Archive of Our Own

1991

Charlie knows bad things sometimes just happen, which is why he doesn’t have to think about it too much. Maybe eventually it’ll straighten itself out, and his uncle will move out of the house after years of overstaying his welcome, and Charlie won’t have to share a room, and his mom will stop having to pretend like it’s so normal that he’s here in the first place.

Sometimes it’s hard to forget about bad things. Charlie is glad he has Mac. When they were kids, they threw rocks at trains and fought street dogs and kicked trash cans. Now they smoke weed and huff glue. It works like a charm. Mac and Charlie have always been professionals at finding good distractions. 

During his sophomore year is when Charlie starts seeing a lot of Dennis Reynolds. At first, he would just come by the dumpsters to buy weed from Mac, acting like it was a complete disgrace to even talk to the two of them. 

“Alright Ronnie, give me the pot quickly so I don't have to be seen with you losers," he’d say. Or something equally demeaning.

Charlie didn't really give a shit. He was usually stoned out of his mind. But like with most rich people, he felt sort of uncomfortable around this snobby kid with scarily straight posture from the part of town where houses look like castles. 

Eventually, Dennis started sticking around. Charlie doesn't exactly know why. It never seemed as if Dennis liked him or Mac much. Regardless, it becomes a pretty regular occurrence for Charlie to get baked with the guy. 

Dennis is a strange dude. He talks like he’s reciting Shakespeare, full of confidence and arrogance and entitlement, yet during lunch breaks Charlie can see him escape to the bathroom or the library. He’s pretty sure Dennis has less friends than he makes it seem like he does, but Charlie isn’t exactly judging.  

A fact about Dennis: he gets more easygoing when he's stoned. He loses that arrogant edge a little, and overthinks less. Charlie gets sort of annoyed, always listening to him rant about his sister or calories or his parents or his car or how everyone is beneath him, so it's nice when they can just hang out together. This way, it’s almost like they’re normal people, even though they all know they’re not. At least Charlie isn’t, that’s for sure.

Dennis also smiles more when on drugs. It's a good thing when he smiles, Charlie thinks. Mac seems to think the same, cause he always looks at Dennis for just a little longer than he should. But Charlie can't really blame Mac. Dennis has a really, really good smile, with very straight teeth. He had braces in freshman year, which did a lot for him. Charlie's own teeth are way less straight, and a little loose too.

Today the three of them are once again skipping their last class of the day so they can get fucked up under the bleachers. It's freezing out, and Charlie is attempting to will away the cold as it tries to sneak under his bones. He forgot to wear his winter jacket, and his hoodie is really not doing much. There’s a bunch of holes in it. He figures if he smokes enough he'll become warm eventually. 

"This is good pot," Dennis says, breathing out smoke through his teeth. "Shit."

He gives Mac the blunt, then closes his eyes and sits back on his hands, which Charlie notices are encased in dark blue wool gloves. Dennis seems warm, wearing a thick brown winter jacket, buttoned all the way up. He always looks comfortable and expensive and nice. Probably because his mom has the fancy kind of detergent, and shops at brand name stores. 

Charlie shivers a little, eagerly taking the blunt when Mac passes it to him, clinging to it like a lifeline. 

"Did you guys hear about Emily Warner's party on Friday?” Mac says. “We should go. Everyone's going. I could turn over a lot of cash at a party like that."

Dennis chuckles, all demeaning. "Like you two got invited."

Charlie looks at him for a deliberate moment. Dennis' eyes are still closed, and his fingers are curled inward, digging into the snow-covered ground. 

People call Dennis all sorts of things. Charlie hears it in the hallways, when he’s walking by, head down. He hears it in the toilets, when people are forcing him to sniff bleach or whatever, when everyone thinks he can’t hear them. The popular kids call Dennis crazy, sissy, psycho, weird. Sometimes they call him a faggot. Charlie wonders if Dennis is aware of this. If they’ve ever said it to his face. Charlie is pretty sure that Mac doesn’t know, and if he does know, then he’s for sure definitely pretending not to know. Mac looks at Dennis like he hung the moon. He would never let himself believe that Dennis is not as popular as he lets on. It would ruin the illusion. 

"I don't think you got invited either," Charlie blurts, before he even realizes he said it.

Dennis slowly opens his eyes and looks back at him, something inscrutable passing over his expression.

"Didn't say I did," he murmurs, his gaze not wavering. Charlie’s the one to look away from him. 

"What's up with those guys anyway?" Mac inquires, cluelessly. "Adriano and Tim Murphy and stuff. I mean, I thought they were your friends. You used to hang out with them a bunch."

Dennis shrugs. "I'm just sick of those idiots," he says. "No reason really."

1992

A couple of weeks into January, Dennis shows up at Charlie's doorstep. His eyes are rimmed red and he's shaking a little from the cold.

"Oh hey," Charlie says in greeting, standing in the door frame. "What are you doing here?"

"Wondering if I can crash," Dennis goes. He doesn't phrase it as a question, just says it. 

Charlie shrugs. "Sure, man. But my house isn't all marble tiles and golden ceilings like yours is."

"My house is not like that."

It totally is like that, Charlie thinks. "Sure, okay,” he mumbles. "If you say so."

“What’s with all the preamble? Let me in already.”

Impatiently, Dennis steps through the door, looking so out of place in the run-down hallway, it's comical. Charlie snorts. 

"Let's go to my room."

He leads Dennis up the stairs, into his tiny bedroom, which is full of clothes and things Charlie has collected from the garbage, running around town after dark, silent and sneaky so no one shoots him or something. 

Dennis puts his hands on his hips. “Jesus, it’s like a trash heap in here.”

Charlie ignores his comment, and sits down on the bed. "So what's up?"

"Huh?"

"We never hang out just us two," Charlie points between them, "and you never come to my house."

Dennis is still just standing there, like he’s afraid to sit down and commit to definiteness. 

"So something has to be up?" he scoffs, his forehead wrinkling as his brows rise, offended by the implication. 

"Seems like it. You have cry-eyes."

"Cry-eyes?"

"Yeah, the kinda eyes you get after crying."

Dennis laughs full-chested. The sound of it makes Charlie uncomfortable. Sometimes when Dennis laughs out loud, it sounds more like he’s imitating someone who’s laughing, a forced approximation. He only ever sounds genuine when he’s high enough to lose control. Charlie has been around to experience that a couple times. He’d been surprised, most of all, by how nice Dennis’ real laugh is. 

"I don't have cry-eyes. That's stupid, Charlie,” Dennis shakes his head. 

"Hey, I don't care if you have ‘em or not."

"I do not have them."

"Yeah, okay. Like I said, I don’t really care."

Charlie knows cry-eyes, and he knows Dennis for sure has them. It’s not the first time he’s seen Dennis like that. Sometimes he’ll show up at the bleachers, looking raw in the face, his cheeks red and his gaze watery. When Mac and Charlie hang out at Dennis’ house, he will get all quiet and meek anytime his dad is around. Then he’ll escape to the bathroom for a while, and return looking like he just sobbed for a straight hour. Charlie knows bad things sometimes just happen, and he understands why Dennis feels the need to hide it. Maybe his parents or his maid used to scream at him not to be a crybaby when he was a kid. After all, in the rare moments Charlie has seen them interact, Dennis’ parents are almost always yelling at each other. Not a stretch to imagine them yelling at their kids. 

"Let's get high,” Dennis says, pulling a pre-roll out of his pocket. Dennis has no idea how to roll a joint, so Mac always does it for him. Charlie thinks maybe Dennis doesn’t really want to learn anyways. 

He finally walks over to Charlie’s bed and sits across from him, his legs folded neatly underneath himself. Once comfortable, he lights up.

“Did you see Karen Polaski at school today? She dresses like a whore, it’s awesome,” he grins, lips folding over the tip of the joint. 

Charlie thinks of Karen Polaski’s low-cut tops. “She completely looks like a whore,” he confirms. 

Dennis grins. “I bet I could bang her.”

“Oh yeah?”

"Yeah,” he says confidently. He narrows his eyes. “Hey Charlie, have you ever banged anyone before?” 

"What?" Charlie exclaims, shaking his head. "No, that's gross."

Dennis passes the joint to him. "What are you talking about, ‘gross’? It's not gross, it's awesome."

"Have you banged anyone?"

"Of course I have. Isn’t that clear?”

Dennis talks about banging chicks all the time, but Charlie only ever hears stories of girls being weirded out by him. He’s not sure if Dennis has actually ever done it. 

"Well, who did you bang?" he asks in an investigative manner. 

"I can't say," Dennis responds quickly, his eyes darting around. "But it was awesome, let me tell you." 

