Archive of Our Own ^beta

The early morning air is cool and crisp as Mac heads towards home. Leaves crunch underneath his feet as he takes the familiar path along the same streets he always does, the one he walks night after night once his shift is over. He hates it there, at the stupid sports bar, but it pays the bills and helps keep a roof over his and his mother’s heads.

Fall has decided to come quickly this year, and he more than welcomes it over the ridiculous heat and humidity that all but smothered the city during its summer months.

His boots thump along the sidewalk as he makes his way down Passyunk Ave towards the Passyunk Avenue Bridge. The faint sound of a boat’s horn drifts into his ears and he swears he can hear the river flowing underneath even with the cars that are flying past him.

It’s just after two o’clock in the morning, but it’s a Friday night so the city has decided not to sleep apparently. He’s used to it, but he enjoys it when it’s quiet. It gives him time to think, and even though he knows he should have plenty of time to do that at home, he doesn’t. His mornings are spent getting high or sleeping while his mother smokes her life away on their living room couch watching her ‘shows’, and his days off result in getting drunk with Charlie and when she’s around, his girlfriend, Deandra.

The only time he’s ever really alone is during the trek home, so he relishes the three mile walk and sips on the blue raspberry slushie he picked up from the gas station a few blocks back, thoughts flowing from one subject to the next, just like the river he’s about to cross over.

The lights that line the bridge glow a miserable faded orange in the sacred dark, and they paint an eerie hue over anything that dares to pass underneath them. (Oddly enough, every time he traverses it, he imagines he’s Atreyu from The NeverEnding Story, and he’s at the Sphinx Gate, praying for a safe journey over it as South Philly isn’t exactly the best area to be in the middle of the night).

A breeze blows past him, casting a few of his dark locks in front of his eyes, and as he turns his head to smooth them back into place, his gaze falls on a lone figure standing on the side of the bridge.

His brow narrows as he takes in the sight of the man whose loose short-sleeved t-shirt is currently billowing behind him, showcasing his overly thin frame and the disheveled mop of curls that sit atop his head. His arms hang limply by his sides as he stands there on the overlook platform, unmoving and silent like a ghost.

Mac stares at him, baffled at the thought that anyone is out here on foot at this hour, let alone taking in the view of the Schuylkill in all of her deep, swaying glory. He shakes his head, juts his bottom lip out for a moment as he considers that maybe the guy just wants some peace and quiet too, so he continues on his way until he chances one last glance back and watches as the man that had just been still as a statue starts to lift one leg over the side of the railing.

“Hey!” the word slips out of Mac’s mouth before he can stop it, and he shrinks back briefly before he hops over the side of the pedestrian walkway and onto the platform.

“Go away.” The man’s voice is flat and monotonous, but his movements halt, the foot that had almost made it over the guardrail coming to rest once more on the solid concrete.

“Bro, were you just – were you going to jump?” Mac asks, eyes wide as he can’t take his eyes off the man who still has his back to him. He can see now that the guy’s hands are shaking, almost as much as the rest of him is.

“Go away,” the man repeats in that same indifferent tone, the cotton material of his shirt still fluttering in the strong gust that’s cutting directly through Mac’s jacket and making his teeth want to chatter. The man mutters something to himself, and suddenly, Mac feels uneasy, as though maybe this was a mistake, and he should’ve just kept going.

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He looks around, watches as a tugboat trudges through the waters and heads north, a small light shining like a beacon in its tiny cabin. This happens to him all the time; he’s constantly getting distracted no matter how hard he tries to concentrate. Unless it’s something of interest to him, his mind just wanders aimlessly, unable to focus on any one thing for too long.

“You can go now,” the guy tells him, sighing as he speaks, keeping his head facing the direction of the river and the little tugboat that’s continuing to grow smaller and smaller until it finally disappears around the bend.

Mac’s body instantly jerks at his words, so entranced by the boat that he almost – almost forgot that he was in the middle of speaking with a person that appeared ready and willing to commit suicide just seconds before. “My name’s Mac,” he says, shaking his head at himself because what else are you supposed to say in a situation such as this? Make a comment about the weather? Or perhaps, bring up just how poorly the Eagles have been doing as of late?

“Good for you, Mac. Can you please leave now?” He still doesn’t turn, still doesn’t bother to grant Mac the opportunity to see more than just the side of his face. It looks gaunt from where Mac’s currently standing, his cheekbones sharp and outlining a hollowness that only comes from missing meals, and quite a few at that. His forearms are skinny, wrists thin and delicate looking. As Mac studies him further, he now sees that there are two nude-colored bandages wrapped around each bony limb, along with the laminated sheen of a loose hospital bracelet that’s dangling on his right wrist. Clearly, this is not his first attempt.

“I would, but…I can’t,” Mac admits, and this stranger now has his full attention, his complete and total focus which is practically a miracle in Mac’s book. He finally feels as though for once in his up until this point, insignificant life, he just might be able to make a difference.

“But you can. You can climb back up where you came from and forget you were ever here. Trust me, it’ll be better that way.” The man offers a slightly better look of his face as his gaze darts in Mac’s direction before it settles back on the river.

Mac’s brain goes temporarily haywire because the man whose name he still doesn’t know is handsome, and all of the Catholic alarm bells that were instituted in his psyche since he was a child ring and clang against the inside of his skull. His cheeks heat up, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands as one is empty and the other is still clutching the Styrofoam cup that contains the sweet sugary slushie with the Sunoco logo on it. He scratches the back of his neck, bites his bottom lip then runs a hand through his hair. This is new territory and he’s not sure if he’s going to come out of this unscathed now. “Well, I – I don’t really want to do that.” He rolls his eyes at himself because what kind of answer is that?

The man scoffs and shakes his head. “I honestly really don’t give a shit what you want, dude,” and this time, there’s a hint of emotion in his voice, even if it is riddled with annoyance. His hand twitches at his side, slim fingers trembling before they transform into a fist.

