Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Don't message me 'cause I won't reply, I wanna make you cry

Ain't that how it's s'posed to be? Though it isn't me,

Boys will be bugs, right?”

Mac, 18 years old.

Mac makes sure to inspect Dennis’s arms every chance he gets. He does it without anyone noticing of course, his eyes masterfully adjusted to the art of discretion. And so far he hasn't found anything suspicious, not after that prom-freakout. They never talk about what happened and maybe it's for the best. It's like one of those really old shoes that you find in the basement, the laces so tangled up it would take hours to sort out. They both made mistakes, Mac will forever live with the knowledge he betrayed his best friend and Dennis will forever live with the scars. 

"So this is it, huh?" Charlie says absentmindedly. 

Dennis hums in agreement and Mac stays quiet. They're under the bleachers and you'd think it was a normal lunch break, but it's not. School has been over for almost a week now and it's closing in on midnight. It's over, it's finally over. Mac thought he would be relieved but when the final speeches were held and the caps were thrown up into the air, all he could feel was emptiness. He still has no idea what he wants to do in the future and for a single moment he can't help but think about Will. Will always knew what to do, who he wanted to be, and a part of Mac will always envy him for that. 

A flash of guilt aches in his chest and Mac quickly blurts something out to distract himself, "We're still gonna be friends, right?"

Dennis and Charlie turn their heads towards him at the same time and Mac instantly regrets the words. 

For a second he thinks they're gonna laugh in his face but then Charlie reassures him that, "Of course, we're always gonna be friends, dude, remember? No matter what, that's what we said." 

And Mac does remember. He remembers looking for worms and getting high in Charlie's basement. He remembers spending the summers by the local pool and the winters in the mall using the advantage of big jackets to shoplift as much as possible. He remembers Charlie's hair being untamable and his shirts hanging down to his knees.

"Yeah," he nods and lets out a little laugh. How could he ever believe that there was a world out there where he and Charlie weren't best friends? When he looks over at Dennis however, his smile dies out. Dennis is doing that thing where he knows there is something he should say but isn't saying. Lying by omission, that's what it is. 

"Dennis?" He asks, too casually, judging by Dennis’s glare. 

"Yes, Mac?" 

Mac takes a deep breath, this shithead is really gonna make him spell it out, huh?

"Are we still gonna be friends?"

There is a moment of tense silence but then Charlie gives Mac a nudge with his foot, "Come on, who else is gonna keep up with all his-"

Charlie gestures vaguely towards Dennis who just crosses his arms in response.

"-Dennis-ness," he finishes. 

"Fuck you very much," Dennis mutters but he doesn't actually protest.

They’re silent again until Dennis asks for a joint and Mac promptly takes out the one from his shoe that he was saving for later. Mac hands over the joint and Dennis sticks in between his lips. He lets it stay there as Mac lights it and everything somehow becomes even more tense. Mac can't decide if he's looking at Dennis's eyes, lips, or the blunt. He manages not to light anything on fire and Dennis takes a deep inhale, looking Mac cold in the eyes as he says,

"I'm going to Penn."

~~~

The only advantage of Dennis being gone turns out to be that Mac doesn't burn through his weed supply as fast. He doesn't like to smoke alone, never has, and Charlie is more of a glue and paint kinda guy. He thinks about it sometimes, that the summer would go over quicker if he could spend it high and unable to produce any rational thought. The problem however is that after summer comes autumn and after autumn comes winter and so on. The passage of time isn't gonna fix anything, it's not gonna bring back Dennis. Because even after his three years at Penn is over, Dennis won't return. He’ll have the whole world to explore, every fancy and impossibly time-consuming job will be hungry for a piece of him. Dennis will go to Uni, get two new best friends who spend their free time solving crosswords and drinking coffee without sugar. He’ll get a busty girlfriend who'll blow him in the library and then go right back to studying. They'll do a bunch of cliche couple shit that makes Mac sick to his stomach. Dennis is probably in the middle of making a love letter with a bunch of hearts on it and hiding it in her bag.

"What, like Ann you mean?" Charlie asks before reaching his fingers into the jar for another wet pickle. 

"What?" Mac shakes his head, Ann is the last thing he's thinking about right now, "I don't know, sure, but that's not the point."

Charlie bites into the pickle and the crunching sound he makes is somehow pleasing and irritating at the same time. They're sitting in the local park in anticipation of a buyer and the blasting sun is making it hard for either of them to be completely focused. 

"You know," Charlie says, taking another loud bite, "Dennis isn't really the romantic type, he's kind of an asshole."

"He can be romantic," Mac protests, "if he really wants to sleep with a girl he’ll just pretend to be the type of guy she wants, buy her flowers and write her poems, all of that shit."

Charlie hums into his pickle and Mac wrinkles his nose at the pickle water dripping off Charlie's fingers onto the grass below. 

"That's fucking gross, dude," Mac mutters.

Charlie just shrugs so Mac lets it slide. He makes a sweep of the park, makes a note of the couple with the ugly dog, the elderly woman wearing a striped shirt in rainbow colors and the dad buying his son a vanilla ice cream from the ice cream stand. They all look disgustingly happy and Mac doesn't think any of them fit the profile for his new client. It's probably his own fault for thinking a pothead could ever get anywhere in time. 

"I mean yeah, he was an asshole," Mac says absentmindedly, "but so what, I’m selling drugs and you’re eating pickles in a park, it's not like we're much better."

"Are we still talking about Dennis?" Charlie groans, "I get that you miss him but at this point, I just wanna have a conversation about literally anything else."

"I dont miss him!" Mac huffs in protest, to which Charlie just rolls his eyes, " I don't , I just think, like, the vibe is off without him."

"Mm-hm."

"And I think its weird that he hasn't answered any of my texts-"

"Because he's an asshole!" Charlie exclaims, accidentally tilting the pickle jar balancing on his thigh and spilling out some of the liquid on his run-down converse shoes.

"Great, now I'm gonna be smelling like pickle juice for the rest of the day," he says sarcastically, dangling with his foot to shake some of the pickle juice away.

"But seriously Mac, you need to drop this whole Dennis-thing or its gonna drive you crazy, it's already driving me crazy."

Mac doesn't answer, how could he? The ugly truth is that he’s already gone crazy, the second Dennis left Philly, maybe even before that. Maybe when Dennis lured him into his basement and corrupted him with sin, maybe that day in 9th grade when the two of them first locked eyes and Dennis asked for "one marijuana, please" like someone who hadn't even seen weed before.

