Work Text:
one.
Dennis is 22 when he moves out of the Delta Omega Lambda fraternity for the last time.
He doesn’t have much in the way of personal belongings, mostly clothes that he meticulously folds, unfolds, and refolds until perfect, placing the crisp khakis in the luggage set his mother got him for his 18th birthday. He couldn’t fathom why his fraternity brothers insisted on dragging their belongings between their parent’s home and back every summer, and he’s more thankful than ever that he doesn’t. Moving was enough of a pain in Dennis’s ass without having to sort through every piece of junk he’d accumulate over the school year.
As Dennis surveys his surroundings, his eyes land on the only proof that someone actually inhabited this room. An almost completely unreadable letter, written by Charlie on pale yellow paper, is pinned up in the center of Dennis’s corkboard. Charlie’s familiar bold lettering is scrawled on the page in green crayon, and at the top, he recognizes his name taking up a quarter of the page. The E is backwards, but overall, Dennis is impressed that Charlie had written the rest of his name perfectly. The same, however, cannot be said for the rest of the letter.
It's a complete mess. Charlie hadn’t quite figured out that spaces are needed between words to make it readable, making most of the note just an incomprehensible jumble of letters. Random doodles were littering the margins of the page, an inner monologue of what was going through Charlie’s mind at the time of writing. A beer bottle, hockey stick, and a four-leaf clover seemingly being the main culprits. The only other decipherable word was what Dennis assumes is a signature at the bottom of the page, <3 CAT in Charlie’s heavy script.
Does that moron actually think his name is spelled CAT? Dennis wondered, confused as to why Charlie would close the letter out with CAT of all things.
Having seen Mac’s chicken scratch on the envelope that held Charlie’s letter, Dennis knew he had to be involved somehow. During one of the rare phone calls he allowed Mac while he was away at school, he had admitted that he was teaching Charlie to read and write. He’d mainly been focusing on names, specifically Dennis and Dee’s, since he already had already mastered his own and Mac’s. Dennis thought that maybe teaching Charlie that his name was spelled CAT wasn’t really mastering his name, but he didn’t bring bother to bring it up.
“He did that all himself, man, can you believe that?” Mac’s voice filled with pride. “I only wrote the address for him just in case the stupid mailman couldn’t read Charlie’s writing, but he’s come a long way!”
Dennis could, in fact, believe Charlie was entirely behind the letter as he unpins the letter from the bulletin board above his empty desk. He thinks about how Mac had spoken about Charlie on their last call, over a month ago now. The content was nothing new, Mac yammering away about the latest injury at the roller rink he and Charlie had witnessed or the latest get rich quick scheme the two had planned. His voice going uncharacteristically soft when Charlie was mentioned, far too gentle for the topic at hand.
Dennis carefully folds the letter and places it between the flawlessly folded dress shirts he had packed earlier. He likes to think he’s pretty observant, noticing small details that others would easily overlook, but he couldn’t help but think that he was missing something. Mac and Charlie had always been close; growing up in squalor together does that, but this was different. This was no longer a friendship born from forced proximity between two outcasts. This thing, it was more. Intimate.
two.
Dennis and Dee’s graduation takes place the following day, and Dennis’s carefully constructed persona is threatening to crack at any moment. The stiff plastic back of Dennis’s chair is digging into his back, the tap-tap-tap of Dee’s heels next to him grates on his last nerve, and Mac and Charlie are late to one of the most important days of his life. Annoyance builds in the pit of his stomach, swirling around dangerously, ready to spill at the next inconvenience that jeopardizes his sanity.
Dennis’s head whips around at the sound of a chair being scraped on the concrete, the noise physically affecting him as he shifts uncomfortably. Looking in the direction of the commotion, he realizes the source of the godawful noise is none other than Mac and Charlie. Mac pulls the chair out and guides Charlie into it, his slender fingers wrapped around Charlie’s wrist.
