Chapter Text
There’s a movie theater two blocks away that Marvin’s absolutely enamoured with. It’s a shady, run down place; the only movies it shows are the ones that have been out for months already.
Still, it’s within walking distance and according to Marvin they add just the right amount of butter to their popcorn. So, more often than not, when Jason comes for the weekend, the Mid Nite Cinema is where the three of them will inevitably end up spending an evening.
Marvin lets Jason pick the movie this time, some sci-fi flick that Whizzer can’t get into no matter how hard he tries. There are lots of explosions and car chases, though. Whizzer lets himself be dazzled by the bright, fast paced visuals and takes the time to ruminate.
After their fight over breakfast a couple of days ago Marvin came home carrying a bouquet of roses with a curious Jason in tow. They’d muttered careful apologies to one another, Whizzer taking the flowers with clenched fists. He wanted to throw the flowers out more than anything, reminded of Trina’s words over the phone a few days ago. The flowers won’t fix anything and neither will their garden-variety apologies.
(Whizzer--do better than I did)
He’s been trying to keep up a chipper facade for Jason. It’s taking a lot out of him to just keep on smiling even when Marvin leaves the room to take his calls.
At least Whizzer can be certain that Marvin won’t be sneaking off to meet with his new fling, not while Jason’s here. Marvin isn’t a particularly religious man, but weekends with his son have always been considered sacred days.
That’s always meant no work, no clubbing, and no sex. Not that very much of that had been happening before Jason got here anyway.
“Can I have some of your popcorn?” Jason asks, knocking Whizzer from his grim stupor.
He hands over the half-full bag without complaint. “Sure.” Trying to refocus on the movie, Whizzer pretends that he knows what’s happening. If only for Jason’s benefit if not for that of his psyche.
But Jason doesn’t stop staring at him, his body breaching the armrest between their two seats.
Whizzer does his best to ignore him until it becomes clear that Jason won’t be moving until he’s satisfied some inner curiosity.
The kid’s eyes are so wide and earnest. He has Marvin’s eyes, Whizzer’s realized this, but they somehow manage to look ages older and yet a million times more innocent on his round, childish face.
Jason’s a clever kid; he notices things sometimes that even Marvin never picks up on.
On any other day this fact is a blessing. Like when Marvin’s in the midst of catching a cold and Jason reminds him not to come near either of them with his germy body. However, Jason’s uncanny perception isn’t the greatest thing to have snooping around, especially while Whizzer’s trying to pretend that he isn’t going through a very personal crisis regarding his relationship.
The two lock eyes, silent. In the background, the movie drones on.
Whizzer cocks an eyebrow at Jason. The kid may be clever but Whizzer has an impeccable poker face. “You okay?” he whispers.
Jason seems to have found whatever he was looking for in his friend’s expression. Instead of answering Whizzer, he turns to his father. “Dad,” he groans quietly, pressing a hand to his stomach. “I’m not feeling well.”
Marvin freezes and looks over, a handful of popcorn still perched midway between his mouth and the bag. It’s comical enough that Whizzer would laugh if he weren’t so on edge.
Whizzer can almost see the gears turning in Marvin’s head as his gaze flips from his son to the movie. His paternal instincts must win out over his desire to see the ending because he starts ushering Jason towards the exit without another glance at the screen.
They walk back into the theatre’s dingy lobby, Marvin leaning down to hear what’s bugging his son. It smells like burnt popcorn and something antiseptic, maybe bleach or window cleaner.
Whizzer spots a bench pressed up against the wall. He grabs Jason’s shoulder and steers him towards it. “Here. Sit.”
Jason’s still not looking too well; his face is screwed up in discomfort and he’s still hugging his middle. “Dad, can you go get the car? I don’t think I can walk all the way back to the apartment,” he says once he’s seated.
“Sure I can, kid.” Marvin bends down and presses a hand to his son’s forehead. The action is endearing enough to make Whizzer hide a fond look behind his hand
Marvin looks up at him, frown marring his fine features. “Do you mind staying here with him for a couple minutes while I run home?”
