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Dennis isn’t really sure why he comes to the bar at all on days like this, he doesn’t want anyone to speak to him, he only knows he can’t be alone. He’s grateful nobody pays him any attention as he slowly lifts himself onto a bar stool at the opposite end of the rest of the gang. He swings his legs round and slumps a little in the seat, watching them. His cool blue eyes trace over the form of his sister, Frank and Charlie, animated in conversation.
He doesn’t want to disturb them, instead he shifts his weight to pull his phone from a back-pocket, opening an app to scroll aimlessly through pictures. He’s not really paying attention to that either, idly he wonders what he actually does want to do today. Dennis doesn’t know.
The bar door is loudly kicked open, distracting him from his small phone screen as he turns to see Mac walk in. His friend pauses for a brief moment before noticing Dennis and the latter feels a panic settle into his chest at the thought of having to socialise.
“Dennis!” Mac exclaims happily, marching over to stand up close and Dennis feels irrationally anxious. He wants to go and hide in the basement like Charlie, but he can’t; because Dennis Reynolds is a rational man.
“Hey buddy,” he manages, failing to hide the solemn tone to his voice as he replaces the phone into his pocket. He forces himself to maintain eye contact, despite the strain it has on him, tries to show a small smile but he’s not really sure if it’s noticeable or not.
“Here,” his friend smiles down at him, and Dennis withers under his bright eyes, though he knows Mac only means well. Then Dennis notices the outstretched arm and Mac is handing him an item wrapped in a white napkin, causing the Reynolds brother to frown.
“What is it?” he asks, curiously unwrapping it and completely missing Mac chomping on his own identical food item in his other hand.
“Isha-cufftard pashdry,” Mac attempts to say, food crumbs spraying from his mouth as he hurriedly tries to swallow the mouthful down. Dennis opens the napkin and see’s it's an expensive sugary pastry,
“Oh,” he manages, instantly feeling a further sense of dread and nausea; he hasn’t really had much of an appetite lately. If Dennis had looked up at this moment he would have noticed the look Mac was giving him; the look which would have told him he knew about that.
“Yeah man, stole them from this dumb-ass bakery stand,” he says, before letting out a burst of laughter,
“Made sure to grab one for you, I know you love this expensive handmade shit,” Mac continues, Dennis feels something in his chest, like a small lit match in the dead of winter.
“For me?”
“Uhm, yeah; for you Dennis, obviously I’m not gonna steal food for Sweet Dee,” he rationalises, taking another large bite from the oversized food before he can accidently mention anything about fat or weight issues. He didn’t need to worry; Dennis had stopped listening after Mac had finished saying his own name.
“An-am prettuh shure that-“
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, it’s disgusting,” Dennis snaps automatically, but there’s no real anger behind it. Observing the pastry a little more in his hand, weighing up his options. He feels ill and the thought of consuming something so disgustingly rich and unhealthy makes him feel worse. Before he can think on it anymore he forces himself to take a large bite, just to get it over with. It’s stodgy and heavy in his mouth – fattening, he thinks – yet he forces himself to keep chewing; out of politeness more than anything. He just doesn’t want to answer the questions that would come with his refusal to eat it. Why, dude? Are you feeling ok? He chews and looks up to catch Mac watching him.
“Oh sorry,” Mac mumbles, at being caught staring or talking with his mouth full Dennis isn’t sure. But he swallows before continuing his sentence,
“It’s good though right?” he asks, his eyes desperate for approval, or at least that’s what Dennis sees. Mac’s just eager for Dennis to admit it tastes good; so he has no excuse not to eat the rest of it.
“Mmm, so good,” Dennis promises. It’s empty calories, he’s going to have to fast even harder over the next few days but he tries not to think about it.
Mac practically beams at him and Dennis has to tear his gaze away, in case his friend detects anything in his own eyes. He returns his attention to the others further down the bar, they’re now arguing, no surprise there.
He feels Mac settle in closely to the bar stool next to him, their arms touching where they’re leaned up on the bar, body heat softly glowing between them. Initially Dennis feels himself freeze up, but after a few minutes pass without talking he allows himself to relax again, leans his weight a little on Mac’s arm. They keep eating in silence, observing the rest of the gang thoughtfully until they’re finished. So when the rest of them barrel over and Frank is angrily demanding who Mac and Dennis agree with, they’ve listened well enough to know to side with Charlie and Dee on this one.
“What?” is the outburst Frank has in response,
“How could ya- ya possibly think that Deandra has a better chance of sneaking into a whore house? This is a classy joint, and she looks like a god damn ostrich! They’ll notice her trying to sneak in there and steal my gun back- it’ll be like a bull in a china shop,” he continues, gesturing comically with his hands and looking to Dennis for an answer. The latter feels his legs curl tighter around the bar stool, as all the attention in the room is directed at him, before Mac speaks in his place,
“Well Frank, sure she’s ugly as shit but I mean,” Mac pauses to look Frank up and down,
“So are you,” he continues, wrinkling his face up a little, Dennis feels a sense of relief watching Mac talking for him.
“You’re also incredibly creepy, they’re gonna remember you; you have no chance,” Mac finishes, to which Dee steps forward a little,
“You see Frank? And-“ she says, looking around at the others with her brand of wild excitement,
“-this is the perfect chance for me to use some more of my characters that I’ve been-“
The gang cuts her off with various noises of complaint and protest.
“WHAT?” Dee thunders this time, before taking off on a rant about her talents as an actor, and various other times where she has (not) saved the day by using them.
Mac joins in eventually at roughly the same time that Dennis tunes out. He looks across to his best friend, sat up close in the way he’ll only allow his sister and Mac to be. He sees a crumb on Mac’s lip, Dennis remembers Mac doesn’t even like breakfast food.
“And I’d even sa-“ Mac flinches mid-speech at the touch of Dennis’ fingers against his mouth, the others just keep arguing, as he turns to see Dennis’ face inches from his own,
“D-Dennis what are you doing?” he panics, trying and failing to ignore the way his heart is beginning to pound like a jackhammer in his chest. He notices the other has the tiniest hint of a smirk, raising a finger to show a large fleck of pastry that he’d presumably cleaned off Mac’s face.
“You’re a messy eater,” Dennis murmurs, his eyes flicking down to the others lips of their own accord; Mac doesn’t miss it.
“Oh…thanks, bro!” he praises, his cheeks now dusted a light pink, as he gives Dennis one last look before re-joining their argument; smile on his face.