Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Don’t even get me started on him,” Charlie fumed. “He stuffed his face with all those goddamned baby Snickers, and could hardly even fit into the costume.”

Dennis paused, brow furrowing as he came to a halt inside the storage room. Was Charlie talking about him?

“He has gotten kind of chubby,” Mac joined in. “I walked in on him the other day when he was getting dressed and he couldn’t get his pants to button. He was so upset,” he added, amusement laced throughout his tone.

He could too get them to button! Maybe, he did have to lie down in order to do it, but they still buttoned goddammit!

“You know, now that you mention it, that stupid outfit was pretty tight.” Dee now, of course she would participate in their fucking ribbing session. “He kind of looked like a sausage all stuffed into it.”

“I tried to warn him but he wouldn’t listen to me, and now he’s all –” Charlie began, and there was a moment of silence before the three of them burst into chuckles. He was all what? All what?

“You think if we keep making him uncomfortable, he’ll eat until he can’t walk?” Mac joked, and Dee snorted.

“He’ll have to roll everywhere!” she wheezed, and Dennis took a step back, unable to listen to anymore of their teasing and laughter.

A hollowness engulfed his chest, spreading out until it enveloped every part of his body.

He was fat.

Sure, he knew that he may have possibly gained a little weight, but not to the point where it was that noticeable.

Apparently, he was wrong.

He peered down at himself, at the way the button that was nearest his waist appeared to be holding on for dear life. If he took too big of a breath, it would probably pop off. Fuck, how could he have let himself go like this, and not realized it? They were right, he was fucking huge!

Shame inflamed his cheeks, heat searing across his pale skin all the way down to his neck.

One hand shot up, prodding his chin and goddamn, there was a layer of fat there. He looked at his face every single fucking day, and yet, the pudginess had went straight over his head.

The others had seen though. Hell, they were still talking about him now!

“Every time he sits down, the buttons on his shirt look like they’re about to give out.” Dee hardly managed to get the words out before she started to snort, and Mac eagerly jumped in with a remark of his own.

“He split a pair of his pants a few weeks ago, straight down the middle…”

“You need to put a lock on the fridge dude. Before he eats the entire thing.” Charlie laughed at his own words with Dee and Mac quickly following suit.

“He won’t be able to fit behind the bar before long,” Dee cackled, and he didn’t have to see his sister to know she was mimicking his inability to squeeze between the partition.

Dennis drowned them out again, stomach sinking lower and lower until he couldn’t take it anymore. Blinking away the wetness that had washed over his vision, he decided he was going to pretend that nothing was amiss. If he stormed out, they would know that they’d been caught, but he wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction.

No, he was going to take control of the situation because that was what he did best. They could make fun of him all they fucking wanted; he would show them.

He counted to three then exited the room, but instead of stopping like he thought they would, they laid into him even more.

“I thought for a second there was an earthquake, but it’s just Dennis,” Mac taunted, and Dee nudged him in the side even though he pulled a disgusted face at her.

“Yeah, all the bottles were shaking when you walked through,” she lied, then held her arms out in a poor attempt at pantomiming a larger person.

“I’m not fat!” Dennis defended even though he knew it was a goddamned falsehood. “I’m – I’m incapable of getting fat. It’s not possible.”

“Says the fat guy,” Charlie spoke out of the corner of his mouth, and Dennis started to slice the lemons he brought back with him, bringing the knife down as loudly as he could.

“I am not fat,” he fought back, but couldn’t even bring himself to look at any of them. If he did, his resolve would break, and he would crumble like the weak and pathetic pig he truly was.

“Fat,” Dee muttered under her breath, and Mac echoed her.

They went back and forth until Dennis finally exploded. “Will you three shut up?”

“Oh my God, lighten up dude. You’re so sensitive,” Mac chastised him, then leaned over the counter and poked him in the stomach.

“Did you see the way he jiggled?” Charlie pointed out, and Dennis pursed his lips as he glared at the spot where Mac had just touched him, knife starting to shake in his hands.

“I didn’t jiggle goddammit,” he sniped back, but it was clear they weren’t taking him seriously.

“If they ever need a new Pillsbury Doughboy, you’d be their man,” Dee kept the verbal assault going, then shoved her finger into his belly too.

“Don’t touch me!” he shouted as he smacked her hand away, but she continued to wear the shit-eating grin on her face, the one that proclaimed – you're the odd one out now, asshole.

“Wow, it sunk in pretty far,” Charlie marveled as he copied the other two, and Dennis swatted at him, but Charlie was too fast.

As he focused his fury on the shorter man, it left him vulnerable to another attack which Mac proudly took advantage of and repeated the gesture once more.

“Stop!” he exclaimed, pitch rising as he tried to dodge Dee, but she was shockingly quick and got another poke in. “Stop,” he warned in a low tone, but as he glowered at his sister, Charlie gleefully plunged his index finger into his lower abdomen yet again. “Goddammit, I said stop!” His voice broke like a prepubescent teen's, the misery he was emitting only furthering their glee.

“Oh, poor baby! You gonna cry?” Dee mocked, and Dennis hated himself for the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat.

“It’s not funny. Nothing about this is funny." He was being serious, and yet humorous expressions still decorated their faces.

“Should we stop?” Dee suggested with a shrug as she looked between Mac and Charlie, both of which appeared to be considering the idea. “Okay, we’ll stop,” she agreed, then swiftly pinched his side. “Oh! That was way more than an inch!”

“Probably like two or three,” Charlie surmised, then took a sip of his beer.

“Definitely three,” Dee concurred, then reared her head back and chortled.

“Guys, let’s – let’s cool it.” Mac held up a hand, and Dennis thought for a moment that it really was finally fucking over with, but no, it wasn’t. “Oh, that reminds me, one of your tires is flat so we’ll have to put the spare on.”

Dennis’ brow lowered. “But I don’t have a spare.”

“Yes, you do,” Mac argued, then pointed to his stomach. “It’s right there!” And their grating laughter filled his ears once more, blanketing him with humiliation and shame.

“That was a good one dude,” Charlie dropped the compliment as he clapped Mac on the back, and the asshole had the audacity to beam at his words.

“I came up with it like five minutes ago, but you know, joke’s are all about timing,” he added, and Dee’s lips pursed.

“Was that a dig at me? Because I have amazing timing,” she insisted as she stabbed herself in the chest. “Hey, Dennis, what’s red, fat and angry?” She peered around, eyes wide then pointed at him. “He is! Dennis is! Ha!” but the jest fell flat, both Mac and Charlie arching bemused eyebrows at her. “What? Oh, how can you guys not get that? It’s Dennis because his face is red, he’s fat and also angry.”

“A joke isn’t funny if you have to explain it, Dee,” Mac scoffed then rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, there’s no point to it if you have to do that,” Charlie mirrored Mac’s annoyed sentiment which only caused Dee to try harder.

“Oh – Oh, okay, well what about this one?” She cleared her throat then straightened her neck. “Dennis tried to walk behind the bar, but he couldn’t fit!” And surprisingly, that time, the other two men began to laugh.

“He couldn’t do it because he couldn’t fit!” Charlie held his stomach as he doubled over, and Mac’s head tipped back.

“You know what?” Dennis threw his hands up. “Go ahead, say whatever you want. I don’t care!”

But he did. He was engrained to care. The need to ensure his appearance was perfect was programmed into his DNA. That was what the others didn’t understand. Anything less than was unacceptable.

“Hey, what’s the difference between a blimp and Dennis?” Dee asked, and both Charlie and Mac shook their heads as Dennis began slamming bottles into the cooler. “When you poke a blimp, it deflates!”

Each quip, each barb dug further and further underneath his skin, and he continued to act as though they meant nothing, but they did. They were like paper cuts, superficial wounds that hurt worse than something larger, a constant reminder with each shift of the flesh that he’d been split open, injured. Their effects were seismic in scale, rattling Dennis’ innards until the want to eat anything was gone.

He did his best to perpetuate the mask that he always wore, the one that made him appear unbothered.

Eventually, they moved onto how pathetic Charlie was for even attempting to propose to the Waitress which ended in him going down to the basement for the remainder of the night.

“I’m starving dude. Let’s stop at Taco Bell.” Mac’s voice woke Dennis from the barrage of internal insults he was swimming in.

“Fine, but if you clog the toilet up again, don’t expect me to fix it,” Dennis warned. His façade was visibly cracking, but he continued to uphold it the best that he could even though he was still dwelling on their words. “Go for it,” he said as he sat back so Mac could speak into the mic.

“You don’t want anything?” Mac questioned, and Dennis shook his head, gaze fixed on the flattened pack of Kools that rested next to the curb. “Okay, whatever,” he shrugged, then started shouting his order past Dennis.

Dennis tried to quell the hurt that arose at Mac’s nonchalant attitude toward his refusal to get anything, but it still stung nonetheless. A quick glance to the way his shirt was hugging his stomach was all he needed to solidify his decision to begin his new restrictive diet right then and there.

Following what had become their usual routine, they sat down to watch TV together while Mac ate, and Dennis didn’t miss the way his roommate edged nearer to him as two vampires argued on the screen.

Dennis watched him out of the corner of his eye, hyper aware of his close proximity.

He kept moving, shifting like ripples in water, straightening his back or bouncing his leg. When his thigh brushed up against Dennis’, he didn’t apologize, instead, he spread his legs wider so that the navy material of his pants was stretched as far as it could go.

“Do you have a rash or something?” Dennis inquired, and Mac’s eyes narrowed as he looked over at him.

“What? No, ew, gross,” he waved him off. “I’m just trying to get comfortable is all.”

“That’s what you call whatever it is you’re doing?” Dennis knew what was going on. He wanted to get angry, wanted to tell Mac to piss off, that he wasn’t going to hop up and start shoving food in his mouth just because he was trying to make him uncomfortable. No, in fact, he had another idea.

“Well, yeah, like the cushions feel a little stiff. Or maybe it’s just my back.” He rolled his shoulders then started to massage his neck.

A smirk planted itself on Dennis’ lips. “You want me to take care of that for you?” he asked, and Mac’s face went blank.

“Take care of what?” His gaze washed over Dennis’ body, suspicion flickering across his face.

“Your back,” he swiftly replied then gestured for Mac to lay down as he got up. “Go ahead, it’s been awhile since I’ve gotten to use my magic hands on anyone.” He started to roll up his sleeves as Mac mimicked a fish on dry land.

“I mean, it’s not – it’s not that bad,” he began, but Dennis waved him off.

“Now, now, clearly you just need to loosen up, and I can help you with that,” he insisted, and Mac shrugged, brow lowering before an awkward smile crept across his face.

“O-Okay. Yeah – Yeah, sure, why – why not?” Mac’s voice had gone up an octave, two round heat spots now present in the center of his cheeks. “So I should just,” and he motioned towards the cushion Dennis had just vacated. “Just, uh, lay down?”

Dennis clapped his hands then rubbed his palms together and nodded. “Yeah, you can even take your shirt off if you want.”

A high-pitched chuckle departed Mac’s lips. “Well, I mean, I don’t really think – I don’t think that’s necessary,” he stammered, then slowly laid face down, arms rigid at his sides.

“Oh, come on, buddy, relax,” Dennis urged, diving right on into the pool of unease Mac had tried to create and dug his fingers into the area where his neck met his shoulders as he framed Mac’s waist with his thighs.

Mac instantly bucked up at the contact, hands raising above his head. “Oh, whoa, uh, what are you – what are you doing?”

“I’m giving you a massage,” Dennis answered simply. “What, is this too gay for you?” He leaned over and placed his mouth right by Mac’s ear. “It’s not, is it?”

A noise Dennis had never heard Mac emit before squirmed out of his throat, like a squeaky wheel on a cart. “No, it’s totally not.”

“That’s right, it’s not,” Dennis agreed, then branched out and began to squeeze and kneed the area below Mac’s ribcage. “You know, I read that Arnold Schwarzenegger and Carl Weathers used to give each other massages on the set of Predator all the time. It was like a thing they did.”

The lie settled in, and Mac ate it up just like Dennis thought he would. “R-Really?” Dennis hastily deterred any more uncertainty from capturing his tone.

“Oh, yeah, dude. All the time,” he went on, using the knowing lilt that made him sound like he knew what he was talking about. (He didn’t.) “When you’re constantly working out like that, of course, you’re going to be sore, and it only makes sense that you’d want your best friend to help you out.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Mac mumbled, bottom lip surging out farther than the top.

“And would you believe that no one ever called them gay. Probably because they were too afraid they’d beat their ass, but either way, it’s true,” he added, and Mac hummed then released a low moan. “Wow, you must really be hitting the gym.” Dennis knew damn well Mac focused solely on his glamor muscles, but it was only fair that he led the man to believe he admired the way he looked (which wasn’t really all that bad, if he was being honest).

“I mean, I have been putting in almost two hours a day,” Mac bragged, and Dennis nodded even though his eyes were closed.

“I can totally tell. Your bis are getting huge,” he let the compliment sail into Mac’s ears, then rolled his eyes at himself. Mac was mid at best. Sure, maybe his sleeves had gotten a little tighter as of late, but he was far from being the muscle-bound freak he thought he was.

“Oh God, that feels good,” he muttered into the leather, and one half of Dennis’ lips ascended. God, he was so easy to manipulate.

“You know, maybe – maybe you should pop your shirt off so I can work that knot in your lower back out,” Dennis posed the recommendation, and Mac seized up again. “Go ahead dude. Pop your shirt off. Show off what you’ve worked so hard for.” He waited before sliding his palm down the red and white colored fabric, then carefully thumbed up the hem of Mac’s shirt, exposing an inch of smooth skin.

Mac reached back, fingers clamping over Dennis’. “Are you – Are you sure it’s not,” and he lowered his voice to a whisper and added, “Gay?”

Dennis scoffed as he pried Mac’s warm digits off his then patted his shoulder. “You’re focused way too much on the gay part, buddy. You do know what the technical definition of gay is, don’t you?”

“Of course, I do,” Mac insisted in a boastful tone, but hurriedly quieted. “But maybe you could refresh it for me.”

And there it was.

“Gay actually has multiple meanings, Mac. One of which is happily excited. Did you know that?” Dennis let the inquiry linger in the air as he glided his hand underneath the cotton that he was painstakingly edging up an inch or two at a time. “People have perverted the term throughout the ages, taking something so innocent and pure and being so – so deceitful with it. That’s crazy, isn’t it?”

His roommate was quiet, but his thoughts were loud, practically leaping from his brain and straight into Dennis’, but Dennis was no real mind reader, he just knew Mac, and he knew him well. (Probably better than he knew himself, if he was being totally honest, which he was, quite often. Just…not with himself.)

“What’s so wrong with being happy, Mac? Do you find fault in that?” he went on, keeping his voice light, curious.

“Well, no, but –” Dennis couldn’t leave any room for doubt in Mac’s mind. The asshole wasn’t fooling anybody.

“You want to be happy, don’t you?” He had to make Mac forget about consequences, mainly the ones he believed he’d receive from God for liking dudes.

(Dennis knew he was a consequence all on his own, but he couldn’t let Mac know that. Yet.)

“I do,” Mac replied, so quiet his words were almost inaudible.

“Then relax,” Dennis suggested, and leaned over again, so close, the scent of Mac’s body spray burrowed into his sinuses. Oh, he hated it so much. “And be happy.”

A tiny, muffled whimper was almost extinguished by the cushion Mac’s lips were pressed into, but it still managed to escape, indicating that Dennis’ plan had worked. So much for making Dennis uncomfortable, the dick.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Dennis brushed a soothing circle over Mac’s shoulder blade after he had tugged the material up and over his head.

“No, no, I guess not,” Mac conceded softly, and Dennis rubbed his palms together, garnering more heat before he began to work his way down Mac’s back, one spot at a time.

“Usually, I do this with oil,” he mentioned casually, and another wounded noise shot from Mac’s throat like a bullet.

“Is it – Is it better with oil?” Mac sounded so deliciously innocent even though Dennis knew he wasn’t. Mac was just as depraved as he was, and he was going to ensure that the man suffer for it.

“Oh, yeah, the oil heats up as it gets absorbed into the skin which lessens the tension in your muscles. Do you, uh, want me to go get it?” he pitched the proposal off-handedly, fingertips still skimming along Mac’s skin as he awaited his answer.

“Uh,” Mac’s response came, holding reservation that Dennis predicted was about to dissolve.

“It actually helps rebuild your torn muscles faster too,” he let the untruth fall from his tongue and drip like honey right into Mac’s ears. “That way you can get more hours in at the gym, and really build up those bis.”

“O-Okay, sure, yeah, why not?” Mac’s voice faltered, teetering on such a high pitch, he had to clear his throat three more times before he could speak properly. “Wait –” he said as Dennis rose to his feet, a flush of embarrassment running over him when he realized his shirt had ridden up and partially exposed his stomach. Even though Mac was turned in the opposite direction, a hint of shame still caused his cheeks to go red. “Does it burn?” The question brought him back to the present, and he quickly tugged the shirt down before he patted Mac on the shoulder and placed his mouth by his ear once again.

“Only if I let it,” he murmured, then went into his room to retrieve the little bottle he kept in his nightstand. He ignored the pile of discarded clothes that he’d left on top of the blankets (all the ones that no longer fit) and retook his position on the couch. His stomach gurgled, but he disregarded the sound and poured some of the clear substance onto his palm then resumed his ministrations. Starting at the top of Mac’s shoulders, he pressed the pads of his fingers in before he used his thumbs to relieve the more unyielding areas. He lost himself in the guise, in the rouse, and it wasn’t until he was finished that he realized how much they both had enjoyed what he’d done.

When Mac sat up, hair mussed and body loose, Dennis was pleased with himself, at his ability to thwart Mac’s plan and yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about Mac lying underneath him like that.

“Uh, thanks,” Mac mumbled, and Dennis tore himself from the tunnel he was traveling through and nodded.

“Yeah, sure,” he murmured, a slight downturn to his mouth as he stood up and hurriedly pulled his shirt down. “I’m going to – going to go to bed. Night.” He didn’t like the sensation that was suddenly stirring in his gut, or the way his heart stuttered at the sight of Mac looking the way he did.

“Hey, Dennis?” Mac stopped him right before he went into his room. He paused, and glanced over at the man, expectance in his brow.

Mac did his fish impression again before he broke eye contact and cast his gaze back to the TV. “Goodnight.”

Dennis tried not to focus on the hint of longing he swore he heard in Mac’s tone, or the hopefully expression that flared in his eyes before he turned his head. It was stupid, so stupid. They were just friends, and nothing more.

His mind quickly decided to distract him with his real issue, and that was his appearance.

The bathroom mirror beckoned him with its siren’s song, and he listened, head filling with adjectives that his mother used to describe him when he had gained weight as a child.

Her favorite was always portly.

“Dear, you’re looking rather portly as of late. Perhaps you should cut back a bit, hmm?”

“Oh, dear, children your age shouldn’t weigh that much, only the portly ones…”

“Your stomach should never hang over your waistband, Dennis. It’s visually unappealing among other things. Goodness, you’ve become so portly. Time to trim the fat, dear…”

His stomach was currently overhanging the waistband of his boxer briefs, and quite noticeably so. He stabbed himself with his index finger, just as Mac, Dee, and Charlie had earlier that day, and watched as it sunk in to the first knuckle. Jesus, how could he have been so blind, so immune to the fat that had been collecting underneath his skin? It was right there! Right fucking there, and he had gone about his days and nights as though he was walking perfection when he was a disgrace instead.

Aside from his belly, his sister hadn’t been exaggerating when she said she could pinch more than an inch. He grabbed his sides, winced when the skin bunched in his palms. So much, so fucking much. God, he was disgusting!

“You’re better than this,” he told his reflection, anguish written in every crease of his forehead, in the lines that formed on the sides of his mouth. “You are better than this.” A verbal reprimand from his own tongue; that was what was needed.

“You are atrocious, vile, absolutely despicable. How dare you allow yourself to become – to become this,” he hissed, a wet sheen falling across his eyes that he hurriedly blinked away but it kept returning. Red marks lined the pale skin that he had tormented with his own hands. He glared at his fingerprints, and the bruises that were starting to form. They needed to be there, needed to stay so every time he looked at himself, he would be reminded of the extra, of the weight that shouldn’t be there.

“You are better than this.” His voice dipped low, embittered with hate as he bared his teeth at the glass. “You will be better.” He let the vow hang in the air, granting his reflection one last scowl before he removed the scale that had collected a fair amount of dust from underneath the sink.

With a quick swipe over the plastic strip that his doom lay underneath, he set the white device onto the floor. It took a moment for him to gather the courage he needed to face the disappointment that he knew awaited him, left foot hovering over the cool surface before he finally planted both on each side of the dial. The numbers rapidly moved upward before the little red marker stopped on one that made him grit his teeth.

172

He couldn’t even recall the last time he had weighed himself, but he knew it hadn’t been that high. He’d gained at least twenty pounds!

All because he couldn’t fucking control himself.

Eating until his stomach hurt; Jesus, what had he turned into?

All those calories that needed to be burned, all that fat that needed to be dealt with.

His body was supposed to be a temple, and yet, he had transformed it into a trash heap, an unglorified ruin of stored sugar and carbs that transformed him into the very thing his mother had explicitly commanded him not to be –

Fat.

He was going to change that.

Chapter Text

5 Great weight loss tips to live by By Hailey

1.Feeling Empty? Fill that stomach with water instead of food! Allstar tip? Make sure it’s cold! (It burns more calories.)

2.Sugar is the ENEMY!!! Sugar turns into fat, and fat is gross! Avoid sugar at ALL costs!! (Seriously, DO NOT eat that candy bar. You’ll thank me for it later.)

Dennis paused and gulped as he stared at the screen then looked down at the way his stomach still overlapped his waistband, the shirt he was wearing emphasizing the rolls of fat that had accumulated there. He inhaled a sharp breath through his nostrils then continued scrolling.

3.You want to look good, right? Then don’t eat that pasta, sweetheart because you’ll regret it in the morning! Pasta is LOADED with carbs and what do carbs build? Fat. (Don’t do it!!!)

