12:25 PM
On a Thursday
Philadelphia, PA
Confessing doesn't make him feel better.
The three Hail Mary's he asked for don't make him feel any better.
Throwing jagged rocks at trains passing by certainly doesn't help like he thought it would. Mac's left arm dangles limply as he walks through the city of Philadelphia, his favorite place in the universe. He grew up here. He has memories of selling weed right on this very square of concrete. He can pinpoint moments and memories in Philly like the back of his hand, whatever that means.
Dennis says things like that, talks funny in that way. He sometimes speaks in code that Mac doesn't understand.
He bolted out on Dennis earlier. Left him stranded in an elevator right after his appointment with Dr. Nichols. But his heart was beyond weak, and he was sure he was going to collapse. Because Dennis confessed. Dennis Reynolds opened up something inside of him and was honest with both himself and Mac.
Dennis has feelings for him. Romantic feelings.
Mac's had dreams about that very instant, that admission, since he was seventeen. He remembers all the times they've spent the night together and made out and did hand stuff and slept tangled on the floor or on a couch. Remembers Dennis sharing cigarettes and Mac sharing snacks to ensure his best friend actually ate.
His best friend. Dennis is his best friend.
The thought of him being anything more is enough to make Mac stop dead in his tracks. His doubles over and pukes on a patch of grass he and Dennis once laid on one July night in 1995. Mac had just finished shooting off a fantastic fireworks display because Dennis missed 4th of July; he'd been admitted to the hospital with heat exhaustion after helping Dee move into her new apartment. Mac vowed to make it the best 4th of July in the history of 4th of Julys, and he delivered big time.
His amazingness at everything fireworks related paid off; Dennis sealed the night with a kiss.
Neither of them ever talked about it.
They never talk about it.
Mac figured there just wasn't anything to really talk about. Until Dennis said they'd been doing the "same old song and dance" for over twenty years. Until Dennis tried to kiss him in that fucking elevator. Dennis told Mac he missed him during his session, and Mac pushed him away.
Part of him is so... angry. Dennis assuming he's gay makes his eyes want to bulge out of his skull. The other part of him wonders if maybe Dennis is... right? But Dennis being right would prove Mac wrong, would prove that everything he's been fighting against revealing is the truth. The truth is meant to be set free, as Father O'Brien told him earlier, but at what cost?
Homosexuality is a sin.
Mac's mom and dad, more particularly his dad, taught him that when he was younger. His dad used to get super weird when Mac would hang out with Charlie all the time, until Luther McDonald realized that "Charlie is a massive fucking idiot." Those words, like pretty much everything his father said to him, stung and scarred him for life.
He isn't gay because he can't be gay. God didn't make him gay. God made him straight so he can bang women with big boobs and repopulate; that's the main reason for marriage, after all. But he's nearing forty, and Dennis is the only person on this planet that makes him happy. Dennis can look past this manly physique and great bod and see Mac for who Mac is.
Mac collapses on the grass he and Dennis shared almost two decades ago.
(If he tries hard enough, he can still feel the warmth of Dennis's breath on his neck, the rise and fall of Dennis's chest.)
He shoves his hands inside the lined pockets of his leather jacket and lies down, staring up at the midday sky. He can just barely hear the cars blazing by on the highway. It's just him and his thoughts.
Mac's muscles beg for him to run full blast back to Dennis. He wants to wrap Dennis up in his arms, swearing he'll never leave again. But Mac is a fuck up. He always has been. He's screwed the pooch (whatever that means, and he's pretty sure it isn't about fucking a dog) more times than he can count. He's stupid and can't do anything by himself and can't even wait until Dennis is more better to shove him away.
(Because that's what he and Dennis do. They shove each other away.)
Dennis really shocked the shit out of him. Someone out there has to understand that, usually, Dennis doesn't express emotions. Dennis is basically a robot. Mac knows his best friend has emotions, but they're pent up and usually filled with rage, and he can't control them properly. But this new and improved Dennis, the one who tried to out Mac on an elevator, is present and in the moment for the first time in his life.
Fuck. Dennis was right fucking there.
All Mac had to do was say he missed him too. All Mac had to do was kiss Dennis's perfect, soft lips.
But Mac fucked up. That's what he does.
That's the Mac McDonald guarantee.
