hyperfixated_on_musicals

Things were different this time; things were better. The two were happy. Which brings them here, laying in bed, Whizzer holding Marvin from behind- arms around his middle, while Marvin laid awake.

Marvin spared a glance over his shoulder, looking over Whizzer’s relaxed and peaceful state. Before, Marvin never saw Whizzer like this. They would screw, Whizzer would leave, and Marvin would let him. But now, Marvin tried to soak in as much of Whizzer as he could.

Marvin could stare at him for hours on end, never looking away, and never getting bored.

Over those two years alone, Marvin picked up drawing. His new psychiatrist, Cynthia, had suggested it, saying it would be good for him to be able to get his inner ideas out through using his natural creativity, and soon after taking up the hobby, he had realized he was actually quite good at it. He studied styles and anatomy in his free time, finding solace in both the order and disorder a person would draw with.

On weekends, when he would begrudgingly sit in the bleachers of whatever field Jason’s baseball game was being held at, he would take out his sketchbook and draw his surroundings. He would draw Jason out on the field, the nature around them, the streets, and sometimes even Trina and Mendel, hands intertwined, when he could push down his pride.

And that day, the day Whizzer was brought back to him, the moment he sat in front of him and turned to face the field, Marvin had pulled out his sketchbook and drawn the back of his head. That drawing had been the first of many- the pages of his sketchbook basically all now of Whizzer. From behind, from the side, from above, but one he hadn’t yet captured was him head-on.

Marvin was shy about this hobby, never directly asking Whizzer to pose, and always hiding his sketchbook whenever the younger man would shift or look his way. But this was perfect- Whizzer laying on his side facing Marvin, giving him a clear view of his face.

So, Marvin, ever the opportunist, wiggled out of Whizzer’s hold, and quietly opened the drawer of his nightstand. As quietly as he could, Marvin repositioned himself to be sitting crisscrossed facing Whizzer, and began sketching.

He looks over the details of his face- the deep dip of the bridge of his nose, the permanent pout of his lips, the perfect swoop of his hair that looks flawless, even now. As he sketches, using the glow of the street lights from outside the window as his light source, he gets lost in the detail. After laying out the guidelines, the rest was almost effortless- Marvin having practically memorized every wrinkle and divot of Whizzer’s face.

Too lost in the page, Marvin fails to notice the others' eyes open.

“Marvin?”

He jolts at the voice, almost falling off the bed before meeting Whizzer’s eyes. The other man’s gaze drifts down to Marvin’s lap- shit, Marvin thinks, the notebook. He snaps it shut, shoving both it and his pencil off the bed like a child who had just been caught with a cookie. It hits the ground with a quiet thud. “Uh, what was that?” Whizzer’s eyebrow quirks up as he sits up on one elbow.

”Nothing!” Marvin replies far too quickly, “It’s nothing.” Whizzer hums, suspicious, as he tries to lean forward past Marvin to get a better look at what he had tossed away so hastily. Marvin shuffles- trying to block Whizzer’s view with his body- but fails.

Whizzer catches sight of the object on the floor, only making out the shape before he’s lightly shoved back. “Whizzer, please- just go back to sleep.” Marvin all but begs. Whizzer just stares at him, giving him a look that he’s never once been able to resist. It’s full of concern, a silent plea.

Marvin huffs, annoyed, but complies with the unspoken request. He gets up, switching on his bedside lamp, and picks up the sketchbook. He gently sits back down next to Whizzer, feeling his gaze following his every move. He begins flipping through the pages, past dozens of sketches of Whizzer, before stopping on the new page.

He hesitates, what if he thinks it’s weird? what if he doesn't like it? Getting lost in his thoughts of doubt for a moment before a warm hand is placed on his knee. He looks at Whizzer, takes a breath, and flips the book around.

Whizzer quietly gasps, reaching for the book, “Marv, this is,” Marvin holds his breath, “this is beautiful.” He smiles, sitting up fully, resting against the headboard, and begins going through the previous pages. “You think so?” Marvin asks. “I know so. When did you start drawing? I didn’t even know you liked art.” His tone wasn’t condescending, but Marvin couldn’t help but feel self conscious.

”Two years ago, after the breakup. Cynthia suggested it.” He fiddles with his fingers, watching Whizzer’s face for any signs of disapproval; signs that never came. Whizzer’s eyes soften, smiling once more as his gaze lands on a sketch of Jason on the baseball field.

“Marvin, I just- I don’t know what to say. These are amazing. Though I do wish you had told me sooner so I could’ve posed better.” He gestures to another page with a drawing of Whizzer sitting on the couch, eyes fixed on the baseball game on the tv. Marvin chuckles lightly.

“So…you like them?” Whizzer shuts and places down the sketchbook, holding Marvin’s head in his hands, “I love them.” He kisses him on the forehead before reaching past Marvin to place the book on the nightstand. “Now c’mon, it’s like 4am, let’s go back to sleep.”

Marvin lays down and shuffles back under the covers, laying his head on Whizzer’s chest. As he begins to drift back to sleep, he feels Whizzer’s fingers begin carding through his hair. “I love you.” He hears from above him. “Love you too.” He mumbles in response.