4.EXERCISE!!! Sure, you can lower your caloric intake, but adding exercise to the mix is important. It helps burn all those excess calories (that you know you don’t need). Walking and running are both good to reduce that jiggle until your stomach is flat. (You wouldn’t be reading this now if it was.)

5.Last but not least – cheat days are for weak bitches! And you’re a badass bitch, right? DO NOT give into the temptation! RESIST!!! You don’t need it, I promise.

The words of wisdom settled into Dennis’ brain, and he wondered for a split second if his mother had returned from the grave to write that article because while her wording would have been a bit more eloquent, it sure as shit sounded like all of the rules she had plied him with when he was younger.

No eating after seven pm, no heavy food for lunch and certainly no candy. Jesus, how far he’d fallen, he thought as he poked himself in the belly and winced at the softness his index finger was met with.

It had been two weeks since he had started his restrictive diet, and he’d only managed to lose three pounds. Surely, he was doing something wrong and had begun searching high and low for ways to drop it as quickly as possible. While he wasn’t exactly a fan of physical activity, maybe adding a new workout routine wouldn’t be a half bad idea.

“Gotta piss!” Mac interrupted his stream of thought as he burst into his room then beelined it into the bathroom, not even bothering to close the door behind him so Dennis was privy to the sound of him urinating loudly, the noise echoing off the white-tiled walls.

“Thanks for knocking!” Dennis called out annoyedly then slammed his laptop shut and tossed it onto the other side of his bed. He huffed out an irritated breath then slid his legs over the side of the mattress, cringing at how the light blue cotton continued to hug his stomach.

He had made a trip to the mall the week before to get new clothes, roomier ones to hide the body that was taking up more space than he cared for and decided to change. His jeans were fine, at least he thought so until he glanced into the full length mirror that adorned the corner of his room. His reflection told him otherwise. They were definitely too tight as well, and while he liked to show off his athletic thighs, they were anything but at the current moment.

God, he was so revolting! A growl erupted from his throat as he went over to his closet and began to slam hanger after hanger until he landed on a large green and black striped long-sleeved shirt. He chose a pair of dark denim-colored jeans (as he read that darker colors were more slimming) and had just bared his torso when Mac waltzed out of the bathroom, the whistle on his tongue cut short as he looked over at Dennis. “What?” Dennis snapped, and Mac quickly averted his gaze, suddenly interested in the stack of CDs on Dennis’ music rack.

“What was wrong with what you were wearing?” he asked, voice laced with a feigned casualness that made Dennis roll his eyes as he slipped the new shirt on.

“Why do you care?” Dennis asked and traded his tighter pair of jeans for the looser ones (ignoring the size 34 tag that mocked him mercilessly) then slipped his shoes on.

Mac shrugged as he sent another quick peek his way then shoved his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know. I was just asking dude. You don’t have to bite my head off.”

A piece of Dennis relented at that because he wasn’t necessarily wrong; he was just aggravated. “Sorry, dude,” he apologized as he threaded the brass button through its slot. “Haven’t had any coffee yet,” the lie slipped from his tongue, and Mac appeared to accept it with a brief nod.

“I’ll go make some,” he offered then disappeared into the other room, leaving Dennis to his own devices for the time being.

The inherent need to pick himself apart nagged at him until his legs took him back over to the mirror, and he stood there, a frown on his face as he tugged the soft material away from the stomach that he couldn’t seem to hide. He turned to the side, nose scrunching at the view that angle gave him. While the shirt was loose, the curve of his belly was still visible underneath the fabric. He wasn’t positive of where he had lost the three pounds at, but it sure as hell wasn’t in his middle.

He needed to be more vigilant about what he put in his fucking mouth. No more full-flavored beer, light only, and even then, he wondered if he shouldn’t just start drinking that damned Skinny Girl vodka bullshit that he some of the college age girls that wandered in on occasion asked for.

His mother would’ve slapped him silly for the way he looked now, would have told him that he’d surpassed portly ages ago.

“Dennis?”

His eyes widened at his name being spoken, and so curiously at that. Though the heat of being caught scrutinizing himself flared across his cheeks, he swiftly turned around but kept his gaze low, unable to meet Mac’s. “What’s – What’s up?” he asked, swallowing thickly as his index finger and thumb trapped his ear between them.

“Uh, the coffee’s ready. Just thought I would let you know.” Mac sounded bewildered, and Dennis knew it was because Mac was just itching to mention how fat he was or bring up how he had gone up a size in all of his clothes.

“C-Cool,” Dennis stammered and walked past him, squeezing his eyes shut at his inability to act normal around his roommate and best friend, the guy that he’d given a massage two weeks back, the guy that he caught staring at him when he thought Dennis wasn’t looking and vice versa. That guy.

“So, I was thinking about making another project badass video,” Mac began once they had both sat down, and Dennis took a sip from his mug then peered over the chipped rim at the other man. “But I was having trouble deciding where to film it. I’ve already done a few in the alley and outside the bar, but I was thinking of doing something bigger,” and he paused to set his mug down then lift his hands up and spread them through the air, “Like in front of city hall. Wouldn’t that be cool?” His face lit up, eyes bright and hopeful, and as much as Dennis wanted to tell him how stupid all of it was, he couldn’t find it in himself to see Mac’s sad puppy dog face at the moment (even though he was well aware of just how much misery loved company).

“Uh, yeah,” he agreed instead, granting him a thoughtful frown before he took another drink of the coffee he kept black (because sugar was the ENEMY!). “I think that would be cool as long as it’s done right.” Why did he say that? When he looked over at Mac, he got his answer.

The smile had transformed from one of hope to the giddy cheerfulness he held when he received a compliment, and Dennis found it strangely endearing, racked with a sudden bout of shyness that caused him to fixate on the ring his mug had left on the table. The word cute emitted from one of his brain cells and he immediately started to question his integrity.

Sure, maybe at one point in time he had thought about Mac before (more like several but Dennis was never one for the acceptance of truth), but it radiated off of him every time he chanced a glance the other brunette’s way.

“I think I’ll build like this awesome obstacle course or something, and maybe add some big pyrotechnics, you know like a fourth of July celebration? Oh! And maybe…” he went on, but all Dennis could think about was how stupidly foolish he was for thinking he could pull something like that off without getting arrested. “Would you help me?”

Dennis almost choked on his coffee at that. “Huh?” he managed to croak out before he was hit with a coughing fit that left his eyes watering, and his body tensed underneath Mac’s touch when he patted Dennis’ back. “Uh, y-yeah, sure, why not?” the agreement spilled from his lips even though he had been hard set on a refusal.

“Sweet! Oh, this is gonna be so cool! I wonder if I’ll make the news!” he rambled on, and Dennis scoffed at that because if he pulled off a silly stunt like that, he was definitely going to make the news but not for the reason he desired. “I can’t wait to get to Paddy’s to tell Charlie. He’s going to want to help too.”

Great, Dennis mused as he watched Mac leap out of his chair so fast that it tipped over and it took him three times to finally get it standing again. “Come on dude. Hurry up and finish your coffee so we can go,” Mac ordered with a roll of his hand.

“Just settle down a minute,” Dennis chastised him as he swallowed down more of the caffeinated beverage. “Coffee is meant to be savored, not knocked back like it’s a shot.”

“Oh, come on man! You don’t give a shit about savoring coffee! Come on, I need to start planning this pronto!” And Dennis’ eyes widened when Mac’s hand clamped around his arm and hauled him into a standing position.

“What the –” Dennis began, but one look into Mac’s stupid googly eyes had him giving in, the mug now forgotten as he led him towards the door.

Once they were outside, Mac jogged over to the Rover, but Dennis remained standing on the sidewalk even as Mac waved him over. “What are you waiting for? We’ve gotta go!” The impatience in his tone was starting to get a little grating, but Dennis refrained from pointing it out.

“Uh, yeah, about that…” He swiftly prepared another untruth, hoping Mac was gullible enough to fall for it. (He was.) “The battery is shot, so we’re going to have to walk.”

“It is?” the perky man questioned, and Dennis nodded, lips pulling tight before a grim smile fell across his face. “But it was working just fine last night,” he argued, and Dennis shrugged as he started to walk down the block, and Mac was by his side in an instant.

“Well, yeah, but –” and the intrinsic need to sooth himself washed over him, his heart starting to pound when Mac’s arm accidently brushed against his. “The battery light popped on when I parked it, and I just forgot about it until now.” He needed to get exercise, had to do something to speed up his weight loss, so walking to and from work it was.

“Oh, well, do we have enough for a new one?” Mac wondered, and Dennis’ breath caught in his throat at their close proximity then shook his head.

“Uh, no because I just had to pay all of the bills so we’re broke until next paycheck, and batteries are so expensive, so it might be a while before I can get a new one.” He shot a nervous glance Mac’s way that went unmet and exhaled a relieved breath.

“Maybe you could ask Frank for an advance or something?” he suggested, and Dennis’ brow lowered at that.

“Uh, no, because if I do that then he’s going to charge me interest and – and fees and probably a bunch of surcharges because he’s an asshole,” Dennis replied matter-of-factly.

“Shit, really? What a dick move.” Mac’s brow furrowed and he scratched his chin before he looked over at Dennis. “What if he steal his credit card? I bet I could talk Charlie into doing it if I can’t get close enough.”

Dennis immediately shook his head. Why couldn’t Mac just accept that they had to walk? That was how it was going to be for the foreseeable future. “I would just move past it,” Dennis insisted, and Mac appeared on the verge of protesting but got distracted by a dollar that had blown into their path.

“Oh shit!” he grinned as he leaned down and picked it up. “It’s mine now bitch!” he alerted no one in particular then crammed it into his pocket.

“You know, it’s actually really nice out,” Dennis noted as he looked around then grimaced when he saw a homeless man pissing on the side of someone’s house.

“Oh yeah, real nice,” Mac quipped then picked up a rock and tossed it at the guy before moving on. “Like find a bathroom, am I right?” he remarked, pulling a face at the guy as he jerked a thumb in his direction. “People are so gross.”

“So gross,” Dennis echoed, hating how sweat had already collected on his forehead and they’d only walked a few blocks. Was he really that out of shape?

“Wow dude, are you hot?” Mac peered over at him, squinting due to the flash of sunlight that broke through the gray clouds overhead.

“What?” Dennis scoffed as he tugged the shirt away from his chest. “No, no, this is just – I took a shower earlier and my hair’s drying.” Christ, when did Mac become so perceptive?

Mac chuckled at that. “That’s funny because your hair looked pretty dry to me before we left.”

“Well, it wasn’t all the way, and with the air hitting it, it’s – you know – running,” Dennis flicked his wrist outwards, and even he realized how ridiculous his excuse was. He was out of shape. Fuck, it was so embarrassing.

“Sure dude. Hey, is that a new shirt? Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear it before.” Mac stared at him expectantly, which only made more perspiration bead along his hairline.

“Y-Yeah, why?” Dennis asked, hating the anxious tone that had overtaken his voice. Even his pitch had risen, making him sound like a fucking teen going through puberty.

“Uh, no reason,” Mac responded with a shake of his head, and as Dennis looked over at him, he swore he saw his cheeks flush with crimson. That was odd. Was Mac nervous too? But why? Come to think of it, he had been acting a little differently since the massage. Not clingy, but they had kind of spent almost every waking moment together since then. They even had the same off days… “Do you want to stop at the Wawa and get something to drink?”

The smell of fried food from a nearby restaurant hit Dennis like a brick wall, sent him into a stupefied silence as his mouth began to water. “Uh, yeah, cold water sounds good right about now,” he muttered, gulping it down once they’d both made their purchases and continued to Paddy’s. He tried to look on the bright side of things – maybe if he drank enough water, it would undo some of the damage he’d done to his liver. (Who was he kidding?) Water also had zero calories so it was perfect, unlike the giant cherry slushie Mac was currently imbibing. “You know that’s almost like drinking an entire cup of sugar, right?” he reprimanded the man who was currently sucking down the sweet, red substance without care.

“So?” Mac questioned around his straw, cheeks hollowing once more as he inhaled the delicious cherry flavor that Dennis convinced himself was disgusting. “You want some?” he offered, and Dennis scoffed as he shook his head.

“No, I’m good.” He hurriedly swiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, shame rushing through his veins when Mac caught him in the act. “The sun am I right?” he grinned lamely as he pointed upwards to the sky that was still mostly filled with clouds and quickly looked away when he saw confusion flood over Mac’s features.

“What sun?” he fired back with a deep chuckle that made Dennis’ inner ears itch.

“The – The sun, you know, makes everything h-hotter,” Dennis stammered, then clenched his jaw at the idiocy that was pouring out of his mouth. Why was this happening? And why did he suddenly need to explain himself to Mac?

“Well, yeah, it does,” Mac spoke slowly, like he did oftentimes when he was trying to educate Charlie. "But it's not out now."

A change of subject was needed, but as Dennis downed almost the entirety of the water in an attempt to quiet the stomach that had started rumbling uncomfortably roughly three blocks back, his brain went blank. “How are your muscles?” he blurted out, and wanted to cover his face immediately afterwards when Mac shot him a look that said – what the fuck is wrong with you dude?

“Uh, fine, I guess?” he shrugged then tossed his empty cup onto the ground. The sleeves of the T-shirt he was wearing had definitely grown tighter since the last time he’d donned it, and Dennis hated how he could see the way his biceps were bulging as he purposely flexed his arms. “I have been going at it kind of hard lately,” he admitted, and Dennis’ mouth, ever the betrayer, agreed.

“Oh, yeah, I can tell,” he affirmed, then immediately flushed with embarrassment. All of the intrusive thoughts that were supposed to only be spoken by his inside voice were suddenly coming out of his outside one. It was probably the fact that he’d skipped dinner the night before and that was why his tongue was so goddamned loose.

“Yeah?” Mac’s smile was so bright it might as well have been illuminated by the sun’s actual rays. “I was actually kind of hoping you would notice.”

A blanket of awkward silence swiftly enveloped them at that and stayed there for the next block until they passed the bus stop that Dee had just gotten off at.

“Oh shit, it’s Dee,” Mac warned him then ducked his head as he elbowed Dennis in the ribs. “Let’s pretend we don’t see her.”

“Guys?” her high-pitched voice rang through the air, and both men sped up but she was quick and soon caught up with them, edging herself in between them and hitting Dennis with her purse as she slung it over her shoulder. “Why are you two boners walking?” she asked and helped herself to the remaining sip of water that had been in Dennis’ bottle before she tossed the empty container over her shoulder.

“Seriously?” Dennis asked, then sent a pointed look past her to Mac who was already shaking his head. “How nice of you to join us, sis,” he deadpanned, then tugged his shirt away from his middle when he noticed it was clinging to his skin.

“Good Lord, you’re soaked!” she exclaimed excitedly, and Dennis sighed as she stared at him with round eyes. “Did you even drink the water, or did you pour it over your head?” she asked, then immediately chuckled at her own words. “You’re sweating like a pig.”

“And you look like a giant goddamned bird!” Dennis exploded, but Dee didn’t shrink back like she usually did when he raised his voice. She was smirking, and Dennis forced himself to look straight ahead as he prepared for the onslaught of taunts he knew was coming.

“At least I’m a thin one,” she muttered under her breath, and Dennis gripped the ends of his shirt sleeves, nails digging into the dark cotton. “So,” she continued on without being prompted. “Where’s your car? Did you two get so wasted last night that you pulled a Dude, Where’s My Car?”

“No, the battery’s dead,” Mac stated, and Dee hummed disbelievingly.

“Why didn’t you just get a jump?” she asked, and one of Mac’s eyebrows arched as he looked over her at Dennis.

“Why didn’t we get a jump dude?” he echoed, and it sounded like an accusation which made Dennis even more antsy.

“Dee, stop trying to act like you know anything about cars. You’re a woman, so stick to the tiny list of things you do understand like whining, complaining, and being a bitch,” Dennis forced the insult out, and that finally made her momentarily shut up.

“Nice one!” Mac complimented him, and they exchanged a quick high five behind her back.

“I may not know that much about cars, but I do know a little bit about fitness, and it’s clear that you don’t. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be wheezing right now,” she fired right back, and the smugness she was carrying earlier returned as she opened the door to Paddy’s and went inside.

Dennis opened his mouth to spout a retort, but by the time one finally came to mind, it was too late, the opportunity stolen away by an awaiting Frank’s announcement.

“Paddy’s is throwin’ a fair!” he declared, then pointed to the sign Charlie held up that had various drawings on it – three puffs of pink and blue cotton candy, a roller coaster, and a Whac-A-Mole game among other things.

“Why?” Dennis asked as he went behind the bar, immediately reaching for a calorie laden beer before he stopped short, brow furrowing as he stared at the cooler. He’d almost allowed himself to indulge like he always did without realizing it. As Frank droned on his reasoning for throwing the elaborate scheme, Dennis continued to focus on how easily he’d almost slipped up. All the hard work he’d put in that morning would have been for naught, and all over a stupid fucking beer.

“Dude, you gonna hand me one or what?” Mac asked, and Dennis jumped, body reacting before he realized what was happening. “You okay –”

“I’m fine!” The response was spoken loud enough to earn everyone’s attention, including Frank’s that was loaded with a glare at being interrupted before he continued.

“So, as I was sayin’, we’ve got one month to pull this together, and that means all of youse are gonna contribute…”

Dennis couldn’t wrangle the concentration to listen to the man, too engrossed with the way Mac was currently looking at him.

He too had lost interest in what Frank was saying, gaze cast on Dennis’ face before it fell to his hand as he finally set a beer down on the counter in front of him. A low hum emanated from Mac's throat, one that made Dennis’ cheeks flare, but he hurriedly busied himself with ensuring everyone else received a bottle before he inconspicuously procured a fifty-five calorie Budweiser Select for himself.

“Why are we doing this again?” Mac asked, and Frank rolled his eyes before he picked up a stack of papers from the table then proceeded to hand them out. “Oh shit! We’re going to have rides?”

“I’m going to be the ring master!” Charlie proclaimed, and Dee chuckled.

“It’s not a circus, Charlie,” she chastised, and he scoffed.

“You’re just jealous because your only job is operating the Ferris wheel,” Charlie shot back, and Dee’s eyes narrowed as she read through the list Frank had given her.

“Oh goddammit! So you want me to call all of these people to arrange for all this shit to be delivered, but then all I get to do is push a button on a goddamned ride? Oh, come on, Frank, I can be like a –”

“A court jester?” Mac cut her off with a snide grin, and she scowled at him before folding her arms across her chest.

“No, you idiot, not a court jester but…” her voice trailed off as Dennis read down the list of responsibilities Frank had given him.

“Wait, what the hell is this, Frank?” he interrupted his sister mid-campaign of her proposed stand-up routine as he smacked the paper with the back of his hand.

“What’s what?” the old man shrugged as he snapped open a peanut then tossed it into his mouth.

“You’ve got me doing a dunk tank? And a shirtless one at that? It’s going to be cold by then!” he complained, and Frank lifted his shoulders nonchalantly once more.

“And? You’ll live,” he stated indifferently, and Dennis knew at that moment that he shouldn’t have even brought it up because of course, his sister decided to run with it.

“Yeah, you’ll live,” she echoed then reached over the bar and poked him in the stomach. “You’ve got plenty of padding to cover you. You’ll be fine.” Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction at the remark, and Dennis wanted to strike back, counter her stupid words with ones of his own that held the piercing quality of a freshly sharpened knife, but Charlie changed the topic of discussion to how they should include a bounce house and Dennis once again fell back into the self-loathing that had threatened to zap up what little confidence he had left.

A shirtless goddamned dunk tank. And for what? What was the purpose of it? Because he was only worth his looks and nothing more? That was all anyone ever saw in him, wasn’t it? And now that those were gone, what was he left with?

Christ, now he only had a month to slim down. It had taken two weeks just to lose the meager amount that he had. Six more pounds just wouldn’t do if he was supposed to expose himself for an entire day. He needed to go down another fifteen at least, twenty if he was being honest. How the hell was he going to lose the weight that fast?

He needed to limit himself, first and foremost. No breakfast, no lunch, only something small for dinner. Cutting, that was what the article he had read a few days ago called it. People did it all the time. It wasn’t – it wasn’t starving himself, no, just simple cutting because the process involved cutting the fat.

The only problem with that was the fact that he’d fainted after three days the last time he had tried something like that, and fuck, what kind of pathetic weakling was he if he could only go three days without food?

No, he was better than that, far superior now. He could hold out, withstand temptation even if it smelled fucking delicious and made him salivate. Where the fuck was that smell even coming from? Oh, of course, they’d ordered a goddamned pizza while he was trying to figure out ways to lose weight.

“You want some?” Mac held up a slice, but Dennis gave him a curt shake of the head. “You sure? You didn’t eat anything before we left this morning,” he recalled, then took a bite of the cheesy, saucy doughy delight.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he mumbled, then stalked out to the alley for some fresh air. Anything to get away from the smell of freshly baked Italian deliciousness. Jesus, he was hopeless. All he thought about now was food, but food that he couldn’t have, that he wasn’t allowed to eat. He hated how obsessed he was, but that was how he’d always been. Something would swallow his consciousness whole, and he would ruminate on the subject, brain refusing to let him think of any other topic.

Mac had told him once that he dwelled too much, but he wasn’t like Mac, couldn’t just bounce from one thing to another without fail.

How else would one become an expert on something if they didn’t dwell on it? If they didn’t perfect their behavior?

The others just didn’t understand, nor were they going to be in a shirtless fucking dunk tank. Of course, Frank would have him do that. He wasn’t a son to the man, just a whore, a piece on a figurative board to move to the right space when the need arose.

It was then that he noticed he was pacing, already nearing the street before he turned and headed back down the rough pavement. Good, he needed to burn as many calories as he possibly could, he thought bitterly as he pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger then peered down at his stomach.

He sucked it in and yet it still bulged outwards, the wind an opposing force as it whisked past him and caused his shirt to stick to the unsightly obstruction.

In the end, he only had himself to blame for becoming the way he was. No one held a gun to his head and shoved all that food down his gullet. No, he had been the sole culprit, had chosen his own fate with his inability to close his goddamned mouth.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Mac’s voice made his sneakers get caught in a dip in the concrete, and he would have fallen had it not been for his best friend clamping a hand around his arm to prevent him from pitching face first onto the rough surface.

