Archive of Our Own

Another Saturday night, another college party to attend. The bass from the speakers thumps so hard it feels like the walls are vibrating, and the air is thick with the smell of cheap beer, sweat, and the faintest hint of weed. Dennis is already a few beers deep, his cheeks flushed and his head buzzing just enough to make the world feel a little softer around the edges. He’s leaning against the sticky kitchen counter, nodding along to some girl’s story about her cat or her ex-boyfriend or something—he’s not really listening. It doesn’t matter. He knows how this goes. She’ll laugh at something he says, he’ll flash a practiced smile of his, and by the end of the night, they’ll end up in some frat brother’s bed. It’s all part of the dance.

But then he sees him.

The guy is across the room, standing near the sliding glass door that leads to the backyard. He’s wearing a tight blue shirt that clings to his frame in a way that feels deliberate, like he knows exactly how good he looks if he flexes his arms in the right manner. His dark fringe is parted and falls like a 90s heartthrob, and his mouth—soft and slightly parted—curves into a smirk as he talks to a group of guys who are hanging onto his every word. Dennis has seen him before. At every party. Without fail.

The guy is objectively attractive, but Dennis can’t figure him out. He’s everywhere and nowhere all at once. At every party, he’s the center of attention, surrounded by people who seem to know him, who laugh at his jokes and clap him on the back like he’s some kind of legend. But Dennis has never seen him on campus. Not in class, not at the library, not even in the dining hall. It’s like the guy only exists in the dim, beer-soaked glow of frat houses.

It pisses him off.

He excuses himself from the girl and grabs another beer from the cooler on the counter. The liquid sloshes over the rim as he pops the tab, and he takes a long swig, his eyes never leaving the guy. He’s laughing now, his head thrown back, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he downs the rest of his drink. Dennis feels something twist in his chest—curiosity, irritation, maybe lust—and before he can think better of it, he’s pushing through the crowd, his beer sloshing dangerously as he goes.

“Hey,” Dennis says, his voice loud enough to cut through the music. The guy turns to him, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Up close, Dennis can see the faint stubble along his jawline, the way his brown eyes catch the light. He smells like cigarettes and Drakkar Noir. Dennis wrinkles his nose.

“How come I see you at every single party but not once on campus?” Dennis demands, his tone sharper than he intended. He doesn’t mean to sound accusatory, but the words come out that way anyway. It happens often: Dennis tries the words in his head before saying it and it sounds nicer inside than it sounds when he actually says words out loud.

The guy blinks at him, his smirk widening into a grin. “I’m sorry?” he says, his voice dripping with mock innocence.

“I’m just saying,” Dennis continues, crossing his arms over his chest, “it’s a little suspicious. You’re like a ghost or something.”

The guy laughs, a low, throaty sound that makes Dennis’ stomach do something weird. He steps closer, his eyes scanning Dennis up and down and up, stopping on his mouth. “Let’s just say I provide a very requisite service for college kids,” he says, his voice teasing.

Dennis narrows his eyes. “Are you a pimp?”

The guy barks out a laugh, loud enough that a few people nearby turn to look. “What? No, man. I’m a dealer. Weed, performance enhancers, whatever you need to feel better.” He leans in, his breath warm against Dennis’ ear. “Wanna feel better?”

Dennis takes a step back, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “Oh, I am not sleeping with this type of white trash.”

The guy rolls his eyes, his smirk fading into annoyance. “Look,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face, “you came to me. If you’re not gonna buy anything, and we’re not gonna bang, then I gotta go. Bye. Nice meeting you or whatever.”

He walks away, disappearing into the crowd with ease. Dennis stares after him, his jaw clenched tight. He’s kind of an asshole.

Dennis shakes his head and goes back to his hunt. Shit, maybe he should have accepted the invitation. No, he doesn’t care. It is just drunk thoughts. He drinks a few more beers and ends up walking alone to his dorm in the middle of the night.

“Dee, you remember the guy I keep bugging you about? Turns out he’s a drug dealer!” Dennis announces as he barges into Dee’s apartment on Sunday morning, holding two cups of coffee. Her roommate is halfway out the door, and Dennis takes the opportunity to slip inside, already making himself at home. He takes a second look while she is in the hallway, and her roommate is wearing a t-shirt he swears he saw Dee wearing last week.

Dee is walking out of her room, looking like she’s been hit by a bus. Her hair is a wild mess, her makeup is smudged down her face, and she’s wearing what appears to be a hoodie that’s three sizes too big. She squints at him like the sunlight streaming through the blinds from the living room is personally offending her.

“It’s him you keep talking about?” she croaks, her voice hoarse. She grabs one of the coffee cups from Dennis’ hand and takes a long sip, wincing as the hot liquid hits her tongue.

“Ew. You look disgusting,” Dennis says, wrinkling his nose as he plops down on the couch. He kicks his feet up on the coffee table, ignoring the pile of empty takeout containers scattered across it.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Dee snaps, glaring at him. She takes another sip of coffee, her hands trembling slightly. “Also, he’s on campus every Tuesday and Thursday. That’s why I didn’t think you were talking about Mac.”

Mac. Dennis scoffs at the name, like it’s somehow beneath him to even say it out loud. “How do you know him, anyway?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Dee gives him a look that’s equal parts exasperated and condescending. “Why do you think, you idiot?”

They stare at each other for a moment, the air between them crackling with tension. Dennis’ jaw tightens, and Dee’s eyes narrow, like they’re both trying to will the other into spontaneous combustion.

Finally, Dee softens and breaks the silence. “I’m meeting him this Tuesday if you want to come.”

Dennis leans back on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, I don’t. He was rude and an asshole, and I don’t wanna see him again.”

Dee rolls her eyes with practiced drama. "Suit yourself," she says, the shrug in her voice as she collapses into the armchair. She takes a sip of her coffee and he just knows she's grateful. They've always communicated like this, in the spaces between words. Maybe that twin connection thing isn't complete bullshit after all.

He watches the steam curl from her cup, his mind circling back to Mac. The idea of seeing him again shouldn't be this persistent. Dennis shifts in his seat, suddenly irritated by his own thoughts. Like hell he'd give Dee ammunition to tease him with.

"Let me guess how your night went," he deflects, forcing a smirk. "Got wasted, made a spectacle of yourself, came home alone?" The words taste hypocritical even as he says them—that was basically his evening.

Dee's glare lacks its usual venom. "Shut up. At least I'm not the creep stalking some guy all night."

"I wasn't stalking him," Dennis protests too quickly, then hates himself for rising to the bait. "I was conducting field observations."

"Uh-huh." Her smirk widens. "Well, if you decide to observe him Tuesday, don't come crying when he's sold out of whatever you're really after."

Dennis presses his lips together. He forgets sometimes how well she can also read him. Not that there's anything to read; he has zero interest in seeing Mac again. None whatsoever.

When Dennis goes with Dee, it’s not like it’s because he wants to. They are having lunch anyway, and when Dee mentions she is meeting Mac afterward, Dennis just tags along. Out of curiosity. He didn’t arrange this lunch with purpose.

They make their way to a secluded spot on campus, near one of the fields where the grass is overgrown and the trees provide enough shade to make it feel hidden. Dennis has never been here before, but he can see why someone would do shady transactions around this space.

When they arrive, Mac is already there, leaning against a tree and chatting with some guy who looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. In the broad daylight, Mac looks different, softer. His skinny frame is swallowed by a stupid t-shirt with cut sleeves and some funny logo Dennis doesn’t recognize, and his backpack hangs loosely off one shoulder. He looks like any other college kid you’d pass in the hallway without a second thought.

Mac turns to them as the other kid trails off, and as they lock eyes, Dennis tries to ignore the heat he feels in his face, tugging his ear as he looks at the ground.

“Hey, Mac,” Dee calls out as she approaches, Dennis trailing behind her like a reluctant shadow.

“Heyo, Dee,” Mac says, his voice light and casual. He rummages through his bag and pulls out a bottle of Adderall and another medication Dennis can’t decipher, handing it to her with ease.

“Oh, Dee, you bitch,” Dennis says, his tone both judgmental and amused.

“What? It helps, you prick,” Dee shoots back, rolling her eyes.

Mac’s gaze flickers over Dee’s shoulder, landing on Dennis. “Who’s this?” he asks, his curiosity piqued, acting like he hasn’t seen him just seconds before.

“Don’t mind my brother,” Dee says, waving a hand dismissively.

“We talked at the party,” Dennis reminds him, his voice sharp. He doesn’t know why he’s annoyed that Mac doesn’t remember him, but he is.

Mac tilts his head, his smirk widening. “If I were to remember every pretty boy I talk to at parties…” he says, trailing off with a shrug. He looks bored, but Dennis can see the flicker of recognition in his eyes. He remembers.

“See! I told you! An asshole,” Dennis says, turning to Dee like she’s supposed to back him up.

“Whatever, Dennis, shut up,” Dee says, digging through her bag for the cash. She hands it to Mac, who pockets it with a quick, practiced motion.

“See you around,” Mac says, his smirk turning into a full-blown grin as he waves them off.

“I hope we don’t,” Dennis scoffs, refusing to look back as they walk away. He can feel Mac’s eyes on him, but when he gives in and turns to look back, Mac is already talking to someone else.

The next Friday, Dennis finds himself again at a fraternity party, leaning against the wall of a much-destroyed house, nursing a drink and pretending not to scan the room for a certain someone. The music sounds louder than it usually does, and his t-shirt clings to his back with sweat.

He spots Mac standing near the kitchen island, surrounded by a group of people who are laughing at something he just said. Of course. Dennis hates that it intrigues him almost as much as he hates the way his pulse jumps when Mac finally notices him approaching.

“Why does everyone talk to you? Are you the only one or something?” Dennis asks as soon as he gets closer.

Mac looks up, his smirk already in place. “Kinda,” he says, shrugging. He’s digging through his pocket, pulling out a small baggie of something that he tucks back in before Dennis can get a good look. “I kinda cornered the market around here, so now I’m the only option.”

Dennis raises an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. “What do you mean?”

Mac exhales, finally looking at Dennis. His eyes are sharp, like he’s sizing Dennis up, deciding how much to tell him. “I ratted out the other dealers,” he says finally. “So now only I can sell around here.”

Dennis sputters, nearly choking on the beer he’s drinking. He’s impressed, though he’d never admit it out loud. That’s a smart move for a white trash drug dealer.

