Work Text:
At this moment, Nick Carraway wonders if, in another life, the version of himself is doing well.
He often wakes in the night in a cold sweat. It’s the same nightmare, over and over, about a strange life he has never led. Seeing the corpse of the mysterious and rich neighbor next door(who he has quite frankly never spoken to) floating in the pool. The water always runs red from the bullet wound in his body, inflicted by the gun of a man seeking revenge for his wife killed in a car accident that he was framed for. But in the end, he was innocent and died alone, with no one but Nick himself attending his funeral. And he doesn’t even know the man’s face, having never seen him before. It is, needless to say, a terrible dreamscape to be stuck in.
Yet, somehow, Nick finds this nightmarish dreamscape much better than having to watch said neighbor attempt to charm his cousin, Daisy. Especially since it isn’t working.
“I will kill for you at the instant. You are simply too dear to me for anyone else to even dream of. Be mine. Ask me to kill for you, and your wish is my command.”
“...we have quite literally not spoken in years. Is this what you believe I want in a reunion?” Daisy is visibly unimpressed.
To be fair, Nick does not even know if any of this is real. How the hell did I get here, he thinks.
Had he been the slightest bit sober, he would’ve remembered:
Nick hasn’t actually ever seen his strange neighbor until tonight, but he has firmly decided long in the past that he doesn’t like him. Who on earth throws parties EVERY SINGLE WEEK at the most late hours, the hours at which a reasonable human being would get some sleep(except for I who creates the scripture for this narrative, for the hours of this night make me regret my life choices)?
That, combined, with Nick’s repeated nightmares, are perhaps the reason why he has not been sleeping so soundly for such a long time. So, he’s shown up to his mystery neighbor’s party in the hopes of wearing himself out enough to finally get some decent sleep(and possibly because Daisy decided they didn’t want to go alone, and dragged Nick along instead of their horrible husband, Tom. Nick tried to tell himself it’s the first reason, though. He needs sleep).
Of course, as Daisy went off to speak with everyone else, Nick immediately resorted to gathering a drink for himself. And that’s where the lines between reality and fantasy start to blur. Someone put something in the drinks, and Nick isn’t quite sure what it is.
Blurry Memory. There’s a horse in the background, dressed in pastel accessories. Blurry Memory.
He recalls speaking to a fellow dressed in purple somewhere in between. A man with a name starting with a “Z,” but he only described himself as “The Bocrack Horseman.” (Not to be confused with the horse from before)
“Why, would you happen to know what was put into these drinks?” Nick inquires.
The Bocrack Horseman gives him a knowing glance, like a dolphin with knowing eyes. “You’ve heard of Ukraine, now get ready for Cokaine!”
Nick understands. He doesn’t, but he chooses to believe he does. His brain feels relaxed, too relaxed.
And in this state, he encounters his neighbor for the first time. Nick blames his next thoughts on whatever he just drank. For a moment, he almost thinks his neighbor to be fiendishly attractive in his fancy suit and strange fedora(which would’ve made him look quite menacing, had it not been for the strange softness in his face).
For a minute, Nick almost has half the mind to kiss him.
Oh, wait. Let’s go back to the present. Nick no longer has half the mind to kiss him. Not even a third, or an eighth, or a millionth of a mind. Not even after whatever he has consumed. And specifically not after seeing whatever this man thinks would charm his cousin, who he’s apparently known before.
...well, also because of his resentments towards the late night partying every damn week. Yeah, that primarily. Of course. That’s why he’s cringing at the scene before him.
“I-! Why, Daisy, I have said nothing about having any kind of feelings for you! Who is to say I don’t already have a beloved partner? How indecent of you to imply that I am trying to be close with you,” the neighbor exclaims.
(Well, Nick really should find out what his name is so he can tell him to go to hell.)
Daisy stifles a laugh.
“I never implied such a thing, but I can say for a fact that no one would possibly fall for whatever you are doing now. I mean this nicely: please immerse your senses in the lawn before you speak to me again!”
