Work Text:
5.30 PM, On a Friday, Philadelphia, PA
"Mac, get the door," Dennis calls from the couch, feet kicked up and a beer in his hands.
From his place in the kitchen, Mac scoffs, dropping his spoon back in the pot of macaroni he's been fussing over. "I'm cooking dinner, bro! You do it."
"I'm busy," Dennis counters.
"You're watching wrestling."
Dennis whistles lowly, pointing a finger at the TV. "Shits good, you know? Get the door." He's not asking anymore. If Mac doesn't answer, the doors never being opened, because Dennis is stubborn and he has no intention of moving from the couch.
With a groan, Mac gives the macaroni a couple good stirs, before trudging to their front door, which is being knocked on once again, louder now. "Alright! Alright, geez.." He grabs the handle and rips the door open, hand on his hip. His first instinct is to be annoyed, but then his eyes shift down and lock on to big green ones staring right back at him. "Charlie?"
"Hi, Mac," Charlie greets happily. He's holding his brown corduroy jacket in his hands, twisting the fabric around nervously. "I have a date."
"Awesome, bro. With who?" Mac gets comfortable leaning against the doorframe, Charlie bouncing on the balls on his feet idly.
"The Waitress," Charlie replies, and a toothy little smile tugs onto his lips.
Macs eyebrows shoot up. "No shit? Congrats!" He brings his hand up and they land a sharp high five, grinning like idiots. As if they hadn't been dating before, Mac still makes sure to show as much enthusiasm for his friend as he can. He doesn't think they make a good pair, in all honesty.
"Dude, let him inside," Dennis calls, and he sounds exasperated. "What are we, animals? Invite the kid inside for Christ's sake!"
Looking a bit guilty, Mac mumbles an apology and shuffles to the side, holding the door open more. Charlie sucks under his arm easily and pads his way inside, looking around the apartment.
"Hey, Charlie," Dennis greets.
"Yo, what's up, man?" Charlie watches Mac close the door, turning his attention back to Dennis when the man whistles to grab it. Dennis beckons Charlie to sit by him, so he wastes no time hurrying over to the couch.
"Wrestling," Dennis answers, pointing to the TV. "So, you have a date, huh?"
"Yeah."
"With the Waitress?"
"Yeah."
"Let me guess: going to Guigino's?"
"Yeah."
"Cool. Want a beer?"
"Yeah."
Dennis pats his chest, tugging the front of Charlie's shirt as he stands to tell the man to follow him. Charlie gets the message quickly, hopping to his feet and trailing behind Dennis as he makes his way to the kitchen.
Macs finishing up the macaroni, pulling the pot off the heat and grabbing a couple bowls down. He pauses, and turns to Charlie with a raised eyebrow. "When's your date?"
"Uh.... I think at seven."
"Do you want some Macs Famous?"
"...Yeah."
Mac grabs another bowl down, and starts to spoon the noodles into each. "How did you ask her out? More importantly— why'd she say yes?" Dennis grabs a couple beers from the fridge while Mac talks, pointing at a stool to get Charlie to sit.
"Well honestly, she asked me, actually," Charlie supplies, happy to talk. "When I was walking to work this morning she asked."
"How did she ask?" Dennis asks, suspicious of the whole situation. There was no way the Waitress would ask Charlie out without ulterior motives. He hands Charlie a bottle, noting his confused look. "Like, what wording did she use?"
Charlie shrugs, tapping his fingers on his beer bottle. "She jus' said, 'hey, Charlie, I'm like, totally in love with you so we should go out', you know?" Dennis and Mac are staring at him in their certain way, and Charlie shrinks into himself. "She said we're going to Guigino's. She'd text me more. Nothing else, really," he admits a bit glumly.
"Let me see the text," Dennis demands, holding a hand out. Charlie fishes his phone out his pocket, setting it on the counter and drawing in his passcode. Dennis hums. "I didn't know you had a password."
"Yeah, Frank likes to go through my phone when I'm asleep, and it was getting annoying," Charlie says casually, but it causes Dennis and Mac to look at each other in distaste. "Here." He slides his phone over to Dennis, and Mac leans across the counter to see. "I can't really read it all, but I'm pretty sure it says seven, 'cause I know my numbers, guys."
"Yes you do, buddy," Dennis praises, because it does say seven.
Guigino's @ 7. Don't be late. Don't be a creep. Take a shower you smell like shit.
