Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Something was wrong.

Nick could feel the wrongness itching under his skin, seeping into his bones.

He left Gatsby in the morning to go to work, although Jay wanted him to stay with him.

“Let’s use the pool, old sport,” Gatsby said, a sharp sadness in his piercing blue eyes. “I didn’t get a chance to use it all summer.”

“No, I have to go to work,” said, Nick, his voice low. Gatsby’s eyes were like daggers, twisting bleeding holes in his chest. He wanted to help Jay, but knew that he could not, and the helplessness crushed him. “Sorry, Jay.”

Nick needed to get to his job, that was true. But he also needed to get away, away from the shaky ground and the uncertainty of the situation.

He wanted to get away from the clump of panicked feelings that the last few days have accumulated in his chest. Away from Gatsby’s paranoid waiting for Daisy’s phone call. He wanted to forget everything that happened, forget Myrtles face and her accident, Daisy and Tom and their carefree way of life that always boarded on an cruel carelesness.

So he sat here, at work, by his neat desk, phones ringing and vivid conversations around him.

How happy he was when he first started working here, how nice this desk seemed to him. He viewed his colleagues like half-Gods, selfmade people with their dreams firmly in grasp, nothing in the world unachievable to them.

And now he hated it, all of it. The straight wooden chair that he sat on, the neat desk, the rush of calls and the movement of his coworkers.

His thoughts were confused, tangled. Yes, there was the panicked clump of the recent memories — Tom’s angry screams, Daisy’s tears, Myrtle’s horrible injuries, Jay’s heavy sadness.

And yet, there was something else, something else entirely, a feeling that Nick could not pinpoint, but it was stronger, way stronger than all the others. The feeling had something to do with Jay. It was always stronger when Nick was with Jay.

It was like an elation of some sorts, a boundless joy that knew no end or no beggining. And yet, it was comforting and warm, fully accepting, without need to for Nick to change, to act a certain way, to watch his words or actions.

It bubbled in his chest and sent tingles down his spine when Nick was with Jay, or thinking about what Jay said or did when they were apart.

He remembered it all, all the little details.

The way Jay ran a hand through his hair when nervous or telling a story, always making a hairstrand or two fall out of his hairstyle.

Jay’s ring that he often wore.

Jay’s laughter, especially when he laughed after something that Nick said.

The fact that Jay liked to eat bacon and eggs for breakfast, and drink a glass of milk before bed.

The lights of Jay’s car shining in Nick’s little yard when Nick was coming home after being out, mening that Jay had come to pick him up and take a drive somewhere together.

Jay’s morning robe and muzzled hair, his sleepy voice when he was answering a call that woke him up in the morning.

“Old sport”, the nickname that Jay gave him, that always had a special ring to it when pronounced by Jay.

Jay’s smile, not the smile that he used on formal occasions and with people from his business, but his real smile. Nick somehow felt that that smile was only meant for him — it was bright, wide and glorious, and made Jay’s blue eyes shine with joy. Jay looked like a young man when he smiled this way, a man without any burdens, without a heavy past or an uncertain future, a man living in the present and being happy in it.

Why was this feeling here now, in the midst of misery and panic? Why was his life and the lives of everyone else around Nick falling apart, and yet he felt a lightness in his chest when thinking about Jay?

Nick’s surroundings were uncomfortable to bear, suffocating him — the endless ringing of the phones, avid conversations of his coworkers, the room itself seemed like a cage, stale and lacking air.

He needed to get out, to get some fresh air, to see something else than his desk. He wanted to untangle the mass of his thoughts and get a clear a view on something, on everything.

He stod up and walked up to his superior, muttered something about feeling faint, and received a remark that he did, indeed, look very pale, and that he should take the rest of the day off.

Then it was the rows and rows of faces of his colleagues passing by him in the corridors, an uncomfortably hot ride in the company elevator, the noise and the lights of cars and people on the street, before Nick finally ran into an empty, small, darkened alley where he often went to take a smoke alone, undisturbed.

Chapter Text

There was nothing in the alley except his improvised ashtray made out of a tin can, propped up on a stick from an old broom.

Nick did not feel like taking a smoke, although it usually relaxed him.

He looked at his ashtray and suddenly remembered how Jay would carry cigarettes and a lighter for him, even though Jay himself never smoked, even at parties.

He would give the pack to Nick, for him to take out a cigarette when he ran out of his own, which he often did, and then lit the cigarette for him when Nick had it in his mouth, his hand close to Nick’s face, his knuckles almost touching his cheeks. Nick always felt his face heat up when Jay did that.

“Old sport, smoking is a bad habit of yours. But who am I to judge? I am made of bad habits,” Jay would remark, and smile his dazzling smile.

Sometimes Nick had his hands full and could not take a cigarette out of the pack, although he wanted a smoke. In such moments Jay would stop what he was doing, take the cigarette out himself; a strange, dazzled expression on his face, his movements slow; and place it in Nick’s mouth, gently, his eyes never leaving Nick’s face, looking into his eyes, at his lips.

Nick loosened his tie and the collar of his shirt. His back was propped against the cold brick-wall of the alley, and he was looking at the same reddish brick-wall in front of him. The distance between them was small, and he reached out a hand to touch the stone.

His mind was racing. He kept replaying the conversation that he had with Jay in the morning, his promises to Jay that Daisy would call, and that he would come to Jay’s house after work to keep him company and stay the night.

Something made him uncomfortable, something was wrong. Something about the relationship of Jay and Daisy made him terribly sad, and it had nothing to do with the clear facts that Jay was clinging to a past he could never repeat, that Daisy would never leave Tom, that what they were doing was a tragedy that could never end well.

Nick removed his hand from the wall, briefly rubbing it on his thigh to clean off the dust.

His memory flashed him that one time when he and Jay went to the theatre, to see a spectacle about a medieval duel. The actors were good, the lines felt real, and when the main hero was suddenly attacked, Nick jumped up in his seat from shock. Jay placed his hand on Nick’s thigh for a brief moment to comfort him, and after he removed it, Nick could still feel the warmth of Jay’s palm on his skin, even through the layers of clothes.

After the spectacle, they went to a new club in the city centre. All kinds of people were there — Jay’s business partners, politicians, actors and artists. Jay shook hands with and talked to a lot of people, and kept introducing Nick to everyone.

“This is my very good friend Nick,” he kept on mentioning, while gently clapping Nick on the back. His hand would stay on Nick’s back after the touch, sending shivers down Nick’s spine.

They then sat at a table with a minister, a famous actress and a few of Jay’s business contacts. The actress ordered champagne, and the cork flew out while the bottle was being opened, startling Nick. Gatsby laughed, and threw an arm around his shoulders.

