Archive of Our Own

Inside the closet, shoved in the back behind heavy boots, some beat up luggage, and a few flimsy music stands, there was a plastic moving crate he shuffled to and from Boston nearly two decades ago that hadn't been opened since. It had moved of course, from apartment to house to other house along with Jay and its fellow closetmates, shuffled around and stacked on top of each other, untouched for years until it was time to go again, a new darkness in a new closet waiting. Jay went hunting for it out of desperation, a recent string of rehearsals having gone so poorly he was beginning to wonder if he could ever really play at all, and he wanted to see the proof that he knew what he was doing, hoping maybe something in there could jumpstart him back to life.

He settled, cross-legged in the center of his bed with the box in his lap, prying the lid off with a series of crackling snaps; loud enough, it seemed, to reach outside the room and summon Matt’s curious face peering in from the doorway like a dog confused by an unfamiliar noise. Jay frowned, annoyed with himself for not thinking to lock the door behind him when he stormed away from the piano, frustrated to the point of near tears the way his fingers fumbled clumsily against the keys, the connection to his brain blocked by whatever muck that had accumulated there he was trying so hard to get rid of. 

“What’s this?” Matt kicked the door open further and bullied his way onto the bed, getting his hands slapped away as he tried to snake them inside the crate. Sheet music, old class notes with scribbled chord charts, books of scores from a list of overpriced required materials purchased from the campus library, their spines never cracked. Maybe something there could remind him that he actually knew how to translate the music in his mind to the instrument in front of him, something that had become a worrying struggle the last week or so. 

The stony look Matt gave the box told Jay that he knew exactly where it had been, his tone clipped when he got his hands on a few loose sheets of music. “You don’t need this,” he said firmly. “You never needed this stuff.” He was trying to be supportive, Jay knew, but it made him feel a bit queasy and ashamed, like he was caught doing something terribly embarrassing. Matt was right, he couldn’t remember the last time he even looked at a piece of sheet music, let alone actually used one, but he was hoping maybe they could help dust off some of the cobwebs or turn the lights back on or fix whatever was broken and rusty inside him that was making his hands work backwards. 

Jay shrugged sheepishly, fully giving in and letting Matt rummage through the rest of the box, feeling silly for having dug it out at all. “I dunno,” he grumbled and rubbed at his nose. “I thought it could help…whatever’s wrong with me right now I guess.” 

Matt winced sympathetically. He was careful enough with Jay’s feelings to not bring it up, but the last few rehearsals were so terrible and tense, all frustrated sighs and furtive glances, there was no way he hadn’t noticed. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said plainly. “You just have some sort of…creative block. Happens to the best of us!” Shoving Jay’s shoulder with his own, he scooped a dusty Gameboy Advance out of the box with a delighted gasp, shaking it in front of Jay’s face like he was showing off a prize. “And it’s got Donkey Kong in it! Dude!” His smile, like always, was infectious, teasing the corners of Jay’s lips up into a pleased curl. See, Bird, Jay could hear him say, by the sparkle in his eyes, everything’s fine! We have Donkey Kong! You love the mineshaft levels! 

“We’ll get through it,” Matt continued to snoop, peeking into notebook pages and inspecting a tangle of unidentified chargers, cords, and wired headphones. “We’ll get through everything.” 

A thick and heavy silence as Matt pulled out a few CD cases and DVDs, the elephant in the room imposing. They were banned from the Rivoli again, or rather, asked to not return for an unspecified amount of time. Matt watched a movie where Natalie Portman gave birth inside of the Walmart she was secretly living inside of and came up with the idea to hide in the Rivoli when they closed, setting up during the night so that when they opened the next afternoon, they would have no choice but to let them play– they were already there, ready and waiting! It only took a few hours, however, for them to get terribly bored and drowsy, falling asleep sprawled together on the stage and nearly giving the dayshift manager a heart attack when he found them snoring in the dark the next morning. 

“We were lucky they didn’t call the police,” Jay had said, trying to rally. They spent the next week licking their wounds and taking turns sulking around the house. 

“Mmm. So lucky!” Matt snapped when it was his shift to be cranky and inconsolable. “Lucky you were there batting your eyes like you were trying to get out of a speeding ticket. So lucky you weaponized your…your pretty privilege against that guy, Bird. I’m sure we’d be behind bars right now if you weren’t there, twirling your hair!” He then stormed upstairs and came down three hours later with a multi-step plan to discredit the manager’s character, turning him into an unreliable witness no one would take seriously when he tried to warn them about the guys sneaking around at night with the excuse of “we’re doing a Where the Heart Is plan!”

So far, they were on step two, which involved mild mail fraud, but as far as Jay was concerned they could be banned for the rest of their lives and it wouldn’t matter anyway, not so long as this “creative block” was robbing him of his ability to play the piano the way he wanted to. Usually, things flowed so easily, like he wasn’t even in control of it, his fingers moving in accordance with whatever vocals Matt was throwing at them without him even needing to think about it. Now everything was clumsy and off-kilter, like he slipped out of sync for a few beats and never quite caught up. 

He was running overtime on his turn to feel sorry for himself, but Matt was being generous, cooing around him instead of telling him to snap out of it, probably the most damning sign yet that Jay’s struggle was obvious. 

“Are you kidding me?” Matt’s voice was shrill as he shoved a DVD case he had just uncovered in Jay’s face, the blur barely recognizable as Withnail and I. “I’ve been looking for this for years, dude! You’ve had it this whole time? Man, I fought with my sister for like months because I thought she stole it!” He shook his head in disbelief. “And it was you! You robbed me!” 

“I didn’t mean to,” Jay lied. They had watched it together the night before Jay left for college, blinking back tears as Withnail performed Hamlet for the wolves, the lumps in their throats painful but ultimately ignored. He slipped the DVD into his backpack after Matt fell asleep and he spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling while Matt snored softly, wondering if he was making a huge mistake. In the morning, Matt hugged him tight and said that he was going to miss him and Jay strangely felt like he was going off to war, like Matt should be tearfully waving a handkerchief around a train platform as Jay disappeared into the distance. I’ll come back to you! he wanted to tell him, embarrassed by the way Matt’s sad smile made his heart break a little bit. It all felt very…gay. Instead, he punched his shoulder and promised to call in a few days, unaware of the weeks-long warfare that would soon break out in the Johnson household as a result of his thievery. 

“It must have gotten mixed up in my stuff. Let’s go put it on.” He wanted to put the box away again, tossing folders and notebooks back in and snapping the lid shut. There was nothing for him in there, nothing useful anyway. He could play every single sheet of music he had blind and backwards if he needed to, but that kind of stuff was boring and completely useless for the band. 

Matt collected the salvaged Gameboy and DVDs, grinning when he saw the plastic crate disappear back into the closet. “After we pick up dinner,” he said. “I put an order in. Should be ready by the time we get there.” 

The journey was brief and brisk, with a chilly breeze that left them huddled and shivering down the sidewalk, their breaths coming out in clouds in front of them as they brainstormed ways they could intercept the Canada Post. By the time they made it to the takeout place–their top choice for Chinese and third favorite overall in the neighborhood–their cheeks and noses were rosy and wind bitten. Shivering the restaurant’s entrance, Jay hoped Matt had ordered some hot and sour soup. 

It was a small space, with just a handful of tables crammed together in the dining area that were never empty and a takeout counter that had a constant flutter of activity and a row of delicious smelling brown paper bags, greasy and steaming. They were always busy, and that night was no exception, with a cluster of hungry people waiting for their orders in the foyer. It only took about thirty seconds of Matt rocking on his heels in silence before he started making small talk with the others in line, delighted when he learned some of them were tourists. 

“How are you liking Toronto? Pretty cold tonight, eh?” 

Jay wandered over to the gumball machine in the corner, fishing a few coins from his pocket as Matt suggested restaurants and spots of interests to the amused visitors, slipping into his unofficial role as head of the city’s tourism board. He got two–a blue and a yellow–and wordlessly handed one to Matt who tossed it in his mouth and started chomping without ever pausing the history lecture he had started on that block of buildings, brick and ancient. He was still talking when the man in front of them picked up his order and shuffled away so Jay approached the counter with a smile and loud rumble in his stomach. Everything smelled fried and wonderful and he was starving. 

“Hi. My friend called in an order. Should be under Matt.” He felt giddy as the woman behind the counter scanned the order slips, excited to stuff his face until he was too full to move from the couch. Beside him, Matt had gone silent, his mouth now solely focused on working the chunk of bubblegum around at a ferocious pace. 

The bag Jay was handed with a friendly nod was heavy and hot against his chest as he held it close like precious cargo. He poked his nose inside and inhaled deeply, sighing contently as fragrant steam warmed his face. At the bottom of the bag, shouldering several cardboard cartons, Jay could see a plastic quart sized container of hot and sour soup. He beamed at Matt as they made their way to the exit, but his head was already bent against the cold, and the rest of the walk home was hurried and silent. 

Inside the house they shed their coats and unpacked the food, Jay dividing up the dumplings while Matt set up the movie, grumbling snidely about crime statistics and being more likely to be burgled by those closest to you rather than strangers. 

“I think that’s murder,” Jay hissed around a mouthful of lo mein, still steaming and burning his tongue. 

Matt swiped a bite from his plate. “Don’t give me any ideas.” 

They watched the movie in relative silence as they made their way through dinner, Matt’s usual commentary muted and infrequent. His mood had shifted somewhere along the way home, chilling with the frigid temperature outside. Jay figured it was his turn to handle morale regarding the Rivoli predicament. It wasn’t that bad really, the manager had recognized them, knew they weren’t dangerous. Once the initial scare wore off he just cut their stumbling excuses short and told them to beat it. The heat just needed to cool off a bit is all. 

“Hey, what if we did like, a Shakespeare thing?” Jay suggested, slightly desperate when the stretches of silence started getting longer. A brooding Matt was never a good sign. 

“A ‘Shakespeare thing’?” Matt narrowed his eyes. 

“Yeah, like um,” Jay faltered. The only thing he knew about Shakespeare was by way of Baz Luhrmann. “Fancy old timey theater but with our music! You could come out in one of those ruffle collars and do the whole,” he stretched his arm out in front of him, staring stoically at his empty hand for a second. “With the skull!” 

Matt hummed, his eyes drifting back to the screen.

Changing tactics, Jay reached for the nearly empty take out bag, shaking loose a handful of fortune cookies onto the coffee table. 

“Look, they gave us extras!” Jay was delighted, but Matt ignored the offering hand, his eyes searing straight ahead. 

“Of course they did,” he said flatly, voice terse. “The way you were flirting with the cashier I’m surprised they didn’t give us free spring rolls. Maybe next time, eh?” 

Jay, spluttering, nearly inhaled his fortune. Distantly, he wondered if anyone had ever died that way, choking on the little slip of paper, and then, if they had, he wondered what the fortune would have said. 

“Flirting? Who was flirting? You’re crazy!” Jay couldn’t even remember the last time he flirted with someone, unless sidling up next to Matt on the couch and breathing hotly against his neck until he stuck his hands down his pants counted, but that wasn’t really flirting so much as just sort of…existing. He couldn’t even picture the person behind the counter, all he remembered was smelling fresh wontons and Matt’s teeth stained blue from his gumball, the chill in his bones as he waited for Matt to unlock the front door when they arrived home. 

“Whatever you say,” Matt shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. The movie was nearly over, Withnail violently high and evicted. Jay remembers being in Matt’s family’s basement all those years ago, his face hot and itchy as he watched the two men stroll through Regent’s Park, the idea that they may never see each other again making his breath hitch. He promised himself he wouldn’t let that happen to him and Matt, that they would still be best friends, even if he was in another country. It was the one thing he wanted, needed, to hold on to. 

