Stubborn? Jay thinks. Is it really possible he doesn’t know what he’s worried about? Jay glances over to the bunk, looking all benign and baby blue, like a set piece in a stage play about someone else’s childhood. He has a headache blooming from the handful of times a bump in the road caused his head to jostle roughly into a sharp corner. His back is sore, and the inability to lie down properly will make sleep impossible.
The question is, does he even want sleep? The idea of losing consciousness terrifies him for a host of reasons. He’s vulnerable of course, and each hour is taking him deeper and deeper into the unknown. He already has no idea where he is exactly, other than that they’re somewhere along the Trans-Canada Highway, and Jay’s always been one to keep his worlds contained and manageable in one spot. He never strayed too far away from campus when he lived in Boston, and they hardly left his grandparents’ house in Bristol when his family would fly out to England every other Summer. When he was home, anything north of Newmarket may as well have been Siberia for all he was willing to go to the trouble of seeing it. Outside is pitch dark and Jay has no idea where Matt found a spot to pull over, but he can imagine the Canadian wilderness being drawn to them like a beacon.
He blinks back to the present when Matt waves his hand in front of his face a few times and whistles. “Hey,” he says. “Anybody home? You’re literally falling asleep sitting up, man.”
The counterpoint in favor of sleep is that the exhaustion really is far beyond his capacity to tolerate, and every time Matt speaks the urge to curl up and pass out in response to his voice grows stronger. Jay grips the cuff tight enough to leave an impression in his palm.
chapter 3 of my fic is out! jay gets ♩♫ yellled aaat ♩♫
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me replying to the most beautifully flattering comments about my writing skills: "thanks so much i'm so glad you enjoyed it so thanks much for reading your comment is so much glad enjoy much thank so"
i'm broadly into conspiracy stuff and when people on nerd internet malign hot normie women as boring neurotypical npcs i get so offended on their behalf. no one is crazier than a type a fitness enthusiast conspiraslop mom. you will never even come close to her level of freak. you're afraid to
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sometimes I'm like OK jay doesn't actually act that weird about matt tormenting and pushing him around in some manner, I'm probably exaggerating it. and then I rewatch some parts and go oh no nvm he loves it.
in total agreement. the weird tension before anything remotely romantic happens is gold i could take 60 more chapters of jay thinking matt is deranged and he’s in danger. you’re killing it!
😭 y'all are so sweet!! thank you for the feedback. this is good because there's a lot of jay hating matt's guts left lol
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the pace is one of my favorite things about your fic!! i love watching the dynamic evolve in real time and allow space for your stellar flashbacks. it rockssss
oh thank you this is reassuring 😭 it's kind of shaping up to be a Long one because i don't want to fuck up the pacing by rushing through things. he kidnapped him and threatened him at knifepoint so there's gotta be a lil breathing room before you get to the romance lest it feel like a fucked up stockholm syndrome thing. it is of course, fucked up, but more approximate to the cartoon violence of canon-typical fucked up rather than dead dove fucked up. they need time to figure out the things that made their canon counterparts so obsessed with each other
sometimes i wonder why people talk about jay (and matt to some extent but ifl jay gets it more) as though he's several centuries old and thereby unable to understand certain references or dress a certain way when it's like . guys he's 43 not 83. but then i remember that he could be their parents' age so maybe he Does seem THAT old whereas to me that's like... he's just the opposite end of my generation. i could've gone to uni with that guy
re: fic people like wow this is great. it's getting kind of long though and like 12 chronological hours have passed, what's up with that i wonder? and i'm like putting sunglasses on hiding my face in my coat lowering the brim of my hat
No they won’t because why would anyone eat a mouse that’s stupid not all men are bad and not all men are stupid you may have had a bad experience with a man but not all men are bad granted there bad men but instantly accusing all men as bad is immature I’m dating a man and he is nowhere near stupid and I know for a fact that he won’t eat a mouse and in pretty sure I could name at least five other men that won’t do something as immature as that and saying that a man will see a mouse and eat it won’t get you a anywhere with a man if anything it will drive them away.
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I know you made that post a few days ago but what if gardener and miserable rich dilettante AU (or trapped golden handed pianist)
Maybe the rivoli is performing their bit for a fat check from some disinterested countess.
Ok I decided to go with "what if Jay was the trust fund kid from a concerningly wealthy family."
"New plan," Matt says, head poking in through Jay's window. It is 11:27pm. Matt is kneeling, mostly hidden by the bushes that painstakingly line Jay's stupidly fancy house. This has been a routine since they were children and Matt had first followed Jay back home only to be rebuffed at the door for his general appearance and loathesome demeanor. Back then, Matt had to shimmy up the side of the house, fingers ripping up on old money ancient bricks, and perch on the window sill. It's probably a miracle he never broke his neck, but it was worth it to see Bird's grin.
As he'd gotten older, with some coaching, Jay had been able to complain his way into a first floor, semi-isolated bedroom suite. Obviously intended more for family guests or elderly parents, it could also suffice for a son too feebleheaded to leave the nest. His mother still had fought every step of the way, torn between the optics of her adult son being too incapable to live on the second floor like normal wealthy hivemind progeny and the favorable false appearance of him developing independence Matt's pretty sure she never actually wants him to have.
He tries to talk a lot about clipped wings, but it's a little too metaphorical to ever get in deep for Jay. He'll say, "your mom sucks," and that usually hits better, but it doesn't get across the same message of stunted development. There's a whole world out there where Jay could fly, Matt just knows it, if only he was allowed to. Matt knows if he was the one with the keys, Jay would come flying back.