~~~

"Heyo, just Mac checking in to see how ur settling in on campus, call me if you want"

"Hey, just wanted to see how things are,,, is Dee still wearing that iron cage?? Send me a picture of it, I need a good laugh."

"Mac here! Me and Charlie are doing good, thanks for not asking. Business is steady and Charlie is learning how to turn oranges into alcohol (they do it in prison) Call me when you have time."

"Hey Dennis"

"Dennis"

"Dennis"

"Hey Dennis, Mac here. Just wanted to see how you were doing. Again. Call me back."

Mac presses send on that last message and promptly throws his phone onto the mattress. It lands with a thump and a small part of Mac wishes it would fall to the floor, shattering into a million little pieces. He's not gonna get an answer, he knows this by now and yet he can't stop trying. He can't give up on Dennis no matter how much of a complete dick he is because who would he be without him? As much as Charlie will forever be his best friend Dennis has also become an ingrained part of him. They're Mac and Dennis. They're blood brothers. And even if Dennis might think he's ready to give that up Mac knows that isn't how their story is supposed to go. God wouldn't have put Dennis into his life just to take him away. It has to mean something beyond just teaching him that life is cruel. Mac already knows that most things in life suck dick. His mom barely talks to him and his dad is stuck in prison. He's never gotten above a C on a test and his best friend once tricked him into swallowing an ant. He was born wrong in every way imaginable, set out to fail before he even got the change to try his luck. Mac knows life is cruel, he doesn't need God reminding him by taking away one of the few things that actually don’t suck. 

His thought process is instantly put on hold when a loud buzz erupts through the quiet room. At first Mac doesn't want to look. He's played this game before, the 'I let myself believe that Dennis texted me when it was someone else' - game, and it's as disappointing every single time. And yet he has to check, has to make sure. He slumps down, opens the phone and starts reading. 

"Can you come over this weekend?"  -Dennis

~~~~

The car gives out an irritated roar only to die again just when Mac think it’ll finally start. He resists the urge to slam his head against the steering wheel and tries to twist the car keys again.

"Are you sure you can drive?”

“I can drive,” Mac insists for the millionth time that day, “this car is just a piece of shit.”

“Dude, you don't even have a license.”

Mac pulls out the keys only to shove them in again, more forcefully this time as if to say ‘this is your last chance, buddy, or else.’

“You don't need a license to drive, that's just liberal propaganda.”

The car awakens again and gives out a weird almost cat-like sound, then it, of course, falls asleep again. Fucking typical. 

“I don't think this is gonna-” 

“It’s gonna work, Charlie,” Mac interrupts as he desperately tries twisting around the key, “and if you’re gonna keep this attitude up, I'm demoting you to backseat.”

Charlie actually looks pretty upset at the prospect of losing shotgun privileges. He’s wearing a white T-shirt which miraculously enough is free of any stains and on his head he's tied a stupid, red bandana to ‘get the attention from the ladies.’ Mac is more practically clothed. He has borrowed Mrs. Kelley’s reading glasses and a black shirt with all but the very last buttons closed. He's aiming to actually look like he belongs at Penn despite never having set foot on campus before. He doesn't want to get stared at by the other students there or have them whisper things about how he's clearly in the wrong part of town. 

“I’m not sitting in the backseat, dude, that's taking it too far,” Charlie pouts, “in that case, we might as well walk, it's not even that far.”

“We are not walking, I told you we gotta make an entrance.”

He twists the keys one last time and the car purrs awake. This time however, it doesn't instantly die again and Mac lets out a joyous shout. 

“What did I tell you, Charlie,” he smiles, looking behind him to avoid slamming into any other cars as he backs out onto the driveway, “patience.”

Charlie just hums in response and fastens the seatbelt around him. Then they are out on the road, the wind forcefully blowing in from the window throwing with their hair and making their eyes water. Mac doesn't care about the wind, he doesn't care when some a-hole shouts at him to ‘learn how to fucking drive you imbecile’ and he doesn't even care about Charlie puts on some weird radio station where the hosts are in the middle of discussing whale-mating. Mac doesn't care because for the first time in over three months he’ll get to see Dennis. They’ll talk, Dennis will talk to him and maybe he’ll even smile his way or put his arm around Mac’s shoulders like he always does when he's in a good mood. It’ll all be like it used to be. They’ll bullshit around, get angry at one another for some stupid reason no one can remember an hour later. They’ll get wasted, say too much, touch too much, and they’ll both pretend it doesn't mean anything. Dennis will introduce him and Charlie to all his friends, they’ll all hang out together and it’ll all be perfect. 

~~~

"Since when do you wear glasses?"

That's the first thing Dennis says to him. It's not like Mac expected a passionate embrace and a string of "how you been's'" and "I've missed you's" but he'd hoped for something. Anything else than that.

"I…" Mac takes the glasses off like they might burn his skin if they stay on for one second longer, "It's stupid, I borrowed them from Charlie's mom, it's stupid."

He looks down at the ground, focuses his gaze on the sun reflecting in the white of Dennis's converse. Its weird, Mac thought he'd be wearing a tailored suit and black leather shoes, walking around like some future lawyer-doctor or whatever it is Dennis wants to be when he grows up. Mac wasn't picturing washed out jeans paired with an oversized "Penn State" hoodie. He wasn't picturing a Dennis with uncombed hair and that "I haven't eaten since yesterday" tired gray framing his face, piling on under his eyes and under his cheekbones. 

"Whatever," Dennis shrugs, "you guys want a tour or something?"

Mac shrugs back and Charlie looks between the two of them in that quietly worried way Mac usually can't stand. This time he gets it though. Dennis looks like he's seconds away from fainting. He hasn't even addressed Charlie yet and for once Mac doesn’t think its because he's deliberately trying to be an asshole. He just seems out of it, like he's high on pain medication or something.

They walk around campus and let Dennis monologue about the history of Penn. He seems to have the whole thing rehearsed, babbling on about the significance of every little statue, lake and tree. Apparently everything at Penn comes with its own story, a story Dennis has now become a part of. A story where Mac and Charlie play obscure side characters who feel like they come from a different book entirely. 

"And in there," Dennis points towards the library building undoubtedly crawling with overachieving know-it-all’s who have nothing better to do for the weekend than to study, "there is an elevator that the real Gerald R. Ford got stuck in. I think it was like eighty-four, eighty-five…"

Charlie opens his mouth for the first time on their tour, "I think his name is Harrison actually." 

Dennis raises a dangerous eyebrow, an angry spark replacing indifference "Excuse me?”

“Well, I’m not trying to call you stupid,” Charlie reassures a Dennis who looks all but reassured, “but I think his name is Harrison Ford.”