Whizzer shrugs. “I’m fine with it.” Plopping down next to Jason on the bench, he holds out his house keys to Marvin. “You left yours at home, remember? And the car keys are on that dish in the kitchen.”
“Right. See you two in a jiffy.” To Jason he says, “Five minutes, tops, okay?”
Jason nods, even paler under the lobby’s harsh fluorescents.
His son’s apparent distress is only spurring Marvin on. Without another word he’s rushing back to their apartment, shooting concerned glances at Jason through the theatre windows until he’s too far away.
Whizzer stares after Marvin for just a little too long; he realizes this only after Jason pointedly clears his throat.
Whizzer has to do a double take after sparing a passing glance for the ailing kid. Because pale, sickly Jason is gone and intelligent, discerning Jason is fixed firmly back in place.
“You were never feeling sick at all, were you?”
Jason ignores the accusation. “Are you and my dad having problems again?” he asks, crossing his skinny arms over his chest and looking down at his shoes.
“No,” he insists immediately. Thrown onto the defensive, he turns to the one thing he always has going for him in times of stress: complete and utter snark. “Are you gonna start trying to psychoanalyze me? Is this all because you heard Mendel and your mom talking about me and Marvin? Because they really have no right to be so critical. I swear, I have never seen a more awkwardly intimate couple in my life-”
“So you are having problems.” His face falls.
“No we aren’t. Marvin and I are just…”
Jason grinds his heels into the ground, still refusing to meet Whizzer’s eyes. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better. It won’t work anyways. This is the same kind of stuff my mom would always say to me when her and dad were still married.”
And wow, doesn’t that just make Whizzer feel great, having his current relationship compared to one that ended in tears and heartbreak.
He sighs. This is all just so tiring; all the pretending and the stilted conversations. “Alright,” Whizzer admits finally. “Your father and I are going through a bit of a rough patch right now.”
Jason doesn’t say anything.
Whizzer slings an arm around the tense line of Jason’s shoulders, squeezing until he can feel some of the anxiety drain out of the kid’s posture.
“Just because we’re having problems doesn’t mean your dad and I are going to break up.” Whizzer wishes he could feel as confident as he sounds.
There’s a teenager popping popcorn on the opposite end of the lobby, watching them warily as she mans the snack bar. Whizzer stares at the girl’s ugly perm and tries to pretend that he’s literally anywhere else.
Finally, Jason croaks out a small, “I don’t want you two to split up again.”
Whizzer stares at Jason; his boyfriend’s kid who somehow became his own one day while he wasn’t looking.
(You won’t see him again after all of this is over)
His hand is trembling when he smooths down Jason’s hair. He may have Marvin’s eyes, but there’s something soft in his face that’s more reminiscent of Trina.
And quite suddenly Whizzer is so scared. He’s scared that Marvin will leave him for whoever he keeps sneaking out to see, he’s scared that he’ll be cast back out into the city without a job or a family or a home. And he’s terrified that he’ll have to give this up.
This--Jason and his earnest smiles and curious eyes. This is much too precious for Whizzer to lose.
“We’ll work things out,” Whizzer promises weakly, moving to squeeze Jason’s shoulder again. The end of him and Marvin seems to be looming larger than ever before but he’d sooner walk into traffic than admit it to his kid.
Jason’s smarter than a few pretty words, though. He falls quiet, still stiffer than a statue.
“My dad, is he-?” Jason breaks off. “Is it like what he did with you, when he was still married to my mom?”
Whizzer doesn’t answer. The words are lodged somewhere in his throat, and he’s left to choke on them in silence.
(It’s exactly like with Trina. Marvin cheated on her and now he’s cheating on me. And once he’s done with me, he’ll leave and I’ll never get to see you again)
The lack of response probably tells Jason everything he needs to know.
Marvin arrives back a few minutes later. They don’t say much on the ride back.
000
Marvin isn’t home until late that night, a quarter past midnight by the time on the bedside clock.
