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The house was old, and he knew he was dreaming because none of the rooms made sense. The kitchen was also the inside of Lambo’s Deli, and there were like, ten bedrooms. He also couldn’t find the piano, which distressed him so much that all the doorknobs started to melt when he tried to turn them. Outside the windows, he could see stretches of wildflowers under fleecy white clouds, and there was a roar of applause in the distance. Something important was supposed to be happening, but he couldn’t find the piano. He needed to find the piano and he needed to find-
“Jay!” Matt snorted awake, blindly smacking at the sleeping face next to him a few times, his thumb pressing sharply against a canine. Steady snoring faltered a bit, but otherwise Jay didn’t stir, his eyelids twitching in the way that suggested he was in the middle of a dream of his own.
Matt blinked around the still dark room, trying to hold on to the last fragments of his dream, quickly dissolving away into a sea of half forgotten thoughts. Something about too many beds, and some flowers, maybe. A house, old, but cozy. Sandwiches? If he squeezed his eyes shut he could see the fading image of sub wrappers and a kitchen drawer filled with plastic silverware.
Next to him, Jay sighed and turned his face further into the pillow. Opening his eyes again, Matt studied him for a moment, wondering. Whatever the hell happened to Jay when he went back in time, the shit he didn’t want to talk about, gave him nightmares sometimes, leaving him wet eyed and clingy the next day (which wasn’t terrible), jumping at loud noises and skittish around big crowds (which was annoying and inconvenient). He could tell it was something bad, even worse than Jay leaving the band, which Matt couldn’t even fathom—what could possibly be worse? He hated not knowing, but not nearly as much as he hated his other self, the other Matt, who made him walk away in the first place.
He also hated Jay a little bit, for having to go so far as to time travel in order to figure out something Matt had known since they were kids. That they were supposed to be together, always.
A gust of wind whistled through the open window across the room, the threat of an early summer storm. Jay shifted again, tucking his forehead into the crook of Matt’s neck, his lips gently brushing against his collarbone with each exhale. The intimacy felt like a punch to Matt’s stomach, even after everything they’ve done the last few months, taking all the breath from his lungs. Physical touch between them was nothing new, he was used to stopping himself from leaning too hard into hugs, claps around the shoulders, play fights and real fights, but the tenderness of it all, the way they’ve added kisses and caresses into the mix was uncharted territory, knocking him off his feet nearly every time.
A house, wild flowers. Applause from a crowd begging them for an encore before they’ve even started playing. Pieces were slotting into place. If he threw all the ingredients in together, and blended it with getting a show…
“Bird,” he gasped softly, shaking the shoulder at his side. “I think I got it. I think I have a plan.”
It took some more prodding before he felt a “Hmm?” rumble against his neck, gravelly and crusted with sleep. He wouldn’t open his eyes, but he was listening.
“Nirvanna the Band, the B and B. We’re in house entertainment! It’s like if we build it they will come, yeah?” There would be semantics to work out for sure, but the idea was there, something he could develop into a real plan. He had worked with less.
An agreeable purr from the pillow next to him, that was the only response he could expect at this hour, which was fair–unlike Matt, who saw sleep as something of a chore he wanted to get through as quickly as possible, Jay demanded a full eight hours minimum and indulged in naps often, like a cat in a sunbeam.
“We can talk about it in the morning,” Matt promised, and then, remembering that he could, he pressed his lips against Jay’s forehead for a few long seconds before falling back asleep.
–
They didn’t talk about it in the morning. They didn’t get the chance to. A bird– a real bird– flew in through the open window of the living room, derailing not only their breakfasts, but the rest of their entire day entirely. They were on a roller coaster, going through an entire emotional arc in the span of an afternoon that left no time or energy for any plans they may have had.
First, they attempted to catch it, screaming and squawking through every room in the house as they tried to corner it into a sauce pan. They leapt over furniture and dove under whatever surface they could when the bird flapped too close to their faces, and it left tiny scratch marks on the doors they managed to slam shut. Jay finally scooped it as it soared down the stairs, Matt hot on its feathers, and was able to slam the lit shut on top before any escape. Caged, the bird settled at the bottom of the pot as they peered at it through the glass, wide eyed. When Jay carefully peeled the lid back, one gentle centimeter at a time, the bird, a fluffy young thing, chirped pleasantly at them.
They named him Bird Jr. and spent the next several hours breathlessly rehearsing with the newest member of the band. Perched on top of the piano, Bird Jr. bobbed and wobbled as Jay played.
“We can get him a little matching hat, yeah? A little hat to match mine and oh my GOD,” Matt, who had been zooming around the living room, froze suddenly. “What if we come out, normal band right? WRONG! I’ve been CURSED and as we’re playing I’m losing it,” He began to thrash his arms around and growl wildly, like he was foaming at the mouth. Jay quickly switched tempo, playing dramatic, worrying notes. “WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME OH GOD, OH GOD! Then! Trap door- I go in, fog all over the stage no one can see me, I go in, Bird Jr. comes out. He’s wearing the same hat. Oh my God! That guy from Nirvanna the Band just turned into a FREAKING bird!”
The melody came to an end, the tune light and fluttering like the inside of Matt’s stomach when Jay looked up from the keys and beamed at him.
Later, after a brief argument, they decided against watching The Birds, (“Just in case! He might get ideas!”) and instead Matt played the underwater levels in Super Mario Bros. (“He’s never been down there before, it’s exciting for him!”) while Jay prepared a plate of toast shavings for Bird Jr. to peck at. They constructed a nest out of old cereal boxes and bread ties, settling it on the sofa cushion between them where they took turns gently brushing their fingers over silky feathers.