“Old sport, everything makes you flinch tonight, I am sorry. I should take better care of you,” he said to Nick.

The music was loud, so Jay had to speak the words while leaning close to Nick’s ear, his lips almost touching his earlobe.

His other hand was suddenly on Nick’s thigh again, just like in the darkness of the theatre, and Nick felt strange, as if he was about to blush for some reason.

“It’s fine, Jay. I feel safe when you are with me,” answered Nick, turning his head around to look at Jay, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

Jay’s smile faded into one of his dazzled expressions, but his face was still open and warm. He was looking Nick in the eyes, his hand still on Nick’s thigh, his other hand around his shoulders.

People were cheering and talking all around them, Jay’s acquaintances asking him questions, the actress telling a story about something that happened on set.

But they were all in the background, and Jay was the only one that Nick saw clearly. Jay was so close that Nick noticed a tiny birthmark by his nose, saw that his eyes had a hint of green in them besides the deep blue.

Nick did not dare to a take a look at Jay’s lips, although they were so close to his face and to his own lips. He felt like something would happen if he did, something that he would not be able to control. Like a storm would start and rage for all eternity.

A loud bang broke the moment, and a dancer emerged from a cake on the stage. Nick turned away, and felt Jay’s hand slip from his shoulders, heard Jay’s answers to the questions that were directed at him earlier. Jay’s other hand stroked Nick’s thigh once in a comforting gesture and then slipped away too.

The ride home that evening was unlike all the others before or after it. It was already dark and past midnight, and Jay, who usually raced home after dark, taking advantage of the empty roads, drove the car slowly and followed all the traffic rules.

He kept asking Nick if he was cold, and Nick kept replying that he wasn’t. Nick then asked if Jay was cold, and Jay said that he was fine, but Nick noticed that he was dressed a lot lightly than himself, and the air was cool.

As they were waiting for a green light, he reached out his hand and lightly touched Jay’s forehead and the tip of his nose, and then his neck with the other side of his palm. Jay’s skin was cold, but soft, and Nick wanted to keep touching him. Jay grabbed the wheel so hard that his knuckles whitened when Nick touched him.

“So you are cold, Jay. Of course, in your light clothes. You should have packed something warm for the evening,” Nick started taking off his coat.

Jay was looking at him with one of his unreadable expressions, his hands still tightly grabbing the wheel. Nick draped his coat over Jay’s shoulders and folded parts of it into his shirt to make it stay in place.

“There, better now?” asked Nick.

The light changed to green, but Jay did not move the car forward. There were no other cars on this part of the road, and the only thing disturbing the silence was the sound of the car’s motor.

“Yes, thank you, Nick,” Jay did not stop looking at him with his piercing eyes.

Nick smiled, feeling pleasantly surprised that Jay called him by his name, which happened rarely when they were alone, with no need to introduce him to someone.

He also suddenly felt the the strange, uncontrollable urge to blush, just like he did in the club.

The emptiness of the road, Jay’s eyes on his, the soft vibration of the motor and the dark night around them made the moment feel unreal.

Nick felt his heart hammer in his throat as he slowly lifted up one of his hands and placed it on one of Jay’s hands that were resting on the wheel.

“I like taking care of you, Jay,” Nick’s words were almost a whisper.

Jay took his other free hand from the steering wheel and cupped Nick’s cheek, almost making Nick gasp from the sudden sensation of Jay’s hand cool fingers on his bare skin.

“Thank you,” said Jay, barely audible.

He was so close now, so close that Nick felt his head spin, and the thought of looking at Jay’s lips appeared in Nick’s mind for the second time this evening, unbidden and terrifying. And yet, he avoided looking at them just like he did in the club, sensing that something outside of his control would happen if he did.

Suddenly, Jay removed his hand from Nick’s face, and looked away, to the dark side of the road.

When he looked at Nick again, there was a sharp sadness in his gaze. Nick thought that he must be thinking about Daisy to look sad.

“We are good friends, are we not, old sport?” said Gatsby, but his tone was flat, no hint of amusement or happiness in it.

“Yes, of course,” answered Nick, unsure of why this question was asked.

Jay took Nick’s hand, which was still placed on top of his own, resting on the steering wheel, and held it in his grasp for a moment. He then placed both of their hands on the gearbox, entwining their fingers together.

They drove like this all the way to Nick’s little cottage, hands entwined, Gatsby sometimes removing his to shift a gear.

The memories of that day faded as Nick rubbed his hands together, as if to remember Jay’s touch.

Nick looked up at the thin line of the sky that was visible from the place that he was standing in.

The sky was beautifully blue today, clouds moving majestically through it, hastened by the wind.

The sky reminded him of Gatsby’s eyes. Blue and deep, with a hint of green that he sometimes saw when he was very close to Jay. Endless, shining with emotion.

Nick felt like he knew Gatsby’s eyes like no other person on earth. Gatsby could laugh and smile at parties, but Nick would still see the tragedy that he held in his gaze. Gatsby could be serious and cold when he and Nick were lunching with Jay’s business partners, and yet Nick would see the twinkle of laughter in his eyes directed at Nick when something funny happened, but Gatsby felt like it was impolite to laugh.

Gatsby. The Great Gatsby. Jay.

What was it about him? Why did Nick’s life change so much when he met Jay?

For the first time in his life Nick felt comforted by another’s presence. Accepted as he is, without a need to conform.

Their first meeting and unlikely friendship, the whole unfortunate affair with Daisy, them spending time together, getting to know each other and being a part of each other’s lives, intertwining their experiences, sorrows and joys.

Memories and time spent with Jay felt to Nick as an invisible link connecting him to Jay, letting his knowledge of Jay go trough his past, present and future as a shining comet.

Suddenly, it all made sense to Nick now. It scared him to the point of almost fainting, but he understood.

The feeling that Nick could not explain — it was love. He was in love with Jay. His heart and soul were completed when near Jay’s heart and soul.

And perhaps… Nick almost did not dare to think of this, but he still did. Perhaps… Jay felt something for him too.

Nick felt an urge to run, to drive as fast as possible to Jay’s mansion. Every despair and sorrow seemed far, far away. Surely, if Jay felt the same way for him, they could overcome everything together?

Nick took a last look at the sky, enjoying the sight of Jay’s blue eyes, and hurried out of the small alley onto the street, to the West Egg, to Jay.

Chapter Text

Jay’s mansion in the distance looked like a beautiful mirage, somehow even more magnificent than Nick remembered.

The golden rays of the sun, peeking out from the fluffy clouds, were reflected in the the glossy windows. The tall towers, columns and balconies draped in the rays of sunshine made the mansion look like a castle, an oasis in the middle of a dry desert.