Mac knows he should be offended, but he’s not. His knee jerk reaction in the past would’ve been to just think ‘fuck it’, and walk away, just as the man had asked, but there’s something about him that’s bewitched Mac, and he knows he has to see this thing through to the end, no matter what the outcome is. “What’s your name?” he asks, voice light, curious. He purposely keeps his movements to a minimum as he’s seen enough episodes of COPS to know that it’s important to not get too close as to not spook the other party.

The curly-haired man scoffs and shakes his head. “Why do you care?” He looks over at Mac, eyes narrowed and questioning.

Mac swallows thickly and shrugs, raises his eyebrows in surprise because the other man is actually quite pretty. His lips look ridiculously kissable, and Mac hates that he’s thinking this right now, but it’s the truth and fuck, he needs to concentrate. “I just…I just do.” He clenches his jaw because if that wasn’t a lame ass answer, he doesn’t know what is.

“Right,” the other man breathes out the word and shakes his head again as he stares out at the water.

Mac takes the tiniest step closer, hand grasping the cup so hard he can hear it start to crack. “I mean, if you are going to jump, where’s the harm?” he reasons, and the man shoots a humorless smile his way before he hangs his head.

“It’s Dennis,” he mumbles, and now sounds completely deflated, the defiant air that surrounded him earlier vanished like early morning fog raising from the river.

Mac nods. “Okay, um, well, Dennis, can I ask – why – why do you want to jump?”

A grave chuckle leaves Dennis’ lips, and he runs a hand through his thick curls before he glances back over at Mac. “Why are you doing this? Why can’t you just go away and let me die in peace?” His eyes are wet, and the longer Mac gazes into them, he sees just how much pain and desperation they’re filled with. This man is clearly hurting, and Mac hopes that maybe he can change that, can be more than just the loser that everyone’s labeled him as such.

“Is that really what you want?” Mac peers over at Dennis, takes another step then another until he’s flush up against the metal barrier that separates them both from falling, but still more than an arm’s length away from the other man.

“Yes,” Dennis nods, sincerity in his wavering tone. “It’s very much what I want. I don’t want to be here anymore.” His voice catches on the word ‘here’, and he suddenly sounds very young and very sad.

Mac blinks, taken aback by his response. He almost reaches out to him, but stops himself at the last minute, not wanting to frighten him. Instead, he bends down, sets his slushie on the concrete below and braces himself on the rail. His heart is racing because this could all be over in a few seconds if he says the wrong thing, and he really doesn’t want that to happen because there’s something about this other man that’s drawn Mac to him, and he wants to know why. “Are you from here?”

Dennis’ face scrunches up in confusion and he hesitates for a moment before he finally nods and whispers, “Yeah.”

“Me too,” Mac says, trying not to look directly over the side of the bridge so he stares out in the distance, catches the lights of a plane flying over the river. “I live with my mom. She smokes like a chimney and watches soaps all day.” He’s not sure why he feels Dennis needs to know this factoid, but he decides that he does and leaves it at that. “What about you?” he asks casually with a slight shrug.

Dennis reaches up to scratch at the back of his head, and Mac sees the hospital bracelet slide down before it falls again once he lowers his hand, this time placing it on the railing instead of at his side. He doesn’t know if this is a good or bad sign, so he waits patiently for Dennis’ answer, hoping that he is fast enough if Dennis decides to hurl himself over the edge anyway.

The silence drags on longer than Mac cares for, so he tries again. “How – How old are you?” he inquires. “I’m, um, twenty-two, if that like, helps or anything.” He feels his face redden as embarrassment washes across his cheeks, glances down and feels the wind pick up another lock of his hair but he doesn’t push it back this time, just lets it fall across his eyes. It’s long, and he’s been considering whether or not to cut it but –

“Twenty-three,” Dennis replies, and shivers as the breeze continues to strengthen before it settles quietly.

“Are you cold?” Dennis is already shaking his head before Mac finishes his question, and he places his other hand on the railing, the action filling Mac’s ears with the sound of his own heartbeat because he’s pretty positive that’s not good, so he rambles on because if Mac’s good at one thing, it’s his ability to endlessly let words fall from his lips like a leaky faucet. “My dad’s in prison,” he blurts out, and Dennis blinks, then carefully turns his head towards him as he continues to speak. “He’s been in and out ever since I was a kid. The first time, I was six, but that’s just the first that I remember. That sentence lasted for two years before he got out, then went right back in again. He’s serving a seven year term now for armed robbery. My mom always refused to visit him, so I’d have to take a bus when I was little. Now I just borrow my mom’s car. I try to see him at least once a month, if he’s not in solitary. He’s got a bit of a temper, and it gets the best of him sometimes.” Mac pauses, unsure of why there’s suddenly a lump in his throat. He works his bottom lip between his teeth, blinking away the sudden onset of water that’s blurred his vision as he glances over at Dennis.

The other man is staring at him, a serious expression haunting his thin features. He looks mildly confused but mostly unfazed by Mac’s story. His gaze drops momentarily before he casts it back out to the river.

Mac’s mouth quirks to the side and he lets out a breath. He can’t tell if he’s boring the other man or not, so he tries again, hoping that something he says will get him to talk. “I’ve got a dog that’s like, pretty much immortal. He’s been hit, like at least four times and he just bounces right back each and every time. I also caught him drinking gasoline once, and you know, that’s super dangerous, bro. It should’ve – It should’ve killed him, but he just keeps coming and going as he pleases.”

“Cool,” Dennis mutters so low that Mac’s unsure of whether or not he actually spoke or if he’s just hearing things.

Mac cringes at himself, wonders if he’s trying too hard when he sees Dennis shift the slightest bit out of the corner of his eye, and for a split second, Mac thinks that he’s sent the man to his death with his stories about his father and undying dog when he inches the slightest bit closer to Mac. The movement is almost imperceptible, but Mac likes to think he’s got the vision of an eagle, so it gives him the confidence that he needs to keep going.