As the sun began to set though, Bird Jr. began to screech from the back of the couch, flapping his wings sadly against the window, closed hours ago when rehearsal started to get too rambunctious. They watched, pained, and wordlessly came to an agreement together, sharing a heavy hug before flinging the window open and sending Bird Jr. soaring into a warm summer breeze.
Jay buried wet eyes into Matt’s shoulder before slumping back to the piano, fingers plunking out a few melancholy notes that made Matt’s throat feel itchy and tight.
Bird, his bird, was not going to fly away, not anymore, but after two decades of examining and cataloging nearly every emotion Jay had ever experienced so he could look for warning signs, the heaviness of his sigh caused a quiet panic to stir in Matt’s head.
It was the ever-present elephant in the room that only he was aware of, the idea that Jay might take off one day and not come home and Matt would have to spend the rest of his life wondering if he was dead in a ditch somewhere. Or worse, that Jay would keep taking off, day after day, to some stupid job or g-friend or new band until he slowly stopped coming home all together, until he erased Matt from his world completely.
Sometimes, wickedly, Matt wished he could babytrap him, forge a way into Jay’s life so he could never escape him, only without having to deal with the baby part. He hated when he was forced to share Jay’s attention—even Bird Jr. was starting to push it when Jay began to croon at him—he became surly and irrational and he really didn’t want to have to go to prison for killing a kid. Jay would probably never forgive him for that.
He still thought about it though, even saying it to Jay a few times, pressing deep inside him and panting into his open mouth. “Gonna get you pregnant tonight, Bird…fucking…I’ll knock you up!…I’ll knock you up and then you can never leave.”
“You have to stop saying that shit man,” Jay gasped one night, after. His head was dangerously close to slipping over the edge of bed leaving his purpling neck vulnerable and exposed. For a wild moment, Matt dreamed he could be a leech so he could suction himself right against the skin there and live off Jay for however long he wanted. Probably for however long leeches lived.
He snorted, reluctantly detangling himself from in between Jay’s thighs. “I can’t actually get you pregnant, you know.” He really hoped Jay knew that.
The rosy flush across Jay’s cheeks deepened, spreading across his nose to the tips of his ears. “Not that,” he cleared his throat, voice raw. “The shit about me leaving. Knock it off.”
Matt started to brush it off and make his way to the bathroom to clean himself up but Jay grabbed his arm–tight– before he could get up from the mattress.
“I’m serious. I fucking married you, Matt,” he growled, stabbing crescent moons with his thumbnail against the inside of Matt’s wrist. Then, to lessen the sting, he added, “Even when I assumed we’d have a sexless marriage! I still married you!”
Unable to reply right away, Matt sunk his teeth into the skin around Jay’s rib cage, taking a few deep steading breaths. His head still spun when he thought about it. How he pulled off the greatest plan he could ever dream of and had Jay legally bound to him for the rest of their lives. Even if he wanted to, Matt knew Jay wouldn’t have the first idea how to go about getting a divorce and if he did, he would fight so dirty in court Jay would have no choice but to come crawling back to him, begging forgiveness for ever even thinking about leaving him. He knew it would never get that far, but it was comforting to know at least.
Still…It had always been unbearable to think of a life without Jay before, a painful gnawing feeling that made him feel hollow and cold, but now he knew what Jay looked like when he was blissed out, eyes fluttering and lips crushed swollen. He knew what it felt like to have him kiss the underside of jaw, the back of his neck, the palms of his hands, the inside of his thigh. He knew what it sounded like when Jay curled into him after a long day, when he pressed his lips against Matt’s forehead and whispered goodnight MJ, I love you.
There was absolutely no way he could ever go on living without these things, once he’s known them. It’s a miracle he even survived for so long before knowing that Jay liked to fall asleep holding his hand, now asking him to spend a single night without their fingers threaded together would feel like a death sentence. Like Flowers for Algernon but it’s romantic, he thought.
When he felt composed enough to speak again he said “Ok. Ok, Bird, I’ll stop. I swear it.”
Above him, Jay smiled sweetly. “Good. Now say that shit again and I’ll knock your fucking teeth out.”
Matt didn’t want this incident with Bird Jr. to give Jay any ideas that would force Matt to break his promise, despite the sudden burn in his lower half ignited at the thought of Jay’s fist and his own blood filling his mouth.
The rest of the night was spent catering to Jay’s whims, a gentle reminder that he was right where he was supposed to be. Matt let him pick which game he would play on mute while Jay provided the score (Zelda) and what they ordered for dinner (pizza, no mushrooms) and even which movie to put on while they felt each other up on the couch (Blade Runner).
It wasn’t until much later, after Jay had fallen asleep and was snoring loudly against the back of his neck, that Matt remembered his dream and the half started plan from the night before. There was something there for the band, sure, he could make that work, but there was also a buzzing feeling like there was something else for him to consider, for possibly the first time in his life, what the future would look like beyond playing the Rivoli.
Gently, he unlaced Jay’s arms from around his waist and slipped out of bed, making his way towards the computer downstairs. He had research to do.
—
Everything was set by the time Jay yawned his way to the living room the next morning, plopping down on the piano bench and graciously accepting a sticky plate of jam covered toast from Matt’s outstretched hand.
