Archive of Our Own

Matt never told the other guys about his history with Jay. 

It feels a bit strange, to be in a Jay McCarrol cover band and not mention that Jay McCarrol was once his room-and-band-mate, but it feels like something too sensitive, too vulnerable to ever mention. His sister knows, but he barely speaks to her. He barely speaks to anybody from before. 

And that makes it easier. He has all of their pictures, still. The ones he tore down from their apartment walls after the fight that ended it all. He hides them under his bed, and he looks at them sometimes. Him and Jay beaming at the camera, both young and hopeful and ready to take on the world.

Over 17 years later, and Matt’s stuck longing for whatever it is that he used to have with Jay, watching from the crowd as his former best friend awes the crowd with that fucking song. He still remembers hearing it for the first time on Jay’s piano in the old apartment.

At least Ben, Michael, and Ethan seem to be having a good time, but something twists in Matt’s stomach the longer the concert goes on. It’s one thing to be in a cover band, to watch Jay through a screen. But to be here and now… even with this sea of people between them…

He wonders if he shouldn’t be over it, after such a long time. But he’s been nothing if not devoted in his life, and for whatever reason, he can’t seem to fully excise Jay McCarrol from his heart. Maybe their souls are entwined or some bullshit. Maybe he’s just an obsessive.

Whatever it is, he hasn’t seen a live Jay concert in ages, and it still stings. There used to be a small relief when they were unable to get tickets. 

He runs a hand along his shoulder, the tattoo of Jay on his arm. It’s a small comfort, a reminder of the person who still means so much to him after such a long time. He just wishes Jay even knew he still existed.

He’s often considered what it might be like if they did have a reunion. How Jay might react to seeing him again after all this time. He fears Jay’s forgotten about him, that he’s let his big, fancy new life drown Matt out. But they knew each other for quite a while. They lived together, got the camera crew together to chronicle the new journey they were going on. That doesn’t just go away, does it?

Still, as much as he’s wondered, he’s not exactly ready for Ben’s proposal that they try to get backstage after the show.

He wants to protest, but he can’t find the words to explain why he wouldn’t want to meet his supposed idol. In the end, he finds himself helpless against the stream of Ben, Michael, and Ethan’s excitement.

Matt’s pretty sure he’s going to throw up the second a bit of Jay’s hair becomes visible to him from across the crowded backstage area. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t–

Jay’s entire face comes into view, and Matt finds himself breathless.

He’s known that Jay has only gotten more handsome as the years go by. He’s been keeping tabs on it ever since the first time he heard Jay’s voice on the radio and realized that his best friend had actually gone on to be famous without him. But it’s different actually seeing it in person. Even from across the room, he can see that little bit of grey hair forming at Jay’s temple. He can see the way the skin around Jay’s eyes crinkles as he smiles. He’s reminded of just how sharp Jay’s teeth always were, in a way that made him look a bit more like a cat or a vampire than a bird. 

The last time he saw Jay, he would’ve been just twenty-five. Now, he’s gotta be… Matt tries to do the math. Two years older than himself, and just a touch more serious as a result. 

He’d be forty-two. Matt tries to imagine what that might’ve been like if they were still friends. They might’ve gone to the Mandarin for Jay’s fortieth, or tried to do something even a bit more classy. The Keg, maybe? Although, that place is expensive, but maybe they would’ve been successful enough together by that point to try it. Or, hell, maybe they would’ve played the Rivoli by then, and become such good friends with the staff and Vic Valence that they’d celebrate all of their major milestones there.

Milestones–that’s another option. 

Matt feels a light shove at his shoulder, and looks over to see Ben studying him.

“Starstruck, huh?” he asks.

“What?”

“You’re practically frozen to the spot,” Ben points out. “Don’t worry, I get it.” He practically jumps up and down with excitement. “It’s the Jay McCarrol! Right there!”

“Right,” Matt says, fighting to find his voice. “He’s just so… right there, yeah.”

For his own fortieth, he’ll probably go to the Mandarin with Ethan, Ben, and Michael. Eat entirely too much shrimp, get Ethan to teach them some of the menu in Chinese and butcher it horribly. Make unhinged ice cream sundaes from the dessert buffet. Get their picture taken for one of those fridge magnets.

He used to have one of him and Jay.

Ben puts an arm around Matt and guides him closer and closer to Jay. There’s a bit of a line to reach him, and Matt wonders if Ben can feel his heart pounding, certain that it’s vibrating through his entire body.

“B–” Matt starts to speak, but then the people ahead of him are moving away and he locks eyes with Jay McCarrol for the first time in seventeen years.

Jay looks confused at first, then a little bit spooked, like he hadn’t expected this. He quickly smooths out his face into a smile that could not be more fake. Matt’s stunned that he can tell so easily, but Jay’s lips are pressed together and his eyebrows are raised, the up-turned corners of his mouth not enough to lift his eyes. 

