Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Marvin always gets the things he wants.

But is this what he wanted? Is this the life that he always dreamed of? 

He had always imagined himself to live a life of glory, praised by random people he met along the street, recognizing him for the great man he was. He’d come home to his dog, who would tackle him and slobber all over him. His wife, who would fill the house with the smell of some fattening baked goods, would greet him at the door. His son, who would bound to the door, would beg to play ball with him instead of doing his homework, to which he would ruffle his son’s hair and just laugh. 

The reality of his world hit him hard. There he was, sitting alone in the middle of his living room, a chess board knocked aside, a singular black king rolling across the hardwood in circles, making a grating scraping sound, a bitter remnant of what happened two, three, maybe even four hours ago. 

No dog. No wife. No son. 

What had happened? 

Oh, right. 

Whizzer had won the chess game. He’d won, shoved it in Marvin’s face, and taunted him, waving that stupid black king around. Made him look like a fool or some idiot. 

But he wasn’t. Marvin was smart. He breezed through elementary school, idled by middle school, wasted away in high school, and still got straight As. As a result, Marvin was rich. He’d own the latest gadgets, like that mobile phone while other people had to give up three paychecks for it. To complete the package, Marvin was handsome. He had been touched in uncomfortable places all throughout high school to prove it.

And so Marvin gave and gave and gave, but Whizzer still wanted more. He wanted his power, his pride, and his dignity as well. Whizzer wanted his full attention and robbed Marvin of his wife and son just for it. And he still wanted more.

Check. 

Marvin knew better; he’d never fall for Whizzer’s silly tricks: his soft smile, his strong arms, his deep laugh. Take his wife away? Fine, Whizzer could be Marvin’s new wife. Take his son away? Whizzer better entertain him. Take his money? Marvin had more than enough. But take his pride, one of the few things he had left? Marvin wouldn’t stand for it. 

Ah yes. That was it. 

Marvin had suggested for Whizzer to leave. And Whizzer, who clearly saw no use for him after draining all of Marvin’s possessions, left without batting an eye. He took everything from Marvin and then left. 

Check. Mate. 

Marvin’s head spun, and he nearly falls to the floor. Was he drunk? Possibly. Maybe that awful Whizzer added something to his food that night that made him woozy. Yes. That was it. Selfish Whizzer wanted more, so he made Marvin lose. Thank God he’s gone. Maybe that’s why he can’t remember anything. Can’t remember why his hand ached. Can’t remember why his throat was hoarse. Can’t remember why his chest ached. Can’t remember why… his face was dried with tears. 

When was the last time he cried? 

He thought back to his early years. “Real men don’t cry,” one of the few words his mother had said to him. 

Marvin was a real man. 

Is a real man. A real man who dominates the household and lives with his wife and son.

…

Marvin wasn’t a real man.

Perhaps that’s why he cried so often. 

He cried out of loneliness when no one paid attention to him, whether it was his birthday or Christmas or his birthday. He didn’t need anyone else anyway. He was his own best friend, so why did he cry? 

He cried out of fear when he was alone with Ms. Goldberg. Poor Ms. Goldberg, who had to deal with Marvin– it was such a shame that he had forced her to be with him. He had begged and begged for attention, and Ms. Golberg gave it to him. He had asked for it, so why did he cry? 

He cried out of despair on his wedding night, begging for death, even though his wife clearly gave him life with a purpose. His wife brought him his beautiful son, so why did he cry? 

He cried out of shame, alone in the bathroom, when his wife was satisfied and asleep, wondering why he despised her every touch, or why she insisted so much on touching him at all. This is what everyone in the world did, and the shame was just nerves, so why did he cry?

He cried out of joy when he was with sweet, horrible Whizzer. When he was with him, he nearly sobbed at Whizzer’s gentle touch; it was like getting everything he always wanted: all the attention, all the love, all the closure he needed in his life. He felt sinful, so why did he cry? 

He is not a real man and never was. 

Marvin’s been standing here for five hours now. His feet hurt and his face is numb. Was it always light outside? No, no, it was just the city lights now that it was night. He sits down on the floor and drops himself right onto the sharp chess piece his now ex-lover had gloated about. 

The pain of the wooden toy breaks him out of his spiral of self pity and apathy and pulled into reality to face his actions.

He feels his gut lurch. He should move, but he doesn’t, he can’t. Marvin barely leans his body just enough to cough up the spaghetti from tonight away from his lap. His throat burns, reminding him of the peppers Whizz– his lover had added to the spaghetti sauce, knowing that Marvin couldn’t handle the heat. 

