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“Apologies to future me's & you's, but I can't help feeling like we're through.”
4 years ago, it was the summer of free love, of exploring sexuality and exploring yourself. Everyone was high on something, everyone was planets away, everyone was in love.
This supposed 'everyone' included Dennis, who is now on the floor, alone, drunk, hunched over the rotary nestled in his lap, 4 years later. His hand hovered over the numbers, fingers twitching to fight back the instinct to quickly dial a number, a number he was hesitating on calling, no matter how badly he wanted to.
The “can't, can't, can't”s in his head were slowly melting into “shouldn't, shouldn't, shouldn't”s, and now that the drink was seeping into his blood, maybe calling wasn't such an awful idea. With a hiccup, and a hand swiftly swiping at his eyes, he picked up the receiver and pressed it up to his ear.
He hesitated once, then twice, and before he could hesitate again, he spun the number in. He didn't even realize his head was tilting back until it hit the wall, eliciting a suppressed whimper from him as each ring echoed in his foggy mind. He couldn't even remember why he was calling in the first place, until he heard the line pick up.
"Hello?" Van Dyke hummed from the other line.
Dennis sat there like an idiot, head lolling to the side. It felt like time stopped entirely. He didn't even know what he was going to say.
"Hello?" He called out again, a little more urgent.
"Van," Dennis spat out, sniffling, "Van. Hi.." He sighed, and suddenly he felt like he was going to be sick. He mentally chastised himself, biting at his bottom lip, still struggling to get anywhere past a small 'Hi'.
"I.. uh, I wanted to.. see how you've been doing," Pathetic, he hissed in his head.
"…Dennis?" Van murmured, in that tauntingly soft lilt he always seemed to carry no matter the situation. After everything, Dennis nearly hated it. It felt too sweet, almost artificial, like if he talked for too long, he'd rot your teeth.
"Yeah. Yep," He nodded, even though Van very clearly couldn't see this minuscule action. "Just… uh, just want to say hi, I guess. See how you're.. doing," By this point, his slur was growing a little obvious. It was late, Dennis being shitfaced should be the last thing to be concerned about, it was like routine at this point.
Van nodded, "Yeah. Alright. I'm fine, thank you."
The silence stretched on. It was beyond awkward, the tension growing so thick Dennis could almost visibly see it. Right as Dennis considered opening his mouth, Van beat him to the idea.
"Why are you really calling me, Dennis? I won't entertain the idea of continuing this if you're just here to mope."
It felt like he was trying to snap at him, but his demeanor was freakishly calm, almost passive aggressive.
"I.. I just.." Dennis babbled, his head tilting to the side. "I.. uh.. I.. I think I wanna see you again. I mean, I dunno, man. I.. just.." He huffed, then shrugged, then pressed his free hand to his face. The lack of immediate response from Van almost made him just hang up. He felt ashamed.
"…Ah," He finally hummed.
Dennis nodded again.
"… I don't think that'd work out, Dennis."
Dennis knew he was going to say that, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. So, Dennis sniffled, wished him goodnight, and then hung up, placing the rotary phone on the ground next to him, the small ding from manhandling it making him flinch before he curled in on himself.
He knew it was a futile attempt, and he continues to acknowledge this as he paws around for the shortly abandoned bottle that sat on the wood. He will acknowledge this in the morning, and he will acknowledge it as he's throwing up tomorrow.
Maybe the future held something more hopeful for them, Dennis prayed as he took haphazard sips off the bottle.