On the whiteboard, two stick figures, accessorized with their respective hat and pointy teeth, stood holding hands in front of a house surrounded by little bunches of curly flower shapes.
“So! The B and B plan,” Matt jumped onto the couch adding bullet points next to their markered selves. When no B and B themed music began playing, he turned to Jay expectantly. “Don’t tell me you forgot already!”
Eyebrows knit together, Jay took another bite of toast. “Forgot what?” He chewed out a protest, bristling a bit when he noticed, for the first time that morning, that Jared’s camera was pointed at him from the corner of the room.
“We talked about it the other night!” Matt lied, coming down from the couch with a put upon sigh. Jay just stared at him, eyes blank and licking at a smear of strawberry across his thumb.
“Remember? Field of Dreams a place where we can play every night? You were all ‘Oh my God, Matt what a great idea! We don’t go to them, we make them come to us!’ You seriously don’t remember?” Matt continued, keeping the gas lit.
Frowning, Jay turned to the piano, finally playing the sounds of their very own B and B.
“Not really,” He said, working out a few clashing notes. “Sounds good though.” Turning, he looked at Matt, puzzled. “But how does this get us into the Rivoli?”
Heat bloomed in his cheeks and he ducked his face away from the camera. “Well,” Matt’s voice cracked a bit and he cleared his throat before beginning again. “This is sort of a down the line plan. Like for after we’ve played the Rivoli and gotten famous and gone on our world tour and—”
A panicked yelp and a discordant wail from the piano cut him off abruptly.
“Tour bus?” Jay whispered, turning a sickly pale.
Matt blinked at him a few times, thrown by the interruption. “Yeah I guess we would have a tour bus, sure.” He watched Jay shiver and shake his head violently.
“I don’t want to go on a tour. No tour buses.” A firm decision. He didn’t often put his foot down like that.
Matt nodded, confused, but not willing to argue about it or even dig further. He’s grown to accept that Jay’s little time travel adventure left him clueless about why certain things would suddenly set Jay off, like why he had to leave the room every time Matt plugged in the toaster and his refusal to play any game the second Matt brings a toy gun out. He had called him a pussy bitch crybaby! about it one night in annoyance but then Jay actually started crying and Matt spent hours cooing around him, completely bewildered.
“Ok, no tour then,” Matt soothed. “Anyway, this is for, you know. Our future.” He watched Jay carefully, not sure if this would make him fret further. The word future didn’t enter their vocabulary that much, outside of half baked schemes they knew wouldn’t work. Those were the ones he liked to hype up the most, seeing what he could get away with, what would make Jay scoff or smile.
Sometimes though, Jay got into his own head about it, the future, suddenly self conscious about something somebody said or the way strangers pointed and whispered when they spotted the cameras. Then he’d pick a fight about something stupid and leave the computer open to a page of job listings, peeking down from the top of the stairs to make sure Matt noticed his warning.
It had been a while however, since he had threatened to spread his wings, and now Jay was beaming at him. “Oh! That sounds nice!” The music resumed, light and jaunty as Matt rehashed the plan.
“Really the most important thing we have to do right now is get some research done. You know, gather some ideas,” He snuck a sly glance to the camera, teeing himself up. “Which is why I rented us a B and B. On the beach. We leave first thing in the morning.” He was back at the whiteboard, drawing a big circle around the house and stick figures.
“A vacation?” Jay asked breathlessly. They hardly ever left the city.
“Well,” Matt batted his eyes a bit. “We are due a honeymoon…”
Joyous, walking hand in hand on the beach music filled the living room while Matt quickly ran through the itinerary.
“Aren’t B and Bs usually like some old lady’s house covered in doilies?” Jay wondered when Matt got to the part about a spacious back porch and private beach access.
“What year are you living in, man? I got us a kick ass modern bungalow,” Matt rubbed his hands together, excited. “And I found a place that has a piano so no need to worry your little birdie head about dragging a keyboard with us.” It had been a nightmare to find a place that had one and it cost a fortune but there was no way Matt was going to the beach without hearing Jay play the theme to Jaws.
The way Jay looked at him, eyes bright and smile so big he could see each and every tooth, was well worth it too.
“A vacation!” He cheered like it was the last day of school and the final bell had just rung.
“Just the two of us!” Matt declared, looking sternly into Jared’s lens.
An argument broke out, Jared protested loudly about full access! and Matt accused him of wanting to film their honeymoon for his own private pervert collection.
Opening bids began with Matt and Jay filming while they were away but Jared didn’t trust them alone with his equipment. A suggestion of booking a neighboring rental house for the crew had Matt threatening to start doing hand stuff to Jay right then and there, if Jared was gonna act cute.
In the end, a grudging settlement was reached. They would go alone, no cameras, and Jared would drive them, so long as Luca or Andy could film during the way there and back.
“How about just mics?” Jared threw a Hail Mary as they were already shaking on it, like a little sneak.
“That’s it! It’s mouth stuff now. Jay, get over here—OH SO SUDDENLY YOU UNDERSTAND BOUNDARIES, EH JARED?” Matt tried reaching for the camera as Jared began to retreat, a full declaration of war. They kicked at each other for a bit before stalking and dodging around the living room while Jay played the theme to Looney Tunes.
“No respect for the sanctity of marriage!” Matt bellowed after Jared as he fled the house through the front door, glaring when he noticed a lens expertly squeezed through the window’s blinds from outside.
