stepped back and grabbed his backpack from beside the couch, pulling out a matching bottle of champagne. “So did I!”

Dennis laughed, and it was the first moment of many that he felt a string spool out from his chest and tie itself to Mac’s, pulling taut. “Well, let’s keep that for another time and pop this one open, shall we?”

Mac opened two cabinets before he found the one with the champagne glasses, clumsily carrying them between his knuckles before setting them down on the round yellow table for Dennis to fill up, fizzing and bubbling.

“Here’s to us,” said Dennis fondly, clinking his glass against Mac’s.

Mac sipped on his drink, smiling. “So what do you think? About the apartment?”

“It’s good,” Dennis answered sincerely, looking around. “It feels like home.”

“Well, any place feels like home with you,” said Mac, offhandedly, like he didn’t even have to think before he said it.

Dennis took a long swig of his champagne to quiet the happy thrum of his heart. He considered what to say to that while he was busy drinking and came up with a retort that could’ve either completely destroyed their night or goaded Mac into saying more. He decided to say it anyway, seizing the risk. “I thought we said we weren’t gonna flirt.”

Mac arched an eyebrow, smiling incredulously, and Dennis knew he struck gold. “I wasn’t flirting.”

Dennis raised his eyebrows and smirked slyly, sipping on the rest of his bubbly.

“No, see, your problem is you think every sweet thing someone says is flirting, because you think everyone wants to fuck you,” Mac countered tauntingly.

“I don’t know, man, I’m picking up some serious vibes here…”

“There are no vibes!”

But they were both smiling, eyes raking over each other’s faces and shimmering under the kitchen light, and of course, they were flirting. And it was okay, because they were alone in the apartment and nobody would see, nobody would know. They hadn’t drunk enough champagne to justify any of this but perhaps they were just high on the new apartment, drunk on each other.

A lot of good Mac’s assertion that they would not fool around did them.

“No vibes, huh?” said Dennis, abandoning his glass to shuffle over to the CD player by the TV, sliding a disc in. “Let’s dance, then.”

“Sure,” Mac agreed eagerly, setting his glass down as well.

Dennis clicked play on his CD of Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer. “Slow dance.”

Mac’s smile hitched, hesitant, but then again - there was that bubble. “If friends slow dance, then sure.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” said Dennis in mock confidence as Mac grasped his hands and slowly backed him into the clearing of the living room.

Friends did not, in fact, slow dance. They were awkward, too far apart, motions stiff as they swung the link of their hands to the beat, but their faces were flushed and holding back giggles and something was blossoming in Dennis’s chest, opening him up. Mac spun him and then Dennis spun Mac back, and the pace of the music quickened so they inched closer, wrapping one arm around each other and lacing their other hands together to sway back and forth as they laughed their asses off. 

The tension dissipated and they were left twirling around in their own living room, music blasting as loud as they wanted and singing louder to compensate for it and the yellow fluorescence of the kitchen bathing them with just enough light to see each other’s faces, but not enough to take note of their own. 

Mac dipped Dennis low for the big finale of the song, but his grip wasn’t strong enough around Dennis’s waist and Dennis ended up slipping out of it - onto the couch, thankfully - and collapsing into hysterics.

Mac snickered sheepishly back at him and sighed, hands dropping to his sides. “Guess we should probably get to bed, huh?”

“Yeah,” Dennis agreed, faltering because he only just realized how difficult it was going to be for him to fall asleep in this new place.

“You got everything you need?” asked Mac. “Mr. Tibbs?”

Dennis stretched out as he stood up and Mac backed away, standing too close. “No, actually, I left him at home.”

“Wow, look who’s all grown up,” said Mac jeeringly. “You’re a big boy, now, huh? Sleeping all by yourself.”

“Shut up,” muttered Dennis lightly as he made his way back to his room. “I am gonna slide into your bed if I get bad dreams though,” he added, half-jokingly, because he did suffer from nightmares that had him sleeping in Dee’s bed until he was 12 years old - which he’d told Mac about and no one else.

Mac chuckled, still looking back at Dennis as he headed to his bedroom. “Sure. Goodnight, then.”

Dennis paused at his bedroom door, gazing from across the room at Mac and it was comforting to know he’d be right there, all night, keeping Dennis company from not too far. He smiled, because he couldn’t help it tonight. “Goodnight, Mac.”

2002

Mac was sitting on the couch, on the phone with his mother - a rare occasion - when Dennis ambled into the apartment. She was the one who called first - an even rarer occasion - but Mac had wilted once he learned she’d only lost her social security check and was convinced that Mac had stolen or hidden it from her. 

“Did you try checking in the drawer next to the fridge? Because last I checked, that’s where all your mail was stashed,” said Mac patiently, sparing Dennis a nod of acknowledgement as he walked in, tearing off his scarf and jacket and dropping them to the ground. Mac’s mother was giving a typical grumbled response. “Okay, well, go check there.”

Mac heard his mother shuffle to her feet and towards the kitchen as Dennis flopped onto the couch with a bounce. Mac flinched reflexively but let Dennis’s head lay comfortably on his lap while he listened for the sound of a drawer opening on the other end. “Found it.”

“See? I told you,” Mac replied warmly. “Where would you be without - ?” The dial tone startled Mac before he could finish his sentence. Unperturbed by his mother’s unceremonious goodbyes, Mac ended the call on his side and jammed the phone back into the base.

“How is she?” Dennis asked, looking up at him, though Mac knew that he didn’t really care; he was only asking out of courtesy.

“She’s good,” said Mac, absentmindedly taking a strand of Dennis’s hair between his fingers. “She’d be better if we visited more often.”

“Then visit her more often.”

“I said we.”

Dennis’s eyebrows came together skeptically. “Come on, she doesn’t care about me.”

“Yes, she does, she asks about you all the time!” Mac insisted.

“I doubt that, she doesn’t even ask about you.”

Mac roughly shoved Dennis off of his lap, making him scoot to the other end of the couch.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” said Dennis demurely, though he was clearly fighting a smile.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Mac demanded. “I have to go in later, too.”

Dennis groaned, draping an arm around the back of the couch and resting his head there. “No, let’s just blow off work today. It’s a Wednesday night, Dee and Charlie can handle it themselves.”

“Are we doing something?”

“We should,” said Dennis emphatically, nudging closer to Mac. “We never get a night to ourselves anymore. We just go to work every day, then we come home and we’re too tired to do anything but watch reality TV for two hours. It’s just - we’re not gonna be twenty forever, right?”

“We’re not twenty,” Mac pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, you know what I mean - in our twenties,” Dennis clarified reluctantly.

Mac nodded slowly, shifting in his seat to face Dennis. “So what do you wanna do? Go down to the river and throw things down there?”

Dennis frowned disdainfully, Barbara Reynolds written all over his face. “No.”

Mac chewed on his bottom lip, shame crawling up his neck unbidden. Charlie would’ve found that to be a plenty enjoyable pastime.

“No, let’s go out for dinner,” Dennis suggested brightly, in a manner that wasn’t a suggestion at all, simply an announcement. “Let’s go to a fancy restaurant and dress up nice and have cocktails and expensive wines.”

“I thought you wanted to act like we’re twenty?” Mac questioned.

Dennis rolled his eyes, irritated that Mac was hanging onto the words he’d spoken not five minutes ago. “Okay, so we’ll get the meal and then we’ll dine and dash. That’s what 20-year-olds in South Philly do, right?"

Mac narrowed his eyes. “I don’t appreciate your tone on that. You’ve been living here for, like, three years now, you don’t get to be on a high horse because you grew up rich. Speaking of, how exactly are we gonna pay for this night out - because I don’t think you’re really gonna dine and dash at a fancy restaurant.”

“I could totally dine and dash,” Dennis protested, though with a lack of resistance that suggested otherwise. “But if you’re so worried about it, I could just ask my mom for some money.”

Mac ran his hand over his face, sighing. “Dude, your mom is gonna hate me. She thinks I’m bleeding you dry.”

Dennis let out a chuckle. “She said that?”

“No, but I look at her face and I know she’s thinking it.”

“Oh, no, don’t take that personally, babe,” said Dennis reassuringly, putting a hand on Mac’s arm, “she’s just had so many facelifts she doesn’t know how to smile anymore. But just in case, you should probably not be here while I’m calling her.” Dennis heaved himself off the couch and reached across from Mac to grab the phone. “You should go pick out your outfit.”

Mac stood up, making his way to his bedroom. “Right, so you can come in and then veto everything I choose?”

Dennis grinned, placing the phone to his ear. “Exactly. You get it.”

Mac shook his head with a begrudging smile and retreated to his bedroom as Dennis greeted his mother with a disgustingly reverent hi, mommy. It was pointless for Mac to choose what to wear himself, but he did it anyway, rummaging through his closet for anything remotely sophisticated and only coming up with some collared shirts and clip-on ties. In his defence, he never needed to dress any more formally than that in his daily life, working at a bar and all.

Dennis returned to Mac’s side after he was finished with his phone call and gave Mac a disparaging look upon seeing the pile of clothing on his bed that told Mac none of this was up to his standards.“You seriously have nothing even slightly formal?” he said incredulously, rooting through the scattered clothes.

“I have some Polos,” Mac piped up, brandishing one of them in front of Dennis, who snatched it curtly.

“Those are mine.” He folded his arms over his chest and sighed reproachfully. “Alright. If you’re gonna be wearing my clothes anyways, you might as well wear the nice ones.”

Predictably, Dennis led Mac to his much more spacious room to lay out some more ‘respectable’ clothing for Mac to wear, Abercrombie and J Crew and whatever the fuck else spilling out of his closet, saturating the room with the crisp, unworn clothing smell because Dennis had more clothes than he knew what to do with. But yeah, Mac did like to be dressed by him sometimes and play-act as someone of wealth and affluence, so he obediently withdrew into Dennis’s bathroom to try on the outfit Dennis selected for him and then emerged to display himself rather abashedly.

“Oh, wow,” Dennis mused, impressed as he scanned Mac’s figure. “My clothes are really working for you.”

“I look stupid,” mumbled Mac disconcertedly, buttoning up his cuffs as they peeked out from beneath his blazer.