The next second, three things occur at the same time; Mac takes a step forward to get in between a fuming Dennis and a confused Charlie. Dennis starts to say “you absolute imbecile-” but is promptly interrupted by a weirdly cheerful “what's cracking?”. 

The three of them all turn around to face an Asian woman who's also wearing one of those “Penn State” hoodies that lets everyone know how much of a disappointment she isn't . Her black, thick, hair is collected in a tight bun on the top of her head and maybe if she stuffed her bra and invested money in some makeup she could be considered hot by the general public. 

“Not much,” Dennis fake laughs, pretending that he wasn't just two seconds away from dragging Charlie by the hair through campus for confusing a former president with a beloved actor (a common mistake really). 

“What’s up, Gina?” 

Gina smiles but Mac doesn’t know her well enough to figure out if its genuine or not, “I'm good, Den, you guys coming tonight or what?”

Mac frowns at the nickname. Den, Den ? He looks over at Dennis, sorry, Den , to see him mockingly reject this casual gesture of verbal intimacy. It's not like Mac hasn't used nicknames on Dennis before but that's entirely different. Mac and Dennis, unlike this random girl, are blood brothers. They’ve gone through it all, they've even seen each other's dicks on multiple occasions and if that's not a qualification for calling each other nicknames, what is? But maybe, Mac realizes, this Gina chick has seen Dennis’s dick too and that's why, instead of making some snide remark, Dennis just smiles her way.

“Yeah, sure, wouldn't miss it for the world.”

Gina smiles back and it's creepy Mac decides. A clown-like, serial killer-esk, smile, that's what it is. Who smiles that much anyway, what's she got to be so happy about? Mac guesses if she really is banging Dennis that is as good of a reason as any to be cheery. 

“Bring your friends too, the more the merrier!”

~~~

This is so wrong, entirely wrong. This is chickens eating chicken-nuggets for dinner wrong. This is like if his mom became a talk show host and his dad picked up ballet. If this was a book, this would be the chapter you’d skip, or better yet, burn. 

They’re at the frat party, if you can call a bunch of teenagers (all in different stages of being high out of their minds) just kind of hanging out, a party. Charlie has abandoned him, or rather been kidnapped by the psych majors. For some reason they find him fascinating beyond words, some of them having taken out their notebooks to write down his answers to their no doubt increasingly private questions. Mac is pretty sure it's immoral but its the first time he's seen people be so openly interested and kind towards Charlie so he doesn't intervene. And he sees how Charlie revels in the attention, not in the way Dennis does, like it's a certainty, the natural order of things, but Charlie looks genuinely excited to have strangers care enough about him to ask him questions.

Charlie deserves it, he really does, and if any of those wannabe therapists know half as much about psychology as they pretend to, maybe they can help Charlie become more… functional. Maybe he’ll stop peeing the bed and have weird nightmares and twitch at every sudden sound or touch when he feels stressed out. It's not like Mac minds much, all those weird ticks, they're what makes Charlie, Charlie, but sometimes he feels guilty that he can't give his friend the help he needs. 

Dennis on the other hand really did abandon him. He disappeared the second they walked in and Mac hasn't seen him since. He wishes it surprised him, that Dennis couldn't possibly be the type of person who'd invite him to a party with strangers only to leave without a word. 

Mac has stopped looking for him now or at the very least stopped going around tapping people on the shoulders and asking if they've seen "a pale, skinny kid with really nice blue eyes". He sees it as an improvement, a step towards something less pathetic and needy. 

The room is dimmed down but someone has placed out candles which, frankly, should be considered a serious safety risk around these half-brained supposed “geniuses”. There is corny indie music playing from somewhere and Mac would rather swallow his tongue than admit it actually has a nice vibe to it, whatever that means. He has yet to spot the beer which, once again is just wrong. If he is going to survive without both Dennis and Charlie in this sea of upper-class know it alls he is going to need alcohol, and a lot of it preferably. He pushes a douchebag wearing a backwards cap out of his way as he makes his way through the room. Who arranges a party without beer?

There are groups of students all scattered around the fraternity, some of them taking turns violently making out and others talking about smart people things like scientific studies, political ideologies and the news. Maybe he should have put the glasses back on… 

“Mac!” 

Mac turns around and of course it's Gina giving him one of those overly cheery smiles.

“It's Mac, right?” She asks him when he doesn't immediately return her psycho-smile. 

“Yeah,” he shrugs. 

“You’re a friend of Dennis?” She asks even though she clearly knows the answers, having seen the three of them together earlier that day. Mac figures she's just trying to make conversation but it's kind of annoying, asking questions you already know the answers to. 

“Yeah,” he says again, “do you know where the beer is?” 

~~~

Three beers later and Gina isn't half as annoying as she used to be. They're sitting on one bean bag each (which by the way, is the most genius thing Mac has ever experienced). Gina is going to town on a blunt Mac rolled for her while ranting about the importance of integrated communities, something Mac isn't sure he grasps the concept of yet.

“And, like,” she says, giving him a firm shake by the shoulder, “that’s why I’m so happy you and that bandana guy are here. Penn isn't supposed to be a community filled with rich assholes, it's supposed to be a place where people of all backgrounds and socioeconomic-”

“Gina,” Mac interrupts which makes Gina go quiet for the first time in a long time, looking at him with reddening eyes like she's lost her entire train of thoughts. 

"Yeah?" She asks but the way she pronounces it makes it sound like she's just saying "eeh?"

"I was just wondering," Mac shifts a bit, the beanbag rustling underneath him, "you and Dennis, are you like…"

Gina's eyebrows slowly raise up. She stares at him for a while and then she has the balls to laugh him right up in his face.

"You...you," she stammers between laughs, "me and Dennis, that's-"

"I was just wondering, you don't have to make fun of me," he mumbles offended, making an attempt to sit up but being pushed down again by a (still) snickering Gina. 

"No," she coes, "Mac, Mac, you don't get it, I’m a lesbian, as gay as they come."

Mac stares at her.

"I would rather drink a cactus smoothie than let Dennis’ dick anywhere near me, no offense," she explains, her giggling settling down a bit, "besides, isn't Dennis gay too?" 

If Mac was staring before, this is double, triple staring. 

"I mean," Gina goes on, ignoring his utter look of disbelief, "I just got that vibe, you know."