Mac and Dennis exchange another glance. Their faces are much the same— apprehension and hesitancy and what have you. They don't exactly want Charlie going, definitely. That's what the look means. But when they look back at Charlie, he's humming idly, shoving a forkful of macaroni into his mouth, hugging his blazer to his chest.
"Uh... Well, Charles, we've got to get you ready, now don't we?" Dennis says, keeping his tone just that smudge of condescending— that's how he always talked to Charlie, why fix what ain't broken, he figures. "Have you showered?"
"Nope," Charlie says around a mouth of food. "Do i need to?" He pauses. "Shit, do I smell bad?"
"A little bit," Mac says sweetly. "But that's okay! You can shower here, right, Dennis?"
Dennis shrugs. "Well, yeah. But he's using your bathroom."
"Fine with me," Mac shrugs. He waits for Charlie to finish chewing before asking, "Is all you brought that blazer?"
"Yeah."
"I can run by your apartment," Dennis says, "I can pick up the rest of your clothes while you shower. How's that sound, huh, buddy?" He pats Charlie's shoulders, who gives an enthusiastic nod, shoveling more of the food into his mouth.
"Frank should know where my good clothes are," Charlie replies after a second.
"Get cleaned up." Dennis points at Mac, "I'm trusting you with this, don't disappoint me."
Mac smiles, head falling to the side. He nods, and waits patiently for Charlie to finish his food, glancing at Dennis' full bowl of macaroni when he hears the front door shut.
_
Charlie's wrapped in a towel, damp hair splayed across his forehead, sat on Macs bed. Macs digging through his drawers, trying to find socks that might pass as a pair.
"Screw it, this is impossible. You good with mismatched socks, bro?"
"Dude, I'm good with any socks. I don't even need a pair, actually?" Charlie shrugs, twitching a bit in discomfort when a drop of water runs down his upper back. "When can I get dressed, man?"
Mac grabs two black socks that are completely different shades, frowns, and sighs. "Whenever Dennis gets home." Mac turns around, holding the socks up. "He's getting your clothes, remem—" He's stopped dead in his tracks when he turns around. Charlie's watching him curiously, holding his towel up around his chest, and Mac realises for a fleeting second that he's seeing much more of Charlie now than he's ever really seen before.
He keeps his eyes very purposefully on Charlie's face, and nowhere else.
"Yeah, sure," Charlie sighs out, and it forces Mac back into the right state of mind. "Do you think I'm doing the right thing?"
The question causes Mac to furrow his brows, watching Charlie chew his nails nervously. "What?"
"You know. Cause when we were dating and shit, I didn't really like it? But I still want her to like me, you know?" Charlie shrugs, tracing his shitty 'bad new' tattoo. "I dunno how to explain it. It's stupid."
Mac has the very strong urge to tell him not to go. And it's getting hard to keep his mouth shut. He sits tentatively next to Charlie, reaching a hand out to pat his thigh. But his skin is warm, and Macs hand is burning, so he moves it quickly and wraps an arm around Charlie's shoulder instead. But even then he finds his thumb rubbing absentminded circles into the freckled flesh, but this time he can't find the urge to pull away.
Charlie doesn't seem to mind, anyways.
"If you're having second thoughts..."
"No," Charlie says immediately. "I want to go, man. I mean, I want to hang out with her. I just don't— uhhggggg." Charlie glances up at at Mac glumly.
"You don't...?"
"I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't know what she's doing. It's like, sometimes she likes me, and sometimes she doesn't." He's talking in that way that lets Mac know he's about to start rambling. "And I never know which it is, and sometimes I like her, and sometimes I don't, and I never know which one it is for me, either. But I know I always go back to her, for some reason, even when it doesn't work out, or whatever. And even if she's mean to me, or I'm mean to her, it's like a loop. Like Groundhog Day." Charlie's face bunches up. "I don't like Groundhog Day! I don't like Groundhog Day!"
"Come on, man, it's gonna be fine," Mac consoles, pulling him tighter into his side. Charlie huffs, and his head drops on Macs shoulder. "You can call me or Dennis at any time if you want to leave, okay? We'll come get you, bro."
"Hm." Charlie's damp hair in rubbing against Macs neck. "Thanks, man. I guess I'm just a little freaked out."