“Have you ever watched The NeverEnding Story?” he asks, quirking a brow as he tries to gauge Dennis’ reaction.

Dennis’ Adam’s bobs in his throat before he answers. “Yeah, once or twice.”

“It’s one of my favorite movies, aside from Predator and American Ninja. Oh! And the Karate Kid too,” he adds eagerly because how could he forget those awesome moves Ralph Macchio performed in it? “Uh, right, what was I saying? Oh, yeah, The NeverEnding Story,” he continues, and notices one corner of Dennis’ mouth has shifted upwards by a fraction of an inch. “So, a lot of bad shit happens to Atreyu – his horse dies, he almost drowns, he watches the Nothing consume the Oracle and loses Auryn – all the while he’s getting chased by that giant fucking wolf that wants to kill him and save the Empress that rules Fantasia. So, he kills the wolf, and gets rescued by Falkor, but the Nothing is still closing in on him and he thinks it’s over with.”

“Aren’t you forgetting the most important character of the story?” Dennis asks, and Mac blinks in surprise, shakes his head. “Bastian,” Dennis answers himself with an exaggerated shrug and stares at Mac with a questioning look on his face.

“Well, yeah, I mean, Bastian is important, I suppose –”

“You suppose?” Dennis asks, shaking his head. “If it wasn’t for Bastian, Atreyu wouldn’t even matter because Bastian’s the one who has to name the Empress. Without him doing that – without him doing that, the Nothing would’ve consumed everything.” Dennis goes quiet after this statement, gaze once again dropping to the waters below.

Mac looks over at him, head tilting slightly to the side. “Can I ask…what it is that’s consuming you?”

Dennis shakes his head, sniffles as a tear shoots down his cheek, shimmering as it falls but doesn’t get to make a complete descent as Dennis swipes it away before it can drop to the platform below. “Life,” is the only answer he offers up before he grips the railing tighter.

Mac tenses, eyes round and filled with fear. “I won’t judge you, I swear,” he promises, and Dennis just shakes his head miserably. “Please?”

A sob almost escapes Dennis’ throat, but he manages to choke it off, covers his mouth with his hand and squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’m sorry that you’re hurting,” Mac says, and he means it. He’s no rookie when it comes to fighting demons, metaphorical ones, anyway. They’ve been haunting him since he was a child, ever since he looked at a boy that he thought was cute and said as much, only to get smacked across the face by his father who’d been smiling just seconds before he’d done it.

A minute whimper wrestles its way out between Dennis’ fingers, and he curls in on himself, body starting to shudder as he becomes overwhelmed with emotion.

“Dennis, I’m going to come a little closer, alright? Please don’t –” He wants to ask him not to jump, but he changes direction at the last second and settles for something else instead. “Be afraid.”

“Don’t,” Dennis squeaks the word out, head shaking sharply as Mac carefully lays his hand on top of the one Dennis had kept on the railing. His skin is the temperature of ice, goosebumps littering his arm as tremors rattle his skinny frame. “Please don’t,” he whispers, and there’s a pleading edge to his voice that makes Mac’s heart feel weak.

“It’s okay,” Mac tells him as Dennis continues to shake his head. The moment he opens his eyes, tears cascade downwards at rapid speed, fresh ones continuously taking the path the old ones forged.

“It’s not,” he swears as he shakes his head and briefly meets Mac’s gaze until Mac removes his hand. He does it so that he can take his jacket off but the second he does, Dennis’ fingers twitch as though he misses the contact, and this time a fully-fledged broken sounding sob breaks free from his chest and pours out over the water.

Mac wraps the Hornets jacket around Dennis’ shoulders then snakes an arm around him, and the moment he does, Dennis crumbles into his embrace.

“Why are you doing this? You don’t even know me,” Dennis murmurs, voice strained and overflowing with anguish.

“It doesn’t matter if I know you or not,” Mac says softly, hugging the man to his side. “You need someone right now, and I guess that someone is me.” (His father would do more than just smack him if caught him right now like this, and a sudden warmth spreads throughout Mac’s body because he finds that for the first time in his life, he doesn’t care.)

Dennis sniffles, shaking hands raising to wipe his wet cheeks before he rests his head on Mac’s shoulder. “It’s too much,” Dennis whispers, and Mac pulls him closer, so close that he’s able to breathe in the scent of Dennis’ hair. It’s peppered with the smell of the river along with smoke and something sweet that Mac can’t quite put his finger on.

“What’s too much?” He maintains that same soft tone as to not frighten the other man, keeps his hand firmly placed on his upper bicep in hopes that Dennis understands that he’s safe with Mac.

“Everything,” Dennis replies, then sucks in a sharp breath. “Just…everything,” he exhales shakily.

“How about – how about we sit for a bit, and you can tell me about it?” Mac offers gently, and Dennis nods, allows Mac to guide him into a sitting position so that their backs are now leaning against the concrete platform wall. Mac keeps his arm securely nestled along Dennis’ shoulder blades while Dennis continues to rest his head on Mac’s shoulder.

They stay that way for a little while, another boat passing underneath them and shuttling down the river towards its destination.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Dennis states truthfully, and wraps his arms around his middle.

Mac shrugs, then murmurs, “How about from the beginning?”

Dennis lets out a pained breath, gaze still trained ahead as though it hurts to look at Mac. “Are you sure – do you really not have anywhere to be?”

Mac shakes his head. “I’m just going to go home and get high, so no, I don’t.”

“Okay,” Dennis murmurs and tugs on his ear before he pulls his knees up to his chest. He’s silent for another few seconds before his lips part. “My mom, she – she died when we – when I was five. I…I was the one who found her.”

“Jesus,” Mac mumbles, suddenly imagining himself finding his mother’s lifeless body at that age. He suppresses a shudder as Dennis continues.