Mac does not know and he is suddenly reminded that he has no idea of where Dennis is. That Dennis wanted them to come, wanted him to come, and yet he disappeared as soon as they got there. He hasn't made a single attempt to express his gratitude, hasn't asked any of them a single question about how life has been since he left. He doesn't give a fuck about any of it and yet, here Mac is, talking to his friends about him because it's the only thing he really cares about tonight. It's why he's here.

"Why would you think…" Mac trails off, swallows hard, "how do you tell, if someone is gay I mean? Is it some kind of vibe only other gay people can pick up on?" 

Gina giggles again, "you are so sweet," she says, "really, this is exactly why the whole integration thing is so important…"

"Okay, forget it," Mac mumbles and channels his inner soberness to stand up, much to Gina's displeasure. 

"No, don't leave," she pouts, lazily tugging at his pant leg, "I'll tell you about the gay thing, just-"

She yanks his leg and Mac hesitantly sits down again.

"So," she smiles like she's about to tell the story of a century, "it's more about small little clues than a vibe. 'Gay-vibes' is probably a misleading term, it's more like, gay-indicators."

"Okay, so what are they?" Mac presses on. He feels like an undercover journalist trying to get top-secret information he'll in no doubt use to his own advantage.

Gina shrugs, "you know, it can be how someone talks, if everything they say feels like a performance, I think that's what made me wonder about Dennis."

Mac feels the room starting to spin which is weird because he usually has a much higher alcohol tolerance than this.

"Every time he talks about women it just kinda feels hollow, like some speech he prepared beforehand. And, you know, I love women, so I know when that shit isn't coming from the heart." 

Mac needs to find Dennis, he needs to… He isn't sure what he's supposed to say, but he needs to do something. 

"Besides, I’m fucking his sister and she told me she saw him jacking off with his guy friend once. Like, that’s objectively gay."

The vibration of her laugh rattles his insides, makes his heart stop, melts his bones. His body feels like it’s made out of bugs trapped inside a glass container slowly being roasted on an open fire. They know they're being burnt alive, they feel the heat under their little bug-feet, and they can't do anything but run around in panic, crushing their skulls to the walls in hope of finding a way out.

~~~

The hollow sound of Mac dry heaving fills an otherwise ghostly quiet campus. He's standing outside one of the buildings, not too far from that one statue that was really important for reasons he can't remember anymore. His shaking hands are clasped at his knees as he leans forward, trying puke out his insides. He wants to be empty and clean and a little bit less of himself. It doesn't work. 

Mac looks up at the sky, catching his breath from having just run down all those stairs, afraid he was going to puke his brains out. That's the only thing that could have made this situation worse; him puking in front of a bunch of strangers. Somewhere behind him Gina was yelling but he's pretty sure she wouldn't have followed him, not for long at least. By now, Gina has likely forgotten about the whole thing, preoccupied with babbling on about socioeconomic inter-something with someone else.

He stares up at the stars, wondering what the hell he's supposed to do now. Gina knows, Dee knows, Tiffany knows and probably Charlie too. Thats already four people not including the handful of priests whom Mac had to confess himself to after every Dennis-sleepover. After a while, it became a lot of confessions. A lot of ‘forgive me lords’, a lot of hail marys and a lot of promises it would never happen again. At this rate, the whole world will know before he's old, or like, forty. He was cursed the moment he met Dennis, a seed of sin that would naturally spread to everyone else around him, like roots of cancer. It's like the devil himself walked up to him that day and marked his forehead with 'sinner' and his heart with 'Property of Dennis Reynolds'. Mac’s life has never been the same since, he's just been too preoccupied with the heavenly sensation of sin to even notice the creaking around him, the world getting closer to falling apart. 

He needs to get out of here, if he knows what's good for him he'll drive straight to church and repent until he doesn't remember his own name anymore. He’ll forget about Charlie and Dennis and all the parts of himself that are broken. He’ll become fully devoted, pray before every meal and every piss-break. He'll be in church every second he has time to spare and he’ll find a good Christian girl, a Mary or Sarah who’s never tried pot and always wears skirts that go over her knees. They’ll get married and his mom and dad will sit in the first row on their wedding, together, a smile on their lips. They’ll have a shit-ton of kids and Mac will provide for them all, he’ll lead by example and he’ll never forget to tell them how much he loves them. 

If he knows what's good for him he’ll leave his life behind for the life he can have. The life he’s supposed to have. 

~~~

Mac says a quick prayer before reaching for the doorknob, knowing if the door is locked he’ll have no way of getting away from this place. It's typical, really, that he brings everything else, his wallet and his weed but not his car keys. A part of him however, is also praying that the door won’t open, that God will make his choices for him, force him to stay. But then again, Mac has no authority to recognize the work of God anymore. The Devil is clearly closer than he’d like and he has to make sure not to fall into his traps anymore. No more missteps, no more sin, he reminds himself as he turns the doorknob. 

The door is pushed in with the weight of Mac’s body against it and he stumbles inside, turning the light switch on in order to faster find the keys. He swears he left them on the table but when he walks in and looks at it all he sees are a bunch of psychology books stacked on top of each other and an open beer. The dorm room feels big and claustrophobic at the same time. It's undoubtedly fancier than the one-bedroom dorm rooms you see in the movies. This place actually has a mini-kitchen with a microwave and dishwasher, as well as a door to the bedroom. Mac wonders if all the other rooms look like this or if Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds paid extra. “Only the best for our Dennis” that's what Mrs. Reynolds told him when Mac asked why they always had those fancy, sugary cereals at home, and it’s probably exactly the same reasoning she had when deciding to get him this place. Mac wonders if Dee also has one of these big rooms but quickly dismisses the idea. The thought of Dee makes him aware of something vague Gina said about Dee that he probably should remember, but then again if it's about Dee it can't be that important. She's a bitch who told Gina about him and Dennis, there's really nothing else that’s important at this point. He might never talk to her again if he's lucky.  Well, that is if he manages to find the fucking car keys.  

He groans when he stands up straight again, finally done searching the floor for the keys. He really is cursed. Every second he spends in this place is a second he still has time to change his mind. It's a second the devil can spend recruiting him to the side of the sinners. And Mac really wouldn't need much convincing, he already knows what sin feels like. It's better than any expensive cereal in the world, it's better than sleeping for as long as you want to in the morning, it's even better than getting high with Charlie and making up weird backstories for the people that pass them on the street. Sin is like finally being able to breathe after a life underwater. It feels so easy when you taste that air for the first time, so easy in fact that you forget that it's not a guarantee, that it can be taken from you.

Suddenly, Mac can smell smoke and for a stupid second he thinks it’s the pit fires of hell coming to swallow him whole. It's not of course, but the smoke in the air it's prominent enough for Mac to abandon his desperate search for his car keys and open the door to the bedroom. 

