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As soon as Whizzer walks out of his apartment building, a chilled gust of wind hits him like a semi-truck, drenching the man in frigid air.
"Shit, it's cold." He grits his teeth and glances down to confirm that his exposed arms are already prickling with goosebumps. The forecast on his phone projected a clear, sunny day today, but with freezing temperatures and icy winds like this, Whizzer calls bullshit.
He's still right at the door of his apartment building but going back inside to change will waste time that he needs to spend on his morning jog. And theoretically, he could skip his exercise and kill time for an hour or so before his next shoot, but Whizzer has already skipped running twice this week; any more times, and he'll get out of the habit of doing it altogether. Mentally debating the best course of action and wasting even more time, Whizzer decides to just screw it and run back into his apartment. He heads straight for his closet and throws on the first sweatshirt he finds (it's a baggy, unflattering red garment that he doesn't necessarily remember buying, but Whizzer is not in the position to be picky right now).
When he walks back outside again, Whizzer feels significantly warmer and less ready for death, so he counts the loss of fifteen minutes worth it. As he starts his morning run, Whizzer absently wonders when he bought the sweatshirt, but he's not complaining. It's well-worn and toasty and smells vaguely familiar, but he can't place the scent for the life of him. Oh well, he thinks to himself, not that it matters much anyway.
:: - ::
New York City is a pretty big place (actually, that phrase is a pretty big understatement). There are approximately about eight million people living in the small but revolutionary city, so the odds of unintentionally running into anyone Whizzer knows are very slim. Still, he has to admit that he has had the idle, absent thought or two of running into Marvin again. He'd imagine himself (looking great like always) strolling through a grocery store or walking across a busy street and bumping into his ex-boyfriend (who, in this fantasy, always looks terrible and out of shape and balding). Whizzer would play it cool, acting flippant and dismissive as he would politely exchange pleasantries with him and silently think to himself how he'd dodged a bullet with their break up. And then they both would walk away, and Whizzer would be satisfied to know that if he ever wanted Marvin back, he could have him.
It's a mere fantasy, he knows. In the nineteen months that they'd been broken up, Whizzer has yet to see Marvin anywhere (not that he'd been looking, of course). He chalks it up to fate and thinks it's probably for the best that they never see each other again. After all, they were a hot mess of a couple—Marvin wanting him to act like a housewife and bend to his every demand, and Whizzer not even going as far as to be fully committed to the man. Looking back on their dysfunctional relationship, he’s surprised that they’d even lasted as long as they did. Whizzer has never had that long of a relationship before or after the one he had with Marvin, but he believes that has more to do with his intense aversion to long-term relationships rather than not being over the man himself. Whizzer has never been one for commitment—
Or well, he didn’t used to be. He's changed a lot in the past year or so, maturing slightly and beginning to act more his age. He doesn't know if he's looking for anything “long-term” yet, but he knows that he wouldn't be as dismissive of it as he was when he was with Marvin.
Whizzer slows his running into a brisk walk before finally taking a short break at a water fountain in the nearby park. Wiping the slight sheen of sweat from his face with his shirtsleeve, Whizzer takes a long sip of water and decides to find an empty bench to rest for a few minutes before he has to head back to his apartment and change. He walks further into the park and spots an empty bench right underneath the brightening sun when he hears an incredulous, "Whizzer?"
Whizzer stops dead in his tracks, daring to look to the left only to find Marvin lounging under a shade tree with an open book in his hands. Of course, Whizzer thinks sourly, of course we run into each other when I'm covered in sweat. He's not that averse to the turn of events though; even drenched in sweat, he knows he still looks hot. And Marvin—
Well, Marvin didn't magically turn ugly or overweight since the last time he saw him. What a pity.
"Marvin." He greets, his tone clipped. Wanting to know how much of a hold he probably still has over the man, Whizzer stretches and lets his sweatshirt ride up a little to expose his flat, tanned stomach. He glances over at Marvin and finds the man wearing an expression of surprise and confusion as he stares at his torso. Well, that wasn't the reaction Whizzer was going for, but—
"Is that my sweatshirt?" Marvin asks suddenly, his brow knit together.
"What? No, of course it—" Whizzer looks down in horror at the high school logo printed on the front, kicking himself for not even questioning it when he threw it on. Oh god. Surely he doesn't think—But this is Marvin, and the man is a major egotistical maniac. Of course he thinks this means something rather than an innocent mistake.
"I've been looking for that, you know." Marvin muses, smiling smugly to himself like the bastard he is.
"This isn't yours," Whizzer feels compelled to deny suddenly, feeling his face heat up, "Why would I wear something of yours? This is...This is mine."
"Really?" Marvin prompts, arching a disbelieving eyebrow, "You have a St. Stephen's Class of 2000 sweatshirt?"
Whizzer sucks on his teeth, instantly knowing that he'll regret it when he confirms, "Yep."
"Whizzer, you went to East Manhattan High." And well, he's got him there.
"I got it at Topman, actually," Whizzer claims, trying to be flippant but his voice sounds awkward and nervous, "It's in the vintage section. Because, you know, it's basically from the prehistoric age."
"Is it now?" Marvin eggs him on, grinning widely, "Well, I guess I'll have to order myself one then since my own has mysteriously disappeared."
"Okay, well, I gotta go," Whizzer announces quickly, not noticing how Marvin's happy expression drops slightly, "It was good seeing you. Um, yeah, bye." He breaks off in a dead run before Marvin can protest. A few moments later, however, he storms back over to Marvin.
"Even if it was your sweatshirt," Whizzer blurts out, wishing he'd never turned back around and desperately wanting to punch himself in the face, "That doesn't mean anything, you know. I'm, like, completely over you. Actually, I hardly ever even think about you at all—never, really, in fact. So—there you go." Believing that he'd embarrassed himself enough for today, Whizzer turns around again only to stop at Marvin's words.
"I wear that stupid purple scarf of yours when it's cold," He admits with a shrug, pausing before amending, "Well, I used to anyway."
"Okay." Whizzer says as he faces him again, wondering if that's all he had to say.
Marvin nods and closes his book, setting it down on the bench and walking toward him, "You know why I stopped?"
Whizzer snorts, "Because it went out of fashion three seasons ago?" Marvin laughs, and Whizzer suddenly realizes that he's missed that sound; he's missed it a lot, actually.
"I stopped," Marvin continues, standing close enough to touch, "Because it stopped smelling like you." Whizzer just stares at him, slowly processing his words. Up close, Whizzer notices that Marvin has changed as well. He hasn't changed in looks per se, but the way he carries himself has transformed. He seems softer than before, like he's finally accepted himself and is comfortable in his own skin. With a pleasant stir in his chest, Whizzer realizes that maybe he isn't the only one that's grown up a little since they parted ways.
Marvin smiles and looks at his watch, saying with feigned casualness, "It's still pretty early. You wanna...I don't know, go get a cup of coffee maybe?" Whizzer checks his own watch and notices that he has to be at the shoot in twenty minutes. With an apology on his lips, Whizzer almost declines, but then he sees that Marvin is smiling at him in that soft, absent way of his. It's a dick move to reschedule so late, but Whizzer feels like somehow this is definitely worth losing a potential client over.
"Okay," Whizzer says, "Yeah, I'd like that."
"So," Marvin begins playfully, bumping his shoulder as they walk together, "Topman, huh?"
Whizzer scoffs, though he's smiling despite himself, "Shut up, okay?" When Marvin intertwined their hands, Whizzer absently thinks that the old him would’ve immediately pulled away and started a fight. Now, however, Whizzer welcomes the affectionate gesture, hoping that maybe—just maybe—they'll get it right this time around.