“Uh…” Jay says, and he seems to be searching his memory. His mouth works a bit, jaw moving, and then he finally closes it. “Matt,” he says, and it sounds like he’s being strangled.

“Bird,” Matt breathes, and he immediately digs his teeth into his bottom lip. It’s too much. Too familiar. 

The corner of Jay’s mouth twitches just a bit before he flattens his lips back into that fake smile. “Wow. Fancy seeing you here. It’s been… how long?”

“Seventeen years,” Matt says plainly, though it’s a fight to keep the emotion out of his voice.

Ben’s staring at him in amazement, Ethan and Michael echoing the look behind him. “Dude, you know Jay McCarrol?” he asks. He looks between the two of them. His brow furrows. “Did you just call him Bird?”

“Old nickname,” Jay supplies, and he reaches out a hand to Matt. “How’ve you been?”

“Uh…” Matt hesitates. “Not as good as you, it seems.” He gestures around the room. “You, uh. You’re looking really good.”

Jay nods, and his half-smile fades as he takes Matt in, clearly searching for something to say in return. “You, uh… you filled out,” he tries, and cringes.

Matt’s used to it, though. He knows he looks fat, though he’s not, really. It’s just the way his face looks, his body hidden under clothes that clearly aren’t doing him any favours. Still, he offers Jay his own meaningless smile. “Thanks.”

“You two knew each other well enough to have nicknames?” Ethan asks. “And you never said?”

“Well, really it was just Bird that had the nickname,” Matt explains. “He didn’t, like, call me anything back. I was just Matt.”

He looks back at Jay, and he could swear there’s a sadness there. Could swear he catches him mutter “just Matt,” as he looks down at their shoes.

“Okay, Matt, dude,” Ben says, “you are going to have to tell us all about this later.” Before Matt can even reply, Ben’s stepping forward and pulling out his cellphone. “Can we get a selfie, Bird?” 

Jay looks like he’s tasted something disgusting, but he quickly fixes his face. “Of course. Thank you so much for your support,” he says.

And while it sounds like he’s talking to Ben, Matt realizes that Jay’s eye is on him.

Jay can’t sleep. He’s tried everything short of breaking out the sleeping pills that aren’t exactly legal in the back of his medicine cabinet, but he’s trying not to resort to those unless he’s really desperate. They work, but they also make him feel like he’s been hit by a truck for at least half the morning after he’s woken up. 

Though, there isn’t much expected of him tomorrow morning beyond getting on the tour bus.

Jay sighs, sitting up in bed to punch his pillow with a bit more force than is necessary. The tour is one of the about seven hundred things bothering him right now. Or, maybe it’s more accurate to say that one thing is bothering him, and it’s splintered into about seven hundred offshoots of related issues.

He tries closing his eyes again, but there he is. Matt. His face is fuller, but he’s still got that same mess of hair under the same stupid hat that he decided early on would be his signature for some reason. He’s aged, and it’s clear that age hasn’t been completely kind to him, but it really is his Matt.

His Matt… He wishes he could punch his brain. He is not doing this. Matt isn’t anybody’s, but certainly not Jay’s. He gave him up a long time ago.

He still remembers waking up that morning after the nightmare he had, Matt talking to him as some sort of dream spirit and the music that would become “Never Come Down” floating up to him. It had almost sounded like it was actually coming from his piano in the apartment, but he couldn’t quite piece together how that would’ve been true. Matt was upstairs talking to him at the exact same time–or, at least, Dream Matt was. Even if Matt was downstairs, the man could hardly lay down two notes on the piano without fumbling. How could he have written and played one of the most successful pop songs in Canadian history?

It had been dark, and then later in the living room he’d barely been awake, but Jay also can’t fight the feeling that maybe Dream Matt looked a bit more like this current day Matt than his own self back in 2008.

It just doesn’t make any sense. 

Neither does seeing Matt now, after all this time. His friends had seemed to be huge fans of Jay’s work, and yet, they didn’t know that Jay and Matt had once known each other. Had been best friends for almost a decade, even if their band had lasted only a couple of weeks, taking their friendship with it.

He’d come downstairs to find Matt staring at the white board in the living room. Their latest plan had been erased, scrawled over with “don’t play the Rivoli”.

“Dude,” Matt had said, gesturing to the whiteboard. “What? You don’t think we should play the Rivoli anymore?”

Jay’s eyebrows knit together as he stared at the writing. “Matt, that’s clearly your handwriting. You don’t want to play the Rivoli.” But that hadn’t made sense. “Wait, why don’t you want to play the Rivoli?”

“Bird, I didn’t write that,” Matt had argued. He’d looked at Jay accusingly. “Is this your way of trying to say you don’t want to do this without taking responsibility? Blame it on me?”

Jay had been taken aback. “You’re blaming it on me, but it’s not even my handwriting! You think I would’ve let us practice that creamed corn bit for hours last night if I didn’t even want to play the Rivoli anymore?”

Matt cocked his head. “Why? You didn’t like the creamed corn bit?”

