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It’s the last summer before the Reynolds twins graduate college. Somehow, it feels like no time has passed since they left, even though everything about them screams they’re older now—more put together, or at least pretending to be.
The gang is at a local carnival, the kind of place that smells like popcorn, fried dough, and sweat, with lights blinking in mismatched rhythms. Mac carries two milkshakes in each hand — because Charlie couldn’t be normal about milkshake flavors so he will probably mix the two he asked — balancing them carefully while Dennis walks beside him, sipping his own with an air of detachment.
“Pick up the pace, Mac,” Dennis says, tilting his cup to slurp noisily. “Charlie’s gonna cry if he doesn’t get his sugar fix soon, and I’m not dealing with that.”
Mac clenches his jaw but doesn’t argue, focusing on not spilling the shakes. “Maybe if you weren’t too lazy to carry some of these, we’d already be there,” he mutters under his breath.
“What was that?” Dennis asks, his eyes narrowing.
“Nothing,” Mac replies quickly, wishing his face didn’t heat up every time Dennis looks at him like that—like he’s daring Mac to challenge him.
It’s always been like this with Dennis. Even when they were teenagers, Dennis had a way of making Mac feel like the most important and insignificant person in the room, all at once. Mac couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment his admiration turned into something more—maybe it was the summer they spent sneaking into R-rated movies, or the time Dennis punched some guy for shoving Mac at the skatepark. It wasn’t just that Dennis was cool or confident. It was the way he seemed untouchable like he belonged to a world Mac could only orbit.
By the time Mac realized his feelings were beyond friendship, it was too late to stop them. So instead, he buried them, told himself it was just a phase, and settled for the moments like this—carrying milkshakes, staying close enough to breathe in the scent of Dennis’ cologne mixed with the smoke of his cigarettes.
Dennis takes another long drag of his milkshake, then pulls a cigarette from his pocket. “Hey, dude, you got a lighter?”
Mac nods. “Yeah, back pocket. Go ahead, grab it.”
Mac doesn’t think twice about saying it because the lighter is always there—right next to the locket. He keeps the locket in his pocket all the time, slipping it in automatically like it’s as essential as his wallet or keys. He doesn’t think about it anymore; it’s just a part of his routine. But now, as Dennis reaches into his pocket, Mac’s heart seizes with sudden panic.
Dennis quirks an eyebrow, that familiar smirk spreading across his face. “You just want an excuse for me to grab your ass,” he says, reaching into Mac’s pocket without hesitation.
Mac freezes, his body going rigid as Dennis’ hand brushes against him. “I’m joking, dude. Relax,” Dennis adds, laughing softly.
Mac barely registers the words. He’s too focused on staying perfectly still, praying Dennis doesn’t notice—
“What’s this?” Dennis asks, curiosity laced in his voice as his fingers fish something small and metallic from the pocket along with the lighter. Mac’s heart plummets.
“Dennis, don’t—” Mac starts, panic rising in his chest, but with his hands full, he’s powerless to stop it.
“Ohhh,” Dennis teases, holding up the locket between two fingers. “Mac’s got a crush! Who’s the lucky lady?”
“Give it back,” Mac says, his voice sharp, but Dennis ignores him, flipping open the locket with a flourish.
“I bet it’s your mom,” Dennis continues, chuckling, “or maybe—” His words falter when he sees the picture inside. It’s him, younger, grinning awkwardly with braces and his messy, curly hair falling over his forehead.
For a moment, neither of them speaks. Dennis stares at the locket, his expression unreadable, while Mac feels like he might throw up.
Mac’s chest tightens, his thoughts spiraling. Every scenario plays out at once—Dennis laughing in his face, Dennis telling the gang, Dennis walking away forever. His hands feel numb around the milkshake cups, his heart pounding so loudly it drowns out the carnival noise.
“What is this?” Dennis finally asks, his voice quieter, the usual teasing edge replaced with something softer.
“It’s—” Mac falters, his cheeks burning, his breath shallow. His throat feels like it’s closing. He knows what Dennis is asking, what the picture means, but he can’t find the words to explain. How can he? How can he say he’s been carrying Dennis around in his pocket for years, not because it’s funny or ironic, but because it feels like holding a piece of him close?
