10:15 AM
On a Saturday
Philadelphia, PA

This isn't the first time he's woken up wrapped around Dennis.

In fact, this is, like, at least the four hundredth time or something crazy like that. Mac and Charlie used to sleep in the same bed as kids all the time, but they're not kids, and Charlie isn't Dennis. No, Charlie was kinda grubby, and Mac would wake up with grease on his cheeks and peanut butter in his hair (he doesn't know how this happened, so don't bother asking). But Dennis is clean and smells like cinnamon and buries himself in the sheets and comforter, no matter what time of year it is or how sweaty it makes him.

Truthfully (sinfully), he likes it when Dennis (sweats) sleeps. It's the only time he's peaceful.

The late September sun peaks through the curtains Mac was certain he shut last night. Huh. He thought he did a better job securing the apartment. Dennis usually can't sleep with any form of light on, including the actual freaking sun. Mac huffs and curses himself internally and tells his stupid brain to do better next time, even though Dennis is still asleep.

Still asleep. He's still asleep.

Mac remembers Dennis' tongue in his mouth.

Mac remembers sliding Dennis' jeans off without unbuttoning them.

Mac remembers slow, passionate, burning, electrifying kisses and hums of approval.

Mac shudders and turns that part of his brain off.

No.

No no no no.

Dennis is shirtless, and Mac counts the freckles on his shoulder blades because there's no way in hell he's going back to bed now. He can't. He just got the best sleep of his entire life thanks to his best friend (his blood brother). And that's all Dennis can ever be. He can't be anything else. Dennis is Dennis, and Mac is Mac, and that just wouldn't work.

(Or could it?)

But Mac's also got this situation going on here with his boner being, y'know, kinda pressed against Dennis' bare ass. He inhales sharply, eyes darting from the comforter to Dennis' pale shoulders over and over again. His heart thumps wickedly. He really wants to move because this so isn't okay, but he really wants to stay.

(Really wants this moment to never end.)

Mac's about to lay his head back on his pillow when Dennis rolls over. He nearly craps a brick when he feels Dennis' socked feet graze his bare legs. And Dennis Reynolds, the Dennis Reynolds, allows himself to be held completely, wordlessly succumbing (unconsciously) to Mac placing his arm around his warm, solid waist. Dennis' head falls on his chest, and he continues snoring.

And, in the late September sun, Mac kisses Dennis' messy curls and closes his eyes.

9:30 PM
On a Thursday

They don't talk about it.

Of course they don't. Why should they?

Mac almost expects Dennis to ignore him completely, to shut down any ideas of them being alone together, but that doesn't happen. No, Dennis still lets Mac peel his apples and forces him to take his medicine and watches movies side by side. He and Dennis still go grocery shopping and still sleep in the same bed. If anything, they may be closer than ever before.

But... still... It happened.

It happened.

Mac's brain doesn't seem to want to comprehend it. He shouldn't be like this. It's a sin. He'll go to Hell, and so will Dennis, and this is all his fault. But there's that pesky gnawing sensation building in his gut screaming that what happened on Saturday was okay. That he loves Dennis. That he can't really hide who he is much longer without exploding.

"Will you shut up for a second?" Mac hears Dee scream shrilly; it's enough to snap him out of his thoughts.

Dumb bird.

"Oh, I have to shut up?" Charlie yells, gesturing wildly.

"Yes! And stop waving that dead pigeon around!"

(He doesn't ask.)

"If you don't like Calvin, then leave."

"Great," Dee says. "He has a name. That Goddamn bird has a name."

"Deandra, the only bird in this shithole is you," Frank interjects.

(He's chopping peanuts with his toe knife; again, Mac doesn't ask.)

"Wow. Original, Frank. Really classy stuff."

Frank just makes an obnoxious fart noise and goes back to being disgusting, while Charlie continues his story about how he found this pigeon (Calvin) and how he's going to turn him into a beacon bird because bird law is different from any other law, even if the thing's dead.

Whatever.

There are, like, seventeen or eighteen people in the bar tonight. It's not a bad turn out, not one of those nights when there's no one here other than themselves. Except Dennis, their bartender, is missing, and that kinda makes Mac's stomach do flips. But should he ask about Dennis? Have the guys caught on yet? Do they know his horrible, terrible secret?

"Where's Dennis?" Mac finds himself asking regardless.

"Ugh, where do you think he is?" Dee moans.

Mac raises his eyebrows. "Uh... I dunno... That's kinda why I asked."

