Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dennis watches the scene play out over and over again. One minute, Dee’s ranting about the guy who’s just ghosted her, the next, Dennis is back at the correctional facility, watching Mac, soaking wet, dancing on the stage, telling his father that he is, in fact, gay and never going to get a grandchild.

“You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to find his ex and get her to tell him she’s pregnant,” Dee continues to ramble in his ear, and Dennis just nods but hasn’t heard a word she’s said. He doesn’t give a shit anyway.

In his head, Mac is curled in on himself and crying and Dennis remembers exactly how he felt at the end as the insanely attractive woman that Mac somehow managed to get to assist him holds him and tells him that it’s okay, but the thing is, it’s not okay. Not for Dennis, at least.

Nothing has been okay for a very long time. Even before he left for North Dakota. He’d been depressed because his best friend had had the courage to do something he never could – accept himself.

“Oh, that’s not enough though. No, no, I’ll get the last three women he slept with to tell him that he knocked them all up! Oh my God! Yes!” Dee carries on with her plotting, a gleeful expression on her face as she pulls up the Facebook app on her phone.

“That’s never going to work, Dee. I mean, you’re like, fifty. You can’t even get pregnant anymore,” Charlie chimes in from somewhere on Dennis’ other side.

Dennis has never really accepted himself. He’s always known he’s been different, although he would never come out and say it. It was one of those things that he masked by putting up a good front, but eventually, the façade crumbled just like every other wall he’d built, and what was he left with?

Loneliness and depression.

He thought that he could fill that void with a child, thought that it was his duty to take care of a kid that he honestly didn’t want, and in the end, he just sends a check every month because he can’t bear to hear the disappointment in Mandy’s voice, or see the look Brian Jr. gives him through Facetime because he’s already forgotten who he was.

He’s exhausted and it’s only just after seven o'clock.

The music plays in his head, over and over again as he stares off and the more he thinks about it, the more it makes him feel, and he really doesn’t want to right now because he knows if he allows himself to process what he’s truly feeling at this moment? Well, that’s a ledge he can’t crawl back from.

He’s a coward and he knows it, but he’s not ready to unleash that truth upon anyone else.

“I’ve got news! I’ve got glorious news!” Mac announces as he enters the bar, and his sudden appearance makes everyone but Dennis chant his name.

Dennis is temporarily snapped out of his stupor as he tips the bottle of beer to his lips and takes a sip, watching Mac’s brown eyes glimmer as he begins to speak.

“The Rainbow is having a dance contest! Remember, like we had that one time? Only, this one is for partners and instead of winning the bar, you win an all expenses paid trip to Rehoboth Beach in Delaware!” Mac gushes excitedly, reaching past Dennis to grab a glass and accidentally brushes his bare arm against Dennis’.

Dennis doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even move an inch; he just stares at Mac, watches as he fills the glass and takes a swig.

“Oh, well that’s cool. You, uh, you got anybody in mind?” Charlie asks and smiles the smile that he thinks is charming but comes across as frightening to some.

“I’ll totally do it,” Dee volunteers, putting a halt to her plans for revenge as she googles Rehoboth Beach.

“Uh, yeah, no, I don’t think so, Dee. It’s for gays, you know, something that you aren’t,” Mac reminds her snidely as he brushes his nails against his chest and tosses a fake grin her way.

“Um, well, I can be gay. I can one hundred percent be gay. I’ve dressed like a man more times than I can count,” she states. “Ohhhh, that place is nice!” she says as she scrolls through pictures.

“Deandra, give it a rest,” Frank tells her from the other end of the bar. “You couldn’t pass for a man even if you wore a strap on. You’re way too bony.”

“And your shoulders are pretty narrow too,” Charlie comments and points at her, scrunching his own shoulders together. “No one would buy it. Now, me on the other hand…”

“Uh, no, Charlie, I don’t think so,” Mac shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “You don’t even like traveling,” he points out after a moment.

“Well, yeah, maybe not, but I mean, I could still, like do it. I’m a great dancer,” and that statement earns a scoff from Dee.

