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On those rare occasions Dennis got to sleep in earlier than usual, there would always be some hindrance that ticked him off: hating how his clothes felt against his skin, the mattress not feeling quite right underneath him, his body refusing to wind down and keeping him awake until sunrise. Tonight, it wasn’t anything too bad—at three in the morning, he woke up with his mouth and throat parched. He slid out of bed, tugged his shirt down and sweatpants up, and headed to the kitchen with heavy steps.
He didn’t turn on the light, he couldn’t be bothered to. He squinted to make sense of his surroundings, reaching forward to grasp onto furniture to make his way to the kitchen. When he arrived, it was all straightforward. Grab a glass from one of the cabinets, fill it at the sink, and take big gulps. He had to fill the thing three times, irksome but needed. Once he finished, he realized how alertness surged through his veins, and all he wished was that it would disappear once he laid back down.
He placed his glass in the sink, standing over it for a minute or so until he heard something. Something faint. It didn’t come from the outside, he could tell that much. It took him a while to realize what it was: sobbing. Sobs oozing of torment, growing louder and now piercing his ears, disturbing enough to wake him up further. Not long after, he realized who he was hearing.
Mac.
Dennis considered returning to bed, not to bring it up to Mac when he would inevitably be making them disgusting, healthy shakes in the morning. In fact, he was ready to do so. He took a few steps toward his bedroom, wishing to curl up and have some semblance of rest to handle these damn imbeciles he had to deal with day to day. But then came a rarity in the form of a brief twinge in his heart, more a pinch than a squeeze in his chest. Yet it made him flinch, and he turned to keep his gaze on Mac’s room. The sobbing grew louder. Another pinch at his heart, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
Fine.
He’d check in on the guy, so he wouldn’t make too much noise and wake up any neighbors.
Right.
Their neighbors. Dennis was worried about their neighbors.
He kept his steps light, not wishing to alert Mac with his presence just yet. As he neared the door, the noise had grown almost overwhelming, almost stopping Dennis from wanting to even say hello. Yet he knew that this was the least he could do for… his ego’s sake. The neighbor’s. Probably Mac’s. He knocked with his knuckles twice, and all noise ceased in an instant. Something knocked over on the ground.
“Who’s there?” Mac asked, voice nasal and not too muffled by the door. He kept sniffing, and there was the noise of him dragging something across the bed, pulling tissues out, blowing his nose. “Dennis?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” Dennis said, groaning when he felt the grogginess still in his voice. He leaned his head against the door, arms crossed, he couldn’t distract himself with his surroundings since he couldn’t see a thing. All he could think of was Mac, and how he must have looked awful in there. Head in his hands, flooding the floor with his misery. The thought made him shake his head. “You… you doing okay in there, Mac?”
Mac didn’t say anything for a long while, leaving Dennis pondering to maybe go to bed, that maybe he wasn’t doing the right thing and he was intruding on a private matter. But Mac would speak, sounding wearier than ever despite this false airiness in his voice: “It’s been a really long day, okay? Charlie asked me to help clean all day, and Dee kinda got mad at me for not paying her back for lunch and… it’s okay, dude. Seriously.” He blew his nose again, and Dennis swore he heard a choked back cry. “Don’t worry about it.”
Dennis groaned when he felt a harder twinge in his chest, almost a squeeze now as Mac's voice entered his ears. Don’t worry about it? Mac could be emotional, that wasn’t a surprise. But this? Those… excuses? There’s no way he was going to be crying over those, especially into the wee hours of the morning—it was something Dennis couldn’t fathom for Mac. This wasn’t going to be something he was not going to worry about. He held onto the doorknob, not quite turning it yet as he asked, “Hey, is it okay if I come in?”
“… huh?”
Dennis grumbled. “Just answer me. Am I allowed to come in or not?”
Mac must have been thinking of an answer, as there was another good moment of dead silence. Dennis rubbed his fingertips against the doorknob, unable to let go of the cool metal as there was this sense of obligation now, to check in just a little more with Mac and whatever thoughts were going through his head, even if he had no clue how to approach it. He held his breath when he could hear the bed creak from the thin wood of the entrance.
“Okay, Dennis. You can come in.”
“Thank Christ,” Dennis muttered to himself, slow in entering as he didn’t wish to appear too enthusiastic to help. Mac’s room always smelled so dank, like mold could start growing on the walls at any second, but this time it wasn’t as egregious. He glanced around Mac’s room, the darkness not deterring him from seeing how still barren it was, but that wasn’t important. What was important now was Mac on the edge of his bed, in nothing but sweats, looking down until Dennis stepped inside. Mac turned his head and for the first time that morning, they locked gazes.
