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The first time it happened was at a bar. They sat at a table near the back next to a riotous shuffleboard game. Jay was talking to a girl. Matt was brooding into his drink and making uncomfortable jokes about guns or homicides whenever the girl touched Jay’s arm or rubbed his knee or leaned too close to him.
When the girl left to use the bathroom Matt scooted over.
“Let’s get out of here, Bird. I’m tired.”
“No, Matt,” shot back Jay, side-eying him. “You go home. I’m having a good time.”
“You want me to leave you? Alone, with that — hussy? She’s got a thief’s glint to her eye. I bet she’s after your wallet.”
“You think she’s trying to steal my wallet?”
“If the wallet’s in your pants, she’s trying to get into it. She’s a total slut, dude. You don’t want to get with a slut. You’ll get chlamydia.”
At that moment the “hussy” in question reappeared, flashing Jay a pearly smile as she sat back down next to him in his booth, forcing Matt to scoot over with a protracted groan. She had long, silky dark hair and a purple top with a glittery pattern on it which rode up attractively at her hips. When they’d first gotten here Matt had taken one look at her tanned, slightly-plump stomach and asked, rudely, if she was pregnant. Jay could’ve killed him — luckily, the music was loud enough that she hadn’t heard, and Jay passed it off as a joke by laughing loudly and angrily slapping Matt on the back.
“Let’s get out of here,” the girl whispered, placing a hand on Jay’s upper thigh. “Wanna come back to mine?”
“Sure,” said Jay, immediately. “Let’s go.”
Matt was indignant, but didn’t say anything. He just glared as Jay scooted out after the girl. Then his expression evened, and he quickly moved to follow. As he got out of the booth he knocked forward with his beer and spilled it all over the front of Jay’s shirt. The girl gasped, giggling in shock.
“Oh, no,” said Matt, passionately, setting his spilled drink aside and immediately, vigorously rubbing at the front of Jay’s shirt. “Jaybird! My God. You’re so clumsy. How do you do anything without me? Come on, I’ll take you into the bathroom, to get this mess cleaned up right away.”
Jay glanced back at the girl as he was led away, making a gesture that he would be right back. She smiled and waved sympathetically. Matt pulled him by the soaked from of his button-up, not looking at him.
There were two stalled men’s and women’s bathrooms and one disabled bathroom with a lock. Matt pushed him into the latter, and carefully shut the door behind him.
“Matt,” said Jay, annoyed, as Matt locked the door. “You got beer on my shirt. I like this shirt.”
“No, you got beer on your shirt, Bird.” Matt pulled out a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and brought them over to stuff up Jay’s shirt. His hand was cold on Jay’s stomach, and Jay shivered. “Hold still.”
Jay held still. Matt wrung out the shirt.
“Are you jealous?”
Usually Jay wouldn’t say something like this to Matt. He’d let them both pretend that Matt was normal and stable, and that Matt really had spilled that beer accidentally, and that Matt didn’t stare in blank revulsion at anybody who tried to speak to Jay. Jay knew, of course, that Matt was jealous whenever they went out — because he didn’t get any girls, and Jay did — because of the way Matt acted. He acted like a barbed wire fence. Like one of those bombs that exploded when you touched it and sat there hissing begging you to touch it when you didn’t.
But this time was different from the usual. Jay was drunk, and dizzy, and he still felt hot and electric all over from the girl touching his leg. Matt rubbing his hands all over Jay with the towels didn’t help. Not that Jay was attracted to Matt. It was purely physical: once you were wound up getting touched by anyone felt pretty good, even your best friend, who you didn’t think of in a sexual way at all. Jay was pent-up and he wanted to push Matt. That’s why he’d said it.
Matt glanced up at his face, once. His gaze was dismissive, eyes narrowed and suspicious. The bathroom was dirty and pasted with graffiti.
“Yeah, Bird,” he said, dryly. “I’m jealous.”
And then his hand slipped downwards.
Jay went quiet and stiff and disbelieving. Time stretched out as Matt’s short nails scraped down his stomach, down the soft hair below his belly button — the soft pads of Matt’s fingers as they tickled past the waistband of his trousers — he shivered, violently. His brain was on fire. His vision had narrowed to Matt, Matt’s golden hair in the dim light, Matt’s slightly-parted lips, and, most importantly, Matt’s hand, which had now brushed a part of Jay which Jay held very dear to him.
Matt pushed Jay’s chest, lightly, with his other hand, and Jay stumbled back against the gross, sticky, graffitied wall. Matt’s elbow moved up to Jay’s chest so he’d have better leverage as he gently rubbed Jay’s dick over his underwear. Jay was rock hard and wishing right now that Matt would not-gently stroke his dick. His face felt red and he knew he must’ve looked stupid and probably out of his mind. Matt himself was looking a little out of it — he seemed eager, dizzy with power, encouraged by Jay’s lack of protestation and determined to seize every drop of every thing that Jay had to give him. He looked at Jay like he wanted to eat him. He reached past Jay’s waistband and started to jerk him off for real, slightly hurried, hand steadying himself against the wall.
“You’re not going home with that girl,” whispered Matt, once Jay was almost there, groaning into Matt’s shoulder.
Jay shook his head, clumsily. His hair tickled Matt’s ear. “No.”
Magnanimously, Matt smooth a thumb over Jay’s tip. “Good. That’s good.”
Jay groaned, and his head dipped down to kiss Matt. But Matt turned his head so that Jay landed on his cheek.
“Not while you’re drunk,” said Matt, in a different tone of voice — smaller, tighter. “Come on, Bird. Don’t be embarrassing.”
It seemed wrong for Jay not to kiss Matt. Jay’s hand found the side of Matt’s face and pulled at it insistently. But Matt held firm, and a moment later Jay wasn’t thinking about anything, because he was coming the hardest he’d ever come in his life.
Matt drew his hand out, and considered the semen on it, then made a gross face and used the beer-damp paper towels still bunched up under Jay’s shirt to wipe it off. Jay’s head tilted back to hit the wall. He was breathing hard. He kind of felt like he might pass out.
A moment later, having thrown away the paper towels, Matt returned to him. He patted the side of Jay’s face. His hand felt soft and impossibly hot.
“Stay with me, Bird.”
Jay looked down at him. He opened his mouth, to ask a question, then closed it. Matt was staring at his pants. He followed Matt’s gaze. Then, belatedly, made an indignant expression.
