Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Chapter Text

The hangover he gets after that whole lapse in judgement feels like punishment enough for Whizzer. He wakes with a pounding headache and a taste like rotten fruit in his mouth.

Marvin’s not in bed, but Whizzer can hear him bustling around the kitchen.

He’s toying with the idea of just staying bed when the kettle starts whistling, causing the pounding in his head to reach a painful crescendo. “Ugh.” Rolling out of bed, Whizzer stumbles in the direction of the kitchen.

Marvin’s frying eggs. The smell manages to be both nauseating and appetizing to Whizzer’s affected stomach.

“Morning,” Marvin says, throwing a quick smile over his shoulder.

Whizzer just groans in response. He goes straight for the cabinet above the fridge, rummaging around until he finally finds the Advil.

Marvin watches all of this with fond eyes. “Catch a cold or something?”

“Or something,” Whizzer mumbles, fumbling with the bottle’s child-proof cap until Marvin comes to take it from him.

As soon as he comes into proximity, Marvin freezes, inhaling. “Wait a second. Are you hungover?”

Whizzer tosses back two pills dry. “Hopefully not for long.” He collapses into one of the chairs at their kitchen table.

“You went out last night?” Marvin’s voice has no right to sound that wounded, or that suspicious. But really, what did Whizzer expect from possibly the most hypocritical man on the face of the planet?

“I did.”

Marvin’s fists clench and unclench at his sides. He looks as if he’s been knocked down a few pegs. Good. “And you went--You went out to-”

“Yes.” Let Marvin think that Whizzer spent the evening holed up with some guy in the back of a bar.

The word doesn’t have the effect that Whizzer thought it would. Instead of getting angry, Marvin looks more shocked than anything. “You--you really-?” His expression crumbles. “-God, Whizzer, why?”

Whizzer laughs, a cruel and deprecating sound. “Like you’re really one to judge.”

“What does that even mean?!”

“I think you know,” Whizzer says, injecting as much venom as possible into his tone.

Marvin splutters. “I--I don’t. I have no idea what you’re talking about!” He’s getting angrier now, the betrayal seeping out of his expression to be replaced with encroaching fury. “I swear, the few days you’ve been acting like a completely different person.”

“I could say the same thing about you--oh wait,” Whizzer sneers. “You haven’t been around enough for me to be able to say anything.”

“So you’re trying to blame this on me?” Marvin counters.

Whizzer surges from his chair, hangover forgotten. “Because it always comes back to you, doesn’t it, Marv?”

Marvin’s anger flickers, emotions moving across his face too fast for Whizzer to pinpoint any one. He turns away from Whizzer then and says, “I’m not doing this while the only thing you want is to fight. We’ll get nowhere this way.”

He takes off in the direction of the door, snatching his briefcase on the way.

“When will you be home?”

“I don’t know,” Marvin says and slams the door shut behind him.

Whizzer sits alone in the kitchen and tries not to feel like he’s just watched the longest relationship he’s ever had end for the second time.

By the time Whizzer sobers up (he’d started drinking again after Marvin left) it’s around the time that Marvin would usually be getting back from work.

(If he comes home at all)

He ignores the defeatist thoughts banging on the walls of his brain and goes to dump out the rest of the wine before it convinces him to make any more bad decisions. Watching the last of the liquid swirl down the kitchen drain, Whizzer wonders at how he’s stooped to this.

Two weeks ago he and Marvin were having regular sex, sharing an altogether functional relationship, and just generally acting very in love. Now, they only speak when they’re fighting and barely fight at all.

Worst of all, Whizzer’s lost an integral part of his psyche in the paranoia and the heartbreak. He imagines himself as one of those needlessly complicated board games; one that’s missing most of the figurines or paper money and practically unusable. No games here.

He throws the wine bottle into the trash and considers for a moment just joining it.

No--he shakes his head as if it’ll knock loose the morose thoughts. He’s Whizzer Brown. The stylish, suave, sexy man who’s slept with a fair number of the gay men in New York and even some of the straight ones. He has no business being this fatalistic, not when he’s got so much else going for him.

Godammit Whizzer needs to get out of this. Damn the consequences; damn Marvin and his cheating ways.

Trina’s words come back to him again. Do better than I did.

Whizzer thinks he gets it now.

His suitcase is still in the hall closet. It’s frame creaks ominously as he heaves it from beneath a pile of winter coats and carries it into the bedroom, smacking into furniture in his haste.

Whizzer methodically begins packing his clothes away, starting with the things he likes most and scaling down from there. He won’t be able to take everything with him--wherever the fuck he’s going after this. Maybe Marvin will let him come back and take the rest.

