The Birdwatcher

by stacirrem

Summary:

He would have to go undercover of course, disguise himself as a neutral third party he could goad Jay into revealing his secrets to, get him to confess–on tape!–that he was just biding his time until he was ready to leave Matt behind in the dust, a solo act on his way to fame and fortune and crowds of people fawning all over him. Wasn’t his own devotion enough? No sold out stadium or arena across the world could come close to the adoration he had at home. Matt was his number one fan.

---

Jay is hiding something from him, so Matt must resort to spying, espionage, things of that nature.

There was a kind of heat where, if exposed to for too long, a person could begin to lose their mind. Fried, like an egg on a sizzling skillet, the human brain simply cannot function with any rationality otherwise expected of them. Oppressive and muggy, it blankets any sense of normal thinking, smothering logic and common sense. The kind of heat that makes you hear colors and smell sounds, everything a cacophony and reeking of weeks old garbage, the kind that makes everything bubble and boil over, becoming too much, too extreme. Hot red faces that itch with dried sweat. 

It was the only explanation, Matt decided from his spot on the kitchen floor, skin sticking to not- as-cool-as-they-looked tiles, for the weird static he could feel buzzing around the house, thick with tension and getting louder by the day. The blazing summer heat, beating down on the city like the fist of an angry god for the last two weeks, had to be blamed for making Matt aware of it. 

He sensed something, a few months back after the Seventh Inning Skydive plan proved to not only be a bust but an expensive bust after bailing them both out of jail, at first thinking Jay was just out of sorts from the jump and a night in a holding cell, but now the heat was trying to tell Matt something, crackling around the room like an emergency flare. He expected Jay to be mad, he had prepared to be whined and yelled at for at least a few days after coming home the next morning, joints stiff and smelling like a dirty gym locker, but he just sat next to Matt quietly on the cold steel bench behind bars and told him next time for sure with big wet eyes, making Matt wonder if he hit his head when they crash landed in the middle of the field. 

That’s when he first felt it, and now after weeks of Jay cooing around him like a wounded animal, fluttering his eyelashes with pinkening cheeks, the heat, sauteing Matt’s brain cells until they were crispy, was trying to tell him something. Their little AC unit, spluttering and rattling in the living room window, was powerless against the wrath of the sun, and the whole house was steaming, making all of Matt’s nerves feel exposed and fried, like he was just struck by lightning. When he told Jay that a few moments ago, before splaying his bare chest and knees across the linoleum, Jay got weird and tense and the static Matt could feel had started, growing louder as Jay tearfully excused himself from the room, muttering something about looking for a fan in the basement and wiping at his eyes with his sweat soaked T-shirt. 

Jay was hiding something from him, the heat whispered, coiling around Matt’s skin and pushing deep into his eyes, his ears, his mouth, the thought planting itself into squishy brain matter and sprouting clawlike roots, hooking itself in. He felt his blood, already simmering, begin to boil, a furious rage running rampant through his veins at the thought. After nearly three decades of work, he had thought he had finally gotten to a point, fists bloody from the fight, where the idea of Jay keeping something from him would wreck him with guilt, poisoned at the very notion of leaving Matt alone in the dark about something. 

He sulked for several long minutes on the floor, feeling sweat pool in the small of his back, until Jay came back upstairs, spirits brightened and holding an ancient box fan with thick sheets of dust coating the blades. 

“I knew we had one somewhere,” he chirped, swiping at the fan with a shirt from the laundry basket, a million tiny motes freed and swirling in the air. The fan whirred to life noisily when Jay plugged it in, a blast of cool air hitting his face and making the sweat-damp tufts of grey around his temples ruffle. He smiled warmly down at Matt on the floor with that strange look in his eyes that had been chilling Matt to the bone on a near constant basis since they leapt off the CN tower a few months back. 

The static was getting louder, the air hotter. Matt’s sweat slick skin bloomed with goosebumps when the fan’s breeze blew across it, making him shiver feverishly. From his spot on the floor  he could see the freckles around Jay’s ankles, light, barely there. He was wearing a pair of basketball shorts Matt dizzily recognized as his own, once upon a time, and was still peering down at him with such intensity he might as well have been the sun itself, the way it burned right through Matt. 

He felt battered, kicked square in the chest and down a flight of stairs. 

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Matt accused, turning Jay’s grin into a pout. He had the decency to look guilty, at least, worrying his bottom lip with a protruding fang and brows knit tightly together. “And I already know you ate all the popsicles so don’t bullshit me.” Jay’s tongue was alarmingly purple and there were half a dozen sticks, a stained rainbow, stuffed in the garbage can next to him. The static wouldn’t be advising him about something as stupid as freezie hogging, he had already taken a few out and stashed them inside the box of freezer-burned waffles neither of them had touched in weeks anyway. 

This kind of message, the buzzing in the air that had crept its way under his skin, was a warning. Tread lightly here, no sudden movements, calm words, lest you frighten the bird away. The lying, sneaking bird keeping things from his nestmate, whose only crime was loving too much. 

“Well?” Matt sniffed, rolling onto his back and onto his feet, shaking off nasty floor crumbs that had become glued to his dewy stomach. He risked a look at Jay, immediately regretting it when saw he had the audacity to be smiling coyly, lazily lifting his shoulder in an exaggerated shrug. 

“Well?” He parrotted, annoyingly.  “Maybe. You do too though, I know it.” He was smug in the way he was when he knew for a fact he was right, rare as those times may have been. It made Matt laugh, a snort of surprise, because Matt had been hiding something from Jay since he was fourteen years old and puberty hit him so hard he was plunged into another universe entirely, waking up one morning and suddenly Jay wasn’t just his best friend anymore but something Matt needed like food and oxygen. He had been carrying that secret around for so long it had become a part of him, an extra limb fused onto his back after decades of clinging on with talons, razor sharp. It was always there, blaring loud and throwing hand grenades, smashing glass bottles and screaming like a foghorn. Matt would honestly be concerned if Jay hadn’t noticed it at some point. 

Not for lack of trying–decades of trying–to bury it, suffocate it down so deep it couldn’t rear its ugly head and blow up Matt’s entire life. Swallowing every pathetic sigh and sinking every fluttering feeling when Jay’s fingers brushed against his. Snuffing out the spark of light that ignited when Jay laughed so hard he could see all the points of his teeth, smothering the warmth he felt when the last thing he saw before he fell asleep each night was the curve of Jay’s spine on the mattress above him. 

He had become a champion in shoving his feelings down, practiced like a serial killer digging graves deeper and deeper for nearly thirty years, never, ever to see the light of day. If he didn’t, it would all be over, so he continued to pile on the dirt. If he couldn’t see it, if it was six feet in the ground being devoured by worms, it didn’t really exist! In another life, he thought deliriously, he could have made an excellent Mormon. 

Maybe this is what the static was trying to warn him about, Matt decided. He had been slipping, getting sloppy and leaving his bloodied axe and shovel out in the open, disarmed by the way Jay had been looking at him lately, since the day they flew in the sky together, so open and vulnerable. Thrown by the gentle way he had been saying his name, like it was his favorite song. 

“Did you know that Ted Bundy said after you kill so many people it becomes like changing a car tire? At first you’re careful but by the thirteenth time you wonder where you put the lug wrench?” 

Jay had made him lose track of the lug wrench, one sweet smile and great idea, MJ! at a time. 

“I don’t know if I like the idea of Ted Bundy doing bits,” Jay grimaced, crinkling his nose in a way that made Matt feel like he was caught with a dead body. 

“Tell me,” Matt demanded, bringing them back to the matter at hand, though a part of his brain began workshopping a part for their act, Ted Bundy the stand up comedian– none of his jokes are funny but if you don’t laugh he’ll stab your guts out on stage. Sickeningly, he noticed Jay drumming his fingers against his thigh, tapping out the sounds of terrified silence and punchlines that don’t land. 

“Tell me!” Birds who can mimic speech were such pests, terribly annoying creatures. 

They stood there in a stand off for a few sweltering moments, Matt huffing like a bull ready to charge and Jay still with that dumb smirk on his stupid face. It was too hot to get into a real argument, let alone a physical fight, even though Matt knew he could wipe the floor with Jay if he needed to. They haven’t resorted to those measures in a while though, now that middle age was closer on the horizon than ever before, and their backs were far less forgiving. Instead, they would have to settle this the old fashioned way, like proper gentlemen with fancy cravats and gloved hands, dueling with their prized N64 controllers.  

The rules, agreed upon with a sweaty handshake and a sneer, scribbled on the whiteboard while the game booted up: 

1: Loser of One (1) Mario Grand Prix must reveal/confess the terrible secret/lie/crime he is accused of hiding 

2: Cup TBD by coin toss/engines 150cc 

“I’m not hiding any terrible secret or lie or crime. Are you?” Jay protested the board, passing Matt his controller. 

“Of course not,” Matt lied, scrounging the coffee table for a loose coin. He’d be put away for life surely, dragged out of the house in a cartoonishly large net by a beefy man in scrubs, if anyone knew what he had been harbouring for such a pathetically long time, nothing but padded rooms and shock treatments from there on out. He wasn’t worried though–even as Jay gleefully decided they would be playing the Star Cup after winning the coin toss–because Jay wasn’t nearly as good at Mario Kart as he thought. 

