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“I really think Dennis and I are making progress, dude. He called me ‘baby’ last night,” Mac announces, standing behind the Paddy’s counter with a beer in hand, cellphone in the other, showing his chat with Dennis to Charlie. His expression is one of barely contained glee, his eyes sparkling.
Charlie squints at the screen from his seat for a few moments as he tries to make up the words. “Dude,” he starts, “you know I can read now, right? He said ‘Mac, stop being a baby and wash the dishes—’”
“Whatever, bro,” Mac buffs, turning the screen to himself.
“Oh my god, this is so annoying,” Charlie raises his voice, smacking the counter with his hand for emphasis. “Mac, have you tried actually confessing to him? Like, straight-up telling him instead of… I don’t know, whatever weird-ass thing you’re always doing?” He pauses, his face contorting with exaggerated frustration. “You wanna impregnate him? Just say it!”
Mac recoils slightly, looking offended but also oddly wistful. “Charlie, I can’t straight tell him. I’m gay.” He exhales deeply, his shoulders slumping. “And I can’t make him pregnant.”
His expression shifts into something sad, letting out a dreamy sigh—like he’s lamenting the laws of biology that have dared to stand in the way of his love.
“That’s what you’re focusing on?” Charlie stares at him, deadpan. “I will bash you. I’m so serious.”
“I wish I could baby-trap him, you know.” Mac sighs wistfully.
Charlie squints. “Yeah, tried that angle once. Didn’t really work out.” He pauses, then gestures vaguely around the bar. “Although, in a way, you did. With this place.” His eyebrows crease as the thought settles. “Huh. I guess you trapped me too. That’s funny.”
Mac perks up, tapping his fingers against the counter like he just won something. “You’re right.” He looks oddly pleased, content enough to let the conversation drop just as Dee storms in, launching into a rant about some asshole at the coffee shop.
Meanwhile, Charlie keeps thinking about the baby-bar trapping.
Dennis plops down onto the barstool and lets out an irritated grunt, the kind of noise someone makes when they want to say something but doesn’t know how to approach without the other person asking. He immediately starts fidgeting with the edge of a coaster, his jaw tight and his brows furrowed.
Charlie has hit his limit.
Standing behind the counter with a rag in one hand and a beer bottle in the other, Charlie watches him for a beat before snapping. “Dennis, buddy, aren’t you like fifty? Your dick isn’t gonna work forever, dude. Just bang him already! You’re too old to be this repressed bisexual.”
“What?!” Dennis immediately freezes, his eyes narrowing as he glares at Charlie. “You don’t even know what that means.”
“Duh. Sure I do," Charlie says, tossing the rag onto the counter and leaning forward, his tone becoming explanatory. “Dee called you that, and Mac explained it to me. Like, Dee is the L, Mac is the G, you’re the B, I’m the T,” he says, counting on his fingers, “and Frank’s the A.”
Dennis pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. “What do you think the T and the A stand for, Charlie?”
"Trash lover and ally," Charlie states with a triumphant grin. “Loud and proud, brother.”
Dennis stares at him in disbelief, then runs his fingers through his temple like he’s trying to rub away a headache. “Why do I even try talking to you?”
“I don’t know,” Charlie says, shaking his head. “I’d rather you didn’t.”
Dennis ignores him, his gaze shifting back to the countertop as he starts tracing slow, aimless circles with his finger. “I just wish he would like me, you know,” he mumbles, his voice tinged with a vulnerability that’s rare for him.
Charlie lets out a groan, throwing his hands in the air. “He’s literally obsessed with you, dude!”
“Yeah,” Dennis mutters, not really absorbing the words, his finger still swirling in a repetitive motion.
Charlie watches him for a moment, his annoyance turning to sympathy. “C’mon, let’s get high in the back office,” he suggests with a shrug.
Dennis glances up with interest and without another word, they both shuffle off to the back, where the scent of gasoline waits to shut them up for a while.
“Frank, can you please come back? I can’t deal with Mac and Dennis without you, dude,” Charlie pleads as soon as Frank picks up the video call. His tone is desperate, teetering on the edge of a meltdown.