“A little bit, only because you didn’t do up your tie properly,” said Dennis evenly, stepping closer to Mac to thread the knot and tighten it. Mac held his breath for some unknown reason as Dennis invaded his space, smoothing down his collar and brushing his hands across Mac’s chest. “I’m serious, you look really good.”

Mac swallowed, his eyes repelling from Dennis’s and he voiced the worry that suddenly popped into his head. “Isn’t this… sort of like a date?”

“No,” said Dennis sharply, in a tone that made it clear there would be no argument on the subject. He moved back and Mac’s chest relaxed. “I don’t see why friends can’t dress up for each other and enjoy a nice meal together. Such elegance shouldn’t be wasted on petty, fleeting romances. Besides, I’d much rather spend my money on you than some girl.”

Mac tilted his head skeptically. “You mean your mother’s money?”

“Yeah and you’re not getting any of it if you don’t stop running your mouth,” Dennis warned him facetiously. Mac smiled and mimed himself zipping his lips shut. “Now, what do you think I should wear? Blue or white?”

“Um, I don’t really care,” said Mac, pressing his lips together apologetically. Dennis pouted and Mac hastily added, “But you should wear the blue. It… brings out your eyes.”

It didn’t really stop feeling like a date for Mac when Dennis said it wasn’t, but he could see that there were differences - differences that made it better than an actual date, like that they got ready in the bathroom together and Mac watched Dennis apply his aftershave and his mascara and lip gloss and other weird goopy substances that Mac couldn’t identify, and that Dennis could tell Mac exactly which cologne and how much to use so it wasn’t overpowering while still emitting a pleasant musk, and that Mac could listen to Dennis making a reservation for them from the living room, hearing the silky timbre his voice took on when it was being sycophantic, speaking to people from his own class.

And despite Mac’s reluctance and misgivings, the dinner was fun. They had a three course meal at the Bleu Martini with soups and salads and steak and free bread rolls, and Mac hadn’t had wine that delicious since the last time he was at the Reynolds’ mansion. Dennis ordered for Mac when he couldn’t figure out how to read the foreign words on the menu, rattling off a list of dishes that sounded pretty good to Mac, and tasted even better - only exemplified by the happiness of Dennis knowing him well enough to choose something for him. They split a bottle of chardonnay between themselves, refilling their glasses twice before Dennis decided to indulge them both and asked the waiter to just leave the bottle. 

The wine soaked into them fairly quickly, so they had to muffle their giggles to not disturb the tranquillity of the restaurant chatter and occasional piano notes. Eventually, Mac convinced Dennis to go up and play something of his own when the pianist was gone, and Dennis was never one to shy away from a possible display of braggadocio. He rolled up his sleeves and sat down to play a haltingly rusty rendition of the first half of Claire de Lune, but it quickly descended into an off-key version of Still D.R.E, much to the other diners’ annoyance, though it greatly amused Mac, the only one Dennis was really playing for. They were swiftly asked to return to their seats, but Dennis was scandalized at the waiters’ rudeness and he asked for the bill instead.

They tripped and stumbled out of the restaurant, laughing in each other’s arms at the ridiculousness of all of the snobbery in there as they hailed a taxi, much too drunk to drive themselves home.

It seemed that everyone was in a bad mood tonight but Mac and Dennis; they were closed off in their own world of drunken elation over each other. Their taxi driver kissed his teeth in irritation at their loud, schoolgirl snickering as they huddled together, Dennis’s hand clamped over Mac’s thigh and Mac’s arm snaked around his shoulders, drinking up each other’s wine-scented breath. The driver seemed to brighten when Mac asked him to turn up the radio, only to droop once again when Mac and Dennis regaled him by singing (shouting) along to Crazy Town’s Butterfly at the top of their lungs, despite the fact that they didn’t know much of it besides the chorus. Finally, the driver responded by sliding the dividing door shut and turning his attention back to the road.

“What an asshole,” muttered Dennis, drawing his hand back from Mac’s thigh and leaving him in the cold. “Watch this.” He tapped on the door impatiently and the driver exasperatedly pulled it open again. “You can drop us off here.”

“What - ?” Mac began, because they weren’t quite at the apartment yet, but Dennis held up a hand to quell him.

“Right here?” said the driver, sounding relieved, and he pulled over to the side of the road.

Mac gingerly opened the door, waiting for Dennis’s further instructions. Dennis pointedly lifted his eyebrows and gestured for Mac to leave, so he did, climbing out into the January chill and jamming his hands in his pockets to wait for Dennis. Dennis tentatively fished his wallet out of his coat pocket before scrambling out of the car after Mac, not bothering to pay.

“Oh, shit!” Mac yelped, as Dennis grasped his arm and dragged him along, chortling.

“Get back here, you little shits!” The driver yelled after them, following it up with more abuses, but Mac and Dennis were already peeling down into the nearest alleyway, out of view.

They stopped to catch their breath, gasping in laughter, doubling over. Mac clapped a hand on Dennis’s shoulder, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re fucking insane, man.”

“That’s why you love me,” said Dennis knowingly, throwing out a radiant smile and an arm around Mac’s shoulder. They walked the few blocks back to the apartment like that, arms around one another and trying to finish the song from the taxi that they didn’t know well but didn’t want to be stuck in their heads all night long.

It was an immediate respite to enter their apartment building, unventilated from the cold outside, and stagger into the clunky, disordered elevator that gave a guttural metallic rattle every time it launched upwards. The first time Mac and Dennis rode in it, they kept completely still, clutching each other for fear the machine would fail them. Now they continued their ungainly dancing and hardly wrinkled their noses at the distinct stench of piss filtering through the tight space.

They beat down the familiar hallway to their apartment, past all the doors of neighbours who have complained about their noise levels, and Dennis flipped off the most recent one in Apartment 23 as they approached theirs across from it.

Mac finally separated from him to pull the keys out of his pocket, and Dennis leaned against the doorway, apparently too plastered to stand on his own, though Mac had drank just as much as him and was completely upright. He might’ve just been putting on an act, which he did quite often when he wanted Mac to do things for him under the guise of being too drunk to do them on his own.

A twist of the key and a click and Mac and Dennis were back in their home, dark and empty but still theirs to return to. Mac always liked the first few seconds being home after a long day out, because it was the only time he could actually perceive the scent of the place, before it just became nothing again - it was indescribably Mac and Dennis, and it was perfect.

He tossed the keys onto the coffee table with a clatter as Dennis hung his jacket up on the coat rack. “Shelf,” he reminded Mac admonishingly.

Mac bit down on his lip and seized the keys again, perching them daintily upon the shelf like Dennis always liked him to. Dennis dropped himself onto the couch, creased clothes crumpling, while Mac headed out towards the window, prying it open.

“Ah!” said Dennis weakly, legs shooting up onto the couch so he could hug them to his chest as he shuddered from the cold.

“I’m gonna have a smoke,” Mac explained, drawing a pack out of his jacket pocket.

“Well, shit, let me come, too.” Dennis followed Mac out onto the fire escape in nothing but the flimsy fabric of his button-down, teeth instantly chattering against each other. “Holy fuck, it’s c-cold out here."

“Let me warm you up,” Mac offered, cigarette between his teeth as he draped his leather jacket around Dennis’s slender, shivering body - he was always more prone to freezing than Mac, skinny as he was. Thankfully, the jacket was two sizes too big for Mac, having bought it from a thrift store.

Mac lit the cigarette while Dennis cupped a hand around it to block the wind from the snuffing out the flame. He inhaled, puffing on the sweet relief as he turned away from Dennis. He was still unbelievably cold, doing that familiar shifty dance with his feet and clasping his hands together against his chest, and it really didn’t make sense for them to be out here when they could’ve just disabled the smoke alarm inside and sat comfortably. But there was something different about being outside the frosted windows, wind-beaten faces tinged with pink as they looked out onto the street, the flashes of crimson brake lights, the yellow street lamps, the blue glare of the billboards.

Mac tucked the cigarette between Dennis’s lips and watched the colours bathe his face, catching in his hair. Mac really loved this city, even the police sirens that droned on all night and the drunkards babbling and yelling on the sidewalk. And he loved Dennis, the slant of his jaw and the pink of his lips and his dimpled smile and icy blue eyes, even though he would never say it, because that was fucking lame and it didn’t really need to be said, when they were standing like this, keeping each other warm.

“Did you have fun tonight?” asked Dennis as Mac removed the cigarette from his mouth, resting it in his own. He nodded and Dennis smiled, bumping his shoulder. “Much better than th-throwing shit down rivers, right?”

Mac laughed, exhaling a cloud of smoke. He let the cigarette burn between his fingers, eyes tracking a motorcycle ripping across the street. “I’m glad we don’t have to go home.”

“What are you talking about?” Dennis scoffed. “We are home.”

“I know, but I mean - like - back in high school, or whatever, when we would go out somewhere, it’d be really fun, but then we’d have to go home, and even though we just spent a lot of time together, it was still sad. And you didn't ever wanna go home .” Mac took another drag, momentarily withdrawing his hand from around Dennis’s waist to scratch at his eyebrow. Dennis mewled at the loss of his touch and Mac returned it immediately. “Now we don’t ever have to go home.”

“But we are home,” Dennis insisted , chuckling when Mac threw his head back and groaned. “No, I get it. It’s like the party never ends.” Mac smiled gratefully at him and Dennis puckered his lips to signal his need for the cigarette back. Mac placed it there again, letting his knuckles freeze while Dennis inhaled, closing his eyes. “But I think we needed tonight,” he continued, as Mac pocketed his hand, his cigarette singing the old burns. “We don’t get as much t-time alone together as we used to, ‘cause of Dee, and Charlie, and the bar.”

Mac nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. We should set aside time for each other. Maybe make this dinner a regular thing. ‘Cause I’ve heard of all these friendships that fall apart when they move in together - you know, they get caught up in who’s doing the dishes, who’s taking out the trash. And then they start hating each other.”

“I could never hate you,” Dennis cut in, earnest in a way he could only be after half a bottle of wine and a cigarette and late, late night. Mac returned his smile, heart thumping blissfully in his chest. “But you’re right. We should make it a regular thing. Every week?”

“I don’t think your mom would appreciate you dipping into your trust fund to treat your roommate to a fancy dinner every week,” Mac said with a smokey laugh.