Soon, Yoshi and Toad were behind the starting line of Wario’s Stadium, engines puffing little pixelated exhaust clouds as they revved. They were equally matched, more or less, the first few laps, clammy knees knocking into each other and trash talk flying. When they were younger, most of their arguments were settled this way, though often with a little more bloodshed when things got really heated. Matt still had a scar on his forearm where Jay chucked a butter knife across the living room of the old apartment at him, jagged teeth nicking his pale skin deep enough for it to well with red and scab over. He picked at the wound nightly, prolonging its existence until it slowly faded into a faint white line, barely visible, that he still pressed his tongue against sometimes, in the dark. 

Maybe if he lost he could admit that to Jay, edited for brevity of course, so that he could talk him into feeling guilty about it, make him feel bad for ever forcing Matt bring it up to begin with.  Thankfully though, that didn’t seem to be a concern worth worrying about as Matt was rolling up to Bowser’s Castle in a comfortable first place, Jay and Donkey Kong tied for second. They leaned forward on the couch, hunched over their controllers as their thumbs slammed against the analog sticks in a way that wasn’t painful twenty years ago, but was now making their bones feel arthritic and achey. 

On the final lap, Jay caught up, Yoshi hot on Toad’s heels. Unfortunately for him though, Matt was an expert in all things Jay, and he knew as soon as Jay picked up three green shells on the last item box he was in the clear. All at once, Jay released the shells, just like Matt knew he would, going for an ambush instead of thinking strategy. If he had kept one, just one, he may have been able to knock Toad off course as they approached the finish line, and he could have sailed right past him and into victory. Instead, Matt had enough time to recover from the attack, his kart righting itself and zooming ahead, soaring past Yoshi and Donkey Kong in a blur, over the finish line with a hearty shout of FUUUUUCK YOOOOOU! 

Matt leapt to his feet hollering, smacking his hat across Jay’s shaking head with increasing force while Toad accepted his trophy, a winner’s gold. Yoshi looked pleased with silver, unaware of the beating that was happening due to his performance in the race. 

“That’s! What! I’m! Talking! About!” Matt shouted in between smacks, his face flushed with triumph.  Jay shrank into the couch, batting the hat away and warning Matt he was about to step on his controller that had clattered to the floor the second victory was secured. 

“Start singing, Birdie! What kind of heinous shit are you keeping from me? Did you burn another house down?” Matt’s chest was pounding, heart in overdrive from the thrill of conquest and the fear of what Jay was about to say next. He wouldn’t be hiding anything good from him, that’s for sure, and the idea that there was something unknowable about Jay at all made him feel sick to his stomach. He had to brace himself for whatever was about to come next, he couldn’t be caught off caught and thrown into hysteria. 

“It’s really nothing,” Jay sighed with a shy smile. Matt could see the mushroom cloud in the distance, the sky a brilliant burnt orange, the color of rust. “It was really more of a thought than anything. I uh, I looked into- just looked into!-maybe, maybe, seeing if I could book a solo show. Just to see if I even could! And then we could use that to get a show at the Rivoli!” 

Matt was so young in the grand scheme of things, young enough that when people hear about his untimely demise, how he was obliterated to dust in his own living room fresh off a Grand Prix victory, they’ll say things like such a tragedy! and you just never know…everyday is a gift… 

“But then I realized! Matt, it’s okay, take a breath–you’re so red!—I realized I don’t even want to! I don’t want to do any solo gigs, seriously! Just me and you, yeah? You and me!” Jay was speaking quickly but calmly, like he was a zoo keeper trying to corral a loose tiger, palms up and tone gentle.

He wished Jay would have just confessed to arson again, burning down an orphanage or planting pipe bombs in Parliament Hill, something they could handle together, easily. This left him wounded, furious, feeling every bit like he was a loose tiger, ready to pounce and rip Jay’s throat open, chewing on his jugular like it was a Twizzler. Despairing, Matt realized he had gotten complacent here too, delusional in thinking that he had successfully clipped Jay’s wings, that he had proven to him that there was nothing he needed out there, outside their perfect nest. 

Jay was still making soothing noises, maybe speaking actual words, but Matt could only hear the buzzing in his ears, that high pitched static returning and getting louder, making him dizzy. He stumbled, an aborted lunge at Jay to claw and scratch his hurt out, sweaty foot slipping on the forgotten controller, knocking him off balance and face first into the side of the coffee table, his jaw exploding in pain immediately on impact. On the floor again, the static was laughing at him, a cruel cackle rattling around the walls, and he could taste a bit of blood, the tinge of pennies under his tongue, as his mouth shrieked in agony. 

He could hear Jay fret louder, asking if he was ok, if he was bleeding. His face burned with embarrassment and pain, the awful suffocating feeling he got whenever he was reminded Jay could leave him at any time. With jellied legs, he got to his feet, refusing to meet Jay’s worried gaze, or listen to his stammered apologies. 

“You should,” he slurred around his swollen gums. “Go and get your own show, I’m sure you’ll be great! They’ll love you, how could they not?” He made it to the stairs, speaking louder over Jay’s sad little objections he bleated out with flapping hands, begging Matt to come back down and talk to him. “You’ll be famous in no time, guaranteed, without me dragging you down!” He hadn’t meant to slam his bedroom door like a petulant teenager, but he did, making the picture frames along the stairwell shudder and shake. 

—

One of his teeth was broken, he could tell that much from gently poking at the cracked molar with his tongue, hissing in pain as he felt the fissure in enamel. His cheek was puffy, inflamed and blush colored, in desperate need for a bag of frozen peas or even one of those hockey-pucked waffles coated in freezer burn. It paled in comparison of course, to the way his heart was being torn to shreds with a cheesegrater, the meaty chunks of muscle weighing him down so his feet were heavy, barely making it to his bed with a pitiful moan. His room was dark and dusty, heavy curtains blocking the blaring sun and creating the perfect miserable atmosphere for his sulking. 

The thought of Jay performing without him made him feel sick, frankly. Disgusted and spurned, the same icy feeling washing over him that he imagines happens to people who walk in on their wives fucking their brothers. It was selfish, he knew, to keep Jay’s talents all to himself, another secret shame he’d been carrying around since the very first time he heard Jay ever play the piano and he knew, even then, that he would spend the rest of his life making sure he got to keep him by his side, doing whatever it took to keep him playing for him.  When they first moved in together, all those years ago on Queen, Matt had a recurring daydream about chaining Jay to the piano bench, handcuffed by the ankles while Matt, the mad king, demanded song after song from his imprisoned jester.  He was more flighty then, threatening jobs and girls and leaving the band when he got moody, his early twenties rage and ennui lying to him about being dissatisfied with his life, and it made Matt deliriously angry that he couldn’t see that, couldn’t see it was all a ruse. 

Choppy waters had mellowed out a long time ago though, as they got older and developed stronger sea legs, and Matt hadn’t noticed any signs that Jay was looking to jump ship for years now, which made it feel all the more like a direct stab wound to the heart rather than a slap to the face. He wallowed for some time, feeling sorry for himself and tonguing at his broken tooth, the pain sharp in a way that made him want to keep pressing into it. Eventually he heard the piano, soft and sad notes floating up from downstairs, hurting worse than his cracked molar and ripped gums.

There was a laptop under his bed, so ancient it still had a disc-drive, dusty but charged and able to drown out Jay’s mopey melody with the volume on 100%. He didn’t bother checking the disc that was already loaded in, quickly opening the media player and hitting play, pulling the comforter over his head and bundling himself against the pillows to block out as much outside noise as possible. 

It seemed the last time he used this laptop, however many months ago, he was in the middle of a The Americans rewatch, at the start of season three. He was glad for a plot heavy distraction, his thoughts couldn’t wander to treacherous birds and their wistful songs, not when there was so much at stake, the cause, the mission. Smolensk, home. 

He made it through three whole episodes, the entire disc, before he let himself think about Jay again; who had seemingly retired to bed, the piano silent downstairs. As he searched his room for the DVD case with more episodes, he thought about his eyes, wide and pleading, as they tracked him up the stairs, the whine in his voice, the genuine one,  the one he used when he was really upset about something and not just being a little bitch. Jay said he didn’t want to do any solo gigs afterall, which should have made him feel better, but instead brought that cold, biting feeling back to his bones, the sense of deceit and betrayal. What if Jay was lying to him, trying to assuage his suspicions so he could make a clean break, fly off into the night without Matt being any the wiser?  

The next disc of episodes was located in a stack of DVD cases on his tiny desk, barely a plank of wood, shoved in the corner and shouldering far too much weight. He grabbed a notebook and pen from the pile as well, not willing to risk going to the whiteboard and confronting Jay downstairs before he had a full plan fleshed out. He took notes throughout the next few episodes, tips and tricks of the espionage the plan would require of him, as he pieced together the steps in his mind. 

He would have to go undercover of course, disguise himself as a neutral third party he could goad Jay into revealing his secrets to, get him to confess–on tape!–that he was just biding his time until he was ready to leave Matt behind in the dust, a solo act on his way to fame and fortune and crowds of people fawning all over him. Wasn’t his own devotion enough? No sold out stadium or arena across the world could come close to the adoration he had at home. Matt was his number one fan. 

In the basement they had a few boxes full of the costumes and accessories they’ve accumulated over the years, both for retired acts and failed Rivoli plans. Nothing extravagant, but Matt knew there were at least a couple of wigs and some fake mustaches, more than enough to fool Jay’s rather alarming face blindness. He could convince Jay to go (like he needs convincing! Matt wailed into his pillow), let him play at some boring bar or snooty club for people who wouldn’t appreciate it, people who wouldn’t listen correctly. They’d clap politely and he’d soak it up like a thirsty sponge, and that’s when Matt would strike, when he was feeling confident, his ego soaring. 

