Page 122 of Under Construction

"Really like eating ass."

"You—!" Dennis smacks him hard enough to make the ice cream rattle. "I hate you!"

But Chris just laughs, catching Dennis’s flailing hands and pulling him closer. "Ow ow ow! Princess, mercy! Save the rough stuff for home!"

Their combined giggles draw stares from other customers. Chris tucks Dennis against his chest while Dennis tries to muffle his laughter in Chris's shirt, failing miserably.

And no amount of ice cream could be sweeter than this—Chris's arms around him, both of them cracking up in their little booth, the whole world narrowed down to just them and their shared joy.

34First Cracks

Monday morning hits different with stubble burn on your thighs and muscle aches in places you didn't know could ache. Dennis tries not to grin like an idiot while crossing the construction site, but after a whole weekend tangled in Chris's sheets, his body still hums with satisfaction.

The sun catches the bamboo supports just right, making them almost sparkle in the early light. His vision is working. His dream is real. And maybe, just maybe, he's allowed to want other things too.

"Incoming!" Chris's voice carries across the site. He appears with Dennis’s regular coffee in one hand, some violently pink smoothie in the other. His tank top rides up as he stretches, showing marks Dennis definitely remembers leaving.

Dennis’s entire face lights up before he catches himself—he's being way too obvious. Chris had left the apartment while it was still dark this morning and wasn't on site when Dennis arrived. As ridiculous as it feels, he'd missed him. Dennis schools his expression into what he hopes passes for Professional Boss Face.

"You're late," Dennis says, knowing full well Chris started work extra early, but accepts the coffee anyway. Being a little mean won’t hurt to keep Chris on his toes!

"Hmm, whose fault is that?" Chris leans in close, pretending to examine something on Dennis’s collar while obviously breathing him in. "Someone kept me up all night."

"Pretty sure that was your idea." Dennis takes a sip to hide his smile. "All three times."

"Four." Chris winks. "But who's counting?"

Their good mood evaporates the second they enter the office.

Jason stands there, rejected permit in hand, eyes narrowed as he meets Dennis’s gaze.

"What's this?" Dennis sets down his coffee and moves next to Jason to examine the document.

"The permit we filed last week, it's back. All rejected."

"What?" Dennis squints at the document. Weird. This never happens—they have connections everywhere, procedures in place, relationships built over years. It's basic routine at this point.

"I swear I've been staring at this thing for like twenty minutes and I still can't figure out what we supposedly screwed up," Jason throws his hands up. "Like, did they even read it?"

"Let me see." Chris steps closer, taking the paper. His eyes scan the lines once, twice, three times, brow furrowing deeper with each pass. He taps the edge of the paper against his palm. "Must've been a typo. We'll need to file it again."

"Ugh, that's gonna take forever at city hall." Jason flops into his chair. "And your dad wants those renders cooked, like, yesterday."

"Don't stress, Jae. I'll handle city hall," Dennis says.

"Just don't forget Mary's vanilla cookies!"

"Yes, mother."

Dennis turns to Chris. "I'll be back later, okay? Keep the crew on track and see what else needs attention." He notices Chris's expression tighten. "Don't worry, this is totally fixable."

"Yeah," Chris says slowly. "These things happen."

Except it keeps happening.

Three days later, another rejection lands on Dennis’s desk—different reason, same oddly formal tone. Before he can process that, Jason bursts in waving his phone.

"The bamboo truck's gone MIA," Jason announces. "Driver's not picking up, GPS tracker's dead, nothing."

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