"I totally get it, Charlie. Don't worry. You're gonna knock her dead, bro! Just smile, be yourself. Anyone who wouldn't like that doesn't know what they're missing." Mac would never give him that advice usually. In fact, Charlie should be anyone other than himself if he wants to make a good impression. But the Waitress knows him already. Knows his quirks. The worst that could happen was Charlie getting his heart broken, but she's broken it so many times Mac doesn't think it'd be too much of a problem.
But then Charlie hums, says a small, "Thanks, Mac," and it makes Mac feel sort of bad for thinking that way.
There's not anymore time to talk, because Macs bedroom door is slamming open and Dennis is strutting in triumphantly. "Hey, bitches," he calls, clapping his hands together. Charlie pulls away from Mac to fix his towel and give Dennis as much of his attention as he could. Mac notices that Dennis is strangely empty handed.
"No clothes?" Mac asks.
"Uh, well, not exactly," Dennis replies, smiling tightly. "Yeah, all Charlie's clothes smell like shit. Seriously, dude, when was the last time you washed anything you wear?"
Charlie gets an embarrassed look on his face, and shrugs. "Don't really have a washing machine, guys," he reasons. "I usually just throw them in the sink."
"I thought you went to your moms to wash your clothes," Mac asks, and again, Charlie shrugs.
"Haven't had time to stop by."
"What's he supposed to wear?" Mac argues, motioning to Charlie. "He's been sitting here for, like, an hour!"
"I haven't even been gone for an hour! He can borrow something from us. Is that adequate?" He asks Charlie.
Charlie shrugs. "Good for me. How much time do we got left?"
"Thirty minutes, at most," Dennis says easily. "Let's get those clothes on you. And do something about your hair.."
_
Charlie's sitting in the middle of the restaurant. His chair bumps into someone else's as they push up to their feet. His nerves are on fire, because he's a few minutes late and still, the Waitress hasn't shown up.
He can hear everyone's conversations. The couple behind him are celebrating a twentieth anniversary. To his right, a very tense conversation about finances. His south, a young couple celebrating their engagement. He can hear the waitresses heels clicking on the flooring, the bus boys sloppy handling on a couple glass cups, the piano churning out a continuous white noise.
God, he really wishes Mac was here. Or Dennis. Dennis could always calm him down. Mac too, but he was better for physical threats. He felt like vomiting and was starting to sweat. Was he right? Was this a bad decision? Should he have just stayed at home tonight? It felt like she'd never come, and then what? I'm just gonna look like some asshole, Charlie thinks, pulling at his earlobe. And then what? The guys pick me up and I'm the butt of a stupid joke again.
He could call Dee, maybe. But she'd give him some long rant about how the Waitress is a bitch anyways, he needs to move on, yadda yadda. Frank wouldn't be much of a help either. He'd say something about manning up and grabbing a beer when all Charlie wanted to do was curl up under several blankets and weigh himself into the mattress. Until he was nothing better than a seed in the floor, or a worm under dirt, or a speck of nothing at all.
The chair in front of him screeches when it's pulled out from the table, and the Waitress falls heavily into it. She looks nice, Charlie notices. Whatever kind of green her dress is is a good colour on her.
"Charlie," she greets curtly.
"Hi," Charlie replies quickly. "Thought you wouldn't come."
"Yeah, well, I had to make sure to bring my mace. Lock my apartment. Tell someone where I am and who I'm with." She's looking at Charlie like she doesn't want to be there, and honestly, Charlie can't blame her. Her eyes narrow, and she says, "You look nice."
It causes Charlie to blink a few times, and crack a smile. "Yeah, cause these aren't my clothes, probably," he says, picking at the black jumper he wore under his corduroy jacket. "They're actually Dennis's, so."
The Waitress's jaw flexes, and Charlie watches her take a deep breath through her nose.
He's totally blowing this. "But— uh, you look pretty. The dress is... nice. And your hair." He points to his own head, the movement jerky and awkward, before dropping his hand back in his lap.
The corner of her lip twitches, and she picks up her menu. "Thanks."
They order their drinks, and it's only when the task of figuring out what to eat comes up that he starts to get nervous again. He doesn't have to worry about the cost— Frank gave him his card and told him to pay with that. What worries him is when his eyes scan the menu and he can barely make out any words. He shifts nervously, and the Waitress's eyes snap up to look at him.
"What are you gonna order," she asks, and he can't read her tone when she says it.
"Dunno," Charlie replies, and he leaves it at that; hoping she will too.
