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It’s negative six degrees outside of their apartment as Jay watches Matt wipe a thin sheen of sweat from his forehead and he shivers under his jacket, puffs of condensation escaping his chapped lips.
“So I’ll just, you know -” Matt clenches his jaw and tries to suppress another coughing fit, spasming like a man possessed by a vengeful spirit. His Catholic priest disguise only enhances the image. He loses the fight and nearly doubles over with a deep and hacking cough.
Matt’s plan involves them “getting counter-culture sentiment started” for Nirvana the Band, by protesting themselves outside of the Rivoli. Jay had questioned how Matt was believable as a priest, because he looked twelve - and how Jay was believable as a “young, impressionable parishioner” because he looked older than Matt. They were both learning that public facing plans weren’t suited for late winter, either, but Matt doesn’t seem to remember this conversation. He just gave Jay glassy and feverish stare in response as he dug through their box of disguises that were mostly old Halloween costumes. It was a fever plan, but Jay was willing to give it a shot, as if he had much of a choice.
“There’s no way you can pull this off right now.” Jay says, “You look like you’re about to drop dead.”
“Sickness is a mindset, man. I’m above it - conceptually. And physically.” He says, blinking too fast. “Plus it makes me look passionate. This is like, the fire of the Lord burning within me, right?”
“You look damp. And like you got no sleep.”
“Shut up.” Matt scoffs. “This headache kept me awake. But it gave me time to ruminate on the plan.”
“Matt, I watched you come up with this plan thirty minutes before we left. You had me play a dirge.”
“Stop fucking —” He succumbs to another coughing fit, the cold air only making it worse. “Undermining me, Bird.”
Matt’s unsteady on his feet. Jay wishes they’d eaten breakfast before letting Matt push him out of the house. This isn’t going to end well, but Jay admits he’s a little curious to see just how bad it’s going to get. The weather has kept them inside for the last week and he’s gotten restless.
“You’re already undermined, your body is undermining you...”
Jay realizes he’s never seen Matt in the throes of an illness, in their teens he’d stay at home and shamelessly cough into the receiver of his house phone as they tried to sync up a movie together. No, press play on three.
Another strange thing about cohabitating, Jay thinks, how they get to see all of each other all of the time now. Jay had gotten sick twice already in the year they’d been living together and hid in his room to sleep it off, occasionally waking up to a bowl of cold soup on his nightstand that made him feel a lot more humiliated than was likely normal. Matt’s immune system was usually as dogged as the rest of him, but Jay had been a “sickly child,” as Matt put it — “like all great artists.” He was faking quite often back then but would never admit to it, if only because no one had seemed to care much either way. Holding the thermometer up to the lightbulb on his nightstand’s lamp, or pressing a hot washcloth to his forehead because he didn’t do his homework. His mom had caught him doing the former once and he’d learned the phrase “attention seeking behavior” at age nine. He used it on Matt the next day when he was acting up and was laughed at.
Matt’s doing his best to keep it together on the short walk to the Rivoli, his hands around the Bible shaking as he rambles in one uninterrupted sentence, punctuated by a cough that’s getting worse. This rambling is different from the way he usually speaks. Something that annoys Jay profoundly about how Matt drones on and on is that he expects him to be an active audience. Constantly asking “Are you listening?” or “Do you get it?” over and over again, or wordlessly demanding his eye contact if he isn’t at the piano. Not that Jay hadn’t learned this rhythm years ago – he could zone out for hours and convince Matt he was listening at least half of the time. But right now he keeps talking and talking, about nothing, and not seeking Jay out. His eyes are both wild and muted in a way that he finds disturbing.
“Matt, slow down.” He says, stopping him at the corner before he walks into traffic.
“Because it’s like, why would anyone care about us unless we get some enemies. In order for someone to root for you - like ‘These poor underdogs need our help!’ – someone has to be out to get you which I don’t really like, I feel like I think about that more than most people should but this way we’re in control and we’ll stay there, in control of the narrative -”
“Matt!” Jay grabs his arm.
Matt shakes his head, pulled out of the daze. Down the block past the Rivoli, two people start shouting at each other in the street but it’s too far away to hear what it’s about. Glass shatters. Matt stares with a real fear in his eyes, and he looks so out of it that an unfamiliar pity washes over Jay.
“Let’s just go home.” Jay says. “Get something to eat, watch a movie, or whatever. I don’t think you’re up for it.”
“Fuck you I’m not up for it!” He tries to shout but his voice is too hoarse. “I’m not - I’m not like you, Bird, I don’t just give up because I don’t feel good.”