“Hey, you’re pretty good! Can I buy you a drink?” Matt practiced different voices in the mirror, trying to find his character. He was going for cool and confident talent manager, a likeable guy with a good ear for music who was willing and able to get Jay on the road to stardom, alone. 

“You know I’m looking for new clients! I only sign solo acts though. No bands. Especially no duos.” 

He pictured Jay, saucer eyed with a dopey smile asking for a contact to sign right then and there. “We can leave tonight! I don’t even need to pack! I want to forget my entire life and everyone in it before this moment!” He would laugh cruelly, hysterical at the idea, and then Matt would reveal himself, rip his fake mustache off with a shout and throw a tape recorder, a chunky old fashioned one with the reels spinning, right in his face, caught and cornered like the rat he was. Maybe he’d cry, fall to his knees and beg Matt’s forgiveness, or maybe he’d stomp off and not speak to him for a few stormy days. The risk, the gun with a single bullet in its chamber pressed to Matt’s temple, finger on the trigger, was that maybe Jay would like playing alone a little too much, that he wouldn’t even care he was caught lying about it, and that he would keep on doing it, until he forgot he was ever even in a band. 

Outside, the sky was beginning to lighten, the hours having gone from very late to very early as Matt tried different accents and poses, jotting down a loose script to memorize. He forced himself into bed eventually, debating the amount of sleep he would need to be on his A-game for the plan. 

The pain in his mouth had dulled to a small roar, the swelling having gone down slowly throughout the night, and he fell asleep with his palm on his jaw, feeling his cheek pulse and throb like a heartbeat beneath his fingers. 

—

The next day was just as hot, though a toasty breeze was coming in through the windows, the trees outside swaying lazily. Matt crept down the stairs, sticky skinned and cracked tooth shuddering, relieved to see Jay was still in a deep sleep, and pointedly ignoring his decision to not only sleep shirtless but to do it in Matt’s bunk. Childishly, had the incredible urge to dip Jay’s hand in a bowl of warm water, or squeeze toothpaste between his toes, the stuff they used to do to each other at sleepovers–punishments for daring to fall asleep first. Instead, he aimed the fan away from Jay and into the kitchen where he prepared himself breakfast as loudly as possible. 

Cereal was out, as was toast or bagels and pretty much anything that involved chewing. His gums were still pulsing weakly, an occasional stabbing sensation coming on in waves, so sharp and raw it made him weak in the knees. He mashed a banana with a fork and spooned yogurt on top of it, wisely opting against a glass of orange juice. On the couch, he propped his legs on the coffee table, balancing the laptop on his knees and resuming where he left off on his research, making sure the volume was as high as it could go. He watched Philip and Elizabeth share a joint out their bedroom window and make fun of Jesus with a tightness in his chest, wondering what it was that pushed Jay into looking for solo gigs and time away from him. If all went accordingly to plan, he’d get answers that night, recorded proof. 

Two episodes and another scoop of yogurt later, Jay finally began to stir, groaning awake when he became aware his fan was stolen. He blinked around the room and Matt was determined to not look away from the screen, even when, through the corner of his eye, he could see Jay’s face melt into a smile when noticed he was there. 

“You watching The Americans?” he asked to break the ice, crawling out of the bottom bunk and over to his perch on the bench. “I thought I heard the theme.” He played a few notes of it, waking up with the piano. They had watched it together of course, when it first came out, though Jay was more interested in the music and had some trouble keeping plotlines straight, his commentary largely involving Keri Russell’s hair.  

Matt hummed in response, the vibration rattling his tooth painfully. 

“What do you want to do today?” Jay asked him, fingers coming to rest at his bare knees. His hair was matted with sweat, skin blotchy and eyes crusted with sleep. He took Matt’s breath away. 

Swallowing roughly, Matt attempted to sound as nonchalant as possible. “Oh, I have some things to do this afternoon. But you should practice, get ready for your big night!” 

Jay’s floundering face delighted him, head cocked to the side like a confused border collie, mouth agape. 

“There’s an open mic night at some piano bar, just a few blocks away actually. You have a twenty minute set tonight at 8:00.” Matt was proud of himself, the way he kept his voice steady and unwavering, calm in a crisis. 

Jay squawked in surprise. “How?” 

Matt called and asked. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said mysteriously. He could let Jay leave, if he had to, but he wasn’t about to hold the door open for him. “You wanted it so. Here. Don’t say I never did anything nice for you.” 

He was on his feet now, laptop snapped shut and tucked under his arm, making his way towards the basement stairs. He had lost some time, pretending to not watch Jay sleep the afternoon away, and he still needed to find his disguise. 

“Matt, I told you, I don’t want it!” Jay groaned in frustration, rubbing a fist over his eyes. “Really, just cancel it and we can have a video game day or something. We can go get slushies and mix all the flavors together!” His voice was soft and inviting and begging Matt to fold, nearly working. If Matt gave in now, surrendered to slushies and Smash Bros., he might never know why Jay was so keen to leave, what it was he could possibly be running towards, where Matt wasn’t allowed to follow. He needed Jay to admit it, needed to know what he would say about him, if he thought he wasn’t there. 

“No, go. Play the piano for the lovely people of Toronto. I have plans anyway,” he forced a smile, a fresh jolt of pain where the muscle pulled across his jaw, the shadow of a bruise blooming. 

“You’re doing a plan?” Jay sounded wounded, like he was the victim. 

“Don’t worry about it!” Matt repeated, scurrying to the basement stairs, before he lost his tenuous grip on confidence. He raised his voice as he descended “You have a show anyway! Your adoring fans are waiting!” and paused at the bottom of the stairs, holding his breath and waiting to see if Jay would follow after him. 

Instead, gentle music from the piano, a blend of late 80s melodies. The bridge of “With or Without You”, because Jay was a fucking terrorist. 

—

The basement was a few degrees cooler, all concrete and dark corners, used primarily to stash the junk they’ve accumulated over the years that they didn’t want to deal with. The washer and dryer, nearly as old as Matt himself, stood against the far wall, a basket of clothes, a mixture of Jay’s button downs and Matt’s blazers, waiting patiently to be taken care of. 

He let the laptop play as he searched half a dozen cardboard boxes, swatting away cobwebs and sneezing against thick clouds of dust. A collection, nearly two decades of schemes combined with their more elaborate acts, had been built, more than what Matt remembered. Bluetooth headsets and hard hats, a lab coat, dozens of glasses–both sun and eye–it was like one of those Halloween warehouse stores snuck in and set up shop in the basement when they weren’t looking. Have they really used all these things? He doesn’t remember why they would have needed a stethoscope or one of those old-timey deep sea diver helmets, but it made him smile to see the dress up closet they’re created, and he took his time poring over each and every prop. 

There were four wigs to choose from, five in total but Matt didn’t want to risk Jay recognizing Tony, and he picked one the color of mud loosely curled. A fake beard, not quite the same shade as the wig but would do in the circumstances, was necessary to cover his swollen jaw, and he picked out a pair of lensless reading glasses to help hide the adhesive strips. To complete the look: a sleek cigarette case and a tweed jacket with a deep front pocket where Matt would tuck his phone, recording Jay’s sins as he confessed.

Jay, who was now calling him from the top of the stairs, his voice small and bleating. 

“Matt? It’s uh, it’s getting late…” 

He froze, hoping if he stayed perfectly still Jay wouldn’t come down stairs and blow his cover. Developing his character’s look took longer than he thought, the windowless basement hiding the darkening sky as the afternoon wore on. 

“You better get going then!” Matt shouted back, spluttering as hairs from the fake beard stuck to his lips and tongue. 

A long, terrifying beat before Jay spoke again, sounding pained. 

“Aren’t you…you’re not coming?” 

If Matt had his way, neither one of them would ever leave the house without the other again, but here he was, sweltering in a peacoat and wig, hiding in his own basement, all because Jay wanted to play without him. 

“I told you I had plans!” he hoped the words hurt Jay as much as it did him to say them. 

“Okay,” Jay eventually sighed, voice retreating. “See you later, I guess.” 

Matt replied the pettiest way he could think of, a crisp and noncommittal “Yup!” popping the P to be as annoying as possible. He listened, like a prey animal in the grass, as he heard Jay’s footsteps fade away, not moving until he heard the front door lock shut. Thirty seconds, counted in a shaky breath, was as much of a headstart as Matt was willing to give him. 

His mistake in donning the jacket was immediately made apparent as he stepped outside, feeling like he had just opened the door to an oven and crawled right in. It was part of his character though, and he was willing to suck it up to keep his identity from being burned. Spying was really more of a fall and winter activity, Matt decided, scarves and gloves and heads bent against icy winds, hushed whispers in the cold making puffy little clouds spill out like cigarette smoke into steel grey skies. Faces bitten red, blending together, bundled crowds easy to disappear into. 

It didn’t take long for him to catch up to Jay, slowing his pace as soon as he was in eyesight and keeping a good distance between them. He was sulking, head sloped low and feet dragging as he made his way down the street, making Matt’s hurried dashes behind parked cars and utility poles entirely unnecessary. Even if he wasn’t in disguise, it didn’t seem like Jay would notice him, scurrying just a few meters behind, as he looked more checked out of his surroundings the further they got from home. 

He almost missed the place entirely, spiking Matt’s blood pressure as he walked right past the piano bar’s entrance, having to backtrack before slipping inside.  There was a chalkboard sign outside the pretty brick building, a daily schedule of names and times of people performing with three consecutive days of open mic nights in the middle of the week. Matt wondered, with an ache in his throat, if he would see Jay’s name on there one day, in a neat chalky scrawl, a local independent artist charming wine drunk tourists with Billy Joel covers. 

