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When Jay was eleven his mother took him to a therapist because, as she put it, “he had trouble settling.” Jay wasn’t quite sure what she meant, but he figured it had something to do with his hands. He was forever doing ‘weird stuff’ with them – twisting them around, cracking his joints, drumming fingertips on his desk, rubbing his cheeks, flexing his wrists, twirling pens. Sometimes he’d push his fingers into his eyes until he saw stars. On days when the world felt extra whooshy, or when lots of people spoke at once, he’d shake his hands and shift his weight from foot to foot, and the other kids would call him a spaz, and he’d punch them. Probably another reason why his mother sent him to a therapist.
Anyway, the therapist was the real spaz, because all she ever seemed to do was ask Jay about anger and fear and “where he felt them in his body.” It was the stupidest thing Jay had ever heard. As if he stored all his feelings in his chin or his elbow. After several pointless sessions the therapist asked Jay again, “and these big feelings, where do you feel them in your body?” and Jay had spat back “in my ass” and then refused to go back.
He started piano not long after that and found, to his surprise, that his ‘weird stuff’ dialled back - it was like his hands had been looking for something to pour his weirdness into. Life started feeling normal sometimes. And then he met Matt, and life got even better.
So why – why – did Matt have to go and screw it up for him?
****
They were trudging back from another failed plan (key ingredients: flare guns, hi-vis vests and a two-way mirror) but that was fine – secretly Jay kind of liked it when their plans failed. Not because he didn’t want a show at the Rivoli (almost) as desperately as Matt did, but because there was a certain energy that cosied up to them both in the aftermath of a failed plan; a sweet, melancholic hum, drained of the manic energy they’d been feeding off all day. Matt was usually a little quieter, and Jay a little looser, both of them hanging their heads but knowing, always, that there’d be another plan tomorrow.
It was an early November cold snap, and Matt’s head was tucked down into his parka and scarf combo while Jay relished the icy breeze on his face. Snow had started to gather in small grubby clumps, and Jay huffed out dragon breath while Matt was noncommittally kicking a decayed jack-o-lantern down the street as they rounded in on Shaw. Jay flexed his fingers in the sharp wind, honing in on the burning sensation.
“Dude, where are your gloves?”
Jay shrugged as they trudged onwards. “Dunno. Forgot them I guess.”
“It’s like, minus 20.”
“It’s maybe zero, Matt.”
“Whatever it is! Look at you! You’re like the – what’s her name – the Little Match Girl!”
Jay’s furrowed brow made it clear he had no idea who that was, eliciting a theatrical eyeroll from Matt – so theatrical it was visible from the deep recesses of his parka.
“The Little Match Girl! It’s a famous story Bird, how do you not – never mind. She’s this pathetic little girl…”
“Oh thanks!” Jay interjected with a whine, which Matt ignored.
“…and she’s out there in the cold, in the FREEZING SNOW, and she has to like, sell matches so her family doesn’t kick the bucket…”
“What, she’s just selling matches? That's all she's selling?"
Matt waved his hand dismissively, “Yeah, look I dunno, I guess it’s not a great business model, but all she’s got is matches, and nobody’s buying her matches, but it’s SO FUCKING COLD, so she thinks, hey, here’s an idea, I’ll sneak one of these matches for my very own – it’s an early version of corporate theft if you think about it – anyway she thinks hey, I can cosy up by the fire, what a great plan. Only, she ends up burning through all of them, the whole matchbox, because she’s so goddamn cold and sad and pathetic, and then…”
“Why’d she do that? Why didn’t she go indoors, warm up, save some matches for later? How’s she gonna make any money now? This is a stupid story.”
“I don’t know Bird, I guess she was really fucking stupid, the POINT is that she burns all the matches trying to stay warm, and then guess what, she DIES, the end.”
“She DIES?”
“Yep, frozen to death, frozen and pathetic, just like you. Here.” Matt stopped walking for a moment, pulled off his scarf and wrapped it around Jay’s neck. Jay just blinked, a little shell-shocked, even more so when Matt proceeded to take his gloves off and shove them with minimal finesse onto Jay’s hands.
Jay blinked. Matt rolled his eyes again. “Honest to god Jay, you’re lucky I’m here to save you from keeling over like a Victorian orphan. Oliver fucking Twist over here!” (he yells the last part to a random passerby).
And they were off walking again, now only a few minutes from their house. Jay tucked his chin down and rubbed his face against Matt’s scarf, smiling to himself into the rough-soft-rough-soft.
“Thanks MJ.”
“Don’t mention it, little Orphan Annie.” Matt gave Jay’s side a friendly bump.
Jay felt a weird wave of something wash over him. This happened, sometimes. It was a bit like what his body did when he was on a rollercoaster, or leaned too far backwards on a chair, or on the rare occasions when he got a bit too drunk a bit too fast. It was usually when he was near Matt, come to think of it. Though he usually didn't. Think about it.
Jay curled and uncurled his fingers, nestled inside fuzzy gloves, and bumped back into Matt.