And here they were, decades later, closer than ever. Jay felt a sappy smile work its way across his face, eyes becoming misty. 

Suddenly,  the TV clicked off abruptly, the swelling score cut short as credits began to roll. Matt stood from the couch, stretching and sighing as Jay watched him pile their dirty dishes into the kitchen sink, a problem for later. His shoulders were tense and the air around him was stormy, radiating an energy that seemed more pissed than upset. 

“You okay?” Jay ventured, doing his part in the cleanup by sweeping crumbs from the couch onto the floor. 

“Fine,” Matt replied, quick and clipped. “I’m going to my room.” He stared pointedly as he brushed by Jay towards the stairs. Jay paused and counted a full forty five seconds in his head before he allowed himself to follow, shedding his blazer and popping shirt buttons along the way. 

Matt was waiting for him, undressed and impatient in his bed. Despite him saying otherwise, Jay knew he was annoyed at something, the way he pressed roughly inside and bit at his shoulder, pinning both of his wrists with one hand, tight enough to leave a blush of red behind. Jay surrendered completely, absorbing growls with eager and swollen lips, squeaking out whines and mewling pants when Matt easily coaxed them out of him. They had done this enough over the years for Jay to know exactly what it was Matt wanted from him, how to get him glossy eyed and drooling, forgetting his own name. And, thankfully, Matt did too, having spent their early encounters cataloging every brush of skin and the reaction Jay rewarded him with until he had a perfect map to get them to where they needed to.

After, Jay was too boneless and drained to move, whining until he felt Matt swipe a shirt—he didn’t open his eyes to check whose he was using, though he had a good guess—across his sticky thighs and stomach with a snort. Jay purred in appreciation, stretching his jellied legs out.  He was still flushed and sensitive, shivering when the fabric brushed across his tender skin, a tiny aftershock pulsing through his body. There was no way he was going to make it across the hall to his own room, let alone downstairs to the bunk beds.   

“If you’re going to sleep in here tonight, you need to move over,” Matt grumbled, reading his mind. Jay let him shove and scoot his limbs until he was contained to one half of the bed, letting out a pleased sigh when he felt Matt slide in next to him, the blankets warm but the bare chest tucked into his side even warmer. He was nearly asleep, indulging himself in the shared body heat and soft skin against his own, still smelling like soy sauce and ginger. Had he been more alert, he would have realized Matt wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon, would have noticed him slipping out of bed and downstairs, buzzing with an unsettled energy. 

But he was already dreaming, reaching out for the empty space Matt left behind. 

—

In the morning, Matt banged and clanged his way around the room until Jay grumbled awake, having the audacity to feign innocence when a pillow was thrown at him in protest. 

“Oh, sorry, did I wake you up? Well since you’re awake now let’s get a rehearsal in, yeah? It’s a new day, Birdie! Rise and Shine!” He was out the door in a flash, leaving Jay bleary eyed and grousing in his bed. 

Downstairs, Matt pressed a bowl of cereal into his hands and guided him to the piano bench, chattering non stop about everything and nothing, Jay’s sleepy mind not quite awake enough to hop on any particular train of thought for the ride. He chewed slowly, eyes following Matt as he bounced around the living room. His surly mood from the night before seemed to have evaporated, replaced by a jitteriness that left a sheen of dewy sweat on his skin. Twin shadows under his eyes, like smudge marks, suggested to Jay that he didn’t sleep much, and the whiteboard, covered in scribbles, confirmed his suspicions. 

“What’s that?” He nodded to the board with a mouthful of Mini Wheats. “Were you working on the plan without me? Did you figure out how to switch the mail?” 

Before Jay could blink, Matt was on the couch, scrubbing his sleeve over the squiggles. “Nothing! It was just…well it’s gone now so I guess we’ll never know! Bummer, man!” His voice was just a shade above hysterical, averting his gaze until only streaky marker residue was left behind on the whiteboard. He whipped his body around to face Jay, jumping down from the couch and planting a wet, milky kiss on his lips with an exaggerated smack! 

“Play me the amber waves of our mini wheat fields!” He took the bowl from Jay’s hands and spun him around the bench, his fingers instinctively curling around the keys in front of him. “We toil at them all day long, brutal back breaking work, just to keep a frosted roof over our heads for when the storms come and the milk river overflows!” 

Jay saw them, surrounded by golden reeds, a gentle breeze making the grain tickle their faces. They were mini, too, he realized, the size of mice and living in a hollowed out tree stump, right on the edge of a babbling brook, snow white and pasteurized. Matt’s hat was the top of an acorn and they slept on a bed of springy moss, staring up at the stars. 

He got it mostly right, the honey colored atmosphere and the calluses on their hands from plucking stalks of wheat all day sounded correct, but his fingers were still clumsy against the keys, and now they were rats living next to a lake of sour cream. 

A loud, harsh clash of noises as Jay’s forehead collided with the keys in despair, bringing Matt’s accompanying cereal soliloquy to a screeching halt. Fingers, firm but encouraging, dug into the back of his skull, tugging his hair until he lifted his head up and began again. A bountiful harvest, a summer evening spent floating down the river on slices of banana. A torrential storm and muddied fields, their sugared furniture melting away. Nose and chin squished between black and white keys. Begin again. 

And so went their morning, a cycle of yes, exactly! and try something else bleeding into each other until Jay went cross eyed.  His head felt clogged and his cheeks burned in shame, feeling like he was making a fool of himself at something that usually came to him as naturally as breathing. 

Blessedly, they were interrupted by a blaring buzzing sound just as he was about to falter again, his hands like two out of control trains about to crash into each other and derail. Matt’s phone skittered across the coffee table as it vibrated, startling them both into silence. Blinking around the room, Jay did some quick calculations. Jared and Luca were already there, hunched in their respective corners of the living room and holding back yawns, which left him struggling to think who would be calling. The small swoop of hope he usually felt whenever one of their phones rang, the idea that maybe it was the Rivoli calling, that one of their plans had actually worked and they were begging for them to play, died in chest before it had a chance to fully form into a thought, their outlawed status looming large in his subconscious. 

Matt hummed curiously as he reached for his phone, looking puzzled when saw the contact display. 

“It’s my uncle Marty,” he announced, confused. Matt spoke to his family on a somewhat regular basis, far more than Jay could say he did with his own, but it was usually his mom or one of his siblings on the other end of the line, patient and dutiful while Matt chattered away, touching base every few weeks, just long enough to be able to say they spoke to one another recently. He took the call outside, ducking through the front door while Jay engaged in, and lost, a staring contest with the keys before him, avoiding Jared’s lens. 

He tried to remember the last time he called home–his mother’s birthday a few months ago, surely–something he tended to avoid as much as possible, the anxious gut and headache it gave him were simply not worth it. Matt didn’t understand it, sometimes he even answered the phone for him, telling Jay’s mom he was in the shower or asleep or some other excuse as to why he couldn’t come to the phone, saying if he didn’t Jay would be in a bad mood for the rest of the day, and they were too busy for him to be moping. It was easy for him to talk to her in a way that seemed impossible to Jay, so open and unbothered, turning a conversation that would have been tense and moody with him into a pleasant chat, polite and cordial. 

When Matt came back inside, Jay relaxed, the fear that some horrific accident or tragic death happened disappearing when he still looked chipper, shoulders loose and a beaming grin on his face. Jay played a few questioning notes, urging him to explain. He couldn’t quite place Uncle Marty in the sea of Matt’s family members, dozens of them with identical faces and too similar names. 

“We’re having a visitor!” Matt declared, arms spread wide. “Marty has some meeting just down the street and wants to bring us lunch first!” He started tidying the living room, straightening haphazard piles of DVDs and wrapping up controller cords. They very rarely had anyone over to the house, their sacred fort, unless the cameramen counted, and Jay didn’t think they did, but the word ‘lunch’ got his attention. Being helpful, he played a few soup and salad melodies while Matt continued to clean. 

“Which one is Uncle Marty again?” He asked, working a few sandwich sounds into the mix. 

Matt’s eyes roamed the walls, searching through movie posters and treasured comic book pages, photographs of both their families mingled together, flyers and prints they've collected and papered their home with over the years. 

“My mom’s youngest brother,” he said, plucking and handing Jay a Polaroid that was wedged into the corner of a framed photograph of Matt and his siblings, a flock of blonde children forced into getting along long enough to pose. It was old and sunbleached but Jay could still make out the young man, a teenager really, trying to look aloof for the camera but unable to stop himself from smiling down at the bundle in his arms, the little swaddled potato that was newborn baby Matt, fresh into the world and already bewildered by it, his tiny face scrunched into itself. It was a nice picture. Sweet. Jay felt himself smile warmly as he tucked the Polaroid into the music desk in front of him, his fingers returning to the keys with a sudden burst of energy, chasing each other as Jay played Matt’s birthdays, the ones he was there for at least, all bleeding together in a swirl of cake and ice cream and late night movies and CDs that Jay burned and wrapped in shiny paper himself, tracklists written in shaky scrawl. 

Matt, wiggling with the music, gasped abruptly, like he was just struck with a sudden and brilliant idea. “You know he’s kind of like a big shot music professor at the University…I bet if we get him to vouch for us the Rivoli will welcome us back no problem! Man, they might even beg us to play!” His eyes were wide and bright, the thrill of a new idea radiating off of him and nearly knocking Jay over. It seemed too good to be true. 

“Yeah, but wouldn’t that be like...Neptuneism?” Jay knew that didn’t sound right but he also knew Matt would understand his point, and he did, snapping his fingers excitedly. 

“That’s even better! Everyone famous is a Nepo Baby these days! Nobody wants nobodies anymore. We could be like Angelina Jolie and fucking…what’s his name? Dennis Quaid and Meg Ryan’s kid! I bet if we drop his name enough, we can get booked all over town!” His excitement was contagious, and Jay felt himself get carried away with the idea, imagining them playing on every stage worth playing on across the country, crowds of adoring fans screaming their names.

“Okay,” he said awash in the glow of stagelights and bold marquee signs. “Yeah!” 

They spent the next hour cleaning up and workshopping ways to get Uncle Mary on their side, debating whether or not they should include an organized crime element in their plan. 

“We could say we got on the wrong side of a mob boss and the only way to pay penance is to play for them at the Rivoli!” 

“Why would the mob want us to play? Wouldn’t they just kill us?”

“Because we’re that good, Bird. God, your confidence really needs some work, eh?” 

By the time there was a knock at the door, startling Matt and Jay into a moment of frozen panic, they were undecided on where they stood, silently agreeing to just wing it, as was their standard when they couldn’t make up their minds. Matt opened the door to a booming greeting and two arms laden with heaping takeout bags from a local deli crushing him in a hug that made the air from his lungs rush out in a strained oof! 

Uncle Marty, like most of Matt’s family, had a jovial face and wide smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight as he squeezed Matt’s shoulder. He wore a thick wool sweater and a few wisps of salt and pepper curls slipped loose from his tweed cap, sticking to his forehead. He looked, Jay thought, like he should have an accent of some kind, something sophisticated and proper, like the headmaster of a fancy British boarding school.

When he addressed Jay, letting Matt ease the bags from his grasp, he cheerfully said that he remembered him, from one Christmas Jay spent with Matt’s family when they were kids, his mom wanting to spend the holiday traveling while all Jay wanted to do was drink hot chocolate and sleep in late. Jay remembered feeling completely overwhelmed by all the chaos, the amount of people and noise in the house, but Matt’s family barely batted an eye at the interloper hiding behind him, simply accepting that he was important to Matt and thus, a welcome addition to the pandemonium. Back then, Jay just regarded him as another adult figure in the house, lumped in with Matt’s parents and the other grown ups, but now he could tell he wasn’t that much older than they were, and he probably still thought of himself as a kid too, that Christmas. 