“It was fine,” Jay hedged, and somehow Matt got even angrier.

“What? You think you could do better?”

Jay took a step back. “I’m not saying that.”

“Well then, why bring it up?”

“I’m just saying, if I’d been planning to quit the band, I probably would’ve done that first.”

“So, you’ve thought about it,” Matt said. “How you’d quit the band.”

“No one’s trying to quit the band, Matt!” Jay had yelled. “I gave up everything just to be in this band.”

Matt studied him, his eyes tracing Jay’s face. “What’s that supposed to mean? You had better options or something?”

It struck Jay that Matt was probably insecure. But instead of empathy, he felt like fighting back. “I feel like you’re willfully misinterpreting me.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t want to play the Rivoli anymore and won’t just say it like an adult.”

Jay had scoffed. “Oh, right, because between the two of us, I’m the one that’s not an adult.”

Matt tensed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m a lot more mature than you, Matt. You realize that I’m the one who pays our rent? And the one who makes sure we have food?” He looked around the room. “This place would be even more of a disaster without me! And you still sleep in Batman pajamas half the time!”

“Oh, so, what? You think you’re the one holding this thing together?”

“Of course I am,” Jay argued. “I’m also literally the only one in our band who plays an instrument!”

Matt’s jaw had dropped open. “I could play an instrument.”

“Really? Which one?”

“I don’t know,” Matt said, waving him off. “Maybe the drums. Maybe I’ll learn the drums and play in a ska band.”

“What? Like early No Doubt?”

“Exactly like early No Doubt! I don’t think you appreciate everything that I’m bringing to this band.”

“What is that, exactly?”

“Well,” Matt had said, gesturing back at the white board. “It seems that I’m the only one who actually cares about playing the fucking Rivoli!”

“Enough with the goddamn Rivoli!” Jay had shouted. “And for the last time, I’m not the one who wrote ‘don’t play the Rivoli’. If you can’t even own up to that–”

“You’re the one who can’t own up to shit–”

“You know what, Matt?” Jay asked, frustration boiling through him as this conversation inched further and further towards going precisely nowhere. “Whoever wrote it, maybe they’re right. Maybe we don’t play the Rivoli.”

Matt froze. “Well, then, where would we play?”

“Maybe…” Jay started. He felt himself standing on a precipice. He thought of the song that had come to him in his dreams. He could almost imagine words for it. He could almost picture it being good. But he couldn’t quite picture it working with Matt. Not with his goofy style of theatrical nonsense. “Maybe we don’t play anywhere. Maybe the band breaks up.”

Matt looked like Jay had slapped him, his mouth gaping open like a fish. “You don’t mean…”

“Who were we even kidding?” Jay asks, twisting the knife just a little bit further because he was suddenly convinced he had to leave. “We weren’t going to play the Rivoli. It’d be a miracle if we even played outside this apartment.”

Matt stared at Jay like he was about to cry. Then he tightened his jaw and stood up straighter. “Fine by me. I don’t need you. We’ll see who makes it further on their own.”

“Fine,” Jay said.

“Fine!”

He spent a long time after that trying to convince himself that he’d never even needed Matt in the first place.

Most days, he could believe it was true. He was successful. People loved the version of his song he’d made on his own. He was on every billboard at Yonge and Dundas. And Matt…

Well, from what he could tell, Matt was still his same old self.

So, why did Jay’s heart ache? Why did he find himself wondering what Matt was up to right now? 

The vain part of him would have probably wondered if Matt was thinking of him too, but that much was obvious just from the fact that he even came to the show.

It pleased him, just a little bit.

Something feels unfinished between the two of them, a thought tugging at the back of his mind. And part of him doesn’t feel like he can just go on this world tour without fixing it. 

Still. They’ve been apart seventeen long years. What’s a little bit longer? And who’s to say that they’ll even have anything to say to each other? 

It’s over between them. Has been for a long time.

Jay sighs and squeezes his eyes shut, but sleep still refuses to come. Finally, he decides to just give in to the sleepless night. He throws off the covers and moves to his closet to grab his robe. He wraps himself in the plush fabric and slips his phone in his pocket before padding down the hall.

Once he’s situated at the kitchen island with a warm mug of coffee, he pulls his phone out and opens Instagram. There are always tons of notifications in the app; likes on his latest post and dozens of comments. He was pretty proud of his most recent post when he made it–a shirtless mirror selfie fresh out of the shower that he knew people would go crazy for, along with a caption reminding everyone to get their tickets for the World Tour. He can’t help but wonder how Matt would see it, now. Can’t help but worry his lip between his teeth as he considers the judgement.

He types Matt’s name into the search bar and clicks on the first profile. A grid pops up of photos of an old man who only seems to be capable of photographing himself from as close-up as possible. Definitely not his Matt.