“Good point,” said Dennis, nodding again for the cigarette. “But that reminds me. We should get a joint bank account.”

“What?” 

“It just makes sense,” Dennis elaborated, wringing his hands together to keep warm. “We p-pay for basically everything together. Rent, phone bills, utilities… and then there’s other stuff like these dinners, food, groceries. This way we won’t have to keep track of who buys what.”

Mac considered it, access to all of each other’s financials. But he never bought anything without Dennis’s say-so, anyway, so it wouldn’t really be that much of a difference. Selfishly, he also enjoyed the idea of sharing Dennis’s allowance from his mother, no matter how much Mrs. Reynolds hated it. “Okay. Sounds good.”

“And how about we make the dinner a monthly thing?” Dennis proposed. “What’s the date today?”

“The… 17th.”

“We’ll do it every 17th, then. You better remember next month. If you forget I’m gonna be really upset with you.”

“Okay,” Mac relented fondly. “It’s a deal.”

“Good. Now, can we go back inside, ‘cause I’m f-fucking freezing,” whined Dennis, shivering violently. Mac flicked the cigarette off the railing and pulled back his jacket, clutching Dennis’s back as they crawled back into the apartment together.

“You could’ve just worn your jacket,” said Mac reprovingly.

“Well, maybe it was all part of my diabolical plan to get you to snuggle with me,” said Dennis lasciviously. Mac gasped in mock offence and pushed Dennis away from him, causing him to stagger dramatically to the floor.

“Dude, you are getting way too big for your own good,” Dennis lamented, rubbing his back.

Mac cocked an eyebrow. “You think so? Or is that part of your diabolical plan, too?”

Dennis grinned, tousling his own hair. “Trust me, you won’t know when I’m enacting my plan. That’s what makes it so diabolical.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” said Mac, rolling his eyes and suppressing the heat that rose to his cheeks unbidden. He shrugged off his jacket and let it fall to the couch.

“Hook,” said Dennis, tone sharpening in a second.

Mac huffed and picked it up again, striding off to the coat rack by the door as Dennis trudged towards his bedroom. “G’night, Mac.”

Mac watched him disappear behind the door and felt like that was - in some sense - leaving each other to go home. But Dennis didn’t shut the door, and that was a small comfort. Mac didn’t like closed doors.

“Night, Dennis,” he called out, and then he went back to his own bedroom, keeping the door wide open.

2010

Dennis cracked open an aged bottle of whiskey as he sat at the table, scouring over the divorce settlement that Uncle Jack gave him, punctuating every sentence with an emphatic fuck me or fucking Maureen. Mac glanced back at him every couple of minutes while he washed the pile of dishes in the sink because apparently that was another thing Maureen Ponderosa refused to do. They did this often, sitting in the same room with their attention on different things, the simple presence of each other remaining a comfort. But sometimes it was because they were both skirting around the obvious topic of conversation. 

And Mac wasn’t angry, he really wasn’t - not anymore, after they drunkenly drove home from the strip club last night and Dennis had told him that there was no one else in the world he’d love more than Mac. He could only say it when he was drunk enough to forget it in the morning, but Mac was fine with that, honestly.

It was just that it all happened so fast. The marriage and the divorce and now this and Dennis certainly wasn’t going to want to discuss how the alimony payments would affect their own financials. There was no point in saying I told you so after that whole ordeal, because Dennis was probably well aware that he should have listened to Mac in the first place. He didn’t like being proven wrong, so Mac wasn’t going to rub it in his face, for the sake of domestic civility.

“This bitch is absolutely insane,” Dennis muttered as he flipped back to the first page of the settlement and poured himself another glass of whiskey.

Mac tugged off his rubber gloves, setting them beside the sink, and gingerly approached the table, hanging onto the back of the chair across from Dennis. “Hey, so would now be a good time to talk about something?”

“Ah, shit,” said Dennis exasperatedly, wincing as he downed his drink. “Okay. Sure. Pile it on.”

Mac’s eyebrows creased meekly. “Well, I didn’t wanna pile on, that’s why I asked if it was a good time to -”

“Yeah, but now you brought it up and I’m gonna be thinking about it all night, so you might as well just say it,” said Dennis sharply, an edge to his tone that made Mac uneasy. But if he backed down now, Dennis would only grow more furious with him.

“Okay. Um, so our lease expires in a few months. And I thought that when we renew it, we should put my name on it this time.”

Dennis nodded slowly, irritability dwindling into impassiveness on his face. “Okay…” he said pensively, standing up and carrying his glass to the sink before placing the bottle atop the fridge. “Okay.”

Mac swivelled to face him expectantly, waiting to hear the rest of it.

“The thing is,” Dennis continued gently, turning around, “you never actually took any action to fix up your credit. So it’s still as bad as it was the day we moved in, and you probably still wouldn’t get approved.”

“That makes no sense, I’ve been living here for twelve years,” Mac retorted skeptically. “We haven’t missed that many payments or anything, we’re good tenants…”

“Yeah, but you actually haven’t been living here - like on paper.”

“Does that matter?” said Mac with an incredulous scoff. “I mean, Randy knows me, we see him every day -”

“I know that Randy knows you, babe, that’s not what it’s about,” Dennis interjected placatingly. “It’s just - it’s mechanics and technicalities - and all this complicated stuff that I don’t really wanna have to explain to you right now.” He flipped around again and ran the tap to rinse his glass in the sink.

Mac crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay, then let’s take action to fix up my credit.”

“Yeah,” said Dennis with a touch of uncertainty, nodding. “Yeah, or we could just keep it simple, the way it was.”

Mac swiped his tongue over his lips, struggling to keep the conversation light and give Dennis the benefit of the doubt. “The way it was being that you owned the apartment and I just stayed here, just crashed here?”

“Well, that’s not what it was,” Dennis insisted with a conciliatory smile. “What’s mine is yours, buddy.”

“It wasn’t a couple of days ago,” Mac grumbled.

Dennis’s face fell, eyes darkening. He stared at Mac for a few moments, before mumbling, “I said I was sorry about that.” He wiped down his glass and opened up the cabinet to return it to its place. “Jesus, you sure know how to hold a grudge, don’t you.”

“I don’t hold grudges,” Mac asserted. “And I’m not mad -”

“Well, you’re making me feel pretty shitty about it now,” said Dennis with a dry laugh.

Mac faltered, caught between sympathy and determination to get his point across. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you feel shitty, dude. I just want this apartment - you know, our apartment - to feel like our apartment. Otherwise, it’s just like it belongs to you, and you’re just keeping me here until - until you don’t want me anymore, and that makes me feel shitty.”

“I’m not gonna do it again!” Dennis insisted loudly, whirling around. “So why are we still talking about it?”

“I didn’t say that you were going to do it again,” said Mac, raising his hands in defence. “But when you did do it, it made me think about a lot of things. You’re right, it is your apartment. And you picked out all the furniture, and you lend me your clothes, and you have the bigger room, and the shower -”

“Oh, so you’ve been stewing on that one, huh?” Dennis cut in scornfully.

“- and yeah, I would like to have a little bit of security,” Mac admitted indignantly. “I don’t like that your wife who you were married to for three days has more of a right over this apartment and our money than I do…”

“Okay, why do you keep mentioning Maureen?” demanded Dennis, hands flying to his head, clutching it like this whole conversation was giving him a migraine. “If it’s not about Maureen, then don’t talk about her, why do you keep mentioning her?”

“It’s about a lot of things,” Mac plowed over him, voice raised. “I don’t understand why you have such a problem with me putting the name on the lease of the apartment that I own!”

“Because it makes me feel like you don’t trust me!” Dennis erupted desperately, drawing back into himself immediately, blue eyes glinting under the kitchen light.

“Is it that unreasonable that I wouldn’t trust you after what you did?” said Mac lowly.

Dennis clenched his jaw, swallowing. “No, it’s not. But I would like for you to admit that that is what it’s about. That you’re upset with me for kicking you out and giving Maureen your room, and you’re jealous that I picked her over you -”

“That’s not that what this is about -”

“- and just drop this bullshit pretense about you wanting your name on the lease,” Dennis finished derisively.

“That’s not what this is about, don’t put words in my mouth!” Mac maintained firmly. “And I’m not angry with you. I mean, now I am, because we’re having a fight, but -”

“This isn’t a fight, it’s a discussion,” said Dennis quietly.

Mac chuckled coldly, pushing his ungelled hair back. “Jesus, if this is what a discussion feels like, I sure as hell don’t ever wanna fight with you, man.”

Dennis scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing. “Okay. Okay, so let’s just have a discussion, then.”

“Alright,” said Mac tersely. “I would like to discuss how you’re being a little bit selfish right now.”

“Selfish?” Dennis repeated hotly.

“Yeah, a little bit,” Mac fired back. “You can’t just mess up - and I forgive you for that, by the way, you may not believe me, but I do forgive you - but you can’t do that, and then get me back, and then continue to do the same damn thing!”

“I’m not gonna do it again, how many times do I have to fucking say it?” Dennis exclaimed, glasses on the counter quivering from the force of his gesticulating hands.

“Dude, it’s not about the thing with Maureen -”

“Fuck off, Mac,” said Dennis, rolling his eyes, “You didn’t give a shit about this whole arrangement until I kicked you out for her. If I never had, you would’ve kept on living here happily and you would’ve never asked for your name on the lease.”

“But you did kick me out. That happened.”

“And you do not get to score points by forgiving me for that and then throw it back in my face now!” Dennis pointed out furiously. “I think that’s a little selfish.”

“Okay, what do you want, exactly?” Mac asked, huffing exasperatedly as he raked his hands through his hair. “Because when we moved in here, you said that the lease was just for a year, and we’d change it when we were renewing it.”

“But you never asked -” Dennis began pointedly.

“I know I never asked,” said Mac hastily. “But I’m asking now. What changed from then to now that you don’t wanna do that anymore? Or did you have no intention of ever doing it, and you were slowly backing away the entire time?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mac,” Dennis scoffed under his breath, gripping the counter and looking down. “Uh… what changed? What changed was us, Mac.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I never thought we’d be living here for this long,” Dennis elaborated, shrugging. “And I’m glad we are. I don’t think I could live with anyone but you, but that’s - that’s sort of the problem. Is that I’m so dependent on you.”