“And why don’t they rat you back?” Dennis asks, his curiosity fully taking over now.

Mac shrugs again. “Because my dad’s in prison,” he says, matter-of-fact. “They’re scared.” He pulls a joint out of his pocket, holding it up between two fingers. “Wanna smoke one?”

Dennis hesitates for a moment, then lets out a small laugh. “Respect,” he says, nodding. “Sure, let’s go.”

~

They go to the backyard of the house, where the music is muffled and the air feels cooler. The yard is dimly lit by a string of fairy lights someone strung up haphazardly, casting a soft glow over the scattered groups of people talking or smoking. Dennis follows Mac to a quieter corner, where they sit on the grass, their shoulders brushing as they settle in.

Mac pulls out a joint, lighting it with practiced ease. He takes a long drag, holding it in for a moment before passing it to Dennis. Their fingers brush, and Dennis shudders.

“Do you ever have fun at these parties? Or is it just work?” Dennis asks, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

Mac grins, leaning back on his hands. “I always have a great time,” he says, his voice light and easy. “I get money, I drink a bit, I get laid. I just don’t stay too late because cops can show up because of the noise.” He passes the joint back to Dennis, their fingers brushing again.

Dennis feels himself relax a bit, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Sounds great,” he says, taking another drag.

“What about you?” Mac asks after a beat, turning to look at Dennis, trying to figure him out. “What’s your deal?”

Dennis sighs, leaning back on his hands. “I’m from one fraternity, so I kinda need to be at every single one of them.”

Mac raises an eyebrow. “Then why are you always alone?”

“What? I’m not always alone,” Dennis says defensively. “I have tons of friends. Tim, Stash, Adriano…”

Mac grimaces, cutting him off. “Those guys are your friends? They suck, bro.”

Dennis laughs, surprised by how much he agrees. “Yeah, they suck.”

They both look at each other and laugh, the sound mingling with the distant hum of the party. For a moment, it feels like they’re the only two people in the world. The tension between them is electric, unspoken but undeniable. Dennis can feel it in the way Mac’s gaze lingers on him, in the way their shoulders keep brushing as they sit there.

But then someone comes over, kicking Mac lightly on the shin.

“Hey, Mac, sorry to interrupt,” the guy says, though he doesn’t look sorry at all. “But there were some people leaving, and they said they saw police coming. We can’t lose you, man.”

“Ah, shit,” Mac mutters, getting to his feet. He brushes the grass off his jeans and nods at the guy. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” the guy says, glancing between Mac and Dennis like he wants to say more but thinks better of it. He walks off, leaving the two of them alone again.

Dennis moves to get up, and Mac offers him a hand. Dennis takes it, his face heating up as their hands touch. He hopes the dim light hides the blush creeping up his neck.

“Well, off I go,” Mac says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Off you go,” Dennis echoes, trying to sound casual.

Mac turns to leave, but then he hesitates, glancing back at Dennis. “Don’t you want my phone number?”

Dennis blinks, caught off guard. “I’m sorry?”

“You know,” Mac says, stepping closer. “If you want anything.” He pauses. “To buy, I mean.”

“Anything?” Dennis asks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Anything,” Mac says, nodding eagerly.

Dennis pulls out his phone and hands it to Mac, their fingers brushing again. Mac types in his number and calls himself so he’ll have Dennis’ number too. He hands the phone back, their eyes meeting for a moment that feels longer than it should.

“See you,” Mac says, his smirk returning.

“Next party, probably,” Dennis replies, waving as Mac walks away.

He doesn’t even think about taking someone else home to bang that night.

“Why is it different than the one I have?” Dee asks, her voice sharp with suspicion. She’s perched on the edge of the bed, her arms crossed as she stares him down.

Dennis is sprawled on her bed, chest down the mattress as his legs dangle in the air, staring at Mac’s number in his contacts. “He probably gave me his real number, not his dealer one,” Dennis says, trying to sound casual. He doesn’t look up from his phone, but he can feel Dee’s eyes boring into him.

Dee snorts, leaning forward. “Are you going to text him?”

“As if, Dee. As if,” Dennis scoffs, rolling his eyes. He locks his phone and tosses it onto the bed, like that proves he’s not thinking about texting Mac.

Dee isn’t convinced. She plops down beside him, her weight making the mattress dip. “Look, don’t fuck this up for me, okay? I might go insane without my meds.”

“Why don’t you go to an actual doctor?” Dennis asks, turning his head to look at her.

“And be called crazy?” Dee scoffs, mimicking his tone. “As if, Dennis. As if.”

Dennis rolls his eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck. “What’s the difference? You’re already crazy.”

“Not clinically confirmed,” Dee fires back, sticking her tongue out at him.

“Well, we’re both studying for it, and we know, so whatever,” Dennis says, waving a hand dismissively.

Dee glares at him, her eyes narrowing. “You are a shithead, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dennis says, smirking.

Dee stands up abruptly. She walks over to her door and flings it open. “Get out.”

Dennis blinks, confused. “What?”

“Out!” Dee shouts, pointing dramatically into the hallway. “Out! Out! Out!”

Dennis groans, dragging himself off the bed. “You’re so dramatic,” he mutters, grabbing his phone and shoving it into his pocket.

“And you’re so annoying!” Dee shoots back, slamming the door behind him as soon as he’s in the hallway.

Dennis stands there for a moment, staring at the closed door. He can hear Dee muttering to herself on the other side, something about how he’s “the worst brother ever.”

As he walks back to the front door, he bumps into her roommate, who’s once again wearing something vaguely familiar. Maybe Dee is lesbians with her. He needs to revisit this topic with his sister later. Shaking his head, he pulls out his phone again, unlocking it and staring at Mac’s number, knowing damn well he won’t text him first.

Mac also doesn't text him.

Which is fine. Perfectly fine. Dennis isn't counting the days (three). Isn't replaying their last conversation in his head (the way Mac's lips curled around the word “anything”). Definitely isn't checking his phone every five minutes like some desperate freshman after their first hookup.

He doesn't care.

But Mac had been the one to ask for his number. That meant something, didn't it? Unless it didn't. Unless Mac had already moved on to someone easier, one of the dozens of people who probably orbit him daily like moths to a flame.

Dennis scoffs at himself in the dim glow of his phone screen. Pathetic. He barely knows the guy. Doesn't know his favorite movie or how he takes his coffee or if he even likes coffee or why he smells faintly of cheap soap. Doesn't care to.

Except he does want to know. Every single detail. This feeling is like a parasite, taking over him and eating him alive.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

Dennis freezes mid-step on the sidewalk, his pulse jumping. Fumbles for it, thumbs slipping on the screen—

SALE! Avocados 2 for $5 at your nearby Wawa!

He exhales sharply through his nose. Of course.

Another buzz. His stupid traitorous heart leaps again—

Dee: SHE ATE MY LEFTOVERS AGAIN I SWEAR TO GOD DENNIS

He stares at the message, the white-hot flare of disappointment curdling into something bitter. Once he touched the roommate topic with Dee, it is like a can of worms opened, she can’t shut up and stop complaining about it.

He huffs. Since when did he become the person who cares about text messages? He is the king of ghosting. He is above that. They didn’t even kiss, so it is really not that deep.

His phone lights up once more. Dennis grits his teeth, prepares to ignore the buzz, until he realizes it is a call.

From the contact he has been staring for three days now.

"Hello?" He keeps his voice carefully flat, the way he does when he's trying not to sound too eager.

"Hey, Dennis." That voice sends an electric jolt down his spine.

Dennis' grip tightens on his phone. He should play it cool. Should make Mac work for it after leaving him hanging. But his traitorous mouth is already forming words. "Who is this?" The feigned ignorance sounds pathetic even to his own ears.

A chuckle vibrates through the receiver. "It's Mac, dude. From the party...?"

"Oh." Dennis swallows, his throat suddenly dry. "Hey." One syllable, carefully casual. He's proud of how steady it sounds.

"Sorry I didn't text," Mac says, and Dennis can practically hear the shrug in his voice. "Some shit went down at work."

"Oh, it's okay. I was also busy," he lies. He'd been anything but busy; just restless and irritable, jumping every time his phone buzzed.

"Yeah?" Mac's voice drops, amused. "Doing what?"

Dennis' cheeks heat. "Studying. Classes. You know." He kicks at a pebble and watches it skitter across the pavement. "Everything alright around there?"

“Yeah... So, do you maybe wanna go to the bar I work at? Grab a drink? I can pick you up. It’s fine if you’re busy. I hope you aren’t, though." Mac babbles.

Dennis hesitates for a fraction of a second, then says, “Sure, let’s do it.”

"Text me your location." Mac's smile is audible through the phone.

Dennis hangs up and texts him his address, then practically sprints home to get ready. His fraternity room is spacious, his roommate being away for an exchange program for a few months now, and Dennis uses his bed as a wardrobe, multiple items of clothing around that side of the room. He spends way too long picking out an outfit, settling on dark jeans that hug just right and a light blue button-down with a navy sweater on top that brings out his eyes.

After a while, Mac texts that he’s outside. Dennis steps into the evening air to find Mac leaning against a motorcycle on the other side of the street. He's all effortless cool in a leather jacket that's seen better days, his hair slightly wind-tossed. The sight punches the air from Dennis' lungs.

“Hey, pretty badass,” Dennis says, the first thing that comes to mind.

Mac beams, clearly pleased. “You think? Thanks, dude!” Mac tosses him a helmet, which Dennis catches on pure reflex. The padding still warm from Mac's head. When he looks up, Mac is watching him with an expression that makes his skin prickle.

"Hop on," Mac says, nodding to the space behind him. 

~

The bar looks like shit.

He doesn’t say it out loud to not hurt Mac’s feelings, but it is the kind of place you’d only go to if you were desperate or lost. The sign above the door reads “Paddy’s Pub” in faded letters, and the windows are so grimy it’s hard to see inside. Dennis hesitates for a moment, but Mac claps him on the back and pushes the door open.

“Heyooo, bitches,” Mac announces as they walk in. “I brought someone, so don’t be weird.”

Dennis takes a look around. The interior is even worse than the exterior—filthy, dimly lit, and so many different smells that Dennis can’t pinpoint a stronger one, but none of them are good. It’s almost empty, save for two old men sitting in a booth. Not a single soul behind the counter.

