Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He stares up at the ceiling, boredom clear in his eyes. The man - boy really - in front of him is handsome enough-- pretty blue eyes and tousled brown hair. Whizzer shifts his gaze to the boy’s chest, pointedly not looking him in the eyes. The kid -- Devon? Dylan? Damian? -- is wearing a Fordham sweatshirt. To a bar nowhere near the goddamn campus. Whizzer barely suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. He knows he should have too much pride to give a half-hearted hand job to a rich college kid who is barely old enough to drink, but he had a bad day and needed something to get his mind off of the emptiness he’s feeling. The emptiness shouldn't be feeling. He has everything he has always wanted. He is taking photos of beautiful people in beautiful clothing and getting paid for it. Getting paid a lot for it, actually. He has a trendy apartment in Greenwich Village, a closet of designer clothes; his photos have been on the cover Vogue and GQ, he attracts more twinks than Kylie Minogue. A hundred thousand followers on Instagram and a phone full of fabulous friends, but he still feels so fucking alone. Everything he has always wanted and he still can't fill the hole that he's had in his chest his entire life. What do I have to do? The boy’s loud moan, and suddenly wet briefs bring Whizzer back to the depressing scene in front of him. He steps away and opens the bathroom stall door. Dylan looks confused.

“Don’t you want me to… you know… do something… you know… for you?”

“Yeah, actually, I do,” Whizzer says in a deadpan. “Go back to the bar and make some more shitty choices with your frat buddies.”

“I- I’m not actually in a-”

“Yeah, I don’t actually care,” Whizzer sighs. Devon rolls his eyes and pushes past him, out of the bathroom. “Bye, Damian!” Whizzer calls just as he steps out.

“My name is Derek!” he replies, turning back violently.

“Oh God, that is definitely worse,” Whizzer says. “You should’ve just let me call you Damian.” Derek slams the door shut on his way out.

Whizzer sighs and makes his way to the sink, turning on the faucet and scrubbing his hands clean before splashing his face with the cold water. Staring up at himself in the mirror, his eyebrows furrow and he lets out a long, exasperated groan. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I just be fucking happy? With a frustrated shout, he hits the sink hard enough to send a wave of pain up through his palm and into his arm. I am exactly where I want to be, so why am I not satisfied? Am I just not cut out for that? That far-out, abstract concept of happiness and fulfillment? Maybe it’s just not meant for me. He’s young, too, for the years of success he has had. A wunderkind according to the online articles he has always loved to scoff at while showing them to everyone he knows. I’m such a fucking ungrateful asshole. He takes his anger out on the sink one more time before leaning back against the filthy tile wall. What the fuck am I meant to do?

The exorbitant amount of alcohol in his system seems to really hit him just then because Whizzer’s head starts to spin. He feels dizzy and his legs become weak. Not caring for the moment about how gross he would find this at any other time, he sinks to the floor, rubbing his temples as his vision starts to go dark. Just then, he hears the music in the bar change suddenly from the heavy beats of the normal clubby music to an old disco song he only vaguely knows. He doesn’t have time to question it, though, before he loses consciousness.

“Hey, man, you okay?”

Whizzer’s eyes flicker open to find himself still sitting against the bathroom wall. Only the bathroom looks different. The tile seems to be a different color, and it’s more run-down than he remembers it. It looks like the bathroom of some shitty underground speakeasy, rather than the hip gay bar in Manhattan. Whizzer shakes his head, blaming it on the alcohol.

“Seriously. Do you need help?”

Whizzer’s eyes focus on the man in front of him. He has long-ish brown hair and is wearing a tight and flamboyant button-up shirt tucked into equally tight, equally bright, high-waisted bell-bottoms. God, what year is it? I mean, I know 70s fashion is making a comeback, but this is just too much. Whizzer would normally say something snarky; make fun of him and laugh and maybe have a good quick hate fuck at the end of the night. But his head is throbbing and the man actually looks concerned, so Whizzer just shakes his head, slowly pushing himself up. “Thanks, but I’m fine. Just had a little too much to drink.” He manages a forced smile and the man nods.

“I can help you hail a cab if you want,” the man offers, clearly just following social protocol, as he glances a little too frequently towards the stalls.

“It’s fine. I’ll just call myself an Uber,” Whizzer says, attempting not to stumble as he makes his way towards the door.

“Huh?” the man asks, looking at Whizzer skeptically.

“Nothing. Just go shit already. I’m alright.”

The man looks grateful as he nods and races into the empty stall. Whizzer opens the door into the bar and realises that the disco songs are still playing. He looks around and sees that the men surrounding him are all dressed in some variation of the bathroom man’s outfit. All except one, sitting alone at the bar, shifting his eyes between his beer and the ass of a man standing nearby. He looks to be in his early 40s. He’s not dressed well, but at least his outfit is fairly normal -- a plaid button-up, too-baggy khakis and an ill-fitting dark green suit jacket. Whizzer sits down next to him, desperate, suddenly, to talk to someone who is old enough to rent a car, and who isn’t dressed like a poor-man’s Elton John. The man looks up at Whizzer, his gaze lasting long enough for Whizzer to notice a flicker of interest in his eyes before he quickly turns his gaze back to his drink.

“Did it suddenly become retro night in this place? Because I definitely didn’t get that memo,” Whizzer says, trying to make conversation.

“What do you mean?” the man asks, furrowing his brow.

“I mean, what year is it? Why is everyone dressed like they just time-travelled here from the seventies?” Whizzer asks, gesturing to the wide array of brightly colored pants.

The man looks at him like he’s insane. “Is this some weird pick-up line? Cause I’m not interested,” he says, rather unconvincingly.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Whizzer responds with a snort, rolling his eyes. He takes out his phone, with the intention of calling a Lyft, but he realises that he suddenly has no bars. Great. He looks back at the man, who, for some reason, is staring wide-eyed at the phone in Whizzer’s hand.

“What is that?” he asks.

Whizzer raises an eyebrow. “Look, man, I know most of society has been brainwashed by the late great Steve Jobs to believe that it’s a good idea to pay double the price for the exact same capabilities, but acting like you don’t even know what a goddamn Android looks like is taking it a little far, don’t you think?" In lieu of a response, the man snatches Whizzer’s phone from his hand. “Hey!” Whizzer exclaims, grabbing his arm. But the man doesn’t look like he wants to steal the thing, he just studies it, an amazed look in his eye.

“Why does it say ‘2017’?”

“What do you mean?” Whizzer asks.

“Here,” the man says, pointing to the clock on Whizzer’s home screen. “It says, ‘March 15, 2017’. Why would it say that? Why would it say ‘2017’?”

“Because that’s the year?” Whizzer says, raising an eyebrow. Okay. Nevermind finding someone normal. This dude is insane. But the man is looking at Whizzer the same way that Whizzer is looking at the man. With weariness, with confusion, with heavy judgement.

“It’s 1978,” the man replies seriously.

Whizzer laughs nervously. “Alright, can I have my phone back now?”

“This is a phone?”

Whizzer doesn’t waste time responding. He just grabs his phone back and races outside, praying for service. Still no fucking bars. “Goddammit!” He shouts.

Much to his dismay, a few seconds later, the crazy man from inside appears next to him. “How is it possible?”

Whizzer jumps and backs away. “How is what possible?”

“How is that a phone?”

“Drop it, okay? This isn’t funny.” Whizzer looks into the street, searching desperately for yellow. He needs to get home and get some sleep before he goes as insane as the man next to him.

“Drop what? I have never seen anything like that before. It should be impossible.”

“Oh my god, you actually believe that, huh? Hate to break it to you, buddy, but it is not 1978. It is 2017. Now leave me the fuck alone.”

The man grabs Whizzer’s arm, and he tries to pull away, but, fuck, this guy is surprisingly strong.

“Let go of me!” Whizzer shouts. The man just drags him over to a line of three newspaper vending machines. “What?”

The man points at the corner of the display paper on each of the clear doors. “1978. 1978. And 1978.”

Whizzer looks closer and sees that the man is right. For the first time, he really looks around. There are plenty of cars, but none of them seem to be from the right century. The parking meters no longer take credit cards. The whole block looks similar, just very slightly different. Slightly less modern. “What the fuck is happening to me?” Whizzer mutters, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

“Now explain how your phone looks like a tiny television.”

Whizzer steadies himself on one of the newspaper racks, trying to control his breathing. I am not crazy. The phone is proof. I am not crazy. I am not crazy! “Excuse me,” Whizzer says, forcing a smile and rushing back inside. He slams his hands down on the bar and beckons to the bartender. The man raises an eyebrow, but walks over to Whizzer’s side of the bar.

“What do you-”

“What year is it?” Whizzer demands.

“Excuse me?”

“What year is it?” Whizzer repeats desperately.

“1978,” the bartender responds, suddenly weary. “You okay?”

“I'm fine,” Whizzer says tightly. He races around the bar, having the same conversation over and over again. 1978. 1978. 1978. “Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Holy fuck.” It’s getting harder and harder for Whizzer to breathe normally so he stumbles back outside and leans against the wall, hugging his phone to his chest, holding onto it like it's his last shred of sanity. And maybe it is.

“So I'm going to blame this ridiculous question I'm about to ask on the alcohol and the fact that I just started watching that Doctor Who show.”

Whizzer is surprised to see that the man is still standing there outside.

“What is it?” Whizzer asks shakily.

“Are you- God, this sounds crazy... Are you from the future?” The question is blunt, and would, at any other time, seem so ludicrous that Whizzer almost laughs out loud.

“That's… that's impossible, right?” Whizzer asks. “Like… that couldn't happen. Like my drink got spiked and I'm just on some weird acid trip or something. Right?”

“Yeah, it should be. But you never answered my question.”

Whizzer hesitates. It's impossible. It makes no sense. And yet nothing else does either. “I was born in 1984. It was 2017 when I first entered that bar earlier tonight.”

“And yet somehow it is 1978.”

Whizzer squeezes his eyes shut, his heart racing in his chest. He breathes carefully, in and out, in and out, attempting to steady himself, to stop himself from shaking. The other man leans against the wall next to him.

“Hey, look, you’re gonna be okay,” the man says. “And if you are going insane, take comfort in the fact that I’m fairly certain I am as well.”

For the first time that night, Whizzer laughs. It's small, but it's genuine and grateful.

He opens his eyes and turns his head, locking eyes with the man next to him. “Well at least I'm in good company.”

The man smiles -- a real, intoxicating, heart-melting smile that Whizzer feels vividly in the pit of his stomach -- and holds out a hand. “Marvin,” he says.

Whizzer shakes it, both men lingering for a second longer than necessary. “Whizzer. Whizzer Brown.”

Chapter Text

“So, there’s a couch in the den. I’ll bring a blanket and a pillow down. And some clothes you can sleep in.” Marvin points him towards the back of his house. He had driven Whizzer to the address of his apartment, just to make sure, but his key didn’t work, and anyway, the whole place, though technically the same building, just didn’t look a thing like his home. So Marvin said he could stay in his den until he could get a place of his own. That his wife wouldn’t mind and while Whizzer would have to sleep on a couch and be okay with having Marvin’s son around, it was rent-free and available for as long as he needed it. And Whizzer agreed (and didn’t immediately question the whole wife and child thing) because he had a sudden and distressing realisation that, since to the rest of the world, he has not even been born yet, he has no bank account, no money, no college degree. Not even a social security number. For all intents and purposes, he does not exist.

“And the lie we're telling your wife about how you met me and why I'm here?” Whizzer asks.

Marvin glares at him and, man, if looks could kill. “I don't have to be doing this for you, you know. I could just leave you to sleep on the streets as that crazy homeless guy who thinks he's from the goddamn future.”

“Just getting my stories straight,” Whizzer mutters. “It's your life. I'm not judging.” But both men know it's a lie. Whizzer understands that it's a different time, that the world is a lot less forgiving now than it will be in forty years. He knows he has no right to judge Marvin's choices, that he should just be grateful to have a couch to sleep on. But he can't help the sour taste in his mouth as he thinks about this man lying to himself and to all the people who love him. He couldn't do it, no matter when he was born. He couldn't -- he wouldn't -- live that way.

“You're an old friend from Harvard who's down on his luck,” Marvin says, though his gaze doesn’t soften much. Whizzer snorts. “What?” Marvin asks incredulously.

“Well, for one, of course you went to Harvard. But, more importantly, when did you graduate?” Whizzer asks.

Marvin’s jaw tightens. “1960.”

After a pause to do some calculations in his head, Whizzer nods. “I would have been a freshman. In high school.”

“So? It’s not like anyone could actually prove your age,” Marvin says, his voice suddenly taking a condescending tone. “Or are you really so vain you can’t pretend to be any older than you are?”

“Fine,” Whizzer says, narrowing his eyes. “But I was a Freshman when you were a senior.”

“Jesus Christ, I don’t fucking care. Just say whatever you want.”

“No. I’ll do the college thing,” Whizzer responds, plastering a sweet smile on his face. “But, just a warning: no one is going to believe that I ,” he says, gesturing to himself, “am 37.”

Marvin pointedly looks him up and down, shrugging dismissively. “I’d be more worried about people not believing that you could get into Harvard.”

Whizzer opens his mouth, a spiteful reply on his tongue, but Marvin has already turned and started upstairs. He’ll get what’s coming to him. Some other time. When I’m not dependant on the availability of his couch.

The den is bare and a little depressing, with a cream carpet and white walls. There’s a leather couch against one wall, a small nightstand beside it, and a TV -- its small, rounded screen making Whizzer marvel -- against the other. There’s a coffee table too, with an old chess set displayed proudly on top of it, and one small window. The design choices are abysmal and Whizzer finds himself questioning whether the man truly isn’t straight. What Whizzer notices most, though, is the lack of pictures. When he was growing up, family photos were displayed proudly in every room. Whizzer had noticed a couple in the living room, but here, the walls are completely bare. He wonders if Marvin likes to come in here to forget about the prison he’s made for himself, to ignore the suffocation and the guilt for just a little while.

“The clothes are probably kind of small, but it’s what I have.” Whizzer turns and sees Marvin leaning against the door frame, a pile of blankets, pillows and clothing in his arms.

“You’re already doing more than you need to,” Whizzer says, taking the pile from him and plopping it down onto the couch. “Thank you for that, by the way. I haven’t said that yet I realize.”

Marvin smiles and there it is again. That smile and that feeling in Whizzer’s stomach that is generally reserved for European men in cufflinks, with chiseled jaw-lines and six-packs. The man standing before him isn’t unattractive by any means, but he certainly looks nothing like the pretty boys Whizzer usually goes home with. But there’s something about him, when he smiles… If you fuck him you fuck up your entire living situation. At least get a fucking job first. But he doesn’t turn away. The two men stand there for a few long seconds, eyes locked, each looking more vulnerable than they wanted to.

It’s Marvin who snaps out of it first, his face suddenly hardening and his eyes losing that visible well of emotion. “Well, you seemed desperate and we have plenty of space,” Marvin says matter-of-factly.

Yeah, I’m sure that’s your only motive here, Whizzer thinks. But he just nods and gives him a small smile, turning to the pile of bedding on the couch. He takes the clothes from the top, setting them on the coffee table, and takes off the leather jacket he has been wearing since the morning, throwing it across the arm of the couch. Whizzer is highly aware of Marvin still standing there in the doorway, still watching him. They lock eyes and Whizzer throws him a salacious grin, as he starts to slowly unbutton his shirt. “You can watch if you want. I don’t mind.”

“Oh!” Marvin jumps, turning away quickly. “Um, I didn’t know you were… I’m… No, I’m…”

“Goodnight, Marvin,” Whizzer laughs, showing the man some mercy by cutting off his flustered stuttering.

“Goodnight,” Marvin mutters, quickly turning and shutting the door behind him.

The red hoodie and flannel pajama pants that Marvin left for him are, indeed, small. Whizzer’s wrists and ankles are significantly visible. But it’s better than trying to sleep in skinny jeans and a dress shirt. He bunches the sweatshirt’s arms up to his elbows and grabs the pillow and blanket, laying down on the --also far too short-- couch. He positions the pillow under his head, his feet hanging over the far arm, lays the blanket over himself, and tries desperately to fall asleep.

But his now active mind refuses to let him rest. Behind his eyelids, he sees flashes of the life torn from him; of the world he was forced to leave behind. His friends, who never seemed to call, his family, though his parents died years ago and his sister still lives in California, his perfect apartment where the only guests seemed to be a rotation of blue-eyed booty calls... So he had a few gaps to fill. But now he is just stranded --no money, no plan, no prospects--, a refugee in a city he knows so well yet doesn’t know at all. No cell phones, no internet, no marriage. Not that he ever wanted to get married, but it was always nice to have the option at least. He winces at the thought that he is stuck in a time where he’s supposed to just hide away and be ashamed. Just like Marvin. And in a few years… oh shit, I’d better find a way back before then. God, I have to. But something in his gut tells him that he won’t be going home for a long, long while.

* * *

Marvin wants to be doing all of this out of the kindness of his heart. So much so, that he almost makes himself believe it. But deep down he knows that his motives aren't pure. Down in the den, a pretty boy is sleeping in his clothes, on his couch, completely reliant on him . The thought makes him almost giddy. He knows the risk of having him here, but if he only looks and never acts… It'll be fine. It is going to be fine. He’s smiling as he opens the door into his bedroom. Trina, who woke up when he first came in for clothing and bedding, has turned her light on and is sitting up, reading.

“Is your friend all settled in?” She asks, looking up from her book.

“As much as he will be,” Marvin responds dismissively, turning to the closet to change, his head full of thoughts about Whizzer.

“How long do you think he'll be here?”

Marvin looks at her with annoyance. “I don't know. As long as he needs to be.” he snaps.

“It was just a question,” Trina replies softly, looking back to her book.

“No, it was your passive aggressive way of telling me that you don't want him here. But I'm telling you that he needs our help so he will stay as long as he damn well pleases.” Marvin doesn't even look at his wife when he says this. He just changes into pajamas and exits into the en-suite bathroom. Trina, thankfully, doesn’t respond.

A few minutes later, Marvin is slipping into bed next to his wife, who has resigned herself to sleep, turned away from his side of the bed. Marvin hardly even recognises her presence. Under the blankets with the mother of his child, the woman who has dedicated herself to him for over a decade, and all he can think about is the man downstairs. His tight-fitting clothes. That full head of hair, painstakingly styled to seem completely effortless. Those hypnotising eyes that seem at once incredibly caring and incredibly cruel. That cocky smirk that makes Marvin’s stomach twist in knots. And that laugh; the one that makes his face light up, brighter than a harvest moon. Sex on long, long legs. Marvin had turned to jelly the moment he’d seen him. In his mind he presses Whizzer against the wall in the den, ruining that perfectly styled hair and screaming out his name and… Marvin feels Trina’s tentative hand reach out and grip his arm, pulling him immediately from the vivid daydream. He wants to slap her hand away and go back to his guilty fantasies, but he doesn’t. Afterall it is nothing more than a pipe dream. He can’t act on it. And even if he could, there’s no way Whizzer would be with someone like him. So, instead, he turns and wraps his arms around his wife, burying his face in her neck and squeezing his eyes shut.

He doesn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but in his dreams that night, the person asleep in his arms isn’t Trina at all, but a pretty boy with an irresistible smirk, wearing a hoodie that’s a few sizes too small.

Chapter Text

The sobering light of day isn’t kind to Whizzer. He had finally fallen asleep at around 4am, only to wake up again less than 4 hours later, with his heart still hammering in his chest and his brain still on overdrive about what the fuck is wrong with him and how the fuck he is going to fix it. But one thing is clear in his mind. All that trippy shit from last night? About going back in time? He was just drunk. He is going to leave this room, leave this house, thank the man who put him up for the night, and call a Lyft, which definitely exists. He is going to go back to his apartment and go to the shoot he’s supposed to work today and everything is going to be normal. Completely normal.

He changes back into yesterday’s clothes, folds Marvin’s bedding and clothing into a pile and walks out into the hallway, where he is met almost immediately by a young boy running down the stairs, blue backpack flung over his right shoulder, curly hair bouncing with each step.

“Who are you? ” he asks, skidding to a stop.

Whizzer almost runs him over, but manages to stop himself just in time. He takes a step back. So, this is the son. At least that’s real. “I’m a- um, I’m a friend of your dad’s.”

“But why are you here?”

What is this? A damn interrogation? “I uh… your dad and I-”

“Jason!” A voice calls, saving Whizzer from having to finish that sentence. It is quickly followed by the appearance of a woman from a doorway that must lead to the kitchen, given the apron she’s wearing. She doesn’t seem to notice Whizzer at first, speaking only to the boy, Jason. “You need to get going to school! You’re going to be- Oh!” Her eyes finally focus on the man standing behind her son. “You must be Whizzer!”

Whizzer smiles awkwardly. “That’s me. And you must be…” But Marvin never told him her name. He just referred to her as his wife. The implications of this make Whizzer’s stomach twist into knots.

“Trina,” the woman finishes for him, holding out her hand and giving him a warm smile. “Great to meet you.”

Whizzer shakes it. “Yeah, you too,” he replies shallowly.

But Trina’s focus has already shifted back to Jason. She pulls his left arm through the other strap of his backpack. “I’ve told you this a million times, Jason, you’ll-”

“I’ll hurt my shoulder if I hold it like that,” Jason sighs, rolling his eyes. “I get it, Mom.”

“Well, obviously, you don’t,” Trina scolds. “Now grab some breakfast from the dining room table. You’ll have to eat it in the car this morning.” Jason doesn’t move right away, looking back at Whizzer, who has retreated a bit, back towards the open door to the den. “Go!” Trina demands, pointing towards the front of the house. Jason groans, but obeys, rushing off towards the dining room.

Then, silence. Trina and Whizzer standing there, just looking at each other, neither quite sure of what to say. “Cute kid,” Whizzer finally says stiffly. “How old?”

“Nine,” Trina says, her warm smile returning. It has a calming effect, that smile. And Whizzer figures that it’s a trick she picked up to comfort Jason. A household full of such compelling grins. Whizzer wonders if they know the power they hold. “But far wiser than his years.”

“He’s got some spunk, too.” Whizzer returns her smile now. “He’ll go far.”

“Maybe,” Trina says with a laugh. “But right now I just wish he’d learn to listen.”

“Mom! I’m ready! Let’s go!” Jason reappears at the end of the short hallway, eating scrambled eggs off of the plate in his hand.

“Take the keys and get yourself into the car. I’ll be out in a minute.” Jason sighs and disappears again.

Whizzer hears the front door open and then: “Jason! Wait a second.” It’s Marvin’s voice. Then the scraping of a chair against the floor. “Not even a goodbye?”

“Bye, Dad. Love you.” It’s rushed and unenthusiastic and then the door slams shut.

“Trina!” Marvin shouts.

“Here. Come,” Trina beckons, leading Whizzer into the dining room, where Marvin is standing, leaning against the back of his chair, a half-eaten breakfast sitting on the table in front of him. “Yes?”

He turns at the sound of her voice, opening his mouth to say something, but then immediately shutting it when he sees Whizzer. “Oh, um, nothing. Just wondering why he was leaving alone.” It’s clear to Whizzer that if he weren’t there, this statement would have been far less civil.

“He’s just going out to the car so I could serve Whizzer some breakfast before joining him.” Trina’s smile looks more forced now, clearly aware of the restrained aggression behind Marvin’s words.

“No, don’t worry about it at all,” Whizzer says, trying to ignore the palpable tension. “I’m just gonna go home and get some rest and I-”

“I thought you didn’t have a home,” Trina interjects. “Isn’t that why you’re here?” But she isn’t looking at Whizzer. Instead, she is glaring at Marvin, her face filled with accusation and betrayal.

Whizzer isn’t sure how to respond. Of course that’s what Marvin told her because that’s what he believes because that’s what Whizzer had believed last night. Marvin is staring at him, his expression halfway between anger and pleading. But for what? For Whizzer to stick with the story of his drunken hallucinations and stay in this man’s sad, suffocating den in his sad, suffocating house? He can’t do that. No, he has to get back to his life and forget that this insanity ever even happened. “I… I was drunk,” Whizzer says. “I was acting crazy. I thought it was 1978 and I had-”

“Whizzer.” Marvin cuts him off. “Just sit down and eat.”

“No, really, I don’t want to trouble you, I just-”

“Just sit!”

So, Whizzer does. He doesn’t even decide to. It’s more of a reflex, really, like if his father or his high school principal had just scolded him. Like he has no real choice in the matter.

“Why did you say you thought it was 1978?” Trina asks, only thrown for a second by Marvin’s interruption.

“Drop it, Trina,” Marvin demands. His voice isn’t loud this time. It’s cool and collected. And full of ice. And it makes Whizzer tense and Trina retreat into herself and there’s that palpable tension again, even thicker in the air now.

She doesn’t respond, just picks up a plate and starts scooping scrambled eggs onto it. “Hey, don’t,” Whizzer says. “I can serve myself. Jason’s waiting for you.”

He takes the plate and the spoon from her, not letting her protest. She retreats into the kitchen and when she returns, her apron is off and she has a smile plastered onto her face. “I need to do some shopping while I’m out so I won’t be home for a couple of hours.” She doesn’t look at Marvin as she walks quickly towards the door.

Marvin is staring intently at his food, but he looks up when he hears the door open. “Have a good day. I love you,” he says. Almost as a form of apology maybe. But the words sound shallow and manufactured.

Still, Trina softens a bit when she hears them. Marvin doesn’t do the same, though, until the door shuts behind her.

“Still insisting that you’re from the future, huh?” Marvin asks. And Whizzer’s heart plummets.

He tries to keep his cool, though, firing back: “Still insisting that it’s 1978?”

“Difference is, it is 1978.” Marvin hands Whizzer a folded copy of the New York Times that has been sitting on the table next to his plate.

And, sure enough. 1978. “You could find old newspapers.”

“So, what, am I pulling some really elaborate prank on you? I didn’t even know you before last night.” And Whizzer can’t argue with that. Any sense of normalcy that he had regained by convincing himself that all of this craziness was just drunkenness abruptly disappears. And Whizzer is left there, facing that harsh reality that kept him up all night: that he is either completely insane, or completely alone. A living anachronism in a story he cannot comprehend.

So he makes a decision. That he’ll put up a wall. Just put his head down and survive until he can get back home. Keep moving forward. Keep everyone at arm’s length and please, for the love of God, make it home.

“I never said that I was from the future,” Whizzer protests weakly. “You said that.”

“I was drunk.”

“But you still kind of believe it, don’t you?” Whizzer is begging him to say yes, really, to assure him of his sanity.

“I don’t know what I believe. I mean, there doesn’t seem to be anything else wrong with you. And that ‘phone’ is certainly not possible with current technology and you weren’t trying to hide it at all so you couldn’t be using secret government equipment or something…”

“Right. Yeah. I’m not a secret agent for the government. I promise.”

“But it’s not possible.”

“No, it’s not.”

The two men gaze at each other, all of their questions and insecurities sitting in silent mockery in the space between them.

“I have to get going to work soon,” Marvin says, awkwardly breaking the silence.

“And I should go try to find some work to go to,” Whizzer responds. He takes a bite of the eggs on his plate, the clang of the metal fork against the dish far too loud in the quiet room.

“You’ll find something.” Marvin shoots him a small smile. Whizzer notices how much calmer he looks than he had a few minutes ago. The tension in his shoulders and face has nearly disappeared and his eyes are softer, less cold and guarded. Less scared, he realizes.

“God, I thought I was done with the shitty jobs. I had a career. A great one.” He doesn’t know why he is saying any of this. It just tumbles out. His resolve to remain as distant and disconnected as possible dissolved by the parting of those goddamn lips.

“What did you do?” Marvin asks. Whizzer is surprised at the genuine interest.

He’s about to respond honestly, but he manages to stop himself just in time. “Nothing that would impress you , Harvard,” he retorts. Distant. Disconnected.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Marvin isn’t smiling anymore. Which is a relief.

“I mean, you’re a pretentious intellectual, right? I bet you bring up the fact that you went to Harvard every time you introduce yourself.” And this place, this cold, combative place; Whizzer feels comfortable here.

Marvin’s face twists into a scowl. “So being a brainless pretty boy is so much more dignified?”

Whizzer should be insulted, but he loves this. The quick-fire comebacks, the spiteful insults. It’s exciting. It’s stimulating. And, yes, it’s unhealthy. But, hey, there are worse addictions to have. He smiles. Sickeningly sweet. “Awe, Marv, you think I’m pretty?” He says it like a Southern belle, injected with honey and faux innocence.

“Fairest in all the land,” Marvin deadpans. “At least that’s what you tell your reflection every morning, right?”

“Never miss a day,” Whizzer grins.

Marvin stands up violently, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Well, Snow White, I have to get to work. Try to avoid poison apples while I’m gone.”

“But Marv!” Whizzer pouts exaggeratedly. “How will I ever find my Prince Charming?”

“Don’t call me Marv,” Marvin says, turning his back to Whizzer and pointedly making his way to the front door.

“Are you saying you wouldn’t kiss me back to life?” Whizzer asks, as Marvin collects his bag and his keys. “I’m offended, Marvin. You’d really sacrifice my life in order to avoid your true feelings?” And the words hit in just the way he’d intended.

Marvin freezes, his hand on the doorknob. When he turns around, though, Whizzer isn’t sure if he’s about to get punched or fucked. Maybe both. Marvin’s expression is full of anger and resentment, but there’s also an odd twinge of desire. And Whizzer considers that maybe Marvin loves fighting almost as much as he does. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me, asshole.” Marvin’s voice is cold and direct, like when he had snapped at Trina earlier.  Whizzer straightens in his seat, his expression carefully neutral. “Acting so high and fucking mighty but you don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

Whizzer stands then, approaching Marvin until he’s towering over the shorter man. Marvin’s cold expression breaks down into something far more vulnerable; scared even. Whizzer bends his head down until their faces are only inches apart. “No fucking clue, huh?” he breathes.

Marvin doesn’t respond. His breathing has sped up and his eyes have widened and he doesn’t look away. And, God, he looks like a deer in headlights. His hand is still on the doorknob, so that’s where Whizzer places his. He hears Marvin suck in a breath when their fingers touch, then let it out a few seconds later, when Whizzer twists his hand to wrap around the brass handle, letting his thumb trace across Marvin’s knuckles. And with that, Whizzer smiles, pushes the door open, and abruptly pulls away. “Well, have a good day at work!” he says cheerfully, smiling snidely. Marvin tenses, his face regaining its icy anger.

“Fuck you,” is all he says as he storms out the door.

Chapter Text

It didn’t take long to occur to Whizzer that he has forgotten how one would apply for a job without the internet. He almost tried to look it up, too. It’s going to take a while to break habits like that. Marvin and Trina didn’t seem to have any local papers to search for listings, so Whizzer decided to go at it on foot. He only felt a little bad searching the house for a few dollars for the subway. He should have asked Marvin for something. But, no, he has too much pride for that. And he needs to get to Manhattan.

He hasn’t had much luck so far, searching for Help Wanted signs. But he’s happy to walk around the city, seeing how things have changed. It’s amazing to him how many independent shops there are. And not a single Starbucks. The details are different, but the truth is, New York City itself hasn’t changed all that much. The people are just as hurried and rude, the streets just as dirty, the smell in the air that same mix of piss, cigarettes and car exhausts. And all around him that same energy and attitude that never fails to invigorate him and drive him forward. It’s still the city he loves.

It’s nearly five o’clock and he is somewhere between Union Square and where Chelsea Market will open in about 20 years, when he sees it in the window of a cafe bakery. “Charlotte’s” is written on the pane glass in curly purple cursive. And below it, a white sign that says “HELP WANTED” in red block letters.

Whizzer steps inside, the bell above the door jingling as he enters. He is met almost immediately by a cheerful blonde woman in an apron, who is in the middle of wiping down one of the round tables. “Hi! Welcome to Charlotte’s! We close in a few minutes, so I’m not making anymore food, but you can get a pre-made pastry or a coffee to go if you want!”

“No, I don’t have money unfortunately,” Whizzer says, though his stomach protests. He hasn’t eaten since the morning. “That's why I'm here, actually. You're hiring?”

The woman’s smile gets even bigger “Yes! Yes I am! Sit! I'll bring you the application and coffee and do you like croissants? Because we make a really good almond croissant and I think we have one left!” She doesn't wait for a response before she rushes excitedly behind the counter and starts moving hurriedly between the back room and the coffee maker and the pastry displays. She comes back out a minute later, with a clipboard and a small plate holding the croissant piled on one arm, a mug of black coffee in the other hand. She places them on the table she just cleaned and sits down, motioning for Whizzer to do the same.

“Wow,” Whizzer laughs. He takes a bite of the croissant and his stomach rumbles with delight. “Tastiest job application ever.”

“You like it?”

“Definitely. It's delicious,” he says with a smile. This is not what Whizzer was expecting. He was expecting some apathetic employee to hand him an application and never actually call him. This friendly, slightly frazzled, excitable woman is a surprise. A good one.

“Yay! I'm glad!” She says, clapping her hands together. “So. Hi! I'm Cordelia. I'm the owner and I make the pastries and I do pretty much everything else, too. We're understaffed.”

“Whizzer,” he replies. “If you're Cordelia, why is the place called Charlotte’s?”

Cordelia’s smile goes away for the first time since Whizzer has been here. She blushes and looks down at the table, wringing her hands together. “She's… she's, um… she’s my best friend.”

So, she's your girlfriend. “Man, if a boy named a cafe after me I'd marry him on the spot.” He gives her a look as if to say, “yes, that means I'm gay”, and her smile slowly returns.

“Well, we would if we could. She's amazing. She's a doctor. She's so damn smart. But she's not the type that looks down on you for not being as smart as her, you know?” She pauses, looking down at her hands again. “I'm rambling. I'm sorry. That's not the point. I'm just glad you're, you know- I'm always cautious because there are people who won't work for a lesbian.”

“And I’m sure there are plenty of people who won’t hire a gay man,” Whizzer says, eating more of his croissant. “It's good we found each other,” he adds with a smile.

“That it is. So, why do you want to work here?” Cordelia asks, apparently only now remembering that this is… well, an interview of sorts.

I really fucking need a job, Whizzer thinks. “ Well, I mean, I live off of coffee and I want to work with people rather than sitting behind a desk. Plus, I love working with my fellow queers.”

Cordelia laughs. “Perfect.”

The interview goes on, switching frequently between actual interview questions and tangents of conversation, the questions becoming less and less frequent until they disappear altogether. Until it's the two of them, sitting in this otherwise empty cafe, talking and laughing about nothing at all. It's almost 8 o’clock when the cafe's phone rings.

“Charlotte's Cafe. How can I-... Shit! Is it really that late?” Cordelia looks over to Whizzer and points to the phone, mouthing “Charlotte”. “I'm so sorry, sweetie, I lost track of the time! I'm interviewing a possible new employee and we kind of just got sidetracked.”

“Hi Charlotte!” Whizzer calls from where he's sitting.

“He says hi!... I'll be home soon, I promise… I know. I'm sorry you were worried…. See you soon… I love you, too!” she hangs up the phone and takes off her apron, hanging it on a hook behind the counter.

Whizzer stands up and stretches, joining Cordelia at the counter. “Late for dinner?”

“ Again!” Cordelia laughs. “I swear I'm the worst scatterbrain!”

“Yeah, that's probably true,” Whizzer confirms.

“Hey! Your future employment is in my hands, remember.”

“Fine. Second worst.”

“Better.” She reaches under the counter and finds her purse and keys, spinning the keyring around her finger as she leads Whizzer to the door.

“Should someone clean up that table?” Whizzer asks, glancing at the dirty mug and plate, and the untouched application.

Cordelia shrugs. “It's late. You can just come in early tomorrow.”

It takes Whizzer a second to register what she said. “I have the job? Just like that?”

“Of course!” Cordelia laughs. “Like I said, we're very understaffed.” They step outside and Cordelia locks the place up. “Just don't make me regret it.”

“I can't promise you anything.”

“Just don't kill anyone?”

“Deal.” Whizzer puts his hand out and Cordelia gives it a brisk, formal shake.

They say goodbye and walk off in opposite directions. “Oh wait!” Whizzer hears Cordelia yell. He turns around to face her. She’s made it to the end of the block already. “6:30 tomorrow!”

“I'm sorry, what?” Whizzer gapes.

“Hey, the cafe business is no joke!” Cordelia yells back with a shrug.

“You better be thankful I'm desperate!”

Cordelia laughs and disappears around the corner.

It isn't until Whizzer is on the subway that he realizes his mistake. He broke his rule. He made a friend here. Well, fuck.

“Where have you been?” Marvin asks from the couch as soon as Whizzer opens the front door. He doesn’t even look up from his book when he says it. Trina must be upstairs getting Jason to bed because there’s no other sign of life down here.

“Why the fuck do you care?” Whizzer asks with a sigh. He sits down next to Marvin on the couch and leans back into one of the many throw pillows.

“I don’t,” Marvin responds, shifting farther away from him.

Whizzer sighs and pulls the book from Marvin’s hand, glancing at the title: Breakfast of Champions. “Kurt Vonnegut, huh?”

“Something wrong with that?” Marvin only glances briefly at Whizzer before turning to stare blankly at the wall.

Whizzer shrugs. “I read a few of his books in college. I enjoyed them more than a lot of others actually.”

“You went to college ?” Marvin asks incredulously, finally turning to look at the man sitting next to him.

Whizzer scowls. “Oh, that’s right. I’m supposed to be a mindless pretty boy. Sorry to have shattered your sick little fantasy.”

Marvin shakes his head, looking down. “No, that’s… not how I meant it.”

“Yeah, right.” Whizzer tosses the book onto the coffee table and stands up. “Have a shitty night, Marvin.” He turns and makes his way to the den, lying down on his “bed” and squeezing his eyes shut. This house puts him on edge. It feels so unstable, so toxic, like everyone who steps inside gets a dose of the poison that is slowly killing each of its residents. Or maybe it’s just a side effect of Marvin.

Whizzer hears the door open and he groans. “Go away, Marvin.”

“Not Marvin,” he hears Trina say.

Whizzer opens his eyes and gives her a small smile. “Oh. Hey, Trina.” He sits up, crossing his leg under him.

“I thought maybe you’d want to eat something,” she says. “There are leftovers in the fridge that I could heat up for you.”

Whizzer doesn’t want to cause her any trouble. No, it's not that. Whizzer doesn't want to have to interact with Marvin. But the one croissant he ate didn’t satisfy his hungry stomach, so he reluctantly obliges. Whizzer is relieved when he enters the kitchen and sees that Marvin has disappeared from the couch.

There’s a digital clock on the nightstand in the den and Whizzer sets an alarm for 4:30 the next morning. It pains him just to think about being awake at that ungodly hour. He changes back into Marvin’s too-small clothes and makes the couch a bed again. Only he doesn’t lie down. He just sits and stares blankly at the chess set on the coffee table. The white king is sitting right in front of him. Mocking him.  He picks it up and spins it slowly in his hand, trying to absorb somehow some of the power it holds. He holds it up in front of his face. The white king. Right now, more than anything, that’s who Whizzer wants to be. But the reality is, Whizzer is nothing more than a pawn.

Three tentative knocks on the door make Whizzer jump and put the piece back into place a bit too quickly. It falls over and knocks the queen down with it. “Come in!” he calls, fixing the pieces.

“Where did you go to college?” Whizzer looks up to find Marvin leaning against the doorframe, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“NYU,” Whizzer responds, leaning back and resting his feet on the edge of the coffee table.

“What did you study?”

Whizzer turns his gaze to Marvin, a questioning look in his eyes. “Why are you asking?”

“Trying not to typecast,” Marvin responds, sitting on the arm of the couch.

“Right.” Whizzer looks to the chess set again. He doesn’t want to forgive Marvin. He doesn’t want to know Marvin. He doesn’t want Marvin to know him. He just wants Marvin to tolerate him enough to let him stay until he has enough money to get his own place. Or until whatever cursed him into the past brings him back home. But Marvin apparently has other plans.

“So?” Marvin presses.

Whizzer obliges. “Photography.”

“So your career. The one you had. Were you a photographer?” Whizzer feels Marvin shift from the arm of the couch to the cushion next to him.

“Yep.” He’s tired. He needs to get up early in the morning. And he doesn’t want to risk seeing Marvin smile again.

“That’s incredible. I wish I could see your work.”

“I took pictures of celebrities in overpriced clothes,” Whizzer says. “Not exactly intellectual and cultured.”

“So, what? It’s still art, right? Fuck the manufactured standards and all that?”

Whizzer scoffs. “Look at you, pretending to be all open-minded and counter-culture.”

“And why do you assume I’m not?”

Whizzer shakes his head, finally turning to look at the man next to him. “Look around you, Marvin.”

“I love my family,” Marvin says, his voice suddenly defensive.

“I don’t doubt it.” Whizzer sits up, turning his body towards Marvin. “But you love what they represent even more. This nuclear family that you were told over and over again you were meant to have is just an elaborate facade. You are the least counter-cultural person I have ever met, Marvin. There isn’t a rebellious bone in your body.”

“You don’t know me and-”

“And I don’t know your life. You keep saying that. And I understand that the world is a fuckload more homophobic now than where -- when-- I’m from. But I got a job today. Working for a lesbian. Who is happily living with her loving girlfriend despite all of that. So, this ,” Whizzer gestures all around him. “This is your doing.”

Marvin is glaring at him now. “What if I don’t want what she has?”

“What do you want Marvin?”

“Everything that I have . This family I have. All of this!”

Whizzer shakes his head. “Then why were you at a fucking gay bar last night, Marvin? Why am I sleeping on your couch and wearing your clothes? Why do you constantly seem so fucking mis-”

Marvin doesn’t let him finish that sentence. He clutches a fistful of Whizzer’s shirt in his hand and presses their lips together, aggressive and wanting. Greedy. Skillful. Whizzer feels his inhibitions fall apart bit by bit with each flick of the tongue. So it takes him far too long to push Marvin away. “Marvin, we shouldn’t-”

“Why not? I thought you wanted this. Accept my true feelings, right? Because this nuclear family is just a facade?” Marvin jumps up, his face bright red. With anger or embarrassment Whizzer doesn’t know.

Whizzer stands up too, not allowing himself to be in the more vulnerable position. “That’s not what this is and you know it. This would just be a distraction from the misery of your life. This would just be a goddamn coping method.”

“ So? Jesus Christ, Whizzer. I want to fuck you. Why does it matter what the reasons are?”

“Because I don’t want to be a part of your self-hating bullshit, Marvin. It transmits like a fucking STD. I don’t fuck closet cases! Period!”

“Keep your voice down,” Marvin hisses.

Whizzer rolls his eyes. “That. I don’t want to be a part of that.”

“Then you can go stay with your magical new lesbian friend, can’t you?” Marvin growls.

“Because I won’t have sex with you? Well, fuck, Marvin, no. I won’t whore myself out for a couch to sleep on. I don’t have much dignity, but I haven’t sunk that far.” Whizzer pushes past him, picking up his clothes and storming out the door. He’s halfway down the hall when Marvin grabs his arm and pulls him back. “I have nothing to say to you, Marvin,” Whizzer says, pulling away.

“Where are you planning on sleeping tonight, then?” Marvin’s voice is softer than before. He won’t look Whizzer in the eye.

“A fucking park bench if I have to.”

“Just…” Marvin shakes his head. “Stay.”

“I don’t want to. You’re just going to continue to use all of this to manipulate me. Sue me, but I’m not fucking okay with that.”

“I won’t.” Marvin finally looks up at him and his expression is apologetic. Only of course he won’t actually apologize. “I promise.”

“Why do you want me here so badly?” Whizzer asks. Marvin opens his mouth to respond, but Whizzer cuts him off. “Answer honestly or I’m gone.”

Marvin runs his hand nervously through his hair and his eyes shift around the hall until they meet Whizzer’s gaze again. “Because when you’re here… For fuck’s sake. When you’re here I feel less… less alone.” Marvin doesn’t wait for a response. He just turns and disappears up the staircase. But Whizzer is still frozen there in the hallway. He doesn’t know what he was expecting Marvin’s answer to be, but that definitely that definitely wasn’t it.

Chapter Text

“Nobody should be awake this early!” Whizzer shouts, furiously pushing open the door to Charlotte’s . “The sun isn’t even up!”

“I get in at 5am to bake, weakling!” Cordelia responds, exiting the kitchen with a steaming tray of pastries. She stops when she sees Whizzer. “God, you’re a mess.”

“I know ! That’s the point! Not all of us can wake up looking all perfect and chipper.” Whizzer leans against the counter and drops his head into his arms with a loud groan.

“Are those the same clothes as yesterday?”

Whizzer nods, still resting his face in his arms.

“Well, no wonder you’re so tired,” Cordelia laughs. “That one is your fault.”

Whizzer looks up at her, shaking his head. “I wasn’t out sleeping around all night. I just literally have no other clothes.” Whizzer’s voice sounds defeated and exhausted, even to him.

Cordelia sets the hot tray down and gapes at Whizzer. “You’re fucking with me.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “I wasn’t lying when I said I had no money. I’m staying on a friend’s couch. A friend who almost kicked me out for not fucking him while his wife and son slept upstairs, but that’s a whole nother issue. I have nothing … fuck. Don’t worry about it.” Whizzer stands up straight, shaking his head and forcing a smile. “What do you need me to do?”

“No, no, no, you’re not skating over that shit.” Cordelia runs into the back and comes back holding a pile of purple Charlotte’s t-shirts. “First, take these. They’re your uniform anyway, but there are extras here. And here.” She slams $60 in cash down on the counter. “Here’s an advance on your salary. Go to a thrift store or some shit and get yourself some goddamn clothes. That’s an order.”

Whizzer considers saying no, doing the polite thing and not accepting any of it. But if he has to wear the same underwear for one more day, he thinks he’s going to go fucking insane. “Thank you,” he mutters.

“One day, you’re going to tell me how you got to the point of literally only being left with the clothes on your back,” Cordelia states. It’s practically a command really.

Whizzer sighs. “You wouldn’t believe me if I did.”

After a couple of cups of coffee, Whizzer is feeling better. Not good, but better. He’s not a fragile person. He’s not the type of person who breaks apart in this way. He stays disconnected from everyone and everything so that nothing has the power to do so. But it turns out that literally having no connection with his entire life, having it all torn away, is a little too much for him. Still, he smiles at customers and makes them laugh, and banters with Cordelia, and he feels a little more normal. Or, at least, he isn’t scared he will just collapse into a pool of tears anymore. That’s something else he doesn’t do. He doesn’t remember the last time he cried. He thinks it was probably when his mom died. And yet, for the past two days he’s been constantly fighting back tears.

At five o’clock, he helps Cordelia lock up the cafe. “You can stay with us if you need to, if your friend tries to kick you out again.”

And Whizzer thanks her. And she directs him to the nearest outlet mall. And everything feels like a dream or a supercut or some virtual reality game he doesn't remember playing. And he buys the cheapest clothes he's ever owned. But at least he has underwear now. And he spends most of the $60, keeping only a small amount for subway fares. But at least he has a toothbrush. And at least he has his own clothes to sleep in. And at least he has something now. It's so small, just a few shopping bags of cheap clothing. But it's solid. And it's his. And that's something.

There’s a box on the couch in the den when Whizzer gets back that night. It’s a cardboard box, like one you would receive a package in, except it’s taped shut with scotch tape and, in lieu of a shipping label, Whizzer’s name is scribbled on top. It looks ominous. He puts down his shopping bags and pulls up on the flaps on the top of the box. There are a few pops as it opens, as the tape breaks or comes unstuck. Inside, is an old film camera. Well, it’s new for 1978, but to Whizzer it’s an artifact. There’s also a pack of film and a folded piece of paper. Whizzer unfolds the note and recognises the messy handwriting from the top of the box.

You probably had a much better camera before. I don’t know how much progress they’ve made in camera tech. Probably a lot if that “phone” is any indication. Regardless, I passed a camera shop on my way home from work and I thought you might feel more at home here if you had some way of taking pictures. -Marvin

Whizzer smiles. The note is carefully lacking emotion. Carefully nonchalant. Carefully careless. But it still seems to Whizzer so unlike the Marvin he knows. So thoughtful. Selfless. Sweet. Or maybe not. Afterall, giving Whizzer a place to sleep seemed thoughtful and selfless and sweet. There’s a motive behind this little gift, he’s sure. The truth is, though, at this moment, Whizzer doesn’t care.

He loads the film into the camera. He had a film camera at home that he used for some of his shoots. More often, though, it just served as decoration for his mantelpiece. Still, he’s comfortable enough with using it. He raises it to his eye and the weight he didn’t know was resting on his shoulders suddenly falls away. He crouches down, between the couch and the coffee table and focuses the lense on the chess set. On the white king. The lighting isn’t great, but he takes the picture. He craves the instant gratification of the photo popping up on a screen the second after he presses the shutter release. But there’s a certain satisfaction to watching it develop in front of his eyes. The dim light in the dark room. The images appearing from nothing. The emotions and the memories rushing back as he hangs the new photos on a line.

Whizzer isn’t usually one to appreciate delayed satisfaction. But with photography it’s different. With photography everything is different. In photos he can bare his soul. In photos, he can reveal his pain. He can fall in love. He can fall apart. He has always been told that that’s why he was successful. That’s why his photoshoots were in demand. Because they tell a story, evict an emotion. While others just strive to make their models look good, he isn’t satisfied until he can look at a photo and recognise something. Recognise himself.

Whizzer doesn’t see Marvin until the next evening. He spent some time with Cordelia after work, so he gets home late again. On a Saturday night like this, with no work the next morning, he should be at a bar somewhere, picking up random guys. That’s what he would normally do. Hell, even if he did have work the next morning. But ever since he’s been here, he’s been so exhausted. So, instead , he heats up the plate of food Trina left for him in the fridge and takes it to the dining room table. A few minutes later, Marvin appears from the kitchen. He freezes when his eyes meet Whizzer’s.

“I left my book down here,” Marvin mutters, putting his head down and walking quickly towards the living room.

Whizzer reaches out and grabs his arm before he can get there. Marvin looks down at him, startled. “Sit,” Whizzer instructs, nodding towards the seat across from him.

Marvin complies. They sit in awkward silence for a few seconds, neither looking directly at the other. “I’m… I shouldn’t have-”

“Thank you,” Whizzer interrupts. Marvin looks up at him, giving him a questioning look. “For the camera,” Whizzer clarifies. “I didn’t realise how much I needed that.”

It’s a small smile playing on Marvin’s lips, but that’s all it takes. “I’m glad.”

“You don’t have to avoid me, you know,” Whizzer says.

“I know. I just…” Marvin shakes his head. “I needed to get my head on straight.”

“Straight being the key word there.”

“Don’t, Whizzer. I don’t need that tonight,” Marvin snaps. He looks tired. There are bags under his eyes. He looks empty.

Whizzer wants to take his hand. To rub circles into his knuckles until the life comes back into his eyes. He wants to reach across the table right now and fix that one stray hair that has fallen in front of his face. He wants to kiss those lips that have so much power over him. Fuck. I really fucking need to get laid. I get all romantic when I’m too horny. “Let’s go out,” Whizzer says, standing up.

“Excuse me?” Marvin raises an eyebrow.

“You need a drink.” Whizzer picks up Marvin’s jacket from where it’s hanging by the door. He holds it out to him.”Let’s go out.”

“We have drinks here,” Marvin replies, not standing up.

“That’s sad drinking,” Whizzer states. He walks over to Marvin and hands him the jacket. “Just trust me, okay?”

“I can’t just leave. What do I tell Trina?”

Whizzer rolls his eyes, grabbing Marvin’s hand and yanking him up out of his seat.

“Okay, okay!” Marvin laughs. He stumbles, trying to get his footing. Whizzer clutches his arm to steady him and they stand there, connected, smiling at each other.

And it’s nice. Too nice. Whizzer turns away, letting go of Marvin’s arm and hand. “We should go back to that shitty bar,” Whizzer says, tossing Marvin his keys and racing out the door, his heart beating anxiously in his chest.

There’s a Cher song blaring and men dancing and an exhausted-looking bartender. Whizzer and Marvin find two stools next to each other and Marvin orders drinks.

“What do you want?” Marvin asks, his voice loud to be heard over the music and the voices.

Whizzer looks around the room, his eyes landing on a tanned man with facial hair like Burt Reynolds, but tight clothes that reveal a body like his as well. Whizzer points. “Him,” he says with a smirk.

Marvin rolls his eyes. “I meant to drink.”

“I said you needed a drink. I need a man. Specifically, that one.”

“So, what? Are you sober now?” Marvin asks incredulously.

“Designated driver,” Whizzer responds, his eyes drifting back over to the other man.

“Do you even have a valid license here?”

Whizzer shrugs. “I’ll drive carefully.”

“Right.” Marvin doesn’t sound happy with the situation, but Whizzer doesn’t care.

“There are other pretty guys in here, you know,” Whizzer informs him.

Marvin looks up at Whizzer and shakes his head. “I’m aware.”

“So…”

“Not tonight.”

“Your loss.” Whizzer steps away, giving the man he’s been staring at a wry smile, which the man returns. “I shouldn’t be too long,” Whizzer says, turning back to Marvin. But Marvin doesn’t look at him. The bartender has brought him his drink, and Marvin has turned his back to the rest of the room, taking a long sip.

It doesn’t take long for Whizzer to find himself back in that bathroom stall. Except this time the man in front of him is on his knees, and Whizzer isn’t feeling quite so pathetic. No, tonight, he feels like himself again. What is it about fucking in a bar bathroom that spurs these emotional revelations?

Marvin hasn’t moved from his spot at the bar when Whizzer returns from the bathroom, his hair ruffled and his shirt not fully tucked into his new pants -- the brown ones with the too-high waist. The other man is trailing behind him. Marvin’s eyes are glossy and unfocused. He’s had quite a few drinks.

“I’m too old for this,” he slurs when Whizzer leans next to him.

Whizzer laughs. “You’re just too deep in the closet.”

“No, I’m definitely too old,” Marvin grumbles. His gaze occasionally turns to the man behind Whizzer. And so much coldness comes into Marvin’s eyes every time he does so.

The man looks uncomfortable. He wraps an arm around Whizzer’s waist, turning him around so they’re face to face. “Call me,” he says, slipping a business card into Whizzer’s back pocket. Then he lets go, satisfied, and saunters cockily towards the exit.

Whizzer turns back to Marvin. “He wishes.”

“You’re not going to call him?” Marvin asks, not really wanting to know the answer. He snaps his fingers at the bartender to bring him another drink.

Whizzer shrugs. “Probably not. Not really digging the moustache. Never say never, though, right?”

Marvin shakes his head. “I will never understand you.”

“It’s simple,” Whizzer explains. “I like things as uncomplicated as possible. No feelings, no loose strings, no bullshit. They go when I come and leave no unwanted mysteries. It’s easier that way.”

“Sounds lonely,” Marvin says, picking up the glass the bartender just put down in front of him. Whizzer steals it away before he can take another sip. “Hey, give it back!”

“I think you’ve had enough,” Whizzer laughs. “Just pay the man.”

“This was your idea.”

“Yes, and it was a good idea. But it’ll turn into a bad one if I have to hold your hair back in the bathroom.”

Marvin grunts some sort of affirmation and pays off his tab, handing Whizzer his car keys. Whizzer laughs when Marvin tries to stand and nearly falls over. He slips his arm around Marvin’s waist, helping him out of the bar and into the car. Before he can shut the passenger door, Marvin places a hand tentatively on his arm. “Whizzer?”

“Are you okay?” Whizzer asks, feeling his heart pounding in his throat.

“Yeah, I just… Thank you. For trying.”

“Of course, old man.”

Marvin laughs and pushes him away, closing the door. Whizzer just stands there for a second, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking down at his feet, trying to hide his traitorous smile.

Chapter Text

There is added tension between Marvin and Trina the morning after, but soon enough the household returns to normal. Marvin and Whizzer don’t spend much time just the two of them, and most of their interactions are just snarky remarks and witty retorts. Occasionally, there’s something else; some stifled smiles and hidden kindnesses. But they’re short-lived and both men are wary of where they could lead. So it’s lucky that they don’t see each other much anyway. Whizzer gets to work early in the morning everyday but Sunday --Cordelia says it's just the best day to be closed, but it also happens to be Charlotte's day off from the hospital--, and often doesn’t return home until late. He spends his evenings either with Cordelia and Charlotte or with strangers he meets at the bar. He does end up calling Burt Reynolds Moustache. But only once. It turns out he still lives with his parents. When Whizzer does return early enough, he is subject to the most awkward family dinners he has ever experienced. He never returns early enough anymore. Marvin spends Sundays with Trina and Jason. Whizzer spends Sundays with his camera, travelling around New York City --sometimes alone, sometimes dragging Charlotte and Cordelia along-- taking pictures and developing the ones he took the week before. And all of this works for Whizzer. He misses Netflix and Instagram and, well, his civil rights; he misses his career, his followers, his friends; he misses his apartment and his nice clothes and his bank account (all he has now is the box of cash from his first paycheck that’s hidden under the couch in the den). But after six weeks, it’s not so painful anymore. He’s begun to grow accustomed to this new life of his. This new reality.

He's making lattes for a group of college kids studying at one of the corner tables when he hears the jingle of the bell by the door. He looks up to see Marvin strolling through. He looks around the shop, smiling sheepishly when his eyes meet Whizzer's. What the fuck?

Whizzer tops off the last latte and carries the mugs over to the students’ table, before turning his attention to Marvin. “What are you doing here?” He asks, waving for Marvin to follow him as he goes back to his post behind the counter. Marvin stays on the customer side.

“I just thought I would stop by and see where you work.” Marvin eyes the pastries on display.

“Okay, but why?”

Marvin shrugs. “Do I need a reason?”

“I guess not, but I know you have one.”

“Jason is spending the day with his friend.”

“And Trina?”

“Her, too.”

Whizzer isn't sure he believes that. Or if it even matters. Marvin never seems to care about where his wife is as long as his meals are made and the chores are done. “Well, this is it. You've seen it.”

“You're not going to take my order?” Marvin teases.

“Absolutely not,” Whizzer says, ducking under the counter to find a washcloth and a spray bottle of soap and water. Nothing really needs cleaning. He just needs to be doing something. He starts spraying the counters behind him, cleaning absently around the cappuccino maker.

“Shame. I could use a cheese danish.”

Whizzer rolls his eyes and puts one on a plate, shoving it at him. “Enjoy,” he says with an exaggerated smile.

“See? Not so hard.”

Whizzer is about to tell him to fuck off when Cordelia bursts through the kitchen doors with a tray of hot puff pastries. “New recipe,” she says excitedly. “Try one!”

Whizzer complies, almost dropping it when it burns his fingers. He sets it on Marvin's plate to let it cool before he takes a bite.

She notices Marvin then, offering him one as well. “You must be Cordelia,” Marvin says, shaking his head at her offer.

Cordelia pulls the tray back. “And who are you?”

“This is Marvin,” Whizzer answers for him.

“Oh!” Cordelia exclaims, putting the tray down behind her and pulling off her oven mitts. “So nice to finally meet you!” she says, extending a hand, which Marvin eagerly shakes.

Whizzer takes a bite of his pastry. It tastes a bit like a fluffier version of cinnamon roll. It's good. He gives Cordelia a thumbs up.

“Good?” She asks.

“Great,” Whizzer responds once he's swallowed.

“Yay!!” She squeals, taking it from Whizzer's hand and trying it herself. She always refuses to try anything she's made until someone else has assured her of its tastiness. That someone is usually Whizzer. “Oh, you’re right! It’s good! Better with coffee, though. Do you want some coffee, Marvin?”

“No, he doesn’t!” Whizzer exclaims.

“Alright,” Marvin sighs, picking up his Danish and taking a bite. He looks a bit hurt. “I’ll go, I guess. Nice to meet you Cordelia.” He throws Whizzer a glare over his shoulder as he walks away.

Cordelia hits Whizzer’s arm. “Why are you being an ass?”

“I’m always an ass.”

“Okay, but why are you being more of an ass?”

Whizzer doesn’t have a good answer. Because I hate him? Because I like him? Because… Because whatever it is, it scares me. But he can’t say that. So he just shrugs.

“Well, that’s not a good enough answer,” Cordelia insists, pushing Whizzer out in front of the counter. “Come on, he looks so sad.”

“ Fine ,” Whizzer snaps. “Marvin!” Marvin has already opened the door, but he looks back when he hears his name. Cordelia shoves him forward and, reluctantly, Whizzer trots over to where Marvin is standing. “Come on, sit down. I’ll get you a coffee.”

“No, you’ve made it clear you don’t want me here.”

“It’s not that,” Whizzer lies. “I just… Why the fuck are you here?”

“I told you. I had nothing else to do today.”

“I’m sure that has happened before and, yet, you’ve always found something else. Why are you here ?”

Marvin shakes his head. “I thought we were friends.”

“We are.” Are we?

“Doesn’t feel like it.” Someone walks through the door then, so Marvin sits down at the nearest empty table.

“I should get back to work.” Whizzer turns back to the counter, but Cordelia gestures for him to sit. Damn it. “Or… not, I guess.” He sits down across from Marvin, looking down at the table. “I’m just not home a lot.”

“That’s it?”

Not at all. “That’s it.” Marvin smiles at him. Ah, fuck . “I’ll bring you coffee. How do you like it?”

“You don’t have to-”

“No, it’s okay.” Whizzer just wants to get out of there. He stands up. “So, how do you take it?”

“Just with half and half.”

“Great.”

After getting him his coffee, Whizzer goes back to work, but it’s almost five o’clock anyway, so soon enough they’re locking up. And Marvin is still there.

“Whizzer is coming over for dinner tonight. You’re welcome to come as well,” Cordelia offers.

“No, I should go. I’m sure my wife is making dinner.” Marvin never mentions Trina’s name when she isn’t around. Like he doesn’t even register her as a human being, much less someone he’s supposed to care about. Whizzer is reminded of why he is wary of this man.

“I’ll see you at your house, then, Marvin.” Whizzer is pulling a button up shirt on over his Charlotte’s t-shirt.

Marvin laughs softly. “Yeah, it was weird seeing you in a t-shirt.”

“Well, we don’t all choose to dress like hopelessly straight middle-aged dads.”

Marvin shakes his head, his jaw tightening.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Marv.” Whizzer knows why he hates him using that nickname now. He’d heard Trina use it a few times when they were both in a good mood, when they seemed a little more like a real family. “I kind of like your shitty fashion sense.”

“Okay!” Cordelia interjects, seeing that Marvin only looks more heated. “It was so great meeting you, Marvin.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“I have to clean up a few things in the back,” she says to Whizzer. “Then we can go.”