“But I like that you are,” said Mac softly. “I’m glad you feel like you can depend on me.”

“Yeah, but I want you to depend on me, too.” Dennis cast Mac a glance, noticed the hesitance on his face, and turned around again, facing the sink. He bent over it, silent for a moment. “I know that I messed up… and I’m sorry, but I don’t wanna have to pay for it for the rest of my life. I just want things to go back to the way they were before, and I want you to trust me and rely on me, and I don’t want you to be mad, or leave, but I know that I hurt you and I can’t take it back and I’m sorry -” He cut himself off with a sob, cupping his slender fingers over his mouth and the sound clenched around Mac’s heart, sharp and steel. 

“Shit, Dennis…” he whispered, tentatively approaching him as Dennis stifled his sniffling, burying his face in his hands. “Come on, man… I’m sorry.”

Mac reached out and soothingly rubbed Dennis’s back, all the anger from before extinguishing like a soaked flame. “Come here.”

He hardly got a look at Dennis’s streaming face before he pressed it to Mac’s shoulder, whimpering quietly, and Mac wrapped his arms around him, smoothing over the back of his shirt, comforting him in hushed tones: “It’s okay… I’m sorry… I love you.”

Dennis pulled away, never once hugging Mac back, wiping at his red, blotchy face. His gaze was glued to the floor in shame, and Mac continued to massage his shoulder in tender circles.

“I don’t have to put my name on the lease,” he offered quietly.

“No, that’s - that’s stupid,” Dennis said, shaking his head. “Your name should be on it. Of course, you can’t rely on me after -”

“No, I’m serious,” said Mac, ducking his head to meet Dennis’s eyes. “I trust you.”

Dennis sighed and smiled sheepishly, breaking his gaze away again to rub the wetness from his eyes. “Well, now I feel embarrassed…”

“It’s okay,” Mac assured him, patting him awkwardly on the back, even though it was a little embarrassing and uncharacteristic of Dennis to break down so easily.

“So,” Dennis said, sighing his troubles away, “you wanna watch a movie or something?”

Mac frowned, hand wavering as he drew it back from Dennis, who’d recovered strangely quickly. Something felt oddly misplaced here, hitting Mac wrong in the gut, and he couldn’t help feeling like Dennis had gotten away with something.

But they’d put the matter to rest already, adrenaline fizzling to its normal levels, and Mac wasn’t eager to open it back up so quickly. Besides, how did one confront their friend about their crying seeming disingenuous?

“I… think I’m gonna go to bed,” Mac decided, glancing at the oven timer over Dennis’s shoulder.

Dennis looked back as well. “Oh, you’re right, it is pretty late. Alright, then.” He raised his hand in a feeble wave goodnight to Mac as he slunk off to his bedroom and Mac shuffled back towards his, stopping in his tracks.

“Wait, what about this… sweater studio?” asked Mac, gesturing to the sewing workshop that had been set up in his bedroom, taking up every inch of his space.

Dennis turned around in his doorway, grimacing. “Oh… I’m too lazy to take it down right now. You wanna do it in the morning?”

Mac let his shoulders drop, exhaling absently. “Alright. Guess I’ll just sleep on the couch tonight.”

Dennis leaned his head against the doorframe, pushing his bottom lip out in a slight pout, imploring. “Don’t be like that…” He tilted his head to beckon him nearer, smile playing against his lips. The term bedroom eyes popped into Mac’s head, but he shoved it down, and he certainly wasn’t into it tonight.

But it was better than sleeping on the couch. And they hadn’t shared a bed in a while, since they were kids, really. Who was he to refuse the limited offer?

Mac trailed into Dennis’s room after him, flicking off the light switches and stealing away the brightness of the apartment. Dennis was rummaging through a basket of fresh laundry - Mac had done that for him a day before he was unceremoniously thrown out; clearly, Dennis had been too busy these past four days to put his clothes away, though Mac was desperately trying to repress the thoughts of what Dennis was busy doing with Maureen in those few days they were married.

“You want some pajamas?” Dennis asked absentmindedly. “Maureen put all your stuff in a suitcase, so you won’t be able to find yours.”

Mac had no desire to wear more of Dennis’s clothes, though he was unsure why. He shook his head in response and opted to simply shimmy out of his jeans and climb into bed in his boxers and t-shirt. Dennis unbuttoned his shirt, hanging it behind the door, and then tugged off his white undershirt, revealing three long red scratches adorning his pale back, like that of a cat’s. Mac bit his tongue before he asked Dennis where they were from, comprehension settling uneasily in the pit of his stomach. 

He pulled the covers up to his chin as he continued to watch Dennis get dressed for bed and it was late enough for him to let his mind drift with abandon, wondering if Maureen had ever laid where he was, if her eyes got to trail across the curve of Dennis’s waist, the smooth whiteness of his legs.

It was a silly question to ask himself, because of course, she had. She’d slept right on this side of the bed, and the strands of her hair were still caught on the pillow; Mac plucked one off and dropped it over the side of the bed as Dennis clicked off the lamp and crawled in beside him, slithering underneath the blanket, and he suddenly felt a rush of loathing towards Dennis that only churned his stomach more. The though that he’d made love to Maureen on this bed, kissed her mouth with that dead fucking tooth… Mac could’ve thrown up just thinking about it. He flipped onto his side, back turned to Dennis.

It wasn’t just Maureen, though. How many other girls had Dennis brought home and fucked into this bed until their moans and screams were audible across the apartment in Mac’s room? Mac had seen it all on the tapes, too. And he could smell it now, the women and the sex and the sweat, even though he knew Dennis always changed the linens after spending the night with a girl. Had he changed them since Maureen, though? Why did it matter to Mac either way?

Regret simmered underneath Mac’s skin; he wished he hadn’t let that argument end so quickly. He wished he hadn’t forgiven Dennis so easily for choosing Maureen. He wished he never let Carmen slip away from him and he wished he hadn’t run to get her back only to end up being told that he was… Fuck, it was unthinkable.

Mac squeezed his eyes shut, clutching the blanket tightly with one fist and squeezing his face into his pillow - Maureen’s pillow - as his tears slipped beneath closed lids. Mac was a master of silent crying, holding his breath until he could swallow down the sobs before letting out a long, calming exhale. 

But Dennis shifted closer, his warmth pervading Mac’s body despite his ice cold legs grazing against Mac’s - the way he always used to do during sleepovers. Dennis skated an arm across Mac, delicately spanning his body before coming to stop at his head, stroking his fingers through Mac’s hair. The contact was nice, and so were Dennis’s steady exhales, breath fanning out over the back of Mac’s neck. But it only made Mac cry harder, the pillow failing to conceal his high-pitched whine as his tears soaked through it. Dennis curled a hand around Mac’s shoulder and planted a kiss to the back of it before reclining his head against Mac’s, body pressed up behind him.

Mac’s body clamped up, chest tightening, and he was sure Dennis could sense it, hear his heart pounding, feel the coldness of Mac’s wet pillow, but he just remained clinging tightly onto Mac, like he was assuring him it would pass soon enough. And it did. 

They fell asleep somehow, and Mac’s face was crusted with dried tears in the morning and Dennis was back on his side, facing away from Mac. The morning sunlight seeped through the drawn curtains and basked everything in a warm glow, and Mac held onto the small comfort that most of Dennis’s women never saw this sight, driven out of his room before dawn.

2016

A cold draft wafted over Dennis and Mac as they entered their old apartment, as if all the windows had been opened. It looked different - of course, from the charred wreckage it was last year - though also different from what it used to be. Everything was white, covered in wet paint or plastic, and the smell of wood and the sweat of construction workers permeated the room. Dennis stepped in tentatively, feeling as though he was in someone else’s home. Mac looked much more at ease, mud-caked boots marking up the newly installed floorboards as he examined everything, mouth agape in awe.

“It looks much better than it did last time,” he said earnestly.

Dennis nodded, rolling his tongue in his cheek. He turned to the one worker standing in what used to be the kitchen, flipping over papers on a clipboard, overalls tied around his waist. “Where is everyone? I thought they were supposed to be working here.”

“They went out for lunch,” the man answered, looking up from his paperwork. “You two must be the tenants. Mac and Dennis?”

“Dennis,” said Dennis, gesturing towards himself. Mac was off staring out the window, inspecting every crevice of the apartment. Dennis remained rooted to the ground in the kitchen, arms folded over his chest. To be honest, he had no interest in checking on this work-in-progress apartment but Frank had insisted they take a trip down here to see what his money was paying for. He certainly hadn’t wanted to come with Mac, but once he’d heard about it, he wouldn’t let up.

“I’m Justin, I’m the contractor,” said the worker, holding out a calloused hand covered in dried paint for Dennis to shake. Justin was good-looking enough to make up for his griminess - rugged, rather than dirty, though Dennis was a bit wary of someone who looked so young overseeing such a big project.

“Does the tap work?” Dennis asked, eyeing the uncovered sink.

“Oh, yeah,” Justin piped up, setting his pen down. “Do you want a glass of water?”

“Sure,” said Dennis hesitantly, his gaze following Justin as he reached into a drawer for a paper cup and then filled it with tap water. “A bit strange to be offered water in my own house.”

Justin laughed, seizing the pen and signing off on the papers once again.

“Dennis, I’m gonna check on the bedroom - bedrooms,” said Mac.

Dennis gave him a tight-lipped nod and watched him disappear into his own doorless bedroom.

“How long have you guys been together?” asked Justin absentmindedly.

“Oh, we’re - um - 18 years.”

“Damn,” said Justin, impressed. “You’re almost married at this point. Unless - are you?” he added, like he’d just remembered that was a possibility.

“No,” Dennis replied, sipping on his water, unsure why he was playing along with this man’s assumptions. It was routine for Dennis and Mac at this point, pretending to be a couple for free drinks on Valentine’s Day, couples massages, baby schemes. They hadn’t done any of that in a while, though.

“I am,” said Justin, raising his hand and waving his glittering ring finger. “Two years now. Still scared as hell. You got any advice?”