Charlie takes a big hit, so smoke billows from his mouth. “Oh yeah?”

"Yeah, man," Dennis nods, swiftly taking the joint from between Charlie’s fingers. The greedy fuck. "S'gonna change your world." He sucks, inhales, and blows some rings, throwing his head back. Charlie watches his neck, so pale and smooth, his Adam's apple bobbing. 

"I don't know if I want that,” he murmurs. "To change my world. It's just gross to me, banging someone. Well, I mean, it seems gross."

“How is it gross?”

Charlie looks around his bedroom, staring at the opposite wall, remembering how less than two months ago, his uncle was posted up there, invading his space, always waking him up in the middle of the night. His uncle is gone now, moved out for whatever reason. Charlie doesn’t remember why he suddenly left. Just that he’s glad he did. 

“Well, what if you don’t want to?” he says, the words coming out all shaky. “But then someone bangs you anyway? That’s gross, right?”

“That’s a whole different thing,” Dennis stammers. “You're talking like, rape scenario. That doesn’t apply to me.” His eyes are wide and serious, his gaze piercing.

Charlie flushes red. “Whatever man, I never even said so,” he mumbles. 

“Just saying it doesn’t apply,” Dennis says, taking another hit. He frowns deeply, staring at the joint as he pulls it back. “Dude, I’m not getting high off this.” 

“Mac must have gave us some B-grade weed,” Charlie shrugs. It happens sometimes.

“Screw him.”

“Right, screw him. You wanna do something stronger?”

“Like what?”

“I got some paint thinner in the kitchen cabinet.”

Dennis snorts humorlessly. “That’s sad Charlie.”

Charlie looks back at him. “Take it or leave it dude.”

Dennis is still for a second, but then he’s set in motion. Sure enough, they’re downstairs, grabbing the paint thinner, retreating to the bedroom, unscrewing the cap excitedly, and putting their noses to the rim. 

“Fuck yeah,” Charlie sighs, breathing in the fumes, feeling his head drain of heaviness.

He holds out the can for Dennis to take it, which he does, without much hesitation despite his previous protesting. Charlie sometimes feels like Dennis just gets a rise out of it, all this fighting and starting conflict and being the one who’s always mildly chagrined about everything. Maybe it makes him feel better about himself. 

“Oh shit,” Dennis holds the can up close to his nose. He breathes in very deeply. “That’s pretty good. Let’s pop off on this for a little bit.”

They pass the paint thinner back and forth until their brains are foggy, until it’s dark outside, until they come to lay next to each other on the bed, backs against the mattress, staring at the ceiling, until Charlie’s fingers are tingling. He wonders if Dennis’ fingers are tingling too.

“Hey Charlie,” Dennis speaks from beside him. “Do you really thinking banging is gross?”

The subject resurfacing makes Charlie feel dizzy. He grabs the sheets a little too hard, and makes a fist. “Yeah,” he says.

Dennis lets out a surprising laugh, one that sounds more genuine than Charlie has heard it in a while. “It is kinda gross,” he admits. “But don’t tell Mac I said that.”

Charlie stares at him with wide eyes, amazed by Dennis’ confession. He feels like laughing, so he does, letting it out. They both laugh together softly. Charlie puts a hand over his heart, and shoots an emphasized glance over at Dennis. “Sprout’s harbor,” he says, all diplomatic. 

“What?”

“I really mean it!”

Dennis's brow furrows, his expression exaggerated, a laugh still lingering on his face. “What the hell did you just say to me Charlie?”

“Sprout’s harbor. It’s like when you promise something really much.”

“Dude, do you mean ‘scout’s honor’?”

“That’s what I said,” Charlie insists. 

Dennis is still laughing, and it’s just so good when he laughs for real, Charlie doesn’t even care that he’s making fun of him. Dennis’ nice and pretty smile amplified by the warm sound of his real laughter is like some sort of magical shit. Charlie is sure someone like Dennis is fully aware he’s beautiful. It must be great to feel that way. 

“Whatever,” he mumbles, putting on nonchalant airs, rolling his eyes for emphasis. He feels like making Dennis laugh again. Dennis doesn’t laugh though. 

“Do you think kissing is gross too?” Dennis asks instead, his shoulder twisted, his body turned to Charlie. 

“I’ve never kissed anyone so,” Charlie mumbles honestly. “Wouldn’t really know.”

It only takes a couple seconds for Dennis to get close to him. First Charlie feels his hand, trail up on Charlie’s forearm. Then his blue eyes, piercing, his expression brimming with intensity. 

Charlie isn't a proud guy. He'll easily admit that there's a lot of stuff he doesn't understand, a lot of people he doesn’t get. Dennis Reynolds is probably on top of the list. Charlie struggles to get him most in moments like this one, because here Dennis is, leaning in to kiss him regardless of all the times he’s ever claimed to be disgusted with Charlie, saying he’s gross and dirty and trashy, from the wrong side of the tracks. Maybe the most hard-to-understand thing of it all is how goddamn gentle he is, how strangely delicate the moment feels.

His lips slide against Charlie, slowly. At first, it’s mostly just wet, but Charlie likes how warm it feels, how good Dennis smells up close like this, how much he tastes like strawberry candy. Charlie realizes without loss of face that wants to keep him here, doesn’t want it to end yet. His hands roam Dennis’ back, so he can hold him in place. Dennis rolls his shoulders into it. He ends up pressed into the bed, with Charlie pushing him into the mattress. They kiss clumsily until Charlie does pull back, needing some air. 

Dennis looks all sweaty, his hair messed up. He quirks an eyebrow at Charlie, as if to ask—what did you think?

“Weird,” Charlie pants a little. "Definitely weird. But not gross."

A smile splits Dennis’ face. Charlie tries his luck, and kisses him again. 

1993

During junior year, Dennis doesn’t come to school for two weeks.

When he shows up again, he has a white bandage barely peeking out from under his longsleeve shirt. Charlie wonders what it’s for, wonders if Dennis might have cut himself, like Charlie sometimes does for fun. It’s equal to getting high, and when there’s nothing to get high on but he’s feeling antsy for it anyway, Charlie messes with his skin instead. It’s probably not the best habit. His mom always overreacts when she sees the scratches on him, and patches them up for him. 

Dennis is patched up too, but there’s no doubt in Charlie’s mind that Dennis’s mom wasn’t the one to do it. 

“Where have you been dude?” Mac asks. Dennis’ face is straight, not a muscle moving. 

“Sick,” he shrugs. 

They don’t ask further. 

That day during lunch break, Charlie gets dragged into the toilets by one of Adriano Calvanese’s goons. He dares Charlie to eat a spider, which he does. The goon laughs hard and loud. Charlie just lets it happen, standing there, staring at the yellow bathroom tiles. 

“Don’t pull that face buddy, I’m just joshin’ ya,” the goon says. “Jesus Christ man, you look like you’re gonna kill yourself. Don’t do that, okay? Cause that’d make two of you, and that’s just supremely sad. Don’t kill yourself, Dirtgrub. We need someone to eat the spiders round here. It would fuck up the ecosystem.” 

Charlie blinks. “What do you mean, ‘two of you’?”

The goon blinks back. “You know what I mean. That pale freak in your little group, Dennis Reynolds.”

“I don’t think you know what you’re talking about,” Charlie mumbles. 

On Friday, they go over to Dennis’ house. His mildly annoying sister joins the three of them in his room, which Charlie is sort of fine with. At least Dee is a loser like them. She wears a crazy robot back brace, for Christ’s sake. 

Mac and Charlie sit on the floor, drawing patterns on the carpet, while Dennis smokes a cigarette out the window, perched on his bed. “Let’s do something fun, you guys,” Dee whines. Dennis says nothing. 

“We can watch a movie. What about Robocop?” Mac suggests. He’s always coming up with ideas. 

“What do you think Dennis?” Dee asks. Her tone is different from usual, like she’s making a conscious effort to be nice. It’s weird, Charlie thinks. He doesn’t get it. 

“I don’t want to,” Dennis says. His voice sounds weird too. He blows smoke through his teeth, looking out the window with a dead stare. 

“Do you still feel sick dude?” Mac asks. “We can leave you alone if you want.”

“No,” Dennis shakes his head sharply. For only a second, his eyes fall on Mac and Charlie. “Don’t leave.”

Charlie gets the sense that Dennis needs someone to be close to him. Dennis is always touchy, always reaching out for their proximity, pulling them closer. Charlie can’t help but flinching at it, which makes him feel guilty. It’s not Dennis’ fault that he’s touchy, or that Charlie isn’t. 

He comes up from the floor and goes to sit on the bed next to Dennis. “Can I have one?” he asks, pointing at the carton of cigarettes. 

