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Michael decides to turn back around. For three months he wrestled with the choice of even going back at all. But in the end, he couldn’t do it. He had to see him again.
Him and Dennis had been… entangled, in the months leading up to his sabbatical. Its Michael’s own fault he left things so undefined. Since the moment he met Dennis he knew he wanted more. He wanted all of him. Then when Dennis kissed him first, to think that Michael might be able to have the one thing he wanted so badly, it scared him. Scared him so bad that he kept the boy at a distance, unfairly stringing him along as they both fell in love—Or at least, he fell in love. Now he’s racing back to Pittsburg, endless apologies on the tip of his tongue, ready to beg. Hoping against hope that he hasn’t fucked this all up. That Dennis still wants him. It might have taken a while but he knows now without a shadow of doubt in his mind that he’s ready to give himself entirely to Dennis.
He parks his bike in the driveway and takes note of how the garden is flourishing. At least Dennis has been doing his job. Besides his bike and his old 4-runner the driveway is empty which means Dennis probably isn’t here. Michael sighs but he expected as much. It’s probably best to get some sleep before confessing his undying love. So, he heads inside sighing this time in relief at the smell of his home. It’s not how he remembered it to smell but that’s because its even better. It’s been changed by Dennis. He drops his stuff at the door and kicks of his shoes, not caring where any of it lands. He’s about to head for the kitchen when he hears the TV playing.
“Dennis?” He calls out, walking towards the living room.
The room is dark except for the warm glow of the TV. Playing on the screen is some old rom-com he vaguely recognizes. Meg Ryan stands out against autumn backdrop perfectly matching the mood for Pittsburg in October. At first glance the room is empty but when Michael rounds the couch he finds exactly what he’s looking for.
Dennis is asleep, body practically melting into the cushions. But Michael is only looking at his face. His cheeks are rosy, mouth parted with a bit of drool falling from the corner of his lip, eye lashes fluttering like a dream. Michael listens to him breathing deeply in sleep. His eyes catch on the way Dennis’ chest rises and falls. Then they dip lower…
Michael nearly breaks his neck, whipping his head to double check. Sure enough, clear as fucking day, it’s there. Dennis’ belly sinks low into the couch with how he’s lying on his side. One hand is draped protectively over it, fingers splaying over the stretched skin. His shirt is rucked up so Michael can see the entirety of it.
Pregnant.
Dennis is Pregnant.
Michael’s mind starts to spiral. How far along is he? How long has he known? Why didn’t he tell him? Is it his? Michael couldn’t blame him if it wasn’t. He was such a fucking jerk before he left. In less than a second he decides that he doesn’t care. He will take care of Dennis and this baby no matter what.
He falls to his knees in front of the couch and lifts a hand to Dennis’ face. Not yet touching. After staring for just a couple more seconds, before everything possibly comes crashing down, he finally lets his fingers brush his cheek.
“Dennis,” he whispers, fingers brushing up and down his cheek.
The boy’s eyes flutter open stealing Michael’s breath away like they had so many times before.
He groans something incoherent and burrows further into the couch, closing his eyes again and sighing.
“Wake up, Dennis,” He gives his shoulder a small shake.
Dennis groans smacks his dry lips, a hand coming up to scrub at his face. Michale thinks he might try and fall asleep again so he tries one more time, “Dennis, wake up.”
“I’m up, I’m up,” He whines. He stretches his arms above his head, pulling his shirt higher up. After a big yawn he finally opens his eyes. They land on Michael. It takes about a second for them to focus but when they do Dennis jumps out of his seat. Literally.
“Michael?!” He shouts rounding the couch and pulling his shirt down. Like that will do anything to his stomach.
On his ass now after being pushed by Dennis’ explosion, Michael’s mouth hangs open and he can’t find his words.
“What are you doing here?!” Dennis shouts eyes roaming up and down Michaels body like he’s looking for injuries.
“Um… this is my house.” He answers dumbly.
Dennis rolls his eyes, “Yes I know that I mean—its barley October. You aren’t—You said youd be gone till—” tears start to well in his eyes.
Michael pushes to his feet and immediately goes to him. But Dennis backs away. He crosses his arms over his chest, folding in on his self again, like he can hide. But he can’t. The elephant in the room is staring them both down the barrel.
“Dennis,” Michael whispers because he doesn’t know what else to say. The boy starts to pace. He walks around the couch and picks the blanket up, haphazardly folding it then throwing it to the side. “Just tell me, is it mine?”
Dennis’ face drops.
“Is it yours?” He clips.
The tears in his eyes evaporate. Rage floods his face instead.
“Is it yours?!” He repeats, shouting now. Michael can only stand there like an idiot at Dennis flurries around the room in rage. “You stupid fucking—self-centered—!” Dennis picks up a pillow and throws it at Michael. Two more pillows follow. “Two fucking months. I tried calling you for two fucking months! Jack, Dana, Trinity, even fucking Duke—Not a single person could fucking—!”
Michael follows him around the room like a puppy, grunting as various things are thrown at him. Stumbling when Dennis decides to throw a coffee table book at him, punctuating it with an “Asshole!”