The next one is, though, and it feels like Jay’s heart shatters a bit in his chest as he studies the first photo in the grid. Matt’s behind a drumset, his mouth open wide in laughter as he looks in the direction of one of the men he was with earlier. He’s wearing a tank-top, part of a tattoo visible on one arm, though Jay can’t make it out. What he can make out is that Matt is buff. His arms look strong and powerful, maybe from all the drumming. Jay’s pleasantly surprised to realize he followed through with learning an instrument.

He finds his gaze lingering on Matt’s bicep. Clearly, the way he dressed earlier was deceiving. 

Jay shakes his head to clear the thoughts. Not the point right now. Instead, he forces himself to place his finger over the blue “follow” button. And, before he can let himself overthink this, he presses down on it.

“Done,” he mutters. He places his phone down and takes another sip of coffee. It’s nearly four AM, so he doesn’t expect much anytime soon, but… he’ll see.

He can’t stop thinking about that Roz and Mocha interview, either. Asking who his best friend was. Because, in all honesty, he doesn’t have one.

He hasn’t in seventeen years.

Jay’s phone–having grown dark with inactivity–lights up with a notification.

Matt’s followed him back.

A moment later, there’s a message.

Just one word.

Bird?

It’s near five AM when Matt arrives at Jay’s mansion. Which, yes, is an insane thing to even think about.

Mansion? They used to be shoved into the same shitty apartment, and now his former best friend lives in a mansion. 

He couldn’t have Jay over to his place, though. The others were fast asleep, but even if they do tend to be heavy sleepers, he feels like Jay’s mere presence would’ve woken them up. They needed to be alone.

“Matt,” Jay hisses when he opens the door. He’s swathed in a soft looking blue robe, the hood pulled up over his head. His initials are monogrammed over his heart. Matt wonders how much it cost. How much this entire place cost.

Jay reaches out and grabs Matt’s arm, pulling him roughly into the entryway. The ceiling is dizzyingly high, with a massive staircase reaching up to the next floor. Everything seems to glimmer in the light filtering in from outside.

“Bird,” Matt says, trying to match Jay’s whisper. Jay lets go of his arm, and Matt rubs it gently. It tingles from the contact, and there’s a swooping in Matt’s belly as he lets himself truly absorb that Jay just held him for the first time in years. “Are you okay?”

“Sorry,” Jay says. He looks down at Matt’s arm for a few moments, as if lost in thought. “I just… even at this time of night, there always seem to be people watching out there. They talk, and the last thing I need…”

Matt deflates slightly as he absorbs Jay’s words, and Jay’s eyes immediately soften.

“God, sorry, not… not that I’m embarrassed, or anything. Just the last time I had someone over at this hour, there were all these rumors about our relationship. Which,” Jay shrugs. “To be fair, you are here at five in the morning. But, I’d just prefer to figure things out privately before our faces are plastered across every newsstand questioning if we’re having sex or something.”

Matt raises his eyebrows. “They’re going to say that?”

Jay sighs. “The media is so progressive nowadays, it’s almost regressed. Like okay, great, you acknowledge that gay people exist–you don’t have to prove you’re such goddamn allies by suggesting that I might be having sex with anyone who breathes in my direction.”

Matt takes in Jay’s wide eyes and the way he keeps moving his head just slightly, like a paranoid listening for something, and for perhaps the first time since they broke up, he doesn’t envy Jay’s fame. 

“Are you dating anyone…?” Matt asks after a couple of moments. Jay’s eyes flash back to his.

“No,” he says. “With the touring and the albums and the interviews and the fame… especially the scrutiny of the fame–I just haven’t quite figured that out, yet. Not that it matters. I’m okay on my own.”

Matt gets the feeling that “on his own” extends past just not having a romantic partner, but he keeps that to himself.

“Here, come in, come in,” Jay says. He leads Matt through massive, impeccably furnished rooms, though they seem to lack any warmth or personality. Where their own shared apartment was covered with posters and photos of themselves, with their clothes and movies and random junk strewn everywhere, this place looks more like a showroom. Generically beautiful, but empty of anything meaningful. Matt’s actually pretty sure the fake rooms at Ikea still have more to say about their imagined occupants than this house has to say about Jay.

They finally arrive in the kitchen, where Jay offers Matt a mug of coffee. He agrees, but asks for a small cup. The night he tried coffee for the first time a few years back still plays heavily on his mind. He and Ben and Ethan and Michael had gotten a little bit crazy while listening to the Jay McCarrol Christmas album and decorating their apartment.

And now he’s standing in Jay McCarrol’s kitchen, watching him.

“I… um,” Jay starts. He swallows hard, and Matt catches the way his Adam’s Apple moves in his throat. “It was nice seeing you, earlier.”

Matt nods. “Nice seeing you, too.” He wonders if Jay really called him all the way across town at this time of night just to say it was nice to see him.

He wonders what it means that he came.

Maybe Jay just has that kind of hold on him.

“So…” he says after a couple of moments. “You wanted to talk, or…?”

Jay stares at him, dark eyes concealing whatever it is he’s thinking. Finally, he sighs.

“Do you ever feel like there was a mistake somewhere? Something was supposed to happen that just didn’t? Or… maybe it wasn’t supposed to happen, and it did.”