Around the corner, he ducked inside a 7-11 for the final, and most important, part of his secret agent ensemble: cigarettes. He smoked one outside the store as he tried to catch glimpses of Jay through the windows, and then smoked another to prove to himself he could get through an entire cigarette without coughing. When he succeeded, lungs burning, he stepped inside, keeping his profile low as he approached the bar. 

It was dark and moody inside, rounded tables with burgundy cloths and flickering candles in the middle surrounded a stage housing an upright piano where a woman with long dark hair played a jazz standard. It was all very intimate. Very adult. Feeling the part, he ordered a glass of wine at the bar, a red, remembering the way Jay used to swig it right from the bottle until his teeth were purple, acting out his drunken artist’s dreams slumped around the apartment like he was a background character in a production of Les Miserables. 

While he waited for Jay to take the stage, clapping politely with the rest of the room when the dark haired woman finished her set, Matt busied himself by filling up the cigarette case, transferring them from the pack printed with warning images of rotted lungs and oozing tumors into a neat row nestled along a blue velvet lining. The bartender was shooting him pointed glances, as if daring him to light one up, ready to pounce at the flick of a lighter. Matt wished he could; he had shed the jacket as soon as he sat down, the dim room doing its best to conceal the damp patches under his arms, and he wanted the extra accessory to show off that he was doing espionage. 

When Matt was on his second cautious sip of wine, Jay finally came on stage, waving awkwardly around the room as he settled into the piano. He played like he always played, achingly good in a way that made Matt feel like he was coming up for oxygen after being under water for too long, a gasp of air in his shriveled and desperate lungs. It was the stuff he was playing from that morning, Fleetwood Mac and Peter Gabriel, the soundtrack to Matt’s cold war era surveillance mission he didn’t even know he was doing. When they were kids, Matt thought Jay could read people’s minds, the way he understood Matt’s moods and directions was uncanny in a way he never experienced before, but then he realized that they just spoke the same secret language, one no one else knew about. They were still fluent too, Matt thought with a sappy grin. 

Jay seemed shocked when he finished a song to applause, like he kept forgetting he was playing for an audience, his posture horrible and stage presence left much to be desired. No one seemed to notice though, besides Matt who honed in on every hitch of his breath and pull of his back, and the room was happy to let him know that he played lovely. He played four songs in his allotted time and then bowed like a dork, muscle memory kicking in from stodgy recitals he had to spend precious weekends on throughout grades seven and ten. 

It was go-time. 

With his phone recording, Matt tracked Jay across the room like a lion with a gazelle, hunched and waiting. He picked a spot at the bar Jay would have to cross to leave, a wise decision as he was already making a beeline for the exit, startled when Matt grabbed at his elbow. 

“You were really good!” he wheezed out, mouth full of marbles around the beard. “Drink?” It was harder to keep to the script than he thought it would be, now that Jay was staring at him like this, like he really was a complete stranger. 

Jay shifted a bit awkwardly, eyeing the glass of wine on the bar. “Oh, thanks,” he said smiling. “Um, I don’t really–” 

Matt cut him off, digging into the backstory he developed for his cover. “Aw come on, this way I can tell the wife I was working! Talking to a potential client!” He ushered Jay onto the stool next to him, signaling to the bartender. 

“Uh, ok. Whatever you’re having I guess. What do you mean client?” Jay blinked owlishly at him. 

“I’m a talent manager! For single acts! Talented guy like you needs a manager, right? I’m sure you already have one…”

A glass of Merlot appeared before them and Matt inched it over to Jay, encouragingly. 

“Thanks.” Jay took a cautious sip, grimacing slightly as he swallowed. “I’m Jay.” 

Matt stiffened. He forgot to come up with a fake name. He made up an entire fake wife complete with troubles in the marriage and he forgot to come up with a proper alias. 

“I’m uh. I’m Tonnnnope. I’m Tobey. Tobey Mag…uire…stein. Tobey Maguirestein.” He flinched as he stumbled and stuttered over his words and lack of imagination, but Jay didn’t seem to notice he just introduced himself as German Spider-Man, politely shaking the hand Matt offered him. They each took a sip of wine, the alcohol stinging Matt’s broken tooth painfully. 

“So! You’re way too good to be playing open mic nights, what are you doing here? I can make you famous!” He rubbed at his jaw, the fake beard slipping around his face. It didn’t matter though, Jay would be spilling his guts any second now, begging Tobey Maguirestein to whisk him off to Los Angeles or New York or some other fancy city where he would never see Matt again. 

Boston. Matt swallowed a cry.

“Oh, I don’t usually…I’m in a band actually,” Jay sounded…pleased. “I don’t really like playing without him. My bandmate.” He said it with a sparkle in his eye and a foolish grin. Matt nearly slid right off his stool. 

“Uh…” 

Jay didn’t give him a chance to continue, the three sips of wine were in control now. 

“He’s…just incredible. Really. It was his idea for me to come here tonight, I didn’t want to. I only want to play with him.” Jay propped himself up by the elbow on the bar, fist smooshed into his cheek and sounding dreamy, completely unaware of the catastrophic damage he had just done to Matt’s psyche. 

“What?” Matt managed to hiss out, instinctively whipping his head around the room for Jared’s camera, to prove he wasn’t dreaming. There he was, behind a potted plant in the foyer, which meant this was real. Matt felt faint. 

Jay shrugged sheepishly. “It’s not fun without him. Nothing is really.” He was so casual about what he was saying Matt thought for one hysterical moment he was caught and Jay was just fucking with him, but his eyes had gone glassy, his smile watery, and Matt knew there wasn’t a single cell in his brain working at full capacity. 

“That’s…sweet?” Matt had to force the words out, his throat squeezed shut. 

Jay hummed in agreement, cheeks flushed. “A few months ago, I had this kind of out of body experience? Or no, like a dream. Yeah, like a really, really real dream. And it sort of made me realize he’s the best part of my life. Like, I don’t really need anything else, as long I have him.” He shrugged again. “It just kind of put things into perspective you know?” 

Matt watched him take another sip from his glass, chasing a bit of wine on his lips with his tongue, feeling like a meteor just crashed through the roof and he was the only one who noticed. Where was this coming from? Jay hadn’t told him about any out of body experience or weird life changing dreams. Was this why he was acting so strange after the skydive plan? Did the fall knock him into some other level of consciousness? 

“Perspective,” he repeated dumbly. He felt like he was trying to run in a dream, limbs wobbly and going nowhere. Jay’s glass was nearly empty. This wasn’t how he expected things to go. He thought, by now, he’d be flying high on righteous indignation, confronting Jay with cutting words and some ferocious scratching if necessary. Instead he felt kitten weak and could barely string a sentence together. 

“I should get going,” Jay said cheerfully, sliding off his stool with a rhythmic tap against the bar. “Thanks for the drink. Hey, do you ever think you’d manage a band?” Matt could see the tiny lightbulb flicker weakly above his head. 

“No,” Matt croaked, making Jay’s shoulders deflate slightly. “No bands. Just one person. Are you…sure you’re not interested?” He felt his skin prickle, tiny shivers shooting down his spine when Jay smiled warmly and shook his head. 

“I don’t want to do anything without Matt.” 

And then he was just walking away, hand raised casually in farewell, like he didn’t just make Matt’s entire world go topsy-turvy. 

It took several, deep breaths before Matt found the strength to stand, fishing his wallet out to pay the tab. He stopped the recording on his phone with shaky fingers, still reeling from Jay’s words, the sincerity of them. The tenderness. 

Matt knew he was taking too long to collect himself, a disappointment for his career as a spy. If he were following anyone else, he would have lost his trail by now, the mark disappearing into the city, a dozen different directions he could have gone. 

He had a feeling though that Jay wasn’t making any surprising turns down different avenues, or making any unscheduled stops along the way. He had a feeling, a warm and sure feeling, that when he got home he would find Jay, right there, waiting for him. 

—

The beard, wig, and glasses were stuffed into the pocket of the jacket, resting in a lump at Matt’s feet. He was outside the house, watching Jay putter around the living room through the windows, chainsmoking in the dark. He may have been thrown, caught extremely off guard from his undercover conversation, but he could still get the upper hand, could still relish in wicked glee when he caught Jay checking the time on his phone and heaving a heavy sigh. Did he really mean it? 

Eventually, Matt grew bored of his stakeout after Jay zoned out in front of the TV, barely moving. He felt exhausted, the constant throb of pain in his mouth and the rugpull at the bar had drained him. Balling up the jacket, he tucked it under his arm and went into the house, hoping he could make it upstairs and into his room with minimal interaction, unsure what would happen if he started talking for too long. 

The door had barely clicked shut before Jay was crying out from the couch. 

“Matt? Is that you?” 

With his disguise behind his back, Matt scurried to the stairs, popping his head quickly into the living room. 

“Yep it’s me! Just gonna head off to bed,” he bellowed out an exaggerated yawn, rubbing his eyes sleepily with his free fist. He made it halfway up the stairs before Jay started sniffing loudly, a bloodhound with a fresh scent. 

“Have you been smoking?” Jay sounded scandalized. “But we quit ages ago! Matt!” 

Just a short few hours ago, Matt could hear Jay say the word we and still be able to breathe normally. Now, it struck him hard, like he was losing a pillow fight, and terribly so. 

“Good night!” his voice cracked as he shouted back, ignoring the stunned squawks from downstairs. 