Dennis stared blankly at the man who wore a frown on his face, eyes holding curiosity instead of the judgement Dennis knew he deserved.

“You’ve been acting funny all day man. Is something going on?” he questioned, but Dennis’ brain wouldn’t allow him to formulate an answer, too absorbed in the fact that Mac’s fingers were still wrapped around his arm. It wasn’t until his gaze fell to their connected limbs when Mac withdrew, brow creased with an emotion Dennis swore was guilt until it smoothed back out into temporary neutrality. (Mac could never remain neutral for longer than five minutes at a time, if that.)

“I just have a lot – a lot on my mind,” he muttered and hoped the poor excuse would be enough, but there was hesitance marking Mac’s mouth, the corners tipped low as his head tilted to the side a degree.

“Like what?” he posed but maintained the distance he’d put between them of a foot, maybe a little more.

“Uh, just – just this whole stupid fair thing,” he waved his hand around but not at any particular object or thing. “It’s dumb.”

“Well, let’s forget about until we have to think about it. I was just going to set up the pool table for a game. Wanna join me?” He jerked a thumb back towards the bar, and instead of isolating himself further, Dennis nodded because spending time with Mac sounded nice, and plus he was totally right. What fair where he was going to be shirtless for all to see in a goddamned dunk tank?

The thought made his stomach sink, but he followed Mac anyway, hoping he could at least use the game as a distraction until he would inevitably revert to thinking about his need to restrict.

And it did work, in a way.

It gave him something new to fill his head with, something that he had been trying to avoid but couldn’t when it was right there in his face like that –

Mac.

More and more and fucking more, when Mac smiled or laughed, a tickling sensation bloomed in Dennis’ chest, caused his skin to prickle like there was something underneath it. He told himself that he didn’t understand why this was happening, but deep down, way down in that chasm that he claimed existed in his chest lay a truth that he didn’t want to uncover –

He had feelings for him, ones that weren’t just friendly.

Acknowledging them was a fucking joke, even though every time he looked at Mac, all he could think about was how pretty his eyes were or how beautiful his lips were and –

“Your shot dude.” Or how much he liked the sound of his voice, even when he was being annoying.

Dennis was fucked.

They managed to fit three games in before the bar started to fill with customers. All throughout the night, Dennis would sneak glances in at Mac only to find the darker haired brunette’s gaze already on him. At first, Mac looked away, but after the fifth time, Dennis flashed him a small smile that Mac timidly returned and the gesture caused his stomach to flutter. The emptiness that had been attempting to encompass him eased, made it that more tolerable.

“Did you see that guy?” Mac gawked as they passed a man on third whose face looked more like a mask than a human’s as they walked home.

Dennis peered back, eyes widening as he placed a firm hand on Mac’s shoulder and pushed him forward. Mac opened his mouth to protest, but Dennis shook his head. “Let’s get out of here. Now,” he ordered as the man with the weathered face began to pick up his pace, and it wasn’t until they had run for two blocks straight that Dennis looked down and saw their hands were intertwined.

Mac immediately let go. “What the fuck was with that guy?” He was playing it off, acting like nothing had happened, so Dennis decided to do the same.

“Talk about a rough life. Ew,” Dennis grimaced, but couldn’t keep his thumb and index finger from sandwiching his ear between them. They had just held hands. That was a big deal, wasn’t it?

“If I ever look like that, just shoot me,” Mac scoffed then emitted a noise of disgust mixed with fear.

“I don’t think you’ll ever wind up looking like that bro,” Dennis stated with a shake of his head. “You’re too –” He cut himself off, the four Budweiser Selects he’d imbibed in the last two hours making his tongue leak honesty like a broken faucet.

“I’m too what?” Mac questioned softly, and when his eyes met Dennis’, they looked just like a wounded puppy’s. Why did he have to do that?

“Uh, you’re too – you’re too…” Fuck, his brain was filled with fuzz. No food plus only beer turned him into a moron.

“Too…” Mac continued to stare at him expectantly, almost hopefully, and there went those goddamned butterflies again, wings beating against his ribcage.

Fuck it, he thought. “Too good looking,” he finished quietly, an exploratory edge to his tone.

And there Mac’s face went, eyebrows arching and irises shining as if Dennis had just told him that he hung the moon and the stars for Mac and Mac alone. “You think – You think that I’m good looking?”

Dennis cast his gaze away, the heat of a thousand suns making his cheeks blaze even though the sky was dark. It was then that the clumsy part of him that he denied existed forced the toe of his sneaker to get caught in a crack in the pavement, and forward he flew but he didn’t fall, saved at the last minute by Mac’s strong arms.

They stood there for a moment, eyes locked and hearts thumping until Mac patted his back awkwardly then scratched his head and broke the spell that was brewing between them. “Uh, that was a close one. Twice in one day.”

“Yeah, it – it was.” They started to walk again, but Dennis’ eyes kept drifting over to him. “Thanks for saving me. Twice."

Mac nodded, face now stricken with a troubled expression. He shoved his hands into his pockets as they rounded the corner that led to their street, mouth opening and closing then snapping shut before any sound came out.

A silence ridden with uneasy tension began to build between them until Dennis finally broke it. “Um, I know it’s not Tuesday, but did you maybe want to watch a movie?” he asked once they’d made it inside.

“Uh…” Mac’s voice trailed off, reluctance in each syllable.

“We don’t have to –”

“Sure,” the slightly shorter man agreed, effectively silencing Dennis. “You hungry?” he asked from the kitchen, the light of the fridge illuminating his face as he peered into the living room.

Dennis remained silent, brow furrowing because he knew he should eat something as he had skipped both breakfast and lunch, but the more he thought about the fact he would have to be shirtless for an entire day in a month’s time made him shake his head. “No, I’m good.”

“Are you sure?” Mac glanced his way again as he popped open a Tupperware container of leftovers from the night before then popped it in the microwave. “Have you even eaten today?”

Good, Dennis thought, he'd forgotten about asking him earlier apparently. “Yeah,” he replied, possibly a little too fast if the eyebrow arching in Mac’s forehead had anything to say about it.

“Oh, okay.” Doubt, there was doubt and a speck of suspicion in Mac’s voice.

“You know, um, do we have any apples?” Maybe something small wouldn’t hurt. An apple only had ninety calories, and he was sure he’d burned way more than that today. A thirty-minute walk twice in one day, plus he’d only had like six beers, maybe seven, and they were all light, so even though he was too tired to do the math, he was sure he would be in the negative for the day.

“Yeah, I can peel you one,” Mac offered, and fished one out of the produce drawer then peeled it, the microwave dinging a few seconds later. He brought both the two-day spaghetti as well as the apple into the living room along with two more beers and plopped down next to Dennis once he’d set everything but the apple on the coffee table. “What did you pick?”

“Alien vs Predator,” he replied, then accepted the peeled fruit Mac handed him, and almost dropped it when Mac gasped. “What?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Dude, I was just thinking about that movie!” Mac confessed as he gaped at him. “Like, right before you said it.”

“No way bro.” Dennis took a small bite out of the apple, the corners of his lips shifting upwards when Mac’s head bobbed up and down.

“How weird is that? It’s like we’re –”

“On the same wavelength,” they both said simultaneously.

“Whoa, holy shit!” Mac grinned. “That’s so cool!” His eyes were sparkling, and with each twinkle, with each tiny little firework of joy popping off in his irises, Dennis’ heart started to push blood through his veins faster. “I love it,” he mumbled, then ate a huge forkful of cheap noodles and sauce.

“Y-Yeah,” Dennis stammered them took another small bite out of the soft, off-white colored flesh. He liked it better without the skin, hating how waxy it could be. “Thanks again for, you know –” His bottom lip tucked itself between his teeth as he held up the apple then met Mac’s gaze.

He was still wearing that beaming smile, the one that turned his eyes into slits, the one that made Dennis fall even deeper. “Any time man,” he noted, then his mouth rounded as mutilated bodies popped up on the screen. “Oh shit!”

The movie played on, but Dennis hardly watched it, too cognizant of the man sitting by his side. This was going to end badly.

Chapter Text

“Those look good on you.”

The sound of Mac’s voice made him jump, one hand immediately clutching at his chest before he righted himself then tugged on the waistband of the navy blue trunks while trying but failing to hide the blush that spread like spilled paint across his cheeks. “Uh, thanks,” he murmured in a tone that was supposed to exude nonchalance but only held a waver instead.

“They’re your color,” Mac pitched him another compliment, chin dipping shyly as he wrung his hands together.

Dennis’ brow lowered as he continued to study himself in the mirror, though his attention kept straying to Mac. “They’re not…too tight?” he asked, and Mac’s head shook faster than a swivel stick as he took another step closer to him.

“No, I think they’re perfect.” Mac stood back, and appeared to admire the view, particularly Dennis’ ass.

“R-Really?” Dennis stammered, unable to hide the hope that glimmered in his eyes, and Mac nodded, continuing to close the distance between them, one foot at a time until he was within arm’s reach.

“Bro, you look smoking,” the words hurdled themselves out of Mac’s throat, and he quickly added, “In a purely non-gay way. Totally platonic.”

“Oh, well, yeah of course. Of course,” Dennis murmured. “Totally platonic,” he echoed lowly, even though he wished it wasn’t, wished it was the exact opposite of platonic.

“If I was a gay man, which I’m not, but if I was, I would bang you.” Mac’s face reddened immediately after speaking, skin darkening to a shade of crimson so deep, he resembled a beet.

How the hell was Dennis supposed to respond to that? If he was gay… Who the hell was Mac kidding? He was gayer than a –

“You know I’m not gay, right?” Mac asked, voice pitched high, and Dennis nodded assuredly even though a part of him just wished Mac would open up his eyes and realize that he was the furthest thing from straight.

“Yeah, dude, I know you’re not gay,” Dennis lied, then sucked in his stomach as he lifted the hem of his shirt. Dejection immediately washed over him. He was still too fat to go shirtless, and with only two weeks left, he didn’t know what he was going to do. The word failure echoed throughout his brain as he cringed at his reflection.

“Uh, you could just pop the shirt off if you really want to know how they fit,” Mac suggested, then scratched his temple as if it actually itched.

Dennis’ brow furrowed as he looked Mac’s reflection in the eye. “You think I should pop my shirt off?” He spoke like there was glue stuck to his tongue, slow and unsure.

“Well, yeah, I mean, that way you can see how they’ll look when you’re in the tank,” Mac shrugged, and Dennis gulped as he gripped the light cotton then peered down at himself. He still wasn’t where he needed to be, but Mac’s suggestion did sound wise. How else would he really know for sure?

“O-Okay, yeah, I’ll just – I’ll just pop it off,” he agreed, trying to act indifferent even though fear and shame were currently circulating through his blood.

After a minute went by and he hadn’t followed through with his statement, Mac quirked an eyebrow at him. “You gonna pop it off or what dude?”

It was now or never, Dennis decided. He took a deep breath then yanked the tee over his head, exposing his naked torso. He observed Mac in the mirror, watched as his lips parted in a gasp before his gaze trailed upwards, along Dennis’ stomach (that still wasn’t flat enough), over his pecs (that he’d been doing many a push up to keep perky), then up to his face.

“Uh, wow,” the darker-haired man mumbled, and the floor creaked as the gap between their bodies closed to none. He stood directly behind Dennis now, eyes locked on his reflection. He licked his lips, a nervous glimmer sparkling in his irises before he reached around to Dennis’ waist and slid one finger between his hipbone and the waistband. “Definitely a perfect fit.”

Dennis’ heart pounded in his chest as Mac’s fingertips toyed with the elastic encasing his mid-section, thumb now dipping below his equator and brushing softly over his skin. “Mac?”

“Have you been working out?” The other man’s voice deepened, breath gently ghosting over his shoulder.

“Uh,” and Dennis’ voice traveled to an octave it hadn’t visited since he was a teenager. “Actually, yeah, like a lot.

“I can tell. You’ve got that,” and he leaned forward, lips mere millimeters from his ear. “Christ on the cross look. Nice and lean.”

At that, a tent began to from in the front of the trunks, and when he looked down, he watched Mac’s hand glide lower and lower towards it until he encased Dennis’ cock in his palm. It was warm, warm and surprisingly nice. “Mac?” he repeated, and Mac’s lips curved upwards. “Are we – Are you –”

“Shhh, just move past it,” Mac murmured, then planted a soft kiss on the spot right behind Dennis’ ear.

A shiver ran through his frame, shoulder lifting in reflex, and Mac chuckled lowly then teased Dennis’ earlobe with his tongue. “Are you sure you want to –” But before Dennis could finish, Mac used his free hand to spin him around.

“Am I sure I want to fuck you?” Mac questioned, brows raised into his forehead, lips grazing against Dennis’ when he spoke. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he replied, and the second their lips met, Dennis awoke with a start.

He blinked rapidly, eyes adjusted to the dark as he stared up at the ceiling. “What the fuck?” he muttered to himself, then prepared to roll on his side when he was met with Mac’s sleeping face on the pillow next to his, mouth wide open and a trail of drool lining his chin. He swiftly shook him awake, and his roommate’s eyes fluttered open before they quickly shut again. “Mac, what the hell man?” he asked, and Mac hummed before he tugged the cover as he turned to face the bathroom.

Dennis glared irately at his back, frowning as Mac seemed completely unfazed by the fact that he wasn’t in his own bed. He huffed out a breath, then resumed the supine position he’d had before. It was no use. Mac had always been a heavy sleeper as long as Dennis had known him, and Dennis was too tired to move him.

Almost every muscle in his body was sore thanks to the new regimen he’d started. Every night before he went to bed, he would do fifty pushups and a hundred sit ups on top of continuing to walk to and from work.

After two weeks of heightened restricting and his new workout routine, he’d dropped another ten pounds. He didn’t understand how a stomach that went empty for so long was still so pudgy and round.

At that, he raised his shirt up then splayed his fingers over his belly and pinched. He winced, swallowing thickly at the amount of fat that bunched in his grasp. How could there be that much left? He hadn’t eaten anything the night before, choosing to fill his stomach with lite booze that no one else seemed to notice he’d been drinking.

Sure, his pants had become looser, but a part of him wondered if it wasn’t because he hadn’t stretched them out first.

Air whistled through his nose as he glanced over at his alarm clock and saw that it was only a little past five. The sun wasn’t even up yet, only darkness and the golden glow from the streetlamps creeping through the window.

He glanced over at Mac, hating yet silently enjoying his proximity, and his brain decided to veer off path, choosing to ruminate on the man lying next to him instead of all the food he wasn’t allowed to eat.

They were growing closer again, just like two planets who neared one another as they made their revolutions around the sun.

Hardly a moment went by without them being glued to each other’s sides, and while Dennis wasn’t about to gush to Mac and tell him how much he enjoyed his company, he didn’t push him away as he had been guilty of in the past either.

He could have easily kicked him out of his bed, literally. Could have just raised his foot and shoved Mac right over the side of the mattress, but he didn’t. It was weirdly comforting not sleeping alone, and without being aware of it, he began to inch his way towards Mac’s warm frame.

It wasn’t the first time his roommate had passed out in his bed, and really? He hoped it wouldn’t be the last. It happened occasionally. He’d get up to piss in the middle of the night, and either be too drunk or exhausted to return to his own room. (One morning, they’d both awoken at the same time, and Mac’s arm had been tucked securely around his middle, but neither man had mentioned it since.)

Temptation began to beckon him, and before long, his entire left side was pressed against Mac’s back. Mac was also a decent heater which Dennis didn’t mind as he’d been getting chillier as of late. He’d had problems with the cold ever since he was a kid, and having the warmth radiate straight from his best friend was comforting, so comforting that he drifted off back to sleep almost immediately.

When consciousness finally prevailed in the form of an alarm, he didn’t want to move because he was so warm and cozy that it took his body longer than usual to respond to the noise.

He reached a hand out and tapped the off button as he had numerous times before, still not aware enough to realize that his head was resting on Mac’s chest, heartbeat thumping away underneath his ear. His human pillow was firm yet also soft, and wait –

His eyes eased open, and the first thing he saw was Mac’s hand resting above his left pec. He stared at it for a moment until he noticed that Mac’s breathing had suddenly sped up along with his pulse. “Good morning,” he mumbled awkwardly, and the arm Mac had wrapped around his shoulders receded.

“Why am I in your bed?” Mac asked, voice groggy but holding that ever present hint of fear it did when they got too close.

“Because you were too tired to make it back to yours?” Dennis posed as he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to maintain an air of casualness that both men were incapable of doing.

“Oh, yeah, right. I think I remember now,” Mac muttered, then slid his legs over the side of the bed, gaze cast in the opposite direction of Dennis. “Uh, sorry.”

Dennis shrugged then led the way to the bathroom with Mac shuffling behind him.

A morning routine had sprouted recently, and as Dennis loaded Mac’s toothbrush with the minty paste they both used, the casual intimacy of the situation dawned on him.

His gaze inadvertently darted to Mac’s reflection at the very same moment Mac’s traveled to his.

Their eyes widened concurrently, and the urge to laugh struck Dennis so suddenly that he couldn’t halt the chuckles that ensued, Mac’s matching his almost immediately.

“What?” he quipped once the humorous noises died down, and Mac shook his head, a hint of a grin still tugging at his lips.

Something warm and gooey (the image of a freshly baked brownie abruptly came to Dennis’ mind) began to pool in Dennis’ stomach as he stole continuous glances at the man standing beside him, and he noticed that Mac was too. Their hands brushed against one another as they both leaned over to spit at the same time, bracing the counter simultaneously.

Mac uncurled his fingers first, though Dennis didn’t miss the hesitation that was present, and he wondered if Mac liked it as much as he did.

“Hey, so I was thinking,” Mac began, and Dennis was grateful for the incessant chatter that began to pour out of his mouth, the silence that had fallen between them too heavy for his liking. He rambled on about his new idea for a Project Badass video, completely dismissing the previous one he had when he found out how much work would actually have to go into making it happen. His new idea consisted of jumping a dumpster which definitely sounded more doable (and also, less likely to get him in jail).

They wrapped up their bathroom time together, Mac lingering as Dennis added some concealer to a few marks he deemed unsightly then went back into Dennis’ room.

“I’m gonna – I’m gonna go change,” Mac elongated his words, mouth quirking to the side before he nodded to himself then left.

Dennis watched him go then shook his head as he padded over to his closet and stared at its contents. Choosing an outfit was proving to be more difficult with each passing day. Instead of putting himself on display as he had in the past, the need to hide his body grew along with his stringent standards regarding his appearance.

After trying on three different shirts, he finally settled on an oversized green, black and blue striped long-sleeved shirt, and jeans that hid how thick his thighs had become. How in the hell had he lost weight? The numbers went down, sure, but every time he looked in the mirror, he was still fat.

“Oh, sorry,” Mac apologized, hurriedly turning on his heels when he entered the room as Dennis shucked off his sleep shirt.

“Knock dude,” Dennis complained as he shoved his head through the collar, and tugged it down, then swiftly changed out of the sweats into his pants.

“Well, the door was already open –”

“Yeah, because you didn’t close it when you went out,” Dennis interrupted him, then sat down on the edge of his bed and slipped his black and white ADIAS shoes on.

“Uh, I was going to make some waffles, you want some?” Mac offered, avoiding eye contact as he clapped his hands together then pointed both index fingers in the direction of the kitchen.

“I’m – I’m okay,” Dennis mumbled, and his stomach chose that moment to alert everyone in a ten-foot radius that it was empty.

One of Mac’s eyebrows arched, like a puppy that was trying to discern the origin of a noise. “Are you sure you’re not hungry dude? Now, that I think about it, you actually –”

“Dude, I stopped eating frozen waffles when I was ten. I just want some coffee.” A verbal pirouette, one that he hoped would cause Mac to forget about trying to feed him.

Mac’s mouth opened but promptly snapped shut. “That’s total bullshit dude. I’ve watched you eat an entire box before.”

Dennis instantly scowled. How dare Mac accuse him of being such a pig! He would never – Well, maybe he had just once, but he was really hung over when it happened. “Well, I don’t want any now, okay?” His voice came out a little sharper than intended, and the ire it held was swiftly returned by Mac.

“Goddamn dude, fine. I don’t give a shit,” he muttered crossly then turned to leave.

“Wait!” Dennis called out, and Mac’s steps came to a halt, but he continued to face the other way. Dennis briefly closed his eyes, nails digging into his palms before he spoke again, softer this time around. “I didn’t mean to – to – I just don’t want any.”

The man wearing a black tee with three howling wolves on it stood there for a moment before he peered back at Dennis then nodded. “Yeah, sure dude,” he mumbled then disappeared out into the living room.

The immediate want to follow after him caused his legs to propel him forward, and while the mirror sang its siren song, vying for his attention, Mac won out in the end.

When he made it into the kitchen, he stood behind the chair he usually sat in, slim fingers curling over the back of it. The toaster launched Mac’s breakfast upwards, and he watched Mac retrieve the two round premade pieces of batter, hissing as he removed them from their slots. “We’re good, right?” the words launched themselves out of his mouth, and Mac stood between the counter and the table, blinking uncertainly before he nodded.

“Uh, yeah, dude, why wouldn’t we be?” he asked, then grabbed the cheap imitation maple syrup from the refrigerator door and sat down. He flipped the blue cap up, then proceeded to drown the crisp waffles in the sugary substance until it started to drip over the lip of his plate onto the table. “Oops,” he cringed then immediately swiped up the thick liquid with the tip of his index finger and sucked it off.

Dennis gulped, eyelashes fluttering when he was caught staring.

“What?” Mac questioned through a mouthful of food, and Dennis hurriedly shook his head then went about making a pot of coffee. He was thankful that Mac couldn’t see him, his face betraying his inner emotions as it flared bright red with embarrassment.

All he could think about was the way Mac’s cheeks had hollowed, the two indents highlighting the lips that usually had a pen lodged between them when he thought no one noticed. (Dennis always noticed.) It wasn’t until the sound of running water met his ears that he realized he was spilling it all over the counter, missing the coffeemaker completely due to his distracted line of thinking. “Shit!” he cursed loudly and searched for a towel to clean up the mess.