A cold wind hits him in the face as soon as he steps in and it doesn't take more than a second to figure out why. Both windows are wide open, allowing for autumn to make an entrance. Dennis is sitting with his legs out of the window, one of his hands holding the window frame and the other holding a cigarette. He leans his head back in order to meet Mac’s look but he doesn't say hi. He doesn't say “I’m sorry I left you at the party”, “I'm sorry for inviting you here only to be weird the entire time”, “I’m sorry for all of it.”

He doesn't say anything and Mac doesn't either, not for a long time at least. He just stands there, breathing and existing but not much more than that. It's a test, it has to be. The devil wants to tempt him one last time and God is silently watching, wondering if Mac will fall for it yet again. But he won’t. Looking at Dennis like this, one slip of the hand away from falling to his death, the end of his cigarette bud falling onto his pants, he looks so weak. He's not a God, this almighty deity that Mac can't possibly resist. Suddenly Dennis is just Dennis. 

“Have you seen my car keys?” 

Dennis blinks at him like maybe he was preparing himself for something else. 

“Yeah, I think I saw them somewhere around here,” he answers absentmindedly. 

Mac sighs and turns away from the window to see if the keys might have found their way to the bed table or something. He hears Dennis take a long drag of the cigarette behind him. That's another weird thing in the sea of weird things today; Dennis doesn't smoke. Well, of course he smokes pot, but that's different. Dennis only smokes when he knows he’ll get weed from Mac for free but he’s never smoked cigarettes before, said it was a habit for construction workers. 

“Are you going home?” He asks and Mac sighs again. 

“Where else,” he mutters. 

He doesn't want to turn around so he pretends to search the bed, turning the pillows upside down and pushing the covers into a pile on the end of the bed. 

“You’re making a mess of everything,” Dennis says in a voice that's too calm to be his own, “Can’t you just find them in the morning.”

Mac spins around, glaring at Dennis like it's the first time he can see him, like he’s just a translucent shell barely holding in all that he is made of; pride, lust, envy and wrath. 

“I’m leaving tonight,” Mac says firmly and he can see the muscles of Denis’s face unclench as well as the fingers tightly holding on to the window frame. He opens his mouth only to close it again. 

“And I’m not coming back, by the way,” Mac goes on, “we won't see each other for a very long time, maybe never.”

Mac thinks Dennis will just laugh in his face and say something along the lines of “as if you could last a day without me”. 

But he doesn't, all Dennis can muster as a response is, “Okay.”

“Okay, that's it?”

It's a test, Mac knows it is and yet he can't help but feel rage building up inside him. He's throwing away how many years of friendship, of brotherhood , and Dennis can’t even lift a finger to stop him. 

“What do you want me to say, Mac?” Dennis looks at the cigarette in his hand, “I knew it would end up like this.”

“Like what?” Mac bites out. 

“I’d leave for Penn, you’d do whatever you’re doing and we’d...” Dennis shrugs, “we’d grow apart I guess.”

“We’re not growing apart,” Mac argues, “and if we are, that's your fault, bro.”

“You can't blame everything on me, Mac, that's not how this works.”

“Fuck you,” Mac spits, he takes a step closer to the window in order to fully take in the way Dennis isn’t reacting to any of this, “fuck you,” he repeats. 

“I can't respond to that,” Dennis answers because of course that's what he’d answer. The second things get a little too real, a little out of his grasp, he runs.

“You’re the one who refuses to answer my text, you’re the one who left me at that party,” Mac says fiercely, “You’re just completely off, dude.”

“It’s not your problem,” Dennis says, his eyes glancing off to the side to somewhere we’re Mac can't reach them anymore. 

“It never is,” Mac snarls, “but somehow I’m always there anyway.”

Dennis takes a last drag of the cigarette, closing his eyes on the exhale, before putting it out against the windowsill. 

“What do you want from me, Mac? You want to leave so badly? Then leave.”

He climbs out of the window and jumps down to the floor to face Mac. His face is even paler in the translucent moonlight and he’s wearing a white t-shirt even though it's colder than when he was wearing the thick, oversized hoodie. Mac feels his heart thrumming in his chest and he opens his mouth to say something but nothing manages to come out. Dennis sighs like a parent would sigh at a misbehaving child, not angry, only disappointed. He reaches for something in his jeans pocket and hands it to Mac. 

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Mac breathes, snatching the car keys out of Dennis’s hold, “I broke my back looking for those.”

Dennis rolls his eyes, “I'm pretty sure if you actually broke your back, you wouldn’t even be able to stand up.”

“You’re such a piece of shit,” is all Mac can answer and Dennis just shrugs in response. 

Mac looks down at the car keys in his hands. His ticket out, the first step in his road to salvation. 

“You’re really leaving?” Dennis says and if Mac had not spent all that time decoding all the different variations of Dennis’s voice he’d simply think he was being indifferent, couldn't care less. But somewhere in those syllables Mac can hear fear. Mac can hear doubt and hatred and regret. Grief for something that didn't even have the chance to be born. 

“There is no reason for me not to.”

Mac didn't mean to say it out loud and he certainly didn't mean for it to sound so harsh. He regrets it the instant he sees Dennis’s face, the way his shoulder twitches like he’s just been hit. It makes Mac’s throat feel dry and the voice inside his head screaming “leave” becomes louder and louder. It knows, just as well as Mac does, that time is running out. 

Dennis is completely still and his blue eyes feel colder than usual, like some of the color has disappeared while the two of them have been apart. He’s staring at Mac like he wants to say something but can’t. And this isn't like Dennis at all, when he wants to say something he does, doesn't matter if it's rude or batshit insane. Even when he can’t say something out loud he figures out a way to say it with an insult, with a joke, with a sarcastic remark, with something . He's never quiet like this, like the right words are there, at the tip of his tongue, and so he can't open his mouth at all in fear that they’ll fall out on accident. 

So Dennis is quiet and Mac is quiet. Come to think of it the world in itself is quiet. There is nothing left to say so Mac has to act instead. 

He takes a deep breath, inhaling cigarette smoke and autumn wind and strength , and turns around. Time has run out and Mac needs to pick a side once and for all. Heaven or hell, damnation or salvation. The life he wants or the one he’s supposed to have. 