Matt snuck a glance at him and chuckled lightly. And bumped him back.
Jay felt the weird wave of something swell and crest. Everything hummed, and Jay leaned in and hooked his arm around Matt’s.
Matt quietly huffed, something close to a laugh. They linked arms right up to their front door.
****
That night, Jay was convinced he was coming down with something. He tossed and turned in his bed for hours, unable to pinpoint whether he was freezing or overheated. Flashes of the earlier evening ran through his mind; the flicker of amusement in Matt’s eyes, the cloud of vapor floating out from his parka in the cold night air, Matt’s arm around Jay’s. Matt’s hands on his. Jay cracked all his knuckles, squeezed his sheets tight, ran his hands under his pillow.
Maybe he’d brave the drugstore tomorrow; it was flu season after all.
****
A few days later, they were deep in the weeds with a Final Fantasy VII replay. It was Jay’s turn with the controller but that didn’t stop Matt from swiping at it every few minutes, in between fistfuls of leftover Halloween candy.
“Bird, dude, we are NOT putting Vincent in the party, come ON.”
“Oh, we absolutely are.”
“Bird! Vincent’s fucked! His limit breaks – come on, you KNOW this, we go over this EVERY TIME.”
“No way man, Vincent’s awesome. He’s so cool. He’s – he’s a cool dude. He’s the only one with a handgun!”
“He’s a maniac! He’s uncontrollable! You just like him because he’s got a cape and a leather catsuit, you absolute fucking pervert.”
“Oh, sorry there’s no one with a – a dumb hat to choose from!”
Matt lunged wildly at the controller, managing to wrestle it out of Jay’s hands and knock him off the couch and onto his ass.
“Yes, you SUCK!” Matt removed Vincent from the party.
Jay reached deep into his bag of tricks and pulled out his signature pout. “Aw Matt… but he’s my favourite…”
Matt looked at Jay suspiciously. Jay battered his eyelashes, tilted his face up to Matt’s.
“Oh man. You’re killing me here Birdie.” Matt rolled his eyes theatrically and added Vincent back into the party. “He’s still the worst character. Don’t blame me when Emerald Weapon tears us a new asshole.”
He offered Jay his hand and yanked him back onto the couch, passing him the controller. Jay grinned at the screen. “At least it’ll be a really cool asshole.”
Matt chuckled and ruffled Jay’s hair fondly. Ruffled it – and then sort of, slowed down a bit. Just a little bit. And maybe a bit more. Chills rushed up Jay’s neck. He kept his eyes glued on the TV. Matt’s hand was at the base of his skull now, running his fingers through Jay’s hair. Matt’s hand, which was, presumably, attached to Matt. Unless this was an Evil Dead II situation, which honestly might have been less shocking. Jay held his breath and clutched the controller hard.
Suddenly Matt cleared his throat, withdrew his hand, stood up, straightened his hat and said “I’m gonna call a pizza” all at once.
Jay couldn't remember ever having seen Matt so flustered. He exhaled very slowly and looked up from the TV. “No mushrooms, yeah?”
Matt looked at him for a loaded few seconds, like he was weighing up his options. With a nervous little grin, he leant down and very quickly, with no sense of ceremony whatsoever, pressed a kiss to the top of Jay’s head.
It was so quick that by the time Jay’s brain came back online, Matt was already on the phone to the pizza place.
Vincent Valentine went rogue and wiped out their whole party.
****
The clock read 2:10am at Jay’s last check. It was only his last check because he’d made a bargain with himself to stop looking at the time every few minutes, desperate for the empty bliss of unconsciousness after yet another night of tossing and turning.
Fucking – Matt. Fucking Matt, honestly. What did he think he was doing – with the fingers in the hair, and the chaste kiss – and, that look, that look. It was all just so – stupid, actually. There they were, with this good thing going, such a good thing going, and then with the hands and the kisses and the gloves. All he’d gone and done is upset the apple cart. And leave Jay to stumble around in the apples.
“Mmmmph.” Jay mumbled into his pillow, before flipping it for the thousandth time to chase the cool on his face. Flickers of smirks and grins and nervous smiles. If he stayed still too long, the buzzy cuddled-up flip-floppy warmth started pooling between his legs, and yeah, nope, no thank you, flip the pillow again. He wished he could just play piano, but getting up to run octatonic scales at 2am might be even freakier than jerking off in a bunk bed with your b-friend below you.
Goddamn. Jay had trouble understanding what he was feeling at the best of times. But that had never been a problem dealing with Matt, because Matt came with instructions. Sure, Jay might’ve been the only one to receive the instructions, but that made it even better. Matt was his best friend. They played video games together. They rehearsed together. They planned together. One day they’d get a show at the Rivoli together. Easy.
Then Matt went and fucked it, and here was Jay, an unstable and delicious new tension burbling up inside him, and – oh, he was going to be sick. Was he going to be sick?
Jay rushed to the bathroom, stomach lurching. He stared at himself in the mirror, the sensation abating a little. He splashed cold water on his face, and stared, and stared, and stared.
