Chapter Text
He stops you outside of the Braj Stop, just as the shitty woozy moment of going from air conditioned tile to baking hot sidewalk starts to pass.
‘Think you lost a mini-you, bro,’ he says.
You look at him, and it takes a couple of seconds for his face to resolve into one face, rather than the wobbling mirage your sleep deprived brain is making him out as.
‘Huh,’ you say.
The guy picks something up, then waggles a kid in front of you. You look down at your hip, where Dave is still firmly in place. You squint at the other kid. His shirt says “Dirk” on it. What are you holding if it’s not Dirk?
‘What’m I holdin’?’ you ask.
‘A PlayStation, bro,’ the guy says.
You look down. Yeah.
‘I need it,’ you say.
‘Think you need this li’l fella too,’ the guy says, bouncing Dirk around some more. Dirk giggles and rolls his arms and legs together like an armadillo.
That is true. You look at Dave. He can walk. Maybe you can form a train. You could hold Dirk’s hand and Dirk could hold Dave’s. Or maybe one of them could hold the PlayStation.
‘Bro, you just are not firing on all cylinders today,’ the guy says. ‘You got a car? I’ll help you to it.’
‘Bus,’ you say.
‘I’mma drive ya home,’ the guy says. ‘I’m Dennis, bizzle da wizzle.’
‘Dirk,’ you say. You follow him, and you think you’re blinking too slowly but your feet are still moving.
‘Are you all called Dirk?’ Dennis asks. ‘Or have you just labelled them so peeps know where to return them?’
‘This’s Dave,’ you say, jostling him. The shirt that says as much is only exposing the “D”.
‘Okay, big fella,’ Dennis says, hoisting Dirk into the middle of his pickup’s bench seat. ‘Now you, brah,’ he says clapping a hand on your shoulder. ‘Keep a hand on these little dudes, ‘cause I ain’t carrying a booster. You need a hand?’
You put your PlayStation carefully on the floor and climb in. You rearrange Dave on your lap and pat Dirk on top of his head.
‘I thought we weren’t supposed to talk to strangers,’ Dirk says.
‘We’re not,’ you agree. ‘But this one time it’s okay because it’s safer’n me passin’ out on the bus and I could totally take him in a fight.’
‘Totally,’ Dennis agrees, buckling in. ‘Plus your bro is a grown up and knows when a stranger is okay better than a kid.’
You note that that’s a better answer.
‘I’m four,’ Dirk says solemnly.
‘Dude, that’s righteous!’ Dennis says. He holds his hand out for a high five and Dirk gives him one, grinning. High fives are among his favourite things. Dennis looks up at you. ‘Where am I going, daddy-o?’
You give him the address and put a lot of effort into not falling asleep on the way there. Dave recovers from his shyness and provides the distraction of saying a lot of words. He knows so many words. Basically all of them, or so it feels like.
Dennis helps carry the PlayStation upstairs and then makes the non-creepy decision to let you get some sleep, even though he clearly would be okay with staying.
‘So, no lady of the house?’ he observes as you’re standing at the door, saying goodbye.
‘Nah,’ you say.
He inhales like he’s about to say something, then shakes his head on a laugh.
‘Let me give you my number,’ he says. ‘In case you ever want a babysitter or like, to hang out. I have some games we could play, you feel me?’
‘Yeah,’ you say. ‘That’d be chill.’
*
You’re pretty starved for attention and you want a friend more than you’ve ever wanted anything, but you don’t call him. Your life is messy and he was just some dude you met in a parking lot. Both Dave and Dirk talk about him, because they’re kids and they latch onto novelty, or maybe because they know that Dennis was something special.
When you run into him at the park nearby, you grin in recognition and jog over to him.
‘Hey, it’s you!’ Dennis says. ‘Bromigo, bring it in!’
You’re too startled to stop him from hugging you.
‘Where are the li’l dudes?’ he asks as he steps back, punching you in the arm as he goes.
You point at the playground. It takes you a couple of seconds (during which your heart tries to escape out your throat with the energy of a pigeon stuck in a fireplace), but you place them and they’re fine.
‘Damn, they’re with you like, all the time?’
‘Yeah,’ you say. ‘Seein’ as I’m what they’ve got, that’s how it is.’
‘Coolness,’ Dennis says. ‘Is there a Mrs Bromigo?’
You snort with amusement. There should be a word for when you just know that someone is going to be your best bro, because that’s what you’re feeling right now. More certain than you’ve ever been about any girl.