"You can ask for help if you can't read it," she says. "I know you can't, Charlie, we were dating." She spits out the word like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth.
And again, Charlie can't blame her.
"Yeah," Charlie forces out. He'll just order spaghetti. That was easy. He knew it was on the menu.
No more is said after that for a while. Charlie hates it. He hates the silence, because when they're not talking he's forced to try and pick through the noise of the restaurant for something to focus on. But there's so much going on at one time, it feels impossible. His leg starts to bounce quicker, and he picks at a spot on his cheek.
He wishes his friends were here. Mac and Dennis never let the silence hang too long. They're like Charlie, in that regard. Always talking and never really knowing when to shut up. And Charlie loved that about them.
"Are you ready to order," the Waitress asks, and Charlie snaps his attention to her.
"What?"
"The food. Do you know what you want?"
"Oh. Yeah," Charlie says quickly, clearing his throat. It feels like his skin is being vacuum sealed against him, and he wants to peel it off like potatoe skin.
The Waitress eyes his curiously, closing her menu slowly. She reaches out to flip Charlie's closed, too, leaning a bit closer. "Are you.. okay?"
"Hm?" He blinks a couple times, and shakes the fog from his head. "Yea. No, yeah, it's just— you know, the guys never stop talking usually so the noise isn't there too bad."
"What are you talking about?"
"Uhm.... The- the noise. Just, background noise, it gets all in my head and I can't really think no good." Charlie scratches a spot by his nose, and shrugs. "Sorry."
"That's... okay. We can just keep talking..?"
There it is again. She says it sweetly, like she does want to help Charlie, and he can't figure out what that means. Does she like him? Does she not? It's probably just her being considerate, right, but his brain is whirring.
"Okay," Charlie says with a quick nod. "Yeah, that's fine. How— how's your day? Been?"
She smiles, closes her hands in her lap, and hums. "Well, fine. Nothing to complain about, I guess. Works kicking my ass, but I'm managing. What about you?"
"Works fine for me," Charlie says, and the Waitress rolls her eyes.
"I mean, how's your day been, Charlie?"
"Oh." Charlie scratches the back of his head while he thinks. "Good. Mac made his macaroni and let me have some. It's actually pretty good, but Dennis told me it's just Kraft anyways, because Mac calls it 'Macs Famous Mac & Cheese' and he's kind of lying." He can feel himself trying to start a tangent. At least he's aware of it. He tries to shut it down. "But, uhh, yeah. They helped me get ready, and Dennis was watching wrestling when I came home so, that's cool." He's distinctly aware of how he called their apartment 'home'. It isn't, he doesn't live there, not by a long shot. But it slipped out so casually, he doesn't bother trying to correct himself.
"Are you just going to talk about Mac and Dennis all night?"
He doesn't get time to answer, because the waiter is stepping up to their table as soon as her sentence ends.
"Sorry for the wait," he's saying. "We're pretty crowded— oh. Great, it's one of you."
Charlie's head turns to look at the Waiter at the change in tone. "What?"
The Waiter quickly abandons any unnecessary speech to Charlie in specific. "What will we be having today?"
They order without any problems.
In fact, it goes pretty smooth from then. Granted, it was still quiet. Awkward. Charlie had quickly become lost in his thoughts again, and the Waitress didn't seem to care one bit. Actually, she seemed to be focused on something else entirely, always glancing over her shoulder.
Charlie doesn't think he minds. It's a very weird thought for him. Because the Waitress is pretty. She's gorgeous, even. And hadn't he been running around for more than fifteen years trying to get her attention? Now that he's finally gotten it, it's like he's already bored of it. Looking at her, something does stir in his stomach. But it's more admiring infatuation, maybe, than it is head over heels in love. Which is... weird. Because he must have been at one point, but he can't tell where the line started to blur.
He looks at her. Her long lashes and big eyes. She's absolutely gorgeous. She makes Charlie wish he was pretty like a girl is. But something must be twisted down the line, because besides her outward beauty, Charlie finds that.. well... there's nothing else attracting him. Not romantically, anyway. He'd love to be her friend, maybe even her best friend. He'd love to give her a shoulder to cry on, a shelter whenever she needed it, a home, even.
But not like he might feel for other people entirely. Not like he might feel for...
He pulls his lips into a line. Twirls his fork in his barely touched spaghetti.