How many times has Nick been here just like this, sitting in his car before the fine, intertwined gates of Jay’s manor, waiting for the staff to let him into the driveway?

But today, today everything was different. Nick was different, the air that he was breathing was different, his future unknown and terrifying — and yet so refreshingly beautiful from his usual grey plans and views on his next steps in life.

The gates opened, and Nick drove onto the path that led to the manor. He exited his car by the fountain, and gave the keys to the valet to park it.

His hands were shaking, an icy clump of fear in his stomach and chest. He drove here too fast, and his mind was somehow still on the road to the West Egg, the colorful mass of other cars, billboards, railroad workers, buildings and people that he passed by flashing before his eyes even now.

The other half of his mind was a panicked clump. His sudden bravery and resolve to confess his feelings to Jay was still alive, but shrunken, surrounded by the impending reality of the action he needed to take.

Nick hesitated on the marble steps, the door to the mansion wide open by Jay’s butler, who knew that Nick was a close friend of Jay, and should always be allowed inside.

“Good day, Gregory,” greeted Nick, controlling his voice so that it would not shake from nerves.

“Good day, Mr. Carraway,” answered the butler. “Fine weather today, is it not? Such a blue sky.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Nick, suddenly feeling and suppressing an urge to smile. The sky was blue like Jay’s eyes, he wanted to say, but kept it to himself.

He walked into the great marble hall of Jay’s mansion. The entrance hall, as always, shocked him with its grandness, although he has been here many times before.

One could just never get used to such extreme display of wealth — the elegant staircase entertwined with gold, the giant crystal chandeliers (Nick actually though that they were made out of diamonds, and the way Jay always dodged the question only made him believe it more), the great wooden doors with intricate carvings, flung open and letting the visitors see into the rows of rooms of the mansion.

And flowers. There were always flowers on the table by the staircase when Nick visited.

They weren’t there when he first arrived. The table was bare, and Nick placed a hand on the beautiful white marble encrusted with rubies, and said that some flowers would make the table look even more elegant.

Jay smiled, and said that Nick had an eye for details. Since then, there was always flowers on the table, in different shapes and sizes. Nick once asked Jay, after seeing a bouquet of blue roses (he never saw such roses before), about who assembled the flowers? Perhaps one of the gardeners?

But Jay looked at Nick with a long, warm stare, and said that he always assembled the bouquets himself.

“After you told me that the table would look good with flowers on it, old sport, I’ve been testing out my skills in the florist department,” said Jay, and hesitated before he added, a bit nervously for some reason, “Do you like it so far?”

“Yes, Jay, of course!” answered Nick, his voice thick with delight. “So you have assembled all of the bouquets yourself?”

“Yes,” said Jay. His cheeks pinkened a bit, but perhaps it was just the lightning?

Later that evening, Nick found a beautiful arrangement of red roses on the porch of his cottage. There was a note attached to it:

“Nick,

Thank you for the encouragement that you show me, in all endeavours big and small. From my timid interest in flowers to my wish to try myself out in a different business. It means a lot to me.

You are the person who always keeps me calm and safe, not matter the storms and perils which crash down on me.

Forever your friend,
Jay”

The pitch-black sky above Nick’s little cottage was covered in stars. He held the note from Jay and the bouquet in his arms and felt happiness beating wildly in his chest.

He had a sudden, strange wish for Jay to be here now, to stand on the porch just behind him. And if only Jay could wrap his arms around Nick’s waist, put his chin on Nick’s shoulder, and they could stargaze together.

Nick remembered that moment. He thought about it often, at work, while driving, while waiting for an appointment.

Today, the flowers on the table were white roses. This alarmed Nick. Jay always said that white roses made him feel sad, reminded him of loss and endings.

“One of my worst memories, old sport. A person who I was very close to lying in a casket, and white roses, white roses everywhere. I still cannot associate them with anything but pain and loss,” said Jay once.

Jay still allowed the gardeners to grow them in the glasshouses. He said that sometimes, a pang of sadness is needed to appreciate everything else that is fine in life. It can be the final touch for a happy ending.

So some of Jay’s bouquets had white roses in them, but they were always a minority in the sea of other flowers. There was never a boquet made only out of them, like now.

Nick turned back to the butler. The man looked like his was waiting for Nick to say something.

“Where is Mr. Gatsby, Gregory? I need to see him as soon as possible.”

“He is by the pool, Mr. Carraway,” the butler gave out a sigh that sounded worryful.

“He’s been by that pool the whole day, waiting for a phone call. Forbade the staff to come outside with him, told everyone not to disturb him, even if they heard any noises.”

Gregory paused and looked around the splendour of the entrance hall, as if to decide if he should say the next words or not. “It is good that you came, Mr. Carraway. Your presence usually always lifts his spirits. I am sure that it will help today as well.”

“I hope so.” Nick felt the worry for Jay tug at his heart.

Gregory’s words were never this straightforward. Jay’s distress must be serious then, if even the always composed butler let his concern be heard.

Nick’s icy panic coiled tighter around his chest. His dream of confessing his feelings to Jay seemed very far away now, with his unsure surroundings and Jay’s tragic state weighing heavily against the confession that he held in his heart.

Nick suddenly remembered how much Jay liked, maybe even loved Daisy. He had somehow forgotten this simple fact today, when he realized the dept of his feelings for Jay, and afterwards, when he raced to Jay’s home.

He had escaped the grim reality then, but now it was all around him.

But still, he had to go on, even if only to give Jay some friendly comfort.

Nick started walking through the mansion, towards the pool.

Chapter Text

Nick went through wast halls, beautiful rooms, past fine statues and priceless paintings.

People who saw all of these things when visiting Jay’s house though that this was all that Jay was — a rich man with a taste for expensive things and money to buy them, who threw lavish parties for his own amusement.

But Nick knew the truth.

He knew that Jay enjoyed spending money and buying himself and those he cared about everything they wanted, but beneath the surface or careless rich man, there was a deep search of meaning, a longing for something else, something he could never quite reach.

Sometimes Nick asked himself, was it Daisy that Jay really wanted? Or was he chasing something else, a daydream from his youth, a feeling from his past that he could never get over? Was he trying to reach his younger self, and draw him into this current reality, where he had all the things that his younger self did not have? Save the younger Jay from the perils of life that would befall him?

Nick never spoke of this to Jay. He felt like such a topic would be too personal, and besides, it was very hard to put into words.

But he though about it now, while waking through the splendid halls of Jay’s mansion. He though about how most people hide their flaws behind their money — their greed, selfishness and stupidity, but Jay always hid his best sides and the real him.

The giant white columns surrounding the pool came into the view through the huge floor-length windows. The pool was grand, it was called the finest pool of all New York.

