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Sometimes, Jay really thinks he might hate Matt. His awful plans—though even Jay can admit that they’re brilliant on occasion, if only he was smart enough to actually help fulfill them correctly—his borderline sinful fashion taste, over-the-top energy that never seems to fade, and his frustratingly charismatic personality. Though all of this is to say; Jay could never imagine himself without him.
Over thirty years, and he can only remember chaos and mischief in the course of their lifetime spent together. He thinks of a young, scrawny looking 9-year-old, drowning in his own clothes as he struggles to bring a bicycle over the side of a bridge, smiling at the loud splash as it makes impact with the creek below.
Himself adorning that awful purple sweater, the stupid Go Bird Go printed on the front, bulky headphones weighing his head down. He remembers the wet smell of the Earth, the slime of the stick against his hand as he nailed it into the bridge, the muffled sounds of the contact, the vibrations of the momentum rippling up his arms.
The confused, but thoughtful stare he gave the stranger, asking him what he was doing, only for a vague response to be given in return. Matt ripping the headphones off him, coldness hitting his ears just as the loud scream filled the silence between them, running through his mind, filling every inch of his small, frail body. The rush of his heart against his chest, the quick gasp that left his lungs, the rush of finally feeling alive.
Most of all, he remembers the warmth not only at the fire burning by his side, but at Matt jumping around him. Bird, he called him, because of that damn shirt—but it was the first time Jay’d ever had a nickname—so he really couldn’t complain all that much. The crooked and unused smile easing across his face at the manic energy that was always Matt, a smile he would use time and time again in his presence.
Fourteen years later, in that shoebox of an apartment, coming home after a failed attempt at a new band, one without Matt. How silly he’d felt thinking just anyone could replace Matt, could feel like Matt. His head bowed low, apology forming on the tip of his tongue as the door swung open, only to see Matt lightly swinging from that horrible noose, red scarf wrapped around his hands. The awful shiver of ice cold dread washing down his body as he saw his best friend hanging there.
Jay’s shaking hands as he desperately clung to his legs, fingers digging into his pants, leaving crescent moons into his pale, freckled filled skin beneath. The sharp dagger of fear rising up his throat, chanting his friend's name like a mantra. The harsh sting of tears filling his eyes. He wouldn’t let him die, couldn’t let him die. There was no Jay with no Matt.
As he looked up, vision blurry, but seeing that wide devil-like smile, a spark of malicious intent in Matt’s eyes—normally never a look aimed at him—watching him bring his tied hands up and turn his head to the side, trying to mimic a shrug. Jay’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion before quickly dropping Matt’s legs and pulling himself back like he’d physically slapped him. Messily wiping the mournful tears that he hadn’t realized began to leak down his face. Standing there with his mouth agape, shutting it, and then allowing it to fall open again, his brain stuttering into action as he realized what just happened. The red hot rush of anger that followed at realizing it was another one of his terrible plans. His hands falling to his sides, curling into fists, just as he brings them up to start yelling again. Matt standing there, now released from his own vice, dark smile still stretched wildly across his face as Jay screamed at him for what felt like hours.
The loud stomps as Jay took two stairs at a time, the loud patter of Matt behind him, the sorrowful face Jay saw before slamming the door to his bedroom. The tears that followed as he curled to the floor, kneeling as if before a pew, palms folding up over his ears, fingers finding their way into his hair. The flash of pain as he tugged, the bitter taste of snot as it rolled from his nose into his mouth, silent sobs wracking his body—the headache starting to form as he violently shook his head back and forth, trying to will the image of Matt hanging from that wretched noose.
He stayed laying there, missing the sound of the door opening behind him, until he felt arms wrap around his middle from behind. He looked down and saw hands pushing firmly into his middle, trying to heft him up off the ground. He went easily, too disoriented to stop it, and let himself be carefully guided to his bed.
As he's slowly sat onto his bed, he felt the dip of someone sitting themselves next to him, and then he’d been guided into a shoulder. Soft, firm arms moving around his upper back, gripping the back of his neck and folding him into the junction between Matt’s shoulder and ear. He was still crying, snot and tears mixing in a mess down his face. His breathing heavy, ragged gasps as he tried to pull in more air, coughing and spluttering as he failed.
