Work Text:
From across the store, Matt sees Jay lower his controller, gaze focused on the jar of pills clumsily left behind.
“Oh, no you don’t,” he mutters, racing over to pluck the jar out of harm's way before Jay can take a third pill. “Focus, Birdie.”
—
Jay’s giddy the entire way back to the house, bouncing with each step he takes, rattling on and on about his video game prowess. Matt’s got both hands on Jay’s shoulders, guiding him along, afraid he’ll see a squirrel and jet off like a fucking dog. His fingers graze at Jay’s collarbone, and he can feel the rapid pitter patter of his boosted heartbeat.
Meanwhile, Matt’s heart sinks to his stomach: he drugged his best friend and doesn’t even have a gig at The Rivoli to show for it.
“Matt, I feel incredible,” Jay beams at him, a lopsided smile plastered to his face, canines poking out ever so slightly. “Can we play more video games when we get home?”
It’s hard for Matt to keep wallowing in his guilt when Jay’s staring at him like that, eyes shining in total awe, but when does Jay make anything easy for him?
(All the time, actually. He’s always going along with whatever crazy plan Matt conjures up. Sure, he whines about it, but he always comes around, and honestly, Jay whining is about half of the fun.)
“Of course, Birdie,” Matt says, voice softer than he means it to be, the words feeling sickly sweet on his tongue. He’s just so happy that Jay’s not mad at him, that he didn’t collapse on the cold, hard floor of A&C Games. Matt’ll do whatever Jay wants, anything to keep him appeased and smiling at him like he is now. “As long as you’re ready to lose.”
Jay balks. “Lose? Me? Oh, I can’t freakin’ lose, MJ. I told you: I’m the fastest motherfucker alive. Watch— I’ll race ya home!”
In a flash, Jay takes off running, leaving nothing behind but a bird-shaped cloud of dust.
“Wait– No,” Matt sputters, coughing through the debris as he watches Jay’s frame grow smaller and smaller with distance. It’s kinda impressive how fast he’s moving, faster than any time they were actually in a rush.
“Fuck!” Matt swears under his breath before chasing after him.
—
This drug stuff is no joke; Bird’s never beaten him in a footrace before. He might be taller, but Jay can’t ever get those long legs of his to cooperate, flailing about in ways that don’t make a lick of sense. He’s waiting for Matt on the stoop, bouncing on the balls of his feet, still trying restlessly to burn his excess of energy.
“I win!” He smiles down at Matt. “See, I told you I would. Now, I get to pick the game.”
His voice is smug in that entitled, self-satisfied way that serves as a warning he’s about to be a total brat. Matt’s too winded to respond though, just unlocks the door through labored breaths. Jay bounds in, brushing past him as he curls in on himself, panting with his hands over his knees. He’s lost sight of Jay again, but knows he’s flinging himself onto the couch: hears the collision of his body on the cushions and the creak of the wooden frame. “MJ,” he whines. “Hook up the sixty-four!”
From his hunched over position in the doorway, Matt wheezes out, “one second…”
Once he’s gotten control of his breathing, Matt walks into the living room. He finds Jay sprawled across the couch, one foot dangling towards the floor and the other perched up over the cushions. Great, he has all the energy of a nuclear reactor, but he’ll still just lie there and wait for Matt to do everything for him. It would’ve been quite simple for Jay to set up his game before laying down, but whatever. Matt’ll take care of it.
The memory of this morning rushes back to him: Jay in the same position he is now, all sniffly and demanding. He’d only gone along with all of Jay’s whims then because he was sick, and that’s what you do when you’re a good friend. His stomach twists; he is a good friend, isn’t he? Sure, he drugged Jay, but he’s gonna make up for that. He’s gonna take care of him now. Like he always does.
Luckily, they left the N64 set up before leaving, so all Matt has to do is grab the remote and turn the TV on. He’s had enough with wires and cables for today. He shucks his blazer off and tosses it towards the bunk beds, not checking to see where it lands.