He takes in their state of dress. Charlie has somehow managed to find a shirt with no holes, a deep maroon sweater on his small frame. A white button-up shirt peaks from underneath that Dennis knows is stained from an expensive wine stolen from his parent’s cellar years ago. Mac’s wearing one of Dennis’s old polos that he had given him before leaving for college. He’s got a thin black tie under the collar that he must have bought just for this occasion as Dennis had never seen it before. He'd almost be impressed if it weren’t for the fact that they were 20 minutes late interrupting the valedictorian’s speech acting like goddamn fools. Not that Dennis even liked her or knew her for that matter, but it was the principle of the thing.
Mac, who seemed to notice Dennis looking in their direction, goes to wave but finds his hand still around Charlie’s wrist. He drops it nervously before finishing his wave, smiling brightly. Having not seen Dennis, Charlie leans in close to whisper something into Mac’s ear, and his smile widens as he turns to face Charlie again, captivated by what the other had said.
He turns back to the valedictorian as she starts wrapping up her speech. She seems to have taken the interruption in stride, only missing a beat before continuing her address, going on about how the friendships made here would only get stronger as they left. Bullshit, Dennis wanted to shout, the anger bubbling to the surface once again. He knew he would never talk to any of his so-called peers again, nor would most of his classmates.
His irritation subsides as he realizes the moment he just witnessed between Mac and Charlie. It had been affectionate, Mac’s gentle hold on Charlie’s wrist had given him the impression that it was intuitive, natural for the two of them. Charlie had always been weird about others touching him. Dennis still remembered how Charlie reacted when Dennis had reached out to pat Charlie on the back, congratulating him for having gone a week without huffing glue. How the shorter man had jumped three feet into the air, dodging Dennis’s hand before it could make contact. At the time, Dennis had just shrugged it off, chalking it up as one of the many Charlie eccentricities he didn’t understand. But now, watching the two men interact, Charlie had been completely fine with the hand around his wrist, even leaned into the touch.
He must’ve been lost in thought longer than he realized because his group was now standing, getting ready to walk towards the stage. Dee leans down and yanks at his elbow, lifting him to his feet.
“Hey idiot, you wanna maybe get your head in the game? We’re about to walk across the stage any minute,” Dee hisses at him, her hand still in the crook of his elbow as they make their way to the side of the stage. He shakes her off, purposely ignoring her.
Dee makes her way across the stage first, black heels softly clicking against the wood, her blonde locks bouncing off her shoulders. She smiles too wide, too much teeth, before shaking the dean’s hand and taking her diploma. She finishes her walk to scattered but polite applause from the audience.
The moment Dennis steps on the stage, he hears them. Mac and Charlie’s thundering claps drown out everyone else’s as they whoop and holler. Parents and classmates alike turning their heads at the commotion. It’d almost be embarrassing if he didn’t love the attention, the applause, all for him. He reaches the dean and smiles perfectly, just like he had practiced in the mirror that morning, giving her a firm handshake and taking his diploma.
Before stepping off the stage, he spares a glance to where Mac and Charlie stood, sides slotted together like puzzle pieces, still clapping madly. He wasn’t sure when the two had stopped being Mac and Charlie and instead MacandCharlie, but it was clear more than ever that this thing between them was more severe than Dennis initially thought.
three.
After what feels like a lifetime, Dennis is free from the hard plastic seat, quickly side-stepping around the fools that scramble for their graduation caps after throwing them in the air. He beelines to where Mac and Charlie were still sitting, Dee squawking as he passes her, looking for her cap as well.
The two have mostly separated, knees knocking together slightly from sitting so close, idly chatting between themselves when Dennis approaches. Mac’s broad smile welcomes him as he stands, bringing his arms around Dennis’s shoulders and forcing him into a hug.
“Dude, did you hear us up there? We wanted to be the loudest,” Mac pulls away, keeping a single hand on Dennis’s shoulder.
“Well, you definitely accomplished that, Pittsburg could hear you idiots,” Dennis fights the urge to smile but feels the corners of his mouth twitch. “It was impossible to ignore Charlie’s screeching.”
Charlie, seeming to just notice Dennis’s presence at the mention of his name, stands up. He curls his fingers into a fist for Dennis to fist bump, which he returns.
