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Everything is awful. The street lamps are shining too brightly on his face, the pavement under his feet is cracked, and all the city noises that once brought him comfort are now rattling inside his head. Drivers honk their car horns, teenagers blast their music through portable speakers, and drunks pass by, laughing. But there’s nothing for Dennis to laugh about.
This was supposed to be a day for relaxation, for healing, and for a brief while this morning, it was. Then it all went to shit, with every inconvenience steadily pulling at the fragile thread that is Dennis' mind. Fuck whoever came up with the concept of taking a mental health day. They don’t know what it’s like to move through life on the brink of detonation.
Ask anyone, and they'll tell you anger is Dennis’ go-to emotion. Anger is easy. It requires no thought or self-reflection; just wind him up and watch him go. Watch the desperate, burning feeling inside bubble up to the surface, making itself known in a way nothing else about him will ever be, not truly. Anger is quick. It can take everything in its stride in a matter of seconds, leaving behind only an empty shell of a man. Anger feels good. It’s a momentary relief. It’s the only emotion he can freely allow himself to express.
And yet, he’s been trying so hard to tame it.
Anger is also pain. It is born from pain, and in return, it generates more pain. He sees it in the faces of those around him, those who stand close enough to witness it. It’s not pretty, seeing people’s eyes widen, their shoulders tense as if gearing up to choose between fight or flight. Useful, yes, but never pretty. Being feared is a powerful tool; powerful enough to push away even those you wish to keep close. It’s a gift and a curse.
So Dennis is trying — has been trying for the past couple of months — to quell his frustrations. He tried so hard all day, only to almost lose it over a fucking millionaire with bullshit business ideas. For a moment, he stood there, at the man’s beach house, just staring. In his mind, Dennis saw himself clawing his way inside his chest, ripping his beating heart out, and eating it. He would likely (definitely) deserve it, but Dennis isn’t trying to get himself involved in another murder investigation.
When he came back to himself, the man was still alive, chest intact, peering at Dennis with a strange look in his eyes. Did he somehow sense what was going on inside Dennis’ head? Or did he just think him weird for showing up here only to stand and stare, not a single word exchanged? Dennis thought it best not to ask. Having lived out a violent fantasy in his imagination alone felt good, but something inside him still felt strange. It wasn’t until he was on his way home that the tears started to fall, slowly at first, then all at once.
Crying out his frustrations was not a first for Dennis, but it rarely got that bad. Crouched on the side of an unfamiliar road with his head on his knees and struggling to breathe, air leaving his lungs in quick succession and not enough going in, Dennis thought he might die. He thought a lot of things, in fact, but mostly he thought about how alone he’d be if he died at that moment. None of his friends or family would be around. Would they help, if they were? Would they care? It’s hard to land on an answer when you spend more time manipulating others into sticking around than giving them reasons to. What would they think if they saw him in such a sorry state?
Dennis sobbed until exhaustion won him over. By the time he collected himself enough to continue the trek back home, the sky was dark. It wasn’t an easy journey, but he was thankful for the cover the night offered. In shadows, it was easier for passersby to miss his ruined makeup and blotchy face. Now, opening the door to his and Mac's apartment, Dennis feels the weight of the day lift from his shoulders. He's home, where it's quiet and familiar and comforting.
Dennis kicks his shoes off at the door and heads straight for the couch, content to just melt into the leather before he notices Mac step out of his room.
“You’re back late,” he says, eyebrows furrowed in concern. When he gets closer, enough to truly take in Dennis’ state, he falters. “What happened?”
Dennis tiredly rubs a hand over his face. The last thing he feels like doing right now is recounting the awful day or the overwhelming emotions it brought to the surface. He heaves a long sigh, deciding to go for an abbreviated version of events.
“Had some car trouble, got stranded. I had to walk back here.” His voice sounds weaker than he’d like.
“You should’ve called, man. I would’ve gone to get you,” Mac replies, doing that thing with his eyes that makes him look like a kicked puppy. It’s hard to look at.
“You don’t have a car, Mac. I doubt you still remember how to drive.”