His room seemed bigger, darker. The whole house was slightly different now, because Matt didn’t know what to do, and it left him scrambling, unmoored. He wanted to sleep downstairs, in his familiar bunk, but he couldn’t trust himself to not ruin it, ruin whatever sentimental trance Jay seemed to be in all night. Instead, he crawled into his bed, pulling the sheets high above his head. On the pillow next to him, he held his phone’s speaker close to his ear, replaying Jay’s words over and over again. 

…It’s not fun without him…the best part of my life…

He was selfish and he wanted more, needed to hear more. The mission was too delicate, too high risk; if Matt made any moves without a full intelligence report, any false steps, it would all be over for him. 

The audio was terrible, muffled from the tweed with loud jazz clashing over most of their conversation, but Matt couldn’t get enough. He fell asleep before his phone died, but just barely, lulled by the softness in Jay’s voice, the fondness. The love.

…I don’t want to do anything without Matt…

In the morning, he was woken up by a searing pain in his mouth, curling against his pillow in anguish. Deliriously, he imagined himself in an old episode of Ren and Stimpy, the one that always made his sister cry, his mouth nothing but raw and exposed nerves, pink and shivering from his gums, being chomped on by a sadistic beaver.  He needed to get his tooth taken care of, yanked or shaved down or whatever torture was in store for him in a dentist’s chair, but it would have to wait. The mission wasn’t over, he needed more intel, he needed Jay to keep talking to Tobey Maguirestein, like the helpful little asset that he was proving to be. For now, he would just have to grin and bear it, metaphorically, as grinning made him feel like he was getting kicked in the side of the head by a horse. 

Downstairs, he found a bottle of drug store painkillers from the drawer in the kitchen that Jay always got weird around, tutting and giving it a wide berth whenever opened. He popped four in his mouth and ducked his head under the sink, swallowing in a single gulp right from the faucet. When his vision became less blurry, the world slowly coming back into focus as the ibuprofen started coursing through his bloodstream, he noticed Jay stirring on the couch, peering sleepily at him. 

“Hi,” he swiped a smear of drool away from his mouth, his voice gravelly. He had the seam of the couch cushion imprinted on his bare chest from where he was pressed against it all night, the ghost of the zipper just below his collarbone. Gorgeous, Matt thought unfairly, as he did nearly every morning. Outrageous. 

“Hi,” Matt mumbled through the pain, trying to keep a brave face. “How did it go last night?” 

Jay blinked in surprise, not expecting the question. “Oh, it was…fine.” He scratched at his nose before brightening up a bit. “We should go there one day! Not to play. Just to like…go! It was nice inside.” 

It was romantic inside, Matt thought feebly, remembering the dim lighting and tables with only two chairs, huddled close together. It was the kind of place you took a date, not a b-friend. He didn’t know what to do with Jay’s suggestion. 

“Maybe.” He swallowed thickly through the sting in his tooth. “You should go back tonight. They have the open mic again and the audience loved you!”

Jay frowned, though seemingly not bothered by how Matt was supposed to know that. “I don’t want to!” He whined. “Matt, seriously, it’s not something I’m interested in,” his mouth was set in a firm and serious line, and Matt could tell he was telling the truth, even without the intelligence he gathered last night. 

“I know,” Matt said softly, before loudly clearing his throat. He couldn’t let his emotions cloud his judgement, he couldn’t let his feelings for his asset be known, it would leave him too vulnerable, ripe for execution. “But I uh, I have some things I need to do later tonight anyway, so you might as well.” He attempted a shrug, hoping to casually cover the way he crumbled when Jay wilted at his words. 

“Oh,” Jay sniffed, his head sadly downcast. “I was hoping maybe we could rehearse today or something. Maybe do a plan?” Matt felt like a dog hearing all of its favorite words coming from his owner’s mouth. You like that buddy? Huh? You wanna do a plan? You want me to play a song for you? 

“Can’t tonight,” he had to push the words out of his mouth, every cell in his body rejecting the idea of turning Jay down. “Go to the fancy wine place.” 

Then, because he was only human after all and couldn’t stand to see Jay look so suffering, he asked if he wanted to watch a movie or two, before they parted from each other for the evening. It almost hurt, the way Jay beamed at him, scooting over and patting the spot on the couch next to him. Matt was powerless, his feet moving on their own accord like Jay was pulling him forward with an invisible rope. 

The Center won’t be pleased with him, he thought glumly. The way he was fraternizing with a target like this was dangerous, reckless. He shouldn’t be leaning into Jay on the couch, shouldn’t spend the afternoon trying to make him laugh with his dumb jokes about the movies they watched.  If he wasn’t careful, this mission would be his last. 

—

Tobey Maguirestein was dressed more sensibly for the weather than the day before, arriving at the piano bar just as the sun was setting without the jacket, though the fake beard still slipped around his face, loose from sweat. He left the house before Jay this time, slipping out of the house while he was in the bathroom, like a coward, and chainsmoking outside the 7-11 until Jay came shuffling down the street, shoulders slumped so low he practically bent in half. 

Inside was still cozy and moody, a soft melody of romantic notes floating through the air as Matt took a seat at the bar, ordering two glasses of wine in preparation. He was determined to not lose focus, to not let Jay throw him off balance so severely. The gentle words the previous night weren’t expected, but now that he knew they were a possibility, his heart drummed nervously, anticipating what else Jay was willing to say about him, with complete impunity and half a glass of Merlot swimming in his blood. 

That night, Jay played a collection of Danny Elfman and John Williams, inspired by their lazy afternoon on the couch. The audience seemed a bit disinterested in hearing Mars Attacks! but they weren’t there, a few hours ago in the living room, when Matt and Jay had a competition to see who could make the best alien sounds, Ack! Ack!ing at each other from opposite ends of the couch. They made Jared be the judge and he declared Jay the winner, with no argument from Matt. When it came to sounds, no one could come close to Jaybird. 

The applause when he finished was polite, though more scattered than the night before, and Jay took the same awkward bow before trotting off stage.  

Matt cleared his throat several times, trying to slip back into the right voice before stopping Jay as he zig-zagged his way through tables.  

“Hey! Jay! Uh, right?” Matt corrected himself, more casual. “From last night?” He kicked the stool next to him out in invitation. “Here, have a drink! I uh, I accidentally…ordered two glasses. By mistake.” Matt was lucky he had a lifetime’s experience in manipulating Jay into doing something, otherwise he may not have gotten him on that stool, sliding in without much thought. 

“Oh, thanks!” Jay said blankly and accepted the glass. 

This is why he can’t be out on his own, Matt thought weakly as Jay took a sip. No self-preservation instincts. 

“I thought you didn’t play alone. What about your bandmate?” he hoped his tone was light and conversational, like he wasn’t desperate to get Jay talking. His phone was on the bar, under a cocktail napkin, waiting to collect the evidence. 

Jay sighed, a bit heavy. “I don’t want to. He said I should come here again tonight.” He was frowning now. “I think he’s mad at me.” 

“Oh. Why do you think that?” Matt was starting to feel guilty, the sadness in Jay’s voice tugging at his chest. It didn’t help when Jay’s frown deepened, his eyes looking wet and red. 

“He thinks I want to play alone, but I don’t! I mean I thought about it, a few times sure, but not anymore. I know that now.” 

“Because of your…perspective?” Matt ventured. It felt nice to hear Jay say it two days in a row, like he really meant it. Relief started to seep in slowly, Matt’s shoulders loosening just a hair. 

“Exactly!” Jay nodded enthusiastically. “I mean, you know! You said you were married, right?” 

Matt faltered slightly, unsure where he was going with this. “Yeah,” he confirmed, sticking his ringless hand under the bar. Jay was still nodding, his lips starting to stain from the wine, looking dark and full. 

“So you understand,” Jay said like it was obvious. “You know what it’s like, when you want to spend the rest of your life with someone.” 

If Matt had taken a sip from his own glass, Merlot would be spewing from lips, a spit take worthy of an Academy Award. Instead he choked a bit on his tongue, trying to swallow, speak, and scream all at the same time. He knew Jay could be oblivious with his words sometimes, unintentionally talking himself into all kinds of circles and corners, not quite sure where he was going, but this was just absurd. 

“But that’s–” he forced his voice lower, back into Tobey’s register. “Marriage? I mean that’s like…That sounds like…” 

Jay was smiling, his whole face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Like I’m screwed right? Head over heels in love with my best friend? Yeah.” 

Matt had to wonder, when it was that he died. At what point did he stop existing in the realm of reality, and where was he now, what kind of fucked up afterlife would let him hear such euphoric words without providing adequate pain relief for his desimated gums. If he still had to go to the dentist when he was dead, he was going to be pissed. Maybe he was in a coma, maybe his parachute never opened all those months ago and now his brain was all scrambled, stuck in some half reality, half dream existence. It didn’t seem so bad, honestly, if Jay looked like that when he talked about him, like his eyes would sparkle right out of his head. He could live here if he had to, in coma world, as long as Jay was telling people he was in love with him.   

“You should tell him!” Matt finally managed to honk out, just a shade above hysterical. “People love hearing that! It’s a nice thing for people to say! And to hear! You should–YOU SHOULD–tell him!” Tobey’s voice was gone completely, though neither noticed. Matt wasn’t sure whose voice he was speaking with, everything sounding strange, like he was underwater. 

Jay’s cheeks were pink, and he was picking at his fingernail, suddenly sheepish. 

“I don’t know,” he sighed, choosing his next words carefully. “I think…I think he would be okay with some of it, I mean, I don’t think he wants to go anywhere either. Actually, he’d probably love the idea of getting it in writing–legal writing–but…” he trailed off, biting his lip and looking…coy. 

Feverishly, Matt nodded, encouraging him to continue, desperate to hear where that ‘but’ was heading. 