“Uh…” Dennis placed his cup on the plastic-covered counter, wondering how to answer that. All he’d known about marriage he learned from Frank and his mother. Not the best role models. “Don’t cheat on her? I guess?"

“Don’t cheat on her,” scoffed Justin lightheartedly. “That’s good, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Yeah, you should,” said Dennis, returning the smile.

“You know, the average marriage lasts, like, ten years anyways,” Justin continued as he initialed one of his papers. “The thought of that is just…”

Ten years, huh? That tracked.

“It’s like an expiry date.”

Dennis frowned, pensively chewing on his lip. “No, more like a “best before.””

“But you two are 18 years, going strong,” Justin remarked reverently. “That’s success.”

Dennis bit back a harsh laugh. Success was not the word he would use to describe his relationship with Mac. No, more like a dozen Hail Marys just to hold out hope for something long gone. And now Dennis was really gnawing at that lip so he hastily changed the subject.

“When do you think you guys are gonna be done?” 

“About three months, give or take. Unless you have any renovation plans, in which case you need to let us know as soon as possible.”

“No, I don’t have any plans… but you might want to ask Mac,” said Dennis, jerking his thumb towards the bedroom Mac was in. “He - I lost a bet to him, so he gets to decide how to refurbish the apartment, and he wants it to be a total surprise.”

“Oh, that’s cute,” said Justin with a fond smile, clicking his pen on to sign something else. “Where have you guys been staying since this place burned down?”

“My sister’s got an apartment on 2nd Street, so we’re staying with her. It’s okay, but it’s pretty cramped. Only one bedroom.”

“Shit,” Justin winced. “You guys sleep on the couch?”

“Uh - yeah,” said Dennis, because it was easier than explaining he’d lost another bet and had been sleeping with Mac and his sister and an Old Black Man for the better part of a year.

“Can’t imagine what it’s done to your backs. And your sex lives,” he added dejectedly, “couch sex is uncomfortable as hell.”

Dennis chuckled, as Mac emerged from the bedroom just late enough to have not caught that, thank God. “Tell me about it,” he said, because it was true that he hadn’t had sex in a while, with the sleeping arrangements and Dee’s ridiculous rules about guests sleeping over (they couldn’t, unless they were hers).

Mac threw Dennis and Justin what he must’ve thought was a surreptitious glance as he entered the other bedroom - his. Only Dennis noticed it, though, so maybe it was covert.

“Yeah, we wanted to find a new apartment, but it was impossible,” Dennis carried on to Justin. “This is basically the only building we can live in, ‘cause it’s rent-controlled.”

“Don’t get me started on the state of the housing market and all the gentrification in this neighbourhood,” Justin said, and Dennis instantly regretted bringing it up, because he certainly had nothing to add onto those topics. “My friend used to live in this building on Spring Street, he lived there for ten years, and then some rich yuppie from upstate came down last year, bought the whole block and jacked up the rent. He couldn’t afford it anymore, so he moved out to the suburbs.”

Dennis hoped his loss of composure upon hearing that wasn’t as obvious as it felt.

“It’s not too bad out there, really,” Justin continued earnestly. “It’s far from his job downtown and traffic’s insane in the mornings, but the open spaces are real nice, and rent’s pretty cheap, too. It’s good for families, if that’s something that you guys are interested in.”

“Yeah…” Dennis trailed off, already sick of this topic of discussion. If he heard another word of families or marriage he was going to run right out of this apartment and into oncoming traffic. He shook the cuff of his sleeve off his wrist, checking his watch. “I have to go soon, I’ve got some errands to run.”

“Oh, okay,” said Justin patiently, “well, I’ll tell you what, if you give me your number I can give you and your boyfriend a call and see what he wants to do with the apartment.”

Dennis agreed to that, reading off his phone number for Justin and then calling out for Mac. “Mac, we gotta go, Frank wants us to pick up that keg before noon!”

“Got it, just a second!”

“Keg?” Justin inquired, pocketing his phone. “You guys having a party?”

“No, we just work at a bar.”

“Oh, which one?”

“It’s a couple of blocks down… called Paddy’s Pub.”

“I think I’ve heard of that,” said Justin with a flicker of recognition. Mac left his bedroom, scrutinizing the two men in the kitchen, hands shoved into his pockets.

“You should come down sometime,” Dennis suggested with a smile. “We’ll let you drink for free if you can get this apartment back into shape sooner than later.”

“Sounds good.”

“Come on, Dennis,” muttered Mac, tugging Dennis’s arm like a child begging to go home. Dennis’s smile faded, furtively shrugging him off as he bid Justin goodbye and left the apartment.

The hallway leading to the elevators was mostly the same - poorly lit and water-stained. Mac was striding a few paces ahead of Dennis on the other side of the corridor, by the wall. They always used to walk back home arm in arm after work, drunk out of their minds and surprised they managed to survive the drive. Now they leaned against the wall in silence as they waited for the elevator to arrive.

“The place looks good,” Mac declared once they got in and were disappointed to see the putrid smell had not cleared in the slightest since they were last here. “Seems like it’ll be done soon.”

“Mhm,” said Dennis, watching the faded red digits count down, indicating which floor they were on.

The wind whipped their faces as soon as they stepped outside, flapping their jackets behind them and drying out Dennis’s skin. He was going to have to reapply his moisturizer as soon as he back in the car.

“So who was that guy you were talking to?” Mac asked in poorly-disguised interest, raising his voice over the howling wind.

“Justin, he’s the contractor,” Dennis explained innocently as Mac skirted around the car to get to the passenger’s seat.

“You learned his name,” Mac observed thoughtfully.

“I had a conversation with a man, so yes, I learned his name,” said Dennis curtly. He paused as he was getting into the car, knowing Mac’s eyes weren’t just narrowed to keep the wind from biting at them. “Is there a problem?”

“Nope,” said Mac unconvincingly, and he pulled open the door. But once they were both inside the car, adjusting their jackets and getting comfortable, he decided to add on. “I just wish you wouldn’t flirt with every mildly good-looking person you pass by, at least not in front of me. It’s a little embarrassing.”

Dennis inhaled, breathing down the mounting irritation. “And I wish you wouldn’t get threatened by every single person that I talk to. The guy was like, half your age, Mac.”

“Well, that’s you like them, isn’t it?” Mac retorted under his breath, looking out the window.

“Don’t make an ass of yourself, man,” said Dennis sharply, jamming the keys into the ignition to roar the engine to life. “See, that’s my problem with you. You blow every little thing completely out of proportion.”

“I do that?” said Mac disbelievingly, head snapping back towards Dennis.

Dennis focused the rearview mirror before backing the car up. “Yeah, you do.”

“That - that is so off base, dude,” Mac scoffed with a shake of his head. 

Dennis sighed as he took off down the street, willing himself to stay calm. “Yeah, how’s that?”

Mac mumbled something incoherent, gazing down at his lap.

“Fucking look at me, Mac,” Dennis commanded him warningly, and Mac met his eyes, but not before rolling his own.

“Whatever, man,” he said dismissively. “I don’t wanna fight.”

Dennis pressed his lips together, hands clenching around the steering wheel. The windshield was starting to pepper with tiny raindrops, which Dennis cleaned away before they had time to obscure the glass. He hated those wipers, only clearing the driver’s field of vision and failing to get the corners, letting them pool with dust and rain, stubbornly out of reach. It upset some peculiar need he had for technical perfection.

Dennis wanted to fight. He wanted Mac to scream so he could scream back, unleash all the pain and the anger and fucking feel something again, instead of this dry deadness that was visible only to him. If he had to carry the burden of knowing the problem, Mac should’ve carried the burden of fixing it. But all he did was stare out the window, deftly avoiding eye contact, never saying a word. Like he didn’t know, or maybe he didn’t care. If that was the case, Dennis didn’t know how they could possibly go on. They were rotting alive, both of them. They’d already be dead by the time it ended, if they were lucky enough for it to end at all.

“So did Justin say how long it was gonna take?” Mac asked, gingerly peering through the silence.

Dennis wanted to jump on Mac’s disdainful intonation of Justin’s name, dredge the whole argument up again. But then he’d be the one to start it, he’d be the one in the wrong - even if it wasn’t about Justin at all.

“About three months,” he replied listlessly. “Unless you wanna renovate.”

“Not really,” said Mac, though he looked like he was considering it.

“You have anything in mind about what you wanna do with the apartment?”

“I got a couple of ideas knocking about in there,” said Mac, shifting his head like they were knocking in there right now. “But it’s a secret.”

“Right,” said Dennis with an attempt at a smile. “Well, I told him to call later to talk to you about anything you want him to add.”

Mac nodded slowly, pursing his lips. “You gave him your number?”

“Yeah,” Dennis replied hesitantly, breaking his gaze away to stare at the road. “Yeah, so he could call and ask questions. It’s not that big of a deal, Mac.”

Mac shrugged, his face hardening. “Alright.”

“If you have something to say, then just spit it the fuck out, man,” Dennis ground out, struggling to keep his voice level.

“I told you I don’t wanna fight.”

“Okay, then don’t!” Dennis said exasperatedly. “Let it go. Stop glaring at me like you wanna say something, but you won’t.”

“I just don’t want to upset you,” Mac huffed evenly. “I can never tell when you’re about to throw a fit.”

Dennis’s blood ran cold, poised to kill with one dangerous swerve of the Range Rover, letting the two of them and his precious car go out in an awesome blazing fire.

“Throw a fit?” he repeated, trying to disguise the tremble of anger in his voice.

“Scream. Scratch. Cry,” Mac explained, still so quiet like he could get away with it as long as it was under a specific decibel. “You’re like a fucking animal.”

Dennis was counting down from ten, slowly, focusing only on his breathing. “You know, for a guy who doesn’t wanna fight, those sure are fighting words.”

“I’m just telling you how I feel.”

Dennis laughed, patting the steering with his palm once, twice, then slamming it involuntarily, cursing under his breath as they just missed the green light.

“It’s scary,” said Mac tentatively.

“Scary?” Dennis was about to get fucking scary if Mac didn’t shut his goddamn mouth.

“Yeah, and the fact that you don’t realize it makes it even fucking scarier,” Mac continued, more firmly now.