“Sounds good,” Whizzer replies with a smile. He walks Marvin outside, leaning against the ledge under the pane glass window. Marvin doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t look at Whizzer. But he doesn’t walk away. Whizzer doesn’t know what to say. He hates to admit it, but he enjoyed having Marvin around. He enjoys having Marvin around. Even when they’re fighting. “We are friends, Marvin.”

Marvin only nods.

“I just… I’m still adjusting.” That’s not it. Not really.

“Yeah. Yeah. I get it.” Marvin smiles at him. But it’s forced this time.

Whizzer crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll see you later tonight, then?”

“I’ll see you later.”

“You can…” Whizzer looks down at his feet. “It wasn’t so bad having you here, it turns out.”

"Wow,” Marvin chuckles. “Such a compliment. Who are you and what have you done with Whizzer Brown?”

Whizzer rolls his eyes but he’s smiling slightly. “Get lost, old man.”

"Ah, there he is.” Marvin turns and walks away --down the block, to where he must have parked his car--  and Whizzer hates how his eyes follow him until he’s disappeared around the corner.

Marvin starts coming to the cafe regularly after that. Sometimes he comes on Saturdays, but he usually shows up in the morning, before work. Whizzer always brings him a coffee with half and half and a cheese danish. And they’ll talk and bicker, while Whizzer tries to simultaneously serve other customers. His tips are always lower when Marvin is there.

“So, have you guys… you know…” Cordelia asks Whizzer awkwardly after Marvin leaves one morning.

“ Ha! No.” Whizzer is making a cappuccino while Cordelia monitors the register.

Cordelia shrugs. “You act like you have.”

Whizzer freezes. “How so?”

“I don’t know. You’re not so mean to him anymore.”

“Really? I guess I feel bad for the guy.” He fills up the mug and brings it out to the customer, a wannabe John Lennon, complete with the full beard and the round glasses.

“Empathy? I don’t buy it,” Cordelia says when Whizzer returns to the counter. “I think you like him.”

“Well, I don’t,” Whizzer snaps.

Cordelia scoffs. “Convincing.”

“I don’t!” The customers in the cafe all turn their heads, giving Whizzer a questioning look. He smiles apologetically and lowers his voice. “He’s a manipulative closet case with a wife and a child.”

“Yeah, it would be an incredibly unhealthy relationship.”

“Glad you agree.”

“But feelings aren’t rational.”

“Okay, no,” Whizzer hisses. “Maybe I want to fuck him sometimes but I definitely don’t have feelings for him. I don’t do feelings. ”

Cordelia shakes her head, but she lets it go. Whizzer wants so desperately for her to be wrong. And she is. Somewhat. He likes Marvin more than he would ever admit. But he’s not dreaming of any gushy valentines. He’s not falling in love. Marvin isn’t his Charlotte. Whizzer is sure he doesn’t have one. He doesn’t want one. But there’s something different. Maybe it’s just that he’s grown to know Marvin. He doesn’t do that. At least, he didn’t. Whatever it is, it’s new. It’s terrifying.

Chapter Text

Whizzer hasn’t talked to Jason much. He tries to avoid him. He’s always been good with kids, but this one puts him on edge. Not because of the boy himself -- though Whizzer suspects he could see right through any of his established lies in no time -- but because he represents something that Whizzer doesn't want to touch. Something toxic. Something rotten.

So, Whizzer isn’t incredibly happy when he’s watching the Mets play the Giants and Jason plops down next to him on the den couch. “You like baseball?” he asks excitedly.

“Oh! Uh, yeah,” Whizzer says, jumping at his sudden presence and almost spilling the beer in his hand. “What are you doing in here?”

“It’s my house,” Jason responds.

Whizzer feels himself becoming annoyed. Mostly because the kid is just… right. “Right. I know. But you’ve never come in here before.”

“My dad hates baseball so he hardly ever lets me watch, but I thought I heard the game on in here, so I figured I could watch with you.”

Whizzer frowns. “He really won’t let you watch it?”

“He says it’ll lower my IQ, as well as everyone else’s in the room,” Jason says, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, that sounds like you dad,” Whizzer affirms with a laugh.

“What he doesn’t understand, though, is that baseball is the most mathematical sport!” Jason says, turning to Whizzer, an excited look on his face. “You see, it’s all about statistics and geometry and physics. Like if you’re good at math you can predict every home run the second the ball hits the bat!”

Whizzer groans jokingly. “Stop, you’re ruining baseball for me.”

“Sorry.” Jason looks down, abruptly going quiet.

He looks sad, defeated. He didn’t get that Whizzer was joking obviously. Scolded too often. His passions silenced. Whizzer nudges his shoulder and smiles down at him. “Hey, I’m only joking,” he tells him gently. “I love that you love baseball.”

Jason’s sad expression slowly dissipates, his wide smile returning. “What’s your favorite team?”

Whizzer points to the screen with his beer bottle. “Giants. All the way. How about you?”

“Mets,” Jason replies with a grin.

“I guess we’re rivals tonight, then,” Whizzer tells him. He hears cheering from the TV screen and looks up to see Willie McCovers slowly and victoriously rounding the bases. “Hey! Home run! Hell yeah! In your face, kid!”

“The Mets are still ahead,” Jason laughs.

“But it’s only the top of the sixth. This could be the start of a rally!”

“You wish!” Jason is smiling ear to ear.

“It could happen!”

“The Giants suck though! And they always have!”

Whizzer fakes offense. In his mind, he’s just grateful for the deeply nerdy knowledge of Giants history that his mom instilled in him from a young age. “They haven’t always! They used to be good! Not so long ago! They won the World Series in... 1954...”

“Twenty-four years ago!”

“Well, they made it to the World Series in ‘71 and, like, four years in a row in the late sixties,” Whizzer defends.

“So when I was two and then before I was born.”

“Not my fault you’re so young,” Whizzer snorts.

“So are you from San Francisco?” Jason asks. "Or, they were in New York, I guess, when you were a kid."

And Whizzer has to remind himself that it's 1978. It's only been 21 years since the move to California. Something about that fact makes him shudder, as if his situation has only just hit him. He takes a steadying breath. “Los Angeles, actually. But my mom was a huge Giants fan.”

“Where is your mom now?”

Whizzer would normally be frustrated with this nosiness, but he’s starting to like Jason. Oddly, he sees some of himself in him, though this kid is about a thousand times smarter. It’s that passion, that drive. And not quite fitting in because of it. It’s the feeling of wanting something more, of knowing that you’re meant for something more. It’s what he’s felt his whole life, and he sees that in Jason. So, he’s honest with him. “She died. Four years ago. Cancer.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. What about your dad?”

“Him too. When I was in college.”

“Oh.” Jason looks down. “Were you close with them?”

“Yeah, I’d say we were pretty close.”

“I’m not really close with my dad. He doesn’t seem like he wants to spend time with me very much. And he’s always yelling at my mom.”

Whizzer shakes his head. He can’t even come close to imagining what this kid is feeling. Still, he tries. “My parents were divorced. Before the split, I used to hear them fight all the time. But even when they were fighting, I knew that they weren’t doing it to hurt me. Your dad is a busy man and he has a lot on his mind right now. But he’s doing his best. Your parents love you so much, kid. Never doubt that.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do,” Whizzer says with a smile.

“That’s a crappy answer.”

Whizzer laughs loudly. “Yeah, I guess so.” He thinks for a bit, trying to come up with something to say. “I’ve seen the way your parents look at you. If that’s not love, then love just doesn’t exist.”

Jason smiles. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I am.”

They keep watching the game for a while, changing the subject to batting averages and ERAs and bad calls and good plays, until Trina leans her head into the den, knocking quietly on the doorframe. “Hate to break up the party, but it’s time for bed, kiddo.”

“But there’s only one more inning! Can’t I just stay until the game is finished?” Jason pouts.

“It’s already way past your bedtime, Jason. You’ll see what happened in tomorrow’s paper.”

“It’s not the same!”

“I’ll give you a dramatized play-by-play, how’s that?” Whizzer suggests. He stands up and mimes swinging a baseball bat. “A walk-off grand slam for the Giants! And the crowd goes wild!”

“They can't have a walk-off, they're the visiting team,” Jason laughs.

“Touché.”

Jason turns to his mom and sighs. “Can I just say goodnight to Whizzer first? I’ll be up in a couple minutes.”

“Alright,” Trina concedes with a smile. “But two minutes. I’m holding you to that.”

She disappears from the doorway and Jason looks back at Whizzer. His face is suddenly earnest. “Did it get better after they divorced?”

“Sorry?”

“The fighting. Your parents. Was it better after the divorce? Were they happier? Were you happier?”

Whizzer sighs and crouches down in front of him. “I mean, it’s complicated. It was really hard at first. But yes. I’d say it was better. For all of us.”

“Sometimes I wish my parents would get a divorce.” He says it matter-of-factly. He doesn’t sound upset about it. He doesn’t sound broken. There’s no emotion behind it at all.

Whizzer looks down. He doesn’t know how to respond. All he can think to do is stand up and puts his arms out. “Come here,” he says. Jason hugs him tentatively. “Have a good night, okay, kid?”

His skinny arms squeeze tighter around Whizzer’s waist for a second before he pulls away and smiles up at him. “Have a good time watching the Giants lose.”

“ Ha! Get out.”

Jason laughs and scampers out of the room.

“So Jason just can not stop talking about you.” Marvin is leaning up against the counter at Charlotte’s while Whizzer gets ready to lock up. Cordelia had left early for an “extra special romantic date night” with Charlotte. Her words.

“I tend to make an impression,” Whizzer says with a smirk.

“I… He’s my son.” Marvin won’t look Whizzer in the eye.

“Yes. I’m aware.” What’s he mad about now?

“He never wants to do anything with me and now suddenly you come along and you’re, like, his idol. But he’s my son.”

Whizzer snorts. “Right.”

“What?” Marvin is clutching the edge of the counter like it’s the edge of the Grand Canyon.

“Are you really that blind? ” Whizzer pulls on his shirt, buttoning it absentmindedly. “He wants to do everything with you.”

“What are you suggesting? That I don’t pay enough attention to my son? He’s the one who ignores me! Everything is his mom or baseball or anything but me !”

“Okay, first step. Stop resenting your nine-year-old kid for not making you feel loved enough.”

“I don’t resent him!”

Whizzer throws him an irritated glare. “And if you really want to spend time with him, why don’t you just watch baseball with him?”

“Okay, well, I do resent baseball!”

“So what if you hate baseball? That’s not the point, Marvin.” Whizzer keeps his voice low even as Marvin starts to yell. “I’m a fucking selfish son-of-a-bitch, but even I understand that.”

“Don’t you dare tell me how to raise my son!”

“I’m not telling you how to raise you son, Marvin. But I’m not going to let you blame me for your issues.”

“I don’t want you spending time with Jason.”

“Oh, he’ll be your best friend after you tell him that.” He starts towards the door, but Marvin grabs his arm and yanks him back.

Marvin is glaring up at him, squeezing the life out of Whizzer’s wrist. “Because you know so much about him, right?”

Whizzer shakes his head. “It’s common sense, Marvin.”

“Fuck you,” Marvin spits, finally letting go if Whizzer’s wrist.

He shakes out his hand to get the blood rushing through it again. “You only say that when you know I’m right.”

Before Whizzer even realises what’s happening, his back is slammed up against the wall and Marvin’s hands are gripping his shirt, fists pressing into his shoulders. “Ow,” Whizzer deadpans.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? I have done nothing but help you and all you’ve done is be fucking ungrateful!”

Whizzer nods. “So kick me out.”

“I might.”

“You won’t.”

“God, your fucking ego has no end, does it?”

Whizzer should definitely diffuse the situation before Marvin does something really drastic. “I’m sorry, my ego? Take a look in the mirror, Marvin.” So much for that idea.

“I may have an ego, but at least I’m not just some empty, vapid pretty boy. At least I’m not so fucking sad that my idea of a family is a string of strangers I find in a shitty bar.”

“Oh, I think you’re pretty fucking sad, Marvin,” Whizzer says through a clenched jaw.

“I'm at peace with who I am,” Marvin growls.

Whizzer scoffs. “Yet you haven't told that to your wife.”

“You’re cruel.”

“So are you.” Marvin doesn’t respond. He just stands there, staring, his eyes icy and mean. Whizzer lowers his voice and slides his hands around Marvin’s waist. “You know, if this were a movie, this would probably be the first time we fuck.”

Marvin hesitates for a second. If he leaned up and kissed him, Whizzer knows that he wouldn’t resist. For some fucked up reason, despite everything, just saying it made him want it. Bad. Instead, though, Marvin pulls away, shooting Whizzer one last scathing glare. “Yeah? Well thank God this isn’t a movie.”

Whizzer watches the game in the living room that night. He came home straight from the cafe and suffered through the stiff, awkward dinner for that sole purpose. Jason immediately hops onto the couch next to him, while Marvin storms upstairs. Trina sits in the armchair with a book, shifting her attention between the pages and the game.

“You a baseball fan?” Whizzer asks Trina.

“Less so since the Dodgers left Brooklyn,” Trina admits. “But Jason's turned me into a bit of a Mets fan.”

“You're outnumbered now, Whizzer,” Jason says.

“Eh, I’m loud enough for three people at least.”

“You can say that again,” Trina mutters, looking down at her book.

Whizzer laughs. “I don’t think your mom finds me to be a very good houseguest,” he whispers loudly to Jason.

“Don’t put words in my mouth!”

“Am I wrong though?”

“Not entirely,” Trina says with a laugh.

“Well, I like having you here,” Jason defends.

“At least someone loves me.”

It’s the middle of the fifth inning and it’s been four and a half innings of this banter and light-hearted conversations. They’re laughing at something stupid when Whizzer looks up to see Marvin standing at the bottom of the staircase, just watching. He’s slumped slightly, leaning against the wall, watching the scene silently. He’s absently clenching and unclenching his fist. When his eyes meet Whizzer’s, Whizzer sees the sadness, the longing. Whizzer feels kind of bad for the man. But Marvin dug himself into this hole. He needs to be the one to get himself out of it. Still, Whizzer nods at him, tilts his head to invite him to join. But Marvin just shakes his head and disappears up the stairs.

Well, then okay. Maybe there are people who would spend the energy to find Marvin and convince him to join. But what good would that do? He has every chance to make himself happier, doesn’t he? And, yet, here he still is. Trapped and miserable and repressed. And how could Whizzer hope to fix that?

Chapter Text

He doesn’t know how or why it happens. Or maybe he does. Maybe it makes sense because he’s been wanting this for so long. But that’s exactly why he couldn’t let himself. Because he avoids the doe eyes and the slow burn. Because instead he chooses that quickie in the bathroom and that easy one-night-stand. So, how did he let this happen?

It’s a Saturday night. It’s hot in this room. They’re the only ones home. Trina took Jason out to see a movie. They’ll probably be back soon. Whizzer sits up and turns his back on Marvin, who is lying next to him, staring silently at the ceiling. He doesn’t say a word as he slips out of bed and into his clothes. He has the door open when he finally hears Marvin speak.

“What do I do now?”

Marvin spent that evening at the cafe. The normal routine. Except at first he and Whizzer weren’t quite so friendly as they had been. It had been a while since Marvin had shown up here. He had been avoiding Whizzer. Whizzer was glad.

But a week was apparently enough to cool off. Well, to reach room temperature at least. He ate his danish and drank his coffee at the counter and chatted with Cordelia, while Whizzer tried his best to ignore him. A mission doomed from the start, he now realizes. Even when he hates Marvin, he can’t ignore him. So, at some point, he stopped trying. And it was nice. For some reason. For once.

Okay, so then what? Then back to his house for dinner because Jason wanted him there. And they didn’t fight in the car. Or they did, but not really. One of those stupid arguments that ended in laughter as they walked through the front door.

“Whizzer!”

“Jason!”

“You’re eating dinner with us tonight?”

“Well, you asked me to, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“You need to have more faith in me, kid.”

And Marvin looked down and Whizzer thought he would be mad, but he wasn’t. He looked sad. But he smiled at Whizzer. Bittersweet. And Whizzer returned the smile. Warm and comforting. And Marvin’s grew wider. And, okay, maybe that’s how.

But, no, there was still a dinner. Not so awkward that night. Not so stiff. Everyone was in a good mood. Then… Then Jason and Trina left. Well, they asked Marvin and Whizzer if they wanted to join, but they said no. Marvin said that he needed to get work done. And Whizzer? Well, Whizzer didn’t really need an excuse, did he? But he said he was tired or something like that.

And Marvin didn’t work. He took some beers out of the fridge and they got tipsy. Not drunk. Not drunk enough to use that as an excuse. And they sat together at the table and they talked and there were those goddamn doe eyes and that slow burn. And Whizzer wasn’t thinking about how much he hates that. For some reason. No, he just let himself drink and laugh and then… let Marvin kiss him. No, he kissed Marvin. They were talking about… Wait. Go back. He asked about Whizzer’s photography.

He brought out the box of developed photos and they sat on the couch in the living room.

“These are gorgeous,” Marvin said, leafing through the pictures. He pulled one out of the pile. Black and white image of Charlotte and Cordelia in their kitchen, Charlotte reaching for a spoon that Cordelia was clutching to her chest, while her head was thrown back in laughter. Nothing particularly special. Just happy. Marvin stared at that picture for a long time. “You should start selling these.”

“I don’t have a studio or anything.”

“So, what? You’re talented. That’s all that matters, right?”

“Since when are you an idealist?”

“Since I’m talking about about your life instead of mine.”

“Oh, come on, your life isn’t so bad.”

“You don’t even believe that.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“You were supposed to deny that.”

“It could be better.”

“It could?”

And that’s when Whizzer kissed him. Except that sounds too gentle. Needy and greedy and wanting. Straddled him and pinned him down. And Marvin wasn’t any different. Pulled his hair and ripped his shirt open. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Whizzer dragged Marvin up to his room and then they were on his bed. The one he shared with his wife. But Whizzer didn’t think about that. He should have. He might have stopped. No, he probably wouldn't have.

And clothing was strewn across the floor and they mapped each other’s bodies with their mouths and all of those other cliches of this desperate, longing sex. And Marvin was unsure sometimes, but it was good nonetheless. Worth the wait.

So the scene is set. The white sheets, the color of purity, of virginity, surrounded by the mustard yellow walls, a color his wife picked out. Whizzer didn't think about that. He probably should have.

And there they were. Entangled bodies, sweaty and aggressive, hungry for this rush of pent up lust. They moaned and they came and then… Then silence. Deafening. And Whizzer realized that, this time, he had nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. He couldn’t just shut the door and drive home and never see him again. The only place he had to go was right downstairs. And he couldn’t just detach because he isn’t detached. He’s tangled up in this man’s life and he’s stuck here. And he’s not even sure he wants out. And it’s his own fault. And he knows that. So he’s desperate for someone to blame. And he rolled off of Marvin and stared up at the ceiling and it was hot in that room and Trina and Jason would be home soon.

“What do I do now?”

“Now?” Whizzer hesitates. How is he supposed to answer that? “Now you get dressed.”

Chapter Text

Whizzer bangs his fists against their apartment door. “Cordelia! Charlotte!” It’s late. He didn’t go back to the den. He couldn’t bring himself to. He’s probably waking them up. Somewhere in the back of his mind he feels guilty about it, but he needed out of that house. “Cordelia! Open the door!”

“Shut up! I’m coming!” Cordelia flings the door open. “For fuck’s sake, Whizzer, you’ll wake the neighbors.” She’s wearing purple pajamas sporting a pattern of various different types of pastries. Well, that’s fitting at least.

“Sorry,” Whizzer mutters. “Can I stay here tonight?”

“Why? Did he kick you out finally?”

Whizzer shakes his head. “Just let me in, alright?”

“Oh, you screwed him, huh?” Cordelia turns back into the house. “You owe me five bucks, Charlotte!”

“Damn it!” Charlotte appears at the door, in flannel pajama pants and a Stanford t-shirt. “You couldn’t have kept it in your pants for just a few more weeks?”

“I guess not.” Whizzer shoves the door the rest of the way open and pushes into the apartment, collapsing onto their couch. He lets out a long, loud groan. “What do I do?”

“I do not remember saying that you could stay,” Charlotte says, shutting the front door.

“You can stay,” Cordelia interjects, sitting down next to Whizzer. “For tonight.”

“Then what?”

“Then you have to talk to Marvin.” Cordelia leans against the arm of the couch, resting her feet on Whizzer’s lap.

“I don’t want to,” Whizzer groans.

“You can’t just run away from all of your problems,” Charlotte says, sitting on the arm next to Cordelia. “Or, you can, but we’re not helping you do it.”

“But running away is so much easier, Char,” Whizzer pouts.

“Oh, man up, Whizzer,” she scoffs. “What are you even running away from?”

Whizzer just shakes his head, staring intensely at the floor. What is he running away from? The consequences of sleeping with a married man? Hurting Trina? Hurting Jason? Or just the fact that it’s not meaningless. The possibility of feelings getting involved, of a broken heart. The fact that at any second, he could be back in 2017 and he might have something here that he’ll miss. Though he supposes that that ship has already sailed. Maybe, though, it's something more rational. That he’s seen the way this man treats his wife. That he doesn’t doubt it will translate to any relationship he is in. Probably it’s all of these things. Every single one heavy as lead, sitting on his chest, crushing his lungs.

“Figure it out, then grow some fucking balls. That’s what I say.”

“Why are you being so mean? I’m having a crisis here!”

“You’re just mad that I’m right.” Charlotte runs her hands through Cordelia’s hair, who looks up at her with a smile.

Whizzer looks away, feeling a slight pang in his chest; some emotion he can’t quite place. “It can’t happen again,” Whizzer says quietly, as much to himself as to Charlotte or Cordelia.

“Yeah, that’s probably a wise decision,” Charlotte affirms. “A lot of people could get hurt.”

“A lot of people are already getting hurt,” Whizzer says, leaning his head back so he’s staring up at the ceiling.

“You can’t fix that,” Cordelia replies, kicking his thigh softly. “Just don’t make it worse.”

Whizzer smiles and reaches out to her. She grins and shifts closer to him so that he can wrap an arm around her. She leans into his shoulder and he kisses the top of her head. “What would I do without you guys?”

“Well, you’d have no clean underwear for one,” Cordelia laughs.

“And I imagine you’d be sleeping on a park bench tonight,” Charlotte adds.

“That was a rhetorical question, but fair enough.”

Charlotte stands up and stretches. “Well, I’m exhausted.” She leans down and kisses Cordelia lightly. “See you in bed, yeah?”

“I’ll be in in a bit,” Cordelia says. Charlotte nods and disappears into their bedroom.

Whizzer and Cordelia sit, curled up on the couch, not saying a word. It feels nice just to be close to someone like this. Cordelia soon falls asleep, but Whizzer, as exhausted as he is, can’t even seem to keep his eyes closed. When the clock strikes midnight, he nudges Cordelia awake. “I think Charlotte is missing you in there,” Whizzer says softly.

“I can stay out here with you if you want,” Cordelia murmurs groggily.

Whizzer shakes his head. “I’m okay,” he says with a smile.

“Okay.” Cordelia stands up and gives Whizzer a tired smile. “Sleep well, Whizzer.”

“You too.” He watches her go then stretches out on the couch, which is bigger than the one in Marvin’s den. He stares blankly at the ceiling. Too exhausted to even fall asleep. He feels numb, heavy, suffocated, like he’s underwater. Like he’s in one of those giant tanks in an aquarium, sitting at the bottom, staring up at the light coming from above and not being able to reach it. The pressure of the thousands of pounds of water keeping him immobile, when all he wants to do is swim. Out, away, as fast as he can. Never to return.

Jason is the one who greets him at the front door the next morning. Afternoon, really. Charlotte kicked him out at noon, insisting that he go talk to Marvin. “The sooner the better,” she said. “Get it over with. Like a band-aid.” Whizzer feels something in his chest twist as soon as he sees Jason’s smiling face.

“Hi, Whizzer!”

“Hey, kid.” He forces a small smile.

“Where have you been?” He asks.

“At my friends’ house,” Whizzer replies. “We had a sleepover of sorts.”

“Oh.” Jason moves aside so that Whizzer can enter the house. “My dad was looking for you earlier.”

“Hey Whizzer!” Trina appears from the staircase and beckons Jason towards her. “You ready to go, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, mom. I’ve been ready for a while.” Wherever it is he’s going, he doesn’t look excited.

“Alright, let’s go then.” She places her hand on his back and leads him towards the door.

“Whizzer. Save me,” Jason pleads.

“From what?”

“State-sanctioned torture.”

Trina rolls her eyes. “The dentist.”

“Same thing!”

“Sorry, bud. It’s important,” Whizzer laughs.

“Traitor,” Jason says and Whizzer’s smile fades.

“Bye, Whizzer,” Trina waves as she pushes Jason out the door.

“Yeah,” Whizzer replies weakly. “Bye.” As soon as the door closes, Whizzer pulls out a dining room chair and sits down, leaning his elbows on the table and sinking his head into his hands. “What have you done to yourself?” Whizzer mutters.

“Whizzer?” He looks up to see Marvin standing at the edge of the dining room. He smiles. “I thought I heard you. Where have you been?”

“Charlotte and Cordelia’s.” Whizzer doesn’t look at him. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“I was just curious.”

“Right.”

Marvin sighs. “We should talk.” His voice is now gruff with annoyance. He sits down in the chair next to Whizzer.

Whizzer nods. “It can’t happen again.”

“Why not?” Marvin snaps.

Whizzer jumps at the harshness of his tone. He finally looks up at Marvin. “You’re married , Marvin.”

“So?” Marvin asks incredulously.

Whizzer gawks. “So you’re married. And you have a kid!”

“Didn’t seem to matter to you last night.”

“I wasn’t thinking last night.”

“So, what? You’re just going to fuck me then forget it ever happened? Like with all those assholes at the bar?”

“That’s what I do!” Whizzer stands up, walking over to the couch, then turning back to face Marvin. “You knew that.”

“I thought…”

“What? You thought you were different ?” Whizzer spits.

“Well, why shouldn’t I?” Marvin stands now, too, kicking his chair back hard enough to knock it over. “I mean, look around you! You’re in my house! Where you sit on the couch and watch baseball with my son ! This is different!”

Whizzer shakes his head. “I won’t be your mistress Marvin.”

“You said you don’t sleep with ‘closet cases’ either and yet, here we are.”

“It was a mistake,” Whizzer hisses.

“Probably,” Marvin agrees. “But a good one.”

“Why do you care so much? You can get off with any number of guys with less of a risk to your perfect little family!”

Marvin shakes his head. “Why are you so against it?”

Whizzer has a million reasons why he’s against it. But he can’t tell Marvin any of them. He can’t let Marvin see that vulnerability. He can’t. “Because I don’t do relationships and, far as I can tell, that’s all you do.”

Marvin laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I’m married, Whizzer. I’m not looking for another relationship.”

“What about Jason?” Whizzer blurts out before he can stop himself.

“He won’t know,” Marvin says, inching closer to where Whizzer is standing.

“He will, one way or another. It will crush him.”

“At least he likes you.” Marvin shakes his head. He’s close now, close enough to touch.

“So, you think he’ll be less devastated that his dad is cheating on his mom because… what? At least dad’s sleeping with that guy I watch baseball with!”

Marvin shrugs. “Maybe.” He takes Whizzer’s hand. Whizzer tries to pull away but Marvin just grips it harder, taking another step forward. He laces their fingers together and gently clutches the collar of Whizzer’s shirt.

Whizzer looks up at the ceiling, his heart hammering in his chest. “What are you doing?” He breathes. But he tightens his fingers around Marvin’s.

Marvin’s hand slides up to Whizzer’s face, running his thumb along his cheekbone. “God, you’re pretty,” he whispers.

Whizzer lowers his gaze to finally look Marvin in the eye. “We shouldn’t, Marvin.” But his heart isn’t in it anymore. He wants this. God, how he wants this.

“Fine.” Marvin shakes his head, letting his hand fall from Whizzer’s face. He turns to walk away, but Whizzer doesn't let go of his hand. Marvin glances down at their interlocked fingers, then looks back up at Whizzer, whose expression is blank. Carefully neutral. They stand there, staring at each other, a challenge in both men’s eyes.

Whizzer takes a shallow breath and pulls Marvin closer. He places a hesitant hand on his chest, rubbing circles into his shirt with his thumb. “Once more, then never again,” he says slowly.

“You said that last time” Marvin says with a smile, moving his hand up to the back of Whizzer's neck, running his fingers softly through the hair at the base of his skull.

“Just shut up before I change my mind,” Whizzer mutters. And he swears it isn't his own brain telling him to lean down and kiss him. But, for better or for worse, that's exactly what he does.

Whizzer pulls his pants on and tosses Marvin his shirt. “Even if this does become a regular thing, I’m still sleeping with other guys.”

“I wasn’t expecting anything else,” Marvin says, pulling his shirt on and buttoning it up.

“This means nothing. It’s just sex.”

“Agreed.”

Whizzer nods and finishes dressing. “Good.”

“Good.”

He sits down on the couch and turns the TV on, flipping through channels until he lands on a baseball game. The Mets are playing. A jolt of guilt rushes through him and he quickly shuts the TV off.

“You okay?” Marvin asks.

Whizzer nods and stands up. “I’m gonna, uh, I’m going out.” He gets his camera from the den, flashes Marvin a forced smile, and rushes out the door.

Marvin follows him outside. “You look like you’re going to be sick,” Marvin says. “Oh God, was I that bad ?”

Whizzer turns. “Miraculously, Marvin, not everything is about you!”

“I was… trying to be funny.”

“Doesn’t suit you,” Whizzer scowls.

“Whatever.” Marvin slips back into the house and slams the door behind him.

Whizzer squeezes his eyes shut and clutches his camera in his hand. He’s been the other man before. He never really cared about the anonymous faces he might be hurting. But this time it’s not anonymous. This time it’s a wife that has only been kind to him and a kid who looks up to him. He can turn it off when he’s with Marvin. It fades away when they’re together, but once the lust has worn off, he’s left with the cold reality of what he’s done, of the consequences it could hold. The people he’s hurting, they’re not faceless anymore. Whizzer doesn’t consider himself an incredibly empathetic person. In fact, he prides himself on being an asshole. But he’s not heartless. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Chapter Text

“So, how’d it go?” Cordelia asks as Whizzer carries dirty mugs to the kitchen.

“How’d what go?” Whizzer asks. But he knows exactly what she’s talking about. He leaves the mugs on the sink and returns to the register, opening it and absently and counting the bills, avoiding looking Cordelia in the eye.

“Your talk with Marvin,” Cordelia says. She snatches the cash from Whizzer’s hand, shoving it back into the register and slamming the drawer.

Whizzer leans against the counter and stares down at the stained wood. He takes a breath, then looks back up at Cordelia with a smile. “Swell,” he replies.

“Oh my god, you slept with him again, didn’t you?” Cordelia accuses, shoving his shoulder hard. “What the fuck, Whizzer?”

“I didn’t mean to.” Whizzer ducks his head and picks up a pot of coffee for refills, but Cordelia stops him before he can go. “I have to go refill some coffees, Delia. We have customers.”

“They’ll be fine.” She takes the pot from Whizzer’s hand and puts it back on the counter. “You were supposed to break it off. End it before it could really begin. Not make it worse. Remember that?”

“And I tried to,” Whizzer snaps. “I told him that. I told him we couldn’t do it again. I told him that I didn’t want to.”

“Then what happened?”

“Then he insisted ,” Whizzer responds simply, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What does that mean?”

Whizzer shrugs his shoulders, tightening his arms against his chest. “He made some convincing arguments.”

Cordelia shakes her head. “You mean he blew you.”

“Well that too.”

“Whizzer…”

“I know, I know. It’s unhealthy. It’s unfair. People will get hurt.” He fidgets with the string of his server’s apron, untying and retying it again and again.

“Yeah. That,” Cordelia sighs. “Don’t you feel at all guilty?”

“Of course I do. I can hardly even look at Jason anymore. But I just… You know, maybe it’s actually better.”

“How is it possibly better?”

“Marvin is in a better mood so he’s less of a dick to everyone,” Whizzer says. “And everyone would be happier if they broke up anyway. Trust me.”

“I don’t doubt that, but this can’t be how it happens and you know it.”

“It will never happen if he has anything to say about it.”

“So that’s his problem. You are not helping by letting him cheat.”

Whizzer sighs. “I know that.”

“So why are you doing it, Whizzer?”

“Because I want to, okay?” He says that with too much vulnerability. Too much emotion. What should have been a harmless statement has revealed…. Something. Cordelia’s eyes soften. She looks at him with -- what is that, pity? Whizzer shakes his head. He summons a cold smirk, his eyes growing icy. “He’s a good, convenient fuck. What can I say? It’s what I do.”

Cordelia’s expression darkens and she shoves the coffee pot at him. “Go satisfy our customers.”

“Come on, Delia, don’t-”

“We’ll talk later,” she says. “Now do your job.”

The day is far more tedious when Cordelia won’t talk to him. She treats him… well, she treats him like an employee, really. Whizzer doesn’t like it. He tries to make jokes with her, to make some sort of conversation. But she doesn’t laugh and her responses are all jilted and short. She only talks to him to give him an order. At five o’clock, Whizzer flips the open sign and turns to Cordelia.

“You can’t just stop talking to me,” Whizzer says with annoyance.

“You’re destroying people’s lives, Whizzer,” Cordelia responds. “I can’t condone that.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“You can’t even give me a decent reason.”

“I don’t have one. I’m a shitty person doing a shitty thing. But I need my best friend,” Whizzer begs.

“See, I don’t believe that. I know you better than that.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” Cordelia looks up at the ceiling, then back to Whizzer. “I know you have a reason. I know you’re not heartless. I know you’re not just being cold and selfish, because, as much as you want people to believe that that’s who you are, it’s just not true. So, while I don’t approve of you sleeping with Marvin, that’s not what I’m mad about.”

“So, why are you giving me the cold shoulder?”

“Because you won’t talk to me, asshole.” She says it like it should be obvious. “I’m mad because you would rather lie to me than trust me with how you’re actually feeling. You say I’m your best friend, but best friends don’t keep shit from each other. I still don’t even know what stroke of bad luck left you sleeping on Marvin’s couch in the first place!”

Whizzer locks his jaw, keeping his eyes on Cordelia, but not saying a word.

Cordelia nods. “Okay. Goodnight, Whizzer.”

“Cordelia, please. Don’t-”

“I know you’re scared, Whizzer. But I hope you can suck it up soon.” She walks over to him and squeezes his arm with a smile. “You’re my best friend too. And I still love you. I just wish you could trust me.”

Whizzer looks down. “I do trust you. As much as I trust anyone.”

“Then maybe you just need to learn to trust people in general.”

Whizzer nods, looking anywhere but at Cordelia. “I’ll lock up tonight.”

Cordelia doesn’t respond. She presses the keys into Whizzer’s hand and walks past him towards the door. He hears the door jingle as she leaves, but he doesn’t turn around.

After he’s finished cleaning the tables and stacking the chairs and storing away the unsold pastries, he picks up the phone.

“Hello?” Oh, thank God, it’s Marvin who picks up the phone.

“Hey. It’s Whizzer.”

“Oh. Hi Whizzer. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I was just thinking.” He pauses. He shouldn’t do this. But he’s feeling spiteful. And horny. Mostly spiteful. “The cafe is closed. Which means it’s empty…”

Marvin hesitates. “Trina is making dinner.”

“Tell her you had to make last-minute work plans for tonight or something.”

The line is silent for a few seconds. Then, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” And the line goes dead.

Whizzer smiles, makes himself a cup of coffee, takes a day old muffin from the fridge and boosts himself up onto the counter to wait.

“God, what took you so long?” Whizzer asks when the door jingles open.

Marvin rolls his eyes, quickly approaching where Whizzer is seated. He leans against the counter between Whizzer’s legs, and looks up at him, running his hands slowly up his thighs. “Is there somewhere here with fewer windows?”

Whizzer runs his hands through Marvin’s hair with a smug smile. “Why? Planning something…” He trails off. “Fuck, I don’t have a good end to that sentence. Let’s go.” He pushes Marvin back and jumps off the counter, taking his hand and leading him towards the kitchen.

As soon as the door is closed, Whizzer pins Marvin against it, roughly pressing their lips together. Marvin grips his hair and tugs it back and Whizzer lets out an involuntary moan. “Oh shut up,” he says when he notices Marvin's smug smile.

“I didn't say anything,” Marvin laughs. Whizzer shakes his head, tugging at Marvin's tie, slipping it off and letting it fall to the floor, then hurriedly unbuttoning his shirt. He trails aggressive kisses down Marvin's jaw. “We've got to be breaking about a million health codes with this,” Marvin breathes.

Whizzer lets his face fall onto Marvin's shoulder, laughing into the crook of his neck “Of course that's what you're thinking about right now.”

“Hey, it's a legitimate-” Whizzer doesn't let him finish that sentence. He kisses him hungrily, playfully biting his bottom lip. He lets his mouth travel slowly down Marvin's body, pressing his lips to Marvin's neck then his chest, then his stomach. Down to the skin just above his belt. He stops there.

On his knees at this point, he looks up at Marvin. “You know, I think, according to the health codes, this is where I'm supposed to stop…”

Marvin glares down at him. “Don't you fucking dare.”

Whizzer sits on the kitchen floor, against the wall, watching Marvin get dressed. He's left his shirt off and the wall is cold against his bare back. Marvin looks down at him and flashes a small smile, which Whizzer returns. Marvin finishes buttoning his shirt and sits on the floor next to him. They sit there for a while, not saying a word, just listening to the quiet room and their own tired breathing.

“So why'd you run off like that yesterday?” Marvin asks, breaking the peaceful quiet.

Whizzer shakes his head, willing himself not to think about Jason. He needs to disconnect this Marvin from the domestic one. Separate the Marvin that he's fucking from the one with the wife and the kid. “No reason. Just not used to sticking around afterwards.”

“Right. That.” Whizzer isn't looking at Marvin but he can practically hear the frown that he's sure has darkened Marvin's expression.

“Get over it, Marvin,” Whizzer sighs.

“Get over what ?”

“I’m not going to pretend that I only have eyes for you or whatever.”

“I never asked you to.”

“Then stop getting so fucking pissed at me whenever you’re reminded!”

“I’m not pissed,” Marvin says. Sounding, well, pissed.

Whizzer rolls his eyes. “You’re a really shitty liar, you know that? I’m surprised you’ve managed to go this long convincing your wife that you’re not, you know, repulsed by vaginas.”

“I’m not,” Marvin snaps.

“Not what?” Whizzer asks.

“Not… you know…”

Whizzer looks over at him with a disbelieving laugh. “Not gay? That makes total sense, Marvin. ‘Cause all my straight friends go down on me like that.”

“Fuck you, Whizzer.”

“You just did. That’s exactly my point.” Whizzer pushes himself up and pulls his work t-shirt over his head.

Marvin looks up at him. “I’m not like you , Whizzer. I don’t go prowling for dick-”

“Really? Because when I met you, you were doing just that.”

Marvin jumps up. “No, I wasn’t! I never actually planned on…” He trails off, hesitating, before attempting to continue. “I was just looking...I never-- Until you came along, I never needed to.”

“Yeah, all my straight friends love leering at men in gay bars, too.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Huh. I think I’m hilarious.”

“Of course you fucking do. You think it’s funny to hurt people, right? Fucking hilarious to watch us squirm?”

Whizzer scoffs. “Because you’re such a saint?”

“I never claimed to be,” Marvin growls. “But I don’t take satisfaction in making people suffer.”

“No, you just blame everyone else for the suffering you’re inflicting upon yourself,” Whizzer says with a shrug. “That’s, like, why mass murders happen.”

There’s a second of silence before Marvin’s stony anger abruptly dissolves into a fit of laughter. “ What? ”

Whizzer is caught off-guard by this sudden change. Even so, his mouth slowly curls into a smile and he reluctantly lets out a huff of a laugh. “You know, precarious manhood and the externalization of blame and I took a criminal psychology class in college once but that’s pretty much all that I remember.”

“So, what, I’m a mass murderer now, huh?” Marvin is still laughing.

“ Why are you laughing?”

“It’s just… You’re… You hate me that much, huh?” He shakes his head, looking down at his feet. “I’m Jewish. We laugh and make jokes to cope with the fucked up shit in our lives. It’s in our blood.”

“Well, that much I know,” Whizzer chuckles. He places a hand on Marvin’s waist, drawing him closer. “I don’t hate you. I just think you’re kind of a dick.”

“The feeling is mutual.” He runs his hands over Whizzer’s chest, clutching his shirt in his fists. “I’m still pissed at you, by the way.”

“Clearly.”

“Asshole.”

“Definitely.” Their faces are close now. Foreheads touching. Marvin’s eyes are clear and blue and happy and calm. And beautiful. And Whizzer hates how beautiful he finds those eyes. And he wants to pull away and hide away but he’s stuck. Caught. Tied here somehow. And he can’t pull free. And it’s this argument he keeps having with himself. Do I run away now or do I risk what comes next? And through a simple lack of decisiveness, here he stays.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later and he still hasn’t made a decision. He rolls with the punches; Marvin finding pockets of time to sneak in secret rendezvous and Whizzer not protesting. Whizzer following eagerly along really.  Cordelia is speaking to him again; almost back to how it was, but he can tell that it’s more strained than it used to be. It was always so easy with her, but there’s tension now. Just a taste of it, barely felt, but there nonetheless. The guilt he feels has dulled to a soft throbbing in the back of his mind. It’s all starting to feel normal.

It’s a Saturday. “Delia, I’m taking my break,” Whizzer tells her, grabbing Marvin’s hand and leading him into the kitchen.

“Okay,” she says, pointedly not looking at the men. “Don’t you dare do anything in my kitchen.”

“You always say that.”

“And I always will.”

Whizzer lets the door close and pulls Marvin towards him by the hips, pressing a kiss into his neck.  “Hey.”

“Hi,” Marvin replies with a laugh.

The door whips open and Cordelia glares at them. “See, this is why I always say it!”

Whizzer groans. “We’re not doing anything, Delia.”

“Two feet apart.”

“We’re not at a middle school dance.”

“Two. Feet.”

Whizzer rolls his eyes, but he pushes Marvin away. “You’re mean.”

“That’s fine with me,” Cordelia says, turning and returning to the front room.

Whizzer boosts himself onto a metal counter, Marvin leaning next to him. “Well I guess we have to talk now.”

“Is that so bad?” Marvin laughs.

“Yes,” Whizzer says, kicking him lightly.

Marvin rubs circles into Whizzer’s knee with his thumb. “I was thinking…” He turns and stands between Whizzer’s dangling feet, looking up at him. “Can you take off work next Saturday?”

“Why?” Whizzer asks.

“I could tell Trina I have to go away for work, get a hotel room in the city…”

“So I’m a classy mistress now, huh?”

Marvin shakes his head and turns away. “Okay, forget it. I just-”

Whizzer grabs his hand and drags him back. “It sounds nice,” he says with a smile. “I can sleep in a real bed, we can order room service, there’s no need to panic every time there’s a creak in the building...”

“Don’t have to rush away right after…”

Whizzer’s heart clenches. “Yeah,” he says tightly. “That too.”

When he wakes up with a backache and a knot in his neck, he can’t wait. When Trina comes home earlier than they expect and he has to pretend he’s borrowing the book on Marvin’s nightstand --a book Trina loves and wants to talk to him about once he’s finished it-- while he prays she doesn’t notice that his shirt is misbuttoned, he can’t wait. When he’s lying in bed with Marvin, who is lying on his side and is laughing about something Whizzer just said and whose hand is tracing circles over his heart, which is beating like the timpani in a dramatic musical theatre song; when the light hits Marvin’s face just right and all he wants to do is trace the shadows on his cheeks; when his heart flutters and his stomach twists when Marvin pulls him closer and just stares at him, hungry and… something else that Whizzer can’t name; when he shuts his eyes at night and can’t get Marvin out of his head; when it all feels like so much more than he ever wanted; that’s when Whizzer just wants to run.

But he doesn’t. Marvin comes to the cafe after closing that Friday. Whizzer forces a smile and kisses him quickly as he walks in. Cordelia squeezes Whizzer’s hand as she says goodbye and locks the door. And they’re off.

Whizzer leans against the car window and watches the city pass. He looks over at Marvin occasionally, his white knuckles clutching the steering wheel, his blue eyes focused on the road ahead. Their eyes meet once, and Marvin smiles softly and Whizzer looks away as his heartbeat picks up speed. The blur of the buildings and the cold of the glass against his skin calm his racing pulse. He watches his breath fog up the window. This steady rhythm of the condensation growing and shrinking as he breathes in and out. In and out.

They leave the car with a valet and Whizzer pulls Marvin to him, surprised when he pushes him away. “We...uh...We’re on business or… Just not…”

Whizzer rolls his eyes. “Not sodomizing each other in their good, Christian hotel room?”

“Good Chri- what?”

“It’s a… future thing. Nevermind.” Whizzer shakes his head. “Why? Why are we pretending? Is Trina checking the security tapes now?”

“Are you really that ignorant?”

Whizzer glares at him. “Let’s assume I am.”

“They don’t have to give us our room,” Marvin responds simply, opening the door to the lobby. Right. The cold blast of air conditioning rushes out into the hot night, rustling Whizzer’s hair.

Whizzer follows him inside. “Sounds like you’ve done this before.” He chooses to ignore the pang of jealousy he feels at the thought of Marvin here with another man. He tries not to wonder where that man is now. He tries not to think about-

“I haven’t.” Whizzer wishes he weren’t so fucking relieved. “I’m just not blind to the way the world works.”

“I’m not blind! ” That was too loud. Faces turn with judgmental scowls. “I’m not blind,” he repeats more quietly. “Just... new here. Besides, Stonewall was --what-- a decade ago? And this is New York City, right? I mean… Broadway. ” He's fishing for reasons for Marvin to be wrong, really. Wishing. Hoping.

Marvin shakes his head. “Just trust me, will you?”

Whizzer isn’t happy about it but he plays along. Their room is on the top floor. They take the elevator up and Whizzer doesn’t look at Marvin except through the reflection on the metal walls. Marvin tentatively tries to take his hand on the long walk to their room, but Whizzer pulls away. It’s petty. It's not even about Marvin. He knows that. He resolves to let it go once they’re in their room. But then Marvin pushes open the door. And there’s a TV and a desk and a set of drawers and a closet. And there are two beds. And Whizzer’s heart sinks. And he sits on the foot of the far bed and turns his back on the door and stares out the window at the glistening lights of New York City. And they look like stars at his feet. But he doesn’t feel at all like he’s flying.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Whizzer!” Marvin snaps as soon as the door shuts. “It’s not my fault!”

“It’s not your fault that you’re so ashamed of who you are that you can’t even let a damn hotel employee suspect that you might possibly be gay?” He doesn’t turn around. He just keeps staring out the window. He knows that isn’t the problem. He knows...

“That’s not what this is about.” He feels the bed dip as Marvin sits down next to him.

“I have a hard time believing that you can’t even get a hotel room without the extra fucking bed.”

“God, you’re naive.”

“I am not naive!” Whizzer jumps up and finally faces Marvin. “You’re consumed by fucking self-hatred and insecurities. Me not hating myself does not make me naive !”

“This is not about insecurities, Whizzer! This is about safety and actually being allowed through the doors!”

“Oh, that’s such bullshit.” No, it’s not. He knows it’s not. But this is easier than facing…

“Fine. Fine! You win!” He stands up and storms over to the hotel phone, picking it up and holding it out to Whizzer. “Go on, call the lobby! Tell them. You have my blessing. Tell them that we’re not sleeping in separate beds. Tell them that we’re not even planning on sleeping much at all! Tell them all the juicy details!” Whizzer crosses his arms over his chest, still and silent. “Go on, then! If you’re so fucking confident that they won’t care!” Whizzer looks down at his feet. “Why aren’t you calling them? You want everyone to know, right? So fucking-”

“Shut up!” Whizzer yells. His heart is hammering in his chest. He can feel it in his throat and in his temples. A steady, throbbing drumbeat in his ears. “I get it. Okay? I get it.”

Marvin puts the phone down, his anger dissolving into something softer. He reaches out, taking Whizzer’s hand. Whizzer reluctantly lets him, uncrossing his arms. Marvin laces their fingers together and steps forward. “Just five years ago, in the back of the New York Times, there was this article. It was almost hidden. But it had a picture of a body between the bars of a building. A badly burnt body.”

“What’s the point, Marvin?” Whizzer asks impatiently.

“Well, I read the article. It was about a gay bar in New Orleans. Normal Sunday night. Except then there was a fire on the stairs. And then it was in the bar. And pretty much everyone died. And the only article I saw about it was this short little report in the back corner of the New York Times.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “Why are you telling me this, Marvin?”

“Because I don’t think you do get it, Whizzer.”

“New Orleans isn’t New York,” he tries weakly.

“I know,” Marvin sighs. “But New York didn’t care.”

“And that’s awful. But just… being ashamed of it... We’ve done that for centuries and where has it gotten us?”

“I’m trying , Whizzer. I’m doing my best. But it’s not that easy!”

“I know that!”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, of course, I… I’m not naive. I’m not stupid. I know, okay? I just… I know it isn’t your fault. I know it’s not about you at all. I just… I’m sick of being in the closet, alright? I am sick of being forced back into the closet. I thought I was done with that. That fear and discomfort and hiding. It’s the worst I ever felt, and I just… I guess I just want it to be okay again--normal again. Like if  just ignore it all, it'll be okay, right? I miss home. I miss… And it’s easier to get mad than… well, you know. I… Fuck.” He shakes his head. He hates saying all of this. He wishes he could just stay mad. Why can’t he just stay mad? “Just kiss me already, I’m done with this talking bullshit.”

Marvin squeezes his hand and kisses him--gently at first, but it quickly grows harder and rougher. Marvin sits on the bed and pulls Whizzer over him, lying back into the pile of pillows. Whizzer clumsily fumbles with the buttons on Marvin’s shirt.

“You’re usually better at that,” Marvin laughs.

“Oh, shut up.” He finally undoes the last button and runs a hand up Marvin’s torso. He pauses, just looking, silently taking him in.

“What?” Marvin asks.

Whizzer presses his lips into Marvin’s neck. “Just admiring,” he mutters, straddling and leaning over him with a teasing smile.

Marvin looks up at him with stars in his eyes. “Well, stop that and get to it, already,” he laughs.

“God, so impatient,” Whizzer teases, trailing lazy kisses down his torso.

Marvin grabs a fistful of Whizzer’s hair, reveling in how his inhibitions melt away. He grabs the collar of his shirt with the other hand, pulling Whizzer to him, lifting his head and pressing their lips together. “Why do you insist on driving me insane?” Marvin sighs. There isn’t much talking after that.

Marvin’s chest rises and falls under Whizzer’s head. His finger traces shapes into Whizzer’s shoulder. Meanwhile, Whizzer’s heart is beating out of his chest. This closeness. This intimacy. It’s exactly what he didn’t want. He is suddenly growing thankful for the two beds. He looks up at Marvin with a forced smile. “Room service,” he says tiredly.

“ That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” Marvin looks a little hurt, but he covers it up with a laugh.

Whizzer sits up, straddles Marvin’s lap and leans down until their lips are just barely touching. “Please,” he breathes into Marvin’s mouth.

Marvin groans. “Fine.”

Whizzer smiles and rolls off of him, reaching for the menu on the nightstand next to the bed. When they’ve ordered, Whizzer gets up, pulls on his underwear and lays down on the other bed.

Marvin watches him and starts to say something, but stops himself, turning towards the window.

Whizzer knows he shouldn’t do this. It’s just two nights. Two nights won’t kill him. He has often spent the night with the guys he fucked without things getting too complicated. But when he thinks about curling up next to Marvin, about resting his head on his chest and letting his eyes droop closed, he starts to panic. Because he knows how much he wants that. How much they both want that. And even just one night… One night would be enough.

“You should put some clothes on before the food gets here,” Whizzer suggests. Marvin silently complies, pulling a t-shirt and pajama pants from his bag. Whizzer unabashedly watches him dress, but Marvin pretends not to notice.

And if Whizzer didn’t want to walk over to him and hold him and fall asleep in his arms, then that’s exactly what he would do. But the thought of it is so good, so appealing, so consuming that it scares Whizzer half to death.

And it’s become a redundancy in his mind, this argument, this back-and-forth, this wanting and this fear. And he’s tired of hearing the voices in his head go on and on about it, but what can he do? When he doesn’t know what he wants. When he is standing at the cliffside and there is sparkling blue water below him, but it seems just a little too far away. Does he jump or does he turn back? And how long can he stand here on the edge before he is forced to make a decision?

The food arrives to a silent room. Marvin meets the server at the door and brings the tray in himself and Whizzer grins at him when he passes him the burger he ordered. But Marvin’s face remains blank. Whizzer looks down at his plate, suddenly not hungry. “What do you want from me, Marvin?”

Marvin laughs softly. Humorlessly. “I don’t know. Isn’t that crazy?”

“Wild,” Whizzer replies. He looks up at Marvin, who is seated on the other bed. “I’ve never lied to you, Marvin. Never mislead you.”

“I know that.”

“So, why are you mad?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Yeah.” Marvin stands up and walks toward the window, before turning to Whizzer. “Yeah, I am. Because I have done so much for you and, Whizzer, I… You just treat me like you treat all of the others. I mean nothing to you, right? And I know you told me that that would be the case. And I wish I didn’t care. But I do.”

“You can’t be serious, Marvin.”

“Can’t I?”

“Your whole monogamy bullshit… You’re married , Marvin. Remember that?” Whizzer feels his face flush, aggressively clutching a fistful of the comforter in his hands.

“That’s different.”

“You’re right. It’s worse. It’s so much worse. Because I told you, Marvin. I told you from the beginning. Trina trusts you. She loves you. And you couldn’t give a shit. And, okay, that’s your choice. It’s your life to fuck up. But you can’t expect from me what you can’t even give to her. That’s unfair, Marvin. That’s selfish.”

“Then I guess I’m selfish!” Marvin snaps.

Whizzer picks up his burger, then puts it down again. The room is uncomfortably silent. He can hear Marvin pacing lightly by the window. He can hear faint voices from other parts of the hotel. He can even hear his hands as he nervously wrings them together. “What do you want?”

“Sorry?”

Whizzer looks him directly in the eye. “What do you want?”

“I want it all,” he answers snidely, leaning against the windows.

“I’m serious, Marvin.”

“Me too. I want a family that loves each other. My family.” He pauses and breaks eye contact. “And I want you.”

“You can’t have it all.” Whizzer stands up finally. But he doesn’t approach the other man. “So, what do you want?”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t have.” His voice is full of that ice that used to throw Whizzer, knock him back. But he expects it now, prepares for it.

“Are you happy, Marvin?”

“Currently? No.”

“No. Are you happy?”

Marvin doesn’t answer. He crosses his arms over his chest and purses his lips.

“I’m going to ask this one more time because for some fucking reason, I want to understand.” Whizzer takes a breath and walks slowly over to where Marvin is standing. “What do you want, Marvin?”

Marvin finally meets his eyes again. “You want to know what I want, Whizzer? I want to be able to kiss my wife and not feel so damn ashamed. I want to leave my house without having to lie to her. For once in my fucking life I want to be able to be myself, but I can’t fucking do that, can I?” His eyes lose their cold anger. He looks so sad, so fucking miserable and trapped.

“Why the hell can’t you?”

“Because it’s too late, Whizzer!” Whizzer reaches out to take his hands but Marvin pushes him away. “You know what? No. I don’t need you feeling sorry for me. This is the life I chose. And I’m glad I chose it.”

Whizzer nods. “Okay. Fine. But I don’t choose to be a part of it.” He turns and picks up his jeans from the floor.

“Well what do you want, then? You act so high and mighty but you’re no more satisfied with your life!”

“Maybe that’s because I got mine ripped away from me, Marvin!” Whizzer whips around. “Our situations are not comparable!”

“It’s not just about that! You live an empty fucking life and you always have!”

“Jesus, Marvin. You really know how to charm ‘em, don’t you?” Whizzer says. His voice is quieter now. He gets dressed quickly and silently and turns toward the door.

“Whizzer, wait.”

“No.”

“Please.” His voice cracks as he says it. There’s something about the tone of his voice, the desperation, that makes Whizzer pause.

“I’m only staying because I’ve been looking forward to sleeping in a bed all week,” Whizzer sighs, sitting back down onto said bed.

“I just want to know you, Whizzer. You know so much about me, but you’re a goddamn mystery to me.”

“Good.” He leans back into the pillows and stares up at the ceiling.

He hears Marvin sigh and resign himself to the other bed. Whizzer reaches over and shuts the light off and strips down again, climbing under the covers. Only he can’t sleep. He can’t even keep his eyes closed. Some sort of weight is resting on his chest and keeping him awake. He can hear Marvin’s steady breathing.  “Are you awake?” He asks softly. There’s no response. Good. “What I want… What I want is for the voice in my head to just shut up for a second. For it to stop telling me that it’s just fight or flight all the fucking time. That’s what I want.” Again, no response. Whizzer sighs with relief. He shuts his eyes, but the pressure is still there. The air still feels so heavy. He stands up then, crawling into the other bed. He presses his body against Marvin’s and it’s like he can finally breathe again. He presses a kiss into the base of the man’s neck, placing his hand on Marvin’s shoulder. He’s surprised when he feels Marvin lace their fingers together, and pull Whizzer’s arm around him. He hesitates for a second before he squeezes Marvin’s hand lightly and lays his head against the pillow, eyes getting heavy as he breathes in the scent of Marvin’s shampoo.

Whizzer isn’t sure if he dreams it, but just as he’s drifting off to sleep he hears Marvin mutter something --soft and slurred in the way that tired voices often are. “No need to run. You’re safe here. I promise.”

Chapter Text

Whizzer wakes up to the smell of coffee, feeling more comfortable and rested than he has since he still had a working cell phone. He opens his eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the light filtering in through the window. Marvin is sitting up in bed, fully dressed, reading and sipping from a paper coffee cup.

“Morning,” Whizzer says groggily.

Marvin turns to him with a smile and closes his book. “Finally,” he teases. “It’s nearly afternoon.”

“Hey,” Whizzer objects, sitting up slowly and leaning against the headboard. “ You try sleeping on a couch for months.”

Marvin laughs. “I brought you a latte. On the bedside table.”

“Bless your soul,” Whizzer smiles. He picks up the latte, reveling in the warmth of the hot cup in his hands as he takes a sip. He pulls Marvin towards him by the collar, giving him a lazy, tired kiss. “Thank you.”

“Wow, I like you when you’ve just woken up.”

“Yeah, I’m a lot nicer before my brain can physically, like, come up with good insults.” Whizzer slides his hand up to the back of Marvin’s neck, planting another kiss on his lips before turning back to his coffee. He shifts his body to lean into Marvin’s shoulder as Marvin eagerly wraps his arm around him. He’s oddly comfortable here. He expected himself to wake up in a cold sweat; to get dressed and get out. It’s something about this hotel room. The pristine white comforters and the perfectly plain walls. There’s something about this hotel room in the bright light of day that doesn’t seem quite real. Like what happens here doesn’t count once they leave its premises. Last night, it all felt way too real. Too heavy. It felt like a prison in the dim light. It was only when he swallowed his pride and lay down next to Marvin that that had fallen away. When he lets himself be here, here is all that seems to exist.

“What’s it like where you’re from?” Marvin asks.

“When,” Whizzer corrects. It’s not often that they acknowledge this fact. Neither of them are sure they believe it to be true. Even now. Or really they don’t want to admit what they believe.

“Right. What’s it like in the future ?”

“Won’t that interrupt the space-time continuum or whatever?” Whizzer asks.

Marvin shakes his head with a laugh. “Since when are you a nerd?”

“Since you forced me to watch that episode of Doctor Who with you and Jason.”

“You didn’t like it?”

“He was wearing two different types of plaid with a striped scarf. I couldn’t concentrate on the story.”

Marvin laughs louder and squeezes Whizzer’s arm, looking down at him with that doe-eyed expression and that wide smile that make Whizzer weak. “Well, either way, when have you ever cared about the sanctity of the space-time continuum?”

“Good point,” Whizzer smiles. He pauses, considering what to tell him. “Well, first off, this latte would definitely be from Starbucks.”

“What?”

“It’s a coffee shop from Seattle that basically takes over the world.”

“Huh, good to know,” Marvin laughs. “I’ll be sure to watch out for that.”

Whizzer sits up and crosses his legs, turning to face Marvin. “The future is great,” he says. “In most of the country --hell, a lot of the world-- being out and proud is the norm. I mean, the gays own, like, half of Hollywood and you can hold hands and shit in public without having to constantly look over your shoulder.”

“How long did that take?”

“Too long. Same-sex marriage wasn’t legalised until 2015. And, honestly, in four years, who knows what will happen…”

“Why do you say that?”

“I… don’t want to think about it,” Whizzer says. “That’s pretty much the one perk of this shit. I can go back to thinking Reagan is the worst possible president.”

“ Ronald Reagan?”

“That’s the one.”

“ President ?”

“Unfortunately.” Whizzer shakes his head. “The future is pretty fucked up, too, but at least we wouldn’t have had to get two beds.”

Marvin looks down with a frown. “I was… I didn’t-”

“It’s fine. I’m over it,” Whizzer assures. Whizzer tries to give him a smile, but Marvin won’t look up. “Back to the good stuff?” Whizzer asks.

“Back to the good stuff.”

Whizzer looks up at the ceiling and takes another sip of his latte. “Phones!” He exclaims. “Smartphones. You can use them anywhere and do anything with them. No one talks anymore, really. You just text and post photos online. Dating-wise, it makes everything so much simpler. You can know everything about a boy without saying a word. And you can get rid of him just as quickly if it turns out he’s useless when he gets down on his knees.”

Marvin shakes his head. “Perfect for you, huh?”

“Absolutely,” Whizzer responds, refusing to take the bait. “But, don’t worry, you would’ve made the cut.”

“Yeah?” Marvin asks, unable to hide his smile.

Whizzer nods and leans over to press his lips to Marvin’s neck, trailing kisses up to the skin behind his ear. “Yeah,” he whispers. “You give really good head.”

Marvin pushes him away with a laugh.

“Hey, careful, asshole! Hot coffee!”

Marvin reaches over, tangling his fingers in Whizzer’s hair and tugging lightly. Whizzer groans, wishing he’d never let him figure out the effect that has on him. “Then finish up already,” Marvin says, leaning over him. “I’m getting anxious over here.”

Whizzer holds up a finger and Marvin backs away, sulking slightly. Whizzer raises his eyebrow at him and, lifting his cup to his lips, starts to chug. Hot drinks are meant to be sipped slowly for a reason. He has to pause a few times to make sure his mouth isn’t too badly burnt. Still, he finishes quickly and tosses the empty cup behind him with a smile. “So. Where were we?”