“It wasn’t – it wasn’t gruesome or anything. She just…took some pills, went to sleep and never woke up.”

“That’s still shitty, dude. I can’t even imagine…” He does though, can’t help but picture going into his mother’s room to wake her up and let her know that he made breakfast for her only to find her…gone.

Dennis is quiet for a moment, glancing at a helicopter that flies low overhead, its spinning rotors visible even in the night sky. It drones onward across the city and he watches it until it disappears. “After she died, my dad kind of just…went off the deep end. He wound up getting remarried six months later, and the woman – she couldn’t handle us. I had – have a twin sister,” he corrects himself with a definitive nod, “But I haven’t seen her since we were six.”

Mac waits, studies Dennis as he just stares at the river, unmoving. “What happened?” Mac asks softly, and feels Dennis tense for a second before he relaxes underneath Mac’s touch.

Dennis blinks, something passing before his eyes then looks over at Mac. “My dad got rid of us.” A grim smile sweeps across his face and it’s then that more details come into light. A delicate pattern of freckles dusts his cheeks, and there’s a small, white scar that indents the skin along his jawline. There’s another that’s connected to the corner of his mouth. His eyelashes are long and flutter against his cheeks every time he blinks, and Mac can’t help but think how beautiful he is and how sad it is to see such a mesmerizing person be tortured as such.

“Just like that?” Mac’s stunned, the thought of someone just abandoning their child like that confounding him until he realizes in a way, that’s exactly what his father did, but at least, no matter how non-existent her love was (is?), his mom was still present.

“Yeah,” Dennis chokes the word out, eyes glimmering like the water below. “One day, he packed us both up into the car, said we were going for ice cream. It was the nicest he’d been in a while because he wasn’t exactly the kind of father to do that. He stops the car, and Dee and I get out and realize that of course, he didn’t mean ice cream.” Dennis pauses, another round of tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. “It was the day before Christmas Eve that he dropped us off at Delancey’s Childrens’ Home, and that was it. That was the last time I ever saw that bastard.” His tone turns acrid as his voice begins to shake. “Dee got adopted almost immediately. They didn’t even try to keep us together.”

Mac watches as Dennis’ bottom lip starts to tremble, and it’s then that he notices that he’s crying too. He hurriedly wipes his cheeks with his hand and pulls Dennis closer.

“We were twins, and when she left –” Dennis stops, a whimper tumbling from his lips as his shoulders start to quake again. “It felt like the end of the world,” the confession slips out, and he breaks down once more, a strangled sob emanating from his chest. "I miss her."

“I’m sorry, Dennis,” Mac tells him, and he truly is. He’s an only child and had always dreamed of having a little brother or sister, but it never happened (as many times as he's told himself it's not because of how he turned out, he knows it is).

Dennis shakes his head, sniffles. “It took longer for me…No one – no one wanted me because I was different. The moment – the moment they heard that I was autistic, that was it. No one was interested in raising a disabled child because that meant something was wrong with me, that I’d take more work.” His tone shifts into something bitter and hateful, and Mac doesn’t blame him one damned bit.

“You seem fine to me,” Mac shrugs and another humorless laugh rattles from Dennis’ throat.

“Please tell me you still don’t believe in Santa Claus.” Dennis peers up at him, that same serious expression he wore before flickering across his tear-stained visage, and Mac’s lips pull into a thin line before he shakes his head. “Thank God,” Dennis whispers to himself and scrubs a hand down his cheeks.

“Can I ask...what exactly…what exactly does that entail?” Mac asks after a few minutes pass.

“What exactly does what entail?” Dennis questions him, confusion marking his brow narrow.

Mac stammers, feels himself getting exasperated because he in no way wants to offend Dennis with his obliviousness but he’s not entirely sure what being autistic means. “What is – or what makes you, you know autistic?”

“Oh,” Dennis murmurs, then shrugs. “I’ve never really – never really thought about that before. I’m just used to being me, I guess.”

Mac wants to understand so he tries a different tactic. “Well, what makes you you?”

Dennis shakes his head. “Myself?” he answers but sounds uncertain. “I’m not exactly sure what you’re asking me, Mac.”

“What I’m asking is – what, what makes you, you know, different?” He watches a thoughtful expression wash over Dennis’ face as he stares out at the river.

“I don’t like change,” Dennis concedes. “I don’t like certain foods because of the textures. I can’t handle loud noises or repetitive ones. Bright lights, strong smells – when there’s too much going on at once. I can’t – I can’t handle it.”

Mac nods. Now, he’s getting a better picture. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes suddenly.

“Why are you sorry?” Dennis asks and looks over at him, eyes flickering over Mac’s face before they’re pulled away again and landing at their feet.

“Because you weren’t finished with your story,” Mac replies. “Did anyone ever adopt you?”

Dennis bristles, the muscles in his back tightening as he nods. “Yes, but it didn’t last long.” There’s something haunting Dennis’ tone now, and Mac can’t help but feel pinpricks of trepidation weather down his spine.

“What happened?”

Dennis scoffs and runs a hand down the back of his head before he tucks it to his chest. “Bad things.” He gets that faraway look in his eyes that they held earlier, his body stiffening underneath Mac’s touch.

Mac second guesses whether or not Dennis still wants to be held, starts to pull away until he hears Dennis murmur, “Please don’t.”

“Is this still okay?” Mac asks, and Dennis nods slowly. “You don’t have to – you don’t have to go into detail if you don’t want to.”

Dennis releases a breath, tucks both hands to his chest as he draws his knees up further until he can’t. “Mr. and Mrs. Klinsky were not nice people. They were an older couple who couldn’t have kids and the lady at the home told me that I’d hit the jackpot with them because all they’d ever wanted was a child of their own to spoil and I was it. I was special.” Dennis shivered, eyes widening and taking on a vacant air. “Things were fine at first because no one shows you their true colors right off the bat. It’s a lesson they taught me that I’ll never forget.”