“Go for it,” Dennis shrugs. 

With a click, Charlie lights the cigarette. He sucks on it, feeling the warm smoke enter his lungs, and sighs contentedly, closing his eyes. His mom used to get really upset with him for smoking, or doing any of the many drugs he’s doing on the regular right now. But Charlie slipped from her reach over the years. It makes her sad, but he can’t stop it from happening, in fact he doesn’t want it to. He’s a bit afraid to find out what would happen if he did. 

Charlie wonders offhandedly if it’s the same for Dennis, if Dennis can’t stop it either. 

“Hey man,” Charlie murmurs, “Can I put on some music?”

Dennis turns to look at him, blue smoke spilling from his nostrils. He nods slowly, his eyes shimmering. With the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, Charlie gets up and walks over to the CD player. He picks something from the pile, something he doesn’t know, but he’s sure Dennis likes, otherwise he probably wouldn’t own it. Click, shut. Slow, soft music starts playing, a warm guitar sound filling up the room. 

“This is lame as shit,” Mac says, but Dee shushes him, waving her hand.

Charlie looks at Mac, then diverts his gaze to Dennis, who has finished his cigarette. He’s resting his head on his knees, his arms wrapped around his legs, his gangly form contorted as he hugs himself closely, swaying a little to the music. Charlie looks at him, and looks back at Mac, who is also looking at Dennis now. When Mac locks eyes with him once more, his facial expression has changed, like he finally understands something he didn’t before. His brows draw together, worried to death. Charlie can see it so clearly on his face. He wants to tell Mac to leave it be. Sometimes bad things just happen, he knows that. Mac should know it too. He walks over to the bed again. 

“Want another cigarette dude?” he asks quietly. Dennis nods, just a little. Doesn’t speak. 

Charlie gets closer to him on the bed. He takes a smoke from the pack, holds it up. Dennis closes his lips around it, and Charlie lights it for him. He suddenly feels much older than he actually is. He watches Dennis take a long, long drag. Then he lights another cigarette for himself as well.

“Give me one,” Dee says from the floor. 

“Me too,” Mac chimes.

The room becomes clouded with smoke, as they sit listening to the gentle guitar carry on. Charlie hums along, once he starts to get a feel for the melody. Dennis’ gaze on him is unwavering, just sitting and listening, the hand that belongs to his bandaged arm tapping softly against his jeans. 

1994

Charlie is pretty sure Mac is in love with Dennis. 

Whether he is or he isn’t, he doesn’t really care all that much. It makes sense. Mac grew up around broken people and Dennis is the most broken person Charlie knows, including himself. Charlie has suspicions about last year, but he doesn’t want to say it out loud. Sometimes bad things just happen. Point is, no matter how many times he’s been shoved to the bathroom floor for a wedgie, no matter how many strange chemicals Charlie has huffed, no matter how many nightmares he has about someone sneaking in through his window, Dennis is still more broken than him. He knows that for a fact. So, of course Mac would be in love with him. 

Dennis is probably not in love with Mac. It seems like he isn’t really capable of loving anyone, Charlie thinks. He wonders if he should inform Mac about that. Then again, it doesn’t really matter. Mac would still be in love with Dennis. Unrequited love has never stopped him before. His parents have taught him to be persistent, if anything. 

“I can’t believe Dennis is going to Penn,” Mac is saying. He’s on his stomach on the carpeted floor of his room. Charlie’s on the bed. “He’s like, super smart. I bet his parents are really proud of him.” 

Charlie rolls his eyes at Mac’s obvious crush. It's lame. "Sure,” he says. 

“We should do something nice for his going away,” Mac sighs. “He needs to know we’re gonna miss him, or else he might never come back.”

Charlie wonders how he’d feel if Dennis never came back. He wants to think he'd probably get by fine. After all, it’s been him and Mac against the world for longer than Charlie can remember, and Dennis has always been so different from them. Nice clothes, and that pearly white smile. Still, Charlie feels something heavy twist in his stomach, thinking about Dennis leaving. He wrings his hands together. Mac watches him closely.

“You okay bro?” he asks.

Mac is in love with Dennis, this is a fact. Charlie can see it in his eyes, in everything he does, the desperate way he clamors for Dennis’ approval, the way his gaze lingers, how his eyes glimmer just a bit more in Dennis’ presence. 

Charlie sometimes hates Mac for being in love with Dennis. He’s not sure why. It’s not like he wants Mac to be in love with him. Or Dennis for that matter. It’s not like he’s in love with either of them. The truth is something else entirely. Something sickening. Charlie feels like he might be somewhere beyond love. He thinks he would probably die for Mac and Dennis, if it ever came to it. If one of them asked him to. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” he nods, not letting it show, the shame coarsing through his veins. “Let’s throw a party for Dennis."

The party ends up being sort of pathetic, with only a few people coming aside from the four of them. Psycho Pete shows up, some girl named Steph who Mac had claimed is in love with Dennis, and one of her friends, as well as Ingrid Nelson, Dee’s best friend. They all pile together in Charlie’s living room. His mom is out, so it’s cool. 

“This is lame as shit,” Dee smiles, “but it’s nice.”

“The party is for Dennis, not for you,” Mac rolls his eyes.

“I’m leaving too dipshit.”

“Who gives a shit Dee!”

“You’re a dickhole!”

The fighting continues for a while, until Dennis tells both of them to shut the fuck up. 

“So, should we have some fun?” he suggests, his eyes darting between the girls sitting across from him. The girls sure are pretty. Charlie can’t disagree with that. Even Fatty Magoo. 

“What kinda fun?” Steph asks. Dennis chuckles.

“Well, I count four girls and four guys. Perfect distribution for a game such as spin the bottle. Of course I can’t kiss my sister, so that’ll be one of the rules.”

Steph quirks an eyebrow. “What about girls kissing girls?” 

“Oh definitely,” Dennis nods enthusiastically.

“Yeah, we wanna see that,” Mac chimes in. Charlie makes himself nod along. 

“That’s what I thought,” Steph says. She looks at the other girls. “We’ll play. But only if the boys are going to kiss boys too. And don’t chicken out! That’s a rule too.”

“Yeah, fine, whatever,” Dennis says quickly, before checking with the rest. Charlie’s okay with it, but he assumes Mac might have his qualms, with his weird self-repression religious thing. If he does, he doesn’t admit it though, probably doesn’t want to piss Dennis off. 

“Dennis,” Dee groans. “I don’t wanna kiss any of them. Do we really have to play this?”

“You’re ruining this for me Deandra,” Dennis huffs, “just don’t play along then.”

“What about the even distribution?” Ingrid Nelson chimes in. 

“We did say something about even distribution,” Charlie mumbles. 

“Yeah, Fatty Magoo is right,” Mac nods. 

“Goddamn you, I’ll play along!” Dee concedes. 

They spin an empty beer bottle. First it’s Dennis, kissing that Steph girl. He leans in smoothly, sliding his fingers over her jaw, and locks lips with her. Charlie watches Dennis’ eyes flutter. He wonders if Dennis tastes like strawberry candy still, and feels a dark warmth spill in his gut.

In the corner of his eye he sees Mac, watching the whole thing happen with clenched fists, white knuckles over his jeans, his breath bated. He’s staring relentlessly. When Dennis pulls back after some time, Mac quickly looks away.

Everyone hollers, and Dennis smiles a smug smile. Now it’s Steph’s turn. She has to kiss Ingrid, which all the boys get really excited about, even Psycho Pete, who’s usually pretty downbeat. Then Ingrid lands the bottle on Mac, who acts super disgusted to kiss her, but Charlie can see on his face that it’s just because he’s nervous. The kiss is awkward and clumsy. When it’s done, it’s Mac’s time to spin.

With trembling hands, he goes for it. He lands it on Dennis. There’s a charged moment of nothing but waiting, quiet in the room, and Charlie wondering if they’re gonna go through with it.

But Dennis moves forward, sitting on his knees in front of Mac. He looks at him intently. Mac breathes in deeply through his nostrils. Charlie ponders if anyone else can sense how heavy the room feels all of a sudden.

“Well,” Dennis is saying, “what are you waiting for?”

Mac reaches out a shaking hand, and lays it on Dennis’ wrist. It’s so gentle, it makes Charlie shiver. Dennis leans in, and Mac’s eyes are wide. He puts a hand on the back of Dennis’ neck and then—

He kisses him. Charlie feels tingly all over. It’s too soft to be funny, even. Everyone watches it happen, Mac and Dennis in the middle of the room, like magnets clashing. It feels like something monumental. Charlie wonders what it looked like when he kissed Dennis two years ago. Was it special, like this? They were high off their asses, and laughed about it later. He wonders if Dennis even still thinks about it. Probably not. Even though it was Charlie’s first kiss, and he thinks about it more often than he’d ever admit. But Dennis is just like that, isn’t he? 