‘Nah, their momma and I flipped a coin for it. She’s at college; I’m …’
You shrug, eyes on where Dirk is helping Dave walk across a balance bar. Both of them are too clever for their own good.
‘Righteous,’ Dennis says solemnly.
You both watch as Dave successfully jumps off the bar. Jumping with two feet is still enough of a novelty that he likes to show it off as much as possible.
‘So, what kinda 9-5 you got with a couple ankle biters following you around all the time?’ Dennis asks.
‘Sell computer programs,’ you say. When he looks kinda confused, you elaborate. ‘Coding. Like games and software and shit. I can do it from home.’
‘Gnarly!’ Dennis says. ‘I work at the big C. That’s what we call Costco in the biz. Me and Ronnie and Beej, we all call it that.’ He puffs his chest out a bit more. ‘That’s just until the band kicks off.’
‘Yeah?’ you ask.
‘We just need one good song, you know? All our stuff is awesome, but we need that song that’d get on the radio!’
‘Y’ever do gigs?’ you ask, wondering if you can get a sitter so you could tag along.
‘Oh, nah. One day, bro.’
Dennis comes with you when Dirk and Dave start demanding ice cream. Dirk rides on Dennis’s shoulders and hugs his head, which just about makes his messy kid-hair level with your eyes. You all walk to Dave’s pace—he refuses to be carried or even for you to hold his hand, but you’re allowed to point him in the right direction.
‘Mini bro, I am sorry but you are incorrecto,’ Dennis says to Dirk. ‘Best Muppets, in order: Animal; the bass player in the band; Fozzie Bear. I’m right about this dude, there’s no convincing me otherwise.’
Dirk’s icecream drips on Dennis’s hat. You pretend you don’t see it.
‘No,’ Dirk says. ‘Kermit, then Big Bird, then Sam the Eagle.’
‘Is Big Bird a Muppet?’ Dennis asks.
‘Dad, tell him!’ Dirk insists.
‘Made by Jim Henson, so’s a Muppet,’ you say, shrugging.
‘Damn, son, I’m changing my answer!’ Dennis says. ‘Elmo, sad elephant one, Oscar the Grouch. Bro, back me up here.’
You don’t, because your preferences are better than either of theirs. Dave hands you his half-finished ice cream and runs off, and you start eating that mindlessly as you keep bantering with Dirk and Dennis. Dave returns periodically to bring you all presents (rocks, feathers, cigarette butts and whatever), starting with Dirk and then gradually working his way up to shyly placing a bottle cap next to Dennis’s foot.
‘Holy shit, dude!’ Dennis says, picking it up. ‘This is going on my shelf, thanks homie.’
Dave hides behind your arm, then laughs madly and runs off to find another present. You look at Dennis, impressed.
‘I got cousins, bro,’ Dennis says, looking down as if he’s embarrassed.
When Dennis has to leave, he gives Dirk and Dave high fives and punches you on the arm.
‘Call me, bro,’ he says. ‘We should go out some time. Sans kidderinos, you dig?’
‘I ain’t been out in forever,’ you say. ‘Wouldn’t know where to go.’
‘Nah, dog,’ Dennis says. ‘Let me take care of all that. You just find someone to watch the midgets or whatever and get some starch in your collar.’
You can’t help but smile. Okay. It’s been too long and you’re 22 for fuck’s sake. You deserve to go out.
‘You gonna be my wingman or somethin’?’ you ask.
Dennis looks at you with incredulous eyes before he laughs and slaps you on the shoulder.
‘Hell yes, bro!’ he says.
*
You pay a 15-year-old to watch the kids. It’s fucked up how hard it is to trust her when she’s less than three years off how old you were when you got Dirk. The only reason you leave at all is because you told Dennis you would and he’s probably on his way, so you couldn’t call him and cancel. You have a cell, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t see the point.
You get to the club and find Dennis waiting in line. He hugs you again and you manage to pat his back briefly before he lets you go. Next time you’ll be ready for it.
‘Get psyched, bro!’ he says. ‘The talent in here is looking fiiiiine. You’re looking hella sharp yourself, my man!’
You flick his hat off his head to thank him for the compliment. He laughs and punches you four times in the arm. Harsh, but fair.
It’s so fucking loud in the club. You hit up the bar first and you realise that the last time you were out at a bar instead of drinking beer at home, you were using a fake ID. Dennis snags your license before you can put it away and inspects it. He hands his over and you snort at the terrible picture. You note that he’s two years older than you and that his birthday’s coming up in a month.