“-okay, you’re okay Birdie, we’re okay. You just gotta breathe.” Matt whispered to him softly, one hand running up and down Jay’s back, the other still planted into the back of his neck, fingers twirling his hair back and forth. Jay tried another breath in, before spluttering, a light gag escaping him as he choked. Matt shushed him, “It’s okay, it’s okay, here let me just-“ he murmured, as a comfort to both Jay and himself. He grabbed for Jay’s hands, which had been sitting idly by his sides the whole time, bringing them up to his chest, pressing firmly into his skin, before exaggerating a few deep breaths.
Jay felt the flutter of Matt’s heart against his hands, the soft warmth radiating off of him, and tried to mimic his breathing. He inhaled deeply, held it, and let it out slowly. “There, there you go, good job, Jaybird.” Matt said, and Jay knew he was smiling, even without seeing it. They continued the pattern for a little while longer, until finally Jay’s breathing was under control and his crying had stopped, just soft sniffles managing to escape him here and there.
Matt pulled back and Jay couldn’t stop the involuntary whimper that escaped him, quickly knuckling Matt’s shirt with a vice-like grip, head falling forward without the support of Matt’s shoulder against it. Matt quickly grabbed him by both shoulders, steadying him, “Whoa, whoa, Bird, it’s okay, I’m not going anywhere. I just have to do something real quick.” he breathed out, a light chuckle escaping him, “That okay?” he asked, lowering his head, trying to catch his eyes, now looking up at Jay.
Jay blearily blinked his eyes open, struggling to focus on Matt’s face. Once he did, he saw Matt with a soft grin on his face, nothing but care in his deep brown eyes when they met his own. It was completely opposite from the look that he had given him before, all of that wicked energy dissipated, leaving nothing but fondness in its wake. His hair was sticking up in all different places, adding to his charm. It’d always stunned Jay at just how quickly Matt could flip on a dime, going from complete control freak, to tender best friend. It was alarming on the worst of days, and appreciated on the best.
Jay sat there, slowly blink, Matt stared right back up, hands working up and down his arms, eyebrows raised in question. Jay realized a moment later that he’d been asked a question and nodded his head as he uttered slowly, “Mmm yeah, that’s, that’s good, fine.”
Matt nodded once, humming to himself softly, his hands came to smooth the top of Jay’s shoulders, before quickly standing. Jay’s heart had jolted, afraid he’d lied to him and he really was going to abandon him, maybe even call him a fag at the way he’d cried. Just as quickly as the thoughts filled his head, Matt was back on the bed, back pressed against the headboard, pillows fluffed around him. He’d turned the overhead light off, making use of the touch lamp on the end table next to Jay’s bed, and pulled off his pants. His bare legs seemed to glow in the low light, pale flesh reflecting in the gleam of the lamp. His legs were spread, and he looked at Jay expectantly. Jay looked back, eyes wide, brain turned to mush after the little episodes he’d just had, wracking his mind for what Matt might want. Matt just huffed a small laugh, shook his head as he rolled his eyes fondly.
“Get over here dummy, I’m starting to get cold.” he told Jay, opening his arms, enticing Jay forward. In any other circumstance, he would’ve been mad, mad that Matt would even suggest they cuddle, snuggle, even. However, that was not any other circumstance. This was after his best friend just pretended to kill himself, laughing when he cried and attempted to save him.
So, Jay allowed himself this comfort, didn’t know when he’d be lucky enough to get it again. He sat up on his knees, pulled the covers back slightly, shuffled to sit himself in between Matt’s legs, and fell forward carefully, head landing softly, pillowed on Matt’s stomach. Matt oomfed, just slightly, and leaned forward to pull the blankets up over them. Jay wound his arms up Matt’s back, hands splayed between his spine and bed, nestling his head further into his stomach, and closed his eyes tightly. He felt a shudder go up his back, and thought he may start crying again, but his eyes and head hurt too much, and he may have run out of tears.
“Hey, hey, c’mon now Bird, no more tears. Everything’s okay, we’re okay. How about some sleep, yeah? You’ve had a long day, and I’m sure you’ve worn yourself out.” Matt told him, softly petting through his hair, other hand rubbing soft circles into his back. Jay could feel the vibrations of Matt’s voice through his skull from where he’d laid on his stomach, and it made his heart thump a bit faster in his chest.
He hummed quietly to himself, eyes closed but not as tightly as before, hands coming to clutch on either sides of Matt’s shirt. “Mmm love you Matt.” he mumbled into Matt’s stomach, sleep slurring his voice. At this, his hands stuttered in Jay’s hair, but quickly resumed their strokes.
