Chapter Text
Whizzer Brown has been with a lot of men. It’s just a fact, a statement. Just like how the sky is blue or that winters in New York are hell. All fit into the same category because they are all unchanging realities of life--neither good, nor bad.
It’s not something he’s ashamed of, all that time spent on his knees in seedy bars or looking up room numbers in even seedier motels. Sure, Whizzer would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that some of those encounters are much better left in the past; not every night was candy canes and lollipops for a gay man in New York City.
Still, Whizzer can’t regret his time with all of those other guys because they were what defined him for a large period of his life. When the lights of the city were so bright and the beds of strangers looked so inviting, that’s when Whizzer Brown found himself.
He might not be that same man anymore, not by a long shot, but he likes to think of the old Whizzer as a sort of stepping stone to where he is now. Can’t have one without the other, so he’s unfortunately indebted to that pompous, licentious version of himself. Because without that jack-ass, Whizzer wouldn’t have what he does now.
No real home to come back to, no comfortable life, no nice clothes, no sweet kisses, no earnest smiles, no nights spent tangled up on the couch, and no Marvin.
Someone in the apartment above Whizzer turns on their water, the noise stalling his train of thought.
It’s early morning--early enough that even the traffic hasn’t woken up yet. Whizzer rolls over, stretching out an arm across empty sheets. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that the bed beside him is cold and Marvin-less.
Letting out a discontented sigh, Whizzer rolls over and tries to go back to sleep.
He doesn’t think about the fact that this is the fifth time in as many days that he’s woken up completely alone in their bed. Or how it feels like Marvin’s spent more time out of the house than in it the past week.
‘I’m working late again, Whizzer.’
‘One of my college friends invited me over for dinner, Whizzer.’
‘I couldn’t find a cab, Whizzer.’
Mornings are not the time to think about the nights he spent making up similar excuses, back when Marvin wanted him to be a substitute for Trina and all he wanted was a decent screw.
Whizzer opens his eyes. If lying in bed means thinking like a paranoid housewife then it’s better that he just get up now.
He makes himself a lazy breakfast, unbuttered bread and the leftover coffee from the pot Marvin brewed before he left. Unwilling to let anything interrupt his routine, Whizzer tries to ignore the fact that the coffee’s already gone lukewarm.
(Marvin’s been gone for a while)
It doesn’t work as well as he’d like.
By the time he’s settled himself down at the kitchen table, the sun’s just breached the horizon and the steady hum of people migrating to the subway can be heard though the apartment walls. The subtle signs of city life are more reassuring than Whizzer wants to admit; the utter silence of the early morning is almost stifling in its solitude.
Whizzer spends most of his morning getting ready. Even if he isn’t planning on going anywhere--which he isn’t--the familiar actions are a ritual that he just can’t give up on. It’s quite possible that the only thing that will never change about Whizzer Brown is how much time he spends on his hair.
He takes his time, bathing and shaving and styling his hair to perfection. He rationalizes that since no one is waiting on him, he can take as long as he wants to. Of course, this draws his thoughts down the same dark road they’ve begun to tread more and more frequently.
(It’s not like he cares what you look like)
(He’s lost interest in you)
The taunts echo in his head. Both are just plausible enough for any measure of sense to be thrown out the window.
With an almost physical wrench, Whizzer pulls himself back into the present. He shakes his head. Lord, when did he get so maudlin?
It’s just after two when Whizzer decides that he’s tired of lounging around by himself while looking this good, so he goes next door to see if Cordelia’s busy. He taps on the door. When no response comes, the tapping transitions into pounding.
Cordelia answers the door looking harried. “Oh, it’s just you,” she says, moving to shut the door. Her hair bouncing, she retreats back into the kitchen without a second glance.
Whizzer holds the door open with his foot. He steps into their apartment, narrowing his eyes at the retreating caterer. “Really? Not even a ‘hi, Whizzer. How are you?’”
“Busy! Super busy!” There’s a crash from the kitchen followed by animalistic sounds that Whizzer assumes are Cordelia’s way of expressing extreme hatred.
