Page 144 of Under Construction

Dennis's footsteps echo up Chris's familiar stairs. Once, they'd creeped him out. Then they'd led to some of the best moments of his life, to someone he never thought would matter so much. Now, each step feels heavier than the last, like climbing a mountain.

His heart thumps in his ears at the top landing, almost drowning out the crashes from inside Chris's apartment. The door stands ajar. Dennis freezes, emotions warring—anger and grief fighting for control.

"Woahwoahwoah, Shit fucking hell!" Chris's voice carries through the gap, followed by another crash.

Something shatters inside the apartment. Before Dennis can stop himself, worry surges through him. He edges through the doorway, trying to move silently.

“Arghhh! For fucks sake!!”

Chris kneels on the floor, gathering pieces of his broken trophy from the construction guild awards. He looks up at the door's soft click. The bags under his eyes age him years, his usual easy-going smile nowhere to be found. For once, Dennis doesn’t see confidence and swagger.

“Dennis?” he says, voice dry, squinting at Dennis like he’s a hallucination. “What are you doing here?”

But Dennis can't look away from the stripped bed, the stuffed backpacks beside it. The ukulele propped against one bag hits him like a punch.

"You're leaving?" His voice breaks more than he means it to.

Chris's face does something complicated—caught, guilty. "I—"

A harsh scoff tears from Dennis's throat. "Wow. Just like that? Not only did you burn our—” He swallows hard, the word dying in his throat. “Myproject, but now you're running off without a word?"

It takes Dennis’s all to keep his voice from shaking. Coward!

"Dennis..."

"Don't 'Dennis' me." His fingers curl into fists. "What's next? Sorry, can't talk about it? Give me a fucking break,Christopher Lancaster."

"How do you—"

"Know your real name?"

Recognition flashes across Chris's face. "You talked to him," he says flatly. A sharp sound puffs from his chest, then he turns back to packing like Dennis isn't even there.

“What difference does it make?”

"It makes all the difference!" Chris whirls around, voice rising sharply.

Dennis flinches at the outburst.

Chris's shoulders drop and he takes half a step forward, hands twitching like they want to reach for Dennis. "He's a charmer. Gets under your skin with his charisma and nice words. And I see he's gotten to you too." He yanks open a drawer, throwing socks into his bag with mechanical precision.

"Sounds like someone else I know."

Chris freezes mid-motion, spine going rigid.

Dennis's eyes drift around the apartment—the monstera he'd bought to brighten the space still lush green and thriving,empty wine bottles from their lazier nights together lined up by the window, that stubborn wax stain on the floor from the blackout. Every detail that made this place feel like home.

"I trusted you, you know." His nails bite into his palms. "More than I should have. You destroyed that trust and yet... here I am. Trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. Waiting for you to explain. To give me a reason to trust you again. Because for whatever fucking pathetic reason, I would..."

"I'm gonna fix this Dennis, I promise."

But Dennis has heard this line a million times by now.

"Then talk to me."

"I—I can't."

"Is this why you've been disappearing?” Dennis demands. Justoneanswer, for god’s sake! “Going crazy every time your phone rings?"

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