He grabs them some water, figuring Jay probably needs the hydration. They’ve never done real hardcore drugs like this, and Matt’s at a loss for how to proceed. He figures video games never hurt anyone before… Probably. They’ll just play some games and burn off enough steam until Jay calms down. He won’t even realize what Matt did to him. Jay’s gonna be okay, right?
Aside from the quickened rise and fall of his chest, he seems unaffected, and that can be easily chalked up to the superhuman level of sprinting Jay just did. So he looks totally normal, actually. Everything’s gonna be fine.
When he returns to the living room with their waters in hand and a bag of chips dangling from his teeth, he studies over Jay again. His breathing’s still erratic, and now Matt notices for the first time how wide open his eyes are, shaky in a way that only happens when he’s nervous. Matt hasn’t seen them so frenzied since he tried getting Jay onto an upside down roller coaster.
“Drink this,” he says, handing Jay a glass.
There’s an entire unoccupied couch, but Matt knocks Jay’s legs aside, making room for himself to wedge next to him.
After a few gulps, Jay slams the glass down on their coffee table and reaches for his favorite controller. “Can you get up and swap the game out?” He asks, voice whiny and small like a baby bird with a broken wing, lisp catching on the word ‘swap.’
Matt rolls his eyes, but he’s already standing as he asks, “to what, Birdie?”
—
Jay’s absolutely kicking his ass at Smash Bros. It’s not even close: every stage, every character matchup, Jay knocks him out with ease. He’s completely locked in, skilled fingers hitting combos at a speed that leaves Matt defenseless.
He also won’t stop talking, words spilling from him like a firehose, and it’s impossible for Matt to drink it all in, especially while trying to focus on the game. He’s only taking in snippets of it, catching some game commentary, complaints about their current snack collection, musings on how much Toronto’s changed over the last decade. Jay ping-pongs between each topic rapidly, all while pummeling him into the ground as Donkey Kong.
Watching Jay on speed is kind of like looking in a mirror, Matt realizes. The onslaught of dialogue rushing from him, his fidgety, restless movements. This is just Matt’s normal operating system.
His Kirby flies off the screen when he hears the word ‘cute’ whiz dangerously by like a bullet, so fast he almost misses it.
He turns to look at Jay, tracks a bead of sweat as it rolls down his forehead. “Huh?” He asks eloquently.
“Are you not even listening to me? I said you looked cute the last time we rewatched The Princess Bride, and you cried, remember? Even though you knew it would all be okay.” He bumps Matt’s knee with his own.
Hiding the blush that creeps onto his face, Matt turns to look at the window. The sunlight’s fading, a pinkish orange glow settles against the concrete.
What simultaneously feels like a million years ago but also just yesterday, they would spend hazy summer nights on their apartment’s rooftop, chugging trash beer with a similar backdrop: sunset drenching everything with a warm nectar and making the city skyline come alive with possibility.
At the time, those conversations felt like the most serious Matt would ever have. It was as if they could reach out and touch the entire world, sitting perched on both the edge of the roof and the rest of their lives.
When he finally turns back to Jay, he finds the other’s eyes already on him.
Back during those summer nights, Jay would get buzzed enough to lower his inhibitions and drop his usual avoidant style. Instead, clinging to Matt like everything depended on him, and in a way, it kinda did. When dusk would settle, under the cover of darkness, Jay would even rest his head against Matt’s shoulder, lean into his neck in a way that was more intoxicating than the bitter alcohol tingling his lips.
Now, Jay tilts towards Matt, gets close enough to speak in a murmur. “You get so cute when you’re all worked up like that.”
And when he also says, “it’s sweet,” Matt definitely doesn’t savor the sound of Jay stumbling through his lisp.
Full of tact, Matt changes the subject. “Hey, Bird. Wanna show me how good you are at Mario 64?”
Jay nods excitedly, beaming a smile so bright it almost blinds Matt who scurries off the couch to switch the game cartridges.