The last thing Jay heard before falling asleep was, “Yeah, I love you too, Jaybird.” Matt’s voice cracked halfway through, but Jay was already asleep before he could even begin to question it.
Almost a decade later, they’re in their early thirties, and in a newer and nicer house. Jay gets a crick in his neck if he lays on the couch at a weird angle for too long, and Matt turns into a grumpy asshole—even more so—if he doesn’t get at least nine hours of sleep at night. The plans are going stronger than ever, and it seems they’ve struck gold when Matt learns of the GoldenEye tournament. An actual honest to God show at the Rivoli, to whoever finishes the game the fastest, it seemed for once the universe really was on their side.
Jay should’ve known. Anything with Matt was far from easy. The candy Matt had given him did taste off, but he figured they were just getting old and stale. The fatigue should’ve concerned him more, that warm embrace trying to take him away, but he just chalked it up to the sickness plaguing him. The odd taste of the gray candies he’d given him, the sudden bolt of electricity coursing through him all at once, his body aching as he tried to conceal the jitters that threatened his limbs. The tension in his jaw as he worked his teeth against each other, the sound echoing in his head, the rushed out nonsense that left his mouth. His declaration of living a happy life with Matt. Always with Matt.
Jay doesn’t remember much after that. He goes from beating GoldenEye and feeling like his nervous system was going to surge out of his skin, to waking in a hospital bed, Matt sitting next to him, melancholy wafting off him in waves. Jay’d never seen that look in his eye, never wanted to see it ever again.
Matt drugged him. Twice. He needed his fucking stomach pumped. He looked up at him, fingers curling into the blanket draped over his lap, anger spiking. His stomach hurt, and he didn’t know if it was because of the doctors pumping it, or because of what Matt had done.
He’d vowed to never forgive himself if he ever did drugs, but did that really count when he was forced to take them? He’d also vowed to never forgive the person who forced him, but this was Matt. The Matt who pretended to kill himself just to make Jay feel bad, who would go out of his way to make girls Jay liked feel uncomfortable, to ensure they’d never return—so he could have him all for himself— and the man whose parents liked more than Jay himself.
Yet.
It was also the Matt who made him feel alive for the first time, crushing those hideous headphones straight into the water. The one who praised his piano skills even when his own mother looked at him in shame, muttering about wasted lessons. The Matt who only—well, mostly—looked at him with pure adoration in his eyes, the quick touches, an arm over his shoulders that Jay always shrugged off with a look of annoyance directed his way. This was his Matt.
He’d lowered his glance, dropping his hunched shoulders, and throwing his head back with a sigh, slowly reaching for Matt’s arm, lightly grasping it, and tugged him forward. Matt fell into him easily, head landing on his shoulder, whispering half-nonsense apologies into Jay’s ear. His arms slithering up Jay’s neck, fingers sprawling into his hair, draping himself over him as much as he could without hurting him—like he was afraid Jay was suddenly made of glass—but still enough as if he was trying to protect him from some outside source, from himself.
“Bird- Bird I’m so so sorry, I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking.” he whimpered into his shoulder, starting to shake, from the strain of holding himself up or his emotions finally reaching a tipping point Jay wasn’t too sure. The warmth starting to spread on his left shoulder indicated the latter.
“It’s okay, MJ, I know you didn’t mean it.” he whispered back, right arm wrapping around Matt’s neck, pulling him further down. He fully sprawled himself across Jay, right leg hitched up, the other laid between his own. His arms wrapped around him like a vice, head nestled softly against his chest, tears soaking through the hospital gown. Jay finally allowed himself to fall back, left arm running up and down Matt’s back, his right slowly playing through his hair.
“It’ll all be okay, we’ll be okay. We always are.” he said to him softly, just as sleep started to take him again. He was out before Matt could dignify him with a response. When he awoke next, Matt was still nestled atop him, mouth slightly open, drool drying on Jay’s chest, his right hand tightly gripping his gown, his left arm up by Jay’s shoulder, his fingers lightly tickling the side of his neck. He snorted to himself, softly rustling Matt’s hair, and set his head back against the pillow, smile gracing his face as he felt the gentle pull of sleep bring him under once more.