"He's been in the bathroom for an hour, you idiot. Probably whoring up his face."

Why did it take Mac so long to notice?

(Okay, he's gotta get better at this security and ocular pat down thing when it comes to Dennis.)

His mind spins and whirls, and he's just so distracted lately. Distracted by Dennis and his mouth and ass and everything-fucking-thing about him.

Mac heads into the guys' bathroom expecting to find Dennis fixing his hair to Dennis standards like he does a bajillion times everyday.

He doesn't expect to find Dennis curled in a ball in the last stall. His arms wrapped around his legs, his head rests on his knees as he trembles and sniffles and tries desperately to hide. Mac drops to his knees immediately and shakes Dennis' shoulders (and thinks of the freckles).

"Bro, hey," he says. "What's going on? You okay?"

He doesn't get a response.

"Den?"

But Dennis remains curled in on himself. Mac's already overwhelmed mind kicks into overdrive as he watches Dennis, his Dennis, crumble messily. It's happened before, and it'll happen again, but it throws Mac off every single fucking time. It hurts. He can't imagine how it makes Dennis feel. To have his emotions gone one day and then ever-present next and then swishing through his body violently a few days later can't be easy.

(Mac knows it isn't easy.)

So, Mac does the only thing he's ever done when this happens.

He wraps his arms around Dennis.

Normally, he never hugs back.

This time, though, Dennis buries his snotty nose into Mac's neck and holds him like he never wants to let go.

12:05 AM
On a Friday

Mac quintuple checks that their front door and all of their windows are locked. He pulls the curtains in both the living room and their room closed (he triples checks this too). He can barely focus on securing the perimeter with Dennis whimpering in the background, face smushed into the couch cushion. The dude's so exhausted, but he can't stop crying.

(He wishes he could take all the pain away.)

It took him two hours of coaxing and consoling and begging stupid fucking customers (and Frank and Charlie and Dee) to leave them alone. No, Mac certainly did not enjoy sitting in a nasty ass bathroom for that long, but Dennis refused to move, and Mac refused to leave Dennis' side. But, finally, Dennis agreed to be dragged to his Range Rover, pushing his smaller frame as close as he could to Mac's muscular one.

He fell into a whimpering jag in the car.

Each sniffle and mumble tears out bits of Mac's heart.

"We gotta get you to bed, Den," Mac whispers as he takes a seat next to Dennis's head on the couch. He rubs Dennis' back and almost smiles when he doesn't even flinch at the unexpected touch. But he doesn't say or move or do anything, and Mac isn't sure how much longer he can just watch his best friend (his blood brother) go through this.

Dennis doesn't answer.

(He never talks during these breakdowns.)

But it's Mac's job to make sure Dennis is safe and happy (or whatever the version of 'happy' is for Dennis Reynolds). His bones are weary, but complaining at a time like this is stupid. It's plain ridiculous. Dennis is crying and in pain, and Mac has to make him feel better. Needs to make him feel better. God knows Dennis has done that enough for him, probably without even noticing he makes Mac's everyday so much better just by being there.

"Do you wanna sleep here tonight?" Mac asks quietly.

He keeps rubbing Dennis' warm (sweaty) back as he repositions himself, placing his head in Mac's lap. Mac understands that that's obviously Dennis' way of replying. He grabs the blanket from the back of the couch and covers him up the best he can.

Dennis continues whimpering well into the night, but Mac likes to think that him running his fingers through Dennis' curls is enough to keep him grounded.

6:45 AM
On a Friday

Mac blinks awake.

The apartment is pitch black, and he groans. Shit. He may or may not need a drink.

Stupid alcohol.

(Beautiful alcohol.)

He scrubs his hands down the sides of his face and scratches his head while stretching out like a cat.

Mac finally gains the courage to open his eyes all the way for more than a few seconds, and it immediately causes his awesome heart to beat quickly.

Dennis.

He gets to his feet, ignoring the knots in his back and neck. The blanket he wrapped around Dennis last night falls to the floor. Huh. He isn't in the kitchen, so it's safe to say he probably went to lie down on an actual mattress. But why wouldn't he take Mac to bed too? He and Dennis always sleep together. It's like a rule or a law or something.

Mac doesn't bother knocking before entering their shared bedroom.

"Get out," he hears Dennis mumble.

And he does not sound happy.

"You okay, dude?"

Mac flicks on the light and frowns when Dennis sighs. Great.

