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Every morning, Foggy wakes up to an alert and devastatingly handsome Matt Murdock. It’s a heavy blow not only to his ego, but to his bisexuality, and furthermore, his mental well-being. Nobody should be allowed to look devilishly handsome before 9 o’clock in the morning. They should make that a law, Foggy thinks. They can name it ‘Foggy’s Law’ after the genius who came up with it. It’s a great idea, perhaps the best he’s ever had.
Unfortunately, Foggy knows that such a restriction would never pass into law. Thus, he retaliates against Matt’s charm in the best way he knows- by playfully yanking the self-possessed bastard’s chain. Constantly. It’s a tough job, but Foggy didn’t choose this destiny. This destiny bit him in the ass like a smug, attractive goose.
“How is it that you always manage to get up so early?” Foggy’s voice is a childish grumble. It might be embarrassing, but it’s too early for him to care. “Are you a vampire? You definitely look like you could be a vampire.” Matt snorts.
“I’m not a vampire, Foggy,” he says with a smirk and a breathy chuckle, which, in Foggy’s opinion, should also be illegal. He’ll amend ‘Foggy’s Law’ accordingly. No devilish handsomeness before 9 o’clock in the morning, no smirking, and absolutely no raspy chuckles.
“That sounds like something a vampire would say,” Foggy retorts. Matt laughs, Foggy goes out to get breakfast, and everything is business as usual. Matt is the epitome of composure, and Foggy is… Well, Foggy is Foggy.
Until one day, Foggy wakes up and Matt is, by some miracle, still asleep.
For a moment, Foggy can’t believe it. It’s unprecedented. It’s almost unbelievable. His mind starts to race with thoughts of is he okay? and should I wake him? But then he looks at Matt, and the voice in his head chokes.
Awake, Matt Murdock is as handsome as the devil. When he sleeps, though, he is as delicate and beautiful as an angel.
In that moment, Foggy begins to understand the nuances of romantic verse. He never was a literature fanatic, but he read Shakespeare in high school like everyone else. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? , he thinks. Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
It strikes Foggy that the sight of Matt sleeping is literally making him recite Shakespeare to himself. He bites back a groan.
Wow, Nelson, way to be a humongous fucking sap, he thinks, but God, he can’t help it.
But then, Matt begins to stir, and Foggy’s rose-colored daydream collapses in on itself like a poorly constructed house of cards.
Foggy’s heart pounds. His palms sweat. The morning is no longer beautiful, but terrifying. Somehow, he feels like Matt will know. Matt will know, and their friendship will be ruined. What kind of weirdo watches his best friend sleep? Matt can’t see him, but Foggy closes his eyes and feigns slumber regardless. It’s a small comfort.
Foggy hears Matt shuffle around in bed. Foggy has never been more still.
“Foggy? Are you awake?” Matt’s words are garbled and roughened by sleep. (It’s painfully endearing.)
“Uh, yeah, barely. I’m sorry if I woke you,” Foggy says, despite having no idea how that might’ve happened.
“What? No, it’s fine,” Matt replies hazily, sitting up and running a hand through his already rumpled hair. (That should be illegal too, Foggy decides. He’ll be sure to amend his proposal accordingly, as soon as he regains higher brain functioning.) He runs his fingers over his clock and his expression shifts into a panic.
“Oh shit,” he says, “I really overslept.”
Foggy groans. “It’s 9 o’clock, you asshole. Your class starts at 11, which I know because we’ve got Biology together. Also, you’ve never overslept a day in your life. You’ll be fine. Welcome to the realm of mortality.”
Matt frowns a sleepy, pathetic frown. ( Yet another crime against humanity , Foggy thinks. But my proposed piece of legislation will fix that, as soon as I’m awake enough to write it.) “I wanted to study,” he says, and isn’t that adorable.
“Matt, you’re a huge nerd. No offense”
Matt grins like Cheshire Cat, eyes still soft and unseeing, hair still ruffled and fluffed, and he steals another piece of Foggy’s heart.
“None taken.”
---
Years pass. ‘Foggy’s Law’ is amended a number of times. It’s gotten too long for Foggy to keep track of anymore. Matt is loveable when he’s tired, when he’s awake, when he’s anxious, when he’s sad. Matt is loveable in suits and loveable in pajamas. Matt is loveable even when he’s a masochist and a liar, crumbling and bleeding out onto the floor of his apartment. He’s loveable even when Foggy hates him. It’s the most frustrating irony of Foggy’s life, but it’s a reality he can’t run away from.
Foggy drops by Matt’s apartment early one morning with yet another peace offering in the form of a vanilla cappuccino. He knocks. When there is no answer, he uses his spare key (brand new and guaranteed to work, a peace offering from Matt.) He walks in, praying that he’ll find Matt alive and in one piece.
“Hey Matt? I brought coffee,” he says. He doesn’t raise his voice. He knows Matt will hear him. When his friend doesn’t answer, he moves towards the bedroom. The door is open, and Foggy peers in. What he sees breaks his heart. Matt is curled up in bed with cuts on his face, looking uncomfortable and sad. Foggy wants to hold him, but that would be too much. Matt doesn’t want that from him. That’s okay.
Foggy steps forward, placing the coffee down on the bedside table next to Matt’s phone. “Hey buddy,” he says. Matt doesn’t stir. Foggy looks down at his best friend’s sleeping form and sighs. He wants to help Matt. He wants to strangle him for being so stubborn, but he also wants to help him.
At a loss and unable to resist, Foggy leans down and kisses Matt’s forehead, smoothing his best friend’s hair and avoiding the mottled bruising as best he can.
“Did you just kiss me?”
Foggy’s heart leaps into his throat and he yanks back. Matt is smirking. Foggy takes back his nice thoughts. Matt Murdock is a smug bastard and he doesn’t deserve coffee or kisses.
“You are a smug bastard and you don’t deserve coffee or kisses,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “Also, I can’t believe you pretended to be asleep, you asshole.”
“I wasn’t pretending,” Matt says, still smirking. “I woke up just in time.”
“I’m never showing you any affection ever again,” Foggy grumbles. “Not even high fives. You asshole. ”
Matt sobers a bit at that, and tension fills the air. “I’m sorry,” he says. He isn’t wearing his glasses and his hair's a mess and God, after all these years, he’s still an angel. The media calls him the Devil, but they haven’t seen him like this. They don’t know him like Foggy does.
Neither of them says anything. Foggy stares at Matt and Matt doesn’t stare at all, his features pensive and embarrassed.
“I don’t mind, you know.”
Foggy frowns. “Don’t mind what?”
Matt clears his throat and blushes. That, especially, should be illegal. “Nevermind,” he mumbles, but Foggy has a suspicion.
“Are you talking about the kiss?”
Matt blushes deeper. Foggy’s heart thrashes, and his head fills with helium. “Yeah,” Matt whispers. “I, uh. I don’t mind.”
“Okay,” Foggy says, “Good to know.” Foggy sits on the edge of the bed, leans in, and kisses Matt on the cheek. Matt laughs softly. They’re close, now, close enough to breathe each other's air. Close enough to touch. The air feels dense and electric.
Matt leans in, tentative and soft, and brushes his lips against Foggy’s lightly. When he pulls back, there are tears in his eyes. “Is this okay? We don’t have to,” Matt says raspily.
Foggy reaches up, strokes Matt’s hair, and kisses him back.
---
Later, Foggy amends his law.
An Act to prohibit the breaking of Foggy Nelson’s heart, he thinks. Section 1. Matt Murdock is allowed to be as lovable and frustrating as he damn well pleases, so long as he stays alive.
Because, really, that’s all Foggy wants.