As Marvin putters quietly around the apartment, Whizzer keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the clock. It’s late enough that he can get away with pretending to be asleep until Marvin comes to bed. He doesn’t want to face his boyfriend right now.
Marvin would be able to read the accusation carved into his face, Whizzer’s sure of it.
Whizzer rolls away from the door just before it opens. Keeping his breathing regulated is difficult when he can hear Marvin readying for bed just behind him.
(Is he going to smell like someone else when he gets into bed?)
The thought alone is enough to make Whizzer’s chest seize, covering it up with a cough. He squeezes his eyes shut until all he sees are the streaks of colour from the clock on the night table.
After another minute, the soft sounds of Marvin moving around cutting through the room’s tense silence, Whizzer feels the covers on Marvin’s side of the bed draw back.
Whizzer manages not to stiffen too much at the hand Marvin cards through his hair as he settles himself into alignment with his boyfriend’s body.
The scent of booze and cigarette smoke rolls of off him.
Whizzer feels shaky and distant, like he’s a million miles away but still not far enough. A stranger has just climbed into bed.
A hand winds its way around Whizzer’s torso and Marvin’s chin rests at the top of Whizzer’s spine. The position is familiar, intimate. But instead of the comfort it usually brings, the affectionate position just makes Whizzer feel empty.
“Goodnight, Whiz,” Marvin says, quietly enough that Whizzer’s sure it wasn’t even meant to be heard. Pressing a kiss to the back of his boyfriend’s neck, Marvin pulls the covers more tightly around them and falls still.
Whizzer sighs. He lays a hand over the one Marvin has splayed across his stomach. Feeling rather macabre, he hope that whoever Marvin spent the evening with was worth all of this.
He sleeps fitfully that night.
000
Whizzer isn’t a stranger to cheating, considering he spent a fair amount of time sneaking around behind Marvin’s back with other men. He knows the best way to get away with it is to just give as little info as possible.
If Marvin asked him, ‘Where did you go today?’ the correct answer would be, ‘Out.’ No grand lies and no tall tales. The best way to keep Marvin off his back was to keep being vague until he gave up.
Then again, Marvin had always been cognizant of the fact that Whizzer was sleeping around, so it's a mystery how much of that he actually believed and how much he just didn’t want to know about.
Whizzer’s had a lot of time to think, lying around by himself in the empty apartment. After hours of careful deliberation, he’s come to the conclusion that this was probably inevitable. Their relationship couldn’t last, at least not in the way it had been for the past three months.
Whizzer’s going to hang on as long as possible but who knows how long it will be until Marvin gets tired of coming home to him.
He’ll stare at the clock sometimes, when the apartment gets too quiet, and the truth of the matter just hurts a little bit too much. Watching the second-hand click it’s way around the clock’s surface, Whizzer can almost pretend that nothing’s wrong. Marvin will come home on time, the two will eat cheap take out, watch whatever’s on tonight, and fall into bed for a round of passionate, satisfying sex.
Of course, Whizzer can only pretend for so long because once Marvin’s an hour late coming home the fantasy is shattered.
Right now it’s an hour and a half past Marvin’s typical arrival time and Whizzer’s rummaging through their cabinets looking for something to drink. Since he isn’t feeling quite morbid enough to drink his problems away with a bottle of white wine, he goes to visit the neighbours.
Both are home at this time of the evening. “Oh, hello, Whizzer,” Charlotte says, opening the door a little wider to let him in.
“Hey, Whiz!” Cordelia calls from the couch.
Whizzer plasters on the most convincing smile he can muster up. “Hello, ladies.” He spares Charlotte a quick kiss on the cheek before going to slump down next to Cordelia. “What are we watching?”
Cordelia slings an arm around him, immediately shifting so that her head is pressed into the space between Whizzer’s neck and shoulder. “Wheel of Fortune.”
“Really? That’s depressing.” He has to put in a conscious effort not to inhale any of Cordelia’s blonde curls.