****
The weekend hit, and Matt insisted on dragging Jay to the night market to buy some “magic candles” as Matt put it, part of their latest plan to infiltrate the Rivoli via the power of hypnotic aromatherapy. Matt had seen a commercial.
Problem was, Jay was having a bit of trouble getting himself together. He’d slept maybe ten hours in the previous week. His face felt warm all the time, while the rest of him kept breaking out in chills. He kept catching himself quadruple cracking his knuckles, rubbing his hands together viciously, pressing his fingers into his cheeks. On several horrifying occasions he’d caught himself almost sucking his thumb in front of Matt, which blasted out such intense waves of shame he’d had to leave the room.
Not the optimal state for a crowded night market mission, but here they were, edging their way through the bustling crowds, Matt practically oozing enthusiasm.
“Oh man, look at how many – hey and they have heaps of – holy shit I haven’t had one of those in – oh oh Jay, let’s get two of these and – dude, no actually, you’ve gotta try–”
Matt was in consumer heaven, eyes popping as he whip panned in every direction, narrating a mile a minute. This suited Jay just fine, letting Matt’s live commentary track wash over him and keep him grounded, pushing back at the edges of the uneasy prickling feeling that Jay was doing his best to ignore. Truth be told, crowds had always been a bit tricky for him, but with Matt at his side a lot of the scratchy vibes got smoothed over. And Matt was almost always at his side.
As they made their way further in, Matt took a hold of him by the arm and led him through the crowd, yelling “I think we need to head this way!” while scoffing some kind of fried abomination on a stick.
After a few more snack pitstops, they eventually found Matt’s magic candles and stocked up on both ‘abundance’ and ‘intention’, which Matt assured Jay would work in tandem for maximum effect on the Rivoli staff. The crowd was even bigger now, and the bass coming from two different DJs on opposite sides of the market were bumping up against each other arrhythmically. Jay winced. For the first time in forever, he wished he had his headphones, but he chalked it up to not having slept properly all week. He squeezed his hands deep inside his jacket pockets, then took them out and shook them hard.
“Bird, you good?” Matt looked at him quizzically.
Jay shoved his hands back in his jacket. “Huh? I’m good. We're done here though, yeah? Let's head back?”
Matt grinned and ruffled Jay’s hair with a greasy hand. “You got it.”
“Ew, gross Matt! There’s sauce and oil all over your hands, come on!”
“Mmmm I’m gonna baste you Birdie, and gobble you up!” Matt ran his palm down the length of Jay’s cheek and made an absurd munching sound. Jay screwed up his face in mock disgust, trying to ignore the lurching ache inside him. “You’re disgusting. You’re – hey, where’s your hat?”
Matt’s hands flew to his head, eyes widening. “My hat! Um – hmm. Oh, I bet it’s at that stall with all that novelty shit, next to the fried chicken? I took it off to try the beer helmet, remember? I’ll be right back, stay right here. Two seconds."
"But I-"
Matt was already gone, backtracking through the crowd with minimal grace. Jay backed up against a stall, eyes on Matt’s unruly hair until he lost sight of him in the sea of anonymous bobbing heads. The ache grew inside him – maybe he’d eaten something dodgy? He’d had so many snacks, Matt had made him try so many things – he bet he’d gotten food poisoning. Could you die from food poisoning?
He cracked his knuckles and rubbed his fingertips together. Matt would be back any second, and maybe he could take him to the hospital. Maybe he’d been slipped some drugs and needed his stomach pumped again. He splayed his fingers out as far as they’d go, until he could feel the stretch in the webbing. Matt would be back any second with his stupid goddamn hat, and they could get out of this stupid goddamn market, and go home and play video games and sit a normal distance away from each other on the couch, and Jay could finally, just, just, just.
Jay couldn’t really hear his own thoughts anymore. The sound of the crowd was amplified into a messy jagged roar. He wished there was a piano somewhere. The ache in his stomach turned sour, and when he went to take a deep breath to settle it, he found that he couldn’t. Sweating, he ripped off his jacket. Shook his hands hard. Harder. Uneven breaths. The roar pitched up and he slapped his hands over his ears. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe and waited for the ground to open up.
Two hands on his shoulders. He jolted, trying to shake them off, but they held firm. A familiar voice cut through the roar.
“Jay. Jay!”
Jay opened his eyes a fraction. Matt was staring at him, eyebrows raised searchingly. “Jay. You – you okay?” He reached out to take Jay’s hands away from his ears, but Jay shook him off violently and Matt relented, palm up in surrender. “Jay, it’s me, it’s MJ. Hey – just -”
Jay shook his head, stared at the floor, kept his hands clamped to his ears. Matt’s voice burbled in from underwater. Hands back on his shoulders.
“Jay. Look at me. Look at me?”
Jay flicked his eyes up to Matt. He felt something click into place, like a magnet, or an RCA cable connecting into the right outlet. Snug, into the center pin. Tears stung his eyes, and with a deep humiliating gulp, hands still at his ears, he slid to a crouch.
Matt followed. “Hey, yeah, there you are! There you are, Jaybird.”