Mac and Dennis’ lips slide together, with Dennis clearly taking the lead. Mac’s fingers bury in his hair, taking a good handful, and Dennis makes a fluttery sound, so quiet it’s barely audible. After what feels like a long time, but in reality was probably only a couple seconds, they break apart. Mac laughs, clearly embarrassed, but Dennis just sits there, continuing to look at him, an enigmatic expression on his face. 

“Well, that was super faggy,” Dee says, breaking the tension present in the room.

Psycho Pete and the other girls laugh. Dennis says nothing. Mac laughs again, an awkward stupid laugh. “Yeah,” he says, his face flushed. “Totally faggy.”

Charlie wants to smack him over the head, for some reason. Without a word, Dennis moves back to where he was sitting before, away from Mac. He stares at the floor. 

“Your time to spin,” Steph’s friend says. Dennis promptly gets up.

“Nah. This is boring,” he says flatly. “Let’s dance.”

He turns up the music loud and downs a beer, throwing the bottle over his shoulder where it crashes in the kitchen. Everyone flinches. Dennis looks at Charlie for what feels like the first time that night, and smirks knowingly. “I’ll clean that up later.”

“Whatever,” Charlie shrugs. He gets to his feet. Dennis nods with approval. The rest follows, and they start moving a little awkwardly to the music.

Once the weed comes out, the night starts passing much more quickly. They dance and laugh and watch TV, and actually end up having a pretty good time, apart from the fact that Dennis and Mac are being super weird. Their interactions are strained at best. Charlie hates it. Dennis mostly just keep avoiding Mac, and Mac keeps chasing Dennis like a lost puppy.

Around midnight everyone starts leaving, the house draining empty. It’s just Dennis, Dee, Mac and Charlie left. Mac is conked out on the couch. Dee is similar, snoring lightly with her head resting on a pillow. 

Charlie washes plates in the sink while Dennis sweeps up the broken glass off the floor. He leans back against the fridge. “Did you have a good time Charles?”

“Weird,” Charlie says, at the nickname. “And sure. It was fun.”

“You gonna miss me when I leave for Penn?” Dennis asks, not even joking a little bit. Charlie doesn’t know how to answer. He thinks about Dennis and Mac, and the sway Dennis is probably well aware he has over him. He wonders if Dennis relies on people to miss him when he’s not there. 

“Sure, but you’re gonna be doing cool college shit, so I can’t blame you too much for leaving,”

“Blame me for leaving?”

“Yeah,” Charlie frowns. “But I said I didn’t.” 

Dennis stares at him. “You said you didn’t blame me too much. So you blame me a little.”

Charlie lets out an exasperated sigh, all of a sudden feeling annoyed with how overly complicated Dennis tends to be. “What is this fixation on blaming? I never said that. I said I’d miss you, do you need to press it?”

A spark of intrigue flashes over Dennis’ gaze. He sets the broom down and steps towards Charlie, placing a hand on his shoulder. Charlie drops the dish towel in the sink. 

“I just wanna know what you blame me for,” Dennis says softly. “That’s all.”

Charlie didn’t even realize he was in fact blaming Dennis for leaving until he said it out loud. But now that he actually thinks about it, it makes him feel sorta strange and angry. Thoughts flood his brain, of his future as some idiot gas station attendant, or undoubtedly something like it. There’s no guarantee his life is gonna suck any less after high school. He thinks of Mac, visiting his dad in prison, and the way he prays multiple times every single day. Charlie wonders how many times Mac has mentioned Dennis to God. Then he wonders if Dennis ever considers the two of them to the same degree they consider him. He shrugs Dennis off. 

“I blame you for nothing, okay? You’re good enough to leave, so you’re leaving. It makes sense. You’re doing the right thing. Just—” he shakes his head. “Some of us can’t leave. And…you know we can’t leave, but you’re leaving anyway. You don’t give a shit, and you know what Dennis? That’s your right, so I don’t really give a shit either. You can leave. I don’t care.” 

“Charlie—”

“Whatever, man. Okay? I’m happy for you.”

“Right,” Dennis nods. “That’s totally believable.”

Charlie hates him, hates his stupid sarcasm, hates his flawless face and his perfect life and the weird confusing sadness that he carries with him. Why does Dennis get to be sad, on top of everything else? He doesn't deserve it.  

“You’re such an annoying bitch sometimes,” he spits. “Drop it Dennis.”

“Harsh, Charlie,” Dennis laughs, leaning in closer. He casually runs a hand through Charlie’s hair. “It’s cute how attached you are to me.”

Charlie steps away from him, backing into the kitchen cabinet. “Do you think it’s a game? To test how much you affect us? I mean, do you think it’s funny to go and kiss Mac? Even though you know—”

“Know what?”

Charlie sharpens his gaze. “You know, Dennis.”

Dennis is quiet for a moment. “What does that have to do with you?”

“Mac is my best friend,” Charlie says. “I don’t like the way you treat him.”

“The way I treat him? It was a game of spin the bottle, Charlie. I could have just as easily landed on you. What would you think about that, would you think that’s manipulative too?”

“You know that’s not the same thing.” 

“Well what was I supposed to do? We made rules. I couldn’t just chicken out.”

“Screw you, man.” Charlie wrings his hands together, his breath hurting in his throat. 

“You said I affect you as well,” Dennis points out, stepping towards him.

“Yeah,” Charlie scoffs. “I guess I did. I’m sure you love that. You just love that I said that. Good for you, Dennis. You affect me. Congratulations.”

Dennis leans closer to Charlie, the dim light in the kitchen falling over the planes of his face. Charlie stares straight at him. It’s not his first time being cornered. Dennis knows that good and well.

“Don’t you think that’s a little faggy?” Dennis asks, the words heavy and purposeful, a smidgen of indignation peaking through.

Charlie thinks of Dennis and his cry-eyes, excusing himself to the bathroom whenever Mac goes on one of his inane rants about queers going to hell. “I don’t give a shit,” he says, not breaking eye-contact with him.

Dennis nods, and smiles a little. “Me neither,” he says softly. His hand comes to rest on Charlie’s shoulder. This time, Charlie lets him. Dennis watches him through his lashes, until he pushes Charlie forward a little, gently pressing a kiss against his forehead. Charlie feels like he’s going to implode, and he can’t explain why. 

“Thanks for the party,” Dennis murmurs, pulling away. “Don’t blame me too much while I’m gone. Resentment doesn’t suit you, buddy. I’m sure I’ll be back.”

“Right,” says Charlie, a little breathless.

Dennis nods. “I’m gonna go collect Dee from the floor.” 

Then he’s off, and Charlie stands frozen against the kitchen cabinet, gripping onto the sides of it. 

“Come on sis,” he hears from the living room, “let’s get outta here.” 

Coming back into consciousness, Dee laughs loosely. Charlie peers around the corner, and watches the twins stumble out the front door, Dennis’ arm around Dee’s shoulder, their steps hurried and quick. Like they just broke free from something.

1995

After graduating, Mac and Charlie get lucky with jobs at some rundown diner. It’s not much, but it’s a living. Charlie’s a janitor. Only way’s up from here. 

He’d been desperate to get out of his mom’s house. With the years, he’d started to hate being in his bedroom, hated reminders of unasked-for play dates, hated even looking at his mom sometimes. It got much harder to remind himself that bad things sometimes just happen. He couldn’t ever sleep well, always dreaming restlessly. It took tireless work, but in two months Charlie scrambled together some scrappy savings, enough to live in a tiny box of an apartment. 

It’s paradise to him. He goes to bed drinking beer and watching wrestling every day. Mac sleeps over at his a lot. He still lives with his mom, and it gets tough for him. Charlie knows how it feels. He doesn’t mind sharing a bed with Mac at all. He likes the warmth. 

Over the entirety of Christmas break, Mac has to work, but Charlie miraculously gets a day off. Instead of seeing any of his family (the thought makes him want to throw up the contents of his guts), he decides to hit up Dennis at the UPenn dorms, where he’s staying over break. Probably for similar reasons as Charlie not going to see his family for Christmas, which is understandable. Charlie can’t imagine how the extended Reynolds family even functions, better yet, doesn’t want to imagine it. 

When he arrives, Dennis is overly excited. He hugs Charlie very, very close to his chest, all sense of boundaries lost. “Hey man,” Charlie cringes a little. 

“Hi buddy!” Dennis grins, oblivious. “How’ve you been? You look good man!”