He feels a hand on his shoulder as he's about to take a step towards the door. Fingers curling into his skin, almost painful in the way they refuse to let him go. Mac turns around and Dennis is still there, looking at him intently. Mac doesn't know why he thought he would have disappeared but he's still surprised somehow. Dennis moves in closer, lets the hand clenching his shoulder softens and moves up the back of his neck. Dennis’s grip is so firm and this is the most him he's been since they reunited. He's got something determined and fiery in his eyes. Dennis’s hand around Mac’s neck is warm and sends a wave of familiar sin through his body. The voice inside his head telling him to leave is screaming so loud that its turned into a constant, high pitch, hum. He is standing with his arms dangling pathetically along his sides and he doesn't move as Dennis puts his other hand on Mac’s jawline, his thumb resting lightly on his chin and his ring finger on his throat, right where his pulse is the loudest, the most desperate. And Mac can’t breathe because holy shit, how is he supposed to breathe when Dennis is this close? How is he supposed to make a rational decision, how is he supposed to leave? 

“Mac,” Dennis says, and his voice is so soft Mac barely recognizes it. He looks away, knowing that he can't be responsible for himself when Dennis looks at him like that. That line, the line they’ve been bordering on for years, it feels so close now, so close it's burning his entire body into pieces. 

“Mac,” Dennis says again and his name suddenly feels like a plea, a prayer.

“Mac, stay.”

And so, Mac does. 

In the end, the decision isn't really even a decision at all. It's not a question of hell and heaven, it's a question of Dennis and everything else, and as usual, Dennis wins, every single time. 

Mac meets Dennis’s eyes again and it must show on his face that he’s not going anywhere because Dennis relaxes, his shoulders unclenching and his fingers softening against Mac’s burning skin. And Mac does the only thing there’s left to do, leaning forward and connecting his body, his skin, his lips, with Dennis. 

Mac was so wrong about sin. Sin isn’t like breathing for the first time, it's not like fancy cereal or getting high with Charlie. Sin is a force of its own, an entity with no comparisons. When you taste it for the first time, lips that are deadly hot against your own, you’re certain that you’re either dying or being alive for the first time. You wonder how you’re ever supposed to let go, if there is a point to anything at all anymore if you can’t have this. If you can’t have him . You wonder why you waited so long. 

Mac’s hands find their way to Dennis’s sides, desperately clinging to the white fabric of his shirt to hold himself up. His body is shaking with adrenaline and Dennis must feel it because he presses himself harder against Mac, letting his sharp teeth graze Mac’s already aching bottom lip. Mac whimpers stupidly but he doesn't even have the time to be embarrassed about it because Dennis launches forward to bite at his lip again, and again and again. And Mac can’t help but get lost in it, the way he doesn't feel like himself anymore but rather an extension of Dennis like Dennis is an extension of him. The way they were always supposed to be. 

Mac doesn't snap out of it until Dennis’s biting travels from his mouth to his neck. Fuck, this is gonna leave bruises , Mac thinks and the thought makes him just as terrified as it makes him hard. He lets another embarrassing moan escape his lips and he can feel Dennis smiling against his skin. 

“What?” Dennis teases, “you like that?”

He looks up at Mac, letting their eyes meet for a tense second before Dennis puts his hands between Mac’s legs, feeling the outline of his hard dick. Mac reacts instantly, stifling a groan and looking up at the ceiling to avoid Dennis’s knowing eyes. But he doesn't need to be looking at Dennis to know he is smiling at the satisfaction of knowing the power he has over Mac. Dennis controls him at every touch and they both know it. 

“You sure seem to be liking it,” he says casually, letting his hand move over the rough fabric of Mac’s jeans. 

This is really fucking unfair. Mac would be glaring at Dennis if it wasn't for the fact that he is too horny and overwhelmed to do much of anything other than being a whimpering mess. 

“Fuck off,” Mac manages to bite out but it must not sound convincing because Dennis’s smile widens. 

“Fuck off,” Dennis mimics in a voice that really is too deep to be Mac’s. 

“Yeah, I’ll just, fuck off,” Dennis continues and Mac isn’t sure if he’s supposed to be as happy seeing that smile as he is considering that it's mocking him, “I’ll leave you alone, I wouldn’t want to be a bother, now would I?”

Mac debates killing him for a second but instead settles for messing up his hair as he puts his hands in it, roughly pulling Dennis in for another kiss. Their mouths meet again and it’s now Dennis turn to let out a moan, making Mac instantly grin against his lips. 

“Don’t even-” Dennis warns but Mac does not have a snarky comment in mind. Instead he puts his hands on Dennis’s waist, leading him backwards towards the bed. And Dennis lets himself be pushed down on the messed up blanket and upside down-pillows. He lets Mac get on top of him, he lets Mac drown him in kisses and hold him down, Mac’s hands at his chest. He lets Mac place a knee between his legs and he lets Mac be witness to how the applied pressure makes his emotionless face turn into a look of strangled pleasure. 

“You don’t even know,” Mac whispers. 

He’s in the middle of removing Dennis’s t-shirt, his fingers making sure to memorize every inch of Denni’s chest. The pale shade of his skin, the feel of his pink nipples, the way his freckles travel along the lines of his ribs.

“You don’t even know,” he says again as he pulls away the fabric and throws it away, letting it land in a messy pile on the floor. 

Dennis’s eyes are half-open when his mouth meets Mac’s again. It’s messy and their lips barely manage to connect half of the time. Mac is distracted with opening the fly on Dennis’s jeans and Dennis is distracted with feeling the muscles of Mac’s back. 

Mac pulls away from Dennis, the fly having proven to be the worst cockblock of the century and his now sworn enemy. An eternity of hissing curses later, Mac manages to open Dennis’s jeans, instantly pulling them off and throwing them away to somewhere he never has to see them again. When he's finally able to take in the sight of Dennis’s pale thighs and black boxers he gulps audibly like he’s a fucking cartoon character and Dennis’s dick is Jessica Rabbit. 

“Well?” Dennis complains, “are you just gonna stare at it or-”

His next words turn into a gasp as Mac swiftly puts his hand under the waistband of his boxers, his fingers curiously stroking the length of Dennis’s dick. Dennis is already half-hard and Mac feels him getting firmer with each stroke. He smiles teasingly at Dennis who, no doubt would be rolling his eyes if he could. 

“Your, ngh-” Dennis groans when Mac moves his hand, harder this time, “your hands are cold as shit, Mac.”

Mac raises an eyebrow because judging by the precum coating his fingers, nothing he’s doing seems to actually be unpleasant for Dennis. But Dennis continues glaring at him and his apparently cold hands, so Mac shrugs and removes the grip around his dick. 

“Oh, for fuck sake, Mac,” Dennis groans, “that does not mean I want you to stop.” 