As Jay collected plates and silverware for their lunch, Matt and Uncle Marty traded updates from various family members, their voices loud and quick as they jumped onto the end of each other’s sentences and took off running in another direction with it. He noticed the similarities in their cadences, the way they pronounced certain words and stressed syllables the same way. It was strange, hearing the constant background chatter he was used to echoed like that. 

“A feast!” Uncle Marty announced unpacking various side salads and cheeses. There was fresh, crusty bread and cold cuts galore, several different dips spread out across the coffee table with sprigs of grapes and savory stuffed puff pastries. A pink box of assorted cookies, dusted with sprinkles and looking like jewels in a treasure chest, called out to Jay and his pleading sweet tooth. 

While they ate Uncle Marty regaled them with stories from his years teaching an array of wayward young adults music theory, earning laughs and gasps along the way. His voice was warm and boisterous, used to having to project over groups of grad students, and his face moved like Matt’s as he spoke, expressive and excited, like he was having the most fun he could possibly have.

“Jay used to teach piano,” Matt interjected with a smile that made heat blossom across Jay’s cheeks. 

“That doesn’t count,” he demured, picking olives out of his pasta salad and spooning them onto Matt’s plate. “It was just a few summers and some of the little neighborhood kids.” 

It seemed to impress Uncle Marty though, an interested hum coming from his direction as he chewed his way through a wedge of cheese smushed between two crackers. “That’s the best age for them to learn!” He marveled. “Those tiny brains soak everything up. You probably taught them a lot more than you realize!” 

The flush across Jay’s face deepened, preening from the compliment, while Matt tried steering the conversation towards the band, inflating their successes and relationship with the Rivoli. He chose his words carefully, insinuating that they were there often, leaving blanks to be filled in without saying whether or not they’ve actually performed there. 

“When are you booked next? I’d love to come see you play!” Uncle Marty was earnest, genuinely interested in their band in a way they didn’t experience often, if ever. 

Matt and Jay exchanged panicked glances. It was time for them to wing it, as planned, but they were woefully unprepared, stammering over each other as they tried to come up with a reasonable answer. 

“We actually haven’t, uh. See the thing is, we haven’t…” Matt was scrambling, eyes wide and darting, like a trapped prey animal, the way he often did when he was cornered into having to explain himself, his dedication to the band, the seemingly lack of forward momentum in his life, to a family member that just didn’t quite understand. Jay hated when he was like this, unsure and wilting. It was mostly why they kept their lives secluded and insular, tucked away from questioning eyebrows and worried pauses, the audible frowns when they rushed to end a conversation and scamper back to each other, where they didn’t have to talk about anything they didn’t want to. 

“It’s my fault,” Jay blurted, unable to watch Matt flounder any longer. “I um, haven’t been playing right recently, so we haven’t been doing any shows. I have some…” he trailed off, unable to explain and hoping his vague fluttering hand gesture towards his head meant something. 

Thankfully, it did, or at least Uncle Marty seemed to understand, wincing and nodding sympathetically. “Oh, a good old fashioned mental stonewalling,” he said grimly, like he knew exactly what Jay was talking about. “Very rude of us to do that to ourselves, as a species.” He began to tear into the box of cookies, Jay’s head snapping up at both his words and the promise of sugar. “But it’ll pass. Always does. Happens to everyone.” 

He seemed so confident about it, like he just assured Jay that the sun would rise again tomorrow morning. It made things a little easier, knowing he wasn’t losing his mind, that someone understood what was going on with him. Of course it would pass. It always does, just like he said. Suddenly, Jay felt a bit sheepish. 

“That’s what I told him!” Matt was trying to recover from his misstep, shooting Jay a grateful look and a wobbly smile. He handed him an almond cookie, powder sugared fingers sneaking a quick brush along Jay’s palm, a silent thank you for throwing himself onto the sword. 

“Yeah?” Jay wondered, feeling a knot loosen somewhere in his chest. It was reassuring to hear it from someone other than Matt, an outsider with no obligation to make him feel better. Uncle Marty made a series of affirmative noises as he chewed, nodding vigorously again. 

“Oh, absolutely. You just need to clear your head a bit, you know? Change your surroundings, challenge your mind. Sometimes when I’m feeling awful and dramatic enough I run away to my cabin in the woods like a moody recluse. Gives me an excuse to justify keeping it too. If you spend more than two days having to chop your own firewood, suddenly your hands want nothing more than to play an instrument again.” He winked, like he was letting them in on a secret. Jay had never chopped firewood before in his life, but he could imagine the burn across his hands with each swing of an axe, calluses blooming, accustomed only to delicate movements across piano keys. 

Having regained his footing, Matt shifted the conversation away from Jay and the band and onto the meeting Uncle Marty was on his way to, “a congregation of stuffy academics” he groaned as he checked his watch, dusting crumbs from his lap. He wrapped Matt into a tight hug and clapped Jay on his shoulder, telling him to hang in there in a way that could have come across as condescending, if coming from a different person, but his tone was kind and genuine, and Jay believed he really meant it, offering a bright smile in return.

Matt offered to walk Uncle Marty outside and Jay thanked him for lunch from the foyer, closing the door behind Jared as he slipped out after them, camera steady. Shuffling to the piano, Jay tried to imagine himself alone in the woods, surrounded by towering pine trees topped with fluffy wigs of snow, chopping log after log until he had enough for a blazing inferno. He plinked out a few notes, striking the keys in tandem with the blows of the axe, a methodical and clunky sound. 

When he came back inside a few minutes later, Matt was practically glowing, bouncing excitedly on his feet as he charged into the living room.

“Band retreat!” He exclaimed, like he was answering a question Jay didn’t ask. Met with nothing but a blank stare, he repeated himself, his words getting louder, so as to help him understand them better. “Band retreat! Band retreat!” 

“I don’t know what that means!” Jay cried, patience wearing thin. Matt was scurrying around the room, collecting and discarding objects at random, slowing for only a moment to explain. 

“Marty and I were talking more about your problem outside–oh, don’t give me that look–and he said if we wanted to we could stay at his cabin for a few days! You know like he said, change our environments and get the creative juices flowing or whatever! He said it really works for him. It’ll be like when those Silicon Valley tech weirdos all get together at some estate in the mountains and talk about destroying the world with their Illuminati powers. We could wear quarter zip fleeces!” He went back to rummaging, telling Jay they could leave in the morning. 

“Really? Do you think it would help?” Jay was trying to catch up, picking out the key words that came tumbling out of Matt’s mouth like an uncontrollably leaking faucet. It was a nice sentiment to hear from Uncle Marty, but he didn’t think he was serious about it, like a trip to the woods could really solve anything. Then again, Marty was a smart guy, and a talented musician judging from his stories and tenured career, he probably knew what he was talking about. If it really had worked for him before, got him past that block he talked about, maybe it could work for Jay too. Maybe some fresh air and some time away from the city can clear his head up a bit, get his fingers and mind back in sync, restarted, unplugging the cord and plugging it back in again. 

“Yes, man!” Matt clapped his hands and rubbed them together, thrumming with excitement. “This is perfect. We go for a few days, rehearse like crazy, maybe even come up with a whole new act! Then we can show Marty and he’ll be like ‘oh my god you guys are just fantastic I’m going to call the Rivoli right now and DEMAND that they let you play!’ and we’ll book a show, and everything will be great!” 

It was hard not to believe him, not to fall for his convictions and blinding optimism. Matt’s eyes were shining and bright and he was looking at Jay like he could offer him the whole world. And maybe he could. Sometimes it scared him how easily he was swayed, how Matt could get him to crawl right into the palm of his hand and take up residence there. He could believe anything, even things about himself he wasn’t sure of, so long as it was coming from Matt’s mouth. 

“Okay,” he agreed, matching Matt’s wild grin. “Let’s try it.” It had been a long time since they traveled outside of the city. They could stand to be around nature for a bit, to breathe air that wasn’t steeped in exhaust fumes and actually see some stars shining in the sky for a change. He returned his fingers to the keys working out a few notes, clumsy at first but gaining traction, while Matt buzzed around and dug out a duffle bag and pair of backpacks for them to pack, a non-stop stream of his thoughts flowing out and guiding Jay’s score. 

He was interrupted, briefly, by a low and muffled question from behind Jared’s camera, which Matt responded to with a loud scoff. “Did you hear him invite you to stay Jared? No, you didn’t, so of course you’re not coming. Christ, were you raised in a barn?” 

—

When Uncle Marty mentioned his cabin the afternoon before, he humbly described what Jay assumed was a tiny shack, a modest retreat with little fanfare and minimal comfort, a barren one room house of logs designed for a suffering artist. He vastly undersold the place, Jay thought as they pulled up in the SUV Matt had rented earlier that morning. 

It looked like a Christmas card, with a perfect amount of snow blanketing the ground and a bouquet of pine trees surrounding a stylish but cozy looking house, all sleek and cedar with large airy windows and a brick chimney they would soon have puffing away cheerfully. There were even icicles decorating the eaves, glistening in the pale winter sun, and an inviting firepit off to the side, surrounded by wooden benches and ready for them to roast marshmallows.

“Wow,” Jay gasped as they crossed the foyer, taking in the glossy grand piano that took up a quarter of the room. Inside was just as striking as the outside, with elegant jewel toned furniture and fancy coffee table books, arranged artfully around an impressive looking record collection. There was a large stone fireplace with a decadently plush looking rug splayed out in front of it, looking the very picture of modern sophistication, and Jay couldn’t help but imagine himself stretched out across the floor, basking in the warm glow of a crackling fire and a sultry soundtrack, as Matt pet his hair and fed him exotic looking fruits. They didn’t bring any with them of course, but Jay did grab a few bags of tropical fruit flavored gummy candies when they stopped for gas. Even better, really. 

“Right?” Matt agreed. “It’s like where Santa would live if he was a gay architect.” He scurried past Jay quickly, shouldering their bags while Jay drifted over to the piano, starry eyed and whistling in appreciation. Up a few steps were the bedrooms, a pair of doors facing each other in a short hallway that Matt threw open and tossed their bags inside. At first, it struck Jay as a bit odd, that he had assigned them separate rooms to sleep in, but he supposed he had been picturing them staying in a glorified tent the whole time, not a swanky chalet with a sprawling porch and two bathrooms.

When they left that morning, sleepy and cold, Jay was regretting the whole thing entirely, unconvinced that their trip would do him any good. The further they got from the city though, the deeper into the wilderness they ventured, he could feel his mood brighten, the air crisp and clear in his lungs, making individual cells light up in his body, one by one, rejuvenated. By the time they arrived, he was practically chirping, completely charmed by the idyllic scenery and the way their cheeks and noses turned rosy and glowed as snow swirled around them. 

A shiver ran under his skin, not unpleasant, blood running hot and rushing to the lower half of his body in a swoop, leaving his mind working with only enough to focus on one goal. He abandoned the piano, hands itching for something else entirely now, and followed the sounds of Matt’s ongoing commentary, a habit for the cameras he couldn’t break, even when they weren’t around. He was in one of the bedrooms, back facing the doorway, and it was easy for Jay to slink his way over and snake his arms around his waist, burying a smile into Matt’s neck as he jumped and yelped at the brush of icy fingers against his warm stomach. 