Taking a step back, he looks at the two men in front of him. In the full light of the hot afternoon sun, he can study them closer. On the surface, nothing has changed. They look as they always do, quiet contentment resting on their faces. Deeper though, Dennis can see how they’re naturally drawn together, constantly revolving in each other’s orbit. No longer touching, but not needing to, constantly pulled in by each other’s gravity, Charlie’s gravitational force luring Mac in like the tide.
“So, what up with the whole,” Charlie gestures towards the stage, “like walking thing? Oh, and the paper, what was that about?”
Dennis stares blankly at Charlie. “Charlie, it was a graduation ceremony, like in high school when we all walked across the stage- how do you not remember this? You tripped on your shoelaces and fell on your ass in front of the whole school!”
“Eh, I don’t know man, guess that kind of stuff doesn’t really stick with me,” Charlie shrugs, unbothered by the missing memory.
“You don’t remember our high school graduation-,” Dennis stops himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know what, never mind. Let’s find Dee and get the hell out of here. I’ve got about six bottles of booze at home that need drinking.”
They split up. Dennis sends the pair towards the bathroom, figuring that if Dee wasn’t still searching for her cap, her pitifully small bladder would have sent her towards the washroom. He watches as they walk away, shoulders bumping as they depart to look for Dee. Looking away, he breaks his gaze and starts making his way towards where he last saw Dee.
It doesn’t take long for him to find her, chatting with a small group of girls Dennis recognizes from Dee’s dorm. In one hand, she’s holding her graduation cap, a large muddy footprint staining the front of it. In the other, her black heels dangling from her slender fingers.
Dennis approaches the girls, squeezing past a huddled group of teary-eyed parents. Dee turns around at his presence, seemingly already knowing he was near.
“You ready to go?” Dennis asks, already knowing the answer. Dee hated these types of events just as much as he does, maybe more. They both could only perform so long before cracks started to form at their perfect edges.
She nods in response, waving goodbye to the group before slipping her shoes on and turning to leave with Dennis. They make their way towards the washrooms, looking for Mac and Charlie on the way, but they’re nowhere to be seen.
“Those idiots,” Dennis seethes. “I told them to go check by the bathrooms and they somehow manage to fuck that up-,” Dennis comes to a grinding halt, Dee crashing into his back at the sudden stop.
“Dennis, what the fuck-,” Dee starts, but Dennis stops her, covering her mouth with his hand. With his free hand, he points.
In a secluded corner of the stadium, just past the washroom, Charlie is leaning with his back pressed against the wall. This would be normal if it weren’t for Mac, his hand just above Charlie’s head, crowding the smaller man, his other hand placed firmly on Charlie’s hip. Mac’s hair falls on his forehead, dark brown hair contrasting against his skin as Charlie cranes his neck up at him, looking at him like he was the goddamn sun and not just Mac. Dennis and Dee are too far away to hear what they’re talking about, lips barely moving as a hushed conversation takes place between the two. Charlie laughs, shoulders shaking slightly at something Mac’s said.
Neither one of them have noticed Dennis and Dee peering around the corner. As they pull back, out of sight, Dennis turns, immediately face to face with Dee’s bewildered stare.
“What the fuck was that?” Dee hisses. “Since when are they fucking?”
Dennis says nothing. He didn’t have an answer for her. He’d been trying to figure out whatever this thing was between them all day.
plus one.
Dennis is plastered, now in the safety of his bedroom, a bottle of top-shelf whiskey dangling from his hand.
After witnessing… whatever that was, Dennis and Dee had walked away, neither one of them wanting to deal with the aftermath of Mac and Charlie catching them prying into their private moment. Instead, the twins make their way to the empty stage. Dennis skillfully hopped up and took a seat on the edge, his legs dangling off the edge. He offers a hand to Dee, but she brushes it off, nimbly jumping up beside him.
They sit in silence, overlooking the mostly vacated field. The chairs they had been in less than an hour ago are being collected and stacked by parent volunteers, to be stored away until next year’s ceremonies.