“You stained my pants,” said Jay, dizzily.
“No, you stained your pants.” Matt considered the stain for another moment. “At least now you’re matching,” he offered.
“I can’t go out there like this.”
“Hold on. I have an idea.”
Matt peeled off his outer shirt and pulled Jay away from the wall, reaching around him. Jay pulled in a breath as Matt’s hands encircled his back, pressing them chest to chest. And then Matt stepped back, flushed, to tie the shirt around his waist. It looked kind of stupid for Jay to be wearing a wet button up with another dry one on his hips, but it hid the stain. Matt stepped back, to admire his work, and then shyly placed a hand over his mouth. He turned away from Jay.
“Let’s go home. Okay?”
Jay stared at Matt’s back. “Okay.”
Later that night, Jay let Matt take the bathroom first, and as he fell asleep in bed (shoes on, too tired to even change his wet shirt) he pretended not to hear Matt jerking off.
—
The first time didn’t change much. It almost didn’t matter at all — it was almost as if it had never happened. They had both been drunk. Jay had definitely been drunk, anyway. He’d done, like, three shots with that girl. And Matt had probably been at least a little bit drunk, maybe, even though deep down Jay knew Matt had only had the one beer. But Matt was a lightweight. So Jay pretended that he’d forgotten about it, and Matt didn’t bring it up either, and it had basically never happened.
Things were normal. Matt continued planning and scheming and striving in that spiky, desperate, tower-of-cards-in-a-hurricane way of his. Scrambling up on top of a paper mountain and then crashing down again and again and again. The view at the peak was good enough that Jay forgave Matt every time they fell. Jay would’ve forgiven Matt for nearly anything. Probably because Jay loved him. Sometimes, though, he wondered whether the plans ever ended, for Matt — if the bathroom had been another one of them. If Jay’s whole life was one big set-up for Matt.
And then he wondered when the thing would crumble.
—
The second time neither Jay nor Matt were drunk. Instead they were in a closet. Specifically, the Rivoli’s storage closet, which they’d ended up trapped inside of as the result of a botched attempt to steal the booking book. They spent two hours standing in a room the size of a cardboard box, pressed shoulder to shoulder, listening to footsteps come and go. When it was finally quiet outside, Jay tried to leave.
“What are you doing? Bird.”
“I need to see the sun.” Jay groped for the door handle. Matt stepped in the way, back pressed to the door.
“You can’t. They might still be there.”
“I don’t hear them.”
“And they don’t hear us, do they? We’re still here, aren’t we, Bird? Or have we left already too?”
“Move.” Jay tried to push past him.
“Don’t go out there.” Matt grabbed for Jay’s shirt and landed on his sleeve, which he grappled with valiantly, stretching the cotton. “Jay. I’m serious. Don’t. It’s not safe yet.”
“I’m sick of waiting,” hissed Jay, back at him, but he ran a hand over his face instead of fighting for the handle. Even this motion knocked his elbow into a wall. His legs were cramped and the place smelled like mold. Plus he was starving. “What’s the worst that can happen if they catch us?”
Matt stared up at him incredulously, brow knit. “Uh, we get banned? The Rivoli puts our faces behind the front desk? Our lives are fucking over?”
Having spent two hours now crowded shoulder-to-shoulder with Matt, breathing his same stale air, the idea that they might be banned from the Rivoli — and, by extension, the Rivoli’s closet — was starting to sound pretty peachy. Jay was happy to spend his whole life at Matt’s side, but not more than a couple minutes pressed flush to it. A comfortable arm’s length was preferable. Otherwise, Jay started to feel hot and uncomfortable, and his hands began to itch unpleasantly with the urge to touch the milky skin on back of Matt’s neck. He moved again for the door.
“Oh my God,” said Matt through his teeth, trying to wrestle him back. Jay held him off with an arm. “I’m being serious. Why don’t you ever listen to me? I’m telling you for your own good, Bird — you’re being stupid—”
“Move your arm!”
“Stop making noise!”
Jay’s hand found the handle. At the same time, Matt’s hand moved downwards, and pressed to the front of Jay’s crotch.
For a moment, Jay was frozen — waiting for Matt to awkwardly move away, to giggle apologetically. Whoops. I was trying to wrestle you in a platonic-bro-way and accidentally touched your dick. It happens!
Matt, however, did not move away, or giggle, or apologize. Instead he stepped closer. His breaths came quick but even, puffing hot on the side of Jay’s face. His voice came deadly serious, in that laser-focused way he could get sometimes when he saw something he wanted, when he’d decided on a course of action.
“Bird,” Matt said, cautiously.
Jay looked over at him — at his expression, inscrutable in the dark closet, but so familiar that Jay could imagine it anyway, drawn brow and sharp gaze — his tone was authoritative. Some giggly, nonsensical part of Jay was suddenly convinced that Matt was going to confess his love to him. Instead, Matt continued:
“Don’t leave the closet.”
There was a beat. Those words, as they rang through Jay’s head, finally snapped him out of it.
“What the fuck?” Jay pushed him away, and Matt hit the nearest wall with a low ‘oof’ sound. Jay’s hands trembled, moving to his pants, then up to cross over his chest. “What the fuck are you doing? Fucking freak.”
Matt pushed himself upright, hands fumbling at the wall behind him.
“Telling you what to do,” he said. “Come on, Bird. You liked it. I know you like me telling you what to do. I thought it might help to add a sexual element — it helped last time.”
“Last time?”
“Oh, sorry. Are we still pretending that didn’t happen?”
“You’re — fucking insane. This is, like — uh—”
He struggled to find the right words. Calling Matt palming his dick “assault” seemed false and girlish. It wasn’t like it hadn’t happened before, from Matt. Even before the bar: one time last year when they were both drunk Matt had put his feet in Jay’s lap and moved them around a bit in something that didn’t quite count as a come-on and they’d both sat there breathing and watching Frasier in silence. And they hit each other all the time — touched each other — this time it had just been less violent. Which, un-intuitively, made it worse.
Jay settled, lamely, on: “…it’s workplace harassment.”
Matt blinked.
“Well — it isn’t technically workplace harassment, Bird. Because the Rivoli isn’t a place of work for us yet. That’s the whole point of this trip.”
“So it’s just normal harassment, then.”
“Yeah. Exactly.” This whole time, Matt had been inching closer. Now he was successfully back in Jay’s space. His hand reached forward again. “To make you listen to me.”