“Where’s my money, bitch?” a familiar voice barks from the back.

Dennis freezes. The voice hits him like a gut punch before he even sees the man. That gravelly, perpetually irritated tone that had haunted his childhood - shouting through the mansion walls, slurring at family dinners, always dripping with disappointment. His body reacts before his mind can process, shoulders tensing automatically like he's twelve years old again about to be chewed out for some imagined slight.

The small man stumbles out of an office, wearing a tank top stained with something dark and crusted. He’s making grabbing gestures at Mac with his greasy hands, looking every bit like a man who lost the thread of his life a long time ago.

Dennis’ jaw tenses. His brain tries to reject the image in front of him.

“Dad?!” Dennis asks, his voice rising in shock.

Frank's beady eyes snap to him, and for one horrifying second, there's no recognition at all. Just blank annoyance at the interruption. Then, he widens his eyes. “Dennis? What the hell are you doing here?” The familiar disdain in his voice makes Dennis' stomach churn. “Did your whore mother send you here—”

Dennis can't form words. He just points at Mac, hand shaking, because what the fuck else is there to say? 

“Do you guys know each other?” Mac asks, confused.

“He’s my dad,” Dennis says hollowly. His mouth feels so dry. If all those years of Frank's "business trips" and "important meetings" was this, they are screwed. A rat-infested dive bar where he played king to people like Mac while his actual children starved for his attention. “Do you own this place?”

Frank shrugs. “Kinda.”

“He’s my boss,” Mac explains, handing over a wad of cash to Frank, who thumbs through it with practiced speed, then hands back a portion. Dennis notices that Mac has definitely more money in his back pocket than what he gave Frank, but doesn’t feel like ratting him out.

It’s all surreal. Like watching a car crash through a fogged-up window. He’s here, but also slightly outside of himself.

“You get your drugs from him?” he asks. His voice sounds distant to his own ears. “I thought your dad—”

“My dad’s in prison,” Mac says with a casual laugh. “How am I supposed to get drugs from prison?”

Dennis says nothing, his eyes drifting unfocused as he slowly lowers himself onto a stool. It feels sticky. The bar creaks under him. His dad owns a bar that feels like a health code violation wrapped in depression.

Mac slides him a beer and he just takes it, wordlessly.

Frank’s voice cuts in again. “Don’t tell your sister or your whore mother about this, okay?”

Dennis’ grip tightens around the bottle. “Did you know you’re selling drugs to your own precious daughter?” he asks, each word sharper than the last.

Frank blinks. “Am I? Shit.” He turns to Mac. “Charge her double next time.” Dennis grimaces. This man, who couldn't remember their birthday, could recall exactly how to exploit his own children.

“I think she might actually lose her mind without medication, but sure,” Mac replies easily.

Dennis stares at the wall for a second.

“I agree, Dad,” Dennis says. The word tastes bitter in his mouth.

Frank barely looks at him. “Stop trash-talking your sister,” he says, pointing at Dennis like he’s some wayward employee. Then to Mac, he says: “You do what I say. I’ve got business in the basement. Don’t interrupt me.”

He disappears through a door, and just like that, the room goes quiet again.

Dennis stares at the spot where Frank vanished. The weight in his chest hasn’t moved. If anything, it’s gotten worse.

There’s something grotesque about all of it. Dennis came here thinking he was stepping into some gritty version of Mac’s world, and instead he walked face-first into his own unfinished business.

“Dude, I’m sorry,” Mac says, breaking the silence. “I didn’t know—”

“I can’t believe my dad’s your boss—” Dennis cuts in.

They pause, then laugh awkwardly. Mac is looking at his face, searching for any reaction that Dennis knows he won’t find. He hides too well.

“Do you wanna go somewhere else?” Mac offers gently.

Dennis shakes his head, but he doesn’t answer right away. He’s too busy thinking about the years he spent trying to get Frank’s attention.

He used to dream about earning Frank’s approval. Now he’s watching the man launder drug money in a piss-smelling bar, and all Dennis feels is small.

“It’s fine,” he finally says. “I’m just processing. I didn’t realize this is what he’s been doing. I mean, he always acted like he had some empire I wasn’t ready to inherit. Turns out he is just running a dive bar-slash-drug front. I mean, this is what he’s doing with my inheritance. No offense.”

“None taken,” Mac says, nudging him. “If it helps, I don’t think he puts any actual money into this place. It’s more of a laundering-type thing.”

Dennis gives a small huff of a laugh, but it doesn’t have much air behind it.

“You said something happened at work?” he asks instead, pulling himself back from the edge. “Was it here?”

Mac brightens. “Oh yeah. So Frank was doing something sketchy in the basement with his Vietnamese guys. It got intense—like, someone legit lost a finger. Charlie and I had to clean it up, then lay low. We figured the cops might show, but... probably not. I think those guys are illegal anyway—”

“Wait, what? Who’s Charlie?” Dennis cuts in, blinking. “Also, my dad really doesn’t have, like, a real office job?”

“I mean, I guess,” Mac says, ignoring the first question. “He’s not always around, and he has an office in the back he goes into sometimes, so maybe he pretends to do something up there. He probably has an empire we don’t know about. But honestly? Most of the time I just see him pacing and muttering to himself.”

“Yeah. That sounds like him.”

Mac watches him for a moment but doesn’t press. He just taps Dennis’ bottle with his own.

“Cheers to dads who shouldn’t be dads,” he says. “Not that I would understand, because me and my dad are super close, but I don’t think Frank should be a dad.”

Dennis gives the faintest smirk, doubting Mac’s affirmation. “Cheers.”

They drink in silence. Dennis is still on the edge, but Mac assures him that Frank won’t be back for a while. After a bit, the awkwardness starts to fade, and Dennis finds himself actually enjoying Mac’s company. They eventually move a booth, sitting side by side, Mac always refilling their drinks. They start talking about movies and how they love Predator, spending the next hour trading favorite scenes and quoting lines, their voices getting louder and more animated as they go, and sharing stories about the crazy Uni parties and it is so comfortable. Dennis laughs so hard his sides hurt, and he can’t remember the last time he had this much fun. At some point, their knees brush under the table, and Dennis feels his face heat up. He doesn’t pull away, though, and neither does Mac.

Dennis tries to suppress a yawn, but Mac catches him.

“Home now?” Mac asks with a smile, getting up.

“Yeah,” Dennis says, stretching his arms above his head. “I still have classes tomorrow, you know.”

They step out of the bar, the cool night air hitting them like a slap after the warmth inside.

“Well, aren’t you, like, a nepobaby?” Mac says, smirking as he hands Dennis the helmet.

Dennis freezes, his jaw dropping in mock offense. “A nepobaby, really?”

“Yeah, dude,” Mac says, shrugging. “You’re gonna inherit Paddy’s and whatever. Must be nice.”

“Oh, thanks,” Dennis says, rolling his eyes as he takes the helmet. “But just so you know, I will not be working there. Or even setting foot in that dump ever again.”

“Yeah, you will,” Mac says, grinning as he swings a leg over the motorcycle.

“I won’t,” Dennis insists, climbing on behind him.

Mac just laughs, revving the engine, and Dennis can’t help but smile as he wraps his arms around Mac’s waist, holding on tighter than he probably needs to.

~

The ride back to Dennis’ frat house is quiet, but it’s a comfortable kind of quiet. The streets are mostly empty at this hour, and the cool wind whips past them as they speed through the night. He lets his chin rest lightly on Mac’s shoulder, telling himself it’s just easier that way.

They pull up to the frat house, and the silence is heavy.

Dennis climbs off the bike, slower than necessary. He peels off the helmet and hands it back to Mac. Their fingers brush as Mac takes it, and it’s stupid how much that tiny contact makes Dennis’ stomach tighten.

“So,” Mac breaks the silence, his voice a little awkward, a little hopeful. “Here we are.”

“Here we are,” Dennis echoes, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Mac scratches the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I’m used to hooking up at parties, not really this going out sober thing.”

Dennis laughs—genuinely, this time. It slips out soft and warm, catching him off guard.

“This was a date, then?” Dennis teases and watches Mac furrow his eyebrows. “You did great,” he completes, smiling.

Mac blinks as his defensive expression shifts, his grin blooming slowly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dennis agrees, stepping into Mac’s space.

For a moment, they just stand there, the air between them crackling with tension. Then Dennis closes the distance, pressing his lips to Mac’s in a kiss that’s soft at first but quickly deepens. Mac is surprised—Dennis can feel it in the way he stiffens for a split second—but then he’s kissing back, his hands coming up to grip Dennis’ waist. They explore each other’s mouths, the taste of beer and gum flowing between them, but Dennis doesn’t want it to stop. The world narrows to the heat of Mac’s mouth, the scratch of his stubble, the way his fingers press into Dennis’ hips like he’s memorizing the shape of him.

They break apart eventually, both of them breathless, their foreheads pressing together in the quiet aftermath. Dennis can feel the rapid flutter of Mac’s pulse where his thumb presses against his neck.

"Should I go in, or…?" Mac asks, voice rough.

Dennis laughs, quiet, private. He steps back, just far enough to see Mac’s face, the way his lips are kiss-swollen, his eyes dark. "Goodnight, Mac," he says, and his voice doesn’t shake. "See you."

He turns before he can change his mind, heading up the steps to the front door without looking back. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he wants too much.

Behind him, he hears Mac laugh under his breath. It’s not bitter. Just surprised. “See you,” Mac says to no one.

Dennis doesn’t know how to name what’s happening to him.

Much to his own dismay, he finds himself in a booth at Paddy’s more frequently than he ever thought he would. His textbooks are splayed across the sticky table of a booth, yellow highlighter uncapped and forgotten. The words blur into nonsense whenever Mac slides into the opposite seat from Dennis too often for someone who is supposed to be working, like he’s never even considered that someone might want to be alone.

Mac steals chips from the bag Dennis brought. Salt and vinegar. The exact kind he likes best. (A coincidence, obviously. Dennis doesn't remember these things about people. He doesn’t care.)

"You know," Mac says, leaning back with that infuriating ease, the kind that comes from never having to overthink a single goddamn thing in your life, "you should really ignore all this science crap and trust the Bible more." A chip crunches between his teeth. "It's got all the answers."

Dennis doesn’t even glance up from his notes. “Yeah, because the Bible is really going to help me pass my neuropsychology exam,” he mutters.

