Chapter Text
The whole miserable situation was born in Frank and Charlie’s shithole of an apartment in the early afternoon, a few beers deep with Spongebob Squarepants on in the background. Charlie was as high as a kite, a drink in hand as he lazily watched the cartoon. Charlie was trying to tune out Dennis and Frank’s current argument about Charlie-didn’t-care. They were making it rather difficult.
He sipped at his beer, amusedly watching as ’Bob and Patrick fought over candy bars. He ignored the voices beside him getting louder and louder.
His focus was inevitably snagged back into the conversation when Frank stood up and, pointing a finger at Dennis’ frozen form on the couch, very seriously (and far too loudly, Charlie thought) shouted, “You’re wrong, Dennis. And I’m not fuckin’ around here. I can’t believe you. Don’t say that shit. It was important to him. It was important.”
The door rattled in its frame as it slammed shut. It made the silence of Frank’s departure much louder.
“Ouch,” Charlie said with his eyes still glued to the TV. “What was that all about?”
Dennis turned to him with a glare that Charlie knew usually ended with someone in tears or something broken. Charlie was more annoyed than intimidated.
“No seriously, I wasn’t paying attention.”
Dennis stood up and turned to the window. He scoffed but didn’t turn to look at Charlie. The window reflected his face; Dennis looked wild, and maybe a bit afraid. He fiddled with the blinds.
“Mac’s bullshit dance. Frank totally freaked out on me about it.” Dennis said. He turned back to Charlie with a dangerous glint in his eye. He was tense when he gestured toward the door. “I mean, what was that about? He did a dance for his asshole dad in prison, so what? I was just joking around.”
Oh shit, that? Charlie’s hazy mind momentarily sharpened. He couldn’t help himself when he said, “Dude. I’m takin’ Frank’s side here.”
Charlie sat up straight on the couch and made sure to keep eye contact with Dennis as he continued, “That dance meant a lot to Mac. Like, isn’t he supposed to be your best friend, man?” Dennis flinched. “Cause I told him how much I liked it, but you didn’t even bother. Kinda seems like I’m better than you, bro.”
A vein popped out on Dennis’ forehead. Charlie hoped that whatever he inevitably broke in the apartment wasn't expensive (please not his hot plate).
“Seriously? You people are acting like this dance is— is, like, fucking, the greatest piece of art you’ve ever seen! Yeah, I didn’t go to see his gay dance. I was kinda busy, alright? And I didn’t want to see Mac’s dad. Do you know how fucking clingy he gets after seeing his dad? It’s annoying as shit. I didn't want to be there for that.”
Charlie stared at him like he was a car wreck, and one of the involved cars had just flipped over and exploded.
Dennis shifted uncomfortably in place, breathing hard. He hadn’t realized how worked up he had gotten. The fire in his eyes burned out. Now he looked like a dog with its head ducked low and ears pinned to its head.
“You aren’t a good friend, man,” Charlie said. “You’re actually just a giant asshole.”
Dennis looked away. “I never said I was.”
Charlie rummaged around in between the couch cushions and held up a thumb drive to Dennis.
“Watch it. For Mac.”
”…There’s a recording?” Dennis took the thumb drive and hesitantly pocketed it. “How long is it.”
Charlie sighed dramatically and threw his head back into the cushions. “I swear to god, bro, I can’t handle this shit right now. Just watch the damn video so that Mac doesn’t leave you and your guys’ weird little gay apartment.”
”I’m not the gay one! He’s the gay one! Straight! I’m straight.”
Charlie went back to watching Spongebob. “Okay.”
Dennis slammed the door to his Range Rover shut as he muttered under his breath about Frank and Charlie. He couldn’t believe this. Mac hadn’t banged chicks in years! He had come out of the closet over a year ago—and they had all known long before that, anyway. Why now of all times was this such a big deal? And why did Frank of all people care so much?
He ignored the fact that Mac had been so much happier since that day he’d come back from his visit to the prison, quiet and dripping wet. He’d been shut off at first, and clingy—Dennis had been right about his dad. But then Dennis would come home from his shift and find Mac on the couch with glitter in his hair, or a note on the fridge that he was at the Rainbow. He hummed now in the mornings when he burnt his breakfast. He’d added Sade to the mix he kept in Dennis’ car. This was the most normal he’d been around Dennis since he’d returned from North Dakota. He'd even stopped touching him as much. Not that Dennis payed attention to that.
Emotions rolled in Dennis' stomach like a storm and buzzed under his skin like wasps and shrieked in his ears like crows and he really, really wanted to punch something until his hands were broken and he had something to regret that was tangible and made sense.
He clenched and unclenched his hands.
He had felt something twinge in him back in Charlie's apartment–something that wasn't quite guilt, because Dennis couldn't confidently say that he’d felt guilt since he was fourteen–but something had stirred in him as he had watched Charlie stare at him from the couch, shock pouring out of him, and Dennis had known that he had maybe overreacted when he’d said all that shit about the dance. And then he had stuffed his emotions down, somewhere where it could be rekindled later, and he'd gotten the hell out of there.
