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Usually, Dennis thinks, Mac is home from the gym at 6pm on the dot. He takes the same route every single time, always stopping on his way at the same 7/11 to pick up one of those energy drinks that the Rock has inexplicably started selling. It's like clockwork, day in, day out.
It's 7pm. Mac is nowhere to be seen. He hasn't sent Dennis a text informing him of any plan changes, so where the hell is he?
The first time the panic starts to rise up in Dennis' chest, he rolls his eyes and scoffs at it. This is the kind of thing Mac does, worrying about him whenever he spends a minute longer at the video store, and Dennis, rational as he is, should not be indulging in any ridiculous thoughts. He breathes in deeply through his nose and out through his mouth, trying (and failing) to keep himself from continually glancing at his phone screen.
7:15. Dennis’ fingers tap a rhythm on the fabric of the inflatable couch. It's fine. He got waylaid at the 7/11, no doubt. Don't make this into something bigger than it is.
7:20. Despite telling himself to move on- to read something, to watch a movie- Dennis is instead still sitting there, paralysed by… concern? No. He isn't worried. He's just a little naturally perturbed by Mac’s change in schedule. If anything, he's logistically concerned. Nothing more.
7:30. Every so often, he finds his heart rate has leapt up, and his hands are instantly on his phone, swiping desperately until he reaches his and Mac’s text conversation. He types out a message. Deletes it. Types it out all over again. Deletes it again. Types it out. Eventually, when the panic surges for the fifth time, he hits send.
Dennis: Where r u ?
It's simple. There's nothing in it to suggest the turmoil that he's actually feeling, the goosebumps on the back of his neck. He shuts off his phone and flings it to the other side of the couch, closing his eyes and regulating his breathing. His stupid fucking watch is telling him to calm down.
7:45. There hasn’t been a response. He hasn't even been left on ‘seen’, which would be frustrating but at least proof that someone was there on the other line. Silence. Total radio silence.
Dennis chews on his lower lip and picks up his phone again. His heart is fluttering incessantly in his chest.
He types out another message.
Dennis: ???
Shuts off his phone again. Tries not to hyperventilate. Fails.
7:50. It's suddenly impossible to stay sitting down, so he rises from the irritatingly squeaky couch cushions and starts to wander about the living room in the apartment. He adjusts the way a lamp is sitting on a corner table. Straightens up one of the shutters at the window. Does anything to distract himself from the haunting realisation that he's terrified for Mac's safety.
8:00. He's on the couch again, except this time there are tears in his eyes. The thoughts that he swore he wouldn't let rule him now flit through his mind and do just that.
Mac is dead. He's been hit by a car. He's lying face down in an alley somewhere. He got mugged. He got stabbed. He got shot. He's dead. He's dead. He's dead. He's dead he's dead he's dead he's dead he's dead he's dead he's-
A sob bubbles up from his lungs and Dennis’ watch beeps frantically.
8:19. The door clicks.
“Hey, dude. Sorry, I ran into Rex at the gym and we ended up heading to his for a… Den?”
Upon noting Dennis’ appearance, the tears running down his cheeks, the beep beep beep of the watch and the way he doesn't seem to be able to move, Mac drops his gym bag and hurries over to the couch. The shock in his eyes is evident.
“Den, is… is everything okay?”
It takes a while for the breath to re-enter Dennis’ lungs, despite the fact that Mac is now standing right in front of him. At last, though, he breathes. The tension in his muscles bleeds out, and he trembles instead.
He thinks he might pass out.
“Den? Hey, man, it’s alright, let me- there's that video which always helps you calm down, right? Let me get it up on my phone.”
Mac sits right beside him, which means Dennis watches, sobbing now, as his roommate's phone boots up for what must be the first time since he left the gym.
Ding.
Ding ding ding ding.
Notifications come flooding in on the screen. Mac’s eyes widen with each one he reads.
Dennis: Where r u ?
Dennis: ???
Dennis: Cld u let me know when ur heading home.
Dennis: No reason I just need to know so I can lock the door
Dennis: Mac?
Dennis: Please respond
Dennis: Ik this sounds stupid but I'm genuinely a little anxious. Text me back?
Dennis: Mac?
It all clicks into place. Mac turns off his phone and turns instead to Dennis, big brown eyes so full of concern it only makes Dennis sob more.
“Can I hug you, man?”
Dennis nods. Please.
The moment Mac’s arms wrap around him, Dennis feels peace for the first time in hours. He inhales the scent of his roommate's sweat, something which should be so repulsive but is now sweeter than any perfume money can buy, and knows that he is safe. His chest aches with the force of his emotion. Thankfully, though, his sobs gradually taper off until they cease completely.
“ I- I thought you were dead.” He manages to whisper at last, tears still clinging to his eyelashes like dew.
Mac holds him tight, one hand reaching up to stroke his hair. The gesture is so intimate that it feels like the last few years of distance between them is dissolved with a single touch.
“I know. But I'm here, Den. I'm not going anywhere, I promise.”