#clockturned ft. dennis & mac.

[thegcng-arch]

there's this voice in my head that keeps telling me i'm doing everything wrong. it's been here for as long as i can remember, really. it sounds just like my mother, our dearly departed barbara. even though she's dead it seems she never really left. it always puts me on edge, makes me so angry. it's difficult to explain, hard to explain, too vulnerable. i don't want people to know about this voice, about these thoughts. that's not who dennis is supposed to be. i'm confident, perfect, intelligent, handsome. i'm enough, i have to be enough. the only person who i think picks up on the voice is @clockturned. that only annoys me more. that will happen, i suppose, when you live with someone for over twenty years.

mac is always trying to help and it pisses me off. like a puppy waiting for a treat, tail wagging with excitement as he waits to be given an order, begging to show his master how good he is ( i suppose that's what i am, his master ). even though all morning i've been telling mac to shut up as he tries to help me 'feel better', he still has the audacity to look at me with those shining brown eyes and say "i would do anything for you".

my head snaps to the side, eyes narrowing in his direction as i let his words hang in the air. i can hear the voice in my head getting louder, telling me to push mac away, to push away anyone who tries to help. "i know that mac." i respond, words quiet and cool, drawing in a deep breath. i've been trying to ignore that voice in my head recently, trying to be better. less rage-full. but how do i move on from everything i know?

"you should worry about what you can do for yourself." i continue on as i take a sip of my tea, leaning back in the kitchen chair a bit as i tilt my head up to look at mac. "because honestly, mac, you're a mess. if you spent less time worrying about how to fix me, maybe you could finally fix whatever the fuck is going on with you."

[thegcng-arch]

my smile lingers as mac leans back, putting on a show as he thinks over my suggestion. he looked like an idiot and somehow it only made him more endearing. sure, california isn't exactly the first place i'd suggest going, but it seemed fun. there was loads of shit for people to do there, right? and loads of rich people to screw over and then we could pretend to act rich. my brows screw together and i let out a scoff. "piss water? jesus christ, grow up man. it's good, tea is good." i take another sip from my mug to prove my point, letting out a soft 'ah' after the sip. "not my fault your pallet isn't as sophisticated as mine." if mac didn't like the tea he didn't have to drink it. i'm not sure why he was, but i had a hunch it was due to the fact that i enjoyed tea before bed.

i give a small nod as he insists that he's not entertaining the florida idea, listening as he rambles on about the argument he would make but is currently making. partying like i'm twenty-two again ... would i even be able to do that anymore? it does sound fun, however, to try it at least. there's a twitch of my brow as mac moves on to babes, and a turn of my stomach. i'll blame that on the fasting i've been doing instead of the real cause. my eyes roll and i let out a breathy laugh to move on from the other reaction, hoping it wasn't noticed but knowing that it most likely was.

"you can do literally any of the things you just said in california." i say with a shake of my head. "besides, if i wanted to go to some trashy beach i'd just go to the jersey shore." and i wouldn't. not going back there, not after last time. "you said it yourself, we should act like rich yuppies, right? what kind of a rich yuppie would be going to pound town, usa? we should be lounging by the beach at some five star resort, being waited on by hotel staff, walking around the city and dining at expensive restaurants. we-" i hesitate for a moment, the words dying in my mouth. 'we aren't twenty-two anymore mac'. somehow it's easier to think it than to say it. "-we deserve a classy vacation, not a trashy one."

it's their little secret. they have a secret! if he was a dog, he'd absolutely be wagging his tail to no end right now. he selfishly soaks in that smile for as long as he possibly can, milking every second for what it is : valuable. insanely valuable. how pretty, and yet . . . how rare.

❝ huh, ❞ he leans back in his chair, attempting to assume the position of a sophisticated, thinking man by crossing one leg over the other, ❝ cali. gotta say, den, i would not expect that answer from you. ❞ for a moment, he's quiet. he feigns being deep in thought, lifting his cup of tea to his lips and reminding himself once again how much he hates the shit. ❝ goddamn, why do you drink this? it's like piss water, man. ❞

but that's another argument for another time. california. ❝ okay, so i'm totally not entertaining florida anymore 'cause it's, like . . . the pits of america, but if i was, here's the argument i would make. ❞ it'd be too easy for them to agree on something, right? they couldn't be more different if they tried. ❝ picture this, travel with me for a second : you're spending your days laying in the sun and your nights partying like you're twenty - two again. babes everywhere. bros for me, obviously . . . ❞

hands raise, fingers wiggling in an attempt to sell his vision to someone who couldn't be more opinionated. ❝ where are you? pound town, usa. daytona beach, baby. ❞ a cheeky grin tugs at his lips this time, but then his display of flashiness turns to one of surrender, ❝ hypothetically or whatever, ❞ he elaborates, ❝ i'm just sayin'. ❞

[thegcng-arch]

@clockturned : lyric starter ft. dennis, are you home? by amber run.

my leg bounces up and down against the floor as i sit on the couch, anxious energy bubbling out of my body. i hate this, i want to keep it inside, i don't want people to know. it's useless trying to hide it from mac of all people, so i might as well just open my mouth. be honest for once. what's the worst that could happen, huh? i don't like when i feel this desperate. "it's harder every day to see what's real and not decay." heavy, that's how the words feel on my tongue. i let out a sigh and rest my elbows on my knees, cupping my face in my hands, fingers knotting into my curls and gently tugging on the grounds. "i'm tired of feeling like this, mac." and i don't know how to fix it.