Still thrumming with energy, Jay cruises through each level of Mario, whooping at every star he collects. He’s still rambling on, but now that Matt’s free from distraction, he’s able to steer the conversation, keep their course at a cruising altitude.
“Wouldn’t it be so cool to live in the Mushroom Kingdom?” Matt asks, already knowing the response it’ll garner, but wanting to hear Jay’s tirade of an answer once again the same way he watches re-runs of his favorite shows.
“No! I hate it when you ask this stupid question. I don’t wanna live in Mario, Matt. You can’t make me!” He furrows his brows as he screeches. “It’s scary! There’s so much lava everywhere, and spikes that can kill you. And what would I do if Bowser scooped you up and stole you away?” He frowns, voice wobbling. “I’d be so sad.”
Matt pokes at the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “So why would Bowser be kidnapping me in this scenario?”
The look Jay throws at him is incredulous, as if Matt’s being the absurd one. “Wha–? Cause you’d be a beautiful princess. Of course he’d kidnap you.”
Matt forces out a laugh, but it feels strained and foreign bubbling out of his throat. Turns out he can’t pilot afterall, and the aircraft’s going down. He hates metaphors; who let him fly this fucking plane anyways?
Jay’s still invested in the game onscreen, fingers flying across the controller. He keeps inching towards Matt, shifting ever so slightly each time he jumps in reaction to the gameplay.
It doesn’t go unnoticed. Matt’s scrunched up against the arm of the couch, trying to keep a sliver of distance between them. Sure, he could sit somewhere else, but in doing so he’d admit that it’s affecting him, and then he’d have to name the fear that’s currently rolling around in his gut.
“Hmm… MJ, you kinda look like Princess Peach. would you wear a dress like— hey, what’s your problem? You spilled that on me!”
Matt doesn’t respond, too busy recovering from the sip of water that oh so elegantly sputtered from his mouth.
For some reason, Jay scoots closer.
“Anyways,” he huffs. “You’d look so pretty in a dress. You really, really would. I’ve thought about it before. I have! Stop fucking spilling shit, dude. Listen, okay– cause, see? Girls wear dresses all the time, and you’re way prettier, so you’d look good. I just know it.”
Matt’s definitely blushing a bright red now. Is this brain damage, a result of the ominous brown pills Matt bought off the street, or does Jay actually think about him like this? His heart lurches, forming a lump in his throat that might just stop his breathing altogether. Jay needs to stop looking at him like that, with all that unabashed admiration on his face.
Jay’s pressed up against his side now. He’s left with nowhere to run, out of room on the couch. “And you’d have no trouble at all filling a dress out, you definitely have the chest for it–”
Holy shit, he needs to shut up. Matt has the overwhelming urge to shake Jay until he’s too dizzy to speak and his brain has nothing left but a jumble of useless words.
Is this how Jay feels, absolutely steam-rolled by Matt’s usual non-stop rambling? Surely not, no, because at least Matt uses his rants to discuss important things- Rivoli plans and insightful movie analyses- not how pretty his band mate is.
Pretty. The word ricochets between his ears, makes him woozy. Him in a dress? He laughs again since that’s just so silly, isn’t it? If his chest aches at the idea it’s only because it’s so ridiculous. He does not look like Princess Peach.
“You look like fuckin’ Luigi,” Matt mutters, cutting in to interrupt right as Jay opens his dumb mouth again.
Jay seems gleeful about this, sitting up straighter. “I’ll take that! Luigi’s hot!”
Okay, great; Bird’s placated and happy. Now he’ll sit back and relish in what he took as a compliment and forget all about that totally inane concept he–
“Would you wear a dress, MJ?”
Matt feels his ears burning. Before he even realizes it, the words tumble from his mouth. “If you wanted me to, I would, yeah.” What the fuck? Is he high?
Jay preens. “That’s cause you always do what I want. You’re so nice.”
“I don’t, I’m not.” He’s stammering, but it’s hard to speak when his heart is thumping so loudly the beat of it drowns out any rational thinking.