“You think pulling your jeans tight around your ass and doing a butt dance around the bar makes you a great dancer? Please,” she chuckles and eyes Charlie up and down. “You don’t have any sexual chemistry with Mac anyway, and also, you’re not really his type.”

Dennis stands there, watching them bicker and talk shit about one another, and all he wants to do is cry, just like he did that night. That dance brought forth thoughts and stupid, stupid goddamned feelings that he just wants to forget about, but can’t. They’re churning inside him like a fucking hurricane that’s about to make land, and it’s tearing him apart.

Mac was somehow able to look marvelously strong but completely and utterly vulnerable at the same time, and without effort. Sure, of course, there was the effort that he’d put into practicing and Dennis knew that because he was holed up in his room every time Mac would shove the coffee table to the side and he and that woman would do their routine. He’d watched some of it through his cracked door because he was curious, but it hadn't really made sense to him at the time.

Watching them leap and spin in their living room was one thing, but watching Mac on that stage, baring his soul for his hate-filled father and a room full of strangers? It was probably the most beautiful fucking thing he’d ever witnessed in his life, but he couldn’t tell Mac that. Jesus, he could only imagine what Mac would look like if he did, with those stupid warm brown eyes shining and glimmering at Dennis as though he’d been the one to create the heavens and the earth and had said, “Let there be light.”

(Dennis is only good at creating darkness.)

He hates himself for wishing that to be true, but he hates himself even more for knowing that it never will be because he’s too much of a chickenshit to admit his feelings to the other man.

The chasm in his chest – his so-called God hole – is so large and cavernous that he knows there’s nothing in this world that can fill it.

Nothing, except for –

“I’ve already found a partner anyway, so you can put your phone away, Dee. And quit looking at me like that, Charlie. You look like one of the stray dogs that begs for scraps out in the alley,” Mac chastises them as he downs the remainder of his beer and goes for a refill, this time bumping his glass against Dennis’ hip.

He doesn’t even apologize, and how dare he, Dennis thinks as he spills a few drops before shutting off the tap and gulping more of the cheap shit down. How dare he look so fucking handsome and chiseled and gorgeous. How fucking dare he be who he is.

There’s a sudden wave of tears swimming in Dennis’ eyes, and he says nothing as he sets his bottle down and treks off wordlessly to the bathroom. No one’s paying any attention to him anyway, and honestly, he’s quite thankful for that right now.

He goes over to the sink after he’s pushed the door open and turns on the cold water, splashes it over his face, and knows there’s something wrong when he doesn’t even panic after some of the makeup he’s wearing washes off. There’s a sinking feeling swirling around in his chest, and that annoying fucking lump is lodged in his throat and is refusing to move, no matter how many times he swallows.

The urge to punch the mirror strikes him once he’s turned the water off. His reflection mocks him in the grimy glass, and he knows how wonderful it would feel to break something right now, so he hauls off and lets his knuckles thump against the already cracked surface. It’s a direct hit that sends fractured spiderwebbed waves across its façade and as blood drips from his knuckles onto the dirty floor below, he wonders if that’s what his soul looks like.

Jesus Christ, is he fucked.

He’s not sure how long he stands there, but it must be long enough to draw Mac’s attention because he’s not even aware the man has entered the bathroom until he hears his low voice asking, “Dennis? Are you – are you okay?”

He doesn’t jump like a normal person would, instead, he looks at Mac in the destruction he’s just caused, shakes his head and laughs. It bubbles up and out of his throat uncontrollably, and something in his chest breaks as the manic sound parts his lips because he never thought that of all the places possible, it’d be Animal Shithouse number two where he completely falls apart.

The laughter rises in volume and pitch as Mac’s head tilts, a hint of fear flashing across his face before something deeper transforms his visage, something closer to understanding. Dennis’ head tips back and there’s something warm rolling down his cheeks now, something warm and wet. For a split second, he pictures a crown of thorns on his head and fools himself into thinking that it’s blood spilling down his face and he’s become Christ himself, but the illusion falls away as fast as it appeared, and he’s just Dennis again. Just Dennis. Just lonely and depressed Dennis. Not worth anything to anyone, not even himself.