“When was this taken?” Dennis asks, his eyes still fixed on the locket.
Mac swallows hard. “Charlie’s fifteenth birthday,” he mumbles.
“Do you carry it with you all the time?” Dennis cuts him off, his gaze finally meeting Mac’s.
Mac looks down at his boots, nodding. He bites his lip, his mind racing with every terrible outcome this moment could have. He should’ve lied, should’ve said it was a joke or made up some excuse. But instead, he stands there, exposed and terrified.
“That’s pretty gay, dude,” Dennis attempts to joke, his tone light, but the words sting anyway.
Mac flinches. “It’s only gay if I’m actually wearing it,” he snaps, his voice defensive. It’s the same argument he tells himself every time he feels that pang of guilt or confusion about what the locket means.
Dennis studies him for a long moment, his lips pressed into a line like he’s trying to puzzle something out. Before Mac can say anything else, they hear Charlie and Dee approaching, their voices carrying over the carnival noise.
“Hey, Dee,” Dennis calls, interrupting their stupid argument about who has the ownership of the bird plushie they won earlier, slipping the locket back into Mac’s pocket, his fingers lingering for a second too long. “Do you still have your Polaroid?”
Mac hands Charlie his milkshakes, watching as their friend slurps both of them at the same time. He’s mixing the flavors together inside his mouth like it’s some sort of experiment, his face scrunching up in confusion.
“Yeah, asshole. Why?” Dee asks, rummaging through her bag to get the camera.
“Take a picture of me and Mac,” Dennis says, slinging an arm around Mac’s shoulders. Mac freezes, his heart racing again, but for an entirely different reason this time.
As Dee counts down, Dennis leans in close and whispers, “So you can use this one instead.”
And just as the camera flashes, Dennis’ lips brush the corner of Mac’s mouth.
It’s not a kiss—at least, not quite. But it’s so close, Mac’s breath catches. His thoughts race, a jumble of doubt and longing.
This could ruin everything. The voice in his head is sharp, a warning. What if he’s just messing with you? What if he doesn’t mean it?
But then there’s the warmth of Dennis’ lips, barely brushing the corner of his mouth, and the way Dennis’ hand lingers on his shoulder, firm and steady.
What if he does mean it? The thought is terrifying and thrilling all at once.
For a heartbeat, Mac hesitates, his pulse thundering in his ears. But Dennis is so close, and Mac takes a leap of faith. He turns his head and meets Dennis’ lips fully, his heart hammering as the world falls away around them.
The world seems to stop. Dennis’ lips are soft, tasting faintly of cherry chapstick and milkshake, and Mac feels like he might melt under the weight of the moment. His hands are still full from holding the drinks, but Dennis cradles his face, deepening the kiss.
The camera flash goes off again, and after a few moments, Dee groans loudly. “Alright, that’s enough! I want my milkshake!”
They break apart reluctantly, Mac handing Dee her drink without taking his eyes off Dennis, who’s grinning like he’s just won the lottery.
Mac is worried someone will comment about it and ruin the moment, but Charlie suddenly groans and slides down the side of a nearby trash can. “Guys,” he moans, clutching his stomach. “I think... I think I’m dying.”
Dee rolls her eyes, already annoyed. “You’re not dying, you idiot. That’s just what happens when you eat five cotton candies and wash them down with two milkshakes.”
“It doesn't count, Dee,” Mac says, defending Charlie. “Cotton candy disappears, it doesn't count as food. It's basically air.” Both twins roll their eyes.
Charlie slumps further, muttering something unintelligible about “carnival poison.” Dennis sighs heavily, crouching down just enough to hoist Charlie under one arm. “Fantastic. Now we’ve got to babysit him. I’m not cleaning puke out of my car.”
Dee shrugs. “Not my problem. I’ve got other plans.” Without further explanation, she strides off into the crowd, leaving the three of them behind.
Mac watches her go, confused. “What’s her deal?”
Dennis doesn’t even look up as he adjusts Charlie’s weight. “Who gives a shit? Help me get this idiot to the car before he starts crying.”