“Fuck that’s cold,” he hissed, squirming when Jay stuck his nose, wet and frozen, behind his ear. “I’m concerned about your circulation, man. There’s no way that’s normal.” His breath started to hitch, stuttering a bit as Jay got handsy, trying to ruck the sweater up his chest and undo the buttons on his jeans at the same time. Jay just hummed in return, mouth preoccupied, diligently taking inventory of each of the moles around Matt’s throat.

Matt snorted, hard enough for Jay to feel it rumble through his body. “The great outdoors doing it for you that much, Birdie?” His voice was shaky, hands making small abortive movements at his sides, like he was trying hard to control himself. “This isn’t what this trip is for you know. We’re…oh boy. We’re supposed to be working. We’re supposed to be rehearsing.” He was putting on quite the performance, Jay thought, the serious musician who locks himself away from the world until he’s created a masterpiece. 

“Come on. It’ll be quick.” He finally got Matt’s fly open, worming his hand in and earning a harsh sound in return, a half gasp, half choked back laugh. 

“Wow, you really know how to woo a guy, huh?” Matt groaned and shifted his hips, giving Jay more room to work with. “Fine. Fine. But we’re getting in the shower, I’m not trying to jizz up the sheets at a relative’s house like a fucking pervert.” 

Later, Jay tried out a few of his favorites on the piano, the notes clear and loud, reverberating around the whole room in a way his wooden one at home didn’t. He hadn’t played a grand like this in ages, since he was in school, and the difference in sound made parts of his brain light up. Marty may have been on to something, he thought, happily taking the requests Matt shouted at him as he got a fire started. Everything sounded new and fresh, he felt excited to play instead of the dread that had been creeping in over the last few weeks, spooking him into timid and clunky corners. Matt seemed to notice too, challenging him with different ideas one right after the other, bouncing around from one theme to the next, stoking the fire with a spiked metal poker. 

“Looks like it’s slowing down,” Matt mused after a few hours, moving from his perch by the fireplace to press against the glass of one of the windows. It had been snowing since they had arrived that morning, a steady flurry adding even more cover to the ground, everything blanketed in frosty white. “Get your gloves.” 

They bundled up, draped in scarves and layered thermals, matching knit hats from the Toronto Zoo tugged down over their ears, and marched outside, boots sinking several inches through the fresh layer of powder. The threshold was barely crossed before projectiles started flying, handfuls of snow packed into loose balls and hurled around as they shrieked and chased each other, clouds of icy dust kicked up by their heels. Once the first shove was thrown, Matt’s shoulder colliding with Jay’s chest as he tried to duck and dodge around him, all bets were off, and they tackled each other to the ground, engulfed in the cold, and rolled around until they were completed coated, sugar sprinkled from head to toe. 

Jay’s face was stinging, the only bit of exposed skin on him, but it felt invigorating, even as they scratched and kicked, stuffing fists of snow down the backs of each other’s coats. When they finally called a truce, chests heaving and panting side by side, their cheeks were ruddy and wind beaten, their noses runny. Matt was grinning at him, wide and close, and Jay could see a few fat snowflakes clinging to his eyelashes, his lips pale and chapped. The sun was beginning to dip low in the sky, giving everything a hazy glow of gold around it. Despite the snow surrounding him, Jay suddenly felt very warm, a heat flowering in his chest, and he was unable to look away from Matt’s neck where several flakes were melting into crimson skin, disappearing right before his very eyes. 

Matt was on his feet first, offering Jay one mittened hand and dusting himself off with the other. With the fight out of their system, simmering since they knew they would be given an entire battleground with unlimited artillery, they set to work on their next line of business, gathering enough snow to shape into three orbs, a man ready to be assembled. They didn’t get to play in the snow much back home, the city streets turning fleecy bundles into brown slush almost immediately, taking all the fun and beauty out of it. Here, the snow was pristine and fluffy, easy to stick together, with no threat that someone had pissed in it, or that it was concealing shards of broken glass and rusty metals. 

They sang while they worked, the parts of Christmas carols they could recall, hopping from winter wonderlands to mangers in Bethlehem in the same breath, puffing out in front of them in thick clouds. It was harder than Jay remembered, packing enough together to create different sized balls, their snowman taking on a smaller, lumpier figure than the perfectly rounded one he had imagined, towering over them both. Matt was doing most of the work, sculpting and stacking, while Jay collected fallen branches and buried stones, future limbs and accessories. When they were kids they could churn them out by the dozen, Calvin and Hobbes inspired winters turning their yards into seas of snowpeople of all shapes and sizes. 

“...And pretend that he’s Carson Brown…” Jay crooned, doing his best Bing Crosby. They were putting the final touches on their creation, filling out the more uneven sides and adjusting his pebbled smile. 

“It’s Parson Brown,” Matt corrected. 

That didn’t sound right. “Parson isn’t a name,” Jay said simply, head cocked to the side. The chill was beginning to seep in through his many layers, the tip of his nose and cheeks feeling numb. He stopped fiddling, stepping back a bit to admire their handiwork, a pleased smile on his face that mirrored Matt’s. 

“It’s not his name, it’s his title. Parson is like a priest,” he laughed, a warm, light sound. “That’s why he’s going to marry them. Who the hell is Carson Brown?” 

Jay mulled it over, wondering where in his subconscious he held the lyrics and why it invented a guy named Carson. “I don’t know,” he replied slowly. “I guess I just thought it was someone who went from town to town marrying people.” They were both laughing now, little giggles slipping out of their frozen lips at the absurdity of it. 

“Like, like a snowman that comes to life, and he, and he,” Matt was stumbling over his words, his brain working too fast for his mouth to keep up. “What? He just goes up to people and forces them–” 

“–forces them to get married, yeah! He shows up and everyone’s like ‘Oh man, Carson Brown is in town, he’s gonna make everyone get married!–” 

“–Like, better stay inside! Can’t let ole Carson Brown get ya!” 

They wheezed at the idea, tickled by their shared imagination, before their back and forth really registered, words sinking in for them both at the same time. They stilled, eyes locked and wheels spinning, then sprang into action, abandoning their snowman and dashing towards the house, the piano calling to them and their newest act.

—

“The Ballad of Carson Brown!” Matt bowed deeply to their imaginary audience, sweaty and out of breath while Jay finalized the show in a few dramatic stings. 

It had been hours, the sun set long ago and more stars than Jay could ever remember seeing speckled the sky, so bright they illuminated the room through the windows, a silvery spotlight for their debut performance of a new act, hammered out as the night wore on. 

“This was a good idea,” Jay yawned when they had finally decided to call it night, lazing in front of the fireplace. It was crackling merrily, making everything toasty and serene. “Coming here. It was a good idea.” He reached his arm out, scrambling blindly until his hand smacked into Matt’s hip and he stuffed two fingers into the pocket of his pajama pants, digging them around until Matt wriggled away, ticklish and too tired from their long day to fight back. 

“Of course it was a good idea! When have I ever had a bad idea?” 

Jay was so focused on not laughing in his face at that statement, it took him a second to realize what he said. “Well, it was Marty’s idea really, right?” He rolled onto his side to face Matt, who seemed unable to look away from the fire and meet his gaze. 

“Hmm? Oh yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He spoke directly to the logs, voice shaky, before finally whipping his head around and switching both his tone and the topic of conversation. 

“Let’s tell ghost stories!” 

Sipping on hot chocolate in expensive looking mugs, they hunched together in the dark, the fire casting eerie looking shadows over the walls and their faces as they tried to scare each other, coming up with increasingly grotesque and ghastly material. Jay stammered his way through the ones he could remember from old sleepovers, women in white on old bridges and clown statues that weren’t supposed to be there, with Matt interjecting and correcting details when needed. 

It was very late, and his eyelids were heavy, but Jay sat motionless, gripped and fearful as Matt told him about a knife wielding maniac, escaped from a long abandoned asylum, not far from where they were, who stalked the woods at night, looking to kill and cannibalise anyone who crossed his path. 

“And you know…” Matt dropped his voice, staring out the window and into the dark. “Some say he’s still out there. Waiting in the woods…Just like these ones…” 

After that, Jay made him turn all the lamps back on, the slowly dying fire no longer providing adequate light and safety, and narrate A Christmas Carol from memory, the one with Michael Caine and Kermit, which Matt did the best of his ability. By the time the Ghost of Christmas Present came booming in, jolly and apple-cheeked, Jay had fallen asleep, the day finally catching up to him, draped over a squashy loveseat with his feet curled and shoved behind him. 

He wasn’t sure how long he had been out when he was startled awake, an unfamiliar sound in an unfamiliar setting snapping him into consciousness. It was dark, the fire reduced to smoldering embers, and a blustery wind was rattling the windows, a sinister shuttering sound echoing through the room. Matt was gone, he realized when his bleary eyes adjusted, and there was a strange scratching noise coming from outside, getting louder, and someone was rattling the knob on the front door, insistent, hinges pulled and yanked to their absolute limit. Jay’s heart leapt into his throat, a wash of dread rolling through him, soaking his palms with sweat. 

The knife maniac! 

Scrambling, Jay jolted from the couch, flying up the short set of steps and into the room he found Matt in earlier, desperate to put as much space between himself and the front door as possible. Matt was snoring in the dark, bundled in bed and blissfully unaware that they were about to be sliced and diced by some wilderness psycho, barely stirring until Jay dove in next to him, throwing himself under the comforter and hissing like an angry goose. 

“Matt! There’s somebody here, somebody trying to get in! It’s the cannibal! He’s gonna eat us!” 

A tussle broke out, Jay trying to bury himself under the safety of the linens, and Matt, shocked awake by a body slamming into his own, shoving and slapping his way into an explanation, their words joining the fight, spilling and tumbling over each other.  

“There is no cannibal, you idiot–” 

“–Someone was trying to get in!–” 

“–the wind! It’s just the wind, listen!–” 

They froze, limbs tangled, while the windows rattled and shook from an icy gust. Jay trembled, unconvinced. “I’m telling you, someone was at the front d–” he cut himself off with a panicked whine as a loud crash rang through the house, followed by what was unmistakably the sound of a man’s voice, cursing and grumbling. 

“See!” Jay cowered under the blankets, pushing at Matt’s thigh with his foot. “I told you! We’re getting carved up like, like Christmas hams!” He could see the headlines now: Band Members Bloodied by Berserker Butcher, a grisly black and white photo of their mangled bodies, sprawled and in pieces, followed by a wall of text describing their last moments in excruciating detail. 

“Don’t go out there!” Jay croaked, fruitlessly clawing at Matt’s sweatshirt while he got to his feet and crossed the room, one finger pressed firmly to his lips in a silent warning of hush! as he creaked the bedroom door open, a sliver of light bleeding in from whichever lamp the intruder put on so he could see the slaughtering he was about to do. 

Teary eyed and peeking through his fingers, Jay watched as Matt poked his head out, his terrified heartbeat thrumming noisily in his ears. He heard Matt wheeze, and for one blood curdling moment, barely long enough for it to register as a full idea, just a sickening sensation in his gut that felt like death itself, Jay thought that Matt had been stabbed, his last breath rushing out of his lungs as he slumped forward. 

He was laughing, Jay realized deliriously as Matt opened the door wider and allowed more light in, illuminating his wide grin that showed all of his teeth. Suddenly, a second head appeared in the doorway, frosted and wincing, apologizing for the noise and letting the cold in. It took a beat for Jay’s brain to catch up, having just speed ran through the entire spectrum of human emotion in under a few seconds, his voice quaking when he finally realized who their almost assailant was. 

“Marty?” 

Jay slumped back against the pillows, relief flooding through him so strongly he felt weak with it. They weren’t going to be murdered, not that night at least. 