His shoulders are shaking, vibrating with unabated tension and he wishes that he could finally be lucky for once in his life, and just disintegrate right then and there, his bones grinding into dust and his skin and all those other pesky substances that make up his external suit liquifying and sinking into the drain hole below.

Unfortunately for Dennis, he’s not that lucky, and everything stays intact.

The moment Mac’s hand gently envelopes his wrist (the one attached to the hand that’s bleeding), the laughter dies a quick and painful death. It swiftly evolves into the loudest sob that’s ever erupted from his throat in all of his forty years on earth.

He so badly wants to take it back, wants to become truly magical and rewind the clock to just a minute before so he knows to hide himself away in a stall instead of standing there like a sitting duck out in the open, but he can’t because he’s just a man, a sad being terrified to understand what he truly is.

“It’s okay, Den,” Mac whispers, and Dennis shakes his head because it’s not, it’s far from that by a world and then some, but soon, Mac’s arms are wrapped around his torso, hands splayed across his sharp shoulder blades and Dennis rests his head on his shoulder and continues to sob.

He feels gutted, like someone came along and drug a knife up his abdomen and now all of his innards have fallen out and he’s just a hollow shell, filled with such a vast, desolate emptiness that nothing can fulfill it.

Why’s he even still here?

His body quakes as tremors make his limbs tremble, and everything hurts. Why does it have to hurt so goddamned much? Hasn’t he suffered enough? He’s failed at practically every goal he’s ever had in life – college, marriage, the strained relationship he has with the man holding him now. When will it fucking end?

“Den, I don’t know what’s going on right now, but how about we get out of here, okay?” Mac suggests, one hand now cupping the back of his head.

His mouth is refusing to work, and clearly, there’s an invisible out of order sign on it that his brain is refusing to flip so he just nods instead.

“Here,” Mac says, voice soft and gentle as he unzips his hoodie and carefully slips it over Dennis’ arms, zips it up, then pulls the hood over Dennis’ head. It’s at least two sizes too big on him, but it does a wonderful job of hiding his tear-stained face as well as his bloodied knuckles, so Mac carefully guides him with one hand on the small of his back and the other on his arm, then leads him out the door.

Three heads turn towards them, and even though Dennis can’t see it, he can feel their eyes burning holes into what remains of himself. He hardly even hears Mac tell them, “Dennis doesn’t feel so good, so I’m taking him home.” And just like that, he leads him out the door and across the street to the Range Rover, but instead of helping him get in the driver’s seat, he fishes the keys out of Dennis’ pocket and helps him up into the passenger side then closes the door.

Dennis stares down at the sleeves that are so long, just the second knuckle of his fingers are visible and he suddenly feels like a child for one fleeting moment. Before he learned just how awful the world could be. Sure, his parents had given him a head start, but high school brought forth a fresh hell which was followed by a college experience that was far more grandiose in his head than what had actually transpired.

Mac turns the key in the ignition, takes the car out of park and begins to drive. He doesn’t make the turn to head towards home, instead continues down the street without a word.

Dennis almost considers jumping out the moment Mac stops at a stop light, one hand resting on the door handle, but at the last minute, changes his mind because ultimately, he knows it’s a stupid thing to do, and Mac would just follow him anyway.

His gaze falls to his lap, and he zeroes in on the loose thread that’s hanging off the fly of his jeans. It reminds him of a vein, and he can’t help but wonder if he dug into his skin, would it be possible to remove one that’s intact?

He hates this side of himself the most; the one that craves the nothingness of numbness. Feeling too much hurts far worse than not feeling enough.

A few minutes or an hour goes by, Dennis doesn’t really know or care, but he does realize that the car has finally stopped. He stares ahead, sees the Schuylkill, and wonders if Mac isn’t going to just walk him down to the river and push him in.

He’d probably be doing him a favor, if he’s being honest.

(Is Dennis ever really honest though? Truly?)

Even though it’s late September and the nights have begun to get cooler, Dennis can still hear what’s left of the insect population before it dies off, humming around them. The sky has already turned into a deep shade of purple, and the moon is bright and heavy just over the horizon.

They both sit there for a while, silent and listening to the symphony that’s playing around them.

He’s not sure how much time has passed, but he can hear Mac’s breath being sucked between his lips as he opens them to speak but shuts his mouth after a few seconds. This happens at least four more times until Mac finally says, “So.”