“But I’m not sure if he would be okay with everything about marriage,” Jay’s face was a brilliant shade of scarlet, the same as the wine in his rapidly emptying glass. “Which is fine!” he quickly added, misjudging the dismayed look on Matt’s face. “We don’t have to! I’m not saying I would ever pressure him or anything! I’m not a pervert or a monster or–I just– I’m fine with whatever he wants! I’m fine with all of it!” 

Despite the effort he was putting in to not scream or cry or kiss Jay or kill Jay, Matt couldn’t smother a choked laugh, the way Jay was blushing made him feel manic. 

“So you. You would want to…” he trailed off, speechless, then took a big swig from his wine glass, unsure what else to do. 

Jay was grinning wickedly, speaking through the corner of his mouth like he did when he was trying to be brazen. Cheeky. 

“Well, yeah,” he snorted out a giggle, eyebrows dancing. “I mean he’s so buff lately. And oh, man, his lips! He’s got these pillowy lips.” Jay sighed, a far off look in his eyes, looking downright devilish. 

It was valiant, the effort Matt was putting in, to not rip the stupid beard and wig off his head and tackle Jay to the floor right then and there to show him just how buff he was and how pillowy his lips were. If they got arrested on an indecent exposure charge, it would be their second time behind bars in less than half a year. 

He forgot how frisky Jay could become, with a bit of booze in him, getting bawdy and looking salacious with clouded eyes and lips parted. To some–to most really–it could come across as skeezy, but to Matt it was always kind of sweet, no malice behind his words, just simply what was on his mind, no matter how unrefined. He was talking about Matt’s moles now for god’s sake, like a real pervert, and Matt wanted to swallow him whole, anaconda style. 

“But,” Jay cleared his throat, collecting himself a bit. He swiped at his lip with his thumb and Matt wasn’t sure if he was getting rid of wine or a bit of drool. “He’s never really seemed into…I mean I don’t know if he would want to be. Intimate.” 

It was the funniest thing Matt had ever heard in his life, honestly. Just plain absurdity, absolute Looney Tunes level of zaniness. He squeaked out a noise, something between a laugh and a cry. If only he could tell his younger selves, Matts at every post-pubescent age. Those guys would get a real kick out of it.  

“Well,” he wheezed out. “You never know, eh? You should tell him. Did I tell you you should tell him?” He needed to get out of there, abort mission, his cover was too close to being burned, his target unsafe to be around in a public setting. He wanted to smoke a cigarette. He wanted to smoke one hundred cigarettes. He wanted to smoke one hundred cigarettes and then swim the entirety of Lake Ontario and then run home and tell Jay all about it, how he got into a fight with a hoard of snapping turtles along the way, and befriended a beautiful swan. 

“I’m gonna go for a smoke,” Matt said suddenly. There was too much energy brewing under his skin, he could feel himself vibrating. He left Jay at the bar without waiting for him to reply, rushing outside and taking big gulps of muggy summer air. The only thing he could think to do was run, which he did, all the way until he reached home and then, still restless, he ran up and down streets in a senseless pattern, trying to tire out his muscles. He felt an electricity buzz through him, could feel his blood surging all throughout his body. 

He skidded to breathless stop a few blocks from the house, having looped around at some point, and chainsmoked against a glowing streetlamp while he recalibrated the plan. Jay didn’t think he was into intimacy, which was ridiculous. He was all about intimacy, or he could be, now that he knew Jay wanted it too. The thought made giggle to himself, softly at first, and then loud cackling barks of laughter that quickly turned to winces of pain as his tooth reminded him that it was still there, waiting to be dealt with. He could adapt to this new mission, it’s what his training was for, being able to think quickly on his feet when new challenges presented themselves. 

The night was still hot, even though the sun had set hours ago, and the walk home was sticky and uncomfortable. He had a dozen or so ideas floating around, nothing concrete enough to hold on to just yet, by the time he trudged up the front steps, unsurprised to find the door already unlocked, the piano welcoming him home with a surprised series of notes. 

“Hi,” Jay swallowed roughly, taking in Matt’s sweaty face and still panting chest. “How did your plans go?” 

Matt collapsed on the couch, his legs wobbly and feet sore. His heart thumped strongly in his chest, less to do with his run and more to do with Jay’s Merlot stained lips, which he worried between his teeth. 

“Eh, it was a bust. Not gonna waste my time with it anymore,” he waved his hand dismissively in front of him, and was rewarded with a brilliant smile from Jay. He smiled back, and the two of them sat there in silence for a few minutes, grinning at each other like a couple of loons.  It didn’t even hurt that bad, he convinced himself, ignoring the thrum of pain as his mouth stretched wider. He kicked his feet up and settled himself against the cushions, feeling lighter than he had in ages, possibly ever. 

“Come on,” he nodded at Jay, whose fingers instinctively flew back to the piano keys. “Let me hear what you played tonight, I wanna hear what I missed out on.” 

Jay was still smiling when Matt’s eyes slipped shut, a bashful, sweet grin he reserved for when  Matt gave him something he wanted, without being asked. He played the same songs, unaware that it was an encore, and Matt was lulled to sleep by the gentle notes from Hook, flying towards adventure, into Neverland. 

—

The objective came to him in a dream, a feverish hazy vision that left him breathless and hard in the boxers he fell asleep in. He peeled himself from the couch, sweaty skin sticking, an impending sense of doom looming in his chest. Trying to rationalize it, to make himself feel better, Matt told himself he’d be killing two birds with one stone, no pun intended, finishing his new mission and taking care of his own problem at the same time. His tooth was searing, furious at being ignored for so long, gums puffy and sore. 

Jay was snoring on the other couch, the fan positioned in between them working tirelessly. Matt watched him for a long time, the living room dark as summer storm clouds moved in, a tiny relief from the sun’s weeks-long reign of terror. The previous night, at the bar, Jay said he didn’t think Matt was going anywhere, like it was even ever an option. He thought he made it clear, some thirty years ago or so, that Jay was it for him. As far as he was concerned, the two of them, barely preteens, lucked out and found their life’s purpose–or whatever it was adults were always chasing–right there on that bridge throwing bikes in the river. 

They could use the basement, it was cooler down there, easier to clean if things went south. Matt dragged an old chair from the corner and sat it in front of the dyer, directly below the single lightbulb hanging bare from the ceiling. The basement was dark and dim, Jay would need all the light they had. It was frightening, recruiting another on a mission as dangerous as this, but that was the whole point really, to show he could work closely with others, so long as the others were Jay. 

He took a short walk to the nearest store and bought a small airplane bottle of whisky, texting Jared on the way home to meet them across town for their biggest plan yet, before shutting his phone off. That should buy them a few hours alone, to get the job done. The dread in Matt’s stomach deepened, getting heavier with each step up to the front door, feeling like he was headed to the gallows. 

Wordlessly, he shook Jay awake by the shoulders, motioning to follow him down the basement steps, which he did without argument. Downstairs, Matt poured two fingers of the whisky in a short glass, swirling the amber liquid around a few times before shooting it down his throat, letting it soak around the cracked tooth before swallowing. It burned, stinging his mouth and all the way down to his gut, feeling like someone dropped a lit match down his esophagus. Jay watched, with a dawning horror, as Matt handed him a set of pliers and settled into the chair, his mouth hanging open and trembling. 

“Matt,” his voice was barely above a whisper, eyes wide and disbelieving, staring down at the tool in his hand. 

“It’s okay,” Matt soothed. “It’s okay, Jay, I trust you. I want you to do it. Only you.” Their eyes met and a long silent beat passed between them, the innate sense of understanding that they had toward each other handling the rest of the conversation. Jay nodded roughly, taking a deep breath and a step towards Matt, who took his hat off and tilted his head back in anticipation. 

“Hold on,” Jay mumbled, searching around the room for a minute before scooping a handful of clothes out of the laundry basket, loosely balling them into a cushion. He gently pushed Matt’s head up so he could slide the bundle underneath, a pillow between the top of the dryer and the back of his skull, and eased him back against the fabric. His fingers lingered, just a few seconds, cradling the back of Matt’s neck as he nodded, firmly, confidentiality, promising him. 

With his palm pressing into the dryer to brace himself, Jay leaned forward, his forearm caging Matt’s face. He took a few seconds to get a good grip on the pliers and a steady stance, never once looking away from Matt, who felt pinned beneath his stare. His heart was pounding, nerves lighting every cell of his body on fire, every warning bell in his head going off telling him to get out of there, spare himself the agony. As the pliers moved in, pushing past his lips, Matt’s hands flew to Jay’s hips, not sure if he was trying to push him off or pull him closer, fists balled tight and fingernails cutting into his palms. Jay kept staring at him, his fingers coming up to gently brush a clump of sweaty hair off Matt’s forehead, waiting until Matt gave him a sign to continue. 

A couple shuddering breaths, Jay kept petting the top of his head with a soothing comfort, his eyebrows knit tightly together in concern. Matt trusted him more than anyone else in the world, no matter how many failed plans and fights between them, he could be vulnerable around Jay; he could be blind or sick or in a hostage situation, as long as Jay was there, he would feel safe.

Courage gathered, he opened his mouth wider, pushing his head back against the bundle of clothes to allow deeper access, lips spread as wide as they could to accommodate the pliers as they made contact with the broken tooth. The pain was immediate and severe, a stabbing jolt like he was being sliced open with lightning rods. Tears welled, leaking down his tilted face in a steady stream, his eyes were swimming but he refused to look away from Jay who was holding his gaze as he worked the pliers carefully around the molar. 