Matt doesn’t reply right away. He sips his coffee, studying Jay. He thinks he knows exactly what Jay’s saying, but there’s a part of him that has to hear him say it.

“Do you think we would’ve been happy?” Jay finally asks. “If the band had stayed together?”

Matt considers this, fighting the urge to respond right away. He's always believed they would have been. But it's hard to say out loud right now. 

Jay looks down at the counter between them, the two sitting on opposite sides of the island. The corner of his mouth tugs down.

“You’re right. It’s stupid to wonder. I’m sure you’re happy with your life, at any rate.”

“Well, and you must be with yours,” Matt points out.

Jay still doesn’t look up. “Yeah. Of course.”

Words rise up through Matt’s throat, and he has to fight to keep them from escaping. Even after all these years, it’s still near impossible to fight the need to fix it when Jay seems upset. He wants to tell Jay that he’s missed him. Hell, that he’s obsessed over him. That the only reason he even has other friends is that they have fixating on Jay in common.

He wants to let Jay know that he’s not alone. To let him know how much it means to be here, in this too big house, inches away from the man he can never fully let go of.

Still. It’s been seventeen years. What if he’s just reading Jay wrong? What if he lets himself be so fucking vulnerable just to be pushed down again? 

Jay has the money, the success, the attention. Certainly he has other people in his life to care about. Certainly he doesn’t need Matt anymore.

They continue their stares—Jay’s at the counter and Matt’s at Jay. Neither speaks. Matt slowly lets his gaze trail through the room, and it catches on something gold in the hall.

He figures it must be one of Jay’s endless trophies–he racked up a historical number of Junos in a single year for “Never Come Down”. But as he shifts to look at it, he realizes…

“Dude, is that a real gun?”

“Hmm?” Jay finally looks up and follows Matt’s eye. “Oh, yeah. You know, always better to be safe than sorry.”

Matt slides his eyes back to Jay. “Are you okay? Not, like, in debt to some loan shark you fear is going to show up one day?”

Jay shakes his head. “Just trying to be prepared.” He stands up and crosses the room to grab it off the wall. It’s black with swirling gold accents. Kind of beautiful, but Matt can’t recall Jay ever having had an interest in guns. He wonders again if this entire fame situation has made Jay a bit paranoid. But, perhaps he’s overreacting.

“Okay, cool, cool,” he says as Jay turns it over in his hands.

“I have another one upstairs and one on my tour bus,” Jay continues. He places it back in its spot on the wall, and Matt fights the urge to mention that that sounds a little paranoid. And why not just one that he always has on his person?

Celebrities are strange, he guesses.

“Well, uh, you must have the best parties in this place. Absolute ragers,” Matt says as Jay returns to his seat. He tries to think of what famous people must do for parties. “Do you guys do like, beer and pizza and N64, or are rich people a bit more sophisticated?”

Jay reaches up and pushes some of his hair back. He doesn’t quite meet Matt’s eyes, and he shifts in his seat restlessly. “Uh, well… honestly, it’s usually a bit more caviar and champagne, I guess. And a lot of talk about everybody’s wintering plans.”

“Wintering?” Matt asks. He understood that being rich was a bit more about showing off how rich you are, but he can’t imagine it being that much fun to just sit in a room and learn what rich people shit everyone is up to.

Jay shrugs. “You know. ‘I’m going to Italy for the winter’, ‘I’m going to the Dominican’, ‘I’m going to sail my yacht around Australia until the winter ends’. Stuff like that. I spent last winter in a private villa in Greece with a supermodel,” he says plainly.

Matt raises his eyebrows, a smile taking over his face. “Okay, now we’re talking! I knew you had to be having fun! Tell me everything!”

Jay shifts again. “Uh, well… we… we did a lot of cocaine? And I guess we had sex in the ocean. Honestly? I don’t even remember half of it. Maybe I got a bit too crazy.”

“Okay…” Matt says. “Well, sex, come on. That must be pretty good when you’re famous.”

Jay flinches. “Maybe we should talk about you. What’re you up to? It looked like you maybe have another band?”

Matt swallows thickly. “Yeah, uh… I do.”

Jay nods encouragingly. “What’s it called? Are you really doing ska?”

“Not quite.”

Jay raises his mug to his mouth, gesturing for Matt to go on.

“We’re called Jay McCarrol the Band…” he finally admits.

“Oh.” Jay says, and for a heartbeat, Matt’s afraid that this is going to be the end of their little reunion. He’s not sure he can take that. Sure Jay’s kind of weird now, stowing guns everywhere and doing cocaine and… maybe not actually having sex, based on the way he responded to that question. But he’s still Matt’s Jay, deep down. He’s sure of it. 

And he’s missed him with a fierceness that only seems to grow the longer they’re actually back together.

He can’t lose him again.

“Well, I guess you were never the best at band names that weren’t already taken,” he finally says, and Matt laughs in relief.