It's hard. It's so fucking hard. It's hard because Dennis breaks down. Dennis gets weepy and needy and clings to Mac like he's his savior. But then Dennis stops crying and pushes him away and pretends like they haven't been best friends (blood brothers) for over twenty years. That's twenty years of sleepovers and beer pong and movie binges. Twenty years of repression and guilt and Mac still not having a handle on Dennis's mood swings.

(He can't control them; he knows that now.)

"Shut up, asshole. I'm trying to sleep."

Yikes.

Dennis is flat on his stomach, sprawled out across the comforter in yesterday's clothes. He has his shoes on and everything. Mac knows he should leave him alone, but he can't. He's never able to leave Dennis alone, whether it's post-breakdown or not. He gets short of breath and antsy when his best friend (blood brother) goes to the fucking bathroom to shower.

Mac tentatively takes a few steps forward, leaning over to pull off Dennis's tennis shoes.

"Stop," Dennis commands as Mac finishes tugging at the first shoe.

"Take it easy, Den. I'm just trying to help."

"Don't fucking touch me."

Mac frowns, but, still, he's a passionate guy. He can't help but feel his heart and brain and stomach swell with anger. "What the hell's your problem?"

"You," he grates out. "Leave me alone."

"Dude, I –"

But Dennis sits up quickly and scarily, takes off his left shoe, and violently heaves it right at Mac's face.

"Get out."

Mac gets the message loud and clear.

11:10 AM
On a Friday

He doesn't hear a peep out of Dennis.

Not a single stupid peep from that shithole of a dude.

Mac spends his time tidying up the apartment, even though everything's in its place because he's kinda a neat freak, and Dennis is so methodical and organized. He misses Dennis. Mac knows he's a giant fucking asshole, but he's Mac's giant fucking asshole. They may fight and argue and yell at each other at the top of their lungs, but they're inseparable, just like always.

He knows he should just let Dennis wake up on his own, roll out of bed and come hang out with him when he's ready, but Mac can't do it. There's this pressure in his heart, and he needs to see Dennis. Needs to know that he's alive and safe. He's just in the other room, not even a hundred feet away. He tries to reason with himself before shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

Mac enters their room, armed with booze and orange juice and Tylenol.

"Jesus Christ, Mac," Dennis grumbles, throwing back the comforter he's now bundled beneath.

(Mac stops breathing for a sec when he spies the oversized long sleeved shirt and plaid boxers and bare feet.)

"Hey, buddy!" he says enthusiastically.

Dennis' eyes narrow.

Shit. He looks like he wants to kill someone.

"What did I tell you earlier?" he asks. "Get out of here."

Mac shakes his head and completely ignores him. "I know you want to be left alone, dude, but you gotta drink up, or you're just gonna feel worse."

"I don't care, okay? I don't care."

"Yeah, you've said that to me once or twice over the last twenty years, but, y'know, I don't believe you."

(He emphasizes 'twenty years' because it's clearly the most important part.)

"Oh my fuck," Dennis growls angrily, getting out of bed and shoving Mac in the chest hard.

Mac catches himself on the doorframe with his right hand, clutching on to the supplies with his other hand. "Hands off the merchandise, bro."

"Jesus... Mac... Just leave, alright? Please just go."

He shakes his head. "No way, man. No way."

But then there's this flash of pissed off-ness in Dennis' pretty blue eyes that Mac can't ignore. He's been best friends (blood brothers... nothing more) with Dennis for years, and he only sees that look, that 'homicidal tendencies' look every now and then since he's been on medication.

"Get the fuck out of my room!" Dennis shouts, hitting Mac in the chest over and over again.

The booze and orange juice and Tylenol clatter to the floor.

Mac clenches his jaw and grabs Dennis' hands.

"Dennis!" he screams. "Dennis Dennis Dennis, snap out of it!"

"No! I... I-I don't need this... I'm a golden God, Mac. I don't need you. I don't need anybody."

Mac's still got a hold on Dennis's too skinny wrists. "Dude, you gotta calm down, okay? Everything's gonna be alright."

"GET THE FUCK OUT!"

Dennis manages to break free from his grasp.

Mac doesn't see the hit coming (c'mon; he's caught off guard) until Dennis' fist connects with his left eye.

And then all Mac sees is red.

He slams Dennis against the bedroom wall. Dennis tries to fight back, but he can't. He can't. He's sweating profusely, and Mac almost finds it in himself to feel bad. But this can't keep happening. He isn't sure how much longer he can put up with this.