Jay caught his wrist, flushing.
“You think I’m going to listen to you because you ball tapped me?”
“It wasn’t a ball tap. I already told you, it was a sexual proposition. And, yes, I do — because your dick is one of the only things you listen to. More than you listen to me. Or your mother.”
“Don’t bring up my mother.”
Matt tried to pull his hand free from Jay’s grasp. After a delayed moment, Jay let go, and Matt rubbed his freed wrist.
“And it worked, didn't it?” Matt cocked his head, far too confident for a man who’d just openly admitted to having sexual designs on his lifelong best friend. Jay didn’t understand Matt’s ability to just breeze past these things — bad things, like homosexuality, and identity theft, and breaking and entering. “You’re listening to me. You’re not leaving. You could’ve left when you shoved me and you didn’t. Because you liked it.”
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t like it.”
“Leave, then.”
But Jay didn’t leave. He just stood there, breathing loudly with Matt in the Rivoli’s tiny, dark closet. Going along with it, like he always did. His heart was beating out of his chest. The shelving on one side formed dark bars next to Matt’s expectant face. He wanted to say something else or run or maybe grab Matt’s hand and make him touch him again, but he didn’t want to break the moment, ruin it, even more — didn’t want to scare Matt off, to trigger a change in mood, a big reveal that Matt hadn’t really meant it. He wanted to see what Matt would do next. That was the part he loved about Matt. So he stayed quiet.
After another moment of Jay still not leaving, Matt reached forward, cautiously, and touched the fly of his jeans. Jay didn’t recoil. Instead, his hand found Matt’s, and pressed it closer.
Matt smiled, not mockingly. Almost sweetly.
“I knew it,” he said, glancing at the door, then back at Jay with a silent laugh. His face twisted triumphantly. “I knew that wasn’t a one-off. I mean, you’d take it from practically anyone when we were kids. Like, is this how you reacted to that ugly fucking girl with the buckteeth in high school? You stood there and let it happen? Ooh, Matt, she paid for dinner, so I had to put out — but I just feel so dirty—”
“What, do you keep a record of the girls I’ve slept with?” Jay’s attention was increasingly split between Matt’s words and his hands as Matt unbuttoned his jeans, and fumbled down the zipper. The sound of the zipper was like a firecracker in the closet.
“Only the really horrible ones,” whispered Matt, affectionately. “The real fucking uggos. The ones that made me wonder how desperate you were.”
“Like you slept with any girls back then.”
“Yeah, ‘cause I wasn’t pathetically horned up enough to let ol’ Sally bucktooth give me head beneath the bleachers.”
“Are you Sally, in this scenario? Are you comparing yourself to an ugly girl?”
Matt pulled out Jay’s dick, unceremoniously, as Jay simultaneously pulled in a sharp breath. Matt looked up at him, as if surprised that he was actually aroused. They made eye contact. Matt’s brown eyes were luminescent in the low light, eyelashes fluttering. Then Matt looked away.
“I think I would probably make a pretty ugly girl,” he continued, in a tight voice, still holding Jay’s dick. “Hey, you’re kind of hard already, huh? You better not actually be attracted to me, Bird, or this is gonna get real awkward next time we visit your parents. Mom, Matt sucked me off in a closet. What’s that mean? So much to mine there from your fucked-up psyche — for one, there’s the whole closet double entendre—”
“Stop talking,” hissed Jay, stepping forward, to force Matt back against the wall. “Just shut up.”
And Matt did shut up, mouth obligingly snapping closed. Jay’s felt like he was burning up inside at Matt’s reaction, eyes wide and absorbing, letting Jay crowd him back. He was half waiting for Matt to laugh, to find out this was all one big practical joke — did Jay really think Matt would do this sober? was he stupid? — and thought the best defense to that possibility was probably a bit of aggression on Jay’s part. He had more experience with this stuff, anyway, as much as Matt liked to boss and talk and bluff.
“Is that what you’re gonna do?” Jay struggled to keep his voice even — to make it sound like a challenge, and not a request. “Suck me off? Or are you all talk?”
Matt answered this, clear and concisely, by dropping to his knees.
He made a noise of complaint as he hit the ground with his bare knees through those stupid ripped jeans, then looked up at Jay, pointedly. At this point Matt’s face was bright red, and from how Jay’s face felt hot, he was sure he didn’t look any better. He reached forward, without thinking, and mussed Matt’s hair.
Matt sucked in a breath, but let him. His head swayed with the motion, slightly, and when Jay let him go his hair stuck up at odd angles. But it looked too adorable like that, so Jay patted it down a bit, brushing it back from his forehead. When he was finished, Matt blinked up at him, confused, and a little defensive.
Vaguely embarrassed, Jay’s hand came up to the side of his own face, and raked back through his own hair, before settling to prop himself up against the wall. “Well?”
“If you’re done petting me.” Matt’s nose wrinkled, expression twisting. “That was pretty cute, Jay. Real girlfriend-y. Do you, like, think about doing that a lot, or—”
Matt’s mind was like a radar signal tuned into all of Jay’s insecurities. He could sense shame like a bloodhound. “Are you going to do it or not?”
Matt laughed, meanly, and leaned forward. He put a hand on the base and licked the tip of Jay’s dick, kittenish. Jay had kind of expected him to bite.
“Ew,” he pulled back to say, in a pleasant voice, before wrapping his lips around him.
And that was it. Jay was walking on air, again. No — Jay was in the mud. Matt had pulled Jay down once again into the world of the senses, of lust and fluids and dirt. Lightning-bolt nerve signals shot down Jay’s lower back and overrode his brain’s rational signaling to tell his hand to actually move to Matt’s head again right now, which it did, to no audible complaint from Matt. Possibly because Matt’s mouth was otherwise occupied. Jay let out a choked noise as Matt swallowed awkwardly around him, only half of him, spit beading on his lower lip. His hand moved to Matt’s ear, caressing it, lightly, and then to grip Matt’s hair, to pull him forward encouragingly. “Fuck,” Jay groaned, torn between vague shame and sharp desire. The desire won. He thrust forward, shallowly, hand curling against the wall. “MJ. Fuck. Please.”
Matt moved his hand up to the base of Jay’s dick, where he began to stroke it, which Jay was in favor of, and then also pulled his mouth off of him — and action to which Jay was strictly opposed. Jay’s hips canted forward, slightly, chasing him.