"So what? I totally could’ve carried you, dude,” Mac earnestly tells him. And it’s genuine. Dennis knows it’s genuine because when is it not? Mac wears his heart on his sleeve, his face an open book to anyone who gives enough of a shit to read it. He often tries not to. The idea of Mac going to all that effort, though, carrying him back home in the night as Dennis lays his head contently on his shoulder, settles in his brain. It fills him with a sense of security that Dennis has felt only sporadically throughout his life and that he’d rather not dwell on. Regardless, his chest aches for what could’ve been.
Dennis shakes the thought away almost as quickly as it came, dropping his head against the back of the couch to stare at the ceiling instead. Like this, he can’t see Mac walk around the apartment, but it’s easy enough to track his movements. He makes a game out of it, attempting to ground his wandering mind by focusing only on his friend's heavy footsteps. They quickly make their way to the kitchen, soon followed by the sound of the fridge door opening and closing, and back to him. Dennis feels the couch dip as Mac settles next to him.
"Here. This’ll help," Mac says.
Dennis’ head feels heavy and tight. It’s a chore to raise it back up, but when he does so, he’s met with an energy drink bottle, held by Mac's outstretched arm. “More energy, more power!” its label reads. Dennis highly doubts the electric blue liquid will lift his spirits the way a cold beer would, but he’s open to trying it, so he drains the whole thing as swiftly as his throat allows. Although he’s not in the right frame of mind to admit it out loud, Dennis can’t help but appreciate the gesture. Mac is always doing things for him, and each time he has that dumb, pleased smile on his face. It's there now, as he places the empty plastic bottle on the coffee table.
“So the mental health day was a bust, huh?” Mac continues. He sounds unsure of how to proceed, and as much as he’d like to, Dennis can’t fault him for that. It’s not easy dealing with Dennis on a good day, let alone when he has just gotten back home from having a mental breakdown. Mac doesn’t know that part, but it should be obvious by the bits of smudged mascara around his eyes he haphazardly tried to clean up before making his way back home. Then again, Mac has never been the most talented of observers.
Dennis sends him a blank look before turning to stare at their dark TV screen. "What do you think?"
Following his gaze, Mac jumps off the couch. "Okay, well, do you wanna watch a movie?” he tries, already reaching for one of the DVD cases on their shelf. “It's not Tuesday but we can make an exception. You know, considering."
What Dennis really wants is to curl up right here on the couch and succumb to the darkness behind his eyelids. The void sleep provides is a comforting one. Instead, he watches Mac put on a movie with the sole purpose of making Dennis feel better. A weak attempt at distracting him from his unspoken thoughts, but nice, nonetheless.
Even as Mac returns to his seat and presses play on the remote, Dennis continues observing. He seems comfortable in his soft grey t-shirt and dark sweatpants; warm. The freshly shaven face softens his edges, making him look younger, just a bit. All in all, Mac looks good, far better than Dennis surely looks at present. How the tables have turned, he thinks. Dennis used to have the body and face of a god, but time has passed him by, unforgiving. It scares him to think about the future, when the makeup can no longer do its magic, and the wrinkles are too deep to mask. How long can he keep the facade up?
Staring at Mac’s profile, Dennis feels something crack inside his ribcage. Mac has seen him at his worst, with pimples on show, dark bags under his eyes, and noticeable balding spots, but he never left. Suddenly and overwhelmingly, Dennis misses the open admiration Mac used to show him. What happened to it? Mac still dyes his hair for him from time to time, still makes his nightly tea just right, and still joins him on the couch for a movie every Tuesday. And yet, the difference is unmistakable.
He looks after Dennis, but no longer craves his attention, not like before. They used to be so much closer, years and years ago. Then Mac had to come out and ruin everything. The pillars of their friendship that Dennis so carefully sculpted started to crack under the weight of Mac’s unexplored feelings. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. Those pillars were never meant to withstand that much pressure and Mac had been desperate to tear them down. It was all too much. Eventually, they did crumble, and with it, a dynamic Dennis can’t help but miss. You never really know what you have until it’s gone. But Mac isn’t gone, he’s sitting right there, inches away from Dennis. So why does it feel like miles of distance? Why does it feel like Dennis is missing out on something important?
On the TV screen, an epic fight sequence they’ve both seen too many times plays on, the actors unaware and uncaring of Dennis’ inner turmoil. His eyes start to water for the second time today. This shouldn’t be happening. Dennis is supposed to maintain control over his thoughts, body, and emotions. He should leave before it’s too late.