There were no servants around to open the grand, oaken doors that led into the yard. Nick remembered the butler, Gregory, saying that Mr. Gatsby did not want anymore near him at the moment.

Nick pushed the doors open himself, and stepped into the grey marble floor of the courtyard.

Jay was standing by the furthest corner of the pool, looking over at the view of the city and the roads, with his back turned to the house. A table with a telephone was placed by his side. He was still, and did not turn around. He must not have heard Nick opening the door, and his light footsteps.

Nick’s heart turned in his chest. He felt a pang of recognition when seeing Jay, the outline of his silhouette, his hair, his arms, all so dear and familiar to him that he felt a clump of tears in his throat for a second.

Nick continued to walk silently. Jay turned towards him, as if sensing his arrival.

Jay looked pale, dark rings under his eyes, sadness creasing his face. He was standing on the opposite side of Nick, deep water of the pool between them.

When he saw Nick, Jay started moving by the side of the pool, towards him.

“Old sport,” he said when he was halfway towards Nick. “It’s so good to see you.”

Nick was standing frozen in place, unable to move.

His troughs were tangled, his stomach felt like ice. He wanted to speak about so many things — about the fluffy clouds in the sky, about the white roses that he just saw on the table, about the warmth in his chest that was always there for Jay. And yet, he could not utter a single word.

“Did you leave your job early? You look pale. Are you sick? Do I need to call a doctor?” Jay’s blue eyes were darting all over at Nick as if wanting to see the cause of his distress.

“Jay…” Nick’s voice sounded hoarse.

“What is it, old sport?” asked Jay, worry in his tone. He came closer to Nick and lightly grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Is it Daisy? Did you hear from her?” said Jay.

And there it was. Daisy. Daisy, the beautiful woman. Daisy, the key to Jay’s happiness. Daisy, his cousin, who Nick also cared for, whose heart he did not want to see broken.

Nick was such a fool. A fool to think that he could just come here and put his feelings into words, a fool to even entertain the thought of a future with Jay, the way he wanted it to be.

What was he thinking? That he could complicate the tragedy that is Jay and Daisy even further?

Jay was a good friend, a kind one. And Nick, mistakenly, horribly, let his platonic feelings toward Jay turn into something more. And it was Nick’s fault. His fault, and nobody else’s.

And now he was standing here, by the splendid pool of Jay’s mansion, completely lost. And heartbroken. Yes, his heart went from beating with happiness to sadness in just a few seconds.

But still, he could not lie to Jay. Not now, in the midst of Jay’s sadness. He had to give him a piece of the truth, even if he could not give him the full of it.

“I wanted to tell you something, Jay,” Nick’s words felt like sandpaper in his throat. His body was suddenly heave and motionless, all lightness gone.

“But it doesn’t matter now. Let us talk about you,” finished Nick ungracefully.

“No, old sport, we talk about me plenty. What is it that you wanted to say?” Jay’s hands were still a comfortable presence on Nick’s shoulders, the only steady thing in Nick’s world right now.

“No, Jay… I can’t, I’m not even sure if I should’ve come here,” Nick was suddenly feverish from regret. He regretted everything in his life that led to this moment, from him arriving to New York at all, to him deciding to rush to the West Egg to talk to Jay today.

Jay placed one of his hands on Nick’s forehead to check his temperature. His hand felt cool and soft on the skin, and Nick wanted for the touch to linger, but Jay removed both of his hands after a short moment.

“Are you sick?” Jay asked him again, then continued, “I am glad you came here now. It is nice of you to check on me.”

And then, Jay hesitated before he added, “I missed you, Nick. I just saw you in the morning, but I still missed you. Stay here with me.”

“I missed you” rang in Nick’s ears. Jay’s face was close to his, his damn lips pink and full, his blue eyes endless. He could see the golden tint to his hair, and the dark color of his lashes. He was wearing a striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and the first buttons undone, and Nick could see the bare skin of his chest.

Nick wanted to feel the heat of Jay’s skin underneath his fingertips, Jay’s heart beating in his chest underneath Nick’s mouth.

He wanted to kiss Jay, he knew that now. Just an hour before, he wanted to kiss Jay with joy; now, he wanted to kiss him with sadness, but the desire to kiss him was still there. No matter the emotions that were around and inside of him, Jay was a beacon of light, forever attracting Nick towards him, forever all-consuming and comforting.

“I missed you too,” said Nick, his heart beating in his throat. “I was worried for you, Jay.”

“Yes, and you wanted to tell me something,” urged Jay. Suddenly, Jay cupped Nick’s face in both of his hands.

Nick felt the shock from Jay’s touch go through his body like an electric bolt, sending shivers down his spine.

It was now or never, and yet Nick did not feel ready at all. Would he ever be ready?

“Jay…” Nick’s voice was barely a whisper.

But Jay heard it. Jay always heard what Nick said, even when the words were almost silent.

“Go on, old sport.”

They were standing outside, but Nick felt like the air that he breathed did not reach his lungs. His cheeks were burning beetwen Jay’s palms.

“Jay, I love you. Not only like a friend, but in another way too,” Nick could feel his body freeze from fear, the seconds starting to pass slowly.

Jay’s eyes widened. His face suddenly had the expression that Nick saw often when they were together — the surprised, unreadable look.

Jay parted his lips, wanting to say something.

And then, they heard a loud gunshot.

Chapter Text

Nick turned around, his heart hammering in his chest. He felt Jay’s hands drop, leaving his face which they were cradling.

A man was standing right behind them, a gun in his hand. The gun looked horrifyingly dark compared to the grey marble of Jay’s poolside floor and the calm, blue water. The gun was aimed at Nick and Jay.

For a second that felt like ice in his veins, Nick thought that he or Jay were injured by the bullet, but the seconds after the shot moved too slowly for them to notice the injury as they were bleeding to death.

He turned back to look over himself and Jay, to check if one of them was wounded.

The first shot must have been a warning, a bullet in the air, because there was no sight of blood on either Nick or Jay, no signs of a wound. Jay looked like always, but paler and with wide eyes.

Jay stepped towards the man, half-shielding Nick with his body.

Nick suddenly remembered, looking at the man’s tired, worn out face, his dirty working clothes, who the man was. It was George, the husband of Tom’s mistress, Myrtle.

“What is he doing here, Jay?” whispered Nick.

Jay turned his head back to Nick ever so slightly. “I am so sorry, Nick,” he said back so silently that the words were almost lost to the wind.

“Here you are, filth,” the man’s voice was shaking with anger. “In your fine mansion, while my Myrtle may be gone soon. She may be under the earth soon, buried. All because you wanted to take a fine evening stroll in that fancy car of yours.”