Dennis opens his mouth to speak, but Mac and Charlie come into view before he has the chance. The pair argue loudly, making their way to where Dennis and Dee sit on the stage. Charlie’s walking backward in front of Mac, gesturing passionately, hoping his arms will prove his point. Because he’s walking backward, he doesn’t see the plastic water bottle on the ground and steps directly on it, losing his footing. His arms flail wildly, trying to find his balance, when Mac grabs his wrists, steadying him again.
“Holy shit, dude, you totally almost died, you’ve got to be more careful, man,” Mac says, worry filling his voice. His fingers securely clasped around Charlie’s wrist.
“You can probably let go of my wrist now dude,” Charlie laughs, but he has this what the fuck are you doing look on his face. He doesn’t try and remove Mac’s firm hold from around his wrist.
“Nah man, what if you trip again? Can’t have you dying on my watch, it’d be bad for my rep,” Mac states.
Not for the first time, Dennis watches as an outsider. Even before this thing between Mac and Charlie had blossomed, they always had an unspoken understanding that Dennis was not privy to. Conversations taking place in their secret silent language, a couple looks here, a shrug there, and then mutual agreement.
“You guys still doing that weird telepathy thing or can we go? My feet are fucking killing me,” Dee complains, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
Dennis quips about how anyone with elephant feet like her would be in pain as they walk towards the Range Rover. He opens the passenger door and watches Mac and Charlie in the rearview mirror as they clamber into the back seat.
“Let’s get fucking drunk, gang!”
===
So yeah, Dennis is drunk.
It’s late now, more morning than night, as the sun’s pale early rays filter into Dennis’s room. Dee had retired to her own room hours ago, leaving just Mac, Charlie, and himself left in his bedroom, the three of them drunkenly shooting the shit. Dennis sat on the floor, back pressed against the foot of his bed. He opens his eyes, not ever remembering closing them, and looks to his right where Mac and Charlie had sat only moments (hours?) ago, the spot now empty. He stands up, room spinning as he stretches, shaking the sleep off his slender limbs.
It's not till the room stabilizes that Dennis realizes where the two went. Laying on top of the comforter, Mac and Charlie are spread out, taking up the entirety of Dennis’s rather large bed. Mac must have had the forethought that Dennis might want to sleep in his bed, his body mainly on the left side of the mattress. Charlie, however, is laying horizontally, head on Mac’s stomach, moving in time with Mac’s shallowing breathing. Quiet snores spill from Charlie’s parted lips, along with a small puddle of drool on his- Mac’s polo.
Stumbling over to his desk, he rifles open a drawer and grabs a permanent marker. Was it juvenile to draw on your sleeping friend’s face, sure, but he felt justified in his actions. They did steal his bed. The bed he’d been looking forward to sleeping on for months, having been forced to sleep on a concrete slab that barely constituted a mattress back at the fraternity.
Marker in hand, he starts with Mac. Dennis gently presses the tip of the Sharpie against Mac’s forehead before pausing. Mac shifts slightly, and for a moment, Dennis thinks he’s going to wake up and ruin his plan for revenge, but quickly his breathing evens out again. Dennis releases the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and exhales before continuing. He writes ‘DICK’ across Mac’s forehead in large block letters before moving on to the classics: thick-rimmed glasses around his eyes, an evil mustache above his top lip, and a unibrow connecting his eyebrows.
He takes a moment to admire his work on Mac’s face before making his way down to Charlie; after all, it was mainly his fault he couldn’t get in the bed. But before he even gets to put pen to paper, he realizes that there was already ink on the smaller man’s face. Not just any ink, however, the exact ink he had just drawn on Mac’s face. His head frantically darts between his two sleeping friends’ faces, studying the identical marks that he had put on Mac’s face, not Charlie’s.
Holy shit, he realizes. This thing he’d been trying to figure out all day wasn’t just the ‘friends with benefits’ situation he might’ve thought, but rather the complete opposite. His two best friends were soulmates.
If Dennis were a religious man, he’d wax poetic bullshit about how the strings of fate had connected his two best friends. That God Himself had handpicked the two men and tied the golden thread around their fingers personally. But he’s not. Instead, Dennis sits on the corner of his bed and wonders how the hell his friends had kept this soulmate thing from him for so long.