Mac grins, all teeth and pride. “Hey, faith can move mountains, dude.”

Dennis should scoff. Should roll his eyes and deliver a scathing remark about the intellectual bankruptcy of blind faith. But instead, his mouth curves, just slightly enough that Mac's grin widens in victory, like he's uncovered something precious.

Faith can move mountains, dude.

Faith, Dennis thinks, is a luxury he's never been afforded. His life is built on empirical evidence, on cold, hard facts, on the irrefutable proof that people leave, that love is transactional, that trust is a weakness to be exploited.

Mac kicks him under the table, not hard, just enough to jostle him, and Dennis' chest does something traitorous and warm. He wants to capture this feeling, press it between the pages of his textbooks like a keepsake. Wants to live in the easy rhythm of Mac's laughter, in the way he leans into Dennis' space like he belongs there.

He should be annoyed. Mac is loud and chaotic and interrupts him constantly. He smells like sweat and cheap cologne and sometimes he forgets basic social cues. And yet, when Mac’s across the table from him, Dennis doesn’t feel that familiar, gnawing pressure in his chest—the one that tells him he has to be perfect, performative, untouchable. With Mac, he can breathe.

And that terrifies him.

Because Dennis isn’t used to wanting. He’s used to manipulating, controlling outcomes and keeping everyone at arm’s length. He’s used to masking everything real behind a smirk or a sneer. But Mac makes it hard to keep the mask on. Mac makes him want to laugh. To stay. To feel.

Dennis glances up, and Mac is already looking at him—like he always does when Dennis isn’t paying attention. His eyes are wide and earnest, too much so. It makes something in Dennis’ chest twist sharply.

He looks back down at his notes, blinking hard. He tells himself it’s just a phase. Just a temporary fascination. Something stupid and passing, like a crush.

Dennis scoffs. “Faith isn’t going to move my GPA.” But he’s biting his cheek to suppress a smile, and it’s infuriating how easy it is to fall into this rhythm, to be pulled in by Mac’s gravity.

When Mac laughs at his dumb joke and tosses another chip into his mouth with absolutely no shame, Dennis can’t help the smile that tugs on his lips, making him want to stay in this moment forever.

They also make out a lot.

Dennis creates a new Pomodoro method, where he studies for twenty minutes and makes out with Mac on the woman’s bathroom—there’s never woman around, and it is cleaner anyways—for ten minutes of his break. His textbooks stay on the booth table at Paddy’s, timer set, while Mac waits for the chime that means Dennis is all his again.

They never get much further than kissing and grinding, Dennis too self-conscious about his body, refusing to do anything in a bathroom and getting caught. Too many variables that could go wrong.

Mac moves his mouth from Dennis’ to his neck, warm and lingering. “How long we got?”

Dennis glances at the phone in his hand, breath catching as Mac sucks just below his jaw. “Three minutes.”

“That’s not enough,” Mac wines, voice low and desperate. “I need you for longer.”

Dennis grabs his face, dragging him in close. Their foreheads bump, breaths mingle.

“That’s the deal, Mac,” he says, and his voice is tight in a way he hates. “Stop wasting time complaining and kiss me.”

Mac does. Their lips meet once again, hot for each other, hands traveling all over they can reach. Dennis exhales, the feeling on Mac’s mouth on his being enough to make him relax, even though his skin feels on fire.

The alarm buzzes two minutes later, sharp and unwelcome. They freeze. Dennis sighs against Mac’s lips, then pulls back slowly, thumbing off the sound.

He fixes his shirt in the mirror, lips a little swollen, his neck flushed.

“Time’s up.”

Mac watches him go, leaning back against the wall, eyes dazed and hungry.

“You’re such a tease, man.”

Dennis doesn’t turn around.

“Yeah,” he mutters, slipping out the door. “I know.”

He ignores that Mac stays a little longer in the bathroom by himself and leaves the bar before his next break starts.

He doesn’t tell Deandra.

Dee has always had the upper hand when it came to Frank. She was the favorite, the one who got the attention, the weird gifts, the accidental affections. Meanwhile, Dennis spent most of his life competing for scraps. Now, for the first time, he knows something about their dad that she doesn’t. A small, greasy, morally bankrupt piece, but his nonetheless. It’s petty. It’s pathetic. It’s the kind of victory that tastes like bile, but he clings to it because it’s all he has.

Still, knowing doesn’t fix anything. If anything, it just makes it worse.

Frank isn’t a better dad now that Dennis knows a part of him he keeps hidden. He’s still the same greasy, chaotic wildcard who seems to hand out fatherly attention like it’s a limited-edition coupon, redeemable by anyone except Dennis. When Dennis is there, Frank mostly ignores him. And it stings more than Dennis ever wants to admit—every time Frank ruffles Charlie’s hair or buys Mac lunch or calls them “sons” like it’s a joke, Dennis feels it like a bruise.

He tells himself he doesn’t care. He’s smarter than this. Smarter than them. But there’s a hollow place inside him, carved out by years of neglect, that still aches for something he’ll never get.

And there’s Charlie, who Dennis meets around the second time he drops by Paddy’s.

He’s Mac’s roommate and childhood best friend. The first time he actually talks to him, he honestly thinks Charlie might be feral. He’s loud and jittery, smells vaguely like gasoline and soup, and talks at length about rats like they’re close friends. His shirt has more stains than fabric. At first, Dennis can’t help but see him as another casualty of Frank’s orbit—another person Frank chose to take care of instead of his own son. And yeah, that stings. In the kind of deep, buried way Dennis is very practiced at ignoring.

But Charlie isn’t like Frank. He isn’t cruel (ok, a little bit) or calculating (he can’t count). He’s a little too open, in a way that’s disarming and strange. He doesn’t hide his weirdness behind irony or pretend to be more than what he is. Charlie is all impulse and sincerity. And cats.

He starts sitting with him more, claiming it’s for his psych class—treating Charlie like an oddball case study. But it stops being about observation pretty fast. Because Charlie, for all his dirt and noise, is kind. Or maybe Dennis' standards aren't that great, but he treats Dennis like someone worth sharing things with. One afternoon, he brings Dennis a grilled cheese with peanut butter on the outside—lukewarm, wrapped in greasy foil, horrifying—and says, “Thought you might be hungry.” Like they’re friends. Like Dennis belongs. While in Dennis’ head, they should be competitors and enemies.

Mac is always there too—pressing a cold beer into Dennis’ hand, slinging an arm around his shoulders like this is what he’s always dreamed of. And Dennis is surprised to find he doesn’t mind it. He doesn’t mind Mac’s thigh pressing against his on the booth seat. Doesn’t mind when Mac tells a dumb joke and then looks at Dennis, waiting for the reaction. Doesn’t mind when Mac laughs at something Dennis says like it’s the best thing he’s ever heard.

He still gets a flash of bitterness when he sees Frank, Mac, and Charlie laughing together like some half-functional sitcom family. But it’s harder to hold onto the resentment when Mac is looking at him like he is the main plot. When Mac throws an arm around him and pulls him into a shared joke with Charlie, Dennis lets himself lean in, lets himself laugh. He tells himself it’s just part of the bit, part of blending in. But deep down, something aches and melts, like Charlie's peanut butter.

It’s unnerving and inconvenient when Dennis realizes he likes this. He likes them and this little atmosphere. And it makes him feel like maybe, despite Frank, despite Dee, despite every frigid wall he built up around himself—he could be part of something that isn’t just performative. Something a little messy, a little stupid, but real. Maybe he doesn’t have to be the smartest guy in the room to be loved. Maybe he can just be the guy Mac leans against, and Charlie trusts with a half-melted sandwich.

It just makes sense when Mac and Dennis start going to Uni parties together. They are both going to be there, anyways. Sometimes on Fridays, sometimes on Saturdays, but they always end up meeting up before going, and Mac always grins that stupid, lopsided grin when he sees Dennis, and Dennis hates how much they could go to hell together, it wouldn’t matter.

This Saturday, the party is at Dennis’ frat.

He leaves his bedside lamp on in a calculated move and locks his room because he knows how horny young adults with booze in their system can be and he is not taking a chance of having his room being used, thank you very much, and keeps walking around, checking if everything is in order. His frat brothers and him have this system where one of them should be “in charge” every half an hour, to make sure the house doesn’t fall apart.

Mac, as always, is in his element. He moves through crowds like he was made for them—laughing, clapping people on the back, tossing out jokes and fist bumps like a celebrity in a room full of fans. Everyone wants something from him. To buy from him, to laugh with him, to just be seen by him. They probably just do it because they want discounts on his supply, Dennis tells himself. Because Mac is irritating, and a moron, and no one else should want to be close to him, like Dennis finds himself wanting to be.

“Who’s that?” Dennis asks around a beer after his ‘shift’ as he approaches Mac, his voice low, trying too hard to sound casual, like he wasn’t observing while he was making his round. He nods toward a guy who’s been talking to Mac for way too long. The guy kept leaning in close, touching Mac’s arm when he laughed.

Mac glances over, shrugs. “No idea. He’s probably looking for steroids or something.”

“He’s been talking to you for twenty minutes.” The words are sharper than he means them to be. He knows it the second Mac turns to him with a look.

Mac raises an eyebrow, a smirk forming. “You keeping track of my conversations now, Dennis?”

Dennis flushes. His arms cross over his chest on instinct—defensive. “No. I’m just saying. It’s rude to monopolize someone’s time like that.”

“But you can?” Mac grins and claps him on the shoulder. His hand lingers a second too long, warm through the fabric. “Relax, dude. He’s just a customer.”

They move to play a game of beer pong, Mac getting competitive in a way that should be embarrassing, but only fuels Dennis with his enthusiasm. Mac sinks a shot and throws his arms up with a triumphant yell, sloshing half a cup of beer down his chest in the process. It seeps into his already-damp shirt, making the fabric cling to the lines of his body and Dennis catches himself staring.

Dennis glances down at his phone. It’s past two, around the hour Mac usually goes home before any trouble comes.

“Are you done for tonight?” Dennis asks, gesturing with his eyebrows towards Mac’s backpack.

Mac shifts it, noticeably lighter than when he arrived. “Yeah, I guess. Why?”

“C’mon,” Dennis says, grabbing Mac’s hand with more force than he probably should. His palm burns where they touch. “Let’s have some fun.”