The screen flickers to life, revealing Frank’s face pressed uncomfortably close to the camera. His glasses are smeared with fingerprints, and the lens is foggy, probably from his grubby hands. “Charlie? Why the hell are you calling me? Aren’t you here?”
“What? No! Why would I be calling you if I was there?” Charlie snaps, frustration seeping into his voice.
Frank pulls back slightly, his face twisting into a confused scowl. “Then who’s the green man going to Aruba with me?”
Charlie blinks, the blood draining from his face. “What are you—?” He starts, but before he can finish, a familiar voice cuts in.
“Surprise, bitches!”
The camera jerks to the side, revealing Cricket grinning like a maniac behind Frank, showing his lacking tooth. His face is as filthy as ever, and he’s wearing Charlie’s iconic green man suit like he did when they went to see the Superbowl.
“You goddamn street rat!” Charlie yells, practically spitting onto the phone.
“Street rat in Aruba, baby!” Cricket cackles and raises his arms in triumph.
Frank turns the camera back to himself, unbothered by Cricket’s presence. “Yeah, so, I’m not coming back soon. Have fun with Mac and Dennis,” he says before abruptly ending the call.
Charlie stares at the blank screen, and groans as he slams the phone down. Goddammit Frank.
Mac is leaning against the counter, his eyes glazed over with that familiar lovesick expression Charlie has grown to loathe. “And his eyes, Charlie—those blue eyes, man. It’s like staring into the ocean, you know? Like, the deep, endless ocean. They’re mesmerizing. Hypnotic, even. I could drown in them. Like in the cruise ship. I want to drown in them.”
Charlie, slumped over a barstool with his face buried in his hands, lets out an exasperated groan. “Dude, just tell him you like him already.”
Mac snaps out of his reverie and looks at Charlie, affronted. “I tell him I love him every single day of our lives,” he states, dead serious, as if this is an irrefutable fact.
“Yeah, but like, make it official or something. I don’t know, put a presentation together,” Charlie retorts, waving a hand vaguely in the air. “You’re good at that when you actually care. Just convince him to be with you or whatever. Remember the evolution thing? You can be pretty convincing when you want to be.”
Mac furrows his brows, Charlie’s words clearly sinking in. His eyes dart around the room, as if he’s piecing together a strategy in his head. After a beat, he straightens up, determination written all over his face.
Without a word, Mac marches out of the room, leaving Charlie blinking after him in confusion. “Uh, okay,” Charlie mutters, taking another swig of his beer. “You're welcome.”
The next day, Charlie trudges into Paddy’s, still half-asleep. The bar’s quiet, save for the sound of Mac humming happily behind the counter.
As soon as Mac spots him, his face lights up. “Charlie!” he yells, bounding out from behind the bar.
Before Charlie can react, Mac pulls him into a bear hug, squeezing him tightly. “Dude, you’re the best. I owe you everything,” Mac says, his voice practically trembling with joy.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Charlie wheezes, wriggling to get free.
Mac lets go, beaming at him. “Us! It finally happened!”
Charlie is still trying to understand what he means by that when Dennis strolls over, looking unusually calm. “Charlie,” Dennis says, his tone smoother than usual. He places a hand on Charlie’s shoulder in what feels suspiciously like a gesture of appreciation. Then, without warning, Dennis leans in and presses a quick kiss to Charlie’s cheek.
Charlie freezes and Dennis pulls back, smirking. “Thanks, man. Couldn’t have done it without you. We are dating now.”
Mac and Dennis move on to another subject, joining hands, and leaving Charlie to process all the information alone.
Oh shit.
Charlie is dating Mac and Dennis.
Dating two people is hard, and Charlie is stressed.
Does this mean he has to stop hitting on the Waitress? Is this cheating? Does he need to buy them rings? Do they expect him to propose? Oh god, what if they want kids?! Nah, they wouldn't. Fuck, what about his cats?
He doesn’t know how Mac and Dennis are making it look so easy. He doesn’t even love them that much—at least, not how he likes the Waitress—but he figures since he’s the trash lover, it’s natural for him to love Mac and Dennis because, well, they’re trash.