[thegcng-arch]

words so sweet should bring me some level of joy, i know that much. i don't feel joy though, not with those words coming from mac. after all these years i am still stunned that he thinks this way of me. everything i had done ... i don't deserve to be called beautiful. especially from him. even with all my pushing and planning he was still attached to me, he still worshiped me. there was no way to get rid of him, it seemed, and it made me feel sick. on the other hand it also made me feel good, loved. but love was not an emotion that i should be feeling ever, no.

i raise a brow and let out a scoff, laughing right in mac's face like i often do. "you're being serious right now, aren't you?" i ask, words dripping with mockery and false affection. my lower lip juts out into a pout for a few seconds, letting the question hang in the air. after a beat, i continue on, hoping that he will finally see that i am no good for him. "i know i'm beautiful, of course i'm beautiful. but jesus christ, man. you gotta stop being so obsessed with me."

send "i think you're beautiful" for my muses reaction, accepting, @clockturned.

[thegcng-arch]

my body feels fuzzy and warm. typically i would just blame that on the booze that mac and i had been sharing this evening, but there was another cause this time around. it was mac. his fucking hands running over my body, his lips on mine, our breaths warm as they brush against our faces. goddammit, he was going to kill me if he kept doing this, if we kept doing this. it's tiring, lying to myself, and it feels so good to finally act on my desires. i wanted mac, god i've wanted him for so long and now i finally had him.

his hands continue to travel up my body, brushing past my neck and weaving between curls. he tugs and i move my head back instantly, a soft moan slipping past my lips at the small flash of pain to my scalp. "fuck, mac." i'm not religious but i'm saying his name like a prayer, chest heaving as i draw in deep breaths. my hand reaches forward, running across his chest, down to his stomach, balling my hand in his shirt and tugging him closer. "come on baby boy, you can do it. fucking wreck me."

@clockturned, [PULL]: sender pulls on receiver's hair to expose their neck

[thegcng-arch]

it's almost funny, the things @clockturned would do simply because i say so. mac was oh so obedient as always, and oh so clueless about it all at the same time. he's been too ... kind recently. too doting, too soft. it makes me feel uneasy. he's looking out for me, protecting me, i know that. hell, i'm the one who started pulling the puppet strings in the first place to make mac serve me at my beck and call. but mac's been caring too much recently and he's getting too close, too close to seeing the real me. that person has been guarded for so long the idea of someone else seeing it terrifies me. it shouldn't, not with mac, but it does. we've known each other for years but he's only gotten to know the dennis that i put on and show off. he's starting to know the real me, what really makes me happy and makes me tick. instead of it making me angry it just makes me happy scared. i have to put an end to it, which is why i had banished him to the back seat on our commutes to work, kept conversation to a minimum. it hurts to do it, why does it hurt?

after the third day of mac's famous mac 'n cheese and listening to my roommate pad around outside my bedroom door like a kicked puppy i cave, allowing him to sit in the front seat. he's elated and i knew he would be. he's so elated that he won't shut up about it. "did you miss it? i missed it. did you miss it, dennis?" he asks with wide eyes and a hopeful smile and it makes me sick. i grip the steering wheel a little tighter and bite the inside of my cheek because yes, yes i did miss it and i hate when mac is right. my skin feels like it's prickling as he continues to speak, going on about how i'm a great guy ... the phrase also makes me feel sick. guy ... that's not what i am. and i'm sure not great. i decide that i need him to shut up and now, because otherwise i'm going to end up biting his head off.

i remove a hand from the steering wheel and place it on mac's thigh as gently as possible. a little affection will be enough to stun him to silence, i think. i keep telling myself over and over again in my head that i'm doing this to distract him, to catch him off guard. i am not doing this because i'm craving the touch, because i want to hold him, i want to be held, i want to be close to someone for the first time in a long time ... "this is nice." i finally put an end to the one sided conversation, but i do not remove my eyes from the road. i can feel my fingers twitch as his hand hovers above mine, i want to reach out and hold on for dear life. "we're best together, after all. that's why we've been best friends for so long." alright, time to shut up now before it gets too real.

continued from here.