Jay attempted a chuckle and it came out as a weird choke. Matt shuffled in and gently covered Jay's hands with his own, insulating Jay's ears even further. They paused there, crouched against the side of a ramen pop-up, a few stray tears tracking down Jay’s face and into his mouth. Jay's skin bubbled and fizzed. He floated and twisted. He still couldn't catch his breath.
Matt waited a while, then slowly, carefully, pulled Jay’s fingers away from his ears. Jay relented, still trembling, as Matt drew his hands down and clasped them together in his own.
“Just breathe, buddy. Breathe, y'know, like, regular breathing. You're all good, eh? This is just one of those, uh, those Bird things. Over in no time. It's all good. Breathe. I got you."
Jay nodded, hiccupped, nodded again, feeling his body start to slow. His hands warm and safe inside Matt’s. The bustling sounds of the market starting to settle into something recognisable. Matt’s focused gaze, penetrating through the everyday chaos.
“Hey” Matt repeated, voice soft but steady. “Hey. That’s good. That’s fucking – great, man. You’re great. You’re Bird. You’re Bird, dude. You’re fucking Bird.”
Matt brought Jay’s hands up a little and pressed a quick kiss to his knuckles. “You’re Bird”, he kept saying, “you’re Bird.”
Jay’s memory was a bit foggy after that, but eventually Matt coaxed him off the floor and led out of the market. By the hand, all the way home.
****
They didn’t talk much that night. Jay was beyond drained, and it was all he could do to keep awake for long enough to be bundled into bed (he took the bottom bunk, at Matt’s insistence), before the deep pull of sleep tugged him under. He had a vague sense of Matt tucking him in, but then Jay was finally mercifully out for the count.
Of course, it wasn’t that easy. Shocker. He woke up a little after 3am, jolted into consciousness by a dream that left him rattled, and nervous, and hard. “Urgghhhh” - he pressed his fingers into his eyes. Matt. Matt. Matt. His hands. His arms. His stupid smile. The feel of him. The way he looked at Jay like he couldn't believe his luck. The way he made him feel grounded, and safe, and special.
And look, let’s be real, there’d always been a sort of… something… with Matt. With him and Matt. Of course there had – of course there had. Even Jay wasn’t that clueless. But that something, which Jay had been very comfortable leaving a tidy little box for the past two decades, had somehow spilled over, into his skin and hair and all over the carpet and all over Jay’s whole goddamn life. The life he was meant to be living with Matt!
He stretched out his fingers, clenched his fists. Stretch, clench, stretch, clench. And again. What was ‘Matt and Jay’ anyway, when you really broke it down? Plans. Schemes. Rehearsing. Video game days. Movie nights. Riffing. Arguing. Sneaking around. Fighting over the good controller. Lukewarm leftovers. Dodging library fines. Belly laughs. Safe spaces. Easy breathing.
But Matt and Jay weren’t Matt and Jay anymore, not really. They were becoming something else. And Jay wanted it. He wanted it. God, really badly, as it turns out. His guts lurched; maybe it was the corndogs. What happens to Matt and Jay when they aren’t Matt and Jay anymore? Where does that leave him? Where does all that other stuff go? Can you die from dodgy corndogs?
Flashes of Matt’s nervous eyes from the night market. His strong, reassuring grasp. His lips pressed to Jay’s hands. Heat pooled in his groin. He felt himself twitch, and moved to palm himself before abruptly aborting mission. “God DAMMIT!” He smacked the bedpost in frustration.
“Bird?”
Jay froze. He could hear Matt rustling above. “Bird, you okay?”
Jay stayed silent, his fingers pressing harsh crescents into his palms. He waited, and waited, and then waited some more. He waited until Matt’s breathing levelled out, and until he started snoring, and eventually, until the sun came up.
****
Matt was trying to breeze right past Jay’s meltdown the next day, but even in his strung-out state Jay could sense the kid glove treatment. Matt’s regular patter of insults and dismissive scoffs abounded as they spitballed new Rivoli plans, but he’d also made Jay breakfast (well, cereal) and didn’t bitch once when Jay showered first and ran out the hot water. He also caught Matt stealing cautious little glances at him throughout the day, which gave Jay a lovely, kindled feeling at first, but was starting to get a bit annoying.
“Jeez MJ, quit it!” Jay paused at the piano.
“Quit what?”
“Quit staring at me. I’m fine.”
Matt raised his eyebrows. “No, yeah, for sure.” He paused. “But like, also, to offer a counter point, maybe you’re not fine?”
“Look man, I’m sorry about yesterday. I was just, I dunno, I haven’t been sleeping, I guess. You know how sometimes I get a bit..." Jay trailed off with a vague handwave.
Matt did know. Matt knew everything about Jay. That’s one of the things that made them Matt and Jay. Jay had a brief, vivid flashback to the time in their mid-teens where he’d been flicking through one of Matt’s old comics and had found a loose sheet of paper tucked inside, with the scribbled heading “Ways To Help With Bird Stuff” and underneath, desperately poignant dot points like ‘make him breathe normal’, ‘Rodney Dangerfield impression’, ‘fake a funny injury’ and ‘rub his back – no homo.’