Nick’s heart sunk in fear. How was Jay responsible for what happened to Myrtle? Nick remembered talking to him a short time after the accident, how disheveled and stressed Jay looked, how he made Nick swear that he would tell no one what he just let Nick know — that it was Daisy behind the wheel of Jay’s car when Myrtle was injured by it.

Had Jay taken the blame? That was something Jay would do for Daisy, and Nick felt himself grow even colder at the thought of it.

“You!” George suddenly screamed, his hand holding the gun shaking violently.

Nick could not take away his gaze from the black, sleek detail of the gun. He felt like it was the only thing left in the world, the only object between life and death.

Nick grabbed Jay from where he was standing behind him, placing his arm over Jay’s chest. He came out from behind Jay, so that they were standing side by side.

Jay placed one of his arms on Nick’s chest as well, and the other on his back, all without turning his head towards Nick or looking at him. They both understood that they must not make any sudden movements or take their eyes off the man.

“You ran her over. My Myrtle. And now she is in the hospital, dying. And you are here, in your fine house. Such a fine house for a filth like you,” George was now crying, tears running down his face, his voice husky.

Nick felt like the world slowed down, and everything around him became darker and heavier. So it was true. Jay took the blame for Myrtles accident, in a hope to shield Daisy, or perhaps do this favour for her so that she would run away with him.

“No, George, listen to me,” said Jay, his voice calm. Nick wondered how Jay could be so calm.

“I lied. To the police and to the witnesses, and I am sorry. It was my car, yes, but I was not behind the wheel.”

“I don’t believe you,” replied George, “Don’t try to twist yourself out of this with fine words and money. The police said that you confessed to being guilty.”

Nick turned his head and looked at Jay. He knew that he was supposed to be looking at George, to keep his eyes on him, but if this was his last moment, he wanted to look at Jay.

He was stricken at how beautiful Jay looked, even with his face pale. Jay’s arm on his chest and on his back gave him a sense of comfort.

“I am going to be honest with you, George,” said Jay, “It was Daisy. Daisy Buchanan. Behind the wheel of the car.”

Nick felt like the blood in his veins stopped moving, like his heart stoped beating for a second.

This wasn’t like Jay.

This wasn’t like Jay at all, to say something bad about Daisy, even if it was the truth.

“I am tired of lying,” said Jay, more silently, and turned over to look at Nick. His gaze was warm. "I have someone that is worth all the truth in the world."

The were standing there, looking into each others eyes, Jay almost smiling, the gun still pointed at them.

Suddenly nothing mattered anymore, and Nick thought that this was not a bad way to die. His feelings were out in the open, Jay was looking at him with kindness — perhaps Jay did not feel the same way as he was feeling, but he was still treating Nick as a good friend.

Nick’s life became so different, so bright with Jay in it. Not just because of the wealth, the boat trips, parties, clubs and fine restaurants, but also because Jay illuminated Nick’s life with his way of thinking, way of understanding and accepting Nick.

Would a bullet be such a bad price to pay? No, not at all.

“What?” George sounded puzzled, “Daisy Buchanan, the socialite?”

“Yes,” said Jay, turning away from Nick, his voice suddenly hard like steel, so unlike the softness in his gaze, “The wife of the man that Myrtle cheated on you with, Tom Buchanan.”

“The man that probably lied to you, and told you that it was Mr. Gatsby behind the wheel,” said Nick tensely. He did not want to say anything, but the desire for truth was burning in him, forcing him to say the words.

“Why don’t you lower the gun, George?” asked Jay soothingly, a contrast to the tone that he used just a second before, “And then we can go inside the house and talk. I will tell you the whole truth.”

George looked at Gatsby, and then at Nick with blood-shot eyes, that were so hopeless that they looked empty. The gun was still in his trembling, sooted hand, and aimed at Jay and Nick.

“Why should I believe you?” George’s voice was cracking now, as if tears were stuck in his throat, although his eyes were dry.

“Because I will turn the car to the authorities, so that they can check the fingerprints on it, and match them to Miss Daisy’s,” answered Jay cooly.

“I can make the call now, George, right from this phone,” Jay removed his hand from Nick’s back and pointed at the phone in a slow movement, “And then we will go inside the house, right, George?”

Jay placed his hand on Nick’s back again, and Nick felt the tingles of relief flooding his body. Even in this moment, only Jay mattered, only the warmth and comfort of his touch.

“Fine, then,” said George, his voice on the verge of breakdown, “Call the police and tell them about the car, and I won’t shoot. And I’ll go inside the house afterwards.”

Jay removed his hand from Nick’s chest, his other hand still firmly planted on Nick’s back. He gave Nick a reassuring rub, and Nick followed Jay to the phone, both men still holding onto each other.

Jay picked up the phone. Nick though about how mundane, average this act was — he had himself picked a phone at his own house, Jay’s place and at work a thousand times. And yet, now it held such a big significance. It felt like the biggest act in the world, Jay picking up the phone at this very moment.

He dialled the numbers, and Nick could hear the line beeping as it connected to an operator, since he was standing so close to Jay.

The operator finally answered. “Hello? To whom may I forward your call?”

“Yes, hello. Please forward my call to the New York police,” said Jay.

“Please wait while I forward you,” replied the operator.

The seconds were moving slowly, and Nick wanted to grab Jay and run away, but the danger of the gun aimed at them was creeping under his skin, making him stay in place.

“Hello, this is the New York City police department, how may I help you?” answered a male voice.

“Yes, hello, this is Jay Gatsby. I was involved in a car accident yesterday in the Valley of Ashes, and I regret to admit that I have given false information to the investigator. It was not me behind the wheel of the car, but Mrs. Daisy Buchanan,” Jay’s voice sounded cool and collected as he spoke.

Nick could feel his heart beating against his ribs.

His hand, clutched on Jay’s chest, felt tense and unmovable from fear.

“I see. Thank you for the clarification, Mr. Gatsby. The investigation team shall meet you shortly to take your new statement. Are you at your home in Long Island?” The policeman sounded calm.

“Yes, I am.”

“Are you alone?” asked the policeman.

Jay looked somewhere far away, and then, at the sky. Suddenly, he smiled, and then looked at Nick, somewhat shyly. Before this moment, Nick could never think that Jay could look shy.

“No, I am not alone. I am with my boyfriend,” Jay’s voice crinkled with happiness when he finally said the words.

Nick’s heart leaped in his chest, his breath caught in his throat.

Jay called him his boyfriend. That meant… That meant that Jay cared for him romantically, in the same way that Nick cared for him?

The panic in Nick’s chest was suddenly deluded with a wild elation of sorts, and he smiled back at Jay, even though George was standing right by them with the ever-present gun.

They would overcome this danger together, they just had to.