Seventeen years later, two days ago now—though it feels like a lifetime away—and nothing has changed. Well, their looks have changed. Jay has gray hairs smattered across his beard and hair, and when he looks at himself in the mirror, he sees that his crow’s feet are more distinct. Now, his knees snap when he rises from the bench of his piano, and he’s in bed by nine o’clock every night. Matt’s still the same restless ball of manic energy, only now his under eyes are more pronounced, and the tears in his jeans make them almost unwearable anymore. He still has the energy to pull off his stupid stunts, but getting hurt means he needs longer to recover.
The plan for the Skydome skydive is a bust—Jay’s not even surprised anymore—and they get stuck at the top of the now closed Skydome for five hours before the firefighters come get them, and they spend those five hours in—almost—complete silence. At least as silent it can get with Matt Johnson around.
“I’m just saying Jay, we can do this again tomorrow, and we’ll get that show.” Matt exclaimed, pacing back and forth. He’d stripped himself of his blazer, only his light blue dress shirt showing, torn sleeves showing arms glistening with sweat, Jay wishes he could stop staring.
Jay sighed and rolled his eyes, moving his neck from side to side, “There won’t be a next time, Matt, this plan was stupid and we shouldn’t have done it to begin with!” he’d nearly shouted to him. He sighed as he ran a hand roughly through his wind mused hair, before bringing it down his face and scrubbing hard. The sun beat down onto his back, and he could feel the trail of sweat as it passed from the back of his hairline, all the way down his neck and back, to the waistband of his pants.
Matt’s head swung so sharply in Jay’s direction that he had a half-second thought that Matt had just given himself whiplash, face plastered with an emotion Jay’d never seen on him before. “Stupid?” Matt questioned sharply. Jay stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out that look on his face. If he didn’t know any better, he’d almost say Matt looked hurt. “The plan wasn’t stupid, you were being stupid. If you’d jumped any sooner, we could’ve actually landed on the field.” he accused, jutting a finger Jay’s way.
Jay felt a flash of heat run up his spine—not just from the burning rays of the sun—and snapped his eyes up to Matt from where he was sitting on the roof. “You pushed me off the fucking tower, Matt! I could’ve died if that parachute didn’t deploy, and it would’ve been all your fault!” he yelled, mimicking Matt and jutting his pointer finger his way.
At that, Matt had winced, hunching his shoulders to his ears. His hands came together to his front, running over each other—almost like he was trying to soothe himself—before huffing and dropping them, smoothing down the front of his shirt.
“Yeah, well you didn’t, now did you?” he huffed, throwing his arms up, narrowing his dark eyes Jay’s way, eyebrows raised in annoyance. His lips were pursed into a thin line—Jay could see his tongue poking against the inside of his cheek—and his hands moved to rest on his hips, foot tip tapping against the ground. He looked like a mom awaiting her child’s bullshit excuse of how the Wii remote ended up through the window.
They sat there, staring at each other for a few seconds, before Jay sighed again, “Whatever.” he huffed. “The plan was still stupid.” he said, turning his head away, not wanting to talk anymore.
Matt scoffed, shook his head, dramatically threw his arms up again, and walked to the other side of the roof, away from Jay. He watched Matt’s retreating back, looked down at his hands that rested on his lap, fingers twirling aimlessly against each other, and then looked back up at Matt. He now stood a good three feet away from Jay, staring up at the CN tower, talking quietly to himself, like he still couldn’t quite figure out why the plan failed. His arms hang uselessly to his sides, though he seemed to be tapping a pattern with his fingers into his jeans.
As Jay stared at Matt, a sense of dread filled his stomach. He looked away, turned back to his hands in his lap, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, and planned his escape.
Now, two days later, but a timeline apart, Jay’s gotten what he wanted. It’s awful, so fucking awful. Why would he ever want to be famous without Matt? Why would he even want a life without Matt? How could he live without Matt? Jay’s not sure what he was thinking, trying to do it all without him. It felt good at the time, hearing his own song on the radio, the screams from the street as people recognized him, the huge—almost disgustingly—large house that was his, all his. Not Matt’s, not his parent’s, his.
Yet, something was wrong. Sitting on the couch of one of the rooms in the mansion—he stopped counting how many rooms there were after he hit five—with a large flat-screen tv anchored to the wall across from him, a Playstation 5 hooked to it, he should’ve been happy—should’ve been ecstatic, but he wasn’t. He felt numb, confused, lost.