“You okay?”
It’s too late.
Mac’s voice is so soft Dennis can’t bear to look at him. He’s hanging on by a thread, and his roommate threatens to cut it loose.
“Den,” Mac tries again, placing a careful hand on his shoulder. While his brain tries its hardest to come up with a logical exit strategy, Dennis’ eyes stay firmly glued to the screen, jaw tight with the effort of keeping himself together.
“C’mon, don’t do that, man,” Mac whispers. His hand reaches for Dennis’ chin, turning it so they can face each other at last. His fingertips are still so gentle, even after all the bullshit he has been through. After everything Dennis has put him through.
Mac, who grew up in a loveless home with deadbeat parents who couldn’t give two shits about him. Mac, whose affection is constantly seeping out of him, only to be met with rejection from those he cares about the most — his mother, his father, his best friend. And yet, he never stops offering it up with an open hand. Here, world, take it. Take everything.
Looking into Mac’s downturned eyes, guilt settles heavily in Dennis’ stomach.
The tears that had been threatening to fall now run slowly down his face. Dennis doesn’t think he’d be able to stop them if he tried. He doesn’t want to try, though. He’s tired of trying every goddamned day of his life to keep himself in check. He’s so, so tired, and this feels so much easier.
Mac’s mouth is hanging slightly open. Dennis doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look so unsure. Cautiously, as if dealing with a wild animal, Mac pulls Dennis into his chest, wrapping his arms around him. This close, Dennis can feel the heat radiating off of him.
“Don’t tell me what’s going on if you don’t want to,” he hears Mac whisper in his ear. “Just let me do this for you.”
Dennis can’t remember the last time he was held while he cried. The vulnerability is debilitating. He hates it. He needs to pull back. Maybe drag his nails across Mac’s face for good measure; just to remind him of his place.
Instead, he lets himself sink into his best friend’s arms, feeling Mac lock him into place. This is what has been missing from his life. This silent, unshakable comfort. The closeness they shed with time and age and Dennis’ knack for pushing away anything real. Maybe it’s not too late to get it back. Slowly, Dennis raises a hand to clutch at Mac’s shirt. The material is not as soft as he imagined, worn down by years of usage, but it’ll do for now.
“I hate you,” he whispers into the patch of skin where Mac’s neck meets his shoulder, letting himself indulge in the warmth there. The words sound weak even to his ears, but they’re not entirely false. Dennis hates everything Mac represents — earnestness, loyalty, and a seemingly bottomless pit of affection. It must be awful to live like that, yet Mac does it readily. Dennis cannot even begin to fathom why.
“I know,” he hears Mac’s quiet reply but feels his arms tighten nonetheless. He’s always too willing to put his own feelings on the back burner to take care of Dennis’. But does he really know? Does he sense the hurricane of contradicting thoughts that swim through Dennis’ mind on a good day? Does he understand the complicated feelings he stirs up each time he sits a bit too close for comfort or too far away to touch? Dennis doesn’t.
Here, though, with Mac’s threadbare shirt soaking up his tears, Dennis thinks it’s starting to make sense.
He lets himself give in to the spark of affection growing in his chest; allows the familiarity of the other’s closeness to settle over him. Sure enough, his heartbeat begins to settle, and his eyelids begin to drop. The tears stop coming, but Dennis keeps his hold on the fabric on Mac’s back, just for a little bit longer. He makes a mental note to pick out some new shirts for him, with a better texture, in case he needs to bury his face in one of them again.
Reluctantly, Dennis imagines this scene playing out sometime in the future: at a different time of day, wearing different clothes, perhaps in a different setting. It doesn’t seem so bad. It doesn’t seem bad at all.
With a deep sigh, Dennis slowly pulls away from the embrace, as if doing it any faster would cause a shock to his system. He sniffs, then, attempting to regain control over his runny nose, if nothing else. Mac, of course, notices.
“Oh, do you need a tissue?” he asks, but before Dennis can answer, he’s already reaching into his pocket for said bit of paper and presenting it to Dennis. The action distantly reminds Dennis of simpler times, before Frank began to search for love outside their home and Barbara’s alcohol addiction made her turn inward.