"Do you have a ride home," the Waitress asks, and Charlie's forced back into the present. The noisy, crowded, unforgiving present, it seemed.
"Huh?"
"Fine. Do you want me to walk you home?"
"Oh." Charlie looks away from her face— her stupid gorgeous face that makes him wish he were a girl— and back down at his plate. "No. The guys are gonna pick me up, so." He's aware of how he mumbles the words out, and he's aware of how quiet the Waitress is. But honestly, at this point he just wants to go home. He wants to go to Mac and Dennis's, sleep in the couch, or in a bed, it didn't matter. Melt into the cushion he'd be provided until he can trick himself he's nothing more than a rat tunneling through the mud.
"What's happening," the Waitress huffs, her fork clattering loudly when she drops it on her plate. It makes Charlie grit his teeth together and squeeze his eyes shut. "I thought this is what you wanted. Huh? To go on a date. That's why you've been stalking me for so fucking long. What's happening?"
Charlie takes a deep breath. "I'm just not feeling it today, man."
"Not feeling it? Not feeling it!? You've got to be kidding me. You know what, Charlie? Consider the restraining order back in effect."
He doesn't know why she's so upset. She should be happy. Charlie's a creep, he knows that. He knows he's a little freak, and the Waitress is better off without him. Maybe she just likes the attention, Charlie reasons, but he doesn't claim any concrete answer. "Whatever, dude. I just want to go home. This has been a shitty night, by the way, okay? Dee might be right: you're kind of a massive bitch, alright?"
The Waitress looks more upset than he thinks he's ever seen her. "You're an asshole, Charlie! The only reason I even forced myself through this— you want to know? I was just trying to make Dennis jealous. How's that! Bitchy enough for you? You were my absolute last resort!"
Even though he's spent the entire night convincing himself he didn't like her, something about those words cuts him straight to his core. They shouldn't— he's not even that surprised. She doesn't like him, she never has. And it's not like he doesn't deserve it. But being proven to be not even a second choice, or third, or fourth- but a last ditch effort? Again, and again, and again? Over and over.
That's all he ever will be, it seems. And it makes sense. He's not pretty like a girl, he's not pretty at all. He's a gross, small, dirty, weird sort of in between creature. There's nothing he can bring to the table, it seems, and he wholeheartedly believes he's never, ever made someone's life better for knowing him. If anything, he's only dragged people down and fucked them over.
He can feel a tear run down his cheek. And another. And soon, there's so many falling he can't see straight. He jumps to his feet sloppily, shoves passed the Waitress, and runs as fast as he can out of the restaurant.
It doesn't matter that he's sticking her with the bill. Fuck it. Why did it matter, anyways? He just wanted to melt away into nothing at all, burn up and turn into stars and not have to think about anything.
He wanted to be with Dennis and Mac.
He wanted them to hold him. Tell him it was okay. He was okay. That he was pretty like a girl, at least to them. Or maybe that it didn't matter that he wasn't. Tell him he would be okay. He would always be okay.
He wanted to curl up next to Dennis, wrapped around him like a baby squid. He wanted Mac to hold him tight, weigh him into the mattress until he was a ball of warmth and he believed he could turn into diamonds.
It only makes him cry harder, until he's hiccuping and sobbing in a snotty, drooling mess, fallen on his ass in Guigino's parking lot.
He feels downright pathetic, almost. He knows he must look it. Most of all, he just feels stupid.
Charlie digs his phone out his pocket with trembling fingers, trusting muscle memory to take him where he needs to go, because he sure as hell can't see what he's doing.
Soon enough, his phones ringing and he's got it pressed against his ear, shivering in the cold night air.
"Hey-o Charlie! How'd it go?" Macs voice booms through, and Charlie feels almost bad when a sob pushes past his teeth. "Charlie..?"
"I need a ride- home," Charlie manages out, his voice sounding grossly distorted out his own mouth. "Can you come and get me? Please? Mac?"
There's not even time for a pause. "Of course, bro. We'll be right there, okay? Just hang tight, buddy."
Charlie doesn't answer, Mac doesn't need him to. The phone disconnects, and Charlie lets it drop into his lap when he sees the restaurants front doors be slammed open.
The Waitress storms out with a vengeance, immediately pinpointing Charlie and stomping toward him.
He just wants her to go away. Or punch him. Maybe if she stays, she will.
