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Marvin wasn't a cry-your-eyes-out sort of person.
When Whizzer was taken into hospital, he didn't cry. When Whizzer slowly deteriorated before his eyes, he didn't cry. Marvin just wasn't a weepy man. He wasn't one to start sobbing over sad news. No, he looked on the 'bright side' so to speak. He just put his head down and got to work, set about making Whizzer as comfortable as possible in that harsh, lonely hospital.
When he found out Whizzer was going to die. He didn't cry. When he was informed that he would likely die too. He didn't cry. When Whizzer passed away. He still did not cry.
He didn't cry in front of people. He didn't cry alone. He didn't cry.
People had praised him, rubbed him on the back and told him how well he was handling this, how strong he was. Told him he was a rock, he was so wonderful for not cracking, not breaking, not falling into the pit of despair they all expected him to tumble into.
He hadn't cried while planning and organising Whizzer's funeral. He hadn't cried as his own symptoms reared they're ugly head - of which he hadn't told people about. The situation was bleak enough, and Jason doesn't need to worry about another dead parent so soon. - He hasn't cried in the days leading up to the funeral, hadn't cried peering at his lover in the casket, hadn't cried listening to speeches, hadn't cried giving his own.
He'd sat, hands basketed in lap, face blank.
His suit hangs off his frame, flapping as he watches the casket be lowered into its grave plot. The people around him don't know that the empty plot next to Whizzer will be occupied too, soon enough. He doesn't sniffle. Everyone to his left, to his right, sob, cry, spill their emotion for all to see. He does not. He moves away with everyone else, catches a glimpse of Trina comforting Jason, arm around his shoulders, holding him close to her side as he breaks apart.
He feels like he should probably go over and comfort his son. He doesn't.
He feels like someone should be comforting him. But he's not crying, so why would they need to. No, he's the rock. The glue holding them together, sturdy, strong, put together.
Mendel comes over to him, suit rumpled, eyes wet, and he barely even knew Whizzer. No one here knew Whizzer, not the way Marvin did. And now they never will. That thought alone should make him cry. But it doesn't. "Beautiful ceremony, Marvin. I know this must be very hard for you."
Marvin looks up from where he's been staring at his clasped hands. "Hmm? Oh. Yeah, very difficult," he's lying. "And thanks, Whizzer helped plan it, before he... you know. We knew it was coming, so he was very specific." Mendel cracks a smile at that, he thinks he's weird, smiling at a time like this. Is it okay to smile at a funeral? Should he be smiling?
"There wasn't a dry eye, he was a very loved man, huh?" Mendel looks Marvin up and down, and Marvin feels like there's an ulterior motive to his statement, but he can't figure out why. "You're allowed to cry, you know that right? None of us are going to judge you. You haven't shed a tear this whole time, and I'm- I'm not saying you have to be sobbing all the time but, I guess I'm a bit worried about you."
Marvin knits his eyebrows together, fidgets with his fingers. "I'm just not a weepy person, Mendel. It's not like I'm made of stone, I'm still sad." He's lying. Why isn't he sad? He doesn't even feel like he misses Whizzer yet. He feels like he missed Whizzer more when he spent every day with him in hospital, not now, now that he's dead.
"Okay," Mendel agrees. Doesn't push.
It isn't until everyone leaves, that Marvin can get a good look at Whizzer's gravestone. Its clean, sleek, polished stone, stacked with new, fresh flowers. He always loved receiving flowers, joked before he died that now people were obligated to bring him flowers.
He runs his fingers over the ridge, reads the inscription over and over until its engraved in his mind. He clasps his hands together again and fidgets with his fingers. His family - his tight knit family - have gathered together not too far away, discussing god knows what. It's not important.
The only thing that's important is Whizzer.
Tall, lean, overwhelming Whizzer. Whizzer with large hands and broad shoulders and a hard chest. Whizzer who decimated him at racquetball, who fought him hard at chess, who always lost at Scrabble. Whizzer who somehow cheated at solitare. Whizzer who loved flowers and baseball and green. Whizzer who loved him.
Whizzer who loved to wrap his arms around Marvin's middle, kiss his forehead, smell his hair. Whizzer who loved to grab his sides and squeeze, who loved to press kisses along his jaw, who loved to leave his mark. Whizzer who loved to slide his hand into Marvin's own, rub his thumb across his knuckles, examine his ring finger and say, "if only." Whizzer who loved to take Polaroid pictures of Marvin when he wasn't paying attention. Whizzer who loved to love.
Whizzer, who will never get to love again.
It hits him in the chest like a bullet, icy roots spreading through his body quicker than light. Maybe this is what heartbreak feels like.
He will never get to hold Whizzer again. Never get to curl up in bed with him on a cold night and press his feet to his calves, giggle at his reaction. Never kiss him, never feel the tingling in his veins that never got old - that he felt every single time they kissed. He'll never go on a date, wake up next to him, watch a movie with him, ever again. He'll never see Whizzer, ever again.
He'll never get to love again.
The tears are streaming down his cheeks before he even knows what to do. Silently, at first, just a quiet, frozen river rushing through his face.
He'll never hear Whizzer’s voice.
A sob, wracking his entire frail frame. Shaking his very bones, loud, emasculating. He doesn't care.
He'll never listen to Whizzer snore through the night.
Another sob, painful, bursting right out of him.
He'll never take a bath with him again, never be forced to drink the tea he makes, never have to pretend he doesn't like it just to prove a point. He'll never give him the birthday gift he'd bought, never have him fall asleep on his shoulder during movie night. He'll never lay his head in Whizzer's lap and nap there, ever again.
They're coming one after the other now, cries that could be someone dying - he might be dying. He feels like he's dying. He wishes he was dying. He is dying. Not quickly enough. How is he supposed to wake up tomorrow and carry on?
There's a hand on his back but he barely feels it. He's got his own palms covering his face, he doesn't want people to see him like this. "Oh, Marvin," the voice sounds like it's six feet underground, the voice sounds like Whizzer, but it's not Whizzer. Whizzer's dead.
He's being pulled away from Whizzer's grave, but he doesn't want to leave. He wants to stay right here, tethered to this spot, for the rest of his sorry life. Here he feels close to his lover, connected by the grass and the dirt. But he doesn't say anything, he can't, he's sobbing too much to get the words out, can barely breathe.
There's people all around him, arms around his back, hugging him, soothing him. It's not working. They all sound underwater, hidden beneath the murky depths. His ears feel blocked. His nose is running, his eyes streaming, he feels pathetic. He feels sad.
He will never see Whizzer again.
He can't recover from that. He will never eat breakfast with him, never eat dinner, never meet up on lunch break. They'll never take Jason to the park, he'll never watch his son and lover play baseball, he'll never listen to Whizzer talk about his plans for the future.
"Let it out, it's okay," he thinks that's Trina, emerging from the sea. Maybe he's cried them into a flood. "It's alright, Marvin. It's okay." It's not. He doesn't know why she keeps saying that because nothing about this is okay. The love of his life is dead.
Someone's pulled him into a proper hug, he doesn't know who and he doesn't care. He pretends its Whizzer, breaks on his shoulder, pretends he can hear the playful, "come on, Marv, pull yourself together, pet." But it doesn't work, if anything he starts crying harder.
He's not sure he'll ever stop.
He's never going to see Whizzer, ever again.