The day drifts on slowly, time passing like honey, slow and sweet and rich. Night falls much the same. From inside this room, there is nothing else and the two men find themselves believing that time has frozen still; that this room, this series of lazy, happy moments, will last forever. But, eventually, the day must break and with it the veil of isolation, of safety and the straggling signs of this pseudo paradise.

They take their time leaving, no longer worrying about the impression they leave on the hotel employees, as they savor every touch they can manage before the real world comes gusting in like the humid summer air as the glass doors swing open. Marvin’s car is waiting for them in the street. They stand in the doorway for a second, fingers intertwined, delaying the inevitable. Whizzer glances over at the man standing next to him and gives his hand a light squeeze, before pulling away and stepping out into the blinding summer sun.

When Marvin pulls up in front of Charlotte and Cordelia’s apartment, Whizzer feels the final brick being laid on the wall he’s been rebuilding in his mind since they left the hotel. Because this is reality. He can’t come home yet, because Marvin was on a business trip and why would Whizzer go with him? He doesn’t kiss Marvin goodbye, he simply swings his bag over his shoulder and slams the door shut. Marvin only hesitates for a second before driving away. And that’s that, isn’t it? Back to what it was before. Back to secrecy and anxiety and hurrying away as soon as he’s able to catch his breath. Back to wives and sons and family dinners. Back to their lives.

Only it is different. It’s slight, but it’s there. There’s a desperation now. Any chance he has, Marvin is on top of him. Trina could be upstairs putting Jason to bed, bound to return any second, but he’ll waste no time in pinning Whizzer against the wall of the den. It’s dangerous. It’s stupid. It’s reckless. But Whizzer doesn’t stop him. He doesn’t even try. Maybe he wants to be caught. Maybe they both do.

By the time the next Sunday rolls around, it’s almost become a game. Like school kids playing a twisted version of hide-and-seek. Or teenagers hiding the smoking of a cigarette. It’s not a thing for adults. Especially those who have so much to lose.

The front door has hardly even closed before Marvin’s lips are on his. It’s aggressive and wanting, like that first time. That first night. Only a month ago now, but it feels like a goddamn lifetime. Whizzer’s shirt is unbuttoned, his back to the door of the den. Marvin’s hands press into his back, travelling down to his ass. Whizzer clutches fistfuls of Marvin’s shirt, tensing and melting into him. So natural by now, so instinctual, an unstoppable force once the ball is rolling.

Unstoppable. Except by the loud gasp that seems to echo through the whole house. Before he’s even processed the scene, Whizzer has his back against the wall. He’s buttoning his shirt as quickly as he can, as he’s done so many times before, only it’s a fruitless endeavor now. Because the door is open and she’s standing under the doorframe and her eyes are wide and her body is stiff and there’s no emotion in it, really. A blank, numb shock. But it isn’t Trina who Whizzer is focused on, but the boy standing behind her, clutching the fabric of her skirt. And Jason is staring right back at him. And the look in his eyes causes Whizzer’s heart to shatter.

“Jason forgot his book,” Trina says simply.

And here it is, the portrait of a lifetime. The family breaking apart right before his eyes. The stillness, the silence, like a photograph. No one says another word. They just stare.

And Whizzer can’t take it anymore. His voice is shaky and weak and shallow, like the words that spill from his lips. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”

Trina’s voice, though, is steady. Even. Clear. “Don’t. Just get out of my house.” Whizzer can only nod as Trina whips around, taking Jason’s hand and dragging him with her. Jason’s head keeps turning over his shoulder, but Whizzer can’t look at him. He’s holding his stomach and staring at the ground. Because, really, this is worse than he ever could have imagined. He can’t breathe. There’s a knot in his throat and his lungs are tight. And it takes everything in him not to cry. Or scream. Or both.

Marvin is leaning against the arm of the couch. He looks up at Whizzer. “I…”

“Stop,” Whizzer says weakly. “Just stop. Go talk to your wife. And your son. I’ll… You know where to find me.”

“Whizzer, please-”

“No,” Whizzer snaps. “Go.”

Marvin sighs, but he disappears into the hall. Whizzer shuts the door behind him. He doesn’t have much to pack. Just what little clothing and toiletries he has and his camera and his measly savings. He packs them into an old-style, hand-held suitcase, one he had taken from Marvin to use for storage. He stares at the packed suitcase for a long while, cursing himself and this house and everything that has happened since that godforsaken night. As he finally snaps the case shut, the door opens again to reveal Marvin, taking a careful step into the room. Whizzer tries to leave, but Marvin won’t let him past. “Just sit, Whizzer. Please.”

Whizzer doesn’t sit, but he stops trying to push past him. “What can you possibly say, Marvin?”

“She wants me to stay.”

Whizzer nods, looking anywhere but at Marvin. “So, will you?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On you.”

Whizzer finally looks at him. With shock and horror and a fiery anger. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I need to know…” He trails off, shaking his head. “I need to know that it will be worth it.”

“And what does that have to do with me?” Whizzer asks.

“Cause if you stick around, Whizzer,” Marvin starts. “If you stick around, then you’re more than worth it.”

“That’s unfair. I can’t… you can’t put that all on me. You know how I feel-”

“Yeah, I know,” Marvin sighs. “But I don’t really care. If you come back to me, Whizzer, at the end of the day; if you come back to me I don’t care.”

“I can’t guarantee that I will.” Whizzer’s voice almost breaks in the middle of the sentence. He can’t do this. Not now. He can’t have this conversation.

“Move in with me,” Marvin says. “We can find a place together in the village or something, I don’t know. Get out of Long Island though. Move to the city.”

Whizzer is stunned into silence. He takes a step back and clutches the suitcase tightly to his chest. “Why?”

“I never wanted to leave that hotel room.” Marvin takes a few steps towards him, placing a hand on the suitcase and pushing it down lightly. Whizzer lowers it to his side. “I want to come home to you and eat dinner with you. I want to fall asleep next to you.”

Whizzer’s heart feels like it’s beating out of his chest. “I… I should go,” he says weakly.

Marvin’s face falls. “Okay.” He sounds so empty, so defeated. “Okay.”

Whizzer is almost in the hallway when he turns around again. “It’s not a no,” he blurts out before he can stop himself. Marvin smiles slightly and takes Whizzer’s hand, approaching him slowly, cautiously. He raises his other hand to Whizzer’s face, his thumb slowly caressing his cheek. He leans up to kiss him, but at the last second Whizzer pulls away, turning again towards the door. “I’ll call you,” he says over his shoulder as he races out the door.

He keeps his head down as he crosses the living room and opens the front door. He doesn’t look up until he’s cleared the threshold and landed on the sidewalk outside. He glances up at the house briefly, before turning in the direction of the subway station. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s grateful. That the sneaking around is over. That he no longer has to live under that oppressive roof. But, for now, all he can see is Jason. Those sad, caring eyes so stricken, so broken, so hurt. It’s worse than Whizzer would have ever thought possible. Somehow, it is so much worse.

Chapter Text

Charlotte and Cordelia aren’t home when he gets to their apartment. Of fucking course. He doesn’t know where else to go. He doesn’t feel like going to the bar. The thought of fucking someone--anyone--right now, just feels wrong. Insensitive for some reason. He could follow his usual Sunday routine, take his camera somewhere and just take photos. But this isn’t a usual Sunday. So, instead, Whizzer just sits down. On the ground outside of their apartment, back against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest. When he closes his eyes, all he can see is Jason. His face as he stood there in the doorway, clutching Trina’s skirt. He can’t get it out of his head.

He’s not sure how long he sits there before Charlotte and Cordelia come home. Hours at least. Whizzer can’t tell if it feels longer or shorter. He’s made his mind go as blank as the wall he can’t stop staring at.

Cordelia crouches down in front of him and places a hand on his knee. “Let’s go inside,” she says gently. “We have time to listen and cartons of ice cream. All that I ask is that you actually talk to me.”

Whizzer forces a small smile and pushes himself up off the ground. He carries his suitcase inside and sits down silently on the couch, kicking his shoes off and curling up against the arm.

Cordelia sits down next to him and Charlotte lowers herself into their big leather armchair. “So, which one kicked you out?” Charlotte asks bluntly.

“She did,” Whizzer says. He's staring at the wall, a blank expression on his face. “But that's not the problem. It's better she found out. I think it's better.”

“So what's the problem?” Cordelia asks.

Whizzer turns to her and shakes his head. “He was there.”

Cordelia's eyes grow big. “Oh God.”

“Who was there?” Charlotte asks.

“Jason,” Whizzer clarifies. “He wasn't supposed to… he never should have seen that.”

Cordelia tilts her head. “How much…” she starts, awkwardly.

“We still had clothes on, thank God.”

“So it could've been worse,” Cordelia suggests.

“Not a high bar we're setting here,” Whizzer sighs.

“Well, you were sleeping with his dad,” Charlotte points out.

Whizzer laughs sourly. “That I was.”

“Speaking of his dad,” Cordelia prompts. “What did Marvin do?”

“I made him go talk to Trina. Then he came back…” he trails off.

“And?”

“And she wants him to stay.”

Charlotte scoffs. “That poor, insecure woman.”

“I think a lot of it is about Jason,” Whizzer defends. He doesn't know why he feels the need to defend her. Maybe it's some sort of weak reparation for all the shit he's done.

“So, is he staying?” Cordelia asks.

“He says it depends.”

“On what?”

“On me.”

“Well that's just bullshit,” Charlotte responds angrily.

“I agree,” Whizzer affirms. “But I… he wants me to find a place with him.”

“Is that what you want?” Cordelia asks.

“Well, I still can't afford a decent place by myself, so it'd solve that issue.”

“But is that what you want?” Cordelia repeats.

Whizzer shuts his eyes. He’s been avoiding this question since Marvin first asked it. Because Whizzer knows that, deep down, the answer is yes. A definitive, enthusiastic yes. But there's something more surface-level, more instinctual, tearing him away. “I don't know,” he admits. “I just… I don't know.”

“Well, you can stay here until you figure it out,” Cordelia offers.

“Just… do it quickly,” Charlotte adds.

“I will,” Whizzer promises. “I'll try.”

Cordelia nods to Charlotte and they have a quick conversation through facial expressions and head gestures before she addresses Whizzer again. “The couple who live next to us are moving, so their apartment's opening up. That one's a two-bedroom, I think. But, anyway, it's not a bad area, and the landlord doesn't give a fuck who you're, well, fucking, as long as the rent is paid on time. That's not always easy to find.”

“I couldn't afford half of this place,” Whizzer says, shaking his head.

Charlotte speaks this time, looking at Cordelia for the go-ahead before suggesting: “Marvin could.”

He doesn't make a decision or talk to Marvin again all week. He just goes to work then spends his nights out with his camera or with skeezy guys, or both. Throwing himself into work and sex to distract himself from the disaster that has become his life. He's planning on continuing this strategy as long as Charlotte and Cordelia allow him to, but Marvin apparently has other plans.

He and Cordelia are walking to the cafe that Saturday morning, the sun barely up, when he sees him. Sitting on the ground in front of the door to Charlotte’s. He jumps up when he sees them approach.

“Whizzer-”

“What are you doing here, Marvin?”

“It's been a week, Whizzer, you can’t just go silent on me like this!”

Cordelia steps past them silently, unlocking the door and stepping inside.

“Can’t I?” Whizzer pushes past him, following Cordelia into the cafe. Marvin trails right behind him.

“This isn't fair, Whizzer!” Marvin complains.

“No! What isn't fair is you putting this huge fucking personal decision on me and then showing up here out of nowhere to fucking force me into giving you an answer before I'm fucking ready!” Whizzer snaps. “That's not fair!”

“You should probably go, Marvin,” Cordelia says.

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” Marvin asks. “I'm sleeping on the couch in my own house. Jason won't even talk to me…” he trails off, leaning against a table and looking down. When he looks up again, Whizzer can tell that he’s barely holding back tears. “What do I do now, Whizzer?”

Whizzer nods at Cordelia and she gives his hand an encouraging squeeze before retreating into the kitchen. “You have to make that decision, Marvin,” Whizzer says, approaching him carefully. “It has to be you.”

“I don't think I can,” he says shakily.

“Well, I can't do it anymore,” Whizzer sighs, sitting on the edge of the table. “The sneaking around? The lying? I can't do it. But, even without that, I can't promise you I'll stay.” He looks down at his hands. “In fact, I probably won’t.”

“Love the optimism.”

“Just being honest.”

“What reason do I have, then? To leave.”

Whizzer raises an eyebrow. “If you can’t figure that one out, then I don’t know what to tell you.”

“You’re not being very helpful here.”

“I’m not trying to be,” Whizzer says.

“Thanks,” Marvin snarls, the anger rising in his voice.

“Well, what did you expect?” Whizzer stands up and paces to the pastry display, leaning against the countertop. “I don’t care what you do, Marvin. It doesn’t affect me.”

“I thought…” Marvin trails off. “Well, nevermind what I thought. It’s not true.” He hesitates before adding: “It does affect you, though, doesn’t it?”

Whizzer turns back to him, still clutching the edge of the counter. “How? It’s your life?”

“It’s our life isn’t it? It affects us .”

“Is there an us?” Whizzer scoffs.

Whizzer can see Marvin’s jaw clench. “Isn’t there?”

“Not by my choice.”

Marvin looks away and nods slowly. “I see. So everything that happened between us… Someone was, what, holding a gun to your head?”

“No, but I-”

“So stop acting like you aren’t a part of this!” Marvin snaps.

“I never wanted to be!”

“But here you are,” Marvin cries. “You’re the one who kissed me that night, remember? And I never forced you to sleep with me! I didn’t force you into that hotel room! This… situation. You’re just as responsible for this shit as I am.”

“I wanted to stop,” Whizzer defends. “I tried to-”

“But you didn’t.”

“Fine!” Whizzer concedes. “Fine. It’s my fault too. But I still don’t give a damn about your marital status!”

“You mean you don’t give a damn about me.”

“Maybe,” Whizzer agrees. He won’t look Marvin in the eye. “Yeah, maybe I don’t.” He’s lying through his teeth. He’s not lying well. Can Marvin tell? He must be able to . Whizzer does his best to hide his face.

“Goddammit, Whizzer!” Marvin shouts. “After everything that’s happened and you still.... Fuck! ” Whizzer watches his feet march towards the door. “I’m so… Go to hell, Whizzer. Go to fucking hell.”

Whizzer shuts his eyes and clenches his fists. He didn’t want Marvin here, but now, suddenly, he doesn’t want him to leave.  “There's an apartment!” he exclaims. He lowers his voice to explain. “It’s opening up next to Charlotte and Cordelia. I think you should take it.”

Marvin sighs.”What, you suddenly care?”

“No,” Whizzer grunts. “But it’s a nice apartment and… And that house is fucking toxic. And Jason… he saw us and he’s smart, he’ll… I know with my parents... it might be better for him. For Jason.” He finally looks up at Marvin, whose lips have turned up into a ghost of a smile

“For Jason, huh?” Marvin echoes.

“Yeah. For Jason,” Whizzer agrees.

“I might,” Marvin says thoughtfully. “And you?”

“I still need time,” Whizzer responds.

They're both silent for a while, staring down at the floor or at the wall or anywhere but at each other.

“I don't know how you've slept on that couch for so long,” Marvin says eventually.

Whizzer snorts. “I'm still young and limber, obviously.” He doesn't mention the constant back pain or the neck cramps.

“Are you calling me old?”

“Yes.”

Marvin laughs and shakes his head and, to Whizzer, it's a reminder of why he’s making any effort at all here. Because, despite himself, no matter how much he tries to block it out and numb himself again, he cares.

“I should let you get to work,” Marvin says, turning towards the door.

“Yeah,” Whizzer says, staring down at his feet again. “Talk to you later, okay?” He says quietly.

“Talk to you later.”

And that’s that. Whizzer hears Marvin’s footprints get increasingly quieter until the bell jingles, the door shuts, and the room goes quiet.

It happens gradually after that. There’s no big, decisive conversation. They go to every length not to make a decision at all, in fact. Soon after the day at the cafe, Marvin leases the apartment. But he doesn’t move in. It sits empty and vacant, until, one by one, movers come in carrying new pieces of furniture. But still no Marvin. Eventually, Whizzer calls, but Trina picks up. And subsequently hangs up. Whizzer doesn’t try to call again. Instead, Marvin calls him. A couple of weeks after that day. He needs help, he says. Moving in.

He pulls into the parking on the ground floor, boxes packed into the back of his car. There are surprisingly few. It only takes them a few trips to get them all inside. They stand there in the half-empty living room, next to a new leather couch and a pile of boxes and it's silent. Whizzer looks down at his feet. What can he say now? What can he do now?

He takes a deep breath. “So this is home now, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Marvin says. “It feels…empty.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “I-”

“I know,” Marvin sighs. He hesitates before adding: “Just stay the night?”

Whizzer looks up at him slowly and he can't say no. It's a small request, really. What's one night? Right? And Marvin looks so scared and so small. And Whizzer nods. And Marvin’s smile makes his heart skip. Because it's been so long. So long since he's seen him or that damned grin. So long that it has that same effect on him that it had when they first met. And then Marvin’s lips are on his and his hands are grasping at Whizzer’s shirt. And Whizzer is sighing into his mouth because he's missed this. He’s been far from celibate these past couple of weeks, but he's missed this. He's missed Marvin. More than he wants to admit. He's missed him.

Whizzer sits on the edge of the bed, the light from the small window bathing his face in a soft light. He grips the corner of the mattress, staring down at his feet.

“Something wrong?” Marvin asks from behind him.

Whizzer shakes his head. “I just need some water. I’ll be back.” He stands and makes his way to the kitchen, leaning against the sink and staring blankly at its drain. What am I doing here? He doesn’t have an answer. He can’t explain why he’s apparently so determined to stay. There’s no logic or responsibility involved. And he refuses to believe that it’s an emotional issue. He just cannot seem to stop. Like there’s some invisible force keeps pulling him back here. Like that invisible force that sent him here in the first place. Maybe it’s some higher fucking purpose. Except Whizzer doesn’t believe in that bullshit. He doesn’t believe in destiny or fate; those predisposed chapters of his life written by some magical higher power. His life has not been planned for him and everything certainly doesn’t happen for a reason. So, what the fuck is he doing here? And why the fuck does he want to stay?

He looks through the cabinets for a glass, but they’re empty. Instead, there’s a box on the counter with “Kitchen” scribbled on the side. It’s not very full. Marvin must have just scavenged the kitchen ware he thought Trina wouldn’t miss. Not yet ready to return to Marvin’s bed, Whizzer starts unloading it into the kitchen cabinets, barely taking up any room at all and finishing far too quickly. There’s nothing else to do, though. Not here, at least. He takes a glass from a newly stocked shelf and fills it with tap water and returns, fairly reluctantly, to Marvin’s room.

“Took you long enough,” Marvin says.

“I unpacked your plates and shit.” Whizzer leans against the doorframe, slowly sipping the water.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Whizzer shrugs and sits on the bed, leaning his back against the headboard and spreading his legs out on the mattress. “You need more plates and shit.”

“I know. She wouldn’t really let me take any.”

“Fair enough.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Whizzer looks over at him finally. He’s looking down at his bare stomach, absently caressing his skin with his thumb. Whizzer finishes off his water and reaches down to place the glass on the floor. There are no bedside tables yet. He turns his attention back to Marvin, who is still focused on the layer of extra fat on his stomach. Whizzer places a hand over his to stop his fussing. When their hands meet, Marvin looks up at him with a sad, shallow smile and wraps his fingers around Whizzer’s, holding him there. Reluctantly, Whizzer makes a decision. Because if he's going to end up back here anyway, he might as well have a real bed to sleep in. At least, that's what he tells himself. “I’m going to need more than two ugly plates.”

Marvin perks up a bit at the words. “What do you-”

“And I need a bedside table and most of the closet and a lot of the space in the bathroom cabinets, too. And any new furniture gets approved by me first.”

Marvin nods, apparently too stunned to speak.

“And, most importantly, I need you to understand this: Nothing changes. I’m still going to stay out late and fuck other guys and some nights I won’t come home at all and you’ll have no idea where I am. I’ll live here. I’ll sleep in your bed. But yours still won’t be the only bed I sleep in. Got it?” And there’s a part of Whizzer that hopes that Marvin will say no. That he’ll refuse and Whizzer will have an excuse to get up and go and never come back as long as he can help it. Or maybe what he’s looking for is an excuse to really stay.

But Marvin doesn’t waste a second in nodding his head. “Yeah. Got it.” He leans over and presses his lips to Whizzer’s. Whizzer hadn’t realised how much tension he was holding in his body until their lips touch and he feels it suddenly fall away. He has that effect, doesn’t he? That way of making him freeze with a single word and melt with a single touch. This violent back and forth between panic and comfort. It’s like whiplash.

When Whizzer returns from work the next evening, the kitchen cabinets are full.

Chapter Text

He hasn’t seen Jason since that night. The last view of him still seared into his mind. Marvin goes and visits him and takes him out. He’s set up a bedroom for him in the apartment, but in the month that Whizzer has lived there, Jason hasn’t stayed the night. He hasn’t even visited.

It’s a Tuesday. Whizzer got home from work about an hour ago. Marvin is always out late on Tuesdays, but he hasn’t explained why. Whizzer’s lounging on the couch, reading one of the classics Marvin has displayed proudly on the bookshelf in the living room. He’s been reading a lot more than he ever did. No good shows on TV. No internet to entertain him. So he suddenly understands the appeal. Maybe he should try to make dinner. They’re both growing tired of takeout. But they don’t really have the food or equipment for it anyhow. Maybe Whizzer will go out shopping sometime this week. Or drag Marvin along with him.

He’s doing more thinking than reading when the doorbell rings. Must be Charlotte or Cordelia checking in. “Door’s open!” Whizzer calls, not bothering to look to the door.

“Hi Whizzer.”

Whizzer’s head whips towards the source of the small, nervous voice. “Jason?” His heart clenches in his chest. The kid looks like a deer in headlights, all wide eyes and anxiety. “What are you doing here?”

“My dad goes to his psychiatrist on Tuesdays.”

“Wait, that’s where he’s at?”

“You didn’t know?”

“He never bothered to tell me.”

Jason looks down at the ground. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Does your mom know you’re here?” His silence is all the answer necessary. “I’m going to call your mom. She’s probably worried sick.”

“No!” Jason snaps.

Whizzer jumps at the harsh tone. “Kid, she probably thinks you’ve run off or got kidnapped or something.”

“So, what?”

“So, you can’t do that to her.” Whizzer stands up and starts toward the phone.

“Since when do you care how she feels?”

Whizzer stops dead in his tracks. He looks up at the ceiling and crosses his arms over his chest. “Fair point,” he says quietly. He turns to Jason and shakes his head. “But I think I have to do the right thing for once.” Jason shakes his head and storms toward the door, but hesitates before he reaches the door. He stands there for a second before he sits, sulking on the couch. Whizzer picks up the phone and dials the number he knows well. Trina answers almost immediately.

“Hello? Jason?”

“Not Jason, but-”

“Whizzer.”

“Don’t hang up,” Whizzer says quickly.

“Why not?” Trina asks. But she doesn’t give him a chance to respond. “Why shouldn’t I hang up on you? I let you live in my house. I cooked you breakfasts and dinners. I let you around my son. I let you grow close to my son. And all the while… So why should I be subject to more of-”

“Trina!” Whizzer finally cuts her off. “Jason is here!”

“What?” Trina says, her voice not getting any softer.

“He just showed up. He’s fine. He’s safe.”

“Oh, thank God,” Trina sighs. “I’ll be right-”

“No, I’ll bring him home. Don’t worry about it,” Whizzer says. Jason nods hopefully at that, his expression growing a little less defeated.

“Like hell you will,” Trina says. “I don’t know why he’s there. He’s not supposed to be. But I don’t want him anywhere near-” She stops herself before she can finish, but Whizzer knows exactly what she was going to say: “You”. Him. She doesn’t want Jason anywhere near Whizzer. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Trina, please-”

“You are not his father!” she snaps. “You are nobody except the man that blew up his fucking family right before his eyes. You’re the asshole you leeched off our kindness and used us for your perverted games. You’re the asshole who broke his heart. You have decided enough about his life, Whizzer. You do not get anymore say in the matter.”

“I deserve that. I deserve all of it,” Whizzer says quietly. “I know what I did. But he came here. I don’t know why either, but he’s here. And this is what he wants. I owe it to him to listen. And I’ll have him home before bedtime. I promise.”

There’s a long pause. “If he’s not home by nine, I’ll call the goddamn cops on you.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not doing this for you,” she says sharply. “Don’t ever think I’m doing this for you. This is for him.” With that, she promptly hangs up.

Whizzer nods and sets down the phone. “I need to get you home before nine.”

Jason simply nods.

“Your dad will be home in about an hour anyway.” He sits down on the couch next to Jason. “Alright, kid. Let’s talk.”

“I just...” Jason won’t look for him. “I just want to know.” His hands are fidgeting nervously. “Do you love each other?”

Whizzer feels his heart drop. What the hell is he supposed to say to that? He can’t tell him the truth, can he? But he doesn’t want to lie. He’s lied to Jason too much already. He deserves better than that. He deserves better than the measly excuses he is bound to hear over and over again. The white lies meant to protect his feelings. He deserves better. But Whizzer doesn’t know the truth himself, really. And what he does know, he can’t say, can he? Not to a nine-year-old about his father. “It’s complicated,” he responds meekly.

Jason rolls his eyes. “That’s what everyone keeps saying.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “I can’t speak for your dad. But love? That’s… it’s a big word, kid.”

“Well, my mom loved him,” Jason says.

“Yeah, I know that,” Whizzer sighs.

“Then why would you do that to her?”

“I don’t have a good answer for you, kid.”

“Stop calling me that,” Jason snaps. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

Whizzer can feel the knot building up in his throat. The tears stinging his eyes. He swallows hard, determined to hold them back. “Okay,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.”

“I just want to know why,” Jason says. “I mean, I get that my dad is… you know, he’s...”

“Gay,” Whizzer finishes for him.

“Yeah, that. But then why would he marry mom? Why wouldn’t he just tell her?”

“The world is hateful, Jason,” Whizzer says. “I think he was scared. But you’ll have to ask him.”

“So, were you just trying to make him less scared, then?”

Whizzer shakes his head. “I... I wish I could say yes.”

“So, why, then?” Jason asks again. Well, he’s persistent if nothing else.

Whizzer ducks his head, digging his nails into his palm. “I don’t know, Jason. I’m still trying to figure that one out myself.”

“It was mean,” Jason says.

Whizzer nods. “Yeah, it was.”

“Do you feel bad about it?”

Whizzer takes a deep, shaky breath. “Constantly.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes until he feels Jason get up from the couch. “Can you take me home now?”

Whizzer looks up at him with a forced smile. “Yeah, of course.”

The long voyage home passes in relative silence. Jason lets Whizzer grab his hand in crowds, but pulls away the second they’re in the clear. And Whizzer lets him, though it breaks his heart every time. When they reach the house, though, Jason pauses on the front porch.

“It’s my birthday next week,” he says.

“Oh, happy birthday,” Whizzer says.

“You should come. To the family dinner celebration we’re having. Wednesday.”

Whizzer freezes. “I… I don’t think your mom would want me there.” Or your dad, for that matter.

“Probably not. But it’s my birthday. Not hers.”

Whizzer finds himself laughing softly. For the first time that night. “That is very true.” He crouches down in front of Jason. “I’ll try, okay? But I can’t promise you anything.” He says it as a courtesy. He won’t go. He knows he won’t go. But Jason has to think he at least made the effort.

Jason nods. “Okay. That’s alright.” He turns and finally knocks on the door. Whizzer manages to stand up right as Trina swings it open.

“Oh, Jason, thank God! What the hell were you thinking?” She pulls him into a tight hug before dragging him inside.

“Trina-” Whizzer tries, as she slams the door shut without so much as a glance his direction.

Marvin is home by the time Whizzer gets back. He’s reading the same book Whizzer had set down on the coffee table when Jason walked in. He looks up when Whizzer drops his keys on the table by the entrance. He shuts the door with a bang and leans against it, feeling utterly exhausted.

“Long day?” Marvin asks, standing up to greet him. He places a hand on Whizzer’s waist and combs his fingers softly through his hair. He leans up for a kiss but Whizzer pushes him back.

“Not right now,” he mutters, stepping away and letting himself fall into the cushions of the couch.

“What’s wrong?” Marvin asks.

Whizzer doesn’t want to talk about it. Marvin will get mad. He knows he’ll get mad. It will lead to a fight, and Whizzer can’t handle that. Not tonight. “Like you said. Just a long day.”

Marvin nods and walks to the kitchen, flipping through the various take-out menus piled up on the counter. “Pizza, chinese, or… Actually, that’s it. We have a million menus here. How are there only two options?”

Whizzer shakes his head. “Go see if Cordelia has leftovers.”

“Good idea,” Marvin agrees. He nods and turns to the door.

“Thank you,” Whizzer grumbles softly.

“Eventually you’ve got to learn how to cook, though,” Marvin laughs.

“Or you could,” Whizzer suggests.

“Trust me, nobody wants that,” Marvin says. He opens the front door and takes a step outside before turning back to Whizzer. “Be back in no time.”

Whizzer hugs a pillow to his chest and stares up at the ceiling. Eventually, he has to talk to him. Either that or he’ll find out from Jason. Or, worse, Trina. Not tonight, though. Tonight, he just wants to curl up next to him and fall asleep. All the shit he had spent two months getting over--or, just over enough to make this bearable--has come crashing back. Back to the crushing guilt and the stupid anxieties. Back to that snapshot that has been ingrained in his brain since that night.  He presses the pillow to his face to muffle his frustrated screams. His mind is racing with a blinding anger at himself, at Marvin and at the whole fucking universe. For taking away what feels like everything. If he loses anything more--anyone more--well, he doesn’t know what he would do. He calms down enough to put up a brave front by the time Marvin returns with tupperware containers of pasta and green beans, courtesy of the lesbians from next door. He meets him in the kitchen to heat and serve the food, but he doesn’t say much. Marvin talks a bit about his day and complains about his co-workers. Eventually, though, when Whizzer keeps sticking to one word responses, he runs out of conversation starters and flips on the TV.

It’s the first night since they’ve been living together that they’ve both been home all evening and haven’t had sex. No matter what, they seem to end the night without their clothes on. Except, not tonight. Tonight, Whizzer is too drained. Too exhausted. Marvin makes all the moves, but it ends with Whizzer pushing him off of him and shaking his head. He turns on his side and pulls Marvin to him, wrapping his arms tightly around his stomach. “Let’s just sleep now, okay?”

“Okay,” Marvin says, squeezing his hand gently. “Let’s just sleep.”

Whizzer smiles into Marvin’s hair. It feels strange. Affection with no ulterior motive isn’t something he really does. With guys he’s sleeping with, at least. But he realizes with a jolt that it’s not really such a rarity anymore. Not with Marvin. It’s new territory. This relationship, whatever it is, isn’t something he’s ever known before. Usually, that would scare him. But after the night he’s had, he can’t bring himself to care. So he shuts his eyes and feels Marvin’s body slotted against his. How he fits so perfectly here in his arms. He’s not thinking straight. He’ll regret these sickeningly cheesy thoughts come morning. But, for the moment, he just lets them pull him slowly into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

“Okay, this is the one meal I taught myself to make in college to woo boys into sleeping with me,” Whizzer says, shoveling fettuccini from the pot on the stove onto two plates. From the pot on the other burner, he ladles out Alfredo sauce carefully on top of each pasta pile and garnishes them with a sprinkle of chopped basil. “So don’t go thinking I’m a good cook now.”

Marvin laughs from the living room. “Don’t worry. Anything you make is going to be better than what I can do.” He appears at the kitchen table, pulling out a chair and taking a seat.

“All I’m saying is don’t let this be the standard,” Whizzer chuckles. He carries the plates to the table and sets one in front of Marvin.

“Wow, it even looks pretty,” Marvin says.

“Again, it’s purely a scheme to get in guys’ pants,” Whizzer repeats.

“Well, it’s working,” Marvin says, reaching out and pulling Whizzer forward by the waist. He slides his hand up Whizzer’s torso and looks up at him with a smile.

Whizzer groans. “I worked hard on this. It’ll get cold.” He steps away and turns back towards the kitchen. “Red or white wine?” he asks.

Marvin sighs. “I think I have a nice Chardonnay in the fridge.”

“Good choice.” He opens the refrigerator and takes out the bottle, holding it up to read the label. “It’s a sauvignon blanc but I guess it’ll do,” he sighs with exaggerated disappointment. He uncorks it and takes it to the table with two wine glasses.

“Can I eat now?” Marvin asks.

“Watch it, Marvin. I’m cooking for you and serving you like I’m the entire below stairs staff of some grand british estate. It is very nice of me and you should be nothing but grateful.”

“You’re living here pretty much rent-free, Whizzer.”

“Your point?”

“That’s about as much gratitude as I can muster.”

Whizzer rolls his eyes. “I’ll move out, you know. Don’t try me.”

Marvin sighs and plasters on a sarcastic smile. “Thank you for making dinner, dear.”

Whizzer matches the mocking grin. “My pleasure, sweetie. Now eat.”

Their plates and the wine bottle are just about empty and they’re laughing and flirting like a couple in love. Whizzer finishes off the bottle as Marvin’s expression grows more serious.

“So, I’m having dinner with Trina and her parents tomorrow,” Marvin says, the disdain clear in his voice.

“Oh?” Whizzer asks.

“Yeah, it’s Jason’s birthday, so I can’t miss it,” Marvin grumbles.

Right. Whizzer looks down at his food. “I know,” he says quietly.

Marvin tilts his head questioningly. “How do you…”

“He invited me to come,” Whizzer explains.

Marvin’s brow furrows in a confused anger. “How did he-”

“He showed up here,” Whizzer sighs. “Last Tuesday Before you came home.”

Marvin’s face grows stony, a spark of rage flashing behind his eyes. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“You remember how I was that night. It wiped me out,” Whizzer says softly. “I didn’t want a fight. I couldn’t handle a fight.”

“It wouldn’t have been a fight if you had actually told me then!”

“Yes it would have been!” Whizzer slams his fork down and stands up, turning his back to the table. “You would’ve gotten mad at me for letting him go home before you got here! Or for being the one to take him home! Or for calling Trina! For seeing Trina! I don’t know, but it would have been something!”

“You still should have told me!” Marvin shouts, standing up from the table as well. “I am his father! I need to know what’s happening with my son!”

“One visit to me isn’t a life-changing event, Marvin!”

“But does that mean that Trina is letting him come here now?”

“No, he-”

“That’s right! No! Which means that this little stunt probably fucked something up, right? She’s never going to let him stay now!”

“And how is that my fault?” This is exactly the argument Whizzer didn’t want to have. The blaming. Making Whizzer his scapegoat for all of his own fucking issues. This is exactly what Whizzer didn’t want. “He’s the one who showed up here asking questions!”

“You should have just sent him home, Whizzer!”

“And hurt him more than I already have?” Whizzer asks. He turns away from Marvin, raising an exasperated hand to his forehead. “I can’t do that, Marvin. You know I can’t do that.”

“So, you’d rather hurt me?” Marvin accuses, grabbing Whizzer’s shoulder and dragging him around to face him.

“Yes!” Whizzer exclaims. “You are an adult and he is a child. Besides, all I have done to that kid is lie to him and betray him! I have been nothing but honest and patient with you even when I just wanted to throw you off a fucking building! You can get over one tiny fucking thing!”

“Right, because not telling me about this was so honest.”

“One time, Marvin. One time because I had a bad day and didn’t want to fight.”

“And you treat me so well, don’t you?” Marvin continues, not responding to Whizzer’s rebuttal. “Disappearing all the time to sleep with other guys. Scrutinizing everything I do or even wear. Acting like any tiny little favor, any sign that you actually give a shit is some huge altruistic burden! But no, you’re an angel, right?”

“You knew exactly who you were getting, Marvin! I never pretended to be anything else!” He clenches his fists until they’ve gone snow white. The anger in his core feels like the wrath of a vengeful boa constrictor. “If you don’t like that, I’ll go! I’ll pack my bag and be out of your life by the time you get home tomorrow! Like you said, I don’t give a fuck!”

Marvin freezes for a second, his eyes revealing something pained and sad before they harden again. A brief glimpse of actual emotion before the fire and the ice take over once more. Marvin grasps Whizzer’s collar and pulls him lower and closer so their faces are only inches apart. Whizzer’s breathing slows. His glare gains a tinge of hunger as it meets Marvin’s. That icy blue. Those cruel, angry, gorgeous eyes. “Leave, then,” Marvin growls. “See if I stop you.”

“I will,” Whizzer says, his voice cocky more than angry. He clutches aggressive fistfuls of Marvin’s shirt. “Don’t test me.”

“You won’t,” Marvin sneers. “You need me to pay your rent and buy you pretty gifts and-”

Whizzer shoves him stumbling back. He takes a step towards him, towering over the shorter man, as menacing as he can manage. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he says. His voice is low and cutting. “I never have and never will need you.” He whips around with every intent of spending the night on Charlotte and Cordelia’s couch. But before he can get anywhere, Marvin grabs his arm and pulls him back. And before either can say another word, Marvin is slamming Whizzer against the dining room wall and crashing their lips together.

It’s hard and fast and mean. It’s hateful and angry. It’s rough and dirty. And it’s good. It’s so, so good. Whizzer’s head feels like it’s spinning as he lies, breathless on the couch, clothing strewn across the living room. Marvin is sitting up next to him, his head down, his breathing heavy. He doesn’t say another word when he finally gets up and marches to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Whizzer sighs and sits up, looking around at the drab living room. I need to put some art on these walls. Give it less of a depressing bachelor vibe. He gets dressed slowly and takes the dirty plates to the kitchen, rinsing them and placing them carefully into the dishwasher. He moves the remaining pasta and sauce into tupperware containers and sticks them in the fridge. He collects all of Marvin’s clothes into a pile that he leaves on the table for the moment. Then, he slips into the bathroom and runs himself a bath.

The water is steaming hot when he steps in. He leans his head back against the tile wall and closes his eyes. He feels oddly satisfied. Nothing was really solved between them. Nothing ever really is. But Marvin didn’t land too many punches and he’s not sleeping on a couch tonight. So, that’s something. And, tomorrow morning, it will be as if none of this ever happened. Because that’s how it works. The tension builds up between them until someone snaps. And they fight and they fuck and then they pretend the problem never existed in the first place. All the while, the insults and the insecurities build up in the back of their minds. But that’s an issue for another day.

Right now, the only thing worrying Whizzer are the tickets hidden away in his wallet. The Mets tickets he bought for Jason on a whim. How he’ll get them to him, he has no idea. Maybe Marvin will be more understanding in the morning. Probably not. But maybe in a better mood. Maybe. He might give it a shot. Or else he’ll avoid the possible repercussions and go with Charlotte and Cordelia. That’s the most likely outcome. But, no, he has to try. For Jason. Come on, Whizz, stop being a fucking coward.

Whizzer stays in the tub until the water gets cold. He wraps himself in one of the fluffy cream towels he had demanded Marvin buy. They feel like the towels at a fancy hotel, unlike the scratchy ones Marvin used to have. He wraps the towel around his waist, stepping up to the mirror for the complex nightly routine he has finally gone back to. It took a while to find the 1978 versions of the products he needed and he couldn’t afford them himself. Another thing he’d requested from Marvin before he would move in. He picks up his clothes and Marvin’s before entering their bedroom. The bedside light is on and Marvin is reading a thick, serious-looking book. He looks up when Whizzer comes in and Whizzer feels his eyes on him as he throws their clothes into the hamper, drops the towel to the floor and pulls on a fresh pair of tight briefs. He hangs the towel on a hook in the closet for the night and crawls into bed. Marvin’s eyes follow him the whole time. Until Whizzer finally looks back. Suddenly, Marvin flips his book closed and shuts off the lamp, turning towards the wall as he settles into his pillows and pulls the covers to his shoulders.

Whizzer shakes his head, but follows suit, staring blankly at the bland white paint that looks grey in the darkness and the small window with its view of a lovely brick wall. He tries to shut his eyes, but he doesn’t fall asleep. He just keeps staring at the blank wall and the five-star view. His body is heavy and his mind is blank, but his eyes won’t stay closed. The digital clock on his bedside table slowly marks the minutes. Eventually, it’s past midnight and Whizzer is still awake. He glares at the clock, as if he can will it to slow down. Now it’s 12:35. He feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns his back on the clock. Marvin is staring back at him. He doesn’t say a word as he settles into Whizzer’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around his stomach. Whizzer squeezes his forearm, marvelling quietly at the surprisingly hard muscle under that surprisingly soft skin. He turns his head so his lips connect with Marvin’s hairline and runs his hand absently up and down Marvin’s back, across the warm skin under his shirt, until, finally, he falls asleep.

His alarm wakes him up at five AM. He’s still not used to it. Like every morning, Marvin groans and pulls a pillow over his head as Whizzer jumps up to shut it off. Cordelia is still at the cafe by five-thirty. Whizzer is still there at six-thirty. He’s just glad to be closer now. It only takes him about fifteen minutes to get to work now. Marvin usually gets up just as Whizzer is ready to leave. He meets him in the living room in his PJs, his groggy eyes still half closed, and kisses him goodbye. It’s sickeningly domestic. But it’s become part of Whizzer’s routine.

This morning isn’t different. Marvin appears at six-ten, places a hand on Whizzer’s cheek and kisses him tiredly, expecting him to turn and leave immediately after. Marvin’s next stop is the kitchen for coffee and a breakfast of the leftover pastries Whizzer brings home from the cafe. This morning, Whizzer follows him.

“Don’t you have to get to work?” Marvin asks, popping a chocolate croissant into the toaster oven.

“Yeah, I’m leaving soon,” Whizzer says. He pulls his wallet out from his back pocket, quickly flipping through it and pulling out the tickets. He slides them across the counter to Marvin.

Marvin looks down at them. “What are those?”

“They’re tickets,” Whizzer says.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Marvin responds. “For what? And why?”

“Mets. Next weekend,” Whizzer says. “I thought… I thought Jason might like to go. The two of us could take him. As a birthday gift. The season’s almost over, so I-”

“No,” Marvin says sharply.

“Come on, Marvin-”

“Trina would never go for it.”

“Fine, then I don’t have to come,” Whizzer says. “He can just go with you.”

“I don’t want to go to a baseball game,” Marvin scoffs.

Whizzer sighs. “You keep complaining about how he doesn’t want to spend time with you anymore. This could help. But if you don’t want them, I’ll go with Charlotte and Cordelia.”

“No,” Marvin snaps. “No, I’ll take him.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “Make up your mind, Marv.”

“It’ll be torture, but I’ll take him.”

“Well, I’d lose that attitude before the game,” Whizzer recommends.

“Shut up,” Marvin grumbles. He looks up at Whizzer. “What’s the catch?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re just going to let me give Jason the birthday present you bought for him?”

“No, you’re going to tell him they’re from me, but if the only way he can go is without me there, that’s fine,” Whizzer corrects.

“Why?” Marvin asks.

“Why what?”

“Why are you so generous when it comes to Jason?”

Whizzer shrugs. “Some might guess it’s guilt.”

“But they’d be wrong,” Marvin says. “You’ve always been this way around him.”

“I like kids,” Whizzer explains simply. “And he’s a good one.”

“Right,” Marvin says, unconvinced. And the truth is, Whizzer doesn’t know the answer either.

“Tell him happy birthday for me,” Whizzer says, handing Marvin the tickets. “Tell him I’m sorry I couldn’t make it, but I’m thinking about him, alright?”

Marvin nods and bends the tickets absently. “I’ll tell him.” The toaster oven dings and Whizzer takes that as his cue to leave, but Marvin stops him. “And I’ll see what I can do about the game.”

“What do you mean?” Whizzer asks.

“I might need someone to translate all the terms and explain what’s going on so I don’t look like a complete fool in front of my son,” Marvin explains.

Whizzer grins at him. “Oh, you’ll still look like a fool, trust me.”

“Well, then at least I’ll have someone to look at when the game gets too boring.”

Whizzer laughs. “Have you ever seen a baseball player?”

Marvin gives him a questioning look. “Of course…”

“Well, I’m just saying, you’ll have plenty to stare at out on the field. Those uniforms don’t leave much to the imagination, you know,” Whizzer grins.

“Don’t make me change my mind.” Marvin takes his croissant from the toaster and takes a bite. “Toss the paper in when you leave, would you?”

Instead of the birthday dinner, Whizzer spends his evening at the bar. He knows that Jason wants him there. That the invite was a sort of tentative olive branch in its own way. That by not taking it, he’s letting him down. Again. But he also knows that if he tried to go, he would be sent away at the door. And if he managed to make it to the dinner table, his presence would do nothing more than cause more tension. More fighting. It would ruin the night more than Whizzer’s absence. So, instead of awkwardly avoiding questions from Trina’s parents, he makes awkward small talk with strangers in the dim haze of the dark club. Instead of carefully sidestepping conflict with Trina and with Marvin, he sidesteps the advances of one drunk boy after the next. Instead of collapsing under the pressure of those four pairs of judgmental eyes, he thrives under the leering stares of these strange admirers. But that’s it. Accept the drink, flirt a little, move on to the next guy. Or move on to the dance floor. So long as he always has a drink in his hand.

He stumbles into the apartment past midnight, vision blurred and stumbling along a crooked path to the bedroom. He barely registers the lamp on in the living room, or Marvin sitting in the armchair in the halo of its light with a book resting on his lap.

Whizzer grins when he sees him. “You… up late,” he slurs.

Marvin raises an eyebrow. “You’re very drunk.”

Whizzer falls onto the couch with a grunt. “That’s what happens…” he makes a vague pointing gesture in the air. “...at a bar.”

“Drunker than usual, I mean,” Marvin says.

“Well they kep’ buyin’,” Whizzer explains.

“You should sleep.”

Whizzer frowns at him. “Why… Why are you not… sleep?”

“I was waiting for you to get home. I wanted to... but that was when I thought you’d at least be able to form a coherent sentence.” Marvin is visibly annoyed, his expression screwed up in tight frustration, the vein in his temple clearly visible.

“I can form a sentence,” Whizzer laughs.

Marvin shakes his head and stretches, pushing himself up out of the chair. He reaches a hand out to Whizzer to help him up and he takes it, stumbling to his feet and leaning against Marvin’s shoulder.

“How was the party?” Whizzer asks. Marvin wraps an arm around his waist and leads him towards the bedroom.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” Marvin replies.

When they reach their room, Whizzer pulls Marvin forward and kisses him, rough and sloppy and clumsy, until Marvin pushes him back. “Whizzer…”

“What?” he pouts.

“I’m not feeling… this.”

“Why not?”

“You are drunk and you’ve slept with someone else within the last few hours,” Marvin says. “Mood killers.”

“That’s not true.” Whizzer tugs at the hem of Marvin’s t-shirt, but Marvin pushes his hand away.

“What, you think you’re not drunk?”

Whizzer laughs. “No, I’m… I’m drunk.” He shakes his head. “The other thing. The... I didn’t sleep with anyone.”

Marvin stares at him in disbelief. “Right.”

Whizzer shrugs. “They were all so boring.” He sits on the edge of the bed, tugging Marvin down with him, kicking his shoes off and resting his head on Marvin’s shoulder.

“Boring, huh?”

“Yeah,” Whizzer says tiredly. “It’s your fault.”

“How is it possibly my fault?” Marvin asks defensively.

Whizzer leans up and kisses his cheek. “Setting my standards too high,” he mutters, pushing himself back on the bed and leaning back into the pillows.

Any frustration Marvin has been holding onto quickly dissipates as he leans over him with a smile. “Yeah, you’re definitely drunk,” he chuckles softly. “Get some sleep.” He presses a kiss into his temple and settles into bed next to him. “Goodnight, Whizzer.”

“Goodnight, Marvin,” Whizzer slurs happily.

Marvin rubs his chest softly. “Hey, I…”

“Yeah?”

“I… I’m… glad you’re home.”

Whizzer smiles. “Yeah, me too.”

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe she’s letting me come.” They’re driving to Trina’s house. Whizzer is wearing a thrifted Mets t-shirt under his old leather jacket. He’s leaning back and resting his elbow on the edge of Marvin’s seat back. He’s twisting a strand of Marvin’s hair gently around his finger.

“I can’t believe you’re willingly wearing a used t-shirt,” Marvin responds with a teasing smile.

Whizzer lets out a huff of a laugh. “I’m serious, Marvin,” he says. “How did you get her to agree to this?”

Marvin shakes his head. “I told her and Jason at the same time,” Marvin admits with a slight grimace. “Figured if he got excited enough she wouldn’t say no.”

Whizzer raises his eyebrows. “Good strategy. A little risky.”

“Not exactly my moral high point, but wrong things for the right reasons, right?”

“Right,” Whizzer laughs. He runs his fingers through Marvin’s hair and Marvin leans back into his hand with a soft hum.

“You’re going to distract me from driving,” Marvin complains happly. “I’ll drive us off the road.”

Whizzer scoffs, placing his other hand on Marvin’s thigh. “Babe, if I wanted to distract you, I’d be doing a lot more than playing with your hair.”

Marvin slaps Whizzer’s hand away. “Do you want us die, Whizzer?”

“Wouldn’t be the worst way to go,” he says, pressing his lips to Marvin’s neck.

Marvin turns a corner and pulls up in front of the house. “Oh, thank God, we’re here.” He turns the car off, turns his head, and kisses Whizzer with a sigh.

Whizzer smiles against his lips and clutches his shirt, straining a bit against his seat belt to inch closer to him. When he pulls back, he pushes Marvin towards the door. “Go, we’re gonna be late.”

They both exit the car, Whizzer leaning against the passenger door as Marvin approaches the house. They seem to be in silent agreement that keeping Whizzer as far away from Trina as possible is in the best interest of everyone involved. Whizzer watches from the distance as Marvin and Trina talk in the doorway. At some point, Jason must get tired of waiting, as he pushes past his parents and runs out to the car.

“Hey, Jason!” Whizzer greets him with a smile.

Jason nods at him, hiding his eyes under his blue Mets cap, and ducks quickly into the back seat of the car.

Whizzer’s smile fades a little at the apathetic greeting, but tries not to dwell on it, following Jason’s lead and sitting back down in the front seat. He looks back at him with a forced grin. “So, how was your birthday? I’m sorry I couldn’t make it, but know I wanted to be there.”

“It was alright,” Jason says with a shrug.

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic about that,” Whizzer notes.

“Yeah, well, my mom and Bubbe and Zayde all hate my dad, so they were all either not talking to each other, or dropping subtle insults that they thought I wouldn’t pick up on,” Jason mutters. “It’s like they think I’m stupid or something.”

“Trust me, no one is thinking that,” Whizzer assures him. “And that contention will fade after a while. I promise.”

Jason shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Are you excited for the game?” Whizzer asks, trying to lift the energy in the car at least a little bit.

Jason nods with a slight smile. Whizzer celebrates internally at that small victory. “I’ve only ever been to one before and we were so far away everyone was just a speck.”

“Well, I couldn’t afford behind home plate or anything, but the view shouldn’t be too shabby.” Whizzer looks out the window at the house. Marvin is waving his arms around a bit, standing defensively, shaking his head. They’re fighting. Oh joy .

“I can’t believe my dad agreed to come to this,” Jason says, his voice sounding less apathetic now.

“I can be pretty persuasive,” Whizzer says. Trina slams the door then and Marvin storms back towards the car. Whizzer jumps out and intercepts him on the sidewalk, holding his shoulders and giving him a smile. “You okay?”

Marvin shakes his head. “I can’t fucking believe her. Won’t let him stay one fucking night. I mean, what does she think is gonna happen? I’m gonna feed him to the wolves or something?”

“She’s still hurting, Marvin.”

“So it’s okay to keep my son away from me? Make me suffer?” He pushes Whizzer away and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Give it time.” Whizzer looks back at the car to see Jason watching them through the window. Whizzer prays he can’t hear.

“Give him time to hate me even more than he does, you mean? That’s what she’s doing, you know.” Marvin waves toward the house. “She’s keeping him away from me so he’ll turn against me, think I’m abandoning him or something.”

“He doesn’t think-”

“How the fuck could you possibly know that, huh?” Marvin shouts.

“I just-”

“Stop trying to minimize this, Whizzer!”

“I’m not-”

“This is my family! It’s important!”

“I kno-”

“Not that you would understand that.”

Whizzer takes a step back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Marvin shakes his head. “Nothing. Nevermind. Let’s just go.”

“No. Tell me. What did you mean by that?”

Marvin shakes his head. “Nothing. Really. I’m just upset, okay? I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Whizzer is about to tell him to go fuck himself when he looks back at Jason, still watching them from the car. He’s emotional. Let it slide. At least for now. He sighs. “Take a breath. Let it go. Just until we get home tonight.” He’s saying it to himself as much as to Marvin.

Marvin smiles at him and takes a deep breath. “Thank you.”

“I can be nice if I want to be.”

Marvin laughs and gives his hand a squeeze as he passes him to get into the driver’s seat. But Whizzer doesn’t let his hand go, jerking him back just as he steps into the street. “What?” Marvin asks.

“Today’s gonna be fun, right?” Whizzer asks.

Marvin places a hand on his cheek and gives him a smile. “Yeah. Today’s gonna be fun.”

“Dad, can we please go in the team store?” Jason’s eyes are wide and bright, as they’ve been since his first view of the stadium. He had stopped in the middle of the concrete entryway and just stared up at it in awe.

“We should get food and get to our seats,” Marvin responds.

“The game doesn’t start for another half hour!” Jason counters.

Marvin looks towards the door that the stadium worker had pointed them towards. “I just want to make sure we’re there and make sure we can find them. And I want to put our stuff down…”

“I’ll take him into the store,” Whizzer suggests. “You pick us up a couple hot dogs and we’ll meet you there. That work?”

“Please, Dad!” Jason pleads.

Marvin looks between them silently before sighing and nodding. “Alright, fine.”

“Thank you!” Jason exclaims with a grin, grabbing Whizzer’s hand and dragging him towards the door.

“Woah,” Whizzer laughs, stumbling a bit as he follows him in. “Get me a beer!” he calls over his shoulder.

“On it!” Marvin assures him.

Jason starts whipping around the store, admiring every piece of paraphernalia with a new enthusiasm. “I want all of it, Whizzer!”

“Well, I can’t quite do that for you,” Whizzer laughs. “But I’ll buy you one thing. If you can choose.”

“Can I choose anything?”

“Under forty bucks,” Whizzer says.

Jason spends fifteen more minutes, running from item to item, until he finally brings Whizzer an authentic-looking jersey that’s only barely under budget. “This one!”

Whizzer nods and takes it to the counter, picking up a Mets cap on the way. “For your dad,” he explains.

“He’s never going to wear that,” Jason warns him.

“Yeah,” Whizzer agrees. “He’ll hate it.”

“So why are you buying it?” Jason asks.

“Because he’ll hate it,” Whizzer shrugs. But he’ll look cute it in anyway.

Jason furrows his brow. “Alright, then.”

Whizzer rustles his hair with a laugh. “There’s no logic in it.”

“Weird.”

They meet Marvin at the seats as the ceremonial first pitch is being thrown. Jason has the new jersey on over his old t-shirt. “We got you something,” Whizzer says, sitting down a seat away from him.

“Whizzer got you something,” Jason corrects, taking the seat between them.

Whizzer takes the cap from the shopping bag, flips it by the bill to unfold it, and reaches over Jason to place it on Marvin’s head. It doesn’t quite fit, and Marvin has to reach back and loosen it. “There. Perfect,” Whizzer grins.

“You know, I’ll never wear this,” Marvin says.

“You’re wearing it now, aren’t you?” Whizzer says.

“Fine. I’ll never wear it again ,” Marvin insists. “And if anyone sees it I’m saying it’s yours.”

“God, you’re so ungrateful,” Whizzer laughs, shoving Marvin’s shoulder.

Marvin turns his eyes up to the bill of the cap. “I must look ridiculous.”

“Well, you do, but it’s not because of the hat,” Whizzer says.

Jason laughs from between them. “The hat is good, Dad.”

“See? It’s a good hat.”

Marvin shakes his head. “I feel idiotic.”

“But you look adorable,” Whizzer grins. Marvin’s face goes red and he turns back towards the field. He doesn’t take off the hat.

Jason is looking between Whizzer and Marvin, his face screwed up in a mildly disgusted expression. “The game is starting,” he points out.

Whizzer laughs and nudges Jason’s knee with his. He takes his beer from its holder and leans back in his seat, draping his arm over the back of the chairs, so he can subtly keep his hand on Marvin throughout the game. He runs his fingers lightly through the hair at the base of Marvin’s neck. Marvin shoots him an anxious glance. Whizzer rests his hand on Marvin’s shoulder, like it just happened to land there in the pursuit of a comfortable position, and gives it a reassuring squeeze. He smiles slightly. “Don’t worry. We’re okay.”

“Don’t worry about what?” Jason asks.

“Nothing,” Marvin answers quickly. “It’s, uh, nothing you need to think about.”

Jason rolls his eyes, but turns back to the game.

Whizzer caresses Marvin’s shoulder gently with his fingers and takes a sip of his beer. “Let’s play ball,” he says with a smile.

By the seventh inning stretch, they’re all full on hot dogs and frozen lemonade and the Mets are down by two runs.

“God, their defense is good, but no one can seem to figure out how to hit the ball!” Jason complains.

Whizzer shakes his head. “Seriously! They’ve only given up two runs, but besides the one rally in the fourth…”

“Nothing!” Jason exclaims. “Nada! One rally in the fourth and they just leave the bases loaded, even with only one out going in!”

Marvin looks at them with raised eyebrows. “I don’t…”

“I know, sweetie,” Whizzer says with a smile, patting him lightly on the shoulder, where his hand has been resting all game. “It’s okay.”

“Yeah, Dad, we aren’t all built for sports. Even just watching them,” Jason adds, shooting Whizzer a grin.

“Shut up. Both of you. Or you’re finding your own ride home.”

Whizzer laughs and hits him lightly in the head. “This isn’t too miserable for you, though, right?”

Marvin brushes his fingers across Whizzer’s before squeezing Jason’s shoulder. “Well I couldn’t care less about the game,” he says. He looks up at Whizzer with a smile. “But not too miserable, no.”

“Plus, that pitcher ain’t bad to look at,” Whizzer adds, wiggling his eyebrows.

“He’s, uh, handsome, yeah,” Marvin mutters, turning away.

Jason looks down at his hands. “I’m… Can I go to the bathroom?”

“Yeah, of course, Jason. I’ll take you. Wouldn’t mind missing Take Me Out to the Ball Game anyway” Marvin says, standing up and holding his hand out to his son.

“Actually, could Whizzer take me?” Jason asks.

Marvin’s face falls and his hand drops to his side.

Whizzer shakes his head. “No, go with your dad. He want-”

“No,” Marvin cuts in, sitting back down. “It’s fine.”

“Marvin-”

“He wants to spend time with you, it’s fine,” Marvin insists, but he won’t look at either of them.

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

Whizzer sighs and stands up. “Alright, Jason, let’s go.”

When they’ve reached the top of the stairs, Whizzer stops him and pulls him to the side, against a railing. “He’s really trying, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Jason asks.

“I mean, your dad,” Whizzer says. “He’s really trying to make you happy and he just wants to feel like you want to spend time with him.”

“I do spend time with him, though. I never get to see you,” Jason defends.”I wasn’t trying to make him feel bad.”

“I know that. And he does too,” Whizzer assures him. “But parents are the most insecure people you will ever meet. Everything you do is somehow a sign that you hate them or that they’re terrible parents.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not. But it’s the unfortunate reality,” Whizzer agrees. “You just have to remember to be aware of it and that it all comes from a place of love. He could never hate you, so instead he hates himself.”

“So what am I supposed to do?”

Whizzer shrugs. “Just say yes next time he offers to walk you to the bathroom.”

They return to their seats, Jason holding a giant cup of soda and Whizzer holding onto two beers. He hands Marvin one as they sit down, but he hardly acknowledges it.

The Mets do manage to score, but only once, and Jason’s head droops a bit as they head back to the car. Whizzer nudges him with his elbow. “Hey, they can’t win ‘em all.”

“Couldn’t they have just won the game I got to go to?” Jason complains.

“Hey, at least you got to be here!” Whizzer exclaims.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Did you not have fun?” he asks.

Jason shakes his head. “I had fun, but I’m allowed to be upset, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, fair enough.” Whizzer tentatively wraps an arm around Jason’s shoulders, pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t flinch or pull away. He presses the back of his other hand against Marvin’s, which elicits a small smile, the first since the seventh inning. As they walk, Whizzer hooks one finger around Marvin’s; and then a few; and then he laces his fingers through his and squeezes. He watches Marvin’s eyes move around nervously, like they could get jumped any second, but the lot is big and everyone is looking for their cars, not paying attention them. Marvin lets out an audible sigh when they make it to his car without incident. “See?” Whizzer says quietly into his ear. “No need to worry.” He presses a kiss into his hair and lets go of his hand.

Jason is staring back at the stadium, a wistful, bittersweet look in his eyes.

“Hey, we’ll be back next season,” Whizzer assures him.

“That’s so long from now.”

Whizzer laughs. “Yeah, but it’s worth the wait.”

Jason wraps his arms around Whizzer’s waist, pulling him into a tight but short-lived hug. “Thanks for bringing me, Whizzer.”

Whizzer’s smile feels like it’s splitting his face in half. “Of course,” he says, ruffling his hair. “Happy birthday, Jason.”

Chapter Text

It starts as small off-hand comments. Ones that sound good to Whizzer really. Things like, “Don’t you want to have your Saturdays free?”; “I know you hate waking up so early”; “You’re working yourself too hard”. Then the suggestions of what to do about it. “You have some money saved now, you can cut back your hours at the cafe”; “You should figure out how to start selling your photos”; “You should hire someone new, so you and Cordelia can finally get a break”. And, eventually, Whizzer starts to listen. Because, the truth is, at first, Marvin isn’t wrong. Whizzer doesn’t need to be working crazy hours. Whizzer would be happier if he weren’t working crazy hours. Whizzer wants to start his career again. He misses taking people’s photos. He misses waking up after the sunrise. He misses having time for himself. He feels bad about abandoning Cordelia, but she needs to hire more people anyway, right? If she ever can even hope to expand.

“You’re quitting ?” Cordelia asks indignantly. She turns away from the pastry display to give him a disbelieving look.

“No,” Whizzer corrects, pulling chairs down from on tops of tables. “I just want to cut down on my hours.”

“But I need you here!”

“You need more than just me here. This will force you to hire some new people, which,” he reminds her, “you’ve said you were going to do since I started working here!”

Cordelia rolls her eyes. “But I’d still prefer to have you around,” she insists. “And what do I do until I find someone else?”