[thegcng-arch]

i can't help but let out a small laugh, nodding my head. it was bullshit, living for others instead of living for myself. at this point, i don't even know why i do it. forty-eight years of trying to be someone i'm not, i guess that's a difficult habit to break. "yeah i ... i don't want to do it anymore but i-i, i'm not sure i know how." my words are quieter than they've been in a while, hesitant. i can't remember the last time i was this vulnerable ... it's terrifying.

the air feels heavy as i await mac's response, hands trembling as they fidget with each other. and then i see it, the grin spreading across mac's face, how his eyes light up. i stare at him for a moment silent, just blinking and taking the reaction in. his hand reaches out and grips my arms and i tense for a moment, drawing in a deep breath through my nose to remind myself to relax. i can think of a few reasons exactly why mac might be so excited about this. he's probably thinking about us. about the fact that i've admitted that i'm attracted to chicks and dudes. that means mac has a chance, that we have a chance. but with that comes another need for a confession, honesty about exactly what i feel for my roommate. and that ... i don't know if i can do that, if i'm ready for that. why would mac want me after everything i've done to him?

the word trans causes my spine to straighten, my lips to twitch ever so slightly, brows furrowing in thought. is that what i was? the no gender thing seems more appealing, honestly. but there was something so comforting about being more feminine. "not sure really. uh ... both, i guess. like ... there's some times when i'm fine being a dude. like ..." how the fuck do i even explain this? "... but there's other times when i uh ..." my hand shoots back up to my ear, tugging at my ear lobe as i think about what exactly i'm about to confess to mac. "... i like being more feminine, sometimes. like, instead of just my usual light base i'll uh ... put on something more like a chick would wear. it makes me feel ..." pretty, untouchable, powerful, desirable, comfortable. "... good."

the nerves that drift off of dennis in thick, uneasy waves are palpable. mac wants to reach out and touch again, but instead, he watches on as the other occupies themselves by toying with their fingernail. mouth opens to say just that, that dennis is perfect in his eyes and could never be anything but . . . luckily, the other beats him to the punch. mouth promptly shuts. frown pulls at the corners of his lips.

he's never really considered the constant stress that dennis puts on themselves in their unending pursuit for perfection. gaining some insight makes his chest feel heavy, makes his heart ache with newfound understanding at a hefty price. ❝ yeah, ❞ he murmurs, ❝ yeah, that's . . . it's no way to live, dennis. for other people? that's bullshit. ❞

the revelation that comes next, however, shifts the atmosphere entirely. for a few moments, he's stunned into silence. against all odds, though, eyes light up and a giddy grin forms on his face. ❝ oh, shit! ❞ he exclaims with an excitable laugh that's honestly probably anything but manly. he has a chance! holy shit, he has a chance, right? dennis is into dudes. dennis can be into him! ecstatic electricity shoots through his veins and he can't sit still, legs bouncing in glee. ❝ that's awesome! that's so cool, dennis. ❞ hand shoots out, taking an animated hold of their arm.

it's cool for him. maybe that's selfish. he sobers up when the next punch comes, and that one confuses him a little bit. admittedly, he's not the brightest and most informed when it comes to gender and sexuality, despite boasting his status as the token gay of the group. brows rise to his hairline, lips parting to no avail. ❝ so, like . . . trans? ❞ he questions curiously, genuinely. ❝ or, like . . . that no - gender thing? honestly, man . . . bro . . . shit, ❞ he's making it weird, fumbling over his words like an idiot. smooth, mac. clearing his throat, he shakes his head, ❝ it's cool! i mean, gender is kinda fucked anyways, right? it's so 2008. nobody does the gender thing anymore. ❞ he repeats what charlie once told him word - for - word, staring expectantly and hoping it makes him sound as wise as charlie sounded saying it.

[thegcng-arch]

i can tell what mac's about to say but he stops himself. of course he would. he knew better by now than to throw that insult in my direction. " 'course frank won't give a shit. he's an idiot. besides, if he asks about it, i'll think of some bullshit excuse that he'll believe." frank had manipulated me during my adolescence, but as i've gotten older i've learned how to pull his strings.

mac's excitement is palpable, which is annoying. squirming around in his chair like a child about to eat dessert. it did seem the least bit exciting, though, a vacation with mac. unfortunately, mac was right, i did always have the most fun when it was just mac. whenever it was the two of us things seemed to go well, or at least they had a few years ago. most of the changes were my doing, after all. there's still that part of me, though, that wishes that things were back to the way they were when we were younger.

i let out a small chuckle as mac leans in, smile widening across my face now. "oh don't worry, i won't say anything. we are the classiest guys in the gang. but we can't have charlie knowing we know that." it would break the poor guys heart, or send him into a blind rage.

my eyes narrow as mac excitedly shouts about going to daytona beach, how childish, and what a stupid idea. "florida is way too trashy, and we are nowhere near white trash. we should go to california." mac had been years ago, i had never quite made it there. not sure why my mind lands on california, maybe it was because it was warm compared to philly this time of year. maybe it's because i wished i had ended up going with mac all those years ago instead of getting off in north dakota. a lot would have been different.