That’s it. Just ‘so’.

Sure, things have been estranged between them for a while now and Dennis had pushed that fact to the back of his mind and buried it with alcohol and lies. And sure, he knew, that okay maybe it was mostly (if not all) his fault because he left. He went away, and left Mac with a number for a mental health hotline. Why?

Because he was an asshole.

But he knew he was an asshole; he never questioned that aspect of his personality. He wore it proudly, like a badge of honor because it was easy to be an asshole and shit on other people’s feelings when you pretended as though you didn’t have any in the first place.

“Look, dude, I know things have been kind of weird between us as of late, especially since I, you know, came out, and you left for an entire year without ever contacting me but…what…what was that back there?” Mac’s voice is quiet, curious, and holds the most concern anyone’s ever had for Dennis in his life.

He doesn’t deserve it, and he honestly doesn’t understand why Mac thinks he does. Is he just trying to be nice? Maybe that’s it. He just feels sorry for Dennis. Well, fuck him.

Dennis chooses to summon every bit of assholery that exists in his body and scoffs even though he sounds just as pathetic as he looks. “Yeah, weird isn’t quite the word I would choose,” and he wants to say more, wants to launch an all-out verbal attack on the other man, demean him, put him down, tell him he looks like shit, but all those thoughts die off just before they exit his throat and the impulse to cry like a goddamned baby again hits him like a freight train.

His breath hitches in his throat and with it, he inhales the scent of Mac since he’s basically all but surrounded by him. The hoodie that’s warm and soft and so fucking comforting wreaks of the other man, and he just wants to clutch the fleece between his fingers and bury his head in his hands.

“Okay,” Mac begins, and there’s an edge to his voice that hints at annoyance but also the anger Dennis was so desperately hoping he was going to draw out. Mac’s been wearing kid gloves around him ever since his return, and he truly missed seeing the fire of rage in the other man’s eyes that only made an appearance when he tried to strangle Dee a few times in the last couple of months. “What word would you choose then, Dennis? Awkward? Strained? Fucking horrible? Are those good choices, Dennis?”

Yes! Dennis thinks, that’s it! Get mad, Mac! Bare your teeth and spew venom! Tell me how much you hate me and wish I were dead! Be angry! Be upset!

“Those sound like splendid choices, Mac,” Dennis barely manages to get the sarcastic response out before his voice breaks and a trembling breath whooshes from his lungs across the dashboard.

“What –” And Mac pauses for a moment, hand rising up to his temple and massaging the area there. “What the fuck is wrong with you, dude? I don’t – I don’t understand what the hell is going on.”

“Well, you’d need a brain for that now, wouldn’t you?” Dennis retorts darkly, and sees Mac’s hands shift back to the wheel, knuckles sloping upwards through his skin as he grips the black foam-covered metal.

“Wow, that didn’t take long,” Mac comments and Dennis can feel his eyes boring into the side of his skull. “You can still go from zero to dickhead in three seconds flat. Bravo, congratulations, man.” Mac sighs and the sound of his head falling back onto the seat billows throughout the car. “No, you know what, I know what this is. I know what you’re doing,” he reiterates, and there’s the feeling of Mac’s eyes on him once more, studying him, scrutinizing every visible inch of him. “You’re trying to piss me off because doing that is far easier than admitting to whatever the fuck is really going on in that head of yours.”

A hiss of air shoots between Dennis’ lips and he rolls his eyes then folds his arms across his chest. “You fucking wish that were the case.” His words sound weak, mottled with false bravado and laced with the essence of bullshit.

“Goddammit, Dennis, that is the case! That is the fucking case, so stop acting like a fucking robot and tell the truth! What’s wrong with you? All you do is get pissy with me or call me names or just ignore me altogether. Like we were never best friends! What the fuck did I do to you? Huh? Do you hate me because I’m gay? Is that it? Because if that’s really what’s going on, then –”

“Shut up,” Dennis grinds the words out between his teeth, and that stupid, mocking lump is back in his throat and threatening to out him for being the wuss that he is. He swallows thickly but it hovers at the top of his throat, acting like a buoy in a body of water.