Whizzer follows the sounds to the kitchen, freezing when he sees the complete disaster it’s become. There’s flour everywhere, in pillowy piles across the counter and caked into the grout between the tile. Pans and bowls are lying strewn about the room along with other utensils that he can’t name. If this catastrophe were a kingdom then Cordelia would be the queen, crowned in batter and dressed in an apron that looks to be more egg than actual fabric.
“Jesus Christ,” Whizzer says, quite appropriately. “Cordelia, what the fuck?” While haphazard and sometimes mediocre in the kitchen, Cordelia isn’t one to mess things up this thoroughly.
Expression crumpling, she pulls on oven a pair of dotted oven mitts like they’re knuckledusters. “My newest client asked me if I could do their cake too and I thought, ‘how hard can it be?’” The cake she removes from the oven looks more like something suspicious you’d find in an alley than something you’d want to eat. Cordelia looks about ready to cry. “I’m so dead. I’m going to die trying to make this three-fucking-tiered chocolate cake.”
Whizzer wants to go over and hug her, but Cordelia’s immediate happiness is worth slightly less to him than his new Berlutis. He settles for sympathetic nodding and a quiet, “Yeah, this looks pretty bad.”
Cordelia throws the pan down onto the counter and slams the oven door hard enough to rattle the stove. Hands on her hips, she fixes him with a look.
He backtracks. “I mean, it’s bad now, but I’m sure you can sort all this out in no time, hm? When’s the party?”
She shrugs. “It’s not for another couple of days.”
“Perfect,” he says, throwing his hands out. “More than enough time to fix all of this and bake a bitching cake.”
Cordelia still doesn’t look convinced. “If it’s really that simple then I’m sure I have nothing to worry about. If this all goes south, I’m blaming you for giving me false hope.” She conjures up a spatula from seemingly nowhere and tries to pry the ruined cake from the pan. It’s the colour of tar and has the consistency of dried cement. “Fuck.”
Sensing another mental breakdown incoming, Whizzer decides it’s time to cut his losses and leave. “Alright, have fun with your cake. Call me if there’s an emergency!” he calls as he slips out.
The angry response he’s given contains no words, but does an even better job of spurring Whizzer out the door. Hopefully Cordelia gets things under control before Charlotte gets off work; he doesn’t want to be anywhere near the fight that’ll ensue after she sees what’s become of her kitchen.
The apartment is just as silent when he gets back as when he left. Not that he was expecting anything different--Marvin isn’t set to get back for another few hours at least.
Whizzer drapes himself over the couch, hating that he’s been reduced to watching the clock waiting for Marvin to come home. In the past, their positions would have been reversed, with Marvin pacing the room, becoming more bothered with each minute that Whizzer was out. Of course, that was mostly down to the fact that he knew Whizzer was out with another guy, unlike Marvin now who is-
His eyes snap open, halting the intrusive thought. Just because their positions are reversed, Whizzer the one spending lonely hours at home and Marvin as the absent lover, doesn’t mean that their positions are actually reversed?
Right?
“Marvin’s not cheating,” Whizzer says, as if speaking the words will make them feel more true. Marvin would never do that to him. Sure, he’d cheated on Trina, but their relationship was in no way similar to the one he and Marvin share.
“That’s crazy--I’m acting crazy.”
(Am I, really?)
It’s just boredom, he concludes. That’s what’s causing his mind to spin out of control and make up far-fetched affairs. It doesn’t help that Whizzer’s spent most of the last week shut in without anything to do, or that Marvin’s been working so much.
Everything was so much better when Whizzer lived in the thick of the city; he could wake up with no idea what he was going to do and still manage to crash a party, meet a celebrity, and have time to end up in bed with someone new. But now, living so far from the city’s bright lights, there’s very little that Whizzer has to occupy himself with.
He’s thrown from his reverie by the closing of the front door.
“Whizzer, I’m home.” Marvin strides into the room, draping his jacket over the back of the couch. He pauses when he catches sight of Whizzer sprawled across the couch. “Sorry, babe, were you sleeping?”