“It’s not about how you feel, I’m not your fucking girlfriend. I can just tell you’re about to screw this up.”
Matt, with an indignant expression, shakes Jay’s hand from his arm and walks into the street at the same moment a car behind them turns left. The driver leans on the horn, Jay grabs the hood of his jacket and Matt loses his balance on a pile of gray snow huddled onto the curb. He lands hard, trying to scramble backwards away from Jay.
“You can’t even cross the street!” Jay laughs, still holding onto his hood. “Can we please go home?”
Looking down at Matt, Jay finds it hard to get any satisfaction from seeing him like this. His brow furrowed, his blond hair stuck to his forehead and getting in his eyes. If Jay were to describe the situation to an earlier self like it were a premonition – it would be funny. Matt was so unwilling to accept his own limits he ended up falling ass first into a pile of street slush half a block up from his own home.
“Dude.” Jay says, offering up his arm. “Stand up.”
Matt won’t look up at him, it doesn’t seem like he’s looking at anything, his watery dark eyes lost somewhere Jay can’t reach. He sees the rise and fall of Matt’s breathing accelerate but he still won’t move to stand. A current of worry snakes through Jay. With a sigh, he reaches down and tries to pull him up by the front of his coat but Matt pushes him away, again.
“This is stupid, Matt, come on-”
“Stop! Stop, just stop. Shut up. I’m fine. Please shut the fuck up.” He laughs without any humor, and runs a trembling hand through his hair, not seeming to notice the grit and road salt smearing onto his face. With the grace of someone near blackout drunk he tries to stand, but pitches forward once he’s crouched on the balls of his feet. He catches himself, curses with his breath catching in his throat.
A few weeks ago, Jay went to a house party with a girl he’d met at a bar while Matt was away on an overnight visit with family. He wasn’t in the mood to go out but felt obligated to take advantage of his independence. The place was a total shithole, strangers to him that all knew each other and he couldn’t hold his own after the girl ditched him – he’d felt like a kid who had to be put into the project group by the teacher because no one had picked him, made worse by the reality that he’d more or less brought himself there. This displacement was simmering when he was passed a filthy green and blue pipe and smoked weed for the second time in his life and knew instantly that he’d fucked up. He piloted himself outside and had a full on panic attack behind their shed while LCD Soundsystem drifted out from the open window.
He recognizes the curled up posture, the clenched hands and and fish out of water gasping in Matt - but the image is mismatched. There was no way Matt does this, this was Jay’s territory.
“Call 911.” Matt says, before starting to cough again. “Heart attack.”
“Matt…” Jay makes his voice sound as gentle as he can, and it sounds foreign to his ears. He crouches down beside him. “You’re not having a heart attack.”
“Jay I’m serious -” Matt’s hand reaches out blindly, and lands on Jay’s forearm, gripping so tightly it hurts. “Call 911.”
“It - it’ll sort itself out, just try to breathe. This has happened to me before.” He’s never admitted this to Matt and he regrets it. Matt had seen him come close when they were kids but would always manage to steer him away from the edge. Jay takes a shot in the dark – he places his other hand over the one on Matt’s arm. It’s weird. Matt flinches away.
“Fuck you.” Matt hisses, his hands bunching in his hair and pulling so hard Jay worries he’ll rip some out. “You fucking asshole.”
“Breathe, idiot.” Jay says, unfazed.
Matt tries. Eventually it works, and he’s hiccuping quietly into his hands. Jay simultaneously fights the urge to touch him, his disgust at wanting to, and his embarrassment at his own disgust. He’s about to blow a breaker somewhere inside his chest.
“You’re okay…” Jay says. “Let’s go home.”
Matt nods, and finally allows Jay to help him stand. The walk to their apartment is slow and silent, Matt is tucked into his jacket, his eyes red and swollen. He looks completely emptied out and Jay hates the sight of it more than he can explain. Jay makes him go up the stairs first in case he loses his balance. He feels like he failed a vital test in their relationship but still doesn’t know what the right answer would have been.
He’s surprised when Matt doesn’t immediately head up to his room after kicking off his shoes, and just stands in the kitchen, looking at Jay.
“My clothes are wet.” Matt says, taking off his coat. His voice is getting worse, clipped and distant and sick. He wipes at his eyes with his sleeve.
“Yeah, uh -” Jay says. He thinks Matt means he doesn’t want to sit on the couch. They both know all of their furniture is fucked but street wet – that’s too far, even for them. He spots the costume box that’s halfway out of the closet and finds a shiny, stained cape with a frayed embroidery and lays it over one of the couch cushions. Matt flops down like all of his strings were cut.