“I won’t cut back until after you’ve found someone new,” Whizzer assures her. “Plus, I’ll still be here monday through friday. I just don’t want to show up at 6:30 anymore and I want Saturdays free. I feel like I’ve been working here long enough to ask for that much.”

Cordelia sighs and closes the pastry display. “Why do you suddenly insist on this?”

“I’m tired constantly and have practically no free time. It’s not really sudden.”

“You’ve never mentioned having a problem with it!” Cordelia exclaims.

“Delia, I’m not built for this,” Whizzer says apologetically. “And I’ve saved up enough money now to not need the gruelling hours, especially because I’m not looking to pay for an apartment anymore.”

“Is this about Marvin?” Cordelia wonders.

Whizzer scoffs. “No, this is about me.” He takes the last chair down and it hits the floor with a bang. “It’s just time.”

So, he helps Cordelia hire new blood, and after a couple of weeks, he’s showing up at ten. Still, though, he's waking up earlier than he would want. Because Marvin has to get to work by nine. And Marvin thinks that, now that Whizzer’s work starts later, and he has time, it would be nice if he made breakfast in the morning. “I’m getting tired of day-old pastries.” And Whizzer doesn’t know why, but he agrees. He doesn’t mind it too much. Waking up at seven is still an improvement. And he’s grown to not hate cooking so much. Besides, he’s starting to get pretty good at it, he thinks. And it makes Marvin happy. So, he doesn’t complain too much. He also makes them dinner most nights. And cleans the apartment--Marvin is a slob--and does the grocery shopping and takes care of anything else that might come up around the apartment. The truth is, Whizzer doesn’t actually have much more time for himself. He just spends his time working at home, rather than in a cafe. But that’s okay, he thinks. It’s comfortable . I’m happy. I can do this.

He’s been doing this for a month or two. 1979 is fast approaching. And with each day, Whizzer is growing more exhausted. And Marvin is growing more impatient. More intolerable. More controlling. Whizzer has let him get used to being served. Spoiled.

“Hey, Whizzer, can you do a load of laundry? I’m running out of underwear!” Marvin calls from the bedroom.

“I’m making dinner, do it yourself!” Whizzer responds with some annoyance.

He can hear Marvin’s sigh from the kitchen. “I’m exhausted from work! Just do it after you finish!”

“And you think I’m not?” Whizzer snaps, abandoning the pan on the stove to lean into their bedroom. Marvin is sitting on the bed, his work clothes strewn on the ground, in exchange for a more comfortable outfit. “I work just as hard as you do and I don’t even get to rest when I’m home!” Marvin looks up at him, pissed and impatient. “All you have to do is throw the clothes in and add some fucking soap. It’s really not that hard!”

“Exactly! So you can do it just fine!” Marvin retorts.

“It won’t fucking kill you to do something around here, Marvin!” God, how do we already sound like an old married couple?

“I do plenty!” Marvin insists.

“Yeah, name one thing you’ve done around the apartment.”

“I pay the goddamn rent!” Marvin spits.

“So, what does that make me, then?” Whizzer asks. “The hired fucking help? You’re the aristocrat and I’m, what, your fucking butler? Good to know m’lord.”

Marvin tilts his head and looks at Whizzer like he’s a teenager trying to talk himself out of a grounding. “Obviously not.” He stands up and tries to push past him into the dining room.

Whizzer grabs his arm and pulls him back. “You’re not even going to pick up your clothes?”

Marvin rolls his eyes and throws his clothes reluctantly into the hamper. “Happy?”

“For that one tiny task that took no effort whatsoever?” Whizzer scoffs. “Yeah, delighted.” He turns back to the kitchen and starts stirring the eggplant and tomato dish he’s taking from a middle eastern kosher cookbook Cordelia had loaned him. He hears Marvin pull up a seat at the dining table.

“God, what time is it?” He grumbles.

Whizzer groans. “I didn’t get home until nearly seven, Marvin, give me a break.”

“Couldn’t you have chosen to cook something that takes a little less time, then?”

“You want fucking macaroni and cheese every night, I can do that,” Whizzer snaps. “If not, just shut up and let me cook!”

“Or maybe you could just start earlier and it wouldn’t be an issue!”

“Marvin, I don’t control how many customers decide that a five o’clock closing time is just a fucking suggestion! I have to do my job!”

Marvin appears in the kitchen then, leaning against one of the counters. “Do you? Really? It’s not like you fucking pay for anything.”

Whizzer turns to him with an angry laugh. “So, what, you want me to quit now? And just spend all day tending to your every need? I don’t think so.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, would it? Isn’t it everybody’s dream to not have to work?” He asks it so patronisingly Whizzer has to consciously hold back his screams. “And you’re an artist, right? Don’t you want to just spend all day working on your craft or whatever?”

“Believe it or not, I actually like my job,” Whizzer says. “And, like most people, I gain some actual satisfaction from having my own income.”

“When we first met, you were so pissed about having to get a menial job!”

“Yeah, because obviously I’d prefer to go back to my real career, but that’s not much of an option anymore! Especially when all my free time is spent in the kitchen or the laundry room or the grocery store!”

“See, it would be nice if you had your whole day free, right?” Marvin exclaims.

“It wouldn’t be free, though, would it be?” Whizzer protests. “Because as soon as I have all that extra time, you’ll fill it up with more goddamn chores for me to do!”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh, it’s absolutely true.”

Marvin shakes his head. “I’m not that big of a dick, Whizzer.”

“Aren’t you?” Whizzer scoffs. “It’s what you did this time.”

“You make two meals a day and do laundry once a week. Stop acting like you’ve been sold into slavery or some shit! This isn’t ancient Egypt!”

“No, not a slave,” Whizzer agrees. “Just your kept fucking pretty boy, whose only purpose in life is to serve you and make you feel young and hot and needed .”

“I don’t care if you need me,” Marvin sneers. “As long as you’re willing to feed me and screw me, I’m good.”

Whizzer steps back, his heart pounding audibly in his chest. “Cause that’s all pretty boys are supposed to do, right?”

Marvin shrugs. “Exactly,” he says, glaring at Whizzer, knowing cruelty glinting in his eyes.

“Well, if that’s what you want, you’re barking up the wrong fucking tree,” Whizzer shoots back. “That’s not who I am and you know it!”

“What I know is that you can’t be bothered to give a damn!”

“Because I don’t want to be your goddamn housewife? Fuck that, Marvin!”

“You know that’s not why,” Marvin spits.

“For god’s fucking sake, Marvin. You can’t bring up the same fucking points every time we argue! I’m done hearing about how awful I am for not wanting exclusivity! This is what you agreed to!”

“Am I crazy for wanting to feel like my boyfriend actually gives a shit about me?”

Whizzer rolls his eyes. “Yes, if you insist on such an antiquated way of showing it.” Whizzer gestures to the stove. “Making you meals, never going out, never sleeping with anyone else for the rest of my life… I don’t believe in that!”

“Well, yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear.”

“I live with you, Marvin. I come back to you . Even when I fucking hate you. Which I do. Most of the time.”

Marvin’s face screws up in twisted anger. “Finish dinner. I’m hungry.”

“Do you not hear yourself?” Whizzer shouts. “You sound like you’re living in the fucking nineteen-fifties!”

“Just finish the food, I’m done fighting!”

“Yeah, well I’m not!” Whizzer exclaims. “You can’t treat me like this! You can’t shoe-horn me into your little fantasy of the perfect white-picket-fence American family! That’s not reality, Marvin! You tried that. It didn’t work!”

“That’s not what I’m-”

“Yes it is! That is absolutely what you’re trying to do!” Whizzer runs a distressed hand through his hair. “You’re trying to turn me into Trina! It’s sick and it’s twisted and it’s not going to do what you want it to do!”

“And what is that?” Marvin growls.

“It won’t make you straight,” Whizzer hisses. “Because, guess what, Marvin? You’re not-”

“Whizzer!” Marvin blurts out.

“What?”

Marvin points behind Whizzer and he whips around to find the pan is covered in flames. “Shit!” he cries. He shuts off the stove and starts smothering the fire desperately with a towel until it eventually disappears. He leans against the stove and looks down at the burnt eggplant and tomato, still sizzling and popping. “Shit,” he whispers.

“Look what you did,” Marvin accuses. “Now what the fuck are we gonna eat?”

“What I did?” Whizzer asks skeptically. He turns to Marvin and shakes his head. “Fuck you, Marvin. Order yourself a fucking pizza. I’m done.” And he pushes past him. Out the door. And he spends the night on Charlotte and Cordelia’s couch.

Whizzer doesn’t leave for long. He’s back in his bed the next night. And nothing changes. Not a damn thing. Whizzer should leave. He should leave him. He feels trapped. He feels like he has no control. But, over and over again, he just doesn’t. For some reason he can’t quite discern, he stays. And it’s like it’s always been. Sometimes it’s wonderful. Sometimes he feels so happy and so comfortable. But other times, he just feels stuck. Used and beaten and so incredibly small. Sometimes, Marvin is kind. And he’s generous and interesting and intelligent and Whizzer can’t think of anyone else who holds his attention the way that Marvin does. But other times, Marvin is cruel. And he’s controlling and hot-headed and immature and Whizzer can’t think of anyone else who holds so much power over him. And he’s never felt this before. He’s never felt anything even remotely close to this.

“Happy chanukkah,” Marvin says, staring up at the lit menorah on the mantelpiece.

Whizzer’s arms are wrapped around his stomach and he’s trailing kisses along his neck. “Yeah, yeah, chag sameach and all that,” Whizzer mutters into his skin, sliding his hands under Marvin’s waistband.

Marvin laughs and breathes in sharply, leaning his head back happily. “I have… a present for you,” he says breathily.

“I’m excited,” Whizzer smiles. “Let me finish giving you yours first, though.”

“No, like a real-”

Whizzer pulls him around and smashes their lips together. “Stop talking,” he demands. And Marvin obeys without a second thought.

They lie together in bed, naked, sweaty and elated, still wrapped up in each other's bodies. Whizzer’s head is nestled into Marvin’s shoulder. He rubs his chest lightly with a spacey smile. “You’re really good at that,” he breathes.

“Yeah, so are you,” Marvin laughs.

“Yeah well I already knew that,” Whizzer laughs. He presses a kiss into Marvin’s shoulder and pushes himself up onto his elbow. “So, you said something about a present?”

Marvin breaks into a grin. “Right! Get dressed!”

“Get-” Whizzer stammers as Marvin slides out of bed. “Why do I have to get dressed?”

“You’ll see!” Marvin says excitedly. “Can’t ruin the surprise!”

Whizzer raises his eyebrows and watches as Marvin hurriedly pulls his jeans back on. Whizzer follows suit and then follows him into the car. They drive a while down to a warehouse district and Marvin pulls up in front of a dark building.

“What is this?” Whizzer asks with a wary smile.

Marvin just shrugs and pulls out a set of keys. He pulls open the door and flips a switch on the wall to reveal a large warehouse-like room with concrete floors and fluorescent lights. It’s big and empty, with only a couple of doors off to the left.

“Secret sex dungeon?” Whizzer asks.

“What?” Marvin responds, a horrified expression on his face.

“I don’t get it,” Whizzer laughs.

Marvin spreads his arms out at his sides with a grin. “A studio,” he explains.

Whizzer’s jaw drops. “A what ?”

“I bought it. So you can start selling your photos. Doing shoots,” he says. He points to one of the doors to the left. “There’s even a small room over there that can be converted into a dark room. And I know it’s gonna take more than this to start you out, but I can help with that stuff, too, and I figure this is a good first step.”

Whizzer steps towards the center of the room, too stunned to say anything.

“Well?” Marvin says softly. “What do you think?”

Whizzer turns to him with a smile. “I love it,” he says wistfully. “I…” Suddenly a thought pops into his head. An intrusive one. One that Whizzer doesn’t want. But once it exists… His smile fades. “I’m not falling for this.”

“Not falling for what?”

“You’re just doing this so I’ll quit my job at the cafe.”

“What?” Marvin asks. “No, I-”

“Yes!” Whizzer wraps his arms tightly around his chest. “You’re trying to manipulate me! Again!”

“No, I’m-”

“Oh, don’t lie!” Whizzer scoffs. “You buy me this place, so now I’ll feel guilty if I don’t use it! Now I have no excuse not to! Now I’m ungrateful if I don’t! And, meanwhile, you own me! You own this studio, right? So this business--whatever it may become--is yours, right? Just like you pay the rent in the apartment! So you can have control over every single aspect of my life!”

Marvin looks down at his feet. “If you don’t want it, I can still back out. I think I lose a downpayment, but I can afford it,” he says quietly.

“No!” Whizzer interjects. “No, I’m not an idiot. I’m not going to give up the only chance I have to take photos.”

“So, then what?” Marvin asks. “What do you want?”

“I just want you to admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“Admit that you only did this so you can own me!” Whizzer shouts.

“That’s not what I’m doing!”

Whizzer’s voice has risen to a roar. “Well, why did you buy this for me, huh?”

“Why?”

“Yeah, why?”

Marvin hesitates, turning his eyes away from Whizzer’s. “You’re such an asshole,” he says quietly.

“Answer the damn question!” Whizzer demands.

“Because I love you!” Marvin shouts. Whizzer freezes. He just freezes. Staring. Wide-eyed. Mute. “Because I love you and I want you to be happy,” Marvin repeats, quieter now. “That’s why.”

Whizzer shakes his head, refusing to look Marvin in the eye. “Yeah, I don’t believe you.” With that, he storms towards the door. He looks back once, just as he reaches the sidewalk. Marvin is still standing there, in the middle of the room. He looks up at the ceiling and crosses his arms over his chest. Defeated. Whizzer feels his heart wrench just as the door falls shut behind him. He shakes his head and turns back towards the street, heading aimlessly down the sidewalk. He has no idea where he is or where he’s going. He’s just praying he makes it home before morning.

Chapter Text

The subway car is mostly empty, just a few tired-looking people. A man in a business suit with a briefcase on his lap; a college-aged woman in a hijab reading a book; an older woman trying to keep two kids in line; and a few others, all sitting quietly and minding their own business. Whizzer slumps in his seat and stares out the window into the speeding blackness of the subway walls. He doesn’t want to go home. He doesn’t want to work it out or talk about it. He doesn’t really want to see him again. Whizzer just wants to disappear.

When he makes it to the apartment, he doesn’t know if Marvin is home yet. It doesn’t matter as long as he doesn’t run into him on the way. He bangs his fists against Charlotte and Cordelia’s door with the desperate fervor of a man being hunted. Cordelia swings it open with a strange expression on her face.

“Whizzer…”

“I need to stay here tonight,” Whizzer says starting into the apartment. Cordelia’s hand shoots out to stop him. “What?”

“Whizzer, Marvin is here,” Cordelia hisses.

Whizzer freezes and looks in, just as Marvin and Charlotte step into the living room. Fuck.

Marvin starts towards the door. “Whizzer, I-”

“I don’t want to hear it. “ He turns and races towards the building stairwell. He’s halfway down before he realises he has nowhere else to go. He sinks down onto a step, and drops his head to his bent knees.

He hears someone sit down next to him. “Are you okay?” Cordelia asks.

“I don’t know where to go,” Whizzer mutters.

Cordelia sighs. “Go home.” She says it like it’s easy. Like it’s the most obvious, simplest solution. Like he wouldn’t rather sleep on a park bench than return to that apartment with him.

“I can’t,” Whizzer says. He rests his chin on his forearms, wrapped around his knees. “I can’t do that.”

“And why can’t you?” Cordelia asks.

“Cause if I do, I’ll never leave.”

“And is that such a bad thing?”

Whizzer looks up at the ceiling. “Yes.”

“What happened?” Cordelia presses.

Whizzer runs his tongue along his teeth and shakes his head. “He told me he loves me,” he responds. “Well, he yelled it really.”

“And…”

“And he’s doing it to manipulate me!” Whizzer exclaims. “Obviously.”

Cordelia leans her head on his shoulder. “Maybe,” she concedes, “but I think he means it. Don’t you?”

“I don't think he knows what love is.”

“Do you?”

Whizzer shakes his head. “No.”

Cordelia nods. “So…”

“I guess… I don’t know. I don’t think I… I don’t want him to. Mean it, I mean.”

“That would be simpler, huh?”

“It would be,” Whizzer breathes.

“Do you love him?” Cordelia asks, and Whizzer’s breath catches.

“I’m not sure.” He answers honestly for once. “I never wanted any of this, you know.”

“I know.”

“I never wanted to get attached. I never even wanted to fuck him,” Whizzer continues. “I just wanted to sleep on his couch for a while. That’s it.”

“I know,” Cordelia repeats. “But here we are.”

“Yeah,” Whizzer says, resting his cheek on Cordelia’s head. “Here we are.”

“So, where do we go from here?” she asks.

“I don’t know. That’s the point.”

“Let’s say you leave,” Cordelia says. “Stay with us for a while, find a small apartment, live alone, let go of him and let go of Jason. Cut all ties. Start over.” She takes Whizzer’s hand in her own. “Is that what you want?”

Whizzer worries his lip, tensing his body to keep down the tears he feels teasing at his throat. He shakes his head slightly. “No.”

“Then you have to figure out a way that you can stay and still be happy,” Cordelia says. “Whatever that means for you. I don’t know. But you can’t just hide.”

“I know,” Whizzer sighs. He lifts his head and squeezes Cordelia’s hand. “I’m... scared. I don’t get scared. But I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve always been so sure but I don’t even know what I want anymore… I’m lost. I’ve never been lost before.”

“You’ll get through it,” Corelia assures him. “I promise. We’ve all been exactly where you are. And we all made it out alive.”

“How?”

“Well, that one you’ll have to figure out for yourself.”

Whizzer plants a kiss on Cordelia’s head. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“Thank you for actually talking to me, for once.”

“Yeah, savor it. I don’t plan on doing this again for a long while.”

“I figured as much,” Cordelia smiles.

Whizzer bumps their shoulders together and stares down the stairwell with a far-off look. At this point, there’s only one thing he’s sure of: This is not what my life was supposed to be.

“We should go back in,” Whizzer breathes.

Cordelia nods. “Okay.” She stands up and helps Whizzer up with her. “Let’s do it.”

Whizzer takes a deep breath and slips his arm through Cordelia’s. “Time to be mature.” He says it with a distinct distaste that makes Cordelia snicker. Whizzer groans. “I don’t wanna.”

“I know, Whiz. I know.”

When they make it back to Cordelia’s apartment, Marvin isn’t there. “I told him to go back to your guys’ place,” Charlotte explains. “Look, you two have to talk it out or something, but if you need a couch to sleep on tonight , I figured I should provide you that option.”

“Thanks,” Whizzer says, stepping towards the waiting sofa. Cordelia drags him back with a glare. “But I’m gonna go talk to him,” he sighs, rolling his eyes.

“There you go,” Cordelia nods, pushing him out the door.

Cordelia shuts the door behind him. Whizzer’s breath catches the minute he stands in front of Marvin’s apartment-- his apartment. He holds the handle and leans his forehead against the darkly painted wood. Just breathing. Going back inside. Making this effort. It’s admitting to something he does not believe that he is ready to admit. That he cares. That he cares enough to bare his soul somewhat. That he cares enough to deal with all of the bullshit that this relationship comes with. That he cares enough to be okay with Marvin’s declaration of love. That maybe…

Whizzer shakes his head and turns away from the apartment. He checks his pocket and is relieved to find that he’s carrying his wallet. He pauses once on the stairs. Thinking about what Cordelia had said to him. But it doesn’t last long. Soon enough, he’s on the subway again and then he’s sitting in that bar and then he’s in a stranger’s apartment and he’s falling asleep in his bed, wrapped in arms he doesn’t recognize, that don’t quite fit. But that’s okay. Because at least these arms don’t come with baggage. Right?

Whizzer’s eyes flutter open to a feeling of nausea and confusion. He doesn’t know where he is. Not immediately, at least. “Marvin?” he mutters, turning to the form lying next to him.

The man raises an eyebrow. “Not Marvin,” he says with a chuckle. “But I’m glad you’re up.”

Whizzer sighs and sits up, turning his back to the stranger he spent the night with. “What time is it?” he asks.

He feels the man behind him wrap his arms around Whizzer’s stomach. Press kisses into his neck. Whizzer tenses under his touch. “Does it matter?” The man asks.

“Yeah,” Whizzer says, pulling away and searching for his clothes. “It does matter, actually. I have to work.”

“Geez, what made you all uptight all of a sudden?”

Whizzer finds his pants before he finds his underwear, but he doesn’t really care. He pulls them on and turns to the man. “Look. From what I remember, you’re an okay guy, so I’ll be completely honest here. I don’t even remember your name , alright? I don’t really care! I’ve never really cared. I’m never going to see you again.” The man starts to say something, but Whizzer holds up a hand. “Yeah, you’re going to ask for my number, but I won’t give it to you. I’ll take yours, but I won’t call. You might wait by the phone, but to no avail. It will never ring. And I won’t feel sorry about it. I won’t think about you and regret not calling you. I’ll forget about you, like I’ve already forgotten your name. And you’ll forget me, too. In no time. Because this was just a one-night stand. Just a drunk fuck after a night in a bar. Meaningless. Not terrible, but meaningless. Forgettable. You’ve served your purpose in my life. You gave me a bed to sleep in and a way to destress about my bastard of a boyfriend, but that’s all I needed you for. So, I’m not gonna waste any more of your time, okay?” He takes a deep breath and pulls on his shirt and his coat, while the man just stares at him in shock. “Sorry,” he adds, without a lick of sincerity. “Bye.”

“You’re… You’re kind of an asshole,” the man manages, as Whizzer opens the door of the tiny studio apartment.

“Yeah,” Whizzer sighs. “I know. But this isn’t why.”

“You’re late.” Cordelia doesn’t even look at him when he shows up at the cafe, pulling a spare t-shirt and an apron from the closet in the back.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t talk to Marvin, did you?” Cordelia asks.

Whizzer just shakes his head.

“You fucked some random stranger, right? And that’s why you’re late?” Cordelia guesses.

Whizzer doesn’t answer.

Cordelia finally looks up at him. “Yeah, I split your shift between Daisy and Eli. I don’t need you today.”

Whizzer’s jaw falls open. “I-I’m sorry?”

“You heard me,” Cordelia says. “Go home. If you can’t bother to show up on time, why should I have to pay you for today?”

“You’ve gotta be-”

“I’m not kidding, Whizzer.” She snatches the shirt and apron from Whizzer’s hand. “Don’t be late tomorrow.”

Whizzer stands there, empty-handed, in the kitchen of this stupid fucking cafe. And, suddenly, he feels so alone.

Marvin is at work. Whizzer picks up his camera from the bedroom and lifts it to his eye. He can escape into this. And this time he won’t regret it tomorrow. He takes the subway up to Central Park and walks along the “lake”, that Whizzer has always thought is more like a large pond. Though maybe he's just cynical. He reaches Strawberry Fields and looks out at the grass, icy but not snowy. There's no one lounging here like they do in the summer. Couples walk, huddled together, wrapped up in coats and scarves, in bittersweet enjoyment of the crisp cold of winter.

Whizzer takes photos until he's run out of film. Of the water, of the trees, but mostly of the people. Of the couples. Sending each other loving glances. Arms wrapped around each other. Kissing under bare branches. Unbeknownst to them, Whizzer catches these moments through the lense of his camera. Small moments. Moments they'll soon forget. Moments that, to them, seem insignificant. But which leave Whizzer in awe. Little things they do on instinct that Whizzer can never help but overthink. No one is worrying about revealing too much, or getting too connected, or falling in love. They're just existing. I wonder what that's like.

On his way home, Whizzer picks up a filet mignon--after a lot of practice, he finally figured out how to cook steak. Like maybe some good food will make Marvin happy long enough to forget the night before and let him just pretend that nothing happened and go back to how it was before. Maybe it could even be how it was at first. When he first moved in. When Marvin was nervous and sweet and volatile, but not quite so cruel. Well, that’s a pipe dream. But if they could ignore last night, Whizzer would be happy enough.

He’s just finished dinner when Marvin enters the apartment. He doesn’t say anything, just drops his briefcase on the living room floor and flings his jacket over the couch. Whizzer resists the urge to make him pick his stuff up.

“Just in time! Dinner is ready!” Whizzer says instead, injecting his voice with cheeriness and charm. “I made a filet tonight and it actually looks pretty edible, so-”

“Just stop, Whizzer,” Marvin says, glaring at him from the door to the kitchen. “Stop this act.”

“What-”

“Had a fun night last night, huh?” He asks.

“Marvin, I-”

“I thought you were next door.”

“I thought I-”

“Cordelia came over looking for you to make sure our talk went well.”

“I tried to come over. I really did,” Whizzer says, leaning over the stove.

“But you didn’t.” His voice is thick with suppressed emotion. Not angry so much as sad.

“I panicked.”

“You panicked, huh?”

“I panicked.”

Marvin shakes his head. “Right.”

Whizzer crosses the kitchen and places a hand on his cheek. “Look at me, Marvin.”

Marvin locks his jaw and glares back at him, but he looks him in the eye.

“I wanted to come home,” he says quietly. “I wanted to.”

“But you panicked,” Marvin repeats incredulously.

“Yes,” Whizzer insists. “Yes. I wanted to be with you last night, okay? I just panicked.”

Marvin’s face softens a bit, but he doesn’t respond. Whizzer takes that opportunity to deal with their issues the only way he knows how. He presses him up against the doorframe and kisses him.

They eat cold steak with strained smiles, and fill their glasses with expensive wine. They don’t say much, but they don’t fight either. So, tonight, it doesn’t seem so bad.

In the end, nothing much changes. They slowly drift back to normalcy. Or their version of normalcy. Almost. Marvin is even more hotheaded, Whizzer a little more unsure of himself. But they’re still bound to fight, then fuck their problems to the back of their minds. They are still cruel as often as they are sweet. They still find a way to be somewhere in between hating each other and never wanting to be apart. It’s the same push and pull that has always defined their relationship, only they’ve begun using more and more force, and it’s coming dangerously close to deadly.

Chapter Text

March 15, 1979. He’s been here a year now. A full year. So, this is reality now. He doesn’t think about home so much anymore, though he still thinks of it as home. He’s grown accustomed to this life. Especially now that his business is up and running. Or getting there at least.

He’s had a few customers start trickling in, mostly families, and a few couples. The studio is fairly bare bones. Two simple backdrops, basic lighting, a few stools, one camera, and a tripod. Plus the space he converted into a dark room, a front desk by the door, and a waiting area off to the side with an old couch, a crappy coffee maker, and a mini fridge that’s never full. He still works at Charlotte’s Monday through Thursday, and takes photos on Fridays and Saturdays. For now. Until the ads he puts in the newspaper start drawing more clients than two days can fit. At least, he hopes that it will happen. It’s harder to spread the word without the internet.

He’s calculating some finances at the front desk. Re-learning the math he vowed never to do again after he completed his GE requirements in college. He just wants to plug this into some website on his phone right now. No matter how accustomed he gets to doing everything by hand or from a book, he will never stop missing the conveniences of the internet. When is that invented? 90s? 2000s? Whenever it is, he can’t wait.

He’s normally home from the cafe by now, but he came here instead. Marvin will be pissed that he hasn’t made dinner. But Whizzer can handle that. And he’s doing this out of necessity. He’s losing money every day, so he needs some sort of plan.

There’s a burst of cold air as the door swings open. Whizzer looks up at Marvin, whose face looks far less angry than he would have expected. “Do you know what time it is?” he asks.

Whizzer hesitates and checks his watch. “Ah fuck, it’s 9 o’clock, I’m sorry. I just got caught up in this. I think we need a new advertising strategy, because the paper is expensive and it’s not drawing enough customers. I mean, we’re just hemorrhaging money at this point.”

"Well, that’s what happens when you’re just starting out,” Marvin assures him.

“I never thought I would be just starting out again,” Whizzer sighs. “But, either way, it’s gotta end at some point. And sooner rather than later preferably.”

Marvin makes his way around the desk to the tall chair on which Whizzer is seated, hunched over a legal pad on the surface of the desk. He wraps his arms around Whizzer’s torso and rests his chin on his shoulder. “Well, you can’t fix it all tonight,” he says softly, eyeing the scribbled arithmetic and brainstorming.

Whizzer laughs lightly and straightens his back. “So, wait, you’re not mad that I’m not home?”

“I mean, you called and told me you’d be late,” Marvin shrugs. “Not this late, granted, but I thought we could just go out to eat tonight.”

Whizzer twists out of his chair and drapes his arms over Marvin’s shoulders. He raises his eyebrows at Marvin’s easy grin. “You’re in a good mood tonight. Why?”

Marvin’s smile grows. “Jason is staying with me this weekend--uh, with us.”

Whizzer’s jaw drops slightly. “Trina is finally allowing it?”

“Tentatively,” Marvin says, rolling his eyes, his smile sinking slightly. “So, best behavior.”

“Right, ‘cause I was planning on inviting him to watch the orgie I’ve scheduled for tomorrow night.”

"Yeah, jokes like that?” Marvin says. “Not gonna make those this weekend.”

“Marvin, I’ve spent plenty of time with Jason.”

“But this time it’s a test.” He kisses Whizzer lightly before pushing him away. He picks up the papers on Whizzer’s desk and sticks them under his arm. “If this goes poorly, we don’t get a second chance.”

“Why don’t you just fight for custody? I mean, you have rights. You’re his dad.”

Marvin shakes his head. “You’re joking, right? We take this to a judge, Trina explains what happens, not only will I lose all custody rights, I could go to jail.”

“You could-”

“Sodomy is still considered a misdemeanor. Maximum six months. I did my research.”

Whizzer raises an eyebrow. “You’re kidding me, right? Still?”

“We’re just supposed to be happy it’s not a felony here.” He gives Whizzer a questioning look. “You really didn’t know?”

“I mean, I knew those laws existed, I just figured that only the south kept them this long. It’s bullshit. It’s unconstitutional, too.” He picks up his coat from behind the desk and laces his fingers through Marvin’s.

“I mean, I don’t disagree, but there’s nothing we can do about it, really.”

“So just keep being nice and gracious and just the right amount of pushy. She’s obviously coming around.”    

Marvin shrugs as they start towards the door. “Well, this much only happened after she finally took my advice and saw my psychiatrist.”

“Isn’t there some ethical rule against…”

“He didn’t have a problem with it.”

Whizzer opens the door with a disbelieving huff. “Doesn’t mean it’s ethical.”

Marvin leads him towards the car. “Look, I’m not gonna question it as long as it’s working in my favor.”

“Fair enough.”

By the time the waitress brings their wine to the table, Whizzer has already eaten a good portion of bread from the basket. Under the table, his ankle is linked with Marvin’s, playing a cheesy game of footsies. It’s all they can do, at risk of being thrown out. Whizzer finds himself suddenly longing for home. For the ability to hold his hand and kiss him without having to make sure that no one can see them. God, he misses that freedom. When the worst that would happen would be some asshole calling them faggots. When the stories of violence and hate crimes felt far away. He’s well aware that they weren’t. Not really. But at least he could pretend. He can’t pretend anymore.

“What’s wrong?” Marvin asks.

It’s only then that Whizzer realises that he’s frowning. He sighs and shakes his head. “You know what today is?”

“Uh, Thursday?”

“March 15.”

Marvin shakes his head. “Ides of March? I don’t know.”

“I mean, technically yes, but oddly enough, I’m not thinking of the assassination of Julius Caesar.” He takes a swig of his wine. “We, uh, we met on March 15.”

“Oh.” Marvin glances down at his drink. “Are you doing okay?”

“I’m…” Whizzer starts. “Yeah. Unbelievably. I think I am.” He takes another bite of the buttered roll on his plate. “I mean, I miss it. I always miss it. And today more than I have in a while. But it’s not nearly as bad as I thought it would be, you know?”

“Well--” Marvin says, lifting his glass in the air-- “how ‘bout a toast?”

“To what?” Whizzer laughs.

“To it not being as bad as you thought it would be?” Marvin suggests. “Or maybe to that random, awful, unbelievable, utterly impossible fluke in the universe that forced us together. You know, silver linings and all.”

Whizzer looks down, fighting the smile that’s growing on his lips. “God, stop it, you’re so fucking cheesy.”

“And you’re leaving me hanging.”

Whizzer shakes his head and clinks his glass against Marvin’s. “There. You happy?”

“Very,” Marvin chuckles. God, he wants to lean over and kiss him right now. Why can’t he just do that?

“Thanks,” Whizzer mutters.

“What for?”

“For…” Whizzer looks up at the ceiling. “For helping make it not as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Was that--”

“Shut up.”

“Was that a nice thing you just said to me?”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

“I mean, it’s almost vulnerable--”

“I swear to fucking God, Marvin,” Whizzer snaps.

“Alright, alright,” Marvin laughs. He kicks his shin under the table. “Don’t get mad, I’m only joking.”

“I’m not mad,” Whizzer grumbles, but he wishes desperately he hadn’t said anything.

“You seem mad.”

“I’m fine, Marvin!” Whizzer insists. “Do you know what you’re ordering?”

Marvin shakes his head, but he doesn’t push it. He looks down at his menu. “The linguine looks good.”

Whizzer rolls his eyes. “God, you're predictable.”

Chapter Text

Jason is different. Every time Whizzer sees him, it seems, he’s different. Each time a bit more introverted, fighting a few more demons that no kid his age should have to be fighting. The one thing that remains constant is that every time Whizzer sees him, he feels as if he has to win him over again. It’s like when Jason doesn’t see him, he just ruminates in all the shitty things that Whizzer did, and it’s only when they’ve spent an hour together that Whizzer can distract him enough for his walls to come down again. He’s grown ever more sarcastic, more cynical. More like his dad. Or like he’s becoming a teenager before he even makes it to middle school. Whizzer doesn’t like it. This darker side. And he hates knowing it’s his fault.

Well, he must have made some lasting progress over the weekend he stayed with them. They’d watched movies every night, and taken him out for junk food, and on Saturday, Marvin had brought Jason into the studio near the end of the day, and Whizzer taught him how to use the camera. Whizzer can’t stop looking at those photos, the ones Jason had taken of he and Marvin, and the ones he had taken of Jason and Marvin. They all look so happy. They look like a family. Anyway, the point is, maybe some of that familiarity didn’t disappear the second they said goodbye this time.

Whizzer is at home when the phone rings. He’s greeted by an impatient Marvin. “Whizzer, I need you to come to Trina’s right now.”

“What, not even a hello?” Whizzer asks.

Marvin sighs. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I need you here. Soon as possible,” Marvin says. “I need you to talk to Jason.”

“What’s the magic word?” Whizzer asks.

“Whizzer, I don’t have time for your bullshit. Just get here!”

Whizzer rolls his eyes. “Alright, whatever. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“No. Take a cab,” Marvin says.

“Alright,” Whizzer says. “I’ll take a cab.”

With that, Marvin hangs up. He’s in an even worse mood than usual, apparently. For some reason, not knowing who he is trying to impress, Whizzer grabs a nice blazer from his closet before running out the door.

Marvin opens the door the second Whizzer lifts his hand to knock.

“Finally,” he hisses. “What took you so long?”

“Traffic,” Whizzer says. “Not really under my control, Marvin.” Marvin rolls his eyes and drags Whizzer inside, pulling him roughly by his wrist. “Jesus, Marvin. I know how to follow without being dragged.”

Marvin grunts and lets go of his wrist, leading him into the den. Whizzer freezes as soon as he steps inside. He hasn’t been back here since that night. Trina is sitting with Jason on the couch, as he stares down at a chess board. “Hey, Jason,” Whizzer says with a tentative smile.

Jason looks up at him with a blank expression, while Trina shoots him a death glare. “Hi, Whizzer,” Jason says.

Trina stands up and gestures to the cushion where she had just been sitting. Whizzer nods and sits next to Jason as Trina steps back towards the other side of the room, and clasps her hands tensely in front of her. Whizzer looks between Trina and Marvin with a bewildered expression. There’s still been no real explanation of why he’s here. The only help he gets is Marvin nodding pointedly at Jason. Whizzer shakes his head, but turns to Jason, who is back to being entrenched in his solitary chess game. “Your dad tells me that you have something you want to talk about.”

Jason nods, and finally turns away from his game. His back is straight, his hands on his lap. He looks like he’s in an interview. “They want me to see a psychiatrist,” Jason says. “Do you think I should?”

Whizzer lets out a shocked laugh. What the hell qualifies him to give this advice? “Uh… I’m not sure, Jason,” he manages. Suddenly, he feels something hit the back of his head. “Ow,” he hisses, glaring back at Marvin, who gives him a frustrated look. Oh . “I mean, uh, yeah, maybe you sh-” He notices then Trina, nodding her head ferociously. “Uh, absolutely, Jason. You should absolutely give it a shot. I mean, it, uh, it can’t hurt, right? And it could end up helping.”

Jason nods. “And you’re not just saying that to make my parents happy?”

Whizzer shakes his head. “You’re dealing with a lot, Jason. A psychiatrist could help you work through some of it.” He pauses and shrugs. “Or he won’t, but at least you can say that you tried. And, either way, no harm will be done.”

“Okay,” Jason says. “Okay, I’ll go.”

“You’ll go?”

Jason nods. “Yeah. I’ll go.”

“He’ll go!” Whizzer says triumphantly, turning back to Marvin. Marvin just nods.

“If he comes here,” Jason adds.

Marvin shakes his head. “If he comes here?” he asks, incredulously.

“He might come here,” Trina says, and Whizzer nods, leaving the couch to stand next to Marvin, who steps away as soon as Whizzer approaches. Well, okay, then.

“They don’t make house calls,” Marvin says in, apparently, the most patronising voice he could possibly manage. Jason turns back to his chess set.

“You could at least try,” Whizzer tells him quietly. “Offer to pay more. That usually works.”

“We’ll make it work,” Trina insists. “We can make it work, Jason. Don’t worry.”

Jason nods, but doesn’t look up.

“Yeah. Sure. Let’s go, Whizzer.” Marvin leans over the couch arm and forces a smile. “Bye, Jason. I’ll see you next weekend, right?”

“Yup,” Jason agrees.

Marvin sighs and pulls Whizzer towards the door. “Bye, Jason!” he manages, before he’s dragged into the living room. “For fuck’s sake, Marvin, let go of me! I’m not some misbehaving puppy!”

Marvin doesn’t respond, but he lets go of Whizzer’s wrist. “I assume you have dinner pretty much ready at home?”

Shit. “No, I was about to start it when you called.”

“Goddammit, Whizzer!” Marvin exclaims.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“That’s all I’m asking of you! Just cook some fucking dinner for us! It’s not that hard, right?”

“Wait, the one thing you ask of me? Are you-”

“This is how it works. It’s how it has always worked, Whizzer!” Marvin insists. “I make the money, you make the food.”

“I make money, too, Marvin.”

Marvin scoffs. “Well, you lose a hell of a lot more than you bring in.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “Marvin, come on-”

“What, Whizzer? Are you going to tell me I’m wrong? I fund your stupid fucking dream and you can’t even be bothered to have dinner ready at a reasonable time!”

“I never asked you to do that, Marvin!”

“Well, the point is, I am. I am doing it. And I don’t ask for much in return.”

“You don’t-” Whizzer starts. But he looks around. At Trina’s living room. And all the fight leaves him. “We shouldn’t have this argument here.”

Marvin shakes his head. “No. We shouldn’t.” He turns towards the door, and Whizzer starts to follow him, before he whips back around. “I just… this--us--our life together… It could be wonderful, Whizzer. Don’t you want that?”

“Ye-”

“But first you have to make a fucking effort.” With that, he storms out of the house and slams the door behind him.

Whizzer looks up at the ceiling and runs his hands over his face.

“You shouldn’t let him speak to you like that.” Whizzer jumps and looks over to the kitchen, where Trina is leaning against the doorframe. “That was always my mistake.”

“I didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t,” Trina says. “But I’m sick of watching that bastard get everything he wants, while the rest of us are left to scavenge.”

Whizzer nods. “Yeah, me too.”

“Thank you for talking to Jason,” she adds after a pause. “He doesn’t know it, but he needs this.”

“I agree.” He gives her a small smile. “It was good seeing you, Trina.”

Trina grunts and disappears into the kitchen.

“I’m in a bad mood,” Marvin says, when Whizzer sits next to him in the front seat.

“I know,” Whizzer says. He doesn’t look at him.

Marvin reaches for his hand, but he pulls away. “Whizzer-”

“Just stop. You meant everything you said.”

Marvin doesn’t respond.

"Let's go home," Whizzer says. He hears Marvin turn on the car, then turn it off again. "What is it?" He demands, glaring at Marvin.
"I know you don't believe this,” he says, quietly, “but I love you, Whizzer. Really, I do."

"And?" Because what good does that do him? What relevance does that hold? Why does he say that whenever they fight like some sort of fucked up form of apology? Except one where he takes none of the responsibility.
Marvin sighs and starts the car again. And they don't say another word.

They order pizza, and eat it in silence. Whizzer isn’t even actively mad anymore. Just numb. He has nothing left to say to him. It’s a feeling that has been increasingly common for him recently. It’s easier than the endless fights. All night, Marvin looks like he has something he wants to say, but he never lets it out. He just opens his mouth and shakes his head, and the tense silence builds and fills every nook and cranny.

They slip into bed and don’t face each other. And Marvin tries, again, to make himself speak, but to no avail. He just sighs and pulls the covers over himself. Whizzer falls quickly into a light sleep that’s broken only an hour or so later, though he’s not sure why. He turns to look over at Marvin, whose back is still facing him. He looks to be shaking ever so slightly. Whizzer quietly props himself up on his elbow and leans over him. Marvin’s hand is covering his face. This whole time, and he’s never seen Marvin cry before. By his own design, he’s sure.

Whizzer considers turning his back again. Afterall, there’s no reason for Marvin to be the one who’s having this visceral emotional reaction. He was the one in the wrong. He was the one being a complete and utter manipulative asshole. But he can’t just turn away. Despite himself and his pride. Despite his insistence on appearing distant and disconnected. Despite everything he’s convinced Marvin that he feels--or rather, doesn’t feel. He just can’t see him like this. He looks so small and broken. Whizzer wraps his arm around him slowly and Marvin freezes. Whizzer laces his fingers through Marvin’s, pulling his hand away from his face. He presses a kiss into the skin behind his ear, and settles into his pillow, breathing in the scent of his shampoo.

Marvin squeezes his hand and takes a deep, shaky breath. But, still, he doesn’t say a thing. And Whizzer doesn’t either. He just pulls Marvin tighter against him and closes his eyes. And he’s left there, in the darkness, just wondering.

A single moment of vulnerability, as it turns out, can not fix anything in the long-term. Apparently, Doctor Mendel Weisenbachfeld does, indeed, make house calls. And he makes a lot of them. Too many, really. And, at some point, when he’s rarely charging for them, it becomes clear that he’s no longer there to do a job. Every time Marvin knows that he’s there, his temper skyrockets. His already short fuse loses a few inches. And Whizzer is nearly always the one taking the brunt of that aggression.

Whizzer, for his part, has only met Mendel once. At Passover. Only a couple weeks into Jason’s sessions. The tensest, most awkward Passover he has ever experienced. He would have thought it impossible to make Dayenu sound threatening, until he watched Marvin sing it that night--his dagger-like glare never leaving Mendel, who was sitting uncomfortably at the other end of the table.

He seems nice enough. A bit of a pseudo-intellectual, slightly patronising, and somewhere in the crossover between insecure and incredibly full of himself. Like Marvin, really. But if Marvin were a socially awkward hippie. Mostly, though, he seems to make Trina happy. Whizzer, like Marvin, noticed all the stolen glances and stifled smiles. Unlike Marvin, thouhg, he was glad to see them. But he could never tell Marvin that.

Whizzer’s strategy, in general, is to ignore the whole issue. Let Marvin rant it out, and nod his head as if he’s listening. He’ll distract him with dinner or a movie, or he’ll just kiss him to shut him up. But Whizzer isn’t sure how long he can keep walking on eggshells like this. Or how much of Marvin’s stupid obsession he can handle before he just cracks.

It only takes a couple months. A couple months and a catalyst.

“They’re engaged!” Marvin is hardly through the door before he starts yelling.

“Sorry?” Whizzer asks, putting the final touches on the night’s dinner.

“Trina and Mendel! They’re engaged!” He clarifies.

“Oh,” Whizzer says. “That was fast. Haven’t they only been dating for a few months?”

“What does she even see in him?” Marvin drops his briefcase and jacket in the living room, and joins Whizzer in the kitchen.

Whizzer shrugs. “He’s nice.”

“He’s pompous and self-aggrandising and he puts on this stupid fucking saint facade, but he’ll stab you in the back any chance he gets!”

Whizzer tries to hand him a plate. “Come on, Marvin, let’s just eat dinner.”

“No!” He paces the kitchen. “I’m not even hungry anymore. I can’t fucking believe this! It’s been, what, a single year? And she’s already getting remarried! Like she can’t fucking wait to replace me.”

“You moved on before you were even broken up, Marvin.”

“That’s not the same thing!”

“Alright,” Whizzer mutters, staring down at the counter.

“I’m not trying to give Jason a new mom by being with you. I’m not trying to give myself a new wife. I’m not trying to replace her with you, for fuck’s sake!”

“Really?” Whizzer snaps. “Because that’s exactly what it feels like you’re doing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you treat me the same way you treated her, and expect the same things of me you expected of her! The only difference is that you actually want to fuck me.”

“What are you even saying?” Marvin asks.

“I’m saying that you treated her like shit, and that hasn’t fucking changed,” Whizzer says. “I’m saying that you are not a fucking innocent here, and you should just let her be happy!”

“So, what, you’re now best friends with my ex-wife? Find some fucking common ground in hating me?”

“Of course not. She hates me a hell of a lot more than she hates you.”

“But you’re on her side now?”

Whizzer shakes his head. “I’m not on anyone’s side, Marvin.”

Marvin grits his teeth. “Not on anyone’s… All I want is some fucking support here.”

“That’s all you ever want.”

“What?” Marvin demands.

“Yes, dear. Of course, dear. You’re so right, dear,” Whizzer mocks. “Here’s your goddamn dinner, dear.”

“If I wanted that, I sure as hell wouldn’t be with you.”

“Right.”

“When have you ever agreed with anything I say?”

“I’ve been nodding along to your inane rants for months now!”

“Inane rants?” Marvin scoffs. “You can’t even make an effort to empathize, can you?”

And it goes on like this. This same argument they’ve been having since the beginning. Every time, the only difference is that a new layer of hurt and aggression is added to the picture. Some new instance that makes each party want to rip the other’s throat out even more than the time before. It’s an argument that Whizzer has been avoiding for months now. Relatively successfully, he should add.

But no more. He spends the night next door.

“You’re miserable,” Cordelia says, handing Whizzer a glass of wine and curling up next to him on the couch.

“I’m not miserable,” Whizzer insists. “I’m fine. He’s just still upset over the engagement. It’ll blow over.”

“This started way before that,” Cordelia says. “You know that.”

Whizzer downs his glass in one go. “It’ll blow over.”

Cordelia shakes her head. “But what if it doesn’t? Neither of you are happy, but neither of you are willing to make a change. That’s not sustainable.”

“Is there more wine?”

“Stop changing the subject.”

Whizzer sighs and stands up. “You don’t need to worry about me, Delia. I’m a grown-up. I know what I’m doing.”

“Even grown-ups need help sometimes.”

“Yeah, but I don’t,” Whizzer says. “I’m getting more wine. Do you want a refill?”

“No, I don’t. Cause I’ve been drinking it like a normal, well-adjusted person,” Cordelia says.

Whizzer rolls his eyes and grabs the bottle from the kitchen, setting it on the coffee table and filling up his glass.

“How’s the photo business going?” Cordelia asks.

“Well, I’m finally making money,” Whizzer says, sitting back down on the couch, relieved that she’s finally given up on the subject of Marvin. “Not much. Not enough to live off of or anything, but at least we’re not losing money anymore.”

Cordelia nods and takes another sip of wine. “That’s good. You don’t have to rely so much on his bank account. That’s good.”

Whizzer shakes his head and downs another glass of wine. She’s right. That’s the worst part. In the back of his mind, he knows she’s right. But he just can’t let go. He doesn’t want to.

No, Marvin, I don’t want to play a game of chess with you right now. That’s all he had to say. There was already tension in the air. He’s not quite sure why. He’s certain Marvin doesn’t know either. But the reason why doesn’t really matter. The tension and anger is there, sitting between them on the chess board.

“I haven’t played this since I was a kid,” Whizzer warns. “And even then I was shit at it.”

“It’s not complicated,” Marvin says. He points to Whizzer’s king. “That’s the king. Just use some brains and protect him.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Whizzer grumbles. He picks up one of the horse pieces, twisting it between his fingers. But Marvin shakes his head. “What?”

“Are you really trying to start by moving a knight?”

Whizzer puts the piece down and wrings his hands together uncomfortably. “No. Stop staring at me.”

“Where else am I supposed to look?”

Whizzer shrugs. “We finally have art on the walls. Enjoy the paintings.”

“I’m gonna get a drink. Do you want some scotch?” Marvin asks, standing up.

“No.” He tries to think back to the last time he was taught this game. He must have been in elementary school. He hated it. There was something about the first turn. Some piece you were supposed to move, some special rule for how it moved. God, why can’t I remember?

Marvin returns with his glass and sits back down across from him. “Still haven’t moved?”

“Maybe just tell me the piece I’m supposed to use?”

Marvin scoffs. “Oh, so you want my help now?”

“No,” Whizzer snaps. “I can do it myself.”

“Right.”

Whizzer continues staring blankly at the board in front of him.

“Move a pawn,” Marvin instructs.

“I said I didn’t want your help!”

“If I listened, the game would never have gone anywhere,” Marvin says.

Whizzer rolls his eyes, and moves a pawn forward a square.

“You can move it forward two squares when it’s just leaving the formation,” Marvin says.

“I know,” Whizzer lies. “I want it to be there.”

Marvin sighs. “Suit yourself.”

“Any move I make is gonna be wrong to you, anyway.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just play.”

Marvin shakes his head and looks down at the board.

“Move a pawn,” Whizzer says.

Marvin glares up at him.

“What? Just move a pawn.”

“Obviously I know that,” Marvin grumbles.

“Good. Then do it,” Whizzer insists. He reaches out his hand and Marvin takes it reluctantly. He uses Marvin’s hand to move one of his pawns forward. “See? Not so hard.”

“That’s not the one I wanted to move,” Marvin complains.

“What difference does it make?”

“It makes a difference. I want to win,” Marvin says.

“You know what I want?” Whizzer asks with a smirk, leaning forward and raising his eyebrows.

“That’s all you ever want from me,” Marvin grumbles, pointedly looking away. “Play the game.”

“Fine,” Whizzer huffs. He rubs Marvin’s knuckle absentmindedly, and stares down at the board.

“God, you’re pretty,” Marvin breathes.

“Well, that’s a shame,” Whizzer says.

“Huh?”

“All this wasted beauty,” Whizzer sighs.

“What are you talking about?”

“You need a man who’s brainy and witty, right?” Whizzer scoffs. “With intellectual prowess. Smart enough to play a good game of chess, but not so smart he’ll beat you. Or maybe someone so dimwitted, he’ll be useless without you.”

Marvin takes a deep, frustrated breath. “Just move.”

“But, Marvin, how could I ever know which piece to use?” Whizzer mocks. “There’s just so many squares and pieces!”

“Whizzer are you-”

“What should I do?” He continues. “How should I behave myself?  It’s just too much for my little brain to handle!”

“Whizzer!” Marvin snaps.

“Neither of us are having fun. Maybe we should just quit,” Whizzer suggests, hopefully.

“You’re right. This shits.”

“So, let’s just…”

“No,” Marvin says. “Take a turn.”

“Fine. But let me win,” Whizzer says.

Marvin rolls his eyes. “Sure.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

“Cool. Thanks!” Whizzer picks up his king and jumps it across the board. When it reaches Marvin’s kings, he knocks it towards him and it clatters to the floor. “There. Whizzer wins.”

Marvin quietly picks up the black king and places it back on the board. “Everything’s a joke to you, huh?”

“Not everything, just this stupid game.”

Marvin nods and stands up. He’s silent as he leaves the living room and disappears into their bedroom.

Whizzer sighs and puts his king back on the board. Who knew he cared so much about chess? “Marvin!” He calls. “It was just-” Marvin appears then, at the door of their room, carrying Whizzer’s suitcase in his hand. He doesn’t say a word as he carries it over to where Whizzer is seated, and places it down by his feet. And there's something about his calmness, his quiet blank expression--such a contrast from his regular fits of fiery rage--that makes it hurt so much more. “You can’t be serious,” Whizzer says.

“Try me.”

“Over a chess game? All the massive fights we’ve ever had, and you’re breaking up with me over a fucking chess game?”

“Wow, I didn’t think you’d even care,” Marvin says.

Whizzer shakes his head. “No.”

“No, what?”

“No, you’re not allowed to fucking do this! You’re not allowed to be the one to fucking kick me out!” Whizzer shouts.

“Oh, I’m not?”

“No! You fucking treat me like shit. Treat me like your fucking slave! Pick fights with me, because your dinner is five fucking minutes late! And you’re kicking me out? You don’t get to be the one who gets the final word!” Whizzer jumps up and kicks the suitcase at him. He barely manages to jump out of the way. “I have done everything you demanded of me and-”

“No, you haven’t!” Marvin cuts in. “All I wanted from you was to know you gave a shit! I only asked all that from you because I was reaching for something--anything--to prove to me that you wouldn’t toss me away the second some richer, more attractive guy came around!”

“Oh, stop with your fucking excuses, Marvin! I’m sick of your excuses! They’re bullshit and you know it!”

“No, you just want to keep being able to play the fuckign martyr,” Marvin spits.

“You are manipulative, you are cruel, you are selfish--” Whizzer starts, Marvin nodding his head along with each accusal and slowly picking up the suitcase-- “and you’re patronising and condescending and... pathetic. You’re fucking pathetic. I should have left you a long time ago.”

“Good,” Marvin says. He shoves the suitcase at Whizzer’s chest, and this time Whizzer grabs it. “Then go. Pack your things and go.” He storms toward the door. “When I get back, I don’t fucking want you here.” And with that, he’s gone.

Whizzer clutches the suitcase to his chest. And he can’t seem to take a breath. He wants to go home. For the first time in a long time, every single piece of him just wants to go home. Because, suddenly, he feels like a refugee again. Stranded. Utterly and completely alone.

Chapter Text

It takes him a lot longer to pack his stuff this time. He has more of it. And it’s all settled in here. It all belongs here. When he was sleeping on a couch, he kept half his shit in the suitcase anyway. He was prepared to leave at any time, for any reason. He was ready. Not anymore, though. Whizzer shifts through the closet and the drawers, pulling his clothes out from where they’re nestled next to Marvin’s. It doesn’t all fit in the single suitcase either.

His eyes sting as he packs, but he doesn’t cry. He won’t let himself.

It takes him a couple hours, but, eventually, he’s lugging his suitcase and a garbage bag out of the apartment and all the way to… next door. God, this is gonna be awkward.

Cordelia opens the door with a smile that slowly disappears as she takes in the sight of him. “Oh, honey…”

“I need to stay here for a while,” Whizzer says stiffly, forcing down any and all emotion.

“Yeah, of course,” Cordelia nods. She motions for him to come inside, picking up the trash bag, and carrying it into the living room for him. “Coffee? Tea? Vodka?” she offers.

Whizzer shakes his head and sits quietly on the couch. Cordelia settles in next to him, for once just accepting his silence for as long as he needs it. “I never thought he’d kick me out,” Whizzer says finally. “I mean, he’s ‘kicked me out’ before, but it was always a bluff. It was always in the heat of an argument. This… this was different.”

“How so?”

Whizzer shakes his head. “He was so calm. Decisive. We weren’t fighting. Not really. And he was so calm.”

“Where is he now?”

Whizzer shrugs. “He left.”

“I know it doesn't seem like it now--” Cordelia starts.

“Don't you dare tell me it's for the best.”

“I wasn't gonna--”

“Right.”

Cordelia rolls her eyes and hits his arm. “Alright, alright, I won't say it.”

“He's an asshole, right?”

“Yeah, he's an asshole.”

“So I shouldn't care.”

Cordelia shakes her head. “Unfortunately, that's not how it works.”

Whizzer looks up at the ceiling, blinking tears away and swallowing down the lump in his throat. “I don't want it to be over. And I don't even know why. You said it yourself. We were both miserable.”

“I'm going to say something right now that you’re not gonna like.”

Whizzer groans.

“It's because you love him.”

Whizzer doesn't say anything. For once, he doesn't deny it.

He hasn't slowed down. Some people wallow after a breakup, but Whizzer gets to work. Distraction is his best friend. He picks up extra shifts at the cafe, starts scheduling clients for Sundays, and spends his nights at the bar or doing anything, really. Anything to keep him occupied. But nothing seems to be working. That evening keeps playing over and over again in his head. He can't keep his mind off of him. He can't stop trying to rewrite the memories, fix the ending. It doesn't help that he's living right next to him, either. He has to time everything so as not to run into him. Which means having to think about his schedule. Which means thinking about them. Those mornings, kissing him goodbye. Eating dinner together in the evening, drinking and laughing and wanting each other so desperately after a long day. The fighting crosses his mind, too, but it doesn't seem as bad as this. This loneliness. Emptiness. This feeling of being lost again.

Closure. He needs closure. Cordelia had suggested it that first night, and now, a week later, he finally agrees.

It takes a couple drinks for him to work up the courage. His head is spinning as he reaches Marvin's door, but he doesn't think it's the alcohol. He takes a breath and knocks. Silence. “Marvin? I know you're there. I know you don't want to talk to me, but please just open the door.” God, he sounds pathetic. “Marvin!” Still nothing. He sighs and takes his key out of his pocket, slowly unlocking the door and pushing it open. But the apartment is empty. Huh. There's an envelope on the table. Ripped open. The address is written in careful cursive, and the return address reads Trina's and Mendel’s names.

“Shit.”

He hears the shouting from the porch. He doesn't know what possessed him to come here, but here he is. He lets himself in and is immediately met with four dubious glares. Jason is standing next to Trina, clinging to her skirt. Mendel is standing between them and Marvin, who is closest to the door. Pieces of torn up cardstock litter the coffee table.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Marvin snaps.

Whizzer shakes his head and holds up the envelope. “Let's go home, Marvin.”

“ We aren't doing anything! I kicked you out, remember? And you never answered my question.”

“I don't know,” he admits. “I figured it was a save the date or something. Thought you might react badly.”

“So, you’re here to what-- protect my own family from me? Get out, Whizzer.”

“I just-- no-- I just need to talk to you,” Whizzer says. He feels manic almost. Desperate.

“No, it's good he's here,” Mendel says. “We should all work this out together. As a family.”

“You're not a part of this family and neither is he!” Marvin yells.

“Mendel is a part of this family, Marvin,” Trina snaps. “And you're going to have to deal with the fact that I love Mendel, just like I dealt with the fact that you loved him .”

“This is fucking ridiculous, Trina!” Marvin spits. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you’re not marrying him to ruin my life and make me look awful.”

“Marvin--” Whizzer tries, but Trina cuts him off.

“For once, Marvin, this isn't about you. This is about me and my happiness.”

“How could you deny what we had, Trina? How could you do this to me?”

“What did we have, Marvin?” Trina asks. “We fought and played stupid games and you made me feel the clown and I went along with all of it because I didn't want to lose my family. Because I didn't want Jason to lose his father. But you never loved me. You never could. And I've accepted that.” She sighs. “I'm trying to let you go, but you won't let me. You can't do the same.”

“I can let you go, but I can't let you replace me! I can't let you take my family away from me. My son!” Marvin shouts.

“You left us , remember?”

“I didn't leave! I moved into an apartment in a different part of the same fucking city! I didn't realise that would mean having everyone taken from me!”

“Marvin!”

Marvin finally turns to look at him. “What, Whizzer? What?”

“Not everyone,” he says quietly.

“Oh no?”

“You have me,” Whizzer says. “Or, you could have me, I mean. Come home, Marvin. Please.”

“ Do I have you? Really?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you love me?” Marvin asks. His hard expression softens a little and there's some hope glinting in his eyes.

Yes. Yes. Yes! But Whizzer's mouth goes dry, and the words get stuck in his throat. “Please don't make me answer that,” he manages.

Marvin's face sinks and he nods. “I am so dumb.” He turns his back again and storms past Trina and Mendel, whipping around the living room with a violent expression. Crash ! He knocks a lamp off a table. Then, whack ! Whizzer jumps back. Trina holds her face, where his hand just made contact. Marvin holds his hand and stares at it as if it were acting on its own. Mendel has a protective hand on Trina's shoulder. But Whizzer can't stop staring at Jason. His eyes wide. Looking more hurt than that night in the den. More helpless than ever before.

Marvin's anger doesn't surprise Whizzer. The shouting and the broken lamp didn't phase him a bit. But this…. Marvin will tear you apart with manipulations and insults, but as long as Whizzer has known him, he's never laid a hand on a soul. He would never. He could never. Could he? Well, he just did.

“Baby, I'm so--” Marvin tries, but Trina shakes her head. She turns and holds onto Mendel, crying quietly into his shoulder. Marvin looks desperately to Whizzer, but he just stares at his feet. Marvin, for his part, looks just as shocked by the action as everyone else. If that means anything. It probably doesn't.

There's quiet for a bit, until Trina dries her eyes and turns back to Marvin. “All I wanted was a husband and a family who I loved and who loved me in return. That wasn't you. I don't regret loving you, but it's over and I'm glad it's over.” She looks to Mendel. “I think I found what I was looking for now. So let me go. Please.”

Mendel squeezes her hand. “I love you,” he says. He looks to Marvin then. “I know what it must look like to you. I never meant for this to happen. It breaks every ethical rule in the books.” He turns back to Trina. “But I love you. God, I'm distressed at how much I love you.”

Marvin won't look at them.

“I, for the record, hate all of you right now,” Jason adds quietly to a couple stifled chuckles.

“Well, that's fair,” Whizzer mumbles.

“I mean--” Jason corrects-- “I love you. But you all can suck sometimes. You’re all selfish.” He stares directly at his dad then. “But I do love you, I guess. Even when I hate you.”

“I told you so,” Whizzer says.

Marvin glares back at him. “Are you next, then? Next to give a rousing speech about how badly I fucked up? How I should stop feeling because it was my fault in the first place?”

Whizzer shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s what anyone is saying,” he says. “Especially not me.”

“Yeah. Sure,” Marvin says. “When do you not blame it all on me?”

Whizzer looks him directly in the eye. He swallows hard.  “The answer was yes,” he forces out. “Of course I-- I never wanted to. I never wanted any of this. To be part of your family. To have that ‘‘til death do we two part’ bullshit. But life doesn't always work out how you wanted it, right?”

