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1.
That one Christmas morning, when they were 14 and angry and cold as shit. No trains were running by, so they were just sitting between the tracks, tossing rocks at each other and bitching about school.
"None of the girls are, like, even that hot, bro," Mac complained, scratching the shadow of a beard he was attempting to cultivate. "And everyone keeps expecting us to kiss 'em. Its dumb."
Charlie privately thought that no one would be expecting them to do much at all, given that they were only in their first year of high school and they'd already made a name for themselves as the losers, but if he told Mac that it'd set him off, so he settled for replying, "Yeah, man. Its crazy."
"Like, I'd pick kissing you over any of the girls at our school. You're way more hotter than them." Mac laid back, throwing rocks up in the air and narrowly avoiding hitting himself in the eye. "But that would be super gay, so no way, dude."
Honestly, Charlie should've known better than to get his hopes up by the start of that sentence. Mac always offset shit he said with a casual no homo.
"Not if you were just practicing," he heard himself saying. "You know. For kissing the ugly chicks."
"But you're not ugly."
"Yeah, but theres like, levels, right? Hot girls at the top, then ugly girls, then hot dudes, then ugly dudes. You'd just be working your way up." Charlie had no idea what he was saying, but it seemed to be working. Mac considered it for a second, before making a face that equated to you've got a point, and sitting up.
"Alright then, man, c'mere."
Charlie blinked. "What?"
"We gotta practise for the ugly chicks, yeah? So c'mere, let me kiss you."
"You're way too eager about this."
"Well, thats cuz I know you're not gonna judge me if I suck. Which I won't, because I'm awesome, but just in case. Cuz I've never done this before."
"Right. Sure. I haven't either, though, so. If you suck I probably wouldn't be able to tell."
"That's not reassuring." Mac frowned. "That means we could both suck and then we'll suck for the ladies."
In the distance, the rumbling of train wheels began to echo. They both ignored it, staring at each other.
"Worth a shot?" Charlie suggested. His heart was definitely not where it should be. It was buzzing around somewhere by his left ear, banging a drum and pretending like this was a normal reaction to your best buddy offering to make out with you. He didn't much care for it.
Mac looked like he was considering it, before he shrugged. "Can't hurt to try, right? I mean, its just for practise."
Charlie nodded. "Just practise."
Awkwardly, they maneuvered themselves so they could actually reach each others lips, before reaching the puzzle of what to do with their hands. At first Mac put them around Charlie's neck, but eventually settled for planting them square on the ground while Charlie leaned his on Mac's thighs.
Once their lips brushed, Charlie's heart went into overdrive, flipping out and attempting to whack his brain into mush and pour it out of his ears. Mac's hands began to travel from the ground to Charlie's sides as they sloppily, for lack of a better word, licked at each other's mouths, unskilled and yet somehow working perfectly together.
Then, suddenly, wind whipped past them, and they broke apart from one another to see a train rushing by. They both whooped and grabbed their rocks, scrambling upwards in order to toss them with full force.
Once the train was gone, they didn't mention the kiss beyond a quiet mumble of pretty good practice, man and a light punch on the arm. It was Christmas. Why dwell on the best thing they'd done in a while?
2.
They had to be around 11, maybe 12, by Charlie's estimate, old enough to really know that they should be sleeping in separate beds for sleepovers but codependent enough that they didn't really want to.
"If you give me bedbugs I'll smack you, man," Mac had said sleepily as they brushed their teeth, and Charlie smacked him loosely.
"Shut up, dude. I don't have bedbugs. You have bedbugs."
"I don't have bedbugs because I actually clean my room and shower more than once a month."
"I knew it was a mistake telling you that!"
"Dude, I have a sense of smell! I could tell!"
They'd settled down as soon as they'd gotten into bed, though, Mac instantly reaching to wrap his arm around Charlie despite his complaints.
And then Mac had fallen asleep, and snored away happily, and Charlie had stayed awake as can be, just churning things up in the melting pot of his head.
Vaguely, he knew that most kids their age didn't fall asleep wrapped securely around their best friend - or in Mac's case, comfortably tucked into Charlie's side, face squished against his chest. Ironic considering Mac had a good few inches on him, but Charlie's mom said he just hadn't hit his growth spurt yet.
He didn't really know what it meant, but when he looked at Mac drooling a little bit on his shirt, his heart went a couple times faster. And that had nothing to do with the drool, because it did that when he looked at Mac in general. Which meant that it went pretty fast most of the time given how much time they spend together, and you could argue that his heart actually slowed down when he wasn't around Mac.