“Are you sure you’re okay dude?” Mac peered over the back of his chair at him, and Dennis nodded, still avoiding his gaze.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he lied, wiping up the spill then refilling the pot so he could finally make a damned cup of coffee. Jesus, he was hopeless.

“If you say so,” Mac muttered under his breath then shoveled an overloaded forkful of food into his mouth.

Dennis folded his arms across his chest as he leaned against the counter once the appliance finally whirred to life and the scent of caffeine began to permeate the room. Though he tried to fight it, Mac wound up becoming the center of his attention once more.

It was apparent that he’d been hitting the gym harder as of late. While he wasn’t muscle bound by any means, his sleeves were starting to get tighter around the biceps that weren’t wiry like they used to be. He’d gained weight, but it suited him. He wasn’t fat, far from it, just a little thicker in certain areas. He hadn’t slicked his hair back that morning either, only combed it through once, and now it was fluffy. It looked…cute.

“Do we have enough money to fix the battery yet?” Mac asked, but Dennis was too consumed with how attractive he looked to hear him.

He had walked in on him the other day after a shower, and while he’d seen Mac shirtless plenty of times, the image of him standing there bare chested with droplets of water adorning his skin was burned into his retinas. Freckles covered his shoulders and arms like constellations, and Dennis wanted to map each one out, wanted to run his finger over them until he had their patterns memorized.

“Dennis?” And suddenly, Mac’s face was swimming into his vision, fingers snapping in front of his eyes.

Dennis blinked himself into awareness then slid away from the other man and grabbed a mug from the dish strainer. It wasn’t one he normally used, but he chose it anyway, anything to detract away from the fact that Mac was in such close proximity. “Uh, yeah, we can go to the store later.”

A breathy chuckle parted Mac’s lips as he stared at him. “That’s not what I asked you bro.”

“Oh, are you sure?” Dennis asked, because it was better to gaslight than to admit the truth.

“Uh, yeah, I’m sure. Are you like sick or something? You seem kind of off today,” Mac noted, and Dennis’ jaw clenched when coffee rolled down the side of the red ceramic because his hands were trembling.

“I feel great,” Dennis fibbed, even puffed out his chest and forged a smile that he was sure didn’t meet his eyes but hopefully emanated self-assuredness that he didn’t actually have.

Mac’s gaze wandered from his face down to his mid-section before he nodded, though the gesture didn’t contain belief like it usually did. “So are we or aren’t we?”

“Are we or aren’t we what?” Dennis echoed, and sat down, taking a sip of coffee even though he knew it was too hot. The burning of his tastebuds would at least give him an excuse not to eat anything if the topic arose later in the day. (He’d caught Dee sending suspicious looks his way the past week, but it was hard to decipher what her facial expressions meant sometimes as she they could be wildly off base; other times, more times than he cared to admit, they were right on the money.)

“Are we walking or do we finally have enough money to fix the car bro?” Mac stared at him, eyes brimming with curiosity. “Are you sure you’re not sick?”

“Will you quit asking me that? I feel perfectly fine,” Dennis waved him off, then filled his mouth with more caffeine. “And no, maybe next paycheck but I still need a little more.”

Mac nodded, tapped his fingers on the table then patted Dennis’ arm. “What if we steal from Dee again? She’s so dumb she probably wouldn’t even realize it was gone for like a month at least.”

“She’s as broke as we are man,” Dennis replied, brow furrowing when he saw how badly his hands were starting to shake. When was the last time he ate? Two nights ago? Three? Maybe he should have a little something… He rose to his feet with the intention of retrieving an apple from the fridge, but his vision started to swim, dizziness seizing his movements and he collapsed back down to the chair.

“Okay, what the hell is wrong with you?” Mac all but exclaimed, and Dennis clenched the table as he waited for the bout of lightheadedness to pass.

“N-Nothing. I just – I changed my mind. People are allowed to change their minds, are they not?” he inquired, and Mac rolled his eyes, head tilting to the side as if to say – I know you’re bullshitting me right now – which Dennis pretended to ignore.

“Changed your mind about what? Being able to stand?” he scoffed, and Dennis shot a pointed glower his way.

“I was going to get an apple, but I decided that I didn’t want it after all. Is that so wrong?” he mused, and Mac looked him up and down then shrugged.

“Well, no but –” he began, but Dennis cut him off.

“Then just let it go. Can you let it go?” Dennis spoke lightly, a hint of a whine present, and Mac’s eyes narrowed before he held his hands up in a surrender.

“Okay, okay. Letting it go,” he muttered, but the next time he refilled his fork, he stabbed the tines through the waffles harder than necessary then dragged them across the plate.

Dennis swiftly covered his ears, a frown encasing his mouth as he looked over at the other man. “Seriously dude?”

Mac hummed in response then continued eating until there were only mounds of syrup remaining, lips pulling thin when the sound of Dennis’ stomach acid reciting its chorus resounded through the air. “Not hungry, huh?” The tone he used was indifferent, almost smug in nature.

“If I was, I would eat,” Dennis confirmed haughtily, then continued to sip at his coffee until it was gone. His stomach gurgled loudly again, rumbling its protest at his refusal to fill it.

“Whatever you say bro,” Mac returned then put his dirty dishes in the sink. “Let’s go.” He would soon forget about Dennis’ nonexistent eating habits anyway, probably by the time they made it to the bar. His brain was always all over the place like a goddamned ping pong ball. Unless he fixated on something which he was prone to do. “Are you coming or what?”

“What?” Dennis snapped out of the trance he’d been in only to find Mac staring at him expectantly. “Uh, yeah, yeah.” Shaking his head at himself, he carefully got to his feet, thankful that the room was staying in place then followed Mac out the door.

As expected, the second they made it into Paddy’s, Mac’s amnesia kicked in thanks to the preparations they were making for the silly fair Frank was still adamant they throw, and Dennis managed to allow himself to concentrate on them until Frank opened his big fat goddamned mouth.

“How we lookin’?” the old man asked, then gave Dennis a once over.

“How are we looking on what, Frank?” he repeated, lifting the paint brush off the panel he was currently coloring in. Frank waved a hand at his lower region, which only confused Dennis more. “What the hell is that?” he asked, then mimicked the older man.

“On the body, kid. It’s important that you’re lookin’ fit, otherwise, it’s not going to work,” he replied, and Dennis’ stomach dropped.

“Well, I don’t understand why you need to see me now because I’m not –” Dennis began, but Dee swiftly stepped in.

“What are you so afraid of?” she shrugged, one eyebrow arched high into her forehead, and Dennis scowled at her.

“I’m not afraid of shit,” Dennis spat, and Dee smirked, bouncing on the balls of her feet before she nudged Dennis in the ribs. “Jesus Christ, could your elbow get any bonier?” Divert! Divert! He needed to get their attention on Dee’s imperfections so they would forget about his.

“I think she sharpens them!” Charlie chimed in then looked up from his spot on the floor where he was painting a giant clown on a piece of plywood.

“How would she sharpen them though?” Mac wondered, and Dennis released a breath of relief at being forgotten.

“I do not sharpen my goddamned elbows, you idiots!” she screeched, lips pursing as she glared at the shorter man.

“I ain’t got all day, Dennis. You’re the main attraction, so off with the shirt,” Frank demanded, then snapped his fingers.

So much for being off the hook. “Wait, I’m the main attraction? I thought Charlie –”

“Do you know how many broads would jump at the chance to dunk your ass? Off,” he ordered, and suddenly, everyone’s eyes were on Dennis, even the regulars whose background chatter had slowed to a crawl.

“What are you waiting for bro? Pop it off,” Mac grinned, eyes all shiny like the fucking Milky Way in the night sky, and Dennis was quickly reminded of the dream he’d had the night before.

“Look, I think that we need to focus on the fact that Dee does sharpen her el –” he tried but crashed and burned instead.

“We’ve moved on from that already,” Frank informed him, and Dennis imagined himself being backed into a corner as his cheeks began to grow warm. “What are you waitin’ for? You usually jump at the change to expose yourself.”

“Yeah bro, remember that time you went shirtless at the Eagles game? It was like twenty degrees outside, but it got us free beer,” Charlie reminded him, and Dennis narrowed his eyes at his smaller friend.

“You seem awfully reluctant,” Dee punctuated the word as she looked him up and down then flashed him a grin that she only used when she was beating him in whatever competition they were contestants in.

“Okay, I get it, you all want to feast your eyes on perfection, which is perfectly understandable, but –” He was aiming for superior, but the others clearly weren’t buying it, and the pressure to prove himself began to edge out in the lead as it always did every time the opportunity arose.

“But nothing,” Frank interjected before Dennis could continue his spiel. “You in fightin’ shape or what? I ain’t got all day.”

“Well, of course, I am, Frank,” he insisted with a forced laugh that no one else found amusing. He gulped, fingers hesitantly straying to the hem of his shirt before released a frustrated sigh then removed the article of clothing. “See, I’m at the height of physical –”

“Eh, it’ll have to do,” Frank mumbled, and everyone went back to what they were doing as Dennis stood there, the cool air causing tiny bumps to raise along his arms.

“Eh? Eh? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dennis frowned, and hurriedly slipped his shirt on, so infuriated with Frank’s answer that he didn’t see the lingering glances Mac had continued to send his way.

“Alright, Deandra, you called the rental place already, right?” Frank ignored him, and Dennis began to fume.

How dare that fat old asshole tell him that how he looked would have to do! Even if he was wary of his appearance, no one else was supposed to be goddammit!

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, and rushed into the bathroom, hating that he knew he was going to spend the next thirty minutes tearing himself apart. “Is it really that bad?” he asked himself as he revealed his bare mid-section in the grimy mirror Charlie had yet to clean. He turned to the side and sucked in his stomach, brow lowering at the soft flesh that refused to firm. A wince tugged at his lips as he stabbed himself with his index finger, watching fat bunch around the indentation.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Mac’s voice was like a knife, slicing right through the mutiny of self-deprecating thoughts that were inundating his brain.

The end of the over-sized shirt quickly fell back into place as he released it then turned to face the man who had somehow managed to not make a single sound before speaking (which was a feat in itself as Mac created noise everywhere he went).

“Uh, n-nothing,” Dennis stammered then forced a faux smile so wide, it made his cheeks ache. He swiftly lost it as his gaze fell to the dirty floor, and his index finger and thumb hastily became acquainted with his ear. Fuck, Mac shouldn’t be doing this to him, shouldn’t be causing him to act like a crush-ridden teenager. He was a grown man for Christ’s sakes!

“Uh huh, right,” he muttered as he stepped over to one of the urinals and began to piss as Dennis started to pace behind him.

“I need you to be honest with me,” the statement exploded from Dennis’ mouth before he could stop it. Shit!

“About what?” Mac asked, zipped his pants up then washed his hands.

“Uh…” Dennis trailed off, grimacing before his hand dropped to his side and he gestured towards himself. “Do you think – Do you think, you know, that…” How mortifying. Had he really stooped so low that he needed validation from Mac about his looks? (Of course, he did, and quite frequently, at that.)

“Do I think,” and Mac lifted his chin as he looked Dennis up down, clearly confused by what Dennis was asking.

“Um, do you think that,” but he couldn’t get the words out, and now his stomach was twisting into knots he wasn’t sure could ever be undone.

“What? Is there something on your shirt?” Mac squinted, scanning the soft material that adorned Dennis’ body then shook his head. “I don’t see anything.”

“Oh, cool, yeah because that’s totally I was going to ask,” Dennis lied, and an awkward smile pulled at his lips, one that Mac matched instantly. His hand began to raise towards his ear again. “Did you want to – Did you want to help me with my sign? I could use a little bit of your – your finesse.”

Mac brightened like a freshly lit Christmas tree. “Sure, bro! You know, I’m so glad that you said that because I’ve really been working on that part of myself,” he mentioned as he led the way out of the bathroom and continued to ramble but Dennis stopped listening. It became one of those moments where all he could concentrate on was how adorable his best friend looked when he was happy, and the knife in his gut twisted deeper.

He didn’t count how many times their hands touched as they worked on his dunk tank sign (sixteen to be exact), nor did he make a tally of all the instances their eyes met and they both went silent as they stared at each other (thirteen, but Dennis was so not counting, not at all) before breaking into genuine grins that bordered on sheepish.

It was as though everyone else fell into the background, and he even managed to ignore Dee and Charlie when they began to bicker over whether or not they could be co-hosts of the event which Frank hurriedly tamped down as he proclaimed it was his idea in the first place so naturally, the spotlight would be on him.

“I think it turned out pretty well,” Mac announced once they were finished, and Dennis had to agree, the little flourishes Mac added to it really making it pop. It looked a thousand times better than the garbage the others had made.

“Oh, you’ve got a,” and Dennis motioned to the little blotch of green paint that adorned the tip of Mac’s nose.

Mac’s eyes rounded then crossed before he shook his head at himself then tried to rub it off to no avail. “Did I get it?” he asked, and Dennis shook his head.

“No, it’s still – here, I’ve got it,” he offered once Mac made three unsuccessful attempts. He wetted a napkin then dabbed it over the skin that mirrored the Wicked Witch of the West’s and carefully removed it after adding a little soap. “You’re good now,” he alerted him, and it wasn’t until Mac shifted forward an inch when he realized just how close they were.

“Uh, thanks,” Mac mumbled his gratitude, and for a moment, he appeared entranced, but the spell was broken when Dee hurled a quart of paint at Charlie’s chest and some of it splattered over the other two men. “Goddammit! Really, Dee?” Mac thundered, and while Dennis too was pissed at the carelessness that his twin possessed, the immediate need to calm Mac caused him to encase the man’s cheeks with his fingers.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” he encouraged, and Mac’s furious gaze traveled from over Dennis’ shoulder to his face. “How about I distract her, and you go get that gallon of fire engine red from behind the counter? Yeah? Okay?” he asked, thumbs gently stroking Mac’s cheeks, and the darker haired brunette sent one last glare Dee’s way before he nodded. Dennis patted his cheek, his lips curving upwards in a smile that became infectious as a deviant one immediately fell across Mac’s face. “You know sis,” Dennis began casually, and strode over to his sister who was still holding the empty can in her hand, bangs hanging in her eyes as she watched him approach. “If you’re going to do that, at least get a better color,” he suggested, and one of her eyes narrowed before her guard slowly came crashing down.

“What are we talking here? The pink? It should be the pink, shouldn’t it?” she smirked, and they both turned towards Charlie who looked like he’d just been submerged in a vat of milk chocolate. One corner of her mouth curved upward as she reached for the can of bubblegum colored hue, but before she could drench the man with its glossy sheen, Mac snuck up behind her and dumped the contents of the gallon bucket over her head then high-fived Dennis immediately afterwards. “Goddammit, you son of a bitch!” she screeched, and everyone but her cracked up as she ran into the bathroom leaving a bright red trail in her wake.

Dennis opened his mouth to grant Mac praise when they both noticed Charlie licking his fingers. “Charlie, dude, that’s paint. You can’t eat that man.”

“Well, it looks like paint, but it actually tastes –” he tried to defend, but Mac promptly cut him off.

“Charlie, go wash that shit off you dude. It’s not edible,” he reasoned, but Charlie’s head tipped back, amusement written in the lines forming around his mouth.

“Does it actually say that though? Because –”

“Don’t eat the paint, Charlie,” both men warned, then looked at each other, dopey grins crossing their faces before Frank grumbled at them. Begrudgingly, they went back to work, but a shift had definitely transpired between them.

“So, I’m not like trying to blindside you or anything,” Mac informed Dennis later that night as he munched on a burrito from Taco Bell while they walked home. “But like – have you lost weight?”

Dennis shrugged, the cool breeze that blew past them flowing right into his bones. The urge to tug on his ear beckoned him, so he swiftly sandwiched the lobe between his forefinger and thumb. “Uh, why – why do you ask?”

Mac made a noncommittal noise as he chewed. “You just look, I don’t know, different?”

That made Dennis’ muscles tense underneath his shirt. “In a – In a good way?” He sounded meek, like a fucking mouse, but he needed to know.

“Uh, well, yeah,” Mac replied, then unwrapped another burrito and sank his teeth into it.

“Oh, well, thanks, I think,” he added under his breath, fingers toying with the end of his paint-speckled shirt.

“I mean, you’re definitely going to look good for the dunk tank,” he complimented through bites. “Even though I still can’t believe Frank’s making you do that. I saw the forecast for next week and it’s supposed to be in the fifties.”

A stream of giddiness unfurled through Dennis’ veins, and his sole focus centered on Mac’s approval of his appearance. Mac said he looked good different, which meant Dennis was totally doing the right thing, and needed to stick to it if he wanted to maintain being worthy of more of the man’s admiration.

“Oh my God, these are so good,” Mac moaned after taking a chunk out of a chalupa, then held it up to Dennis’ mouth. “You want some?”

Dennis recoiled from the cheap fast food and shook his head. He was not about to fuck up all the hard work he’d put in for that. “Uh, no, I’m good,” he responded, even though he’d went the entire day without consuming a single thing.

“You sure?” Mac peered over at him, irises sparkling like mad in the sodium light that fell down upon them, and Dennis’ breath caught in his throat at the sight. Mac really did have the most beautiful eyes.

“Uh, yeah,” he nodded, absentmindedly scratching the back of his head, and ignoring the slight tremor his hands now carried.

“Okay, but if you change your mind, I have plenty. Those ten packs are only six bucks,” he rambled on, but paused when their fingers brushed against one another’s. His gaze rose upwards to meet Dennis’, mouth pitched open though no sound came out.

“Maybe – Maybe later,” Dennis agreed with a nod, and Mac nodded too, then hurriedly filled his mouth with more food. It was so silly, so childish, but Dennis began to imagine their hands interwoven together, just as he and Maureen used to do when they were in high school. He hadn’t held anyone else’s since.

Later came and went and Dennis wound up passing out during their weekly viewing of Predator. He awoke as the credits began to roll, but it took him a minute to get his bearings and once he did, he realized that he was no longer in an upright position. Mac’s knees quickly came into view, and that was when he saw that his head had found its way to Mac’s lap, the other man’s hand resting on his forearm.

“Someone was tired.” Mac’s voice was soft, not holding any of the roughness it did when they were outside the four walls of the apartment.

“Uh, yeah,” Dennis murmured as he sat up, vision still cloudy with sleep. “Guess so.” Mac stood first then reached out, fingers hovering in front of Dennis’ face. “T-Thanks,” he stammered, then immediately pulled his shirt down once he saw that it had rolled up to expose his midriff which he noted had caught Mac’s eye.

“Um, yeah, sure, any – any time,” Mac nodded, wincing as he massaged the back of his neck, did an awkward spin then headed towards his room.

“Hey – Hey, Mac?” The other man stopped and slowly turned around. “Did you want to – Did you want to maybe…sleep in my room tonight? You know, in case you like have to use the bathroom again?” Jesus, he sounded so fucking girly and pathetic. Future Dennis would blame it on the three light beers he’d consumed once they’d made it home, but present Dennis really didn’t want to sleep alone tonight.

Mac’s brow lowered, a frown of consideration causing the corners of his mouth to descend before his left shoulder lifted fractionally. “I mean, I’m cool – I’m cool with that because now – now that you mention it, I actually have to piss now and I’ll probably have to piss again later, so uh, sure.”

Tension Dennis hadn’t released had been building swiftly left his body, replaced with a wave of relief as he led the way into his room. He climbed under the covers, gaze on Mac as he disappeared into the bathroom (the door remaining open, of course), then waited to close his eyes until he slid into bed at his side.

The immediate warmth that Mac emanated granted him ease, and his last thought before he was pulled into unconsciousness was –

I could get used to this.

Chapter Text

Tha thump. Tha thump. Tha thump.

Dennis stared at scale, at the square, black device that held his fate in its hands.

It was stupid, it was so stupid that the numbers on it would make or break his sense of self. He wasn’t sure when he’d started to rely on it, but somewhere along the road, the need to make those three digits drop to an acceptable level were indoctrinated into his blood.

“You can do it. It’s just – It’s just a number,” he told himself, even giggled but the sound that came out was forced, practiced, a noise he needed to release in order to move onto the next step of the routine which was actually climbing onto the electronic mechanism.

He glanced at the mirror, promptly ignoring the shame that was already starting to build on his thin visage, then gulped as he lifted one foot, the other taking its sweet time as it joined its partner on the dark colored platform. His eyes squeezed shut automatically before he eased one open and peered down at the digital screen.

145.0

Air whistled between his lips (that he’d had to continuously coat with lip balm due to them constantly being chapped) as he let the number sink in.

He’d gone down over twenty pounds total, almost thirty, and yet, his reflection kept whispering that it wasn’t enough. A rational voice that rarely made itself known told him that maybe he’d actually lost a little too much, but it was soon overruled by the sight that stood before his eyes.

No, no there had to be something wrong with the goddamned scale, he thought as examined the pesky roll that surrounded his waist. He glared at the skin that sandwiched itself between his thumb and index finger (not realizing that it was in fact, only skin and not fat), a nauseous sensation making his stomach lurch. Even after limiting himself to less than five hundred calories a day, he was still gross and disgusting. Still…

Portly.

The anger that bubbled in his blood caused a wet sheen to wash over his eyes as he sneered at his form in the glass. Oh, how his mother’s head would roll if she were to see him as he was now. Her golden son had transformed into a monstrous blob, one that definitely shouldn’t be on display for hundreds, possibly thousands of people to see.

He ran his finger over the soft padding that covered his hips, wincing when he dipped his nail into his skin, causing a red line to form along the bones he was unable to see.

Jesus, he was never going to hear the end of it from the others. They were all going to call him a fat pig. Frank would shake his head at him, Dee would cackle, Charlie would tell him to lay off the Snickers and Mac –

What would Mac do?

Would he tell him he looked like a blimp? Tell him that he still had ‘too much body mass’? Or would he look at him like he was something to be desired?

Mac had been sleeping in his bed for two weeks now. Two whole weeks that neither man wanted to sleep alone.

Even though they always started off on opposite sides of the bed, by the time morning rolled around, they found each other, their bodies a mess of tangled limbs. The other day, Dennis had woken up to Mac’s head resting on his chest. Instead of disturbing him, he found himself entranced with the way the sunlight highlighted the auburn streaks that were nestled throughout his dark locks, which were messy and disheveled.

