Work Text:
It’s 12:52 PM on a Wednesday afternoon towards the end of September, and Jay McCarrol is still in bed.
At least, that was the time on the clock the last time Matt checked, he stopped looking a little while ago, the never ending queasiness growing as the seconds ticked on, could feel his stomach twist into knots as he thought of the time that was being wasted away from Jay.
He’s sitting on the couch in a pair of grey shorts and a tight plain blue t-shirt. Raiders of the Lost Ark playing quietly on the tv and he’s bit through every nail on his hands, and he’s left gnawing lightly on the skin at the pads of his fingers. His leg’s moving so fast that the jostling has almost made it impossible for him to keep his hands still, but he’s managed anyway. At a particularly sharp dig of his teeth into his finger, he hisses quietly, and drops his hand back to his lap. Sighing lightly, he runs a hand through his hair, and turns to look out the window to his right.
It’s raining heavily outside, thick dark clouds looming in the sky, fat drops of water landing heavily against the window, and large gusts of wind shaking the paneling. He sees the trees outside bend with the onslaught, leaves flying in circles before landing softly to the damp ground, and hears the whistle of the draft blow through. It’s the time of year in between seasons, right at the end of summer, but having not quite edged into autumn fully. Some days, it’s so hot he regrets ever turning the AC off and has to take cool showers in the evening to help regulate his temperature, and other days it’s so cold that he has to wear a sweater to help combat the elements. It seems God enjoys rapidly turning the dial on the weather, laughing maniacally at their suffering.
He continues to watch the rain beat against the window, listens to the hums of mother nature, before turning back to the clock.
1:07 PM, it reads. He sighs again, and drops his face into his hands, groans lightly to himself, and brings his hands to drag roughly across his face. He drops them back to his lap, stares at the tv for a few moments longer before he pushes himself up off the couch, and heads towards the kitchen.
—
Matt stirs carefully at the pot sitting on the stove. He never put his contacts in today, and every once and a while he has to step back as the steam begins to rise and fog his glasses. He’s humming a soft melody to himself, and as he continues to stir the noodles, he stops suddenly, drops the spoon and lets it crash next to the pot, rushing back to the living room once more.
His sock clad feet have him nearly careening directly into the end table, but he’s able to stop himself just in enough time. He grabs a record, sets it onto the turntable, drops the needle down, and the gentle melody of Mellon Collie And The Infinite Sadness fills the silence, lightly drowning out the rain assaulting the windows. He smiles softly to himself, and turns back to the kitchen. When he rounds the corner, he sees the water’s about to boil over and he nearly burns himself on it as he rushes to fiddle with the knob, turning it down to allow it to gently simmer instead. He huffs to himself, and goes back to stirring, glancing out the window ahead of him to stare at the RV momentarily.
—
When he makes it to Jay’s room (their room? He’s really not sure, their relationship is more than a little complicated right now), he gently pushes the door open with one hand, bowl of mac and cheese in the other. He wishes he could’ve made something slightly more elegant than a box of Kraft mac and cheese (the spirals, specifically, Jay always seemed to like the texture of those more than regular macaroni noodles), but unfortunately for the both of them; Jay is the far better cook of the two. His mom had instilled that into him from a young age, as she’d spend long nights at work, leaving poor Jay to fend for himself on more than one occasion. So, at the age of nine, he was able to at least make simple meals. He could cook grilled cheese, buttered noodles, and even spaghetti if he felt like putting the effort in. Though, more often than not, he’d leave home and come spend dinner with the Johnson’s, who were more than willing to set an extra seat for him at the table.
Matt pushes those thoughts out with a gentle shake of his head, and continues to nudge his way into the room. All of the lights are off and the curtains are drawn shut, but light still streams in slightly through the sheer fabric. Jay didn’t like complete blackout curtains, didn’t like waking up in absolute darkness, said it left him feeling disoriented and anxious, like he didn’t know where he was. Matt never really understood that, he loved his blackout curtains, liked waking up in a pitch black room and getting to slowly rise for the day on his own terms, but he just took it as another one of his Jay-isms that he kept catalogued in his head.