“The investigation team will arrive at your house in about 20 minutes, Mr. Gatsby,” the policeman’s voice returned them to the current moment.

“Thank you. Goodbye,” Nick though that he heard relief in Jay’s voice.

Jay put down the phone. They were standing in silence now — Nick, Jay, and George. The pool water rippled, disturbed by the wind.

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, George lowered the gun.

“Let’s come into the house, George. Then we can talk things over,” Jay said, strainedly.

“Yes, yes…” George looked like he was about to lose consionses, his forehead drenched in sweat, his words muddled, his legs wobbling.

“I am sorry… I am sorry for all of this. All of those people… Mr. Buchanan and the police, the things that they said, they confused me,” he suddenly said, his voice small and pitfull.

“It’s okay, George. Those people have confused many,” Jay made a small step towards George.

“Why don’t we go inside, and you can tell us everything, if you want to?”

George nodded, and stood silently, as if wanting to be led.

The tears were freely running down his face now, staining the hem of his dirty, worn out shirt.

Jay’s arm left Nick’s back as he moved away, and Nick removed his hand from Jay’s chest. But before he could be disappointed, Jay took his hand and laced their fingers together, so that they were holding hands.

“After you,” Jay nodded to George, Jay’s gaze directing him towards the secondary entrance of the manor.

George took one last look at Nick and Jay, and started limping forward, his back slouched.

Jay turned to Nick for a brief second, and gave him a brilliant smile. A real smile, the one that was usually only reserved for Nick, appearing rarely. Nick could not help but smile back.

The world around them was once more undecided, unpredictable. But Jay was here, by his side. And that was enough, always and forever.

Jay and Nick walked behind George towards the mansion.

Chapter Text

The door of the publishing house closed behind Nick with a soft click.

He lingered on the porch of the building for a short time, taking in the cold autumn air, before going down the stairs and into the masses of people on the street.

He was supposed to meet Jay in ten minutes, both of their meetings conveniently ending around the same time.

The New York evening rush had just begun, with employees leaving their offices and walking towards the subway or to catch a cab on the road.

Nick and Jay would probably wait out the rush in one of the cafés down the street. They liked sitting at the furthest table and watch the people walk by through the window, they themselves being unnoticed. Their cups of coffe grew cold, and they warmed themselves with stolen kisses.

Nick and Jay kissed often now.

They kissed in the morning, while they were brushing their teeth together in the bathroom, both ruffled from sleep and the last night’s activities.

They kissed during the day, Nick hugging Jay from behind while he was cooking something on the stove in their private kitchen.

They kissed at nighttime, the stars twinkling at them from above, while they were laying with their legs and arms intertwined in the soft cloud of mattresses and plaids, in the room with the glass-roof for stargazing. Jay made a whole project out of building it, after Nick told him his thoughts that occurred when he found Jay’s bouquet of flowers on the porch of his cottage.

Nick started to walk towards the end of the street where he and Jay were supposed to meet. The mass of people took him in, and he went with their flow, before stopping at an empty corner.

His gaze fell on the workers that were fixing a patch of the road. Their strained movements and sooten clothes reminded him of George Wilson.

Nick remembered that day very well, how could he not? From the joyous realisation of his feelings for Jay, to the danger of the pitch-black gun pointed at them.

And then, all the monotone details — the arrival of the police, Jay’s true confession, George’s repentance for threatening them, Daisy’s screams though the telephone: “How could you, Jay?! How could you do this to me?”

The stress from all of these things was deluded with a warmth in Nick’s chest, the notion that Jay felt the same way about him. He saw the world differently, once again, his senses sharpened by the shock of being mutualy in love.

Once the police and George Wilson left, Jay asked Nick to join him in one of the greenhouses. A beautiful flower, night-blooming jasmine, was just about to blossom. Jay asked if Nick wanted to watch it bloom together, and of course Nick said yes.

They talked about casual things while walking to the greenhouse, but Nick could not stop smiling, and he noticed that the smile did not leave Jay’s face as well.

The greenhouse greeted them with silence, and they recuperated by being silent themselves, as if not to disturb the life that was in it.

And then, Jay said, as they were watching the gentle white petals of the jasmine opening themselves, “I hope I did not call you my boyfriend too soon. And… I love you too. Not just as a friend, my best friend, but also as a person that means all the world to me. I want us to be together always, if you welcome it. Ever since I met you, you have illuminated my life. I feel like you make me better, and yet never force me to change.”

Nick’s heart skipped a beat. He always thought that Jay illuminated his life, and never considered that Jay had the same opinion about him.

Nick looked at Jay, and saw that Jay was already looking at him.

Jay was draped by the moonlight from the tall glass-ceiling, one of his golden-tinted strands of hair fallen out of his hairstyle, his eyes appearing dark in the dim night.

His gaze was soft, so soft, and Nick felt like he was fainting and falling to the ground wrapped in silkiness of Jay’s gaze.

“No, not too soon. I would really like to be…” Nick trailed off, feeling a blush creep up his neck, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“I would really like to be your boyfriend, Jay. And all my wishes in life would be fullfilled if we spent it side by side,” Nicks’s voice sounded steady and strong, not at all like the weakness he felt in his legs.

“My love,” whispered Jay, his hands suddenly cradling Nick’s face.

They gazed into each others eyes, Nick’s brown against Jay’s piercing blue.

No restrictions were now beetwen them, no boundaries. Only the future, like a glorious comet, leading them forward.

And then, Nick asked quietly, “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Jay gave him one of his dazzling smiles.

Their lips met, softly and yet strongly at the same time. Nick felt every single cell of his body being alive, burning vividly. His love for Jay was beating in his chest, finally comfortable and free.

The ending of that hard day was perfect, and yet, it was only the beginning.

More days followed, some of them with hardships and errors, but the negatives were always coming from the outer world, and not from the cozy sphere that Jay and Nick were living in.

Daisy and Tom got away, of course. It was whispered in the corners of the New York high society that Tom paid an extravagant sum of money to let Daisy walk free from the accident.

In the end, Tom took Daisy and their child, and they left, as they always did, looking for finer and brighter things.

Daisy came to say goodbye, standing on the doorstep of Jay’s manor, her eyes wide as if she had never been there before. Tom was hovering in the background, his only greeting to Nick a short nod.

“I won’t be coming inside, Nicky,” Daisy looked at Tom out of the corner of her eye, as if to say that he would not approve of her setting foot inside the house.

“I wish you a pleasant journey, Daisy. I’m sorry that things got complicated.” Even after all that happened, Nick still felt a naive urge to stay on good terms with his cousin.

“Oh, Nicky, please don’t be sorry. None of this was your fault. I should be sorry for all this mess,” Daisy straightened out the fur on her expensive coat.