“Do you think any of this has been easy for me? Like, this is just one walk in the park for gay old Mac, right? It’s not like my father disowned me or anything, you know? I’ve been trying, Dennis, but nothing is ever good enough for you! Nothing!” Mac releases a breath through his nose then runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Maybe I should consider myself lucky. At least you weren’t there to see me dance. I’m sure you’d have a field day telling me how awful I was.”

Dennis can’t help it. He’s a goddamn fucking master at reacting sometimes before he considers the consequences of his actions, so he allows his spontaneous side to kick in and brings both hands that have transformed into fists down on the dashboard as hard as he can. The first hit doesn’t do it, nor the second, but the third makes something crunch in his left hand and white hot pain shoots through the limb and he screams. He screams as loud as he possibly can and it’s only comparable to steam hissing out from a teapot that’s been ignored. It’s irrational but he doesn’t care.

He can’t take it anymore.

His chest is heaving once he’s finished and the wetness that he’d managed to stave off earlier is back with a vengeance. “I hate you,” he mutters and he’s not sure if he’s talking to himself or Mac, but he can tell by Mac’s sharp intake of breath that Mac thinks it’s inherently towards him. “I hate you so goddamned much.” The words part a divide between them larger than Moses did when he split the Red Sea. It’s size is immeasurable, but the effect it has on Mac is somehow greater.

“Fuck you,” he spits the words out across the driver’s console, and his voice is riddled with tears and heartbreak. His hand movements are harsh out of the corner of Dennis’ eyes as he swipes at his own. “You’re un-fucking-believeable, Dennis.”

The moment Mac’s fingers grab ahold of the key and prepare to turn it in the ignition, Dennis’ words make his movements come to a halt. “I wasn’t talking about you,” he clarifies, voice deep and teetering on the edge of another sob.

“Yeah, sure you weren’t,” Mac remarks and shakes his head, throws his head back and hits the seat again. “You are so full of shit, it’s insane.” He huffs out a breath and his hands clench the wheel.

“You know what? You’re right, Mac, you’re right!” Dennis’ voice raises as hysteria finally takes a hold of his tone. “I do hate you! I hate you so fucking much! I hate you for always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong! And I hate you for always being so goddamned willing to do whatever it is I tell you to do! And oh, yes, do you want to know the reason why I hate you the most?” Dennis is out of breath, and he’s shaking so violently that the hood has fallen back from his face, exposing his gaunt visage. He finally turns and stares Mac dead in the eye when he cries out, “I hate you because you make me feel, Mac! You make me feel shit that I didn’t know I was capable of feeling! And it scares me because now, now, I have to question who and what I am!” he states, and points at himself. “Because you know what?” And this is where the mania finally settles down and transforms into anguish. “Because I did watch that goddamned dance. I did watch it! And it hurt! It fucking hurt because you were so fucking honest and beautiful and I –”

He cuts himself off because he was about to say something that he could never take back. Never ever in a million goddamned years, and he couldn’t live with himself if he did. Hell, he’s barely hanging on now.

The insects’ concert outside the vehicle is the only audible sound. It’s loud and it’s buzzing, and Dennis just wants to curl up and fucking die.

Mac’s frozen in the driver’s seat, hands slipping then falling from the steering wheel, like a marionette whose strings have been cut. They fall to his lap, fingertips twitching like the legs of a bug that’s gotten stuck on its back and can’t get up. “You…you saw it?” His voice is low, tone garnished with disbelief. “You – you were there?”

Dennis is silent for a moment, wide blues eyes fixed straight ahead but focused on absolutely nothing. His chest is rising and falling faster than it should, and he’s never felt so thoroughly disgusted with himself in his life. He’s supposed to be strong-witted and competent, but he’s nothing of the sort. He’s a loose-lipped idiot that can’t keep his mouth shut. “Yes,” he lets the admittance roll of his tongue. “Yes, I was there.” He doesn’t know why he’s clamming up now. There’s no point.

Mac sniffles, lifts his hands back up and taps the steering wheel once, twice, then gradually turns his head to look at Dennis. “Why – why didn’t you – why didn’t you tell me?” he finally asks, and there’s the tiniest hint of betrayal noticeable in his tone, but there’s something else there, something that makes Dennis nauseous – hope.