6:10 PM
On a Thursday
Afternoon turns into evening. The late October air buzzes in Mac's skull, cooling his insides. His stomach rumbles, and he's positive his brain is on fire, but he doesn't move. He doesn't leave this sacred spot from July 1995 because it's like abandoning Dennis all over again.
He hopes Dennis made it back to apartment. Or at least to Dee's or Charlie and Frank's. He hopes Dennis managed to eat something, even though his appetite is especially not there when he's upset. He hopes Dennis is holding himself together.
Because Mac isn't holding himself together. In fact, he's fucking ungluing.
He wipes his face with his sleeve. Okay, so what if he's crying? Men cry. Men cry all the time. Charlie cried when Frank accidentally spilled canned beans all over his drawing notebook. He doesn't want to think about the times Dennis has cried. So, instead, Mac just lets the tears fall. Maybe the ache in his chest will go away if he listens to his body.
But it doesn't work. Nothing Mac does works.
He sits up and tosses his jacket to the side, the fabric becoming annoying and sticking to his skin. He grips a wad of his RIOT t-shirt, the one Dennis wore to bed a couple nights ago, and tries to slow his breathing. He's done this with Dennis more times than he can count. He's gotten more smarter about how to take care of Dennis throughout the years; one of his best skills is stopping him from hyperventilating.
Shit. Is he hyperventilating right now?
Mac wants to go home. He wants to go home. He needs to go home.
The apartment is warm when Dennis is there, and he's so cold and hot and sticky and sweaty and freezing all at once.
Fuck. This fucking sucks.
Mac holds on to himself until he can breathe again.
(The whole time, he wishes it were Dennis holding him instead.)
11:45 PM
On a Thursday
It's almost midnight.
Midnight means a new day. Maybe it means that Mac can forget about everything that happened and just go home.
He snorts to himself. No fucking way. Like this new Dennis will ever listen to that logic.
But he can't stay out here anymore. He can barely move his legs, and his fingers are frozen to the point that he can't feel them. He makes a fist, but it's weak and stupid, and he can't tell he even did anything unless he looks. Mac sniffles, stands, and wipes his palms on his navy pants.
He makes it back out into civilization, leaving behind July 1995 and October 2014 altogether. He wanders the streets, mind foggy and not really there. He wonders if this is what it feels like when Dennis dissociates. Because Mac is, like, disconnected from his head, and he's floating through Philly like a ghost.
Mac almost walks by Paddy's, but he decides against it. He knows Charlie and Dee and possibly Frank are working (or not working; whatever). Even though he's spent practically an eternity by himself, Mac can't picture talking to other people right now. His brain is so messed up. He desperately wants Dennis to touch him, to let him know it's alright. Mac wants to be who he is, but how can he be whoever that is when it's wrong?
Last time he checked, homosexuality is still a sin. It still gets him a one way ticket straight to the fiery pits of Hell.
Mac kicks at rocks as he walks nowhere, head down and half asleep.
2:15 AM
On a Friday
Mac settles down for the night at Saint Mary's.
He knows it's bad to sleep in a church, but he doesn't have any other options. It's open 24 hours a day all year long, so Mac heads inside. He melts into a pew at the very back of the church. It's super early (or late depending on how he looks at it), but he stays close to an exit just in case.
Mac prays he wakes up with absolution before his eyes droop closed.
6:50 AM
On a Friday
It's not a surprise when he's thrown out of Saint Mary's for squatting.
Father O'Brien was barely able to shoo him away before Mac zipped up his leather jacket and made a beeline for the door.
It's not even seven AM. Mac doesn't have a dollar to his name. He counted 73 cents in his pockets, but that isn't enough to buy shit. Seriously. He's pretty sure he couldn't even buy a homeless person's shit with 73 fucking cents. Mac's stomach growls, and he aches all over with such a fury that it's about to send him straight to his knees.
Mac can't go into a coffee shop. He has to always be drinking something in there to stay, and that just isn't happening unless 73 cents can morph into 20 dollars, and 20 dollars can morph into a case of beer.
He's craving beer or alcohol (any alcohol) so badly he's about to start withdrawals. He's been through that once before when he was, like, 25 or some shit, but he doesn't like the sound of it right now. Mac glances at his cell phone for the first time since he abandoned Dennis in that elevator. 108 missed calls. 71 voicemails. 397 texts.