“So you are staying here, then? With him?” she continued, her voice lower.

“Yes.” Nick’s tone was firm.

He and Jay were together, and that was final.

“Well, it’s certainly not what I expected. You and Jay Gatsby in a relationship,” replied Daisy, “But if you are happy, than I am happy for you too,” her brown eyes did not seem to lie, only looked a bit surprised.

“To be honest, I always suspected it,” she lightly clapped Nick on the shoulder in a friendly gesture, “The way you and him spent all your time together. He also kept talking about you when him and I were together. And you are different with him. More open, perhaps.”

“But,” Daisy raked a hand through her blonde hair, “I need to go now, I am afraid. Do call, Nicky. And Tom still likes you, as long as you do not mention Gatsby at all,” she smiled weakly, and added, “I hope we are on good terms?”

Nick heard the uncertainty in her voice. His relationship to her and Tom was now strained. But perhaps in could continue, in a way? Some distance would certainly do them good.

“Yes, we are on good terms, Daisy,” said Nick, “Have a safe journey.”

“Thank you,” she replied abruptly, and left quickly, as she always did. She did not turn to look bad, nor did she wave goodbye.

In the distanse, Tom nodded to Nick again and left too.

Nick still felt uncomfortable with the whole situation: Daisy's and Tom's anger at Jay's confession that it was, in fact, she who was driving the car that hit Myrtle; Tom's undiluted hate towards Jay; Jay's constant reassurance to Nick that he did not wish Daisy or Tom any harm, but that he also did not want to see them ever again, although he would speak of them politely in society; and Jay's worried encouragement that Nick could still talk to them, of course.

But meeting Daisy and Tom that day showed Nick that everything could be if not well, then tolerable. They could be polite aquantancies, and really, that was everything that Nick wanted. He still habored some resentment deep inside him for the way the Buchanans treated and accused Jay. But Jay said that he should let it go, so he did.

Something that put Nick at ease was also the fact that Myrtle did not die. She recovered from her accident pretty quickly, and she and George spent a long time apologising to Nick and Jay for all the troubles they caused.

Nick remembered them, sitting in the living room of Jay’s manor, on one of the fine sofas embroidered with golden thread.

Himself and Jay were sitting on the sofa on opposite side, Jay’s hand resting on top of his own.

It was the first visit of Myrtle and George together.

A few times before this one, George came alone. He kept apologising for what he did, always ending up crying, despite reassurances from Nick and Jay that they both had forgiven him.

Jay even said (winking to Nick) that George appearing with a gun helped to move some things faster.

Myrtle took a teacup to her lips. The bruises on her face from the accident were almost fully faded, yellow instead of dark-blue. She still wore a visible bandage under her pale pink dress.

Her face looked more serious than before, but perhaps Nick was making it up? Jay often said that Nick was always trying to see the best in people.

“So,” said Nick, feeling incredibly awkward, “It’s nice to see that you are almost healed, Mrs. Myrtle.”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Carraway,” Myrtle’s low voice was unlike the high-pitched sound that Nick heard before, when he met her together with Tom.

She kept avoiding looking at Nick and Jay, her eyes lowered to the ground, or studying some of the fine statues and painting scattered around the room.

Myrtle and George were holding hands too, Nick noticed. George, as always, looked like he has been crying, his eyes a bit swollen and red.

But overall, he looked better, clean-shaven and in fresh clothes, not as dirty and ragged as he looked when he came to Jay’s manor on that faithful day.

“I guess…,” started Myrtle, and then trailed off, the words lost somewhere in the vast space of the living room.

“I guess, I wanted to say thank you, Mr. Gatsby and Mr. Carraway, for being so understanding towards me and George.”

She put down her cup of tea, and finally looked at Nick and Jay. Her eyes were green, a certain beauty in them, although Nick barely noticed it, since he was forever entrapped in the beauty of Jay’s blue eyes instead. But one could see why Tom was drawn to her, for a time.

“Perhaps, that was the thing that I wanted in life. To be understood,” she looked at George, something passing between them. Nick recognised the unspoken vows of lovers.

Vows to be better? To build a different future, without looking at the past?

He did not know. You could never now for certain, the unspoken promises of others.

“George…I mean, Mr. Wilson, will not have to go behind bars. Because of the involvement and the mercy of you both. Even though Mr. Wilson frightened you in such a horrible manner, you still chose to forgive him, and to help us. I appreciate that a lot. Thank you.”

Nick did not expect gratitude, and felt touched. He and Jay talked about what to do with George, long conversations while laying down on the carpet or sitting in the soft armchairs in Jay’s great library, often interrupted by wandering hands and kisses.

In the end, they decided that George should not be punished by going to prison. Yes, he put them in danger, but he was led to do so by Tom. They were all in this together — Jay, Nick, George; in the trap of being tricked by Tom and people like him in the endless game of using people, turning them against each other, and then abandoning them.

“You chose to treat us with understanding and compassion,” continued Myrtle, "And in turn, I think now we can treat each other and the world around us with understanding and compassion as well.”

“So, thank you, Mr. Carraway and Mr. Gatsby, for everything.”

Nick felt his hand being fondly squeezed, and turned to see Jay smiling at him.

Seeing Jay’s smiles now made the feeling in his chest warmly blossom. He knew now, that Jay’s true smiles were meant for him, for him always.

Nick smiled back, his heart beating in his chest in a calm manner, yet feeling a blush coming on. He could never get used to this — the feeling of being Jay’s, and Jay being his.

Myrtle and George decided to stay in New York. Nick was somehow surprised by this, as he thought that they would want to run away from the city that held so many bad memories.

But he was happy too, that they would stay, and build something new, not letting their past force them to run away from it.

As for him and Jay, they were staying in New York as well. They talked about traveling, seeing sunsents and sundowns in other countries, surrounded by other people, and yet, always together, the two of them, side by side.

But it could wait.

They had a life together now, and it was enough.

Slow mornings and gentle embraces, walks by the seashore and sharing secrets of their past, outings to the bright clubs and formal events, always ending in quiet evenings at home.

Flowers, endless flowers given to Nick by Jay. Snow-white lilies, crisp pale-pink orchids, tulips in all shades of the rainbow.

“It’s so nice that I can give you flowers freely now, my love,” Jay would say with a pleased expression, “I was getting tired of them always standing in the entrance of the house.”

Nick would find the bouquets everywhere — on his writing desk or bedside table, in the back of this car, on the porch on his cottage when he took a quick trip there to retrieve something that he needed.

It always felt like a dream, finding the bouquets. Something that he imagined many times was suddenly real, physical in his hands.

He, in turn, left Jay notes. Tucked in the pockets of his fine suits, concealed in his telephone book, hidden in one of Jay’s pillows.