Once they reach the parking lot, they dump Charlie unceremoniously into the backseat. “Sleep it off, man,” Dennis says, slamming the door. Charlie mumbles something about “needing more sugar,” but his eyes are already closed, his head lolling to the side.
Mac sits on the hood of Dennis’ car, finishing his milkshake and tossing the empty cup onto the ground. He pulls the locket from his pocket, his fingers immediately fidgeting with it as he tries to steady his thoughts, too overwhelmed by everything that’s happened tonight—the kiss, the photos, and the way Dennis keeps looking at him like he’s something new and fascinating.
Dennis leans against the car next to him, a cigarette burning low between his fingers. “You’re gonna wear that thing out,” he says, nodding toward the locket.
Mac glances at him, startled. “What?”
“The locket,” Dennis repeats, smirking. “You’ve been rubbing it like a magic lamp. What, you think a genie’s gonna pop out and tell you what to do?”
Mac huffs a laugh, but it’s weak, unconvincing. “I was just... I don’t know. About to put it back in my pocket.”
Dennis raises an eyebrow. “Why? So you can keep hiding it?”
Mac shrugs, looking down. “I guess.”
Dennis sighs, flicking his cigarette onto the pavement. “Alright, hand it over.”
“What?” Mac asks, confused.
Dennis holds out his hand impatiently. “Just give it to me.”
Hesitant, Mac places the locket in Dennis’ palm, watching as Dennis pulls the Polaroid photo from his wallet. The picture is not perfect, because Dee sucks at everything, including taking pictures, but unmistakable—Mac’s face looking directly at the camera, surprised, while Dennis’ lips press softly to the corner of Mac’s mouth.
“You kept it?” Mac’s voice cracks slightly.
Dennis shrugs, already opening the door to reach into the glove compartment for a pair of scissors. Mac raises an eyebrow but doesn't ask why Dennis keeps scissors in his car. “Figured you’d want it. Besides, it’s a better picture than the one you had before.”
Mac’s heart stumbles in his chest. He opens his mouth to argue, but the way Dennis is focused—so calm, so sure—leaves him speechless.
Dennis carefully trims the edges of the photo, his movements deliberate. Mac watches, barely breathing, the usual smugness in Dennis’ expression softened into something almost tender.
When he finishes, Dennis snaps the locket shut and steps closer. “Here,” he says, his voice low. “Try it on.”
Mac stares at him, throat dry. “You don’t have to—”
“Shut up and let me do this,” Dennis interrupts, unclasping the chain. He drapes it around Mac’s neck, his fingers brushing Mac’s skin as he fastens it.
Dennis doesn’t step back right away. He stays close, his eyes scanning Mac’s face. “There,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now. “Perfect.”
Mac’s fingers brush the locket, his heart racing. “You’re really okay with this?” he asks, barely above a whisper.
Dennis grins, the corner of his mouth tugging up into that infuriatingly confident smirk. “Why wouldn’t I be? You’ve got my face next to your heart. Kinda flattering, don’t you think?”
Mac tries to laugh, but the sound gets caught in his throat. Before he can respond, Dennis leans in, his hand sliding up to cup Mac’s jaw.
“Dennis—” Mac starts, but Dennis cuts him off, pressing their lips together.
It’s softer this time, slower, like Dennis isn’t in a rush to prove anything. Mac melts into it, his hands finding their way to Dennis’ hips. The world falls away, and for once, Mac isn’t overthinking—he’s just here.
When they finally pull apart, Dennis doesn’t step back. His hands find their way to Mac’s overgrown hair at the nape of his neck, his forehead rests against Mac’s, and he grins, his voice low and teasing. “Now you’ve got two reasons to keep wearing that thing.”
Mac laughs, his cheeks burning. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you love it,” Dennis replies, his confidence unchecked but his eyes warm.
Later, when they look at the carnival photos, one shows the two of them kissing in the background while Charlie pulls a ridiculous face in the foreground. And if Dennis puts that one in his wallet, that’s no one’s business.
Mac doesn’t care. He has what he wants—Dennis, right here, and this time, it doesn’t have to be a secret in his back pocket.