Natsby synesthesia au
Jay Gatsby had been seeing sounds, hearing flavors, and tasting colors for his entire life. Nobody really knew, not beyond his parents, but he hadn't visited them in years. For the most part, he simply relished in the colors and tastes and sounds privately, enjoying how the name Daisy tasted like lemons or how little orange squiggles would chase across his vision at the sound of ice. It wasn't like it affected business or anything anyway - if anything it helped get him through boring business meetings or conversations with the rich people of his parties.
The parties themselves were loud, colorful, sensual, items created purely for his own synesthesian satisfaction. Jay liked how the parties boosted his feelings, bodies intertwining and smooth jazz music decorating his view full of colors and sounds and tastes. Sometimes it was almost dizzying in the sensory overload, an endless stream of data that his mind painted into chaotic modernist paintings. The large congregation of people collided with sparkly champagne and trembling music and it was like Jay was a blank slate for everyone elses' senses to roll over. But then he met Nick Carraway.
Jay was used to people whose names were some shade of ugly, like Jordan Baker, who tasted like rose ice cream but sounded like twisting metal, or Tom Buchanan, who tasted like a bitter alcohol and filled Jay's vision with stiff gray cubes. But Nick - Nick was different. He knew so the first second he saw Nick. Nick had been standing at the edge of Jay's dock, his back turned to him, looking at the delicate silver stars. Jay had left the party for a breather, to just get away slightly from endless streams of colors and tastes and noises. He usually came to this little dock, to enjoy the clear air and sky, alone. But here was Nick.
It had been a mildly awkward first meeting, as Jay had scared him and Nick had almost fallen into the water, but Jay had caught him before that could happen. There was quite a lot of stammering and blushing (at least from Nick), but then he said, "I'm Nick Carraway," and Jay was in love. His name was beautiful - a soft glowing green that lit up the night, dancing about his vision like a firefly. And it tasted - it tasted like apple pie and sounded like rain, a sensory palate cleanser, and suddenly Jay didn't need the parties. He would abolish them all, with their terribly rich visitors and bland sensory personas. All he wanted now was Nick, with his beauty, both physically and sensory. That night would be the last time Jay Gatbsy would host a party.
The next day Jay called on Nick, and the day after that, and the day after that. Jay and Nick went to lunch together, and boating, and golf tournaments. Just like their first meeting, it was awkward and sometimes stiff, but Jay was nothing if not persistent and patient, and before long Nick was just in love as Jay was. The night that Jay told Nick, they had been curled up next to each other in Jay's large bed, the golden winds of autumn turning into the frigid air of winter. Jay had been expecting some public outrage, an exclamation of some sorts, but Nick had simply been curious, and the two had been up for several hours after that. And whether they were talking about Jay's synesthesia, or doing something else, we shall never know. The only thing that really matters is that Jay did get his green light, for this one was reachable.
