Work Text:
It's funny, when he and Whizzer had moved into their posh little apartment on the Upper West Side (living off Marvin's quasi-decent income) it seemed like they unpacked boxes for weeks. What felt like a thousand boxes lined every wall and cranny, taking up space they didn't quite have to spare. Hell, some of those boxes were still in partial states of unpacked by the time they called their fabulous flop of a relationship quits.
Of course, having boxes around made made it all the easier for Whizzer to pack up and extract himself from Marvin's life. Or maybe those half-full boxes were representative of a much larger issue; one that had started to unravel long before Marvin let Whizzer win a damned game of chess.
But as he stands in the living room of his new apartment, Marvin realizes how few possessions he really owns. There's half a dozen boxes scattered around the small space and maybe a dozen or so more split between the kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. Barely more than the necessities and nothing that would ever turn a house into a home. No books. No pillows. No creature comforts. All those things had been Whizzer's. No matter how much Whizzer had protested they weren't exclusive and it was open and he didn't want a commitment and stop trying to make this more than just a good fuck, their apartment had been a home.
Because Whizzer had made it one.
Even when Marvin does unpack, even when he takes out every knick and knack and tucks them around the apartment, this place will never be a home to him. Not without Whizzer.
But getting Whizzer back would involve apologizing and admitting he was wrong: two things that Marvin isn't at all equipped to deal with.
Goddamn his temper and goddamn everything.
He hears a knock at the door and frowns. He hasn't even told Trina that he moved to Greenwich Village yet -- she's far too involved with her (his) psychiatrist to care that Marvin needed a change of venue. Besides, it isn't like she's beating down his door to talk to him. Not after his outburst before her wedding. He'll tell her eventually; before the next time Jason has a weekend with him. If Jason even wants to in the first place. His son seems particularly aggrieved now that Whizzer is no longer in the picture.
Fuck, my son loved him more than me.
The knock is more insistent now, and if this were the movies it'd be Whizzer at the door and they'd reconcile, living out the rest of their lives... in some strange state of happiness. Happiness Marvin never believed he deserved after he left his wife for another man. After she caught them in the den. After he lied to her for years. When he couldn't hide who he was any longer... but still hated who he was every hour of every day.
The knock turns into a bang now, jarring him from his thoughts. Marvin runs a hand through his hair, rubs the back of his neck, and banishes all traitorous thoughts of Whizzer and reconciliations and happy endings from his mind. He pads over to the door.
"Can I help you?"
A tall blonde woman swoops into the apartment like a force of nature. She's talking a mile a minute, too fast for Marvin to even follow what she's saying. He blinks stupidly at her, staring at the plate of food she's holding and trying to decide what it smells like. It's not like any meal he's ever eaten before, that's for sure. She's still talking and Marvin can't seem to get a word in edgewise.
He's about to close the door when a second woman breezes in. Shorter than the other, and attractive in that way that Marvin would have called his 'type' -- if females were something he was attracted to, that is. God, his entire life would have been easier if could just love a damn woman and not needed men.
There's a lull in the conversation (or maybe the tall blonde finally needed to stop for a breath) and the other woman pipes up, "Sorry about that. She gets carried away sometimes. You have to wait until she runs out of air in order to make your move. Hang around her long enough and you'll get the gist." She sticks out her hand. "Where are my manners? I'm Charlotte and this is Cordelia. We live down the hall. 5R."
Marvin offers a smile and shakes her hand in return. "Just moved in. Marvin. Of 5F. But... but you knew that. Right." He rubs the back of his neck again.
"We can see that," Charlotte says, hooking her thumbs into the pockets of her overalls. "Unless you're one of those people who finds boxes everywhere the height of chic living."
Cordelia lets out a laugh at that, high-pitched and keening. It startles Marvin but doesn't seem to phase Charlotte.
How anyone could stand to live with someone with that sort of a laugh is beyond him. He'd be posting in the classifieds for a new roommate if the positions were reversed.
"The place looks nice. I, uh, just got out of a relationship recently so I needed a change," He says, struggling to make polite conversation and instead overshares far more information than he intended. He rushes on, eager to turn the topic of conversation off the sad state of his love life. "Have you... lived here long?"
"We moved in together about five years ago," Charlotte replies. "We wanted a building where we felt... safe."
There's a way she hesitates before the word that feels like she's trying to convey a double meaning. Did she think he was hitting on her? Christ. He's not coming out to a neighbor he met not five minutes ago. Great, he can't even talk to a woman without fucking up and not even that said woman sounds like she's annoyed at him for his unintentional flirtage. Still, though, safety is a relative term in New York City these days, though Marvin was never one for dipping into a life of playing it raw and dangerous. That was always Whizzer's game. The longer he's silent, the more he realizes he clearly missed something in this conversation.
Then he notices the way Cordelia glances at Charlotte. The way the tall blonde touches Charlotte's shoulder after she leaves the plate of unnamed food on he dusty countertop. Safe. Safe doesn't necessarily mean protected from danger or risk of mugging. Here it means... accepted.
"You are...?" He lets the question hang in the air.
Cordelia flashes a brilliant grin and kisses Charlotte's cheek before flouncing out of the apartment the way she came.
"That... isn't a problem is it?" Charlotte asks, a cautious tone to her voice. "I ask because you seemed..."
"Gay?" Marvin fills in, a bite to his voice.
What remains of Charlotte's smile fades away in an instant. Marvin should feel bad -- she was only trying to be nice by stopping by -- but instead he's pissed. How dare someone make assumptions about him, no matter how right she actually is. Marvin glowers at her and she shakes her head in response.
"I shouldn't have assumed. I thought you... knew. Knew the area, I mean. Why else would you pick this place?"
"The rent was cheap," Marvin replies, a shrug tugging at his shoulders. Of course he didn't know. If he knew he would have gone elsewhere. Someplace he wouldn't be reminded of Whizzer and the normalcy he could have had with his ex-lover. He also knows he's rapidly losing control of the situation, something he despises even more than his sexuality. He sighs, the fight going out of him. "But... if you must know, I am. I recently split from my boyfriend of ten -- no, nine months."
Charlotte steps toward him and places a hand on his arm. "Dinner is at seven. Bring a bottle of red wine. I promise we're getting take out. I love her dearly but... cooking is not her venue."
She leaves before Marvin can turn down the invitation. Marvin is left staring at a closed door, knowing he's going to go out in a few hours and pick up two bottles of red wine and let these two women pull him into their lives. Knowing a new chapter of his life is about to begin, even if he has to set out on it with only the lesbians from next door for company. Marveling at this woman who is perfectly comfortable in her own skin, openly loving another woman without regret.
He's jealous and awestruck all at the same time.