It’s probably premature to be thinking about shit like that. If you were, you’d also think about the fact that the gold chain he’s wearing has faded to dull metal coloured in a few places and that’d be an easy present. But you’re not thinking about it.
For the first beer, you lean against a wall and assess girls as they walk by, learning each other’s types.
For the second and third, you tell him about the kids’ mom and how her birth control failed both times the two of you were backsliding after being broken up for a while. She visits sometimes, and you wear a condom religiously now.
For the fourth, Dennis finds you a couple of girls and you dance. The girls leave immediately after you buy them both fruit salads masquerading as alcohol. Dennis punches you sympathetically and you punch him back.
For the fifth, you sit in a booth and Dennis tells you about his band. They think his bass solos are too long and it’s causing a rift. They also haven’t come up with a name yet, so the two of you brainstorm a bit. The best you come up with is “Bro in the Dark”, which Dennis thinks has potential. You think you can do better.
For the sixth, you and Dennis dance on your own, chicks be damned. It does not, as you’d hoped, result in girls coming up uninvited to join in on the insane fun you’re having.
And you are having an insane amount of fun with Dennis. You’re just also really fucking horny because your dick has heard a rumour that you’re going to stick it in something tonight.
For the seventh, Dennis gets in a fight with a dude who has half a head on him (which is true of most dudes). Thing is, you have a couple inches on that, as well as a resting bitch face and biceps of a dad who works out when he’s stressed or bored. The other guy backs off when you and Dennis both make it clear that you’re down to fight. Which unfortunately involves Dennis shoving the guy a few times, and results in the three of you getting kicked out.
Dennis bumps fists with the other guy in commiseration before you and him walk away.
‘Come back to mine,’ Dennis says.
‘There are other clubs,’ you say, not ready to give up on the possibility of getting laid.
‘I got a case of beer and the new Dave Matthews CD at home,’ Dennis says.
You’re sold. The two of you walk to Dennis’s, laughing and trying to trip each other, then grabbing each other’s arms when you get too close to actually tripping. You know you’re drunk, and it feels fucking amazing.
Dennis has four roommates, three of which are out tonight and the fourth is the token nerd, so is already asleep at barely 3am. You both agree that that’s criminal and that the nerd deserves it if you wake him up by stumbling in, giggling, and then playing Dave Matthews too loud.
Dennis pulls out a bong and you’re down to get cross faded. You sit on his bed, illuminated by his three lava lamps and leaning against each other more than you would if you were even one beer more sober than you are.
You both take off your shades in the semi-dark and put them on his bedside table. They look like the two of you. Yours are big and triangular and his are slatted, rounded squares. He looks like he should have been going to a rave. You’d’ve gone along with that.
‘Been a while,’ you warn.
And then you cough up both lungs while Dennis loses his shit laughing at you. Eyes streaming and coughs still lingering, you push him weakly.
‘Damn, bro,’ he says, grinning condescendingly. ‘Shotgun?’
‘Sure,’ you say, not even hesitating.
You cough one last time and he sniggers. He works to relax the smile from his face so he can flick his lighter at the bong and inhale. He touches your jaw as you lean in and he breathes the smoke into your mouth. You breathe a little after you should, distracted by the blue of his eyes, but you get enough of it.
You do it again, and the eye contact is too intimate but you can’t remember how to look away.
You’re not laughing anymore.
On the next hit, you manage to look at his lips instead of his eyes. One of you leans too close and your lower lip brushes his.
‘No homo,’ you say, in a voice made gravelly from coughing, and you meant it as a joke but neither of you are laughing, and you just need more weed, right the fuck now.
‘No homo,’ he agrees, with a smirk that makes you look away from his lips so you can meet his eyes. They’re so blue, and you shouldn’t even be able to see them in the dim light, but you can and they’re as pretty as a girl’s. Maybe more pretty. Maybe that’s why he wears his shades all the time, because his eyelashes are too dark and his eyes are too blue and he’s so masculine everywhere else, but these damn eyes are undercutting it, and …
He takes another hit and you lean in to take it from him. You need to stop that train of thought, so you need the weed, so you grab him on the back of the neck. You’re too rough and his hand lands on your waist so he can steady himself, and you breathe in. You hold it, and you think you’d usually move away for this part, but he isn’t either. When you exhale, it’s against his lips.
He kisses you first.
But you don’t stop him.