The room was chilled, which both of them never disagreed on, preferring to wrap themselves in as many layers as possible when sleeping. Besides, it made for easier cuddling, they never got too hot when the room was set to a cold temperature. There was an AC unit still set in the room, and the ceiling fan rarely was turned off, and during the winter months, he kept the window cracked open.
Jay’s back was to him, turned to face towards the window. Matt could see the steady rise and fall of his shoulders, the blanket only pulled up to his waist, leaving his upper-half exposed. He wore an old, black LCD Soundsystem hoodie of Matt’s, and he seemed to drown in the material. His hair was strewn across the pillow, dark curls falling carelessly about, the light smattering of grey hairs peppered in was still a shock to Matt, a reminder that they weren’t getting any younger. The side of the bed Matt’s slept on still had the covers drawn back, sheets wrinkled from where he’d laid on them. The spot had long grown cold, his body heat drifting out with the passing minutes.
Matt rounds the corner, gently sets the bowl down on the nightstand next to Jay’s head, and squats to be at eye level with him. Jay’s already staring right back at him, and he’s surprised lightly at that, hadn’t expected him to be awake. Jay’s arms are drawn to his chest, and he has a hand tucked just under his chin, the other pushed into his chest.
He reaches forward, pushes a hand through Jay’s unruly hair, and scratches softly. “Hey, Bird,” he whispers, bringing his thumb to rub against his forehead carefully. “I brought you some food, I figured you might be hungry.”
He doesn’t respond, and Matt doesn’t expect him to. Ever since he…came back, for a lack of better term; he’s been different. Matt can’t entirely blame him, he doesn’t know what he’d do if he was in his position.
Well, he sort of is in Jay’s position, if only a bit.
He didn’t have to watch his Jay die, and just the thought alone makes him shudder slightly, and he tries to will the thought away as fast as it enters his head. Sure, this isn’t his Jay, but it’s Jay nonetheless, and he wants to fix whatever's wrong more than he wants things to go back to normal. In a way, this is still his Jay. He was always going to go back and fix things, Matt’s known that for seventeen years now, and he knew he’d end up with him no matter what.
Jay continues to stare at him blearily, dark tired eyes blazing into his soul, blinking sluggishly.
Matt just sighs quietly, leans forward to press a chaste kiss into his hairline, and when he pulls back, Jay’s eyes are closed, the crease between his brows smoothed over. After a second, he’s blinking them back open, glazed over with an emotion Matt’s never seen in them before. Matt stares at him for a moment longer before he uses the edge of the bed to push himself back into a standing position, knees groaning as he does. He grabs at the comforter by his waist, and pulls it to cover all the way up to just below Jay’s nose, leaving only his eyes exposed. He leans down, kisses him on the temple, and makes to leave the room.
Just before he leaves the room, he turns back, “I’ll be just downstairs, Birdie. Yell if you need me for anything,” he says softly, and waits a moment, doesn’t get any acknowledgment that Jay heard him, drops his head sullenly, and exits the room, closing the door carefully behind him.
With the door shut, he leans against it heavily, and lets his head thunk against the wood as he blows out a puff of air, squeezing his eyes shut.
Ever since they laid all their cards out on the table three months ago, Jay confessing about the time travel, and himself confessing about having seen him all those years before, they’ve been better. They’re easing into each other now, learning more about the other, while simultaneously knowing everything, too. It’s weird, really weird, to know that the Jay in the room behind him isn’t the same Jay he’s always known, but he’s still almost exactly the same.
He still gets shy and flustered at any praise Matt throws his way, scrunching his shoulders in the way that makes Matt want to devour him then and there, his stomach in a pit of flames. He still makes Matt soup when he’s sick (broth, really, but it’s really not much different), wraps an arm around his shoulder when his fever gets the best of him and he starts whining pitifully into Jay’s shoulder, who just whispers comfortingly to him.