“Bird,” said Matt, sternly, in a strained voice, wiping his mouth with his wrist. He kind of sounded like Jay’s mom after a 15 hour shift when she just wanted to get changed and go to bed and for him to stop playing those damn video games. “Stay quiet. We’re hiding.”
“Sure,” Jay agreed, blearily. He would’ve agreed to anything Matt said right then. “Of course.”
“Do you understand me? Is this getting through to you? Do you know where we are? We’re hiding in a closet.”
“I understand.”
Matt leveled him with a doubtful look, but obligingly leaned forward again, and then as Jay stepped forward eagerly to meet him Matt leaned away, so Matt’s head was nearly pressed to the wall as Jay dropped a hand to Matt’s mouth and tried to pry it open. Matt stared blankly. He guided the tip of his dick to Matt’s mouth, as if Matt hadn’t understood his intentions before; pressed against his pursed lips, smearing them with precome. Jay was becoming frustrated, as Matt’s hand rose again to grip him by the base.
“That’s what I like about you Jews — all circumcised,” said Matt, nudging Jay’s dick aside with a finger so he could keep talking. “It’s a very strange practice, you know? Ever think about that? It can’t be because of health reasons. Do you feel like it’s an assault on your autonomy? Some people say it is, but I’m in favor of it. I think it builds community. Like how women who get groped at work all have great solidarity with each other and band together to kill their bosses.”
“I’m not Jewish,” said Jay. He took Matt’s mouth being open as an opportunity to slide his thumb neatly onto Matt’s lower molars. “Stop squirming.”
“‘Ou sdop being a goward,” said Matt, indistinctly, around Jay’s thumb, and then said something else in high-pitched words which Jay could not discern but knew were mocking. How the hell was Matt mocking him when Matt was the one sucking his dick? Matt was being way more gay right now. And yet Jay was still the one who felt embarrassed: shamed, then somewhat angry at the shame. Matt was always the one who did fucked up stuff and Jay was always the one who had to face the consequences — fucked up stuff like starting to give him a blowjob and then stopping to talk about Jews, or breaking into the Rivoli without an exit plan, or making people at bars mad and then dumping Jay on them to smooth it over. With the finger hooked in Matt’s mouth to keep it open, he shifted his hips forward, and Matt made a muffled sound. Matt was always above him, always leading Jay one way or another, and this was just another instance of it — Jay was doing exactly what Matt wanted, right now, which was to be quiet, and not leave the closet, and let Matt manipulate him sexually. Jay was playing right into his hands. Hands and other body parts. The thought occurred to him that Matt had planned this whole encounter in advance, and as soon as it did, the righteous flames of certainty rooted in his gut, mixing headily with his arousal. Matt was amazing. Matt could do anything. Matt could make Jay do anything. He came within a minute.
“Fuck.” He pulled out, and a bit of semen trailed him on Matt’s lips. Matt swallowed, thickly, and didn’t even look mad that Jay had just come down his throat without even asking to. A girl definitely would’ve hit him.
“Are you…” Jay looked down. He didn’t really want to jerk Matt off. He mostly just wanted to go to bed. “Do you want me to—”
“Uh, no. No. I’m okay.” Matt stood, shakily, propping himself up against the wall. His face was bright red. His tongue ran over his lower lip. There was a dark spot on his jeans.
Jay stared. “Did you—”
“I said I’m fine.”
“Right.”
Jay reached forward, without really thinking, and ran his thumb over Matt’s chin — to clean it up. Matt froze, not wanting to scare him off. Then he wiped it on Matt’s shirt.
Matt blinked down at his finger. Then up at Jay, incredulous.
“Bird. Gross.”
“Sorry. You look — hot.”
“Really?”
Matt actually looked kind of disgusting. It was in a hot way though. And it was a result of him sucking Jay’s dick, so Jay didn’t think he could complain about it. “Yeah.”
“Well. Thank you, man.” Matt clapped him awkwardly on the shoulder. He turned back to the supply shelves. “I wonder if they have any napkins or anything.”
He reached for something near the back. This motion knocked something else, which fell with a loud clatter onto the concrete floor. Jay cursed.
“Dude — be quiet,” Jay hissed, suddenly extremely conscious about how gross they both probably looked. “They’ll hear us.”
Matt gave him a confused look, still groping around for napkins. “What are you talking about?”
Jay was at a loss. “We need to be quiet. It’s been this whole big thing. Because we’re hiding in a closet.” Another pause. “In the Rivoli. ”
Matt made a face of understanding, then turned back to the shelves. “Oh — that,” he said, as if he’d forgotten they were even in a closet in the Rivoli. “It’s okay. They’re not going to hear us.”
Jay hesitated.
“What? Why not?”
“They’re closed. They closed, like, an hour ago.” Matt shot him a shit-eating grin. “Nobody’s here but us, Bird.”
Jay blinked at him. Matt’s smile faltered, as he tensed away, slightly.
Then Jay laughed.
Relieved, Matt started to laugh, too. Which made Jay laugh more. So the two of them were standing there laughing hysterically together. And if any Rivoli employees had walked past them outside, they would’ve thought it was a very funny closet.
—
After the second time, there soon came a third in their apartment’s foyer when Jay wanted to get another far-away job, and Matt wanted him to stay at home forever. Then there was a fourth in their car when Jay had looked at their waitress’s tits too long, and soon a fifth on their couch when Jay tried to pick a bad movie to watch, and sixth against Jay’s dresser when Jay didn’t want to get up early. Every time Matt had trouble getting Jay on board with a plan, or wanted to convince him of something, or just wanted Jay to do what he wanted, Jay found himself with Matt’s hand down his pants or looking down at Matt on his knees or, once, humping Matt’s his leg in their apartment’s bathroom. The only place it never happened was a bed. That seemed a step too far.
Otherwise, though, the arrangement worked out well, if always at slightly uncomfortable angles. At first Jay was frustrated because it seemed like Matt was getting everything Matt wanted all the time. But then he realized that had been happening before Matt had started giving him blow jobs. Really he was just getting free head. So he stopped feeling so annoyed or embarrassed about it every time he came, and soon Matt stopped smiling smugly when he finished, too. Jay started to disagree with Matt just to goad Matt into touching him. Matt started to give him frustrated looks and roll his eyes in distaste, which was how Jay knew he was winning. It felt good to win, for once. Even if it resulted in Jay making zero decisions about their shared lives or money or activities.