Mac’s face was wet with tears, tears that shone with what little light came through his windows. He peered up like some puppy, face puffy, a bit pink. He swiped his palm underneath his cheeks, pushed back his unstyled hair that fell back and stuck to his forehead anyway. Despite his size, the tone of his body, he seemed smaller than ever, like he was three feet tall. There wasn’t a hit of that macho energy—everything he exuded was dread. When he tried to muster a smile, Dennis shook his head, and Mac nodded.
“Are you sure this isn’t weird for you, man?” Mac asked, picking up the tissue box next to him and a small plastic bag stuffed with crumpled tissue paper, placing it on the ground next to a spilled glass of water. “You don’t mind being here?”
Dennis minded, in the sense he wasn’t sure what to do now that he was there. But he nodded anyway, walking towards Mac to sit on the newly freed space, on top of thin sheets on a hard mattress. Now that he was nearer, he saw how Mac trembled, how he pressed what anguish he had down into his core, how he didn’t want to let it burst. The sight was what made Dennis pause, lips pressed together when it struck him…
He didn’t even know why Mac was crying.
Although a bit reluctant, Dennis placed his hand on Mac’s shoulder, and kept doing his best to maintain their eye contact. “Hey… why are you crying?” He cringed as his phrasing felt a touch too insensitive, even now as he lowered his voice, and he wasn’t sure if it offended; what was guaranteed was that it caught Mac off-guard
“Oh. That’s… a question.”
Mac crossed his arms, rocked back and forth where he sat while Dennis dropped his hand and peered off at a dark corner in the room, stuck listening to the creaking of the bed from Mac’s movements. Dennis hated to call it awkward, but it felt like that now, as they stayed next to each other but both struggled to speak. Can’t let that happen, Mac would just start crying again. What would the neighbors think? Maybe Dennis could do something, offer to fill up the water, throw the trash, start him a hot bath, grab them a few beers…
Mac coughed, and nudged Dennis with his elbow, grabbing the man’s attention again. Mac was ready to burst again, but he kept it down. He kept everything down, except for the quivering of his lips, quivering that could be heard as he spoke.
“Dennis… I–” Mac wet his lips, as if they would get his thoughts out better. “I was thinking a lot tonight about my dad. About my… relationship with him.” He hesitated on the word “relationship”, the word falling out of his mouth like it was new to him, unfamiliar. “I love the guy but–ugh, sorry, dude. You don’t need to listen to this, I’m sorry–”
“Mac! Mac, come on. Please.” Dennis frowned when Mac turned to him, and it took all his self-control not to be too harsh, holding back any aggression on telling Mac that this was fine. He’d listen to the guy all day and all night if he had to, he didn’t care how long he’d be up if it meant Mac was going to be okay, and any apologies for any feelings now were unimaginable to him. Besides, there were neighbors to worry about. He clapped his hands together, nodding as he thought of what to say, settling on: “Keep going. It’s okay. I’ll be listening.”
For the first time that night, Mac smiled. It was a quick flash that faded away in seconds, but it was enough to make the air feel a little less uncomfortable, to make it feel warmer. “This means a lot to me, Dennis,” Mac said, sliding closer towards Dennis, the tips of their knees touching now. Neither recoiled nor tried to move away. “You really don’t mind me talking about my dad? You won’t yell at me or anything?”
“Talk about anything you want tonight,” Dennis said, patting Mac on the back, his skin tingling when he noticed he felt light inside. Airy and calm. There were times with Mac that he wasn’t as vigilant or irate at the world, but now was different. It was strange, new, and he’d take advantage of the feelings now as he could take the time to focus on all Mac had to say.
Mac started speaking.
“I couldn’t stop thinking of my dad tonight, I guess. I know I’ve been with you guys, but I’ve been feeling really… lonely, I guess. Like something inside me isn’t complete or something.” Mac shrugged, he couldn’t find the words, but Dennis could piece together what he was trying to say. He nodded, stayed silent, but he did want to say one thing: I get it. “I’ve had moments like this since I was a kid, especially when it came to my dad, you know? Charlie remembers that stuff, how when we needed to talk about our dads in school, they’d have to skip over me and I’d feel like a fucking freak.”
There was one sign of Mac almost bursting, pausing when he sniffled and scratched at the corners of his eyes. Dennis took a second to contemplate what to do before reaching down to grab him the tissues, Mac took it with a small “thanks”, keeping it on his lap as one leg bounced. Having someone pour his heart out to him—it wasn’t always something Dennis witnessed, oftentimes it was horrid, yet he leaned in now to let Mac he was still all ears.