❝ frank's money, bo . . . ❞ bozo, he nearly says. if he was talking to dee or charlie, sure, maybe he'd go through with it. no, he'd definitely go through with it, especially if it was dee. but it's his turn to bite his tongue because it's dennis, who is, like . . . way smarter than all of them combined. ❝ he won't give a shit, right? ❞ he carries on, allowing a snort of laughter to slip through his nose. ❝ old bastard's lucky he remembers how to piss in a toilet. ❞

frank's money is, after all, limitless. it comes without consequences; it's something they can throw haphazardly at the wind, and rest assured, they will. dennis seems to get it; of course dennis gets it. it's a genius idea!

the sight of some semblance of a smile ghosting across the other's lips makes his heart skip a beat. or several. when he squirms this time, it's out of excitement rather than discomfort. ❝ right? so fun, dude! we always have the best time, y'know? you and me. honestly, and don't tell charlie i said this, ❞ he leans in, lowering his voice : ❝ i've always thought we were the classiest guys in the gang. ❞

he almost can't believe it. he can't wrap his head around dennis entertaining this idea, using words like ' just us. ' he's on cloud nine, absolutely soaring with no descent in sight. ❝ and i have the perfect place, ❞ words sync up with dennis's refusal : ❝ daytona beach, baby! daytona b . . . ❞ nope. florida is a no - go.

sheepishly, he swallows the destination off the tip of his tongue. ❝ yeah, no, right. fuck florida, bro. f lorida's so trashy. polluted with white trash, which we're not, so . . . ❞

[thegcng-arch]

why not? i could think of a few reasons but i decide to keep them to myself. instead of a response i just shrug my shoulders, hand reaching up to rub at the back of my neck. when mac's hand moves from my back i feel strangely alone, wanting to lean back and follow after his touch. i sit still, head tilting to look at him as he speaks, listening quietly as he explains. my brows crease together as he reflects and i reflect too. maybe i should have been different, backed off on the banging chicks thing a little bit more. i suppose i was just trying to make myself seem straight ... 'normal'.

at the mention of god i can't help but roll my eyes. thankfully i don't believe in god. but if there was some all knowing being living in the sky making decisions about the assholes down on earth. if something did make me, they must have made me this way for a reason. i give a slow nod at his question of what's the point of trying to be someone else. what is the point?

people would see me differently, people wouldn't like me. i think briefly about frank telling me not to be so much of a nancy boy, of barbara trying to make sure that i was the most perfect boy that i could be. well, frank wasn't my dad and barbara was dead, so what mattered what they thought in the first place. my confession sits heavily on my tongue as i draw in a deep breath, opening my mouth to respond but taking a pause for a moment. my thumb brushes against my index finger, thumb nail picking aimlessly at the cuticles on my index finger.

"there is no point, i guess." i finally respond, "i get uh ... i get worried about what people think of me." my hand raises, palm facing mac. "and don't tell me how perfect i am or anything man, okay? i know you ... i know you think that way and shit but ... my whole life i've tried to live for people besides myself. like ... tried to be the person they wanted me to be." i let out a heavy sigh, closing my eyes for a moment. once they're open again i'm looking at the floor, it's too much to look at him when i talk about this shit. "i'm bisexual, i guess." i guess? jesus christ ... come on dennis. "i've known since high school. and uh ... there's times that i-i ... i don't know if i really feel like a man. if that uh ... makes sense?"

❝ why not? ❞ he fires the question right back at dennis without a moment of hesitation, lips curling to form the faintest of smiles. anybody can see that he thinks the world of dennis, believes that they deserve everything good and then some. maybe they've done some shit that makes them feel unworthy, but hey, all of them have. mac's no goddamn saint either.

the next question, however, brings him genuine pause. gradually, his supportive hand drops. the smile on his face fades. mind travels back to the days he spent hidden, beating himself up over unmanly and unconventional feelings and thoughts. ❝ i dunno, ❞ he responds quietly, gaze straying from dennis in favor of eyeing nothingness, ❝ i guess i just . . . everything in me told me it was wrong. that i was wired wrong or some shit. everything in the world did, too. ❞

a humorless huff of a laugh slips past parted lips. ❝ church. i mean, duh. huge sin. my dad only talking to me about chicks i was bangin'. the douchebags at school making lists ranking which girls had the biggest tits. ❞ he reminisces without an ounce of yearning or fondness, swallowing to remedy a dry throat. ❝ i used to pray to make it all go away. make myself feel normal, but . . . ❞ eventually, his eyes do find dennis again, and when they do, they're undeniably soft and overflowing with adoration, ❝ god made me this way for a reason, man. right? god made you the way you are for a reason, so what's the point of trying to be someone else? ❞

[thegcng-arch]

i see the confusion of mac's face, i've almost been caught in my lie. thankfully, he decides to move on, not push and ask me to be honest. i let out a sigh as i listen to mac speak, i suppose i'll actually pay attention. it seems like he has something that's on his mind, that he wants to talk about. the fact that mac is still planning on having children is almost laughable, but i bite my tongue. a gay man in his late forties still hoping to have children and raise them in south philly? ridiculous. but there's this tug in my heart, maybe it's out of agreement.

i had a kid, i didn't have to hope and pray that one day i might. but brian junior was back in north dakota with mandy and i had royally fucked that up. i had the opportunity to live with them, raise a son the right way, but i was too chicken shit to follow through. the idea of being away from philly, away from the gang, away from mac ... it was too much. i'll never admit it, though. i'll stick to my story about not wanting to be tied down, how i was too much of a bachelor. push down the parental instinct somewhere that i won't be able to find it again.