"Hey! Dick! You're not sticking me with the bill!"
"Leave me alone," Charlie shouts, pulling his knees to his chest and grabbing the sides of his head.
"I don't have any money, Charlie, I'm not paying for your God damned food."
"You're the one who asked me out, okay! Not the other way around. If anyone should pay, it's you!"
The Waitress looks murderous. Her fists ball up, and her face scrunches. "You're a fucking rat, Charlie."
"Don't call me a rat," he forced out in reply, starting to rock back and forth. He wasn't a rat. Rats got bashed. He didn't want to get bashed. He didn't want to be cast out anymore. He didn't like being the rat, because being the rat meant he wasn't even important enough to be counted as a human, and somewhere not so deep down, he believed it.
"You're no better than one," the Waitress is shouting. "A filthy, ratty, freak of a man! I can't believe you ever thought I'd give you another chance! Burn in hell, Charlie."
He's aware she's just trying to hurt him. But it's working, and Charlie's starting to freak the fuck out. His brain feels overloaded, every single sensation being too much for him to handle at once, and he just— can't do it.
Charlie has enough time to gasp in a sharp breath, squeeze his eyes shut, and urge Mac and Dennis to hurry, before his brain shuts off, and he goes blank to the world around him.
He feels himself blink what seems like just a second later. But of course, it can't be, because he's staring right into blue eyes, Dennis's hands on either side of his face. He looks worried, and it takes a second for Charlie to hear what has to be Mac yelling.
"Hey, Charlie," Dennis is saying, and Charlie gets lost in the warmth of his hands for just a moment. "What's up, buddy? You freaked me out for a second there." He's smiling, and for once it doesn't seem like his usual, condescending one. Charlie's sure he can trick himself into thinking it's something it isn't if he tries.
Charlie drags his eyes off Dennis's, turning his head a bit to try and glimpse what's happening beside him. Dennis keeps his head in place, however, and his smile twitches into a grin at whatever Macs situation is. Charlie feels about as small as a flea. He finds it's kind of nice.
"We got here five minutes ago, more or less. The Waitress threw a fit, the crazy bitch," Dennis is laughing out. "Macs been arguing with her since he stepped out the car. I'm gonna stop them, of course. But it was hilarious, and, well. I wanted to make sure you were okay, naturally." Dennis pauses, then takes a deep breath, pulling his hands away and clapping them together. "What happened?"
Charlie shakes his head, and suddenly he feels a bit ashamed. Embarrassed at how stupid he's going to sound. "She was only doing it to make you jealous, man. A last ditch effort, I guess."
Dennis freezes, and he stares unreadably toward the Waitress. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah. I don't even care, man, I'm over it all." And at the moment, he means it. He's just worn out, and lonely, and tired of running over himself.
Dennis stands without another word, and Charlie watches him stride over to Mac like fire and brimstone, and place a hand on his shoulder. He tugs Mac back, whispers something in his ear, and jerks his head toward Charlie.
Mac seems dubious, but he does eventually scamper away toward Charlie. He offers down a hand, mumbling, "Come on, let's get in the car, bro."
Only once he sees Mac and Charlie starting to leave does Dennis turn toward the Waitress.
"What is your problem," he demands, crossing his arms right over his chest. "What do you get out of this? Toying with Charlie."
"He's a creep! You're not gonna make me feel bad about this, he's a little freak, Dennis!"
Dennis shakes his head. "Of course he's a creep," he says simply. "But you have a restraining order. You know how the kid is— if you wanted him gone, you could have called the cops." Dennis's eyes narrow. He doesn't think he'll bother holding much back. She hurt Charlie, that might as well have been the biggest sin, the way it manages to push every single one of Dennis's buttons. "You want to know what I think, huh?"
The Waitress scoffs, rolls her eyes, and places her hands on her hips. "What? Tell me what you think about me. Go ahead."
"I think you're a sad, pathetic little woman. I think, you hold yourself on a high horse, but at the end of the day, you're no better than Charlie. Not by a long shot. You think you're on top of him, that he's nothing more than dirt on your shoes, huh? Well, hun, I think you're worse than him, and let me tell you why." Dennis's voice drops lower, and he clasps his hands together. "I think you're alone. I think you're so alone, in fact, you thrive off Charlie's attention. You don't care to get rid of him because he's the only guy who could ever put up with you. Because, Waitress.." Dennis raises his eyebrows. Smiles. As if he's speaking to a child. "You're a bitch. A whiney, obnoxious, delusional little bitch. And you keep Charlie around because it gives your sad life, a little bit of meaning."