“I thought it would change when I was older, even when he’s in prison. I visit him a lot, more than you guys think I do.” Mac chuckled, even as a tear slipped, even as Dennis’s expression filled with worry. “When I tell you I’m buying… stuff, and I get stuck in traffic, it’s probably because I’m checking up on him. Trying to say hi. He doesn’t say much, though, unless he needs something. That never changed. We kind of just stare at each other.” He ripped out a piece of tissue, patting at his undereyes to catch what slipped fast. “Nothing’s gonna change with him. I can’t remember the last time he looked at me like he cared about me. I can’t remember the last time he sent me a letter that wasn’t about trying to send him porn mags, or when he even told me he loved me and like, meant it…”
Words failed Mac once again, as he began to break down once again, sniveling to himself. It was tough to listen to, to hear what he already knew about Mac and that joke of a father being said out loud. Dennis could barely grapple with his so-called bond with his own father(s), but he couldn’t imagine life without one, and there his heart ached for Mac, ached so hard that everything hurt. But he didn’t want to tell him it was okay, he wasn’t sure it would be, he didn’t want to throw a false promise out into the world. He was at a loss for words. Silent, Dennis rubbed Mac’s back, and listened to his weeping.
“Hey, bro?” Mac asked, throwing another crumpled piece of tissue into his makeshift trash can. When Dennis raised both eyebrows, letting himself appear more eager to help, Mac started glancing around, scratched the back of his neck, and kept scratching at his eyes. “I know you told me this was okay, but I’m still sorry for making you listen to me–”
“Don’t worry about it. Please, I told you I’d listen and I did,” Dennis said. He was being as good as he let himself be, that was all. For Mac’s sake. Not anyone else’s. Fuck their neighbors.
Fuck their goddamned neighbors.
“Right. And thanks for listening, man. It means a lot, especially from you. Thanks. Seriously.” Mac cleared his throat, grinned despite his still continuous crying. What Dennis thought was supposed to be a dismissal had him pushing himself off the mattress. He rose to his feet, ready to say good night, and to wish Mac a nice sleep, too. But Mac grabbed his wrist in a rush, fingers tight enough to bruise, and all Dennis could do was stare down at Mac whose mouth fell open. Dennis’s breath hitched at the grasp, and he was for just a second.
“Oh, I thought we were done here,” Dennis said, unsarcastic for once, as honest as he could be. He didn’t sit down yet, letting Mac maintain his hold, he was sure the poor guy needed it to feel strong. He’d give it to him then. “Is there something else you need?”
It was then that Dennis had to take his sweet time looking into Mac’s wide, yearning downturned eyes as neither said a thing. He’d been keeping contact with them earlier but from having to take in his words, he wasn’t able to just look at him. He had stopped crying, maybe because of Dennis’s decision to leave. Though puffy, Dennis couldn’t help but admire that gaze that stared up at him with such admiration, with such gratitude, with such… love.
Dennis’s stomach fluttered, he was featherlight, he wanted to ask if he could go but was tongue tied.
“Dennis.” Mac pulled him back down to sit next to him. “It’s okay if you say no, but can you stay here and like, hold me for a bit?”
Dennis’s heart beat so hard he could feel it in his head.
“Of course, Mac. Anything you want.”
Mac crawled higher onto the bed, and Dennis followed suit. There was only one pillow, but Mac pushed it closer towards Dennis, letting Dennis rest his head on it. It reeked of traces of hair pomade, of drool, but above all it reeked of sweat. He couldn’t complain, not now that Mac was such an open book and needed all the support he could provide. It was neither strange nor odd, it was a necessity. Mac wiggled into his arms and kept his head in the crook of Dennis’s neck, one hand underneath him and the other on Dennis’s chest. Pressed against one another, there was warmth—not just in the literal sense, too. It had been forever since Dennis had a proper cuddle with someone, he couldn’t remember when the last one was as all he’d been having were one-night-stands. This was a change of pace, more welcomed than anything.
And Dennis could tell how much Mac savored this: Mac’s full weight crushed the arm that wrapped around him; Mac's eyes shut as he nuzzled his cheek against Dennis’s neck; Mac threw a leg over Dennis, splaying it over him. Dennis ran his fingers through his tousled hair, taking in that smell of last traces of cologne. Mac, Mac, Mac—he was all that filled his senses, his mind. There was no urge to yell at him, no urge to ridicule him to tears, wishing for nothing more than to let this moment last. But it wasn’t anything too bad, he appreciated Mac, that was all…
“Thanks, dude,” Mac said, voice a murmur, tickling Dennis’s neck (but he acted like nothing happened). “This is nice.”
“That’s good you think so.” Dennis swore he could fall asleep right there, swore he would as his eyelids fell shut.
They laid there in silence, and they wouldn’t let go of each other for the rest of the night.
They couldn’t let go of each other for the rest of the night.