For a few minutes, the only sounds in the basement were Matt’s whimpers, pained whines coming from the back of his throat, and the heavy exhales from Jay, face twisted in concentration as he rocked the pliers back and forth, slowly ripping the tooth from where it was embedded in the gums, tiny nerve endings sawed roughly in half. The pressure was blinding, making Matt feel he was about to be turned inside out, his cartoon skeleton and organs beating in the open basement air. Jay was so close, peering now inside his mouth, and Matt could see beads of sweat form on his forehead, the individual wires of silver weaved in his stubble. He could feel the heat of his skin, smell his breath, still warm and stale from sleep. His fingers, long and dexterous, were pressed against his lips, the inside of his cheeks, batting against his tongue as Matt quivered and cried. He was overwhelmed, everything was so intense, so intimate. 

Matt dug his fists into Jay’s shirt, fingers twisting painfully into the fabric at his collar bone, scrambling to get a good grip and brace himself against the wrench of Jay’s wrist. His bare feet were skidding across the concrete floor, trying to run, trying to hold himself steady, trying to do anything to distract from the pain in his mouth, the excruciating pull. He could feel the blood slowly drain from his face, pooling in the lower half of his body, and he could imagine how pale he looked, how sickly and feverish. The pliers worked faster, Jay’s eyes back to his, holding him there while gasps and groans gurgled out of his throat. His face was hot and stinging, streaked with tears, the tendons in his neck straining as he held his jaw open for Jay’s unwavering hand, mouth muscles stretched beyond capacity. 

Finally, with a sickening squelch, relief flooded Matt’s mouth as the pressure suddenly subsided, the pliers coming out with the cracked tooth clamped between them. He was dizzy with alleviation, sitting up weakly and spitting mouthfuls of viscous red onto the ground, the basement echoing his heaving gasps and Jay’s quieter pants. His head was pounding, his mouth bruised and  throbbing, and, unbelievably, he was harder than he had ever been before in his life, uncomfortably straining against his jeans as he tried to catch his breath.  

When his vision stopped swimming, eyes burning, Matt noticed he wasn’t alone in his predicament. Jay was still hovering close by, only easing up a bit to let Matt drool bloody spit onto the floor, and his shorts were tented, cheeks the same shade of red staining half of the tooth in his hand. His lips were parted and he was still breathing a bit heavy, chest rising and falling just a few inches above Matt’s own. They stared at each other, eyes cloudy and wet, trying to catch their breath and swallowing thickly, as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. 

Matt lifted a trembling hand and pulled Jay forward by his waist, damp foreheads sticking together as knees bracketed thighs. He hoped Jay was tuning into their shared psychic frequency, not trusting himself with much vocabulary. 

“Say it,” his voice was hoarse, throat raw from choking back screams. “Jay, please. Please say it.” 

“Will you say it?” Jay’s voice was small but light, a nervous teasing, and it made Matt smile uncontrollably, bloodied mouth split wide. He’d probably never stop, it was just too silly of a question. 

“You have my tooth in your hand,” Matt answered sweetly. It’s been there for thirty years. Jay hummed, their noses butting against each other. 

“I love you, Matt.” 

“I love you too, Jay.” 

They were both grinning now, big and bright, pressing their smiles together. Matt’s mouth immediately made its objections clear, overworked and sore from the at-home dental surgery, but Matt decided that unless he was shot directly in the head there was no way he was going to stop. And Jay was being gentle, keenly aware he was licking his way into a crime scene, keeping his own mouth soft and pliant. A few quiet minutes passed, the two of them taking turns to break a kiss and nibble down a throat or lick behind an ear before returning to pleading lips.

A reverberating dinny sound cut through the haze they had worked up. The tooth, slipped from Jay’s sweaty and wandering fingers, clattered to the floor, making Matt pull back reluctantly to retrieve it. Jay buried a groan in the side of his neck as Matt shifted in his seat, hips swiveled to lean down and scoop up his molar. There was a hairline crack shooting from the top of the crown to the root, but otherwise it was fully intact. Matt couldn’t believe such a tiny split could cause so much agony. He studied it for a moment while Jay peppered kisses across his cheek that wasn’t bruised, nuzzling into his neck. It was kind of pretty, like a glossy opal. 

“We could probably put this in a ring,” he mused. He thought it seemed terribly romantic. “You know, instead of a diamond. You can wear the tooth you yanked from my very head.” Jay’s hands, still roaming, stilled on his hips. 

“Are you proposing?” he reeled his head back, surprised but beaming. 

Matt pouted. You did first! he wanted to say, playing Jay’s recorded confession back at him smugly, but it wasn’t wise to reveal a secret identity when in such a compromising situation. Instead, he placed the tooth on top of the dryer behind him and said “when have you ever known me to do anything casually?”. Jay kissed him again, deep and long, a definitive answer to the question they both only sort of asked. 

“What about you? You need a ring, and there’s no way you’re getting one of my teeth.” He was panting, breathless and lips shiny with shared spit. The thought made Matt conflicted, torn between the horror of anything happening to Jay’s perfect fucked up teeth and feeling disappointed he couldn’t wear one on his finger for the rest of his life. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, getting impatient with the idea they were still wearing clothes. “If you ever have kidney stones though, I get dibs.” 

And then they didn’t speak for some time, mouths otherwise occupied with each other, hands dipping and squeezing and stroking around new areas of skin, Jay’s fingers wrapped behind Matt’s knee through the gaping hole in his jeans, Matt’s palm buried in the hair on Jay’s chest. They kissed until they were breathless, pulling back just long enough to gulp for air and devour each other again, and Matt was certain he had never felt better in his entire life, even the lingering pain from his tooth was gone, shrouded by the warmth radiating throughout his body.

The back of the chair knocked noisily against the dryer as Jay pressed closer, rolling his hips and thrusting his tongue deeper down his throat. He was all around him, hands in his hair, ankles hooked around his own, the bulge in his stupid slutty squash shorts rocking against the front of his jeans, making fireworks go off behind his eyelids, better than any of the ones they ever shot off the roof. Matt felt surrounded, consumed, like they were going to fuse together. He lapped at the skin at the base of Jay’s throat, salty with sweat, the neck of his shirt stretched loose from Matt tugging on it earlier, giving him easy access to nip and lick across his clavicles. 

Jay’s fingers tugged at the buttons on his jeans, inching them down his thighs as far they allowed without lifting his hips. 

“Can-can I–” he gasped, pulling his teeth away from Matt’s neck. Matt cut him off before he could finish the question. 

“I’m going to stop you right there and just say you have blanket permission to do whatever you want with me ok? Except for–no, nevermind you can do that too–whatever you want.” 

He felt a warm exhale of breath hit his cheek as Jay huffed out a laugh and detangled himself from Matt’s lap, receiving a pained whine in return. Before he could complain too loudly, Jay’s hands were on his jeans again, shimming them down his legs and letting them pool around his feet with his briefs. Then, to Matt’s wonderment, he dropped himself to the floor too, nudging his knees apart so he could settle himself inside Matt’s legs. Matt stared at him, their eyes locked and searing, as Jay rubbed his palms up and down the top of his thighs, a sensation Matt couldn’t identify squirming its way through his guts, half arousal, half the tickle of too many feathers.

On the inside of thighs, Jay fingers tapped out a few notes Matt wouldn’t have been able to recognize by touch alone even if he did have his wits about him, then his lips joined in, humming against skin as they made their way across his stomach, down his pelvis. The feeling of Jay taking him into his mouth, the jolt that ran through his bones at the first brush of warm tongue and soft lining of his cheeks, could have probably powered entire cities for generations, if someone knew how to harness it. There was something surging through his body like whitewater, lava maybe, based on how hot he felt under his skin, like sparks could start flying out of his fingertips at any moment. 

Jay’s mouth was doing some truly incredible things, the horrible realization that he may have done this before only had time to distress Matt for a moment, before his mind was wiped completely, whiting out like ruined film. Everything felt too much, too fast, like he was speeding out of control and could crash at any minute; he wanted to stop, he wanted to go forever, he wanted to burst into flames and engulf Jay with him. If they kept going, Matt was pretty sure that’s what was going to happen anyway. His toes curled painfully against the concrete as Jay’s cheeks hollowed around him, and he was vaguely aware that he was saying something, babbling about how good he felt, how he was going to die, how he was worried about Jay’s old man knees on the unforgiving floor. 

He tried not to tug on Jay’s hair as he buried his fingers in, desperate for something to cling on to, to keep him from floating off into space. It was so wet, so hot, the slick sounds of Jay’s mouth swallowing around him and his own panting breaths and mewling cries made the air around them sound downright filthy. Every muscle in his body was seizing, tightening one by one up his body until he was rigid as a board. That crash landing was coming fast, and he risked a look down, his hips stuttering uncontrollably. Jay’s eyes were dark and watery, his lips crushed and swollen around him, thick ropes of drool oozing out of the corners of his mouth as he took Matt in further. 

It was too much to see a new shade of crimson on Jay’s face, the way his eyes looked glassy, the wet coming out of his mouth and coating his lips, drenched and stretched so wide they were the color of a stormcloud. Even wrecked like this, skin blotchy and throat struggling not to choke, there was a glint in Jay’s eyes like he was having the time of his life. Matt was sure he’d never see anything as beautiful in his life again, the sight making him dizzy as his abdomen stirred and clenched, tiny pulses fluttering hot and fervid. 

Suddenly, he keened, body still strung tight and careening forward, curling himself around Jay’s head in his lap, unable to stop himself from spilling into his mouth as release flooded through his cells, shivers and spasms wracking him until he was limp and boneless. 

