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He’ll be back. Marvin had been telling himself that for five days now. He’ll be back. It wasn’t the first time Whizzer had left. Wasn’t even the first time Marvin had told him to. In their almost full year of dating Marvin had kicked Whizzer out more times than he could count. Most of them had been in the last three months. It was always the same. Whizzer would leave. He would take his keys and his wallet, he’d grab his jacket, and he’d walk out the door. And Marvin would stand in the middle of the room. The kitchen, the living room, the hallway, wherever their fight had sparked. Marvin would stand there, and he’d watch him. Cold, cold blue eyes following Whizzer as he stomped around the room, as he left, as the door slammed behind him.
Maybe this time had been different. Maybe the suitcase had been too much. Still, Marvin had stood. Motionless. In the living room. The king had toppled over when Whizzer put it down. The board was a mess. In the bedroom, he could hear Whizzer moving. Closet doors slamming shut, drawers being emptied. The bathroom door creaked open. The hinge had been creaking for weeks. Marvin had lost track of how many times Whizzer had asked him to fix it.
Whizzer always came back. Sometimes the same night. With his shirt half undone, his breath smelling of alcohol. With dark hickeys on his neck and chest, with bruises on his hips. Sometimes he’d slip into bed and fall asleep, never even noticing Marvin was awake. Recently, he’d settled on the couch instead. Sometimes he’d come home later, after Marvin had left for work. But Marvin knew he would be greeted with a meal, or at the very least a kiss, when he came home. He’d never been gone for more than a day.
He'll be back. The board was still on the living room table. The dishes from that night’s dinner were in the sink. Whizzer could clean up when he came back. He’ll be back. He would be. Where else would he go? Marvin paid his rent. Marvin paid for groceries. Marvin bought him flowers, and clothes and cologne and never once asked for anything in return. Nothing but an ounce of love, a moment of affection. A simple kiss with more intention behind it than just winding him up.
Marvin had stood in the living room for… he didn’t know how long. He’d listened to Whizzer, shuffling around the apartment. Always out of Marvin’s sight. He didn’t know why he’d brought out the suitcase. He wanted Whizzer to leave. He couldn’t stand the sight of him taunting, teasing, always so cheerful, always so snarky. He’d weaseled his way into Marvin’s heart just so he could hurt him, press all the buttons, cross all the lines. Was that really all Marvin deserved? He’d opened himself up to Whizzer, he’d left his family, his safety, his life. He'd given it all up for a chance with Whizzer, a real chance. And Whizzer had played him. Lured him in with suggestive looks and kind words, soft touches and deep kisses and everything Marvin had ever wanted. Everything he’d denied himself, everything he’d pushed away and repressed and ignored, Whizzer had given to him. And then he’d taken it all away.
Marvin had called Whizzer’s landline. After three days. A stranger had picked up. Whizzer hadn’t lived there for months. Not after Marvin had begged him to move in. Not after Marvin had given him everything. On the fourth day, Marvin realized he didn’t know much about Whizzer. He’d wanted to call a friend, or a sibling. He realized he didn’t even know if Whizzer had siblings. Was it his fault Whizzer had never told him? Whizzer rarely answered when Marvin asked personal questions. He was so quick to dismiss Marvin with a roll of his eyes or a scoff. He was infuriating.
Marvin realized something, on the fifth day. The chessboard was a mess. The king had fallen over. So had the rook, and multiple of the pawns. Whizzer hadn’t knocked them over. Marvin had. When he pushed Whizzer. He hadn’t noticed the table rattling, the pieces toppling over. Thinking back on it, Marvin didn’t even know why he had been angry. He’d stood. He’d watched the board, motionless. The drawers had been opened and shut. The bathroom door creaked. Marvin didn’t think he’d actually heard it, but in his mind he could perfectly recreate the sound of the suitcase being closed, the clasps clicking shut. He’d had his back turned when Whizzer walked past, he’d heard him shuffle in the hallway. Then silence. Just for a moment, silence. And Marvin had wanted to turn around. To ask Whizzer to stay. Something about that night had felt different, though he hadn’t been able to put his finger on it. Then there was a jingling of keys. The door opened, then closed. Surprisingly quiet. Marvin was expecting it to slam. He was expecting Whizzer to yell. Maybe they were both done yelling. He’ll be back. Marvin had thought. Even as he’d sat down on the couch, empty gaze staring straight ahead. Marvin didn’t cry. He didn’t cry as a child. He never cried as a teenager. He hadn’t cried as an adult.