Mac’s patient as Dennis seems to go down a rabbit hole, disappearing for a few minutes before he finally comes back.

“Their house was full of books, which I did think was really cool at first. You name it, they had it, and I would just sit and read for hours on end because I liked to,” he explains, lifting one shoulder slightly before dropping it back into place. “But then…”

“Bad things happened,” Mac finishes and Dennis ducks his head and nods.

“Bad things happened,” he echoes, voice small and overwrought with sorrow. “It took two years before they removed me, and I was placed back into foster care. I was twelve then, and I guess I was used goods because no one else wanted me after that.”

A surge of anger fills Mac and he vocalizes it immediately. (Words have a habit of just flooding out of him sometimes.) “Well, fuck them, Dennis. Fuck them all. Fuck Mr. and Mrs. Klinsky and fuck your dad, fuck your stepmom and fuck all of the assholes that passed you up.”

Dennis sniffles, and peers back over at him. “Thanks, Mac,” he whispers, and Mac’s face softens before he nods.

“Yeah, sure, dude.” He offers Dennis a small smile, and his heart catches when Dennis returns it. Mac swallows, feels his cheeks redden again and wonders if Dennis can tell. “So, um…” His voice trails off because there’s a million things he wants to say but his brain is refusing to let him. “What happened – what happened once you turned eighteen?”

Dennis’ head lowers again. “They kicked me out with a trash bag of clothes and a hundred dollars to my name. I was homeless for a while, but then I got a job working at that bakery on Eighth and Lindburg. It didn’t last long though. I don’t play well with others according to the behavioral specialist that I have to report to.” He stops, shakes his head. “I tried, goddammit, but no one ever wants to listen to me when I try to tell them how I’m feeling.” He says the last word quietly, as though it’s forbidden to speak. He shakes his head again, then looks back over at Mac. “Except for you, and you don’t even know me. Why is that? Why are you still sitting here listening to me? Why haven’t you given up on me like – like everyone else has?”

Mac tilts his head to the side and looks into Dennis’ eyes. “You’re interesting, and also, I don’t – I don’t really have anyone either. I mean I’ve got one best friend, but ever since he started dating this chick he’s with now, he hasn’t had a lot of time for me. I mean, I guess we still hang out and all, but I just feel like a fifth wheel.”

“What’s a fifth wheel?” Dennis asks, blatantly confused now.

“You know, it’s when someone that’s not in a relationship hangs out with two people that are?” he explains, and Dennis shakes his head.

“But that doesn’t make any sense. Shouldn’t it be a third wheel? There’s only three of you, not five.” He stares at Mac expectantly and Mac shrugs.

“I guess that does make more sense…well, either way, that’s what I feel like when I hang around them, and it just gets kind of depressing.” Mac hasn’t actually told anyone this until now because the more he thinks about it, who really is there to tell? Poppins? The mailman? His co-workers at the bar that he can’t stand?

“You’re – you’re depressed?” Dennis asks curiously, eyes fixed on Mac’s mouth as he replies.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I try not to think about it, but I guess it does really suck sometimes. I just feel…lonely.” Mac’s not sure what’s happening now. He’s saying things that he’s only ever thought, only ever kept to himself because that’s what he thought he was supposed to do, but now? Now, he’s babbling about his misgivings to a man that was just about to hurl himself off a bridge.

“That’s how I feel every day,” Dennis states, Adam’s apple bobbing again at the admittance. “Like no one gives a single shit. That’s…that’s why I was here. Tonight,” he clarifies, brow narrowing as he looks away. “I just couldn’t take it anymore. I feel so goddamned empty all the time like a – like a fucking scarecrow and I hate it.” He sounds on the verge of mania and Mac can feel him shaking again, the trembling rivaling that of a jackhammer.

“Dennis?”

The tremors lessen as Dennis glances over at him, not saying a word.

“I know this may sound silly, and I know I’ve only known you for like an hour or whatever but do you want to chill at my house for a little while? We can talk some more if you want,” Mac offers then quickly adds, “And I swear I’m not like, trying to put the moves on you or anything. I just figured if we’re both, you know lonely, we can at least be lonely together?”

Dennis peers over at him, eyes flitting back and forth before he finally nods. “Okay.” His response is quiet but there’s a subtle gratefulness that Mac hears in it and it makes the small smile return to his face.

Mac stands first, then holds his hand out which Dennis takes and follows suit.

“Oh, um, here,” he says, starting to take the jacket off but Mac shakes his head.

“It’s cool, bro. I’m not cold,” Mac lies, puffing his chest out the slightest bit before brushing the back of his pants off.

Dennis shrugs then pulls his arms through the sleeves. “Thanks,” he murmurs, steps hesitant at first but they soon even out once they’re back on the walkway above the platform. He fidgets with the jacket as they walk, fingertips gripping the zipper as he pulls it up then down.

Mac watches, an amused expression easing across his face until Dennis glances up at him and realizes he’s been caught.

“Sorry,” he apologizes and Mac shakes his head as he sips on his slushie. He can’t help but think just how cute Dennis looks in the jacket that’s far too large on him, but he keeps that thought to himself.

They walk in silence for a little while and Mac breathes a silent sigh of relief once they’re off the bridge and heading towards Dewey. The amount of cars that pass them has slowed and by the time they’re on Mac’s street, the only sounds ruminating from the neighborhood are classic rock music playing through an open window in his neighbor's house and a dog barking somewhere down the block.

The tv is on and his mother is fast asleep on the couch as they enter, a diffused cigarette butt in hand, remnants of ash smeared across the cushion next to her.

“Sorry,” Mac mouths as he retrieves a blanket from the back of their old recliner chair and drapes it across her, carefully easing the butt from her hand and placing it in her overflowing ashtray on the coffee table.

Dennis watches, one hand clasping the zipper of Mac’s jacket while the other hangs at his side.