“Thanks,” Charlie nods, scratching his beard. He’s pretty sure he looks like he always does, just a little hairier, but he can’t exactly say the same for Dennis, who looks skinnier and paler than ever, his eyes sunken with dark purple circles, his cheekbones sharp. His hair is a bit too long, like he’s skipped out on going to the hairdresser. Dennis is usually perfectly groomed. He looks disheveled, if anything. 

“Come on in!” Dennis gestures enthusiastically. 

The dorm is a bit barren, with white walls and barely any decorations, especially on Dennis’ side of the room. “My roommate’s out,” Dennis says. “Home for the holidays. I don’t know why anyone bothers. Honestly, I don’t care much for it, this time of year.”

Charlie hums. “So where’s Dee?”

“Ah, Sweet Dee got in trouble for sleeping with her professor. Mom wanted her home so she can teach her, and I quote, ‘how to behave like a classy lady’. I figure that’s code for throwing wine glasses at her.” 

“That’s terrible.”

“Probably shouldn’t have been such a hussy,” Dennis shrugs. 

Charlie sits down on the edge of the bed and watches Dennis light a cigarette. He offers Charlie one too, but he declines. He’s suddenly reminded of junior year, when Dennis seemed really sad for a really long time, and no one ever asked why. Charlie can’t blame himself too much for stuff like that. It’s hard to talk about things. Would they start, they’d probably never stop. 

“Don’t you get bored?” Charlie peers around the room. “I mean, since everyone left campus and all?”

Dennis looks almost offended. He laughs boisterously. “No man. See, there’s this awesome bar down the street, and I’ve been going every night. All the holdovers hang out there. There’s some real babes to be found, Charlie. Chicks who have daddy issues. Those are the best ones. They’ll sleep with you almost instantly.”

“So you wanna hang out there?” Charlie proposes quickly. “Or maybe let’s get some dinner first?” He feels a bit awkward, here in Dennis’ dorm, and he’s antsy to leave to someplace else for a change of environment. 

“Screw dinner,” Dennis claps Charlie on the back. “Let’s get fucked up.”

The bar is pretty lame, though Charlie doesn’t really care all that much. A bar’s a bar. He’ll take what he can get. There’s some pretty girls over at the pool table, but they seem preoccupied. Dennis and him sit on the barstools, eating from a bowl of peanuts. 

“How’s college, man?” Charlie inquires casually. Dennis has a weird look in his eyes. He nods all weary. 

“It’s fine,” he says. “Easy. I don’t understand why everyone says it’s hard. I get the best grades of ‘em all without ever studying.”

“I’m sure,” Charlie nods. Dennis had always been very smart. “I wonder if I could have made it to college if I’d tried better.”

“Well, you can’t read,” Dennis comments offhandedly.

Charlie tries to pretend he didn’t say that, and takes a swig of whiskey. “I need something else.” He makes his liquor do a pirouette in the glass. “Wanna do some shots?”

“Hell yeah,” Dennis smiles prettily. “Let’s do some shots, baby!” 

The cool blue lights in the bar fall on him in such a nice way. Makes him look more vibrant. Charlie smiles back easy, and gestures to the bartender. They do one, two, three rounds of shots. Then some more. Dennis leans forward on his elbows. “Charlie, my buddy, I miss you,” he spills, his voice coming loose. “Everyone sucks here.”

“Yeah?” Charlie asks, leaning in. 

“Yeah, for sure,” Dennis drapes his hand over Charlie’s wrist, lets it slip down. Usually Charlie doesn’t particularly enjoy getting touched, but right now he feels a hypnotizing buzz ignite under his skin, where Dennis’ fingers traced past. He’s reminded of—

“D’you wanna dance?” goes Dennis. 

“Let’s dance,” Charlie agrees. 

So they dance, stupid and lethargic as the music becomes rockier and less intelligible. Charlie tries to sing along, but he doesn’t know the words. Dennis is doing some sort of cool sliding move, twirling around. Charlie grabs him by the back of his neck and pulls him close. 

“You’re good at that,” he says in his ear. Dennis smells like green grass and honeycomb. 

“Let me teach you,” Dennis goes, grinning widely. He steps back and does the move a couple times. Charlie follows, copying his movements. Dennis throws his head back, laughing. It’s a marvelous sight to see, his unbridled laughter, shaking the place like a storm. 

“I think I’m getting it,” Charlie tells him, doing the twirl again.

“You’re definitely getting close, man,” Dennis nods wholeheartedly. 

They do more shots, then Dennis disappears off to the bathroom for a while. To fill the time, Charlie dances with a brown haired girl named Leslie. They improvise a two-step routine, and drag two of her friends into doing it with them, which makes them break into uncontrollable giggles.

When Dennis comes back, Charlie is in high spirits. 

“Hey Dennis,” he slurs, “these are my new friends. We did a dance, it was great.” 

The girls wave at Dennis, at which Dennis gives them a sharp nod. Without saying anything, he walks up to the bar. Charlie frowns, and follows him. 

“What’s up man?” he asks, coming up to stand next to Dennis. 

“Nothing’s up,” Dennis says. “I just need more to drink. I’m still—” He cuts himself off, shakes his head, and laughs wildly. 

Charlie looks at him with intent. “Dude, your pupils are like fucking moons,” he laughs too. “D’you have blow?” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Dennis shrugs, semi-casual. “If you want some, you gotta do some with me.”

“Let’s do it.” 

The bartender brings Dennis a whiskey. He throws it back at once. Then he’s walking, dragging Charlie to the bathrooms, grip tight around his wrist as they turn into one of the stalls. Dennis locks the door, quick. He starts cutting a line of coke on top of the toilet paper dispenser, neat and clean with his credit card. 

“Do you do this a lot?” Charlie inquires. Dennis is so focused, he doesn’t even look up. 

“What’s a lot?” he retorts, which is not an answer. 

Charlie tries not to think about it more than he has to. So, Dennis might have developed a little bit of a coke habit. It’s not that different from their collective weed addiction, or Charlie indulging various inhalants on the regular. 

Leaning forward, Charlie snorts up the powder simultaneously with Dennis. They pull back, breathing heavily. “Oh shit,” Charlie frowns. “Dennis, your nose is bleeding.”

Dennis wipes his nose quickly, then wipes his hands on his jeans. He laughs loud and heady. He steps closer to Charlie, fire in his eyes. 

“Charlie,” he says, “if you don’t push me away right now I’m gonna kiss you.” 

“Okay,” Charlie nods, glad that Dennis said it or he would have been thinking about it all night. 

So Dennis kisses him, wrapping his arms around Charlie’s shoulders, a fervent whirlwind, pushing Charlie into the door of the toilet stall. The way he kisses so hungrily, like he’s been craving it for ages, is making Charlie feel like a ball of electricity.

Charlie licks into his mouth. He loves the way that feels, and bites Dennis a little, marking his bottom lip, at which Dennis whines, high in his throat. It sounds so good when he does that. Charlie holds him tight by the waist, digging his fingers in the fabric of his shirt and feeling over his ribcage. Dennis is so freakishly skinny. Along with the coke thing and the weed thing, Charlie’s pretty sure there’s a food thing too, something that’s been going on for years and years. Dennis has a lot of problems for someone who grew up in such a nice neighborhood. But it’s not up to Charlie to judge, especially not right now.

He keeps on kissing him hard, bruising his lips. Dennis presses up to him, his knee digging into Charlie’s thigh. Charlie pulls him even closer, pressing a hand flat to the small of his back. They eventually break apart, panting. Dennis rolls his head back against the door. 

“You kiss like a girl,” Charlie discloses, because it’s true. “Did anyone ever tell you that?”

“No, asshole.” Dennis promptly grabs him by the hair and bites his neck short and sweet, which turns Charlie cold all over.  

“Let’s do more shots.” Dennis pulls away once more, a devilish grin painting his features. Then he’s out of the stall, walking back into the bar, taking Charlie with him. 

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Charlie can’t keep track. They drink more than they should, dance crazily, snort coke intermittently, and stumble back to Dennis’ dorm through the icy streets, clinging onto each other’s shoulders for balance. 

When back, Dennis haphazardly closes the door, tumbling into the room. In an instant, he crouches down shakily, holding his head between his legs. Charlie kneels on the floor next to him. 

“You okay dude?” he asks. 

“Hmm,” is what Dennis replies, something that means nothing. He’s breathing far too quickly. It makes Charlie feel uneasy. When Dennis looks up, his lids are heavy. He presses his hands to his temples, closing his eyes forced shut. 

“Headache?” goes Charlie. “Hey, Dennis, do you have a headache?”

“Gonna throw up,” Dennis states. 