Reminders: “I will always love you”; encouragements: “My support is forever yours; compliments: “Your hair mesmerises me. It looks like liquid gold”.

Jay would smile widely when finding the notes, and often, Nick could see that he would shed a tear or two. "Never stop writing these notes, my love, they mean the world to me," he told Nick.

Jay’s grand manor slowly became a home, their home together.

It was still splendid and grand, of course, but there was a certain coziness to it, that was never there before.

Their bedroom, with their clothes laying in the same pile, or hanging in the same closet, papers with Nick’s writing and Jay’s drawing laying around the tables, and hanging on the walls.

They were both chasing their creativity now, it suddenly so alive, blossoming under the acceptance of each other that they always practiced.

Nick was writing like never before — poems, short stories, novels.

Jay was drawing. His childhood home, the adventures of his youth, his life now, fantastical and non-existent places. And he was drawing Nick.

Nick thought that it would stop after some time, him seeing himself in Jay’s work, but it never did. He was always there — a small dot of a person walking on the endless seashore; his face in full view, bent over a pale-blue river with colorful fish; a ghost of his hand embracing a sophisticated, pale-white borzoi dog.

Just as Jay was always in his writing, anonymised, but always recognisable to Nick and to himself. A wealthy merchant who helped the poor, although it was forbidden; a golden-haired boy chasing a flock of sheep through a clover field; a traveler sleeping under a dragon's wing.

Nick slipped away from the pleasant haze of memories into the current moment, back to where he was standing on the corner of the street.

There was no sight of Jay yet, so he took out a pack of cigarettes, and placed one in his mouth, while searching in his pockets for a light.

“Need a light?” a merry voice said behind him.

Nick would recognise that voice everywhere.

He turned around towards it, and saw Jay, his siluette sharp against the dark evening glow. He was wearing a black coat against the autumn chill, unbuttoned at the top, and Nick could see the collar of his crispy white shirt.

“Yes, thank you,” said Nick, his pulse rapid from the pleasant shock of seeing Jay.

Jay came towards him, grinning widely.

He took off a glove, and cupped Nick’s cheek with one of his hands. His fingers were soft and gentle.

With his other hand, he took out a lighter, and lit Nick’s cigarette.

His hand travelled down to Nick’s shoulder and gave it a gentle rub.

Nick closed his eyes, wanting for the touch to linger, even though his bare skin was separated from it with layers of fabric.

Then, Jay, started to fix Nick’s scarf with both of his hands, wrapping it tighter around his neck.

“Jay!” exclaimed Nick. “What are you doing? Let me take a smoke in peace.”

“I don’t want you to catch a cold, my love.”

“You always say that, and yet wear light clothes. Look at you now, not even a scarf in sight, and here you are, fixing mine,” Nick felt his lips stretch into a smile. He did feel warmer now, after Jay fixed his scarf.

“I’ll be fine. You’ll take care of me, yes?” asked Jay, his blue eyes sparkling.

“Yes. And I know that you will take care of me, too,” Nick’s voice was soft, the words feeling like honey on his tongue.

Jay leaned towards him, and pressed his lips to his.

Afterwards, they walked on the tiny piece of the uncrowded sidewalk right by the road, their arms linked.

Nick was feeling a warmth in his chest, and was unable to stop smiling. The weight of Jays arm intertwined with his, the promise of their future together, their home in the near distance all made him feel an almost feverish elation.

Cars were flashing by. The twilight was settling over the city. The yellow traffic lights and the bright lights of the signs and street lamps would soon be lit.

“So,” started Jay, “How did the meeting with the editor go? I do hope they treated you according to your full potential. You know that I can take a word with them, if they didn’t ?”

“Jay!” laughed Nick, “I think I can stand up for myself in a meeting, thank you very much.”

He turned and looked at Jay, and saw that Jay was already looking a him with his dazzled expression. As if Nick was a wonder that needed to be studied or worshipped.

They stopped at a small clearing by an unlit streetlamp. Nick took one of Jay’s gloved hands into his own.

“It went very well, Jay. They loved my book, and are going to print it, once we get the contract settled. And I negotiated a good royalty rate for myself, as well a generous advance.”

“My love, I am so happy for you,” Jay looked elated, his smile wide, “May I now know what the book is about? If you are comfortable sharing it, of course.”

Nick once again felt comforted by the fact that Jay never forced him to share his writing before he was ready. It was new, this freedom of being with someone, and yet, not having to guard your personal space, because it was respected.

“It is about two stars that could not be together in the sky. So they fell to earth and became people. They exchanged an eternity of life to a limited human life, but a human life together,” Nick felt like his was drowning in Jay’s piercing blue eyes, looking straight at him.

“It sounds beautiful. I cannot wait to read it,” replied Jay, his expression sincere.

“Of course, my sweet. I would like you to read it very much, and you shall. And maybe, someone else will find it and read it one day, and be inspired to change their life for the better, for love. Just like I changed mine the day when I confessed to you.”

“Nick…” Jay trailed off before continuing, “Not only did you make me the happiest man on earth when you told me about your feelings, you saved my life as well. If it wasn’t for your confession, George would have shot me, because I would have told him that it was Daisy that was driving the car. I would have kept on living in a delusion, denying my feelings for you, and chasing a mirage that was poisonous. Thank you for everything, my love,” Jay placed Nick’s hand on his chest, right above where his heart was.

The last sentence was said so softly that it was almost lost to the wind. But Nick heard it. Nick always heard Jay, just as Jay always heard Nick.

“Thank you too," Nick embraced Jay with his free arm, and Jay embraced him back. He was thanking Jay for everything — for the evening that they met, filled with loud music and rivers of champagne; for their firsts conversations, which puzzled Nick with the fact that he did not have put on a facade; for their friendship that grew into love, and yet stayed just as light and joyous.

People on the street were walking past them — some of them were alone, some together, some laughing, some serious, but it did not matter.

Nothing mattered except Jay standing right here, with Nick, and the promise of an evening spent together.

There was another promise too, one that Nick carried secretly in his pocket — a beautifully intertwined gold ring with their initials.

He knew that Jay had a similar token hidden in his work table. His heart leaped in his chest when he thought about the moment when they both would unravel their intentions.

But for now, they were going to wait out the rush in a cafè, their cups of coffee going untouched, their hands entwined, conversations about everything and nothing endless.

And then, they would drive to their shared home, where soft embraces, warm kisses, and a whole eternity was waiting for them.

Nick and Jay both looked up at the sky, their arms wrapped around each other steadying them on the ground. The sky was darkened, soft clouds floating in the evening dim.

They smiled at the sky, and the sky smiled back.

They were together. And it was a happy ending.