“I’m not gonna be lectured on self-awareness from you of all people,” scoffed Dennis, drumming his fingers on the wheel. He turned to face Mac, pinning him with an accusatory look. “Why are you so jealous that I was talking to Justin anyways?”

“I’m not jealous,” Mac denied immediately.

“You’re acting pretty jealous.”

“I don’t see it that way.”

“Goddamn it, Mac!” Dennis blurted out desperately, aiming the anger at him instead of the driver who just cut him off. “You are so fucking delusional.”

Mac was silent for a moment, but Dennis didn’t need to see his face to know what he was thinking. “Why are you trying to hurt me?”

“Are you seriously gonna play the victim here, dude?”

“I’m not playing anything,” said Mac seriously. “I’m telling you that you’ve hurt my feelings.”

And he did sound hurt, in his defence. Voice softening, dwindling near the end, the same tone it took on when he was calling his father in prison.

“Yeah, well,” said Dennis dryly, propping an elbow up on the window sill and rubbing his thumb over his lip. “I really don’t give a shit.”

He could feel Mac’s gaze burning into him, hot tears welling in his eyes. “Do you still like me?”

“What?”

“I mean - do you still wanna live with me?”

Dennis licked his lips, sighing. “You want my honest answer?”

“Please,” said Mac sincerely.

“I don’t know,” said Dennis shakily. It wasn’t a relief to get the words off his chest; they hung limp in the air, amplifying with every second of silence that ticked by, taking up the breathing space. Dennis chanced a glimpse at Mac and promptly regretted it; his eyes were downturned like that of a puppy’s, hazel irises glistening, like he’d just been kicked across a room and was crawling back. “Don’t fucking look at me like that. Are you serious?”

“Look at you like what? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mac insisted, but he was still doing it.

“The fucking puppy dog eyes, Mac, I know what you’re doing and I’m not falling for it.”

Mac blinked, bewilderment turning to bitterness in seconds. “Look at you, don’t look at you. I don’t know what the hell you want from me.”

“You wanna know what I want?” said Dennis, an idea suddenly seizing hold of him. He thrust his foot on the brakes, skidding to a halt in the middle of the road before turning to Mac. “Get out.”

“What?” said Mac incredulously. “We have to get the keg.”

“I can get it myself,” Dennis assured him witheringly. “I want you to get out and walk home - back to Dee’s apartment - alone, and I want you to think - really think, deeply - about what this relationship means to you."

Mac stared at him, amusement flashing through his eyes momentarily before he realized Dennis wasn’t smiling at all. “Are you kidding me?”

“I’m dead serious, get out.”

Mac looked out the window at the steady sprinkle of rain. “It’s raining!”

“It’s drizzling,” Dennis clarified. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m being dramatic - ?”

“Mac, please, just do what I am asking you to,” Dennis said emphatically.

Mac scanned him up and down, apparently not finding a shred of half-heartedness on him. “Fine.” He roughly pushed the door open, flipping the hood of his jacket up as he emerged from the car. As he slammed the door shut, he couldn’t seem to help murmuring, “Fucking crazy bitch.”

And then Dennis did scream. As soon as the door was closed, encasing him in solitude, he let out a throat-tearing scream, repeatedly slapping the steering wheel until his palms were stinging. The cars honking behind him were muffled behind the blood pounding in his ears, stars scattering beneath his eyelids from how tightly he was screwing them shut.

“If you’re done fighting with your little boyfriend, could you kindly move the fuck out of the way?” the driver behind him called out, peering out the rolled-down window.

“I’m moving, calm the fuck down, you impatient bastard,” Dennis muttered to himself, because he hadn’t the energy to pull down his own window and shout back. “And that’s fucking homophobic, too.”

He wasn’t sure it was safe for him to drive right now, but he moved forward anyway, the raindrops trickling down his windshield and only being half wiped away. He was accelerating now, ripping down the slippery streets that flashed green and red with the traffic lights. It was taking everything in Dennis to suppress the desire to close his eyes and just keep on driving right now. He didn’t want to pick up that keg. He didn’t want to go back to the bar. He didn’t want to - no, he couldn’t go home and see Mac and know for sure that he hadn’t gotten it, hadn’t found the answer like Dennis wanted him to. Because then it would be over.

Even as Dennis thought it, he knew it couldn’t be. He’d said it to himself so many times. If he doesn’t pick the movie I want, it’s over. If he can’t order my meal for me, it’s over. If he makes me eat one more dinner of mac and cheese, it’s over.

It never was. There was still that string, attaching itself to Dennis and Mac, holding them together, that seemed more like a weight around Dennis’s neck these days than a comfort. 

Dennis took a deep breath and slowed himself to a stop at another red light. The apartment would be ready in three months. Mac would refurnish it, and they could start anew. Leave the past behind and just move forward. Forward was the best place to move, Dennis decided as the light turned green, much better than sticking to one place.

The second best place to move, Dennis was considering more and more often these days, was North Dakota.

2017

Mac didn’t come home until 3 AM the night Dennis left. The gang was still buzzing with the thrill of blowing up his car, drunkenly blathering about it all night. They shuffled back into the bar after examining the damage and turned the music back on, dancing and exhausting their stock of alcohol for the night. The effects of Dennis’s absence were immediate: their edges softening and melting together, smiles adorning their faces - Dee was the happiest, no one having called her a bird for hours, as there was no one to laugh at it. She was glad to go home, too, which was finally rid of roommates, though Mac always felt she exaggerated her annoyance of them. There was no way someone could be that happy to live alone.

Mac instantly regretted destroying the Range Rover when he was forced to walk home in the late winter chill, bundled up in a leather jacket and hurrying down the sidewalk before his exposed face froze off. The quiet after an exhilarating night with his friends was always deafening - which added to his reluctance of having to go home, though he hadn’t felt it properly since he was a kid. He always had Dennis to come home, too, a little piece of the world he could bring back home, where he was only used to feeling solitude. Maybe that’s where it all went wrong; there was a dichotomy between friendship and domesticity, a threshold that couldn’t be crossed lest it all become the same thing. Routine, dullness, unspoken resentment and love gone stale.

It’d been a while since Mac had been alone at all. After two years of living at Dee’s, he’d actually started to feel suffocated by the constant presence of the Reynolds twins everywhere he looked. He would take it back now, honestly, if only to keep him company on the long walk home.

There was a strange dissonance to the apartment now, furnished exactly how it was before it burnt down yet still emanating that new house smell, the floorboards free of scuff marks and the refrigerator completely empty save for the 12-pack Mac had bought to drink through while he was redesigning the place. He’d thought the reveal would be awesome, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, fiery and beautiful. The way Dennis looked at him made it feel desperate, and he could smell the wet paint covering up scars on the walls now. Dennis always had that capability to completely reverse Mac’s thoughts on something with a momentary glimpse of disdain. Mac cared more what Dennis thought of anything than himself, maybe almost as much as he cared what God thought - which was why he couldn’t understand why it was so hard for him to please the man.

There’d been a time when Mac could read Dennis better - even if he’d just voice the options and gauge his reactions. Now it seemed like by the time Mac formulated the perfect string of words in his head, spoke them from his lips, and reached Dennis, it carried an entirely different meaning, and would somehow always find a way to set Dennis off. But it was stressful living with Dee, Mac told himself. It would work itself out eventually.

He flicked on the light when he entered the apartment and dropped the house keys and his jacket onto the couch before shuffling to the kitchen to polish off the last can of beer in the fridge. He was momentarily surprised to find the carton of milk next to it, before remembering that Mandy had asked Dennis to go out and get some milk from the Wawa for Brian Jr. last night. It made Mac feel weirdly sick, Dennis running errands for someone other than him, a new family.

He comforted himself as he opened up his beer with the thought that Mandy was likely to tell him to fuck off once he found his way to her tonight. She was nice, but no one was that nice. After all the shit that Dennis pulled, there was no way she would allow him anywhere near her son. Their son. She had to know that Dennis was nowhere near ready to be a father. He was stripping for a sorority party in their bar two weeks ago.

Yeah, he’d come running back soon enough . 

Mac checked his phone for any messages. 

Okay, maybe not that soon.

Still, it was weird not to hear from him. They used to check in with each other every hour. He wasn’t sure when they stopped. Only that one day, Dennis was out for five hours and didn’t call Mac once and it hardly fazed him.

Mac crushed his beer can and tossed it into the trash can underneath the sink. There was a mug of coffee sitting next to the sink, half-finished. Black, with two Splendas, the way Dennis liked it. Mac swirled it around in his hand, taking a sip before drawing back in disgust. Far too bitter. He could understand why Dennis didn’t finish it. And why he was so grumpy all of the time, if this was the coffee he was always drinking. 

Mac didn’t throw it out, though. He let it rest there next to the sink that night, and the next, until he ran out of mugs himself and had to pour out the coffee only to find a film sticking to the bottom of the mug. Then he threw out the whole thing, Dennis’s favourite mug, cracking with the force that Mac flung it into the trash can.

Mac switched on the TV at a low volume and didn’t turn off the lights as he retreated to the bedroom, so it would seem like maybe someone was still out there, awake, watching over him. His mother never used to sleep until late, sitting out in the living room to watch over Mac until he fell asleep.

Something was missing here. The closet was half-emptied, Dennis’s collection of blue shirts clearly torn off their hangers in a frenzy, some still lying on the ground. Mac picked one up, a rare t-shirt, and dusted it off, laying it straight on the bed. Then he tugged off his own shirt and replaced it with Dennis’s, like he’d done so many times. Grabbing Dennis’s clothes from the laundry because all of his own needed to be washed, walking out to the living room wearing it and watching Dennis’s eyes narrow, trying to determine where he’d seen the shirt before. He had enough clothes that he didn’t even notice when one went missing.

Dennis’s toothbrush was no longer propped up in the glass by the sink in his bathroom either. Mac’s just sat in there, alone and forlorn. He brushed his teeth, got ready for bed, and tried not to think of all the mornings and nights in Dee’s bathroom, reaching over each other for their toothbrushes and toothpaste and floss and Dennis’s plethora of skincare products. He tried not to think of Dennis in the shower, pulling back the curtain to ask Mac to pass him his cleanser, tried not to think of Dennis’s wet hair slicked back, the beads of water sliding off his shoulders. He tried not to think of all the times he wished Dennis would invite him in.