“Oh for sure” Matt pressed on. “Only, it hasn’t been that intense in, I dunno, a really long time. Like years, eh?”
Jay thought back to ‘Matt and Jay’ in their twenties, in the shoebox apartment on Queen. Jay had drunk a lot - a lot a lot - and his temper would shoot off like a rocket. He never got out of bed before midday. Sometimes they’d let fireworks off on the rooftop. Sometimes Jay would lose track of several days at a time. Sometimes he’d hit Matt too hard. They’d both changed a lot since then. And now they were changing again. But into what?
He played arpeggios to reset. “Yeah, it’s been a while. I’m sorry I freaked out. I’m good now. You can stop worrying, I’m not gonna wolf out or something, I swear.”
Matt eyed him suspiciously but then just shrugged and nodded. Jay felt a pang of something like guilt and added “Thanks for looking out for me though.”
Matt beamed. “No sweat, buddy.” He brushed past Jay on his way to the kitchen, squeezing Jay’s shoulder as he went. Jay’s arpeggios sped up infinitesimally, but at least Matt wouldn’t have noticed.
****
It was Saturday, and Saturday was always movie night. It made Jay feel good to think about it, about how Saturday was always movie night, no matter what, and how they always got Zesty Cheese Doritos and Matt would always talk over the first act of the movie until Jay smacked him into settling down.
It was almost embarrassing, how comforting it felt, as he settled into his usual spot on the couch, relaxing so hard he suspected he'd be asleep in a few minutes. Only, Matt didn't take his usual spot on the couch. It was very nearly his usual spot - the casual observer probably wouldn't have clocked the difference - but Jay could.
"You, me, True Romance?" Matt asked through a mouthful of Doritos.
"Whu...huh?!"
"True Romance! You, me, and the dulcet tones of Christian Slater. Even though Tony Scott is otherwise a bit of a hack. Uh, rest in peace obviously."
Matt was either unaware of how close he was sitting to Jay, or he was deliberately not acknowledging it. In fact, it seemed to Jay like he'd just inched even closer. At this rate he'd be sitting in Jay's lap before the title credits were over. Jay's face flushed at the thought.
"Oh, right, True Romance, for sure."
The movie kicked off with Hans Zimmer's iconic score ("You're So Cool" noted Jay. "Aww, thanks Jaybird!" smirked Matt.) Matt commenced a lengthy monologue about Tarantino selling the screenplay to fund Reservoir Dogs, looking so predictably animated that Jay felt himself relax again. Matt and Jay. All was right with the world. But then Matt would shoot him a knowing grin (knowing what, exactly?) or nudge into him (and their shoulders were so close now), and Jay would be on a roller-coaster drop again.
He couldn't take much more of this. It was like standing on the edge of a precipice, not knowing whether to jump or back away, part of him hoping to just be pushed in either direction. The only thing he was sure of was that, despite his best efforts, something was happening. Something was definitely about to happen. Jay could do nothing at all, and it was still about to happen.
Toothpaste, tube.
He suddenly wanted to kiss Matt so badly he felt nauseous.
He exhaled, quiet and slow. On the screen, Patricia Arquette was spilling popcorn all over Christian Slater.
Matt sidled closer still, closing the gap between them, and resting his head on Jay's shoulder. Jay grabbed the snack bowl from the table and held it tight on his lap, shoving some Doritos into his mouth.
"Dude, gettin', fuckin', Dorito crumbs in my hair" Matt chuckled beneath him. Jay hummed noncommittally, in lieu of having to use actual human words.
Matt shifted a little, cosying up further into the crook of Jay's neck, still grazing on Doritos, in some bizarre parody of a completely regular evening. When their hands went for the Dorito bowl at the same time, Jay stuttered, and Matt gave his fingers a playful flick. When Jay didn't return it, Matt twisted a bit to look up at him, a nervous quiver in his jaw undercutting his casual facade.
A beat. Then, very quietly, "Birdie, can I..."
Jay just stared, or maybe nodded, he wasn’t sure. Matt lowered the volume on the TV, placed one orange-crumbed hand on Jay's cheek, and kissed him full on the mouth.
****
It was soft at first, hesitant, like Matt was waiting for the proverbial axe to fall, but Jay let out a little humming sound that may or may not have been out of his control, and Matt exhaled roughly, and Jay's hands flew to Matt's shoulders, and they were off to the races.
Nothing - nothing - could have prepared Jay for how good this felt. Matt was a messy kisser, but intense and focused, all hesitancy out the window. He kissed Jay deep, clutching his face, breathing into his mouth, and Jay responded in kind, squeezing at Matt's biceps, reaching up to run his hands through his messy blonde hair.
Matt tore his lips away to suck at Jay's neck. "Mmm...Birdie, god...you're so…" his voice vibrated against Jay's jugular and rushed south. Matt kissed lower, down Jay's neck, the top of his chest. Jay watched, dumbstruck, as Matt fiddled with the shirt buttons and then, failing, ripped the whole thing open Superman-style with a pantomimed “whoops!”, dipping down to lick at Jay's nipples.