He seems genuinely frustrated and Mac can’t help but chuckle as he moves down Dennis’s body, leaving a warm kiss at his hipbone before pulling down his boxers. He puts his lips around the head of his cock, tasting the precum and deciding its kinda weird, horrific but also the best thing in the world. Dennis lets out a shaky breath when Mac moves up the line of his cock and Mac feels Dennis’s fingers in his hair, pulling at it. Mac takes it as a sign of encouragement and continues moving up and down with his mouth. He tries to remember all those pornos he and Dennis used to watch in the basement. He tries to remember what the girls did with their tongues, where they put their hands, what they said, but comes up completely empty. The only thing he remembers is Dennis, not unlike now, red in the face and having an increasingly harder time suppressing his moans as he was getting closer to orgasm. So Mac doesn't think about the pornos, instead he continues licking up and down Dennis’s shaft, his tongue teasing Dennis’s slit and his fingers roughly pressing into Dennis’s thighs. And the sounds Dennis makes are desperate, and impatient, and heavenly. 

“Perfect, that's perfect,” he mumbles feverishly, “you’re fucking perfect, Mac.”

So Mac quickens the pace and Dennis’s words turn into unittelagable rambles and moans. His hands leave Mac’s hair and instead clasps at the sheet under him. Mac can feel his muscles clenching and unclenching under him so he moves away, just in time to avoid getting his mouth filled with Dennis’s cum. Some of it does manage to come on his exposed throat and the neckline of his shirt but it doesn't matter, not when Dennis is looking at him like that . His smile is dazed and his face is still red, but Mac thinks he's the most beautiful thing in the world. Of course, it's not like Mac hasn't seen Dennis’s post-cum face before but it's never been like this. It's usually just a glimpse, an accidental glance before the both of them look away, embarrassed. Mac has never been allowed to take it all in before, to fully linger on the sight. 

“Fuck,” Dennis laughs, then, spotting Mac’s boner torturously pressing against his pants, he asks, “you want me to help you out with that?”

~~~

Mac should be embarrassed over how quickly he came undone under Dennis’s touch but truly, laying beside him now, Dennis’s jaw resting on his naked shoulder, he couldn’t care less. The air in the bedroom is no longer cold and reeking of cigarette smoke, its warm and smells vaguely of sex, none of them having bothered to clean up properly. 

“I’m sorry about before,” Dennis says suddenly, his breath tingling on Mac’s exposed collarbone, “this whole Penn thing wasn't what I thought it would be and I guess I’ve been a bit…”

Dennis makes a mumbling sound that doesn't even begin to resemble a word so Mac finishes for him, “you’ve been a complete dick.”

Dennis doesn't answer but he does press his face further into the nape of Mac’s neck so Mac takes it as at least a half-confirmation. 

“You should have just let me help you,” Mac says, letting his hand absentmindedly play with Dennis’s hair, “If I knew you hated this place so much I would have kidnapped you or something.”

Dennis laughs into his shoulder and then, lifting up his head to look at Mac properly, says, “I don’t hate this place, I just don’t feel like myself here.”

Mac is quiet and so Dennis continues, “It’s not me,” he shrugs, “all these people have their entire lives planned ahead them and I’m still trying to figure out what the fuck I want.”

“Yeah,” Mac agrees, “I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing anymore either.”

“And this doesn't exactly make it less complicated.”

Dennis doesn't have to explain what this is because Mac is already thinking it. How can he not when their naked bodies are literally inches apart, Dennis’s hair tickling his jawline and his hand lying lazily on top of Mac’s chest. 

“Sometimes,” Dennis says when they’ve been quiet for long enough to make it uncomfortable, “I think about opening a bar or something, some shitty place right here in Philly.”

Mac smiles picturing it, “Let me guess, you’d be the bartender because of your exploding sex-appeal.”

“Of course I’d be the bartender,” Dennis confirms like it's not even a question, “you could be the bodyguard, you’re good at bossing people around.”

Mac thinks about arguing this insult on his character but decides against it, too much in bliss to start an argument. 

“What about Charlie?” He says instead and Dennis hums, taking a moment to think about it quietly. 

“He could be the janitor,” he finally decides, “he’s pretty familiar with dirt and stuff like that, right?”

“Right,” Mac agrees. 

They’re quiet for a moment, a long moment, then suddenly, Dennis looks up at him again, something wild in his look. 

“We could do it you know,” he says seriously, “I have the money, we could totally… do it, just like that.”

Mac looks at him carefully, trying to see if Dennis is fucking with him or not. When he doesn't answer Dennis continues, “It's not like its gonna be permanent, just something to do while we figure out what we actually want to do with the rest of our lives.”

Mac pretends to think about it for a moment, then he lets his fingers caress Dennis’s jaw, bringing him closer for a slow, delicate, kiss. Dennis closes his eyes for it and takes a hold of Mac’s wrist where it almost touches his throat. When they pull apart Dennis puts his lips on Mac’s fingertips, kissing them lightly one by one. Lastly, he puts his mouth against the palm Mac’s hand, whispering, “please?” before bringing it to his lips. 

“Only if it’s an Irish bar,” Mac lies and he smiles seeing Dennis pull a face of exaggerated disgust. 

“You are so tacky,” he mutters, letting go of Mac’s hand and laying back down, resting his head against Mac’s shoulder again.

Mac only smiles at the same insult he’s heard a thousand times before and so they go back to just laying there, Mac quietly playing with Dennis’s hair and Dennis breathing against his shoulder. It takes an eternity for any of them to speak again, just when Mac’s eyelids begin to feel heavy and his arm starts to cramp. 

“What did you mean by that, by the way?” Dennis asks in reference to- fuck if Mac knows.

“Hm?” is all Mac says in response and he feels Dennis shifting beside him. 

“Before,” Dennis says like it's supposed to be an explanation, “you were talking about me not knowing something. You were saying, like,  ‘you don’t even know’, over and over again, fucking weird is all.”

Mac looks away, “you don’t even know…” he repeats the words slowly, like he's unfamiliar with them, like he doesn't have a clue what they meant. 

You don’t even know how much you mean to me. 

You don’t even know how much I need you. 

You don’t even know what I’m leaving behind, what I’m sacrificing for you. 

“Yeah,” Mac shrugs, “I don’t remember.”

~~~

When Mac wakes up, the buzz of post-blow jobs and making out sessions is mostly gone and instead replaced with a feeling of dread, a feeling of “what now?”. Dennis is still asleep, laying on his stomach with his arms obnoxiously pointing outwards, one over Mac’s chest and one hanging down from the bed. He looks a bit like a fallen angel and it crosses Mac’s mind that this probably is the only time he’s seen Dennis completely calm and still. He can’t decide if it suits him or not. 