Mac may or may not lose his cool temporarily, throwing a nasty left hook right at Dennis's sharp jaw.

He releases his hold on his best friend (blood brother... and definitely nothing more).

Dennis slides down the wall and stares off into space.

"You know what, bro?" Mac manages to get out, his voice almost faltering. "I'm done. I'm so done with you and your ego and all your shit, okay? I'm done."

He raises his hands in surrender as he exits the room.

Mac pretends he doesn't hear Dennis sniffle.

(Pretends he doesn't hear his own heart shattering in the overwhelming silence.)

12:50 PM
On a Friday

"What? No way!" Dee screeches. "You are not staying here."

Mac sighs and shoves his way inside Dee's apartment anyway. "I can't handle it anymore, Dee. He's just... He's not Dennis."

Dee scrunches her bird eyebrows. "What in the shit are you talking about?"

"He isn't the same. His moods are all over the place. One minute, we're fighting, and the next we're –" he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Having sex? Yeah, we know."

Mac instantly tenses. "You know?"

"Are you fucking kidding me? Of course we know. We all know, Mac."

"But I'm not gay," he reasons.

She nods. "Of course you're not. But you're also not staying here."

"Whhhyyyy?" Mac whines.

"Go make up with your boyfriend."

"Not my boyfriend!" he declares, holding his finger up and stomping away.

1:30 PM
On a Friday

"Oh my God. What are you doing?!" Mac yells the moment he opens the door to Charlie and Frank's apartment.

And there are, like, fifty fucking cats jammed into their one room.

"Relax, man!" Charlie exclaims. "It's nothing."

"Yeah," Frank says, waving his hand as he continues to munch on... raccoon?

Mac gestures wildly. "Um, it sure as hell looks like you guys are doing something! Is that a jar full of piss?"

Frank stares at him. "Does this not surprise you? We kinda have a thing going on here. We've been doing it for years."

"Whatever," Mac says. "Can I talk to you guys about Dennis for a sec?"

Charlie groans and sinks down to the Cheeto covered floor, much like Dennis did earlier (only their floor isn't covered in Cheetos because Dennis hates those orange puffy things). Mac tries not to grimace as Charlie, his oldest friend in the galaxy, munches on floor Cheetos and pets one of fifty cats. "Dennis this. Dennis that. All you ever want to talk about is Dennis."

"We all know you're banging him," Frank states.

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Mac questions, voice jumping up at least three octaves.

"Cuz it's true, dude," Charlie says. "You guys are all in love and shit. It's pretty gross."

"I'm not in love with Dennis," he tells them both slowly, calmly, artic... Articashionously? Whatever. Dennis knows the word. "Speaking of Dennis..."

Both Charlie and Frank groan outwardly.

"You guys suck," Mac says, exiting the nasty ass apartment and slamming the door.

12:25 AM
On a Saturday

He avoids going home for as long as possible.

But the world is tilty and spinny, and... bed. He needs to go to bed.

That bitch Dee won't let him stay with her, and Charlie and Frank are obviously out of the picture. Mac doesn't have any money, so he's forced to return to the apartment. He's only trying to stay away from there because he has no idea what kind of mood Dennis is in, and he honestly doesn't want to find out. It's all so exhausting.

Mac almost expects to find Dennis on the couch watching TV, but the apartment is still dark.

Mac almost doesn't want to go into the bedroom because going in the bedroom means confronting Dennis, and he can't.

He doesn't want to.

But, mostly, he can't.

He burps and scratches his beard and takes a deep breath in before knocking on the door.

"Dennis? Can I come in?"

No answer.

Of course not. Why would he answer? It's Dennis Reynolds, after all.

Mac wants to roundhouse kick the door.

But he settles on twisting the knob instead because drunk tummy and stuff.

Dennis isn't in bed.

In fact, his bed is perfect and pristine and not messy like it was earlier.

Through the blackness of the room, Mac can tell the bathroom light is on.

The water's running.

Showering. He must be taking a shower.

But there's what weird, passionate pressure building up again, and he has to look for himself.

He's pissed off at Dennis because he hit him and screamed at him and told him to leave, but it's been hours, and he's sure Dennis hasn't eaten or taken his meds or drank any water.

Mac knocks several times on the bathroom door.

No answer.

"Okay, you leave me with no choice, dude."

He jiggles the doorknob.

He opens the door.

Red.

All he sees is red.

Butcher knife.

Bloody water.

Dennis.