Whizzer feels sort of groggy. He runs a hand across his face. “Not sure. I think I might have taken a little catnap.”
It’s an hour after Marvin usually comes home. He stayed late at work again.
(He could have been somewhere else)
Marvin leans over the back of the couch to press a chaste kiss to Whizzer’s lips. He’s tempted to pull him in again; it’s been a boring, celibate week with his boyfriend out so much.
“Good day in the office?” He tries to be interested in whatever workplace drama Marvin always seems to be involved in, but as an investment broker most of his drama seems to revolve around who’s been stealing from the lunchroom fridge.
“It was fine. Mostly just tiring,” he says, rounding the couch and practically falling onto it. “Christ, I need a vacation.”
Gold beaches, blue skies, lazy days--it's just what the two of them need right now. Whizzer lets himself indulge in the fantasy for a hot moment before bringing himself back to earth.
His hand smooths over Marvin’s back. Underneath his shirt, Marvin’s muscles are stiff with tension. “You’re working yourself too hard, babe.”
Marvin hmms.
“Hey, do you want to go out for dinner tonight? It feels like ages since I’ve been out of the apartment.”
Marvin’s face falls. “Sorry, Whiz. I have this-” He makes vague gestures. “-work thing that I can’t get out of tonight. Raincheck?”
“Oh. Alright then.” Whizzer tries not to let his disappointment show. Picking at the lining of Marvin’s off-brand jacket, he keeps his eyes averted in hope that will stop Marvin from reading what he’s thinking.
(It can’t be a work dinner he’s going to--he went to one just last week)
Marvin moves away and goes to start unpacking his briefcase.
“We still have those reservations on Friday, though,” he tries.
Marvin makes a displeased noise in the back of his throat and Whizzer’s heart sinks. “We’re gonna have to cancel those too, I want Jason to come a little earlier on Friday so that we can spend some time together.”
Whizzer’s gone still as a painting; the only thing moving is the line of his throat as he fights to keep his expression nonchalant. “Right.” His voice comes out flat and expressionless.
“Oh!” Still holding a binder in one hand, Marvin rounds back on him. “I need to ask Trina about him coming over earlier. Do you think you could call and ask her for me?”
He keeps his gaze fixed at a point somewhere over Marvin’s shoulder. “Sure.”
“Just tell her that I’m getting off early that day and can go pick him up from her place around 2.”
“Okay. I’ll call her tonight.”
He presses a kiss into Whizzer’s hair. “I’ll see you when I get back.”
That spurs Whizzer into moving. He whips around, eyebrows high and confused. “You just got home.”
Marvin’s face is sad. Just the sight of it has Whizzer’s heart falling into his shoes. “I know, baby. I told you, I have that work thing to go to tonight.” His hands find Whizzer’s face, trying to tip it up so that he can plant a kiss.
Whizzer leans away from the contact, mouth set in a hard line.
“I’m sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” His voice is earnest enough to fool Whizzer, and charming enough to earn forgiveness.
Standing for a better angle, Whizzer pulls Marvin in. “You’d better,” is pressed into Marvin’s cheek. He props one leg up on the couch so that he’s close enough to get one of his hand’s into the hair at the nape of Marvin’s neck. “When are you going to be back?” he asks quietly, lips just hovering over Marvin’s.
Apparently Marvin’s had enough of the game. He ignores the question, choosing instead to kiss Whizzer until both of their heads are spinning.
And, well. Whizzer won’t complain.
Using the hands he has resting on Whizzer’s chest, Marvin pushes him away after a moment. “Jesus. If we don’t stop now, I’ll never leave.”
“Then don’t.” It’s said with a grin and a half-hearted effort to pull him back in.
Marvin steps away, leaving Whizzer balancing mostly on the back of the couch. “If I could stay, you know I would.” The corner of his mouth is lifted in a perfunctory smile.