From behind him, a threatening dun uh, dun uh, echoed from the piano, sending goosebumps down his spine.
“Jaws!” Jay trilled, waves crashing onto the shore.
Matt could feel the current already, tugging at his chest, threatening to pull him under. He could see all of Jay’s teeth again, smile wide, and imagined himself as a tiny fish, swimming towards them, ready to be devoured whole.
—
Early the next morning, just as the sun was beginning to blush across the sky, they shoved a duffel bag into the trunk and piled into the rental car Jared made Matt get, per their arrangement. Jay fell asleep before they left Queen street, slumping over, open mouthed, and soaking Matt’s shoulder with drool. He snored until there was little under an hour left in their drive, blinking harshly when he couldn’t ignore the sun beating in through the window any longer.
There was a market not far from the rental house where Matt demanded they stop for last minute supplies like sunscreen (“I’m not listening to you cry all night about sunburn!”) and candy (“Matt! They have salt water taffy!”). A handful of groceries were also added to the cart when Matt realized, horrified, that part of staying in a quaint beachside town meant every place closed at 9:00 P.M. and no Uber Eats driver was going to drive that far out for a few measly lunches. It seemed barbaric, but they could make do with spaghetti and jarred marinara for the next two days. He could make Jay Lady and the Tramp it with him.
They were dropped off, rather unceremoniously, in front of a sleek looking cottage artfully decorated with nautical nets and driftwood, nestled in a patch of seagrass with a sprawling stretch of sand that led right to the shimmering lake.
Inside, Jay found the piano (which was not the one from the pictures online, Matt noted with a sneer), and began a melody of soundtracks that started with Jaws, bled into Grease, and ended with Beach Blanket Bingo while Matt unpacked their bathing suits and tracked down some towels. Two oversized silky robes hung from twin hooks in the en suite bathroom, one of which Matt draped around his shoulders and sashayed into the next room, singing loudly.
“Goodbye hoooorses…” He sauntered around the piano until Jay got the hint and began playing Q Lazzarus. “I’m flying over you! Goodbye horses!” The robe slipped from his shoulders as he wiggled suggestively with his legs squeezed together.
Voice, several octaves deeper and sounding more like Bane than Buffalo Bill, he pouted “Would you fuck me? I’d fuck me. I’d fuck me hard.”
Jay grinned. The Silence of the Lambs was one his favorites, the beautiful freak.
“Let’s go to the beach first.” A surly joke! That worked!
“Ok–race you!” Matt shook the robe from his shoulders and bolted toward the back door, making it all of the way off the porch and into the hot, sun warmed sand before Jay even realized he was losing. He became aware of his mistake quickly, tripping over the frayed edges of his jeans he was used to avoiding on concrete and cement, not a treacherous shore.
“That’s what you get for cheating!” Jay mocked, unsympathetic as Matt hauled himself to his feet. Back inside, they changed into their trunks and smeared sunscreen all over each other's chests and backs.
They brought a picnic to the beach, sandwiches with too much mustard and a family size bag of chips, washed down with pineapple sodas. The sun was beaming, making their skin hot and pink until it was unbearable and they dove into the lake for relief. Hours passed as they alternated between stretching across their towels, roasting, and sinking under the water’s surface to cool down. They splashed and dunked each other, saw who could hold their breath under water the longest (Matt), and played Marco Polo until Jay’s foot brushed against some algae that he swore was a sea monster.
“Remember that era of sitcoms where every show had to have a beach episode?” Matt wondered during a period of lazing. His words felt heavy, sun drunk. “Even when they had like, no business being anywhere near a beach.”
“Someone always had some cousin or coworker who had a beach house,” Jay agreed, eyes closed against the rays and arms crossed behind his head. The strands of silver in his hair reflected in the sun like the surface of the water. Tinsel on a Christmas tree. Suddenly, Matt found it hard to swallow. How lucky am I to see him age? The thought made something grow in his chest, a sudden burst of energy and light that made the shining sun above him seem so dull and insignificant.
They were growing old together. Greys, wrinkles, aching joints and creaking bones. The way they’ve both softened, moved a little bit slower. It used to scare him, to think about getting old, but now it seemed exciting, to see the ways in which Jay would change, which parts would stay the same. Would his voice become hoarse and deep? Would he need a cane to get around, when their backs were hunched and feet sore and swollen? Matt would get to know one day.
He jolted upright and ran to the water, feeling like a firework, seconds before blast-off. It was warm, but felt cool against his skin, toasty and red. Eyes wide open, he plunged himself beneath the surface. Murky clouds swirled around him, a loud whooshing sound rattled around his ears, his lungs burned and ached as the seconds ticked by.
When he came up, gasping for air, Jay was next to him in the water, glowing.
“Remember when we were kids and your sister made us play mermaids every time we went to your grandma’s pool?” He reached his hand under the water, slithering his way up through the bottom of Jay’s swimming trunks and crab clawing his fingers up and down his thigh.
Jay snorted, hooking his ankle around Matt’s as they bobbed in the water. “Made? Please. You would get so mad when we would forget your stupid mermaid powers or whatever and make us listen to you explain it over and over—”
Matt yanked his hand back from where it had come to rest on Jay’s hip, and splashed his face for good measure.
“How difficult is it to remember I could talk to all marine wildlife—which includes pelicans, by the way!—it’s a good thing you’re both so attractive because, my god, the stunning lack of brain cells between you both!”