They had a good thing going: Marvin would work nearly 60 hours a week at a mind-numbing job, and the very least his lover could do was care for Marvin when he crawled home, cooking and cleaning. No matter how exhausted Marvin was from handling messy clients and angry bosses all day, he would always light up when he thought of Whizzer waiting at home, the only source of his joy. He appreciated every bit of comfort Whizzer would provide, but Whizzer would complain about needing Marvin to return that same affection. Marvin hated those cries for attention; Whizzer didn’t need love and support more than Marvin did, and besides, he was too tired and could sometimes barely find the energy to shower. 

Then suddenly, his lover began doing things to purposefully tick Marvin off: make the spaghetti spicy only for Marvin, pester Marvin incessantly to pick up his suit, especially on days Marvin’s bad days, and push Marvin away when he needed affection the most. 

But sometimes, just sometimes, when Marvin would scrunch up his face just enough, make this awful, primal sound that he couldn’t describe nor control, and nearly curl into a ball from exhaustion, Whizzer would care. He’d shower Marvin with kisses, pick him up, and gently tuck him into bed, calling him sickly sweet names like “baby.”

But even that came to an end. Eventually, Whizzer instead just left him on the couch, apparently “sick of your dramatics, Marvin.” Marvin wasn’t the dramatic one though, Whizzer was. How dare he expect his full attention at his most vulnerable time?

Marvin couldn’t care less about the sex or the passion; he just wanted Whizzer by his side, even now. 

So, almost instinctively, Marvin scrunches up his face. Eyebrows, eyes, nose. He begins making that horrible noise. Somehow that was the easiest. He curls up into a ball, his face touching the cool floor. He returns to this position often; it reminds him that he only has himself as support at the end. He’s almost consumed by his complete self-destruction, clearly begging for help and attention. 

But no one was there. 

No one would shower him with kisses, no one would pick him up, and no one would gently tuck him into bed. Not even a single person would turn off those blinding fluorescent lights above which Marvin worked so hard to keep running. 

Marvin was utterly alone.

Maybe this was what Marvin always wanted. 

Chapter Text

Marvin’s insides curled as he woke up. His face stiffened as he opened his eyes, almost as if it was encased in some thick layer of glue before drying overnight. It took him two beats to register himself before trying to move. He didn’t want to move. His heart felt empty and carved out of his soul as if he lost something important to him. 

When he finally did awake, three things came to him at once.

Why was the sun up? Marvin always woke up before the sun was up. Marvin always hated the idea of the city moving on past him. He always had to be ahead of the game; that’s how he could predict everyone else’s move. It would be like playing a chess game blindfolded. Marvin had to wake up early on the weekdays to catch the train to work. Or if he had Jason that week, to drop him off at school or to some inane baseball practice. Nonetheless, it was a bright sunny day in New York City. Yet, he could only hear the buzzing in his ears. 

It was a Saturday. One of those Saturdays without Jason. On these days, he would still wake up early, hoping that Whizzer would wake up earlier to prepare him a breakfast spread in bed, to which he would kiss him along his neck down to the collarbone, then enjoy an afternoon with Whizzer, making it one of the best Saturdays. But Whizzer wasn’t here. So it was an even better Saturday, right?

Right.

He was still lying on the floor. His cheek had been pressed along the old floorboards that his face was left with an indentation of all the grooves of the wood, and half his curls flattened. He curled his fingers, pressing them along the grooves, allowing the pain to hit him as he stared numbly.

He had been crying. He knew the feeling all too well, but he hadn’t felt this way since he was fourteen, after he vowed to not cry anymore, to be a real man. He felt embarrassed. He had committed some vile atrocity of sin in his own religion and rulebook of standards. He could feel his mind beating against him, trying to escape his body, to leave and go anywhere but his own self. He let out a breath, and it shook violently as if releasing some sort of demon from him. His breaths took in the salty smell of the ocean of tears that had been released onto the same floorboards the night before.

Oh. That was four things.

Marvin tried to contain himself and his mind, trying to find solace in anything, and curled up to match his stomach churning, grasping for anything. He was only met with his fingernails digging into the sides of his elbows, a painful tug of the seams of his shirt tearing at him from the outside. Marvin let out a sob. Or at least attempted to. His face still scrunched and twitched, and he felt the urge to release whatever was stirring inside of him to no avail. He only drew forth one pathetic drop of a tear.

Drip.

Marvin exhaled. That’s right. He couldn’t do it because those lights were still blaring in his mind. Only when he was left alone and could experience solace could he cry everything out. He rolled over to his stomach and pushed up. His worn knees knocked against the hardwood before he let his work shoes clatter across the floor until he stumbled his way to the light switch, turning off the fluorescent lights in his kitchen, and leaving him in the natural light. As he dragged his feet back into his old position, he kicked a little wooden pawn, cast aside in the midst of his argument with Whizzer. Marvin looked away, expecting to cry, but nothing came out.