“I was having fun,” Mac protests but doesn’t resist. He lets himself be pulled along, surprised maybe, but curious. He doesn’t ask where they’re going, just follows.

Dennis leads them to the third floor where his room is located, Mac complaining about the amount of steps. There are some couples making out in the hallway, but thankfully no one is at his door. He grabs his key and pushes Mac inside, the music muffled by the closed door and the distance. After locking the door, he fists a hand in Mac’s shirt and kisses him.

Mac drops his backpack on the floor and puts his arms around Dennis. His hands travel all over Dennis’ body, anchoring them on his ass. He squeezes it and Dennis moans into his mouth, body rolling making their crotches press against each other.

“Babe,” Dennis says when they separate to breath, “you got any Poppers?”

“I’m a gay man and drug dealer, of course I’ve got Poppers. Why?” Mac scoffs, rolling his eyes. Then he meets Dennis’ eyes, face lighting up in understanding. “Ooooh. Are you sure, though?”

“Hell yeah, I’m sure,” Dennis replies, walking towards his bed. He takes his shoes off, lying down with his back on the headboard while Mac searches for the drug in his backpack. Mac places it on the bedside table and takes his shoes off and his shirt.

He straddles Dennis, who immediately touches Mac’s torso. Mac dives in for another kiss, one hand cupping Dennis’ neck and they both moan when their tongues meet, hot against each other, swallowing each other’s whines. Dennis’ hands travel to Mac’s jeans, trying to open his buttons.

“Off,” Dennis urges, undoing Mac’s jeans.

“You too,” Mac says, his voice hoarse and broken. Dennis meets his eyes, and they are hooded, full of lust. Dennis needs him in every way possible.

“Should I turn off the light—” Dennis turns, but Mac grabs his hand, locking their fingers together.

“No,” Mac shakes his head. “I want to see you.”

Dennis’ face is already flushed, but he can feel his cheeks getting hotter of embarrassment.

“Baby, please,” Mac lifts Dennis’ shirt that is not holding his hand, and dips down to kiss where skin appears.

“Fuck, okay,” Dennis says, letting go of Mac’s hand and taking off his shirt. “I need—” He searches blindly for the small tube, uncapping it and inhaling, his head foggy for a few seconds, feeling himself relaxing afterwards.

In the meantime, Mac gets rid of his pants, throwing them on the floor beside the rest of his clothes. He grimaces as he looks down at his underwear, already messy and wet.

“Take them off altogether,” Dennis orders, tone sharp with command, looking at Mac’s crotch. He has his hips in the air, taking all the rest of his clothing. Dennis feels super self-conscious, but the drugs are helping him to stuff down the feeling, the fogginess in his brain making lust dominate his senses.

“You’re so beautiful,” Mac says once he disposes his underwear and arranges himself on top of Dennis once again. His hands travel all over Dennis’ body, who squirms at the touch. His cock is hard against his stomach, and every touch makes it pulse.

Dennis observes while Mac also takes a sniff of the bottle, his eyes raking up Mac’s body, biting his lips at the sight. Until he spots a smudge on Mac’s tight, and tries to wipe it off, but it doesn’t move.

“What is—is that a tattoo?” Dennis asks, eyebrow raised, voice heavy with mockery.

“Yeah,” Mac turns to show proudly his shamrock tattoo. “Do you like it?”

“You’re lucky I like you already, ‘cause this is totally a turn off.” Dennis says, squinting at it. His gaze lingers for a moment before drifting upward—his mouth falling slightly open as Mac’s dick catches his eye.

“Aw, you like me?” Mac asks, suddenly soft. Dennis meets his eyes and there’s a soft smile on his face, biting his lip shyly.

“No. I mean, maybe. Yes. I will like you more if you kiss me. Now.”

Mac lunges forward, and their mouths crash together like they’ve been holding back for years and not just a few minutes. The kiss is messy, all teeth and tongue, Mac presses him into the bed like he wants to fuse their bodies together. It’s fast, chaotic, the sensations multiplied by the drug—Mac’s hands sliding over Dennis’ pecs, palms hot against bare skin, while Dennis claws at his hips, pulling him impossibly closer.

When Mac drags his mouth down to Dennis’ jaw, his neck, Dennis lets out a shaky, involuntary sound and grabs Mac’s hair.

“Fuck, I need you,” Dennis mutters, breathless.

“Me too, Den, so bad,” Mac sucks a hickey on Dennis’ collarbone, before sitting on his heels, jerking himself off to alleviate some of the pressure while Dennis searches for the lube and condom on his bedside drawer. When he finds it, he adjusts himself, putting a pillow under his hips while he throws the material at Mac.

Mac grimaces. “Ew, not into the whole condom thing,” he says, looking with disgust at the package.

“Show me clean exams and then we’ll talk,” Dennis retorts, and Mac rolls his eyes but obeys anyways. He puts it on and moves to coat his fingers with lube, also dropping some into Dennis’ clenching asshole.

The first finger slides easily, and Dennis moans at the sensation. Mac is mesmerized by the sight of his finger inside Dennis, mouth hanging open with desire. It’s automatic when he goes down with his tongue, sliding it along his middle finger.

“Oh, God,” Dennis moans, his thighs shaking. He wasn’t expecting Mac to eat him out like that, but he is not against it—he fists the blanket in his hands, grounding himself. Mac puts a second finger in, still licking Dennis’ entrance. Dennis feels on fire; Mac’s tongue is lava.

Mac pulls out to breath, his fingers still scissoring Dennis open.

“I could bust by just looking at you, dude,” Mac breathes out, and moves to touch Dennis’ cock, who lets out an embarrassing loud moan.

“Don’t — call me — dude,” Dennis grits behind his teeth, his eyes closed to ground himself when Mac finds the bundle of nerves inside him.

“I feel like I could call you anything right now, man,” Mac says with a low voice, suddenly on his ear, then biting his earlobe. Dennis turns, opening his eyes and chasing Mac’s mouth, who gladly finds him. 

“Inside. Now,” Dennis doesn’t beg, but voice tone is like a plead.

“Sure,” Mac says strangely calm, even though Dennis knows he’s anything but.

Dennis watches Mac’s face while the other watches his cock enter Dennis, one hand holding the base of his cock while the other caresses Dennis’ face. He can’t take his eyes off him, and his tongue finds Mac’s thumb and licks at it lightly to ignore the pressure, Mac’s eyes fluttering close, bottoming out.

“You good?” Mac asks, and Dennis clenches around him to prove a point.

“Move, bitch,” Dennis half laughs, teasing, and Mac takes it as a challenge when he looks at his face, slow at first but quickly improving his movements. Dennis hooks his legs around Mac’s back, the heel of his feet pressing on his butt, making him go deeper.

Mac moves to have another sniff, then passes it to Dennis. With the renewed sensations, their moans increase, the rhythm getting harder and more animalistic, Dennis’ hands finding their way to Mac’s hair and tugging it, bringing him down to a kiss that is not even a kiss, just panting against each other’s mouths.

“Den, I’m gonna cum,” Mac moans, his rhythm faltering.

“Do it, baby,” Dennis whispers, reassuring Mac as he moves one hand to wrap around his own dick. “You’re so good, baby, so good.”

Mac whines and comes, his whole body trembling with pleasure. He still thrusting into Dennis, who’s meeting him halfway. Mac also wraps a hand around Dennis’ dick, jerking him together while kissing his neck, and Dennis comes between them, white spurts making their chests and hands dirty.

After catching his breath, Mac pulls out, throwing the condom away and lies beside Dennis, grinning like an idiot.

“That was…” Mac starts, breath still uneven.

“Shut up,” Dennis says, rolling onto his side to look at him with a groan. “If you say ‘awesome’ right now, I will actually throw you out the window.”

Mac laughs, loud and genuine, and it makes Dennis’ stomach flip in a way he doesn’t want to think about. Dennis gets some wet wipes from his bedside table and passes to Mac, and they clean in silence. Mac doesn’t bother putting on his clothes. He just slides under the blanket like he belongs there, and Dennis doesn’t stop him, even though he feels like he should say something.

He never lets hookups stay the night. He definitely doesn’t let them get warm and comfortable under his comforter like this. Doesn’t let them touch him after. It doesn’t matter how much he wants it, they never stay to cuddle.

“Fine, I won’t say it.” Mac nudges Dennis with his foot under the blanket, getting him out of his thoughts. “It was badass, though.”

They both laugh—loud and breathless and messy—and for a second, Dennis forgets to keep the wall up. He turns to look at Mac, and Mac’s already looking at him, something softer under the smile now.

Dennis breaks eye contact first. “You’re staying, I guess?”

Mac shrugs like it’s obvious. “Unless you kick me out.”

Dennis doesn’t respond right away. He just shifts closer, settling into the curve of Mac’s body, letting Mac’s arm come around him naturally.

Then Mac mumbles, “Hey. I had fun tonight.”

Dennis doesn’t answer, but his lips tug into a small smile as he closes his eyes.

~

Dennis is weird about sex, and he knows this. It feels too much like a transaction, like something he just needs to do because everyone is doing, every though he has a nice time most of the time. But it doesn’t bring people together—in his experience, it just drives them apart. Separate entirely.

Maybe it is trauma. He stuffs it down.

The next morning, he wakes up stiff and tangled in limbs that aren’t his. Mac is still asleep, sprawled half on top of him, breathing steadily against his shoulder. They’re both curled on Dennis’ narrow twin bed, twisted in his comforter.

Dennis eases out from under Mac’s arm, careful not to wake him, and pads across the hall to the bathroom. There are bodies on the floor, passed out from last night’s drinking. His head is pounding, the taste of beer and Mac clinging to his tongue. He showers quickly, brushes his teeth, drinks straight from the faucet before filling a plastic cup with water.

When he steps back into the room, Mac is already awake, kneeling by his bag, rifling through it naked. Dennis’ heart constricts in his chest—is this where Mac acts like he does with hook ups and just leave?

Mac turns to him, holding up a travel toothbrush with a triumphant smile. “I came prepared,” he says, chipper, totally unaware of Dennis’ turmoil.

Dennis breathes out and offers him the cup of water, who takes a sip gratefully. “Don’t walk through the hall naked,” he mutters, eyeing the chaos outside. “People are sleeping out there.”  