“I’ll get you some clothes?” Jay says and runs upstairs.
Jay doesn’t know how to do this, and doesn’t understand why it’s hurting him. Even worse, he’s realizing he has very little to fall back on, remembering himself alone in his house digging around in the cabinets he could barely reach looking for food, wishing desperately he wasn’t alone but still bracing for the sound of keys in the door. Thinking about what he would have wanted back then, what he still wants but would rather die than ask for, and how he’s going to give it to Matt feels unfair somehow – it nearly makes him angry. He thinks about the bowl of soup on his bedside table when he was sick, how Matt would linger at his door while Jay told him to fuck off. Matt tried for him, in his own way. And he already does too much for Jay, without asking, without Jay even noticing in the moment. He hopes his own effort is better than nothing.
He opens the door to Matt’s room and finds some clean clothes in his dresser. There’s nothing immediately weird in the drawers and Jay’s both disappointed and relieved, he tries not to pick out anything in particular but makes sure it’s warm – his red flannel shirt and some sweatpants, he couldn’t find the matching pants. He looks up at his loft bed and quickly grabs the pillow and his comforter. Jay finds his own red hoodie crumpled in there, and he knows it was extremely unwashed when he’d lost it. He really, really cannot fucking think about this right now and almost trips running out of the room with his bundle of Matt’s stuff.
Matt hasn’t moved and just blinks at Jay when he sees him, like a half asleep cat. He tosses everything onto the opposite couch and stands in front of Matt. There’s no way he needs help with this part, right? Thankfully Matt leans over and starts changing, slow and careful.
“What do you want to eat?” Jay asks, heading over to the kitchen drawer with their collection of take out menus.
“Soup. Duh.” He says, buttoning up the flannel shirt. His hands are still shaking.
“What kind…?”
“Dunno.”
“You liked the Tom Ka Gai last week. That’s like. Aromatic.”
“Just not like, spicy.” Matt says. “Have them make it not spicy. Throat hurts.”
He’s cocooned up on the couch, blanket wrapped over his head and hugging the pillow. Jay hadn’t realized how tense his entire body was until he felt it relax, seeing Matt not crying in a puddle on Queen Street in winter. He looks warm, dry and safe. Jay wants them both to be safe. It’s such a basic thought but it still cuts through Jay like a hot wire on contact, and his hands start to shake as he retrieves his phone from his jacket pocket. He wants to be safe, he wants Matt to feel safe. Jay bites the inside of his lip as shame brings a flush to his cheeks. He doesn’t know what that means or what it’s supposed to look like.
Jay calls in the take out order and can’t make himself take his eyes off Matt. It’s annoying him, how twisted up he feels. This is a novice round roommate thing, level one cohabitating. The insanity they’ve subjected each other to before living together would make any other guys who called themselves “best friends” puke. But he’s spinning out like a top as he convinces Matt to sit up drink a glass of water. He puts on Robin Hood, Matt starts to settle back into his nest.
“Bird…?” Matt whispers, laying down on his stomach, arms wrapped around the pillow.
“Yeah?”
“Could you -” His hand squeezes his elbow nervously. “Ugh. Nevermind.”
“No, what is it?” Jay says, standing above him and picking at the hem of his shirt. “I want to…I want to help.”
Matt is silent for a few long seconds, blearily watching the empty space in front of the television. He sighs and tenses up like he’s bracing for Jay to make fun of him.
“Sometimes when I was sick my mom would…she’d rub my back. ” He sniffles, and laughs a little nervously before shutting his eyes tight. “Fuck. Saying it out loud – nevermind. Sorry. Forget it.”
Jay kneels down next to him, his stomach whirling and folding in on itself. Matt is weird as hell for asking him to do this – but he reaches out and places his hand on the flat plane of his back, and moves in slow circles. Immediately Jay wants to cry, it’s so stupid. He’s fever warm and Jay can feel the sweat through the flannel, feel the muscles in his shoulders tense and then relax. Matt buries his face into the pillow. They don’t speak for a little while and let whatever this is wash over them.
“Sorry for freaking out.” He says, muffled.
“It’s okay.”
“Dunno what happened.” Matt sighs.
“You freaked out.” Jay says, not sure how long Matt wants him to keep touching him. It’s a little too much but Jay doesn’t want to stop quite yet. It’s starting to feel okay, and he realizes he can tell Matt he dreamed it if he ever brings this up.
“You said - you said you did it. When?”