(Stay, please. I want you here)
Marvin doesn’t stay. He’s out the door again before Whizzer even knows what’s happened, jacket slung over his shoulder and a quick goodbye echoing in his wake.
The sound of the door closing again has Whizzer dropping back onto the couch. Alone again.
There’s a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, greasy and heavy as a stone. Like he’d eaten something rotten.
Whizzer puts his feet up, turns on the television, and pointedly does not think about Marvin. The program is one he’s fond of. He lets the bright colours and smiling host distract him from his raging thoughts.
No more obsessing over Marvin’s affairs, his mind demands. That means no more thinking about where he is, or where he’s going, or who he’s with, or how suspicious it is that he’d leave again, or him cancelling your plans, or if he’s sleeping with someone else-
He can’t take this show anymore. It seems dumb and scripted, and all of those people up there look so stiff.
With nothing else to do, Whizzer phones Trina.
It’s Mendel who picks up. “Hello, this is Mendel Weisenbachfeld at the Weisenbachfeld residence.”
Whizzer throws on a smile. If Mendel catches even a whiff of relationship trouble he’ll be psychoanalyzing for hours. “Mendel, my man. Is your darling wife home?”
“Trina? Of course.”
There’s silence from the other end, just Mendel’s quiet breathing into the receiver.
Christ. Mendel’s ability to turn his brain completely on or off is a mystery to Whizzer. “Can I speak to her?” he asks, running a tired hand through his hair.
“Right, of course.” There’s the sound of distant shouting. “One second,” he says into the phone.
Trina comes on a second later, sounding as put-upon as she always does. “Hello, Whizzer.”
Whizzer’s always been a little wary of talking to Marvin’s ex wife. When their marriage had still been a thing and Whizzer was Marvin’s dirty little secret it was about not giving too much away. And then after everything had come out he’d been desperate for her approval out of some childish notion that he’d have to prove that he was worth the dissolution of their family. It had seemed stupid to him even at the time, but there was something about the cold way Trina looked at him that made Whizzer want to prove that he was better than the boy-toy she’d had him pegged as.
“Hi, would you mind if Marvin came and picked Jason up a little earlier tomorrow?”
“No, he--one second please.” She takes her mouth away from the receiver but her words are still loud enough to be heard on Whizzer’s end. “Jason! Turn the television down, I can’t hear a thing!”
Whizzer halfheartedly rifles through the collection of clutter that he and Marvin have strewn across their coffee table.
“Are you still there? Sorry about that.”
“It’s no problem,” Whizzer says, distracted by a letter that’s either a bill or a ticket. He tosses it onto the kitchen table for Marvin to see when he gets home.
Trina sighs. “I’m fine if Marvin wants Jason a little bit earlier. He mention why?”
“I’m sure it’s the same old same old, something about ‘more quality bonding time’ with his son or whatever.” He’s sure Trina can hear the implied quotation marks.
“I’m writing everything down. What time?”
“He said two so tell Jason to be ready by three.”
She huffs a reluctant laugh into the receiver. “Only him. You know, I never thought I’d be saying this but, well, you two are good together.”
“Thanks,” he says through a lump in his throat. His chest feels tight and he’s overcome with the urge to spill everything to her. Marvin’s nights out, the plans that came from nowhere, the fact that they haven’t slept together in weeks.
(You don’t want her pity--you know she’ll just feel bad for you)
“Is there anything else you need me for? I don’t want the dinner to burn.”
“Um.” The words are on the tip of his tongue. No, goodbye, Trina. Whizzer opens his mouth. That’s not what he says.
“When you and Marvin were together, how did you know that he was cheating?’
Trina’s voice is like a bucket of frigid water. “You mean apart from the fact that I walked in on you two screwing?”
“I--uh,” Whizzer splutters, suddenly wrongfooted. “I’m so sorry, that was a very personal question and I just-”
‘It’s fine.” Her tone has warmed by a couple of degrees, but still isn’t very welcoming.
