Chapter Text
Foggy Nelson was a very visual person.
He saw the world like a mural, in splashes of colour, in light and dark, in tiny details that came together in unexpected and beautiful ways. He was also the type of person who loved making people smile and enjoy their own little section of the world.
It had seemed like the obvious next step, then, to become an interior decorator.
Fashion designer had been a strong contender as well, but maybe that was too much of a stereotype for a bisexual man. Besides, clothes had never been a priority for Foggy. You could say a lot more with your furniture, the space you chose to exist in.
The space that Foggy had chosen was Hell’s Kitchen, Manhattan, New York. Things were ugly there sometimes. It was unkind, unsafe, unfamiliar. And that was where Foggy came in. He was no Captain America or Iron Man, but he could at least make people’s homes or offices a little bit more colourful, a little bit more recognizable.
Foggy wasn’t sure when it had happened, but at some point, he had become a fairly well-known name in Hell’s Kitchen. Maybe it was because he was good at what he did… or maybe he was just the only interior decorator among all of the mob bosses and drug lords.
At the moment, Foggy was humming to himself between sips of coffee as he walked into the office of Nelson Interior Design. His secretary and best friend, Karen Page, was sitting at her desk, doodling something on a pad of paper. She looked up as Foggy opened the door.
“Good morning, Karen,” he said, and dropped a muffin in a paper bag onto her desk.
Karen peered into the bag and smiled. “Good morning, Foggy. I like your tie.”
Foggy ran a hand down the floral-printed fabric and raised an eyebrow. “You're only saying that because I bought you a muffin.”
Karen shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.” She picked up the muffin, but before she could take a bite, the phone rang.
“Aww,” said Foggy as she shook crumbs off of her fingers and picked up the phone.
“Nelson Interior Design, this is Karen speaking. How may I help you today?” She paused for a second, listening, eyeing the muffin. “All right. I’ll put you through. One moment, please.” Holding the phone away from her mouth, she said, “Potential client, Foggy. Line one.”
Foggy headed into his office, sank down into his chair, and picked up the phone. “Good morning. This is Foggy Nelson. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”
“Oh… hello.” It was a man’s voice, soft and amiable. “My name is Matthew Murdock.”
“Hi there, Matthew,” responded Foggy. “What can I do for you today?”
“Matt,” said the man. “Please call me Matt. And, well, I’m in need of some interior decorating. I’m a lawyer, and I think my office is a little… lacking. I’d like you to make it a more welcoming place for clients.”
“I see,” said Foggy, scratching down a few notes in his notebook. Lawyer. Sounds like a nice guy. “Do you have a vision for the office? What colours do you like?”
There was a small silence, and then Matt cleared his throat. “Um, Mr. Nelson--”
“Call me Foggy.”
“…Well, Foggy, there’s something I haven’t mentioned. I don’t have a vision for the office because I don’t really… have a vision for anything. I’m blind.”
Foggy paused, the tip of his pen poised above his paper. “Oh.”
“I know what I liked when I was a kid, before I lost my sight,” Matt went on. “But I doubt bright red race cars would look great in a law office. Your reputation precedes you, though, and I trust you can make my office look good to those who can actually see it.”
A smile spread across Foggy’s face. “Well, I would be honoured to take your case, Matt,” he said. “When are you available to meet? I’d like to come over to get a feel for the office.”
“Anytime,” said Matt. “I’m between clients at the moment.”
Foggy looked down at his calendar. “I can pencil you in tomorrow morning at ten o’clock,” he told him.
“Perfect,” Matt replied. “Do you have something to write with, Foggy? My address is…”
Foggy wrote down the address that Matt gave him. “Thank you,” he said. “Well, it was nice talking to you. I’ll see you tomorrow at ten, all right?”
“Yes,” said Matt. “Thank you.”
“No,” Foggy responded. “Thank you.”
With that, he hung up the phone and scooted his chair out of his office and over to Karen. “I’ve got a good feeling about this, Kare!” he said, tapping the edge of her desk for emphasis.
Karen set down the half-eaten muffin. “You say that every time, Foggy.”
“Maybe. But I’m serious this time,” said Foggy. “I think this is going to be the most interesting case I’ve taken for a while now.”
“Interesting?” Karen repeated. “Please tell me he didn’t ask you to spruce up his drug den. He sounded so nice on the phone.”
“How did you guess?!” joked Foggy. He waited for Karen to laugh before adding, “But, in all seriousness, I do think this will be an interesting case. The guy’s blind. He can’t tell me with colours and patterns what he wants his office to look like. He has to tell me with feelings. I’ve never done something like that before. To be honest, I’m looking forward to it.”
Karen was smiling. “And here I thought you were going to take advantage of the poor guy and make his office look hideous.”
Foggy raised a hand to his mouth in mock offense. “How dare you, Miss Page? Who do you take me for?”
She laughed. “I’m sorry. Will you accept some muffin as a peace offering?”
Foggy thought about the muffin he had scarfed down on his way to the office, smiled, and replied, “Yes. I’m starving.”
Karen broke off a piece of her muffin and handed it to Foggy. He popped it into his mouth and added, “Also. Does the name Matthew Murdock mean anything to you?”