Once his mother is properly tucked in, Mac leads the way to his room and closes the door behind him. He lets out a breath because the only other person to see him take care of his mom is Charlie and it feels oddly intimate with Dennis being there.

“Does she always do that?” Dennis asks, following Mac’s lead as he sits down on his bed and pulls out his weed box.

“Yeah, every night.” Mac uncurls the end of the plastic bag and empties a few buds out onto the little tray that has a ninja imprinted on the top of it. He removes his skull grinder from the box and starts to break up the weed. “Do you smoke?” he asks, and Dennis shrugs. “Do you want to?”

“Sure,” Dennis answers and starts to peer around Mac’s room as he rolls a joint. “Is that a Nintendo 64?” he inquires, nodding towards the game system that’s sitting underneath Mac’s twenty-two inch off brand television.

“Yep, I sold a shit ton of weed to buy it brand new. I never had one growing up, so it was the first thing I bought when I made money aside from that phat jacket you’re wearing and my jerseys.”

“Can we play it?” Dennis asks, and Mac grins as he lights the joint.

“Hell yeah, bro,” he replies and kneels down so he can turn it on. The screen lights up as the system comes to life. “What do you want to play?” He takes two hits off the joint before passing it to Dennis.

Dennis takes the joint and stares at it for a moment before taking a puff off of it. He immediately coughs heavily which makes Mac chuckle before he takes it back.

“You good, dude?” Mac asks, and Dennis nods.

“It’s – It’s been a while,” is all he offers as an excuse before accepting the remote Mac hands to him.

“What do you want to play? I’ve got fighting games, Mario, Resident Evil,” Mac tells him as he points to a stack of them piled underneath the tv.

Dennis peruses the cases then points to the Mortal Kombat one.

“Mortal Kombat it is,” Mac agrees and places the cartridge into the console. The menu pops up and Mac immediately chooses Johnny Cage then holds the joint out in front of Dennis.

He takes it, thumbing through the characters, bouncing back and forth between two of them before he finally settles on Scorpion.

Mac raises an eyebrow as he watches Dennis take a hit then passes it back.

“What?” Dennis asks, and Mac just shakes his head and smiles.

“Nice choice,” Mac says as he inhales then hands it back to Dennis.

They go back and forth for a while, choosing different characters and getting high. They laugh, they joke, and Mac’s never felt so at ease with someone except for Charlie, but there’s something just a little different about this. He loves his best friend, but there’s another emotion that makes his heart flutter every time Dennis glances in his direction. His eyes are so amazingly blue, and Mac can’t help but stare into them every single time they meet his.

Two hours have passed when Mac finally blinks and peers over at Dennis. “Dude, I’m so sorry. Do you want something to eat or drink? We’ve got beer, water, I think there’s still some OJ in there…”

“Um,” Dennis shrugs, tugs on his ear. “Whatever is fine.”

“Okay cool. I’ll be right back, unless you want to come with,” Mac adds when he sees a look of uncomfortableness wrinkle Dennis’ brow. “We just have to be quiet. My mom hates getting woken up.”

“Okay,” Dennis nods and follows Mac out of the room and into the small kitchen area.

Mac cracks open the refrigerator that’s seen better days and holds out a beer to Dennis before he grabs one for himself then retreats back into his room.

They both retake their seats on the floor in front of the tv and start to sip at their beers. Just as Mac’s about to un-pause the game, Dennis’ words halt his movements.

“Thank you for this.” His eyes are glossy when he looks up through the curls that have fallen across his forehead. They’re long and appear unkept as though he’s forgone combing his hair for the time being. (It's easy to see that he's been neglecting himself for a while now.)

Mac fights the urge to reach out and push them behind his ear. Instead, he nods, gaze dropping to the floor before it meets Dennis’ once more.

“Are we –” He cuts himself off, brow narrowing as he looks away briefly before returning his gaze to Mac. “Are we friends now?”

Mac grimaces, sees Dennis’ face start to grow pale before he nods hurriedly. “Yeah, dude, we’re totally friends now. Sorry, I didn’t mean to like, scare you or anything.”

Dennis lets out a breath, then scratches his head. “That’s – That’s another thing. I sometimes, um, have trouble recognizing whether or not someone is joking. I tend to take what people say literally,” he explains.

“Do you have a super memory? Like Rainman?” Mac quirks an eyebrow, and Dennis shakes his head.

“I mean, I have a pretty decent memory, but that movie was total bullshit. It’s rare to be able to do stuff like that.” He takes a sip of his beer and starts to play with the zipper on the jacket again.

“I didn’t offend you, did I?” A wince pulls at the corner of Mac’s mouth as he studies Dennis’ face again. It’s furrowed in thought.

After a moment, Dennis shakes his head. “No, you didn’t offend me. It’s actually – it’s weird because I’ve never really spoken with anyone about it before. Except for the asshole I have to talk to once a month.” His eyes narrow as though he went somewhere else but comes back after a few seconds. “You’re different, Mac.”

A sudden warmth spreads throughout Mac’s chest at those words, and he starts to pick at the label on the brown bottle. “Is that so?” he asks nervously, an unsure smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

Dennis nods. “Yeah. You’re the first –” He pauses to clear his throat, a sad smile now tugging at his lips. “You’re the, um,” he starts, fingers lifting to his ear and pulling as his gaze flits away before it settles back on the other man. “You’re the first friend I think I’ve ever had.”

Mac feels momentarily sad by that revelation. Even he has Charlie, but to have no one? For all that time?

“You don’t – you don’t think I’m weird now, do you?” Dennis’ voice is soft, unsure, and Mac quickly shakes his head.