“What are you trying to say?” Marvin asks.

“Stay. Please. Cause I can't figure out how to start not loving you.” Whizzer thinks he's dissociating. It couldn't be him saying all this. Confessing all this. It's someone possessing him and expressing everything he's held back for over a year. Everything he never wanted to say.

“I can't…” Marvin runs his hand through his hair. “I can't have this conversation right now. I can't have any of these conversations right now. I--” He shakes his head. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. But we're--” he turns to Whizzer-- “we're through. I just… I never wanted to love any of you. I never wanted any of this to happen. I'm sorry. I'm so--” He takes a breath. “Whizzer, go home. You want to talk? We can talk. Later. Trina, I--”

“I don't need any more apologies, Marvin.” She doesn't say it with any malice. She says it with a sort of understanding. “But I think someone does.”

Marvin's eyes shift down to meet Jason's and he seems to fall apart. He nods quietly. “Okay. Yeah, okay.”

Marvin looks utterly drained as he walks through the door about an hour after Whizzer makes it back. Whizzer had spent most of that time laying on the couch and trying desperately to will himself not to think about anything. To no avail.

“What do you want to talk about, Whizzer?”

Whizzer opens his mouth to say something, but he has no idea what.

“This was your idea. I'd be happy enough to never have to speak to you again.”

“I know,” Whizzer says. He looks around the living room. It was his living room a week ago. Now it's just the apartment next door. “I just… I guess I want to know why. After everything. Why?”

“I'm tired, Whizzer,” Marvin says. “Tired of not being enough for you. I couldn't do it anymore.”

Whizzer nods and looks down at his feet. “I could… it could be better. You know now. You know that I… well, you know--”

“No,” Marvin says. “No. Nothing's different. Not really. You still can't even say it. I love you, Whizzer. With everything I have. But I'm so tired.”

“Me too.”

“This is what we do to each other,” Marvin says. “We make each other feel small and insignificant and exhausted. We make each other miserable.”

Whizzer feels like he’s going to throw up. It’s not that he hasn’t heard this before. It’s, of course, eerily similar to what Cordelia would always tell him. He’s told himself the same thing, too. But it’s different when it’s coming from Marvin. It feels more real. And so much worse.

“Go home. Get on with your life. Be happy. Just… let me do the same. I can't…” Marvin looks up at the ceiling and blinks tears away. “Every time I see you I want you back. So desperately. And I'm no good at self control.”

“So, this is it, then? Forever?”

Marvin nods and the last shred of hope that Whizzer has been holding onto turns to dust. “I think so.”

“I don't know…” Whizzer shakes his head. “I don't understand why I'm… without you, I can't understand anything.”

“I'm sorry,” Marvin whispers. But he doesn't look at him. “Goodbye, Whizzer.”

Whizzer gets up without another word. He passes Marvin and Marvin's hand shoots out to grab his. Just for a second. A single squeeze. And then he lets go. At the door, something occurs to him, and Whizzer turns back one more time. “Just one thing, Marvin. And don't question this, please. I don't think I can explain.”

“What is it?”

“Use a condom,” he says. “Please, Marvin, promise me that.”

Marvin looks confused but he nods. “Alright,” he says. “I promise.”

Whizzer takes one last look. Trying to absorb it all. Every detail. Every feeling. Everything. Before, finally, he closes the door.

Chapter Text

18 months later

“Thanks so much for coming,” Whizzer says into a mic to a room full of pretentious artists, mostly queer. Those in tune with the lesser known pieces of the New York art scene. The galleries like this one who display artists that not a single person has heard of, who will very rarely do anything bigger. Whizzer isn’t deluding himself. He’s going to be taking family photos to pay the bills for a long time still. But, hey, at least it’s something. “Uh, when I started this project, I was pretty lost. I had gone through a lot of pretty unbelievable turmoil in my life. I was looking for answers, for meanings. For a fix for everything that had gone wrong. Well, that never happened.” That elicits a laugh. “But I spent a couple months following in the footsteps of recently divorced, middle class white women, and travelled until I ran out of money. I took photos, because that’s what I always do.” The gallery is a sterile white. His photos line the walls. Everyone is wearing black for some reason. “And I started noticing patterns. And, looking back, I noticed these patterns appeared also in the photos I had taken around New York City these past couple of years.” This was so natural once. These speeches. He’s done a million just like it. But he’s rusty. He’s not so comfortable anymore. “Anyone who knows me knows that I’m pretty terrible at love and relationships. Not just romantic ones. I’m not great at friendships either, but it’s romance where I just tend to fall apart. So I’m not the person you would expect to do a project based around them. But I guess I’m just fascinated by things that are so foreign to me.” Cordelia is here somewhere. She offered to cater. She hired a manager and a chef to handle the day to day at the cafe, and has focused on expanding into a catering business, Cordelia’s Catering. They’re not as close as they once were. Once Whizzer found his own place, he stopped seeing her and Charlotte so much. He didn’t want to risk bumping into Marvin. They still go out every once in a while, but it’s not like it was. He’s not lying about being pretty terrible at friendships. “So, here I am. Telling other people’s stories of love in an attempt to understand it myself. Telling stories I probably have no right to tell. But I hope, regardless, that you take something away from these photos. To put it simply--and this is about to get really cliche and cheesy--I hope you leave having realized the beauty of love. All love. The kind that shows up in Jane Austen novels, and the kind that the world is still dead set on destroying. That terrifying thing that I can only face through the lense of a camera. Maybe you’ll leave here a little less scared.” The speech really is mushier than the pictures themselves. He didn’t bring people into a studio. He took candids. No faces--nothing identifying--just entangled bodies, fingers intertwined, lips touching. Little signs of affection. He took pictures in the streets, in bars, wherever he happened to be. Many are laced with lust and sexuality, and sometimes the apprehension and danger that comes from spending your whole life hiding away or looking over your shoulder. But that’s a part of love, isn’t it? Isn’t that what makes what he is saying about these photos true? That’s what makes love so exciting. It’s not clean and simple and easy. If it were, Whizzer wouldn’t have spent so much of his life running away from it. “Anyway, we’re all tired of hearing me talk, so I’ll shut up now. Enjoy the food and the drink, courtesy of Cordelia’s Catering, and, of course, enjoy the art. Thank you again.”

Whizzer turns off the mic and immediately reaches for a cocktail.

“Nice speech,” someone says from behind him. He turns around to see Charlotte and Cordelia’s smiling faces.

“Hey! Glad you could make it!” Whizzer says.

“You did get a little mushy there at the end, though,” Charlotte says. “Made me a little nauseous, honestly.”

Whizzer laughs. “Fuck you a little bit.”

“That’s fair,” Charlotte shrugs.

“Well, I thought it was great,” Cordelia says. “And these photos are gorgeous!”

Whizzer smiles broadly. “I love you, Delia.”

“Awe, I love you, too.”

“Damn, I’m feeling left out now,” Charlotte says.

“Well, you should’ve been nicer then.”

“It’s a beautiful series,” Charlotte sighs.

“Love you, Char,” Whizzer says.

Charlotte rolls her eyes. “Love you, too, I guess.”

“Well, we shouldn’t keep you from your fans,”  Cordelia says. Whizzer scoffs at that. “No, really,” she insists. “Turn around.”

Whizzer does and finally notices a group of people standing awkwardly around him. “Oh! Hi!”

“See you later, Whizz!” Cordelia calls as she pulls Charlotte away.

“You know, I don’t really come to these expecting much.” The group surrounding him has thinned to one man. An attractive one, Whizzer can’t help but notice.

“Oh no?”

“No. I live around here. I love art. But the artists they display here usually think they’re a lot better than they actually are,” he laughs. “I was pleasantly surprised this time.”

“I don’t know, I can be pretty conceited. What if I said I thought myself the, uh, the Vincent Van Gogh of photography?” Whizzer asks.

“What if I said I agree?”

Whizzer grins. “Then I would accuse you of trying to flatter your way into my pants.”

The man shakes his head. “Conceited is right.”

Whizzer laughs and holds out his hand. “Whizzer, by the way.”

“Wait, you’re telling me that ‘Elijah Brown’ is a pseudonym and your real name is Whizzer ?”

“Well, the first name is fake, yeah.”

“Why did you make your pseudonym more boring than your real name?”

Whizzer shrugs. “Didn’t want to fuck with the space-time continuum.”

“I’m sorry?”

Whizzer shakes his head. “Nothing. Ignore me.”

“Artists, man,” the man says. “Always a little bit crazy.”

“Sanity is boring.”

The man nods. “Well, Whizzer. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, nameless stranger.”

“James,” he says. “I’m gonna go admire the art a little more. I’ll see you later?”

“Definitely,” Whizzer smiles as he walks away.

“He’s cute.”

Whizzer jumps and glares back at Cordelia. “I’m aware.”

“You gonna, uh…”

“Maybe,” Whizzer says.

“Why only maybe?”

“I don’t-- probably? I don’t know!”

“You should,” Cordelia insists. “Take him to a bar or something.”

“Why do you care so much about my sex life?”

“I just… I don’t know… It took you a while to, you know--”

“I haven’t been celibate for a year and a half, Cordelia. I’ve been moving on just fine.”

“If you say so.”

He has been moving on well. On the surface, at least. He’s not lying about that. His career doesn’t seem totally hopeless anymore. He’s making enough money from his business to pay for a one-bedroom in Greenwich Village and any equipment he needs, with enough left over to actually have a life again. He only works at the cafe voluntarily if Cordelia needs some help. And he’s gone back to his normal patterns of getting drunk and picking up random guys on the weekends. It’s his life again. Like it had been for so long before.

But he still misses him. Compares everyone to him. Expects him sometimes when he gets home from work. There still feels like there’s something missing--something not quite right. He suppresses that as much as possible.

He misses Jason, too. He’s seen him a couple times. Talked with him on the phone a couple more. About a month after the breakup he showed up at Whizzer’s studio, like he had shown up at his and Marvin’s apartment. Without permission, of course. The next few times he claimed he had asked his mom first. Whizzer just didn’t challenge him on it. But the infrequent visits don’t feel like enough. Jason was like a son to him, and maybe it’s a sign of him getting old, but he misses the feeling of family.

Regardless, he can’t tell Cordelia any of that, so he turns back in the direction that James had wandered. “Hey! James!”

“Yeah?”

“Drinks? Tomorrow night?”

James grins. “Sounds great.”

Whizzer turns to Cordelia with a smug smile. “See? Totally over him.”

“To Whizzer and his beautiful photography,” Charlotte says, raising a glass of champagne.

“And to his hot date tomorrow night,” Cordelia adds.

“I’ll drink to that,” Whizzer says, sticking to his word and taking a drink. “He is… very pretty.”

They’re gathered in Whizzer’s apartment. He has an old Beatles record playing on his record player. It’s a good night. Whizzer is still buzzing from the gallery opening. Whatever happens--presumably nothing--at least he’s getting recognition for something other than dead-eyed family portraits. And he’s missed this time with Charlotte and Cordelia. It always feels so familiar, no matter how long it’s been.

Charlotte shrugs. “Yeah, he’s not… particularly ugly.”

“High praise,” Whizzer laughs.

“Where are you taking him?” Cordelia asks.

“A bar of some sort,” Whizzer shrugs. “I’ll figure it out.”

“What a romantic sentiment,” Charlotte says.

“I’m not trying to be romantic. I’m trying to get laid,” Whizzer says.

Charlotte laughs. “Oh yeah, make sure to lead with that.”

“Thanks, I will.”

“Good luck with that.”

Whizzer leans into the pillows at the corner of the couch. “It’s still weird having you guys in my apartment,” Whizzer says. “It was always, you know, Trina’s house or your place, or… his. I like being a host.”

“We like it, too,” Cordelia says.

“More than that, we like having a living room again,” Charlotte adds.

“You say that like I moved out yesterday,” Whizzer laughs. “You’ve had a living room for a year now.”

“Ah, yes, but we didn’t for six months,” Charlotte says. “That stays with you.”

“I was travelling for half of that,” Whizzer defends.

“Touche.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “How’s the catering going, Delia?”

“It’s… going,” she says. “I think it’s pretty hard to break in. But I’m doing a couple office parties for small businesses in the next month. Hopefully that’ll boost my rep enough to get into the Bar Mitzvah and wedding circuits. That’s where the real money is.”

“Isn’t Jason’s Bar Mitzvah coming up this year?” Whizzer asks.

“It is,” Cordelia says. “And I’ve been working that connection like crazy, trust me. You-know-who’s on board, but Trina isn’t convinced yet.”

Whizzer rolls his eyes. “You can say his name, Delia. I’m not that fragile.”

Cordelia nods, but she doesn’t look quite convinced. “I just have to figure out how to make, you know, Jewish food. Trina wants to try it first.”

“Seems fair.”

“Yeah, but I think I suck at making Jewish food,” Cordelia sighs.

“You’ll get there eventually, babe,” Charlotte says, wrapping her arm around Cordelia’s shoulders and planting a kiss in her hair.

“Part of the problem, I think, is that a lot of it just doesn’t taste good no matter what,” Whizzer says. “For example, gefilte fish. Disgusting. Slimy and disgusting. Only became a tradition because we were poor and couldn’t afford anything else and we apparently get off on our own suffering.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Charlotte agrees.

“I still want to make it right. Maybe I could make you guys like it even!”

“Not possible,” Whizzer says.

“She only thinks it is because she’s never tried it,” Charlotte says.

“I would have tried it, but I don’t eat meat!”

“Excuses, excuses,” Whizzer says. He turns to Charlotte. “This is what happens when you fall for a shiksa.”

“I know. I should’ve married one of those good Jewish boys from my synagogue,” Charlotte says.

“Hey!” Cordelia exclaims.

“You know, I’m not sure what my family was more pissed about: the gay thing or the goyische thing.”

“You guys are the worst!” Cordelia says, burying her face in her hands.

Charlotte laughs and pulls her closer. “Good thing I’ve never been too good at listening to what they want of me.”

Cordelia grunts.

“I love you,” Charlotte says softly.

“I love you, too,” Cordelia mumbles.

Whizzer sighs. “Y’all are cute. It’s disgusting.”

“Oh, you’re just jealous,” Charlotte says.

Whizzer scoffs. “No, I’m no-- Do you even know me?”

“Yes,” Cordelia says. “Better than you know yourself most of the time.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “Marvin was a failed experiment, not the first step in some deeply held desire to settle down.”

“If you say so,” Charlotte says.

“I do. I do say so,” Whizzer snaps.

Charlotte and Cordelia give each other disbelieving looks and Whizzer rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Let’s drop it.”

“Okay, it’s dropped,” Cordelia assures him. “More champagne?”

“Hell yes," Whizzer says, holding out his glass. "And keep it coming.”

Chapter Text

It’s not that Whizzer doesn’t like James. In fact, it’s been a few weeks and he still likes him plenty. He’s attractive, witty, and interesting. He dresses well. He works a steady job. He loves art and music and theatre. He’s great in bed, and they get along easily. They share philosophies on relationships and politics, and Whizzer never feels trapped with him. It’s simple. He should be perfect for him. It’s just not the same. It’s not right, somehow. Like something is off. But Whizzer decides to ignore it. Because it doesn’t matter, does it? Neither is in it to fall in love.

James is flipping through his records, as Whizzer watches him from the couch.

“Just choose something,” he laughs. “It’s not an extensive enough collection to warrant a ten-minute search.”

“Nothing you have is from later than, like, 1970,” James complains.

“That’s not true,” Whizzer insists. “ Born to Run is ‘75, and Never Mind the Bollocks is from 1977.”

“I never would’ve pegged you as a Sex Pistols fan.”

“It comes from the remnants of my teenage rebellion.”

“You were, like, thirty when it came out,” James reminds him.

He’s thankfully become an expert at creating convincing lies for why his timelines don’t always add up, so he doesn’t skip a beat before responding: “Yes, and when I heard ‘God Save the Queen’ the tiny teenage version of me who still lives deep inside my brain started head-banging.”

James shoots him a smile. “So, are you a punk, then?”

“Fourteen-year-old me definitely would’ve wanted to be.”

James chooses a record and places it carefully on the turntable, quickly cleaning it off and positioning the needle. The acoustic guitar of a Bob Dylan song quietly fills the room. “I would kill to see you in a studded leather jacket and those torn up jeans.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” James says, straddling him on the couch and running his hands through Whizzer’s hair. “Plus that spiky hair, and all those piercings…”

“Never gonna happen,” Whizzer says.

“Come on, make your teenage self happy,” James says, pressing his lips to Whizzer’s neck.

“This is not the fantasy I expected from you,” Whizzer laughs.

“I just think you’d look hot.” Suddenly he pulls away, and Whizzer groans.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing, I just haven’t finished snooping through your shit, yet.” James stands up and walks back over to Whizzer’s shelves, running his hands along the small number of books and the chachkes.

“I don’t remember giving you permission to do that,” Whizzer says.

“Sometimes it’s better to ask for forgiveness than ask for permission,” James shrugs. “So, do you forgive me?”

“I suppose,” Whizzer laughs.

“Good.” He pulls out a wooden box from the bottom shelf and runs his hand over the lid. “What’s in here?” he asks.

Whizzer takes in a sharp breath. “Nothing. It’s… Nothing.”

James raises his eyebrow. “Nothing?”

“Just some old photographs,” Whizzer says.

“That’s not nothing,” James insists. “Can I see them?”

Whizzer shakes his head. “They’re boring, really.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

Whizzer sighs. “Alright. Whatever. Look through them if you want.”

James smiles and sits next to him on the couch, flipping the lid open and taking out a stack of photos. Whizzer watches his face intently.

“Who is this? The man in all the photos.”

Whizzer folds his arms over his chest. “My ex.”

“Oh,” James says, but he doesn’t stop looking. “And the kid?”

“His son,” Whizzer responds.

“How long ago?”

“About a year and a half.”

James nods. “And you kept all the photos?”

Whizzer nods. “I don’t believe in tossing photos unless they’re just crap. Photos represent a memory. And I wouldn’t erase any of mine. Even the ones that aren’t so pleasant.”

James smiles softly. “I like that.” He places the photos down on the coffee table and Whizzer catches a glimpse of the one on top. It was from one of the days in the studio with Jason and Marvin. One of the ones that Jason had taken. Marvin is standing there awkwardly, like he’d rather be anywhere else than in front of that camera, but Whizzer’s arms are wrapped around his torso and he’s looking back at him and there’s something in both of their eyes that makes Whizzer’s stomach twist into knots. That sparkle, that slight glint of fire. It’s what’s missing here, he knows it. But he tears his eyes away and smiles up at the man leaning over him now, with his deep brown eyes, and that sharp-as-a-knife-jawline and his witty humor and his agreement that monogamy is an unrealistic endeavor; everything that Whizzer ever thought he was looking how. And this will do. This will have to do. Because he likes him. And that should be enough.

He thought it had been long enough. Or, really, he wanted to make a point to to himself that it had been long enough. That he was totally and completely over Marvin. Not the best move he’s ever made. There isn’t a corner in this bar that doesn’t remind Whizzer of him. Which doesn’t make him the most well-mannered, approachable date in the world. Not to mention that he keeps seeing him. Every time he looks into the crowd, it seems, he sees a glimpse of him. Of course, it’s not actually him. Just a trick of the light or the alcohol or Whizzer’s traitorous emotions. That knowledge, though, is doing nothing for Whizzer’s current state of mind.

“So, that guy over there is definitely making eyes at you. I don’t care what you say,” James says, leaning over the bar.

Whizzer forces a laugh and nods his head. “Alright, I believe you.”

“You know, he’s pretty cute,” James says. “We could invite him to join us.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “Whatever you want.”

“If you don’t want to, tell me.”

“I don’t care,” Whizzer snaps, and James jumps back. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m… I think I’m tired.”

“Clearly,” James grunts.

“I need another drink, I think.”

“You’ve had enough already,” James says. “Hasn’t made you more agreeable.”

“Maybe it’s not about me, huh?” Whizzer says.

“Oh, what? So it’s my fault somehow?”

“Maybe!” Whizzer asserts. James’s face grows cold, and Whizzer wants to punch himself in the face at this point. “I didn’t mean… That’s not… It’s not your fault. Not at all. It’s… Well, nevermind. It’s not you.”

James shakes his head. “Whizzer, what’s going on with on with you tonight?”

“Nothing!” Whizzer insists. “Really, I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Do you want to go home? We can take a rain check.”

“No, I’m fine. I swear,” Whizzer says. “I’m gonna go use the bathroom, splash some water on my face, give myself a pep talk. You know, whole shabang. You go talk to that guy over there, and when I get back I’ll be in a better mood. Promise.”
“And if you aren’t, I’ll see if he’ll settle for only me,” James says.

“That sounds fair,” Whizzer nods.

He gets up and pushes his way to the bathroom. Where all of this bullshit started. He stares into the mirror and splashes water on his face. Come on, asshole. Get your shit together. e hasn’t been here since a few months after the break-up. For this very reason. But he let his pride get the best of him. Again. And now, here he is, giving himself another pep talk in a shitty bar bathroom, thinking about his ex. How pathetic. This is exactly why I didn’t want a fucking boyfriend. But it shouldn’t even matter. I’m just existing. He’s not even here. It’s just a bar. It’s not actually--

“Whizzer?”

Whizzer whips around, and his mouth falls open. “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Good to see you, too,” Marvin says. He’s dressed okay for once. Not great, but better. He has a plain button up on, and pants that actually seem to fit him right. “You’re looking…” He trails off and looks down at his feet for a second. “You’re looking well. I’m glad.”

Whizzer shakes his head in disbelief. “So, I wasn’t just hallucinating you all night?”

Marvin laughs. “I mean, I think I’m real, but who really knows, right?”

“Oh, don’t get existential.”

“I didn’t think you came here anymore,” Marvin says. “I’ve never seen you.”

“Well, I’m on a date, so…”

“Oh,” Marvin says, nodding his head slightly. “I should, uh… I should let you get back to that.”

“Are you-- Do you--... Have you--”

“A couple. None of them lasted too long, though. Couldn’t live up to my standards,” he says with a smile.

“Don’t do that,” Whizzer snaps. “Don’t…. Don’t flirt with me. You can’t--”

“Sorry,” Marvin says. “I… I know. I’m sorry.”

He seems different. He seems so different. Confident and mature and kind. He lost that terrified look in his eye: the look of a caged, abused animal. He looks happy. Why does he get to look so happy when Whizzer still just feels so empty? It makes Whizzer furious. “I see you’ve learned how to apologize in the last year and a half. Took you long enough. Does that mean you’ve mastered your kindergarten manners finally or are you still catching up?”

Marvin nods. “I deserve that.”

“You deserve a hell of a lot worse than that.”

Marvin sighs. “Maybe we should go somewhere. Talk about… all of this.”

“We’re talking here.”

“I meant somewhere more private.”

Whizzer rolls his eyes. “Just to talk, huh?”

“Yes,” Marvin says. “No ulterior motives. Just get all of this off our chests”

Whizzer clenches his jaw and stares Marvin directly in the eyes. “Fuck you, Marvin.” Marvin looks taken aback. The confidence and put-togetherness crumbles, and he doesn’t look quite so happy anymore. Whizzer smiles. “Phew, you’re right. It was good to get that off my chest.” He whips the door open. “Don’t you dare fucking follow me,” he says, as he storms out of the bathroom. Marvin’s always been a bastard, but the audacity of that. What, he suddenly wants to talk? After a year and a half. After he kicked Whizzer out. After Whizzer spent that year and a half trying desperately to forget about him. Now, suddenly, because they ran into each other in that stupid bar bathroom, he wants to reconnect? That’s bullshit. The same manipulative bullshit that he has always been so fond of. Maybe he’s not so different. Not really.

He reaches James, still talking to the man who was staring earlier. He can feel Marvin’s eyes on him, from where he’s standing at the back, by the bathroom still.

James smiles when he approaches. “So, this is--”

Whizzer cuts him off with an aggressive kiss, pressing him up against the bar, and letting his hands linger on his chest even after he pulls away.

James looks flustered, and he raises his eyebrows. “What was that for?”

“Proving my change in attitude,” Whizzer says. He looks quickly over at Marvin, who is looking down at his feet, arms crossed: the position he takes when he’s feeling hurt and defeated. James’ eyes are quick to follow, and his face sinks.

“Is that Marvin?” he asks.

“What? Where?” Whizzer asks.

“Oh, don’t play dumb, you were just looking at him,” James says. “What the fuck is going on, Whizzer?”

“I don’t know, he’s just here! Cornered me in the bathroom!”

“And you came out here and kissed me to what-- make him jealous?”

“No, I came out here and kissed you ‘cause I wanted to fucking kiss you.”

James shakes his head. “No, I don’t believe you. Is this why you’ve been in a bad mood all night? Did you used to come here with him?”

“We met here,” Whizzer admits. “But that doesn’t matter. I don’t care about him. I told you I’m just tired.”

“Look, I’m not looking to be your boyfriend, Whizzer, but I won’t be some sort of delayed rebound either.”

“We’ve been hanging out for weeks. I don’t do that. If you were just a rebound, I wouldn’t do that.”

The man whose name Whizzer still doesn’t know cuts in then. “So, is this still happening, or…”

“Yes,” Whizzer says.

“No,” James responds simultaneously. “You’re not as good a liar as you think you are, Whizzer.”

“I’m not lying!” Whizzer insists. “And I don’t even know what you’re so upset about! It’s not like we’re planning on falling in love! It’s just fun, right?”

“Just fun,” James repeats.

“I thought we were on the same page about that.”

“An open relationship doesn’t mean not caring, Whizzer.” He shakes his head. “Jesus fucking Christ, whatever. You’re right. Doesn’t matter. But I’m not feeling this tonight.” He turns toward the door, but Whizzer pulls him back.

“No. You stay. You have fun,” he says. “I’ll go. I don’t want to be here, anyway.”

James rolls his eyes. “Fine. Sure. I don’t care.”

Whizzer sighs and exits the bar into the cool air. He sets off down the street, towards the subway station. Two bigger drunk guys are leaning against the wall at the entrance to an alley near the bar, shouting slurs at everyone who passes them. Because this night couldn’t get any worse. It’s not like this has never happened before. It doesn’t happen often, but people like this show up every once in a while, and they’re usually harmless. Just angry and drunk and homophobic, trying to get a rise out of you. If you ignore them, they move on to the next guy. They are the reason, though, not to leave alone.

“God, stop staring at me, faggot!” One of the men shouts at Whizzer, eliciting a laugh from his friend. “What, do you want to fuck me? Huh? I think the fairy wants to fuck me, man!”

“I’d rather get run over by a steamroller, you redneck piece of shit,” Whizzer mutters to himself. Suddenly, he feels a hand on his elbow, yanking him back, so he’s face to face with the man that was shouting.

“What did you say to me, faggot?” he growls.

Whizzer feels his heart pick up speed and he looks down at the ground. “Nothing,” he says. “I didn’t say anything.”

The man pushes him back into the darkness of the alley. “Stop lying to me. I heard you. You heard him too, right?”

“Yeah, I heard him,” the other man says. “He called you a redneck piece of shit.”

Whizzer backs up slowly. “I don’t want any trouble,” he says quietly, still not looking either of them in the eye.

“Neither do we,” the first man says, gripping Whizzer’s shirt, halting his movements. “But we can’t just let you go without teaching you a little something first.”

“Please,” Whizzer begs. “I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t mean--” That’s when he throws the first punch.

The next minute or so, to Whizzer, is just a blurry rush of fists and pain. He manages to get a couple swings in, but soon enough he’s on the ground, arms covering his face and head. He feels a distinct pain in the back of his skull and a stabbing sensation every time he tries to take a breath, along with the blows that won’t stop coming. He can’t seem to breathe. His vision is going dark. Around the edges. Any strength he still has, he’s focusing on keeping himself conscious. But he’s losing that battle, too.

“Hey! Stop!” he hears a familiar voice shout. A familiar voice and a couple other voices, too. And, suddenly, they do. Stop, that is. And the figures in front of him disappear, replaced by a new one, crouching in front of him. “Whizzer. Ohmygod. Whizzer. Talk to me.”

But it’s then that the world goes dark.

He has vague pieces of memories: being carried, and being in a car and then a stretcher; doctors, flourescent lights, anesthesias. It's a blur. People talk to him, but he doesn't really process what they're saying. It fades in and out. It feels like a dream.

He’s in a hospital room, bandaged up and connected to machines, when reality starts feeling like reality again. When he finally is able to process the world around him, and the room fades into focus. He feels dull pain just about everywhere on his body. He turns his head, much to the chagrin of his throbbing head. There’s a gray curtain there and two chairs, one of which is occupied. He groans. “Of course you’re here.” It hurts a bit to talk, like it hurts to breathe.

Marvin jumps and puts down the paper he’s reading. “Oh, thank god,” he sighs. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”

“Swell,” Whizzer says. “I love getting the shit beat out of me.”

“Right,” Marvin says. “Dumb question.”

“Why are you here?” Whizzer asks.

“I brought you here,” Marvin says. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t leave until I knew you were okay. I mean, they said you would be but I just--”

Whizzer glares at him. “Well, I’m fine.”

Marvin nods sadly. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, I’ll go.”

But, the truth is, Whizzer doesn’t want to be alone. He doesn’t want Marvin here either, granted, but until Cordelia or Charlotte or James, if he still wants to talk to him, can get here, he’ll have to do. “No, you can… I guess you can stay.”

Marvin tries to suppress his grin. “Alright. I’ll stay then,” he says.

“I don’t want you here,” Whizzer says. “But you’re slightly better than no one.”

“Noted.”

Whizzer looks up at the ceiling and runs his tongue over his dry, split lips. “How bad is it?” he asks.

“It could have been worse,” Marvin says.

“Yeah, but how bad?”

“Along with the obvious cuts and bruises… broken nose, broken rib, concussion, a small amount of internal bleeding, which has been dealt with, of course,” he says. “Mostly looking at some major pain meds, and a lot of bed rest.”

“How did you get them to stop?”

Marvin sighs. “Thankfully, there were a few of us who had filtered outside. Including your boyfriend--”

“Not my boyfriend.”

“Well, including your… James. Who was here, by the way, but he had to deal with some emergency at work.” Marvin shakes his head. “Anyway, they ran when they saw we had them outnumbered. Cowards when it comes down to it.”

Whizzer nods, swallowing the knot that’s building in his throat. The enormity of it all hits him then, and he feels like he’s going to vomit. “I thought I was gonna die,” he whispers, to keep his voice from breaking.

“But you didn’t,” Marvin says softly. “And you’re safe here.”

Whizzer turns back to him. “You’ve said that to me before. In that hotel room. Years ago.”

Marvin’s lips curl into a small smile. “I didn’t think you heard that.”

“I remember because it clued me into your lying about being asleep,” Whizzer says.

Marvin laughs quietly. “Of course that’s why you remember it.”

“What, no apology for your dishonesty?”

“I’m sorry,” Marvin says. “For that, and for so many things.”

Whizzer nods. “Thank you.”

Marvin smiles at him. A real smile this time. And Whizzer can feel his heart start to melt. No, no. Not again. Not again.

Whizzer looks at the ceiling again. “Can this bed be raised?”

“Yes,” Marvin says, standing up and picking up a remote from the side of the bed. Whizzer winces as he’s raised to a sitting position. “Did that hurt? Are you okay?”

“Everything hurts, Marvin,” Whizzer says. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Do you need more pain meds? I can call the doctor in if you need more pain meds.”

Whizzer shakes his head and grabs his hand, looking up at him. “I’m fine, Marvin. Don’t worry so much.”

Marvin looks down and places his other hand over Whizzer’s. “How could I not worry?” he asks.

Whizzer’s chest feels heavy and his heart is beating at twice it's normal speed. He pulls his hand away from Marvin’s. “Talk about something else. How’s Jason?”

“He’s good,” Marvin says. “He’s great actually. Baseball season is starting soon, so he’s excited for that. His Jewish Center has a team.”

Whizzer smiles at that. “Is he still in his school’s choir?”

“Yeah. He loves it,” Marvin says. “And he’s not bad, actually. Don’t know where he got that from.”

“Me neither,” Whizzer laughs. Oh, laughing was a bad idea.

“He’s singing all the prayers he needs to learn for his Bar Mitzvah, even the ones he’s not supposed to sing,” Marvin says. “He says it helps him remember, but I think he just enjoys it.”

“Could be both.”

“Probably, yeah,” Marvin agrees. “He misses you.”

“I miss him, too.”

“Getting to visit you always makes his whole week.”

Whizzer smiles. “Makes mine as well.”

“He’ll be glad to hear that.”

Whizzer looks down at the hospital gown and the scratchy blanket. “Don’t let him come here. Don’t let him visit me in here. I don’t want him seeing me like this. I don’t want him knowing why, either. Promise me you won’t let him. Or tell him.”

“I promise,” Marvin says. “But he could handle it. He’s strong and smart. He could handle it.”

“I know,” Whizzer says. “But he shouldn’t have to.”

They’re interrupted, then, by the door opening. Charlotte, in her white coat, waves at him with a smile. “You’re awake!” She says, cheerily.

“I am,” Whizzer agrees.

“How bad’s the pain?” she asks, approaching the bed, and picking up his clipboard, scanning through the sheets of information.

“Manageable,” Whizzer responds. Marvin sits back down in one of the chairs, and shoots Whizzer a smile.

“Well, that’s good,” Charlotte says. “Let me know if that changes.”

“Is Cordelia coming?” Whizzer asks.

“She has to deal with some things at the cafe, then she’ll be here,” Charlotte says. “She wanted to come right away, but I made her stay and do her job.”

“Good,” Whizzer says.

Charlotte turns to Marvin, then. “I can take it from here. You should go home. Get some sleep.”

Marvin shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“Go home, Marvin,” Whizzer says. “Take care of yourself. I’m good.”

Marvin just shakes his head again.

“Thank you for bringing me here. Thank you for staying. But go. Please.”

Finally, Marvin nods. “Okay. But I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Marvin, you don’t have to--”

“Yes, I do,” Marvin says. “I do have to. I thought… I thought you were…” He shakes his head. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Whizzer agrees. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As soon as Marvin leaves the room, Charlotte drops her smile. “What the fuck did you do to yourself, Whizzer?”

Whizzer looks at her with confusion. “Nothing?”

“No, I mean, Marvin told me what happened, but I… How did it happen?”

“I might have called them redneck pieces of shit,” Whizzer mutters.

“You did what ?”

“I didn’t mean for them to hear me.”

Charlotte puts a hand to her mouth. “You could have died, Whizzer. If Marvin hadn’t shown up, you would have died.”

“Yeah, I’m aware,” Whizzer says.

“You have to be more careful than that. You know you have to be more careful than that!”

“I know,” Whizzer says. “I don’t need this lecture, alright?”

“Sorry,” Charlotte says. “Sorry. I know you know. I just… I was so worried, Whizzer.”

“No, I know. I’m sorry,” he says. He reaches out a hand to her, and she takes it, sitting down with him at the edge of the bed.

“You and Marvin seem friendlier than I expected.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “It’s funny how a near-death experience puts things in perspective.”

“What does that mean? Should I remind you why you’re not together anymore?”

“No,” Whizzer says. “I know. It’s not like that. But he’s so familiar. It’s comforting. And I just… I can’t bring myself to hate him right now.”

Charlotte nods. “Just be careful.”

“I can handle myself,” Whizzer assures her.

“Yeah, I just don’t know if he can.”

Cordelia shows up a couple of hours later, carrying two full bags of food, which, according to Charlotte, Whizzer is not allowed to eat yet, but which makes his mouth water. James arrives soon after with a bouquet of flowers.

“They’re from the gift shop downstairs,” he admits. “But I think they’re pretty.”

Whizzer smiles. “Thank you. And I’m sorry about--”

“Forget it,” James says. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” He sets the flowers down in the bedside table.

Cordelia and Charlotte slowly retreat from the room and give Whizzer a quick thumbs up before shutting the door. Whizzer shakes his head, with another painful laugh. “They’re ridiculous.”

“They seem cool.”

“The coolest.” Whizzer takes his hand, and shifts over so he can sit down on the bed. “I heard you met Marvin, though.”

“I did,” James says. “He seems surprisingly okay too.”

“Ah, you just don’t know him well enough,” Whizzer says.

James squeezes his hand. “I should have left with you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. I was being a jerk.”

“If I had, you might not be in here.”

“Or we both mightbe in here,” Whizzer says. “And, besides, I’m fine. No harm, no foul.”

“Pretty sure ending up in the hospital is the definition of harm.”

Whizzer shakes his head with a smile. “Clearly, that wasn’t my point.”

And he’s so easy to talk to. And he’s so easy to be with. And he’s so perfect in so many ways. And Whizzer should be so happy to see him at this moment. After everything he’s gone through, shouldn’t he have had an epiphany and realized that he wants to give this relationship his all, or something? Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen? But, instead, with his head on a lumpy pillow, and his body connected to IVs, all he’s longing for is Marvin. And, god, he refuses to let that be his epiphany.

Chapter Text

Days in the hospital run long and drag on forever. James tends to visit in the morning, as his meetings are usually scheduled later in the day, and go long, into the evening. Marvin visits every evening after work. The middle of the day is when the boredom and anxiety sets in. Cordelia tries to be there when she can, bringing meals, so he won’t have to eat hospital food, and Charlotte, of course, pops in every once in a while. But Whizzer spends plenty of time alone. He’s found himself becoming paranoid. Not that something will go wrong with his body, but that those men will somehow find him again. Finish what they started. It’s bullshit. And his rational brain knows that. But, regardless, he hates being alone.

That next day is the worst. He wasn’t allowed to sleep the night before. Could kill him apparently. Charlotte and Cordelia take turns keeping him company overnight, but come morning, they have to get work done. James is there for a couple of hours, but once he leaves, he doesn’t have anything to do but watch bad television, and it doesn’t distract him very well. He jumps at small sounds, and practically has a heart attack whenever someone enters.

He sighs audibly when Marvin finally arrives.

“I’m surprised you’re so happy to see me,” Marvin laughs.

“I’m just happy to finally have some company.” He shuts off the small TV, and waves him over to the bed. Marvin sits at the edge, and gives him a smile.

“I brought you something,” Marvin says.

Whizzer grins. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I figured it gets pretty boring, so I brought you my favorite book to give you something kind of stimulating to do.” He hands Whizzer a well-used paperback and Whizzer looks down at the title.

“ Animal Farm ?”

“Yeah, have you read it?” Marvin asks.

“No, but I read 1984 and hated it, and vowed never to read another Orwell book.”

“How could you hate 1984 ?” Marvin asks incredulously.

Whizzer shrugs. “It’s boring, I hated all the characters, and, I don't know, there are literal paragraphs about how much the dude hates women. Plus, again, it was boring.”

“It’s about the importance of freedom and privacy, and the dangers of censorship! It’s a warning about a possible future if our basic liberties were taken away. There’s nothing boring about it.”

Whizzer shrugs. “A possible future in 1984.”

“The year is inconsequential. Did any space monoliths appear in 2001?”

“No, and I hated that movie as well.”

“How did you--” Marvin starts. “Actually, no. I won’t question it.”

Whizzer laughs and shakes his head. “I forgot how cute you are when you get all riled up,” he says, half to himself.

Marvin’s face grows red and he turns away. “ Animal Farm is better than 1984 . I promise.”

“Fine. I’ll give it a shot,” Whizzer agrees.

“What’s your favorite book then?”

“Of the ones that currently exist…” Whizzer hesitates. “ The Great Gatsby .”

“That’s… No, yeah, that seems right.”

Whizzer laughs. “Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know. The roaring ‘20s, extravagant parties, egregiously rich New Yorkers, murder, scandal, sex…”

“Don’t forget that Nick Carraway is clearly gay.”

“He’s what?”

“He’s gay. He’s obviously in love with Gatsby! Who totally leads him on by the way.”

“What about his relationship with Jordan?”

“She’s a lesbian!” Whizzer exclaims. “Obviously.”

Marvin rolls his eyes. “Sure.”

“You know I’m right.”

“I don’t, actually, but I have a feeling I should probably just drop it,” Marvin says.

“Okay, how about a deal?” Whizzer asks.

“What sort of deal?”

“I give Animal Farm a fair chance, and you re-read The Great Gatsby with a mind open to its homoerotic subtext.”

Marvin nods. “Okay, deal.”

Whizzer doesn’t sleep much that night. He tosses and turns on the thin mattress. Except he can hardly toss or turn with his broken rib situation, so it’s more like trying to turn, realizing his mistake, and returning to lying on his back. Every time he closes his eyes, his heart starts racing and his body won’t relax. He falls asleep a couple of times, only to wake up soon after from anxiety dreams and panic. Which only exacerbates the pain he feels when he breathes. Eventually, he gives up and just reads. He’s made significant progress by the time James arrives the next morning.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he says, motioning for Whizzer to move over so he can sit down next to him.

Whizzer grunts and holds up a finger, quickly finishing the paragraph before setting the book down on his lap and making room on the bed. “Morning,” he says finally.

“What are you reading?” James asks.

“ Animal Farm .”

“I thought you hated Orwell.”

“I hate 1984 . This is Marvin’s favorite, though, so he convinced me to try it.”

“Oh,” James says quietly. “Well, you definitely seem to like it.”

Whizzer shrugs. “It’s better. Not great still. I think I just don’t like his writing style. But it’s better than sitting here doing nothing.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry I can’t be here more.”

“Don’t be,” Whizzer insists. “You have to do your job.”

“Speaking of,” James says reluctantly. “I can’t stay long. I have an early meeting today. But hopefully that means I can get away earlier tonight.”

Whizzer nods, and lets out a loud, long yawn. “Don’t worry about it,” he says finally.

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Barely.”

James shakes his head. “Hopefully you can go home soon. Get yourself to a comfortable bed that won’t leave you up all night.”

Whizzer knows that isn’t the issue, but he’s not about to tell James about his panic attacks, so he just nods and smiles. “Yeah, me too.”

“Okay, fine, you’re right! He’s gay!” Marvin exclaims, slamming a copy of The Great Gatsby down on the bed.

“I told you!” Whizzer laughs. “You should’ve just believed me!”

Marvin sighs and plops down onto the edge of the bed. “I should have.”

“You always should just believe me. I’m basically always right.”

“Just quit while you’re ahead,” Marvin laughs.

Whizzer shifts to the other side of the bed and gestures for Marvin to put his feet up and lean back against the pillow. Marvin hesitates, but eventually he complies. The bed isn’t very big, and they’re pressed against each other, side by side, and Whizzer’s breath gets a little shallower. “How’d you finish it so fast anyway? It’s only been a day.”

“My work is boring and it’s a short book,” Marvin shrugs. “How’s Animal Farm going?”

“I’m almost done, too,” Whizzer says.

“And what do you think so far?”

“Better than 1984 ,” Whizzer says.

“But you don’t like it.” Marvin sounds legitimately disappointed.

“I like it fine,” Whizzer says. “Just really not an Orwell guy.”

“To each his own, I guess.”

“You’re judging me.”

“I’m not. You’re entitled to your opinion. Even if it’s wrong.”

“Asshole.”

“Maybe, but at least I have decent taste in literature.”

The conversation stays light like this for a while. Talking about nothing, telling stories, hurling light-hearted insults. Marvin gushes about Jason and all of the incredible feats he’s accomplished in school and in his choir. At some point, though, the tone shifts, and Whizzer looks down at his hands, questions that had been haunting him for months or years, starting to rise to the surface.

“Hey, Marvin.”

“Yeah?”

“You said something. Soon after we first slept together. In Cordelia’s kitchen. Something about…” He hesitates. “Was I actually the first man you ever slept with?”

Marvin shakes his head. “No.”

“Why did you lie?”

“Denial?” Marvin responds. “You were the first I ever slept with when I was sober. I used to have to get so drunk I’d hardly remember it the next morning. As a way to keep pretending, I guess. But I knew I couldn’t pretend with you.”

Whizzer turns to him, and their faces are so close he can practically taste his breath. “Well, I’m glad you stopped pretending then,” Whizzer says quietly.

“Yeah, me too.”

Whizzer’s eyes drift down to Marvin’s lips, and they’re right there. Inches away. He just wants to lean over and kiss him. He wouldn’t have to lean far.

“Knock, knock.”

Whizzer tears his eyes away from Marvin to see James standing in the doorway.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Marvin jumps to his feet and shakes his head. “Uh, no, not at all.”

James nods, but he doesn’t look convinced.

“Come here,” Whizzer says, waving him over. When he reaches the bed, Whizzer clutches his collar and pulls him down to kiss him. And when Whizzer pulls away, Marvin has disappeared.

“Why did you put up with me for so long?” Marvin is sitting next to him on the small bed again. He has Jason on the weekends, so it had been a couple days since he was last here. The others had been around more on the weekend, but Whizzer had felt himself missing him, longing for his company, berating himself for it every time it crosses his mind. It didn’t help that Whizzer has still hardly slept. The exhaustion is catching up with him. He yawns through half of what he says, and he can barely form coherent thoughts tonight. But Marvin’s question shocks some of the fog away.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“I mean, why did you never leave?” Marvin asks. “I look back on the time we were together and I can’t stand it. I can’t stand myself in those memories. I would have left me. Why didn’t you?”

“I… uh, I guess I didn’t feel like I had anywhere else to go.” Whizzer looks past Marvin, at the dull gray curtain. “And I guess I didn’t want to go badly enough to make an effort to find somewhere. I didn’t want to go at all, really. I loved you, Marvin. I didn’t want to, but I did.”

“I loved you too,” Marvin says with a smile. “Though I was pretty awful at showing it.”

“At least you could say it,” Whizzer says. “I could never find the courage.”

“What are you so afraid of?”

“I don’t know,” Whizzer answers honestly.

“Well, what about James?” Marvin asks.

“What about him?”

“Do you love him?”

Whizzer considers his response carefully. “He’s a really good guy. We’re… good together.”

“That’s not the same thing, is it?”

“No,” Whizzer admits. “No, it’s not.”

Marvin looks up at the clock and slowly pushes himself up.

“Where are you going?”

“It’s late. You seem exhausted. I should let you get some sleep.”

“Don’t go,” Whizzer says. “I won’t sleep anyway.”

“Why? Because of the bed?” Marvin asks. “How did you manage to sleep on my couch for months, again?”

“No, it’s not the bed,” Whizzer says. “Why does everyone assume that? I mean, the bed doesn’t help, but that’s not it.”

Marvin looks down at him with a frown. “What’s wrong?”

Whizzer chews on his bottom lip nervously, and stares up at the ceiling. “I get jumpy--anxious--whenever I’m alone. And it’s worse at night. It spirals in to full-on panic sometimes.” He pauses. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

Marvin takes his hand and squeezes it gently. “I’m glad you are.”

“There’s nothing you can do, though. It’s dumb.”

“Would it be different if I stayed?” Marvin asks. “Until you fall asleep at least. Would that help?”

“It might.”

“Okay, then, I’ll stay.”

“Okay.”

Marvin leans back into the pillow, his and Whizzer’s hands still intertwined. Marvin caresses his knuckles softly, absent-mindedly, like he always used to do. And it does work, it turns out. And Whizzer feels his eyes drifting closed, and his breathing slowing down and, finally, he feels his consciousness melt away, as he falls asleep. It apparently works for Marvin, too, because when Whizzer wakes up from a nightmare, Marvin is still lying there beside him, snoring lightly, his hand still clutching Whizzer’s. And the familiar rhythm of his breath and his snores lull Whizzer easily back to sleep.

“Uh, good morning, gentlemen.”

Whizzer’s eyes open slowly, and he stares at the figures in the doorway, his brain slowly processing who they are. “Oh, uh, good morning Charlotte, and, uh, James.” He suddenly pulls his hand away from Marvin’s and kicks him awake. “James! Hi! How are you?”

Marvin pushes himself up and looks around the room, the morning haze clear in his eyes. When his gaze reaches the doorway, he jumps and bolts out of the bed. “Hi! Good to see, uh, both of you. Good morning.”

“I brought you some magazines,” James says simply, tossing them on the bed. He crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. “Thought you could use the entertainment.”

“Thanks,” Whizzer mumbles.

“I should go,” Marvin says, grabbing his sweatshirt from the floor. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow, or tonight, or… whenever.”

“Right. See you.”

Marvin waves awkwardly at the three of them, before rushing out of the room.

James nods at him and sits in one of the chairs at the side of the room.

Charlotte glares at Whizzer as she speaks. “Normally, of course, I have nurses check up on you in the morning, but I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone this morning and come say hi.” She doesn’t sound particularly friendly when she says it. “Bumped into James on the way in.”

“Right. Cool. Great,” Whizzer says.

“Let’s get started, then.”

As Charlotte does her quick check on his vitals and everything he’s been connected to all week, Whizzer won’t take his eyes off of James, who won’t even look at him. Even when she asks him a question, he doesn’t look away. He’s hiding his emotions pretty well, but Whizzer can tell that something is wrong. That he’s hurting. Come on, look at me. Please. Just look at me.

“Alright, Whizzer, everything is looking good. Progressing normally. You shouldn’t be in here for too much longer,” Charlotte says matter-of-factly. “Oh, and Cordelia is coming in later.” With that, she leaves, but not before shooting Whizzer one last glare.

“He just fell asleep. I didn’t plan that,” Whizzer says as soon as Charlotte is gone.

James nods. “I’m not sure that matters.”

“Of course it matters,” Whizzer says. “He was just staying until I fell asleep because I was having trouble falling asleep alone and I guess he just fell asleep too. I didn’t mean to spend the night with him.”

“Why did you never tell me that? I could have stayed with you.”

“You’re never here in the evenings. He is.”

“I’m not here because this case is insane and it’s taking up all of my time and I’m exhausted by the end of the day.”

“Exactly, I didn’t--”

“But if you needed me, I wouldn’t have thought twice.”

“I didn’t want to inconvenience you,” Whizzer says weakly.

“No, you just didn’t want to tell me.” He finally looks back at Whizzer, and he just looks so tired. Whizzer feels his heart twist. “You told him instead.”

Now it’s Whizzer’s turn to look away. “I was with him for a long time. I think it just feels natural with him. It’s easy to slip back into old patterns.”

“Easy to fall back in love.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not.” James stands up and sits on the edge of Whizzer’s bed. “You know I don’t care who you sleep with, but I do care who you fall in love with. And you’re clearly still in love with him.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Whizzer repeats.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him. Even at his pictures,” James says. “I’ve always ignored it, but I don’t think I can do that anymore.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying it’s pretty shitty to dump someone while they’re in the hospital, but I don’t know what to do, Whizzer.”

“It’s just everything that happened and this stupid hospital. I’m not thinking straight.”

James sighs. “I wish I believed that. I wish I believed you. I want to believe you.”

“Then do.”

James shakes his head. “Please, Whizzer, just be honest with me for once. I think I deserve that.”

Whizzer stares down at his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean… I didn’t even realize… I really did think it had been long enough.”

“I know.”

“I like you, James. Really. I like you so much.”

“But you love him.”

Whizzer doesn’t respond.

“For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure he still loves you, too.”

Whizzer feels his heart jump at James’s assertion, but he pushes it down, down, as far as it will go. “You deserve someone great,” Whizzer finally says. “Someone so much better than me. You deserve to be happy.”

“You’re right,” James says. “And so do you.”

Whizzer smiles at him. “You’re pretty incredible. You know that, right?”

“I know,” James says, returning the smile. He stands up and crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, I look forward to seeing your photos in a museum someday--I wasn’t only complimenting you to get in your pants, you know--but until that day, I think this is goodbye.”

“Goodbye, James,” Whizzer says. “And good luck. With everything.”

“You, too.” He walks towards the door, before turning back to Whizzer. “You should tell him. You owe it to him, and to yourself, and to any future guy you try to force yourself to move on with, to be honest. You’ll cause a lot less pain that way.”

“Okay, why isn’t Charlotte talking to you this time?” Cordelia asks. She places a tupperware of food on Whizzer’s bedside table.

Whizzer sighs. “Marvin.”

“What about him?”

“He fell asleep in my bed last night.”

Cordelia raises her eyebrows. “Oh, did you guys…”

“No, nothing happened,” Whizzer says. “We just slept.”

Cordelia sits on the edge of the bed. “She’s just worried about you. And Marvin.”

“I know,” Whizzer says with a smile. “And fair enough.”

Cordelia points to the tupperware. “Leftover eggplant parmesan.”

“Delicious.”

“It is,” Cordelia nods. “Anyway, how’s your day been otherwise?”

“Well, I just got dumped, so…”

“While you’re in the hospital?” Cordelia asks. “Dick move.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “Not really. It was my fault. Feels unfair to expect him to keep suffering on for who knows how long.”

“That’s a very mature take on it.”

“I’m a very mature person.”

"Sure,” Cordelia laughs, earning her a playful glare from Whizzer. "Why did he end it?"

Whizzer looks down. "Marvin," he says simply.

"Oh," Cordelia says. She shoves Whizzer’s shoulder and he slides over to make room for her next to him.. “So, how are you dealing with it?”

“I’m… okay,” Whizzer says. “Surprisingly enough, I’m actually okay.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

Whizzer shakes his head. “Honestly? I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

Chapter Text

Marvin doesn’t miss a day until Whizzer is out of the hospital, which happens by the end of the week. He is there every evening, from when he gets off work to when Whizzer falls asleep. Which means actually getting some sleep. Which means he’s finally starting to feel better by the time he goes home. Not that the paranoia and anxiety has gone away, certainly, but he’s less jumpy. It’s taking longer for him to spiral. It gives him hope that maybe it will just fade away. Give it time and he’ll go back to normal, right? Nothing he needs to draw attention to. It gives him hope that he can shrug his shoulders and say that it’s fine and, eventually, he’ll be right.

Marvin keeps his arm around Whizzer’s waist as he walks him up to his apartment.

“You know I can walk okay on my own. There’s nothing wrong with my legs.”

Marvin sighs. “I don’t care what you think. You shouldn’t even be climbing stairs in the first place. You have a broken rib.”

“Fractured rib.”

“Same difference.”

“Not really!”

Marvin glares at him. “Close enough.”

Whizzer rolls his eyes. “Fine. Whatever.” He slips an arm over Marvin’s shoulders. “Take care of me then. Tend to my every need. Make me feel like a damn princess.”

“That’s the plan, your majesty.”

“My savior,” Whizzer laughs.

“Alright, princess, we’re here,” Marvin says.

Whizzer pulls out his keys and unlocks the door. “Welcome to the palace,” he says, pushing the door open. “Complete with one bedroom, one tiny bathroom, and a kitchen that is basically part of the living room.”

Marvin chuckles and helps him to the couch. “It’s nice. I like it.”

“Yeah, I don’t hate it either,” Whizzer says, kicking off his shoes and lounging back on the couch. He kicks his feet up, and rests his head against his pile of throw pillows. “It’s comfortable. It has exposed brick, which I have always wanted. And I like having a place that’s my own.”

Marvin nods and pushes Whizzer’s feet towards him so he can sit on the couch. Whizzer retaliates by resting them on his lap, and Marvin shoots him a smile.

Whizzer swallows hard and looks away. “I mean, I guess it isn’t technically my own. Still belongs to the landlord, but, you know, I’m the one paying so... you get what I mean.”

“Yeah, I get what you mean,” Marvin says softly. He’s frowning and staring down at his lap and Whizzer’s feet.

“You okay?” Whizzer asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Marvin says with a smile. “I’m just… sorry is all.”

“For what?”

“For making it so our apartment didn’t feel… yours.”

“Well, that’s mostly my fault,” Whizzer laughs, trying to keep the mood light. “I was hardly paying rent.”

“No,” Marvin shakes his head. “No, I didn’t ask you to. I didn’t need you to. But I used it against you. I made you serve me and be someone you weren’t instead and it wasn’t right and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Whizzer takes a breath. He’s been wanting to hear these words for a year and a half. He’s been waiting for this admission of guilt, this grovelling, these apologies, since he packed that suitcase. Longer, really. Since well before they broke up. But now it feels empty. Not because he doesn’t believe what Marvin is saying, but because he doesn’t need to hear it anymore. Because he’s realising that he’s already forgiven him. “You’ve been saying that a lot recently.”

“Well, I’m making up for years of never saying it at all.”

“You don’t have to do that anymore.”

“What, apologize?” Marvin asks.

Whizzer shakes his head. “No, you don’t need to keep proving to me that you’ve changed. I believe you. I forgive you. I should be asking for the same.”

“There’s nothing you did that needs to be forgiven.”

“Maybe, but there’s plenty that I didn’t do,” Whizzer says. “I was never fully there. I never sacrificed a thing for you or gave you a fraction of what you needed from me and I knew that. I knew I was just stringing you along and I would never be who you needed me to be. I knew that from the start. It was selfish and cruel from the start. I shouldn’t have even kiss--”

“Don’t say that,” Marvin snaps. “Don’t say that you shouldn’t have kissed me that night. I don’t care what your intentions were. I don’t care if it was cruel. I don’t care if it was selfish. Don’t say that.”

“Okay.”

“See, if you hadn’t kissed me, if none of that had ever happened… I don’t know where I would be. I don’t know who I would be. But I know I would be miserable. I know I would be lonely and angry and a terrible father like I was until I met you,” Marvin says. “Maybe, in the end, you couldn’t give me everything I wanted, but in that moment, you were exactly what I needed. And the good, the bad, I wouldn’t give up any of it. Not for anything.”

Whizzer pushes himself up and takes Marvin’s hand in his. He shakes his head and they lock eyes and Whizzer can see him so clearly now through those bright blue eyes and he knows that James was right. He never stopped loving him. “No, neither would I.”

“Cordelia, thank god, I need you,” Whizzer exclaims as she walks through his front door.

“Good to see you, too,” Cordelia says, walking a bag full of food to Whizzer’s kitchen-ish area. “I brought food.”

“Thank you, I love you,” Whizzer says. “Now sit. I need you.”

“Alright, what crisis have you managed to get yourself into from your damn apartment?”

“I need an intervention.”

Cordelia nods. “Is this about the drinking or the apparent inability to have a successful and healthy relationship?”

“Okay, first things first: I don’t have a drinking problem.”

Cordelia shrugs and gives him a skeptical look.

Whizzer shakes his head. “Anyway! I guess… second one. Kind of.”

“Well, you clearly have a fear of-”

“No! Not… I need an intervention about Marvin.”

Cordelia sucks in a breath. “Oh. What happened?”

“Nothing,” Whizzer says. “We didn’t do anything. We haven’t even kissed," he sighs. "But I want us to. I want something to happen. Every time I see him, that’s… it’s all I can think about.”

“Oh.”

“So I need you to remind me why I’m not with him anymore and convince me that I’m being a goddamn idiot, alright?”

“You’re being a goddamn idiot,” Cordelia confirms. “You’re still reeling from that relationship. You can’t put yourself through that again.”

Whizzer groans and falls back into his pillows. “Ow,” he says gruffly, pain shooting through his chest as soon as he hits the cushions.

“You okay?”

“Peachy. Keep talking.”

“Alright,” Cordelia says. “You were miserable. He made you miserable. You told me all the time about how small you always felt. Small and trapped and used, right? He treated you like his servent, not his partner. I love the guy, but in relationships, he is hot-headed and manipulative and cruel.”

“Alright, you’re being a little hard on him.”

“I’m quoting you.”

“Well, he’s different now,” Whizzer says.

“He’s definitely grown and matured. You’re right.”

“You’re not supposed to be agreeing with me.”

Cordelia sighs. “We don’t know if that growth will transfer to a relationship. We can hope it does, but it could just be more of the same.”

Whizzer nods and runs his hands over his face. “You’re right.”

“I know I am,” Cordelia says. “But I also don’t want to be telling you what to do.”

“Please do, though,” Whizzer says. “Please continue telling me what to do.”

Cordelia shakes her head. “I don’t think you should be with him again. You made each other miserable. But you’ve also both changed. And, in the end, it’s your risk to take. All I can do is give my opinion. You have to make the decision,” she says. “Well, you and Marvin.”

“Why do you have to be so wise and considerate?” Whizzer complains.

“I can send Charlotte over here to yell at you if you want, but she’d probably agree with me when it came down to it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Whizzer groans.

“You’ll make the right decision,” Cordelia says. “I believe in you.”

“God, I wish I had your faith in me.”

Over the weekend, Marvin doesn’t visit in order to spend time with Jason, so Whizzer starts taking clients again. Charlotte gave him her approval as long as he rests as much as possible between shoots and takes a cab instead of the subway. He does sessions with those he had scheduled weeks ago, and a few last minute reschedules. Despite some lasting pain, his life seems to be going back to normal. His work keeps him occupied enough during the day, which distracts him from his paranoia, and Charlotte and Cordelia have dinner with him in the evening. It’s after they leave that he has the problems. The weekend sends him back to barely sleeping. But it’s fine, right? It’ll go away eventually. It’s fine.

Marvin visits again Sunday night, after dropping Jason off at Trina’s. They’re seated at opposite end of the couch, legs interlocked in the middle, just reading quietly; Whizzer deep into the passion and scandal of Madame Bovary , while Marvin tries once again to tackle Don Quixote. It’s something he’s been saying he’s reading as long as Whizzer has known him. He generally goes for about a day or two before not picking it up again for another month, when the cycle starts again. He is finally on to part two, though, so that’s something.

Whizzer looks over the top of the book at Marvin’s furrowed brow as he stares down the words on the page. He looks like he’s completing some strenuous task, rather than reading for pleasure. “You know, you don’t have to finish that thing to prove you’re smart.”

“That’s not why I’m reading it,” Marvin mumbles, not looking up from the page.

Whizzer kicks him lightly and Marvin sighs and looks up at him. “Then why are you reading it? You don’t seem to enjoy it very much.”

“Because I told myself I would finish it, so I’m going to finish it,” Marvin insists.

“What’s the point if you don’t like it?”

“The point is achieving a goal,” Marvin says. “I refuse to die without finishing this goddamn book.”

“Alright, then,” Whizzer nods. “I believe in you.”

Marvin groans. “I don’t.”

Whizzer laughs and closes his book. “Take a break,” he says, leaning over and taking the brick of a thing from Marvin’s hands and placing it on the coffee table. “Read it for, like, fifteen minutes a day or something. Instead of obsessing over it for 24 hours and letting it burn you out for so long.”

“That’s… actually good advice,” Marvin concedes. “When did you start giving good advice?”

“What are you talking about? I’ve always been great at advice,” Whizzer says. “I take the lessons I’m supposed to learn for myself and, instead of applying them to my own life, I teach them to other people. While I continue on being a complete fucking disaster. It’s called being selfless.”

Whizzer watches happily as Marvin throws his head back laughing. A real, full laugh that lights up his face and fills up his body. He’s missed that laugh. It’s one of his favorite sounds, one of his favorite sights.