“F-fuck! Bird! Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he cried, still quivering and stuttering. He may have very, very limited experience in this field, but even he knew it was terrible etiquette to not warn somebody about that kind of thing. 

Jay rocked back on his heels, eyes squeezed shut and face streaked with Matt’s jizz, a shiny glob smeared against his facial hair in a way that made Matt’s mouth water. He scrubbed the bottom of his shirt across his face, wiping away the mess and turning his nose a lovely shade of pink.  

“It’s okay,” he said cheerfully, his knees less so as they cracked and groaned standing up. “It was kinda hot, actually.” He was back in Matt’s lap, practically purring in satisfaction as Matt’s body let out the occasional shudder in residual pleasure, oversensitive and raw. His heart was racing in a way he had never felt before, beating vigorously but pumping molasses through his veins instead of blood. 

When thoughts returned to him, his brain slowly lighting up one lobe at a time, he pressed a sloppy, wet kiss to the side of Jay’s head, the closest bit of him his mouth could reach. He shifted in Matt’s lap to kiss him properly, and Matt could taste himself mixed in with Jay’s tongue and saliva, a sensation that he, stupidly, never considered before. One of the bulbs in his brain slowly flickered until it went out again. 

“I would love to return the favor,” he rasped, sliding his hands up through the bottom of Jay’s shorts. “Believe me, I would love nothing more, but I’m not sure I–” he cut himself off with a grimace, the soreness in his jaw returning with a vengeance, not pleased with the way it was yanked and mutilated earlier. 

Jay winced sympathetically and gently tilted Matt’s chin up towards the light so he could assess the damage better, a new bruise beginning to form over the previous one, now plum colored, from his initial tumble into the coffee table. It seemed like a lifetime ago somehow.

 “That’s okay,” he said, a tender brush of his lips over the wound. “You can make it up to me. I’ll hold you to it–” 

“–you can hold whatever you want to me–”

“–we have plenty of time–” Jay’s words dissolved into a series of gurgles and groans as Matt pushed his hand past his waistband and curled trembling fingers around Jay’s dick. A pearl of fluid collected at the head and Matt circled his thumb through it, marveling at the slick sensation and the way Jay’s breath hitched in his ear, hot and needy. He used it to slide his hand up and down a few times, shuddering breaths getting louder above him, until the pull of dry skin made Jay squirm in his lap. When he spit into his open palm, it was tinged red. 

Matt was wrong earlier, about never seeing anything as beautiful as Jay on his knees in front of him again. It was definitely a close second, but nothing could beat this, his flushed face and mouth open, tongue wedged between his teeth, so close to Matt that his lips brushed against his nose with every gasp. Matt could see his eyelashes, damp and delicate, blink against the tiny freckles on his cheeks. He had one hand pressed against Jay’s back keeping him close and steady, the other jerking him off in messy, but extremely well intentioned strokes while Jay trilled and chirped, rocking into him. 

“Oh, Matt,” he sighed, his name leaving his lips in a way he had never heard before. There were so many new Jay sounds he was experiencing, tiny wheezes from the back of his throat, the obscene wet noises of his skin thrusting into Matt’s fist, the way he pleaded and begged, clawing at Matt’s shoulders as his release loomed. Matt couldn’t wait to make him perform it for him later on the piano. Play the sound you make when I get you to cum all over my hand, Bird!  Deliciously, he wondered if the different ways he could get Jay off would all create different sounds, a songbook of bird noises just for him. 

He crushed his mouth against Jay’s open and panting one, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth and pulling a loud groan from his gut. Jay’s hips were starting to stutter, losing the rhythm he was keeping with Matt’s hand, the stream of mindless chants and whispers he moaned in between kisses getting more frantic and slurred. He was hot and hard in Matt’s palm, slick with his bloody saliva, and as Matt’s thumb rubbed at the slit, he felt Jay pulse and twitch, coating Matt’s fingers as he spurted into them. Matt slowed his movements but didn’t stop, pumping his wrist until everything was messy and hypersensitive, making Jay bat his hand away himself as he shivered. 

They were quiet for a few moments, catching their breaths and trying to come back to themselves, Jay slumped in Matt’s lap so boneless he thought he might have been unconscious for a minute. When he did finally speak, he did it directly into Matt’s hair, inhaling deeply with a displeased cough. 

“You have to quit smoking again, you know.” 

Matt could only imagine what he must have looked like. Bloody mouth and swollen jaw, hair a rat’s nest. Various body fluids soaked in his jeans and down the front of his shirt. Grinning like an absolute maniac. 

“Sure, yeah, of course,” he agreed. Jay could ask him to swallow all of the sand in the Sahara Desert right now and he probably would. “After I finish this pack, I’m through.” 

A hum of disapproval to the side of his neck. “I’m not going to want to kiss you if you taste like an ashtray.” It was a lie, Matt knew with a thrill, but the stakes were too high to call his bluff. 

“They’re already gone. Never again. Filthy, disgusting habit, really.” 

Upstairs, they cleaned themselves up and Matt bullied them into the bottom bunk, ignoring Jay’s request to nap upstairs and his complaints about it being too small and sweaty for them both. 

“We can move upstairs tonight,” Matt promised, the idea making him slightly giddy. “I’ve missed my bunk.” 

Jay snorted, unsympathetic. “You didn’t have to leave it.” 

“I was wounded. You wounded me.” 

They shuffled around until they were comfortable, Matt’s back flat against the wall and Jay’s curled into his chest, limbs slotted and draped around one another. They dozed lightly, the occasional whisper and giggle slipping out, like the early morning hours of a sleepover. 

“Were you serious? About getting married?” Jay’s voice was syrupy, half mumbled into the pillow of Matt’s forearm. 

“As a heart attack.” 

Jay turned on his side, facing Matt with a troubled look. “I need to tell you something. We shouldn’t…you shouldn’t go into a marriage with secrets.” He blushed and then, realizing the war crime he had just committed, quickly added, “it’s okay! It’s not bad!” 

Matt’s heart rate had already skyrocketed though, and Jay placed a soothing palm against his chest. All his hard work, his entire career as an undercover agent, and he didn’t even get the right information. He didn’t complete the mission, not really, if Jay was still keeping something from him. Gloomily, he realized he would make a terrible spy. 

“Remember the skydive plan? Or the morning before the skydive plan? Actually no, wait you wouldn’t remember that I guess. Or? Maybe?” 

Whatever Jay was trying to tell him seemed terribly difficult, not so much the context of it, but putting it into complete sentences. He rubbed a soothing hand up and down Jay's back as he stumbled over his words, something about Orbitz and the old apartment. 

“Okay, wait. It’s like…So you know Back to the Future?” 

—

The next morning, Matt decided to come clean, feeling guilty after Jay’s time travel and murder confessions. He figured he should retire from the life anyway, and Jay was right, they shouldn’t keep things from each other, not as an engaged couple. 

He was, as Matt knew he would be, completely surprised to find out Tobey Maguirestein was Matt in a cheap wig, eyes widening in shock with each new detail. Impressed too, it seemed, from the way he was suddenly having trouble keeping his hands to himself. 

“I can’t believe you played The Americans without me,” he pouted. “I should have known from the cigarettes.” 

Matt promised to make it up to him, lewdly suggesting all the new ways they would be able to play now, tying each other up to tease (or torture!) out secrets and sending each other steamy coded messages. 

“Let’s steal Jared’s car and jerk each other off in the back seat,” he groaned while they did just that on the couch. 

A few months later, early into winter when the weather was more appropriate for such activities, they donned stylish peacoats and thick wool scarves while Matt showed Jay the tricks to successful espionage. They ducked into alleys and lost each other in crowds, making a game to stalk and hunt each other across the city for as long as possible unnoticed. In the park, they practiced doing dead drops in the snow, leaving and receiving encrypted messages and small objects like bags of candy and trinkets from the junk drawer. One afternoon, Matt left a velvet box, a gold band embedded with what could pass as pearls, if anyone asked, nestled inside. Jay cornered him, looking brighter than the precious metal on his finger, forty minutes later and several blocks away where he was hiding in the Eaton Centre, hoping and praying Jay found the ring before anyone else did. 

Eventually, they decided to get out of the game all together, no longer looking over their shoulders and running from their indiscretions. They could have a nice, happy life together, no mysteries between them. Matt returned the wig and Tobey Maguriestein’s fake beard back to their box downstairs where they remained untouched for several years until the washing machine finally gave up and flooded half the basement. 

He kept the files though, transferred from his phone and backed up in every way possible, Jay’s muffled voice unlocking key secrets to the universe. He hoped, years and years from now, after he and Jay were long gone (taken at the same time, if Matt had any say in it), someone would find his rusted hard drive somewhere in the rubble of whatever would become of the world, a curious relic of a forgotten time. Historians and scientists would come together, carefully preserving as much as possible, tirelessly working on restoring data and tracking down ancient technology that would give them the ability to hear such a rare and valuable recording from an era long ago. So many questions answered, so much insight into the lost lives of twenty first century humankind. They would play the files with bated breath and they would know, a thousand years into the future and everyone would know, from Jay’s own mouth, this irrefutable and immortal truth: 

…I don’t want to do anything without Matt…

Notes:

tysm for reading, I really appreciate it!! Find me on twitter @merricats if you wanna talk about how philiz is a mattjay variant.

HUUUUUUGE shout out to Chloe (@chlosephine_) for brainstorming a lot of this with me and for coming up with the idea to make the tooth a ring which is like the best thing I've ever heard.

This entire thing came strictly because of my desire to see Them recreate this scene: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8bAxp8ZesFA