Work Text:
2:52 PM
On a Tuesday
Philadelphia, PA
Mac pushed his cart down the fluorescent-lit aisle, the wheels squeaking softly against the polished linoleum. He scanned the shelves like he was on a mission, eyes darting between labels, occasionally reading the fine print before shrugging and moving on. Normally, grocery shopping wasn’t his scene. The harsh lights made his eyes water, the smell of canned broth was metallic and faintly sour, and the endless hum of the freezers made him feel like he was inside some giant icebox. He’d rather have ordered takeout, let someone else deal with all this. But Charlie was sick, and that changed everything.
Charlie always got hit harder than anyone else when it came to being sick. Mac figured it was because of the way Charlie grew up—sheltered, cooped up under his mom’s thumb, barely exposed to germs or the outside world. Charlie thought that meant he was healthier, that he’d been “protected” from all the nasty stuff. But Mac knew better. His husband’s immune system was like wet cardboard—soggy, weak, and ready to cave at the first sign of a sniffle.
Not that Mac minded. Taking care of him felt right, like it was the sort of thing he was supposed to be doing all along. There was a quiet satisfaction in it—watching him rest, making sure he had what he needed, feeling useful in a way that didn’t make him feel guilty. It was grounding, even in the chaos of a small illness that made Charlie moan dramatically and make a list of demands for Mac to follow.
He slowed his cart in the canned soup aisle, scanning row after row of labels. Chicken noodle, classic tomato, beef barley… the harsh fluorescent lights reflected off the cans in blinding strips, making his eyes water slightly. He imagined Charlie lying back on the couch, barely able to swallow, and tried to picture what might actually pass his sickly palate.
Mac was just about to grab one of everything and call it a day when someone bumped hard into the side of his cart. The jolt snapped him out of his thoughts, and he immediately turned, brow furrowing as his jaw tightened.
“Hey, watch where you’re—”
He stopped. His voice faltered in the middle of the snap, eyes widening.
“…Carmen?”
Carmen winced, like she’d been hoping he wouldn’t recognize her. Her hand lingered on the edge of her own cart, nails tapping against the metal in a quick, restless rhythm. “…Hi, Mac.”
Mac’s mouth opened, then closed again. All the steam he’d built up for his almost-yell fizzled out, leaving him standing there with a half-grimace, half-smile that didn’t know what it wanted to be. “Uh—hey,” he managed, voice catching. “Wow. It’s been—” He fumbled, counting years in his head, and came up short. “—a long time.”
“Yeah—fifteen years,” Carmen said softly, saving him the math. She gave him a once-over, not unkind but cautious, like she was bracing for whatever version of Mac she might be getting. Her hair, now streaked subtly with a few more lighter highlights, framed her face differently than he remembered, more put-together yet somehow weary.
He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly aware of how ridiculous he probably looked—sweatpants, sneakers, and a cart half-full of soup and ginger ale. “Yeah. Uh. Fifteen. Crazy.”
For a beat, the fluorescent lights hummed louder than either of them, and the smell of canned goods—brothy, metallic, a hint of old tomato—filled the air. He could hear the distant squeak of another cart and the muted chatter of an old woman arguing with a store employee over coupons.
Then Carmen tilted her head, attempting casual. “So… how’ve you been?”
Mac inhaled sharply, like she’d just uncorked a bottle. The words tumbled out before he could stop them. “Good! Actually, uh—really good. I mean, Charlie’s sick right now, that’s why I’m here, you know, soup run—but overall, yeah, things are great. We, uh… we just got married. Charlie and me.”
Carmen blinked. “You and… Charlie. Married?”
Mac straightened, his shoulders squaring like he was ready for a fight that hadn’t been picked. “Yeah. Married. Like—legit married. Not, like, one of our usual schemes or anything. Real vows. Rings—” he said, pointing to the gold band that sat on his finger, catching a glint of the harsh overhead light, “—Paperwork. The whole thing.”
Carmen’s brows lifted, but not in mockery. More in surprise. She looked at him for a long second, then exhaled, a soft breath that almost seemed to let some tension out of the aisle. “…Huh. That’s—wow. Okay.”
Mac’s chest puffed defensively. “What? You think I can’t actually commit? ‘Cause I can. I did. And I don’t regret it for a second. Charlie’s—it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Instead of recoiling, Carmen’s expression softened. She shook her head with the faintest smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “No, Mac. I believe you. You just… sound happy. Different.”
That caught him off guard. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He could feel the subtle warmth of the moment, the way her words somehow settled into him, grounding him.
Carmen let the moment breathe, then glanced into his cart. “So he’s sick, huh? You’re stocking up?”
“Yeah, well—he’s got the immune system of, like, a Victorian orphan,” Mac said quickly, relieved to have something concrete to latch onto. “One sniffle and it’s a whole thing. But I’m on it.”
Carmen chuckled, light but genuine. The sound carried a softness that reminded him of old times, the way her laughter could so seamlessly ease tension. “Well, I’ve had my share of sick kids. For me, cream of mushroom always works. Smooth enough to go down easy, and you can dress it up if he’s picky.”
Mac blinked, taking a second to process that she wasn’t just making small talk. “Oh. Oh, you’re—you mean for him. Right. Yeah.” He nodded vigorously. “I was just gonna grab one of everything, but—uh—yeah. Cream of mushroom. Got it.”