“I don’t care. Half this school has seen me naked already,” Mac shrugs. Dennis narrows his eyes. “But you care, so I won’t.” He fishes for his boxers and pulls them on after he stands, then leans in and presses a quick kiss to Dennis’ cheek before stepping into the hall.

What the hell.

Dennis sits there, frozen for a beat, his mind racing. He rubs his cheek absently, annoyed at the way his pulse quickens. He changes and separates a clean shirt and underwear for Mac, in a weird way to invite him to stay.

The door creaks, and Mac’s voice cuts through Dennis’ thoughts. “What do you wanna do today?” He’s back, locking the door behind him with a click. Dennis flinches, startled. He is not leaving.

“My head is killing me,” Dennis mutters, rubbing his temples for effect. “Wanna lay down all day and make out?”

Mac’s eyes light up, a grin spreading across his face. “Sounds like a plan, dude.” He steps closer, already peeling off his old boxers to slip into the clothes Dennis set out. He pulls on the T-shirt, which is slightly too tight across his shoulders, and Dennis can’t help but notice the way it clings.

Mac moves in, cradling Dennis’ face with both hands, his thumbs brushing along Dennis’ jaw. The kiss that follows is deep, unhurried, and a little messy—Mac’s enthusiasm colliding with Dennis’ calculated precision. Dennis melts into it despite himself, his hands finding Mac’s waist, fingers digging in just enough to assert control. They move to the bed without breaking contact, Dennis settling on Mac’s lap.

When they pull apart, Dennis is breathing hard, his pupils blown wide. “I really wanna mark you,” he says, voice low and earnest. “Is that okay?”

Mac blinks, caught off guard by the request. Then, he smiles and tilts his neck to give him free access. “Totally badass, dude.”

Dennis picks a spot just below Mac’s jaw, where the skin’s soft and vulnerable, and sets to work, licking and biting and sucking until it is red. He moves and marks more places around his neck, drawing sounds out of Mac that make him shiver. When Dennis finally pulls away, the marks are vivid, dark blooms against Mac’s skin. He feels weirdly proud.

“I bet it looks good, man. Real territorial.” Mac waggles his eyebrows, and Dennis rolls his eyes, shoving him lightly.

“My turn,” Mac says as he leans in, lips brushing Dennis’ throat before he grazes his teeth against the sensitive skin. The sensation sends a jolt through Dennis, and he grips Mac’s shoulders to steady himself. Mac’s careful but deliberate, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark that’ll linger for days. Dennis bites back a sound, his pride warring with the heat pooling in his gut.

“You’re such a Neanderthal,” Dennis snaps, but there’s no real venom in it. He touches the mark absently, feeling the slight sting. He removes himself from Mac’s lap and flops onto the bed, patting the space beside him. “C’mere. We said all day, right? Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Mac quickly joins and leans in, brushing his lips against Dennis’ in a kiss that’s soft, almost tentative. Dennis tilts his head, letting the kiss linger, slow and unhurried. Mac’s hand finds Dennis’ jaw, guiding him closer without any real force. Dennis hums into it, a sound of contentment.

Their lips move together lazily, no rush, just the soft slide of mouths and the occasional catch of teeth. Mac’s breath is warm, tasting faintly of Dennis’ mint toothpaste, and Dennis finds himself chasing it, his hand resting on Mac’s chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat. Mac’s other hand drifts to Dennis’ hair, threading through it gently, not pulling, just holding. It’s intimate in a way that makes Dennis’ skin prickle, but he doesn’t shove Mac off.

They break apart for a moment, foreheads resting together, and when Mac leans back in, he kisses Dennis with a little more purpose this time, though still slow. Their bodies shift closer, legs tangling further, Mac’s weight a grounding pressure as he half-rolls on top of Dennis. The kiss deepens slightly, tongues brushing, but it’s still not desperate.

Mac makes a small sound, a contented hum, and Dennis feels it vibrate through him, sparking something warm in his chest he won’t name. The kisses stay soft, exploratory, like they’re both savoring the moment rather than chasing an endgame. Mac’s lips are warm, a little chapped, and Dennis finds himself biting gently at the lower one, just to feel Mac’s breath hitch.

They pull back again, and Mac’s looking at him like he’s the only thing in the room that matters. It’s unsettling, but Dennis doesn’t hate it. “What?” he mutters, arching a brow. Mac just shakes his head, smiling, and leans in for another kiss, this one barely a graze, like he’s memorizing the shape of Dennis’ mouth.

The laziness starts to shift, a slow heat creeping in as Mac presses himself closer, his kisses growing just a fraction hungrier. Dennis matches him, but there’s a calculated edge to his movements, like he’s testing how far Mac will go before he breaks. Mac’s hands begin to roam, fingers trailing down Dennis’ back, digging into the thin fabric of his shirt. Dennis keeps one hand fisted in Mac’s hair, tugging just enough to keep him in place, the other resting on Mac’s hip.

Mac’s making these little sounds now—half-whines, half-moans—that are starting to get under Dennis’ skin, chipping away at his carefully maintained cool. They break for air, and Mac’s eyes are wild, pupils blown, his lips red and swollen. Dennis smirks, enjoying the wreckage he’s made of him. “You’re a mess, dude,” he says, voice low and taunting, but there’s a heat in his gaze that betrays him.

“Shut up,” Mac gasps, diving back in, kissing Dennis like it’s a mission. His hands are everywhere now, frantic, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of Dennis’ mouth and body. Dennis lets him, leaning into the intensity, his own pulse hammering despite his best efforts to play it off. Mac’s desperation is intoxicating, and Dennis thrives on it.

The kiss deepens, Mac pressing himself closer, their bodies flush. Dennis can feel the tension in Mac’s frame, the way he’s trembling just slightly, like he’s teetering on an edge. Mac pulls back just enough to speak, his lips still brushing Dennis’. “Den, I am incredibly close,” he pants, his breath hitching, voice raw with need. “Can I cum, please?”

Dennis freezes for a split second, caught off guard. Annoyance flickers through him, but it doesn’t last. It’s hot, the way Mac’s completely unraveled, destroyed by nothing more than Dennis’ mouth. The power trip is almost too much. He shrugs, playing it cool, though his voice comes out rougher than he intends. “Sure, as long as I don’t have to do anything.”

“Just keep kissing me,” Mac whines, his voice breaking as he yanks Dennis’ face back to his. Their mouths collide again, the kiss wet and urgent, Mac’s desperation pouring into every movement. His hands fumble south, slipping inside his boxers— Dennis’ boxers, a detail that makes Dennis’ ego flare with possessive pride. Mac’s touching himself now, his movements quick and needy, but Dennis keeps his focus on the kiss, biting at Mac’s lower lip just to hear him gasp.

“God, you’re pathetic,” Dennis teases, but there’s no real venom in it. He’s too caught up in the way Mac’s lips part, the soft, broken sounds spilling out between kisses. Dennis tilts his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against Mac’s with deliberate slowness, savoring the way Mac shudders above him. He pulls back just enough to graze his teeth along Mac’s jaw, then down to the exposed column of his throat.

“Den—fuck,” Mac gasps, his voice cracking as Dennis’ lips latch onto the sensitive skin just below his ear. Dennis sucks hard, deliberate, relishing the way Mac’s body arches into him, the way his breath stutters. The mark blooms almost instantly, a dark, possessive bruise that Dennis admires for a split second before moving to a new spot, lower, where Mac’s pulse hammers under his lips, now mixing with the older ones from before.

“Don’t stop,” Mac pleads, his hand moving faster now, the rhythm uneven as he teeters on the edge. His free hand clutches at Dennis’ back, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt like he’s afraid Dennis might pull away.

Dennis huffs a laugh against Mac’s neck, the vibration making Mac squirm. “I’m not stopping,” he says, voice low and rough. He kisses his way back up to Mac’s mouth, claiming it with fierce intensity. His hands slide up to cradle Mac’s face, holding him exactly where he wants him, keeping their lips locked as Mac’s movements grow more desperate.

Mac’s whimpering now, the sound swallowed by Dennis’ unrelenting kisses. His body tenses, a sharp intake of breath signaling he’s right there, and Dennis can’t help but smirk into the kiss, knowing he’s the one who’s got Mac like this—wrecked, marked, and begging—without even lifting a finger.

“Den—” Mac manages, the word barely audible before it’s cut off by a choked moan. His body goes taut, then slack, as he finally tips over the edge. Trembling above Dennis, Mac rides out the sensation as Dennis keeps kissing him, slow and deep, drawing out every shudder until Mac collapses.

When Dennis finally pulls back, Mac’s flushed and dazed, his lips swollen and his neck littered with dark, telltale marks. Dennis leans back on his elbows, smirking at him. “Look at you,” he says, voice smug but tinged with something softer, almost fond. “Completely ruined, and I barely did anything.”

Mac lets out a breathless laugh, still catching his breath. “Fuck off, dude,” he mumbles, but there’s a grin tugging at his lips as he reaches for Dennis again, already craving more.

It’s a hot spring day, where the air feels heavy and the sun beats down relentlessly. Dennis and Mac are sprawled out on a blanket in the park, eating ice cream—Mac has a chocolate cone that’s already dripping down his hand, while Dennis is meticulously working his way through a vanilla scoop, trying to keep it from melting. He’s been quiet for a while, lost in thought, and Mac notices.

“You good, dude?” Mac asks, licking a drip of chocolate off his wrist.

“Yeah,” Dennis says, sitting up a little straighter. “I have a question.”

“Shoot,” Mac says, turning to him with a grin.

Dennis hesitates, then asks, “Your motorcycle. Did you buy it with drug money? It’s kinda fancy.”

He doesn’t ask the hidden question. Did Frank give it to you?

Mac snorts, amused but not defensive. “Nah, dude. It was my cousin’s,” he wipes his sticky hand on the grass, his tone shifting a little. Softer now. “He was my best friend. Taught me a lot of shit— how to accept myself and all that crap. I used to be a real mess back then,” he sighs. “Super closeted, angry, kind of a self-hating freak. My mom sent me to live with them after high school, like, out in the middle of nowhere. He was Country Mac, I was City Mac.”

Dennis listens, his vanilla cone forgotten in his hand.

Mac picks at a blade of grass, his voice softening. “Then, one day, he died all of the sudden. At his funeral, his mom gave me the bike. Said he’d want me to have it.”