Irritatingly Hot Neighbor is too shocked to respond, but Daisy has had enough trying to re-acquaint with their old...friend? Ex-lover? (Nick doesn’t have the brain capacity to grasp it, not right now. I don’t either.)
Daisy walks away from the situation back into the party crowd. Nick spots them with a kind-looking man, dancing off into the night. He feels almost relieved that Daisy has found someone far more respectful than the horrible man they regret marrying.
He doesn’t feel much relief though, given that the man still in front of him has started to lay in the grass.
“They all hate me...why? I collect so many assets and things worth loving over the years, and they all still leave in the end? Materialism is Unmaterialistic. I love no one.” The man ponders helplessly.
Well, the drugs are most certainly getting to Nick’s head because he feels bad for the guy. And the next thing he knows, Nick is laying down next to him in the grass. The party rages on without paying them an ounce of attention.
I’m lying down because I’m tired. I’m lying down because of all the sleepless nights. I’m lying down because I’m faded out of my mind and I no longer have any sense of rational hatred towards this man and he keeps looking more and more attractive and handsome and-
“-at was that, my friend?” Nick hears brokenly from next to him.
Nick takes a moment to process and then realizes he’s said something aloud within earshot of his handsome neighbor. But he can’t remember what he said, so he instead looks to the grass for help. A Tiny Yet Powerful Snail God lingers near him, whispering advice. It’s bad advice, but Nick is desperate.
But Alas, an immortal snail cannot help Nick Carraway, and neither can God. So Nick turns back to face his greatest fear at the moment, but is surprised to be greeted with an outstretched hand.
“Jay Gatsby. I should’ve introduced myself sooner.” Hot Neighbor, now dubbed Gatsby, smiles.
Nick takes the outstretched hand, though he doesn’t really shake it. He just holds it. This would probably be a new low for him had he been sober, but the fact is that he is not sober. Alcohol is, at this moment, a solution. Both physically and metaphorically.
The pastel horse is still there. There is also an ocean-themed catboy, vibing.
“My name is Nick Carraway. I live next to you.” He states to Gatsby formally.
Gatsby widens his eyes.
“Oh! No wonder you look so tired. I apologize for the commotion of the parties here, I was under the impression that no one lived next to my property. After all, you never attended these parties until now.”
Nick almost wants to be offended, but Gatsby continues.
“Nevertheless, it’s a pleasure to have you here. Are you quite all right though, old sport? A bit too much to drink, perhaps?”
Nick nods. “The stuff in the drinks… it made me hear colors.”
“What colors do you hear?”
“The light across the bay. The one that flashes a dark shade of blue, like a gathering of people around a ball pit.”
Nick looks over to Gatsby, who is listening with interest.
“What does the light say, Nick? What does it speak to you?”
“--- .--. .--. .- / .... --- -- . .-.. . ... ... / ... - -.-- .-.. . is what it says, from the way it flashes at me,” Nick explains. But he trails off, catching the look on Gatsby’s face.
“It’s a symbol,” Gatsby says. “A symbol that perhaps, instead of looking at what lies ahead of us, we must look at what is with us at this given moment.”
“Or...maybe the manufacturer of the light just really liked the color blue, Gatsby.”
“You’re looking ahead, Nick.” Gatsby refutes. “Look at what is with us now, as the light instructs.” He intertwines their hands. “We are with us now.”
Nick struggles to verbalize his feelings.
“Are we with ourselves now?”
“If you feel like we should be.”
“I feel nothing for you.”
“You cannot possibly feel nothing toward me, Nick. I’ve just decided that.”
Nick now feels something toward Gatsby, for Gatsby decided that he is taking over control of this universe. (Help me, for my own control on this realm slips as their love grows.)
“I had always hated you, but now I feel tired. I feel like I want to sleep right here, because I finally feel tired after so many sleepless nights,” Nick finally decides.
Gatsby smiles affectionately. “Then rest in peace, old sport. I will kill for you in your dreams.”
And Nick does just that(clarification: he is asleep. Gatsby does not have the power to make Nick pass away(yet)).