At least, that’s what he told himself. Even as his face was damp. Even on those cold nights when Whizzer would leave, when he’d come back in the middle of the night and pass out, when Marvin would look at the bruises on his neck, his chest, and he’d want to yell and scream and throw a fit and break things, but instead he’d just cry. Sometimes so much he’d need to retreat to the bathroom, to run cold water over his face till his eyes stopped leaking. Marvin didn’t cry.
Whizzer’s shoes were still there. In the hallway. He’d left behind his soap, too. And Marvin knew some of his shirts were in the hamper. His few books were still in the shelf. He’ll be back. He’d left his favorite vinyl. When Marvin asked about it, he’d said a friend gave it to him. Marvin had no idea what the friend was called. He’ll be back. He wouldn’t just leave. He wasn’t that heartless. He wouldn’t leave Jason. He adored Jason. He’ll be back. He still had his keys. He just wanted to give Marvin a scare. Maybe Marvin understood… Why had he even been angry? He didn’t know. Maybe things could change. Maybe Marvin could change. Maybe he could apologize. Maybe… surely, they could try again. They’d tried so many times. They’d done so much, Marvin had given Whizzer so much of himself… he couldn’t stop now. Whizzer couldn’t leave. He’ll be back.
It had been a week. A week since Marvin had slammed the suitcase against Whizzer’s chest. A week since the chess game had rattled. Both the kings had fallen over. Whizzer was still not back. His shoes were still in the hallway. His clothes were still in the hamper. The dishes in the sink were starting to get moldy. The stack of takeout boxes on the counter was getting dangerously close to toppling over. Marvin didn’t cry. He’ll be back. He kept living his life. He'll be back. He went to work. He’ll be back. He came home. He’ll be back. He checked the mail. No mail. Nothing. Nothing, except a keychain. Two keys hanging from it. He’ll be back. Marvin shut the mailbox. He’ll be back. He left the keys. He took the stairs. The apartment was on the fourth floor. Marvin was breathing heavy, his face red, when he stood in front of the door. When he opened it. He’ll be back. Whizzer’s shoes were gone. The bookshelf empty where his books were now missing. The vinyl plucked out of Marvin’s collection. The soap gone, the clothes taken, the apartment empty. Empty of Whizzer, of his things, of any trace he’d ever been there. A frame laid on the bedroom floor. A picture. Whizzer had taken it. Him, Jason, and Whizzer. They were in a park. Jason was holding a bat, Whizzer a ball. The glass in the frame had cracked, shattered right over Marvin. Marvin’s hands didn’t shake. Marvin didn’t cry. He grabbed the frame. It had been on their dresser. Marvin had gotten great pleasure from looking at it every morning. Jason looked so happy. Whizzer was… perfect. Him, Jason, and Whizzer. A tight knit family. Or at least they were in the picture. After a moment’s hesitation, Marvin opened the drawer. Whizzer’s drawer. It was empty. The frame clattered as he dropped it. The drawer was pushed shut. Marvin didn’t cry.
He'll be back. He’ll be back. He’ll be back. He’ll be back.
Finally, the mantra ended. Finally, silence came. Marvin stood in the living room. The chess board was a mess. The kings had fallen over. The pieces clattered to the floor, disappearing everywhere as Marvin pushed the board off the table.
He'll be back. He’ll be back. He’ll be back. He’ll be back.
He knew, then. He’d already known. He’d known the moment he set his eyes on Whizzer, the second he’d opened his mouth. He’d known when he left Trina, when his whole life crumbled before him but he still had Whizzer, he had Whizzer. He’d known it could never last. Nothing good ever did. Not for Marvin.
He'll be back. He’ll be back. He’ll be back. He’ll be back.
Marvin didn’t cry. He never had. But as he stood in the living room, the chess pieces surrounding him, the empty room echoing with the clattering, the emptiness that would always be there, that Marvin knew would always be there, something broke. Marvin crumpled, surrounded by the pieces. The king had rolled under the couch. The other one had disappeared behind a shelf. Marvin crumpled. And he cried.
He won’t.