“You tell me all the time how amazing I am at the piano, and you always know just how to calm me down when I’m stressed. Plus, you got me all those candies today!”
Yeah, how nice of me: I drugged you, knowing full well it could fucking kill you, Matt thinks, feeling queasy and just wanting Bird to stop with all the undeserved praise. He takes a steadying breath, prepping to talk his way out of this situation just like he’s known to do. “I am not nice, dude. You’re being a dumbass right now. See? Not nice.”
“Yeah, but I know that it’s like… I’m your dumbass.” Jay’s tone is tooth-rottingly sweet, laced with affection. “And even though sometimes you use big, fancy words I don’t know, you’re my dumbass too. Like this morning when you fried the RCA cables! Like a dumbass! But it was adorable– well. Then I couldn’t play any games, so I guess it wasn’t that adorable.”
Mario stomps on a ghost, killing it. Jay whoops. There’s too much static in Matt’s head right now for him to grapple with the physics of that.
Unfortunately, Jay continues, “but you’re plenty cute most of the time. Like when you lie on the couch in the afternoon, and the sunshine washes over you all angel-like. Makes me feel like I went to heaven. Or when you laugh real hard at a joke I made. And all those times when–”
“Okay! I get it! That’s enough. No more of that,” Matt groans, waving his hands in disapproval.
Jay grinds his teeth together, restraining himself from giving another compliment. He’s back in the castle now, Mario running against a bright, cheery background. The meat of Matt’s thigh burns, scorched by where it comes into contact with Jay’s body, searing deep even through layers of denim.
Suddenly Jay says, “if you were a princess, you wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. Cause I’d be your knight. Protect you. We’d ride horses together and shit. Now, that’d be awesome.”
Matt stays silent, holding his breath like this is a game of hide and seek, and if he’s stealthy enough, Jay will give up and drop this whole thing.
There’s an unusual clarity darkening Jay’s face. “We’d be together in every universe, wouldn’t we? Cause well, y’know I love you, and so no matter what, I’d wanna be with you. Don’t you think so?”
Matt feels his chest flutter, and he wishes he could swat at the butterflies he’s feeling, kill them in a brutal fashion, wings crumpling and guts splattering everywhere.
He swallows. “I don’t think you’ve ever talked this much in your whole damn life.”
“Wha– Matt! Don’t you always wanna be with me? I said so much nice stuff. Now say it back,” Jay pouts, glancing over at Matt with desperate, glassy eyes.
Matt doesn’t need any pills to make his heart feel like it’s gonna explode from his chest. One look from Jay is more than enough to send his pulse into overdrive.
“You’re going the wrong way, Bird,” Matt says, directing Jay’s attention away from him.
“No, I’m not!” He yelps, turning back to the screen. Matt feels the room cool a good ten degrees.
“Yup, sorry. You went down this way already, and it was wrong.”
“Nuh-uh! Haven’t we proved today that I’m the game expert between the two of us?”
As he says it, he misses a jump, sending Mario plummeting into a bottomless pit, so in the end it didn’t really matter which direction he was headed in.
“Damn it,” Jay sighs, putting the controller down. He has plenty of lives left, but all his enthusiasm for the game is gone.
Defeated, Jay drapes himself over Matt, turning all focus to him. Matt feels his mind go blank; the same way the TV did this morning when he fried the cables, smoke swirling and sparks threatening to jolt him. He should move away, that’s the correct and responsible thing to do, but he’s never wanted to do something less in his whole life. When has Matt Johnson ever been correct and responsible?
Jay leans in, nose bumping against the shell of Matt’s ear. “Pretty,” he whispers.
Matt can smell the syrupy scent of cold medicine still lingering on Jay’s breath, thick and bittersweet. He wonders how that would taste on his tongue. Maybe he should down a whole box of Nyquil himself to find out. He swallows again.
Without warning, Jay presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Matt’s lips, stubble rubbing rough against his cheek.