He can hear it plain as day, and why it’s present, he doesn’t understand. Mac’s question bounces around inside his thick skull, the words echoing end over end. New tears spring forth and roll down his cheeks, but he makes no move to wipe them away. “Because,” is all he lets escape his mouth before he bites his bottom lip and hangs his head.

“Because why?” Mac inquires softly, lips downturned into the smallest of frowns.

“I can’t do this. Please don’t make me do this,” Dennis begs with a shake of his head and does in fact, cover his face this time. It feels like he’s just been stabbed by a hot poker, clean through the heart. His chest is on fire and his ability to breathe is waning like the moon on its last leg. “This isn’t what you want, trust me,” he struggles to get out before a sob wrangles up his throat and emanates through the interior of the car. Suddenly, he’s suffocating and he’s ninety-nine percent positive that he’s going to die if he stays inside the Rover any longer, so he pulls on the handle and starts to slide out, but his balance is off the moment his feet hit the ground, and before he knows it, he winds up tumbling to the dirt floor, landing on all fours. An electric shock of pain sizzles up his left arm as he hears the sound of a door creaking open before Mac’s footsteps crunch over dying grass and twigs, finally halting beside him. A broken sob wrenches free from his chest and within seconds, Mac’s eased down to his knees and encases him in his arms.

“It’s okay, Dennis, it’s okay,” Mac whispers and Dennis’ sobs only grow louder. His fingers scrabble for purchase and find it in the folds of Mac’s shirt. He holds onto the cotton material as though his life depends on it, and a part of him believes that it does. If he lets go of Mac one more time, that’s it. There will be no going back. He buries his head into Mac’s chest and hates himself for how badly he wants to be held by the other man. He hates it because he loves it so fucking much. It’s all he’s ever wanted deep down – to be loved and to be able to love.

He's not sure how much time passes before he finally calms down. He’s held so much in for so long that a piece of him knows that if hadn’t let it out, he would’ve allowed it to swallow him whole. An involuntary shudder forces his body to tremble just as he’s finally pulling away from Mac. He exhales as he wipes his face, wonders how in the hell it’s even possible to cry as much as he did. It feels like every last drop of energy has been sucked out of him, and there’s only fumes left, but he knows that if he doesn’t speak up now, he’s never going to.

Mac shifts and sits down, absentmindedly brushing the dirt off the knees of his pants.

Dennis watches him for a moment before he does the same, only instead of sitting cross-legged as Mac is, he bends his knees and pulls them up to his chest. He’s still uncomfortable, but Mac’s there, and that makes it not as bad. He opens his mouth to speak, but Mac inadvertently cuts him off.

“You were really there? You really watched me?” he asks and starts to fiddle with a broken tree branch, snapping it over and over again until there’s just a small nub left that he twirls back and forth through his fingers.

Dennis makes one more attempt to wipe the remainder of the dried tears from his face before he answers. “Yeah, Mac, I was.” He knows he needs to say more, but there’s still an invisible wall blocking his vocal cords from saying what he knows he needs say.

“What did you…what did you think?” Mac pitches the question, and there’s already an air of disappointment haunting his tone as though he’s prepared for vitriol to suddenly spew out of Dennis’ mouth.

Moonlight glimmers on the open river, sparkling like a thousand diamonds. Dennis allows himself to be entranced by it for a moment before he responds. “It was beautiful, Mac,” he confesses and it’s an odd thing, to finally be able to express himself honestly.

“You – you really think so?” Mac asks, and his voice is soft, so goddamned fearfully soft that Dennis closes his eyes because he’s the reason for at least fifty percent of Mac’s self-doubt.

(He’s blaming Catholicism for the rest.)

“Yeah, I do,” Dennis admits with a tiny nod, and ultimately, sums up the courage to look over at Mac.

His eyes are bloodshot from crying, but they’re warm and sparkling and…breathtaking.