Charlie knew it from the very beginning that Mac and Dennis would end up together. From the first time they met Dennis under the bleachers in high school, back when Mac’s bravado faltered just slightly in the face of Dennis Reynolds’ golden-boy charm. Even then, Charlie could see it—the way Mac’s eyes lingered a little too long, the way his voice got louder, his jokes more forced, like he was performing for an audience of one. Dennis, of course, ate it up. He always did. But Charlie saw the cracks. He saw the way Mac’s hands shook when Dennis clapped him on the back, the way his laughter trailed off into something quieter, something almost wistful, whenever Dennis turned away.
He knew it in the way Mac complained about Dennis constantly, circling back to him in every conversation, even when it had nothing to do with him. “Dennis did this,” “Dennis said that,” “Dennis thinks I’m an idiot, but he’s the idiot, right, Charlie?” And Charlie would nod along, because what else could he do? He wasn’t blind. He saw the way Mac’s face lit up whenever Dennis walked into a room, the way his whole world seemed to orbit around Dennis, even when Dennis was being a total dick. Which was most of the time.
He knew it when Mac got mopey as hell when Dennis left for college. Mac tried to play it cool, of course—he always did—but Charlie could see the cracks widening. Mac would sit at wherever they were drinking, staring into his beer like it held all the answers, muttering about how Dennis was probably off “living it up” with his new college friends. And when Charlie visited Dennis at Penn, he saw the other side of it: Dennis getting weird and defensive whenever Mac’s name came up, like he was trying to convince himself—and everyone else—that he didn’t care. But he did. Of course he did. Charlie could see it in the way Dennis’s jaw tightened, the way he’d change the subject a little too quickly, like the mere mention of Mac was enough to unravel him.
The cycle never ended. Mac pouting when Dennis got a girlfriend, Dennis drinking too much when Mac did the same. Mac spiraling when Dennis got married, Dennis unraveling when Mac finally came out. And the worst of it: when Dennis left for North Dakota, leaving Mac fighting for his life. Charlie had been there for all of it. Every single pathetic moment. He’d held Mac’s hair back when he puked after one too many beers, listened to Dennis rant about how Mac was “ruining everything” when he got too clingy, and watched as they danced around each other like idiots, too scared to admit what was right in front of them.
The pining had been relentless, an exhausting push and pull that had gone on for years. And Charlie had been there for all of it. He’d been the buffer, the sounding board, the guy who cleaned up the mess when things inevitably went sideways. Of course, as he is the janitor. He’d seen the way Mac’s eyes softened when Dennis wasn’t looking, the way Dennis’s voice got quieter, almost tender, whenever Mac was hurt. He’d seen the love, even when they couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see it themselves.
And now, it had finally happened. Mac and Dennis were together. After all the years of denial, the endless back-and-forth, they’d finally figured it out. Charlie should’ve been happy for them. And he was, sort of. But he also couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been dragged into something he didn’t sign up for. Because now, somehow, he was part of it. He was dating them. And the more he thought about it, the more stressed he got.
He just didn’t think he’d end up being thrown back into the mix.
So, Charlie tries to step up his game. He tries to remember to wash his hands, because you never know when they’ll want to hold hands or something. He even considers cutting back on cheese—briefly—but then decides they’re already taking away his freedom. They can’t take his cheese, too.
When Mac and Dennis announce they’re going on a lunch date, Charlie wipes his hands on his shirt, steps up, and motions to grab both of theirs. “Alright, let’s go,” he says, nodding like a responsible boyfriend. He lets Mac ride shotgun in the car because that’s what a good boyfriend would do, right? He also lets Dennis choose his meal because he knows Dennis likes to be in control. He even pays for it, because before Frank went on vacation, he sneaked out one of his credit cards.
Other than that, not much has changed. They still play pool, drink at Paddy’s, and generally act like garbage people. The only real difference is that Charlie makes an effort to call Dee a bitch more often because he knows it’ll make Dennis proud, and it works like a charm.