Whizzer shakes his head. “Alright, it wasn’t that funny.”

Marvin doesn’t stop, though. “I know,” he manages through fits of laughter. “I don’t know why…” He cuts himself off with another set of full-bodied guffaws.

“Oh my god,” Whizzer says, rolling his eyes. “You’re impossible.” And, without thinking really, he leans over and shuts him up the same way he always used to. And it works. Remarkably well. Marvin stops laughing the second Whizzer’s lips touch his.

It’s all so familiar. The taste of his mouth, and the softness of his lips, and the feeling of his hands in his hair and clutching the fabric of his shirt. Every movement, every touch, every sensation. It’s all so natural, like muscle memory. So comfortable, like he’s finally home again. The rest of the world fades away as he melts into him and it’s like nothing else matters but this.

It’s his injury that returns him to reality. A sharp pain in his side is enough for Whizzer to jolt back, to break away. And, as soon as he does, the world comes rushing back. All the history and the pain and the baggage suddenly reappears, sitting between them on this couch, as they stare at each other in silence.

Marvin finally looks away and pushes himself off the couch. “I think…” He picks up his book from the coffee table. “I should go. I’m gonna…”

“No,” Whizzer says. “No, don’t just--”

“I have to,” Marvin insists. “I, uh, I’m gonna, uh, I have to--”

“We should at least talk about what just happened,” Whizzer says. “We can’t just--”

“We can,” Marvin says. “At least… at least for now. I have to go. I have to…”

Whizzer feels a jolt of desperation. He doesn’t want him to leave. He doesn’t want to fear that he won’t come back. He doesn’t want to lose him again. Whizzer shoots up and grabs Marvin’s arm, pulling him back. “Please, Marvin. Don’t just leave me.”

Marvin won’t look at him. “I’ll see you soon, Whizzer,” he says quietly. “But I have to go.”

The desperation twists then into anger. Whizzer clenches his jaw and his eyes grow cold as he lets go of Marvin’s wrist. “Fine,” he says. “Go. But don’t worry about coming back.”

“I--”

“Get out of my house!” Whizzer roars.

And so he does. He scampers out like a scared animal, clutching his book to his chest. But Whizzer doesn’t feel any sympathy. He was the one who wanted to leave in the first place. This all feels familiar as well. This rage and this feeling of being let down. This is the Marvin he knows. When it gets complicated, when it gets hard, he bolts or he picks a fight or he does whatever he can to avoid actually fixing anything. He was so stupid to think that any of that had changed. Marvin is still the same immature coward he’s always been. He’s just gotten better at hiding it. As soon as the door is shut, Whizzer sits with his face in a pillow and just screams. Until his throat is raw and he’s run out of breath but the anger has died down from a deafening thunder to a distant roar. But, even so, that night, it’s more than the anxiety that’s keeping him awake.

Chapter Text

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Whizzer says, laughing angrily and slamming the door shut.

Marvin catches it just in time, taking a step into the apartment. “Then let me do the talking. Please.”

“No,” Whizzer says. He crosses his arms and steps in front of Marvin, blocking his path inside. “You had your chance to talk a week ago and you decided to run away instead. You made your choice. Learn to live with it.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run off like that, but I--”

“Oh stop apologizing!” Whizzer snaps. “All you do now is apologize! But the thing about apologies is that they only work a finite number of times. You can’t just fuck up a million times over and expect an ‘I’m sorry’  to always fix it. You actually have to fucking change.”

“I know that,” Marvin says. “And I have changed. You just took me by surprise is all. I needed time to think. I needed time for my brain to catch up.”

“And that took you a whole fucking week?”

“It’s a lot to think about.”

Whizzer nods. “Yeah. It is.”

Marvin looks down at his feet. “So can I come in?”

Whizzer shakes his head. “You know, I had time to think this week, too, Marvin.”

“And?”

“And I need you to leave.”

Marvin’s jaw falls slightly as he looks up at Whizzer. “You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly,” Whizzer says, his voice sharply emotionless. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I shouldn’t have let you take care of me. I shouldn’t have let you back into my life at all. All we will ever do is hurt each other.”

“That’s not true, Whizzer, we can--”

“Go, Marvin.”

“I’m not saying we should get back together but I care about you, Whizzer, we can still--”

“Marvin!” Whizzer shouts. “Leave! Now! I don’t want you here!”

Marvin’s face falls and he takes a step back into the hall. He nods slowly. “Alright,” he says quietly. “Alright, I’m leaving.”

“Bye,” Whizzer says gruffly, slamming the door in his face. He leans his head against the wood, his hand still clutching the handle, and listens as Marvin’s footsteps slowly fade out down the hall. Part of him wants to run after him. To hear what he has to say at least. To give him another chance. But Marvin has been given so many chances already. And, always, he’s blown it. To pieces, usually. Besides, Whizzer’s still not supposed to be running anywhere yet.

He’s had two weeks without much in the way of sleep now. He’s practically drowsing off at his camera in the middle of shoots. And, yet, when he’s alone in bed at night, he is suddenly wide awake. It’s taking a toll on his work, certainly. And Charlotte and Cordelia are starting to worry, though he insists that he’s fine. His pain isn’t nearly so bad anymore, and, physically, he’s almost back to normal. If you discount the physical fatigue, that is. But, mentally, it feels like he’s drifted back to where he was at the very beginning. He’s alone this evening, not expecting anyone, jumping at every sound, and trying desperately not to let himself spiral into a panic attack, when there’s a light knock on the door. He nearly has a heart attack. But he manages to push himself up and slowly open the door.

“Mendel?” he asks drearily, blinking disbelievingly at the short man standing in the doorway. Whizzer thinks that his tired mind must be playing tricks on him.

“Uh, hi, Whizzer,” he says. “Can I come in?”

Whizzer nods, still in shock, and steps aside to let him in. “Do you, uh, want a drink or something?”

“No, that’s not why I’m here.”

“Okay,” Whizzer says. “Why are you here then?”

“Because Marvin--” Whizzer groans at the mention of his name-- “and Charlotte and Cordelia are all worried about you. They thought it might be helpful if someone with a professional and more removed ear came and talked to you.”

“They shouldn't be worried. I’m fine.”

“When was the last time you got enough sleep?”

Whizzer shakes his head. “I don’t know!”

“Then you’re clearly not fine.”

“I don’t need a therapist,” Whizzer insists.

Mendel pauses and looks around the living room. “Okay, I’ll take that drink then.”

Whizzer nods. “Drinking I can do.”

They’ve been talking and drinking wine for about an hour, when the conversation starts moving away from light, slightly awkward chatter. It happens so gradually that Whizzer doesn’t even notice.

“So, why haven’t you been sleeping?” Mendel asks, pouring himself another glass of wine.

Whizzer shakes his head. “I just get so panicky at night. It’s like I think those assholes who beat the shit out of me are gonna find out where I live and come back to finish the job, you know? It’s dumb.”

“It’s not dumb,” Mendel says. “Irrational, maybe. But not dumb.”

“Same difference.”

“Not really.” Mendel leans forward. “You went through a trauma. Irrational fears and triggers are natural. It’s not dumb, it’s a survival instinct gone awry. It’s natural.”

Whizzer looks down at his glass, swirling the wine around slowly. “So how do I get it all… back on track?”

“Time,” Mendel says. “And help.”

“Right,” Whizzer sighs. “You know, I sleep fine when someone’s here. Not super well, but well enough. It’s when I’m alone that I can’t shut my eyes for shit.”

“And why do you think that is?”

Whizzer hesitates. “I think…” he takes a swig of wine. “I was alone that night. When it happened. Because I was alone, I was an easy target.”

“Well, the difference is that, right now, nobody is shooting at you.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Whizzer says. “Rationally, I know that. But the irrational part of me still isn’t convinced.”

“You’ll get there. I promise. As long as you put in a bit of work.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “Just because you got me drunk enough to spill my guts a bit, doesn’t mean I’m suddenly gonna want to sit on your couch every week.”

“Why are you so averse to the idea of getting help?”

“It’s a waste of time and money. I don’t need it. I can figure it out myself.”

“See, I think you’re scared of asking for help because you’re scared of showing weakness. You want to be the strongest, most independent person in the room, right? You don’t want to rely on anyone or need anyone? Why does it scare you, Whizzer?”

Whizzer glares at him silently.

“Are you scared that they’ll leave?”

Whizzer still doesn’t say anything. He just looks down at his glass again.

“You’re lucky, Whizzer,” Mendel says after a while. “You’ve got so many people who love you and who care about your well-being. None of them are leaving any time soon.”

“You can’t know that,” Whizzer says finally. Because maybe they’re not leaving, but he could disappear any second. Just like he has before. He could wake up any day in another time. Another life. True he’s lived in this life for three years, and nothing has happened, but he lived in his old life for thirty-three. And here he is.

“It’s true that there are forces beyond our control,” Mendel says. “And everything ends. But that can’t stop us from living or from loving. Life’s too short for that.”

Whizzer doesn’t respond.

“Besides, ‘not leaving’, is pretty much in a psychiatrist’s job description,” Mendel adds. “If you can’t talk to the people who love you yet, that’s fine. But let yourself be helped. I understand if you’re not comfortable talking to me. I can give you plenty of recommendations.”

“I can’t afford it.”

“Family and friends discount. Pay what you can,” Mendel says.

“I’m not your family, and we’re hardly friends. We barely know each other.”

“People I love love you. That’s close enough to family for me.”

“Well, I don’t… I don’t feel comfortable…”

Mendel nods. “I’ll find you some people in your price range. Just give this a chance, okay?”

Whizzer looks up at the ceiling and sucks in a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Good.” Mendel finishes his glass of wine and sets it on the coffee table. “Goodnight, Whizzer.”

Whizzer nods. “Yeah, goodnight.” He drops his head into his hands as soon as he hears the doors close. Why would Mendel care? Why would Charlotte and Cordelia send him here? Why is everyone so damn concerned with his personal issues anyway? They’re his to figure out. At his pace. In his own way. Why won’t anyone just let him be? But there was some relief in what Mendel had to say. And he’ll admit that he’s really sick of all the sleepless nights. So maybe he’ll forgive them for this overstep. And maybe he’ll actually take their advice this time. Who knows? He’s been surprising himself a lot lately.

The phone rings a few minutes later. “Hello?”

“Whizzer! My mom finally let me call you again!”

Whizzer smiles. A real smile for the first time in a while. “Hey, Jason. I’m so glad to hear from you.”

“Yeah! You too!” Jason says excitedly. “Do you think I could come over sometime? Help out in your studio or something? I don’t care really, but I miss you!”

“You know you can come see me anytime, bud. I’m always happy to have you around.”

“Well, my dad said I couldn’t come the other week when he was visiting you a lot.”

Whizzer shoots up. “Wait, he told you about that?”

“Yeah, he said that you needed help with something and that you guys were friends again, so he was helping you. But that I couldn’t come.”

Whizzer lets out a quiet sigh of relief. “It’s not that I didn’t want to see you. It just wasn’t something… it was an adult problem. Nothing you needed to be concerned with.”

“What if I wanted to be concerned with it?”

“I just didn’t want you to be,” Whizzer laughs. “Trust me, it was nothing. Would’ve just bored you.”

“Fine, I’ll drop it. You can keep your secret.”

“Thanks, kid.”

“You’re welcome.” Jason only hesitates for a second before changing the subject. “I have my first baseball game on Saturday!”

“Wow, that’s awesome, Jason!” Whizzer says. “Are you excited?”

“Yeah, I’m so excited! You played baseball as a kid, right?”

“All the way from tee ball to high school varsity.”

“Were you any good?”

Whizzer chuckles. “I mean, I wasn’t terrible, but I was certainly no Mike Trout or anything.”

“Who’s Mike Trout?”

Whizzer rubs his temple. Fuck. He’s normally fairly good at keeping his references period-appropriate, but every once in awhile, something slips. “He, uh… he was… on my high school team. He was our star player. I’m surprised he never went professional.”

“Oh, you should’ve just referenced Joe Dimaggio or something.”

“You’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

Whizzer laughs and nods his head. “That’s very true.”

“I don’t think i’m very good, but that’s okay,” Jason says. He doesn’t sound very disappointed by his lack of ability.

“As long as you’re having fun. That’s what matters.”

“I’m having fun!” Jason assures him. “You should come to the game on Saturday and see for yourself!”

Whizzer bites his lip and looks up at the ceiling. “I’m not sure if I should, Jason.”

“Why?”

“It’s just…” Whizzer shakes his head. “It’s not really my place.”

“Sure it is,” Jason insists. “It’s my game, and I want you there.”

Whizzer sighs. “Maybe,” he says. “I’ll try.”

“So that’s a no, then,” Jason says, the disappointment clear in his voice.

“What do you mean? I said I’d try.”

“Whenever you say that, you don’t show up,” Jason says. “I know you’re just saying it to be nice.”

“You’re too smart for me, kid.”

“I’m too smart for most people.”

Whizzer laughs. “What time and where?”

“Wait, you actually want to come?”

“It’s your game. I want to support you,” Whizzer says. “So, when and where?”

“Ten at the fields in Central Park!” Jason exclaims.

“Okay,” Whizzer says, regretting his decision a bit already. “I’ll be there.”

“Yes! Thank you!” Jason shouts into the phone. Whizzer can hear Trina shush him faintly from the background. “I’ll see you Saturday then!”

“Yeah, I guess I’ll see you Saturday.”

Chapter Text

Whizzer has to psych himself up pretty ferociously before he can even leave his apartment Saturday morning. He convinced Charlotte and Cordelia to come, too, so that’s bound to make things a bit easier, but, the reality is, this is going to be awkward no matter what. The last time he saw Marvin, Whizzer was slamming the door in his face, the last time he saw Mendel, he was psychoanalyzing him, and Trina just hates him. No amount of buffering from Charlotte and Cordelia could shield him from those levels of awkward tension. So, he’s late showing up. The game is already in the fifth inning by the time he approaches the crappy metal bleachers. Jason’s team, The Blue Devils, is losing rather dramatically. Four to nothing.  They’re on defense when he shows up, and he spots Jason standing in the outfield, staring up at the clouds. He presses his face to the chain link fence and waves at him.

“Jason!” he calls, and Jason turns his direction, a smile spreading across his face when he sees him.

Jason waves enthusiastically with his gloved hand.

“Watch the batter!” Whizzer instructs. “Pay attention to the game! You’re the last line of defense between the other team and a home run! Act like it!”

Jason grins at him, before turning back to the game, staring intensely now at the batter, who has fouled off an impressive number of nearly wild pitches. He could have been walked about five times by now if he had any sort of eye, but the kid seems to swing at everything. It’s amazing he manages to make any contact.

Whizzer steps back from the fence and turns toward the bleachers, where Charlotte and Cordelia are already waving at him. Marvin is seated next to them, and Mendel and Trina are right in front. Marvin is staring pointedly ahead of him, while Trina is staring at him with a fairly reasonable tinge of disgust and disapproval. Mendel, though, gives him a small smile and pats the open seat next to him. Whizzer takes a deep breath and approaches the group with a forced smile.

“Hey everyone,” he says. “Good to see all of you.”

Trina grunts, and Marvin doesn’t even acknowledge his existence.

“Good to see you too, Whizzer,” Mendel says, holding out a hand for him to shake. “How are you doing?”

“Nope, not drunk enough for that,” Whizzer says.

“Took you long enough to get here,” Charlotte gripes. “You missed half the game!”

“Sorry, I overslept,” Whizzer lies. “How’s Jason been doing?”

“He’s… had a lot of fun, it seems!” Cordelia says.

“He could use a little help, honestly,” Mendel says, which prompts a frustrated nudge from Trina.

“He’s doing no worse than most of the other boys on his team,” she corrects. “You can’t expect him to play like a professional.”

“Darling, I love him, but he’s not destined to be an athlete.”

Marvin still says nothing.

By the bottom of the ninth, Whizzer decides that he has to intervene. Mendel was right about Jason not being an athlete. He swings like he’s never held a bat before. He faces the pitcher’s mound instead of home plate, chokes up on the bat way too much, and holds it with his hands miles apart. He wonders why his coach hasn’t bothered to do his job and correct him. When Jason is on deck again, Whizzer jumps up and slips onto the field, something he’s sure he’s not really allowed to do. But no one seems to care. He trots over to the on-deck circle, where Jason is swinging the bat wildly.

“Whizzer! He exclaims when he spots him. “I’m so glad you came!”

“Of course I did,” Whizzer says. “I told you I would.”

Jason smiles and wraps his arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

Whizzer squeezes him tightly, before letting go. “Hey, we can hug later. Right now can you show me your swing?”

Jason nods and backs up, swinging the bat again.

Whizzer nods and twists his shoulders gently towards him and lightly kicks his feet wider apart. “This is the stance you want to have when you’re hitting. And I need your body to be facing home plate, not the pitcher’s mound.”

Jason nods. “I thought that’s what I was doing.”

“You start that way, but instead of just turning your head, you tend to turn your entire body.”

“Oh,” Jason says. He plants his feet, raises his bat, and slowly turns his head to the side.

“Great!” Whizzer says. “Stay there.” Jason freezes in place, and Whizzer takes to his arm positions. He shifts his hands father towards the bottom of the bat, and forces them closer together, and lifts Jason’s elbow slightly. “There. This is what it should feel like when you’re up there,” he says. Jason nods again. Whizzer stands behind Jason and holds the bat with him, slowly guiding his swing back, and then swooping forward. “And that’s what a swing should feel like.” He guides him again, slower this time. “Head in the box,” he says. “Eye on the ball. Deep breath. Swing.” He steps back. “Try it.”

“Head in the box,” Jason mutters. “Eye on the ball. Deep breath. Swing.” The swing is still a little awkward. Hardly the graceful swoop that would hit the ball deep into the outfield. But now there’s at least a chance he’ll make contact, which is good enough for now, as the batter before him trots to first base on a walk.

Whizzer pats Jason on the shoulder and runs back to the stands. He doesn’t sit, though. He leans against the fence where Jason can clearly see him (and he can finally notice the coach throwing him dirty looks). Jason swings wildly at the first two pitches, despite them being way out of the box. He looks nervous, but at least his form is better. Whizzer waves at him and takes an exaggeratedly deep breath. Jason nods knowingly. He plants his feet, lifts his elbow, adjusts his hands, and turns to stare the pitcher down. When the next pitch comes, Jason just watches it, and the umpire calls the ball. “Good eye,” Whizzer mutters. The next pitch is fast and straight and Whizzer holds his breath, as Jason winds up for the swing. He thinks he must be imagining the crack of the ball hitting the bat, but then it’s flying through the air towards a daydreaming outfielder.

Jason looks at it in shock, and then turns a smiling face towards his family in the stands. Whizzer turns back towards the rest of the party, all of whom are standing and staring in awe. The outfielder, thankfully, doesn’t catch the ball, but he’s almost reached where it’s lying in the grass and Jason hasn’t even stepped out of the batter’s box. Almost in unison, the whole crowd seems to shout: “Run!” And he does. He’s fast, too, and he manages to reach third before his coach stops him.

The crowd goes as wild as a little league crowd can, and Whizzer returns to the stands with a smile on his face, while their whole party high-fives and cheers. For the first time that day, Marvin doesn’t look miserable, and Trina doesn’t look pissed, and they all actually feel like a family. Or, close to it, at least. Whizzer thinks he might have even seen Marvin grin at him and open his mouth like he had something to say. But it only lasts a moment, and he still doesn’t say a word. Whizzer doesn’t mind, though. He doesn’t want to talk to him anyway. He’s here for Jason, and only Jason. Not Marvin. Who is completely irrelevant to his life because he tried that and then he tried it again, and neither time did it work out in any way, shape or form.

Jason is eventually left stranded on third base, but the runs he batted in meant his team didn’t end up getting shut out the first game of the season. Six to three isn’t terrible, especially as these games tend to go. There’s a chorus of “congratulation”s and “good games”s and a feast of orange slices, after which people start to filter out of the park.

“We’re going to get pizza! Do you want to come?” Jason asks Whizzer.

Trina purses her lips at the idea, but she doesn’t shoot it down.

Whizzer shakes his head, though. He’s bothered Trina enough today. And for years. He’s not about barge in on another of her family dinners. “I’ve got some stuff to do, but we’ll go to pizza another time, okay? Just the two of us.”

“Okay!” Jason says. “Are you coming to next week’s game?”

Whizzer laughs. “I’ll have to check my schedule, but if I don’t have a client, I’ll be there.”

Jason grins and gives him a quick, tight hug. “Thanks for coming, Whizzer!”

“Of course! How could I have missed that? You got a triple and three RBI’s!”

“Yup, he’s a real Sandy Koufax,” Mendel adds with a smile.

Jason is grinning from ear to ear, practically bursting with excitement. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Whizzer.”

“Nah, you could’ve,” Whizzer says. “Just might’ve taken you a bit longer.”

Trina pulls Jason away soon after, and he waves at Whizzer as he’s dragged towards the street. Charlotte and Cordelia say their goodbyes, too, and now it’s just Whizzer and Marvin left. Whizzer stands there for a second, before turning around and starting towards the subway station. He’s only taken a few steps before he feels Marvin grab his arm and pull him back.

“What do you want? You haven’t even said a word to me all day.”

Marvin looks down. “I’ve been trying to respect what you want and stay away from you. I didn’t think you wanted to talk to me.”

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“Yeah, but I can’t do that,” Marvin says. “Seeing you today made that so obvious.”

Whizzer glares down at him. “I don’t get it.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Marvin says quietly. “I know that sounds so cheesy, but I just… the way we left it… with so much up in the air, I--”

“Nothing is up in the air. I don’t want to see you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “Well, you should.” He pulls his arm away and continues walking toward the subway.

“You can’t just kiss me one second and then expect me to believe that you hate me the next!” Marvin shouts after him.

Whizzer feels people turn towards them, and his heart starts pounding and his chest seems to be getting tighter, and it’s getting harder to breathe. Fuck. He whips back to Marvin, grabs him roughly by the arm and drags him to the first semi-private place he can find, behind the bathrooms. He leans against the wall, his forehead pressed against the concrete, trying to get his breathing back under control.

“Whizzer, are you--”

“What the fuck was that?” he hisses. “Shouting that in public? Are you trying to get us fucking killed?”

“No, I just needed you to actually fucking talk to me.”

“You’re--” Whizzer presses the palms of his hands into his eyes and leans back against the wall. “What the fuck, Marvin. Fuck you.”

“I’m sorry,” Marvin sighs. “I… You’re right. I know. I don't know what came over me. I’m sorry. That was stupid and impulsive. I'm just... I'm desperate here, Whizzer. I'm running out of options. I can’t live like this. I’m not suggesting we get back together, but you can’t shut me out just like that.”

“Sure I can.”

“It’s not fair.”

“It’s plenty fair.”

“It’s cruel.”

“Do I seem like I care?”

“No, but I know you. And you do.”

Whizzer crosses his arms over his chest and sighs. “Fine. If it’ll stop you from pulling that bullshit again. Not here.”

“Obviously.”

“Give me a ride home.”

Marvin smiles and nods. “That’ll work.”

“Alright, no time to waste. What do you want?” Whizzer asks as soon as they start driving.

“How have you been sleeping?”

“Okay, no, that’s not what I agreed to talk about,” Whizzer snaps.

“You didn’t agree to talk about anything specifically, you just agreed to talk,” Marvin corrects.

Whizzer rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, I won’t talk about that.”

“It’s important.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“So, you’re not sleeping, are you?” Marvin asks.

“It’s none of your business,” Whizzer repeats.

“I’m just worried about you.”

“Well, don’t be!” Whizzer says.

“I can’t help it, Whizzer,” Marvin says quietly. “You’re hurting and I care about you, so I can’t just ignore that.”

Whizzer sighs and shakes his head. “I’m… Mendel is suggesting some people… You don’t have to worry, okay? I’ll be fine.”

“Good,” Marvin says. “That’s good.”

They sit in silence for a while, and Whizzer isn’t sure what he’s feeling. On the surface, he just wants out. Out of this car, and this situation; out of Marvin’s life completely. But deeper down, he’s longing for Marvin to say something. Something good. Something that dissolves all of the doubts and resentments that have built up and been broken down and rebuilt themselves over and over again.

“I’m sorry,” Marvin says eventually. “I’m sorry I freaked out and left.”

Whizzer doesn’t look at him.

“I was so confused. I’m still so confused. I mean, I know how I feel. I’ve always known that. But I don’t know what acting on that would possibly mean.”

“How do you feel?”

“You know how.”

“Say it.”

“Like I…” Marvin stares intensely out the window. They’re at a red light, but he won’t look away from the road. “Like I’ve loved you more than I could ever love anyone.”

“Even Jason?”

“That’s… you know that’s not the same thing.” He wipes a hand over his face. “Please, I’m trying to… But I can’t if… It’s not… It’s not fair if you don’t even try.”

“Life’s not fair, Marvin.”

Marvin shakes his head. “Fine. Okay. I guess I deserve it.” His voice is quiet and kind of shaky. Miserable but resigned to that misery. Whizzer’s heart sinks.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m being an ass.”

“Yeah, you tend to do that when things get emotional,” Marvin says. “Deflecting, I think.”

Whizzer’s initial reaction is to get defensive, but it hits him that that would just prove Marvin’s point. He sighs. “It’s annoying how well you know me. Even now.”

Marvin smiles out the windshield. “I paid attention.”

Whizzer looks down at his hands. “I know it’s confusing. I’m confused too,” he says. “I… I feel… Everything you said...”

“So, what do we do?”

“I don’t know.”

“We were poison.”

Whizzer nods. “But we’ve changed.”

“Not enough.”

“I thought you wanted us to--”

“I just wanted us to talk,” Marvin says. “I hate the idea that you’re out there hating me again.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Good.”

“So, what, you just want us to be friends?”

“I think that would be best.”

Whizzer stares out the window. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because all I’ll be able to think about is being with you.”

Marvin doesn’t say anything for a while. They’re getting close to Whizzer’s apartment by the time he speaks again. “Since you’ve come back into my life… I don’t know how I went so long without you in it.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Marvin,” Whizzer says.

“Just say that you’ll try.”

“We did try. It got us here.”

“Try again. Now that we’ve had this conversation. Now that we’re on the same page. It’ll be different.”

“Will it?”

“Maybe not, but isn’t it worth a shot?”

Whizzer leans his head against the window and squeezes his eyes shut. “Okay,” he breathes.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

They’re quiet as they keep driving. Whizzer keeps his eyes on Marvin as they drive; on the way he squints at street signs, and furrows his brow when he turns; on the way his quiet frustration shines through whenever he’s stuck in traffic. It’s all familiar, but, somehow, it feels different. New.

“What are you looking at?” Marvin laughs, glancing over at him.

Whizzer smiles slightly. “Nothing. Just spacing.”

He shakes his head. “Sure.”

“What, you don’t believe me?”

“You used to watch me like that when we were together. It’s very flattering. Little bit creepy.”

“Like you don’t do the exact same thing,” Whizzer scoffs.

“Well, to be fair, everyone watches you like that. You’re the only one who stares longingly at me.”

Whizzer raises his eyebrows. “ Longingly ? Flatter yourself much?”

“Well, how would you describe it?”

Whizzer laughs and shakes his head as Marvin pulls up in front of his apartment. “Friends don’t flirt with each other, you know.”

“I’m not flirting. I’m merely pointing out the obvious.”

Whizzer crosses his arms and nods. “Right.”

Marvin turns off the car and leans back into the seat, turning his head to Whizzer with a small smile. “Thanks for coming today.”

“It was fun.”

“You made Jason so happy.”

“I’m glad,” Whizzer says. “He deserves it.”

“You’re so good with him,” Marvin says. “It always amazes me.”

“It’s not hard. You raised an incredible kid.”

“He is pretty incredible, isn’t he?” Marvin smiles widely. “He came home from school the other day with this big, dopey grin on his face--”

“Like the one you have now?” The one that, on Marvin, has a tendency to drive Whizzer crazy.

Marvin’s face goes red and he covers it with his hands, literally trying to wipe the smile away. Whizzer laughs and nudges his shoulder. “That’s…” Marvin starts. “The point is, he came home all excited about this project his science teacher gave them. They have to create an experiment around the chemical properties or whatever that they’ve been learning about in school. Anyway, he wants to build, like, a... “ he trails off.

“A what?”

Marvin shakes his head. “Honestly, I didn’t understand it, but he’s working on it with a friend of his and it sounds like it might burn down the house, but he’s so excited about it I can’t really tell him no. Plus, he’s auditioning for a solo in choir and he’s been practising every day in his room, and--”

“I can’t do this,” Whizzer says. He’s surprised by his own words. He’s not sure exactly where they came from, but now that he’s said them, he knows he doesn’t want to take them back.

“You can’t do what?” Marvin asks, his smile disappearing.

Whizzer looks down and twists his hands together. “I can’t just be your friend,” he says quietly.

“What are you-- you just said--”

“I know,” Whizzer says. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” Marvin asks, starting to sound frantic. “What did I say? What did I--”

“Nothing,” Whizzer says. “You didn’t say or do anything.” He looks up at him and purses his lips, trying to keep the emotion down. “It just hurts.”

“Not as badly as it would hurt to say goodbye.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “I’m not sure that’s true. Marvin, I need to get over you, and that will never happen if I keep seeing you, keep remembering why I fell for you.”

“What about what I need?” Marvin asks. “What about how I feel?”

“It’ll be good for you, too, Marvin! It’s the best thing for both of us and you know it!”

“No, I don’t! I want you in my life, Whizzer!”

“Then be with me!” Whizzer blurts out. He crosses his arms over his chest and doesn’t look at him. Marvin doesn’t say a word. “I don’t know why I said that.”

Marvin sighs. “You know we can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I thought you didn’t even want that.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Well, we can’t. We’ll destroy each other again. Ruin each other's lives.”

“We don’t know that,” Whizzer says.

“We’re already managing it,” Marvin points out. “As soon as we even kissed…”

“Do you have a better reason than these vague hypotheticals?” Whizzer asks.

“We’re not a good match,” Marvin says. “I mean, even in our most basic philosophies of what a relationship is!” Whizzer hears Marvin’s weight shift to turn to him, but he doesn’t look up. “Look, I used to resent you for not wanting to settle down, or settle for monogamy, or however you want to say it. And I don’t anymore. But it doesn’t mean that I’m suddenly okay with being in that kind of relationship. And I don’t want to change who you are. You’ll grow to resent me if I do that. And, besides, you, as you are, are the person I fell in love with. But I also can’t be with someone who is sleeping with other people. That’s just not who I am.”

Whizzer doesn’t speak for a while. “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“Okay, I’ll do it. I can do that.”

“What, settle down?”

Whizzer looks up at him finally and nods. “Yes. I’ll do it. I mean, I’ll try. I promise I'll try.” And he means it. For the first time, the idea doesn’t seem terrible. He’s slowed down anyway. When he was with James, he mostly just slept with James. And he’s getting tired of the anxiety and the awkward, made-up explanations of why he really needs them to be using condoms. It’s become more of a habit than something he really enjoys doing. So, why not? Why not swallow his pride and give this a shot? He can always back out, right? Because there was something about the way Marvin was smiling and gushing about Jason that had cemented into his mind and heart what he had been pushing down since he woke up to Marvin in that hospital room. And over these past couple of weeks, Whizzer has found himself back in that place where every little thing reminds him of Marvin; where all he wants is to call him and tell him about his day and all his stupid mundane anecdotes. It’s almost like the last couple of years hadn’t happened. And, suddenly, it feels impossible to keep denying it.

“Are you… really?” Marvin asks, his voice quiet.

Whizzer nods. Marvin’s expression stays neutral, and he doesn’t say anything. They just stare at each other, neither fully believing the conversation they just had. Whizzer tilts his head and gives him a small smile. “So, what do you say? Give me another chance to ruin your life?”

Marvin unbuckles his seatbelt silently, while Whizzer waits, feeling exposed and anxious. Why is he doing this? What is he doing even? Why is he- Then Marvin’s lips are on his and he’s leaning over the center console, and his hands are in his hair, and oh, this is why he didn’t want his seatbelt on. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe this is the start of a new chapter of misery and heartbreak. But maybe it isn’t. Maybe this is the start of this happiness, this elation he feels right now, becoming normal. Maybe this is the start of something good.

Chapter Text

What he missed most about being with Marvin is the devotion. He hadn’t realized, or maybe he had forgotten, what it felt like to have someone look at him like he’s the only man in the world. Like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. It’s not something that ever grows old. But it’s also not something he had really appreciated before. And he’s starting to understand why Marvin needed that from him so desperately. But it manifests itself differently now in Marvin’s actions. He doesn’t question Whizzer’s needs. If something is important to Whizzer, Marvin goes along with it. He doesn’t question the condoms he pulls out the first time they have sex again. And Whizzer hopes it’s because he kept his promise, but, realistically, he’s sure he does it for him. Whizzer used to take advantage of his kindness until he stopped being so kind. He won’t do that anymore. He can’t do that anymore.

Falling back in love with him is like getting back in the driver’s seat after a bad crash. He’s hesitant at first, and he questions why he’s even doing it, but once he gets going, and it all starts feeling so familiar and natural, that hesitation falls away. And it’s true that he’s still more cautious, always on the lookout for signs that things will go awry, but every day they don’t, he’s a little less worried.

He’s stepped up his cooking game over the past couple years. Turns out when it’s not something he’s forced into he doesn’t mind it so much. And he does get tired of take away at some point. He’s making a shakshuka tonight, a tomato-based israeli dish he found in a cookbook, while Marvin tries his best to help.

“Marvin, you don’t have to help. I offered to make you dinner tonight, remember? That means I set the table all romantically and serve you a nice dinner and you reward me with, like, really good sex.”

“Well, what if I want to help?” Marvin laughs, taking an egg from the carton and handing it to Whizzer. “I want to learn so that I can cook for you every once in a while.”

Whizzer smiles and nods. “I guess that’ll work then,” he agrees. He cracks the last egg carefully into the skillet as Marvin wraps his arms around him and trails kisses up from his shoulder to his neck. Whizzer squeezes his eyes shut and squeezes his hands for a second before focusing his attention back on the food.

“Come on, take a break,” Marvin mutters.

“Okay, first rule of cooking: you can’t just take a break whenever,” Whizzer laughs. He looks over at the recipe and sighs. “Though you actually chose a really good time to ask that.” He grinds salt and pepper into the dish, transfers it into the oven, and then twists around to face Marvin. “Okay, we have ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?”

Whizzer nods and quickly turns on the kitchen timer. “Exactly ten minutes.”

“Eat more. Apparently this shit doesn’t keep well,” Whizzer says, pushing the still half full pan towards Marvin.

“I’ve eaten more than you have,” he laughs. “I’m stuffed.”

“And I’m insulted. I worked hard on this,” Whizzer says with a huff.

“Too bad,” Marvin shrugs. “Eat it yourself.”

“Ungrateful,” Whizzer sighs, a smile tugging at his lips. He takes another small portion, but only takes a bite before putting his fork down.

Marvin pushes his chair back and stands up, tangling his hand gently into Whizzer’s hair. He leans on the opposite arm of the chair with his other hand. “Thank you--” he says quietly, planting a kiss on his forehead-- “for--” he moves his lips to his jawline-- “making--” they’re on his neck now, right at his sweet spot. Whizzer shudders and grips Marvin’s shirt. “Dinner,” Marvin finally finishes, leaning over him with a smile. Whizzer pulls him down to his lips, pulling him into one of those deep kisses that makes the world fall away around him; like he’s drifting through nothingness, and the only things that exist are Marvin’s lips and his hands, pulling him to his feet, and finding their way under his shirt. One of those kisses that couldn’t last more than half a minute, but which feel like a goddamn eternity. It leaves him dazed as he stares down at Marvin, the only person he’s met who can make him feel like this.

“I missed you so much,” Whizzer breathes finally.

Marvin smiles up at him. “I missed you too.”

He’s a little too hot under the comforter, absorbing the heat from Marvin’s body, as they lie there tangled together. But he doesn’t mind. He’s breathing into Marvin’s hair and his eyes are closed and it’s like he’s meditating almost. Processing every sound, every feeling, every smell, but not thinking about anything at all, except for how damn happy he is. Marvin’s hand is tracing lazily up and down his stomach, and every once in a while, a breeze hits him from the open window, and the only noises are their breathing and the ever-present sound of traffic outside. Marvin’s scent is the same as it has always been, and he hasn’t changed a thing about this room, and the funny thing is that Whizzer feels more at home now than he ever had when he was living here.

“You have your first appointment with that psychiatrist tomorrow, right?” Marvin asks, breaking the silence in the room.

Whizzer groans and covers Marvin’s mouth with his hand. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

Marvin pulls Whizzer’s hand down with a laugh and turns so that he’s leaning over him. “I think we should, though.”

“Or I could, uh, suck you off again. I think that would be more fun for both of us,” Whizzer says, trailing his hand down Marvin’s body.

Marvin grabs his hand and shakes his head. “Why don’t you want to talk about it?”

“I thought the psychiatrist was supposed to ask me those questions.”

“I’ve just noticed you stressing about it. I want to help.”

Whizzer sighs. “That’s sweet, but I promise that the best thing for me is to just not think about it until I have to.”

“Okay,” Marvin says, settling back into his shoulder. “But I’m here if you change your mind.”

“Thanks,” Whizzer mutters, nestling his face back into Marvin’s hair.

“I could go with you,” Marvin says. “Then we could go out for dinner or a drink, whichever you feel like afterwards.”

“That sounds nice,” Whizzer says. “Especially if it means you’ll stop talking about this.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll shut up,” Marvin laughs. “You’re staying over tonight?”

Whizzer nods. “Mhm.”

Marvin leans up and kisses him, tiredly and softly. “Goodnight, then,” he says into his mouth.

“Goodnight, Marvin,” Whizzer responds, running a hand gently through his hair. He stares up at the ceiling until he hears Marvin’s breath steady and he knows he’s asleep. He watches him, then, eyes closed and peacefully beautiful, arm still draped across Whizzer’s stomach. He never used to watch him sleep like this. He thinks he wouldn’t mind making a habit of it.

Marvin’s alarm wakes Whizzer up early, but Marvin is quick to shut it off and apologize, telling him to go back to sleep. He’ll try not to make too much noise getting ready for work.

Whizzer groans and shakes his head. “I have clients.”

“Not until 12 you said,” Marvin reminds him. “I’ll reset the alarm for 9. Does that work? So you can get in early to set up?”

Whizzer nods and beckons him closer. Marvin, who was sitting up on the edge of the mattress, leans back and props himself on his arm. Whizzer pulls him into a kiss and smiles groggily up at him. “Thank you,” he says.

“Of course.” Marvin kisses his temple and pushes himself up again, heading for the closet as Whizzer drifts back to sleep.

The alarm wakes him up again two and a half hours later, when he’s still not incredibly happy about getting up. He takes a shower and fixes his hair, making do with the vastly limited supplies available in Marvin’s bathroom-- he only even has a hair dryer because Whizzer had bought it and didn’t take it with him when he moved out. He’ll need to remember to bring some product over here next time. He makes a mental note. He did remember clothes, thankfully. As an afterthought. He’s so used to having everything he needs here, it’s strange to have it be truly someone else’s place.

There’s a note on the kitchen table in Marvin’s handwriting: Good morning! Hope you enjoyed those extra 2.5 hours. I thought about trying to make you breakfast, but I realised it would be cold and inedible by the time you got up. If it wasn’t already inedible because of my cooking skills. Or lack thereof. But help yourself to anything in the house, of course. I left a copy of the key by the door. Lock up when you leave. Have a good day and I’ll see you tonight. -Marvin

Whizzer smiles and slips the note into his pocket. He fries himself an egg and makes a cup of coffee, skimming through the newspaper Marvin had left on the counter. The thought crosses his mind of moving back in, but it’s only been a few weeks. And they’re taking it slower this time, trying not to repeat the mistakes they made before. They haven’t even told Jason yet. It’s smart. Whizzer knows that. Whizzer had suggested this pace in the first place. But it doesn’t feel like weeks, or even months. It feels to Whizzer almost like they had never broken up, like they’ve been loving each other for years now. And, well, maybe they have.

Whizzer is finishing up a shoot when Marvin makes it to the studio. He enters quietly and smiles at Whizzer, sitting on the couch to watch him work.

“Marvin, meet the Kaplans. Kaplans meet Marvin, my, uh--” he hesitates before saying-- “my cousin.”

Marvin stifles a laugh and waves at the family getting their portrait taken. “Hello!”

They wave back awkwardly, before turning back to the camera. It takes about ten more minutes to finish up and get them out the door. The whole time he’s working, he feels Marvin’s eyes on him, looking at him with that starry-eyed gaze that just makes him melt.

“Cousin, really?” Marvin asks, once the Kaplans are gone. He stands up and follows Whizzer to where he’s sitting at the front desk. “What is this, West Virginia?”

“Well, what did you want me to say?” Whizzer laughs. “‘This is my boyfriend who I fucked up the ass last night. Say cheese!’”

“Aren’t we always old friends from college?” Marvin asks, wrapping his arms around Whizzer’s waist and resting his chin on Whizzer’s shoulder. “Really close friends.”

“It was the heat of the moment. I forgot,” Whizzer defends, kissing his cheek, before finishing up the brief paperwork for the family’s order.

“I love watching you work,” Marvin mutters thoughtfully.

“Yeah, why?” Whizzer asks.

“When you’re taking pictures, even these family portraits, I can just see how much you love it. I can see the passion that you put into it. I can see how happy it makes you. And I love seeing you happy.”

Whizzer grins and leans his head back into Marvin’s shoulder. “I so wish you could’ve seen my gallery.”

“Me too,” Marvin sighs. “But there will be more.”

“I hope so.”

“Didn’t you sell all the pieces?” Marvin asks.

“Except the one in my apartment.”

“Yeah, there will be more.”

Whizzer tosses his pen down and stands up. “Done for the day. Hallelujah.”

“Hallelujah!” Marvin echoes. “And about time to head to you-know-where.”

Whizzer purses his lips. “Yeah. That.”

“Hey, I promise it isn’t so bad,” Marvin says. “As long as you don’t introduce the doctor to your ex-wife, because then things can get complicated.”

Whizzer snorts and picks up his bag from under the desk. “That one worked out okay in the end at least.”

Marvin shrugs. “Still don’t have a  psychiatrist, though.”

“Well, I’ll let you know how this one works out,” Whizzer says. “Maybe her ethics will be as shaky as Mendel’s, and she’ll take you on as well.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll be okay.”

“Mhm,” Whizzer agrees, “as long as one of us is well-adjusted.”

“Exactly! You get it.”

Whizzer laughs and walks him out the door.

Whizzer tells Marvin to leave once they get there, but he insists on waiting with him. Whizzer doesn’t protest too much. The person who leads them to the waiting room hands Whizzer a clipboard of paperwork, which he fills out quickly. It’s uncomfortable and dim in the waiting room. But at least there’s no one else there. Marvin is holding his hand through the arms of the chairs, caressing Whizzer’s knuckle with his thumb like he always does. It’s the kind of steady feeling that Whizzer can concentrate on instead of really thinking. Maybe it’s good Marvin stayed. He thinks he might’ve run off otherwise.

Whizzer pulls his hand away when the office door opens. The patient before him is wiping his eyes as he leaves, and Whizzer shoots Marvin a look of distaste. Marvin pushes him forward and the doctor smiles at him.

“Whizzer Brown?” she asks, holding out a hand.

Whizzer nods and shakes it.

“I’m Dr. Berensteiner. It’s nice to meet you.”

Whizzer smiles and nods again.

“Alright, let’s get going,” she says, gesturing towards her office.

Whizzer turns to Marvin, who gives him a reassuring smile, before he follows her inside.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she says as she shuts the door.

Whizzer looks around at the office, with a brown leather couch and a big, comfortable chair, it looks like the most stereotypical psychiatrist’s office he could have imagined. “I’m not lying down on that thing if that’s what you mean.”

The doctor laughs. “You don’t have to. ‘Make yourself comfortable’ means whatever you need it to mean.”

Whizzer nods and sits on the edge of the couch. “Okay.”

“Did you finish the paperwork?”

Whizzer nods and hands it over.

“Thank you.” She sits down in the chair and smiles warmly at him. Whizzer resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Who was that waiting with you?”

“A friend,” Whizzer says gruffly.

Dr. Berensteiner leans her elbows on her knees, and tilts her head at him seriously. “I can tell that you’re apprehensive, but I’m not here to judge you. I’m here to help. Mostly, this is about having a conversation. But it needs to be an honest one.”

Whizzer leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. “Fine. Boyfriend. Better?”

Dr. Berensteiner smiles. “It’s a good start.”

Whizzer never feels fully comfortable, but, by the end, at least he’s started speaking in more than one- or two-word phrases. And it’s not terrible. Not as terrible and embarrassing and painfully uncomfortable as he thought it would be, at least. He’ll probably come back next week. So, it’s a start.

It’s only Marvin in the waiting room when he leaves the office, reading Don Quixote again, with that frustrated furrow in his brow. He stands up when Whizzer comes out, and Whizzer immediately wraps his arms around him, burying his face in his hair. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

“For what?” Marvin asks.

“I don’t know. Just thank you.”

There’s something in Whizzer that doesn’t want to let go of him, even when the doctor says an awkward goodbye and retreats back into her office. He just wants to hold him. Nothing more, just hold him. Until the sun explodes or New York gets nuked or the sea rises and consumes Manhattan. Just stay here in his arms, feeling the warmth of Marvin’s body against his; breathing him in. He would gladly live and die like this.

“Dinner? Drinks?” Marvin asks quietly.

Whizzer shakes his head. “Home.”

“Okay. Let's go home then.”

Marvin leans into Whizzer's shoulder on the couch, a mostly empty pizza box left open on Whizzer's coffee table. Whizzer's arm is draped over Marvin's shoulder, one leg bent under him, the other on the floor. He presses kisses into Marvin's neck and his jawline and the skin behind his ear. Marvin smiles drowsily, his eyes closed.

“Are you staying over tonight?” Whizzer asks.

“Can't,” Marvin murmurs. “Work tomorrow. Early.”

“Okay,” Whizzer says sadly.

“I'll stay till you fall asleep. You won't even know I'm gone.”

“Hopefully soon you won't have to do that.”

“I don't mind it,” Marvin says.

“No, but I can't be…” he trails off.

“I know. You'll get there.”

Whizzer leans back into the pillows, playing with Marvin's hair absent-mindedly. “I liked your note this morning,” he says with a smile.

“Really? It was just instructions really.”

“You write like you talk,” Whizzer says. “Matter-of-fact, a little bit of rambling, but still really sweet. With some self-deprecation thrown in. And I like listening to you talk, so… oh! That reminds me.”

“Yeah?”

“Your key,” Whizzer says, digging it out of his pocket and trying to hand it to Marvin.

Marvin shakes his head. “Keep it.”

Whizzer looks down. “Are you sure? I thought we were slowing things down this time.”

“It's just a key, Whizzer.”

“You know it isn't.”

Marvin sighs and sits up so he can face him. “I thought we were over this.”

“Over what?”

“This commitment phobia thing.”

Whizzer rubs his hand over his face. “That's not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about?” Last time they were together, they would be raising their voices by now. But Marvin still sounds calm.

“It's about not making the same mistakes we made before,” Whizzer says. “It's about this time being different.”

Marvin reaches out and places a hand on his cheek, running his thumb over his cheekbone. Whizzer leans into Marvin's palm. “This is different,” he says. “ We're different. A key isn't going to change that.”

Whizzer shuts his eyes and squeezes his fingers around the key. “I guess you're right,” he says.

Whizzer feels Marvin's lips connect with his and he sighs quietly into his mouth. He takes a handful of Marvin's shirt to pull him over him, holding his waist with his other hand. Marvin pulls away slightly, their foreheads and noses still touching.

“My life is infinitely better when you're in it,” Marvin breathes. “I'm not fucking that up again.”

Chapter Text

They say that the honeymoon phase can only last so long. There’s only so much time you can have together without something breaking that bubble of euphoria that convinces you that perfect suddenly exists. And everyone insists that it’s not a bad thing-- it means your relationship is becoming deeper, more meaningful, more real. What a load of bullshit.

It’s becoming quite clear to Whizzer that nothing good ever happens to him in bars. It was different bar this time. Neither Marvin nor Whizzer was too keen on going back to the old one. It was one of the bars that Whizzer frequented during the breakup. He noticed a couple of familiar faces when they walked in. Marvin’s hand was in his, as Whizzer pulled him over to the bar. They ordered drinks and laughed at some of the more ridiculous characters in the room. A couple of guys came up to them, but mostly it was just the two of them, shouting over the music, and enjoying overpriced drinks.

“I’m gonna go dance,” Whizzer said eventually, placing a hand on Marvin’s arm. “You wanna come?”

Marvin shook his head with a smile. “I’m good here, but you go. Have fun.”

Whizzer nodded and kissed him briefly, before pushing his way onto the dance floor.

Dancing in those places is like getting swept up in a current. You don’t really think about what you’re doing, you just move along with the beat and the other gyrating bodies. You turn your brain off. It’s why he loves it. Whizzer often tends to end up pairing off with someone, grinding and moving together. This time it was a man taller than him for once, who pressed up against him from behind. And Whizzer didn’t think anything of it. It was just dancing, afterall. It was fun. They were just swept up in the music, and they weren’t planning on leaving the dance floor together. It’s like a whole nother world out there in some ways. Clearly, though, Marvin didn’t see it that way.

Whizzer wasn’t out there long before Marvin pushed in between him and the man grinding up against him. Whizzer grinned when he saw him, thinking he was out there to join in. But it faded when he saw Marvin’s expression.

“What’s wrong?” Whizzer mouthed.

Marvin just shook his head, grabbed his arm, and pulled him back towards the bathroom, twisting through the throbbing forest of people until they were inside. “What the fuck was that?” Marvin asked, his voice low.

“What was what?” Whizzer asked.

“That… that guy that you were grinding on!” Marvin explained.

“We were just dancing.”

“That’s not dancing, that’s dry humping.”

“That’s how most people dance here.” Whizzer leaned against the sink. “I wasn’t gonna fuck him, Marvin. I’m not doing that anymore, remember?”

“That’s what you say, at least.”

“You don’t believe me?” Whizzer asked. “He’s not even my type! I don’t like guys to be taller than me.”

“I don’t know what to believe, Whizzer!” Marvin exclaimed. “I want to believe you, but you still flirt and leer and grind on other men, so it’s pretty fucking hard!”

“None of that means anything! It’s just my fucking personality!”

“That’s what you said about sleeping around, too.”

Whizzer shook his head. “I don’t know what to tell you, Marvin. You said you didn’t want to change me, but this is me. Fucking around? Yeah, I can let go of that. For you, I can let go of that, but I’m just trying to have fun. At a bar. Where everyone flirts and leers and grinds on everyone.”

“It’s not just that, though!” Marvin added. “Also that shit with the key to my apartment! You’re still not letting yourself commit! You’re still keeping yourself at arms’ length! Why is that if not to just keep doing what you’ve always done!”

“That’s not what I’m doing!” Whizzer yelled. “And that’s all rich coming from you anyway!”

“What are you even talking about?”

“You’re not going all in either! You’re still leaving yourself escape routes!”

“Like what?”

“Like you still haven’t told Jason that we’re back together! Hell, you haven’t even told Trina! But it’s worse with Jason. Because I have dinner with you and Jason every weekend and yet still nothing! We have to hide in front of him cause you’re too scared to tell him about us! That’s, like, lesson number one in ‘How To Avoid Commitment’! Never tell a damn soul.”

“I haven’t told them because of you, Whizzer.”

“Because of me.”

“Because of everything I just said. Because if I tell Jason and then you pack your bags or cheat or whatever, then it’ll break his heart as much as it’ll break mine.”

Whizzer crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not going to do either of those things, Marvin!”

“I have seen mountains of signs from you just tonight that that is not true.”

Whizzer scoffed, but the anger was dissipating, replaced by something a lot quieter, but a lot more painful. “Do you not trust me?”

“I want to.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

Marvin didn’t respond.

Whizzer shook his head and wouldn’t look at him. “I’m going home now,” he said quietly.

“Alone?”

“Or maybe I’ll go back out there and find a nice, strong man to take me,” Whizzer sneered.

Marvin rolled his eyes. “Seriously. Will you be okay alone?”

“Yeah, I’d rather face my stupid paranoia than you right now,” Whizzer said.

He started to storm out of the bathroom, when he heard Marvin yell from behind him: “God, Whizzer, when will you stop playing the victim and learn to take some fucking responsibility for once?”

But Whizzer didn’t even look back.

And now Whizzer is sitting on his couch, replaying the night’s events in his mind. Maybe Marvin is right. Maybe he hasn’t changed. Maybe he is still setting himself subtle kill switches. Maybe he’s still so damn scared of committing to something meaningful that he’s been slowing it down not to fix past mistakes, but to have more time to blow it up. Maybe Marvin is right.

In fact, deep down, Whizzer knows that he is. But Whizzer also knows that, recently, hasn’t found himself wanting anything else but Marvin. Because he might leer, as Marvin puts it, at other men’s well-defined muscles, or their sharp sense of style, but the idea of going home with any of them has never been less appealing. He’s happy the way it is. With Marvin. He doesn’t need anyone else. When he thinks about what he has with Marvin, it’s enough for him.

So, why can’t that part of him that’s still so scared of this just whither up and die already? Why is some part of him still clinging onto that fear? And why can’t he at least admit that it’s there?

As angry and hurt as he is, the truth is, Whizzer wants Marvin here. Even if they’re fighting. Because being without him and knowing that he’s angry with him seems to be the worst feeling in the world. It’s painful and frustrating and lonely and… fuck. Whizzer hates how desperately he needs him right now. He has to fix this. Tonight.

He reaches for the phone and dials Marvin’s number. It rings out for what feels like an eternity. But Marvin doesn’t pick up. Whizzer wishes he could text him. Just tell him to pick up his phone. Compel him to at least talk to him. But that’s not how this works in 1981. So the ringing is all that he has.

He tries again and again and again, until his obsessive dialing is interrupted by a knock at his door. He doesn’t even get off the couch before it opens and Marvin takes a step into his apartment.

“You might want to lock your door, you know--”

“Oh, thank fuck you’re here. I’ve been calling you for the past fifteen minutes, but you didn’t pick up.”

“I wasn’t home,” Marvin says. “I needed to clear my head.” He leans against the door. “I don’t want to do this thing we used to do. Where we fight and hurt each other and then just… leave it. Not let it go really, cause it still lingers, but just refuse to talk about it again until the next fight.”

“Me neither.”

“So let’s talk?”

Whizzer nods and pats the couch next to him.

Marvin sits and leans back into the couch pillows, looking down at his hands. “I’m gonna tell Jason tomorrow.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “No, Marvin, you don’t have to. I shouldn’t have even said anything, I just--”

“He deserves to know,” Marvin shrugs. “And, honestly, he probably already knows, so, really, he deserves to stop having us lie to him.”

Whizzer laughs quietly.

“And, look, you were right. I need to learn to trust you without asking you to be someone else. You should be able to dance if you want to. How you want to. That was unfair of me. It’s my problem, not yours.”

Whizzer sighs. “That’s not entirely true. I mean, the first part is, and I appreciate that, but that last bit…”

“What about it?”

“I… You were right, too. I have always had one foot out the door. And I don’t even know why. And I’m sorry about that. I am so sorry,” he says. “I’m just scared. I’ve always been so scared. Of getting hurt, of being abandoned… I don’t know. But having people close to me is just… And with you, Marvin I… I don’t know what I’d do without you anymore. And that scares the shit out of me.”

“Yeah. I know. It’s terrifying..”

“Right, but, for most people, they can get over that because the benefits are so great, but I’ve just never really been able to. But I’m trying,” Whizzer says. “Fuck if I’m not trying.”

Marvin shakes his head. “Is that enough?”

Whizzer takes a deep breath. “Marvin, I want to be with you. Only you. I know it’s hard to believe, but that’s not some sacrifice I’m making for your benefit. That’s what I want. This is what I want. So maybe there is a tiny piece of me that is still fighting against that. And maybe it will always be there. And maybe it will always make this a little harder for me than it should be. But it’s never gonna win,” he says. “I can’t promise you I’ll always be the perfect boyfriend, but I can promise you that. I’m not going anywhere.”

Marvin is staring down at the coffee table, gripping the edge of the couch.

“Marvin? Say something.”

Marvin looks up at him with a small smile. “Thank you.”

“What for? About time I said all that.”

Marvin shrugs. “You’re right. But you said it now. And that’s what counts.”

“Come here.” Whizzer shifts towards him and Marvin leans into Whizzer’s shoulder. Whizzer presses a kiss into Marvin’s hair. “I don’t like fighting with you,” he mutters. “Not anymore, anyway. It’s not exciting. It’s just lonely.”

Marvin nods in agreement and shuts his eyes. “I’m sleeping here tonight, by the way,” he mumbles tiredly.

“What, on the couch?”

Marvin shrugs. “Wherever you are is fine with me.”

They’ve just finished dinner that weekend when Marvin clears his throat and stands up. Whizzer raises an amused eyebrow at him and he sits back down. “Uh, Jason,” he says awkwardly. He had been lamenting to Whizzer all week about having to have this conversation. He’d done it a couple of times before, with other guys, but it was always awkward. And, besides, this time is different. Jason knows Whizzer. They have history that Jason is a little bit too aware of. And Whizzer means a hell of a lot more to both of them. Marvin claims that it puts the awkwardness plpon steroids. Whizzer just nodded along to these rants, and gave him shallow reassurance, and secretly thanked God that he didn’t have to be the one to do it.

After a few seconds of silence, Jason shakes his head impatiently. “What?”

“Right. Cool.” Marvin looks down at his hands briefly, then up at the ceiling, before settling back on Jason. “So, you know that Whizzer and I have been spending a lot more time together lately-- again. That we’re close friends again.”

Jason gestures toward Whizzer. “Clearly.”

“Yeah. Right. Well, what if I told you that it was more than that? How would you feel if I told you that we’ve actually been seeing each other again as more than friends for a little while now?”

Jason breaks into an obviously exaggerated smile. “Wow, really? That’s great! I’m so glad! This is--”

“Yeah, he already knew,” Whizzer says matter-of-factly.

“You don’t know--”

“Dad, I already knew,” Jason confirms.

Marvin sighs and slumps back in his seat. “Then why did you make me go through all of that?”

Jason shrugs. “You hate those conversations even more than I hated watching you guys pretend to not be together in front of me. Which was excruciating, by the way. Neither of you should be actors. Or spies.”

Whizzer snickers. “Thanks for the advice, kid.”

“What gave it away?” Marvin asks.

“You did not talk to each other for a year and a half, and then suddenly you were visiting him all the time and then he was over here every single weekend. And you were constantly giving each other not-so-subtle looks. And your feet were always intertwined under the table. And I know that Whizzer stayed over most of the time, too. You were trying to be discrete about it, but you weren’t. Either you two were back together or Whizzer was somehow homeless again. But if he were homeless he would be sleeping on your couch, not in your room, so I figured it was the former.” Jason seems to say all of this in one breath, and he punctuates it with a shrug.

“Told you we should’ve just used the fire escape,” Whizzer says with a smile.

“Again, we’re not teenagers. You can’t sneak in and out through my bedroom window.”

Whizzer shrugs. “Would’ve kept him a little more in the dark.”

“I would have figured it out anyway,” Jason scoffs.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Do I need to list out all the reasons I knew again? Or are you good? Plus, I realised you were sleeping here because I went into my dad’s room one night, then snuck out when I saw you. Your mode of entry was inconsequential.”

“Ah, foiled again by nightmares,” Marvin says.

“It wasn’t nightmares, I was just…” Jason tries.

Whizzer places a hand on his shoulder. “You have done a sufficient amount of besting and outsmarting us tonight. You can admit to having nightmares. Nothing to be ashamed of anyway.”

Jason rolls his eyes silently, and gets up from the table.

“Uh-uh,” Marvin interjects.

“May I please be excused?” Jason asks, his voice dripping with teenage attitude.

“Yes you may,” Marvin says with a nod.

Jason rolls his eyes again, and starts to leave.

“Dishes!” Marvin reminds him, and Jason groans as he turns back to take his dishes to the kitchen.

“Thank you!” Marvin calls.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason grumbles from the kitchen before disappearing into his room.

Whizzer watches the whole scene with a broad smile spread across his face.

“What are you smiling about?” Marvin asks.

“It’s just…” Whizzer says slowly. “Being here again. Being a part of this--his life, your life, your lives together… this family. I… it’s… I love it.”

Marvin laces his fingers through Whizzer’s with a grin. “So do I.” He nods back towards Jason’s room. “So does he.”

Whizzer brings their hands to his mouth and kisses Marvin’s fingers, before standing up and letting go. “I can do the dishes tonight,” he offers. “Do you think you could get Jason to emerge for a movie night or something later?”

“I will certainly try,” Marvin says. “But I never should have bought him that computer...”

“At least he doesn't have the internet yet,” Whizzer says, piling up the remaining plates and taking them to the kitchen.

“That’s the… the one that connects everyone, right?” Marvin guesses.

“You’re learning!” Whizzer says proudly, turning on the hot water.

Marvin joins him in the kitchen and leans against the counter. “If I learn, I can not only look smart, but also make really good investments and retire luxuriously.”

“Isn’t that insider trading?”

“I don’t think the law covers time travel.”

“Fair point.” Whizzer finishes scrubbing a dish and Marvin takes it from him, drying it with a dish towel and setting it on the rack. “Well, as long as that retirement isn’t in Florida, cause I’d rather die than be that much of a stereotype. Or, really, I’d just rather die than live in an old people’s apartment complex outside of Fort Lauderdale, where the only thing you can walk to is a sad little pool.”

“That sounds very specific.”

“It is. My grandparents did exactly that. Could hardly even survive Passover down there.”

Marvin laughs and shakes his head, wrapping his arms around Whizzer’s waist. “I was thinking more like a grand apartment uptown, with big windows, and one of those spectacular views of Manhattan.”

Whizzer leans his head back with a smile. “Go on.”

“Going to lavish parties with our lavish friends. Opening nights of Broadway shows. Hosting charity events for useless causes. You know, rich people stuff.”

Whizzer lets out a small laugh.

“And then coming home together, tipsy on champagne, standing in front of those windows and just staring out at the stars and the lights of the city, marvelling at how--through all that space and all those people and all those buildings and all that time--all that was built for us to get lost in--how we managed to find each other. Cause that’s pretty damn amazing if you ask me.”

“A miracle,” Whizzer agrees softly.

Marvin presses a kiss into Whizzer’s neck. “And we’ll grow old together there, watching the city that never seems to age. God, I can’t wait to grow old with you.”