Privately, Matt thinks it's a selfish desire to hoard and meter out Jay's brilliance in controlled dashes for the elite his mother hosts. Jay's allowed to play whatever he wants in his soundproofed room, but his payment, for his life, his existence, is playing whatever his mother's friends request.
Jay is very used to this deal, to where he doesn't even really see that he's been making it ever since he stuck his sticky fingers on some keys.
"New plan," Matt repeats. "I overheard, your mom is switching gardening crews. I need you to keep your ears open, Bird, figure out the new company. If you see any of them, chat them up, say you know a guy, he's so strong, so capable, he can, uh, — what is it that they do around here — lay sod? Cut grass? Hedges? Like the best of them, fuck. Yeah wait, I could be the hedge guy. I know these hedges better than anyone. Remember when you got lost in the maze and I found you?"
Jay nods, performing a trill over on his upright. True to form, Jay's mother never bothered to get a baby grand for his own playing, much less a full. "You had to squeeze through the branches as soon as we heard the hounds, and every time you came over after they'd bark for an hour straight."
"I hate those dogs," Matt says cheerfully. They'd bitten him in the ass more than once, literally. It's difficult with the progressive, slow turnover, but Matt has made a point of winning over the new guard one at a time with cheese and weiners.
He shakes his head. "Then, though, next Bird, once I'm with the gardening guys, it'll be you again. I'll be using my muscles, using my artistic vision, I'll turn this whole place upside down it'll be amazing but you've gotta put the thought in your mom's head, right, that it's so perfect, she's gotta have it twenty-four seven."
Jay plays a convincing theme. It has always been his stronger suit to try with notes rather than words, though his mother is startlinglt immune to both. This is the weakest part of this plan, but Matt's sure his efforts on the lawn can probably help work her over.
"And then! Then, Birdie, holy shit," Matt says, getting himself excited. "You convince her, servant's quarters. Some real Victorian shit. We're appealing to her British sensibilities here. And now I'm living here, I've got an excuse to be around all the time!"
Jay grins at him, playing triumphant and best friends forever.
"And we do a meet cute," Matt continues, "and we pretend you fall in love with me, it's a classic genre middle aged women love Bird —" A cluster chord abruptly stops the tune. "— And she finds sympathy in her cold, cruel heart, and releases you to me, your working hero, and we get an apartment and you're out of here and it's happily ever after, man!"
Jay sighs enormously. "Matt."
"What?" Matt says. "Do you think I couldn't garden that well? I could be a gardener."
Jay plinks some low notes, vaguely Jaws but more wandering. "... In love?" Jay says at last.
Matt splutters. "That? That's your problem? It's for the plan, Bird. We could pull it off to get you out of here. Come on, what are you afraid of?"
"We'd have to marry," Jay whines. "With a pre-nuh... uh..."
"Pre-nupital agreement," Matt says precisely, well-researched. "Yeah yeah, so? You don't want to get married to me, Bird? You don't think I'm prime marriage material? I'll have you know outside this birdcage I can't keep the girls off me, you're lucky I can find the time to stop by!"
Every night and most mornings, midday, any time Matt thinks he can dodge past the driveway gate guard, whenever he knows the CCTV loops over.
Jay pouts. A wedding song wobbles along quietly. "What if I want to marry for love?"
Ouch, Matt thinks, but out loud he says, "You're rich, you think your mom hasn't been planning to arrange your marriage this whole time? At least I'm your best friend, better than some girl you're getting paired with like a set of well-awarded thoroughbreds."
Things turn melancholy in that way it can when Jay decides to musically drag the entire room down with him. "... Yeah. I guess." He has a constipated look on his face, a sign that he's really trying to piece his next few thoughts together. For once, Matt allows him some time to do it. "Wouldn't that mean she wouldn't let us marry?"
Matt laughs. "You think I'd let her stop us? Bird, if you really said yes I'd break you out right now, get a legal claim on you and never let go."
Shifting up a key, Jay looks puzzled. "Then why be a gardener?"
"What?"
"Why don't we just do that plan then? Why haven't we?"
Because I hadn't proposed to you before. Because I have no money outside of what you shove at me every now and then. Because I don't even have a piano for you. Because all those things would only not matter if you wanted to marry me for real and we could elope. Because you don't want to leave.
"That one's gotta be you," Matt says after a while. "I can't run that one. I can do it with you, but I can't run it. I'd get accused of kidnapping."
Jay hums. "Oh." A speculative waltz springs from his fingertips.
Matt taps a rhythm on the windowsill, mostly in time. "So it's either you, or the gardening alibi. You know I've been practicing, actually? Last few nights I've been picking leaves. Just a little. Keeping it even, see? Only on the back, here, clearing more room for myself, you know I think I'm really fond of hedges after everything they've helped us with, maybe we could incorporate them, do you think I could sculpt one of the big ones out front? it could be a surprise? Does your mom like surprises? do you think she'd like a hedge Jay? Or no? I could see ..."
Matt rambles, and watches Jay. He imagines it for a moment: crawling in through the window like he does on nights he's sure he won't need a quick escape, picking Jay up and stepping over the sill like it's a threshold. Out into some better world where Jay gets to play whatever he wants, whenever he wants. Where Matt gets to have him more than a few stolen hours a day.
