Chapter Text
and yet another evening
I cling to a hope,
waiting for your call,
to ask me out somewhere.
And when I run into you by chance,
you'll dance with me just once,
because you'll be there with someone.
It had been three weeks since Marvin last saw Whizzer at Jason’s baseball game. Three painfully long weeks.
They had exchanged numbers afterward, had a brief and somewhat awkward conversation, and promised to meet up again sometime.
Marvin had told himself to give Whizzer space—however much he needed. But his patience was wearing thin. Twenty-three days had passed, and Whizzer still hadn’t called.
Finally, Marvin picked up his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found the name:
Whizzer
To be honest, he’d agonized a bit over how to save the number.
Whizzer Brown? That sounded too formal. Besides, realistically, how many people named Whizzer had he ever met? Exactly one.
Adding a heart emoji had briefly crossed his mind.
Whizzer <3
But that felt too forward, too presumptive. What if Whizzer saw it and thought Marvin was being too familiar? Worse, what if someone else saw it?
In the end, he’d gone with the simplest option: Whizzer. Classic. Safe. Neutral.
Maybe a little too neutral.
Marvin paced around his apartment, phone in hand, Whizzer’s name glowing on the screen.
It was Saturday evening—probably the best time to call, right? A reasonable time to reach out to someone who might, just might, be interested in you.
So he called. He took a deep breath, bracing himself as the dial tone hummed in his ear.
And then—
“The number you are currently trying to reach is already busy.”
Marvin stared at the phone for a moment before turning it off and tossing it onto the couch.
He flopped down beside it with a sigh.
He had to wait his turn? Fine.
Fine.
He tried calling him again fifteen minutes later.
His phone was switched off. Out of reach.
Fine.
Marvin started to deliberate.
What if Whizzer just wasn’t interested?
Or worse—what if he hated him but had been too polite to show it?
The possibilities were endless, and none of them were good.
With each passing minute, Marvin’s frustration grew, gnawing at the edges of his patience. After forty minutes of sitting and stewing, he made a decision: he was going to a bar.
Not to meet someone else, necessarily. Just to get out of his head—and maybe, just maybe, forget about Whizzer for a little while.
He didn’t bother changing. He left his apartment in classic jeans and a wrinkled, unironed shirt, the very picture of someone who cared just enough to leave the house but not enough to impress anyone.
For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, Marvin decided he couldn’t go to his usual spot. The baristas there all knew him, and the last thing he wanted tonight was to make small talk with familiar faces.
Instead, he ventured to a bar a bit farther from home.
The place was small but packed, the air buzzing with energy.
Marvin approached the bar and ordered a glass of water.
It was a strange choice, given his goal of forgetting, but some part of him wanted to stay clear-headed—at least for a little while longer.
He sat at a corner table, enduring the awful, overly peppy music blaring from the speakers. He hated bar music. Who could possibly enjoy it? Dance to it? The whole concept baffled him.
Marvin scanned the room, noting that not many people had managed to get drunk yet. The night was still young, after all.
His eyes lingered on one woman for a moment—her outfit was particularly eye-catching. But before he could focus too much, he heard a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"One more of those."
Marvin turned instinctively, his breath catching in his chest.
And there he was.
Whizzer Brown.
Whizzer stood just a few feet away, looking as effortlessly cool as ever. Marvin didn’t know much about fashion, but it was obvious—Whizzer’s clothes were brand-new, carefully picked, and... oh.
He looked really handsome.
Before Marvin knew it, his cheeks were flushed.
Fuck , he thought. I’m a grown man, not some teenage girl.
But Whizzer Brown was standing so close, looking so great, and Marvin couldn’t help it.
In a sudden burst of awkward energy, he grabbed his glass and drank it all in one go. He probably slammed the glass back onto the bar a little too loudly, because the people around him turned to see what had caused the noise.
Including Whizzer.
Before Marvin could process what was happening, Whizzer was suddenly standing next to him.
"Hey, I didn’t know you still went out," Whizzer said, his voice casual, almost like he was teasing him.
Marvin turned to look at him, trying to appear cool, even though his heart was pounding.
“I don’t. Usually,” he said, shrugging.
I’m just going crazy about you, he thought, but didn’t say it.
“That explains everything. Are you with someone?” Whizzer asked.
“No. You?
”Marvin’s mind raced. Please say no. Please say no. Please say no.
“Yes.”
Shit.
“He’s my coworker. Oh, did I mention that I’m a photographer? I managed to get hired.”
Marvin’s heart skipped a beat. A photographer? That was new.
“You were always great at this. Trina still keeps that picture you took of Jason a few years ago.”
Whizzer smiled at the mention of Jason, but Marvin noticed a hint of discomfort in his voice.
“This kid hates it.”
“He only pretends to,” Marvin shot back, hoping to lighten the mood.
The words hung between them, and Marvin felt awkward. What was he supposed to say to impress Whizzer? To keep him from walking away? After all, he was with someone, so sooner or later, he’d leave. And Marvin would be left alone, again.
"Have you seen a blonde man here? A bit shorter than me. Wearing a silk, green shirt?" Whizzer asked, glancing around the room.
“No,” Marvin replied, hoping Whizzer wouldn’t spot him.
"He must have gone to the toilet," Whizzer added, as if trying to make sense of the situation.
"Yeah," Marvin mumbled, his mind racing. What was he supposed to say now? What was he supposed to do? Should he offer to buy Whizzer a drink? But he was already sipping on one. Should he ask him to dance? Marvin didn’t even know how to dance.
Then, suddenly, the familiar melody filled the air—the very same song he had heard countless times when Whizzer used to live with him. The music pulled him in, and before he knew it, they were both on the dance floor. Whizzer was smiling wide, his eyes a little glossy from the alcohol, his movements carefree.
Those three minutes passed in a blur.
Marvin realized, with a quiet shock, that he actually liked dancing—when it was with Whizzer.
But as soon as the song ended, Whizzer pointed at someone across the room.
“There he is! Sorry, Marv. I have to take care of my date!”
And just like that, Whizzer was gone, leaving Marvin standing alone on the dance floor.