“Dude, and then when we got home, I threw Dennis on the inflatable couch, and he made this noise because the couch made a noise, and it was so good—” Mac starts one day while Dennis is getting coffee for them, his face lighting up as he remembers the event.
Charlie groans, already regretting whatever conversation he’s stumbled into. “Do I really need to be listening to this right now?” he asks, wiping his hands on a dirty rag.
Mac doesn’t even pause. “Yeah, it’s kinda part of the deal.” He waves his limp wrist like this is some unspoken relationship agreement they all signed. “So anyways, I jump him, right, and he started to undress and—”
Charlie tunes out almost immediately, because he knows the sheer level of detail Mac seems willing to share is overwhelming. And also because he doesn’t care. He leans against the counter, nodding every now and then to feign interest while his brain drifts off to a mental count of his cat food supply.
“...And then he gave me that look, you know the one—”
Charlie blinks. “What look?”
“The look! The one that’s like, ‘Oh, Mac, you’re the strongest, most awesome guy I’ve ever seen in my life.’ You know, that look!” Mac flexes one arm for emphasis.
Charlie grimaces. “I don’t think Dennis has ever made that face.”
“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t get it,” Mac says dismissively, waving him off like he’s swatting away a particularly annoying fly.
Charlie doesn’t argue. He’s long since learned that arguing with Mac about Dennis is like trying to explain to Dee why she’s not a famous actress—pointless, exhausting, and likely to end with someone screaming. So instead, he just nods along, letting Mac ramble on about inflatable couch noises and Dennis.
This is fine. This is what a good boyfriend would do, right? Listen, nod, and tune out only about sixty percent of the conversation. Support when they are delusional and wrong. The whole deal.
By the time Mac finishes his long-winded story, Charlie is only half aware of what’s going on. He catches something about “Dennis making the same noise as the couch” and decides he’s better off not knowing.
“Sounds...great, dude,” Charlie finally says with a forced grin. “Really proud of you guys.”
Mac beams at him, completely oblivious to the lack of sincerity. “Thanks, man. I knew you’d understand.”
Charlie just shrugs, grabbing a beer, and mutters under his breath, “Just being a good boyfriend.”
“And then Mac threw Dennis around the inflatable couch, right? And apparently Dennis moaned because of the noise? I didn’t really get it, but—” Charlie starts, pacing around the bar with a serious expression.
Dee grimaces, holding up a hand. “Do I really need to be listening to this right now?”
Charlie stops, considering her question for a beat, then shrugs. “I mean, yeah, it’s kinda part of the deal. They tell me, then I tell you, and I guess it kinda ends with you because you’re a L—”
“A what?” Dee asks sharply, narrowing her eyes.
“A loser,” Charlie says, without a hint of malice, like he really believes that’s the meaning. It suits Dee.
“You know what? Whatever. I don’t wanna hear it!” Dee snaps, waving her hands as if to physically push the conversation away.
Charlie sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s so stressful, Dee. I know you don’t have a love life or whatever—”
“Excuse me?”
“—but dating two people is so hard,” Charlie continues, ignoring her outburst entirely.
Dee freezes, blinking at him. “Is that...what you think is happening right now?”
“Well, obviously,” Charlie says with a tired huff, as if she’s the crazy one for questioning it.
Dee stares at him, her expression shifting between disbelief, pity, and mild amusement. "Charlie," she starts slowly, selecting her words carefully. “I don’t think...you’re in a relationship with them.”
Charlie squints at her, clearly skeptical. “What are you talking about? Of course I am! I mean, they tell me all their stuff, we hang out, I let Mac ride shotgun—”
“That doesn’t make you their boyfriend, dude.”
“Yeah, it does!” Charlie insists, crossing his arms. “I mean, Mac even said it’s part of the deal!”
Dee shakes her head, sighing. “I tell you what, buddy. Why don’t you go have a sleepover at their place? See it for yourself. That way you can figure out if you like it, if it’s working for you, or if you should, I don’t know, break up with them.”
Charlie brightens at the suggestion. “You know what? That’s a great idea, Dee.”