“Sorry!” Marty said again, taking in the fright he caused. “I wasn’t going to drive up until later this morning but I heard the weather might get bad…Ended up right in the middle of it anyway.” Snow sloughed off his coat in small wet puddles by his and Matt’s feet as he shivered. “Didn’t mean to barge in before the sun was even up.”

“You can’t barge in your own house!” Matt laughed. It was weird how unfazed he was by the abrupt arrival, seeming to be completely unsurprised by Marty’s appearance. “Let me grab my stuff and clear out of your room.” The two of them started hemming and hawing, their well trained  manners battling it out by politely offering the empty bed across the hall to each other, which confused Jay even further. 

“It’s your cabin. Of course I’m taking the couch,” Matt finally said firmly, pointedly ignoring Jay’s bewildered expression and steering Marty away by the shoulders, ushering him into the next room. 

“Hey,” Jay called out before Matt could slip down the stairs, his face appearing in the cracked doorway but not coming inside. “Why don’t you…” He motioned vaguely to the space beside him on the bed, inexplicably and suddenly feeling very embarrassed. Vulnerable. He didn’t understand why he avoided meeting Matt’s eyes, or why, when he shook his head and smiled, disappearing from sight with nothing more than a “night, Birdie,” Jay felt his face sting, a sear that traveled down his neck and settled uncomfortably around his ribs. 

Too exhausted to worry about it, Jay burrowed into the pillows and blankets, trying not to think about how much extra space there was, how another person could easily fit in beside him, half of the mattress undoubtedly roomier than the living room sofa. He stared blankly at the ceiling until the sky lightened and his eyelids couldn’t hold themselves open any longer, falling into a restless sleep where he dreamed he was a snowman, carrot nose and all, frozen and isolated in an endless stretch of white. 

—

The storm Marty had mentioned continued through the early hours of the morning, finally easing up when the sun was fully in the sky, having added several more inches of snow and wind snapped tree branches to the ground. 

“There’s been a terrible accident,” Matt said grimly when Jay padded into the living room, crusty eyed and wrinkled from a night of tossing and turning in a strange bed. He led Jay to a window overlooking the front yard, the glass foggy and cold, where their snowman, whipped and torn by the icy bluster, had collapsed, reduced to a crumbling lump and buried by the overnight flurry. 

Jay pretended to wail into Matt’s shoulder, his chest heaving with fake sobs. “He was so young!” They watched as the last lingering flakes fluttered to the ground, the sun’s reflection bright and blinding, while Jay slowly woke up, the fuzz of sleep clearing and his brain stuttering back online. Still on the couch was the nest of spare pillows and blankets that Matt had unnecessarily made for himself which Jay noticed distastefully, an involuntary curl of his lip forming into a scowl. 

“Hey, why didn’t you tell me Marty was coming? He scared the shit out of me last night!” 

Matt started busying himself with the fireplace, brushing past Jay and the question at the same time. “Hmm? I didn’t? I thought I did! Weird!” He stabbed at charred logs with the poker. “It helps the plan. The Rivoli will definitely listen to a guy like him right?” 

Looking around, Jay couldn’t help but hum in agreement. Marty had pictures of himself shaking hands with some very important looking people, a few Jay even recognized, hanging tastefully on the wall by the piano, and there were fancy looking accolades of all kinds dotted throughout the room, shiny statues on the bookshelf and framed certificates with glossy ink mingled in with the photos. It was impressive, Marty was impressive, and Jay could easily picture him strolling up the Rivoli and convincing that bummer of a manager to give them a show. He knew what he was talking about. He had awards. 

As if summoned by their scheming, Marty came bouncing in, cheerfully announcing that he was making them breakfast (“well, brunch,” he corrected after checking his watch) to make up for the terror he caused the night before. 

“Stupid key got stuck in the lock, nearly had to break the door in,” Marty groaned, shaking his head. He told them about his treacherous journey as he spun around the kitchen, how he left his apartment in the city and drove headfirst into the very storm he was trying to avoid, getting turned around in the dark and nearly crashing into a snowbank, finally arriving in the dead of night with a patience worn so thin he almost smashed a window when the key wouldn’t budge. 

“Jay thought you were a cannibal and you were going to kill and eat us,” Matt teased, delighted by the blush it earned him. 

Marty barked out a laugh. “Don’t worry,” he told Jay with a wink, sliding him a plate of fluffy scrambled eggs and butter drenched toast. “I’m a vegetarian!” 

As they ate, Matt gushed about how productive they were the day before, how the fresh woodsy air and change in their routine had Jay playing better than ever, revitalized, as Marty nodded sagely, happy by the success of his advice. 

“I’d love to hear you play,” he said to Jay warmly, which Matt encouraged, poking Jay in the ribs and hissing into his ear as they stood side by side at the sink, sudsy hands scrubbing and drying their breakfast plates, practically licked clean already. 

“Here’s our chance,” his breath was hot against Jay’s neck, whispering so close his lips brushed the shell of his ear. “Give ‘em the ole razzle dazzle and we’re stars!” Jay nodded dumbly, the warmth and proximity of Matt next him, pressing in so only he could hear, made goosebumps bloom across his skin. If they were home, Jay would grab him by the hips and pin him to the sink, soapy fingers stroking him until he shot off in his pajama pants, a panting and mewling mess. He was keenly aware they were not in their own kitchen however, and that there was another person, a relative of Matt’s no less, within eyeshot, and he suddenly felt very self-conscious about his movements, like he was being examined, and he let Matt steer him to the piano wordlessly. 

“He can play anything,” Matt boasted, parking himself in front of the fire, now roaring. “Show him, Jay.” 

Instinctively, Jay’s hands flew to the keys at Matt’s command, but he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to demonstrate that ability, choosing to play a series of mixed melodies, letting his mind and fingers wander, bleeding together tinkering notes and sweeping scores into something that sounded like chilly afternoons spent in front a fire, two bodies entwined on a fur rug, the faintest aroma of a mango and pineapple, both real and gummied. 

“You’re very good,” Marty said earnestly after a few minutes. “And you just came up with that?” 

Jay shrugged shyly, feeling his cheeks heat from the compliment. He kept playing, switching to a bouncier theme as he thought about their snowball fight the afternoon before, the sun reflecting sleet in Matt’s hair in a way that made it look like he was glowing, a golden shine around him like a deceptive halo. 

“If he hears something once–just one time!–he can play it perfectly,” Matt was continuing to shower on the praise, making the skin on the back of Jay’s neck prickle, a fluttering in his stomach that came when any sort of positive energy from Matt was aimed in his direction, first appearing over a decade ago, the first of many signs suggesting his feelings were far more than friendly, now a familiar sensation, swooping pleasantly in his gut. 

“That’s a very impressive skill,” Marty nodded and turned to Matt. “You know Anton LaVey could do that.” 

“The Church of Satan guy?” Matt’s eyebrows were high, and he shot Jay an enthusiastic thumbs up. A good sign. “Jay used to say he could see music,” his voice was teasing but it made Jay falter a bit, sheepish at his own words, cocky with youth and sounding so silly now in front of a professional and decorated musician. 

It seemed to pique interest though, a thoughtful hum buzzing from Marty. “Really? I actually have a colleague working on some research right now about that. Maybe I can pick your brain a bit later?” He settled on an arm chair close to the piano, fingers drumming at his knees and grinning, friendly and open. 

Wide eyed, Jay met Matt’s gaze, who nodded rapidly behind Marty’s shoulder, urging him to accept. “Yeah,” he said with a shaky smile. “Sure, yeah.” He played a few more songs, switching seamlessly between the suggestions Matt and Marty threw at him, film scores and commercial jingles, classical pieces and Elton John. 

“Watch this,” Matt had been showing him off, singing his praises until Jay’s eyelashes fluttered involuntarily. “Jay, play…Christmas shopping.” He pitched the idea at him fast, snapping when he got the words out, and Jay did as he was told, hammering out some notes that sounded like footsteps strolling through the Eaton Centre, arms laden with parcels and packages, the smell of something sugary and baked wafting through the air and the pleasant chatter from fellow shoppers, merry and bright. 

“Christmas shopping,” Matt continued, swaying slightly into the music. “But it’s Christmas Eve and the stores are closing and you haven’t bought a single thing yet.” 

Frantic, discordant stings, panicked running and empty shelves, angry elbows and anxious fists thrown, a cartoon cloud of kicked up dust and chaos, the pressure of soul sucking consumerism all set to the warble of the worst carols all mashed together, blasted from dinny mall speakers. 

“Fantastic!” Marty was tickled, applauding when Jay finished with a flourish of disappointing presents purchased from a gas station and wrapped in a plastic shopping bag. It felt nice to show off a bit, to play for someone outside of themselves. Jay usually only performed to an audience of Matt, give or take a cameraman or two, and while the intensity of his appreciation could probably last Jay a dozen lifetimes, it was comforting to know that he could still make something others appreciated, that he hadn’t completely lost it. It was inspiring, and he wanted to play more than he had in weeks, fingers finally catching up to his brain, or maybe the other way around. 

The creative energy must have been contagious, bringing Marty to his feet and rambling about some sonata or another. 

“May I?” He gestured to the empty space beside Jay on the piano bench, sliding in next to him before he could fully respond, his hands on the keys in a blur. Instinctively, Jay joined in, smoothly falling into the same rhythm, four sets of fingers waltzing across black and white. It had been a long, long, time since Jay had played with anyone else, probably not since school in some forced group activity, and it was easier than he remembered to not stray off in his own direction, to keep on track and play a piece to completion, sticking to his role and being a good collaborator. He famously had a hard time working well with others, Matt the very obvious and only exception, but Jay was having fun, matching someone else’s movements and letting himself be led into melodies he otherwise wouldn’t have considered. 

Time passed quickly, another song beginning before the final note of the previous one had ended, and they played loudly and enthusiastically, shoulders jostling as they moved easily from one key to the next. 

“You’re really good!” Marty’s hands finally slowed, resting but still ready at the keys. Like Matt, he was generous with his compliments when he meant them, his eyes shining and words coated in enthusiasm, and Jay felt himself blush as Marty commented on his technique, using a bunch of words Jay hadn’t heard since his disastrous year and a half on a college campus. 

Before he could begin playing again, fingers spread wide across his half of the keyboard, Jay felt a light brush against his pinky, a gentle caress from the one next to it, a decidedly purposeful point of contact. He froze, eyes locked at the pair of hands in front of him, the delicate weight of a strange touch making a loud siren go off somewhere in the back of his skull. Dismayed, Jay snapped his head up and realized with a dawning horror that they were alone, that Matt had slunk off at some point and the only other presence in the room was the fire, luminous and sizzling. 

“Bathroom!” Jay let out a pained squawk when he realized how closely they were sitting, how Marty’s gaze was lingering around his mouth, his lips. He scrambled off the bench, tripping over his feet as he tried to cross the room as quickly as possible. “I need to…Bathroom!” His voice was high and reedy, sounding and feeling like it was coming from someone else, someone far away. 

Heart in his throat, he found Matt on the porch, rolling small balls of snow in his mittened hands and lining them up on the railing. There were half a dozen of them already, nearly identical and in a neat row. He didn’t look up from his work when Jay came crashing over to him, sweaty and anxious, a thousand different words fighting to come rushing out of his mouth first. 

“Hey,” he settled with, shaky and out of breath from his scurry. “I um, I think.” He felt ridiculous, and a bit scared, not sure how to break the news. Quickly, he figured. Like a Band-Aid. Gotta just rip it off and hope it doesn’t take any skin with it. Matt was finally looking at him, and Jay lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I think Marty was coming on to me.” He braced himself, ready for Matt to start throwing punches or snowballs or hollering so loud he caused an avalanche, the earth itself shaking and quaking from the ferociousness of it. 

