#dennace

      button-up shirt rolled up past his elbow, smelling of musk and patchouli with soil under his fingernails and smudges on his glasses, archie doesn’t belong in a place like this. he barely belongs in philadelphia at all, but here? in this irish dive bar, dirty and empty with some of the most objectively fascinating and horrible people in the world for staff? his father would be rolling in his grave to know he would even deign to sit in for a drink here, let alone come back multiple times, let alone come back here to ask for the bartender’s phone number.       but here he is, in classic serrano family fashion, doing everything he shouldn’t be doing, having a cider and doing his best to look... appealing as dennis steps back on the floor. “hey, dennis.” he says. “when do you get off?”

    dennis is, without a doubt, one of the most pigheaded people she has ever met. not only portrayed in the choices he makes in everyday life, but in his personal life, too. he’s a cartoon caricature saddled with a half-baked script in live action. ‘ is that what you are? ’ summer’s veering a little sharper than she’s used to, but his blinders have grown so wide that they’ve nearly taken her own eyes out, too. (how one man can be so determined to stay blissfully ignorant, she will never understand.) summer picks at the label on her drink, worrying away at it mindlessly. the cheap glue is tacky on the pads of her fingers. 

      it’s only when he’s three sheets to the wind that dennis allows himself to be the most honest he’s ever been with her, and ... she isn’t surprised, really. he doesn’t censor, but he doesn’t drop names. he doesn’t have to. she’s close enough to read the neon cue cards that linger between the lines. from his spot next to her on the floor, dennis spills his wretched heart out in the span of eleven words. (wretched, sure, and completely overcome. after all -- it’s hard to face your feelings when you were never taught how to walk that path to begin with.) 

     the hardwood is unforgiving when she rolls over to look at him head-on. unforgiving, maybe, but a cool balm against the heat of her skin. she reaches out to touch the back of his hand, her brow pinching, fully prepared for the subsequent rejection. ‘ you’re saying that like it’s a bad thing. ’ love isn’t a bad thing, it’s only the circumstances that surround it that lend a soured overlay. it’s the latter she can’t understand. what has he got to lose? 

     dennis is coiled as tightly as -- well, there’s no good comparison for him, is there? he’s neurotic, he’s uptight, and she’s never seen him relaxed enough to ever fully lose the sharp edge in his eyes. (and then mac enters the room, and he gets so antithetical that it makes her teeth hurt. she’s never seen a man as comfortable to be terrified as dennis is with mac.) 

misty. accepting! @dennace​.

     here is the thing: while colter isn’t exactly what you could consider a kind person, this does not mean he is a cruel one. it’s only that it takes a certain kind of person to unveil the softness hidden beneath the endlessly thick, prickly exterior. suffice to say, dennis reynolds is not the fucking one. ‘ hello, ’ he says, an unkind smile creasing his mouth. with how sharply the plate rattles as he sets it down, it’s a wonder that the food doesn’t go flying.