And it’s your tongue that presses insistently against his lips first.
He climbs onto your lap and you fall back onto his bed, taking him with you. Your hands are up his shirt, feeling how defined his abs are and the squareness of his hips. Definitely not a girl. Except for the eyes, and maybe that makes this okay.
‘What are we doin’,’ you mumble against his mouth.
‘We’re high and drunk,’ he mumbles back. ‘We’re doing what feels good.’
‘’Kay,’ you whisper.
He grinds against you, making you tip your head back and groan. He bites you on your exposed neck. Your heart is beating so fast and the only thing you can do is grind your own hips upwards. He makes the best noise you’ve ever heard.
He unbuttons your jeans first. You slide your hand into his underwear first. He makes a noise that knocks the previous one down to second place.
It’d be so much easier if you were naked, but that’d be something this isn’t, this is just touching because it feels good (really good), but getting naked is what people who want to be naked together do. He seems to feel the same way, and it doesn’t matter anyway because his hand is getting faster and yours is matching him and it’s almost like jerking off, but a million times better. His hand is a dude’s hand and it puts every girl’s hand you’ve had to shame. Because he knows what he’s doing, knows where to squeeze, when to play with your balls, how to make you moan like a virgin.
He comes first, and you keep playing with him until he squirms out of your grip and all the way onto the floor where you can’t reach him. You reach for yourself instead, because you’d probably stop jerking him if you came first too, but he holds your wrists to the bed and takes your dick into his mouth, and the fucking lengths you had to go to to get Roxy to do this and he’s just giving it to you, looking up at you with those too-blue eyes and—
‘Gonna—’ you gasp, because now is when he should take his mouth away and jerk you the last little bit so you come on your stomach, but instead he takes you deeper and you cry out as you nut right into his throat.
He licks at you until you’re too sensitive and you slap him on the cheek. You know it’s punishment for you doing the same to him.
You cover your face with your hands.
‘A bro can jerk another bro off,’ Dennis says. ‘No big.’
He sounds worried. Like you’re about to call him something shitty and never talk to him again.
You think about it. It wouldn’t take it back, but it’d be something. But you don’t want to be an asshole, and you want this friendship.
‘’Kay,’ you breathe.
‘A bro can cuddle another—’
You look at him with warning in your eyes and he laughs, putting his hands up.
‘Damn, homie. You should see your face.’
You relax. That, just, would be too much.
He climbs back onto the bed, fastening his jeans up. You copy belatedly. He lies down next to you, and he pulls his arm back when it brushes against yours. Good.
‘I’m gonna crash,’ he says. ‘You can stay if you want.’
‘Gotta get back to the kids,’ you say. ‘Sitter’s sleepin’ over, but gotta be there for breakfast.’
He nods and yawns. He gets under his blankets and shuffles down a little so they’re right up to his chin. In late Texas spring. You smile. What a funny dude.
‘Good CD,’ you say. ‘And night, come to think of it. Thanks. For takin’ me out.’
‘Mmhmm,’ he hums. ‘Turn the stereo off on your way out?’
It must have repeated at some point, because it says it’s on track three. You turn it off. Then you get out of there so you can get home before you pass out.
(His bed looks pretty tempting. But no.)
*
You start hanging out with Dennis pretty frequently. He plays PlayStation with you and drinks with you, which feels right. He also gives Dirk and Dave noisy horsey rides around the apartment and watches them by himself sometimes. It’s so much easier to get groceries without them. The weird thing is, that feels right too. He just fits right into your life.
*
You go out again for Dennis’s birthday and strike out again, but it’s okay because you and Dennis end up in an alley, hands down each other’s pants and laughing in between messy kisses. He tries to shove the come you spilled onto his hand into your face and you hit your head on the brick wall of the alley trying to dodge him. He barely gets out his apology because he’s laughing too hard. He assures you that you don’t need stitches, and applies like four butterfly bandages trying to get the right tension.
You don’t get him a necklace. You get him a 6-pack instead.
*
Dennis teaches Dirk how to do a proper push up while you’re working one day, with Dave balanced on his own back to keep him from tantruming over the fact that he can’t do it yet. You take a picture when the three of them are posing for you, then another one when Dennis’s muscles give out and he lies down, shades smooshed against his face and Dave pushing at his shoulders to try and get him to keep going.
‘I dunno how you do this full-time, bro,’ he says.
‘Don’t spend the whole time workin’ out with them, for starters,’ you say.