As a young boy, Dennis came to terms with the fact that life is a rocky path he must navigate solo, and he does a fine job at it. In this moment, though, he feels cared for in a way that he hasn’t in a long time. Maybe, just maybe, it would be nice to have someone who cares. And Mac cares, a lot. Amid all the bullshit that makes up Dennis’ life, all the confusing and nauseating emotions that fog his brain on a semi-regular basis, his best friend remains an unwavering presence at his side.
Maybe his feelings wouldn't be so daunting if he could trust them to Mac.
The idea plants itself into Dennis’ brain, winding its spindly roots around the deep corners of his mind and taking hold. Tentatively, it whispers to him about a feeling he does not want to name.
Suddenly, a buzzing sound interrupts his thoughts.
Mac fishes his phone from his pocket as he shoves the tissue toward Dennis, and it takes only a quick look at the contact to have him groaning. “Shit, I gotta go,” he explains, promptly getting up from the couch.
"What? Go where?" Dennis is incredulous. Mac should have nowhere to go, not when Dennis is right here.
"I have a date tonight," Mac grimaces, “and I’m already late. Fuck.”
In an instant, Dennis' blood grows cold in his veins. “A date?”
"Remember that dude you helped me use the SINNED system on?” Mac continues, swiftly making his way into his bedroom. Dennis remains exactly where he is, staring at the ajar door his roommate has disappeared behind, listening to his explanation. “Get this: he's still super into me, even after I ghosted him. Sucker."
“I thought you didn’t want anything to do with him,” he calls out.
“Yeah, but… I decided to give it another go since- you know.” Dennis does know. Since the man Mac thought he was in love with and swore himself to had turned out to be Dennis playing pretend. “Anyway. I told him I wasn’t ready then but that I am now, and he totally bought it so we’re going on a second date.”
If the gaping god hole in Dennis' chest hadn't chosen this particular moment to remind him of its presence, he might have found humor in the situation. It’s fitting that the plan he so masterfully developed to get Mac out of his hair just weeks before has landed him here, exactly where it was supposed to. Only he doesn’t want to be here anymore, not as Mac comes back into the living room with a nice dress shirt on — the only one he has — and a new pair of pants. When did he even get those? It’s not like Mac to just buy new pants, not even for a date. This feels like cause for concern, and Dennis doesn’t like concerning himself with such trivial matters.
As Mac attempts to wrestle his foot into a boot without toppling over, a thought seems to give him pause. “Hey, will you be cool on your own?” he asks, the look of enthusiasm on his face suddenly replaced with worry. “I can cancel if you want. Just say the word, man. It’s bros before hoes, dude, always!”
Despite the confidence in Mac’s voice, Dennis doesn’t feel assured in the slightest. In this scenario, being the bro doesn’t pay off, and if Mac is too stupid to read the situation, he won’t be the one to spell it out for him.
Letting his gaze stay on him, Dennis takes a second to collect himself before replying. He really wishes that the bottle on the coffee table was still full right now. Or that he had a beer in reach. Any kind of fluid would do a good enough job of forcing down the lump in his throat. For lack of a better alternative, Dennis gulps as he looks away.
“You should go,” he draws out. Anyone else would likely pick up on the slight strain in his voice, but not his roommate. Not now. “Don’t let me get in the way of your plans.”
“Oh, cool,” Mac smiles in relief. He looks ready now: outfit fully assembled, wallet and keys in his pant pockets, and phone in hand. No jacket. He’s going to catch a cold tonight. “See you later?”
Dennis bites his tongue and forces himself to nod. Later, right… That’s if Mac comes back to sleep in his own bed. Selfishly, Dennis hopes he does, but the words feel too big to let slip out. He shouldn’t mind it, not after all these years of them fucking whoever they damn well please without a second thought. For some reason, he does.
With nothing else left to say, Mac walks out the door and closes it softly behind him. Alone once more, Dennis feels apathy creep in. How ironic that Mac should be the one to walk away the one time he doesn’t want him to. It serves him right, Dennis supposes.
Unwilling to sit on the couch with only the warmth Mac left behind for company, he gets up and heads for his bedroom. The TV stays on. It will remain that way until morning comes.