When the cold January wind slapped him in the face on the street, the floodgates opened once more and Dennis was back to his bullshit emotions, fuck, and that's how a wide-eyed, furious Dennis Reynolds blasted Rick Astley until he could feel the music in his bones and pulled out into the street. It was fine.
“I’m fine.”
Mac furrowed his eyebrows in that way that was always so ridiculous. “If you say so.”
”I just did say so, genius. Christ.” Dennis slipped off his shoes and dropped onto the couch. Mac watched him from the kitchen. Dennis hid his face behind his phone and brought his knees to his chest. He ignored Mac’s stupid, confused puppy eyes that he could feel from all the way over here.
“How were Frank and Charlie?”
”Fine.”
Silence. Dennis intently pretended to scroll through his phone.
“Don’t forget that we have closing shift tomorrow night.”
”I know.”
”…Okay.”
More silence. Dennis kept his breathing even and calm because he was considerate.
”I think Dee said to order more limes because we’re about to run out.”
”Sure.”
Was he just going to keep standing there like a lost dog? Dennis clenched his jaw.
“What. Do you want.” Dennis finally said, giving up his façade by dropping his phone into his lap and glaring daggers at Mac, who was not being subtle in the fucking slightest.
”Uh.” Mac looked like he had been caught, which he had, because it isn’t very hard to catch Mac off guard, like, at all. “Are you hungry? I could make dinner or order takeout or something.”
Dennis sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t eaten today.
“Sure.”
”…To which part?”
”Whatever, I don’t care,” Dennis snapped and stood up, waving his hand like he was trying to physically rid himself of Mac’s clinginess, and began making his way toward his bedroom. Mac stopped him with a concerned hand to the shoulder, which was always the wrong move to make with Dennis, because he immediately jumped back and looked positively murderous.
“Dennis,” Mac began, in the same tone he might use if he was trying to calm a wild animal; he might as well have been, that's how Dennis felt in the moment: ready to bite and scratch and do whatever the hell he could until Mac went away.
A minor explosion went off inside of Dennis, one that sent a cascade of emotions tumbling through him like a landslide.
“I’m a giant fucking asshole—the biggest on the planet, I get it. Just leave me alone! Do whatever the hell you want!”
Mac didn’t stop him when he fled to his room, but the look in his eyes did make Dennis hesitate, just for a second.
Once he was safely alone in his room and hidden from the world, Dennis deflated. All of the emotions seeped out of him, and he felt levelheaded in a way that he hadn't all day. That postclarity after the storm, when the threat has passed and all you're left with is the wreckage. Again, something twinged deep in his stomach that he cursed, because goddamn it, why couldn't he do anything the way that he should–and wanted to?
Disappointment. The realization hit him like a truck. He was feeling disappointed.
He trudged over to the bathroom. He usually waited until right before bed to shower and do his skin care routine, but in that moment he needed to feel the scalding water pelt his back and rinse away all of the grime. Anything to cleanse himself of this mess of emotion. But as he was washing himself, he thought, Fuck, Mac is gonna make a whole deal out of this, too.
Dennis avoided walking around the apartment without makeup as much as possible; he knew that Mac was aware of this too because every time he let his guard down and forgot, Mac would light up. A look would come over his face like he was proud or something–like he was the only one privileged enough to see Dennis like that. But Dennis didn't get why anyone would want to see him that way, even Mac.
So Dennis aborted the shower about half way through, hoping that enough mascara had survived the water that it would distract from the circles under his eyes.
As he started his skin care routine by smearing lotions and creams on his face, Dennis tried to calm himself down.
Sure, he had probably overreacted at Charlie’s, and he should’ve just told Mac to order some Chinese or something but. They were used to this, weren’t they? Dennis was always doing this shit. The gang knew he didn’t mean it, right?
His eyes strayed to the untouched medication sitting on the corner of the counter. Mac had gotten it refilled after that first month. Back when they had thought that maybe he could get better.
Dennis’ pulse quickened again and he cursed himself. Couldn’t even handle looking at a fucking bottle without loosing his shit. Christ. He locked eyes with himself in the mirror, and he didn’t know what was worse: seeing the fear there, or knowing that he had caused this whole mess for himself. Again.
He gripped the counter tightly until he was sure that it would crumble beneath his bony white fingers. Dennis was about to let himself spiral until he belatedly felt something against his pinky finger. He looked down—it was that damn thumb drive.
Secretly, deep down, he knew he had been wrong.
He knew the dance had meant a lot to Mac. He didn't know why, just yet. But surely watching it wouldn’t do any harm.
Not to mention, he had stolen Dee’s laptop a few days ago as blackmail (for what purpose, he couldn't remember). Nobody would ever have to know if he hated it. He could watch it in his room all by himself.
He could make some comment to Mac about it that would probably fly over his head but at least he had put it out there for the world to see—that he cared, that he had watched it, and it had affected him, even though it obviously wouldn’t.
But nobody had to know that. He could just watch it right now and get it over with, and nobody would even know.
And yeah, maybe he was an asshole friend. But he wouldn't let Charlie of all people be better than him.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”
Mac clutched at her like a lifeline—like he was a child and she was the Virgin Mary. She stroked his hair. He hid his face.
Dennis let out a broken sob. He clutched at his heart.