What he could never have prepared for was Matt taking it in stride, like Jay just told him dinner would be fifteen minutes late, a mild disruption and not something completely catastrophic. “Well,” he said with a shrug. “It’s good for the plan, yeah? If he likes you of course he’ll talk to the Rivoli.” Matt was saucer eyed, the picture of naivety, looking at Jay like everything was normal. “You’ll get us a show in no time, Birdie.” 

Jay balked. “What?” he hissed through gritted teeth, the hairs on the back of his neck jumping to attention. It was unbelievable that Matt would be supporting this sort of thing, he grew sulky and sullen whenever Jay gave any sort of attention to anyone that wasn’t him for too long, silently counting down the minutes until an acceptable amount of time had been reached before he could swoop in and steal Jay away again. The idea of Matt encouraging him to flirt with someone else made Jay feel queasy, an uncomfortable churning in his stomach that made him choke around his words. “But…But!” His hands flapped wildly in the space between them, gesturing to them both. 

“But what, Bird?” Matt leaned forward expectantly, like he was waiting for Jay to say something in particular, ready to pounce as soon as he heard a trigger word. He was still putting on the innocent act, like this just the next step of a regular, every day plan. Jay was waiting for him to start laughing, to shove his shoulder and say “just kidding!” and maybe threaten to beat Marty up–not actually doing it, but offering–to defend Jay’s honor, to stake his claim. When Matt just stared at him, unblinking, Jay felt a sting behind his eyelids, a sinking sensation making the air dry up in his lungs. He thought about Matt putting their bags in separate rooms, how he chose to sleep alone and cold on the couch instead of next to him, even though they often shared a bed at home, sometimes even squeezing uncomfortably into a single bunk, limbs too heavy and too spent to separate. Maybe Matt didn’t want anyone, especially a family member, to know about that though. Maybe Matt was trying to make a point. A shitty, childish point. 

Jay felt his face harden, the anxiety he felt when he came outside now entirely replaced by aggravation and a dash of hurt. If Matt was going to pretend Jay was available, up for grabs and accepting flirtations, so could he. He could be a liar, like Matt.  “Okay,” he said tersely, his mouth a tight line. “Fine. If you think I should then I’ll just go and. Flirt. With. Your uncle.” Eyes narrowed, they glared, waiting for each other to call one another’s bluff. “Since you think it’s a good idea.”

“Fine,” Matt spat. 

“Fine,” Jay agreed, chin and chest thrust forward, taking full advantage of the few inches he had over him. He hesitated for a couple of seconds, hoping Matt would finally call an end to whatever game he was playing and stop him from going back inside. It was getting colder out, and their breaths, harsh and annoyed, puffed out in front of them in thin wispy clouds as they stood in front of each other, neither backing down, until Jay couldn’t stand looking at Matt and his frowning face any longer, a boulder crushing his chest as he turned on his heel and stormed away from him. 

Jay’s had a recurring nightmare, happening a few times a year over the last two decades or so of his life, one where’s he on death row, imprisoned for a terrible murder he didn’t commit, sometimes he was framed, sometimes it was an accident, and the feeling Jay had when he walked back inside the house, stamping his feet loudly away from Matt, was the same he had in those dreams, a sickening dread that clawed at it throat and made his skin clammy as he was marched towards the electric chair in shackles. 

Inside was cozy and cheery, thanks to the fire, and Marty was at the piano playing something festive and bustling, a watery image of Christmas shopping dimly cropping up in Jay’s mind. The music stopped when Jay barreled his way through the door, resisting the urge to slam it hard enough for the icicles to fall from the roof and shatter at Matt’s feet like broken glass. 

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Marty offered, getting to his feet. “I’d really like to hear more about how you play.” His voice was sweet and charming, throwing Jay off a bit from his brooding. 

He swallowed thickly. “Okay.” 

—

The ground was frozen and the snow still fresh, crunching beneath their boots as they strolled aimlessly, weaving in and out of crystallized trees, their branches bare and crusted with ice. Above them, the sun was setting, turning the sky a radiant peach color, dark oranges bleeding into indigo. It reminded Jay, glumly, of the half bag of gummy candies he had back at the house, and his shattered dreams of eating tiny pineapple and papaya flavored sweets from Matt’s hand, eyes closed so he could guess the flavor. 

Marty did most of the talking, a stream of consciousness that mostly revolved around music and work, the students he taught and the complex symphonies he’s performed in fancy theaters across several different countries. It was interesting, and any other time Jay would have been all ears, excited to talk to a professional musician who seemed to see him as one too, but he was having trouble paying attention, mind wandering back to Matt glowering at him, wondering what the hell he was playing at, sending him off into the woods with another man. He tried chiming in, dutifully responding when Marty asked him polite questions about himself, but it was hard, not steering the conversation into something that involved Matt, his absence an obvious glare. Their lives were so tightly woven together he only had a small well of Mattless anecdotes to pull from, all nearly two decades old and nothing that could be considered exciting. 

Stars had started to become more visible, pinpricks of light against a sky now the color of a recent bruise. Jay’s hands were freezing, nearly numb. He had forgotten his gloves. 

Noticing him shiver and shove his blueing fingers deep into his coat pockets, Marty asked if he was alright, his eyebrows smashed together in concern. 

“Fine!” Jay tried to answer brightly, swallowing around the lump in his throat that had been there since he left Matt on the porch. “Just a bit chilly.” Then, to stop Marty from doing anything chivalrous like offer him his scarf, he quickly added “there’s a firepit, yeah?”

They trudged through the snow, exchanging album recommendations and concert going experiences, struggling a bit as they stumbled over hidden divots in the ground, the hems of their pants soaked and collecting heavy clumps of flakes. The firepit was behind the house, a stone ring with wooden benches, backless and designed to look like logs, arranged in a semicircle. Jay settled on one while Marty got the fire going, brushing a thick layer of frost off the seat with an already frozen palm. He made the mistake of not clearing all of them, he realized with a panic as Marty slid in next to him, their sides pressing into each other on the crowded seat. 

For a moment, they watched the fire in silence, absorbing the warmth and letting the cold from their faces, chapped and ruby, melt away. It was soothing, and nice, the pop and hiss of embers and flickering flames, the smell of charred timber and woodsy smoke, but Jay couldn’t help but feel pathetic and moody, wishing Matt was there and missing him like his chilled hands missed their gloves, painful and biting. 

“You know, I was really happy when Matt called,” Marty chirped, pulling Jay’s attention away from his moping. “Can’t say I wasn’t surprised, but still, I’m glad he did.” It took a second for his words to sink in, for Jay to properly process what he was saying instead of the half-listening he had been doing for the last forty five minutes, blinking rapidly as he turned them over in his mind. 

“Matt…called you?” Jay frowned, remembering the puzzled look on Matt’s face when he saw Uncle Marty’s name on the caller ID, how he stressed that it had been ages since they last spoke. 

“Hmm? Yeah, when he invited me over for lunch the other day.”

Jay could hear a distant whistle somewhere, getting louder, like the seconds before an Acme anvil fell from the sky, shadow looming above Wile E. Coyote and his tiny umbrella. 

“Right…lunch…” None of it sounded right. Matt had made it seem like it was a spontaneous visit, he even did a whole Seinfeld bit about the social faux pas of a “Pop-In”. The whistle was getting louder, the shadow larger. 

Marty seemed amused by his confusion, grinning at Jay’s furrowed brow and darting eyes as he tried to piece things together. “Yeah. When he called and asked about the cabin.” 

The anvil landed, hard, and in a cloud of canyon colored dust, turning Jay into a large, flattened disc that accordioned out as he tried to walk away. 

Matt lied to him. The cabin wasn’t an out of the blue offer they lucked into, it wasn’t a coincidence that Matt’s uncle, who just so happened to be in their neighborhood that day, had a gorgeous grand piano Matt knew Jay couldn’t resist and a spare key in his pocket. He planned something, and it had nothing to do with the Rivoli; Matt wouldn’t risk a Rivoli plan by not giving Jay all the important details to work with, there were too many things that could go wrong. It was the whole reason they did things step by step and itemized to begin with. There was something Jay was missing. 

As he worried his bottom lip between his teeth, Jay could hear Marty gently steer the conversation again, asking more questions about the music he played, or maybe something about other instruments. It was difficult to focus, replaying the last few days over in his head trying to find clues about what Matt was doing, overanalyzing every strange glance and abrupt change of subject. 

“Hmm. Yeah…yeah…piano…” Jay trailed off, voice small, when he noticed Marty had shifted closer, leaning in so Jay could see the stubble on his chin, bits of silver reflecting off the firelight, and a dusting of freckles under his eyes, stretching across the bridge of his nose. He was so close Jay could feel the warmth of his breath, and, horrifyingly, he was moving in even closer. Too close. 

Jay recoiled, snapping backwards so hard and fast he toppled out of his seat, falling off the bench and landing in the snow, his hands freezing again. Immediately, they both started spluttering out apologies, loud and embarrassed and neither quite sure what was happening. 

“I am so sorry, oh my god–” 

“–N-no it’s. I’m sorry. I–” 

“–completley inappropriate, really. I should never have–” 

“–it’s just that, well, Matt and I. I mean we’re–” 

Jay struggled to his feet, sinking a bit in the snow around him, the words freezing on his tongue. “T-together.” 

For several, agonizing beats it was silent, save the occasional pop and sizzle from the fire, and they stared at each other, like two spooked horses, tense and flighty. 

“What?” Marty finally croaked, looking several shades paler. 

Jay cleared his throat and tried again, a bit louder. “We’re…together–”

“No, no, I heard you. I just,” Marty sighed and shook his head, looking terribly confused. “It’s just that Matt uh, didn’t say that exactly.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, and Jay empathized with him, feeling equally baffled. 

“What did Matt say?” He pressed, eyes narrowed. He felt something, like a spidey sense, alerting him that this was part of Matt’s scheme, that his dirty, dry erase marker stained fingers were all over the place. 

Marty grimaced. “He uh, he definitely implied that you were single. To be honest he um, made it seem like he turned you down. Said that you were, like, obsessed with him or something.” 

Jay choked out a laugh, a harsh bark that made it sound like he was being strangled. Obsessed! Him? He thought it was extremely rich, coming from the guy who, on more than one occasion expressed his desire to shrink Jay down until he was small enough to swallow whole and live inside of him forever. The guy who, upon learning they had compatible blood types, spent a week recklessly walking through traffic with the hopes of getting hit hard enough to need a blood transfusion. “I’ll be fine, Jay!” He had gushed. “You’ll save me! Your blood can replace mine!” 

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Jay said flatly. He plopped onto one of the open benches, not bothering to clear the snow, already coated from his fall. 

“Yeah, I’ll say,” Marty snorted in disbelief. “I thought Matt was with that other guy, the um, the guy with the camera.”  

A revulsion rolled through Jay, cold and sickening, starting from the top of his head and flooding his body until bile rose in his throat, turning his mouth bitter. “Jared?” He managed to wheeze out, a weak hiss as he tried to stop himself from throwing up at the very idea. “Jared? No. That’s disgust-no! Jared is just our…” he trailed off, not entirely sure how to finish his sentence. “...No. Absolutely not.” He took a few deep shuddering breaths, completely aghast. 

On the neighboring bench, Marty buried his face in his hands, groaning deeply. “I’m sorry, I really don’t understand what happened.” His words were muffled slightly, said through his fingers. Jay felt a stab of sympathy, knowing what it was like to feel chewed up and spit out by a cyclone of Matt’s tricks and lies. 