"Woahhhh....woah, woah, Matt, you gotta...oh my god..." Jay muttered, one hand in Matt's hair, the other white knuckling his shoulder. He wasn't sure what he was trying to say - something close to 'stop' and closer to 'more'.
Matt was back up at his neck again, nuzzling and licking. Jay let out a shuddery breath and could feel Matt smile against him. "Mmm... Yeah? It's not just me, yeah? You're into this too?"
"Matt, Matt, you..." All the blood in Jay's body was pooling in his groin, leaving him lightheaded and apparently not able to say anything, or see anything, or feel anything, except Matt, Matt, Matt.
"C'mere, let me..." Matt kissed Jay deeply on the mouth again, and then grabbed him by the shoulders and leaned him back on the couch, crawling on top and bracketing him, looking down with a mix of heady arousal and the same boyish excitement Jay saw from him every single day. He leaned down and licked at Jay's ear, a hot whisper, "I can't – I can’t believe we're doing this, man."
Jay felt Matt against him, unmistakably hard. Surely Matt could feel him too. Proof that this was happening. It was really happening, right this second. He and Matt were burrowing into a cocoon together.
He reached forward like a man possessed and began making quick work of Matt’s shirt buttons. God, maybe he was possessed. That’d explain a few things. He ran his hands down the flushed expanse of Matt’s chest. Matt rolled his hips and bit at Jay's earlobe. Jay whined, and thrust back, and throbbed, and grabbed half blind for Matt’s hair, and squeezed his eyes as tight as he could. He was going to shatter into starlight. All their edges were going to disappear – no Matt, no Jay, no Matt and Jay, just trillions of exploded cells. Exploded cells don't have video game days. Exploded cells don't get shows at the Rivoli.
Oh, but it felt so good.
“Jay, Jaybird, you taste so good, I knew you’d taste so fucking good.” Matt was licking and sucking down his neck, rocking into Jay in an intoxicating rhythm. Jay meeting him there, hot stuttered breaths, Jay’s hand snaking between them.
“MJ, I wanna-… hhhhholy ffff… I wanna - can we -“ Jay was tripping, stumbling, hurtling. His fingers ghosted Matt’s waistband. Matt pulled back from Jay’s neck, panting, and looked down at him with a dizzying mix of reverence and familiarity. “Yeah, please, please Jay.”
Jay conquered the jeans zip in just a few seconds (impressive, given he was no longer human but rather a dissolving clump of cells) and reached in to take Matt in his hand. It would have felt weirder if the entire rest of the world hadn’t already turned inside out. Matt snapped his head down and let out a short sharp bark of laughter, right into Jay’s ear, like he’d finally just understood a punchline. Then he reached his own hand down, looking into Jay’s eyes for a second with an unspoken question. Jay nuzzled his nose into Matt’s cheek in answering, and Matt reached into his pants, and then they were stroking each other, and nothing was making sense, and everything was making sense.
“Bird, hahhh, you feel amazing” Matt panted against his ear.
“Yeah” Jay panted back, intelligently. He’d been on edge for days. White hot pleasure was starting to coil. It felt frenzied and dangerous and incredible.
“I’m gonna, if you keep, I think I’m gonna… are you gonna…” The power of speech was eluding even Matt, it seemed.
“Yeah, MJ, yeah, me too, I’m-” Jay breathed brokenly into Matt’s hair.
“You’re close, yeah? Fuckkkk, hang on, I wanna, with you-” Matt pulled Jay up a little, one broad arm around his back, holding Jay close, closer. He reached between them, positioning them together, his broad hand on them both, Jay’s hand joining him, a ridiculous uncoordinated mess. The beginning of the end.
“Ffffuck, I can’t man, I can’t…oh my god Birdie…" Matt was losing his rhythm, stuttering and clenching.
Jay felt the crescendo peak. Oh god, he was gonna come. He was gonna come, and Matt was gonna come, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Abdomen tensing, an unearthly moan ripped out of him, and Matt shuddered and groaned, and pleasure exploded, and somewhere in the recesses of his semi-conscious brain, Jay could see the door on Matt and Jay closing forever.
****
A pure, perfect moment – and then Jay came back online. Forehead pressed to Matt’s, breathing Matt’s breath. Matt’s eyes were closed, one arm still holding Jay close, a trickle of sweat working its way down towards his slack smile. Sticky mess over both their hands, and over Matt’s chest. None of it was familiar. Jay felt a cold rush of terror, and he clicked into overdrive. He gasped and sat up straight with such sudden force he knocked Matt off the couch and onto his ass.
"Woah, giddy-up Jaybird!" Matt chuckled in a stupid Western accent, still panting a little, wiping saliva from his chin with his forearm. "You don't know your own strength!" He held his hand out, waiting for Jay to pull him back up to the couch.