She smirks, leaning against the counter. “Yeah. I’m full of ‘em.”
Charlie ignores her and heads off, determination on every step.
Charlie pushes open the apartment door without a second thought, freezing in the doorway at the sight of Mac straddling Dennis on the inflatable couch. Mac’s hands are tugging Dennis’s shirt over his head, both of them flushed and clearly mid-something.
“Don’t you guys have a room? Or, like, a real bed?” Charlie asks, grimacing as he steps inside, still holding the door open.
Dennis leans his head back, voice dripping with unfiltered lust. “The squish noises turn me on.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard about that.”
“Hey, asshole, ever heard of knocking?” Mac snaps, still yanking at the shirt.
“Ever heard of locking your door?” Charlie shoots back, letting the door swing shut. “Or wait—did you know I was coming? Is this, like, boyfriend senses or something?” He plops down into the chair in the corner, making himself comfortable.
Mac glances over, rolling his eyes. “Well, I am definitely sensing my boyfriend right now.”
Dennis sits up slightly, his expression a mix of confusion and irritation. “What are you even talking about?”
“Right… I totally forgot this was part of the dating package.” Charlie says, waving vaguely between them. “I’m really not in the mood to join right now, but if you have to, I can just watch and you suck me off later, or I’ll pound off in the corner—”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Mac asks, sitting up straight, his face scrunched in horror.
“I’m just saying. Oh, and by the way, I’m not moving in or anything,” Charlie adds with a shrug, leaning back in the chair like this is all normal.
Mac throws his hands up. “Who said anything about you moving in?”
“What is happening right now?” Dennis demands, sitting up enough to glare at Charlie.
“The dating arrangement, dude!” Charlie says, gesturing at them both, adjusting to seat on the edge of the chair. “Now that we’re dating—”
“Wait, wait, wait. You mean we—” Mac points to himself and Dennis, his brows furrowing.
“Yes, we!” Charlie says impatiently, making a circular motion with his finger to indicate all three of them.
Dennis stares at him, dumbfounded. “Charlie, we,” he repeats the motion, “are not dating.”
Charlie looks between them, baffled. “Then what’s happening right now?”
“I have no idea!” Dennis says, exasperated.
“We’ve been going on dates all week!” Charlie protests, throwing his hands up. “I let Mac ride shotgun, I paid for your meal, and I even called Dee a bitch more often because I know it makes you proud!”
Dennis blinks. “Dude, we just thought you were afraid of not being our best friend anymore!”
“Did you really think I was sharing Dennis with you after all this time?” Mac narrows his eyes, vicious jealousy dripping off his voice.
Charlie freezes, his face dropping in shock. “So…you’re breaking up with me?”
Mac rubs his forehead, sighing. “Charlie. We were never dating.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Charlie says after a beat, leaning back into the chair. “You’re way too annoying to date anyway.”
Dennis pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something unintelligible under his breath.
Charlie shifts, glancing between them. “So, should I still pound off in the corner, or—”
“Charlie!” Mac and Dennis yell in unison.
Mac glances at Dennis, and they seem to share a silent conversation. Finally, Mac gestures Charlie over. “Just come here, dude.”
Charlie shakes his head. “No way. I told you; I’m not into your weird thing.”
“Just come here, man,” Dennis says, patting the couch next to them.
Grumbling under his breath, Charlie trudges over and flops onto the couch between them. Mac slings an arm around Charlie’s shoulders, and Dennis leans against him, the three of them settling into a haphazard cuddle.
“We love you, Charlie,” Mac says softly, squeezing his shoulder.
“Yeah,” Dennis adds, with a small smirk. “Even if you’re a complete idiot.”
Charlie sighs, eyes fluttering shut as he relaxes in the warmth of his two best friends. “I love you guys, too. But you’re still trash.”
“Yeah,” Mac and Dennis say at the same time, chuckling.
The three of them drift off together, the inflatable couch squeaking faintly beneath them.
Okay, so maybe they aren’t boyfriends. But they are something better—something bigger, messier, louder, and infinitely more chaotic. They are best friends.