"a vacation?" i ask, head tilting to the side. "with what money, mac?" with franks credit card, obviously. we've stolen it for less and for more, and the old bastard hardly ever notices the charges ( or he just decides not to bring it up ). my mouth opens to protest further but it seems that mac's really thought this through, worked out all my possible rebuttals. it does sounds nice, a vacation, some time to relax. my face betrays me because i can feel myself smiling, even if it is small.

"that does sound ... fun." i respond hesitantly, reaching forward to pick up my mug once more. less so because i wanted another drink, but more so something to hold in my hands. to keep me from fidgeting. "and it's been a long time since we went somewhere. just us." a vacation without the gang, just me and mac. close, intimate. too close. "where would we go? i'm not going to florida, we need to go somewhere fancy. like you said, swim with rich yuppies."

no. against all odds, dennis says no. steadily, his smile fades into nothingness, replaced by an expression of confusion. out of everybody in the gang, he's always pegged dennis as being the one with the most promise. hell, dennis has already come to that conclusion at least seven times all on their own, spiraling once every few years in a pit of self - despair disguised as a quarter life crisis.

and yet . . . they want to stay. they want to keep practicing the chaotic monotony that the gang has established; schemes, booze, endless arguments. mac's no mastermind like they are, but even he recognizes that it's . . . dulling as the years trudge on. tedious, even.

❝ uh, ❞ for a moment, he's faced with a fork in the road : say what dennis wants to hear in the form of an easy agreement, or be honest for once in his damn life. the gears in his head turn, gaze dropping down to his own fingers. he studies them closely, feigning fascination with the digits. ❝ i dunno, man. i just . . . ❞

clearing his throat, he fights to keep his thighs glued to that goddamn chair. ❝ i don't wanna leave, y'know? i mean, not forever. i still gotta have kids, and those little shits are totally gonna grow up in philly. on the streets, just like their daddy. ❞ thumb jabs into his own chest, tone firm and decisive even if . . . well, the whole kids thing isn't exactly feasible for a gay man hopelessly in love with his best friend.

❝ but that's beside the point, ❞ another wave of his hand, ❝ beside the point. what i mean is i'm thinkin' we should take a vacation. huh? ❞ once more, brows raise enticingly, toothy grin reappearing on his face. ❝ you and me. we could go somewhere super nice! somewhere swimming with yuppies. and i wouldn't even be annoying, really, ❞ it's like he's thought of every potential protest dennis might raise, ❝ 'cause vacation mac is way different than philly mac. ❞

[thegcng-arch]

for once i'm listening carefully to mac's words, really taking them in. asking for advice, asking for someone to talk to, i can't remember the last time i had done something like this. it feels terrifying and i feel all jittery, but it does feel good to talk about it. i can see the wheels turning in mac's head, see him working to pick the right words to use. i'm used to seeing it after all, him walking on eggshells around me. and i have no one to blame but myself for that.

when mac brings up relating to the feeling, feeling that way before he came out, my back tenses. i bet mac can feel that, feel the muscles tightening and my spine straightening. i lean forward just a bit, that urge to pull away so he can't find out what i'm thinking, what i'm feeling. but i force myself to stay still on the couch, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly through my nose.

coming out ... is that what i wanted to do? to mac? the only person who knows anything close to my sexuality or gender was dee, and that's mostly because she's my sister. hard to hide all of it, having a twin. and as much as i hated it dee was goddamn good at reading me. "especially me? why?" i didn't deserve anything, really. i was a fraud. my right hand raises, pinching the brow of my nose as i take in another deep breath. i should just go to bed, screw all of this, and just keep it all inside. but no, no. i can't pull away anymore, i don't want to. "why'd it take you so long ... to uh, to come out?" is the question that i settle on, then. i feel like i already know the answer, i just want to know if he felt the same way that i feel now.

hand lingers, even when dennis straightens their spine. lingers, even when they attempt to sit back. lingers, even when every social cue tells him to withdraw. fingers trail from back to shoulder, though he still knows better than to lay it on too thick. his touch is light but there, a gentle reminder that he's not one to turn his nose up at this kind of thing.

okay, maybe he is. but not with dennis. with dennis, he listens. he tries to help, even if it's harder than a goddamn sudoku puzzle. dennis is a puzzle in and of themselves, containing too many moving pieces, too much ambiguity and mystery to solve in one go, two goes, several hundred goes. that doesn't stop mac from trying, though.