The five long seconds that Jay let Matt wait there on the floor, hand extended, an expression of anticipation and complete trust on his face, would burn into Jay's memory for the rest of time. Feeling an acidic burn at the bottom of his throat, Jay stood, and made for the stairs with jerky movements.
Matt chuckled tentatively, still on the floor. “Oh, need a tissue? They’re right here man, by the Reece’s. Jeez, pretty gross, eh.”
Jay twisted his fingers, and felt something in him crumble. But - "Matt I'm sorry... this isn't... I gotta go."
In a matter of seconds, Matt's expression morphed from a wavering smile, to confusion, to fear, complete fury. He got to his feet and threw the TV remote at Jay who was turning to the stairs, clocking him hard on the shoulder. "You WHAT? Dude what the actual FUCK? Are you for real? What is WRONG with you?"
Jay didn't turn around, just rubbed his shoulder, then kept twisting his hands together, his fingers flexing at impossible angles. "I don't... I don't know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I've gotta go."
"Well be my GUEST, you absolute freak!" Matt yelled after him. "Seriously dude, you are fucked in the head. Next level fucked." Jay turned briefly to see Matt, absolutely incensed, tongue in his cheek like it always was when he was trying very hard not to cry. "Just, yeah, just, fuck off, get outta my face, like, forever. You need a doctor or some shit. Fuck OFF."
Jay could feel his pulse beating in his head. He scrambled into his room, wiped his hands off on whatever the fuck, threw a pile of clothes into a duffel bag, pulled on a shirt and jacket. No time to stop and think. He'd tripped over the precipice and fallen through the center of the earth, but gotta keep going now, can't stop to think. He zipped his bag with numb hands and rushed out the front door, stumbling, light-headed, into the night. As soon as he was out of sight of their house (their home), he slowed to a stop, ducked into an alley, and sobbed his guts out.
****
It was a small mercy that it was so cold out, because after a while of crying and shivering and blanking out in the alleyway, Jay’s lizard brain took over, and propelled him into the nearest shelter; the 24/7 laundromat down the street. It wasn’t the most atmospheric setting for a come to Jesus moment, but it’d have to do. He slouched into a rickety plastic chair, fingers tapping and twisting, and just breathed.
What was he doing? Sitting here, freezing, stinging eyes, bag full of dirty clothes. If Matt were here, he’d sarcastically suggest throwing on a load of laundry while he waited out his lame midlife crisis. If Matt were here… Jay struggled to think of a situation where Matt being there wouldn't substantially improve things. Maybe a royal gala, or a state funeral, or glass ornament exhibition. Jay didn’t want to be at any of those things anyway. He just wanted Matt - brash, annoying, gentle, tender, ridiculous Matt - everywhere he could have him. Every way he could have him.
“Urgghhhh.” So what was the problem? What had gone on just now? He looked down at his phone and noticed six missed calls from Matt. He rubbed his hands over his cheeks, waited until he felt calm enough, and really truly tried to just think.
So, let’s say Matt and Jay become Matt & Jay. Ampersand style (Matt had taught him that word). Boyfriends? Lovers? (embarrassing!) Fuck buddies? (ew). Where did Matt and Jay, pre-ampersand, disappear to? Could it be possible to change like that, and still stay the same? Jay had seen countless romantic sexy movies and he couldn’t think of any where the main couple had video game days or hit each other for fun or snuck into venues in disguise or, like, played together. Maybe True Romance, come to think of it, kind of, but Patricia Arquette was a hot girl, and there was all this cocaine, and they weren’t in a band together, so it didn’t really fit.
Jay tried to imagine a future with Matt where all they did was kiss and fuck and look at each other lovingly, and never scheme, never sneak, never trash-talk each other for missing a Mario Kart jump, never eat too many tacos and pass out on the couch. Where Matt never scribbles manically on the whiteboard, and Jay never underscores him on piano.
Suddenly, somehow, in the clinical glow of the 24/7 laundromat, it didn’t seem all that plausible.
Jay rubbed his eyes. Had he been an idiot? He wasn’t sure. There were too many unknowns. Change was gross. And scary. He could feel part of him pulling away, telling him to pick up his duffel bag of stinky-ass clothes and hop the next bus to god knows where, rent a tiny room where he could sit silently and just be Jay in peace, frozen in amber. But a bigger part of him, the biggest, the almost-all-of-him part, could see Matt’s face – looking intoxicatingly at him from above. Matt’s face – looking up at him from the floor of their living room, smiling, then wavering, hand still extended.
Oh man, he really fucked up. But maybe there was still time to fix it.
****
Jay rushed in the front door, praying he wasn’t too late to piece things back together.
“Matt? Matt I’m so…”
Matt was sitting on the couch, jacket on, hair wild, like he’d just fallen backwards out of a bush. Placed perfectly in front of him, like a shop window display, was a huge watermelon. Across it, scrawled in black marker, “I’m sorry.”
Jay opened his mouth to say something, but Matt leapt to his feet, hands outstretched.