And…

Cute.

Adorable.

A plethora of adjectives rolled through his head, and his fingers had weaved their way through Mac’s hair, smoothing it back as his nails skimmed along his scalp. The grip Mac had on his waist tightened, and even after his breathing sped with the noticeable quickening of awakening, he didn’t move either, choosing to lay there until Dennis muttered a feather light, “Good morning.”

It was intimate and soft, and even when they were at the bar, they began to gravitate towards each other, staying in each other’s atmospheres with gentle touches and smiles that split their faces in half.

They shared inside jokes, reminisced about the past, and even dared to dream about the future. The only thing that Dennis cared about (as it had drunkenly slipped from his lips one night while they were laying on their backs on the roof, staring at the stars) was that he wanted to share it with Mac.

And Mac –

Before he could finish the thought, Mac came bounding into the room, and rushed over to the porcelain bowl situated behind him. An immediate sigh of relief soon followed as he pissed then flushed the toilet. His eyes widened at the same moment Dennis’ did when he turned around to wash his hands.

A second passed before Dennis hurriedly put the scale back underneath the sink then pretended as though Mac hadn’t walked in on his inspection.

Mac glanced at him then cleared his throat, and washed his hands, keeping his gaze trained on the water that was streaming out of the faucet.

The pounding of Dennis’ heart receded with each minute that ticked by as Mac remained silent, not mentioning what Dennis knew he had seen.

“Uh, so today’s the day, huh?” Mac’s voice was soft, holding a note of uncertainty as he briefly met Dennis’ eyes in the mirror.

“Yep, yeah, today’s – today’s the day,” Dennis murmured, brow furrowing as he stared at his reflection. The short-sleeved shirt he was wearing was loose, though the sharpness of his collarbones was visible through the thin light gray cotton. His fingers twitched before they rose to claim his earlobe.

“Do you think people are actually going to show up?” Mac asked, and Dennis didn’t miss the way he had started to wring his hands, eyes locking with Dennis’ before they dropped to the floor.

Dennis scoffed at that. “Well, Frank did throw flyers out of a plane, so I’m sure there’ll be a big turn out.”

“Hey, at least you’ll look good in the tank,” Mac noted with a sheepish grin, and even though both of their cheeks flared with crimson, something warm settled in Dennis’ empty stomach at that.

“Y-Yeah? You, uh, you really think so?” he asked as he toyed with the hem of his shirt, and Mac lifted one shoulder nonchalantly, smile briefly pulling into a thin line before it returned and he nodded.

“Yeah, I do.” Mac’s irises glimmered, and Dennis’ heart soared at the sight. They stood, trading smiles and glances before Mac jerked a thumb in the direction of the kitchen. “I’m gonna go, uh, grab my – my stuff,” he stammered, flashed Dennis another soft smile then disappeared.

“Yeah. Me too,” Dennis mumbled his agreement to the figure staring at him in the mirror, and gave himself a once over before he retreated back to his room.

They arrived at Paddy’s an hour later to find the street blocked off. Rides lined the pavement in front of the bar, along with various stands filled with the cheapest trinkets Frank’s money could buy.

The dunk tank sat a few feet away from the front door, and Dennis gave it a fearful glance before he went inside then immediately downed a shot of the stupid Skinny Girl Vodka. He followed it with a second and a third in quick succession, but his anxiety had yet to subside. He was about to knock back a forth when Mac and Charlie entered, arguing over who would get to ride what rides first.

“I’m taller so I should get to go first,” Mac stated as he retrieved three cases of pre-made cotton candy that they were going to try to pass off as fresh.

“Yeah, but I’m older so I should go first,” Charlie countered as he grabbed a few cases of Coors.

“I should go first, right Dennis?” Mac questioned, brow lowering when he saw the bottle on the counter and the shot glass in his hand. Before he could ask whatever question that made his lips part again, Dennis jumped in.

“Uh, yeah. Mac’s right, Charlie, by ride rules and regulations, taller always goes first.” Mac smiled brightly, and Dennis’ chest ached at the sight. (He’d also wanted to tell them to just ride the goddamned things together, but a pang of jealousy caused that thought to stay in his head.)

“See, told ya,” he bragged, and Charlie rolled his eyes.

“He’s only agreeing with you because he wants what’s in your pants,” the shorter man grumbled, and nervous laughter parted Mac’s lips as he led the way back outside though Dennis couldn’t hear the high-pitched comeback he stumbled over as the door closed behind them.

Dennis’ shoulders sagged as swirled the alcohol around before setting the small glass on the bar. He was already starting to experience the effects of the first three shots and the last thing he wanted was to puke right now. Although…

If he puked, then his stomach would be completely empty.

While it did sound tempting, sitting above a pool of water while being hung over did not.

“Getting tanked before you get in the tank,” Dee quipped, straightening her tie as she exited the bathroom then helped herself to the shot Dennis had just declined. She was wearing a black suit, one that matched Frank's, complete with a white dress shirt and black heels that highlighted her slim frame.

“I’m not –” Dennis halted his words, hating how loose his tongue had become after the little alcohol he’d consumed (while he pretended that he’d actually eaten something in the last three days).

Dee wrapped her fingers around the clear bottle and poured herself a shot. “You’re not a lot of things,” she told him with a raised brow, then swallowed the clear liquid as she tipped her head back.

“And just what are you insinuating by that?” he asked, gripping the edge of the counter while tiny black spots danced in his eyes.

“I’m not going to spell it out for you,” she returned, and helped herself to another two-fingered pour. “But I think you already know.”

“That doesn’t make any goddamned sense!” he shot back, then swayed as the alcohol rushed through his bloodstream.

“It wouldn’t to someone’s brain that wasn’t fully functioning.” She smirked, then turned on her heels and headed for the exit.

"That outfit looks ridiculous!" he called out after her, but his attempt at ridiculing had no effect on her as she threw a smirk over her shoulder before going outside.

It took a little time for Dennis to process her words, and a frown marred his lips when her message finally sank in. His brain was operating at a hundred goddamned percent! Not fully functioning, he thought, scoffing to himself before he grabbed his bag and went into the office.

“She doesn’t know shit,” he muttered to himself as he tugged off his jeans and removed his socks, then slipped his flipflops on before stuffing his clothes into the backpack. He discarded his hoodie as well, and goosebumps instantly flared along his arms the moment cool air hit them. Why was it so goddamned cold in there? Had someone turned the air on? Upon checking the thermostat, he saw that it was set to 73. Why wasn’t he warm then?

Shaking his head, he grabbed a beer then went outside, eyes widening at the crowd that was starting to form. Frank’s silly flyers had worked after all.

“Welcome! Welcome!” Frank called out through a megaphone, and Dennis folded his arms as he watched the man make a fool of himself as he started to talk about how wonderful the fair was going to be. He sounded like a politician making promises everyone knew he wasn't going to keep, Dennis mused.

“Why’s he doing this again?” Mac asked, taking up the empty space to Dennis’ left side while Charlie helmed the right.

Dennis frowned, then joined Mac, and they both looked at Charlie whose bottom lip surged out as his eyes narrowed.

“Oh, he’s just doing this to piss the fish factory owner off across the street. They can’t get shipments because it’s blocked,” Charlie pointed out, and both Mac and Dennis produced sounds of realization.

“Why didn’t he just park his van in front of the gate?” Mac suggested, and Charlie shrugged before he nodded.

“You know, it sounds simple when you put it like that,” he agreed, and once again held both Mac and Dennis’ annoyed gazes.

“That’s because it is simple, Charlie,” both men stated, then looked at each other, their aggravation giving way to amusement.

Charlie peered between them then shook his head. “Well, yeah, but like, they could’ve just gotten a tow truck or something. They can’t do shit about this.” He appeared satisfied with his answer, a pleased smile falling across his lips but neither Mac nor Dennis noticed.

Dennis knew how much Mac liked it when someone else finished his sentences, but being so in sync that they said the same thing at the same time? That was totally next level.

“How did you know I was going to say that?” Mac asked softly with a minute shake of the head, and Dennis let his gaze dart elsewhere as his right shoulder lifted in an attempt at casualness.

“Had a feeling,” he offered, squinting as the sun finally made an appearance. While it provided some warmth, it wasn’t the reason for the shade of pink his cheeks currently were.

“Seriously?” Charlie looked between them, eyebrows narrowing before he left them to their own devices.

“Step right up and sink a twink!” Frank announced over the megaphone he was using then gestured to Dennis.

“Did he just say sink a twink?” Dennis echoed disbelievingly, and Mac’s lips pursed before he nodded.

“Uh, yeah, I think he did,” he replied, and Dennis scowled at the older man as people started to stream their way.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he mumbled, and was suddenly hit with a round of self-consciousness so harsh, he considered running back inside and locking himself in the office.

“Only five dollars per play! Oh, for you, it’s free,” he grinned then winked at younger blonde with huge tits. “Sink the twink!”

With the look of a deer about to be plowed down in the middle of the road settling on his features, Dennis stood in front of the tank, the sound of blood rushing through his ears louder than the cheers from the people surrounding him. He glanced at Mac who offered him a thumbs up that gave him the push he needed to project the persona he knew he would need to use to make it through the day.

A mask of cockiness slipped into place; a smile that held all the falseness of a knockoff diamond causing the corners of his mouth to raise. The vulnerability of being exposed gnawed at him as he yanked off his shirt, ensuring that his gut was sucked in before he climbed into the tank then began to wave people towards him.

He ignored the chill that seeped into his skin, the temperature hovering just above fifty degrees as ball after ball missed the target that would send him into the frigid depths below.

“Better luck next time bitch,” he muttered under his breath as a very unhappy man that was twice his size sulked off after not being able to hit the red bullseye.

The smirk faltered when Dee approached, followed by Charlie and Mac. Her head tilted to the side, blonde hair shifting as she sized him up.

“We both know you can’t throw to save your life,” he taunted her, and the smug expression she was wearing grew to epic proportions.

“How much do you want to bet that I can?” she retorted, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off Mac who was returning his gaze. Fuck, he looked so handsome in his stupid sleeveless shirt, muscles on display and sunlight making his irises glow.

“What?” he questioned distractedly then shook his head.

“I said how much do you want to bet that I can?” she repeated, blatant annoyance present in her tone.

“Please, your hands are so unsteady you can’t even apply your lipstick without getting it on your teeth,” he quipped, nervousness making his stomach clench as she picked up a ball and tossed it teasingly in the air above her head.

“Well, if that’s what you think then how about a wager? You’ve got nothing to lose, right?” she shrugged, and Dennis’ brow furrowed but he wasn’t about to let her get to him.

As if.

“You know what, sis? You’re right. I don’t so what’s on the table? You want me to do your makeup for you so you at least have a chance of picking up a guy?” He flashed her a smirk, then winked at Mac whose grin widened considerably at the sight.

(No one could see how badly he was cracking.)

“Damn Dee! He got you good!” Mac chuckled as he nudged her in the ribs, hard enough to make her grimace.

“If I sink you, you have to do my job for a week at the time of my choosing and -" She held up a finger. "Shirtless,” she added, and a plume of disdain blossomed in the pit of his stomach, but he forged a grin painted with confidence and shrugged, hands flying up into the air as he rolled his eyes.

“Okay, deal,” he replied incredulously, then scoffed. A week of waiting tables shirtless? Oh, that bitch. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“Ok-ay,” she grinned, the gesture shark-like in nature as cackles erupted from her mouth. She turned to Charlie and Mac, then looked back at Dennis, a fierce gleam of determination now sparkling in her eyes. “You ready?” With an eyebrow arched and tongue tucked against her cheek, she stared at him expectantly, but he only waved her off (minute trembles haunting his slim fingers).

“You couldn’t hit that even if you were standing –” It happened in slow motion. One second, Dennis was perched securely on the small bench, the next, a buzzer sounded and the sensation of falling hit him square in the chest, stealing his breath away as he was submerged in bone-chilling water. “You goddamned bitch!” he shouted before he retook his seat. Every nerve in his body tingled as soon as the air hit him. “I need a t-t-towel.” His teeth chattered in his skull as he rubbed his palms down his damp arms.

“No, you don’t,” Dee remarked curtly, and before he had a chance to react, the hard surface his ass was resting on once again disappeared out from underneath him. Down he went, plunging into the freezing water, his sister having somehow acquired a second ball.

“We b-b-both know you didn’t p-p-pay t-t-ten dollars, you b-bitch!” he stuttered out, and rubbed his eyes. Fuck, he was freezing. His entire body vibrated violently, hands slipping from the seat twice before he was able to pull himself up onto it again.

“Haha! Got ‘em!” She raised her arms in triumph, then kicked the air, chuckling the entire time.

“Here bro.” Mac handed him a towel which he hurriedly grabbed and wrapped it around his shoulders.

“T-T-Thanks,” he muttered, unable to quell the shivering that was racking his thin frame. Never in his life had he ever been so cold, and he wondered if he would ever be able to stop shaking.

“Well, shit, I want to try.” Charlie picked up a ball and squeezed it.

Dennis’ eyes widened because he knew if anyone could hit that small red circle, it was Charlie. “Charlie, no. Come on man,” he begged, but as Charlie reared back, he squeezed his eyes shut and prepared for the seat to give away again. The high-pitched noise rang through the air once more, and bubbles formed around him as he was surrounded by water for the third time in ten minutes. “I’m done,” he announced hotly once his head was above the surface, and Mac was at the ready to assist him out of the tank, but Frank soon appeared, curtailing his exodus.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” he griped, and offense presented itself on Dennis’ visage in the form of a furrowed brow and angry pout.

“I’m getting out of this goddamned thing,” he shrieked, and Frank shook his head.

“Oh, not you’re not. You’ve only been in there for three hours, and this fair ain’t stopping until it’s dark.” Frank stared at him, and the expression that encased his features gave Dennis pause. It was one he had worn numerous times throughout his childhood (when the man was actually present). Whenever Dennis saw that look on his father’s face, it frightened him into obedience, and it still had the same effect even though he wasn’t a kid anymore.

“But it’s goddamned cold out here, Frank!” he protested because he at least needed to try, even it was no use.

“Grow up,” Frank told him with a tone that clearly stated how unimpressed he was, and Dennis opened his mouth to further his argument but when he saw the way the old man’s frown deepened, he shut up. “The rest of youse have work to do so chop chop.”

One by one they dispersed, and Dennis was left by himself, unable to warm up as people with good aim started to hit the target.

It wasn’t until twilight settled in that he finally went back inside and changed into dry clothes. Tremors made the fingertips that had turned blue quake, and even though he was usually four beers deep by then, he made a pot of coffee. It was the only thing in the bar that produced warmth, and he poured himself a cup before the machine had even finished.

The first sip destroyed his taste buds, but he didn’t give a shit. Clad in jeans, a short-sleeved tee, a sweater and a hoodie, the layers did nothing to take the chill away that had made its home underneath his icy skin. He hoped Frank was happy, that goddamned bastard. “Sink the Twink,” he scoffed bitterly, curling his fingers tightly around the white mug in an attempt to leech any heat he could from the cheap ceramic.

“Dude, I totally won that goddamned bear and you know it!” Mac boomed as he entered the bar, Charlie shaking his head as he followed behind him.

“Oh, bullshit, you cheated and you know it man,” Charlie returned then hopped up onto a stool.

“I didn’t cheat!” Mac shouted, and Dennis peered between them, gaze falling on Mac before it slid to Charlie.

“You totally cheated, and I can prove it,” he argued, then flashed Dennis a smile that indicated he knew Mac was a liar.

“How?” Mac exclaimed, hands flying out to his sides, and a listless breath departed Dennis’ lips before he set the mug down then grabbed three beers, handing one to Charlie, one to Mac, then cradled the last one to his chest.

He looked down at the label, Mac and Charlie’s squabbling falling to the background as he realized it was regular beer and not the light shit he’d been forcing himself to drink for the last month. A knot formed in his stomach when he second-guessed whether or not he should consume it. It had three times the number of calories than the others, three fucking times. Was it worth it? To give up and return to old habits, just like that?

The vicious cycle would begin again, and more fat would collect around his waistline until inevitably, his pants would grow tight like his shirts had. The others would tell him how big he’d gotten, and then he’d have to restrict again.

Or…

He could resist and be strong. Dennis was capable of that, wasn’t he? Sure, the dunk tank was over with, but he’d lost that goddamned bet with Dee and would have to parade around the goddamned place bare chested for the entirety of a week, and worse, the when was at his sister's behest. Knowing her, she would wait until he'd ballooned to an even bigger size than he was before, then taunt him relentlessly as he was forced to show off how horrid he'd become. Nope. Not a fucking chance.

That settled it.

Sending a covert glance his best friends’ way, he placed the beer back into the cooler then selected a bottle of the fifty-five-calorie one, Mac and Charlie none the wiser.

“It was one time, Frank! Let it go!” Dee yelled as she rushed in then joined Dennis behind the bar, immediately reaching for a beer, too wound up to notice it was a light one until she took a sip of it and almost spit back out. “Oh, God! What is this shit? Light?” She looked over at Dennis, one judgmental brow raised as she stared expectantly at him. “This yours?”

His face started to burn, his body’s ability to produce some kind of heat returning thanks to the shame that was now prickling in his eyes. “Huh? I have no idea what you’re talking about. Charlie probably put that in there. You know he can’t read.”

“You’re drinking one right now!” she pointed out, voice a high-pitched shriek, and Dennis tried to dismiss her with a flick of his wrist and a skeptical pull of his lips, but as he glanced between the others, he noted the confusion that riddled their faces.

“Okay, so what if I am?” he challenged with a shrug. “Beer is beer, so I really don’t see what the big deal is.”

“He’s right, Dee,” Charlie agreed, and Mac nodded.

“Beer is beer. You don’t drink it for the taste. You drink it to get drunk,” he reasoned, tapping his finger on the bar to emphasize his point, and it was Charlie’s turn to bob his head.

“Exactly. I don’t give a shit what any of the alcohol tastes like. You’re not supposed to,” the shorter man rationalized. “As long as it makes me forget the reason why I started drinking in the first place, it doesn’t matter.”

“Thank you,” Dennis told them then held his bottle up, the other men clinking theirs against his before they took their respective drinks.

Dee shot him a look, one that caused the snide mask he was wearing to falter momentarily, but he quickly regained his composure as Frank began to gloat over the power he held over the fish factory.

The fair had been a success in hindering their shipments, so they celebrated with shots.

It was a little after midnight when they wrapped up, Mac and Dennis stumbling out the front door while the others continued to argue over whose booth did the best.

Dennis shivered as soon as the air hit him, trying but failing to hide the involuntary action that Mac noticed immediately.

“Cold?” he quirked an eyebrow, shooting a glance Dennis’ way as they walked through the rides that the rental company would pick up in the morning.

“A little,” Dennis admitted once they had wandered over to the Ferris wheel that was still lit up. The sound of metal teeth separating soon met his ears before the other man held his hoodie out to him.

“Here,” Mac offered, and Dennis stared at the dark material in his hands before accepting it.

“Thanks,” he murmured, cheeks once again flaring pink as he slid his arms through the sleeves. It had retained Mac’s body heat and it smelled like him too.

“Warmer now?” the man with irises that shimmered like diamonds asked, and Dennis nodded, taking a sip from the bottle of Skinny Girl Vodka he'd decided to bring along. He’d slipped up and had eaten a slice of pizza earlier along with ten fucking peanuts. The alcohol had helped the guilt subside for the time being, but he knew by morning, it would squirm its way into his stomach and not leave until he kept it empty for a few days.

That would be okay, wouldn’t it?

He had grown accustomed to the emptiness, and began to crave it even though he knew it was a bad thing. It gave him power, to know he was strong enough to withhold food, that he could exist on so little.

No one had called him fat today. He even had numerous onlookers ogling him, but the insecure side of him couldn’t help but question if the looks were good or bad.

“You want to ride it?”

Mac’s inquiry hung in the air, and it took a minute for Dennis to grasp, to process.

“Ride what?” he asked with a confused frown, and when he met Mac’s gaze, he was met with a dopey grin that reeked of mischief.

“The Ferris wheel dude. It’s all ours.” Mac had his fair share of shots and other spirits, and as Dennis looked at him, really looked at him, he saw how they danced in his eyes, like tiny little stars flickering to life.

“Uh, yeah, sure why not?” Dennis shrugged, intoxicated enough to humor his best friend, but aware enough to understand that those pods were small, room only for two. “Do you know how to work it?” He glanced at the switch box on the side, raised his hand to start fiddling with the buttons but Mac beat him to the punch.

A whirling noise rang through the air, and Mac grinned as he held out his hand. “We’ve got to get on now before it starts to move,” he chuckled, and without hesitation, Dennis accepted his offer, hugging the bottle to his chest as they hurriedly climbed into the cabin. Mac closed the door then sat back, knee bumping against Dennis’, but he didn’t withdraw.

The car started to lift slowly, and up they went, getting closer to the sky and the stars that Dennis saw every time he looked into Mac’s eyes.

“I can’t believe Frank did all of this just to get one over on the fish factory,” Dennis scoffed, then tipped the end of the bottle to his lips. The vodka didn’t burn, not like it should have. He figured it was either watered down or maybe, he’d just had too much. His gaze wandered from the view the window provided over to Mac whose chin was lowered, tongue wetting his lips before he gazed over at Dennis. The second their eyes met, his words were forgotten.

There was something brewing between them, an invisible pull that stole the breath from Dennis’ lungs. He wanted to look away, wanted to break the spell, but the way Mac looked at him left him, and the trance he was under remained undisturbed.

“You, uh, you really looked good today,” Mac told him, cheeks rosy with the flush that came with imbibing too much alcohol in a short amount of time.

His words made Dennis’ heart race back to his throat. Mac’s validation washed over him, bathing him in all its glory, and an uncontained smile lit up his face. Shyness overtook his emotions, and he bowed his head briefly, the glass bottle tipping forward as he shifted then gave Mac his full attention. “You – You really rocked that – you know,” he waved a hand towards the green cotton that hadPaddy's Pub printed on it in bold white letters lining Mac’s torso. “The – The –” If he had been sober, he would have been aware of his plummeting intelligence level, but he was too far captivated with the man beside him to notice.