—
The last time it happened was also the day of what was possibly their worst plan yet. Matt and Jay had gotten caught trying to carry a “delivery” of a “new sound system” into the back of the Rivoli. An employee had asked to see their credentials. Matt had whispered something about Jay being good into Jay’s ear and Jay had felt all hot and then Matt had told him to take off his shirt and Jay did. And Matt had pressed play on the sound system, which started blasting Radiohead, and told the Rivoli that Vince Valence had hired them as male strippers and the Rivoli needed to pay them now or they would sue.
The employee, possibly scared for his life, ran back inside to get Valence. And Matt and Jay had taken off. It was only halfway home that Jay had realized he’d forgotten his shirt, and he was forced to walk shivering down the sidewalk while passerby gave him strange looks. It was not a good experience.
“We’ll get ‘em next time,” said Matt, cheerfully, closing the door behind them as Jay ran to his bedroom for a shirt.
When Jay reappeared he was in the kitchen, holding their landline phone.
“Those people thought I was some kind of exhibitionist,” said Jay, wrestling the shirt over his head. He was kind of an exhibitionist at this point, he supposed: he and Matt had done it in “public” places almost half as much as they’d done it in their shitty apartment.
“I’m getting Chinese,” said Matt, elbows propped up on the counter as he dialed. “Do we have any beer? Should I run out?”
Jay hesitated. He still felt wound up from having Matt whisper in his ear and following Matt’s orders and walking home while people stared at him. He walked up to stand at the counter beside Matt, and casually leaned beside him.
“I don’t really want Chinese,” said Jay, slowly.
Matt flipped through their drawer of takeout menus. “What do you want?”
Jay wanted so many things. “Subs,” he said, instead. “From Tony’s.”
Matt groaned, head falling to his hand.
“Not Tony’s, dude. Come on. Half of the sandwich is fucking mayonnaise—”
“I like Tony’s.”
“I think you might be the only bastard on Earth dumb enough to like Tony’s. I think you must be singlehandedly keeping their store in business.”
“You just don’t like lettuce.”
“‘Cause theirs is wilted.”
“It’s fine lettuce — you just don’t like lettuce. You could order the sandwich without lettuce.”
Matt crossed one foot over his ankle, making a face. “Who gets a sub without lettuce? That’s insane. You sick fuck.”
“Well,” demurred Jay. “I’m not completely opposed to Chinese.” He reached out a hand, to pinch Matt’s side. Matt tensed, going all quiet and stiff like he always did when Jay came onto him. Jay left his hand there, and rubbed his thumb on Matt’s waist in small circles. “Maybe — I don’t know. You could convince me.”
Matt pulled in a breath. Looked down at his hand. Then looked over at Jay.
“Now?”
Jay made an innocent expression. “Now what? Huh?”
“Oh, fuck you. You know what.” But Matt lowered himself onto his knees anyway. He was already red, reaching for Jay’s fly. “Come here.”
“So eager,” remarked Jay, sotto-voce.
Matt’s eyes flicked up to him. “You don’t even care that it’s me, do you, Jaybird? You just want someone to suck your dick. I think at this point I could sub in, like, my grandmother, and it would all be the same for you. Fucking gumming it up down here. You’d probably be into that — freak.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“Yeah, alright, I get it — Jay has no come-back, Jay’s brain no work so hard, use small words instead.” He mouthed over Jay’s underwear, then tugged it down. “I’m not annoying, by the way.”
“You are annoying. Nobody likes you but me.”
“You really know how to get a girl hot. Women must love you.” The insult from Matt didn’t have much bite considering that women did love Jay, generally, and that fact was what had started this whole thing to begin with. Also because Matt’s lips were now wrapped around his tip. Then Matt continued, pulling off, and sucking in more air: “This is starting to become, like, one of those pornos where instead of paying rent the girl sucks off her landlord. Except I’m the one who pays most of our rent. Because your mom stopped sending you money, since she’s disappointed in you. She told me that, you know.”
Then he went back to sucking Jay’s dick.
Standing there, dumbly, Jay felt a confusing mix of emotions. First, anger: he kept asking Matt not to bring up his mom. Because it made Jay feel hurt — the second emotion in the milieu. The third and most powerful emotion was arousal. It was all very mixed-up. Matt always got him mixed-up. Matt made him pull off his shirt, Matt humiliated him, Matt went for cheap shots and told Jay what to do and kept him in the mud — Jay could’ve paid more for rent if Matt didn’t insist at every turn on stifling Jay’s potential. Jay hated Matt. He hated him. Matt made an indignant sound as Jay thrust forward.
For a moment Matt struggled to hold control over the pace, and they were locked in a small power struggle. Matt’s expression was dizzy and slightly affronted, as if he hadn’t expected Jay to take charge and didn’t know what yet to make of it. He clumsily wiped drool from his chin with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, swallowing loudly, which made Jay groan and push in harder. His teeth scraped over Jay lightly, in warning, and Jay cursed and shuddered and this basically had the opposite effect. The back of Matt's head bumped the cabinet. Matt’s lips were swollen and red, eyes tearing up slightly, narrowed in a goading heat.
And then something wonderful happened: Matt completely surrendered. His mouth fell somewhat slack, and his eyes fluttered shut, and he passively let Jay mouth-fuck him against the cabinets. Jay watched Matt, enraptured — Matt sitting there placidly like a saint in his skewed button-up shirt and ripped jeans, Matt sitting there like a whore with his flushed ears and tense shoulders. Jay seized his hair and pulled, and Matt’s throat tightened. Jay wanted to keep him happy. Jay hated him. Jay wanted to kill him. Jay wanted to cry. He squeezed his eyes shut.
After about fifteen seconds of this Jay felt a hand tap the side of his thigh, and then, when he didn’t respond, shove hard at his hip. In an enormous show of strength he opened his eyes and let go and pulled away all at once. As he did Matt gasped for air, bending forward, choking on his own saliva and dizzily scrubbing at his face.
“Oh, shit.” Jay froze, standing over Matt, who was spitting on the floor. “Matt?”
Matt rocked back to sit on his heels. He had his arm over his face. After a moment of silence he lowered it. His expression was concentrated. His eyes were red and piqued.
“You were choking me,” he said, voice fading out. He looked small like this, sitting against the wall, shoulders hunched up to his ears.