“I guess not,” he says, allowing a smile to overtake him. “We’re nowhere near as successful as the real thing, but…”

He can’t let himself finish that thought, but Jay nods. He bites his lip.

“I missed you too, Matt,” he says, and Matt’s pretty sure he stops breathing for a second.

He wants to say more, but the words all catch in his throat. Does he mean it? Or is he just being polite?

He swallows hard. The secrets that he’s kept from basically everyone around him come flooding out before he can even try to stop them.

“I think I grew a little bit obsessed with you, after you left,” he says, his words all a rush. He fights to keep them more even as he keeps going. “I mean, you were my best friend. You were everything I had. And then you were just gone and all over a stupid fight and it hurt like a fucking knife. And it took a really hard time to rebuild from there. I wanted to reach out constantly. And then one day your song is on the radio and I remember you playing it for me. That night before you left. And I just wished more than anything that you never had. That we could’ve worked it out instead of arguing. But by then you were unattainable.”

Matt hesitates over his next words for only a moment. “I felt better being closer to your music. Well, and I told myself out of pure anger at our fight that I was going to learn the drums.” He shrugs self-consciously. “I’ll be honest, I’m only okay. I still miss the way you’d play piano for me.” He reaches for the hem of his sweater. There’s a moment of doubt, but then he’s pulling it off. “I missed a lot of things.”

Jay’s eyes widen as he takes in Matt’s tattoo. He cocks his head to the side, his nose scrunching in confusion. 

“Wait. Who is that?”

Matt looks at him. “What do you mean, who is that?”

“What am I looking at here?” Jay squints like he might need glasses. “Who is it?”

“Jay!” Matt shouts. “It’s you!”

Jay sits back in his chair as if he’s been struck. “That’s supposed to be me? Is that how I look?”

“What do you mean, ‘is that how I look?’”

Jay shakes his head. “That doesn’t look like me. It’s… well, I don’t know who it is. Who did you get to do this?”

“A very reputable artist!”

“Had they ever seen my face before?” Jay’s laughing so much, it’s hard for him to get the words out.

“I gave him a picture.”

Jay considers this a moment. “Had he ever done a tattoo before?”

“Bird!”

“I’m sorry, Matt, but that does not look like me! I’m pretty sure I’m a bit more handsome than that. This guy didn’t even get my nose right!”

Matt frowns. Something clicks in his head after a moment. “Are you more alarmed that this is a bad tattoo of you than that I have one in the first place?”

Jay raises his eyebrows. “Of course I am! I mean, is it a little bit strange that my former best friend would do that? Sure. But I’ve seen enough tattoos of myself on people’s bodies for this to lose most meaning. They’re usually a bit nicer, though.”

He sobers after a moment. “I won’t say I haven’t thought about what it’d be like to be doing this as part of Nirvanna the Band. I mean, I’m not actually sure we could sustain such fame when we didn’t actually have any songs–”

“It was about the live performance,” Matt points out.

“Yeah,” Jay says, and a smile twitches the corner of his mouth. “Creamed corn vs the can-opener. I remember. Not sure it had the same mainstream appeal, but… we were having fun, weren’t we?”

Matt nods. “We were.”

Jay considers this. “I don’t think I’ve had fun in a very long time while doing this. I mean, there are all those starstruck, pinch me kind of moments, but…” His jaw works. “It’s isolating. I don’t think I could ever have a real relationship, because people only seem to be interested in me as a famous musician.”

“Poor little famous Bird,” Matt says, but without any malice. 

“I think breaking up might’ve fucked us both out of the best relationship we had.” Jay says it quietly, and it makes Matt think of a secret. Something shared just between the two of them. 

“Why did we break up?” Matt asks, though he remembers all too well their last fight. Jay writing “don’t play the Rivoli” on the white board and refusing to own up to it.

Still… looking at Jay now, after going so long without him and watching him shoot to fame…

It’s hard to be mad when he just wants his best friend back more than anything else.

“I was stupid,” Jay says. “I mean, the white board thing was weird, but…” He reaches up and scratches at the hair right above his ear, the patch starting to turn white already. “I think I was worried that I’d miss out if I didn’t try pursuing my own thing. And I took our argument as an excuse to let things fall apart.”

Matt nods. “I was stupid, too. I didn’t need to yell at you over it. But I was so–”

His throat tightens, and Matt doesn’t think he can complete the sentence. Admitting that he was scared to lose Jay? That he was insecure that between the two of them, Jay was the only actual musician?

Well, there was a reason he’d been the one to come up with all the plans to get the Rivoli. Success entirely on the merit of their work would only be to Jay’s credit. Matt would just be the lucky tag-along. He needed to pull his weight.

“Matt?” Jay asks. His eyes are wide, darting across Matt’s face. He studies Matt a moment before reaching out a hand, and it feels like an olive branch. Matt takes it and squeezes back.

“I didn’t want to lose you,” he says softly. Jay’s eyebrows pull together, and before Matt can really process, Jay’s standing, wrapping his arms around Matt as a tear slips from his eye. 