“It’s okay,” Jay said slowly. “I think maybe he didn’t want you to know?” Marty turned to him, puzzled, and Jay suddenly felt very exposed, shivering as he mumbled. “We’ve never really…talked about it.” His eyes were burning, and he blamed it on the smoke as they watched the fire, a sad quiet lingering in their air, heavy and imposing, as they stewed in their own thoughts. Jay felt embarrassed and morose and he really, really wanted to talk to Matt, to make him explain himself and why he was being punished. 

After a few awkward minutes of stillness, Marty finally let out a rush of air and slapped his knees. “I’m gonna get out of here,” he sounded strained as he got to his feet, eyes everywhere but Jay. “That’s probably a good idea. For me to leave.” He started patting down his pockets, like he was looking for his keys, frantic movements all over his body. 

Jay hesitated, torn between agreeing with him and feeling weird about making a guy leave his own house. “N-no. We should…” he tried putting up the appropriate fight but Marty was shaking his head fiercely. 

“It’s fine really,” he said, still not looking at Jay. “I should get back anyway. Let’s just…forget all of this happened, yeah?” He finally glanced over, sheepish and cringing, and let out a sigh of relief when he saw Jay nod emphatically in agreement. “Right. Yeah, I’m gonna,” he made an awkward motion with his thumbs, a whistle trying to mask his exit as a casual skedaddle. He paused before leaving, speaking directly to the fire “you guys should probably talk”. It was quiet, barely a mumble, but Jay felt like he had been stung, like he stuck his hand directly in the flames in front of him. 

He watched the logs burn for a while, listening to the fading crunch of footsteps as Marty left him there shivering, the distant open and shut, open and shut of the cabin doors, and finally, blissfully, the start of a car engine, the whizz of tires fleeing into the night. Jay let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the pressure on his chest a tiny bit lighter. 

A gusty wind started to pick up, putting the dying fire out of its misery and making Jay cower into himself, stuffing his frozen fingers under his armpits. His teeth chattered loudly as he followed the path of bootprints in the snow, winding around the porch where Jay left Matt earlier, fists balled tight at his side and trembling. On the railing, his tidy row of snowballs had been turned into slushy lumps, looking like they had been smashed on the spot. 

It was quiet inside, and dark, the fireplace left unattended housing only smoldering ash. He crept through the house, navigating blindly by feeling the walls and tripping up the stairs, fumbling around for a doorknob. Matt didn’t stir when the door creaked open, a silent lump on the bed, breathing soft and measured, and Jay was able to cross the room undetected, guided by a faint glow of moonlight streaming in through the window. He slithered between the sheets and pressed his nearly frostbitten hands firmly against the warm skin of Matt’s stomach, shoving up and around his flannel pajama shirt.   

“Jesus Christ!” Matt yelped awake, thrashing and clawing at the back of Jay’s hands, making Jay just push them harder against his flesh, palms flattened, the cold spreading like a virus.

“You deserve it!” Jay growled, clamping his arms tight around Matt’s waist as he tried to twist himself free. “What the hell is wrong with you?” They wrestled, yanking on limbs and shoving shoulders, bright red marks cropping up where Matt scratched his way to freedom, finally squirming away from ice cubed fingers. 

“Me?” he screeched. “I was sleeping! You’re the one who just burst in here like, like Mr. Freeze!” He shivered for good measure, his whole body wracking.  

Jay ignored him, kicking the bunched up sheets to the foot of the bed. “Telling Marty you rejected me. That I’m obsessed with you! You know he tried to kiss me!” 

Matt tensed, both the fright and the fight sapped out of him, and cleared his throat. “What, um. What did you tell him?” He was peering at Jay through the corners of his eyes, head still against the pillow and swallowing thickly. 

“The truth!” Jay said indignantly. “That you didn’t turn me down–as if, man!–that we’re…that we’ve been! For years, Matt!” He felt himself bristle when Matt snapped his head in his direction, wanting to shake him like an Etch-a-Sketch until the stupid, stunned expression was gone from his face. “That if there’s any obsession going on, it’s going both ways!” He was expecting Matt to push back, bracing himself for an onslaught of excuses and insults and words Matt knew he didn’t know the meanings of, for him to talk in so many circles Jay ended up dizzy and lost. 

But Matt just smiled, sweetly, his voice small when he finally squeaked out a simple “Oh”. For a brief second, he had a look on his face that shocked Jay, having never seen it before and unaware that it was possible, open and vulnerable, but peaceful, holding Jay’s gaze tenderly.  Then, in a blink, a shift in muscles and a twitch of lips, and Jay was staring at a face he knew very well, a face that made the blood in Jay’s body run quicker, hotter, a face that, if Jay was being honest with himself, was the reason he got out of bed every day, the chance that he might see it. It was the face Matt wore when he was very pleased with himself, specifically, very pleased with himself as the result of a successfully orchestrated plan. 

Jay felt his stomach swoop, realizing he just missed the last step at the top of a very long staircase. “Matt,” he asked flatly. “What’s going on? Why didn’t you want Marty to know about us?” A lump appeared in his throat, sudden and painful, he swallowed around before continuing, sounding whiny. “Why did you sleep on the couch?” 

Matt coughed a bit, like he was getting ready for a big speech. “Well, you see, Bird,” his tone was diplomatic, almost clinical, and Jay could see him in an auditorium somewhere in an ugly turtleneck and bluetooth headset, giving some polished powerpoint presentation to a bunch of easily impressed investors. “It just gets to a point where a man needs some clarity, you know?” Jay did not know. He frowned and urged Matt to continue. 

“It’s like you said. We’ve been, you know, for years now…” It was getting harder for Matt to get his words out, like they were being forcibly yanked from his mouth. “But we’ve never…” He sighed, frustrated, clawing into the sheet beneath him, and tried again. “You know that manager from the Rivoli really was into you, practically drooling, and I couldn’t get you out of there fast enough. I mean we were right there! I should have told you to lean into it. Probably would be famous by now if we did.” He risked a peek at Jay, moonlight revealing how pink his cheeks were, how watery his eyes. “And then that whole ‘Oh, my friend Matt’ business at the takeout place. It just gets to a point,” he repeated, defensively. 

There had been times before where Jay felt confused by a plan, not quite making the connections that Matt did, but usually he was able to power through it, slap on a smile and follow the lead. He had never felt this lost before however, so he let Matt keep talking, waiting for him to say something that would make sense. 

“I thought it was a good plan,” Matt said slowly. “To see if you were interested. In other people.” His voice was small and shaky, trying to power through the silence he was met with. “Plus I really did think it would help us get unbanned from the Rivoli,” he added quickly. “Two birds, one stone and all. Or I guess two stones, one Bird.” He tried smiling, but it looked pained.

Jay stared at him for a long moment before laughter bubbled out of him, like someone popped a bottle of champagne from deep in his belly and it was all rushing out of his mouth in an uncontrollable fizz. He couldn’t help it, it was just the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard, and Matt looked so serious when he said it. 

“You did all of this because I called you my friend?” he was howling, tears springing up and leaking out of his eyes. It was so funny, everything was so funny, Jay couldn’t ever remember feeling so light, like he might just float away entirely. Matt did all that for him. All that! For him! “You-you are my friend!” he sang when he could catch his breath, snorting in between giggles. “You’re my best friend!” The word only was left unsaid, but its presence was still there, refusing to be ignored. He couldn’t understand why Matt wasn’t laughing too, why he wasn’t as delighted as he was, why he seemed so timid and unsure. 

“Well yeah,” he mumbled. “But it’s, it’s more than that, right?” 

The laughter died in Jay’s throat, drying up so quickly he nearly choked on it. Suddenly, there was nothing funny about the way Matt was looking at him, hesitant and heartbreakingly sincere, like he was completely at Jay’s mercy, a rare and delicate butterfly in the palm of his hand, trusting that Jay wouldn’t squeeze his fist shut and crush him. It was another face that Jay had never seen before and it made the air wither in his lungs. 

“Oh, Matt,” he fretted and cooed, brushing a strand of hair away from Matt’s forehead so he could soothe out his wrinkled brows. “Of course.” They were quiet for a moment, Jay’s thumb stroking across Matt’s cheek. 

“It’s just,” Matt began bravely. “We never really talked about it, you know?” 

Jay felt his heart break again at the softness of his voice, splintering into two jagged halves. It was unsettling, to see Matt so unmoored, so uncertain about something where there shouldn’t be any doubt at all, something so unquestionable Jay never once even thought about it. 

“I guess I didn’t think we had to,” he said plainly. “I mean, MJ, it’s us.” It was the easiest, most truthful thing about himself. 

He felt Matt shift closer, rolling onto his side so they were face to face. “S’pretty gay, Bird,” he accused, nosing at Jay’s neck.

“Oh no, you got me,” Jay deadpanned. “I’m so gay for you, Matt.” To prove it, he caught Matt’s mouth with his own, a soft press, his lips warm and inviting against Jay’s still cold skin. When they parted, the tension from Matt was gone, the strange look of unease replaced with a sunny grin. He was back to joking, his quota for sincerity met and at capacity until at least next summer. 

“You can’t blame me for wondering, you know,” he tutted. “You were a big ole slut back in the day.” 

Jay honked out a laugh, the giddy, champagne bubble feeling swimming around him again. “Hardly!” his hands weren’t listening though, already pawing at the drawstring of Matt’s pajama pants. “You just hated anyone I looked at.” He remembered Matt, young and scowling, parking himself in between Jay and any warm body that came into his vicinity, territorial like a junkyard dog pissing all over the place. He was too young and stupid back then to understand why it made sparks go off under his skin, to have Matt fight for his attention and thrive when he got it, and it was easier to turn it into anger and annoyance than admit it left him sweaty and hard, heart beating faster than he thought possible. 

“I did,” Matt agreed. “I still do.” 

The remaining chill in Jay’s bones melted, replaced by something much warmer. “I like it,” he admitted. Probably too much. It was scary sometimes, the enormity of Matt’s attention, but in a good way, like riding the best roller coaster or eating the spiciest vindaloo, a fire lighting him up from the inside out. No one has ever even come close to making him feel like that before, like he was the only other soul in the world, the most important person to ever live. “What would you have done,” Jay needed to know, hands roaming, “if your plan backfired and he really did kiss me?” 

“Well,” Matt sniffed, dramatic. “I suppose I would have had my answer…” he trailed off, eyes downcast in a mock show of being wounded, so serious it made Jay giggle. 

“Yeah, right,” he huffed. “You would have done something to end up on the news.” He knew he was fishing, an obvious open, but he wanted to hear whatever insane shit was rattling around inside that big beautiful brain of Matt’s, all the stuff he would do, terrible and wild, to keep his bird caged. 

Matt, teeth around his earlobe, agreed. “Obviously. I brought lighter fluid just in case. The cabin was for sure going down, but I hadn’t decided if I was gonna lock Marty inside yet.” 

“Matt!” Jay gasped out a laugh, starry eyed. “You can’t say that!” He was insane. “You’re insane.” Jay heard himself say, incredibly fond. He kissed him again, and for a long time, until Jay’s lips felt tingly and numb, words like syrup in his mouth. 

“We could have just had a conversation, you know?” He couldn’t get his voice above a whisper, ragged and wet, while Matt gummed at his jaw, humming. 

“Mmm. But where’s the fun in that, eh?” He grinned at Jay, all teeth, and Jay found himself wondering why anyone would do drugs or swim with sharks or jump out of airplanes, surely no rush could ever match what Matt did to him. And he was right, too. It was more fun, it was always more fun, and Jay couldn’t believe Matt would ever think he would want to do this with anyone else, that he would want to do anything with anyone else. 