Jay splashed him back, pouting from the insult, or for calling someone else attractive, or both, and a brawl broke out, dunking each other and tugging ankles until they went under. It went from playful, to aggressive, a brief dip into violence when Matt clawed at Jay’s shoulder like an angry cat, and then they began groping at each other's wet skin with different intentions entirely, all within a matter of seconds.
Back on the sand, they caught their breaths squeezed together on the same towel, drying themselves in the sun.
Matt tried reaching for his hat, but his hand was smacked away.
“Leave it,” Jay murmured sleepily into his armpit. He squinted against the sun, one eye squeezed shut, the other focused on Matt’s sea swept hair, the same golden color as the sand around it. It was long overdue for a trim, but whenever he brought it up, Jay sulked and stared at him with big doe eyes until he dropped it.
“What if we grew our hair out? Become surfer guys and do like a groovin’ California sound,” Matt shook his head, still damp curls whipping around his cheeks. Their day in the sun made him feel invincible, like he could jump off the CN tower again, this time without a parachute. If he ever had some terrible disease, a vicious cancer or virus draining the life out of him, he would be healed, instantly, so long as he felt Jay next to him, skin hot and tanning. He could be shot in the head, drown at the bottom of Lake Ontario, fall off a cliff Wile E. Coyote style.
Lightning could strike him, right then and there, making his bones go like Ernest, and he would be fine, perfectly fine, because Jay’s fingers are brushing through his hair, and he’s singing:
“Aruba, Jamaica, ooh I wanna take ya…”
“The Beach Boys, yes! We can do a Beach Boys thing, Surfin’ USA and Good Vibrations!” They could live in a sandcastle and learn to breathe underwater! They can throw away all their shoes and wear hats woven with palm fronds! A dolphin would deliver their mail!
Matt was sitting up now, shoulders dancing while Jay promised to take them to Bermuda, Bahama.
“The Beach Boys but without getting gonorrhea from the Manson family!” He tilted his head to the side, considering. “Should we start a cult? Get a bunch of woo-woo types obsessed with us and have them spread the good word? ‘Excuse me, sir? Miss? Do you have a moment to talk about our lords and saviours, Nirvanna the Band?’”
Jay wrinkled his nose. “Cults never work out. Everyone always dies or just ends up doing manual labour all day. Besides,” He peered up at Matt from his spot in the sand, eyes shining bright even behind his sunglasses. “You’d make a terrible cult leader.”
The nerve!
Matt spluttered, genuinely offended. “Are you kidding?” He hissed. “I’d be a great cult leader! I’ve had you doing my bidding for years, decades even! You’re my most devoted disciple!”
When Jay laughed, it sounded like a hot, summer breeze moving across the lake. “We’re married!”
“Ah, yes, but what is a marriage if not a cult between two people?” Matt asked sagely. The water was calling to him again, sweat on his skin making sand stick to the back of his knees.
“I’m not sure most people see it that way,” Jay crawled to his feet, ready to cool down too.
“That’s because we do it better than everybody else. They wish they were crushing marriage as hard as us! They shouldn’t even have been allowed to do it until we came along!” As far as he was concerned, it was true.
Waves lapped at the shore, the surface of the lake glistening like diamonds.
“Race you!” He shouted, but as he passed, he grabbed Jay’s hand, tugging him along, past the shoreline, and into the deep blue.
–
Sunset was viewed from the porch, too sun fried and drowsy to be too far from a sleepable surface. Vibrant oranges and moody purples reminded Matt of the fireworks they used to set off the roof at the old apartment, where they sat huddled together, letting the sparks rain down all around them.
Jay had arranged a variety of candies on a plate and they were taking turns blindly trying to guess what the other was chewing on.
“Jujyfruit,” Jay was confident, as he was winning.
“What color?” Matt challenged, covering his mouth while he spoke, so as to not give any sticky teethed clues.
Eyes narrowed, Jay considered for a moment, like if he watched Matt’s jaw closely and intensely enough, he could X-Ray vision his way through his cheek and into the inside of his mouth.
“Green!” He said at last, triumphant.
“Nope. Swedish Fish. Not even close.”
“It’s a little close,” Jay grumbled as he ripped through a Peach Ring with the sides of his teeth. There were a few more on the plate and Matt dipped the tips of his fingers through the holes, wiggling them in front of Jay’s face to show off his new jewelry.
“Matches,” Jay said, ducking his head towards the wedding band snug around Matt’s finger. Gingerly, he peeled one of the sugared rings from Matt's pinky and stuck it on his own, pushing it all the way down until it was nestled next to the real one, a pair in peach and gold.
The first time Matt saw Jay play the piano—back when he would be away from him for hours practicing and he had to beg Jay’s mom to just let him sit in and watch, he wouldn’t distract him, he promised!—he thought the way he moved his fingers around the keys, delicate yet powerful enough to produce such beautiful music, was the most incredible thing Matt has ever seen. At the age of thirteen, he figured he might as well be blind for the rest of his life, because surely nothing could look better than that.
The sight of a Peach Ring next to his real wedding band—the one Matt picked out for him, with a tremble—haloed around the last two fingers on his left hand, just might come in a close second though.
Pathetically, Matt felt the familiar stab of jealousy towards an inanimate object. It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t spend the rest of his existence coiled around Jay’s ring finger, flush against muscle and ligament, getting to feel every bend and curve as he played, wildly, softly. Filling everything up with the most wonderful, glorious noise, like the entire world had been in complete silence until then.