He’s also the Jay who shakes his head violently when he has a particular thought he doesn’t like, whose fingers dig into his own thighs to help soothe himself, who begs Matt for reassurance that everything’s okay, that his thoughts aren’t real. That latter one is a pain for Matt on most occasions. He’s done enough of his own research to know he shouldn’t play into Jay’s consistent reassurance-seeking, it’ll only make him spiral harder. Instead of comforting him, he just gives Jay a tight lipped smile, mutters out, “I dunno, Bird,” and ruffles his hair. His heart breaking when he sees the look of distress on Jay’s face at that response, the soft whine he lets out.
Yet, there were glaring differences in this Jay than his own, ones that snapped Matt back into reality that the man he once knew was no more.
This Jay flinches when thunder strikes in movies, and is nearly inconsolable when lightning appears, reduced to a sniffling mess, Matt having to yank his hands off himself to stop him from tearing into his skin. Sometimes, he sits at the piano playing a melody Matt’s only heard once all those years ago, tears silently streaming down his face, or he’ll look longingly at pictures of them, glancing at Matt with tears in his eyes. He never talks about his Matt, and Matt never talks about his Jay. It seems pointless to compare the two, nothing to really compare anyways. They just once were, and now they are no longer. Jay just has the disadvantage of having seen the destruction of his Matt.
Matt squeezes his eyes shut, drops his chin so it’s laying against his chest, and just breaths. Steady, deep breaths, and then he hears rustling from the inside of the room. That causes him to falter, and his head shoots up, eyes wide as he listens. After a moment, the noise stops, and he waits with bated breath. He almost loses hope after a few seconds, but then he hears the faint scratch of the metal spoon against the ceramic bowl, and feels a smile start to tug on his lips. He pushes himself up and walks down the rest of the hallway, making his way down the stairs.
When he reaches the last step, he notices the first side of the record’s finished, sitting idly on the turntable. In any other circumstance, he’d be put off by the unusual silence filling the house, but now he figures it’s needed, gives them time to reset. He strides to the couch, and after a moment of consideration, decides he’s going to take a much needed nap. Realistically, he should probably clean the dishes he dirtied earlier, but decides those can wait for now, as he falls into the old leather of the sofa, and slings a blanket over himself—a soft gray one that Jay insisted on, curling into the rough material of the couch, and lets the sound of the rain lull him to sleep.
—
When Matt awakes, it’s because there’s a heavy weight sprawling itself carefully across him. He’s on his back now, must have turned in his sleep, and Jay’s trying to stealthily climb across the couch to lay on top of him. He fails, of course. Matt would know him blind, by his presence alone, from his rough angles and edges, to his toothy grin and sweet brown eyes. From his long, nimble fingers, to his soft, chapped lips. Everything that made him Jay, Matt would know.
He keeps his eyes closed, trying to fake being asleep, which he knows Jay doesn’t believe for a second, not with the way he’s poorly fighting back a smile, trying to turn his head away from him so he won’t see. A head lands on his chest, hair tickling the bottom of his chin, and spindle limbs fall carelessly around him. Jay sets one hand to rest next to Matt’s neck, the other coming to worm its way under his torso, his legs laid in between Matt’s. He’s still wearing the black hoodie, but has tugged on gray sweatpants to accompany it, the material feels warm and comforting against Matt’s bare legs.
“Hey, Birdie,” Matt whispers to him, bringing his own hand to rub softly at his curls. He hasn’t even opened his eyes yet. “How was the food?”
Jay just nuzzles harder into his chest, pushing his head up into Matt’s hand. “S’okay, noodles were a little hard,” he croaks back, voice cracking from disuse.
Matt just huffs, “Yeah, sorry about that, y’know I can never wait long enough for them to cook all the way,” he says to him, chuckles half-heartedly, guilt slicing through him like a knife. Jay hadn’t eaten all day and all Matt was able to provide was boxed mac and cheese, and it wasn’t even cooked all the way through.