❝ sometimes . . . ❞ he trails off, struggling to string together the right words for the situation. it's like trying to tiptoe around a land mine, knowing that the slightest hint of a wrong move could make this all blow up in his face. ❝ i used to feel that way too, sometimes. before i came out or whatever. i'd just . . . wonder what the fuck i'm doing, y'know? what's the point of living if i'm not doing it honestly? at least to myself, 'cause fuck everyone else. ❞ a light snort slips through his nose, shoulders rising. ❝ everyone deserves to live honestly, i guess. especially you. ❞

[thegcng-arch]

mac's smiling but i'm not, even though he's saying everything that i want to hear. the mention of god makes me cringe, nose wrinkling up as a frown tugs at the corners of my lips. god didn't do this, i did this. this level of perfection didn't come naturally, it took work. skin care, supplements, diet, make-up. i worked hard to be this beautiful and mac should recognize that. i bite my tongue, however. i don't feel like bickering about the existence of god tonight. knowing mac, it will most likely come up again tomorrow.

i force out another laugh at his comments on therapy, at least we could agree on something here. therapy was for people who had no control over their emotions, for people who needed help. i was neither of those.

the silence is appreciated and i take another sip of my tea. i don't know how mac does it, always moving, always talking. i need quiet to think, to process, to work through my day and plan for the next. music is enjoyable on occasion, but silence ... i'd always prefer some quiet time alone. i roll my eyes as he speaks again, setting my cup down on the table. what is it now?

my brows furrow at the question because how on earth had anything that he said reminded him of that? "bored?" i ask, raising my voice slightly. what kind of a question is that? more so, how could mac tell that life had become a bit boring to me recently? i know the answer to that, he knows me. goddammit.

my shoulders lift into a shrug, voice lowering to a more regulated volume. "no, i'm not bored. we've got a pretty sweet life in philly, and paddy's hasn't been doing too bad lately. we've been getting customers." the lies come out easily, and i force my expression to remain neutral. i don't really know if mac will believe me, but i'm going to convince him that what i'm saying is the truth regardless. i was bored, i felt stuck. but no one needed to know that. no one needed to know that i had bigger dreams than owning the worst bar in philadelphia. it was too late for those dreams, anyway. i was forty-eight. a little old to be trying something new. "why do you ask? are you getting bored?"

❝ yeah, ❞ he agrees without missing a beat, too enthusiastic to bother considering all of the imperfections that dennis tries so hard to hide, ❝ yeah, bro, you're perfect. like . . . the perfect specimen! you're so lucky, god made you awesome. ❞ eyebrows rise, grin stretching across his face without trepidation.

everybody is jam - packed full of shit imperfections anyways. it's all about perception, right? and he perceives dennis to be perfect the way they are. rather than shying away from sharp canines that threaten to draw blood, he melts into the poison.

eyes follow a hand as it raises to an ear, watching on in intrigue like one might examine every curve, every stroke, every dip and divot in a painting. he chuckles along, giving his free hand a dismissive wave. ❝ therapy? nah, dude, you kidding? therapy's for pussies. ❞ the idea is preposterous. chin falls against an open palm.

but then dennis is telling him to shut up, and yeah, that one stings a little bit. lips promptly seal. brows crease. head hangs. shoulders slump forward.

defeated, he takes a moment to lift his own mug to his lips, immediately unable to bite back a grimace when lukewarm tea slips down his throat. shit, he hates tea. why does he drink tea? dennis drinks tea. that's why.

silence is his worst enemy. his life before charlie, before the gang, was nothing but silence. communication in the form of huffs and cold shoulders. he shifts uncomfortably in his chair. glances between dennis and the ceiling, inwardly loathing the way he can hear his own heart thump; the way he hears each breath.

finally, he succumbs. how couldn't he? ❝ oh, ❞ he blurts out, straightening up in his seat again, ❝ that reminds me, ❞ what could've possibly reminded him of what he's about to say is and likely forever will be a wild mystery, ❝ i was thinking . . . are you bored? like, of philly? and the bar? the gang? ❞

[thegcng-arch]

my foot bounces against the floor, moving my head and arms with it. nervous energy that i couldn't control. it pissed me off, really. i used to have such a strong grip on my emotions, on either showing them or concealing them. but now i'm sitting here actually talking to mac about this, actually letting him rub my back as he tries to sooth me.

i let out a laugh at mac's question, but there's no humor behind it. i barely new the answer to that question, who i was. i had spent so long trying to be someone else that the lines got blurred and things were muddled. the breath that leaves my lips is shaky, and i open my mouth to speak, but it closes. i couldn't talk to mac about this, not after everything. the years i spent ridiculing him for not just coming out of the closet, bullying him for pretending to be straight. projection, maybe, or something similar to it.

"i don't know." is what i settle on, finally pushing myself up from my hunched over position, turning to look at him. my hand raises and i tap my chest with my index finger. "i think i know but ... it's hard to talk about." to admit. "there's something going on in here and i'm not sure what it is." my fingers tap across my heart once more and i sigh, remembering a conversation i had with mac years ago. this is crazy, but i'm having feelings again. "i-i ... i don't like the person i've become, i guess. when i look in the mirror-" i want to throw up. "-i don't recognize the man staring back at me."

weird. that's weird, right? dennis doesn't push him away. they don't swat at his hand or claw his face. for a moment, eyes widen in disbelief and he recoils, like a child waiting for a stove top flame to hit his fingers. gradually, though, he regains confidence, because this is new and it's nice and dammit, if he's not going to take full advantage of it ( in a wholesome way, not a weird way ). hand fully rests on the other's back, thumb tracing along their clothed spine.