Nick dreams of him and Gatsby becoming anthropomorphic canine animals. They then put on suits designed to resemble anthropomorphic canine animals. They travel far and wide to every single shop in the state, only to be kicked out for doing what the dream-people called “fursuiting in the middle of Target.” What a strange saying.
It’s the best sleep Nick has had in years.
When Nick wakes up, he is still lying in the grass. Everyone has left, including Daisy. Nick hopes that the man they were with the night before has gotten them home safely.
He has a splitting headache. That’s to be expected. He’s surprised he even remembers what happened the previous night with Gatsby-
Ah. Gatsby isn’t around either.
The pastel horse is still there. There is also an ocean-themed catboy, vibing.
There is also the immortal snail. The snail reaches out a large, muscular hand to Nick’s shoulder, and whispers advice on how to find Gatsby.
“Gat’sBee,” the snail advises.
“Silence, mollusk,” Nick says.
The mollusk is silent. But they break free from silence, for I am losing control on this realm(help me).
Suddenly, however, Gatsby coincidentally shows up. From where, Nick does not know- especially since he finds the newspapers being thrown in his face.
“Good morning old sport! I found this in the papers and thought I must absolutely show you.”
Nick groggily looks at the papers, with the headline that Gatsby pointed out to him:
“Today, on May 7th, we will have the first annual catboys versus horseboys war! Tickets are being sold at the great price of $1000 per centimeter of paper used to print the tickets on!”
Nick looks up at Gatsby from where he has managed to hastily sit up on the lawn, excited. “Why, I have long been awaiting this event! But as much as I would like to go, I am afraid I do not quite have the money for the tickets-”
Gatsby cuts him off, waving his hands in a silencing motion.
“Money is not a concern. How do you think I manage to throw such expensive parties all the time? This one’s on me, Eldery Athletics(old sport).”
Nick takes a moment.
Oh.
Right. Right. Nick is an idiot. Because it didn’t mean anything else, because good friends spend shocking amounts of money for each other sometimes, and Nick and Gatsby were-
Well, were they even friends? More like...former one-sided enemies who had a strangely emotional moment while one of them was absolutely wasted on some kind of drink and the other was hitting on his cousin in an ominously protective and jealous way? None of this adds up in Nick’s mind, because literally who would spend this much money on someone who had supposedly hated them?
It makes his heart race for some reason. His heart beats like the light across the bay, in its tumbluric blue glory. What an interesting name for this recently-discovered blue.
Then, he realizes he never answered Gatsby, who is still waiting expectantly for a response.
“Sorry, I- yes. It’s not a concern then. I mean, right, if it’s not too much then I appreciate you paying! Because I want to go. With you,” Nick manages to stumble out, caught off guard.
Cool! Nick hates himself!
But Gatsby just smiles at Nick’s confirmation.
“Of course! Then we best be on our way, before the event becomes too crowded. I’ll ready the car.”
And with that, Nick finds himself in the passenger seat of Gatsby’s over-the-top expensive truck(why does he have a truck? the terrain hardly requires it), as Gatsby has gone off inside to get something. Well, this is one way to start a morning after intaking mystery substances and possibly catching feelings for your neighbor the previous night.
Huh.
Is this a date?
Nick immediately decides that he will no longer think this unwelcome thought, because suddenly Gatsby comes out of the mansion and Nick thinks that he keeps on getting infuriatingly more attractive. Why did he think. Why did he think. WHY DID HE THINK.
“Nick! I had a gift for you before we set out. You strike me as a catboy supporter, correct?” Gatsby asks.
“That’s...yes. That’s correct. I’m not sure how you guessed, but that is correct.” Nick really doesn’t know how Gatsby came to this conclusion, but...huh.
“Good. Then this gift will be very welcome in your possession!”
And Gatsby hands Nick a giant black...well, he’d almost consider it a pillow, had it not been for the catlike face embroidered on the front. It strikes him as the kind of pillow that one would lean against while drinking tea.
He loves it.
“Thank you, I...wow. I didn’t expect this, but I appreciate it a lot.”
Gatsby smiles. “Anything for you, old sport.”