Matt must’ve tensed, because suddenly, Jay’s turning his head to set it on his chest, and even with his eyes closed Matt can feel his gaze staring up at him. He doesn’t want to open his eyes, doesn't want Jay to see the hurt in them. He has no right to feel upset, not now, not when Jay’s already having a bad day.
“Hey, hey, Matty. C’mon, you know I love when you cook for me,” he whispers to him, bringing the hand by his neck to rub gently against his face, cold thumb smoothing across his cheek slowly. The stress of the day must have finally cracked his resolve, because to his utter humiliation, he feels tears start to well in his eyes.
He shifts slightly to pull himself up, sitting more upright, and finally opens his eyes to look down at Jay. He’s staring back up at him, big, brown, puppy dog eyes on display, and Matt suddenly heaves a gasping breath, and the tears come pouring down like an avalanche.
Jay seems to startle slightly at that, and he quickly springs into action, straddling Matt’s thighs, throwing his arms around his neck, and pulling him in tight. Matt’s head lands on Jay’s collarbone, face cushioned by the soft fabric there, and takes a deep breath in, smells the cheap laundry detergent they use clinging to the hoodie. He brings his own arms to wrap around Jay’s midsection, gripping the material so tight his fingers hurt a little with the force of it.
“I—I should be able to do more for you, Bird. You don’t—don’t deserve fucking undercooked boxed noodles when you’re already having a shit day,” he gasps out, voice muffled. He coughs hard, nearly choking with the force of it, nuzzling his face harder into Jay.
Jay brings a hand to Matt’s mused hair, running it down the back of his head to grip at his neck, firm but gentle pressure, fingers grabbing lightly at the strands there. He shushes him quietly, and pulls him in tighter.
“Matt—Matty, I don’t care about the noodles, man,” he breathes out lightly, chuckling slightly, shaking his head, jostling the side of Matt’s hair in the process. “I just care that you’re here. Which, by the way, you always are. That matters way more than some stupid pasta, MJ,” he whispers, dipping his head to kiss at the side of his temple.
Matt pulls back slightly to stare up at him with watery eyes, lips wobbling, “You really mean that?” he croaks out, tears leaking down his face again.
Jay huffs lightly and rolls his eyes lightly, “Of course, I mean that, man. You’re all I need,” he tells him, grabbing him by the face and pulling him in to push his lips against his own.
It’s short and sweet, mostly tastes like Matt’s tears and the awful morning breath Jay still endures. It’s one of the best kisses Matt’s ever experienced. He pushes up, gently shoving Jay back by the shoulders until he’s laying flat on his back on the other end of the couch, their positions swapped. Matt straddles Jay’s hips, coming down to kiss him again, still soft and slow.
He pulls back, sets his forehead against Jay’s, who has his eyes closed still, small smile across his face. He looks content, and the knowledge that Matt helped aid him in that brings a swell of emotion bursting through his chest, he feels warm all over, and wants to jump with the giddiness of it. He kisses his forehead, causing Jay to sigh, finally opening his eyes. His eyes are filled with so much emotion that it makes Matt anxious just to think about.
“I’m sorry about—” Jay starts, before Matt cuts him off, pressing his index finger against Jay’s mouth.
“Don’t, Birdie. Don’t you dare be sorry about any of this. You’re allowed to have bad days. That’s why you have me, I’ll take care of all of it, all of you,” Matt says to him quietly, settling himself so that he can lay his head back into Jay’s collarbone, hands knitting into the fabric of his hoodie.
Jay doesn’t say anything for a while and when he speaks it’s all wet and wobbly, “I love you, Matty. So, so, so much,” and brings his arms to wrap around Matt’s upper back.
Matt just hums, presses a light kiss to Jay’s exposed skin, and tells him, “I know. I love you too, Jaybird.”