Whizzer’s gut twists at that, but he can’t quite put a finger on why. He frowns. “I mean, I understand the sentiment, but, personally, I’m trying to wait as long as possible before the hair loss and C-SPAN stage of my life sets in.”

Marvin laughs and steps away, pushing him lightly towards the sink. Whizzer catches himself on the counter, before starting the water again and continuing to wash the dishes, as Marvin dries them and puts them on the dish rack. It’s a mundane chore, but there’s something about it that, at this moment, is almost exciting to Whizzer. Maybe because Marvin is right there next to him, and Jason is right upstairs. It all feels new. It all feels so much better than he ever thought it could.

“So, how long have you guys been… together or whatever?” Jason asks. They’re sitting in his room, just the two of them. Whizzer had poked his head in to say goodnight, but Jason insisted that he stay and talk.

“Uh, three months I think?” Whizzer says. “Your dad is better at remembering these kinds of things.”

Jason nods. “That checks out.”

Whizzer laughs. “What, are you testing me?”

“Maybe. A little.”

Whizzer sighs. “Are you pissed that we hid it from you?”

“For the second time,” Jason corrects. He pauses. “Maybe. A little.”

“Jason, bud, this was not the same thing as--”

“Yeah, I know.”

“We just wanted to make sure it was real and solid before telling you,” Whizzer says. “We didn’t want to get your hopes up if we thought we were going to have another bad breakup. We didn’t want to drag you into something that was just going to end.”

“I could take it.”

“I know,” Whizzer smiles. “Doesn’t mean that you should.”

“You don’t always have to protect me from things. I’m having my Bar Mitzvah soon. Isn’t the whole point of that me becoming a man? That means that I can protect myself.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “I don’t care what tradition says, thirteen is not grown up. Hell, even eighteen isn’t. Not really. But it doesn’t matter how old you are anyway; your parents are always going to try to protect you.”

“But you’re not my parent. You’re cooler than my parents. You’re supposed to let me in on these things.”

“You’re right. I’m not your parent. Which is why it’s often not my place to say.”

Jason gets under the covers and lays back into his pillows, patting the spot next to him. Whizzer obliges and moves to the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “So you guys telling me… does that mean you’re gonna stay together now? I mean, forever or… you know…”

“I don’t know what the future holds, Jason,” Whizzer says. Well, that’s not entirely true, he thinks. “I can’t make any promises. But… I hope so. I certainly hope so.”

“So you love him?”

Jason had asked him this question before. Years ago. And it still catches him off-guard. But at least now he knows how to answer. “Yeah, kid, I do.”

“Good. He loves you, too.”

Whizzer laughs. “Yeah? And how do you know that?”

Jason shrugs. “I just do.”

“That’s a crappy answer.”

Jason smiles. “You’re right, but it’s the only one you’re getting.”

“I’ll take your word for it then.”

“Good,” Jason says. “So, when are you moving in?”

Whizzer raises his eyebrows. “Uh-- I-- sorry?”

“I mean, you’ve told me, so there’s nothing stopping you anymore. And you’re here all the time anyway.”

“That’s true,” Whizzer admits. “I… it’s just a little more complicated than that.”

“Why?”

“It just is.”

“Let me guess: I’ll understand when I’m older?”

“Bingo.”

Jason sighs. “I’m never actually going to be old enough in your eyes to hear this stuff, am I?”

“No, probably not.”

“Not fair.”

“Reality.”

Jason grumbles something under his breath that Whizzer doesn’t quite catch.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure,” Whizzer laughs.

“Can you stay until I fall asleep?” Jason asks.

Whizzer smiles so wide that it hurts his cheeks. “Yeah, of course.”

Jason nods, closing his eyes. “Thanks Whizzer,” he says. There’s silence for a while, to the point where Whizzer figures that Jason has fallen asleep. But then it’s quietly broken by a soft murmur. “Love you.”

“Love you, too, kid,” Whizzer says softly. His heart feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest.

He must have drifted off as well, because, next thing he knows, Marvin is shaking him gently awake.

“What time is--”
“Shhh,” Marvin shushes him. “It’s only eleven,” he whispers. “But I thought you might prefer to not spend the night sharing a twin.”

Whizzer nods and gets up slowly, careful not to wake Jason. Marvin wraps an arm around his waist, and Whizzer presses a kiss into his temple. They shut the door silently behind them.

As soon as they’re out in the hallway, Whizzer stops them and turns to Marvin. “Jason asked why I wasn’t moving in.”

“Of course he did.”

“He asks good questions.”

“I know. It’s frustrating.”

“Yes. Very,” Whizzer agrees. “Especially when you don’t have a good answer. And, you know, I thought about all the answers I had been giving myself to that same question, and I just started to realize…”

“Realize what?”

“None of them were any good.”

“So, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I’m--um--I’m done waiting. I’m done slowing things down. I want to be here for him, and for you, and for all of it.”

Marvin hesitates for a second, realization growing on his face. “Are you asking to move in?”

Whizzer nods. “Yeah, uh, I guess I’m asking to move in.”

Marvin smiles. He grabs Whizzer’s collar, and pulls him into a kiss. “I’ll pick up boxes tomorrow,” he says. He pulls away and continues towards his bedroom-- their bedroom. Whizzer forgot how much he loves the sound of that.

“This is really convenient timing, too, you know,” Whizzer says.

“Yeah? How so?” Marvin asks with a laugh.

“My lease is up at the end of the month anyway. Any later and I would have had to, like, sub-let or something.”

“This is getting increasingly less romantic.”

“Shit. You’re right. Sorry.” Whizzer gets down on one knee and clears his throat.

“Oh my God, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Being romantic. Clearly.”

Marvin laughs and kisses him, dragging him to his feet. He shakes his head. “Yeah, I don’t actually need cheesy romance. You ruining a moment with a comment that’s vaguely inappropriate for the situation? That’s real. That’s you. That’s all I need.”

Chapter Text

The moving process is surprisingly quick. Maybe it’s because his apartment is so small that he could hardly fit anything in it anyway. Maybe it’s because Whizzer is lacking that sense of remorse that usually slows down the process of moving out of a place. He feels no connection to this apartment--at least no good connections. It represents a part of his life that was rife with misery. Why in hell would he want to remember that anyway? Maybe it’s because he’s so eager to move on, or so eager to live with Marvin, that he’s willing to work those long and productive hours that can be so incredibly draining. And, of course, having Marvin there to help him speeds it up as well. Amazingly, the job is pretty much done by the end of the week.

Whizzer stands in the middle of the small space, surrounded by piles of cardboard boxes. The only things left unpacked are those items on the bookshelf in his living room. It’s mostly books and vinyl, but on the bottom shelf is that small, wooden box. Marvin pulls it out and runs a hand over it.

“What’s this?” He asks.

Whizzer smiles and sits down next to him, flipping open the lid and taking out the photos. Marvin leans back against the bookshelf with a grin. “You kept all these?”

“Of course I did,” Whizzer says. “I should frame some of them now, but I haven’t gotten around to it.” He looks down at the top one and tilts it towards Marvin. “From Jason’s birthday. The Mets game?” It’s a picture of Marvin and Jason. Jason doesn’t seem to realize the camera is there. He’s just staring intently out at the field. Marvin, on the other hand, is staring directly into the lense, with an amused look of fake annoyance on his face. The baseball hat casts a slight shadow over his eyes, but you can still see how happy he is. How all of the weight he normally carried had fallen away for a moment. Even if it was fleeting.

“That was a good day,” Marvin says. “No matter how hard I seemed to try to prove otherwise, that day could not be ruined.”

Whizzer pulls another photo from the deck, this time one of the photos that Jason had taken of them in the studio. They weren’t posing for the camera at this point, clearly. They’re both looking past the camera, at Jason probably. Their faces are lit up in laughter. Marvin has an arm wrapped around Whizzer’s waist, and Whizzer has a hand in his own hair, probably fixing something that didn’t really need fixing. “From the first weekend Jason stayed with us.”

“How do you always look so good?” Marvin asks. “Even when you’re not trying.”

“Oh, babe, I’m always trying,” Whizzer laughs, wrapping an arm around Marvin’s shoulders and pulling him in. He presses a kiss into his hair. “Sometimes I forget how really happy we could be amidst all the chaos. That’s why we kept fighting to stay together.” He taps the picture with his thumb. “ This was why. Despite everything else. This.”

“They have no idea what’s coming to them,” Marvin chuckles.

“No idea how hard it would be.”

“Or that it would all be worth it,” Marvin adds. “But I think I had this gut feeling, even then, that I would always come back to you.”

They spend the next half hour looking over photos. Letting the rush of memories, the good and the bad, rush over them; letting themselves be submerged by them, and then watching them retreat, like a wave merging back with the ocean as they stand in the shallow water of a beach. And there’s a mix of pleasantness and discomfort when it hits, when the water surrounds them and makes them feel like they’re floating but drowning; and a relief when it’s swept away, when they blink the salt water from their eyes, and what they’re left with is this beautiful day on a beautiful beach, waiting for the next wave to arrive.

“I don’t understand why we keep doing this,” Marvin pants, leaning against the wall of the racquetball court at the end of their game.

“Because I don’t like working out alone, and because absolutely abolishing you every time makes me feel very good about myself,” Whizzer responds, picking Marvin’s racket up from where he dropped it.

“So, I guess the question is why I keep agreeing to it,” Marvin laughs.

Whizzer grins and leans against the wall behind Marvin, leaning in close, like the love interest in a John Hughes film. “I have a guess.”

Marvin squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “Why do you have to wear those goddamn shorts?”

“Would you rather I take them off?”

Marvin’s eyes pop open, and he stares up at Whizzer silently for a few seconds, before pushing him away and starting towards the door. “We’re showering at home,” he calls, without looking back. Whizzer laughs and runs after him.

The hot water hits Whizzer’s back with a fervor--the water pressure in this place has always been a little too high for his liking-- as he massages shampoo into Marvin’s hair. The room is filled with a slightly suffocating steam. In their rush to undress, they forgot to turn the fan on and it shows. But Whizzer hardly even notices.

“Switch,” he says, awkwardly switching places with Marvin so the water can wash the foam from his hair.

Marvin smiles up at him as he shuts his eyes and leans back into the shower stream. A drop of shampoo slowly runs down his temple towards his eye, and Whizzer instinctively wipes it away, his hands returning to Marvin’s hair to help squeeze the shampoo out. His hands freeze at the side of Marvin’s head, and Whizzer feels stuck there, staring. He leans down and kisses him. His lips are warm from the heat of the shower. Whizzer can feel Marvin’s smile grow against his lips as distinctly as he can feel the water beating down on them, flowing down his face, dripping off his chin, even leaking into his mouth occasionally as he kisses him. Gets lost in him.

He steps out of the shower after Marvin does. He grabs a towel from the rack and wraps it around his waist, then wraps his arms around Marvin’s. He rests his chin on Marvin’s shoulder, and watches their reflection. Whizzer frowns slightly at the mirror.

“What’s wrong?” Marvin asks.

“You’ve lost weight,” Whizzer says.

“I know,” Marvin smiles. “Must be all the racquetball.”

“Must be,” Whizzer says uncertainty.

“You’re acting like I’m dying or something,” Marvin laughs. “Getting in shape is good for me, right?”

Whizzer forces a smile and presses his lips to Marvin’s neck. “I just love your body as is. Always have.”

Marvin grins and leans his head back. “Then stop forcing me to play that stupid game with you.”

Whizzer laughs and shakes his head. “Yeah, nice try.”

Marvin chuckles and kisses him, twisting around and leaning back against the sink. “You’re the worst.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

“M-hm,” Marvin nods. “Don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Me neither,” Whizzer agrees. “I wouldn’t.”

Marvin kisses him again, his arms draped over Whizzer’s shoulders. “Order in tonight?”

Whizzer nods. “I could use a shitty east coast burrito.”

“They’re not-”

“They are.”

“Snob.”

“Angeleno,” Whizzer corrects.

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes!” Whizzer exclaims. “We’re lazy stoners! Surfer dudes! Blissed out hippies! Come on, man. Get your stereotypes right!”

Marvin shakes his head and pushes him away. “I’ll go order.”

Whizzer smiles, pulling him back to giving him one more kiss, before letting him go. “I’ll be out in a bit.”

“Babe, you’ve been out since you were ten.”

“Very clever. You should be a comedian.”

“Say it enough times and I’ll actually do it!” Marvin calls. “Then you’ll be sorry!”

Whizzer can hear the arguing from the end of the hall.

“See? You’re ruining the whole thing for him!”

He leans against the wall and sets his grocery bags down, an amused smile on his face. He’s been living with Marvin for a little over a month now. And this is a weekly occurrence.

“ I’m ruining-- You’re the one who won’t let him have any fun! A string quartet? What thirteen-year-old wants a string quartet at his Bar Mitzvah?”

“What thirteen-year-old wants to come over to his dad’s house to see paintings of dicks on the wall?”

“That is art, Trina! Abstract art! Stop trying to censor-”

“It’s a penis, Marvin!”

Whizzer doubles over in quiet laughter.

“Okay!” Mendel cuts in. “This conversation feels like it’s going off the rails a bit, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Mendel, don’t--”

“Darling, please. You can continue this another time. But at this rate, we’ll be eating dinner at midnight.”

“I just have--”

“Nope!” Mendel whips open the door. “We’re leaving now! Come on, Jason! See you next week, Marvin!” He drags Trina out of the apartment and shuts the door behind them. Jason has his head down, headphones in, listening intently to whatever is playing on his Walkman. Mendel is carrying his backpack and Trina is still fuming. Mendel sees Whizzer first. “Hi Whizzer!”

Jason looks up and smiles, taking off his headphones and starting towards him.

“Whizzer!” Trina calls. She storms towards him, causing Jason to stop dead in his tracks.  “You have decent taste! Knock some sense into your boyfriend back there before I resort to a murder-suicide!”

“I have tried. He does not listen,” Whizzer laughs.

“Of course he doesn’t!” she exclaims, turning down the stairs. “Of fucking course not!”

“She’s…” Mendel starts. “You know. You have to deal with the other one.”

“You’re a good man, Mendel. I always plan my errands… strategically.”

“These are the people we have chosen to spend our lives with,” he sighs, patting Whizzer on the shoulder, before following Trina down the stairs. “Trina! Wait! I have the keys!”

Whizzer motions to Jason, and Jason wraps his arms around him. “My parents are insane,” he mutters miserably.

Whizzer laughs and kisses his hair as he pulls away. “They just want the best for you.”

“Then why won’t they let me make any of these stupid decisions?”

“I, uh… I don’t have an answer for you there.”

“Cause they’re insane!”

“Yet we love them anyway.”

Jason shakes his head. “Speak for yourself.”

“Jason, sweetie! We have to get going!” Trina calls from downstairs.

Whizzer tilts his head towards the staircase with a smile. “You better go.”

Jason groans. “Don’t make me.”

“I’ll see you on Friday, okay, bud? Think you can survive that long?”

“I will try,” he says, before sulking away. “Coming, Mom!”

Whizzer laughs again and picks up the grocery bags, walking hesitantly towards the apartment. He stops in front of the door and takes a deep breath. Here we go. “Marvin! Baby! Open the door, my hands are full!”

Marvin swings the door open with a frown. He opens his mouth to say something, but Whizzer quickly leans down and plants a quick kiss on his lips.

“I was thinking a filet of salmon for dinner tonight. I found a recipe that sounds amazing in one of Cordelia’s cook books. And you can sautee some vegetables. I got a lot of squash. And I got a nice Pinot Gris, too,” he says with a grin.

“Yeah, sounds good,” Marvin says grumpily.

Whizzer sighs. “Alright, I got out what I wanted to say. Rant to me while you help me with the groceries?”

“She just refuses to be flexible!” Marvin complains immediately, following Whizzer into the kitchen. “I mean, it’s her way or the highway! Her music choice, her color scheme, her venue, her guests, her fucking table shape! It’s like my opinion doesn’t matter at all!”

Whizzer nods and hands him a bag of apples to put in the fruit bowl on the counter.

“It almost feels like she’s still fucking mad at me, you know? Like nothing I’ve done these last couple of years to make amends matters at all! She is still holding that grudge, and she’s using this to get revenge or something. And, I mean, I was shitty. I know that. And maybe it’s unforgivable, but I’m trying, you know?”

“I know. She does too. I’m sure that’s not it.” They’re down to the last bag, and Whizzer leaves it to Marvin, picking up the totes they’ve already emptied. He hangs them in the pantry, and sits down on the couch, leaning back into the cushion.

Marvin groans. “Then what is it? Cause she couldn’t possibly believe that a string quartet is the best choice for a thirteen-year-old’s party! It’ll put everyone to sleep!”

“You’re not wrong,” Whizzer says. Marvin finishes with the groceries and starts towards the couch to join Whizzer.

“I know!” he exclaims. He takes a long breath in. “I mean, I know I have shit taste sometimes, but I know I’m right about that--” he stumbles a bit and catches himself on the back of the couch-- “one thing,” he finishes, a little breathily.

“You okay?” Whizzer asks, jolting upright and placing a hand on his arm.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Marvin says with a smile. “Just been tired all day for some reason,” he says with a shrug. “Flu season. Cold season. Probably catching something.”

Whizzer nods. “Well, sit down then.”

Marvin does, and Whizzer leans into him. Marvin presses a kiss into Whizzer’s hair. “I can’t wait for this bar mitzvah to be over with.”

“She’ll come around,” Whizzer says, clutching Marvin’s thigh, and caresing it lightly with his fingers. “Or you’ll come around. But, in any case, it’ll work out.”

“You better be right.”

“I usually am.”

“A string quartet,” Marvin groans.

Whizzer laughs and kisses his cheek. “I know, babe, I know.”

Whizzer presses kisses into Marvin’s neck, hand in his hair. He drifts down, trailing kisses down to his chest. Tracing his lips across his ribcage, down towards his waistband. Until… Whizzer shoots up. He stares down at the place where his lips just were. He presses his thumb against it-- a small purplish blemish on his side that wasn’t there before. Whizzer’s breath catches.

“What’s wrong?” Marvin asks, propping himself up on his elbows.

“I…” He looks down again at the… he doesn’t want to say it. “What’s this?”

Marvin looks down at his stomach. “I’m not sure,” Marvin says. “Probably just a blood clot or something? But I’ll go to my doctor about it if it doesn’t go away soon.”

Whizzer nods slowly, his eyes stuck on that spot.

“I’m sure it’s nothing, babe. Don’t worry about it.”

Whizzer nods again and turns his gaze to the wall. “I need… I need to go to the bathroom” he says weakly.

“Are you okay?”

Whizzer finally looks back towards Marvin and forces a small smile. “I’m fine. Just… Just gotta pee,” he says with a shrug.

He gets off the bed and speeds toward the bathroom, locking the door behind him. And it’s then that it hits him. Knocks the wind out of him. He leans against the sink, and stares down at the drain. Tears sting at the corner of his eyes, and this time he can’t hold them back. “Fuck!” he shouts, slamming his hands against the edge of the sink. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His voice breaks by the last time he says it, tears rolling slowly down his cheeks. He looks up at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes are rimmed in red. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it is just a blood clot. Maybe it’s harmless. Maybe… But he knows it isn’t. It’s 1981. It’s New York City. He know exactly what it is. The weight loss, the exhaustion, and now this. This signs are all there. The signs have all been there. How could he have missed them?

And it’s his fault, isn’t it? He could have said something. He could have told him. Maybe he would have been more careful. Maybe he would have taken his advice. And why the fuck didn’t he? Did part of him believe that if he didn’t talk about it it wouldn’t happen? The way you watch a sad movie over and over again, hoping for a better ending. Or was it because he knows, deep down, that no matter what he said, it wouldn’t have changed a thing? That there was nothing he could do except scare people for longer than they had to be scared. Or was it just he who was scared?

Whizzer turns his head to the door when he hears a tentative knock. “Everything okay in there?” Marvin asks.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a second.” Whizzer wipes the tears from his cheek and splashes water on his face. He takes a long, deep breath and straightens up slowly. He opens the door and wraps his arms tightly around Marvin. He buries his face in Marvin’s neck.

“What’s wrong, Whizzer?” He asks softly.

Whizzer shakes his head and shushes him softly. “Nothing. I just want to stay here, okay? I just want to hold you.”

“Okay,” Marvin agrees. “Let’s just stay here.”

And they do. And Whizzer breathes him in. Feels his body against him. Tries to memorize this feeling, as best as he can. Like maybe if he holds him long enough, he can make it go away--that lesion, and the knowledge of everything it means. Like he can make them one and his health will become Marvin’s and they will be one happy, healthy four-legged creature like in Aristophanes’s story of the origin of love. But that’s all just a myth. Not even a myth, but a eulogy remembered by Plato. So he pulls away just slightly--lifts his head up from Marvin’s shoulder--and presses their foreheads together. And his eyes are so stunning. They’re this bright, lively blue. And there’s a warmth to them--a softness--a deeply rooted happiness that didn’t always exist there. And he knows now to savor that. For as long as he can.

And finally the words that have been lodged in his throat for years come spilling out of his mouth. “I love you,” he says, slowly and clearly, as if he’s worried that Marvin might not hear him. The words feel foreign on his tongue, but there’s a relief that washes over him the second he says them. A tension that has been sitting inside of him for so long that finally breaks. And it feels so good, he has no idea why he didn’t say it sooner.

And Marvin smiles one of those broad, toothy smiles that made Whizzer fall for him in the first place. “I love you, too.”

And for a second, everything almost feels right again.

Chapter Text

“Honey, I’m home!” Whizzer sing-songs, swinging the front door open.

Marvin is lying on the couch, reading a book, which he lowers when Whizzer comes in. “You’re late!” He’s changed into PJs, and he’s wearing his reading glasses on the end of his nose. He smiles broadly at him. “Kiss me, darling.”

Whizzer drops his bags on the coffee table and leans down to kiss him, bracing himself on the back of the couch. When he pulls away, he swipes Marvin’s glasses and slips them on.

“Hey!” Marvin laughs.

Whizzer blinks and looks around. “I was going to give you shit about being old and blind, but … oh, this is upsetting.”

“Rounding forty, and he’s suddenly not so cocky anymore.”

“I’m not--! Mid-thirties , Marvin.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Asshole.”

“Hey, at least they look good on you.”

Whizzer grins and lifts Marvin’s legs, before sitting and letting them rest on his lap. “You think so?”

“You remind me of my favorite college professor.”

Whizzer raises an eyebrow. “Favorite because…”

Marvin nods. “I could’ve minored in biology, all the classes I took with him.”

“I thought you hated biology.”

“Exactly.”

Whizzer laughs and scoots closer, so it’s Marvin’s thighs now resting on his lap. He leans his elbow on the back of the couch, leaning his head in his hand and gazing over at Marvin. He places the other hand on his cheek momentarily, running his thumb lightly over his cheekbone. “How are you feeling today? Any better?”

Marvin shakes his head with a shrug. “Not much worse either, though. Still just exhausted. And, of course, the coughing. Not fun, but manageable.”

Whizzer nods. “That’s good. That’s good that it’s not worse. How was work?”

“Boring. Exhausting. Terrible. Normal.”

“You should quit.”

“If I had a nickel for every time you said that, I think I actually could.”

“I just hate how miserable it makes you! You’re wasting away there! Wasting your life.”

Marvin shakes his head. “And, if I did quit, then what would I do?”

“Whatever the hell you want.”

“We’ve got bills to pay, baby. This apartment ain’t cheap and neither is this city.”

“Fuck the bills. Fuck this apartment. Fuck New York City. We could travel the world. I’ll sell photos to tourists and travel magazines. Just enough to scrape by. Live in hostels like we’re twenty-two, or rent out shitty little apartments. Paris, London, Barcelona, Venice...”

“And how does Jason fit into this?” Marvin laughs.

“He could come too! Give the kid an adventure!”

“And school?”

“Real world learning. And we can teach him the rest. I’ll take his art and culture studies, and you can handle all the boring shit. Finally put that biology knowledge to good use.”

“I have a feeling Trina wouldn’t approve of this plan.”

“To hell with anyone else’s approval.”

Marvin shakes his head. “You, my dear, don’t have a passport.”

Whizzer frowns. “Right. Crap. My technical nonexistence ruins even the most well-laid plans.”

Marvin runs a hand through Whizzer’s hair and pulls him in to kiss him. “I love you,” he says softly. “But I’m not quitting my job.”

“I love you,” Whizzer responds with a pout. He reaches over to the coffee table, and grabs the brown paper bag he came in with. “Matzo ball soup from that deli you like? Went all the way out to Long Island to get it.”

Marvin takes the bag from him and looks inside with a smile. “So that’s what took you so long.”

“What, no ‘thank you’?”

“I am forever in your debt.”

“You’re welcome,” he says. “I still don’t understand your love of that place. There are so many better delis on the lower east side.”

Marvin shrugs. “To each their own.”

“No, that’s just an objective truth. You have terrible taste.”

“Or maybe I actually just--” He holds up a hand as he doubles over in a fit of violent coughs.

Whizzer winces and takes the soup from him, returning it to the table.

“I’m sorry,” Marvin says gruffly through the coughs.

Whizzer shakes his head and rubs Marvin’s thigh gently until he’s finished coughing. Then he pulls him fully onto his lap and leans back into the pillows in the corner that Marvin had been propped against. He wraps his arms tightly around Marvin’s stomach and presses kisses into his shoulders and neck and hair and face. “I love you,” He whispers after every kiss. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“He’s sick.” Whizzer is sitting in his psychiatrist’s office, arms resting on his knees, staring down at his feet. “He’s dying.”

“Who’s dying?”

“Marvin.”

“I’m sorry. Is--”

“He doesn’t even know it yet.”

“Oh?”

“It’s still early on. He just thinks he’s getting the flu. But it’s…” Whizzer takes a breath. “More. Worse.”

“How do you know this?”

“Threshold of revelation.”

“What do you mean?”

Whizzer shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s a reference to… nothing.”

“Whizzer--”

“I know, I know. Be honest. I’m trying.” It’s hard to be honest, though, without making her think he’s totally insane. “Have you heard the stories?”

“Of what?”

“Of the disease--they don’t have a name for it--the one that’s killing all the faggots. You know, doing homophobes’ job for them. It’s okay if you haven’t. You wouldn’t be the only one. They don’t care as long as it’s just us dying.”

“I’ve heard, yes. I saw an article in The American Journal of Medicine. It’s terrible. They didn’t mention that they were gay, though.”

“Heavily implied. Not hard to figure out.”

“You read the article?”

“One of my best friends is a doctor. Charlotte. You know that. She’s having to watch her patients die and there’s nothing she can do about it. And that’s bad in and of itself,” he says. “Now she has to watch one of her closest friends…” Something catches in his throat and he has to stop talking.

“So that’s what you think Marvin has.”

“It’s what I know he has,” Whizzer snaps.

“Okay.”

“And I know you think that I’m just being paranoid. That I couldn’t possibly know, right? Even doctors don’t know. But let’s just assume for today that I know what I’m talking about.”

“I can do that.”

Whizzer nods and looks back down at his hands. “So he’s going to die. I don’t know when, but too soon. And I just…” He lowers his head and clasps his hands behind his neck. “This is why I never let myself... feel like this. This. This is why. Why I don’t fall in love. Why I don’t…” He looks up at the doctor and smiles sourly. “It never lasts. They leave or I fuck it up or they die and I’ve built my life and my fucking heart around one person and then he’s gone. And what am I left with? Nothing. There’s nothing left for me here except… Nothing good. So, what was even the point?”

“He’s still here.”

“He won’t be.”

Dr. Berensteiner takes a breath and leans forward. “And Jason? And Charlotte? And Cordelia?”

“I mean, of course they’re… But that’s… That’s not what I mean.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I mean…” Whizzer shakes his head.

“You said you’ll be left with nothing. But that’s not nothing. Far from it.”

“Yes. Technically. And I love them. But it feels… Like when we were broken up, nothing I did ever felt… full. Without him, it all felt fucking empty. And that’s before… It’ll be worse this time. So much worse. Everything will feel like nothing. It’s already starting.”

“Just because it feels like nothing, doesn’t mean it is nothing.”

“What’s the difference really?”

“Maybe there isn’t one at first. But you’ll see it. Given time.”

Whizzer scoffs and leans back into the back of the couch, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You asked what the point is, too.”

“I did.”

“You love him?”

“Of course.”

“And you love Jason?”

“Of course.”

“And you love the family you’ve found? With them and Charlotte and Cordelia? And even Trina and Mendel?”

“Of course. What’s your point?”

“My point is that that is the point. You open yourself up to loving because it opens you up to so much. So many people. So much joy. Because of him, you found a family. A family that isn’t going away. With him, you found so much good. That will be there forever.”

“You sound like the cheesiest fucking cliche I’ve ever--”

“Are you happy, Whizzer?”

“How could I be happy?”

“Forget the sickness for a second. Pretend with me for a second that he isn’t sick. Close your eyes--” Whizzer obliges-- “and think about your life. Think about everything you have. Think about him. Think about Jason. Think about your friends. Think about how you feel when you’re with them. Think about family dinners and baseball games and coming home from work to him and falling asleep with him. Think about your life, Whizzer. As it is now.” She pauses and he swallows hard. “Be honest. Are you happy?”

“Yes,” he says immediately, his voice breaking a bit. “Happier than I’ve ever been.”

“That’s the point, Whizzer. Because things end and people die and that’s life. And it’s tragic what is happening. I’m not minimizing that. It’s tragic. And, in times like these, we wonder why we love just to lose. We wonder why we live just to die. And that’s why. Because loving and living? It’s wonderful. That happiness doesn’t exist without sadness, it’s true, but does that mean you should never be happy? Love doesn’t exist without heartbreak. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t love. The point, Whizzer, is that you’re happy now. And that’s not nothing.”

Whizzer is in the middle of a shoot when his phone rings.

“Sorry,” he says to the family standing against the backdrop. “One second.” He stands up and walks to the front desk, picking up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi. It’s me. I hope you’re not with a client right now. You probably are, I’m sorry--”

“Marvin. Hey. What’s wrong?”

His voice sounds distressed. But tired. “It’s dumb.”

“Don’t do that. What do you need?”

Marvin sighs. “Can you pick me up? Take the train here, then drive me home, I mean. I’m just really tired and they say not to drive when you’re tired… But it’s stupid, I’ll just drive myself. I don’t even know why I called. You’re probably busy.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but can you shut the fuck up?”

“What’s the right way to--”

“Stop saying that it’s stupid. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just… can you wait an hour or so? I just have to finish up--”

“Yes! Yes, of course. Take as long as you need.”

“I love you. And I’ll see you soon.”

“I love you, too.”

“Hi, baby,” Whizzer says, leaning into Marvin’s office.

Marvin’s head is resting on his desk, using his arms as a pillow. He looks up at Whizzer with a small smile. “Hi, baby.”

Whizzer shuts the door behind him and leans over his desk for a kiss. “Sorry it took me so long to get here. My clients were… A lot.”

Marvin shakes his head and stands up slowly. “I’m sorry for making you take this trip.”

“It’s nothing, Marvin. Really.”

Marvin picks up his briefcase, but Whizzer immediately grabs it from him. “I’m the chauffeur today. It’s my job to carry this. I’d carry you, too, but I doubt you want your co-workers to see that.”

Marvin laughs. “Like you even could.”

“You hurt me, Marvin. You really do.”

Marvin yawns and leans against Whizzer, kissing his shoulder. “Forgive me, baby.”

“Never.”

They make it to the car slowly. Marvin can walk okay, but he’s drowsy, so he drags his feet a bit.

“God, I haven’t driven in so long,” Whizzer says, staring at the wheel.

“Well, first you have to put the key in--”

Whizzer glares at him. “I’ll remember.” He turns the key in the ignition, puts the car and gear and backs slowly out of the parking space. “See? Muscle memory.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“As you should be.”

Marvin leans against the window with a sigh. “This is embarrassing.”

“What’s embarrassing?”

“Needing you to drive me like this.”

“You’re just sick. You’ll be driving again soon.” Maybe if he says it enough times he’ll be able to convince himself the same way he convinces Marvin. “But this is why you need to take a goddamn sick day.”

“I just didn’t sleep last night and I was nauseous so I couldn’t eat. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

Whizzer squeezes the steering wheel tighter, and clenches his jaw. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. Around me, I mean.”

“I just hate being so helpless.”

“You waited with me until I fell asleep every night for weeks. And we weren’t even dating. I’m just driving you home.”

“Yeah, but--”

“But what? Marvin, we all need to be taken care of sometimes. And, as your boyfriend, it’s in my goddamn job description.”

“But still--”

“Nope. Shut it. I don’t want to hear it.”

Marvin opens his mouth to say something else, but apparently decides it isn’t worth it. He pushes himself up, so he can lean into Whizzer’s shoulder. “You have a really mean way of being nice.”

“You’re just figuring this out now?”

Marvin laughs. “Nope. No, but it’s very frustrating. And charming. And irresistible. Frustratingly charming and irresistible.”

“Sounds like me.”

“Emphasis on frustrating.”

Whizzer laughs. “I think this whole exchange has been a case of the pot calling the kettle black, honestly.”

“Touche.”

Whizzer kisses his forehead quickly, trying to keep his eyes on the road. “Um,” his voice shakes a bit, and he takes a long breath. “What do you want for dinner? Your choice tonight. Anything.”

“I’m still not hungry. Nauseous.”

“Soup, then. You have to eat something.”

“Sounds good.”

“And then we can just relax. Watch Star Wars on the couch or something.”

“You’re the worst to watch Star Wars with, though.”

Whizzer gasps in moch insult. “I’m offended, Marvin. Why on Earth would you say such a thing?”

“You spend the entire time just lusting over Han Solo.”

“Yeah, cause Harrison Ford can get some.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Do you disagree ?”

“I mean, no, but--”

“Are you jealous?”

“No, I--”

“You are! You’re jealous of a spaceman!”

“Shut up,” Marvin mumbles.

“Oh, baby, if I ever get a chance with Harrison Ford, I’ll make sure you’re invited too. How’s that?”

“I hate you sometimes, you know that?”

“No, you don’t.”

Marvin sighs. “No, you’re right, I don’t.”

Whizzer glances down at him, eyes closed, head on Whizzer’s shoulder. Peaceful and happy. But different. He keeps losing weight, and his face is thinner, bonier. There are dark circles under his eyes. He looks as weak as he’s growing. He feels a lump grow in his throat, but he swallows it down. He refuses to cry in front of him. It’s not his job to cry.

“How is he doing?” Dr. Berensteiner asks.

“Worse,” Whizzer says simply. “Worse and worse and then better some days, but not for long. And I think he’s finally starting to realize that there’s something more going on.”

“Do you feel that that’s a good thing?”

Whizzer shakes his head. “No,” he says quietly. “I don’t want him to know. I want him to go as long as possible believing that everything is going to be okay. I want him to spend as long as possible not being scared of what’s to come. At home. Not in a hospital, connected to machines that are trying and failing to keep him alive. I don’t want him to know.”

“But then you’re shouldering the burden of that knowledge by yourself. That must be hard.”

“I’d carry a hell of a lot more than that for him.”

“That’s selfless. But I’m sure he’d say the same.”

“I’m sure he would.”

“He might want to share that burden, the same way that you want to spare him from it.”

“Well, then, thankfully I have the deciding vote.”

“What you’re going through--”

“What he’s going through,” Whizzer snaps. “He’s the one dying. I’m just a bystander.”

“This affects you as well.”

“Yes, of course it does. I’m not saying it doesn’t,” Whizzer sighs. “But it is nothing. Compared to what is happening to him, it is nothing. I’m healthy. For now, at least. I’m lucky.”

“You minimize your own suffering. Why?”

“Because only the most selfish person could compare his strife to that of the sick and dying,” Whizzer says. “And I’m not quite that selfish. Close. But not quite.”

“Sometimes we need to be a little selfish,” Dr. Berensteiner says. “Especially in a psychiatry session.”

Whizzer looks down at his hands. He hesitates and takes a long, slow breath. “Fine,” he says finally. “It just hurts to see him like this. That’s the thing about this disease, though. It doesn’t just kill you. It eats away at you, until there’s nothing left, and only then does it finally stop your heart. I don’t want to watch him disappear. You know I had to drive him home from work today. That’s why I was late coming here. I keep telling him that he should stay home, that he’s too sick, and going is making it worse. But he insists. But today, he was tired and not eating, so he called me in the middle of a shoot and asked me to give him a ride, Only he immediately tried to backpedal. He’s still too proud to ask for help most of the time. And he was falling asleep in the car, and he gets cold now really easily so I turned the heat up to the point where I was sweating, and he isn’t even that sick yet. Not really. In the grand scheme of things, he’s not that sick yet. There’s been a couple of bad days, but he can usually still drive, and he can move around just fine for a while, and he can breathe on his own, and there is so much worse to come. But I was looking over at him in the passenger seat, and already I couldn’t recognize him. Not fully, at least. I’m going to lose him before he’s even gone. And I’m going to have to watch him suffer so much. And I think I’m more prepared for him to die than I am for the build up. That’s the fucked up truth of it. I would give anything to spend the rest of my life with him, but that isn’t possible anymore. So sometimes...I almost wish… If this disease is going to erode away at him like this… I almost wish he would die faster.” He shakes his head. “Yeah, I’m a terrible fucking person.”

“No, you’re not,” Dr. Berensteiner assures him. “You don’t want to watch him suffer--you don’t want him to have to suffer. That’s completely natural. And completely understandable. But, no matter what this disease does, it’s still him. And, in the end, you will always be thankful for more time.”

“I know,” Whizzer says. “Yeah, I know.” There’s a long pause. “Can we talk about something else now?”

“Of course. Have you still been having those nightmares?”

“They’re different now. But yes.”

“How are they different?”

“Half the time now, instead of chasing me, they--the men--are chasing him.”

“Whizzer!!!!”

Whizzer jolts up in bed and looks around. It’s still nighttime and the room is dark and Marvin isn’t lying next to him.

“Whizzer!!!”

Shit. “I’m coming, Marvin! Hold on!” He jumps out of bed and rushes towards his voice. The door of the bathroom is cracked open slightly and he pushes it open to look inside. Marvin is sitting against the sink, his breathing loud and strained and there’s blood. Not much of it but it’s there, around his mouth and on his hand and arm and smudged on the tile next to him. Shit shit shit shit shit.

“I… breathing is… and I coughed…. And… blood.” He wheezes between every word or two, and he starts coughing again then, and now there’s more blood in his hands and around his mouth. And he looks terrified. God, that’s the worst of it. He looks utterly terrified.

Whizzer walks towards him and crouches next to him, careful not to touch any of the blood. “It’s going to be okay, alright? Look at me.”

Marvin does as he’s told, and Whizzer gives him a small reassuring smile.

“Breathe with me, okay?”

Marvin shakes his head. “I… can’t.”

“Just try. Just try to breathe and calm down with me, okay? Cause panicking makes it harder, okay?”

Marvin nods, but he gives up quickly, tears starting to trickle slowly down his cheeks. “Hospital,” he says. “Call--” He coughs again. More blood.

“No, no, I…” Whizzer tries. “No, just try again. Breathe, just--”

“Whizzer!” he snaps. “Please!”

“I don’t want… Just try again. We don’t have to-- you won’t ever--”

“You know… something.”

Whizzer just shakes his head.

“Yes… you do… You know… What is it?”

“No, baby, no. I don’t… I’ll call an ambulance.” He stands up hurriedly. “I’m calling an ambulance and then I’m gonna come back here and clean you up a bit, okay?”

Marvin looks like he wants to argue, but he just nods.

Whizzer rushes to the phone and dials 9-1-1, quickly giving the operator their address, before tearing open the kitchen cabinets to find the rubber gloves they use for washing dishes. He pulls them on, and finds an old sweatshirt from his bedroom to cover his arms, and pulls on a pair of sneakers as well. Finally, some rags from the pantry, and he’s back to the bathroom. Marvin’s eyes are closed and he’s still crying. Quietly. It’s just the tears really nothing else. And struggling to get a breath.

Whizzer starts with the his mouth, wetting a rag and running it around his lips. Then his arms and hands. Then the floor around him. “Let’s get you a fresh shirt too, yeah?”

Marvin shakes his head. “I’ll just… stain… that too.”

Whizzer nods and tosses the bloody rags into the trash. He’ll dispose of them better later, but for now that will do. He’ll have to throw out these gloves too. And the shoes. “What else do you need? I can bring you a pillow to sit on or a blanket if you're cold or--”

“Stay,” Marvin says. “Just… stay.”

Chapter Text

Whizzer stares blankly at the plain gray wall of the waiting room. He’s holding one of the hospital’s trashy magazines in his hand, but he isn’t reading it. He just stares. Trying desperately to think of nothing. Thinking only of the terrified look in Marvin’s eyes and the blood. All the fucking blood. The toxic fucking blood.

It’s dawn now, and the dusty sunlight is starting to filter in through the few small windows. He sees Charlotte sit down next to him out of the corner of his eye.

“He’s sleeping now,” she says. “He’s going to be okay for the time being. But it’s not good. You know that, don’t you?”

Whizzer nods. “I know. He’s dying.”

Charlotte doesn’t respond.

“Can I go in?”

“You can. But, again, he’s asleep. You should go home. Do the same. I’ll let you know when he wakes up.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “No, I have to be here.”

“Whizzer--”

“This isn’t a discussion. I’m staying.”

“Okay,” Charlotte sighs. “I’ll take you there.”

She leads him to the tiny curtained room. It’s just the bed and the machinery and two chairs. He looks so small and helpless. There’s an IV in his arm and a respirator covers his mouth and nose. Whizzer feels like a black hole has opened up inside his body. He sits in one of the chairs and looks at the ground.

“Have you told Trina?” she asks quietly.

“I left them a message.”

“I’ll call again soon. Make sure they get it.”

Charlotte sits next to him on the other chair and takes his hand in hers. She doesn’t say anything. Neither does he. They just sit there. The only sounds are the sounds of the hospital. Charlotte isn’t meant to be on the clock yet, but she came as soon as Whizzer called. With a promise that Cordelia will arrive in the morning, by Charlotte’s insistence that she get sleep. Eventually, Charlotte squeezes Whizzer’s hand and stands up. “I’m going to call Trina, and then I’m getting you breakfast and coffee. If you won’t take care of yourself willingly, I will force it on you.”

Whizzer laughs a little at that. Much to his surprise. “Cream and sugar.”

“Got it.”

As soon as she’s gone, he scoots his chair closer to the bed. Gently, careful not to wake him, he takes Marvin’s hand in his, and rests his head against his arms against the high-sitting mattress. He presses a kiss into Marvin’s knuckle and shuts his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I am so sorry, baby.”

He must have drifted off, because the next thing he remembers is Marvin’s arm slipping from between his hands, and tangling in his hair. He leans into it and looks up at him with a smile. “Good morning,” he says groggily.

Marvin smiles and starts to say something, before remembering the oxygen mask. He lifts it up and cautiously sucks in a breath, then, satisfied with his ability to breathe, pulls it off.

“Marvin, you shouldn’t--”

“I’m fine,” he insists. “See? I’m breathing.”

“We should get Charlotte back or a nurse or--”

“Not yet,” he says. “Just give me a few minutes alone with you. Can we do that?”

Whizzer nods tentatively, and stands up. He groans a bit as he does. That position he fell asleep in was not friendly to his back or his neck. He notices the food and coffee that Charlotte left him on the other chair. Marvin pulls him toward him and shifts to one side, so that Whizzer can lay down next to him. “We called Trina twice. They should be coming at some point.”

Marvin looks around the room. “This feels familiar. You, me, in a hospital room like this.”

“Only this time it’s reversed.”

There’s silence for a few seconds.

“This isn’t some weird strain of flu, is it?”

Whizzer shakes his head.

“And you know what it is?”

Whizzer nods.

“For how long? How long have you known?”

“A few weeks.”

“The mark.”

“Lesion. Early sign.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you force me to see a doctor?”

Whizzer doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks down at his fidgeting hands. “Because it wouldn’t have made a difference,” he says eventually.

“Oh,” Marvin says. “I’m dying, aren’t I?”

Whizzer doesn’t respond.

“What is it?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it does,” Marvin asserts. “I want to know what’s killing me.”

“Why don’t you ask the doctors?”

“I’d rather hear it from you.”

Whizzer sighs. He laces his fingers through Marvin’s and turns his head on the pillow to face him. Marvin does the same. “It fucks up your immune system. Makes it so you can’t defend against anything. Um, Acquired Immune Deficiency… Syndrome. AIDS. Only they won’t call it that. They won’t call it anything. Not yet.”

“So, they don’t know what it is, then.”

“Far as most people are concerned, it’s our rampant homosexuality coming back to bite us in the ass.”

“That article Charlotte was distressing about…”

“Yeah.”

“All the stories from--”

“Yeah.”

“How is it… why…”

“Blood. Or cum. Mostly cum.”

“Condoms,” Marvin nods. “Got it.”

“Yeah.”

Marvin’s eyes go wide. “But we didn’t always--”

“Shh.”

“That night, though, we were out and-- I mean, at least we didn't-- But something could have--”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t-- how could I not worry, Whizzer, I might have--”

Whizzer leans over and kisses him, lightly and sweetly. “You have bigger things to worry about. Like getting better.”

“I thought I was dying.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to die just yet.”

Whizzer watches Marvin’s face as that sinks in. “How much longer?”

“Weeks, months, years… It depends. Hard to tell.”

Marvin turns back to the ceiling. “It better not be years.”

“Don’t say that.”

Marvin sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Not for this. Not ever. Especially not to me.” Whizzer turns on his side and wraps his arms around Marvin, pulling him close. He feels Marvin’s body start to shake slightly as he raises a hand to his face and cries. This feels familiar too--this scene. Only this time, it takes everything in Whizzer not to break down with him.

“Awe, hey, lovebirds,” Charlotte says, when she returns to the room. “You were supposed to notify someone when he woke up!”

“That’s what I told him,” Whizzer mutters into Marvin’s hair, not moving from his position.

Charlotte appears in front of them and Whizzer raises his eyebrows at her, but that’s still the only movement he makes. “Marvin, you weren’t supposed to take the mask off yourself, we have to--”

“I’m breathing. No harm no foul,” Marvin says.

“There could’ve been harm though. There could still be harm. We haven’t fixed anything, Marvin. It’s just temporary solutions right now. You’re breathing fine now, but we don’t know when that won’t be true again. So, for the love of God, just talk to me before getting rid of your fucking oxygen.”

Whizzer kisses Marvin’s cheek and pushes himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “To be fair, you still haven’t told him what’s going on. How could he know?”

“Which is why I should’ve been notified immediately when he woke up, but, also, for the record, it’s common sense, asshole.” She starts fiddling with some of the machines, rechecking his charts, moving almost frantically from task to task, not spending more than a few seconds on each.

Whizzer stands and stretches, walking around the bed and wrapping his arms around Charlotte. “Love you, Char,” he says.

Charlotte tenses at first, but eventually, she softens and hugs him back. “Why him?” she asks so quietly that even Whizzer can hardly hear her.

Whizzer pulls away a bit and forces a smile. “So. What would have happened had we followed instructions?”

Whizzer only leaves the room to cancel sessions with his clients. He spends the rest of the day lying with him or sitting beside the bed. Even when he drifts off. No matter how many times he or Charlotte tells him to go home, or take a walk, or at least get himself a book to read, he refuses.

Cordelia brings pastries from the bakery in the morning, promising to return in the evening. Jason and Trina arrive around four, while Charlotte is with other patients.

Marvin lights up the minute Jason steps into the room. “Jason! How was school today?”

“It was okay. I had that math test.”

“Right! How’d it go?”

Whizzer slips off the bed, and motions for Jason to take his place.

Jason sits down next to his dad with a small smile. “It was a breeze. Algebra is easy.”

“You’re just a goddamn prodigy, kid.”

“Marvin!” Trina complains. “For the last fucking time, don’t swear in front of him.” Marvin opens his mouth to respond, but Trina cuts him off. “Yes, I do realize what I just said. Shut up.”

Marvin laughs and turns back to chatting with Jason.

“Trina,” Whizzer says. “Hi. Been a while. How are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she says unconvincingly. “How are you?”

“I’m…also fine.”

Trina looks around him at Marvin and Jason, and then nods to the door. “Can we talk outside?”

“I…” He looks back over his shoulder. Marvin looks happy and occupied, so he nods. “Yeah, okay.”

They step out into the hallway, and Whizzer leans against the wall.

“Mendel is coming later. He has clients now,” Trina says.

“I’ll be happy to see him,” Whizzer says. “Is that what you--”

“No.” Trina looks back to the door to Marvin’s room. “I just want to know what’s wrong with him. They’ve told you, right?”

Whizzer nods. “No one knows.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, they’re pretty confident he has the same thing that has been boggling doctors for a little while now. But no one knows what exactly that is.”

“So, then… what?”

“So, then he gets sicker and sicker and they can’t do anything cause they don’t even have a name for it, and then… Well, you know that part.”

“But we can’t be sure that--”

“We can.” Whizzer looks down. “Or, I guess we can’t, but we can be pretty damn close to sure, and all the signs are there. I mean, according to Charlotte. So I try not to be too hopeful.”

Trina is silent for a long while. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Who would?”

“I am so sorry, Whizzer.”

“Why? I’m not the one dying,” Whizzer snaps.

Trina sighs. “No, I guess not.”

“Sorry, it’s been a stressful day.”

“Of course. Don’t worry about it.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “Thank you for coming and bringing Jason, I know it--”

“Oh God, what am I gonna tell Jason?” Trina asks suddenly. “Sorry. You were in the middle of a thought and I… But it just reminded me, and… Oh, God.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t know if I will.”

“You will.”

“It would be bad if I just never said anything and hoped that he figured it out himself, right?”

“That would be bad, yes. But I wouldn’t blame you.”

Trina nods. “I’m gonna wait, though. Until we’re sure. Unless Marvin decides to be way too honest…”

“I doubt he’s rushing to have that conversation either.”

“That’s what I’m betting on.”

Whizzer twists his hands together. “Anything else you want to know?”

Trina shakes her head. “No, I’m… I really am sorry Whizzer. This is going to be hard on all of us, but for you…”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I spent so much time hating you--hating both of you, really, but mostly you-- and blaming you for everything that went down.”

“I would hate me too.”

“I still kind of hate you sometimes.”

“Fair enough.”

“But only kind of. And only sometimes. And what I want to say is that I don’t blame you anymore. I think you should know that. I don’t blame you. I mean, it was never your fault, but it was easier to blame you than to face… But the point is, he would’ve left one way or another. If not with you, then with someone else, or… Or something worse could have happened. And, if it was going to be anyone, I’m glad it’s you. He’s happy now. So is Jason. So am I, actually. You’re good for him. For all of us maybe. In the end. Which isn’t to say that you handled anything right. Let’s get that completely straight. You did a really shit job handling it. But I forgive you.” She nods. “I should’ve said that a long time ago. I forgive you.”

Whizzer feels himself smiling. Genuinely. For the first time all day.

“We’re going to be here a while. You can go home for a bit if you want.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “No, I have to stay. This is… I have to stay.”

Chapter Text

They’ve been in the hospital for 2 more nights now. They moved him to a bigger room after Trina, Jason and Mendel went home that first full night. Whizzer still hasn’t left. He’s slept in his room--on the chair or in his bed with him--and eaten the crappy hospital food that Charlotte forces him to eat. He feels like he’s going a little bit insane, but he refuses to leave him.

Whizzer intercepts Charlotte as soon as she walks through the door, Cordelia trailing behind her. “I need to talk to you,” he says quickly.

“Hello to you, too!” Cordelia says.

“Hi, Cordelia.” He turns back to Charlotte. “Let’s go out into the hall?”

“Oh, I feel so welcomed,” Cordelia says. “Marvin, your boyfriend is an asshole.”

“What do you need to talk about?” Charlotte asks Whizzer.

Whizzer nods towards the door.

“Fine,” Charlotte says. She looks over at Marvin. “I’ll be back in in a bit to check up on everything.”

“Oh, the nurse was just here.”

“But I’m here right now anyway, so I figure I might as well,” Charlotte explains.

Whizzer opens the door, and follows Charlotte out.

“Bye, asshole!” Cordelia calls.

“Love you, Delia,” Whizzer replies, before shutting the door behind him.

“Okay, what is it, Whizzer?”

“When can I bring him home?”

“Until we know more, I don’t… I don’t know if you can, Whizzer.”

“See, I knew you would say that, but I can. When?”

“He is sick. He needs treatment. He needs doctors.”

“Your treatments can’t do shit and you know it.”

“He could have died if he hadn’t come here. You’re right, we probably can’t save him, but we can give him a little more time. He needs to be in the hospital.”

“What’s the point of more time if it’s fucking miserable? He needs to be at home.”

“What if something happens, Whizzer? What if an attack like that happens again? Or worse? What if you can’t get him to the hospital in time? Or what if you’re not even home?”

“I will be. I will be home.”

“You have work.”

“I’ll cancel all my sessions. I don’t care. I was planning on doing so anyway.”

“Whizzer…”

“He’ll be more comfortable at home. He’ll be happier at home. When can I take him home?”

“Technically whenever he wants but--”

“Good.”

“But you won’t.”

“Try me.”

“We don’t know what this disease is or how it works. We only just started figuring out how it’s spread. We don’t know enough to--”

“He’s dying, Charlotte! That is all you need to know! He is dying and there is nothing you or this fucking place can do about it!”

“You think I don’t know that? I know you love him, Whizzer! I know you want the best for him, but so do I! And it’s not just him, either! It’s every man just like him who comes through these doors! It’s everyone who loves them ! It’s everyone who I can’t do a damn thing to help!”

“You can help him, though!” He’s yelling through tears at this point. All of the crying he’d been holding back has finally broken through. “That’s what I’m telling you! By letting him go home! By not making him die in a fucking hospital!”

“Hi!” Cordelia pokes her head out of the room. “Just thought you guys should know that these rooms are far from soundproof and we can hear every word you’re screaming at each other!”

Whizzer looks down at his feet. “Fuck. I’m… sorry. I’m gonna…” He covers his face with his hands, fruitlessly wiping at his cheeks. “Fuck!” He turns and rushes towards the bathroom down the hall. This is becoming a pattern, isn’t it?

“Marvin wants you to know that he loves you and that you shouldn’t worry because at least this is a step above a shitty hostel. Whatever the fuck that means.”

Whizzer looks up. He’s sitting against the wall, his knees bent to his chest. He’s controlled his weeping for now. Though he doesn’t know how long that will last. Cordelia is leaning against the sink, arms crossed over her chest.

“This is the men’s room.”

Cordelia shrugs. “I don’t give a fuck.” She sits next to him and leans her head against his shoulder.

“I just don’t want the end of his life to be him lying on an uncomfortable mattress, staring at the wall.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“Why can’t she understand that? There’s nothing that can help him here.”

“She’s just trying to do what’s best for him.”

“I know,” Whizzer says. “So am I.”

“And she knows that too.”

“She doesn’t believe that I have any clue what I’m talking about.”

“I mean, she is a doctor.”

Whizzer sighs. “Yes, but I’m--” He looks down at his hands.

“You’re what?”

“Delia?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna tell you something right now, and you’re going to have to promise me that you won’t think that I’m, like, completely crazy.”

“A little crazy is fine, though, right?”

“I’m being serious here, Delia,” Whizzer laughs.

“Right. Sorry. Serious.”

Whizzer looks up at the ceiling. “Okay.” He takes a breath. “Y\Um, you know how I never gave you a clear answer on why I was sleeping on Marvin’s couch when we met?”

“Ah, yes, the big secret that I never made you tell cause I am a fantastic friend who has a deep respect for your privacy?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“You’re finally going to tell me?”

“Uh, yeah,” Whizzer mutters. “I guess I am.”

So, he does. In the sanest way he can. Everything. Things that he hardly even admits to himself half the time. Cordelia stands up at some point, pacing the small room.

“So, yeah, now I’m here. And that’s why I know more about this than anyone thinks. That’s why I actually have some idea of what he needs. Because this is what I was born into. This is my fucking history.”

“And Marvin… he knows…”

“All of it, yes. Like I said, he’s known from the beginning.”

“And he believes it.”

Whizzer sighs. “You think I’m crazy.”

“I’m really trying not to.”

“No, it’s fine. So do I sometimes.”

Cordelia nods, but doesn’t say anything.

“Look, I knew that he was sick long before he did. I can tell you what they’ll name this disease. I can tell you that Reagan will be elected for a second term and he won’t even mention this epidemic until a straight white boy is killed by it. I can, uh, I can tell you that next year, this Andrew Lloyd Webber musical that’s in London right now about singing cats will open on Broadway and it will somehow become one of the longest running shows on Broadway! And, yes, it’s exactly as weird as it sounds!”

“But I can’t confirm that any of that is true--”

“Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. They’ll call it that because it basically shuts down your immune system until you have no ability to fight against any diseases. So you technically die of pneumonia or some shit--complications from AIDS--but it’s really this virus leeching away at you. You get it through the exchange of bodily fluids, which means cum or blood mostly. That’s why it’s only really gay men right now. We fuck without condoms. So it spreads. Just like that. Eventually, it’ll be gay men and drug addicts, because of shared needles, but who the public cares least about is still up for debate. Ask Charlotte if I’m right. Or if I match up with the theories they’re building right now. I promise you I will be.”

“You could have read it or heard it somewhere.”

“Charlotte never told me. And I don’t really run in those circles.”

“And if I asked Marvin--”

“He would confirm everything.”

“How do I know he’s not insane as well?”

Whizzer looks up at her, then drops his head to his hands. “You don’t. Whatever. I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget it.”

Cordelia sighs. “I mean, I guess it doesn’t make that much less sense than any other explanation for everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“You had no friends, no money, no job, no clothing… I mean, you . No clothing! If you were starving and only had ten dollars and could choose between a meal and a cute new shirt, you would choose the shirt every time.”

“I’m not that shallow,” Whizzer says, before muttering: “Besides, no ten-dollar shirt could be that cute.”

“My point is that, even if you had no money, you would still figure out a way to have more than a single outfit. So I thought your place burned down or something? But people don’t keep all of their money in cash in their mattress, so, again, you would still have something. And you would still have friends . So, then, I thought maybe you were a spy or in the witness protection program? But then they would set you up with a house and some income! So, again, there were flaws in the postulation. And I thought of bombs and bank robbers and stock crashes and gambling and everything else! But there were always holes! So, you know, time travel. It checks all the boxes at least.”

“Maybe I am a Russian spy,” Whizzer says with a smile.

Cordelia laughs. “You? No fucking way. You would be terrible at that.”

“Maybe I’m just so good that I make you believe that I would be terrible at it.”

“Are you a Russian spy?”

“Would I tell you if I was?”

“Well, you kind of just did.”

“Exactly.”

Cordelia laughs and sits back down next to him. “I still don’t quite--”

“I know. That’s okay.”

Cordelia leans her head against his shoulder. “But I’m not gonna institutionalize you or anything.”

“That’s good.”

“And I still love you and you’re still my best friend.”

Whizzer leans his head against hers. “Good. That’s all that matters.”

Cordelia sighs. “And I’ll talk to Charlotte.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I will,” Cordelia says. “You need to focus on taking care of yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve barely left his room for nearly three days straight, and you only eat when we force you to eat. You are healthy. You are lucky enough to be healthy. Don’t fuck that up.”

“That’s the problem, though, isn’t it? It’s not fair. I slept around so much more than he did, it--”

“It’s not about ‘fair’. This whole thing is un-fucking-fair. We’ve spent millennia surviving rather than living because some assholes decided that a single line in the Old Testament is more important than the hundreds of times that same book told us to be good to one another. And we’re finally making progress with the people who want to kill us, and now this disease takes the wheel? That’s bullshit. That’s what’s unfair. You being healthy? You surviving ? That’s not unfair, that’s how we win. That’s the biggest goddamn fuck you to the world that I can think of. That’s telling the world that, no matter what, we’re not going away. We can’t be broken, and we’re not going anywhere. But, dammit, you fuck that up if you don’t take care of yourself!”

“We don’t know that I’m gonna survive this.”

“Well, you definitely won’t if you continue on killing yourself. ”

“What if I’m sick of my life in itself being some sort of political statement? What if I just want to live like anyone else?”

“Then you still have to keep living.”

“I’m sorry,” Whizzer says with a frown, leaning against the doorframe to Marvin’s room.

“For what?”

“Yelling. Causing a scene. Breaking down. I don’t know.”

“C’mere,” Marvin laughs, scooting over to make room.

“Baby,” Whizzer groans. He closes the door behind him and sits next to him on the raised bed, leaning back against the pillows. “I shouldn’t have… I’m supposed to be here for you, you know? Not getting into screaming matches with Charlotte and crying in the bathroom, I’m not--”

“You’re sweet,” Marvin says. “But fucking stupid, too.”

“Thank you?”

“You really think I’m gonna be mad at you for that?”

“I don’t know, I’m mad at myself…”

Marvin leans over and kisses him, clutching a fistful of his shirt. “What, for trying to help and feeling upset? Granted, maybe you shouldn’t have yelled , but why in hell do you think I could be mad at you?”

Whizzer kisses him again, propping himself on his arm and leaning over him. Marvin swiftly pulls him on top of him. Whizzer’s lips trail down to his neck, and Marvin tangles a hand in his hair, pulling back lightly. Whizzer looks up at him with a grin and presses their lips together again. “Are you sure--”

“Yep,” Marvin says, undoing Whizzer’s jeans.

“You’re okay? You’re not--”

In lieu of a response, Marvin’s hand slips under Whizzer’s waistband.

“Okay, I’ll shut up,” Whizzer breathes, dipping his head and pressing his forehead to Marvin’s. There’s something about the way he looks now that’s familiar to Whizzer. That shattered joy he’s doing everything to hold together. An underlying sadness seeping through the cracks. Something he hasn’t seen in years.

“No, I’m not joking! Every time at orgasm, he shouted ‘Grand slam!’ Like, incredibly loudly. Every single fucking time,” Whizzer says. “Like I know we, as a culture, have decided that baseball is the best sexual euphemism out there, but that’s just… Way too much.”

“Oh my god, that’s terrible,” Marvin laughs.

“Anyway, that’s why I stopped sleeping with baseball guys, and then Touchdown Guy was why I stopped sleeping with football guys.”

“Wait, really?”

“No,” Whizzer laughs. “But that would’ve been something, right? I stopped sleeping with football guys for the sole reason that I just… do not enjoy their company.”

Marvin laughs and pulls Whizzer into him, so his head is resting on his shoulder.

“Okay. Your turn. Bad hookup stories,” Whizzer says.

“Mm, too hard to pare down. I don't remember a good one ‘til you.” He thinks for a bit. “I have definitely thrown up on a couple guys.”

“So you were Grand Slam Guy in these scenarios.”

“Oh yeah, every time.”