He sank down into his formerly recumbent position on the floor and adjusted himself, but nothing could quite capture the comfort he experienced just moments before. He shifted uncomfortably before rolling onto his back, staring at the shadows that traced his ceiling. The shadows shifted strangely until the shadows in the block of light against his ceiling were replaced by a wall of shadow.

Meow.

A little black cat stared at him from his kitchen window. It was a little skinny, the kind of skinny that clearly doesn’t have a home but has gone from house to house begging for food, looking for some sort of love, before being cast aside for making a mistake or not being able to fit in with the family it had craved love from. Like him. The kitten was like him. It was desperate and lost, and needed love, but the kitten's Whizzer surely batted it aside without a moment's notice and left it alone right? 

Meow.

Marvin made his endeavor to stand up again, this time faster and with purpose. Marvin hurriedly grabbed any bowl from his cupboards and recklessly poured milk into it, ignoring the milk he spilled across the ground or the fact that he didn’t properly screw the milk cap back on, or the fact that he didn’t put the milk back in the fridge or the fact that his fridge door was open. He just wanted to show affection and receive it back.

Meow.

He slid open the kitchen window with some effort, a layer of dust and dirt crusting the sliding mechanism.

Meow.

The little black kitten had smart green eyes, looking back at him intently, seemingly understanding him completely. Marvin felt like taking his fingernails and clawing open his chest, revealing to the kitten what he truly was and releasing this feeling inside of him. Instead, he stared back with equally intent eyes as he laid down the bowl with a clatter and watched the kitten hesitantly drop into his apartment onto his kitchen counter before lapping up the milk with vigor.

The kitten drank voraciously, the droplets of milk adorning its whiskers. Marvin watched closely, at how the kitten’s eyes would gently close in comfort before it snapped back open out of habit, in case any predators were watching. Marvin felt his eyes drooping as he listened to the gentle lap lap lap of the kitten’s tongue hitting the surface of the liquid. He twisted his hands with some sort of nervousness, letting his fingers roll the balls of his knuckles before he finally reached his hand out to scratch the kitten behind its ear.

To his surprise, the kitten leaned into it, stopping its melodic lapping of the milk to purr against the gentle touch. The unlikely pair continued this dynamic for a couple more minutes until Marvin’s heart softened and became vulnerable once more. He felt the tides of anger, frustration, and sadness flood his heart again and craved affection. He reached for the cat with both hands, reaching for it and snapping them out of a regular pattern. Cats are usually responsive to human emotions, right? He needed comfort and the cat would respond accordingly. 

The kitten's bony shoulders stiffened, like a spring ready for a release, looking back at him with those same smart eyes, but with a layer of hesitancy. 

Marvin saw the kitten was going to move, was going to leave him. So he moves even faster to catch up to it, to never let it go, and eventually, eventually it would see that he made the right decision. 

Meow.

With a yelp, the kitten escaped its looming sovereign of the apartment, leaving behind the comforts of food and shelter, back through the kitchen window, leaving Marvin again alone in the empty room.

With all the scrambling, Marvin had flinched backward, knocking over the milk. He turned around and saw the kitchen a mess and a shell of its former spotless self. The milk spread across the kitchen, seeping into the floorboards, sticky gleaming, and mocking, the fridge was beeping relentlessly to remind its owner to close the fridge door, and the bowl Marvin had scrambled to find was his favorite piece of china his mother had tenderly given him and was now covered in cat filth which covered the kitten’s body.

For what? The kitten hadn’t meowed a word of gratitude, only given him the bare minimum of a gentle head scratching, which was probably just to get its vile fleas out of its body and under his fingernails. It had left just as soon as it came, only reminding Marvin of the love he could’ve had.

This sort of condition of his house could not be tolerated. So of course, Whizzer would constantly leave his house in this condition.

Marvin’s formerly softened heart re-hardened; this time with more resolve. How dare he allow himself to be vulnerable, to try and open up again? Had he not learned from his past mistakes in his past lives? He had restarted so many times, yet made the same dumb mistakes each time over and over again. He only had a dog to feign a perfect family, but it only mocked him of the family he so desperately tried to achieve and was so close to achieving, except for one certain element. He only let the cat in because it was so pitiful, like him, and both needed comfort, but it only took and took and never gave any back. He would never own another needy animal. He was the only validation he needed; what he said must be right, and therefore law, under his roof.

Marvin's heart was beating in his ears. Marvin was panting a little, even heaving from the anger and frustration and sadness. 

He vowed to let no creature or person clutter his life with their mess again. Not Whizzer. Not even a stray.

If that thing had taught him one thing, it was this: its need for love didn’t belong here.