No--he’s not going to come back here and risk Marvin convincing him to stay.

Whizzer should have known when they broke up the first time that this wasn’t going to work. No amount of maturation or honest conversation can fix the trainwreck that is their relationship.

Whizzer’s chest heaves and quite suddenly, he realizes that he’s crying. He doesn’t wipe the tears away; Marvin sure as hell doesn’t deserve his tears, but he can spare a few for the good times he’s leaving behind.

For Jason and the neighbours and the nights where loving Marvin was so effortless and wonderful.

He’ll miss his home more than he wants to admit right now. His love for Marvin and the life they’d built together is supplying fuel for his anguish like a heart pumping blood to a wound. Even as Whizzer’s packing to go, all he’s wishing for is a respite from the pain.

If that means leaving it all behind then so be it.

Whizzer’s folding up a pair of socks when he hears the front door open and close.

“Whizzer?”

He says nothing even as his heart flips over in his chest, just grabs another pair of socks and adds them to the suitcase.

“Whizzer I--what… what are you doing?”

“I’m packing.” Whizzer’s too jaded to feign nonchalance.

Marvin’s hand grabs his arm, halting his efforts. “You’re leaving? Just like that?”

Pulling his hand from Marvin’s grip, he averts his eyes. “I’m tired, Marvin. I don’t want to pretend that things are still the way they were two weeks ago.”

“I know we’ve been having problems lately, I’d have to be an idiot not to realize that, but just giving up?” Marvin reaches out to touch Whizzer’s face, flinching when he shies away. “Whizzer, I love you,” he pleads.

“Please don’t say that,” Whizzer begs. “Not after everything that’s happened. After all you’ve done there’s no way you can say that and still mean it.”

“I--You keep saying that. What have I done? Tell me--please tell me and I swear I’ll fix it.”

“Have you been cheating on me?” The words are out before Whizzer can stop them, a vile accusation spat into Marvin's face.

Marvin reels as if he’d thrown a punch. “Cheating? Who said anything about cheating?”

His heart’s seizes behind his ribcage. “Answer the question.”

“No! I haven’t--how could I ever?” Marvin takes a step towards him.

Whizzer takes one back.

“I’ve never been unfaithful to you. I love you--you know what that means to me.”

“Prove it then.” Whizzer’s not sure what he’s asking for anymore. Is he demanding validation or begging for a reason to stay? “Where have you been going when you say that you’re at work?”

“I haven’t been lying. Everything about work, it’s all been true.” Marvin tries for another step forwards but Whizzer keeps giving up ground.

“Bullshit! You’ve never worked as much as you have in the last two weeks.” He pushes past Marvin and closes the half-filled suitcase, hands shaking.

“I-” Marvin wrings his hands, almost abashed. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “What?”

“I’m up for a promotion at work. Or, at least I am now that I’ve been flying through my clients and schmoozing with the higher ups.“

“So you’ve been sacrificing our relationship for what? A bigger salary? A corner office?” He seizes the suitcase by the leather handle and hurls it towards the bedroom door. It collides with the doorframe as it falls, leaving a long crack in it’s wake. “How is that any better than an affair?”

“Whizzer, just listen to me-”

“No--I’m done with the listening doing nothing and just waiting around. I don’t want to be that man anymore, the one that sits at home all day biding his time until his boyfriend comes back from work. I don’t want to be your housewife, Marvin.”

He holds out his hands, palms out, as if trying to calm a skittish animal. “And I don’t want you to be one. I want you to be your own man--with completely different friends and interests than me if that’s what it means to you.”

“And I can’t do that if-”

“I know! I know.” Marvin’s getting heated himself, despite his efforts to stay calm. He takes a calming breath. “That’s why I want this promotion so much, alright? With the promotion I can afford a nicer apartment closer to downtown--just like we’ve always wanted, right?”

The bottom drops out of Whizzer’s stomach. For the first time in this conversation, it’s him who feels wrongfooted. “What?”

Marvin steps towards him; he doesn’t retreat. “I know I’ve been distant the last two weeks--I’m sorry for that. I should have thought about how it would look to you, me just suddenly disappearing for hours at a time.”

Whizzer doesn’t shrink back as Marvin’s warm hands cup his cheeks, settling just above his jaw. “There was never another man?”

“There was never another man,” he says, bringing their foreheads together. The words set free something caged and painful in Whizzer’s chest. “Jesus. How long have you been sitting on that idea?”

“Since last week when I started going to bed alone.”

Whizzer steps more fully into Marvin’s space and carefully wraps his arms around him. Together, his hands span the width of Marvin’s back.