“No. Should it?”
“I don’t know,” said Foggy. “It sounds familiar to me.”
Karen pursed her lips. “You might be thinking of Matthew McConaughey. Have you seen Dallas Buyers Club?”
“Maybe that’s it.” Foggy rubbed at his lower lip. Something in the back of his mind was telling him that no, he did recognize Matt’s name from somewhere. Had they gone to the same school? Or maybe Foggy had just seen it written on a print ad somewhere.
That must be it.
The following morning, after grabbing breakfast and bringing Karen a muffin per usual, Foggy made his way to the address Matt had given him. It was in a small office complex just a few minutes away from Foggy’s own office. On the phone, Matt had specified which office was his, but it was clear from the sign on the door: Matthew M. Murdock, Attorney at Law was printed on a smart metal frame, with a line of braille underneath that Foggy ran a finger over before knocking.
“Coming!” that soft voice called out from inside.
As Foggy waited, he looked down at the notes he had written: Lawyer. Sounds like a nice guy. At the end of this visit, he would have a more concrete idea of what he would be creating. Already, colours and fabrics were starting to come to life in his mind.
Just then, the door opened. Foggy looked up from his notebook, and found himself face-to-face with the most attractive man he had ever seen.
He was a shock of dark and light. Dark hair, light skin. Dark jacket, light shirt. Dark glasses, light cane. His smile was shy, cautious, and Foggy’s heartbeat began to thunder in his chest.
“Hi,” said the man. “May I ask who’s there?”
Foggy opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. “It’s Foggy Nelson, the interior decorator. You must be Matt Murdock.” He held out his hand. There was a pause, and then, as if to impossibly remind Foggy of how futile that was, Matt adjusted his glasses. “Er… sorry,” added Foggy. “Will you, uh, take my hand?”
Colour splashed across Matt’s cheekbones. “Pardon?”
Fuck. “ Shake my hand,” Foggy corrected himself. “Sorry.”
Matt smiled and shook Foggy’s hand. “It’s nice to actually meet you, Foggy. Come in.” He stepped into his office, and Foggy watched the way his hand ghosted along the doorframe, remembering where it was, where he was.
He followed Matt inside. The office was small, but spacious; maybe that was because it was empty. There was a bookshelf against one wall, stacked high with books and binders that Foggy assumed were in braille. The walls were barren-- understandably, Foggy could admit, based on their owner’s disability-- except for one thing: a framed diploma from Columbia University. The only other furniture in the office was a desk near the back wall with a couple of chairs pointed toward it. Foggy wandered over to the chairs; they had clearly been purchased at different times, from different places, without regard to any sort of order or matching. One was brown, made of a slippery kind of faux leather, and the other was dark green corduroy.
The colours were not Matt’s fault, obviously, although if it were Foggy who was blind, he would have asked one of the employees at the store to help him match colours. Then again, if it were Foggy who was blind, he wouldn’t have the same love for colours that he did as a seeing person.
The different materials, however, Matt had no excuse for.
“This place needs a lot of work,” remarked Foggy.
Matt, who had drifted over to where Foggy was standing, blushed. “Is it really that bad?”
He looked embarrassed enough that Foggy immediately backtracked. “No, it isn’t bad. And, you know, you would kind of have an excuse if it was. But it isn’t. It’s just a bit… empty. And a bit sad. ”
“Sad?” echoed Matt. He looked amused now, to Foggy’s relief.
“This office just screams ‘blind guy’,” said Foggy.
“I am blind,” said Matt.
“Yes,” agreed Foggy. “But that isn’t the first thing you want people to see, is it? You’re a lawyer. You’re the one who can defend them in court or get them out of jail or whatever it is you do. You also happen to be blind, but that shouldn’t be their main focus. It certainly isn’t your main focus, because your main focus is them. The client. And that’s what your office should say.”
Matt was silent for a long moment. Finally, just as Foggy was beginning to think he’d said the wrong thing, Matt remarked, “You’re good at this,”
Foggy shrugged, grinning. “It’s my job, Matt. I’m sure you understand that.”
He sat down in the green corduroy chair. Matt sat down in the faux leather one. “So what do you suggest?” asked Matt.
“Getting rid of these chairs, for a start,” said Foggy. “Or at least the one I’m sitting on. Then I’ll work on the walls. New paint job, some artwork to hang up, that kind of stuff. And maybe… a rug. Nothing you’ll trip over, though. Just something small to tie the room together.”
Matt nodded slowly. “Sounds good. Do I pay up front, or…”
“Hey. Don’t be hasty,” responded Foggy. “I don’t ask for payment until I know exactly what I’m going to do.”
“Didn’t you just tell me what you were going to do?” asked Matt.
“I told you the plan, ” Foggy said. “But I don’t start anything until I get to know my client. Your office has to reflect you, Matt, and right now, I don’t know a lot about you.”
Matt rubbed at the back of his neck. “Do you do this with all your clients, Foggy?”
“Only the hot ones,” quipped Foggy.
Matt laughed. It was a wonderful sound, startling against Matt’s shy exterior. “Do you, um…” he began. “Do you want to grab some coffee?”
Foggy smiled. “Yeah,” he replied. “I would like that.”