Jay’s face burned.
“I’m sorry.”
Matt cleared his throat. His face was red, and he was staring pointedly at the floor. Not looking at where Jay’s dick hung awkwardly next to his face.
“I just didn’t expect it from you,” he rasped, wetly, hands clenched in his lap. He tried to say the next part lightly, but it came out tense. “Could you, like, uh — are you open to taking notes? Could you maybe be nicer? Like, stop saying that mean stuff?”
Jay was at a loss. “What? I didn’t — did I say anything?”
Matt looked up at him. “You kind of called me a whore, and a bitch. And then said you hated me.”
Had Jay said that out loud? Oh, shit. He was a piece of shit. Fuck. Jay felt his heart sink like a stone — felt a pure, terrifying dread. It was one thing for him and Matt to trade insults — for Jay to call Matt annoying and for Matt to bring up his mom. Choking Matt and saying he hated him felt different. It felt emptier.
“That’s not how I feel.”
“I kind of understand why that girl ran out on you,” Matt said, thickly, trying to make it a joke. “In retrospect. You remember that one time? When I was blind?”
Jay went red with shame. “I’m sorry. Seriously, Matt. I didn’t even know I was saying it.”
Still looking askance, Matt’s face pinched at the clear implication that Jay was thinking that he hated Matt, and was only sorry that he’d said it. His expression then ran past nausea and into a controlled spiral of desperately needing control. He looked humiliated. His hands were trembling a bit at his sides. He straightened his voice out.
“You know what? Uh — no. I’m done. This is — yeah, too much for me. If you don't even like me.” Matt rocked back to his feet, bracing himself on the cabinet, and then clumsily levered himself to stand, only shaking slightly. “I’m done with all of this.” He walked over to the landline and picked it up, dialing quickly. His voice was hoarse.
“Hello? Tony’s? Two large submarine sandwiches with—”
“Wait a second.” Jay walked over and snatched the phone out of his hand. “What are you doing?”
Matt shot him a bitter look. His face was unevenly flushed and his shirt collar was out of place. “Ordering food, Jay. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Jay put the phone back on the receiver. “Matt. Please. I’m sorry that — I got caught up in the moment. I didn’t mean it. I seriously don’t — think that of you. At all. The opposite, if anything.”
Matt looked at him furious — more furious than Jay had ever seen him, except maybe that one time back in high school when Ryan Perkins had told everyone that Matt wore a dress to another school’s prom. It’s not even true, Matt had said. The stupid thing is that it’s not even true. If they’re all gonna think it, he could’ve at least found something true.
“I see what you’re doing here.” Matt’s voice trembled with rage. “You’re trying your fucking — lines on me. ‘Cause you want me to go back to giving you a blowjob. I thought — I’m not even as good as a girl to you, am I? You’re not my boyfriend. You don’t have to give a shit.” Matt pressed his hands to his face. “Fuck. I’m not a pussy, okay? I’m not a girl. I don’t care — I don’t care about it. I just fucking hate you for reasons unrelated to us having sex.”
Jay was a little lost. “I really — I don’t know what you’re talking about, Matt. I’m not trying anything on you.”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t care anymore. You can go back to bringing girls home. It’s not fucking worth feeling this shitty.”
“MJ,” said Jay. “I don’t know why — you think I stopped seeing girls? Were you expecting that?”
Matt’s hands pulled down to his chin so he could level Jay with an cold, empty look. Then he reached over and picked up the landline from the wall, and, without any warning, threw it as hard as he could at the wall behind Jay’s head.
The phone slammed against the drywall over the piano. It fell with a sound of plastic snapping into two pieces on the floor. Matt was breathing hard. Jay stared at him.
“Matt,” he said, again, cautiously.
But Matt had already turned, and left the apartment.
—
Matt didn’t come home that night, which left Jay plenty of time to rerun the day in his head and think about all of the ways he’d fucked up. He wondered where Matt was staying. He hoped Matt was okay. He tried calling him but Matt didn’t pick up, and on the fifteenth call the phone gave the little message it did whenever somebody had blocked you. Jay almost threw it across the room but he kind of needed it now that their landline was broken. Instead he punched the wall, and then felt himself start to cry. Jay never cried. Matt was always the big crier — the big everything, the one who felt everything. Jay was so surprised that he was crying that it made him stop crying.
He lay in bed for hours that night, not sleeping. He thought about what his life would look like without Matt. How empty and gray it would be. How fucking incredibly, tediously boring, how lonely, how aimless. His hands came up to rub his tired eyes. What would Matt do in his situation? Come up with an idea, probably. A plan to fix everything between them. He was a genius. Jay could tell just by the way Matt talked that Matt was a genius. Sometimes when they went out to places with smart people, college bars and coffee shops, Jay watched people slowly crowd around Matt to listen to him talk — and Jay had to pretend that they were all making fun of Matt, and get Matt out of there, or else the jealousy in his stomach threatened to go full-on acidic and kill him. And Matt loved him for it, loved when he got possessive, got stars in his eyes and started to giggle and tease him. Jay knew Matt loved him from the way Matt looked at him. Matt loved him and he’d still treated Matt like shit. Why did Matt love him? Jay didn’t know. Jay wouldn’t have loved Jay.
Jay couldn’t do what Matt did. But he could do something that Jay did.
—
The next day, Matt came home. Jay was quietly relieved, but gave him space. He seemed sad and distracted. He went straight to his room and stayed there, doing — something, Jay didn’t know what — until dinner time.
“Jay,” he said, finding Jay in their living room. He didn't make eye contact, hugging his arms over his chest. “I think we need to—” he trailed off.
Matt's brow pinched. “What’s this?”
Jay had been waiting for Matt, sitting on the couch with his chin in his hands. Now he stood.
“It’s a dinner table,” he said, then cursed himself. That wasn’t what he’d been planning to start with.
“It has a tablecloth,” said Matt, curiosity winning over whatever he’d just been about to say to Jay. “Do we own this table? Did you steal it?”
The table was, indeed, covered in a red tablecloth — with a sewn-on picture of a turkey in one corner. (Thanksgiving-themed had been the only tablecloth he’d been able to find.) Sitting on top of it was a half-burnt out candle and two take-out boxes of food from Matt’s favorite restaurant. Matt opened one of the boxes, inquisitive, then glanced up at Jay with his eyebrows raised.