Later, in the kitchen, they boiled pasta and heated up some sauce, stomachs desperate for something that wasn’t pure sugar. Lady and the Tramping was harder than it looked, Matt learned, as the noodles kept breaking midway through. He insisted they keep trying through, until their faces were smeared with tomato and they finally slurped their way into a kiss.
“I have rosemary in my nose,” Jay complained, rubbing at his nostrils. They were in bed, wincing as their skin, red and crispy from weak SPF, slid against the sheets and pressed together.
“There’s a pier not far from here. And a boardwalk. We can go in the morning,” Matt suggested, ignoring him. There was an exhaustion deep in his bones that could only come from spending the day at the beach, drenched in sun and battered by waves.
It was silent for a long moment, both half dozing, shoulder to shoulder, until a whisper in the darkness.
“Hey, Matt?”
“Yeah, Bird?”
“This is a really nice honeymoon. Thanks.”
A few seconds of shuffling, trying to slot their bodies and hands together as gently as possible against their sunburns, lips dusting across hot shoulders and cheeks.
Through the open window, they could hear the rumble of waves licking at the shore, lulling them both into deep and dreamless sleep.
—
In between pastel painted stores selling souvenir mugs and keychains (and magnets, which Matt bought three of for the fridge back home) there was a little stand next to a long line of bicycles, rentable by the hour.
Whizzing through throngs of tutting tourists, they raced up and down the boardwalk, looping around the end of the pier and pushing the limits of tires on sand for the better part of the afternoon, the rush of wind a relief against their burned noses and cheeks.
Jay skidded to a stop when they passed a shop with a giant ice cream cone out front and a sign that boasted they had WORLD FAMOUS BANANA SPLITS!
“They’re world famous,” he stressed.
“I mean, it’s ice cream and fruit, they’re not exactly reinventing the wheel here,” Matt countered, but he hopped off his bike and followed him inside where he insisted they share one. In fairness, it was delicious, and they agreed through mouthfuls of whipped cream and sprinkles that it deserved its global renown. A backstory for this famous banana split developed, how it started out as a simple small town dessert with big talent and bigger dreams, swept up in the glitz and glamour of the frozen treat industry. A scandalous affair with a strawberry milkshake and rumors of illegitimate waffle cone children. Jay was doing his best to tap out the beats of a whirlwind Hollywood career, the high highs and low lows, but he faltered, weirdly, when Matt, as he often does with their characters, sent the banana split on a murder spree, slicing snow cones in half and stabbing a hot fudge sundae right in its head.
“And they were co-stars! Hey are you ok?” He noticed the way Jay paled when he said that the chocolate sauce and chopped nuts would be the brains splattered all over the wall.
“Brain freeze,” Jay choked and suddenly changed subjects. “You know I actually like The Muppets version of Kokomo the best. I think Kermit’s voice is better suited for it.”
“Sure,” Matt agreed, holding the door open for an incoming family as they left the ice cream parlor.
Swinging back onto their bikes, he thought about suggesting Muppet Treasure Island to watch later, before remembering their VHS was back home, with all the other bits and pieces they’ve collected together over the years, filling all the nooks and crannies of their cozy home. It hurt to be away from there for a moment, like a quick press against a fresh bruise, before Jay declared they were racing again and zoomed ahead, barking out a laugh as Matt struggled to switch into faster pedaling.
Off the boardwalk and down a path of crushed seashells and sand, he began to close the gap between them, a looming threat.
“You didn’t even say where we were racing too!” He hollered against the thready hiss of rubber on grit, knowing full well Jay was headed back to the house, already planning a snooze on the couch.
If Jay didn’t turn back to laugh in Matt’s face, he would have noticed the divot in the path, but he did, and his tire wedged itself right in, sending Jay, limbs akimbo, over the handlebars and crashing to the ground. A cloud of dust kicked up where he landed, hard, on his back as Matt screeched to a halt beside him.
“Man, I’ll feel that later,” he groaned, accepting Matt’s hand to be pulled to his feet. While he rubbed at his hip, Matt dusted sand off his shorts and out of his hair, inspecting for damage. A pearl of blood welled up near the inside of his elbow, oozing slowly down his forearm from a small gash where a seashell shard nicked his skin. Like a magnet, Matt felt himself be pulled forward, peering at the little pool in the crook of Jay’s arm, hovering just centimeters above it. There was a weird buzzing in his head, and his mouth felt weird, like it was full of bees stinging him from the inside. He wanted–he needed–to press his tongue flat, right against the scratched flesh and lick it clean.
“Lemme lick it,” he mumbled, tongue sticking out of a frown when Jay snatched his arm away, too quickly for him to catch it.
“No, you freak!” Jay protested, but not strongly. Matt would win this one. They both knew it would end with him lapping at Jay’s elbow until the bleeding stopped like the world’s most pathetic vampire.
“Why?” A push.
“Because it’s gross!” A pull.
“Oh, now you want to get precious about body fluids?” Laughter bubbled out of Matt as he took Jay’s injured arm into his own. Softening his face into his best Cameron Diaz pout he wailed, “I swallowed your cum! That means something!”
With his free hand, Jay high fived him. “Vanilla Sky!” He beamed, knocking the ball Matt pitched him out of the park.
“Terrible movie,” Matt grumbled leaning forward again to brush his lips around the clean, unmarred skin around the still seeping wound. “No more Tom Cruise movies that came out after the towers fell.” He paused before sticking his tongue out, amending his statement at the squawk of protest from above him. “Unless it’s already part of an established franchise.” Jay loved to play the Mission Impossible theme when he was feeling excited about a plan, and Matt loved to listen to it, knowing they were on the same page when it came to their espionage, that time anyway.