Charlie gets him to the bathroom just in time. Dennis falls to his knees and throws up painfully, his entire body shaking. Without even noticing it, Charlie feels his fingers slide into Dennis’ hair, petting him gently. He shushes, soft and quiet.  

“It’s okay dude,” he whispers. “It will be okay.” 

Dennis wipes his mouth and groans exasperatedly. The groan twists off into a cry, and then he’s sobbing, hard and unforgiving, his forehead leaning against the toilet seat. Charlie lets it happen, doesn’t say anything snarky about it. He threads and threads through Dennis’ silky hair, while humming small sounds of comfort. 

Eventually, albeit after a long time, Dennis runs out of tears. He sits back, leaning against the tiled wall, a distinct wave of embarrassment flooding his face when he locks eyes with Charlie. 

“Sorry dude,” he murmurs. He laughs promptly, running the back of his hand over his forehead. “I must have eaten something bad. I don’t know man. That was a whole thing, wasn’t it?”

Charlie straightens up, his jaw slack. He can’t get a read on Dennis for the life of him, and it’s messing with his brain. 

“Dude, what is going on with you?” he huffs. “You’re all over the place. I mean—I can’t tell if you’re having the time of your life or if you’re gonna overdose on coke at any given moment. What is that? I mean, it’s clear you didn’t just eat something bad, you cried your goddamn eyes out man! Why are you acting like you don’t know that? Do you really think I’m stupid enough to believe that little performance you just gave?” 

His voice is hitting all sorts of weird highs and lows, but Charlie doesn’t give a shit. Dennis stares him down, his expression frozen, his cheeks cold pale white. They must stare at each other for five minutes straight. 

Then he lunges forward, grabbing Charlie’s shirt, bunches of it. Charlie falls back against the tile floor, hitting his head. Dennis straddles him, landing a punch against his jaw. Charlie’s breath hitches, but he recovers quickly and reaches up, grabbing Dennis by the hair, yanking him. Dennis loses his balance and falls to the side. Charlie makes use of the opportunity and manages him flat on the floor, climbing over him. Charlie balls his knuckles and punches Dennis in the nose, which starts bleeding again on impact. Dennis breathes heavily, groaning from the pain. He grabs Charlie’s neck, but Charlie gets the better of him, and locks him wrists into a steady grip. He pushes Dennis’ hands down to his chest and subsequently wraps his arms around his shoulders, holding him so tight he can’t move. 

“Stop,” Charlie says “Dennis, stop.” Dennis lays there quietly against him, the only movement coming from his body his heavy, heavy breathing. 

After a moment or two, Charlie loosens his grip, and Dennis is free to move again. He does so, his hands coming up the back of Charlie’s shoulders. Their position transforms from effectively a chokehold to something more like a hug. Charlie sighs. Dennis sniffles. 

“Dude,” Charlie says, quietly against his skin. “I hope you know I’m probably the only person you can treat like this without anything changing.” 

Dennis breaks in an instant, soft sobs spilling from his mouth. Charlie holds him close. 

“Let’s go to bed,” he says eventually. Dennis nods. 

Once Dennis cleans his bloody nose, once they’re changed out of their clothes into ratty pajamas, once they’re under the covers with a solid ten inches between them, Charlie clears his throat.  

“Hey man,” he murmurs, into the darkness of the dorm room. “Did you try to kill yourself during high school?”

Dennis is silent for only a short moment. “Yes,” he says then, in no particular manner at all. 

Charlie feels like he might sink into the mattress. “That’s really goddamn stupid.”  

“I know.”

“What did you do?”

“Slit my wrist.” Dennis says. “Hurt like a motherfucker,” he grins at the ceiling, almost proud. 

Charlie watches him closely. “Yeah, bet it did.”

Dennis turns to the side, his gaze glossed over. “You ever done something like that Charlie?”

“No,” Charlie shakes his head. “I don’t wanna die.”

“Really? After everything you’ve been through?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean—”

A short pause follows, during which Dennis is probably figuring out what to say, how to say what he wants to say delicately, and during which Charlie can’t help but think of everything he doesn’t ever want to think about. “Well, your life isn’t so easy, right?” Dennis settles on. 

“Not exactly,” Charlie mumbles hurriedly.

“So it would make a lot of sense if you…you know, considered something like that.”

“I’m not like that.”

“Like me?”

Charlie pulls the sheets up to his chest. “That’s not what I meant,” he says, even though it’s sort of exactly what he meant. Dennis’ face is hard and frozen, a strip of light falling over his jaw. He looks a little bit like a corpse. Charlie ruminates on if he’d look all that different from how he does now, if he were dead for real. 

“You’re not gonna do it again, right?” he wonders aloud. He wish he could be sure.

“I don’t think so,” Dennis shrugs, like it doesn’t matter. “Probably not.”

For a long time, Charlie doesn’t say anything. He feels the alcohol seep from his body, through his skin. He listens to the birds outside sing quietly, crying out into the otherwise quiet streets. 

“I’ll kill you if you do,” he says then. It might be stupid but he means it. 

“Okay Charlie,” Dennis chuckles dryly. “Will you come here for a second?”

Charlie hesitates, but moves over, closing the distance between him and Dennis. He cuddles up to his side, and Dennis holds him close, his slender arms wrapping around Charlie’s body once again. Charlie’s nose is in his neck. He breathes him in. Dennis smells warm, like childhood, but in such a different way than Mac does. Dennis smells like blood a little bit too. Charlie doesn’t know how to justify liking it. 

“High school was the worst,” he whispers. 

Dennis’ fingers twitch. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Goodnight Charlie.”

Once he closes his eyes, the exhaustion pulls Charlie straight into a deep, dark sleep. He doesn’t dream about anything for once, and when he wakes up, he’s still tangled in Dennis’ grip. He carefully extracts himself. Dennis sleeps right through, his face slack and smooth, looking like a creepy, beautiful doll. 

In the daylight, Charlie observes the room again. It’s empty and sad. Charlie lives in a shitty walk-up, but he’d take that over whatever this is. He can’t imagine spending any longer than a day here. And Christmas break is still so long. As he gathers his stuff, Charlie ponders the things Dennis keeps in the kitchen, imagining a cold blade splitting skin. 

The sun rises, and Dennis awakens slowly, with soft sounds. He sits up in bed and watches as Charlie pulls on his jacket. “Leaving bro?” he asks after a while. 

“Gotta work later,” Charlie hums. He moves over to the sink and gestures to the knives. “Dennis,” his voice is unstable. “Do you think it might be smart if I took these with me?”

A deep frown forms on Dennis’ sleepy face. “Well, how am I gonna cook?” he asks, a laugh slipping in, forging levity. 

“You don’t cook,” Charlie notes. 

“Yeah, I do!”

“You barely eat dude!”

Dennis falls back against the mattress. “You’re so annoying, Charlie.”

“I don’t care,” Charlie decides. He rapidly collects all the knives from the kitchen drawers and stuffs them into his bag.

Dennis watches him do it, his head rolling to the side. He scoffs, averting his gaze. “I’m not a baby. I don’t need you to take care of me.” 

He doesn’t say what Charlie expects him to say, doesn’t say if I’d really wanna kill myself, then taking my knives wouldn’t stop me. Charlie stuffs the idea down, and tries to pretend that what he’s doing is of any use at all. 

“Don’t worry man. I take care of stuff, that’s what I do good. You should see me at the diner.”

An indignant laugh sounds from the bed. “You’re still cleaning toilets there?”

Charlie shrugs. “Yeah, whatever. You might think it’s stupid, but it’s something, at least.”

“That’s an absolutely meaningless statement,” Dennis says decidedly. He rolls over, wrapping the duvet around himself. Charlie steps closer to the bed, the knives safe and secure in his bag, stuffed between his pajamas. 

“That’s your problem Dennis.”

“What is?”

“You think everything is meaningless. That’s your problem. That’s why this is happening. That’s why you wanna kill yourself.”

In a flurry of movement, Dennis gets out from under the sheets, standing up straight, and stepping right in front of Charlie. For a second, Charlie thinks he might kiss or fight him again. Instead, he gets up in his face and speaks, quietly— 

“If you know so goddamn well how I’m supposed to be living my life, then elaborate.” His voice gradually turns higher and shakier. “Please, in your infinite wisdom, inform me! Thrill me with your acumen! Tell how a fucking janitor is happier than I am, will ya? Tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do Charlie, cause I don’t have a goddamn clue!” 

It’s white noise at this point. Charlie says nothing, just stares at him for a long time. He clenches his fist, and wonders what Mac would think if he could see the two of them. He’d probably be really upset. Not because he doesn’t like fighting or anything. Just because he’d be left out of it. 