Matt thinks he catches Jay muttering an expletive, but then he squeezes Matt even harder.

“It’s okay. I’m here. I promise.”

Jay’s due to start getting ready for his world tour soon, and he’s never felt more unsure of himself. 

He’s laying in bed, Matt snoring gently next to him. His bed is big enough to fit three additional Matts between them, but there is an intimacy to it, nonetheless. An echo of when they used to fall asleep on the couch together, waking up arranged at weird angles with the TV softly playing. Or when they’d have roommate sleepovers, piling into one or the other’s bedroom and watching a movie while getting popcorn all over the sheets.

Jay had suggested it without even realizing how it might sound. But Matt was clearly tired and emotionally drained, and it was starting to hit Jay, too. He needed some time to relax before his impending future came slamming into his chest, but he also couldn’t quite ask Matt to go anywhere else. The way he’d clung to Jay… he almost felt like leaving him now would devastate him–even if it was just to another part of the house.

He has to go on tour. He knows he does. But he also knows that the single hour he spent talking with Matt was probably the most honest conversation he’s had in at least the last decade. He can’t remember the last time he truly felt so connected. So real.

And while he used to get a sense of fulfillment from playing his music, it’s been a while since the Jay McCarrol stuff has really done anything for him. It’s what’s popular, sure. What sells. But it lacks heart. Somehow, there’s more heart in every dumb little bit he can remember Matt doing than there has been in Jay’s entire solo career.

Maybe he can cancel the tour? People would be disappointed, but he could probably recoup the losses. He has a high enough net worth that he could maybe take an entire year off without much financial consequence. Plenty of time to decide what happens next. 

Of course, he runs the risk of losing the people’s interest during his absence. It’d make returning that much harder if he did. 

His mind won’t stop spinning. He knows the logical choice. He knows what he’s worked so hard to attain. But he also knows the more emotional choice. 

Matt’s spent the entire time they’ve been apart missing him. He got a tattoo that… allegedly, supposedly, is intended to be representative of Jay. And while a lot of people tell Jay they love him nowadays, it feels more real coming from Matt. It feels like something he shouldn’t just throw away. 

He wishes he’d just popped a sleeping pill, but the sun is already past the horizon. He’s going to need an answer soon.

Well, maybe there are only two options, anyway; continue on the same path he has been, or try something different.

When he puts it like that, there’s only one answer.

“Matt?” Jay asks into the lightening space. 

Matt shifts slightly, and Jay’s reminded of all those times he’d be playing piano, only to turn to Matt and find he’d fallen asleep. He’s a heavy sleeper.

“Matt,” Jay says more loudly. He sits up and grabs his pillow, whacking Matt with it. Matt opens his eyes for a moment, but they keep fluttering shut.

“Bird?” he says. “Bird… but you’re not…” His eyes pop open, and in an instant, Matt’s reaching out, plastering his hands across Jay’s face. It’s unexpected, but not unpleasant.

“Bird…” he breathes out. “You’re real.”

Jay nods, almost afraid to break whatever moment Matt’s having.

“I thought it was just a dream,” he says, a yawn already pulling at his mouth. “You’re real…” He moves his hands to Jay’s shoulders and leaves them there, as if scared of breaking physical contact.

“I am.” It’s a comment he’s used to, people in awe over their favourite popstar in the flesh. It usually comes with a lot of screaming and excitement. But for Matt, there’s a quiet relief in his voice that makes Jay ache. People may be ecstatic to see him, shining brightly with celebrity worship. But that’s more an idea of him. With Matt, he knows it’s that he’s glad to see the real Jay. 

“I can’t go on tour,” he finds himself saying.

Matt cocks his head in question. “What do you mean?” His hair sticks up at all angles, and Jay has to resist the urge to reach out and smooth it down. 

“I mean,” Jay says, even as his heart climbs into his throat and threatens to choke him out, “I don’t want to do this right now. We just talked for the first time in seventeen years, and I’m going to immediately get up and leave for a year? We really want to lose more time?”

Matt seems to consider this. “I could come with you,” he says. His eyes widen just a bit after he’s spoken, as if realizing what he’s said. But it’s too late to take it back.

Still, Jay’s not sure if it’s enough. If he knew Matt was waiting in the wings for him, it’d ease some tension, sure. It’d probably make it easier to deal with the fact that his backing band actively seem to dislike him. They started a book club and pointedly didn’t invite him, even when Jay dropped hints that he would definitely…

Well, okay. Would he actually read Wuthering Heights? Maybe not. It looks long. But he would certainly get his assistant to give him a basic plot summary and a couple of talking points. He could be in the book club!

Jay shakes his head before he follows that mental tangent any further. The book club is not the point. The point is that as much as it means to imagine actually having someone who doesn’t seem passive aggressively annoyed with him by his side for the tour, he’s not sure it’s enough. 

And Matt shouldn’t have to sideline himself any more than he already has the past seventeen years.