‘Bro, I want ice cream,’ Dirk says, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the others.
It takes you a second to realise he’s talking to you. That’s new. He’s looking at you like he doesn’t know if it’s allowed.
‘We don’t have any,’ you say. You watch as Dirk smiles like he’s figured something out.
‘Go get some, Dennis,’ Dirk demands.
‘Li’l dude, I know you know the magic word,’ Dennis says.
‘Bubblegum,’ Dave says.
‘Aw, sick!’ Dennis says. ‘I totally could go for some sweet bee-gee ice-cee action. If you both ask nice.’
None of them seem particularly bothered by the fact that Dave is still sitting on Dennis’s back, but you pick him up and set him down on the floor anyway. He immediately starts to climb back onto Dennis. Eh. You tried.
‘Need to come too,’ Dave says.
‘That’s not it,’ Dennis says.
Dave doesn’t really use the word “want”. He apparently needs to do just about everything that comes into his head.
‘Please,’ Dave says. ‘I need it.’
‘I wanna come too,’ Dirk says. ‘Please,’ he adds.
‘You gonna help me, bro?’ Dennis asks.
You snort and pick Dave up again. ‘Sure,’ you say. ‘I ain’t gettin’ shit all done here anyway.’
‘Aw, sorry homie,’ Dennis says. ‘I’m a C+ babysitter, for sure.’
‘Buy the ice cream and I’ll bump ya up to a B,’ you say.
Dennis laughs and punches you four times on the arm that’s not holding Dave. You shove his head to the side then squash his hat on properly. He gives you a wedgie.
You’ve never had a bro like this. It kinda makes you giddy.
*
You get high at Dennis’s place and jerk him off as he tries to play Crash Bandicoot. He starts out okay, but he swears as he gets increasingly bad until he tosses his controller to the side and throws himself onto your lap. It’s hard to kiss him when you’re laughing so much. You keep teasing him until he’s whimpering into your chest.
Why the fuck would anyone bother with chicks when they could have this?
*
You’ve been hanging out almost constantly for three months when he tells you he’s going home to Florida for a while. You’re sitting on a park bench (him normally, you perched on the backrest), and the kids are … somewhere. Not the most pressing issue.
‘Why?’ you ask, not looking at him.
‘My mom keeps nagging. She’s just lonely because both of my brothers are locked up right now, so she’s up my dick about, I dunno. Stuff.’ He starts playing with one of your shoelaces. He’s always touching you, which you mostly like. Feels shitty of him to do it now. ‘Plus summer’s nearly over and we’re like, 40 minutes from Cocoa Beach. So. Surf.’
‘How long for?’
‘I dunno.’
This hurts, in a way you don’t know how to express. You don’t own him, but …
‘Hey!’ he says. ‘You should totally come with! My brothers aren’t home so there’d be room, and Mom would lose her shit over the kiddos. We could hang out, go into Orlando sometimes? I could show you where I’ve crashed jet skis before, and we could throw beer cans at alligators, it’d be fully sick!’
‘I can’t do that,’ you say impatiently.
‘You work from home, broseph,’ Dennis says. ‘I’d totally let you get shit done.’
‘With three monitors?’ you say. ‘And my PC? All’a my books and floppy disks and shit?’
Dennis looks a little upset when you glance at him. You don’t like that, but if he’s upset then he should just stay.
‘You’re comin’ back, right?’ you ask quietly.
‘Yeah!’ Dennis says, quick to reassure you. But then, he’s a people pleaser.
*
He’s gone for over a month. Long enough for the kids to stop asking after him every day. Long enough for you to go through the cycle of getting pissed at him and moping about it like three times.
He shows up on a Thursday night at 11, and you pull him quietly in. You can tell by his clumsy steps that he’s already drunk.
‘Missed you,’ he says.
‘Yeah,’ you say.
You hug him close for a second, then withdraw, patting him on the back. His expression looks almost concerned about it, or maybe pleading.
‘Couldn’t stay away,’ he says. ‘I love you, man.’
You laugh and pull him to the couch. ‘So that’s how drunk you are.’
‘Yeah,’ he laughs.
You don’t know how it happens, but you end up making out on the couch. You guess you’re bros with benefits, and maybe he wasn’t any more successful getting any in Florida than you were here.
You’re not resisting this anymore. It’s just what you do when you’re pent up or bored or whatever. Or when you missed him so bad it hurt and you don’t know how else to show it.
*
He slots right back into your life. It just works.