“There’s no point in telling you. You’re too much of a stubborn asshole,” he shrugs. “I took all your knives and there's nothing you can do about it.” He moves towards the door and turns the handle. 

“Whatever,” Dennis murmurs. “See you around. Or not, I don’t give a shit.”

He gets back in bed, burying himself under the covers. Charlie watches his form from the door frame. He thinks of all the shit he has to scrape clean on a daily basis, all the toilet bowls he has to drain empty, thinks of all the beers he throws back every single day, his hands aching for more. He thinks of his mom and his uncle and his dad who he’s never met. He thinks of junior year, thinks of Dennis, and the white bandage. 

“Don’t die,” Charlie says, hoping Dennis hears it. Then he quickly closes the door behind him. 

1996

Dennis Reynolds is a stubborn bastard man, and doesn’t call Charlie for almost half a year. Charlie is almost just as stubborn. He ends up dialing Dennis’ phone only because Mac keeps harping on it. 

“You two are ruining a great dynamic,” he'd been saying, just this morning. “What is this stupid fight even about?”

Charlie couldn’t exactly say why they're fighting. Or if they're even fighting in the first place. Partly because he himself barely recalls the specifics. But mostly because he doesn't want to admit it's hard to take being around someone like Dennis, who sees through him so expertly. In the end though, Mac’s bitching is even harder to take, which is why Charlie gets over himself. He calls Dennis’s number from the landline at work in between shifts. 

“Hey dickhead,” he says in greeting. 

“Charlie,” Dennis says cordially. “What a pleasure to hear from you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Charlie rolls his eyes and sighs. “I can’t believe you’re still alive.”

“What are you talking about man? I feel more alive than ever. Banging chicks left and right, you know the drill. Everyone wants to fuck a doctor in the making. Well, a veterinarian, really, but they don’t need to know that.”

“You banging dudes too?” Charlie bites. 

“Shut up, Charlie,” Dennis bites back, but it has a soft edge. Charlie laughs a little, despite himself. 

“You should come home sometime,” he says, before he can stop the words from escaping his mouth. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Dennis idles. 

“Mac really misses you.” 

“He can come visit me here, can't he? It’s only a half an hour drive.” 

“No car.”

“He can take the bus.”

Charlie clears his throat. “I think he’s nervous. He’s pretty far gone for you, man.”

At that, Dennis chuckles dryly. “Don’t I know it.”

Charlie closes his eyes for a second, savoring the comforting sound of Dennis’ voice. He hadn’t realized he’d missed it at all. But he did. 

“So come home,” he says eventually. “It’s only a half an hour drive.”

Dennis snorts a laugh. “But wherever will I stay Charles?”

Charlie feels like his lungs are filling up with water. He winds the phone cord around his finger. “Well, it depends. Are you gonna be an arrogant bitch about staying in a trash heap, or are you gonna be grateful to stay over at your generous friend’s apartment?” 

“Strange, I always remember you sweeter Dirtgrub,” Dennis hums. “But fine. Make sure there’s beer. I’ll be there Friday.”

“Don’t call me that, asshole,” Charlie says. “See you Friday.”

He promptly hangs up the phone, grinning at the floor. 

1997

That year, Mac and Charlie do end up taking the bus uptown for Dennis’ graduation. 

They sit in the back, their knees knocking together, the early summer heat clamming up the interior. Everything’s sticky. Charlie runs a hand through his hair and watches the sweat drip down Mac’s forehead. 

“Are you nervous?” he asks. 

Mac laughs, an anxious giggle. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Why would I be nervous?” he asks. 

It’s a valid question. They’ve been seeing more of Dennis again recently, so it’s not like that’s a thing. Ever since Dee got sent away from Penn for setting her roommate on fire, Dennis has been coming back to South Philly every other week. It’s been fun, like old times. Mac and Charlie work at the bowling alley now, which is infinitely better than the diner. Better pay, better perks. Still cleaning toilets, but that’s alright with Charlie. Bowling is awesome, the snacks are awesome. Dennis thinks so too. They hang there all the time. 

“I don’t know,” Charlie shrugs. “I am a little nervous. Do they throw the hats at all?”

“Of course they do, man.”

“Well, I’ve only ever seen it in the movies.”

Mac lightly claps him on the shoulder, and leaves his arm there. Charlie leans against him comfortably. It’s too hot to sit this close, but they don’t really give a shit. 

Charlie wonders how Dennis is going to look up on the stage later. Probably all shining and beautiful. He wonders if Mac’s thinking about it too. 

Surely, Dennis delivers. He accepts his diploma with that superstar smile of his. His parents aren’t there, and his sister isn’t allowed back on campus premises, but he shoots a thumbs-up at Mac and Charlie in the crowd, seemingly unbothered. 

Afterward, they go drinking. It’s busy everywhere, graduating students pouring into the street with bustling enthusiasm. Dennis drags the two of them around, throwing back shot after shot at various bars until they settle on one. It’s crawling with people inside. The music booms. Charlie feels like he’s floating. 

Dennis isn’t wearing the gown he was wearing earlier anymore. Instead, he’s dressed in a light blue shirt that stretches over his chest nicely. He put on a little bit of lean muscle as of recent, Charlie has noticed. It makes him look healthier. The bar lights illuminate his angular face, coloring his cheeks a dusty purple, his plump lips glowing. It’s good, intoxicating even, to see him like this. Charlie only has to glance at Mac once to know Mac feels the exact same way. 

They pound beers and dance, all energized. “I’m so fucking smart,” Dennis says. “I just got my goddamn degree bitches!” 

He seems actually happy. It’s crazy infectious. Charlie grins wide and stupid. “Fuck yeah, man.”

Mac throws his head back laughing. “Fuck yeah!” he shouts. No one even looks at them, even though they’re acting insane. 

After about ten beers each, they’re all breaching wasted. Charlie’s eyelids are so heavy. He watches Dennis light cigarette after cigarette, despite the bartender yelling at him not to. Smoke surrounds him as he dances. He’s a goddamn sight.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a man comes very close to Dennis, invading his space. It’s some buff, dark haired dude who looks a little older than them. “Dennis Reynolds,” he’s saying appraisingly. “It’s good to see you. You look great.” His hands snake around Dennis’ waist. Dennis doesn’t flinch, doesn’t step away. He laughs, his head rolling back enticingly. 

“I know,” he says to the guy, all confident.

Seductively, he wraps his arms around his shoulders, leans in close to his ear, murmuring something unintelligible. Charlie suddenly remembers he’s standing there staring, and so is Mac. He turns away, intending to leave Dennis be, and drags Mac with him to the bar, desperate to distract him. 

“Who is that guy?” Mac is asking immediately. Panic seeps through Charlie’s body. He knows Mac, knows what he’ll say, dreads it even. 

“No idea,” he murmurs. He leans over the busy bar, waving his hands. “Hey, two beers over here,” he calls out. 

The drinks come quick. “Tell that queer you’re with to stop smoking cigarettes in my bar,” the barkeep says to Charlie, his brows low and heavy. Before Charlie can respond, he’s already off tending to someone else. Mac is just standing there dazed, not even touching his beer. 

“Have a drink dude,” Charlie presses it into his hands. Mac still doesn’t drink. He keeps staring off into the distance instead, right at where they just left Dennis. He’s watching so dilligently, almost hypnotized. Charlie turns around to see what Mac’s seeing and—

Dennis is kissing the dark haired guy, pressed up to him, eager and willing. Clearly no one in the bar gives a shit, but Mac just keeps staring and—

“What the fuck,” he mumbles, seeming almost betrayed. “Charlie, what’s going on?” His cheeks are super flushed. Charlie stands frozen.

“Dennis—” he starts, but he doesn't know what to say. Dennis is totally into dudes, and I’ve known for a while, but I sorta pretend he’s not. Kinda like I do with you, Mac. 

“Dude,” Mac is breathing heavily. “Tell me what’s happening right now.” 

Charlie instinctively puts his hands on Mac’s biceps, just in case he needs to hold him back. “Let it go, man. You wanna go cool off outside for a little bit?” he’s saying over the music.

Mac doesn’t say anything, but he lets himself get pulled through the crowd, through the door, and onto the pavement. His chest heaves, up and down. Charlie tries to feel more sober than he actually is. 

“Look Mac. Don’t make a big deal about it.”

“How can I not make a big deal about it?” Dennis is in there kissing a goddamn dude! Do you know what that makes him, Charlie?”

“What does that make me, Mac?” Dennis’ voice sounds from behind them. He must have followed them out. Charlie swivels around and sees him coming out of the door, his hands shoved into his pocket with a strange air of humility. 

Mac's brows are screwed together. “You’re—”

Dennis lets out a dry laugh. “A faggot, is that what you wanna say? Say it Mac. I wanna hear you actually say it.”