Whizzer just wants to hang up now. “I should let you go. You have to go check on your dinner and-”
She talks over him until he falls silent. “Just forget that for a second. I should be able to talk about this with you now without snapping.” Trina sounds exhausted. Whizzer can imagine her settling herself down on one of their plush couches, getting ready to spill her guts to a man who’s practically still a stranger.
“Well, you know that he’d stay out occasionally to see you. The next morning I’d wake up and find out that he’d never come home, but there would be a message on my answering machine where he would tell me how sorry he was and how he’d make it up to me. He never really did, I mean, flowers can’t fix a broken marriage.”
Whizzer listens, enraptured.
“Suddenly he had an excuse for everything. ‘Oh, I’m coming down with something, Trina, I can’t take you out tonight’. Or, ’I remembered that I have to work late tonight so don’t wait up’. There was always a reason and it was always a new one. And after a certain point it was like he suddenly had no use for me anymore. He was with you enough that he didn’t need to keep up the charade and sleep with me. God, is it weird that when I think back to that time all I can really remember is how bored I was, just at home all alone with a kid?”
“No, I wouldn’t think it's weird at all.” His voice comes out strained.
The two of them sit in silence on the line.
“Whizzer.” Trina interrupts the silence, words all deliberate like they were chosen with great care. “Do you think that Marvin is cheating again?”
Whizzer’s mouth is open to respond but he’s without words. Could Marvin be cheating? Does he believe that this Marvin, the changed one who’s sweet and caring and lovely, has moved on to another guy?
“I don’t know,” he says finally.
The silence on the line has become tense with the realization that the two of them, once so fundamentally different, may have something in common.
Whizzer’s mind has gone quiet for a change. He’s struck dumb by all the evidence. “I’m going to go now.”
“Alright then.” The words are hesitant, almost soft. It’s too close to pity for Whizzer’s sake. “Whizzer--do better than I did.”
He hangs up without saying goodbye.
Casting his gaze around the empty apartment, Whizzer thinks that things should look different. He himself feels so changed that it seems impossible that the things around him should remain the same.
Quite suddenly, Whizzer crumples like a wet piece of paper. He hides his quavering exhales in his hands; his body shakes uncontrollably. Eventually, the dry sobs die down into choked-off whimpers and then even those are quashed underneath his impressive self control.
This is the first time he’s come close to crying since he was a teenager. He feels just as powerless now as when he was nineteen and kicked out of his house for being caught downstairs with a neighbor boy.
Whizzer digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, forcing breaths into uncooperative lungs. This isn’t going to destroy him like it did Trina. He’s refusing to allow it to.
Worse things have happened to Whizzer Brown than a broken heart.
000
Breakfast the next morning is a quiet, stiff affair. The two men sit at the table across from one another, Marvin’s attention apparently riveted by the morning paper and Whizzer’s enthralled by his morning coffee.
Whizzer stirs sugar into his cup and then looks to his plate. “Can you pass me the butter?” The question is like a whipcrack in the silence.
Marvin doesn’t respond at first, finishing the paragraph he’s reading before setting the paper down. He looks at Whizzer for what feels like the first time this morning. “Sorry?”
“The butter,” he says, gesturing to the dish by Marvin’s elbow. “You know--it goes on bread, gets put into everything even when it should be kept out-”
“Yes, I know what butter is, thank you very much.” Marvin’s smiling slightly as he hands it over.
“Thank you.” Whizzer busies himself with his toast and Marvin picks up the paper again. He clears his throat, hoping to call Marvin’s attention.
But Marvin’s already gone back to reading and doesn’t make any motion to show he’s heard.
Whizzer takes a bite of breakfast, ruminating over the fact that just last week Marvin had been falling all over himself trying to command Whizzer’s attention. It had been sweet for a while until the constant pleas for affection had gotten a little exhausting. Regardless, Whizzer would kill for some of that tenderness and passion right about now.
Maybe that’s the game this week: ignore Whizzer as long as possible and then watch as he comes crawling on his knees for even the barest hint of fondness.
Whizzer casts the idea out of his mind. No more games, that’s what Marvin told him when they agreed to get back together. They were both going to be honest about their feelings until it killed them--regardless of how embarrassing or humbling they may be.