He shut off the bathroom lights, and then the bedroom lights, and stumbled into the bed in the darkness. Dennis’s shirt probably smelled like him, Mac thought, but he couldn’t sense it because they both just smelled the same to him at this point. He sort of wished they didn’t. Maybe then he could really feel like Dennis was lying next to him, hair mussed and flower-scented after his shower, blindly reaching for Mac in his sleep. This bed was far too big for one person. Mac was confined to the pillow on the right, where Dennis would make him sleep if they were sharing a bed because of his irrational fear of sleeping next to the door. Mac was fine with it; he liked knowing Dennis thought of him as a protector of sorts.

Dennis was going to come back, Mac knew it. He needed Mac. Couldn’t live without him for a few hours years back.

He knew this, so he didn’t know why he’d started crying. Grasping Dennis’s pillow and covering his face with it, hot tears wetting the pillow case. He turned to his side, curling up into a fetal position and allowed himself to sob violently, because no one was around to see it. Somehow he fell asleep like that, tears drying on his skin, crumpled sheets underneath him, all alone on the king-size bed.

2020

The first couple of weeks after Paddy’s is locked down and Philadelphia issues a stay-at-home order pass by with little resistance. Dennis is thrilled to have some time to himself, even more so when he discovers the unemployment benefits he’s entitled to now that he’s not working. He and Mac mostly spend their time lounging around on the couch in their pajamas, eating chips, drinking beer, and watching reruns of all their favourite TV shows - all that’s playing now that everything is on hiatus, the entire world stopping for a while to catch its breath.

But it never quite manages to do that. By the third week the days tick by a lot slower, and by the fourth, Dennis and Mac are fighting with each other over who gets to make the next grocery run. But it’s better than the fights they used to have.

Somehow things are worse between the two of them since Dennis got back from North Dakota than they were before. Mac is different - and Dennis knows it’s his fault, like leaving a puppy all alone in a house and being surprised all they’re doing is slobbering all over you when you get back. He stopped firing back when Dennis would yell at him, eyes taking on that pleading look and his voice honeyed and placating - like Dennis was the dog that had to be tamed, and it only made Dennis angrier. Then Mac would march off to his room - I don’t wanna talk to you when you’re like this - and Dennis would follow him, screaming behind the shut door, because how dare Mac disengage from their very productive discussions about where their relationship is going?

And they’re stuck here, in this apartment together, where it all happened. In the kitchen, where Dennis threw a head of broccoli at Mac over an argument that began because Mac was buying too many vegetables they didn’t have space in their fridge for. In the living room, where he made Mac sleep on the couch after he returned from North Dakota, and Mac had put off buying a bed for weeks as if Dennis was going to change his mind soon. Even Dennis’s own bedroom isn’t safe, memories of Mac crying into his pillow while Dennis held him to relieve his own guilt - after their fight about the lease, probably the first really big one they ever had - resurfacing in his mind.

So Dennis and Mac don’t talk much for those first few weeks, dodging each other in the kitchen and watching TV in complete silence. They’re treading delicate ground, ready to give way beneath them in a moment. But if they don’t talk, they can’t fight. And if they don’t fight, they might be able to survive this. And they’ve survived worse, Dennis knows.

The first month drags by and it’s the first in two years they haven’t gone out for monthly dinner. Before that - before North Dakota - they were on a fifteen-year streak. They figure it’s just one month, and they’ve gone without it before, so they pretend it’s just any other night and order in and eat in their bedrooms. Then the 17th of May rolls around, and the country’s death toll is one of the highest in the world, and it becomes clear to Dennis and Mac that they are not getting out any time soon. 

They have their monthly dinner at home, and Mac prepares everything. He grills some steaks because it’s the only thing he knows how to make (besides boxed mac and cheese) and tosses together a salad and lights their best candles at the table, surrounding a bowl of water with a single rose in it. It’s a nice effort, Dennis can admit, and he tells Mac so because he knows Mac needs it, has been begging for it ever since he gelled his hair and spritzed himself with cologne (a single one). And he doesn’t use the dinner as an outlet to air out his complaints with Dennis for once in years, which Dennis also appreciates, even if they mostly just chew in silence.

But it’s a facade - a well-meaning one, but a facade nonetheless; the whole reason they started up the monthly dinners was to set aside alone time for themselves. They don’t need that anymore, and they’re only partaking in it for a sense of normalcy. Dennis can remember the last time they did that, and at least then they could leave their house, away from the chirping smoke detector and the buzzing of the pool filter. Now it’s just these four walls, slowly caving in on them while they pretend to keep sane.

“Remember that one month we spent in the suburbs?” Dennis brings it up aloud as he scrapes his unfinished food into a Tupperware that he’s absolutely not going to open up again until it rots in his fridge and he has to throw it out.

Mac freezes as he’s washing the dishes, and Dennis can see in the way he bristles that he’s not happy Dennis mentioned that period of their lives. “I try to forget.”

“I was just thinking,” Dennis continues, “about the solitude. And the emptiness. The deadness. You know, that’s sort of how I feel right now.”

Mac glances back at him, eyes etched in worry.

“I’m not sure how much longer I can take this,” Dennis says seriously, and he presses on the lid of the Tupperware before returning to his bedroom.

He’s rudely awoken the next morning with the curtains above his bed being roughly drawn open, blinding light suddenly flooding the room and making his eyelids burn red. He rolls over onto his side, groaning as he hears Mac stomping through his bedroom to wake him up.

“Come on, we don’t have the excuse of working at a bar anymore to sleep past noon,” Mac implores him, attempting to yank his blanket off while Dennis clutched it in his fist, pulling the covers to his chest.

“Exactly, we don’t have anywhere to be so let me sleep,” he mumbles against his pillow, but Mac isn’t having it.

“Well, you have to be in the kitchen to eat the breakfast I made you before it gets cold.”

“Mac, you know I don’t eat breakfast,” Dennis reminds him, peering at him through one eye to give him a reproachful look.

“Yeah, but I made your favourite,” says Mac eagerly. “Blueberry pancakes!”

They’re far from Dennis’s favourite - maybe his favourite of the things Mac is able to cook - but he does like them. He releases the blanket, sticking his head out to sniff the air. “Did you leave them on the stove?”

“Yep.”

“They’re burning,” Dennis tells him matter-of-factly, and Mac’s eyes widen comically before he dashes out of the room back to the kitchen.

Dennis decides to pull his blanket off, because he won’t be able to get back to sleep now, and breakfast doesn’t sound too bad, though it smells slightly charred. He stopped doing his makeup a while back, when it started feeling like he was putting on airs for absolutely no one, but today he smears some concealer under his eyes and fills in his eyebrows, like a reward for waking up early. It isn’t too bad once he actually completed the task of getting himself out of bed.

Mac is at the stove wearing a t-shirt and his boxers with an apron tied around his waist (Dennis’s apron, to be exact, but who’s keeping count anymore?) while he absentmindedly flips the pancakes. Dennis spots the two blackened ones in the garbage as he sits at the table.

“Smells good, huh?” Mac smiles at him, like he’s proud that Dennis actually managed to get himself to eat.

“Yeah,” Dennis agrees as he takes a sip of the coffee Mac prepared for him and placed next to his plate - black with two Splendas, just how Dennis likes it. “I gotta say, I don’t know how I feel about you running around the kitchen in nothing but an apron.”

“Well, I know you have that housewife fantasy,” says Mac playfully as he tosses a pancake into the pile on the table. Dennis laughs, reaching for the pancakes, and Mac looks pleased that he succeeded in making him crack a smile. “Anyways, I’m just trying to take advantage of the perks of being at home all day. You don’t have to wear pants, it’s so freeing.”

He twirls around to display his freedom to Dennis, spatula in hand, and Dennis rolls his eyes with a begrudging smile, which Mac notices again and his eyes gleam. It can still be like this sometimes, both of them finding themselves on the same page, the universe aligning for just a moment so Dennis and Mac can laugh together once again.

“I’m not gonna eat that much, you can stop now,” Dennis tells Mac after he adds another pancake to the pile.

“Oh, okay.” Mac switches the stove off and unties his apron before sitting across from Dennis and heaping a sizable stack of pancakes onto his plate, slathering it all in butter and syrup. Dennis suppresses the surge of envy that rises in him and cuts into his own pancake.

“So what did you do to piss me off?” he asks nonchalantly.

“Nothing,” says Mac instantly. “I don’t think so…”

“What’s with all of this, then?”

“I’m just making breakfast for you,” Mac answers with a shrug. “I can’t do a nice gesture?”

Dennis arches an eyebrow, unconvinced, because yes, Mac does a lot of nice things for Dennis - most of which probably come with the expectation that Dennis is going to bang him at some point - but this feels desperate in a different way.

“I heard what you said last night,” Mac explains, dropping the pretense. “About how you feel like you’re going crazy. And so do I, this is hard to get through. I just thought that if we are going to get through it, we need to stick together. Keep ourselves busy. Try to live normally. I don’t want us to get sick of each other, you know?”

Dennis swallows a bite, smirking. “In all honesty, Mac, if I was going to get sick of you, it would’ve happened a long time ago.”

Mac’s smile hitches. “Well, you did.”

Dennis stares down at his plate, breath getting caught in his throat like it always does when Mac offhandedly mentions North Dakota. “I came back.”

“Yeah,” says Mac evenly. “And I’m glad you did. You know what the difference is between us, here, now and us in the suburbs years ago? It’s that we’re together, dude. You know, you’re not at work, and I’m not the only one cooped up at home, and we’re not - we’re not pretending to be something else. We can just be us - Mac and Dennis. On lockdown.”

Dennis studies him, frowning. “Why are you - I mean, how do you - how do you do this?”

“Do what?”

“How do you hold onto things so tightly… even when they’re slipping faster than you can comprehend?”

“Oh,” says Mac oddly, and it’s the first time Dennis knows he really understands what Dennis is trying to say. “I don’t know, it’s just - it’s pretty simple for me. I just love you. What else is there?”

It doesn’t matter how many times Mac says it, those words always knock the wind out of Dennis. Even if they could just as easily be asking Dennis what the weather was like with how smoothly they slide off Mac’s tongue. 