Dennis feels a lump form in his throat. He’s not used to this kind of raw honesty from the people around him, and it catches him off guard. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mac,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

Mac shrugs, but there’s a sadness in his eyes that Dennis hasn’t seen before. “It’s fine,” he says, forcing a smile. “It was a long time ago.”

Dennis doesn’t know what to say, so he does the only thing he can think of—he leans in and kisses Mac softly.

When they pull apart, Mac’s smile is genuine again. “Now, I have a question,” he says, his tone lighter.

Dennis feels a flicker of panic. Since they’ve opened the sentimental box, he’s afraid Mac will ask him something too personal—something about his eating habits, his mood swings, his daddy issues… the list is long. A lot of things are wrong with Dennis.

“Shoot,” Dennis says, trying to sound casual.

“Are we dating?” Mac asks, his voice steady but his eyes searching.

Dennis chokes on a piece of cone, coughing into his hand as he tries to recover. “You never asked,” he says after a beat, his voice slightly hoarse. “But I’m not seeing anyone else.”

“Nice,” Mac says, his grin widening. “I’m not either.”

“Nice,” Dennis echoes, throwing a small smile back at him. He feels his cheeks heat up, and he looks away, pretending to focus on his ice cream. But he can’t help the warmth that spreads through his chest, the way his heart feels lighter than it has in years.

Dennis is at Paddy’s when Frank receives the call.

He’s slouched in his usual booth, a textbook open in front of him, though he hasn’t actually been reading for the past hour. He’s been half-listening to Mac explain why he’s pretty sure dogs understand English but are just choosing not to speak out of politeness. Charlie, across the booth, insists that if dogs could talk, they’d immediately snitch on everyone, especially about crimes. Mac contra-argues, saying that his dog Poppins is so smart he could even understand his mother's grunts. Dennis pretends to tune them out, but he’s secretly cataloging every word, every twitch of Mac’s hands as he talks. He finds it comforting, endearing in a way he doesn’t dare admit.

Then Frank bursts out of the back office, his face pale and his movements frantic. “Dennis,” he barks, his voice sharp enough to make Dennis jump. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Dennis straightens immediately, startled. Frank rarely speaks to him like that—hell, Frank barely acknowledges him when they’re both in the bar.

“What? Why? What happened?” Dennis asks, already rising, startled enough to untangle himself from the warm press of Mac’s leg against his, who makes a noise of protest.

“It’s your sister,” Frank says, rifling under the bar. His voice is tight, flat with urgency. “She went nuts. Lit her roommate on fire.”

“What?!”

Dennis’ world stops.

Yeah, it’s true that he’s been neglecting their TTT (Trash Twins Time) lately, choosing to spend his days with Mac and chasing after scraps of attention from Frank at the bar, but he never thought Dee would do something like this.

He vaguely registers Mac standing too, alert and ready, and then Frank adds, “She’s locked up. Cops called me.”

Mac has also stopped selling her black-market prescription meds. After he charged her double and she actually paid for it, he told her his stock was running low and he might have to stop selling it altogether, thanks to Frank’s wishes. Dennis had thought it was for the best—Dee needed to get real help, not rely on Mac’s shady deals. But now, standing here, he wonders if he made a mistake.

His breathing hitches, his chest tightening as the reality of the situation sinks in. The guilt hits him like a wave, sudden and suffocating. His vision blurs, the edges of the room closing in as his heart pounds in his ears. He feels like he’s drowning, like the walls are pressing in on him, and he can’t—

Suddenly, Mac’s hands are on his, warm and grounding. “I’m coming too,” Mac says, his voice firm, daring Frank to argue.

Frank just shrugs. “Whatever.”

Dennis feels himself being dragged out of the bar, but he can’t tell where they’re going. His mind is a whirlwind of panic and guilt, and before he knows it, they’re at the police station. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, and the air smells like stale coffee as they enter a small room.

Dee is sitting in a chair, her hands cuffed in front of her, her face pale but defiant. Their mother is there too, arms folded, mouth set in that familiar, bitter line.

“Seriously, Dennis,” Dee sneers the second she sees him, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “even here you’re dragging your white trash boyfriend around?”

“Hey!” Mac snaps, stepping forward like he’s ready to defend Dennis, or maybe himself, but Dennis doesn’t give him the chance.

In a flash, Dennis is on Dee, tackling her to the ground. “What the hell?!” she shouts, struggling beneath him as he pins her down.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Deandra?!” Dennis screams, his voice cracking. “Or I guess you don’t think!”

“Get off me, you useless cocksucker!” Dee shouts back, her voice just as loud.

“I can’t believe you’re going to leave me alone!” Dennis yells, tears streaming down his face. It’s not what he meant to say—the words fall out like they’ve been waiting too long to escape.

“You left me first!” Dee screams, and that stops Dennis cold.

He freezes, staring down at her. She’s not crying, but her eyes are filled with hurt, and Dennis can see it—the loneliness, the fear, the desperation. It’s all there, raw and unguarded, and it hits him like a punch on the gut.

“C’mon, Den,” Mac says softly, touching his arm. “Let’s go.”

Dennis pulls away. “Don’t touch me,” he snaps, voice low and brittle.

Mac recoils. “Dennis—”

“You should go.” He doesn’t look at Mac, doesn’t want to see the hurt in his eyes.

“What?” Mac sounds wounded, but Dennis can’t bring himself to care. His eyes stay on Dee, who’s slowly sitting up, brushing her hair back, her lips twisting into a cruel smile.

“C’mon, Mac,” Frank says, stepping in. “I’ll call you a car.”

“Well,” Barbara’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife, “that was quite a scene. Never expected you to do something like that, Dennis.”

“Sorry, Mother,” Dennis mutters, his voice small. But he’s barely hearing her, his mind too caught up in the storm of emotions raging inside him. He and Dee are still staring at each other, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy between them.

“Dee, of course you would embarrass me like that,” Barbara says, her tone cold and dismissive. “I’m not visiting you, wherever you end up.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to,” Dee says, her voice breaking.

“Don’t you talk to your mother like that,” Barbara snaps, her icy stare enough to make anyone shrink.

Frank steps in again, his voice firm. “Barbara, take Dennis home. I’ll deal with Dee and the lawyer.”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Barbara says, her voice sickly sweet as she takes Dennis’ arm. But her grip is tight, her nails digging into his skin, and Dennis knows it’s all for appearances.

He doesn’t resist as she leads him out of the station, his mind numb. He doesn’t remember the ride home, doesn’t remember walking through the front door of his childhood house. All he knows is that he’s suddenly in his old bedroom, the walls still covered in faded posters and the shelves lined with trophies he doesn’t remember winning.

He collapses onto the bed and curls around the blue elephant that’s been there since he was six. More tears come then, hot and uncontrollable, as the reality of everything crashes down on him. Dee won’t be in the room down the hall. She won’t be there to bicker with him, to roll her eyes at his dramatics, to remind him that he’s not alone.

For the first time in a long time, Dennis feels lost.

He takes a few days to go back to college.

When he finally returns, the atmosphere is different. Dee’s absence is like a gaping wound, and Dennis can feel it everywhere—in the empty seat next to him in class, in the whispers that follow him down the hall, in the way people look at him like he’s some kind of ticking time bomb.

“Dumb bitch,” Dennis mutters under his breath as he walks to his next class. Dee didn’t even think about the repercussions her actions would have on him. She never does.

On top of everything, he also can’t stop thinking about Mac, who left a string of voice messages in the first two days, then went silent. Dennis never listens to them. Just seeing the notifications makes his stomach turn.  He is too scared of the mess he made, ruining possibly one of the best things that happened to him. 

The last straw comes when he’s kicked out of his frat house.

“Sorry, bro,” Tim says, not sounding sorry at all. “But, like, what if you lit us on fire? We can’t risk it.”

Dennis stares at him, his jaw tight. “Are you serious?”

“Look, man, it’s nothing personal,” Tim says, shrugging. “It’s just—you know.”

Dennis doesn’t argue. He could destroy Tim with one well-aimed insult and a stare, but he doesn’t have the energy. He just packs his things quietly and methodically. His hands tremble the whole time.

By the time he shoves the last box into the back of his car, the adrenaline is gone. His muscles ache. His pride aches worse. He sits in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel. He doesn’t want to go to his parents’ house. The thought of facing Barbara or Frank more than he must makes his stomach churn.

Without really thinking about it, he ends up at Paddy’s.

~

Charlie and Mac are in the middle of running around laughing when Dennis walks in. Charlie is chasing Mac with a dirty rag, and they both freeze when they see Dennis standing in the doorway.

Charlie’s the first to break the silence. “Look who it is,” he says with a wicked grin. “The asshole of the hour.” He lobs the rag across the room. It smacks Dennis in the shoulder with a damp splat.

“Ew! You asshole! What the fuck, Charlie?” Dennis snaps, recoiling.

“Nice!” Mac says, high-fiving Charlie.

“I should spit on you!” Charlie yells, puffing out his cheeks like he's already gathering ammo.

“Charlie!” Mac reprimands him.

Dennis scowls, brushing the grossness off his shirt. “Is Frank here?”

“No,” Mac says, not really looking at him. “He’s with—”

“Can we talk?” Dennis cuts in. He knows what Mac was going to say. He’s with Dee. Of course he is.

Mac and Charlie share a look, their chins raised as they stare at each other in some kind of silent standoff. Then, Dennis assumes that Mac wins, because Charlie shrugs.

“Fine,” Charlie says, heading for the back door. “I’ll be back in fifteen. Better not have blood or any other fluids on my floor.”

Mac looks at the floor, while Dennis looks at him, the tension palpable as they are left alone.

Dennis shifts his weight awkwardly. “Hey—”

“You were kind of an asshole, you know that, right?” Mac cuts him off, arms crossed.

Ouch. So, straight to where it hurts. While Dennis appreciates Mac’s straightforwardness, it stings more than he’d like to admit.

“Yeah. I know.” He looks away, staring at the sticky floor tiles. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? But my sister literally went to prison—”

“She’s not in prison,” Mac interrupts. “She’s in a facility. Frank played the ‘insanity’ card. Got her institutionalized.”

Dennis blinks. “She’s—what?”

“Yeah,” Mac says. “She’s getting treatment. Maybe.”

Dennis scoffs bitterly. “So now I get my family updates from you.”