Then something suddenly clicks in his mind. 

“Matt,” Jay says. 

Matt nods for him to go ahead.

“Matt… you know, in all these years, I still never did play the Rivoli.”

“Huh,” Matt says. “I guess fame doesn’t get you everything.”

“Well, I also never really asked. It… it just didn’t feel right.”

The corner of Matt’s mouth twitches. “You still cared.”

Jay leaps up, throwing the bed sheets back. He’s wearing a t-shirt and underwear, and he grabs his robe again, bundling up as he runs through the house. He’s not sure if Matt is following him at first, but a couple of moments pass and then he hears his voice.

“Bird! Where are we going?”

Jay takes a couple of turns through the house before flying through the door of his studio. It’s the room that definitely has the most personality. Posters of his favourite bands are plastered everywhere, interspersed with pictures of him actually meeting a couple of their members. He’s got his guitar collection worth thousands of dollars, despite only playing the guitar very rarely. Two sets of drums to scratch the occasional itch for percussion. And about five different keyboards, though his absolute favourite place to play is still the piano that once lived in his apartment with Matt. It occupies the center of the room, and Matt’s inhale of awe is audible as he steps inside.

“Wow,” he says, stepping forward. He lays his hand gently on the top of the piano, almost like he’s afraid it might bite. “Hey, girl.”

Jay moves further into the room, where a small whiteboard sits on a wall. It’s not the most practical for writing music, but he couldn’t fight the feeling that a whiteboard was necessary. 

  He uncaps the marker and starts writing.

Play the Rivoli Plan:

1. Cancel world tour
2. Call the Rivoli
3. Ask to book Jay McCarrol’s new/old band, Nirvanna the Band
4. Success 

Matt comes to stand next to him. “Is it really that simple?” he asks. “Just call them?”

“You know what? It probably always was. But, also, I’m famous now. This is how simple everything is for me.”

Matt raises an eyebrow and shrugs. “I guess it did work on me, too.”

Jay smiles. He puts his arm around Matt and pulls him in close. “I’m really sorry, Matty.”

“Thank you,” he says softly. A grin slowly overtakes his face. “I get to play in a band with Jay McCarrol again,” he says. “The guys are gonna be so jealous. Oh!” He jumps up. “I know an instrument, now!” He runs over to the drums and grabs the sticks, carefully tapping out a bit of a beat.

Jay raises his eyebrows. “You want to be a two instrument band?”

Matt considers this, then puts the sticks back down. “No. I want you and the piano. At least to start. Who knows, though. Maybe we do innovate at some point. After we play the Rivoli, of course. We’ll probably need a new goal then.”

Jay smiles. “We will.”

He moves to sit at the piano bench, and Matt scrambles up to stand behind him. It only takes one look exchanged between the two of them for Jay to get a feel for how the music should be. Big, bright, cheery. A celebration. A barely contained excitement. 

A change for the better.

“Bird,” Matt asks as he sits with Jay at the kitchen island. They’re both eating bowls of ice cream from the back of Jay’s freezer. He thinks it’s imported from France. Might be Italy, though. Or… Germany?

“Yeah?” Jay asks. Matt’s sitting on top of the counter while Jay’s seated, putting Matt’s lower half in his line of vision. His jeans are ripped so high, Jay wouldn’t be surprised to see Matt’s cock at some point. He wonders if they’re literally the same pair from seventeen years ago. Someone might need to do something about those once and for all.

“Your question earlier. Would we have been happy if we didn't break up. You ever wonder what other versions of us are floating around?” he asks. Jay’s phone rattles on the counter beside him. He’s locked all the doors and now he’s avoiding all calls. They’ll get the hint. Though, Jay’s phone might overheat and explode, first.

“Like,” Matt continues. “Alternate universes. Maybe there is one where we never broke up, and there's our answer. One where we got famous together instead of separately. One where I’m famous and you’re not. Oh, or like, one where everybody knows the moon landing was faked and those sons of bitches didn’t get away with it.”

Jay snorts. He forgot that Matt sometimes leaned conspiratorial. He’s shocked by how good it feels to hear those words.

“Maybe,” Jay says. “It’s nice to think of us getting it right somewhere else. But…” He hesitates. He doesn’t want to sound too sappy. And it’s not like he’s had much practice talking about his emotions in the past two decades anyway. “Well... this is the universe we have. I like the idea of getting it right here. Even if it is a lot later than it should’ve been.”

Matt nods, though he stays quiet.

“I can see the little conspiracy theory wheels turning in your head, Matt. Where are you going with this?”

“Hmm?” He shakes his head, breaking out of that far off look. “Oh, sorry. Nothing. Just wondering if maybe the universe where we don’t break up is the same as everybody knowing the moon landing was faked… maybe there’s some correlation there.”

Jay just laughs. “You’re so weird.”

Matt presses his lips together and looks down at Jay. There’s a smear of ice cream across the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, well, you like it.”

Jay grins. “I do.”