As he stares at today’s headline from across the table, Whizzer wonders what Marvin could be feeling now.
He tries again to attract Marvin’s attention, clearing his throat.
The paper doesn’t even shift.
Honestly. Does Marvin just think he’s coming down with a cold or something?
“Marvin,” he says finally, setting down the slice of bread he’d been contemplating.
Marvin makes a noise of consideration that Whizzer knows means he’s not really listening.
Whizzer’s grip on his fork tightens. The rattle it makes when he slams it down is finally enough to make Marvin drop the paper.
“I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last two minutes,” he says through clenched teeth.
Marvin shrugs. “I was reading, I didn’t hear.”
Whizzer glares, pushing back from the table to cross his arms. “Yes, I realize you were reading. It’s what you’ve been doing all morning, Marvin.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, it’s not supposed to mean anything,” he says, pursing his lips. “Just that you’ve barely said three words to me this morning.”
Marvin rolls his eyes, which only serves to frustrate Whizzer even more. “Fine. You want attention? You’ve got it.” He spreads his arms in a ‘go ahead’ gesture.
“I just wanted to know if you’re going to be staying late at work again this week, you know, since that’s what you’ve been doing for the last few days.” He tersely stirs another spoon of sugar into coffee and takes a sip. It’s much too sweet now.
“I was going to leave a little early today, actually, to get Jason.” Marvin folds up his paper and sets it aside. He then turns to his breakfast--a single hard-boiled egg and a slice of toast.
Whizzer doesn’t look at Marvin as he says, “Well that’s good.”
“What?” Marvin demands, peering at Whizzer with narrowed eyes.“Come on--what is it?” he asks again after receiving no response.
“Well you’ve been at work a lot lately so I was just saying that it’s good that you’re getting off early today.” Whizzer’s rigid posture belies his relaxed tone.
Marvin scrutinizes his boyfriend for a moment, trying to decide whether or not this is a fight he really wants to start. “You’re angry with me,” he decides belatedly.
Whizzer raises his eyebrows and gives a sarcastic nod. “Excellent job, Marv. You’ve figured it out.”
“Don’t condescend to me,” Marvin snaps.
“Oh so it’s only a problem when I’m the one doing it?” Whizzer doesn’t particularly want to argue this morning but the filter from his brain to his mouth must be broken because the acidic remarks are spilling out before he can stop them.
It appears to take no small effort to stop Marvin from retorting with whatever insult he’d had ready to go. The irate lines on his face soften by a fraction. “That’s not what you’re angry about right now.”
“No, you’re right. What I’m really angry about is the fact that you’re always out ‘working’.”
Marvin raises his eyebrows, confused. “What do you mean ‘working’? What exactly do you think I’m doing?”
(Who you’re doing)
“I don’t know,” he lies, throwing his hands in the air. “But you’re never at home.”
“I’m barely at home because I’m always working, Whizzer,” Marvin says defensively. “I have to work because now I’m supporting both of us and it’s putting a strain on my bank account. Gym memberships and designer shirts aren’t cheap, despite what you might think.”
Whizzer feels heat rush to his face. He stands, his chair scraping against the floor. “No! Don’t blame this on me! If you wanted to be home and spend time with me then you’d find a way to.” Balling up his napkin, he strides into the kitchen with his empty plates.
Marvin follows him, becoming heated even as he fights against it. “What does that even mean? Are you trying to suggest that I don’t want you anymore?”
(Well, you don’t, do you?)
“I don’t know!” Whizzer yells, throwing the plates into the sink. The crash they make as they break leaves an eerie silence in its wake.
Whizzer feels the anger drain from him like air from a punctured balloon. He keeps his back to Marvin as his fury deteriorates into misery.
Marvin tries, voice careful. “Whizzer-”
“Don’t, Marvin. Just go to work.”
He doesn’t know whether or not it’s better that Marvin didn’t protest. Whizzer doesn’t move until he hears the front door close.