he might not be the best guy to turn to for advice in any other circumstance, but this time? well, he kind of gets it. mac knows how it feels to hide deep within the depths of your own body. he did it for years. ❝ yeah, ❞ he murmurs, ❝ yeah, i . . . i get it. not totally! but . . . ❞ trailing off, he raises his shoulders in a light shrug. after a brief pause, he dares to ask a question :

❝ who are you, dennis? ❞

[thegcng-arch]

mac's so goddamn optimistic, and it's only gotten worse with time. he had adjusted to my sharp edges and tried his best to file them down, learned how to bounce back from my quips and digs. disgusting. there was a time when he would have yelled at me, screamed at me, let his anger take over if i spoke to him like that. it doesn't happen anymore, not really. he gets me, and it only pisses me off more.

i set my mug down on the table, index finger tapping on the table below as he responds. so quiet, timid. why isn't he trying to fix me? i'm broken, can't he see that? why can no one see me? i notice how mac leans in, fingers twitching outwards. i want to recoil, pull back, lock myself in my bedroom so he can't touch. it's a mixture of a few things, really. he's not worthy enough to touch me and i'm afraid i might crumble if he does. "of course you like me the way i am, i'm perfect." i settle on saying, my left arm raising so i can tug at my earlobe with my fingers.

he looks at me like i'm an art piece, a statue in a museum. that's what i wanted after all, wasn't it? to be admired, to be worshiped, godlike. why did it hurt so much when it actually happened? my fingers drop from my ear and i wave my hand, trying to dismiss the conversation. this isn't what i want, i don't want to have a conversation about this. too vulnerable, too close to learning more about the real me. i grab my mug and lean back in my chair, withdrawing. "what is this? a therapy session? jesus christ ..." i sigh and force out a chuckle, taking another sip of my tea. "... just shut up, mac."

words don't pierce his skin like knives anymore. mac has meticulously developed a thick, impenetrable armor laced with stringy threads of sheer delusion; armor that can protect him from the crushing reality of what everybody says. armor that can turn a passive grunt from his mother into an ❝ i love you, mac. ❞ armor that can spin venom into gold. armor that can even morph dennis's scalding words into affection.

❝ you're a mess, ❞ they say, but mac hears ❝ i care enough about you to notice. ❞ they get each other; they always have. sure, there's the instinctive pang of hurt that knocks against his ribs. but he deflects and weaves words into something new, something beautiful, because it's all he knows.

❝ i'm not, though, ❞ he speaks up, voice strangely quiet, ❝ trying to fix you. ❞ an elaboration followed by a meaty pause. what's there to fix? yeah, maybe dennis would be easier to swallow and digest if they weren't so abrasive, so cruel, so manipulative. but then they wouldn't be dennis, right? he leans in closer across the table, fingertips stretching out in a boyishly desperate plea to meet cold skin and soft knuckles.

head tilts, ❝ i like you the way you are, dennis. ❞ it's an honest utterance, one born of relentless love and loyalty. lips twitch, fighting to curl into a sweet smile. ❝ i mean, yeah . . . yeah, dude, you're a goddamn hot mess too if i'm being honest. i could totally fix your shit if i wanted to. ❞ shoulders rise in a confident shrug, like he truly does believe he has the capability and power to change someone. change isn't something that he's been bred to embrace, much less practice.

❝ but i don't wanna. ❞ decisively, he speaks. but still, expectant eyes overflowing with endless admiration dance across the other's face, studying every feature intensely in search of something to suggest that he should backtrack. ❝ i think . . . ❞ fingers rap restlessly against wood, ❝ you're worth liking the way you are. ❞

[thegcng-arch]

we should have done this sooner, i can't help but think with mac so close to me, his hands on me. i can thank the liquor for my confidence in making a move, and i can also thank it for giving me the courage to not back down. i suppose i had wanted this for a long fucking time. no, there was no guessing here. i had wanted this for a long time and now that it was actually happening i felt like i was floating. this wasn't just sex, no, this was pure pleasure. i hadn't felt like this before when i had banged just any random person, this feeling was reserved for mac. for us.

mac's voice is so low and i can feel his breath on my skin, it's giving me fucking goosebumps. his words pull a whimper out of me against my better judgement but i can't fucking control my reactions right now, it feels too goddamn good. yes mac, mark me up, show everyone that i'm yours, that i belong to you. my mouth hangs open but i'm at a loss for words when i catch the last part, and jesus christ the moan that slips past my lips.

i allow myself to be walked back to the wall with ease, soft grunt leaving me as i'm pinned to the wall. my hand snakes down and grips the waistband of mac's dickies, tugging at them with an urgency that i wasn't even aware i was possible of happening. "fuck, mac. oh my god ..." his teeth feel amazing, his lips feel amazing, i need more of it. "... more, i want more. fuck, please. c'mon man ..."

he doesn't know how he got so goddamn lucky. he must've said or did something right ( or maybe they're both just shitfaced beyond return ), because dennis welcomes every touch without hesitation. there are no sharp barks at him to cut the shit, no abrupt jolts, no fingernails to the cheek. his head is spinning atop his shoulders, muscles weightless. adrenaline and desire intermingle to create a lethal concoction that only makes him feel more drunk.

the kisses they share are all lips and tongue and teeth. mac can't be damned to play gentle, to be nice, because he's wanted this too long to practice restraint now. he's greedy, eagerly lapping up every drop of attention dennis gives him and leaving none to waste. one hand grips tight enough at a slim waist to bruise, the other sliding up to coil within soft locks of hair and yank.

yeah, maybe he's being rough. there's a fifty - fifty chance that dennis loves it or loathes it, and luckily for him, it's the former. wide - blown eyes admire the smooth patch of unmarked skin exposed to him, panting like a dog and twice as enthusiastic. a dull ache resides in the pit of his belly, one he recognizes as red hot arousal that comes to full fruition when dennis moans for him, when they draw him in closer, when they encourage him to wreck them.