“I’m so sorry, Whizzer.” Marvin presses a kiss to Whizzer’s cheek. “I’m sorry.” Another one to the line of his jaw. “Forgive me.” His forehead.

He keeps up the litany of apologies, interrupting himself to press kisses to Whizzer’s closed eyes, the downturned pucker of his mouth, the worry-line between his brows.

When it becomes too much Whizzer buries his head in the space where the slope of Marvin’s shoulder gives way to neck. It all seems too good to be true, the denial and the plea for forgiveness, but God help him, Whizzer believes every word.

“Were you really just going to leave? Just like that?” The question is as hesitant as the hands around his waist.

Whizzer exhales a shaky breath. “You don’t understand how bad it was for me. You just kept disappearing and I kept hoping I was wrong, waiting around for you to come back and becoming more and more hopeless.” He fixes Marvin with a smile, perhaps the first in days that he doesn’t have to fabricate. “I swear, as soon as you get that promotion and we get the hell out of here, I’m picking up a hobby, or a job or something.”

Marvin laughs and Whizzer can feel it through every point of contact. “Good,” he says. “You deserve a lot more than just me.”

How much Marvin’s changed. It occurs to Whizzer that he’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop since they’d gotten back together. Some base, unknown part of his mind still believed that Marvin would revert back to the man of Whizzer’s nightmares and ruin everything they’d made.

It was unfair of him, he knows now, to suspect Marvin incapable of change. If he could learn to love monogamy, Marvin could learn to be less of an asshole.

Whizzer casts his gaze towards the door, where his packed suitcase still lays on the floor; he frees himself from Marvin’s embrace and goes to pick it up. Feeling Marvin’s eyes on him, he lugs it to the bed and unbuckles the clasps.

He raises his eyebrows at his lover. “Are you going to help me unpack?”

“Gladly,” Marvin says, tension draining from him all at once.

The two of them unpack the case enveloped in a comfortable silence, brushing their hands or sides together occasionally. The affection works to help calm them both--each is aware of how close they’d been to the end, a car that turned against the oncoming cliff.

It’s Marvin who interrupts the silence. “You have no idea, do you?” he asks, startling Whizzer with his voracity.

Whizzer pauses, halfway through folding a shirt, and inclines his head. “Of what?”

“What you are to me; how important you are.” Marvin’s balled hands are mangling the clean lines of a pair of slacks.

He puts down the shirt. “Marvin, I do know,” he says and truly believes it. His hands rest themselves utop Marvin’s and slowly begin to coax apart his clenched fingers.

“You don’t--if you knew, really knew, then you’d never in a million years think that I could do anything that I knew would hurt you. Baby, I’d sooner--sooner…” Marvin trails off, searching desperately for the words.

“It’s okay.”

“No. Just, gimme a second to think.” Marvin’s eyes are fixed on where their hands are clasped between them, as if they’ll tell him everything he needs to know.

Whizzer cards a hand through the curls that flop over Marvin’s forehead. His hand is knocked aside when Marvin’s head shoots up, sudden clarity dawning on him.

“I know that it’s impossible, but I need something that I can say that will make sure that you know. And it may not mean that much to you, but please know that to me this would be everything.” Whizzer doesn’t breathe as Marvin collects himself. When he speaks, Whizzer has to lean in just to hear him.

“I want you to know that if I could… If you and I could get married I would have asked you ages ago.”

Many men have said many things to Whizzer Brown in his lifetime. He’s heard, ‘I love you’, ‘Don’t leave me’, ‘Get out’, and ‘I want you’.

But out of the dozens of men that Whizzer’s been with, none of them have ever said that.

Whizzer’s been struck to the core, by Marvin and his childish, beautiful dreams of all things. “Marvin,” he says, voice breaking. “If you did, I would have said yes.”

Marvin’s looking at him like he’s some wonder from another galaxy, like he’s a movie star he encountered on the street. Wonder and love and misery battle for dominance over his expression. “I love you,” he says.

“I know. I do know, Marvin. I love you too.”

Marvin pulls him into the cradle of his arms and it’s no longer the cage it was years ago. His embrace speaks of comfort and love and familiarity and home.

Whizzer’s changed; but so has Marvin. He needs to accept that as gracefully as Marvin accepted his own development.

They stand there twined together, and when Marvin leans in it feels like the most natural thing in the world to meet him halfway. It makes Whizzer’s heart leap and his hands shake; Marvin clings to him like Whizzer’s the only thing keeping him afloat

There’ll be time later, to talk and work things out between the two of them. But for now they’ll do what they’ve always done: just work with what they have.

It’s good--more than good enough.

Whizzer sighs into the kiss and wonders why he’d had to go through all those other guys before he could find this.