They captivate Dennis because he feels himself getting lost every single time he looks in them, but this instance is different because they’re even more striking than usual, yet he’s unable to comprehend why. It takes him a while before the reason finally dawns on him and he wonders how he’s never noticed it before.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Mac asks, and there’s a small, bashful smile hinting at the corners of his lips.

“There’s green in your – you have green there,” and he hates how awkward he feels when he’s legitimately trying to compliment the other man. He sighs and forces the words out. “Your eyes have flecks of green in them when the light hits them.” After a moment, he adds, “It’s – they’re nice.”

A full, genuine smile upturns Mac’s mouth and there’s a glint of happiness present now that Dennis hasn’t been privy to in a very long time. It makes something flutter in his chest, and a velvety warmth begins to spread across his limbs.

“Thanks,” Mac murmurs, ducks his head shyly for a moment before he peers back over at Dennis. The smile slowly slips the longer Mac stares at him and is gradually replaced by a more serious expression. “Can you – can you tell me now what exactly – what’s going on?”

Dennis studies him and the sick feeling he was tamping down earlier returns. Is he even strong enough to do this? He closes his eyes briefly before he tugs nervously at his ear, then turns to look at Mac. He opens his mouth, inwardly stuttering on the words he was going to say before he actually does speak. “Watching,” and he pauses because his voice is bordering on hoarse, but he needs to get this out before it’s too late, so he clears his throat and starts again. “Watching you express yourself that way made me question a lot of things, Mac.” There’s more he needs to say, but his chest is starting to feel tight, and he’s not sure he can do this.

“Like what?” Mac inquires, forcing him to feel the explicit need to continue.

“It…made me question how I really feel about you.” That’s not all though, is it? Not quite anyway, he knows. He breaks eye contact for a minute because he can see Mac silently begging him to continue, pleading with him to just rip the goddamned Band-aid off and let it all loose. “This isn’t easy for me,” he reminds the other man with a shake of his head, and Mac nods in understanding.

“I know,” is all he says as he continues to gaze into Dennis’ eyes, fidgeting with the small piece of wood that was formerly a tree branch.

“Seeing you like that, how open you were, it – it changed me, Mac. It was as though for the first time in my life, something made sense, perfect sense and I saw you for who you truly were. Not some overly macho brute who karate chopped invisible enemies that didn’t even exist,” Dennis says with a wave of his cracked-knuckled hand. He winces when he feels the already scabbed over skin pull but continues. “You were raw and honest and real, and that – that made me realize something.” Here it is, the hard part, the part that makes Dennis want to bury himself in the dirt and never see the light of day again.

“What – what did you r-r-realize?” Mac stutters out the words, voice light and breathless.

Dennis swallows, feels the invisible rubber band that’s encircled his chest grow tighter as the most honest and soul-baring thing he’s ever said leaves his lips. His face pulls up, cheeks taut as his eyes begin to water again. “That I’m in love with you, and I’ve never been more frightened of something in my life.”

An audible gasp rises out of Mac's throat and escapes out into the open, and Dennis is pretty sure that time freezes for a moment. The air is still, the insects have gone deathly silent, and not even the water appears to move.

Mac stares at him, mouth agape and eyes wide and overflowing with so much emotion that Dennis can feel it radiating off him and surrounding every inch of his being. It doesn’t ebb nor flow but shines brilliantly like the moonlight on the water, illuminating and brightening everything it touches. “You really mean that?” Mac whispers, and there’s that hope again, that stupid, childish hope that makes Mac, Mac. That makes Dennis love him.

“Yes,” Dennis replies with a nod, and the kiss is so natural, he’s not even sure who initiated it in the first place. The only thing he knows is that this is the first time in a very long while that he feels alive again, as though he has the right to breathe.

Mac’s lips are soft on his, soft, sweet and gentle, and Dennis melts beside him. He lifts a shaking, sleeve-covered hand to Mac’s cheek and rests it there, lets his lips speak for a while longer.

Everything comes back to life all at once – the waves of the river lap serenely in his ears as the insects forge into their second act and buzz even louder than they did before.

It’s amazing and beautiful and the emptiness that he’s allowed to consume his soul for so long lifts, rising like steam on the water. The hole in his chest isn’t completely full (and he wonders if it ever will be), but if this is the closest that he can come, he’s alright with that.