“Dennis, stop, please—”
“I didn’t know if you werte alive! Or if you were and you were just ignoring our calls. And I didn’t know which would be worse!” Tear well in his eyes again.
“Baby please, sit down. Let me—”
“Don’t you fucking touch me right now Michael Robinavitch! I am so fucking mad at you—" Dennis cuts his self-off with a shuttering gasp. He’s finally run out of steam.
Michael watches as the younger man slaps a hand over him mouth and skewers his eyes shut. But it’s no use. The sobs flow freely. Full body sobs wrecking his small frame. Jostling his stomach.
It is physically impossible to keep himself from jumping to his aid. He envelopes Dennis and leads him to the couch. Dennis doesn’t fight it. Simply slumps into his side as his panic attack grows. Michael grabs his wrists, thumbs digging into Dennis’ tendons in circling motions. Trying to loosen his iron clenched fists.
“Breathe baby, breathe,” he soothes. Dennis unclutches his hands only so he can move his death grip to the lapels of Michael’s jacket. “Dennis, come on breathe with me.”
He guides Dennis through it. In, hold, out, hold. Again and again. Michael strokes his curls, runs his other hand up and down his spine. It’s so jarring to see Dennis like this. For as long as he known him and as long as they’ve been doing—whatever it is they were doing—Dennis has never been a crier. He’s had panic attacks before but never with tears. The saddest of movies and the hardest losses—he doesn’t cry. Michael feels something sour curdle in his gut knowing that he’s done this to him. Either by way of the hormones pumping through his body now because of him. Or, because of what a royal ass he is. Either way, his fault.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He mumbles against the crown of Dennis’ head over and over again hoping he hears.
They sit like that for at least an hour. Till Michael is confident enough that both Dennis and the baby are getting enough oxygen. When all Dennis has left is sniffles he gets up and brings him a glass of water in record time. He’s loath to part from him for even a second but he’s definitely dehydrated now and that takes priority. Dennis hands are shaking so Michael helps him lift the glass to his lips. Eventually Dennis makes a small noise of annoyance and Michael backs off, letting him drink on his own.
Once Dennis had sipped at least half the glass Michael tries again. “I’m so sorry Dennis.”
He sniffles, “I heard you the first time.”
Micheal shakes his head and moves to the floor so he’s kneeling in front of Dennis. “I know I have so much to explain, so much to apologize for but—I came back for you. I love you Dennis.” It’s not the first time he’s said it. But its maybe the first time he’s meant it. Not to say he didn’t love Dennis all those other times. But there’s more to loving someone than just saying it out loud. He loves Dennis enough to live. Not only that, he loves Dennis enough to want to get better.
The younger man’s chin wobbles as he looks down at Michael. Dennis reaches out and cradles his face in his hands. Michael melts into his palms. “I love you to Mikey, you know that” Michael slides his hands up Dennis thighs. “And I’m so—relieved to see you but. I am so fucking mad at you.”
It’s at least the third time he’s said that. Michael knows he’s serious but he can’t help but smile at how his tone has evened. He’s mad. But this isn’t irreparable.
“I heard you the first time,” He quips.
Dennis quirks his lips to the side as he tries to hide his smile. “Now is not the time to be smart with me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know you are.”
Michael can feel as the muscles in Dennis’ body start to relax. He takes his chance, snaking his hands up to the younger man’s stomach. Dennis lets his hands bracket the sides of his belly. He feels warm.
“H-how far along are you?”
Dennis looks down at his stomach, his lips tugging into a small smile. “17 weeks.”
Michael’s next breath comes in a stutter. Four months. He’s missed almost half of it.
He swallows thickly, “When do you—um, w-when—”
“About a week after you left.”
Dennis runs his fingers through the hair at Michaels temples. He feels the tears well up in his eyes. Going on the trip was the biggest fucking mistake of his life. And he will spend every day trying to make it up to both of them. Thumbs brush at his cheekbones swiping away the few tears that escaped.
“You’re here now.”
Michael jerks his head with a sniff, “Too little too late.”
Dennis grabs his head again, forcing him to look up. “You’re here now.” He leans in, their noses brushes. “But if you ever pull anything like this again not even god will be able to help you.”
They both laugh. They both know he’s dead serious.
“I’m here. I’m in this, Den. You and the baby, you’re all I’ve ever wanted. I’m gonna be so good to you both.” He leans his cheek against Dennis’ stomach.
Dennis just hold him and lets Michael rub his face all over his warm tummy. “Ya know, I never did say if it was yours or not,” he jokes.
“I don’t give a fuck. You’re both mine.”
An amused huff comes from above. Michael holds on tighter. “Of course its yours. It’s always been you."
They still have a lot to talk about. But that can wait till tomorrow. For now, they’re both tired, and all that matters is that their together. Michael offers to sleep on the couch, knowing that just because he’s back doesn’t mean that everything’s the way he left it.
“You’re in the doghouse. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep alone any more than I already had to.”
Dennis pulls him upstairs and into bed. Michael doesn’t deserve any of this. But he’ll work to be a man who does.
Michael falls asleep with his arms around Dennis, their hands interlocked over the swell of his belly. The very thing that they created together.