The room was a barren off-white, smelled of something sweet that Jay couldn’t put his finger on, and had windows taller than three of him stacked upon themselves. There were no posters, everything was neatly cleaned and organized, not a hair out of place. It barely looked lived in. Did he even live here? Or, was it entirely for show? Was he too busy in his famous life to even have a place he could call home, or did home become the road at some point? He had to swallow a lump that began to form in his throat.
He thought of Matt. Stupid, stupid Matt, the asshole who pushed him off a tower, not even sure if his parachute worked properly. The Matt that he brushed off at the meet-and-greet, the man he pretended not to know. How could he ever forget Matt, even in a different timeline? Tears pricked his eyes as he thought of that look on his face, that hurt, distressed look. The flash of panic in his eyes as Jay watched security drag him away, and then he went and broke that bottle anyways.
Jay dropped his face into his hands and began to sob.
And then he shot and killed someone. By accident, of course. He really hadn’t meant to, wasn't even sure how guns worked to begin with. He had no idea what to do, he didn’t want to go to jail, certainly not in this timeline. So, he did what he always does.
He’d get on his knees, even if it left bruises, would grip his blazer with both hands, and beg him to help him fix it. Tell him that he was right, his life wasn’t any better without him, he needed him.
Without a second thought, he leaves the trailer and runs to Matt.
At this moment, he thinks again about how he might still hate Matt. His hands white-knuckle the steering wheel of the RV and the engine roars as he barrels down Queen St as fast as it’ll let him. His eyes flicker between the road and rear view mirror, where he can see the police on his tail, can hear them shouting at him to pull over. He swallows, takes one hand off the wheel and grabs for the walkie.
“Hey Matt, no rush, but do you have an ETA on that cable connection?” he hurries out, breathless with fear. He waits a few seconds, and of course, there’s no response from the other end.
He slams his hands into the steering wheel, hard. He throws his head back into the headrest and breathes out a deep sight, squeezing his eyes shut for a second, flexing his fingers, before wrapping them back around the wheel, and bringing his head up to look out the windshield again.
That’s when he sees it.
Matt’s standing there, left hand gripping the pliers, metal hooks pressed into the power outlet and his right hand holding the extension cord, a content smile on his face. He’s less than five feet from Jay, but he feels like a universe apart. As the RV continues to speed forward, they make eye contact, Jay sees tears welling in Matt’s eyes, the way he nods softly in his direction, lips pursed nervously.
“No, no, no, Matt you can’t-“ Jay begins to shout, waving his hands erratically in his direction, trying to will him to stop. Matt shakes his head softly, tears streaming steadily down his face, mouthing It’s okay Jay’s direction, his eyes trying to convey as much ease as possible, but Jay knows it’s bullshit.
Jay’s eyes flicker to the dash, and he sees the clock as it flickers from 9:02 PM to 9:03 PM, feels more than he hears the thunder rumble the Earth, just as the sky lights up, and lightning hits the CN tower.
The first thing that Jay notices is the smell, it’s awfully sweet. He tears his eyes from the dash, looks up, and wishes he hadn’t.
Lightning crawls up Matt’s hand and arm like vines, red lesions bursting under his skin, his blood vessels bursting in an instant. His body seizes, rigid almost immediately, tendons snapping rapidly, the quick snap of his neck going back causes his hat to flip off his head, falling behind him. Jay can barely make out his jaw crushing shut, tense in both pain and involuntary convulsions, before he’s up in flames. One eye immediately pops, melts from his socket like butter.
The sweet smell grows stronger, and Jay has the horrible realization that it’s the smell of his flesh cooking on his body. It bubbles, before beginning to tighten over, turning a grossly and unpleasant white. His blazer has disintegrated, laying in a pile of ash around him, and Jay can see steam rising off him.
Bile rushes up Jay’s throat, and he barely has time to register it before he’s gagging and throwing up into his lap, it soaks into his pants, and the sour smell of it mixes with the sweetness of Matt’s rotting flesh. He gags again, but this time nothing comes up, and he sobs as he squeezes his eyes shut, only opening them when a flash of light consumes the RV, and it jerks forward into 2008.
He slams the brakes on the RV, pulling off to the side, thinks of Matt, still burning back there, painfully dying for him, as he sits in 2008, all alone. His head hits the steering wheel, and he clutches his bile soaked pants, sobs painfully tearing from his throat, and he begins to mourn the loss of his friend.