And Gatsby gets into the truck next to Nick, and they’ve started for the sporting event(it is a war. this narrative is no longer in my control).
At first, it’s a fairly pleasant drive. West Egg is strangely refreshing, Nick decides. Despite living here every day, it suddenly strikes his attention how little he’s truly been able to enjoy the outdoors beyond his everyday work.
The pastel horse is still there. There is also an ocean-themed catboy, vibing.
But with Gatsby next to him, Nick really does start to think. He truly does wonder what motive Gatsby has in being so kind to him, in giving him a clearly thoughtful gift(he proceeds to hug the cat pillow), in spending so much money just for him to see catboys vs. horseboys fight in their war.
Nick isn’t complaining. Because it makes his heart flutter. It flutters in a way no one has ever made him feel in the past. And he hasn’t even known the guy for a whole day.
Well.
He thinks about the irritation he feels in those late nights where Gatsby throws his stupid parties. Now, it doesn’t feel like an anger towards not getting sleep. It feels like it was always an anger towards waking up from a terrible dream and feeling so shocked about watching some mystery person die alone, only to wake up and find that this person was celebrating every part of life.
And to know that, during that celebration, Nick wasn’t even getting to know him. And now, it turns out that he’s so strangely kind to Nick, and that this whole time…
Nick is rudely interrupted from his thoughts as the truck swerves past oncoming traffic. He feels himself launched into Gatsby’s shoulder(he had forgotten to put on his seatbelt, in his haze of thoughts) as the man steers the truck through an intersection.
They don’t have a green light.
“What are you doing?!” Nick yells, recovering from the shock.
Gatsby looks at him, as though the answer is obvious. “Why, we don’t want to be late for the catboy vs. horseboy fight! It starts in five minutes!”
Nick so badly wants to argue, but as it is, he is not in control of this truck. So he buckles himself up and holds on for dear life as Gatsby swerves through oncoming traffic.
The almighty snail has hitched a ride, and whispers advice in Nick’s ear. “Just don’t die in a car wreck. Yes <3” the snail advises. It is useless.
(I cannot remove the snail. My words are lost with every passing second.)
And suddenly, Gatsby brakes. Nick is in a state of shock, but suddenly he sees a man in the crosswalk.
Oh, he knows this man.
Wait.
Oh NO, he knows this man.
“Watch where you’re going, idiot!” Shouts Tom Buchannon, the horrid husband of Daisy. Great, Nick thinks.
Then, Tom recognizes him.
“Wha- Nick? The hell are you doing with this guy? Knock some sense into him, he almost ran me over!”
Nick almost responds, but Gatsby stops him.
“It’s your own fault for being in the road,” he replies to Tom. Nick agrees. Gatsby is immune to being at fault, he’s decided. This is not sarcasm, he actually believes this. And now it is canon. Help me(the author) please Arthur
Tom lets out a sharp laugh.
“Nick, I really thought better of you. You’re gonna stoop to this guy’s level? You’re gonna let him drive like this? My lady woman girl female feminine malewife mistress(because I’m straight) is literally crying because of you right now. She’s cutting onions and it’s all your fault. You LGBT’s are terrible I’m literally shaking and crying as we speak”
Nick feels his nerves snap. God, he hates homophobia and Tom. So put together, it’s even worse.
So he shouts.
“Oh, we’re terrible? Okay. Go back to cheating on your spouse and treating them like absolute garbage! Daisy is gonna be far away from you one day, and you are going to regret ever being born.”
Tom opens his mouth and Nick is about to argue again, but Gatsby whispers to him.
“Nick, you made a mistake. It’s not “one day” that he’ll be far away from Daisy.”
Nick looks at Gatsby incredulously. Tom’s yelling in the background becomes muffled, and he can only hear the light chuckle under Gatsby’s breath.
“It’s today.”
Screech.
THUD.
Nick is too engrossed with Gatsby that it takes him a moment to process that the truck has even moved.
But then he turns and
He
Finds
Tom
Bleeding
And
Dead
A
Few
Feet
Away.