Obediently, Jay stood still while Matt mouthed his way up and down his arm, tiny kitten licks lapping at the blood quickly, before it crusted dry. The taste of copper, like dirty pennies, filled his mouth exquisitely.
“Delicious,” he purred when he pulled away. The bleeding had stopped and Jay used the bottom of his T-shirt to wipe away the saliva, frowning.
“Gross. You’re gross.”
“You have to do it next,” Matt rushed to inform him. “Next time I get a cut you have to lick my blood up. You have to! It wouldn’t be fair. All good?” he gestured to the scrape.
“You’re dreaming!” Jay snorted and then nodded. “Yeah it’s fine. Not deep enough for stitches or anything.”
When they got home, Matt thought, he was going to learn how to sew so he could stitch his initials on the inside of all of Jay’s shirts, pressing a threaded MJ into his chest until it left an imprint. Maybe one day, if he asked nice enough, Jay would let him slide the needle under the skin itself, and he could suture his name right across his heart.
You’re so gay! He could hear Jay’s voice tease him from the back of his brain, and the worst part was that he couldn’t even defend himself. So gay, he agreed, hanging his head in a sulk.
They decided to walk the bikes back, the underside of Jay’s legs already beginning to purple from the force of his fall. At the house, Matt collected cubes from the freezer into a plastic bag, a makeshift icepack, while Jay hobbled over to the piano, playing a blend of the themes from ER and Dracula. Failing to bully him into elevating his legs on the couch, Matt left the bag of ice resting at Jay’s hip and started ransacking the bathroom cabinets, searching for any deserted Band-Aids.
From the other room, he could hear Jay switch to a melody of The Beach Boys, unsurprising since he’s been whistling Wouldn’t it be Nice? all afternoon. When he realized he had started playing a single song in full though, and the lyrics began to form in his mind, Matt felt his knees buckle, and if he wasn’t gripping the counter, white knuckled, he probably would have slid right to the floor.
If you should ever leave me
Well, life would still go on, believe me
The world could show nothing to me
So what good would living do me?
He made his way, gasping, to the piano, feeling like he was crawling across hot coals and broken glass the closer he got to Jay’s quiet hums. Sometimes, he felt things too much, too intensely, and it burned him up from the inside out, boiling over until he was nothing but raw, exposed nerves. It was usually always Jay related, because there really wasn’t anything else outside of him that could make Matt feel that way. Before, when things were still left unsaid and they fought, vicious and confused by the shared existence developing between them, the secret language they were speaking more fluently with each passing day, Matt spent most of the time feeling like he just took a shotgun blast right to the face.
God only knows what I’d be without you
Unaware of the agony he was in, Jay continued happily, perking up even, when he saw Matt hovering a few feet away.
“Jay. Bird,” he croaked, pained. “I know I promised I wouldn’t bring it up anymore,” he licked his lips, pleading. “But…I swear to God, man. If you ever leave me I’m killing myself for real this time I mean it. There’s no way I could go on, it’s absolute curtains for me.”
The music stopped and Jay turned to face him fully, wincing a bit as his tailbone, surely bruised, shifted against the piano bench.
“You’re not supposed to say things like that,” Jay murmured, but his eyes were bright and shining like stars, the way they did when he was secretly flattered. “It’s like, manipulative.”
“You’re manipulative,” Matt shot back stupidly, not really sure what he meant by it. His feet felt like they were covered in fire ants.
“Matt. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know.” The fire ants were spreading, crawling over his ankles and up to his knees. He swallowed, roughly. “But—”
“Do you remember,” Jay bulldozed over him. “A few months ago, when I told you I time traveled?”
Matt floundered, mouth opening and closing shut like a screen door in a hurricane, instinctively glancing around the room to share a look of disbelief with Jared’s camera lens.
“Uh-huh,” he finally said flatly, like it didn’t occupy his every waking thought. Like he didn’t spend hours watching Jay sleep at night, stewing in anger at this unknowable part of his life. Like time travel was just an accepted and regular part of society, something people did every day.
“Well,” Jay began slowly with a shaky breath, his eyes becoming rimmed with red. “You died. In the bad timeline, the one I had to fix.”
A heavy silence hung in the air. Of all the nightmarish scenarios he came up with when he thought about what happened while Jay was in some other universe, this wasn’t one of them. He wanted to ask, how? but Jay was already on the verge of tears. Instead, he said nothing, letting Jay continue to struggle with his words.
“It…I would be miserable, Matt. I don’t even want to have to think about spending a single day without you, let alone actually do it.” A deep breath and a shaky, watery smile. “It would be curtains for me too.”
Overtaken completely now, like Candyman, the fire ants started to burrow into his eyes, through his mouth and to his lungs, filling him up with stinging poison. It was okay, though. He had already died before.
The ants were carrying him, marching his husk across the room to the piano bench where they sat him down and buried his face into the spot where Jay’s neck met his shoulder.
He had already died before and Jay had brought him back.
He could do it again.
—
That night, munching on frozen grapes and crusts of bread sandwiching crumbs of cheese, they tried to light the firepit in the backyard, giving up when the wind proved to be too much. It was warm and quiet, save for a light rumble of thunder in the distance, and the waves of the evening tide. A near perfect evening, with twice as many stars as they normally see, back home, above them.