Charlotte follows him from the door. Arms crossed, she cocks an eyebrow at him. “So first you steal my lover and now you insult my taste in television? Classy.”
Whizzer shrugs.
“Don’t bully him, Char. He’s had a tough week.” She’s figured out that Marvin and Whizzer are having problems but Whizzer hasn’t been able to gather the courage to admit how bad everything actually is. “Do you want something to drink?”
Letting his cheery facade slip for a second in favor of plaintive gratitude, Whizzer says, “The strongest thing you have, please.”
Cordelia pulls away, eyes narrowed. She gives him a concerned once over. “Charlotte, can you go grab that whiskey? We should still have some left, I think.”
“I thought we were gonna save that for a special occasion?.”
Cordelia shoots her a look. She’s quite possibly the only woman (nevermind man) on earth who can command Dr. Charlotte without uttering a single word.
Charlotte gives in without protest. “Alright, fine.” She disappears into the kitchen.
Whizzer can feel Cordelia’s eyes burning a hole through his head.
A contestant on the tv guesses an incorrect phase. Whizzer scoffs. “They pick the dumbest people to be on these shows. The answer’s obviously ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’.”
Cordelia reaches over and turns off the tv. “You came over here for booze and moral support, please don’t try and pretend everything’s fine, honey.” She settles a hand on his thigh.
Whizzer shakes his head. “I just want a drink.”
Charlotte comes back in with the bottle of liquor under one arm and three glasses in her hands. “We’ve certainly got those,” she says as she pours him a generous amount.
He tosses it back as quickly as he can stand. It’s probably pretty good stuff, but Whizzer’s not in the mood for savoring anything. Tonight’s mission is to get as drunk possible as fast as possible, and nothing more.
When he holds out his glass for a refill, Cordelia immediately seizes the bottle, saying, “No way, Whizzer Brown. You’re not getting anything else until you fess up and tell us what’s going on.” Jaw set, she moves the bottle out of reach and crosses her arms.
“Fine.” Whizzer sets the glass down on the table in front of him. It’s empty but it provides him with something to stare at that isn’t either of the women. “I think Marvin’s cheating on me,” he grits out.
Cordelia blanches. “What?”
“No!” Charlotte sits down on the empty side of the couch, leaving Whizzer squashed between them. “Marvin wouldn’t.”
“Well I don’t know how else to explain the way he’s been acting, okay?” This time when he holds his glass out, Cordelia pours him another.
“How’s he been acting?”
Whizzer downs the whiskey and digs the heel of his hand into his eyes. “He’s gone when I wake up most mornings, he stays late at work almost every day. And even when he is home, suddenly he has all these ‘prior engagements’ that he just can’t get out of!”
“He could just be busy.” Cordelia smooths a hand down his back. The motion is soothing but too reminiscent of pity.
“Yeah, it’s probably nothing,” Charlotte chimes in. “Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”
“No, you don’t get it!” Abruptly angry, Whizzer slams his glass down. “Marvin’ll gives me these stupid stories about work functions or dinners with his management. Even when we’re together he barely says two words to me; it’s like I’m living with a stranger. Then the next day the same thing will happen except this time he’ll be out until past midnight. And--and then he comes home stinking like he’s been fucking some guy in a bar somewhere.”
Whizzer’s so tired. He’s tired of being sad and angry and feeling like a desperate housewife.
He only realizes that he’s crying well after he’s started. Furious tears spring to his eyes, wiped away almost as soon as they form. Whizzer hides his head in his hands.
The room around him is silent other than the faint hum of the ceiling fan and his quiet, hitching sobs. Neither Charlotte nor Cordelia has anything to say to that.
He’s not surprised by their shock--throughout all of this he’d never let it slip that things had gotten so bad between him and Marvin.
A hand comes to rest on his thigh and soon a pair of arms wrap themselves around his heaving shoulders.
They still don’t say anything. To Whizzer, their silence is both comforting and damning.