Dennis doesn’t answer that; he never does. But he joins in on Mac’s efforts to make the most of this horrible period of isolation. They play chess and drinking games with Charlie, Dee, and Frank on video call, and they try to cook more meals at home that end in a lot of wasted food- but sometimes result in those glorious moments when they remember that they do make a good team sometimes. Mac adds home haircuts to the long list of domestic duties he performs for Dennis, alongside massaging his pecs and trimming his nails - though he often has to get Dennis blackout drunk to do that, gingerly holding Dennis’s fingers and clipping the whites of his nails in order to avoid getting scratched the next time he pisses Dennis off. In Dennis’s defence, he hasn’t done that in a while.

“You better not ruin this, man, or I will never forgive you,” he warns Mac as he’s snipping at his hair over the bathroom sink. “My hair is my best feature.”

“Hard disagree, dude,” Mac tells him absentmindedly. He’s been babbling about nothing this entire time, as if cutting hair comes so naturally to him he doesn’t even have to focus on the task at hand. The fact that no one will see Dennis’s hair until it grows out again eases his anxiety over this a little bit.

“What do you think is my best feature?” Dennis asks skeptically, though he hasn’t really prepared himself to hear the answer, he realizes as Mac draws back and slowly rakes his eyes over Dennis’s body, causing colour to rise to his cheeks.

“Your legs,” Mac answers resolutely, leaning over Dennis again.

“Okay…” says Dennis exasperatedly, gently pressing a hand to Mac’s chest to push him back without ruining his hair.

“What?” says Mac innocently. “You asked and I answered.”

“Yeah, I’m well aware of how in love with my thighs you are,” Dennis smirks, because Mac has said it once before, and he always catches the way Mac’s eyes linger appreciatively over them in fitted jeans - he doesn’t hate it.

“Hey, no lip,” says Mac admonishingly, raising the scissors. “I’m doing you a huge favour right now. Who else would cut your hair for free?”

“I’d have to pay my barber but at least he wouldn’t try and flirt with me with his hands in my hair.”

“What you don’t understand, Dennis, is that that is flirting,” Mac insists. “Big strong hands, curled up in those luscious locks…”

“Shut up,” Dennis grinds out through a laugh.

“I once read this Reddit post where a guy literally came from a hairdresser massaging his hair,” Mac continues, inching closer to Dennis so his cross hangs out of the collar of his shirt and dangles near Dennis’s chin.

“You’re kidding.”

Mac angles Dennis’s head downwards. “No, I’ll try to find it for you if you want.”

“That’s the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I know, but it just proves that the whole act is very sensual,” says Mac earnestly. 

“Yeah, well it won’t be sensual in a minute when I see how badly you fucked up my hair,” Dennis replies flatly.

“What did I say about the lip?” Mac reproves him, tilting his head to the side with a finger. “You should be more respectful to the guy that’s holding scissors over your head. Okay, I’m done.”

He swivels the desk chair that Dennis brought in to sit on around to face the mirror, biting his lip in apprehensive excitement. Dennis honestly doesn’t look that different - the style is the same, with just the excess trimmed off the sides, and Mac didn’t get overzealous with it as Dennis expected him to.

“What do you think?” Mac asks nervously.

“It’s okay,” says Dennis reasonably. “You did an okay job.”

“I think I did a great job,” Mac says ardently, grinning at his own work in the mirror.

Dennis threads a hand through his hair, exposing the grey bits that are peeking out through the already lightened brown and frowns. “Do we have any hair dye left or do we need to get some more?”

Mac’s smile falters. “I think we have a little bit left, but honestly, you don’t need it.”

“Dude, my hair’s gone almost completely grey.”

“No, you’re getting ahead of yourself,” Mac assures him, brushing his fingers through the strands. “And I think you look good like this. You’re gonna be a silver fox.”

“I look old,” Dennis insists dryly, Mac’s compliments not quite reaching him this time.

“So what? You still look good. And men get better with age, bro, trust me.”

Dennis prods his face with the pads of his fingers, drawing over the lines on his forehead, by his eyes and his mouth, a familiar sinking feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. “Do you ever look in the mirror and you just can’t recognize yourself at all?”

“No, the opposite actually,” Mac answers, eyes meeting Dennis’s in the mirror and giving him something to fixate on besides his own face. “Like, sometimes I’ll go through old pictures of us and I’m like - who even are those people? You know, like that’s not my Dennis.”

He places a hand on Dennis’s shoulder, a touch that’s become oddly rare these days, but that grounds Dennis to him nonetheless.

“But at the same time, I feel like not much has changed,” says Mac. “We still have the same apartment, we still work at Paddy’s, we’re still friends with Charlie, Dee’s still a bird…”

“And those are good things to you?” Dennis cuts in.

Mac’s eyes soften in the mirror, a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, those are great things. Take it this way, man, if we didn’t still live together, who would’ve given you this awesome haircut?”

So Dennis doesn’t dye his hair. And he doesn’t wear his makeup, or his face tape, and he doesn’t skip as many meals because the apartment suddenly feels like a vacuum, removed from the world where the only person who sees him is Mac, and he’ll like Dennis no matter how he looks. It’s a much needed break from himself, from being Dennis, back to just being a part of Mac and Dennis, which is so much easier than being on his own.

“You should play something,” Mac suggests one particularly boring and unproductive summer day as they’re sprawled out on the couch eating the cherries that Mac washed and arranged in a bowl for Dennis.

“What do you mean?”

Mac nods towards the guitar leaning against the wall in the corner of the apartment, that usually gets overlooked by Dennis as just a part of the furniture.

“No, I haven’t played that thing in forever,” says Dennis dismissively.

“Come on,” Mac urges him, nudging him with a foot. “We have nothing else to do. It could be fun.”

Dennis can tell he isn’t going to let up, so he gets up and reaches for the guitar, shifting the familiar weight in his hands. Mac sits up properly, perking up like a puppy ready for a walk as Dennis takes a seat next to him with the guitar in his lap. He takes a moment to tune it, twisting the knobs, and tugging at the strings indiscriminately - it’s been so long since he’s done any of this, it’s mostly guesswork at this point.

There are only a couple of songs that Dennis really knows by heart, and even then he never learned the full length of them, getting bored after experiencing the first difficulty. He starts off slow, hesitantly strumming as he desperately recalls how the song goes. But his fingers seem to know what to do, picking up the pace until it actually does sound like the song he’s trying to play, the opening guitar riff evoking a giggle-inducing sense of nostalgia that seems to infect Mac as well. He recognizes it, tenderness lighting up his eyes, and he drums his hand against the couch to imitate the drums.

They sing together, voices falling into seamless harmony with one another because they’ve sung it so many times - the first of which was when they danced to it during their first night at the apartment, Dennis suddenly remembers. It’s almost disgustingly romantic, Dennis’s tentative playing while Mac’s eyes shine down on him with wonder, and Dennis has done this to dozens of girls before, but no song has ever held any kind of weight with them like this does for Dennis and Mac - or like any song does for the two of them, because Dennis can’t remember the last time he listened to a new song and didn’t share it with him, as they do with everything.

Once Dennis has finished with the chorus and moves on to the second verse, Mac trails off, starting with the opening kiss me line and tunefully mumbling the rest of it. Dennis abruptly cuts himself off with a laugh, resting a hand atop the guitar.

“You don’t know the rest of it?” he says incredulously.

“Not really,” Mac admits with a sheepish grin. Dennis shakes his head in bemusement and Mac reaches for the guitar, tugging it out of his grip. “Let me try.”

Of course, Mac doesn’t bother holding down a note, aimlessly running his fingers against the strings to create a painfully discordant sound.

“No, not like that, dude,” says Dennis patiently, guiding Mac’s fingers to the right chord on the fret. “You’re gonna hold down a C first, like this…”

He’s a bit lost himself, only going off muscle memory when he’s playing that song, but he gets the hang of it soon enough, pushing and pulling at Mac’s fingers like they’re buttons until he finds the right note. Mac doesn’t sound half bad when he’s done, despite the 10 second pauses he has to take between each chord change, and he only manages to learn the first riff.

“That’s amazing, man,” he says fervently. “You should actually teach me how to play.”

“I don’t really know it that well myself, to be honest,” Dennis replies, and Mac has to know he’s being honest, because he’s not usually quite so modest.

“Well, we could both learn, there’s YouTube videos and everything,” Mac goes on effusively. “And it’ll be easier for you because you already have a general knowledge. You know, we need something to keep us busy, right?”

Dennis cocks his head to the side, considering. “Yeah. I mean, maybe.”

He retrieves the guitar from Mac, absentmindedly replaying the song so he can get it better this time, faster. It is fun, he’d completely forgotten about that. And it’d be better to do it with Mac rather than have Mac stare at him the entire time.

“Do you have to do that?” says Dennis, though it’s not as irritable as he thought it would sound. “I can’t concentrate with you looking at me, man.”

“Sorry,” Mac mumbles quickly. “Uh, I can go make some tea, if you want?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Mac’s weight leaves the couch and Dennis lifts his legs up to rest them in the warm spot where Mac was sitting. Without Mac’s expectant gaze fixed upon him, Dennis abandons the song he was attempting to perfect, opting to dreamily play at random chords until he can settle on something that fits the scene of the apartment right now.

Mac sets the kettle on the stove, turning it on with a few clicks of the faulty burner, and leans against the counter as he scrolls through his phone. But he’s still listening to Dennis, eyes flicking over to him every couple of seconds. Dennis stutters slightly whenever Mac does this, though after all this time, Mac’s gaze resting upon him isn’t foreign at all. But the fullness in Dennis’s chest that swells every time their eyes meet is staggering - it isn’t foreign either, just lost for so long that Dennis thought he’d never get it back.

Sunlight beams in through the grimy windows, illuminating Mac’s face in a perfect golden strip. It’s only come in like that a few times, random moments scattered across the 22 years that Dennis and Mac have lived here, on such mundane days that Dennis couldn’t possibly remember them now, apart from the vague knowledge that they were sitting at the table eating breakfast, or loading the dishwasher, or stocking up the fridge. Dennis wishes those scenes would play in his head as easily as all of their fights do. He makes a mental note to remember this one, at least.