Two days away from the city, with all its noise and chaos, was enough to make Matt a little antsy, not fully sure what to do with himself. He didn’t realize he was taking for granted the ability to step outside and be within walking distance of anything he could possibly need. Earlier, he asked the helpful teen working at the ice cream store where they could find some boba tea and balked when she said they would have to drive about twenty minutes away.
The house he rented, while perfectly charming and highly desirable, paled in comparison to their own home, Matt thought fondly. Sure a few of the basement stairs were missing and their faucets were mostly rust at this point, but it was impossible to look around at any part of the house and not see evidence of their shared lives. What’s a flea market rug, carried home over both their shoulders on a cheerful weekend afternoon, really for if not to cover up a mysterious green fuzz growing through the floorboards?
Nirvanna the Band the B and B could be a good idea, one day, when Jay’s greys have taken over the starring role of his hair and Matt’s eyebags reached his chin. He wasn’t entirely sure what retirement would look like for a band that has technically never played for anyone before, but he supposed it could be that. It could look like anything really, so long as it was the two of them.
“Hey when we go home tomorrow, let’s watch Muppet Treasure Island,” Jay said, casually, as he mouthed his way down Matt’s stomach later in bed.
“Holy shit I was thinking about that earlier!” Matt gasped in surprise—and then in delight—twisting his fingers through the linen sheets.
He wondered how people could possibly even bear it, to not have an entire part of themselves walking around inside another person, knowing them on a cellular level, able to understand them even when the words aren’t coming out right and they’re not even entirely sure they understand themselves. He would feel like half a person, without his bird.
Sooo fucking gay, he thought, and then he kissed his husband.
—
As a peace offering, Matt biked down the pier and grabbed half a dozen bagel sandwiches for Jared and whichever camera crony he brought along with him for the ride home.
Noticing the way Jay limped and winced his bruised body into the backseat, Jared announced that Luca owed him twenty bucks because they weren’t, in fact, making it home unscathed.
“Gambling, Jared? That is so uncouth,” Matt said tossing him a tin foiled wrapped bacon egg and cheese.
During the ride home, they debated whether or not they actually wanted to be rescued from the island on Gilligan’s Island.
“They had like a hundred chances to leave! Every episode was a new plan that would finally get them what they want and when it didn’t work out they just moved on to the next one without even trying again!”
Jared began spluttering from the front seat and was ultimately ignored.
“But it was Gillian who always messed up. I think he was actually a serial killer who tampered with the boat so he could trap them all on an island and was keeping them there as part of his sick game. Like Jigsaw, but tropical!” Matt countered and then proposed a different thought in the same breath.
“Hey, what about like, a coconut cream pie plan? We become really good at making pies, everyone’s dying for them, we’re selling out like crazy! And then, obviously, the Rivoli will call and want us to serve our amazing pies there and we’ll say, well I suppose so…If you give us a show!”
Jay considered this for a moment, scratching at his beard. “Can we make good pie?” He asked, having preheated an oven only a handful of times before in his life.
“How hard could it be? They were making coconut cream pies on that island all the time!”
Walking through the front door a few hours later felt like slipping into a warm bath after a long day. While popcorn was popping, Matt plastered the fridge with their souvenir magnets, more pieces for the puzzle that was their home, and Jay rummaged through the VHS collection, on the hunt for a swashbuckling adventure.
A few days later, when their sunburns began to flake and they took turns peeling thick sheets of skin off each other’s backs, Matt’s palm was sliced by a crisp piece of mail he was stuffing into the garbage can.
“JAY!” He screamed when a razor thin curtain of blood tickled down to his wrist.
Concerned when he first appeared, summoned by the screech, Jay quickly rolled his eyes when the bloody palm was thrust in his face.
“I’m not licking your blood, you freak.” The fight was barely there. Matt grinned, knowing exactly where they were headed.
“You have to. I did yours!” He crowded Jay against the wall, palm up in front of him. It was morning, and he was still sleep wrinkled and warm from their bed, wearing one of Matt’s shirts, loose around the shoulders.
“I didn’t ask you to!” Jay grabbed Matt’s wrist, bringing the hand to his mouth.
“Remember when we were kids and we did a blood brother ritual in your basement?” Matt shivered as Jay took his thumb into his mouth, pointedly ignoring the blood, now smeared across his palm.
They had only known each other a few weeks then, a lifetime when you’re twelve and you meet your best friend, and Matt already knew that this was going to be forever, the two of them. They pinpricked the tips of their index fingers until tiny bubbles of red appeared, pressing them together, hard.
“Now we’re bonded for life,” Matt vowed, voice hushed, and Jay nodded solemnly before starting a pillow fight that ended with them burying the body of a shattered lamp in the backyard, hiding the evidence, hysterical and brandishing Ninja Turtle flashlights.
They were never caught, Matt realized, panting in the kitchen as Jay kissed his way across each of his fingers until finally reaching the wounded skin. They were fugitives on the run, hiding together from a brutal past, a terrible shared secret between them.
Holding his gaze, eyes locked and full of heat, Jay leaned in, and licked Matt’s palm clean.
“Happy?”
Sunlight was streaming in through the windows, illuminating the whole house in a cozy, cheerful glow. He could hear the street sounds from outside, the city wide awake with everything to offer. The day was still early, they could do anything they wanted to.
Smiling, Matt pressed his lips to Jay’s jaw and answered truthfully.
“Thrilled!”