Whatever, Charlie thought to himself, adjusting the arm wrapped around Mac's shoulders and subsequently cuddling him closer, I don't care. He's my bro. I'm gonna take care of him no matter how fast my hearts going. Even if I die.
He laughed - quietly, though, so he didn't wake up Mac. No, that's dumb. Mac wouldn't let that happen.
3.
They were 14 again, after Christmas, steadfastly ignoring what had happened and continuing to do their thing, when Charlie's heart broke a little for the first time.
They'd been just chilling by a Dumpster, sprawled out and passing a joint back and forth, when a bunch of the cool kids had passed them by. Their hands had been intertwined, as was often the case - Charlie liked to feel Mac there.
One of the kids had snorted, and pointed at the pair of them, and yelled "Gay!"
The group burst out in a fit of giggles, mumbling about homos and fags and rats. While Charlie just did his best to ignore them, he felt Mac stiffen beside him.
The group drifted off, and Charlie didn't dare say anything. And then slowly, silently, Mac had dropped Charlie's hand and curled his own into a fist, shoving it down deep in his pocket and steadily turning red.
Charlie's sure he could use that as a metaphor for something. He doesn't think of that at the time, though. He just pulls his hand back and holds out his other one for the joint. Mac passes it wordlessly.
Thats another one of the things they don't talk about.
4.
"Are you Ronnie the Rat?"
Mac scowled next to Charlie. Some new pretty boy was standing over them, arms folded. He was their age, and the aura rolling off of him screamed money. Charlie instantly didn't like him.
"Guess thats what everyone calls me," Mac replied grumpily. "What do you want?"
The guy raised an eyebrow. "Some weed. You're apparently the only drug dealer left at this godforsaken school."
Quietly, Mac chuckled to himself, before settling his face back into his best approximation of intimidating. "How much?"
Charlie watched in silence as the transaction went down, smiling as Mac vastly overcharged and the guy barely batted an eyelid. God, what it must be like to have that much money.
The guy jerked a thumb in Charlie's direction. "Who's this loser?"
Mac bristled, instantly on the defensive. "Charlie, and he's not a loser. You're a loser."
"Whatever. I'm done with you. The golden god has better things to do than hang around under the bleachers with the biggest losers in school."
"And yet you're still here," Charlie mumbled, pulling up some grass, just in case this guy wanted to make him eat it. There were probably some spiders around somewhere. Mac snorted, and then noticed what Charlie was up to and pulled his hand gently away from the ground.
Unable to think of a good comeback (or thats what Charlie liked to believe), the guy huffed and flounced away.
"Dumbass," Mac muttered, rolling his eyes. "Bet you five bucks we never see that bozo again in our lives. Whats up with that golden god crap?"
"Yeah," Charlie replied, but he was thinking more about the way Mac was staring at the retreating back, full of barely-concealed gay panic. "But I dunno, man. He thinks he's better than us or something."
Charlie would worship the golden god for a thousand years if it meant Mac would look at him for a split second with that expression on his face. He didn't exactly know why (yes he did), but he knew that his life would be immeasurably improved if Mac just gazed softly at him, instead of random rich kids and their expensive everythings.
5.
It was the first day of first grade, and wildly different to everything Charlie's mom said it would be. She said they'd welcome him immediately, but that wasn't true at all. They'd laughed at his messy hair and ill-fitting t shirt, and he wanted to cry. But he wouldn't cry. He wasn't going to cry, not on his first day. As soon as he got home, though, he was crying - as long as Uncle Jack wasn't around.
He could hear someone else crying, though, and that was confusing. It was recess. Most kids were sprinting around the playground, yelling incoherently and whacking each other with sticks. Given that most of Charlie's life was spent yelling incoherently and waving sticks, he would be happy to join them, but they'd made it abundantly clear that he was not welcome. So he'd asked his teacher if he could stay inside, which she'd warmly agreed to, and he'd begun a hunt for glue.
But now someone was crying, which made no sense because everyone was outside.
"Hi?" he called out quietly. His teacher had left to do some teachery work, so she couldn't be crying. The sniffling stopped for a second before continuing, more muffled.
He glanced around. In the corner, a bookshelf was spanning both walls, with just enough space behind it that someone could comfortably curl up.
"Hello?"
Again, the crying stopped, and Charlie tiptoed towards the bookshelf. He leaned over it, and sure enough there was a kid there, curled into a ball and wiping furiously at his eyes.
"Who're you?" Charlie asked curiously, and the boy folded his arms and looked away. Charlie looked closer, and suddenly recognised him from the introductions his teacher had everyone do to begin the day. "Oh! You're Ronald!"