Whizzer laughs and leans up to kiss him.

“Is this a bad time?” Charlotte asks from the doorway.

Whizzer pouts. “No, not at all,” he says, turning and sitting up. Marvin grabs the remote from the bedside and raises the bed to a sitting position.

Charlotte sits on the edge of the bed. “We should talk.”

“Yeah, we--”

“I want to go home,” Marvin says.

Charlotte and Whizzer both turn to stare at him.

“That’s what you needed to talk about, right?” Marvin asks. “Whether or not I should stay here? Well, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in a hospital. I want to go home.”

Charlotte nods. “I’m still not sure--”

“I know. That’s why I’m not putting this decision on you. Or on you, Whizzer. No one knows what they’re doing, or if the decision they make is the right one. And both of you will crumble with guilt if you feel like you’ve made the wrong one. So, I’m taking it out of your hands. At least for now. I want to be at home. That’s my decision.”

Whizzer reaches back and takes Marvin’s hand, squeezing hard.

“If anything--and I mean anything--seems even remotely strange, you are coming right back here,” Charlotte says. “And I will be over every day for check-ups. Got it?”

Marvin nods. “Got it.”

“No going back to work. No doing anything too strenuous. If anyone around you is sick, they do not get to be around you until they’re better.”

“Charlotte, I’m dying anyw--”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Whizzer assures her.

Marvin grumbles. “Fine.”

Charlotte nods. “Good. Alright. Okay. You’re going home. I’ll get the paperwork together.” Charlotte hesitates a second, before turning to go.

Whizzer lets go of Marvin’s hand, and stands up, following her out. “Charlotte, wait.”

Charlotte turns back to him as he quickly approaches her. “What is it, Whizzer?”

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he says, arms crossed over his chest.

“Don’t apologize. Neither of us were acting well.”

“Maybe, but I was--”

“Just keep him healthy,” she says. “Please. Or as healthy as possible, I guess.”

“Do you doubt that I will?”

Charlotte shakes her head. “No,” she says. “No, but what sort of doctor would I be if I didn’t at least say it?”

Whizzer pulls her into a tight hug, resting his chin on her head. “I love you,” he says. “So much. What the hell would I do without you?”

“Oh,” Charlotte sighs. “Nothing good.”

Chapter Text

“I can make it up a couple flights of stairs, Whizzer. I’m really not feeling too bad today.”

They’re finally home from the hospital. It took a few hours to get everything ready, and by that time it was late and Marvin was falling asleep, so they decided to stay through one more night.

“Charlotte said ‘nothing strenuous’.”

“She didn’t say you should try to carry me up to our apartment.”

“I’m not--! I could, though.”

“No, you couldn’t,” Marvin scoffs. “And, no, you’re not going to try just to prove a point,” he adds, laughing, as Whizzer pauses on the stairwell.

“You’re no fun.”

“Being dropped down the stairs is fun now?”

“Well, maybe not for you.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be keeping me healthy ?”

Whizzer laughs and pulls him tighter, pressing a kiss into his temple. “Didn’t we have this same conversation back when I was the one coming home from the hospital? Back then you were the one arguing for caution.”

“Well, I see your side now. You were right! I was wrong! You love hearing that, right?”

Whizzer smiles. “I do,” he says. “But I wasn’t. Now suck it up, be a man, and let me help you up the goddamn stairs.”

“Oh, I love it when you get all... dominant and aggressive.”

“Do you ever think with anything other than your dick?”

“Not around you.”

Whizzer sighs. “Here I am, taking care of you when you’re sick, being there for your child, saying ‘I love you’... and I’m still just a pretty piece of ass to you.”

“Very, very pretty.”

“I am, aren’t I?” Whizzer grins. “Now let me help you to our apartment so you can objectify me right .”

“Bribery! That’ll work!”

Whizzer props his head up on his hand, and interlocks his fingers with Marvin’s, smiling down at him. Marvin places a hand in his hair, rubbing Whizzer’s temple gently. He leans up and kisses him softly. Happily. A smile spread across his face. Whizzer settles into him, resting his head on his arm, and kissing Marvin’s knuckles, giving his hand a squeeze.

“I’m so happy right now,” Marvin breathes.

“Good,” Whizzer smiles.

“So, so happy,” Marvin repeats, “I get to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Whizzer purses his lips, feeling his heart wrenching slightly. “I love you,” he says, pressing his lips into Marvin’s shoulder.

“I love you.”

“Do we still have Jason this weekend?” Whizzer asks.

“Do we have Jason?”

“I mean-- you-- I mean, I live here, so he’s-- yeah, I’m sticking by that. We.”

“I just love to hear you say it,” Marvin laughs. “And yes. He’s coming over tomorrow. He would be here today, but I thought I could use a day to transition. If anything seems like it’s going wrong… I don’t want him to… So a buffer day. To get settled.”

“I get it,” Whizzer says. “What are you... What are you gonna tell him?”

“As little as possible for now. I have to talk to Trina first.”

Whizzer nods.

Marvin turns to Whizzer, that easy smile gone from his lips. “It’s gonna crush him, baby. I don’t want to crush him.”

“Shh, I know,” Whizzer says, placing a hand on his cheek. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” He wraps his arm around Marvin and pulls him into his shoulder. “Remember that day in Central Park? When the leaves had just begun to turn. The yellow trees. Picnic in Sheep Meadow. It was cold. My hands were practically numb and I forgot my gloves, so you gave me yours, even when your fingertips were turning blue.”

“They weren’t blue. ”

“So not the point,” Whizzer laughs.

Marvin chuckles. “Keep talking.”

“So, you gave me your gloves. Even though you clearly needed them. And it was a quiet day in the park and no one was really around. I mean, they’d pass by on the nearest road, but we were alone in Sheep’s Meadow and pretty much hidden and we were lying there. A lot like this. Just staring up at the clouds. Not saying anything. Just lying there. And it felt like time stood still. Like the world stopped turning and there was nothing else but you and me and the sky. I didn’t think I could love you more than in that moment. Turns out I was dead wrong.” He looks down at Marvin, whose cheeks are suddenly wet. “Oh no, what did I…”

Marvin shakes his head. “Nothing. These are good tears. I promise.”

“So goddamn emotional.”

“I didn’t used to be!”

“I know! Old age has made you soft.”

“ You made me soft,” Marvin corrects. “Despite the constant insults.”

“Don’t lie, Marvin. You love being insulted by me.”

“I love being… anythinged by you. I have basically no dignity left.”

“Who needs dignity?”

Marvin laughs and shakes his head. “So, I’m making dinner tonight.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll make something.”

“No, you won’t,” Marvin says. “I’m making you dinner tonight. For once.”

“Marvin--”

“Today’s a good day. I feel good today. I don’t know how many good days I have left. You have been taking care of me and ignoring your own needs all week, and I know you’ll probably end up doing that for the rest of my life. So let me use this one good day to take care of you , pamper you. One more time.”

A knot forms in Whizzer’s throat. He nods. “Okay,” he says tightly.

“Good,” Marvin smiles. “Cause I have a whole evening planned. You aren’t even ready.”

“Oh, no?”

“Uh-uh. It’s gonna be romantic as fuck.”

“Well, color me excited.”

“Are you done yet?” Whizzer yells from the bedroom. “I’m bored!”

“Patience, babe!” Marvin calls.

“I am not a patient person!”

“I know! It’s one of the more annoying things about you!”

Whizzer groans and falls back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Marvin pokes his head in with a smile about five minutes later. “You are a child,” he says, sitting next to Whizzer and running a hand through his hair.

Whizzer grins up at him. “Is it ready?”

“Yeah, just give me a minute to rest,” Marvin says apologetically.

Whizzer sits up behind him, and wraps his arms around him. “Of course baby,” he says softly into his ear. He finally notices what Marvin is wearing. A white button-up. Black suit that actually fits. A normal tie. Whizzer gasps. “No plaid.”

“I know,” Marvin smiles. “The sacrifices I make for you.”

“When the hell did you get this suit? It’s actually nice.”

“A little while back. Cordelia helped. I needed something nice for Jason’s Bar Mitzvah, but I also wanted to surprise you with it.”

“I’m so honored,” Whizzer says. “Though I feel underdressed now.”

“You are never underdressed, my dear.”

“I’m putting on a blazer,” Whizzer laughs.

“Go for it,” Marvin agrees.

Whizzer pulls one from his closet and slips it on, before reaching out to help Marvin up. “You ready?”

Marvin nods, and takes Whizzer’s hand, letting himself be pulled to his feet. “Just one thing before we go out there,” he says. “No talking about… well, you know.”

Whizzer nods. “I think I can handle that.

Marvin pulls open the door, and leads Whizzer out into the dining room.

Whizzer’s smile grows slowly as he steps out into the dimly lit dining room. There are candles on every surface--Marvin is even using his grandmother’s shabbat candle holders which rarely leave the cabinet--, roses on the table, the smell of good food wafting through the air.

“Well, fuck, Marvin, this is…”

“It’s not original or anything, I know. Roses, candles, it’s all been done before.”

“Classic. Classy. Perfect,” Whizzer says, pressing his lips to Marvin’s temple.

Marvin smiles. “Good.”

“How in hell did you pull this off?”

“I have my ways.”

Whizzer raises an eyebrow at him.

Marvin sighs. “Cordelia helped a lot. Bought what I needed, gave me very detailed recipes. And you already know she helped with the wardrobe.”

“What a doll.” He speeds into the kitchen and inspects the food on the counter. “Oh my God, you made mac and cheese.”

“I know you claim that your favorite food is some fancy truffle thing, but I also know that that’s, um--how should I put this?--utter bullshit. Now go. Sit.”

“I lie so I don’t eat this shit for every meal--Oh, is this that extra cheesy recipe that Delia makes?”

“It is! Now sit down and let me serve you! You’re ruining the whole effect.”

“Right,” Whizzer laughs. “Sorry.” He kisses Marvin on the cheek and sits at the table. “Okay! Ready.” He lounges back in his chair and waves his hand at Marvin. “Feed me, fool.”

Marvin rolls his eyes. “You really are so funny.”

“Mm, I know,” Whizzer agrees.

Marvin stifles a laugh as he piles food onto plates and brings them over to the table, followed by a bowl of salad, “So you can keep up the facade of eating well”, and a bottle of wine. He pours Whizzer a full glass.

“Quite a hefty pour there, Marvin.”

“M-hm, more efficient this way.”

“Are you calling me a drunk ?”

Marvin shrugs and pours himself a normal amount, before finally sitting down.“You are the only one who finishes the full glass every time we’re supposed to drink at Passover.”

“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

“I mean, technically--”

“I rest my case, then! I’m just a better jew than the rest of y’all.”

“Y’all? Really?”

“Don’t change the subject!”

Marvin laughs and takes a sip of his wine. “You should be grateful for our blasphemous tendencies. Means we’re not drinking manischewitz.”

“Well, cheers to that, then,” Whizzer says, holding out his glass.

Marvin clinks it lightly. “To sinning.”

“To sex, drugs and non-kosher wine.”

“To being hopelessly in love.”

“And with a man no less!” Whizzer says in a thick New York Jewish accent. “The wine was just the beginning!”

Marvin shakes his head with a laugh. “God, now is not the time to start reminding me of my mother.”

Whizzer grins at him and reaches across the table to take his hand. “Guess what?”

“What?” Marvin asks softly.

“I am hopelessly in love with you, too.”

Marvin grimaces. “God, does it really sound that cheesy?”

“Yes. It does.”

“Every time?”

“Every time,” Whizzer laughs.

It’s there at the backs of their minds. It sits there like a pile of dirty dishes. But, for tonight, they just let them soak. After dinner, Marvin brings out a banana cream pie, which he admits was Cordelia’s doing. And, all evening, the room fills with laughter, floating around them, twisting, twirling in the air. Dancing around them as if nothing at all is awful. As if nothing in the world ever could be.

After dessert, Marvin runs a bath, complete with cloud-like bubbles, scattered rose petals and precariously-placed candles. Whizzer clutches his collar and kisses him before slowly unbuttoning Marvin’s shirt, doing his best to ignore the weight loss and the growing number of lesions that litter his pale skin.

Their clothes piled on the bathroom floor, they sink into the hot water. It’s cramped and Whizzer’s always been too tall for this tub, but they eventually find a comfortable position, Whizzer’s legs mostly out of the water, Marvin’s head leaning back against his chest. Marvin shuts his eyes as Whizzer runs his fingers gently through his hair. He presses kisses into his temple and his cheek and his jawline until Marvin turns his head to catch Whizzer’s lips on his. And Whizzer would give anything for time to stand still. For the world to stop turning. For there to be nothing more than the two of them here in this too-small bathtub. To stay this way forever.

Chapter Text

Marvin is determined to act like nothing is wrong around Jason. They go to the movies, and a Sunday matinee of Merrily We Roll Along . Activities that don’t require much energy. Jason asks about the stay in the hospital a few times, but Marvin always waves the question off, and quickly changes the subject. Jason doesn’t push it. Marvin helps him with homework and studying for his Bar Mitzvah, which is about a month away now, while Whizzer makes dinners. It’s aggressively normal. Whizzer goes to bed both nights feeling sick to his stomach. They drive Jason to school on Monday, and then take his stuff to Trina’s. She invites them in for coffee. But they all know that’s not really what it’s about.

“So, how was your weekend?” Trina asks, as she pours coffee into their mugs.

Whizzer pours some milk and sugar into his and raises it quietly to his lips. The tense silence is palpable.

“It was good,” Marvin says eventually. “We saw that new movie, Time Bandits. And a preview of Merrily We Roll Along .” Awkward small talk. Putting off the conversation they all know they need to have.

“Oh! Sounds fun,” Trina says, forcing a smile.

Whizzer still doesn’t say a word. Or make eye contact.

“How, uh, how was your weekend?” Marvin asks.

“Less exciting for sure,” Trina says. “Just lazed around, really. Nothing to write home about.” There’s another half a minute of silence, before Trina finally gives in. “We need to talk about--”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What have you told him so far?”

“Nothing, really,” Marvin says. “When he asked about it, I just changed the subject. He knows something’s up.”

“We should tell him soon. Together.”

“How?”

“Just be honest I think. Tell him what we know. Let him react however he reacts. What else can we do?”

Marvin reaches out his hand to squeeze Whizzer’s. Whizzer squeezes back reassuringly. 

“When?”

“Sometime this week. I’ll have you two over for dinner and we’ll talk to him afterwards.”

It’s Marvin’s turn to go silent. He starts to say something, but no words come out. He looks down at his feet and tightens his grip on Whizzer’s hand.

“Yeah, I think we can do that,” Whizzer says for him.

Trina nods and stands, taking the coffee and cream and sugar back to the kitchen. She doesn’t need to do any of that yet.

None of them want to be having this conversation. The anxiety and discomfort and sadness fill the room. Whizzer can hardly feel his hand anymore. But he doesn’t mind. At this point, he just wishes it wasn’t only his hand that had gone numb.

“Jason, buddy, how are you doing?” Whizzer asks, giving him a tight hug. They had decided on Wednesday night. Whizzer’s stomach did flips all week.

“Why are you guys eating here tonight?”Jason asks. Always directly to the point.

Whizzer shrugs. “We need to talk about a couple things, but mostly we just missed you.”

“It’s about the hospital, isn’t it?”

Whizzer smiles tightly and squeezes his shoulder. “You’ll see.”

“I hate it when you say that.”

“I know.”

Dinner is mostly Jason and Mendel talking. The rest of them are just dreading quietly. Marvin’s left hand rests on Whizzer’s thigh almost the whole time. He’ll squeeze it every once in a while and look down at his plate and squeeze his eyes shut for a second, forcing back tears. And Whizzer will place his hand on Marvin’s and Marvin will look back up at the table. It happens quickly and quietly every time, so that Whizzer is the only one who notices.

When their plates have been cleared, the table goes silent. Whizzer taps his fork against the table.

“Alright, this is ridiculous,” Jason says. “Just tell me already! What’s going on?”

Whizzer lets out a quiet huff of a laugh. Everyone is looking at Marvin who looks like he wants a time vortex to open up and swallow him whole.

He clears his throat. “So, uh, right. You’re right, kiddo. Um, so, we need to talk about why I was in the hospital last week.”

“Finally,” Jason sighs.

“So, right. Okay,” Marvin says. “Turns out… Turns out I’m sick. Not just a flu or whatever. Really sick.”

“Well, when are you going to get better, then?”

“I don’t-- we don’t… We don’t know, buddy.”

“Okay, but you will at some point, right?” Mendel puts a hand on Jason’s shoulder. Jason looks over at him, furrowing his eyebrows. “So, that’s okay. It’ll just be tough for a while, but it’ll get better. Right?”

Marvin doesn’t respond.

“We don’t know if it will, sweetheart,” Trina says finally. 

Jason’s face goes blank. “So, you’re dying?”

Marvin looks up at the ceiling, then down at his lap, then finally back to Jason. “Yeah. Looks like I am.”

“Oh.” He places his napkin on the table and stands up. “Can… um, can I be excused?” 

“Of course, sweetheart,” Trina says. “Whatever you need.”

Jason nods and runs upstairs. 

“Someone should go--”

“Eventually. Give him some time,” Mendel says.

Marvin leans his face into Whizzer’s shoulder. Whizzer wraps his arms around him and presses his lips into Marvin’s hair. Trina leans into Mendel much the same way. They sit there for a while. Feeling an odd sense of relief. Like the hard part is over. Far from it, in reality, but some amount of tension has dispersed somehow.

They’re quiet for some time, before Trina finally breaks the silence. “Someone should probably go talk to him now.”

Whizzer and Mendel stand at the same time, and they stare at each other from across the table.

“I just thought,” Mendel says, “because I'm a psychiatrist, I should--”

“Yeah, no, I know,” Whizzer says. “It’s just that we don't have him until Friday, so it might be nice…”

“Oh, yeah, of course. Yeah. If you want. Go ahead.”

“Unless… Trina? Marvin?”

Marvin shakes his head.

“We broke the news. It'll just upset him more,” Trina says.

“Okay then,” Whizzer nods. “Okay.” He ducks down to Marvin's level. “You’re alright if I go?” he asks quietly.

Marvin nods.

“Alright,” he says, kissing Marvin's temple. He takes a steadying breath and heads upstairs.

Whizzer knocks lightly on Jason's door. “Hey, kid, it's Whizzer. Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Jason says from inside.

Whizzer pushes open the door and steps inside. Jason is sitting on his bed, his knees pulled to his chin. His eyes are rimmed in red. Whizzer gives him a small smile and sits next to him on the bed. He pulls Jason into him. Jason quickly responds by wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in Whizzer’s shoulder. They sit like that for a long time, both of them holding back their tears, until Jason finally speaks.

“I’ve spent a decade of Saturday mornings being taught that we’re the chosen people. A decade of Saturdays being taught that there’s a God somewhere and that He’s supposed to protect us.” Whizzer looks down at Jason, who is looking back up at him. He looks sad, yes, but mostly he looks angry.  “And, I don’t know, I guess I never really believed it, I mean look at history. But I… I guess there was some small part of me that thought that it might be true, and if I was good, He would at least protect my family, you know? I mean, we’ve made it this far, right? And I thought, ‘why would I being doing all of this work--why would generations of people do all of this work--if there wasn’t some reason for it?’ But now… Either He isn’t real and all of this is just pointless, or He doesn’t care and if He doesn’t care about us then why should I care about Him? Like, I don’t know if I can stand up in front of people and praise Him and read from His book if all of it is just a lie.”

Whizzer purses his lips and shuts his eyes. This is not what he expected. This is not exactly in his wheelhouse. He didn’t even have a Bar Mitzvah. He did a birthright trip in college, but that was more for the free vacation and the possibility of hot guys than any sort of religious obligation. He hadn’t been into a synagogue in years until he met Marvin, and even now he only goes on the high holidays. “I…” Whizzer shakes his head. “I’m not going to pretend to be an expert here. I, uh… I can’t tell you what to do or how to feel. Because it is your choice. Or your feelings. Yours and no one else’s. If going through with this Bar Mitzvah feels pointless and meaningless and you can’t bring yourself to do something you don’t believe in, then you shouldn’t. And I think everyone would understand that.” He gives him half a smile. “But I think, maybe, even if you don’t believe in a God, or you’re angry with God--justifiably so--there’s still meaning there somewhere. Don’t you think? You just have to find it.” 

Jason hugs his knees to his chest again and stares intently at the wall. A tear escapes from the corner of his eye and he quickly wipes it away.

“It’s okay to cry, kid. It’s good to cry.”

“Why don’t you do it, then?”

Whizzer looks down at his hands. “I do. I just don’t let you or anyone see it. But you’re right. I should let myself cry more. And I shouldn’t hide it. I should be a better example to you. It’s just a bad habit of mine.”

Jason lets a few more tears fall without wiping them away. “I just don’t understand why it had to be him. And I don’t understand why there’s nothing anyone can do about it. And I don’t understand how we’re supposed to just go back to our lives like everything is normal! How the fuck do you--” He cuts himself off. “I know, I know, language.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “I don’t know, Jason. I don’t fucking know.”

Jason smiles slightly at that.

“You know, swearing is therapeutic. Like, actually scientifically so.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“So, you’re saying…”

“Special circumstances.”

“Fuck,” Jason says quietly.

“Again. Louder.”

“Fuck,” Jason repeats, a little more confidently now.

“Still weak.”

Jason takes a deep breath. “Fuck!” He shouts at the wall. 

“That’s more like it.”

Jason stands up on the bed and starts jumping up and down, shouting obscenities at the air. Whizzer is vaguely aware that the walls are far from soundproof. But he doesn’t really care. And soon enough Jason starts laughing instead of yelling, and Whizzer is laughing too and he wraps his arms around Jason, spinning him in the air before setting him down on the floor, still smiling. Jason hugs Whizzer tightly as soon as he’s gotten his bearings. When Jason pulls back, Whizzer crouches down in front of him with a small smile. 

“We’re gonna get through this, kid. I promise. Together, we’re gonna get through this.” 

“Okay,” Jason nods. “Okay, we’re gonna get through this.”

“I love you. So much,” Whizzer says.

“I love you too,” Jason mutters quietly.

Whizzer stands up and places a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Do you think you’re ready to go back downstairs?”

Jason nods again. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

As soon as they reach the dining room again, Jason races around the table and pulls Marvin into an aggressive hug. Marvin buries his face in Jason’s hair and shuts his eyes. Trina looks over at Whizzer, who is still standing at the base of the stairs, leaning against the wall. She raises a questioning eyebrow at him, in a half-assed attempt to be frustrated with how he decided to chear Jason up. But she’s smiling too. Whizzer shrugs and returns the smile, before turning his attention back to Jason and Marvin, who still haven’t let each other go.

And it’s not okay. None of it is okay. But, for the first time, it feels survivable. And that’s something.

That Saturday they take Jason uptown to Lincoln Center and sit on the edge of the fountain with the tourists, drinking coffees and hot chocolate. It’s barely warm enough still to spend this time outside. Marvin is wearing about half his closet to keep warm, but he insisted on coming. Whizzer has one leg bent up onto the black marble, the other dangling below him. Jason is leaning into Marvin’s shoulder. 

“You know West Side Story takes place right here?” Marvin says.

“Really?” Jason asks. “It doesn’t look at all like it.”

“Well, it used to be apartments before they built Lincoln Center.”

“Oh. Where did all the people go?”

“Mm, good question,” Whizzer chimes in. “Sometimes, when people are poor and not white, they decide that theatres and a college that they could never afford to go to is more important than their housing.”

Jason frowns. “Oh. Right.”

“Well, of all the destructive, racist Robert Moses projects, I do have to say that this one is my favorite,” Marvin says.

“You mean you don’t like to sit and watch the view of burning, deserted buildings from the Cross Bronx?” Whizzer teases.

Marvin punches his shoulder lightly and Whizzer laughs.

“It is really pretty here,” Jason says.

“Yeah, it is,” Whizzer agrees.

“So, the first time we left you with a sitter, Jason, we came here,” Marvin says. “You were just a baby, and we came to see a show. I don’t even remember what it was. But we were so nervous about not being there for you, and so excited to finally have a break, it was this weird giddiness, like we were teenagers and had snuck out to a party or something. But it was a good night. And we stepped out after the show and it was dark by then and the fountain was on and the lights were on and it was so beautiful, it sent this sort of calming feeling over me. I had seen it before, of course, but this felt different. That nervousness suddenly went away and that’s when I swore that this fountain could make anything better, even just for the moment.”

Whizzer looks down at his feet. He watches the dangling foot swing forward and back and forward and back like a pendulum clock. Watching the time tick by.

“So I would come here whenever there was something that I couldn’t get off my mind. Something bothering me. I used to come here pretty much every day after work. Even in the winter, when it’s turned off, because I could sit with my eyes closed and imagine the water and listen to the sounds of people and cars passing by. And, you know, it didn’t solve anything, of course, but it made me feel better, and made me think clearer. It’s where I finally admitted to myself that I was in love with you.” Whizzer finally looks over at Marvin and meets his smile. “And that I could be and needed to be a better dad to you.” He looks down at Jason, who is still resting on his shoulder.

“I can’t believe I never knew about this,” Whizzer says quietly.

“I never told anyone,” Marvin says. “It was my private little bliss. For some reason it felt like if I said anything the magic would be broken, you know? But I just wanted to share it with you now. Before… Well, I just wanted to come here, the most important place in the city to me, with the most important people in my life. Just once.”

Whizzer feels tears stinging at his throat. His initial instinct is to swallow them. Like he always does. But he remembers his conversation with Jason. The promise he made to break that habit, and it makes him hesitate long enough for one to escape before he can stop it.  “Thank you for this,” he says. In a whisper because that’s all he can manage.

Marvin reaches out and wipes the tear from Whizzer’s cheek. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry before.”

“You haven’t. I make a point of it.”

Marvin shakes his head. “God, you’re the worst. With that stupid pride of yours.”

Whizzer sets his coffee down and presses his palms to his eyes, laughing and shaking his head, while literally pushing back the new tears beginning to form. “No, this is the worst.”

“You know, Whizzer,” Jason says, “someone once told me that it’s okay to cry--good even!”

“Oh, shut up,” Whizzer groans, laying back onto the cool marble, covering his eyes with his arms. 

“How can you expect anyone to listen to you if you don’t even listen to you?” Jason asks.

“Since when does anyone expect me to actually be a good example? I feel like I’ve made myself very clear about this: do as I say, not as I do, alright?”

“Or maybe you could just, I don’t know, walk the walk, and make mature decisions,” Marvin suggests.

Whizzer boosts himself up onto his elbows. “And why the hell would I do that?”

“To be a functional adult? I don’t know.”

“Everything good in my life came out of the most immature decisions I ever made. Immaturity has done me well, thank you very much.” He lays back down, staring up at the cloudy sky. 

“What a perfect thing to say in front of a 13-year-old.”

“Well, okay, don’t do all that I say.”

“Trust me, I know that already,” Jason says.

Whizzer kicks him lightly. “Your dad is rubbing off on you, kid. You get meaner by the day.”

“Well, someone’s gotta be around to put you in your place,” Marvin says. 

Laughing, Whizzer shuts his eyes and dangles his arms off the bench. He feels Marvin’s hand on his shoe, massaging his foot gently. Whizzer cracks his eyes open and looks up at Marvin and Jason. Jason is laying down too, his head on Marvin’s thigh. Marvin is leaning back on the hand that isn’t rubbing Whizzer’s foot. He’s looking up at the sky with a wistful smile. Whizzer matches his smile, shuts his eyes again, and leans his head back down on the hard surface. He focuses his ears on the sounds of the cars on Columbus and Broadway. The engines and, more than that the angry honking. A siren sounds a little ways away, probably an ambulance on its way to Mt Sinai a few blocks down. And now all he can hear are the sounds of the street, and all he can feel is Marvin’s hand on his foot and it’s bliss. Short-lived and shallow, but bliss. And Marvin might be right about this damn fountain.

Chapter Text

On Sunday night, when Trina and Mendel come to pick up Jason, they all sit around the coffee table again. This time, Whizzer brings out the coffee.

“I don’t know how to ask this without being morbid,” Trina says.

Marvin shrugs. “Life is morbid right now, it’s pretty hard to escape.”

“Should we, um, try to shift the ceremony part of Jason’s Bar Mitzvah to this week, or…”

“It’s only two weeks away, I’ll make it. I’m doing fine.”

“Right, I just, apparently it can progress quickly and suddenly sometimes and it’s not just about being there, there’s a lot of standing and speaking and--”

“I’ll make it.”

“And if you’re stuck in the hospital…”

“Trina, nothing can make me miss his fucking Bar Mitzvah.”

“Well, uh,” Whizzer starts.

Marvin’s shoulders sink and he turns to Whizzer. “Fuck, what do you know?” Marvin asks.

“And how is it he always knows something we don’t?” Mendel wonders with a chuckle. No one joins him in laughing and he sinks back into his pillows a bit.

“Well, Jason was telling me he’s not sure…” Whizzer shakes his head. “Uh, he’s not sure he wants one anymore?”

“It is two weeks away!” Trina blurts out loudly. “He can’t do this to us with two weeks’ fucking notice!”

“This isn’t that big an apartment,” Mendel says quietly, placing a hand on her knee.

“I don’t really care,” Trina hisses.

Marvin has fixed his gaze on Whizzer. “He’s pulled this before during fights but he’s never meant it.”

“Yeah, this was different.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking joking. Why? Why would he say something like that?”

“Not really happy with God and faith right now, which, fair enough, honestly.”

“It’s about more than that, though. Fuck I don’t even believe in God but that’s not the fucking point.”

“Why don’t you tell him that?” Mendel suggests. “This is a pretty natural reaction to finding out something that upsetting. And obviously, he’s been keeping it mostly to himself for a reason. So, calmly, try to talk to him and ask him why. You owe him that. Can’t force him to do this if his heart isn’t in it I think.”

“Yeah, I second that,” Whizzer agrees.

“I hate it when you two team up,” Marvin grumbles.

“For once we agree on something,” Trina says.

“Just go talk to Jason,” Mendel says.

Whizzer stands and reaches out a hand to help Marvin up. He nods toward the door. “You got this,” he says with a shrug.

Marvin grabs his hand and lets Whizzer pull him to his feet. Once he’s standing, Whizzer places his hands on his shoulders to steady him, and Marvin grabs Whizzer’s collar. “I got this,” Marvin nods. He pauses a second. “I hate this.”

Whizzer brushes his hand lightly through Marvin’s hair. “I know.”

Trina clears her throat. “Alright, boys, now is not the time.” 

“Now is always the time,” Whizzer objects.

Marvin laughs, pushes Whizzer away and reaches out to Trina. “Let’s go then,” he says.

Trina sighs and stands, letting Marvin rest a hand on her shoulder and holding his waist lightly as they walk towards Jason’s bedroom. 

Whizzer smiles as they walk away, his mind drifting to the days when none of them could be in the same room together for even a few seconds without the whole situation imploding in one way or another. They’re a family. Finally. If only they had more time to enjoy it.

“How are you doing with all of this, Whizzer?” Mendel asks, breaking him out of his trance.

“Huh? Oh. I… I mean, no better or worse than the last time you asked.”

“I.. Yeah, fair enough,” Mendel agrees. “Then how about with all the stuff from before? How are you doing with all that? How’s therapy?”

“Private,” Whizzer says. “For a reason. But better. I was doing a lot better.”

“Why the past tense?”

Whizzer waves his hand toward where Marvin had left the room. “It’s hard to keep up with your own miniscule problems when the person you love is literally dying. I have to take care of him now, you know? I don’t have time for…” He trails off.

“For taking care of yourself?”

“I mean, yeah. I guess.”

“When did you stop going?”

“His diagnosis.”

“Whizzer…”

“No, I know what you’re going to say, Mendel, I don’t want to hear it.”

“I was just gonna say that you matter too.”

Whizzer looks down and slumps onto the couch. “You know if Jason goes through with this not-having-a-Bar-Mitzvah thing, you’re gonna be absolute toast.”

“Why? I didn’t tell him to cancel it!”

“You have literally begged everyone to cancel it every time I’ve heard you talk about it.”

“I never expected to actually be listened to!”

“I’m just saying. They will be out for blood. Looking for someone to blame. You are the obvious scapegoat,”

Mendel is indignant at first, waving Whizzer off and shaking his head, but then he freezes, his easy smile sinking, and he lowers his face into his hands. “Oh. that kid better have that damn Bar Mitzvah or I swear to fucking God.”

"Set the stakes high enough and I guess you finally understand where they're coming from, huh?"

"Yeah but the difference is, the stakes with those two are literally always high enough."

Whizzer laughs and shakes his head. "I really thought I was high maintenance before I met Marvin."

"I think I was so focused on not becoming my parents that I ended up marrying them."

"I do sometimes feel like I’m living with my grandmother."

They laugh and sit in a comfortable silence for a while.

"God, I got so lucky," Mendel finally says.

"Me too."

"I remember when he met you, you know."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, he came in furiously yelling about this arrogant, irritating, ungrateful friend he was letting stay with him."

"A fair assessment."

“And, you know, so eventually I ask him, ‘Well, why are you letting him stay, then? You could kick him out any time you want.’ And he fell quiet for a while. I remember that. He went straight from ranting without taking a breath to total silence. And eventually I remember him smiling, something I rarely saw him do before he met you, and he told me, ‘We don’t even know each other that well, but he can see me in a way that no one else can. And he’s not afraid to tell me what he sees. I’ve never met anyone else like him.’ Or, you know, something like that.” Mendel shakes his head.  "He said he couldn't give that up, no matter how annoying you were."

Whizzer looks up at the ceiling and swallows hard, blinking away any emotion that is about to erupt.

"God, I have never seen a couple so perfect for each other take so fucking long to figure that out."

 Whizzer laughs and leans back into the couch cushions. "We weren't perfect for each other. Not really. Not back then."

"God no, not as a couple, not yet. But you were exactly what he needed. And, Whizzer, he's loved you since that very first week."

“Oh fuck you, man,” Whizzer breathes, shaking his head and pressing his palms into his eyes. 

“Sorry,” Mendel laughs.

Whizzer joins his laughter, crossing his arms over his face. “You… thank you.”

“For what? For making you cry? You’re welcome.”

Whizzer shakes his head, lowering his arms and leaning towards Mendel. “No, I’m still pissed at you for that. No, I-- thank you for all you’ve done for me. Marvin too, I guess, but mostly for me. Like, you never had any obligation to me, but… there you always were.”

“We were both outsiders in this crazy family. Outsiders gotta stick together, you know?” 

“Yeah,” Whizzer says with a smile. He nods towards Jason’s room. “How do you think they’re doing in there?”

“Well, considering we can’t hear them yelling, I’d say pretty well.”

“I hope so.”

“So you decided to go through with it?” Whizzer asks, poking his head into Jason’s room. Jason is sitting on the bed, writing in a notebook.

He looks up and shrugs. “I’m still not sure if I believe in it, but I believe in doing well by the people I love, and going through with it will make my dad happy. Being a man means sometimes doing things you don’t love, right? For those you love. Well, I’m going to try to believe in it, but, either way, it’s the right thing to do.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” Whizzer shakes his head and sits down in Jason’s desk chair. “Do you even know how incredible you are?”

“Yeah, I think I do, actually.”

“Good.” Whizzer reaches over and taps on the notebook. “Whatcha working on?”

“My speech thing for the Bar Mitzvah.”

“Speech thing… That a technical term?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay,” Whizzer laughs. “What’s it about?”

“My dad. And my mom and you and Mendel, as well. Like, our whole family. But mostly my dad.”

“A good subject matter if I do say so myself.”

“I think so,” Jason says with a smile.

“Don’t suppose you’ll let me see what you’ve got so far?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Ugh, so rude.”

“You’ll hear it in, like, two weeks!”

“I’m bad at being patient, you know that!”

“Sorry. No exceptions.”

Whizzer groans dramatically and gets up from the chair. “You and your mom and Mendel are staying for dinner tonight; wanna help me cook?”

“Not really,” Jason says. “But I will.”

“Good enough! Whenever you finish up, you know where to find me.”

Jason smiles up at him. “I know where to find you.”

So, with the Bar Mitzvah issue resolved, Whizzer assumes that the interventions are over. Afterall, everyone must be having the same Very Serious Family Conversation fatigue that he’s having, right? Right ?

Whizzer leaves the house without Marvin rarely, but he has to get groceries sometimes, so it is one of those days, a Sunday, that he returns home to Marvin, Cordelia and Charlotte sitting in the living room. This is not a rare sight, to be sure. They come over often, afterall. But what Whizzer wasn’t expecting were the concerned gazes all trained on him, as he lugged the grocery bags into the kitchen.

Whizzer gives them a suspicious look. “No one gonna help me put these away?”

“That can wait,” Marvin says. “Come, sit.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “Well, there’s ice cream in here, so I don’t really think it can…”

The three in the living room look at each other for a second, before Cordelia rolls her eyes and stands up. “Here, let me help you with those.”

She drags Charlotte up with her, and the three of them put everything away quickly before dragging Whizzer back to the living room to sit on the couch.

“Please don’t tell me this is another fucking intervention,” Whizzer sighs.

“Intervention?” Charlotte laughs unconvincingly. “What… Never…”

Cordelia shakes her head. “Not an intervention, just running a plan by you.”

“What kind of plan?”

“A plan for you to get back to work,” Marvin says. “And therapy.”

Whizzer shakes his head. “No, no I can’t do that I can’t--”

“Yes. You can,” Marvin says. “And you have to.”

“No! I have to be here that’s what I have to do! End of discussion! Plan foiled! Done! Cordelia, Charlotte, would you like to stay for dinner?” He starts to stand up, but MArvin immediately tugs him back down.

“Just hear us out,” Cordelia says gently.

Whizzer reluctantly sinks back into the couch, his arms crossed. “Fine. Shoot.”

Marvin puts his hand on Whizzer’s knee and turns to him. “I love you. For everything you’ve done for me and the way you’ve been here for me through everything. But I need your life not to end when mine does.”

“What are you even--”

“Your art and your business are important. They make you happy. I know that. And when I’m gone you’ll need them to still be there. And I don’t know how long this whole dying shit is gonna take, but if it’s too long, you’ll have to start from scratch and that would devastate me. Plus, your whole PTSD thing didn’t magically heal when I got sick. I know you haven’t been to any sessions since then, but you need to take care of yourself too! I need to know that you’ll be okay. So, please. For me.”

Whizzer sighs. “But what if something happens when I’m gone?”

“That’s where we come in!” Cordelia says. “I mostly work nights, so if you schedule your sessions during the day, I can stay with him.”

“And you know I’m off Sundays, so I can take over then,” Charlotte adds.

Marvin nods. “We’re not suggesting you go back to the number of clients you were taking on before, but a few. Just enough to keep it going. And to keep you going.”

“Exactly,” Cordelia agrees.

“Look, Whizzer, I know it’s hard to talk about, but I’m making preparations. I have to be making preparations. A college fund for Jason, a will… and making sure you don’t just shut down once, you know, I’m dead.”

“Flatter yourself much?”

Marvin laughs. “Please, we both know you can barely live without me.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“So it’s settled?” Charlotte asks. “We’re doing this?”

Whizzer sighs, “I can’t just fucking refuse to honor my boyfriend’s dying wish now, can I?”

“This is the great thing about dying,” Marvin says with a grin. “You always get what you want.”

“Except, you know, more life,” Charlotte says.

“Cruel. But fair.”

Chapter Text

The subway ride is awful. Whizzer can't think of anything but Marvin. He can't be reached here. In the hour and change it takes him to reach his Brooklyn studio, he's completely out of touch. His mind races with everything that could possibly go wrong. What if he's back in the hospital already? What if Cordelia had to step out for some reason and she missed him having another attack and now he's dead on their apartment floor completely alone and--

Whizzer takes a deep, shaky breath, trying to get his heart rate under control. It takes everything in him not to get off at the next station and take the next train back to Manhattan. 

By the time he gets the doors unlocked and steps inside, his breaths are as short and shallow as they were that first night in the hospital. He's surprised he's still standing. He rushes immediately to the phone and dials their home number. Every ring fills him with more dread. If that's even possible. 

"Hello! Marvin and Whizzer's phone!" Cordelia's cheery voice suddenly whips Whizzer back to reality.

"Hey," Whizzer says breathlessly.  "Just… just checking in."

"Everything's going great. We're playing chess! I'm losing!"

"Okay. Okay good."

"Are you alright? You sound like you just ran a marathon?" Cordelia asks. 

"Yeah I'm… I'm fine," Whizzer lies.

"Sure you are," Cordelia says. "Look, I know this is hard but I promise you. Nothing is going to happen. And if I see any tiny thing out of the ordinary, I will call you. Okay?"

"Is that Whizzer?" He hears Marvin ask in the background. 

"Yeah, he just got to the studio, " Cordelia answers. "He just blew you a kiss," she says, addressing Whizzer again. 

Whizzer smiles and shuts his eyes. "Tell him I love him."

"He knows."

"Tell him anyway."

"Of course," Cordelia says. "Have a good day, Whiz. Everything's gonna be a-okay."

"Thank you Delia."

"Any time."

Once he manages to mostly come down from his panic attack, Whizzer gets to work, and the rest of the day goes much more smoothly. He only has two families in today. And he hates to admit that his friends were right, but being behind the camera really is good for him. He hasn't felt lighter in weeks. It's the times in between that drag him back down. But soon enough, he's ready to go home. He makes one last call to make sure Marvin is well before bracing himself for the ride home. It's easier this time. And Whizzer thinks, maybe, this might actually work.

Chapter Text

Before Whizzer knows it, two weeks have slipped by and he has to admit that each day at his studio has been better than the one before it. It feels good to get into a routine, even if he still spends most of his time in the apartment. Even if the train rides are still torture. Even if he spends every second that he’s not actively working worrying about Marvin.

Marvin. Whose specific symptoms haven't seemed to get much worse over the weeks. But some part of Whizzer can feel him fading. Ever so slowly.

"It fit better when I bought it," Marvin sighs, leaning against their closet in the suit Cordelia had helped him pick out. It did. What was once the only well fitting ensemble in Marvin's wardrobe now looks three sizes too big.

Whizzer swallows the tears he can feel fighting their way up his throat and forces a smile. "You look perfect."

Marvin gives him a soft grin and walks over to where Whizzer is making the final adjustments to his tie. He runs his hands over Whizzer's shoulders to his lapel, rubbing it gently between his thumb and forefinger before resting his palms on Whizzer's chest. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. Whizzer ducks his head so their foreheads are touching and places a hand on his cheek. And they just stand there, eyes closed, breathing each other in.

"You ready?" Whizzer breathes eventually.

Marvin presses his lips gently to Whizzer's, and lets himself savor the moment for a few more seconds before leaning back and nodding. "Let's go."

The synagogue parking lot is practically empty when they get there. They're early, so they can go over the service with the rabbi one more time. The congregation is reform and as progressive as Whizzer could expect it to be, but there's a reason he and Marvin try to attend services at the LGBT shul in the city when they can.

"Shabbat shalom!" the rabbi says with a smile as they walk in with Trina, Mendel and Jason. But he doesn't shake Whizzer's or Marvin's hand. As far as he knows, Marvin has cancer. They wouldn't be allowed in if they told the truth. But the fear of homosexual contagion of any sort is still palpable, along with the unwillingness to even accidentally condone their “lifestyle”. They probably would've lied about that too, but they never had a chance to. The congregation's pension for gossip made sure of that. Besides, no one could come up with a plausible alternative for Whizzer's presence.

During the run-through, Marvin stays seated, so he'll have energy for the real deal. They get through it quickly, mostly just running through a cue-to-cue schedule of the service. Afterwards, the cantor takes Jason to the corner of the temple so they can quietly review his Torah portion, while the adults take their seats at the front.

"You feeling okay?" Trina asks, placing a comforting hand on Marvin's knee.

Marvin nods and weaves his fingers through hers. "Thank you."

"Whatever you need today," Mendel reassures him, "we've got you covered."

"I know," Marvin chuckles. "I swear I'm fine. Really."

The crowd starts filtering in around 8:45, and Jason joins the rest of his family, pushing his way between Marvin and Trina.

"Jason!" The whole synagogue turns towards the squeal at the back of the room. Cordelia is waving excitedly, while Charlotte shushes her with a laugh.

Whizzer beckons them over, and points them to the seats directly behind him that he's been awkwardly shooing people away from for the past ten minutes.

"How do you feel, Jason?" Cordelia asks in an enthusiastic semi-whisper. "Are you nervous?"

Jason nods stiffly.

"You're gonna do great," Charlotte reassures him.

Jason doesn't respond, but he smiles a bit.

Whizzer reaches back and clutches Cordelia's hand. "Good to see you guys."

"Wouldn't miss this for the world," she replies.

"I'd like now to welcome to the bimah our community's newest bar mitzvah, Jason Rubin," the rabbi announces, gesturing towards Jason in the front row. “An exceptionally bright and mature young man, who I am proud to have helped in his preparation for today.”

Jason's eyes widen and he takes a deep breath, slowly standing and walking shakily to the stage. He looks back and Whizzer offers him a reassuring thumbs up. "You're gonna kill it," he mouths.

"What?" Jason mouths back.

"You're gonna--" Whizzer starts, before waving it off, and throwing him another thumbs up instead.

Jason suppresses a laugh, and the moment of levity seems to give him the confidence to take the final steps up to the podium. "Hi," He says shyly once he gets there. "Or. Shalom. Shabbat Shalom I mean." He winces. "Thankfully for all of us the rest of this is written down, " he mumbles, garnering a laugh from the front couple of rows. Jason smiles, looks down at the Torah, takes a breath, and begins.

The reading goes smoothly. Jason only stumbles over a couple of the longer words, and his confidence grows the longer he's up there. By the time he reaches the end of the parsha, he's practically glowing.

"Now I do the part that I wrote. Kind of cruel to make me go right after the most famous writer in all of history, but I guess it's tradition." Again, the room laughs, and Jason laughs with them. "Anyway, I… I think this parsha is historically misinterpreted. Which is easy when it's by far the most famous story in the entire Torah. For ages, many people have viewed the act of Eve eating the apple as a mistake she made. But I want to use this opportunity to rectify that. I want to thank her. Because she was the bravest person the world had ever known. The first brave person in the world. She broke the only rule she had, went against the only authority she knew, not as an evil act, but simply a revolutionary one. She took a step that only she could take. She sacrificed everything, because she knew in her heart that it was the right thing to do. You see, we are hardwired to seek safety. The easy path. That's what Adam did. But if you only do that, if you never face your fears, never face the inevitability of change…. Well, the human race would've never made it past Eden. None of us would be here. This whole beautiful earth-- all of its spectacles, its art, its love-- none of it would exist.

"We should all lead our lives with Eve in mind. Not as a warning, but as an inspiration. If you know that a rule you were told to follow is wrong, it is not only okay to break it, it is your duty to do so. Sometimes to sin is the best thing you could do for the world. And for Hashem too, if you believe He loves us. Which I do. I mean, I'm not 100% sure He exists still, but if He does, I believe He loves us. Or at least doing His best to do so. And the best way to honor that, in my opinion, is to fight for love. Radical love. Even if that requires you to break some rules along the way.
"It's hard, though. I understand that. I fail all the time. And I watch people around me fail too. No matter how young or old, or… how blasphemous or holy. I watched our rabbi fail this morning, when he wouldn't shake my dad's hand. And I've watched that failure week after week before today. Why, Rabbi, if all my father has ever done is try to love as best he can?"

Some disapproving muttering breaks out then, but Jason isn't phased.

"My father is a homosexual. So is my step-father. You all know that already even if you don't like to say it aloud. You all stare and whisper and make passive aggressive comments. As if that will change anything. Because, like everyone, you are afraid. Of change, of difference, of breaking the rules. Even the ones that are wrong.

"As I said before, the entire point of any of this is love. And that's what my family is. As much as you may view the form it takes as strange or wrong, everything we've been through--all the things that scare you--are the reason we love each other so well.

"So, yeah, I'll gladly take the stares and whispers and comments, if that's the price I have to pay. It's well worth it. Because the people I love the most have all taken a bite of the apple. My mom, my dad. Whizzer, Mendel. Charlotte, Cordelia. I hope you know that I look up to you. That my greatest hope for my future is to be as brave and loving as you are. Because of you, I know now that that is the entire point of growing up and becoming a man. And what I hope for everyone in this room and outside of it is that you all can learn that same lesson. Follow in Eve's footsteps. Eat the apple. Change the world.

"Thank you."

Chapter Text

Marvin and Whizzer skip the after-party. It’s exhausting for an already tired Marvin, and Jason’s friends from school will be there, so they decide it’s probably best to let Jason have fun without worrying about his father’s health, or his classmates’ questions. Instead, Jason comes over for dinner the next night. Whizzer has streamers strewn around the living room and his favorite foods prepared, and they spend the night chatting and opening gifts and playing video games on the new Atari system Marvin had finally caved and bought for him. It’s after particularly devastating loss in Donkey Kong that Marvin stitches the console off and turns toward his son. 

“Why’d you turn it off? I have to redeem myself after that disaster of a round! I can’t go to sleep like this!” Jason wails.

“I just have one more thing for you,” he says, pulling a small box from his pocket.

“Oh,” Jason says. “I feel bad for complaining now.”

Marvin laughs. “Don’t, just open it.”

Jason does as he’s told and reveals an old silver chai on a chain. “A necklace?”

“Not just any necklace!” Marvin insists. “My dad gave this to me when I became bar mitzvah and his father gave it to him, and so on for a few generations. It’s made it through Pogroms and Ellis Island and the Great Depression and the world wars… and now it’s yours. And of all of us, I think you’re the most worthy of it.” He reaches over and takes the necklace out of the box and gently puts it around Jason’s neck. “I’ve always known you were special, kid. I always knew you’d go far. You’re so smart and kind and wise… but I didn’t realize how brave you’d become until you gave that speech yesterday. This illness I have, it’s not going to be the last thing that hurts you in this life, or the last battle you’re gonna fight. From here you’re going to continue to grow and learn and fuck up and fail, but I know now more than I ever have before that you’re gonna make it through all of it and still come out a loving, wonderful person. You’re a man, kid. A good one. Better than me. Better than anyone I’ve ever met. So if you ever doubt that or doubt yourself in any way, I want you touch this chai here and remember that. Okay? Remember that you’re strong and you’re good and remember that I’ll be right there with you until the end of time. Can you do that for me?”

Jason looks down at the pendant, before leaning over and wrapping Marvin in a tight hug. “I love you, dad,” he says quietly.

Marvin smiles. “I love you too.”

The days and weeks drag on after that. Whizzer goes to work a few days a week. He even goes to therapy occasionally. The rest of the time he spends with Marvin in the apartment. Jason comes over now half the week instead of just on weekends. They play games together, read together, cook together, act like nothing is wrong together. But Marvin hardly eats anymore. And he’s getting skinnier and weaker. And he’s sleeping most of the day. And Whizzer is finding it harder and harder to not deteriorate right along with him.

He’s at work, in the middle of a couple’s pregnancy shoot when the phone rings. And, for some reason, something in Whizzer’s heart seizes up. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says shakily to the couple. “I, uh, my… I have to get that.” He walks over to the phone, takes a deep breath and takes it off the handle. “Hello, this is Whizzer.”

“Hey, Whiz,” Cordelia says.

Whizzer feels tears swell to his eyes. “What’s happened?”

“Charlotte is taking him to the hospital now,” Cordelia says. “He was struggling to breathe, and sort of getting delusional… I don’t know I’m… not good at describing these things, but he was asking for you. He didn’t seem to know you weren’t home. He’s not… Charlotte is sure he’ll be okay for the time being but…”

“But.”

“Yeah. But.”

“Okay, I’ll, uh, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Could you… could you call Trina? I don’t think I can.”

“Of course. I’ll meet you at the hospital. I love you.”

Whizzer squeezes his eyes shut and stifles a sob. “Yeah, you too.” He hangs up the phone and turns to his clients. “I’m… I’m so sorry,” he manages to say. “I… my friend he’s… he’s sick, he’s in the hospital, I have to go. I’ll, uh. The session is free, I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

“We have a car,” the man says, shaking his head. “Do you need a ride?”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course,” his wife says. “Just tell us which hospital.”

The ride is long, and the couple, Simon and Julia, Whizzer is reminded a few minutes in, try to make kind small talk, but Whizzer mostly sits in silence in the backseat, staring out the window and trying to remain calm. He’s been in the hospital before, and he made it home. But this time is different. As much as he tries to pretend that it isn’t, this time is different. Somehow, he knows it is.

They eventually pull up in front of the ICU, and Whizzer gets out of the car with a grateful smile and a thank you.

“Any photos you want. No charge, okay? Just give me a call.”

“We just hope your friend feels better,” Julia says with a smile.

Whizzer nods and waves goodbye, before rushing into the building. 

“I need to see a patient. Rubin. Marvin,” Whizzer says hurriedly to the woman at the front desk.

“Are you family?”

Whizzer clenches his jaw. “Yes. I’m his brother.”

The woman types something into her computer. “I don’t see a brother listed in his family information.”

“Well, I guess your information is wrong.”

“Sir, I can only authorize a family or spouse to visit Mr. Rubin at the moment.”

“And I told you I’m family.”

“I’m sorry, sir, if you’re not listed, I cannot permit you to enter.”

Whizzer whips around, clenching his fists and trying to keep his anger under control, before turning back to the woman at the desk. “His doctor. Can you please contact his doctor?”

“I’m sorry, sir, it’s hospital policy.”

“Doctor Charlotte Dubois. Contact Doctor Charlotte Dubois.”

“Sir--”

“Look, ma’am I know you’re just doing your job so I’m trying my best not to get angry but I need you to do this for me, okay? I don’t need you to let me in, just contact Doctor Dubois. That’s it! Contact her and tell her that Whizzer is here!”

The woman sighs, but nods. “I will contact her.” She picks up the phone and dials a number. “Uh, is Doctor Dubois on duty?... No, just tell her that Whizzer is here… I don’t know, there’s just this man out here… Oh is she… Doctor! Hello! Yes, Whizzer is… But he’s not… Well, he says he’s his brother but… But… Okay.” The woman looks up at Whizzer. “She will be right out.”

“Thank you.”

Soon enough, Charlotte is rushing out into the lobby. “Whizzer!”

“Char! Hey, is he okay?”

Charlotte wraps him into a hug.

Whizzer pulls away quickly. “Charlotte.”

She nods. “For now he is. We have him on a respirator, painkillers and antibiotics. Have him sleeping for a while. It’s… it’s worse this time. He’s weaker, he’s…”

“Yeah,” Whizzer breathes. “He’s not getting out of here again is he?”

Charlotte shakes her head. “I can’t force anything. But the risks…”

Whizzer looks down at the floor. “Okay,” he agrees quietly. “Okay, I… Can I see him?”

“Of course, Let’s go.” Charlotte takes his arm and leads him through the swinging doors, past tiny curtained rooms and anxious people, until they finally reach the right one.

Whizzer feels like he’s going to collapse when he sees him. He looks so small. The hollow scrawn of his face and frame dwarfed by the machines that surround him. “Hey, Marvin,” Whizzer says quietly. He leans over him and runs a hand lightly through his hair, pressing a kiss into his temple. “I’m here, baby, I’m here.” He carefully lifts himself onto the bed and slots himself into the tiny amount of remaining space next to Marvin on the mattress. He has to lay uncomfortably on his side and any movement threatens to tip him off the cot, but he doesn’t mind. He presses his face into Marvin’s hair and lays his arm gently over him. “I love you and I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

Whizzer is laying there for hours before Marvin finally drifts into uneasy consciousness. His eyes flicker open, but they still look dull and tired. Still he laces his fingers through Whizzer’s and gives his hand a squeeze. Whizzer smiles at him and settles into him and there’s nothing either of them need to say. It’s enough that they’re here. 

The next few days are a whirlwind. Marvin is moved to a more permanent room, one with real walls and a door and privacy. Nurses circle in and out. Trina and Jason are there often. Mendel joins them most of the time. Cordelia comes in with piles of food every single day. Charlotte forces Whizzer to go home to sleep, but he spends as much time as she’ll let him in that room. He doesn’t want to face their apartment for longer than he has to anyway. Eventually, the oxygen mask can come off, and it starts to seem, almost like Marvin is getting better. But even the most optimistic among them knows it won’t last.

“You’re looking pretty good today,” Whizzer says, sitting down next to Marvin one morning.

“You look like shit” Marvin says with a frown.

“Charming,” Whizzer laughs.

Marvin shrugs. “Honest. Which is more than you can say.” He reaches up and brushes Whizzer’s hair back with his fingers. The thing is, he’s not wrong. Whizzer’s usual morning beauty routine has been reduced these days to splashing water on his face and running a brush through his hair. He dresses in the first clothes he sees-- usually jeans and a sweatshirt. Everything else just seems like a waste of time.

Whizzer pushes Marvin’s hand away with a chuckle. “Since when do you care?”

“I mean, I don’t really. You look like an Adonis from the moment you wake up.”

“That’s more like it.”

“But! But I know you and I know that looking good and feeling good are kinda one in the same to you and I don’t want to look at you and think that you’re giving up on the feeling good side of things, you know? I don’t want that.”

“I’m not,” Whizzer says with a small smile. He takes Marvin hand in his and rubs his thumb along his knuckle. “I promise, okay? I just… it takes time. And that’s time I want to spend here. With you.” Marvin returns his smile and lifts his hands to his lips. “But if it’ll make you feel better, I will be sure to blow dry my hair and put on a shirt with a collar. For you.”

“I love you.”

“You just love telling me what to do.”

“That too.”

The days drag on, much like this one. Marvin feels better some days, and worse others. But never good enough to go home. They all know it. They can all feel that this is it. For as long as it lasts, this hospital room, this cot, this scratchy grey blanket is it.

“None of this makes sense,” Whizzer says softly into Marvin’s ear. They’re curled up together on the hospital bed.

“What are you talking about?” Marvin asks.

“This. You. Me. Here. All of it. Makes no sense. I shouldn’t be here. It is impossible that I am here.”

“Didn’t we establish that back in ‘78?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Whizzer says. “I’ve just been thinking about it recently. I guess I’ve been getting existential through all this. I’m just thinking… And it’s… impossible. But it happened. So why, you know?”

“I know. I’ve been getting pretty existential too.”

“It’s hard leaving your entire world behind along with all of your civil rights and legal protections for somewhere where you don’t, you know, exist.”

“Yes, I imagine it is.”

“But is it insane to say that I’m glad it happened?”

Marvin smiles. “Yeah, probably.”

“I was unhappy and lonely and nothing I did was fixing that. No amount of success, or sex, or fame, or whatever was fixing that. I was rich. I was doing what I loved. And still I hated my life. It felt empty and so did I. And then… And then the impossible happened. Then I met you. And if you told me back then that this would happen… I’d believe in the time travel before I’d believe in you. But something in the universe knew better and now here we are and this impossible thing, and not only that, but my entire life, it makes… something approaching sense. Meeting you, loving you, loving this whole family, that’s why I’m here. It makes sense now. And yet still, it makes no sense at all.”

“I may not have time traveled to get here, but I feel the same about meeting you. Everything I’ve done right and everything I’ve done wrong has led me to you. And I never believed it could have,” Marvin responds. 

“These sound like wedding vows,” Whizzer laughs.

“If only,” Marvin sighs. “I wish I could marry you,” he says, almost in a whisper.

“Me too,” Whizzer says. They lay there for a while in silence before a smile spreads across Whizzer’s face. “Why can’t we?”

“Well, I mean, laws.”

“So we don’t get a tax break,” Whizzer shrugs. “Who cares about laws? Like Jason said, it’s our duty to break the ones that aren’t right. So, why can’t we? What’s stopping us from buying rings and saying vows and calling each other ’husband’?”

“What are you suggesting?”

Whizzer gets up off the bed excitedly, clutching Marvin’s hand. “Let’s get married. Here. Now.”

“Now?”

“Or… tomorrow,” Whizzer suggests. “I can get a rabbi here from CBST, I’m sure they’d do it. I’ll buy rings. Cordelia can bring food. Jason can be a flowerboy and ring bearer and… I don’t know. We can get flowers and… and I don’t think a chuppah will fit through the door, but everything else we can do, right?”

Marvin is grinning up at him. He pulls himself into a sitting position. “Okay, ask me.”

“Ask you? Oh! Ask you!” Whizzer clears his throat. “Marvin, will you--”

“Nuh uh, one knee,” Marvin interrupts.

Whizzer laughs and does as he’s told. “Marvin. I love you. More than I thought I could love anybody. You make me happy. You make my life make sense. And, this is more of a minor reason, but I’m really tired of calling you my boyfriend, I mean it sounds like we’re in the seventh grade. So will you, completely illegally, do me the honor of marrying me?”

“I thought you would never ask,” Marvin says.

Whizzer grins, leans over, and kisses him, resting a knee on the bed to get closer to him. “I guess I should get to wedding planning, then.”

“I guess you should,” Marvin agrees. “But first, let me lay with my fiance for a bit. I only get to have one for a day afterall.”

“I think I can manage that.”

Trina brings flowers. She fills her arms with them, bought from the front of a bodega. She puts them around the hospital room, filling it with as many colors as she can. Cordelia makes a giant three-tiered cake and appetizers for at least 200 guests. How she got it all done in a day Whizzer can only guess. Whizzer had gone to a pawn shop for the rings, which Jason agreed to carry. Charlotte has her arm out for him to take. He’s wearing his best suit. The “aisle” is nothing more than the small space between the bed and the wall. The rabbi is standing under medical machinery instead of a chuppah . Everything is perfect.

Jason gives Whizzer a grin as he walks towards his dad, who is sitting on a chair next to the bed, humming and ripping apart a flower to toss petals on the ground. Marvin reaches out and gives him a hug and a kiss on the head. Whizzer follows with Charlotte on his arm until he’s facing Marvin. Whizzer reaches down to help him up, and Marvin stands slowly, leaning most of his weight against Whizzer once he’s on his feet. 

The rabbi smiles at them and starts speaking. “Because I was recruited for this ceremony less than a day ago, I don’t have much of a custom script for it, so I’ll mostly just stick to the traditional. However, I would like to reaffirm that, whether or not the government agrees, this is as legitimate a marriage as any between a man and a woman. The point of marriage, thought historically financial, should be about love and support and commitment and, although I don;t know these two as well as I would had they attended more shabbat services, what I do know is that they are one of the best examples of a committed love that I have ever seen. And I know everyone in this room already agrees, but I would be remiss if I did not repeat as many times as I can that it is couples like this one who should really be our society’s examples of the ‘sanctity of marriage’. But enough of the politics. Let’s get on with the show, shall we?”

The rabbi recites the sheva brachot and the ketubah before turning back to Marvin and Whizzer. “Vows, boys?”