Dennis feels just a bit like God. Like he has some power in the palms of his hands. He loves the feeling— such a familiar thing it is. The way the Waitress is looking at him solidifies that he's not too far off at all. And it makes Dennis grin.
"I don't like you, Waitress. I've never liked you, and I never will. I think you're ugly on the inside. I think you're beneath me. I think you're just as bad as you pretend I am, or Charlie is, or any of us are."
The Waitress shakes her head, her fists balled tightly. "You're an asshole, Dennis Reynolds."
"I know," Dennis replies. "And I know that. And even that makes me miles above you."
She doesn't say anything for a few moments, head dropped and arms crossed. But eventually, she mutters out a, "I just need someone to pay the bill."
"You should have started with that!" Dennis says, faux happy with a strange little smile in his face. He turns on his heel, doesn't pay her another thought, and makes his way toward his Range Rover. He pulls the drivers door open, steps inside, and calls, "Have a good night!" before falling into his seat, slamming the door, and buckling his seatbelt with a grin.
He looks up in the rear view mirror, and his eyes soften. Whatever God complex he'd previously been bathing in slowly fizzles away. He watches through the mirror as Mac helps Charlie out of his jacket smooths down the sides on his messy hair, and tweaks his cheek. He watches closely when their eyes meet, and he can swear he sees something more in their gazes.
Dennis swallows hard, clears his throat, and shifts in his seat. "We ready to go?"
"Yeah," Mac answers, shifting in his seat and wrapping an arm around Charlie's shoulders.
Charlie's head falls on his shoulder, and Mac tenses up for just a second. It's really when Charlie's hand falls to rest in his lap that Mac feels the car turn a few degrees warmer. He takes that small leap of faith and slides his own hand down off Charlie's shoulders, instead grabbing just above his waist.
He briefly thinks about kissing him. But that might as well have been the kiss of death, and he doesn't think he's ready for that level of rejection yet.
"Charlie, you can do better than her, I'm serious," Dennis says, turning around in his seat. He still hadn't pulled out the parking lot.
"Yeah," Charlie mumbles, and there's something in his tone that makes Dennis's shoulder twitch. "I know."
"You don't need to cast pearls before swine."
"I know," Charlie says again.
Dennis narrows his eyes. Swallows hard. He beacons Charlie forward, "Come here."
Charlie detaches himself from Macs side, scoots up the seat, and leans forward between the front seats. Dennis meets his eyes, grabs under his chin.
Baptism of fire.
He leans forward, angles Charlie's chin up, and kisses him. He can feel Charlie's eyelashes flutter against his cheek, his nose pressing against Dennis's skin, hear the sharp breath Charlie takes through his nose.
Dennis only pulls away when he feels something wet against his cheek, and he’s shocked to find Charlie immediately ducking down to wipe his eyes.
“Charlie..?”
“Sorry,” Charlie says quickly, falling back against Mac. He pressed his palms against his eyes. “I— it’s just funny, I guess.”
“What’s funny?” Mac asks, and Charlie just cracks a grin.
“That entire date, I just kept talking about you guys. And I kept thinking about you. It’s just- it’s crazy. I love you guys, man. That’s it.”
Macs eyes go wide, and he snaps his attention toward Dennis, who’s staring right back at him. Mac cracks first, smiling wide, and Dennis slowly follows.
“We love you too, bud,” Mac replies smoothly, as if his heart didn’t just have an aneurysm in his chest. He wraps his arm down around Charlie’s waist, who tucks his knees up and pushes harder against Macs side.
Dennis rights himself in the drivers seat, and starts the car. Bryan Adams starts immediately through the radio. “Charlie,” he calls over his shoulder, pulling out the parking lot. “Feel like staying the night? I think we’ve still got some popcorn, we can watch a movie?”
“Fuck yeah,” Charlie agrees from the backseat.
“Oh, dude, can we watch Predator?” Mac jumps to ask, and Dennis chuckles.
“Ooh, I’m good with Predator,” Charlie agrees, and he and Mac share a high five.
“If you’re both fine with it, I don’t see why the hell not,” Dennis says easily, and the two in the back cheer.
“Bro, best night ever,” Mac hoots, and Charlie laughs happily.