"Mac," the kid snapped, and Charlie blinked. Did he get his name wrong?
"Sorry," he replied, crawling over the little bookshelf and wedging himself into the space that was barely fitting Mac. "Why're you not playing outside?"
"Wouldn't let me," Mac mumbled. He hugged his knees. "But I weren't crying. It was allergies."
"Okay," Charlie replied. He was pretty sure it wasn't allergies. "They wouldn't let me play, either."
"They wouldn't?"
Charlie shook his head. "I'm Charlie."
Mac sniffed. "I know. You said earlier."
"Oh."
They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, before Mac grunted a little bit and flailed his arms about, narrowly missing Charlie, who gazed in wonder.
"Whats that?"
"Karate."
"Cool. What's karate?"
"The most badassest thing ever, and I'm awesome at it. What d'you do, if you don't even know what karate is?"
Charlie shrugged. "I'unno. Eat weird things."
"That's gross."
"Its fun."
"Sure. Why won't the other kids let you play?"
Charlie shrugged again. "They said I was weird."
"You are weird."
Charlie wilted.
"But not in a bad way, I guess. You seem pretty cool too. And if anyone tries to be mean to you, I'll kick the crap out of them."
"Weren't they mean to you too?"
"Yeah, but I don't care. I'm tough."
Charlie considered mentioning that Mac was crying in a corner before he showed up, but decided against it. He didn't want to piss off his new friend already.
"My dad says I'm like, the most toughest guy ever, and he's awesome, so he's gotta be right. He loves me loads."
As they got older, Charlie would very quickly realise this was a load of ass Mac liked to make himself believe, but at the time it seemed reasonable.
"I don't know my dad."
"That's lame. You can share mine. He won't mind."
"I have an Uncle Jack, but he scares me. He's creepy."
Mac frowned, and then put his arm around Charlie. "Don't worry. I'll protect you from him."
Charlie brightened up. "You will?"
"Of course, buddy! We're friends now. I'll always protect you."
Even years in the future, Charlie still privately thought that Mac was still upholding that promise, even if it was just subconsciously.
+1
"Whatcha up to, Charlie?"
Mac pulls Charlie out of his memories, slaps a hand on his back in greeting.
"Thinkin'," Charlie replies, fiddling with his beer bottle and pretending that he wasn't just gazing off into the distance, reminiscing about years ago. Mac snorts.
"Don't hurt yourself," he comments lightly, cracking open his own beer and coming to stand by Charlie.
The latter watches him out of the corner of his eye. Ever since he'd come out, he'd been so much happier, even if he was still his same obnoxious self. He was obnoxious in the best way, though. Well, most of the time. Sometimes he was just plain annoying.
But his hair was fluffed up more often, and he just seemed more comfortable. He was the most chilled that Charlie had ever seen him.
"Are you still in love with Dennis?" Charlie asks brusquely, and Mac's head snaps round.
"What?" he asks, half-panicked, half-amused. Then he thinks about it for a second, and exhales sharply. "I guess... not? Kinda realised it wasn't going anywhere, y'know? I got better things to focus on, man. We're cool, though. How'd you... know, anyway?"
Charlie rolls his eyes. "Christ, you're only the most obvious person in the world. I've known since the first time he walked over to us in high school. You had this look in your eye?"
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Like, all soft and shit. Gooey as hell, bro." He takes a swig of his beer, and then chances a glance at Mac's face. He's making exactly the expression that Charlie meant. "Hey, yeah, there you go. That's perfect. It was that look exactly."
Mac doesn't stop making the expression, though, and Charlie frowns. "Okay, dude, I got it. You can stop staring at me like a lovesick idiot now. Its very off-putting."
"I admit I may be obvious, but bro, you're blind as hell."
"Wh-"
Charlie would like to say that everything happened in slow motion, but that just wouldn't be factually accurate. It happens in a split second instead. One second, Mac's standing beside him at the bar, and the next, he's grabbing his face and pulling him in for a harsh kiss, rough and tender and familiar all at the same time. Charlie's left reeling when Mac finally pulls away.
"Is that obvious enough for you?" he asks cockily, with that shit-eating grin Charlie knows so well. Charlie blinks.
"You dropped your beer," he says, in lieu of an awesome response.
"I don't give a shit."
"I have to clean that shit up, man, I don't... Ah, whatever."
He pulls Mac back in for another kiss, nudging the broken glass away with his foot at the same time. He'd been waiting for this for way too long, no way was he going to let a smashed bottle get in the way.
After all, the past was nice and everything, but he'd much rather be with Mac in the here and now.