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Matt awoke with a shout. His chest was heaving and he was covered in sweat. His hands were shaking uncontrollably. In his mind, repeating over and over, was the last image from his nightmare: Jay hanging limp and lifeless from the noose Matt had tied to the ceiling. All he could see was Jay hanging there, dead, and it was all Matt's fault. It was his noose, his stupid manipulation tactic that had killed Jay.
Matt was vaguely aware he was hyperventilating. He had to get up, go check on his best friend—make sure he was alive—because if he went downstairs in the morning to find Jay's body tied to the ceiling for real, he'd just as soon string up his own noose and join him there.
He found himself outside Jay's door before he could even process it. He saw more than registered his fist knocking on the door — quietly at first, and then more frantically when he didn't get a response. He was about ready to break down the door when he finally heard a bitchy "What?!" from the other side. Matt knew Jay hated being woken up, but he was currently too hysterical to care.
"Jaybird?!" Matt flung the door open. "Are you— are you okay?"
Thankfully, Jay was there in bed, alive, propped up on an elbow, squinting against the sudden light of the hallway. He was wearing flannel pajamas to combat the cold outside. "I— yes? What the fuck? It's like three in the fucking morning, dude. I'm not lighting off more fireworks with you if that's what this is about."
"I— that's not—" Matt could see Jay laying there, hear him speak, but he still wouldn't let himself be sure this wasn't a dream. He needed to reach out and touch Jay to know that he was solid and real. To know that he wouldn't disappear the second he closed his eyes. The image of his dead body was still playing in in his mind in Technicolor. "Um—" he stood there in the doorway, breathing erratically and feeling insane.
Jay sat up a little more and studied his body language, saw how much he was freaking out. He asked, "Are you okay?" and when Matt still didn't respond—just stood there and shook—Jay started to get concerned. "Matt, who died?"
Matt's breath hitched and his face must have done something really weird because Jay fully sat up and pat the open side of his bed. "Whoa, MJ, come here."
Matt nearly tripped and fell at the speed with with he crossed the room. He landed on the bed, inches from Jay's face and on the verge of tears.
"Just tell me what's wrong, dude," Jay was gentle but nervous. "You're kinda freaking me out right now."
"I—" Matt swallowed. "Can I hug you?"
Jay gave a stunned little nod, "Yeah, sur— oof!" Matt pulled him in tight. He was probably crushing Jay, but he couldn't let go. He needed to hold Jay close, needed to make the nightmare go away forever. If he lost Jay, he'd lose everything.
"What's this about, man?" Jay's voice was soft against his ear. Their faces were pressed together.
"I had a dream you died," he finally admitted. It came out as a sob, tears spilling from his eyes. He would have been embarrassed if he wasn't so goddamn relieved that Jay was alive and warm in his arms.
"MJ, whoa, hey. I'm right here, man," Jay soothed, one hand running up and down Matt's back. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? I promise."
"You were h-hanging from the ceiling. It was f-fucking horrible!" Matt clutched at Jay, closed his eyes tight. A thought swirled around in his head, dangerous and well-trodden. Matt felt compelled to tell it to Jay now, while they were this close together, in case this all went away one day. He sobbed the confession into Jay's shoulder, "I love you."
Jay's reply came as easy as breathing, "Hey, I love you too, man," but Matt knew he didn't mean it in the same way.
He was miserable. He clung to Jay like his life depended on it because it really did. "Please don't— you— I'm sorry I pretended to kill myself."
"What?" Here, Jay pulled back, confused. He kept his hands on Matt's shoulders, looked him in the eyes.
"I-I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry. That was really fucked up of me—"
"Yeah, it was." Jay leveled him with a look that stung deep inside, even if he definitely deserved it.
"It was just— when I left— when we were apart— the Born Ruffians hated me, like, so much. Couldn't wait to get rid of me. They laughed at me. It made me feel like such a loser! And then I came home and saw you with that other guy—" and, oops, that sounded gayer than he'd meant it to, but he felt the tears welling up again and— "—and I'm a fucking pathetic, jealous piece of shit and I'm so sorry. If you killed yourself I don't know what I'd do—"
Jay wrapped him in another hug and squeezed tight. "Here— come on, lay down," he murmured, easing them down until they were resting against the pillows. Matt's head was against Jay's chest, and Jay's arms were around Matt's body, and Matt would have done anything to stay there forever. He could feel Jay's heart beat over and over and over. It was the best sound in the world. He was still crying—silently into Jay's flannel—giving Jay time to think, because he could practically feel Jay figuring out what to say. It was quiet for a little while until he figured it out.
Eventually, he said, "That wasn't fucking cool, you know." Matt could feel the words rumble through Jay's chest. He was right. It hurt anyway. He didn't like Jay disapproving of him. "Your stunt with the noose? That was evil. You know how you feel right now? How do you think I felt when I found you—" his breath caught and he stopped to take a big inhale through his nose. Matt's head rose with the movement. Jay squeezed him, exhaled through his mouth. "That was not fucking okay." The words were quiet, but brokered no argument. Matt never wanted to argue with him again.
"I'm sorry," Matt murmured into his chest, feeling more remorseful than he ever had in his life. He'd do all the dishes for a month—no—for a year. He'd buy their next hundred cases of beer. He'd quit trying to play the Rivoli, if that was what Jay wanted in this moment.
Jay took another breath. "You can't just—"
"I know,"
"—can't just go and do that, Matt!" he knocked a fist against Matt's back. "Do you understand? I thought you died. For real. I really did." He sounded nearly as miserable as Matt felt.
"I'm sorry,"
"Not in a dream. For real."
"I know,"
"It fucked me up, dude."
"I know," Matt thought back to the look on Jay's face when he'd seen Matt hanging there. He thought about how Jay had scrambled over and started grabbing his legs and screaming his name. At the time, it had felt so good to twist the knife, to stick it to Jay for having fun without him. He'd known how malicious he was being—how spiteful and bitter—but it had hurt so much to see that his best friend had already replaced him. Jay was everything to him. He hadn't seen himself able to live without him. Now, he just felt hollowed out and miserable.
"You can't do that again, okay? I'm fucking serious, Matt. I won't survive it," Jay sniffled, and a hand broke away from Matt to wipe at his eyes, "I really won't."
"I won't," Matt hugged him, hard, shook his head into his chest, "I promise. I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."
Jay held him quietly for a while, rubbing a hand up and down his back. "I love you, dude."
"I love you, too."
"And I'm glad you're here."
Matt knew Jay meant here as in alive on Earth, but when he replied with "I'm glad you're here, too," he meant here, as in in bed with him, his arms wrapped him in the quiet hours of the night. Matt felt safe. His mind was quiet, his heartbeat even. He was pretty sure Jay was the solution to all his problems. He was also exhausted — he couldn't remember the last time he'd done so much emotional work in one sitting. "Can I…" he started shyly, "can I, um, sleep here tonight? Uh. With you?"
Jay carded a hand through Matt's hair. It was the best thing Matt had ever felt in his entire life. "Yeah, of course you can."
Matt gave him one last squeeze, and then—easy as breathing—pressed a little kiss to his chest. His heart fluttered. "Goodnight, Birdie."
"Goodnight, MJ."
And here, cuddled up together with the person he loved most in life, Matt drifted peacefully off to sleep.