“Trust me, bro, you’re pretty tame compared to my friend Charlie. He does weird shit all the time,” Mac tells him, then chuckles as memories bubble to the surface. “He hides cheese in his pockets, he sniffs paint and sometimes he drinks it, but only usually when he’s really high. Um, what else?” Mac asks himself as he looks up towards the ceiling in thought. “Oh, he makes up really weird games that involve pretending to be a worm and shit. It’s…bizarre. That’s why I’m surprised he actually has a girlfriend. And she’s like, super normal compared to him, but I guess she’s kind of quirky too. Quirky. Quirky is such a weird word,” Mac rambles and a smile brightens Dennis’ face. “I talk a lot, if you haven’t noticed,” he adds sheepishly, two red spots blossoming on his cheeks.

Dennis’ smile widens, and Mac’s not sure who starts laughing first, but somehow, they both break into a fit of giggles and Mac can’t remember the last time life was this good, this nice.

Just as they’re calming down, Mac’s doorknob turns and they both still, eyes round and wide because Mac really did not mean to wake his mom up (and his arm is still healing from the last round of cigarette burns she decided to grace him with) but relief surrounds him the moment Charlie and Deandra’s faces come into view. He removes his hand from where he’d placed it on his chest and lets out a breath.

“Good, it’s only you. Well and you too,” Mac adds indifferently as he gestures towards the blonde that’s currently wearing Charlie’s green army jacket that he’s had since he was sixteen.

“Who’s this guy?” Charlie asks the moment he sees Dennis who has suddenly become very silent and very still.

Mac stammers out a response. “Uh, this is – this is Dennis. We met at the bar,” he lies. “Dennis, Charlie and Deandra,” he motions towards them.

Deandra is the first to speak, her blue eyes wide and curious. “Dennis?” She takes a step forward towards him, and Mac’s never seen her this way before. Sure, he’s only known her the better half of a year, ever since Charlie met her at the roller-skating rink, but she’s usually a little loud, animated and teasing, not self-reserved and quiet.

Dennis stands, eyes just as wide as hers, hands shaking at his sides. His mouth opens, and it takes a second or two for his voice to finally work. “Dee?”

“Uh, dude, who the hell is this guy and what the hell is going on here?” Charlie inquires, and Mac just shakes his head, bewildered.

“I’m not – I’m not entirely sure. What’s going on, I mean,” he adds, and then it finally clicks in his brain – this is Dee, the Dee, the Dee Dennis hasn’t seen since he was six. “Oh my God,” Mac murmurs, eyebrows raising into his forehead when he realizes what’s currently taking place.

“What? What is it, man? What’s going on?” Charlie’s starting to sound the slightest bit hysterical, but Mac can only shake his head in shock.

“Dennis!” Dee cries out and immediately wraps her arms around him. “I can’t believe – I can’t believe it’s actually you,” she whispers, then adds, “After all these years, I never stopped thinking about you.”

Dennis can’t speak. His head is buried in her shoulder, hands hovering at her sides before he finally returns the hug, fingers clasping onto the cotton material.

“Bro, you need to tell me –”

Mac immediately claps a hand over Charlie’s mouth and pulls him from the room. Once they’re out in the hallway, Mac removes his hand, lowering his brow at Charlie because he’s known the man long enough that he can tell he wants to shout, but it’s somewhere in the ballpark of five in the morning, and his mother isn’t due to be up for another few hours yet so he stares him down until Charlie’s protests become low grumblings.

“Let me talk,” Mac tells him, and Charlie rolls his eyes but remains quiet.

“Has Deandra ever told you that she was adopted?” Mac asks, and Charlie scrunches up his face as he always does when he’s pretending to remember something then shakes his head.

“Uh, duh, of course, bro,” Charlie shrugs and Mac rolls his eyes. “Why?”

“Of course, you probably weren’t listening,” Mac mumbles then continues. “Because I’m ninety-nine percent positive that Dennis is her twin brother. They haven’t seen each other since they were kids.”

“Oh,” Charlie replies, and Mac watches as his expression changes once his words finally sink in. “Ohhhh. Holy shit!”

“Quiet!” Mac whispers loudly, placing his hand back over Charlie’s mouth. “Be quiet dude. My mom’s still asleep.”

“Holy shit!” Charlie whisper shouts through Mac's fingers and it's Mac's turn to roll his eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Charlie. Keep your voice down,” Mac warns him, and Charlie just stares at him, wide-eyed.

“How did you find him, dude? Wait, why would you go looking for her brother like that?” Charlie inquires, arching an eyebrow once Mac's hand has settled back at his side.

“Are you fucking kidding me, dude?” Mac sighs and shakes his head. “Why would you – never mind,” Mac cuts himself off. “Just…never mind.”

“Well, how did you find him?” Charlie appears confused again and Mac closes his eyes for a moment in an attempt to tamp down his frustration.

It takes a minute, but finally he opens them. “You know I trust you, right?” he asks, and Charlie nods. “Okay, look – I didn’t – I didn’t meet Dennis at the bar,” Mac admits, a part of him wanting to tell Charlie the truth, but another part of him knowing that he should keep it a secret.

“So, where did you meet him then?”

Mac hesitates, runs his teeth over his bottom lip before replying, “Pot. I sold him some pot. We, uh, kind of hit it off and he just came over here to chill.”

Charlie stares at him suspiciously. “Wait, did you two bang?” he asks, pointing towards Mac’s room and Mac shakes his head fervently.

“Seriously, Charlie? I’m not gay bro,” he states, and Charlie scoffs at him, an incredulous grin on his face.

“Sure, dude, whatever you say. So, you ‘sold him some pot’,” he says, making air quotes and lifting a single brow, “And somehow managed to reunite him with his long-lost sister who just so happens to be my girlfriend. Good for you, dude.”

“Look, I don’t care what you think, Charlie, but I can already tell you’re starting to get jealous so just stop, okay?” Mac takes a step back and folds his arms across his chest.

Charlie’s head jerks back as he mirrors the action. “I am totally not jealous, bro. I don’t get jealous. In fact, I think we should celebrate.”

Mac raises an incredulous brow at the shorter man. “Really? You want to celebrate? By doing what? It’s five o’clock in the morning.”

