#lethimwin

❝ jesus, marvin, ❞ he chuckles, but he sounds exasperated ( be it by marvin’s distracting and immature behavior during the game or by his almost comedically timed confession as they’re parting ways post-match, who’s to say? ) and he turns his head.

a part of him KNOWS this is a mistake. whizzer can see it now : the honeymoon phase will be sweet, hot, and short-lived as the passion dies and they’re once again reminded of all the things they can’t stand about each other. marvin will make demands, whizzer will challenge them, marvin will call names, whizzer will reciprocate. in less than a year’s time, they’ll both be single again, and whizzer will know for sure that this thing they have was never going to work.

but another part –– maybe even a larger part –– misses him. whizzer can’t forget when things were bad, but he can’t forget when they were good, either. marvin can be as kind as he is cruel ( although the ratio between the two is severely off-balanced ) and, giving credit where credit is due, whizzer must admit he’s a fantastic lover. and isn’t it nice to think marvin could love him? that he could love marvin back? he won’t go as far to imagine a future with him –– a singular glance at high-strung ex-wife and pubescent child is enough to keep those types of fantasies at bay –– but a relationship where they could actually stand each other …

… the thought is enough to bring out another, more sincere laugh.

marvin is talking about ... something. he doesn’t know –– he isn’t really paying attention, more focused on examining the quality of marvin’s shirt. it’s poor. it doesn’t look bad on marvin ( it actually fits him quite well, especially around the arms ) but the feeling of the fabric between his fingers actually makes him cringe. for as handsome and wealthy as marvin is, it’s simply too cheap. whizzer opens his mouth to interrupt, to voice his thoughts on marvin’s attire, but as he looks up at husband’s face, he tunes back into his voice –– just in time to hear him say that.

ridick-a-lous.

and whizzer shouldn’t draw attention to it –– with the amount they’ve all drank, it’s a wonder any of them can still form cohesive sentences, marvin being the biggest miracle case –– but it’s practically instinctual at this point ; of marvin’s few imperfections, this is one of whizzer’s favorites. his eyebrows shoot up and he gasps, lips spreading into a wide smile.

❝ marvin, come on! i still have stuff to pack! ❞ he protests, but he laughs as he does so, hardly putting any genuine effort into breaking free from marvin’s grasp –– a light slap on the wrist, at most.

if whizzer appears turned off by such displays of affection, that’s only how it appears. the reality is that it’s simply unfamiliar to him ; he isn’t used to the sincerity, the gentle nature of it all ( or, as marvin would call it, the love ). he’s more used to being used, and to using. men he’d seen in the past seemed more interested in number forty-nine and the perks that came along with him - or were interested in the body that homes him and little else. very few were interested in whizzer brown. marvin is, very interested, and the attention is lovely, but at times it’s also … overwhelming.

his instinct is to run, but the hold marvin has on him seems to go beyond the physical. so instead, he opts for turning in marvin’s arms to face him, gently guiding his hands to rest on the small of his back.

there seems to be an endless list of things marvin can ( and WILL ) complain about : dinner is late again, don’t talk back so much, you’re not playing the game correctly. more often than not, whizzer jumps to his own defense, which seems to only further set marvin off. occasionally –– like now –– whizzer will ignore the tantrums all together, and that only seems to make things worse.

right now he’s on the couch, one leg over the other, foot tapping in mid-air, and as marvin is ranting about whatever minute thing he did wrong, he leans over and grabs a magazine off the coffee table –– not to read but to hold, to have somewhere to look that isn’t at marvin. before he can even get it open, there’s a startlingly loud clattering that makes him jump and look up / marvin’s red in the face, breathing heavy, and there’s a chair overturned on the floor.

for god’s sake, am i talking to the wall?

he’s  exhausted .     that’s  clear  in  every  one  of  his  movements  ,   the  deep  dark  circles  under  his  eyes .     and  he  has  enough  reason  to  be  ,    as  the  clock face  blinks  out  4:00  AM  and  sleep  has  still evaded  him .     yet  eh’s  not  too  tired  to  swing  his  feet  off  the  edge  of  his  bed  ,   moving  in  a  shuffling  walk  down  the  hallway  before  stopping  in  front  of  a  door .     he  pauses  in  front  of  it  –  just  for  a  moment  before  pushing  his  way  in .     it’s  been  ages  since  he’s  done  this  ,   breaking  through  the  wall  of  ice  just  long  enough  to  pretend  it  had  never  formed .    and  yet  here  he  is  ,   shaking  his  father’s  arm  just  hard  enough  to  wake  him .

“      dad   – –    dad .   move  over .      “      just  like  that  the  covers  are  moved  out  of  place  and  he’s  crawling  in  ,   arms  wrapped  tight  around  his  father’s  middle  and  head  resting  gently  against his  chest .     and  suddenly ,   his  chances  of  sleep  don’t  seem  all  that  grim .   /   @lethimwin