Mac gulps.
It's 6:54.
Paddy's is seriously his only option. No one's there. He can drink for free. He can sleep a little more.
Mac tucks his phone back in his pocket and bites his lower lip when he feels it buzz.
Fuck.
11:05 AM
On a Friday
The wall's staring at him.
Bitch.
Why the fuck's it looking at him?
Mac didn't do anything wrong.
He just pushed Dennis away when Dennis confessed he has romantic feelings for him.
Stupid. He's so stupid.
Mac should be home, cuddled around Dennis because Dennis loves being the little spoon.
Dennis can be Mac's little spoon til the end of eternity.
Mac throws another beer bottle at the wall, wincing as it shatters. Glass spills fucking everywhere, and Mac's eyes widen and glow. He pops open another one because he can't stand that dumb wall looking at him, and he can't stand dealing with himself.
He falls asleep on the unswept floor of Paddy's Pub, cradling a beer bottle like it's Dennis instead.
3:35 PM
On a Friday
"Mac! What the shit are you doing here?" Dee screams, and Mac curls in on himself. Fuck. He hides his face in his jacket and tries hard not to hurt because that's definitely where this thing is going. He should've planned this out better, but he didn't because he's fucking stupid.
He should've left hours ago to avoid running into anyone from the gang.
Mac fucks everything up. Everything.
He burps and squints in the brightness of this dumb bar. "Go 'way," he slurs.
But Bird-Elephant-Man-Lady Dee plops down in front of him. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Dennis is scared shitless, and you're in here fucking sloshed out of your mind?"
Mac shoos her away with his hand.
It doesn't work.
"I don't wanna talk to..." He burps again. "Dennis..."
"That's not fair, and you know it, Mac."
"'s not fair? Not fair, Dee?" Mac says. "Wanna know what's not fair? Comin' home to find your best friend bleedin' out in a fucking bathtub!"
Dee sighs. "He's trying, shitface. He's trying to right his wrongs."
"Shut up, bird. You're just... You're just doin' this 'cuz..."
Dee stops him. "Because why? Because he's my brother? Fuck yes, that's why I'm doing it, Mac. But know what else? You to get your head out of your ass and come home."
"Fuck that."
It's quiet for a few moments, so much so that Mac swears he drifts back off into tension-filled silence.
"I know what Dennis told you," Dee admits.
Mac's eyes instantly widen. He gulps. "You know?"
Dee nods. "You two are morons, but you both deserve to be happy."
"I'm not gay, Dee," Mac whispers.
Tears swell up in his eyes and spill over his cheeks. He tries to hide his face in his knees like Dennis always does when he's upset, but, shit, he isn't that flexible. This has to go away. It just has to.
"It's okay if you are," Dee says.
"No!" he shouts. "I'm not... I'm not... I don't..."
He trails off when Dee puts her hand on top of his.
(Why the fuck are Dee's hands so big and boney and cold?)
Dennis. He just wants to see Dennis.
5:00 PM
On a Friday
Mac's shirt and jacket are slathered in beer. His pants are stained with mud and grass. His fingertips are still numb, and he is still so fucking hungry, but there's something missing. There's a gaping hole in his chest that he's sure the entire world can see through.
It's the reason Mac goes home.
Dee drives him because he's drunk. So drunk. Too drunk for conversation.
He drifts away, his head cooled by her window. Thinks about the first time Dennis dozed off on his shoulder in 1992. They were sixteen. Thinks about Dennis graduating college and them moving in together. They were twenty-two. Thinks about leaving Dennis behind in an elevator after Dennis kinda poured his heart out. They're thirty-eight.
"Hey," he hears.
Mac grumbles when Dee starts shaking his shoulder. "Stop..." he whines.
(Dennis always calls him the King of Whining; Mac would punch anyone else to the moon for saying that.)
Dee practically has to to drag him through their building. Mac's legs aren't really working, and he can barely lift his feet. Dee steadies him by holding on to his elbow, and Mac closes his eyes because his head hurts.
She's fiddling around with the lock to the front door when Mac's eyes snap open.
"Is Dennis here?" he slurs.
"Where else would he be?" Dee asks as she swings the door open.
Mac's vision blackens the second he sees Dennis sobbing with Charlie wrapped around him.
His legs and heart give out simultaneously.