Launched by the truck’s impact.
Nick hasn’t even processed it. It’s ringing in his ears.
The pastel horse is still there. There is also an ocean-themed catboy, vibing.
He’s only grounded by Gatsby shaking his shoulders. Yelling.
“-ck! Nick, we-”
White Noise.
“-to go! Come on don’t pass out, you wanted to see the catboys vs. horseboys war! Please-”
Nick doesn’t even know what’s happening. But as the reality sinks in, Nick feels dread sink into his body.
His dream. A person seeking revenge for a murder believed to be caused by Gatsby, and terror sinking into his body as he sees Gatsby’s corpse in the pool, having died alone, and-
“Nick? Don’t cry, it’s okay, what happened?”
Oh, he’s crying.
Nick manages to choke his words out.
“No...why’d you. Why’d you do that, why’d you go and kill him…”
He trails off for his body to be wrecked with sobs, and he barely registers Gatsby wrapping his arms around him comfortingly. It’s not very comfortable to hug from the drivers seat to the passenger’s seat, but it’s almost nice.
Gatsby waits for him to continue.
“You... they’ll be after you. I don’t know who will, but they’ll be after you for what you’ve done. You killed Tom, and even though he deserved it for how he hurts others, now...you’re gonna be in trouble and-”
A pause.
“Why’d you kill him for me? Why are you so kind to me despite not even having known me for a whole day, despite knowing that I didn’t like you- which wasn’t really all that true but… I just don’t understand. I don’t understand why I’d feel this way towards you, this worry, this… warm feeling. I don’t understand.”
Gatsby pulls away enough to look at Nick in the eyes.
“You don’t have to understand,” he says with softness. “But...last night, to be quite honest, I didn’t even care to speak with Daisy. I mean, of course they’re great, but truly I wanted to talk with you.”
“What?”
Gatsby smiles tiredly.
“I bought this house to be right next to you. Daisy, being an old friend of mine...they had told me all about their family. Specifically their cousin living across the bay from them. And that tumbluric blue light...of course it was telling me to live next to you, to look at what was next to me and not what was beyond my feelings. Of course I had to throw a party every night, hoping you’d show up.”
Nick isn’t quite sure how to process any of this. His face is on fire though. Gatsby continues.
“I told you, I’d kill for you. So if we went back just a few minutes, to that...that SCUMBAG talking to you that way one more time-”
Their faces are inches apart.
“-I’d do it again, all for you, old sport.”
Nick isn’t entirely sure who kissed who first, but all he knows is that he is indeed kissing Gatsby in his dented truck, spattered with the blood of Tom, whose body lay a few feet away. Despite the morbid scene-
It’s nice. Gatsby smiles into the kiss and Nick is so immersed and he feels his mind becoming fuzzy, fuzzier than any of the ukraine cokaine in his drink.
When they finally pull away, they’re both sitting in stunned silence. Then, they’re breathlessly laughing.
Oh, Nick does love this man. The feelings have come quickly, but oh how he loves him.
The pastel horse is still there. There is also an ocean-themed catboy, vibing.
“You know,” Gatsby manages to say quietly, grinning. “We are going to hell. Not for loving each other as two men, but for committing what we’re about to frame as vehicular manslaughter on someone else’s behalf. Let’s get out of this car, yes? We have a catboys vs. horseboys war to attend.”
Nick just smiles breathlessly.
“Yes.”
And so, the two men proceeded on foot. It was an interesting date. They met a dog walking a human, along the way. They get no explanation. The catboys vs. horseboys war was wonderful, as well.
They would go to hell eventually, for their crimes of vehicular murder, but it’s okay because Gatsby has now gained control over the realm. Him and Nick are now in charge of this world, and what happens, for they are right beside each other.
The pastel horse is still there. There is also an ocean-themed catboy, vibing.
But I, the narrator, have been forcibly removed from this word. I must move forward beyond this work that will very soon dwell in the Archives Of Their Own. Who are They? I do not know. But the only thing I know is simply this:
With my brain small, my meat huge, my pain endless, I tread onwards.