“I wasn’t gonna say that,” Mac says meekly. 

“You know, Mac?” Dennis steps close to him. “You’ve got a lot of nerve. Cause guess what? Everyone knows you’re the one who’s a fucking faggot. Except you’re such a goddamn pussy, you’d never actually admit you want me to suck your dick.”

“I’m not a pussy,” Mac says, red in the face. Charlie feels glued to the ground, watching the two of them getting up in each other’s face. 

“You’re a pussy, and you’re gonna end up a degenerate waste just like your prison bitch daddy,” Dennis spits. He goes to step away from Mac, but before he can actually move, Mac grabs him by the wrist, pulling him forward, landing a swift and impactful punch against his jaw.

“Don’t talk about my dad right now,” Mac huffs. 

Dennis folds, his knees buckling. He drops to the ground, clutching his face. Charlie darts forward, leaving Mac’s side and protectively putting his hands on Dennis’ shoulders. He turns to Mac, shaking with tension.

“Get back,” he says, his voice rough.

He should have expected it. Goddamn it, he should have known this was gonna come to a head someday.

Against Charlie, Dennis breathes in manually, a painful wheezing sound coming from his throat. He buries his face in his hands and promptly starts laughing. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he’s saying, his laughter not letting up. 

“It’s okay man,” Charlie mumbles. “Hey, dude, it’s alright. It’ll be okay.”

“Dennis,” Mac breathes from where he’s standing, regret trickling into his tone. But it’s too late, and Dennis is unfolding slowly. He tugs on his hair hard, still laughing. It’s getting a bit scary. Charlie’s chest is all tight and heavy. He wraps his arms fully around Dennis, pulling him close, like the pressure might put him back together.

“Hey,” he frantically whispers. “It’s okay. Mac didn’t mean to do that. He didn’t mean it. We’re okay.” 

He realizes suddenly that the three of them only have each other, and that’s how it’s always going to be. “We’re gonna be okay,” he repeats.

Maybe he’s just convincing himself. 

Mac crouches down. Charlie shoots a glance at him, at his paled out complexion, his glossy eyes. He wishes he could punch Mac back like he most definitely deserves, but he realises quickly that it doesn’t even matter. Charlie knows Mac feels guilty, like he always fucking does. It's dripping from his face. He’s such a stupid fucking idiot. Then again it’s not like Dennis is an angel. Probably closer to the devil than anyone Charlie has ever met. He’s stilled a little now, and sits trembling against Charlie’s shoulder.

“Hey, Dennis,” Mac close-to-whispers, trying so damn hard. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Dennis’ voice sounds muffled. 

“I’m sorry,” Mac says, the words coming out so easily, like he’s been practicing apologies his whole life. Somewhere in his chest, Charlie feels something snap, knowing just how true that is. 

He loosens his embrace, pulling back from Dennis, and sits back on his knees. Seated between Mac and Dennis, where he’s always been, where he always will be, where he probably belongs. 

Dennis, with his bruised jaw, stares at Mac. “Whatever,” he scoffs. “Don’t act like you changed my world. My sister punches harder than whatever it was you just did.”

Mac snorts, relief washing over his face. “That’s because your sister has freakishly huge hands.”

Dennis shrugs. “Well, she's way more masculine than you, how's that?"

“Screw you, bro.”

Eventually, the argument dissipates. They don’t talk about Dennis kissing a dude, or Mac being in love with Dennis, or their quick resorts to violence. They get up and stumble over to the dorms, the warmth of the night coming down. Dennis has to move out in two days, so he’s already sold his bed. They sleep on the floor, the three of them, with their limbs tangled, Charlie in the middle with Mac on one side and Dennis on the other. The chaos of it feels comforting.

Dennis is coming back soon, Charlie remembers as he falls asleep. Back to South Philly. Back to normal, whatever that means for them. Back home. 

1998

They end up buying a bar instead of the bowling alley. They roll with it. 

It’s fun to work with his best friends, Charlie thinks. He doesn’t even really care about the rats in the basement or the toilets that never seem to actually get clean. He’ll get his hands dirty. At least he’s got something he’s proud of. 

Last night was busy. Mac had to kick a couple guys out for starting a fight. Dennis was getting steadily drunk as he pulled through his shift. Charlie was cleaning broken glasses.

This morning, he sits on the side of the street, watching the cars pass by. It’s too damn early, and his eyes are crusty. He sips from a bottle of lukewarm beer.

The door creaks and Dennis goes to sit down next to him. Charlie watches him light a cigarette, suddenly feeling sort of grown-up. 

“Can I get a drag of that?” he murmurs.

“Sure buddy,” Dennis says, handing it to him.

Charlie takes a drag, thinking about Dennis all those years ago, sitting in the snow under the bleachers. He gives the cigarette back.

“Good night last night,” Charlie says. “Right?”

“It's a good night every night,” Dennis smiles. “Owning our own bar is goddamn awesome.”

“Plus, we can drink all the beer we want!”

“Precisely why it’s awesome!”

“Right,” Charlie grins. “So, you’re happy then?” 

Dennis doesn’t confirm or deny. He offhandedly plays with his cigarette, and watches a car drive by, his gaze tracking along. A breathless chuckle escapes him. “My mom used to drive a car exactly like that when I was a kid. Whenever she took us anywhere, she put Dee in the backseat and me in the front.” He ponders for a second. “Hey, do you think we might need a waitress for the bar? I could ask if Sweet Dee’s up for it.”

Charlie nods slightly. “We should probably check with Mac, but yeah. Good idea.”

“Yeah,” Dennis hums. “Charlie, are you worried?”

“Huh?” Charlie chimes. “About what?”

“Well, you tell me. It’s easy to dismiss you and I’m sure plenty people do but I know there’s a shit ton going on up there.” He leans closer and lightly taps against the side of Charlie’s head. “You know I know that, right?”

Charlie stares at the asphalt. “I know,” he mumbles. 

Dennis nods. “So share with the class.”

“It’s—” Charlie rubs the palms of his hands against his scratchy jeans. What the hell is he supposed to say to Dennis? He’s always so confusing in the way he gets Charlie to talk about difficult things. But he’s right too, and that’s scary. Because Charlie is worried. He’s worried that one day, he’s gonna clench his fists so hard his bones will just shatter and explode. He can’t put that in words, can’t say to Dennis that even when he’s happy, he doesn’t sleep well. That even though he knows bad things sometimes just happen, it still fucking sucks they do. 

“Do you feel angry sometimes?” he asks, though he knows Dennis’ answer is most definitely yes. 

“Yeah, sometimes,” Dennis responds, an understatement.

“Me too.” Charlie frowns. “I can't get a hold of it. I got this big ball of anger inside me, and I hate it. The problem is, I can’t actually get angry. Cause I don’t know what I’m angry about, exactly. I think one day it just grew inside of me, and now it won't leave. It feels like it’s been there forever, just a weird ugly mass between my organs and stuff. And it's like, even if I did get angry and screamed and maybe broke a couple bottles in the bad room, it wouldn’t leave. Is that stupid, or what? I’m just carrying it around. I can’t put it down somewhere. It’s like whoever runs the universe used me as a lab rat. To see what it would be like for someone to walk around with this disgusting feeling all the time. Mac says it’s God, and that he must have done it for a reason, but I’m not so sure. I guess it doesn’t matter.” He's aware he's rambling, though Dennis isn't interrupting him or telling him to stop talking. Charlie tries to clear the mess in his head. “To answer your question, I guess I’m worried that—” he swallows thickly. “I don’t know how to let it go. Ever.”

Dennis takes a long drag from his cigarette. 

“I just get angry regardless,” he chuckles. “Maybe eventually it’ll straighten itself out.”

It's brief and it's light and it's uncertain. Charlie realises Dennis might not know how to let it go either. He sits and watches the side of Dennis’ face, watches him suck on the smoke, and suddenly feels a sharp tug inside his chest. He moves his hand, carefully wrapping it around Dennis' wrist. Turning it over, Charlie runs his finger against the pink scar vertically running along the inside of his arm. Dennis lets Charlie do it without even flinching. The scar is fading. Not a lot of people would notice it, probably. But it’ll always be there.

“It’s off-putting, right? Only a moron would do that to himself,” Dennis laughs brightly. It’s shockingly real, not a deflection at all.

Charlie’s heart seizes, and he looks directly at Dennis. It feels like they're sharing a secret. “Yeah," he smiles. "Good thing you're so sensible."

Dennis gently retracts his wrist, then proceeds to get up, stomping out his cigarette. “Back to tending bar,” he says, extending a hand to Charlie. “C’mon dude.”

Charlie takes it.