Charlie shrugs. “I don’t know. How about we go get breakfast? I’m actually starving, and I could really go for like a huge plate of bacon and cheese right now.”

Mac takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he agrees. “But stop with your jealous bullshit and act normal,” Mac orders, and Charlie rolls his eyes yet again.

“I’m not jealous, dude. Why would I be jealous of him? It’s not like he’s going to replace me or anything,” he jokes, and Mac just smiles because of course Dennis isn’t going to replace Charlie. Of course, he isn’t.

“Right, dude, right,” Mac agrees, and slowly cracks open his door.

Dennis and Deandra are sitting at the foot of his bed, both of Deandra’s hands clasping one of Dennis’. Both of their cheeks are wet, and they both pause in the middle of their conversation to peer over at Mac and Charlie, and it’s in that moment that Mac sees it. While they may not be identical, they do have the same eyes, the same expression that looks slightly annoyed at being interrupted at first but transforms the longer Mac studies them. “You two wanna get breakfast?” Mac suggests, and they both turn to each other before shrugging.

Finally, Deandra nods in affirmation.

They both stand at the same time, and although Dennis is taller, they both have the same scrawny frame. (It's only more noticeable on Dee as the low-rise jeans she's currently sporting hug her thin frame while the pants Dennis are wearing practically swallow him up.)

The diner is only a fifteen-minute walk from Mac’s house with Mac and Charlie leading the way while Dennis and Dee murmur to each other the entire way there.

Mac is still in disbelief of everything that’s happened in the last couple of hours, but instead of voicing it, he strikes up a conversation with Charlie about new games that are going to be released for the 64, allowing Dennis to have time to speak with his sister (whom Mac is one hundred percent not jealous of).

They cross over Passyunk by the junkyard that sits parallel to the diner on the other side of the street, and head inside. The smell of grease immediately infiltrates Mac’s nostrils, and he realizes that he too is hungry since he hasn’t eaten since the meager dinner he snacked on at the bar.

As much as Mac wants to sit next to Dennis, he takes a seat on the opposite side of the booth they all scoot into and just as their waitress comes to the table, Mac glances at him and his eyes widen when he sees the genuine smile Dennis is directing at him. It’s so beautiful that Mac’s breath is temporarily stolen, and it takes a moment for his lungs to remind him to breathe.

“Hey, Charlie,” the waitress says flirtatiously, and Deandra pauses mid-sentence to roll her eyes at the short brunette.

“What’s up, Waitress?” Charlie asks, not giving the woman a chance to speak before he starts listing off what he wants.

Mac shakes his head, trying to hide the grin that wants to pull up the corners of his lips because one, he is falling for Dennis and he’s falling fast, and two, he can’t believe that the waitress is still going after Charlie after he’s turned her down more times that Mac can count.

They each take turns telling her what they want, and no one says anything when all Dennis orders is a coffee. Today isn’t about that, and little by little, they all become absorbed in each other’s stories, and the loneliness that's haunted Mac his whole life slowly starts to seep away. They laugh, they joke, and even when Charlie spills the glass of orange juice he’s spiked with a shot of vodka all over the table, no one gets upset (they just put a bunch of napkins down without the intent to actually clean it up as Charlie claims that’s what waitresses are for).

It's not until a little after nine when they finally leave, and it’s apparent that sleep is needed.

Someone makes the decision that they should all crash at Mac’s mom’s house, and somehow, everyone winds up squeezing onto Mac’s bed.

It should be uncomfortable, but it’s not. Dennis is squished next to him with Dee (both Mac and Charlie have started calling her this in the last few hours) on his other side, and there's just enough room for Charlie on the other end.

Charlie is the first to pass out, followed by Dee and even though Mac is exhausted at this point, his brain is still racing with thoughts that won’t let him sleep. Dennis’ whisper soft voice curs through them.

“You saved me.”

Those three words make Mac open his eyes and peer over at the man who’s still wearing his Hornets jacket, his right hand interlaced with his sister’s. His blue eyes are bright, none of the weariness that had been present earlier that morning remaining. He’s staring at directly at Mac, and as Mac carefully rolls to his side, he sees that they’re glimmering with tears. One slides down his cheek at a snail’s pace, and yet, still, Dennis never once breaks eye contact.

“Were you really going to do it?” Mac murmurs curiously, one hand pillowed under his cheek while the other slides closer to Dennis’ left that’s resting at his side.

Dennis swallows and nods.

Mac glances down at their hands then back up at Dennis, silently asking for permission.

A small smile pulls up the corners of Dennis’ lips, and Mac takes it as his cue. He threads their fingers together then gently wipes away the fresh tears that have fallen down Dennis’ cheeks.

“I’m glad that you didn’t,” Mac tells him as he gently squeezes his hand.

“Me too,” Dennis agrees with a nod, the action causing a few stray curls to fall onto his forehead.

Mac smiles, taking in just how beautiful Dennis truly is, then actually does brush the loose hair out of his face this time around.

Dennis closes his eyes briefly the second Mac’s fingers make contact then cracks them open once they disappear. His lashes flutter across his cheeks, and Mac moves his head forward just an inch or two until he’s close enough that his nose gently brushes against Dennis’. Dennis’ smiles widens as Mac gets a tad bit closer, the gap between their lips lessening to nothing once they finally meet.

The kiss is soft and Mac feels himself melt immediately. It’s been – it’s been so long since he’s kissed anyone though that he’s suddenly struck with a minor bout of insecurity until Dennis’ hand lifts and rests on his cheek.

It lasts for all of twenty seconds, but Mac is now higher than he’s been in quite some time and a grin so wide it makes the corners of his eyes crease sweeps across his face.

Dennis returns the smile, eyes alight with life and Mac is sure this is the moment he was born for, the reason his soul came into existence. Dennis’ hand once again returns to the warmth of Mac’s, and they both fall asleep a little while later, the loneliness that clouded both of them like shields for all of their lives, fallen away, and hopefully, to be forgotten.