“Couple weeks ago. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“When I was gone?” Matt asks, even when he’s delirious he seems to know an opportunity when he sees it.
“Yeah.”
“Should’ve called me.”
“I don’t need you for fucking everything, man.” Jay says, he can hear his own heartbeat start to pick up. He’s still rubbing Matt’s back, it’s grounding him now, he knows he needs to stop but doesn’t.
“Sure.” He says. “But like - it was scary. I would have, I don’t know. Talked to you.”
“I know.” His vision starts to blur, he withdraws his hand to stare at the ceiling and blink away the tears. He can’t fucking cry right now. “I gotta go pick up our food.”
“Yeah, okay.” Matt says, turning on his side to face the couch cushions, hugging his pillow like he’s squeezing the life out of it. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
As Jay ties his shoes, he takes one last glance at Matt before leaving. He’s nearly asleep and curled up with his knees pressed into the back of the couch, his hair messy. He hopes he did okay.
TWELVE YEARS LATER
If Matt had gotten a stretch of uninterrupted sleep long enough to give Jay the opportunity to suffocate him, he might have taken it. This would have been easy work by the sound of his breathing. Jay is a deep sleeper, almost to a fault, but Matt’s cartoon character coughs and sneezes might as well be a fire alarm, startling Jay out of a hard won sleep. He almost went downstairs to the bunk beds but every time he thought about it Matt would spoon him up as if reading his mind. Jay actually did start hitting him when he sneezed directly into his ear.
The worst part – and the most predictable – is the first three hours after he’s awake where he swears he’s “slept it off.” What sleep he’s referring to Jay is unsure. He pretends to agree with him, and they should absolutely execute the “Wealthy Benefactor” plan, where Matt pretends to be philanthropist in disguise who will cut them a check if they Nirvana The Band play tonight. It has some legs, but Jay knows it’s going to wait until tomorrow.
He has a short window of time to activate Matt’s sick protocol, where he stops moving long enough to realize how shitty he feels. This is an old game and one Jay doesn’t get to play very often. And now that they’re stupidly in love with each other it’s become easy, all the cheat codes have been activated.
While Matt putters around in the basement Jay orders them an early lunch, soup and sandwiches from their favorite spot nearby. He checks the DVD player to make sure they’re where they left off in their X-Files rewatch, and sits down on the couch in the seat closet to the window and waits for him.
“Jaybird, where are all my rings?” Matt asks, Jay can only see his hat from this angle, halfway up the basement stairs. His voice sounds feeble.
“Probably upstairs?” Jay says. “Come up here for a sec.”
Matt obliges, getting caught in another coughing fit.
“See? It sounds better than last night. This is just the last of it.”
“Totally.” Jay says, then he reaches out for Matt.
“We gotta get ready,” Matt sighs. “We’ll have time to canoodle after the show. What do you think your assistant name should be? I was thinking like – Terrence. It’s a good yelling name.”
“Matt…” He says, beseeching.
“Don’t beseech me.”
“Just for a second. I remembered a bad dream I had.” He really lays it on thick, makes his eyes big. “Please.”
Matt groans, in the way he does when he’s giving in instantly to what Jay’s asking of him. He gingerly places his hat on the half wall behind the couch, mumbling about being whipped, about how needy Jay is. Jay repositions himself so Matt will have to lay on him a little bit, an integral step in his plot.
“Five minutes. And then we’re going.” He says, flopping down on top of Jay, who nearly gets the wind knocked out of him.
Jay wraps his arms around Matt and nuzzles his cheek into the top of his head. Matt’s burning up, he has been all night. He feels him start to melt into the touch and Jay hums pleasantly.
“So nice to me…” Jay says.
“Uh-huh.” He says, sighing. “Too nice.”
Going for the kill shot, Jay starts rubbing Matt’s back. He feels him relax completely and Jay smiles into his hair.
“Fuck.” Matt buries his face into Jay’s neck. “Have I been tricked?”
“No way…” Jay says, and pushes at his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go. Get up.”
“Ugh,” Matt whines, flailing uselessly. “I can’t believe I fell for your twisted machinations. A cuddle trap is so fucking cheap, Birdie.”
“There’s no trap,” Jay chuckles. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t feel good.” He mumbles.
“I know.” Jay says, pushing a hand through his hair. “But you’re gonna have soup in like, ten minutes. You didn’t stand a chance.”
Matt laughs, a little shocked. Jay can feel it all over him and he can’t believe how good it is, how he ever lived without it.
“I never did.” Matt leans up to grab his face and kiss his cheek. “Not from day one.”