When he pulls back, Matt lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Jay drops his head, resting his forehead against Matt’s shoulder, looking so vulnerable, the sight of him causes Matt to shiver. If he licked his way into Jay’s mouth right now, he’d taste like artificial candy coating. And if he ate Jay whole, he’d taste just as sweet. Then he’d never have to worry about him running off ever again.
See? Matt doesn’t need any drugs to have the wildest imagination in the world.
“I’m tired,” Jay sighs, voice meek and so innocent, like he didn’t just kiss him and knock down the very carefully placed, load-bearing wall Matt built up brick by brick between them: a necessary evil to prevent their world from imploding in on itself.
But he kissed him, and everything’s exactly as it was. Earth’s still spinning on its axis, making its normal course through the galaxy. He’s still alive and somewhat sane with his best friend slumped fully against him, unable to support his own weight himself. It’s so pathetic in a way that turns into endearing. Matt realizes with a shaky inhale that his heart belongs completely to Jay.
“Wanna head to bed?” He asks.
Jay nods, hair tickling Matt’s neck.
From a bright starburst to a dead flame, barely flickering any light, Jay goes limp and demands to be carried to the bunk. He’s heavy, and with a struggle, Matt gets him there, handing him a sleep shirt to change into.
Matt changes himself before grabbing onto the ladder to get into his own bed, eager to have a moment alone for his heart to decompress.
“Goodnight, Bird,” he calls out.
“Wait,” Jay says, reaching out and clutching Matt’s leg, fingers gripping the warm skin of his ankle beneath his pajama bottoms.
Matt flushes. What is he? A Victorian woman scandalized by the touching of his bare ankle?
“Sleep in my bunk?” Jay’s voice is sheepish, but also low and warm, inviting.
He sighs. “I dunno if that’s a good idea.”
“C’monnn, MJ. Please? I don’t want you to go,” Jay whines back.
Matt chuckles. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be in the bunk above ya, buddy.”
“No, you’re gonna leave! You’re gonna quit the band and leave me!”
Huh? Matt, leave him? The suggestion is so wild, Matt has to take a moment to make sure he heard it right. Has he not made it clear how physically incapable he is of such a notion? Of course, Jay doesn’t know about all the extra lengths he goes just to make sure he isn’t the one to abandon Matt, the convoluted schemes he carries out to keep his Birdie from flying out the nest.
From deep within his memory, he recalls something Jay once said when they were younger, trapped in a basement, the middle of another Rivoli plan gone wrong. Jay had been sulking the whole time, whining about how much he had to sacrifice for the band. Back then, Matt hadn’t understood it, and even after all these years, the logic of it still evades him. Matt doesn’t have anything else to give up for the sake of the band; this is all he’s got.
His entire world is an arm’s reach away, always has been: feet dangling from the ledge of their rooftop or sprawled out on their bottom bunk looking up at him like he needs saving.
He could’ve lost him today. Fuck, how could he be so stupid?
“Alright, scoot.”
Jay preens, making room for Matt in the bottom bunk. But when he tumbles in, Jay shifts again, covering his body and intertwining their legs together. It’s cramped, and Jay’s skin is radiating a sweltering heat, but he has a huge smile dancing on his lips, so Matt doesn’t move a muscle.
They’re done talking, laying still and quiet waiting for sleep to take over, but Matt, unnerved by the sudden silence, has to fill it.
“I love you too, Jay,” he whispers. “In any universe, or alternate timeline, or whatever else your crazy mind is cooking up right now. Even if we went our separate ways or there’s a world where we never met, I know my life would still revolve around you somehow. This is so cheesy, eh?” Matt tuts and shakes his head. “So lame of me.”
Soft snores from Jay are the only response he hears back.
Untangling himself and slipping away to the safety of his own, separate bunk, Matt can’t help but smile to himself.
He’ll always take care of Jay. Because despite how difficult Jay tries to make it (and some days, he’s trying really, really hard), it’s not. It’s simple: as easy as breathing, really.