Something in her face relaxed, like they’d reached a safer shore. She gave him a warmer smile now, less guarded. “You’ve grown up a lot, Mac. I can tell, you’re—more grounded. Sure of yourself.”
The compliment landed heavier than he expected. He shifted his weight, almost shy, and ran a hand over the top of the cart, feeling the ridges and cold metal. “…Thanks,” he said, unsure how to react. “But, uh—what about you? How’ve you been?”
Carmen leaned against the edge of her cart, her posture relaxing slightly. “Oh, I’ve been keeping busy. Kids, mostly. Three of them now. It’s… a lot of work, but I love it.”
Mac blinked. “Oh, wow. You got busy!” He grinned, awkwardly. “That’s… great. Sounds like you’re doin’ good.”
Carmen laughed softly, a light, easy sound that reminded him of old times. “I am. Busy, yeah, but happy. It’s different—exhausting, but in a good way. I mean, it’s… life, you know? You think you know yourself at thirty, then fifteen years later, it’s like you’re learning a whole new version of you.”
Mac nodded, genuinely listening this time, letting her words sink in. There was a hint of pride in the way she said it, a satisfaction that came from doing the hard stuff day after day and still loving it. He noticed the faint scent of her perfume, soft and floral, a hint of lavender over the sterile air—familiar, grounding, like a whisper of the past. And yet, he couldn’t help but realize just how much he preferred Charlie’s natural musk over it—the faint tang of sweat, Mac’s Drakkar Noir, and occasionally cheese, all mixed together in a way that made Mac’s chest tighten pleasantly. That smell was home. That smell was intimacy. It was messy and real and completely his, unlike the polished, careful fragrance Carmen carried, which belonged to someone else’s life.
He found himself absently fingering the ring on his hand, the weight of it grounding him further. The memory of that awkward, decade-old longing for Carmen flitted briefly through his mind, but it felt distant, almost silly. He didn’t crave her anymore; he didn’t wish for her presence or attention. He had what mattered now.
Before he could think of what to say, however, his phone began to ring in his pocket. Curious, he brought his phone out from his pocket, and the screen lit up: Charlie.
Mac’s whole demeanor shifted. Softer, lighter. “Speaking of Charlie, this is him. So I should—uh—take this.”
Carmen nodded. “Of course. I should get going anyway.”
She patted his arm as she moved past, friendly and brief. “Take good care of him.”
Mac’s response was immediate, steady. “Always.”
Carmen gave one last small smile before heading down the aisle. Mac watched her go, feeling an odd mix of closure and gratitude sitting heavy in his chest. Then he lifted the phone to his ear.
“Hey, man,” he said, and couldn’t help but smile.
Charlie’s voice was muffled and congested, but unmistakably fond. “Hey,” Charlie croaked on the other end. “You… uh… you almost back? Feels like you’ve been gone for, like, six hours.”
Mac laughed under his breath. “Dude, it’s been, like, thirty minutes. I’m just grabbing soup.”
There was some shuffling on the other end of the call, the sound of Charlie blowing his nose. “Soup, huh? Okay. Yeah. Just… missin’ you, dude.” His voice cracked on the last word, all clogged up with congestion and drowsy sincerity.
Mac’s smile widened without him even meaning to. “Miss you too, bro.”
He angled the phone between his shoulder and ear, pushing the cart forward with one hand while grabbing the cream of mushroom can with the other. “You’ll never believe who I just ran into.”
Charlie perked up instantly, even through the haze of sickness. “Woah, wait—you okay? Did you get hurt?”
Mac rolled his eyes, but the fondness was obvious in his voice. “No, bro. Not that kinda run into. I saw somebody. Carmen.”
There was a pause. Then: “Carmen? Uhhh… you mean that trans chick you banged?”
Mac winced at the bluntness but answered anyway. “…Yeah.”
“Oh, neat,” Charlie said, and he actually sounded genuine. “Hope she’s doin’ good.”
Mac smiled. “Yeah. Pretty sure she is.”
He kept walking, tossing a box of saltines into the cart. They talked a little longer—Charlie rambling half-deliriously about how he’d prefer cat food over soup, so really Mac should just get him some cat food and call it a day, all while Mac quietly attempted to steer him back toward resting.
By the time Mac hit the checkout line, Charlie was yawning into the receiver. “Alright, bro, I’m gonna… y’know, close my eyes for a bit. Don’t take too long. Love you.”
“Love you too, man,” Mac said, soft enough that the words felt like they hummed in his chest.
He ended the call, sliding the phone into his pocket. His eyes caught on the cream of mushroom soup in the cart, the one Carmen had pointed him toward.
Mac’s hands tightened on the cart handle, grounding himself in the cheap metal frame. The fluorescent lights hummed above, a little too bright, but for once he didn’t feel like shrinking under them. He felt… steady.
The cashier barely glanced at him as she scanned the items, but Mac found himself smiling anyway. He let her bag the groceries in silence, his head still half with Charlie, half with Carmen’s unexpected words.
When he finally stepped out into the autumn day, the cold air hit his face sharp and clean. He pulled the paper bag closer to his chest, cradling it like it was something fragile. Leaves skittered across the parking lot, rustling under tires and wind, but he barely noticed.
The thought came unbidden: Fifteen years ago, he never would’ve pictured this—Mac, happily married, buying soup for his sick husband, who also happened to be his best friend. Happier than he’d ever been.
He shook his head, still smiling, and started toward the car. For once, it felt like he knew exactly who he was.