❝ yeah? ❞ his voice is low, hoarse, thick with primal need. ❝ y'want me to wreck you? mark you all up and show everybody who you belong to? ❞ he's rambling, relying entirely on instinct and not at all on logic. ❝ dirty girl. ❞ the growled praise slips out unconsciously, and before he has time to dwell on it, he's leaning in and going to town on that perfect, perfect goddamn skin. lips press sloppy, open - mouthed kisses, teeth brushing against flesh while he seeks out the perfect spot.

hand on the other's hip is firm, shoving them back against the wall and utilizing every ounce of strength in his body to pin them there. chest presses up against their own, fingers digging into scalp. he pauses when lips linger on the other's pulse point, and with a wicked smile, only then does he bite with enough force to sting, tongue soothing newly tender skin.

[thegcng-arch]

mac interlocks his fingers with mine, his rough palm brushing against the back of my hand. he's warm. i want to pull away, cut the string and break the connection, retreat ... but i don't. my hand stays on his leg, cold and still. my head turns towards him when he points out the obvious, that i don't like it when he touches me. that's not exclusive to mac, i don't like it when anyone touches me. but this time i had the upper hand, i had the control, i made the move first. and who's to say, maybe i just needed the affection today, i'll never admit to that, though. "well i touched you first, mac." i correct him, eyes refocusing on the road, hand twitching a bit under his. "so if anything i'm touching you and you're not touching me."

my arm tenses as i feel mac's fingers brush against my knuckles, calling me a cat and petting me like one. i almost yank my hand back at that comment, but then he's squeezing my hand and it ends up staying put. "if i reminded you of a cat it would be because of my sophistication." i correct with some annoyance, rolling my eyes. i suppose i was similar to a cat. i need to come to people instead of them coming to me. i'm skittish, reactive, protective.

"didn't know you liked cats." i add, "i always thought you were more of a dog person. maybe that's just because you remind me of a dog." always so obedient, so full of energy. warm, loving, loyal ... more golden retriever than man on most days, it seemed. i can't help but let out a small breath of laughter. "aren't cats and dogs not supposed to get along?" i can't help but inquire. did mac and i even get along, or had we just grown used to each other over the years? there was always this lingering animosity between us ... but then there were moments like this sprinkled in. huh, maybe we were like a cat and a dog after all.

like two pieces of a puzzle who boast jagged edges that only fit with one another, mac feels whole with dennis by his side. it feels, in a weird way, like the world is healing; his world. the sun shines brighter over philly ( it's cloudy as shit ), the air is fresher with each inhale ( reeks of car exhaust and garbage ), colors are vibrant. everything feels so undeniably right, and all mac has to do is plop his ass down in the front seat of dennis's range rover to feel that way.

heat prickles along his skin, jolts of electricity shooting from head - to - toe. the other's touch has always been charged, even if he does instinctively shiver when cold fingers meet warm digits. his breath is caught in his throat, and it only slips through parted lips when dennis speaks up. their words aren't dripping with denial and rejection, and their hand lingers even after mac acknowledges the elephant in the range rover.

so yeah, maybe it emboldens him. maybe it motivates him to fully lay his hand down atop the other's, at first simply dallying there and committing the feel of feather soft, frigid skin to memory. hard knuckles contrasting dainty digits. gradually, fingers interlace and clasp with desperation, like he's trying to transfer every ounce of heat he possesses for dennis to harness. they do, after all, deserve it more than he does. he'd stop at nothing to reintroduce some warmth into dennis's life.

❝ you, uh . . . ❞ he trails off, teeth sinking absentmindedly into the flesh along the inside of his lower lip and gnawing. ❝ you don't usually like it when i touch you. ❞ it's an observation that one might think he's never made, considering how much he perseveres and keeps trying to touch even when he's shoved away and dismissed. ❝ so yeah, this is nice. ❞ he repeats, muscles in his thigh fluttering beneath a steady palm.

he doesn't want to disturb the moment. a part of him knows he should shut up, but that part of him is often overpowered by the part of him that craves more, more, more. ❝ y'know what you remind me of? ❞ mac questions rhetorically, thumb stroking across knuckles. ❝ a cat. cats don't like it when you touch 'em unless it's on their own time. unless they reach out. ❞ pausing for a beat, he lightly squeezes that hand. ❝ which is cool! i love cats. except for the chicks, they're real bitches. ❞