After a quick shower in Dennis’s surprisingly functioning dorm room shower and taking an aspirin to dampen his hangover, Mac heads out to find Charlie. It's not even eight o’clock yet but the sun is bright even though the air is freezing cold. Sometime after Mac and Dennis inevitably dozed off to sleep, it started raining, not enough to cause huge puddles but enough to make the ground damp and the wind smell distinctly of rain. If Charlie isn't dead or abducted by some psych-major, Mac should have some idea of where he is. He knows it’ll be somewhere muddy and unpleasant for anyone who isn't batshit insane.

He walks slowly across campus, letting himself indulge in taking in every detail of his surroundings. Usually, Mac wouldn’t be observant like this, instead he’d be thinking about his new weed client, or Charlie’s latest crazy scheme, or the shape of Dennis’s cupids bow. He’d be too distracted to let himself take it all in but today is different. Today Mac isn’t really up for thinking. If he starts thinking he’d have to start looking for answers to questions he doesn't want to face yet, maybe never. Questions like, “how long can I keep pretending I'm trying to get into heaven?”, questions like, “how far am I willing to go for him, how much am I willing to sacrifice?”, questions like, “is this what it means to be in love?”

Mac doesn’t want to ask questions, and so instead he makes sure to take note of the shade of brown of the tree trunk, he memorizes the messy hairdo of the girl walking in a black, tight dress, probably hurrying home from a drunken one nightstand. He breathes in the damp morning air and he stretches his limbs towards the autumn sun. 

He prays, hoping, despite everything telling him otherwise, that he's not wasting his life because of this, that Dennis is his right path. He prays that the thing between them has meaning, has a purpose. But Mac isn’t sure who he’s praying for anymore, who he’s trying to convince; God or himself. 

When Mac finds Charlie he's been walking for about fifteen minutes in no particular direction at all. Charlie’s sitting under a tree outside a boring looking, sleek, building called “Davey Laboratory”. He’s sitting still, like he's just resting in the shade, but Mac can hear his hushed voice from far away and he instantly knows what Charlie is up to.

“I mean, how am I supposed to know what that is, that’s like an SAT word,” Charlie mumbles, “I already know I’m a bit weird, why do I need some pee-tee-CD or whatever, to explain it?” 

The ground is predictably muddy but Mac doesn’t mind ruining his pants so he sits down beside Charlie, silently observing his newest worm-friend dancing around in his open palm. 

“Exactly!” Charlie smiles, “You know what, you may have a brain the size of a grain of salt, but you get me, Ernie.” 

Charlie looks content, happy even and Mac wonders when he stopped talking to the worms. He figures it's about the same time his questions became too hard to ask out loud, he figures in the middle of all the confusion and chaos, he grew up.

“This one is a smart cookie, I tell you that,” Charlie explains, looking up at Mac beside him for the first time since he sat down. 

“What did he say?” Mac asks, indulging Charlie in his make-believe because for once he can't find a reason not to. 

Charlie thinks about it for a while, then says, “he said I shouldn't care about what bullshit labels people put on me, as long as I know what kind of crazy I am, I’ll be okay.”

Mac nodds, think it makes sense even though he also thinks Charlie should get help, actual doctors with checklists and prescriptions- kind of help, dealing with whatever kind of crazy he is. 

“So I’m guessing by that fresh hickey, that you've had a pretty good night” Charlie says, his teasing smile widening when Mac’s hand instantly flies up to cover his neck. 

“Please don't,” Mac sighs and Charlies eyes turn from teasing, to knowing, to pitying. 

“Oh,” is all he says and that is somehow worse than saying whatever he's actually thinking.

“I just-” Mac tries to explain, “It’s not that I don’t trust you or whatever shit you’re thinking, if I could, you would be the first person I’d talk about it to.”

Charlie nods slowly, carefully putting down the worm, Ernie, back on the soft, damp ground where he belongs.

“Are you guys… okay?”

“I think so,” Mac answers truthfully. He doesn't know what it means to really be okay but he doesn't feel like the world is ending, so that's something. He feels lighter somehow, like the shackles of guilt and shame are gone even though they should be heavier than ever. He feels like it’s easier to breathe now that the air isn’t thick with unresolved longing. He feels feels like he’s alive for the first time.

Charlie nods again and they stay quiet like that for a while. Mac watches how the sun sprinkles through the leaves, leaving strange, golden, shapes in Charlie's face. He watches Ernie making his way back below ground. He watches his own hands, clasped together in his lap, like they’re praying even though Mac doesn't know what he has left to pray for. 

“We talked about opening a bar,” he suddenly says, mostly just to change the subject, but he feels warm at the way Charlies face lightens up in excitement. 

“Please, can I be the mascot?” He pleads. 

“I…” Mac thinks about it, “I don’t know if bars have mascots but you could be the janitor.”

Charlies pouts, “but I have this whole green-man thing going on, I think it could really be-”

“You could be the janitor as well as the un-official mascot,” Mac bargains. 

Charlie considers it, nods to himself, and then offers Mac his hand. 

“I can agree to those terms,” he says and Mac hesitantly shakes his dirty, mud-ridden hand. 

They’re silent after that, a calm moment before Mac can’t stop himself from asking the question that's been bugging him since the very first time he met Charlie. 

“How come you can talk to the worms and I don’t?”

The words come out desperate, and ugly, and jealous, but Charlie doesn't mind, he just smiles like he’s been expecting this. Like he knows Mac’s been wondering. 

“I listen,” he shrugs, “and when I don’t hear anything I just make it up.”

Mac gapes, “but you- what about Ernie?” he argues. 

“I asked Ernie a question and he told me what I needed to hear,” Charlie says simply, “It’s just… sometimes I need someone else to tell me things are gonna be fine, it helps.”

Mac nods but he isn't sure he understands it completely. Maybe it's because Charlie is a different kind of crazy than he is, or maybe its because Mac grew afraid of asking questions a long time ago. Maybe, in time, he will be okay with listening and hearing nothing but his own thoughts bounce back. Maybe.

“Oh, and by the way,” Charlie says, “in case you were worried, I know things are gonna be fine.”

Mac smiles because even though so much in his life is twisted and wrong, Charlie is the one thing God got right. Mac smiles because he knows they’ll never leave each other no matter how crazy things get, how crazy they get.

Mac smiles because for the first time in his life he actually believes it; things are gonna be fine.