“Matt, listen,” started Jay, again. “I love you. I’m sorry I’ve been — like, a total piece of shit recently. I liked feeling like I was getting one over on you. It was selfish and stupid. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, and if you left me I would kill myself.”
Matt’s expression brightened somewhat, clearly flattered by this.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“That’s sweet, Bird.” Slightly flushed, Matt crossed his arms, and looked down at the floor. “I don’t — it’s not totally your fault. I did, like, start it. And I goaded you on. But I was actually really fucking pissed at you. I’m still a little angry. You made me feel like shit.”
“I know. I don’t want to make you feel that way.”
“I think you do, sometimes. But that’s okay. Sometimes I like that part of you.” Matt hesitated. “Makes it — exciting. It just got too much.”
There was a pause. Jay watched Matt’s expression, closely. Matt watched the candle. Jay pulled in a breath.
“It always feels like — you’re out ahead of me.” Jay swallowed. “And it’s hard for me to keep up. And I’m scared you’re going to leave. So I guess — that’s why, maybe.”
Matt looked up at him, suddenly. “I’m not out ahead of you. I’m sick of you acting like this is — my choice. Like all of this is on me. You wanted it too. I know you wanted it.”
“I still want it,” Jay admitted. “Because I want you.”
The candlelight flickered on the ceiling. Matt sat down at the table.
He drummed his fingers on the table as Jay lit up, and eagerly took the seat across from him.
“This is super cheesy of you, Bird.”
“It’s actually lactose-free.”
Matt cracked a smile, and flipped open the food container. “You fucking idiot.” He shoveled a bit into his mouth. “I love you, too,” he said, into the container of food. “By the way.”
“I know.”
Matt snorted. “Prick. Sorry if it’s obvious.”
Jay flushed. “No, I meant — you know. Star Wars.”
“What?”
“Star Wars. I know. Hans Solo says that.”
Matt nodded, distracted.
“Oh. Right. I know that Hans Solo says that.”
Jay was suddenly doubtful. “Says what?”
“Huh? That thing — you said.”
“MJ.” Jay set down his fork. This was suddenly a conversation of vital importance. “Have you seen Star Wars?”
—
After eating, they watched Matt’s favorite movie on the couch (notably, not Star Wars — Jay hadn’t been able to needle an answer out of him on that front) and then Matt was ready to go to bed. When Jay instead took his wrist and pulled him gently to Jay’s room, Matt followed him. Then stepped through the door and his mouth dropped open, and he began to laugh hysterically.
“Come on.” Jay pulled him inside. “It’s not that bad.”
The bed and floor was covered with rose petals. More mismatched candles sat on Jay’s desk, in front of his powered-down computer. The full moon filtered through the clouded window. The bedroom’s light was dim and warm. Sitting on the bed was a CVS bag spilling over with condoms.
Matt looped an arm around his shoulder. “Yeah. It definitely is.”
“Wait. Hold on — I forgot.”
Jay pulled him back outside, and then picked Matt up. It was very difficult and awkward because Matt was a full-grown (if a bit scrawny) young man and Jay was not very strong. He carried Matt through the bedroom door, and then set him down on the floor again.
“Jesus,” said Matt, as Jay let him go, but he didn’t follow this up with anything else. And his whole neck and where his chest peeked through the top of his shirt was lit up red. So Jay took that as a good sign.
Jay was a little nervous. He wiped his hands on his pants. “Since it’s our first time,” he said, softly. “I wanted to do it right.”
Matt glanced at him, air between them tense, then quickly moved to stare at the bed incredulously. He pulled open the CVS bag with a finger.
“What, are you suddenly the gay Casanova? What’s going on? Are you seriously a faggot, and I just didn’t know?”
Jay wasn’t sure to answer that. He wasn’t sure how he could be a “faggot” without Matt knowing, considering Matt had been giving him blowjobs for the past two weeks. “You’re gay, Matt.”
“Not to this degree. This is pathological.” Matt picked up the bottle. “What is this stuff? Are we eating it?”
“It’s just lube.”
“Why do we even need condoms? We can’t get pregnant. Unless there’s something you want to tell me.”
“They’re for — protection.” Jay flushed, embarrassed. “We don’t have to use them.”
“Sexpert Jay McCarroll. Jesus.” Matt sifted through the condoms. “I feel like I’m a kid on Christmas morning. But, like, if I’d been raised by a pedophile who only gave creepy sex gifts.”
“Will you get in the bed already?”
“Whatever you say.” Matt climbed up, and then awkwardly sat next to the condoms, giving them a wide berth. “I can’t believe how much thought you put into this.”
“Is it weird?”
“It’s kind of sweet. It’s a little weird. I like being in your bed. Is that weird? It feels too real. Like seeing your teacher in a grocery store. Or thinking of a dream you had and then realizing it’s a memory.”
“Right. Yeah. Exactly.” Jay sat down on the other side of the bed, which depressed, clutching the edge of it. “Anyway, you can choose. If you wanna — you know, put it in, or the other way around. Because I’m fine with it. Either way.”
Matt looked over at him, surprised, and suddenly flushed red.
“Come here,” he said, grabbing the front of Jay’s shirt. “Before I turn crazy.”
“Too late for that,” murmured Jay. Matt reached up and pinched his cheek as Jay rolled on top of him, scattering the condoms.
Jay pulled his knees up so he was kneeling. It struck him almost immediately that there was definitely something better about this than the blow jobs. Not that those weren’t great. But it was more comfortable on the bed, for one. And Matt was looking up at him almost shyly, though he was covering it with his usual challenging stare. Jay shucked off his shirt, and Matt took the hint, and reached up to unbutton his own. A few moments later and they were both sitting there bare-chested, which had never happened before. Or, they’d both been bare-chested together before, but not in the context of having sex. Jay could see both of them breathing. He reached down and touched Matt’s side, and Matt shivered.
“MJ,” said Jay, reverently. His voice was thick. “You know I love you, right?”
Matt sat up, and kissed him.
The kiss was all Matt — which was to say, aggressive and over-eager and controlling. Matt’s arm was around the back of Jay’s neck, squeezing. Their teeth knocked together. He kissed like he was trying to prove a point, or get something over with. Jay didn’t want to get any of this over with. He wanted Matt to stay here forever. What else was the point of the candles and dinner and stuff? He grabbed Matt’s arm from his neck, and wrestled it down by the elbow. Then Jay’s hand slid up Matt’s forearm, and laced their hands together. Matt froze. Jay squeezed Matt’s hand, gently.