Mac doesn't rise to the bait. He just looks tired. “I just wanted to help.”

“I know,” Dennis says, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just—it was too much, okay? I’m not really used to having support during hard times.” He lets out a sad laugh. “And Dee’s the one who’s supposed to help, but she was the one creating a crisis in the first place, and I—” Dennis feels out of breath, his chest tightening as the words spill out.

“Hey,” Mac says, taking Dennis’ hand. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I’m not, actually,” Dennis says, his voice breaking. “That bitch has no idea what she’s done to me. Can you believe they expelled me from my house? Now I have nowhere to go, and I have to cry to Frank to pay for a place to stay like a loser.” He exhales deeply, his shoulders slumping.

Mac closes the distance between them and pulls Dennis into a hug. Dennis stiffens at first, but then he melts into it, his face buried in Mac’s shoulder as the tears come. Mac’s hand rubs comforting circles on his back, and for the first time in days, Dennis feels like he can breathe.

“I’m looking for a roommate,” Mac says, keeping his voice casual. “Charlie conned Frank into getting him his own place, so there’s an opening.”

 “Of course, Charlie gets the golden ticket,” Dennis snorts.

“He moves out next week,” Mac ignores the jab towards his best friend. “Until then, you can crash in my room. I’ll take the couch.”

Dennis wipes at his face again. “You’d really do that?”

Mac grins. “I’ve slept in worse places. One time I passed out in a drainage pipe.”

Dennis chuckles despite himself, the sound broken but real.

A pause.

“Mac,” he says, quieter now. “Are we—are we alright?”

Mac smiles down at him, his eyes warm and reassuring. “We’re alright,” he says softly.

Dennis doesn’t feel alright, but he exhales like it’s the first real breath he’s taken in days. He doesn’t say thank you. He doesn’t have to. Mac already heard it.

~

As Dennis approaches his car, he hesitates. His hand hovers over the door handle, but he doesn’t open it. Instead, he pulls out his phone, scrolls past a dozen names he has no real use for, and finally taps the one he’s looking for.

Frank answers on the fifth ring, just when Dennis is about to hang up.

“What?”

Dennis exhales, already regretting this. “Frank. I need you to pay my rent.”

A pause on the line. Dennis can hear shuffling, something crinkling—probably a food wrapper.

“Why?”

“Because your daughter had a mental breakdown, making me get kicked out of my frat house,” Dennis says flatly.

Another beat of silence.

“Fine,” Frank says. “But you gotta work at Paddy’s.”

“What? Are you serious?” Dennis snaps. “That place smells like trash.”

“You already spend half your time there being gay with Mac. What’s the difference?”

Dennis blinks at the phone. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Frank doesn’t miss a beat. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you being all emotional and shit?”

“Why are you paying for a solo apartment for Charlie?” Dennis asks, voice rising, frustration bleeding through.

“You won’t like the answer.”

“Try me.”

Frank munches on something. “He will let me use it for hookers.”

Dennis closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ.”

“What? It’s practical.”

“You like him more than me,” Dennis lets out. His mouth snaps shut in shock.

“That’s not—no, that’s not what this is.” Frank pauses. “Look, you’re high-maintenance.” Ouch. “Charlie’s like a couch with arms. He doesn’t ask questions, he doesn’t cry, and he shares with me all the cheese in his fridge.”

Dennis lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Right. Makes sense. Give the sex apartment to the guy with rats in his brains.”

“You done being dramatic?” Crunch.

Dennis stares out over the street. “No. Not really. I had a shitty week.”

“Well, me too, Dennis,” munch. “The rent’s handled, so shut up and show up to work tomorrow.”

“How—”

The line goes dead.

Dennis slides his phone back into his pocket, jaw tight. He kicks the car’s tire, immediately regretting it when pain shoots up his foot. Then he leans against the car and closes his eyes.

“Hey man,” Mac’s voice echoes, appearing out of nowhere, approaching the car. “Frank texted me. He will talk to Charlie so they ‘play camping’ on the roof of Paddy’s for this week. Are you ready to move in?”

Dennis opens one eye, squinting at him. “You always just materialize like that?”

Mac shrugs, his grin easy. “For you? Yeah.”

Dennis huffs a soft laugh, almost surprised by how much it settles something in his chest. He straightens up, brushing imaginary dust off his jeans.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, glancing at Mac. “I’m ready.” To move in. To move on. To love Mac.

He kisses Mac without thinking—and the second Mac kisses him back, something in him exhales. Yeah. They’re going to be alright.

Two weeks later, Dennis visits Dee.

The facility is nicer than he expected—quiet, with well-kept gardens, yoga classes, and a strict no-cellphone policy. It feels more like a retreat than a treatment center.

Dee doesn’t look happy, but she doesn’t look miserable either. Just blank. Which is somehow more unsettling.

“Hey, bird,” Dennis says when she walks up to the bench he’s waiting on.

“Hello, dick,” Dee replies, and he slides over to make space for her. He hands her a coffee, just the way she likes it.

There’s silence, but it’s not totally uncomfortable. Just the two of them sitting side by side, figuring out how to be around each other again.

“Sorry I beat you up at the police station,” Dennis mutters.

Dee takes a sip of coffee, long and slow. “It’s alright,” she says finally. “It was the last time I felt something.”

The silence this time feels heavier.

“Why did you do it, Dee?” Dennis asks finally, breaking the silence.

Dee sighs, leaning back on the bench. “I don’t know, man,” she says, her voice tired. “I guess it was a cry for attention. She was driving me crazy, but… everything else was driving me crazy too.” She takes another sip of coffee, her hands steady but her eyes distant. “It wasn’t even that bad, you know? Mostly her clothes.”

“You said before she was wearing your clothes,” Dennis points out.

“Who’s counting? My clothes, her clothes. Who cares.” Dee shrugs, but there’s a crack in her voice. “You left me alone.”

Her voice doesn’t rise, but Dennis hears the accusation. It cuts anyway.

“I didn’t—”

“You did,” she says, no heat in it, just resignation. “You stopped coming around. No more Sundays, no more wine and trash talk. I felt like I got fired from the only job I was ever good at—being your sister.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Dennis looks down at his hands, guilt twisting in his chest. “I guess things just happen,” he says, eventually. Lame.

“Yeah, well,” Dee shrugs again, her tone resigned. “You’re right. They just happen.”

Dennis knocks his shoulder against hers, trying to lighten the mood. “I got kicked out of my frat, you know. They were afraid I was going to light them on fire.”

“Deserved,” Dee says, knocking him back. “Where are you living now?”

“Guess,” Dennis wiggles his eyebrows, knowing exactly how she’ll react.

“Ew, gross. Whatever.” Dee rolls her eyes, but there’s a flicker of amusement in her expression.

“You should be happy for me,” Dennis says, nudging her again.

“I am,” Dee says, her voice quieter now. “I’m unhappy for myself.”

Dennis hesitates, then decides to change the subject. “Do you want some gossip? Frank’s spending all our inheritance money on a dive bar filled with rats.”

Dee’s head snaps up, her eyes narrowing. “What? How do you know that?”

“Mac works there,” Dennis says, shrugging. “Me too, now, apparently.”

“So you knew for a long time,” Dee says, her voice sharp with anger. Dennis just shrugs again, and Dee glares at him. “Maybe I’ll light you on fire next.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Dennis says, smirking, but there’s no real bite to it.

They both finish their coffees in quiet. Dee crushes her cup and tosses it to the side.

“Guess we’re not each other’s person anymore,” she says, voice casual, but her jaw tightens at the edges.

Dennis finishes his too. Tosses the cup next to hers. “Guess not.”

A pause.

“But,” he says, tilting his head, “you still want me to come by on Sundays?”

She doesn’t look at him. “Only if you bring a drink. And gossip. Good gossip.”

Dennis nods. “Deal.”

They sit in silence again, but it feels lighter now, like some part of the wall between them has cracked just enough to breathe through.

“Dee, it’s time for your group session,” a woman calls gently from the path.

Dee groans, dragging herself to her feet. “Duty calls,” she mutters, all sarcasm and eye roll.

Dennis stands too, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I should probably head out anyway.”

Dee nods, then glances at him. Her smirk returns. “Thanks for the coffee. And the gossip.”

“Anytime,” Dennis replies, quieter than he means to be.

She hesitates for a second, then steps forward and pulls him into a quick, awkward hug. It’s over before he can really return it.

“Take care of yourself, bird,” Dennis says, his voice a little rough.

“You too, dick,” Dee says, smirk widening as she turns and walks away. “Tell Mac I said hi.” she finishes without turning back.

A few months later, when Dennis graduates, Mac claps the loudest. Charlie holds up a sign that says “DANISH!” because he got confused halfway through making it, but decided to take it anyway for support. Even Frank shows up, in a “Class of Who Gives a Shit” shirt and gets escorted out by campus security for throwing rice. Dee doesn’t go, since she is legally not allowed within 500 feet of the campus after the “incident.”

Mac stops selling drugs to Dennis’ (ex) frat brothers, until he stops appearing on campus altogether.

When Dee gets released from the clinic six months later, she starts waitressing at Paddy’s. It’s not a glamorous comeback, but given her criminal record and sassy mouth, it’s really the only option.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, Frank and Barbara finally get divorced for real. They’d still been married this whole time—just “emotionally divorced,” as Barbara put it in her deposition.

Dennis bartends full-time now. He says it’s temporary. Just until he figures out his next step. But weeks go by, then months, and he never seems to leave. It’s not that he likes it—God, no—but he doesn’t hate it either. He likes that Mac always has a cold beer and a warm smile waiting for him. Likes that Charlie tries to high-five him every hour. Likes that Dee heckles him from the other side of the bar. His found family and blood family mixing together for good.

He still tells himself he’s biding his time. Still says things like “Once I find the right moment, I’m out of here.” But then he wakes up next to Mac and there’s coffee already made, and a sticky note that says “U looked hot in my dream,” and he kind of forgets about any knowledge college taught him. They share an apartment, a bank account, and a bed. Mac still calls him “dude” and “bro” and “babe” all in the same sentence. Dennis rolls his eyes but never corrects him.

So, if he happens to enjoy making dinner with Mac every night and watching Charlie pour beer into a cereal bowl and try drinking? eating? it with a spoon—well, no one needs to know.

(Except Mac. Mac definitely knows. And he’s already planning their matching Halloween costumes.)