“No, Jay, shut up, listen to me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, man. I shouldn’t have… Like, I knew something was happening with us, and I was so… I was so goddamn excited about it, I can’t even BEGIN to tell you. I genuinely cannot even BEGIN. But see, I also knew there was something happening with you – y’know, like, your Bird stuff, and I shouldn’t have pushed you, freaked you out like that, it’s really… it’s really fucked up. That I did that. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry I did that. And I’m so sorry I said all that stuff to you before. It’s not true. None of it’s true. You’re not fucked in the head. You’re Bird. You’re, you’re Bird, you’re a fucking, rockstar, I dunno. You’re perfect, basically. And, and I love you." Matt shrugged, his voice tight. "Yeah, I love you. So much, Birdie. And you’re my best friend. And I’m sorry.” Matt pushed the watermelon towards Jay. “And, uh, they were out of pumpkins. Sorry for that too, I guess. Post-Halloween, apparently they’re sold out everywhere.”
Jay looked at Matt for a long minute. Matt’s eyes were red rimmed, but his expression was strong and clear. For the first time in a long while Jay knew how they were both feeling, with complete 4K clarity.
“Yeah, post-Halloween. I heard.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a single green apple, and held it out to Matt. On it, scrawled in ballpoint, “I’m sorry.”
Matt widened his eyes, and stepped forward wordlessly to take the apple, turning it over in his hands. He looked at Jay, and Jay looked back, and they both knew, instinctively, like it was programmed in from birth, that they were about to crack up laughing. And then they did.
****
It was like strings being cut, or springs uncoiling, or any number of useless metaphors. They laughed, collapsed onto the couch, laughed some more, laughed until they cried. Jay held up the watermelon like a trophy, Matt took a bite out of the apple and got smacked for it, they played hot potato with the watermelon until Jay missed it and it smashed all over the coffee table to a raucous cheer from Matt.
They leant back into the couch cushions, grinning like idiots. Matt took another bite of the apple.
“Aw, Matt, now the sorry part’s gone!”
“Oh no! I’ll never know how sorry you were! Woe is me!”
“I am sorry, you know.” Jay breathed deep. “I’m really sorry.”
“Jaybird, you have NOTHING to be sorry about.” Matt placed a hand on his shoulder, and Jay could tell how careful he was being. It made him want to cry again.
“I do, though. MJ, I do. I was… I’ve been going through some, I dunno, some wild shit, man. Been thinking all the time…”
“Oh, sucks for you” (Jay smacked Matt).
“Been thinking about you, jerk-off. You and me. It really freaked me out, y’know?”
Matt furrowed his brows. “So like, because of the homo thing?”
“No, idiot! Because if you and me, you know, became this whole new thing, it was like I didn’t know where the old thing would go. The band. The Rivoli. The video games. The plans. I didn’t know who I’d be, without all that stuff. That’s all of my most favourite stuff.”
Matt sniffed, and Jay took his hand. It felt like a homecoming.
“You dummy” Matt said, voice quavering. “You think we’ll give up on the Rivoli just because we’re bone-zoning? You think we’re gonna chuck the ‘64 in the garbage because I'm gonna be frenching you 24/7? You’re hot, dude, but you’re not that hot.”
Jay grinned, rubbing a thumb across Matt’s knuckles. “I know it sounds stupid now. But I got sort of stuck in my head, I think. You know how I am sometimes, with, I dunno, new stuff. When things change. When things get intense. I’m kind of a spaz, I guess.”
Matt gripped Jay’s hand hard. “Birdie you are NOT a spaz. You think I’d french a spaz?” (Jay both cringed and grinned – the classic Matt reaction combo). “I know you’ve got, y’know, stuff. Your hand stuff and your noises stuff and your freak-out stuff. That’s cool. It’s just, Bird stuff. And you’re Bird."
With that, Matt drew Jay in for a tight hug. He was shorter than Jay but seemed to encompass all of him, from his toes to his fingers to the tip of his nose, and every inch of their life together. Jay breathed deep and easy into Matt’s shoulder.
"Oh, hey." Matt glanced at the TV behind Jay, which had been running True Romance unnoticed on low. He broke away from Jay and grabbed the remote, upping the volume. "C'mon, we can still catch the last bit."
He pulled Jay down to the couch. The familiar, buoyant sounds of xylophone and percussion flooded into the room. Jay nestled into Matt's side.
"You know" he said, "Hans Zimmer didn't write this, it's an homage to-"
"-Badlands. Like I didn't know that, Bird."
Jay turned to Matt, smiling, and gave his cheek a little flick. "Hey. I love you too, y'know."
"No shit" said Matt, and kissed him. Jay soared.
****
That night Jay slept for 12 hours straight. In the morning Matt stole the last of the Froot Loops. Then they were chased out of a pet store, burned a hole in the carpet with 'intention' candles, had clumsy, silly, mind-blowing sex, workshopped a song about a dyslexic assassin, perfected the Rainbow Road jump boost in Mario Kart, spent an hour stalking the Rivoli bartenders on Facebook, kissed in the autumn leaves in High Park, and were issued a restraining order by the Toronto Railway Museum. Not necessarily in that order.