Matt took in a shaky breath, receptive. His hand hesitated, then squeezed back, so light Jay could barely feel it. Jay leaned forward, so Matt was forced to lean back, and softened the kiss. He held Matt steady as Matt wriggled, slightly. Matt was tearing up again. Jay could tell because Matt’s hand that Jay wasn’t holding kept coming up to wipe his face. Jay moved his free hand to rub up and down Matt’s side. Like he was soothing an animal. Even though Matt was shorter than him, he was unwieldy, limbs bony and heavy and sticking out too far. Jay’s head felt full of cotton. He pulled away from Matt, placing a finger between their lips as Matt instinctively chased after him, and there was a second where Matt’s expression went from stunned and glazed-over to hurt and betrayed again. But then Jay moved down to kiss his neck, and Matt stiffened again, shivering, arms moving to wrap Jay in a tight, anchoring embrace.
“I love you, Matt,” said Jay, hiding his face in Matt’s shoulder. Matt cursed, softly, holding him closer. Jay kissed the side of his neck again, fondly, then whispered into his skin. “I love you because you’re weird, and all over the place, and you take everything too far.” His words were muffled against Matt’s skin. “I love you because you’re brilliant and funny and — the most interesting person I’ve ever met.” His hand moved down, and settle to solidly, possessively grip the soft skin of Matt’s waist. “I couldn’t live without you.”
“Fuck,” Matt hissed, and ground up into Jay’s stomach. “Jay.”
“Matt,” said Jay, breathily. Suddenly, as if only know remembering it was an option, he reached down to fumble with Matt’s jeans. Matt stared disbelievingly as Jay tugged them off, lifting his hips belatedly to help. Then Jay pulled off his own jeans, and they were both in their underwear.
Matt giggled, but it turned into a tight, self-conscious smile. He looked a little bit scared. He blinked wide, hand coming up again to rub his face. “Jesus. Wow.”
“Here.” Jay reached forward, and pulled down Matt’s boxers. “Can I?”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
Jay felt a little bit better when he saw how hard Matt was. He fumbled for the lube. He’d done anal with a pink-haired bisexual girl once, two years ago, and was pretty sure the general principles were all the same. When he touched Matt, Matt got all tense, even his mouth pressed into a line, and Jay had to go back to kissing him for a while as he worked a finger in. He kept asking if Matt was alright and good with it until Matt finally got pissed and told him to stop being a baby and fuck him already, and was he this slow with all the girls, because then Matt would understand them leaving him.
“I’m being nice,” said Jay, stifling a smile. “Can you be nice? I want this to be nice.”
“What’s that, your word of the day? You’re never nice.”
“I’m nice.” Jay pecked him on the mouth, to prove it.
Matt turned his head away so he could keep talking.
“Yeah, in that bratty surface-level way of being nice. Like a high school girl who compliments her friend’s skirt, except she really wants to get with the friend’s football boyfriend.” Matt’s voice was pitchier and wavering more than usual. “‘Cause he’s — huge, and masculine, and is a total sexual dynamo. But he has a secret room in his basement where he kills people, and if the girl gets what she wants he’s gonna wear her skin. That’s who I am in this scenario, by the way.”
“The evil football guy?”
“Yeah. So watch out.”
“Won’t go into the apartment’s basement, I guess.” Jay started to finger Matt harder, and Matt hissed, nails digging into Jay’s shoulders. “What would my name be?”
Matt understood instantly. “Lydia.”
“Lydia?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a terrible name. That’s an old woman name.”
“Lydia’s a sweet girl’s name,” said Matt, though he cut off himself off with a stream of expletives as Jay’s fingers hit a spot. His head tilted forward and his eyes squeezed shut, face red. “Fuck, Jay, fuck — please—”
Jay pulled out, and lined himself up. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“Can we please have sex already,” said Matt, in a rush, staring up at him.
Jay pushed into him.
When Jay thought back to him and Matt first becoming friends, he would never imagined that leading to them having missionary sex on Jay’s bed. Or any type of sex, for that matter. But it was nice — that was really the best word for it. There were not many nice things in Jay’s life, but Matt was one of them. Matt was beautiful and complicated and very very nice. Matt was staring up at him with this vulnerable, half out-of-it expression, his full lips parted and his eyes blinking lazily in awe, like Jay was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen in his life. Every time Jay thrust forward both of them rocked a bit, like they were dancing. The only thing that was missing was music. Jay had to remember that for next time: music. A playlist, or something. Obviously Jay couldn’t play the piano while they were having sex. Or maybe they could try that, too.
“MJ. You’re so good, Matt.”
“Jay.” Matt’s eyes opened, and he looked at Jay, face red, hair rumpled. Pupils blown out and unfocused with lust. He leaned forward to kiss him again, still rolling his hips. “I love you.”
When Matt came he made a little, breathy, wounded sound, and when Jay finished and pulled out he started to tear up again. Jay collapsed beside him, then wrapped his arms around Matt, possessively pulling him close. He wanted Matt to feel that Jay needed him. He wanted it to be physical. He would’ve tied them together if he could’ve. After a while of them dozing off, Matt blinked, sleepily, and looked up at him. The cum was starting to go a bit cold on Jay’s stomach. It was the best he’d ever felt in his life. He wondered what Matt was thinking. Per usual, he didn’t have to wonder for long.
“You made me gross, Bird,” complained Matt, into Jay’s chest. “You’re so needy.”
Jay buried his face in Matt’s hair, affectionately kissing the side of his head. “We can do this again, right?”
“Uh, fucking obviously. You owe me, like, 10 blow jobs. You asshole.”
“So — every time I blow you, do I get to make a decision for us, or—”
“No way. Are you kidding? You can’t handle that kind of power.”
“Can we at least watch Star Wars?”
Matt let out a protracted sigh. Then:
“I guess that’s fine. But I’m telling you — I’ve definitely seen it.”
“Whatever you say.”
That was the first second-time it happened. Sometimes last times weren’t so bad, if they led into new, better first times. The great thing about living with Matt, really, was that there was a new first time every day — a hundred million wonderful firsts around every corner. Jay thought it would probably be better to stop counting, at this point, and start living them instead, for the next however-many-years this lasted. Maybe then it would never end.