The one thing that Whizzer still can’t wrap his head around is why. Why did Marvin throw everything away for some boytoy that’ll dump him once his wallet’s been thinned? Things had been so good for the last couple months; Whizzer was finally starting to settle into a life with a man he thought he would be able to love forever, something he previously never thought would happen. But now there are all these questions and disgusting feelings that Whizzer just can‘t escape from no matter how long he lies in bed or how many drinks he’s had.
He doesn’t know who to blame for any of this. Is it Marvin’s fault? His? Whoever Marvin’s been screwing? Was all of this somehow bound to happen--Marvin getting bored and moving on to the next new thing?
And perhaps the most pathetic, most naive question: can he still save this somehow?
Because the fact of the matter is that Whizzer still loves Marvin way beyond what he thought he was capable of. Despite the cheating and the lying, all Whizzer wants is to just go home and sit curled up with Marvin on the couch and watch shitty tv and pretend that everything is fine.
Of course, everything would still be fucked up but Whizzer’s a pretty good actor.
Whizzer manages to pull himself back together after another couple moments. He shakes off the reassuring hands.
He picks up his glass again. “Another drink, maybe?”
“You should slow down,” Charlotte says, even as she’s pouring him one.
“Why? It’s not like Marvin will be around tonight to complain,” he spits. The bottom of his glass is much too enticing for him to stop now. “Wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t come home at all tonight.”
The two women watch with concern as he numbly knocks back his third drink.
“Whizzer,” Cordelia starts, wringing her hands. “I--I know that you’re sure Marvin’s cheating, but have you stopped to think that maybe there’s another explanation?”
He scoffs. “Like what?”
It’s obvious that Cordelia doesn’t have an answer. She looks to Charlotte instead, eyes pleading.
Charlotte scrambles. “He could just be telling the truth-”
Whizzer snorts derisively.
“No--don’t interrupt me.” She snaps her fingers at Whizzer when he refuses to quiet. “Both of us have known Marvin for almost two years and, I’ll admit, he was an asshole at first, but even then he wouldn’t have stooped to something like this.”
Whizzer slumps against the couch. “Don’t you get it? This is how his marriage to Trina ended. He’s already done all of this before!”
“That was different,” Cordelia protests.
“Is it really?” he asks, the alcohol making him defeatist.
This time when Charlotte lays a hand on his thigh it's more of a reassurance than a consolation. “Marvin loves you like he’s never loved anything. He’d never do this to you.”
Whizzer wants to share in her conviction, but she hasn’t been around for all of the lonely nights and quiet days. Charlotte and Cordelia don’t understand his relationship, at least not in the same way that he does.
“What are you going to do?” Cordelia’s the kind of person who tries to step in and fix everything--she’s a people-pleaser. As much as Whizzer adores her, he doesn’t need someone else to come in and solve all his problems.
“To be perfectly honest, I have no idea.” He looks directly at Cordelia as he says, “You guys can’t tell Marvin about this, alright? I need time to figure everything out--and I can’t do that if Marvin makes a decision for me.”
Cordelia deflates a little bit. “We won’t tell him.”
“Good. Now, I’m going to go back to my apartment and pour myself a couple glasses of white wine.” What was a pathetic idea is now starting to look very tempting
Whizzer’s almost at the door when Charlotte tells him, “Just talk to Marvin, alright?”
He isn’t going to talk to Marvin about this. In fact, he’d sooner set fire to his closet than talk to Marvin about this. “Sure.”
Whizzer goes out that night, hoping to find a good-looking man to drink his sorrows away with. He’s just drunk enough that it seems like a good idea.
But once he’s there, standing amid the lights and the stink of cheap spirits, the idea is much less appealing. This isn’t a problem he can escape from in the arms of some other guy; Whizzer realizes this even as he makes eyes at a gentleman across the room.
(This isn’t going to bring Marvin back)
The man starts moving towards him and Whizzer clams up. Without a second thought, he turns and hightails it in the opposite direction.
He leaves the bar having spoken to no one, feeling even worse than when he went in.