A horrifying thought wormed its way to the front of Jay’s mind, so vile it made his heart stutter and his stomach drop. “Wait,” he rasped. “Does this mean…have you?” It never occurred to him that Matt would be with anybody else, but if Matt was working under the assumption that Jay may have…It wasn’t like they spent much time apart from each other, barely any really, but Matt was always up before him, and he did go to the gym a lot. Jay felt faint. 

Matt answered him by cementing his mouth to Jay’s neck and sucking hard, teeth catching skin and rolling it between them. “Don’t ask stupid questions,” he said, very seriously, when he pulled away, lips wet and shiny. Jay could only nod, relieved and sheepish, and pulled Matt’s lips back to his, licking his way inside, desperate and wanting. 

“You smell like a campfire,” Matt nuzzled into Jay’s hair as he yanked at his sweater, trying to shed all the layers between them. 

“I almost fell in,” Jay lied, exaggerating his tumble in the snow. “Almost fried myself to a crisp, trying not to get kissed.” They fumbled with buttons and zippers, sitting up and shoving pants down shimming hips. Matt’s mouth kept trying to wander, ping-ponging from neck to chest to hips, making Jay squirm, ticklish. 

Above everything, sex with Matt, like everything else they did together, was fun. The first time they realized they could touch each other without the world imploding they laughed so hard they bruised their ribs, the next few days spent orbiting around each other gingerly, unable to stop smiling. Jay had felt like he received some sort of divine revelation, like he found out an important secret of the universe, and he wanted to run up to the people on the street and ask them did you know about this!? because surely they had just invented something new. 

“What, hmm, what happened to not wanting to jizz up the sheets?” Jay teased as Matt worked his way down, slipping from the bed to the floor and wedging his way between Jay’s thighs. He had been hard since he had shocked Matt awake, his hips grinding back against Jay as he flailed, and now he was flushed and leaking, laughably worked up from just a bit of kissing and groping. 

Matt flattened his tongue where a pearl of fluid had collected, delighted by the breathy whimpers he earned in return. “Are you kidding?” He purred, rubbing his lips against the head of Jay’s dick until they were glossy. “We’re not going home until we’ve fucked on every surface in this house.” Then he surged forward, swallowing Jay down and leaving him gasping for breath, caught off guard by the sudden rush of heat and wet. 

“Jesus, Matt!” He bleated, his fingers pushing through Matt’s hair to cradle the back of his skull. Matt was very good at this, had been from the beginning, like he was specifically put on Earth to suck Jay’s cock, and Jay told him that every time he had him on his knees, a lewd string of half gurgled compliments and moans that left Matt smirking, lips stretched wide and dripping around him. 

He had never been very vocal in bed before, just like he didn’t know how much laughter could be involved, having always treated the act as a very serious affair, Jay never knew he had so much to say while someone’s mouth was on him, how easy it was for him to plead and encourage and babble about how good he felt, even if he could only get syllables out. 

“You-you look so-so-” he tried to sound sexy and suave, palming at Matt’s bulging cheek, but the words died in his throat, crashing into each other as Jay’s breath continued to hitch. It was a shame really, that he couldn’t properly tell Matt, because he deserved to know how good he looked, how his eyes, darkened with arousal, and his lips, swollen and lush, painted the most erotic picture Jay had ever seen, a work of art that could move people to tears. 

He could feel the pressure build in his pelvis, nerves jolting, everything was already so much, so hot and slick, but he wanted more, more Matt. “D-did you. Did you bring?” He could hear how breathy and wanton he sounded, how gravelly his voice had become, thick with desire. 

A rush of cold air hit him as Matt replaced his mouth with his hand, stroking Jay with a frown. “No,” he said regretfully, becoming defensive when Jay squawked in protest. “I told you it wasn’t supposed to be that kind of trip!” His movement slowed a bit, deep in thought, ignoring Jay’s whines and arching hips. “Don’t worry, I think there’s olive oil in the kitchen!” He smiled, pleased with himself. 

Jay didn’t have much brain function left him in, the twists of Matt’s wrist requiring all of his focus, but he had enough for an eyeroll and a snort. “C-can’t use. Olive oil.” 

“Sure we can,” Matt chirped. “What do you think the Ancient Greeks used?” Then his mouth was wrapped around Jay again, cheeks hollowing out and taking him in deep, the muscles in his throat smooth and tight. Jay wouldn’t have been able to argue with him even if he was working at full capacity, how the hell was he supposed to know what the Ancient Greeks used as lube? He knew he would lose anyway, just like he knew that in a few hours Matt would have him stretched open and drizzled like a feta salad. The thought made him huff out a laugh, a wheeze that rumbled through his body and caught Matt’s attention, his cloudy gaze meeting Jay’s for a brief moment before he smiled, drool oozing, and winked. 

Suddenly, caution lights began to flash in Jay’s mind, a simmering heat turned all the way up and flooding through him, the dam about to burst. 

“M-Mm. Matt,” he panted, leg muscles beginning to strain and quake. “I-I-I’m,” he nudged Matt’s forehead, no longer capable of a verbal heads up. It was always a coin toss on whether or not Matt would heed his warning, and he seemed to have no interest in it at the moment, loosening his jaw to take Jay in deeper. Jay felt his last, tenuous grip on reality slip away from him, eyeballs rolling into his skull as he spilled into Matt’s mouth, his limbs twitching and spasming as his body drained, finally slumping back into the mattress kitten weak and breathless. 

Distantly, he felt Matt push and pull him back up the bed, moving him like a ragdoll, until he crawled on top of him, nudging Jay’s legs open with his knee and spitting what he had collected all over his already sweat slick thighs with a sound so obscene it made Jay’s mouth water. 

“Such a princess,” Matt groaned at slotted himself against Jay, grabbing him by the knee and maneuvering him around as he pleased, doing all of the work. “Spoiled, diva princess.” 

“That’s me,” Jay agreed happily, brain still shrouded in a fog of pleasure and dragging his nails up and down Matt’s back, a far away melody setting a steady rhythm. He rolled his hips lazily as Matt pressed and rutted against him, panting harshly into Jay’s ear. 

“M-my spoiled trophy wife.” 

He knew Matt was trying to tease him but a lightning rod cracked under Jay’s skin making him hot all over. “You think I’m a trophy?” he wondered dizzily, cheeks pink.

Matt laughed, a broken sharp sound that sounded like it came from the bottom of his lungs. “The prettiest, shiniest trophy,” he promised. 

Jay let the shaky sounds Matt was making wash over him, getting lost in the feeling of their skin sliding over each other, the taste of salt as he mouthed at Matt’s shoulder. He remembered the other promise Matt made, about not going home before they made use of every room and surface that could hold their combined weight. His plan was back on, he thought triumphantly. Soon, he would be cushioned on the fluffy rug in front of the fireplace, Matt’s fingers carding through his hair. They would feed each other tropical candies as the fire roared, warm and toasty as a winter wind rattled the windows, and there would be music playing from somewhere, all sensuous and seductive and Isaac Hayes. 

He must have been plotting out loud because Matt was laughing again and saying something about Scientology, his hand coming to rest at the base of Jay’s throat, the curve between thumb and forefinger slotting perfectly around his neck. There was no pressure or squeezing, just the gentle weight of his palm and the light, involuntary taps of his fingers as his body pulsed. Jay knew he was close, could tell by the red blotches blooming across his face and down his chest, the way he trembled and lost control of his movements, hips beginning to jerk wildly. He started to lick at Matt’s chest hovering above him, mouthing around his nipples and moles, wanting to get him there before he brought up L. Ron Hubbard. 

“Come on,” Jay growled against his chest, dropping his voice several octaves and clenching the muscles in his thighs. “Come on, MJ.” He crashed their lips together, shoving his tongue inside Matt’s mouth and swallowing the whine that was dragged from him, digging moon shaped craters into the soft flesh of Matt’s hips, pulling him closer, closer. 

Matt heaved and shivered, spurting over Jay’s pelvis and the inside of his thighs, sticky and dripping. They caught their breaths in silence, the occasional press of an open mouth against whatever patch of skin was closest to them. Jay felt like he was stuffed with silk and floating, even with Matt collapsed on top of him, elbow stabbing into what Jay could only assume was his bladder. He hummed softly, nosing at Matt’s sweat soaked hair, checking to see if he was still in the land of the living. 

“Well,” Matt eventually sighed, rolling off of Jay but not straying far, his chin hooking Jay’s shoulder. “We’re definitely gonna need a new plan to get us back in with the Rivoli now.” He grinned, peering at Jay with bright, shining eyes. 

“No kidding,” Jay yawned, blindly fishing and tugging at the linens bunched near the bottom of the bed. “Probably shouldn’t expect a big family Christmas this year, either.” He scrubbed at the mess on his skin with a corner of the top sheet, then flipped it around and draped it around them, soiled half at their feet. 

Matt snorted. “Wasn’t planning on it.” They’ve been happily celebrating the holidays just the two of them for years now, pajama clad and cornering each other under the mistletoe they hung in every room. He shifted closer and they wordlessly arranged themselves, limbs tucking and ankles crossing, and Jay was almost asleep, comfortably drowsy before he remembered something terribly important. 

“Hey,” he said seriously, shaking Matt until his eyes fluttered open, curious. “When we get back home I want us to sleep in the same bed. Like every night. Not just when we fall asleep after.” He kept his tone firm to show Matt it wasn’t up for debate and was rewarded for his demand with a brilliant smile. 

“Whatever you want, Jaybird.” 

Outside, the wind whistled a wintry lullaby, and, gently, it began to snow.  

—

The weather followed them back to the city, a steady snowfall that quickly turned to slush under the constant bustle of activity. Matt was in a merry mood, humming carols and making plans to dig out the Christmas decorations as he unlocked the front door, a flood of warmth and light welcoming them home. He put Jay in charge of picking a movie, one strictly from the holiday shelf, while he whirled around the kitchen, popping corn and heating up chocolate. 

It was still a little over two weeks out from the twenty-fifth, close enough for the festive cheer but not quite It's a Wonderful Life or even Ernest Saves Christmas territory yet. Jay debated the appropriate level of jolliness they were looking for, ruling out anything that involved Santa for the time being, and scanned their mix of DVDs and VHS tapes, finally settling on Kiss Kiss Bang Bang after Matt’s diplomatic nod of approval. 

Matt settled on the couch, snacks and blankets ready, while Jay switched out the DVD player, Withnail and I still in the disc tray from their last movie night. Assuming the statute of limitations had long since passed, Jay decided to confess before hitting play. 

“You know I lied to you before,” he grinned as Matt’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “I did steal Withnail and I from you.” 

“I knew it!” Matt gasped dramatically, clutching his chest in scandal. “Have you been a klepto this whole time?” 

“No,” Jay admitted sweetly. “I just wanted to take something of yours. So it was like you were with me.” 

Under the blanket, Matt grasped for Jay’s hand, threading their fingers together tightly. “Gay,” he swooned. “Yultide gay.” 

Halfway through the movie, their mugs drained and nothing but buttery kernels left in the popcorn bowl, Matt reached for the remote, slamming the pause button with wide, unblinking eyes. “I think I got it!” With an excited exhale, he scrambled off the couch and back on again, this time his feet on the cushions and pressing into Jay’s thigh. Instinctively, Jay flew over to the piano, perching on the bench and waiting for his cue. He watched, amused and bewildered as Matt jabbered away, the marker in his hand flying across the whiteboard into a messy list of words, nonsensical and scrawled. 

FAKE DETECTIVE
PINK WIG (JAY)
PISS DNA??? 

There was no way to tell where it was going, but he couldn’t wait to find out, and as Matt stood on the couch, voice booming and gesticulating wildly, Jay did what Jay did best, and played for him.