“Shirt?” Mac offered with an amused giggle, and Dennis nodded then burst into a fit of laughter, giggles mirroring Mac’s bubbling from his throat as his head tipped back. “And I’m bad with words,” he teased playfully, and Dennis nudged him in the side. The action earned Mac’s full attention, and the smile eased from his face as a shroud of concern quickly took over.

“What?” Dennis murmured, hating the way the air shifted between them with the change of Mac's expression.

Mac gently raised his hand, fingers softly splaying along the sharp cheekbones that lined Dennis’ jaw. “You’ve got a bruise,” he informed him, thumb making a gentle sweep over the skin he’d shaved that morning. “Right here.”

If there was pain, it went unbeknownst to Dennis. Mac’s face was so close to his, soft lips lowered into a frown as he continued to examine the blemish that adorned Dennis’ cheek. “Is it – It is bad?” he asked, not even caring about his marred features. He was too focused on how little space there was between them, and also, up close like this, he could see, even in the patches of dark that were being cast over Mac’s face, the freckles that dotted his cheeks, like tiny little ink blots that had been scattered in patterns from the flick of a brush.

“No, it’s not bad.” He paused, gaze traveling from the quarter-sized purple splotch to Dennis’ eyes. “Does it hurt?”

Dennis gulped, then shook his head but only a fraction. He didn’t want to lose Mac’s touch, wanted it to last forever until they were nothing but dust particles floating in the wind. The image of two skeletons sitting in their exact positions for eternity burned behind his irises, and it was one he would soon not forget.

Time froze even as shadows continued to paint their faces with temporary shade, though Mac’s eyes continued to shine, no light needed to brighten the colors that swam around his pupils which were gradually widening with each second that passed.

“Dennis?” His name fell from Mac’s lips like a leaf fluttering to the pavement once time had caused it to diminish into a brittle, breakable object (as Dennis ultimately knew he was).

“Yeah?” The response was spoken so quietly, he wondered if he’d even uttered it aloud.

Mac looked back and forth in his eyes, a flare of resolve brightening them before his lips found Dennis’, and there was an initial wave of shock, strikingly cold like the water he’d fallen into earlier, but it didn’t take long to fade as Dennis’ grip on the bottle lessened, sending the glass thumping to the floor.

His slim fingers raised to hold Mac in place even though Dennis was sure he wasn’t going anywhere, mouth carrying a hunger that only one that held decades worth of repression could.

The world could have been ending at that very moment, but it wouldn’t have mattered (as fitting as it would have been).

Two negative forces collided, and instead of repelling each other, they defied the laws of physics by coming together, causing an anomaly that one could only consider a miracle, a wonder, an extraordinary event that would be deemed impossible to happen again, but it did.

Dennis fell deeper and deeper down the spiral because in order to maintain such an abnormality, a variance, one needed to be perfect so it wouldn’t slip through their fingers.

And he wasn’t about to let that happen.

Chapter Text

Distorted imperfection stared back at Dennis in the form of a shirt that had somehow become too big.

The baby blue button up was ill-fitting, and he couldn’t figure out why. The light-colored fabric swallowed his thin frame, and while it hid the unsightly fat he still couldn’t seem to rid himself of, it made him look lumpy and uneven.

“Goddammit,” he cursed under his breath, unthreaded the tiny matching buttons then shrugged out of it. The black tee he wore underneath was smaller and only emphasized the rolls that hugged his waist. He was down another fifteen pounds nearly a month after the fair, and yet, his body had yet to change, more precisely, his mid-section.

It should have been lean and fit. His arms had hardened, the muscles separating his skin and bone wiry and noticeable when he slid up his sleeve, bicep flexing as he curled his wrist. Though it wasn’t the size of Mac’s, it was still visible, still popped.

He had upped the number of push-ups he’d been doing to over two hundred throughout the day, sneaking them in at work when he could. That in itself had become a challenge because ever since the Ferris Wheel, he and Mac were inseparable. While Mac knew that he exercised, he wasn’t privy to the extent Dennis had taken it, nor had he questioned him too hard about his eating habits (even if Dennis had caught the nervous glances Mac sent his way every time they sat down to eat a meal together).

They hadn’t banged yet, but they had jacked each other off and even traded blow jobs. Dennis chalked Mac’s reluctance to go any further than that up to the guilt that he knew still drove him to church most Sundays.

Dennis actually enjoyed it though, the mostly non-sexual nature of their relationship. With all the other people he’d had the pleasure of fucking, the pressure to want to perform wasn’t there. It was oddly comforting in a way, and behind closed doors, he and Mac, for all intents and purposes, had become a couple (unbeknownst to themselves, of course).

They made out almost every night. Sometimes, it was good, others a little sloppy depending on how much they had to drink, but it didn’t stop the way Mac made his lips tingle after every kiss. It brought forth emotion he wasn’t aware he could inherit.

Mac looked at him with something like love in his eyes, and even though he hadn’t come out and laid all his cards on the table, Dennis knew it was deeper than just a crush.

“How do I look?” Mac asked as he entered the bedroom, doing a little twirl that made warmth flare in Dennis’ smile. Along with his signature Dickies, he wore a hunter green polo that emphasized the muscles that lined his arms and a red, silver and black striped tie, the knot grossly uneven.

“You look nice,” the compliment exited Dennis’ mouth without hesitance, and its effect was instantaneous.

Like the sun unbidden by clouds, Mac’s face brightened and he cut the distance between them down to nothing, lips finding Dennis’ and holding them captive until they both withdrew to catch a breath. Mac’s thumb traced a line down his cheek before he stepped back and gave Dennis a once over. “The pants look good,” he offered, gesturing towards them then grinning sheepishly before he started to wring his hands.

“Uh, yeah, I’m having a little trouble finding a shirt,” Dennis admitted with a grimace, then started to clack hangers around as he began his search again.

“What about this one?” Mac removed a light gray sweater that still had its tag on it from the end of the row. He held it up in front of Dennis, a frown of consideration briefly tugging down the corners of his mouth before he hummed.

“Yeah?” Dennis mused shyly, tone soft and carrying a low note of insecurity that Mac briskly soothed with a nod. Ignoring the voice of protest that echoed in his head, Dennis removed the shirt from its perch then slipped it on, smoothing it over the belly that refused to be flat then gulped. He dared a glance in the mirror, breath catching in his throat when Mac stood behind him, one hand curling around his hip as he stared appreciatively at Dennis’ reflection. “What do you think?” he murmured lowly, an edge of trust making his forehead crease as he met Mac’s gaze.

“You look…gorgeous.” Mac spoke softly, eyebrows raised into his forehead in an expectant manner, and Dennis smiled in return. “Oh!” he exclaimed, and Dennis jumped, one hand shooting to his heart thanks to Mac’s inability to use his inside voice. The man raced out of the room, boots clamoring over the floorboards before they faded out of hearing range. It took less than thirty seconds for him to reappear, and when he did, he was holding something behind his back, a wide grin splitting his face in half.

One of Dennis’ eyes narrowed on instinct as he turned to face him, gaze dropping from Macs’ sparkling irises down to the feet that he was currently bouncing on the heels of.

“I, uh, I got you something,” Mac informed him in a tone so timid, it made Dennis’ heart flutter.

“R-Really?” Dennis stammered, never one for surprises, but touched at the fact Mac got him a gift. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had given him something.

“H-Here,” Mac stuttered back, bashfulness causing his cheeks to go rosy as he held a small brown teddy bear with a blue bowtie around its little furry neck in front of him. “I – I won him,” and his eyes widened, index finger pointing upward when he added, “Fair and square from one of the booths at the fair, you know the one that Frank –”

“I remember,” Dennis gently cut in as he accepted the stuffed animal, unable to curtail the water that was currently filling his eyes. He stared at it, one thumb running over its belly before he hurriedly wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

“Do you like it?” Anticipation caused Mac’s brow to stay raised as he started to wring his hands, and Dennis swiftly nodded, a smile he wasn’t used to wearing curving up his lips.

“Yeah, it’s – it’s cute,” he noted, and butterflies began to fill his stomach when Mac pumped his fist triumphantly in the air then schooled his features into something less excited.

“Uh, cool,” he cleared his throat. “Glad to - to hear it.” His bottom lip became wedged between his teeth as he watched Dennis set the bear on his nightstand. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah, just one thing first.” Dennis was going to lose his mind if he didn’t straighten Mac’s tie out before they left, so he carefully undid the knot the darker-haired man had made then retied it and smoothed it out. “That’s better,” he murmured, and driven by a sudden gust of spontaneity, abruptly captured Mac’s lips with his while keeping his slim fingers wrapped around the man’s accessory.

With shiny lips and the inability to keep their hands off of one another, they set off towards the restaurant Frank had picked in the Rover, Dennis finally giving into using it again as the temperatures grew colder.

“Jesus, it’s freezing,” he muttered when they were seated, wanting to keep his jacket on but removed it anyway as to not draw attention to himself. Was there cold air being pumped directly overhead? “Do they have the air on?”

Mac looked over at him from across the table, downturned eyes holding flecks of concern as he studied Dennis’ face. “Do you want to switch? I don’t mind,” but Dennis shook his head and took a sip of the water from the glass their waiter had just placed on the table. “You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s – it’s fine,” Dennis replied, flashing Mac a tight smile as anxiety began to thread through his veins. He had known all week that they were going to have a ridiculous ‘family dinner’ (Frank’s words, not his), and he’d been able to stave off the trepidation that came with having to sit through the farce until it sneaked up on him at the very last minute.

It was such a normal occurrence, to sit down and share a meal with people, more particularly, his friends, but for him, it was another performance to be perfected, another show to put on.

Consuming anything other than liquid had become an arduous task, and the thought of filling himself up with food, actual solid food frightened him. He knew that wasn’t a good thing, that he had progressed further with his restrictive nature than he had previously, but being able to clasp notches on his belt that he hadn’t before had become addictive.

The hollowness that came with a vacant stomach was also quite appealing and keeping it devoid of nourishment fascinated him. It gave him power he wasn’t aware he had. Normally, he would gloat over such a thing, but he decided to err on the side of caution and kept it to himself.

Lately, the rest of the gang had been giving him strange looks.

He hadn’t noticed them immediately, brain too wrapped up in whatever he and Mac had going on to discern, but as the days went by, their expressions began to grow more curious, even Frank’s.

Dennis had always considered himself an expert when it came to reading people, but it was difficult to decipher their true meanings. He would find Dee’s eyes on him constantly, the blue that surrounded her pupils gleaming with unspoken words, whether or not they were cruel, Dennis was unsure of. She hadn’t teased him about his weight in a while, having moved on to how he and Mac “were two adult men in their thirties that shared an apartment despite their age,” and instead of falling for her bait, they dubbed her a lonely spinster that no one wanted to socialize with (not even a cat).

Charlie’s gaze would linger on him, especially during the rare quiet moments they shared. He would look up from the beer he was nursing, thoughts a million miles away, and find a pair of green eyes fixed on him until they hurriedly darted away, fingernails digging into the peeling label on his own bottle. His mouth would stay shut, just as his sister’s did, but the intent behind their stares only furthered Dennis’ insecurities.

The mirror would take up a significant amount of his time until Mac convinced him to watch a movie or play one of the many board games they had collected over the years. His reflection beckoned to him with taunts and ruthless words about his appearance, and Dennis listened to each and every vile thing his mind concocted, blind to the danger he was putting himself in.

“I don’t care if it was a cat or a rat or a goddamned cow, Charlie! You can’t just take the steering wheel from me while I’m driving!” Dee shrieked, jolting Dennis from his thoughts as his sister, Charlie, and Frank came into view.

“Look, ghouls are everywhere, Dee, and I was just trying to prevent an accident. Ex-cuse me,” Charlie rebutted as he held his hands up then sat down on Mac’s left side. “She almost hit a ghoul. Can you believe it?” he scoffed, and nudged Mac in the ribs.

“There are no such things as ghouls,” Dee ground the words out as she jerked the chair that was next to Dennis out from underneath the table and sat down, immediately stealing a drink from his glass of wine.

“Get your own,” he warned, swatting her hand away as he uncurled her fingers and took his drink back. “My God, you are so not classy, Dee.”

“Yeah, you’re so embarrassing,” Mac chimed in, covering his face briefly as he looked around the room then resituated himself in his chair.

“Will you three stop?” Frank barked as he straightened the brown suit jacket he was wearing, and they all rolled their eyes.

“What even is this, Frank? What are we doing?” Dennis questioned, granting Dee another death stare when her hand neared his wine again and he raised his in preparation for her continued bad etiquette.

“Is it so wrong to want to share a nice meal with my friends?” the old man shrugged, and Dennis furrowed his brow at him, not buying what he was figuratively selling.

“Oh, come on, Frank, we know there’s more to it,” Dee accused, then held up her arm to signal to the waiter.

“Are we here to rob someone?” Mac inquired in a loud whisper that caused Dennis to nudge him with the toe of his dress shoe underneath the table. “What?” he mouthed, and Dennis shook his head.

“No, we’re not here to rob anyone,” Frank clarified then tugged on the dark-colored toupee he was wearing. “It’s been a while since we all did somethin’ nice. Figured it would be right up your alley,” he noted as he looked over his glass to Dennis.

“Well, yeah, I mean, who doesn’t like classy restaurants that serve expensive meals, but it still feels like there’s something going on here, Frank.” He sent a pointed glare to the waiter as the man approached their table.

“What’ll it be for you fine folks this evening?” he asked, pad at the ready as he looked between them.

One by one, they began to place their orders, and apprehension began to crawl underneath Dennis’ skin, making each follicle prickle as he guzzled down more water.

“And for you?” The waiter stared expectantly at Dennis, and he gulped, eyes widening as his gaze darted around the table and found everyone’s eyes on him.

Paranoia began to get the best of him, and he immediately wondered if that was what this was all about – his fatness. Maybe, it was all a test, and everyone was playing dumb, just waiting to strike.

“You are going to eat, aren’t you?” Mac’s voice was soft, just loud enough to pull Dennis out of the spiral he was beginning to traverse down. Intent flared in the eyes that resembled a puppy’s.

“Well, yeah,” he scoffed incredulously, with an exaggerated pull of his shoulders. “Of course – Of course, I am. I mean, that’s what we’re here for, right?” He immediately began to massage his left palm underneath the table while a smile that lacked humor graced his face.

“Any minute now,” the waiter urged, and that earned the man a scowl from both Dee and Mac.

“Oh, do you have some better place to be pal?” She arched an eyebrow, a surefire sneer on her lips as she looked up at the tall, thin man.

“Yeah, buddy, last time I checked you were a waiter which means you have to wait on us,” Mac reminded the man, and Charlie held up his hand for a high five which Mac promptly smacked.

“That was a good one dude,” he complimented him, and Mac smiled, appearing bashful before he peeked over at Dennis, then bit his lower lip.

It took a moment for Dennis to tear his gaze away from the man, silently thankful for his rambunctious behavior. The sudden tension that welled in his stomach receded, and he gulped before replying. “I’ll have the Pasta e Fagioli Soup.”

“Alright, your meals will be out shortly,” the waiter announced, tossing a dirty look Mac’s way before heading off towards the kitchen.

“What in the hell is Pasta Fagioli Soup?” Frank asked, then took a sip from his glass. “Sounds gay.”

“Of course you’d say that,” Dennis muttered then knocked back the rest of his wine, shaking his head at the man but stopping when a foot bumped his. He peered over at Mac because he knew it had been his boot that connected with his shoe.

A frown encapsulated Mac’s mouth and he leaned forward, then whispered, “Is it really gay?”

“Oh Christ,” Dennis cursed then shook his head. “No, Mac, it’s not.” While he knew that he was falling for the guy (unable to admit that the falling had already transpired), his blissful ignorance was truly astounding at times. “Fagioli means bean in Italian,” he explained, and Mac’s mouth formed an ‘O’ shape.

“It’s totally gay,” Dee mumbled under her breath as she helped herself to a bread stick from the basket that was in the center of the table, smugly ignoring the angry glare Dennis granted her.

Charlie immediately mirrored her, shoving the entire thing down his throat before going back for another.

Both Mac and Dennis gaped at him, heads tilting simultaneously before they exchanged glances then started to chuckle.

“What? What’s so funny?” Charlie asked, biting the second one in half, crumbs littering his beard as he chewed.

“You just deep throated a bread stick,” Dee responded, and successfully made everyone cringe.

“My God, are you brash,” Dennis berated her, but she only smirked, clearly pleased with herself.

“Brash, honest, what’s the difference?” she shrugged, and swallowed down the rest of her wine. “Refill!” she shouted and raised her glass, shaking the transparent object until the waiter reappeared.

As he went to remove it from her hand, she jerked it back, a cackle erupting from her throat as the man’s fingers closed on thin air. “Ma’am, can you just – can you just hand me that? Seriously?” he questioned, and she giggled before toying with the man again.

“He’s not a cat, Dee,” Dennis chastised. “Just give him the goddamned glass,” he snapped, and she finally allowed the waiter to take it before she held her hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay,” she muttered. “Somebody’s hangry,” she added out of the corner of her mouth, and her choice of words immediately earned a scowl from Dennis.

“Really? Hangry? You know that’s not a real word, right?” He remarked, and opened his mouth to say more but Charlie cut in.

“Oh, that’s totally a word,” he agreed. “They said it on Jeopardy and everything,” he insisted, then wolfed down another bread stick.

“Since when do you watch Jeopardy?” Mac posed disbelievingly, and Charlie’s eyebrows lowered at him in response.

“Like all the time dude. It’s our favorite show,” he stated, then motioned between him and Frank.

Frank immediately nodded as he gnawed on the appetizer, then yanked the end he hadn’t consumed yet away from his teeth, spreading tiny pieces of hardened bread across the tablecloth. “Everyday at 3:30,” he stated through a full mouth which everyone but Charlie grimaced at.

“Jesus Christ man, close your mouth when you chew,” Dennis scolded him as though he were a child, and naturally, Frank didn’t listen, making an even greater mess before he was done. How disgusting could one person be, he thought, undisguised revulsion present on his face as he watched Frank tackle two more breadsticks before their food arrived.

“Can I get you all anything else?” the waiter asked as he clasped his hands together, but no one paid him any mind, everyone but Dennis digging into their food. “Alright,” the man muttered, and disappeared.

Dennis’ Adam’s apple bobbed as he peered down at the beige bowl. It was bigger than he was expecting, holding far more content than he knew he would be able to eat. Sweat began to slick his palms, and his throat mimicked the desert with how dry it had become. Keeping his gaze discreet, he looked around the table, observing the others as their forks scraped against their plates, or in Charlie’s case, his fingers.

It was simple, he told himself. All he needed to do was eat. It was only soup, soup that had pasta, beans and vegetables in it. The broth was hardy, sure, probably chocked full of calories though. A light tap came from underneath the table once more, and his head jerked up, wide eyes meeting Mac’s worried ones.

Instead of making a scene (as Mac was wont to do), the man simply nodded at Dennis’ bowl, forehead creased with expectance.

The pressure of his gaze caused Dennis’ palms to acquire an even greater amount of perspiration, and when he picked up his spoon, it slipped from his fingers down to the carpeted floor, mutedly thumping to a spot underneath Charlie’s feet.

“Butterfingers!” Dee called out, chuckling while showing everyone the bits of Fritto Misto she’d just put in her mouth.

“You do realize you’re eating squid, right?” Dennis sent a heated glower her way, lips downturned into a frown.

“Ew! That’s disgusting!” Mac pulled a face, nose scrunching as he pointed at Dee. “You’re eating a friend of the sea!”

Dee’s brow narrowed as she looked over at him. “Friend of the sea? What in the hell are you talking about?”

“He’s talking about the fact that squids are like super smart, Dee,” Charlie replied, smears of red sauce collecting in the corners of his mouth. “You’d know that if you watched Jeopardy like us,” he added, finally using his fork to eat whilst gesturing between him and Frank.

She shook her head then launched into a tirade over how knowing Jeopardy trivia wasn’t the same as being smart, which Dennis ignored as Mac offered him his spoon. “Since you dropped yours,” he said with a small grin, and Dennis accepted it, an anxiety-ridden grin briefly perking up his lips before he cleared his throat.

Fuck, before he at least had an excuse as to why he hadn’t started eating, but now, now he had to bite the bullet. It was just soup, just soup, something easy, not solid. Soup was liquid, and liquid was good. Wasn’t it lighter than regular food?

The scientific part of his brain had shut off long ago, back in college where he supposed it belonged. He couldn’t recall the difference between mass and density, but he was sure they were one in the same or something along those lines…

His heart pounded uncomfortably in his chest as he stared down at the bowl. It was full of calories, he knew, even though the menu hadn’t stated what they were. So many fucking calories swimming below the spoon he had yet to dip into the murky substance.

“I’ll, uh, be right back,” he muttered, let the silver piece of cutlery slip below the dark broth then wiped his mouth with a napkin before he stood.

“You haven’t even touched your food yet,” Dee noted, and he didn’t stick around to view the others’ reactions.

Dizziness lurked at the corners of his vision as he pressed his nails into his palms while trying to keep his legs steady on the short trek to the bathroom. He went over to the sink, and considered splashing water on his face but didn’t want to test the guarantee that his makeup was indeed not waterproof, so he dampened a towel and dabbed his forehead.

His reflection brought upon the realization that his pallor wasn’t exactly a healthy shade, but he blamed it on the poor lighting instead, and not the fact that he his stomach had gone empty for the last few days, the acid not eating away at the lining only due to the beer, coffee, and water he’d put in it.

The door abruptly whooshed open behind him, almost slamming into the wall it was connected to causing Dennis to jump at the unexpected intrusion.

“Hey,” Mac greeted him, bottom lip already tucked between his teeth as he stood behind him, nervousness wafting off of him in waves so strong, they were almost visible.

“What’s – What’s up?” Dennis asked, now abusing his lower lip too as he chewed on it.

“Uh, I was just,” Mac gestured towards him, a reserved expression capturing his features, and he appeared to struggle with his next choice of words before he spoke them. “Making sure you were okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Dennis’ brow lowered as stared at the other man whose gaze continued to wander over the room until it landed on him.

Mac’s mouth quirked to the side as it often did when he became uncomfortable, one of the many tells his face used to betray him. “Uh, I don’t know,” he shrugged. “You just, you haven’t, you know, touched your food yet, and you looked a little – peaky?”

“I look peaky?” Dennis met the mirror once more, scrutinizing the cheekbones that he knew were sharp, but not overly so. He looked fine, didn’t he? Fine except for the bothersome fat that lined his waist. His hand absentmindedly fell to his stomach, fingers gripping folds of the sweater that his brain told him was fat.

“Why are you – Why are you doing that?” Mac asked, a pout forming on his mouth as he nodded at Dennis though Dennis hadn’t a clue as to what he was referring to, so used to dissecting his appearance that he hadn’t even noticed what he was doing. He took a step forward then gently tugged Dennis’ fingers away from his sweater. “That.”

Dennis’ breath caught in his throat the second their hands met, tongue fishing for a response that wouldn’t sound like too horrible of an excuse. “I was just, um, just, you know,” he blinked, and Mac shook his head.

“I – I don’t know. That’s why I asked,” he admitted, fingers still softly clasped around Dennis’. “Are you okay?” Muted concern muddled his irises, and Dennis hurriedly nodded, gaze drifting to Mac’s hand. “Your fingers are freezing,” he pointed out, then sandwiched Dennis’ palm between both of his. He brought his pale digits up to his lips and blew a soft, but warm breath over them.

“T-Thanks,” Dennis murmured, entranced with the gentleness Mac was exuding. When had they become like this? So trusting, so close?

“I’ll keep you warm,” Mac offered in between planting tiny kisses over Dennis’ fingers before he started to rub soothing circles over his palm. “At home, of course. Don’t want them to, you know,” he scoffed as he jerked a thumb in the direction of the remainder of the gang.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, of course,” Dennis agreed with a shake of his head before an enraptured grin took hold of his lips. Though the words held a fair chance of never leaving his mouth, he craved the inherent softness that Mac granted him, and for a moment, he forgot that they were in a public bathroom as he leaned in and kissed him.

A noise of surprise flew out of Mac’s throat before his hands encircled Dennis’ waist, and all the fear that had been flowing through Dennis’ bloodstream momentarily disappeared as he became lost in the way Mac’s lips slotted so perfectly against his. He cradled Mac’s face, scraping his nails gently over his stubble, warmth spreading across his chest when he heard the faint but audible moan that traveled up Mac’s throat into his mouth.

“Wow,” Mac murmured when they finally broke apart, lips glistening like freshly fallen snow. “That was so hot.”

“Yeah, it was,” Dennis agreed, thumbs sweeping over the bristles that tickled his fingertips.

Both men startled when the door flew open, and Charlie entered, thumb and index finger pinching his zipper as he raced over to a urinal. It wasn’t until he’d already released a fair amount of piss before he glanced over at them. “So, this is where you two went.”

Dennis pretended to fix his hair, doing his best to appear nonplussed as Mac washed his hands. “Uh, yeah, where else would we have gone?”

“Yeah, there aren’t exactly many options, Charlie,” Mac reasoned, throwing an exaggerated look of disbelief Dennis’ way while he flicked the excess water off his fingers before he dried them.

“Well, I’m not like a psychic or anything,” Charlie shot back as he shook then redid his pants. “Maybe you two went outside to smoke or out to the alley to…you know,” he theorized then mirrored Mac’s previous action.

“Why would we go out to the alley?” Dennis inquired, eyes narrowing as he stared at Charlie’s reflection.

Charlie shrugged in response then ran his palms over his thighs instead of using a paper towel to rid himself of the water that adorned his skin. “I don’t know dude. Jesus, why are you asking so many questions?”

“You know what? It doesn’t matter.” Dennis shook his head then led the way back out to the dining area, eyes widening when he began to grow lightheaded a few feet from the doorway. One hand shot out automatically to steady himself, searching for purchase, but found nothing but air. He began to tilt, and suddenly, there was a firm hand on his waist; Mac’s voice in his ear.

“You okay?” A curious whisper filled with a hint of panic that Dennis wanted to express was unwarranted.

He swallowed down the excess saliva that had collected on his tongue and nodded. “Just tripped over a crack in the floor,” he lied, and was grateful when Mac didn’t question it.

They reseated themselves at the table, and Dennis scoped out the others once more before filling his spoon with soup. No one was looking at him, which he mostly expected, and yet, he couldn’t shake the sensation that someone’s eyes were on him.

Dee was too busy rambling about how she was going to ask for another basket of bread sticks so she could steal them; Frank was quizzing Charlie on what kind of food horses ate; and Mac was making the face that he always did when he pretended to listen but didn’t really care.

No one was paying him any mind, let alone watching and waiting to see if he ate. He took a deep breath, chest inflating with air that eased out between his lips as he finally took a bite of the soup. While he knew it would come eventually, there was no impending sense of dread or doom when he refilled the spoon for another serving.

Guilt came for him at odd times, but it came, nonetheless. It had become a close acquaintance of his, one that haunted practically every waking moment until he was too exhausted to stay awake.

Half the bowl was gone before he knew it, and he didn’t allow himself the pleasure of filling his stomach further. Jesus, what a glutton he was, sucking it up like a pig at a trough. It wasn’t until he set his spoon down and wiped his mouth of any debris that he found that he had inadvertently become the center of attention. “What?” he asked, heat flaring across his cheeks as he set his napkin on the table. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“You know I’m payin’, right?” Frank asked, eyes round and filled with scrutiny as he looked at Dennis.

“Uh, yeah, otherwise none of us would have agreed to come,” Dennis replied in a tone that reeked of obviousness. When the man’s gaze didn’t stray, his brow lowered. “What does it matter if you’re paying or not?”

“Nothin’, no reason,” was all Frank offered him before he sent a glance Dee’s way then filled his mouth with another gulp of wine.

Dennis’ eyes narrowed as he peered between the two, noting how they had readily become interested in other matters, and suspicion pooled in his gut at the aberrant indifference they had suddenly acquired. “What’s going on?” His voice was low, but loud enough to be heard over the other patrons.

“Well, Frank and I were thinking about making an audition tape –” Charlie began, but the table abruptly rocked, causing Charlie to yelp before he bent over to rub his shin. “What the hell, Dee? Why are your feet so pointy?”

“What the hell is going on?” Dennis’ voice was louder that time, a sharpness to it that caught everyone’s attention. They were conspiring against him, weren’t they? Trying to what – trick him into looking like the vile cow they all knew he was? When he received only silence in return, he continued. “This was all just some – some way to fuck with me, wasn’t it?” he asked, brow lowering as his gaze shifted from Frank to Charlie then to Mac. “Were you in on this?”

Mac appeared hurt at that, a saddened frown tugging at his lips as he shook his head. “I’m not in on anything,” he vowed. “I swear,” he added, and while Dennis was still wary of the others, he believed him, the cluelessness in his eyes giving him away.

“Okay, so it’s between you three then?” His tone took on an even harder edge, one that made the skin underneath his sister’s left eye twitch, and he knew he was right on the money. “Unbelievable,” he muttered then stood up a little too quickly. The room began to spin, vision swimming with a sea of color as he gripped the edge of the table and waited for it to pass.

“Yeah, this is unbelievable,” Mac echoed offendedly, tone riddled with uncertainty as he scowled at the others then found his place by Dennis’ side when he was finally able to walk without swaying.

“How fucking dare they,” Dennis seethed when they made it to the Rover, teeth chattering as he climbed into the driver’s side and started the car.

“Um, what did they – what did they dare exactly?” Mac inquired unsurely after Dennis had pulled out into traffic.

He fought back the urge to snap because Mac was on his side, he knew that now, so he scaled back his anger as best he could, choosing to take it out on the leather his fingers were currently gripping. “It was a setup, Mac.”

Mac licked his lips, eyes narrowing as he nodded then scratched his temple. “A setup for what? Us? Oh my God! Do you think –”

“No, no, not like that,” Dennis shook his head, then sent a glance over to the man who was staring at him, confusion still marking his brow. How could he make Mac understand that the others were plotting to fatten him up, get him even bigger than he already was? “They were trying to get me to eat.”

“Oh,” Mac nodded as though he understood, but the corners of his mouth continued to descend further as he dragged a nail over his eyebrow. “What’s wrong with that again?”

“Are you on their side now?” Dennis questioned, voice raising an octave, and Mac’s head swiveled furiously from side to side. “Good.” There was a crackle of tension between them that Dennis didn’t like, that he needed to ease. “I just want to go home and go to bed.” He was tired, had been more and more lately, often napping at the bar at a booth, but he chalked it up to how shitty the weather had been as of late.

The man in the passenger seat quickly feigned a yawn that Dennis inwardly appreciated. “Yeah, I’m pretty – pretty tired myself,” Mac agreed, and Dennis only caught one of the continuous glances Mac had sent his way during the drive home.

Both men changed into sweats once they made it back to the apartment even though it was only a little past eight. They lay there, side by side in the bed that had slowly transformed from Dennis' to theirs, Dennis gripping the end of the covers while Mac’s hands were resting over his chest and stomach.

“Mac?” Dennis spoke after a few minutes of silence had passed between them. Mac shifted, honey-colored eyes sparkling in the dark as he looked over at Dennis and hummed. “Do you – Do you still think I’m beautiful?” Wetness dotted his vision as he met Mac’s gaze.

“Well, yeah, of course, I do,” Mac replied, now leaning on one elbow as he turned on his side. “Why?”

Should he admit it? Entrust Mac with his deepest, darkest secret? “Even though…” His voice trailed off, stomach churning like the sea during a storm as he clenched the sheets tighter.

“Even though what?” Mac’s brow lowered, genuine interest forming tiny creases in his forehead as he scooted closer to Dennis.

Jesus, it was always like this when he was being honest, like he’d hit a brick wall and couldn’t get passed it. Baring his soul made him want to vomit (which he didn’t think would exactly be all that bad of a thing since there was currently still half a bowl of soup sitting in his stomach). “Even though I look the way I do?”

At that, Mac appeared taken aback, even more puzzled than he already was. “What’s wrong with the way you look, Dennis?” He spoke slowly, as though every word was a purposeful choice.

Dennis' jaw clenched in reflex, the heart that beat in his chest suddenly thunderous in his ears. Mac saw it too, didn’t he? How grotesque and – and portly he was? Of course, he did, it was obvious, wasn’t it? A nervous chuckle riddled with anxiety left his lips as he gestured to himself. “I’m fucking huge.”

Mac blinked rapidly as though he hadn’t heard him. “You mean, like your dick because –”

“What?” Dennis exclaimed, redness inflaming his face as he tugged the covers up to his chin. “No, no, not my – not my dick, the rest of me.”

“Wait, huh?” Mac’s gaze flitted over him from head to toe, and Dennis didn’t understand how the poor man could look any more bewildered. “What do you mean the rest of you?”

A sigh containing anguish and exasperation parted Dennis’ lips as he briefly covered his face with both hands then once again motioned towards his body. “The rest of me, Mac, the rest of me. I’m a fucking elephant!”

The room became so quiet, Dennis could hear the hydraulic system on the bus that stopped down the street from their apartment, and then the robotic voice announcing the bus line as the doors opened before it drove off a few seconds later. “Well?” he asked after a moment, tears prickling the back of his eyes before he finally dared to look at Mac.

Gobsmacked was the only term that came to mind when he saw the expression on Mac’s face. His jaw was unhinged, mouth as round as his eyes were.

“Jesus, stop looking at me like that, Mac. You don’t have to pretend anymore.” His voice shook when he spoke, holding a slight tremor that he couldn’t hide no matter how hard he tried.

“Dennis, I’m not –” He cut himself off, head shaking before he reached for one of Dennis’ hands. “Dennis, do you – do you think you’re fat?”

A single tear wormed its way down his cheek which he hurriedly made vanish with his knuckles. “Well, yeah,” he confessed, and the urge to cry encased his chest, the ache deepening with each breath. “I am, Mac.”

“But –”

“Don’t, Mac, okay?” Dennis interjected, unable to look at him now. “I just – I just want to go to sleep if that’s alright with you.” His voice took a tumble on the last word, lower lip quivering as he turned on his side, and Mac took up residence behind him immediately, one arm wrapped securely around his waist. “Goodnight,” he whispered, more tears continuing to fall, softly slipping down to the pillow beneath his head.

“Goodnight, Dennis.”

The last thing he heard before he drifted off was the sound of Mac sniffling, but he was far too tired to try to understand why.

He wasn’t worth crying over, that much he knew.

Chapter Text

The tremor in his hands refused to go away.

Dennis stared at the bruise that had only worsened in color along his forearm as he ran a shaking fingertip over it then winced. After two weeks, it was still sore though it had at least lightened from its near abysmal black to a greenish yellow that rivaled the sky on a stormy day.

He was blind to the bones that his skin was now tightly stretched over, tendons popping out as he rotated his limb. It appeared normal to him, possibly even a little doughy if he was being honest. His brow narrowed, interest running from the multi-colored mark to his wrist. He encased it with his thumb and forefinger, not understanding how the task had become so easy even though it hadn’t really changed.

Had it?

A shiver wracked his tiny frame, and he concluded his examination, supposing that the injury was taking longer to heal because of how cold it was outside (even though the logical part of his brain, no matter how dim it had become, reminded him that the temperature had nothing to do with how a person recovered from an injury).

January had brought bitter cold, forcing him into wearing four to five layers at any given moment. Currently, he was glad in a gray short-sleeved tee, two long-sleeved ones, and an oversized charcoal gray sweater that he was sure used to fit him but hung on the collarbones that were now more than prominent. They stood out beneath the thick cotton, two skeletal peaks obvious to everyone but him.

He ran his palms over his clothed arms, annoyance at Frank’s insistence on keeping the thermostat set so low. “Cheap bastard,” he muttered, then went into the office, confusion filling him when he saw the numbers 73 staring back at him on the little digital screen. Since no one would be the wiser, he turned it up seven more degrees then went back behind the bar, hoping the heat would kick in before long.

It had become a struggle to keep his attention on anything other than food (or lack thereof) and his body, with Mac being a close third.

Their relationship had progressed to a different level, a more intimate one, but they still hadn’t gone any further with sex than they had before.

Mac had actually tried a few weeks back, but Dennis had been so exhausted that he had passed out during the blow job Mac was giving him. He was mortified the next day when he realized what had happened, embarrassed at his inability to perform. Of course, Mac had assured him that it was okay, but Dennis hadn’t missed the worry that encapsulated his face, more specially, his eyes.

They held that emotion a lot nowadays, almost every time Dennis looked at him. While the amount varied, it was still present every time their gazes met.

At that, Dennis peered around the bar, instantly honing in on Mac and Charlie who were currently seated at a booth. They were speaking in hushed tones, both sending quick glances his way and getting caught each time.

So, they were talking about him.

Or they were planning something, but what?

He began to construct a script in his head and immediately started to go over the lines when Dee slid in next to Charlie, abandoning her waitressing duties in favor of conspiring with them. What the hell were they plotting? More importantly – what did it have to do with him?

It had been a few months since that stupid family dinner Frank had hosted; when they had turned on him. He didn’t like the fact that it appeared Mac had now joined their side, leaving him all alone to defend himself.

Or maybe – maybe Mac was playing a different angle, luring them in and becoming a spy of sorts so he could alert Dennis to what they were up to. Yes, that had to be it. He and Mac were solid. Mac wouldn’t stab him in the back, wouldn’t give up whatever it was that they had, and it was something, something Dennis couldn’t quite identify.

When they were alone, things were different, softer in a way Dennis found himself craving and looking forward to after they got off work.

They cuddled when they watched movies or TV, held hands, and kissed more than ever. He and Mac had their own rhythm, and Dennis wanted to keep it that way.

Perhaps, he should just be straightforward. Go over to the table and casually question them. Allude to the fact that he wasn’t stupid and could smell their fear, no, smell their – their what – their suspicious behavior a mile away.

He pretended to wipe down the bar, ignoring the way his knuckles protruded through his pale flesh and discreetly kept an eye on them before he tossed the towel into a heap on top of the cooler then moseyed over there, or tried to anyway.

It took roughly four steps for him to reach out and grip the counter, a hurricane of dizziness spinning behind his eyes. His jaw clenched on instinct as he raised his head slowly, doing his best to seem as though he was just picking up a stray bottle, but it slipped out of reach and crashed to the floor.

The bar went quiet, and it took a moment for the misstep to register, his processing speed slower than normal as of late (things became fuzzy more often than not).

“I’m fine!” he exclaimed, then immediately looked over at the table that had gone radio silent, three pairs of eyes trained on his every movement. “It was – It was wet,” he lied, eyebrows twisting with regret the second after he spoke. Jesus, he could really be an idiot sometimes.

“I’ll help clean it up!” Mac volunteered, shooting up out of his seat so quickly that Dennis had no time to tell him otherwise. He was behind the counter before Dennis could retrieve the broom and dustpan that was sitting a few feet away along the wall behind him. “I got it. Why don’t you sit down or something?” he suggested, and Dennis’ brow lowered.

“I can clean it up,” he insisted, a frown capturing his lips as he wrapped his fingers around the same broom handle Mac was currently holding.

“Well, yeah, but I’m here, so I can just do it,” Mac pointed out, and Dennis breathed sharply through his nostrils.

“I’m perfectly capable of sweeping up glass, Mac,” he countered, the wood digging into his palm as he clenched the splintery object harder than was necessary.

“I never said you weren’t, but you look like you could use a break so –”

“Are you insinuating that I look – that I look tired or something, because I’m not,” Dennis defended, watching as Mac swallowed nervously before shrugging.

“Of course, I don’t think you look tired, but –” Was he lying, Dennis wondered, a pang of hurt flaring across his chest at the possibility of Mac betraying him. “You’ve been pretty busy back here.” He sent a glance towards the booth, then lowered his voice when he spoke next. “I really just want to make sure that you’re okay.” He leaned in closer, keeping his face turned towards the bar as though he was afraid Charlie and Dee were going to read his lips. “You are okay, aren’t you?”

“I was but I’m not going to be if you keep making it seem as though I’m some incompetent oaf who’s incapable of scooting pieces of glass across the floor into a fucking pan,” he whispered back, then sighed when he saw the look of sorrow that suddenly stole away Mac’s worry. “Fine,” he relented, then released the handle. “I’ll go sit down.”

Mac offered him a small smile in return, one that made Dennis uneasy because there was something present in his expression that he was unable to identify. It almost looked sad in way, as though Mac was longing for him (even though he already had him).

The closer the booth got, the more Dennis realized that perhaps Mac wasn’t wrong in his thinking. His legs were sore, and he grimaced when he sat down, the three hundred crunches he’d forced himself to do the night before making the muscles in his stomach clench. The cushion underneath him had also become firmer than he remembered, and the back of the seat dug into his spine, making him squirm as he couldn’t get comfortable. “What?” he asked bemusedly, when he saw that Charlie and Dee were staring at him, the conversation they’d been having dissolving into thin air.

“Nothing,” they responded in unison, eyes wide when they looked at him then at each other. Dee murmured something to Charlie out of the corner of her mouth that Dennis couldn’t understand.

“What was that?” he asked, growing more irritated as they communicated quietly and excluded him.

“Uh, we were just talking about how cool elephants are,” Charlie blurted out, then swiftly tipped his bottle to his lips and effectively filled his mouth with beer.

“Yeah, it’s really funny how when they don’t like someone, they fill their trunk up with water then squirt it all over them,” Dee chimed in enthusiastically, a little too enthusiastically if Dennis had anything to say about it.

Why were they talking about elephants all of a sudden? Was it because they thought he looked like one? Oh God, he needed to check the mirror.

Without excusing himself, he slid off the seat, nails digging into his palms as he went into the bathroom. At least he hadn’t gotten lightheaded that time, he thought as he studied his reflection. He didn’t understand – every time he looked at himself, he swore he had gained weight even though when he weighed himself, the numbers had continued to plummet.

That morning, he’d been greeted by ones he hadn’t witnessed since he was in high school, and he knew that it was insane for them to be that low, and yet…

When he stared at his face, he was sure there was a bit of pudge still left in his cheeks (the ones that were now almost nonexistent, hollows where the little fat that had been there collected). He pressed the pad of his forefinger into the right side of his face, chest tightening when the skin bunched around it.

He hadn’t eaten anything other than fruit, vegetables, rice and salad for weeks. While the others stuffed themselves on a daily basis, he continued to refrain and stick with his strict diet, knowing that he would soon achieve his goal (though he had lost sight of what that was a long time ago).

Suddenly, 155 had become too high of a number, and then 140, and 130, and now – now 118 made him believe he was still taking up too much space. And that was the real problem, wasn’t it? How much physical space his body was actually consuming? How it expanded out more than it should?

They called him vain (really, it was just Dee), but if he didn’t map out the imperfections that riddled him with his eyes, how else would he know that they were there? So what if he spent anywhere from five to thirty minutes at a time (multiple times a day) memorizing all the parts of himself that needed finer tuning? He was like Michelangelo and his body was David; should he not have total control over the way he looked?

Sacrifice had to be made for perfection, and to achieve perfection really was the ultimate goal, was it not?

That was what he had lost sight of.

The problem was that he knew he wasn’t any closer to accomplishing that feat than he was when he first started.

He had lost over fifty pounds and had nothing to show for it.

That was why the others looked at him as they did. They saw his failure, and he was surprised they had yet to point it out, especially when they’d done such a great job of it after Charlie’s stupid play.

The suit…he wondered how it would fit him now. A scoff departed his lips as he glared at his reflection. It would probably still be too tight.

He hadn’t even thought about the damned thing in months. It was in the back of his closet, a reminder of how much weight he had gained rather than the minute amount of fun he’d had while playing the Dayman.

Charlie chose that moment to barge in, but instead of going over to the urinal or a stall, he scratched the back of his head, gaze cast on the floor while he walked with the gait of a man who had been forced into entering the room rather than of his own will. “Uh, hey dude,” he greeted him, and Dennis tore his attention away from the mirror, brow lowering when he gave it to Charlie.

“Hey,” he murmured, apprehension building in his gut at the shorter man’s reluctance to being present.

“Uh, so like we were thinking about, um, going to go get some lunch,” Charlie told him in a tone that sounded more like he was asking a question rather than telling Dennis a statement.

“O-kay.” So, they had been plotting. Take him out to eat, and see how much he could shove down his gullet? Oh, those assholes, thinking they could trick him like that.

“So, is that a yes?” Charlie asked, one eyebrow raised as he finally looked Dennis in the eye.

“A yes to what?” Dennis folded his arms across his chest, thumb and index finger tugging on his ear as he started to grow uneasy.

“To lunch,” Charlie replied with obviousness in his tone, and frustration made Dennis frown.

“You didn’t ask me to lunch, Charlie,” Dennis pointed out, and Charlie immediately began to mirror his exasperation.

“But you said okay,” he stated, hands dropping to encase his hips, and Dennis’ jaw clenched on reflex.

“I was acknowledging what you said,” Dennis told him, and Charlie rolled his eyes. Jesus, they were going nowhere fast; he needed to put a stop to it. “No, I’m fine, thank you.”

“So, now you don’t want to go to lunch?” Confusion muddled Charlie’s voice and expression, and Dennis had never wanted to slap his friend more.

“I never agreed to go in the first place!” he exclaimed, hands sweeping outward for emphasis.

“Then why did you say okay when I asked?” Charlie’s voice raised as well, and Dennis covered his face, hating how much energy being angry took from him.

“You know what? Never mind. No, Charlie, I don’t want to go.” Deciding to not further the conversation, he left the bathroom, but Charlie followed close behind. Instead of going back to the booth (even though sitting sounded like a nice reprieve at the moment), he returned to his station behind the bar, the floor clear of debris and spilled liquid, and Mac nowhere in sight.

Charlie appeared puzzled, an internal debate that Dennis was sure he wouldn’t understand reflecting on his features before he inquired, “Why did you change your mind?”

Dennis curled his fingers over the edge of the counter, brittle nails digging into the finished surface that had withstood the test of time. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get a word out, Frank and Cricket walked into the bar, bringing a new argument and a gust of cold air with them.

“I never promised you shit!” Frank barked, and Cricket trailed after him angrily.

“You said you would give me five dollars!” the unhoused man shot back, and Frank scoffed as he joined Dennis behind the bar to grab a beer.

“I said no such thing. You want five bucks, you gotta earn it,” Frank dispelled, then took a swig from the bottle he had just cracked open.

“Oh, come on, Fra –” Cricket’s words came to halt the second he saw Dennis. “Jesus Christ, are you dying or something?” He turned to Charlie, one finger pointed in Dennis’ direction. “Is he back at it?”

Confusion blanketed Dennis’ face before it was replaced with fury. “Back at what?” he shrieked, and Mac rushed in from the alley entrance, gentle hands bracketing Dennis’ shoulders before he could reach over the bar and grab Cricket by his dirty collar.

“You know, back at the whole weight thing,” he replied, rolling his hand, and ignoring the way everyone but Dennis shook their head at him.

“Weight thing? What weight thing?” Dennis’ voice continued to raise in octaves, hands balling into tight fists at his sides as he glared at the clueless man standing before him.

“Oh Christ. Here we go,” Frank muttered, a deep frown settling on his face as he inched his way towards the opposite end of the bar.

“Goddammit, Cricket, why don’t you go –” Mac paused, brow furrowing as he gesticulated towards the door. “Go find a – go somewhere else!”

Cricket’s eyes widened as he looked between them. “I can’t be the only one who sees what’s going on here.” After receiving warning looks from the others, he shook his head then flicked a dismissive wrist towards Dennis. “I don’t really care. Give me my five bucks, Frank!”

“What are you trying to say, you vile, filthy, wretched stench of a street urchin?” Dennis exploded, then was immediately hit with the sensation of the floor dropping out from underneath him. He tilted backwards, but Mac was there, solid and unmoving.

A sneer pulled at Cricket’s lips before he held up his hands in surrender and started to back away. “You know what? I don’t need this. I’ll just go over to Nickel’s. They’re at least respectful over there.”

Dennis took a deep breath once the room had stopped moving without his permission. “What did you mean by the weight thing?”

The blond man paused before he made it to the exit, gaze falling on the others before it met Dennis’. “Why don’t you ask one of them?” And with that, he went out the door.

“So, you’re all in on it then? Is that right?” he asked, chest rising and falling faster as his gaze traveled around the room.

“In on what?” Charlie returned, sending a bewildered glance at Dee before looking over Dennis’ shoulder to Mac.

“I have an idea,” Mac cut in, but Dennis ignored him. He appreciated what he was trying to do, really, he did, but he was sick of the goddamned bullshit.

“In on whatever it is that you all are planning!” he threw the accusation out there, and spittle would have flown from his lips had he not been so dehydrated.

“We’re not planning anything,” Dee spoke up, footsteps slow as she approached the counter.

Dennis narrowed his eyes at her, lips curling in disdain. “Quit bullshitting me, you bitch!” He watched the blue in her irises flash with surprise before she straightened her shoulders and tipped her head higher.

“Oh! I know! How about we play a game of pool?” Mac tried again, but no one was listening.

“Give it up,” Frank warned. “You know how he is. Once he’s latched onto somethin’, it’s over with.”

“So, you think I should just be okay with you all conspiring against me? Is that right, Frank?” He projected his wrath onto the older man who had wandered down to the other end of the bar, teeth gritting as he scowled at him.

“Dude, we’re not conspiring against you. We’re not pirates,” Charlie defended, lower lip surging forward when everyone stared at him confusedly.

“Charlie, you’re thinking of a mutiny,” Dee corrected, and Charlie shook his head, opened his mouth to speak, but Dennis hurriedly interjected, pointing a finger in the air.

“That’s exactly what this is! A goddamned mutiny! You all are – you’re – you’re against me!” His heart started to beat a little funny, and tiny black spots began to dance in his vision.

“I’m not committing mutiny against you,” Mac murmured behind him, and Dennis looked back at him, emotion welling in his chest at the earnestness he possessed.

“Well, you’re the only one, Mac. The rest of these – these traitors have.” He sent his sister, Charlie, and Frank a furious stare while using every ounce of strength he had to remain standing. He was not about to pass out and give these assholes further fuel for whatever the fuck they were cooking.

“Oh, you think Mac hasn’t been talking?” Dee challenged, and Mac immediately stiffened.

“That’s bullshit, Dee, and you know it!” he shouted, chest puffing out defensively as one hand fell discreetly to Dennis’ waist and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Oh yeah?” Her head tipped to the side as she folded her arms over her chest, hip cocked and mouth pulling briefly to the side before she continued.

Dennis took a deep, calculated breath (one that he hoped would make the goddamned obstructions in his vision cease), and turned towards Mac. “Is this true?”

Mac’s eyes widened, and he shook his head vehemently. “No! I swear! I only said that –” He winced, bottom lip becoming a victim of his teeth before he muttered, “I only said that you haven’t been eating all that much lately. But that’s it! And it’s only because she tricked me!”

“Tricked you? How in the hell did I trick you?” she shot back, tone taking on that same ear-piercing quality it did every time she got upset.

“Because you started playing those – those mind games and made me think I was talking about one thing when I was really talking about something else!” Mac exclaimed, and his argument did seem convincing. Dee loved to play mind games with people.

“That doesn’t even make any goddamned sense!” she matched his volume, one hand flying out towards Mac. “I didn’t play any mind games with you. All I did was ask if you ever saw him eat anything and you said ‘sometimes, but not really’,” she remarked, deepening her voice in an attempt to imitate the dark-haired man.

“Why do you care if I eat?” Dennis’ voice dropped dangerously low, intense gaze now trained solely on his sister. Dee’s brow narrowed as offense bled into her annoyed expression. She opened her mouth to speak, but Dennis beat her to the punch. “This is about that goddamned bet, isn’t it?”

“What?” She looked taken aback, but Dennis was no fool. He knew her better than anyone else, knew exactly what she was capable of. “No, Dennis, it’s not about the bet.”

A weighted chuckle fell from his lips as he straightened his back. “Bullshit! You were waiting for just the right time to spring it on me, weren’t you?”

The middle of her right cheek dipped inward as she chewed on it before responding. “I wasn’t going to spring it on you asshole. Not now.”

“Why not?” he shrugged, a reflexive frown tugging down his lips as his palms fell to the counter.

Dee appeared uncomfortable for a moment, squirming while she sent a glance to Charlie then let her gaze drop to the floor. “Because you’re sick, Dennis.”

“Dee,” Mac hissed out her name, though his fingers clenched instinctively (protectively, Dennis knew) over his side.

“Sick?” Dennis scoffed. “I’m not sick. Why in the hell – Why in the hell would you even say that?” he shook his head, a humorless snicker escaping from his mouth.

“Dude, I mean, Dee’s – Dee’s not wrong here,” Charlie stepped in, and instantly became the focus of Dennis’ ire.

“Oh, so you are on her side?” he questioned disbelievingly, a sneer capturing his features when Charlie’s chin lowered along with his gaze in a brief display of guilt. “Wow! You all think I’m sick, huh? I’ll show you sick.” Without further explanation, Dennis yanked off the four layers that covered his upper half, exposed himself then gestured towards his body, and misread the looks of horror that now adorned everyone’s faces. “Does this look like a sick man to you? Huh?”

“Oh my God,” Dee muttered, slim fingers raising to cover her mouth. “Dennis…”

His brow furrowed, chest heaving as he scowled at his sister. “You really think I’m sick now? How can someone look the way I do and be sick?”

“Jesus Christ kid,” Frank muttered, brown eyes wide behind his thick glasses. “What have you done?”

“What have I done? What have I done? Well, Frank, I’ll tell you what I’ve done. I have sacrificed and sacrificed and sacrificed some more, and this – this is where it’s gotten me.” His entire body vibrated from the cold, but he chalked it up to the outrage that was currently racing through his veins.

He couldn’t see the way his ribs protruded through his near translucent skin, or how his stomach had become concave even while standing. His jeans hung low enough to reveal the hip bones that his too loose boxers no longer covered either, while the knobs of his spine stood out like a small mountain chain down the center of his back.

“Dude,” Charlie’s voice was soft, green eyes glimmering with an abrupt flare of fear that Dennis thought that no business being there. Why in the hell did he look like that?

Or rather, why did they all look like that?

“Hey, let’s get you – let’s get you covered back up. You’re freezing,” Mac suggested, but Dennis refused.

“Why? This is what she wants,” he insisted, gesturing towards Dee who immediately shook her head.

“This isn’t – This isn’t what I want,” she protested, and Dennis’ brow lowered at the tremor her voice now contained. “Oh my God…Dennis…”

“Oh, I think this is exactly what you want, sis! For me to parade around like the whore you all think that I am!” He tossed his shirts onto the counter, and picked up an empty tray, abandoning Mac as pure adrenaline fired his movements. “Can I get you guys anything?” he mocked, now standing in front the booth that housed two of their regulars.

The older men paused their conversation to look over at him, both shaking their heads in unison before they swiftly took drinks from their glasses.

“Awesome!” the word shot out of his mouth like a firecracker before he rushed back over to the bar, unaware of how badly he was shivering. “See! Are you happy now?” He flung the tray like it was a frisbee, and it clattered to the counter while he stood in front of Dee and Charlie. “Well?”

They wore matching expressions as they first looked at each other then at him. “I think you should listen to Mac,” Charlie encouraged, only able to hold Dennis’ gaze for a second before he gave his attention to the floor.

“Oh, is it because my – my fatness is making you uncomfortable? Huh?” Dennis was going into a tailspin, incapable of seeing how far he was spiraling. He stabbed himself in the stomach with his index finger. “See how far it sinks in!” His voice cracked as tears sprung to his eyes. “You don’t think it’s funny now, do you? Do you?” The tendons in his neck stood out when he spoke, no matter how loud or soft he was. When both Charlie and Dee averted their gazes, it only made him more furious. “What? None of you have anything to say? No Pillsbury Doughboy jokes? No one wants to point out how many goddamned fucking baby Snickers I can eat? Huh? No one?”

All of them, including Mac, bowed their heads or turned their faces in any direction other than his.

“Oh, come on!” he spoke in a voice riddled with quakes and hysteria, arms rising up in the air before he grabbed a hold of his sister’s hand, kept all but her forefinger folded and then poked himself with it. “Don’t you want to see how far it’ll go in?”

“Stop. Stop it!” she warned, and pulled her hand out of his grasp, lips pulled into a thin line while a wounded expression encompassed her features. “Enough.”

“Enough of what? Me giving you exactly what you wanted?” he taunted, tongue peeking out to lick the lips that were always dry. “This is funny! This is funny!” he exclaimed, oblivious to the tears that were now rolling down his cheeks. “Come on, Charlie! Don’t you think it’s funny?” he turned on the shorter man, tearing his hand away from his side then repeating the same action as he did with Dee. Red marks now decorated his pale skin, but he paid them no mind as he became more unhinged, the pain a dull note in the back of his mind while he plunged Charlie’s stubby finger into his stomach.

“Dude, quit it,” Charlie ordered, and hurriedly retracted his hand even though Dennis was still holding onto it.

“Oh, it’s fine when you want it to stop, but when I did? No one gave a shit then, so why should I now?” he reasoned, and an abrupt tightness caused Charlie’s eyes to narrow, a glimmer of shame filling the sea of green where curiosity usually resided. “Come on, Charlie! Let’s see how far it sinks in!” He tried to wrench Charlie’s hand away again, but it was no use, Charlie was far stronger, always had been.

He backed away from him, a wounded pout forming on his lips before a scoff whistled between them. “Hypocrites. All of you are goddamned hypocrites,” he spat the proclamation out as though it were an insult, as though he’d never been guilty of such a thing. “It’s all fun and games until I finally join in, isn’t it? Until old Dennis is on the joke, huh? Then it’s not funny anymore. No, it’s a travesty.” The air deflated from his lungs, exhaustion forcing the edges of his sight to go fuzzy. “Fine, so be it then. So fucking be it.” He grabbed his shirts, all four of them, and put them back on, then went behind the bar for his coat. “Come on, Mac. Let’s go home.”

Mac retrieved his own leather jacket, sending shame-filled looks to the others before he followed Dennis out the door and into the frigid afternoon air.

Clouds the color of pewter painted the sky, keeping the sun hidden as Dennis handed Mac the keys before climbing into the passenger seat. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to drive. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he was going to be awake by the time they made it home. His sudden eruption had given him a burst of strength, but that was quickly fading as he tried to ignore how uncomfortable the seat was. When had they become so painful? It didn’t matter how he shifted, even through all his layers, the seat was still digging into his back.

The man in the driver’s seat was unnaturally silent, knuckles white as his fingers gripped the wheel. He stared straight ahead, jaw set as he repositioned his hands before returning them to their original place.

“Mac?” His voice was soft now, though the waver was still present. It wasn’t until he caught a glimpse of himself in the sideview mirror that he realized his cheeks were wet. He was so tired that reaching up to wipe them away caused his eyelashes to flutter.

“We need to talk when we get home.” There was a weight to his words that Dennis didn’t like. They were too heavy, laced with an emotion that made his heart leap to his throat.

“About – About what exactly?” His breath hitched, and possibilities began to swirl through his mind. “You’re not – You’re not going to leave, are you?” A laugh wrapped in anxiety burst free from his lips, and Mac glanced over at him, his eyes once again awash with concern and a glimmer of hurt.

“What? No,” he shook his head. “Dennis, I’m not – I’m not going anywhere.” He looked perplexed, even more downtrodden than he was before.

“Oh, o-o-okay. Yeah, sure. When we get home,” he murmured, then grimaced. Now, it was the seatbelt digging into his chest. He released a silent sigh, then let his head fall back against the rest, eyes easing shut as warm air blew out of the vents.

When he opened them next, he found the ceiling of their apartment above him, and Mac pacing in front of the couch, thumbnail tucked between his teeth. “How did I – Did you carry me?” he asked, the blanket that was covering him pooling at his waist when he sat up.

Mac’s boots squeaked over the hard surface as he came to an abrupt stop. The skin that lined his eyes was red and puffy, bottom lip mottled with bite marks. Without a word, he plopped down next to Dennis and pulled him close, a whimper crawling out of his throat. “You’re awake.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Dennis murmured, missing the warmth from Mac’s skin as he gently withdrew.

“I-I never said you wouldn’t be.” There was more he wanted to say, Dennis could tell. His face held too many emotions to count, but trepidation was at front and center.

“Why are you looking at me like that? I’m not dying.” He said it to soften the mood (even if he did sound a little whiny), but his words only made Mac’s eyes grow more puppyish and sadder.

“Dennis,” he paused, poor lower lip getting another bite from his teeth. His gaze shifted downward, and he started to wring his hands, a surefire sign that he was afraid to speak what was on his mind.

What was he so scared of? Had he been lying earlier? Was he going to leave?

The next time Dennis blinked, a tear burned its way down his cheek. “Mac, if this –”

“I’m afraid I’m going to lose you,” Mac confessed, and soon, his cheeks were wet too.

Dennis’ head jerked back, confusion marring his brow. “Lose me? Why would you – I don’t understand.”

He didn’t think Mac’s eyes could grow any more sorrowful, but somehow, the man managed to make them fill with more melancholy. Mac sniffled, then gently cradled Dennis’ face. The gesture was so soft, so sweet that it stole Dennis’ breath away. “You’re sick, Dennis, and I don’t know how to help you.”

With that, he swatted Mac’s hand away and tried to stand up, only to collapse right back down to the cushion when the world began to topple over. “I’m not – I’m not sick,” he ground out, jaw tight as he squeezed his eyes shut. He pinched the bridge of his nose, a whirl of anger and frustration simmering in his stomach.

Even Mac had betrayed him.

It had been a goddamned mutiny.

“Dennis, I need you to listen to me.” Mac framed his cheeks with his palms, and Dennis wanted to push him away, but the energy it would take to lift his arms was too much. The spectacle he’d put on earlier took more out of him than he originally realized. “I haven’t said anything, but – but Dee’s right, and you have to know how much I really don’t want to say that, like never in a million years would I agree with her, but…” His thumbs brushed softly over the faint lines that ran along the sides of his mouth. “She’s right.”

“No, she isn’t,” Dennis insisted, torn because a tiny voice in the back of his head wanted to agree with Mac, knew that his weight was too low, but the other voice that sounded an awful lot like his mother at times reminded him that one could never be too thin. “Mac, I’m fine. You’re worried over nothing.”

“Nothing?” Mac echoed, hurt swimming in his irises. “I know I’ve been working out more and all, but it shouldn’t have been as easy as it was to get you up here. You’re light as shit dude.”

While Mac might not have meant it as a compliment, Dennis took it as such. One side of his mouth started to upturn but when more tears spilled down Mac’s face, he stopped.

Mac was crying.

Mac never cried.

Dennis’ brow lowered at that, and when he thought back, the last time he’d been a witness to Mac’s tears had been in their twenties. He needed to be soothed; Dennis could do that. Mirroring the other man, he slid his bony fingers over Mac’s stubbled cheek. “I’m fine,” he repeated, hoping the sincerity he was attempting to project was shining through.

A sad laugh left the other man’s lips as he shook his head. “But you’re not. You don’t eat anymore, and – and I know –” His bottom lip began to quake, and he hurriedly bowed his head, twin tears dropping down to his lap. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, and his shoulders started to shake. “I’m so sorry, Dennis.”

Dennis’ brow lowered, face shifting slowly from side to side. “For what?”

Another choked whimper wrangled free from Mac’s throat. “For making you – for making you do this.” Tears continued to slide down his cheeks, and Dennis used his thumbs to softly swipe them away.

“Do what? Get healthy?” Dennis didn’t understand. What the hell was Mac even talking about?

“Dennis, this isn’t – this isn’t healthy. I can see almost every bone in your body,” the man sitting next to him tearfully admitted.

“What?” Dennis scoffed, an incredulous expression overtaking his features as he cleared Mac’s skin of more tears. “I’m not that – I don’t look like that.” Maybe it was time Mac get his eyes checked…

A chest-encompassing sob made Mac’s shoulders shake before he softly clutched Dennis’ nonexistent biceps. “You really can’t see it, can you?”

“See what, Mac?” A hint of irritation muddled his tone. “See all the – all the fat?” His voice quieted to a murmur, Adam’s apple bobbing as his gaze dropped.

“Jesus dude, you’re not fat. There isn’t an ounce of fat anywhere on you.” His bottom lip tucked itself between his teeth. “You’re so goddamned tiny.”

“No, I’m not!” Dennis exploded, palms leaving Mac’s cheeks to fly through the air. What was wrong with him? How in the hell could he not see how huge he was? Tiny? Where? He stood up, far too fast, and the room darkened temporarily, spots blanking out his vision before his legs gave out, and the couch rose to meet him.

“Are you okay?” Mac was crowding his space, beer-flavored breath ghosting over his lips while he cradled his face.

“I’m – I’m fine. I just…” The spots were still there, vying for his attention, but eventually, he was able to blink them away. He trained his gaze on Mac, wanting to be mean and strike out, but it was hard when Mac looked at him like that.

“Will you eat something for me? Please? I promise it doesn’t have to be anything big. An apple?” His voice trembled at the same rate as the sad sheen that enveloped his eyes glistened. “Please?”

The kicked puppy expression made something twist in Dennis’ gut, and even though he wanted to tell Mac no, a soft, “Okay,” left his lips instead. As tendrils of failure swam through his blood, Mac pulled him into his arms for a brief hug before he leapt off the couch and raced into the kitchen, opening the fridge door so roughly, it knocked the ironing board that was leaning beside it to the floor.

Dennis peered down at himself, first at his thighs, then his knees until his gaze finally settled on his hands. They looked normal to him, not spindly or bony like Dee’s but normal, like they always did. He hadn’t changed, not that much, really. He was still too big, too bulky, and maybe…maybe if he tweaked a few things, he would finally be the right size.

He would eat this apple for Mac, today.

But tomorrow?

Tomorrow, he was going to take it to the next level.

He would show them ultimate perfection.