Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

However excessive I thought the drinking was in undergrad, it’s even worse here in law school. It was shocking to me at first. Basically everyone expects you to be an alcoholic.

I hate drinking. Well, hated it. It’s grown on me. It tastes terrible, and getting boozed up wreaks havoc on my senses. Dulls some of them, makes some of them too strong. It makes me struggle to shut things out that I worked so hard to learn to shut out. It messes up my “radar”. I’m too aware of my stomach and how it doesn’t like the alcohol. My organs reacting to the poison. On top of all that, I get the spins, as you call them.

So why do I do it? It’s essential. Social life. Fitting in. Girls, okay, yeah. It turns out I’m pretty good at being charming, but it goes a lot better if I have a couple of shots first.

Those are the reasons. Right? Just like everyone else around me. Social climbing. Gotta get ahead, get that good internship, and it’s all personal connections. That’s why I drink, right? At these parties that I don’t ever really enjoy.

There’s always something good at the end of the night, though, something I look forward to. Sometimes it’s going home with somebody. Usually, it’s going home with you.

You used to tease me about the girls hitting on me, but there would be something else not so lighthearted underneath your voice. You would commiserate when I didn’t go home with someone, you pretended to have sympathy, but I could hear how you were secretly happy I was coming home with you. And I liked it better, too, our drunken stumbles home, leaning on each other, all your dumb jokes making me laugh until tears leaked out my eyes. The way we might lay on the floor side by side waiting for the spins to go away, or put a movie on your laptop and sit on your bed while you described it to me, me half following along and half listening to your breathing and your heart and every shift of your clothes on your skin.

So more and more I stopped trying so hard with the girls, and you did, too. And you stopped trying to commiserate or tease me, because it was just the routine. We get drunk and we talk to people but at a certain point in the night, we sort of mutually agree to leave, and we do.

Tonight, you got quiet after some people talking to us walked away to go dance, and I heard your head turn toward me. “Eh?” you said, just tilting your head a little toward the door. I smiled and nodded. This is the best part of the night.

It’s our routine. We’re loud on the walk back home, talking and laughing (and sometimes even you’re singing), me holding on to your arm, which I actually almost need sometimes because I’m so wasted. But usually I don’t.

And then we’re in our musty little apartment, in the dorm for the poor law students, and then we get real quiet. We whisper as if the walls are even thinner than they are, and try to shut each other up when the other person’s giggling too loud. That time you kept bursting out in singing anyway, even though we were in the quiet phase of the night, and I kept putting my hands over your mouth and shushing you, trying not to laugh, until I felt the tip of your tongue on my hand and I yelped louder than your singing. We must have laughed for a solid hour.

Tonight is one of those nights I probably had a little too much, but it’s worth it to stumble into our room together, tangling legs with you clumsily and laughing. I love the sound of your laugh. Your face is so close to mine, and your booze breath is overpowering, but I don’t care. I almost fall half on purpose and you catch me with a “whup!” and we make it to your bed and sprawl.

“Dude, you’re heavy!” You complain. I didn’t even give you my full weight. “Where do you keep all that? Your big brain? You look so skinny.”

“Yeah. Brain like a brick,” I say. “Blockhead.” You giggle and I love it. I will say any stupid shit that makes you laugh.

I reach over and pull off your beanie. “Hey,” you protest, half-heartedly, but make no move to stop me. I listen to the sound of your soft hair being pulled up by the knit cotton and falling down over your face. “I need it,” I say, biting back laughs, “to cushion my big, heavy head.” I pull it over my head, and your giggling goes up in pitch.

“You look,” you say, trying to catch your breath, “you look…Weird.”

“Is that all?”

“It’s just… Buddy… I can’t describe it, but I don’t think it’s you.”

“You’ll get used to it,” I say to you, grinning.

“Matt, Matt,” you say, “give me my hat back, my head is cold.”

“Take it!” I laugh. I’m inches away from you. I am not inclined to give you back the hat. I’m totally encased in a bubble of the smell of your head.

“I’m too lazy and drunk,” you whine. “I need my hat, Matt. Matt-in-the-hat.”

“All that hair isn’t enough to keep your head warm?” I say, and I reach out and touch it. It’s a mess, it’s in your face. I start pushing strands out of your face, and you pretend to bite at my hand, making irritable gnawing noises. I ignore you and tuck hair behind your ear, carefully. Your giggling slows down.

Chapter Text

Foggy woke up tangled in his sheets, sweaty. He had had one of those dreams again. He tsk’d at his dumb brain and pushed the memory aside. Get out of bed, brush teeth, shower, start thinking about work. It was earlier than he’d meant to wake up, but he knew he could get extra brownie points at Landman and Zak for coming in a little early.

The dreams were routine; he’d been dealing with them for years now, and he knew how to handle them - which was ignore them. By noon, when he was cramming in a hasty lunch with Matt at their desks in their closet office, he’d have forgotten it completely.

The dreams were the last vestige of that whole thing, the thing with him and Matt from college, four years ago. The rest of it was ancient history. Foggy was 26 now, a fully functional adult with his own apartment and his own job (well, internship, but he was working his ass off so it would morph into a real job.) His baby college years were the distant past. They’d both been a little confused. Stuff happens when you’re young and drinking a lot and you don’t know what you’re doing.

What Matt really was, was Foggy’s best friend, and that was what he’d always meant to be. They had come close to screwing that all up, and Foggy was so grateful that hadn’t happened. When he let himself think about it, he was proud of his maturity and – whatever, adultness – that he was able to move past the crush he’d had, the silliness of their fling, and just be a good, solid friend to Matt, like Matt wanted – like they both wanted, like what was right for them.

Anyway, that was what he thought when he let himself think about it. Which he tried not to do. When he did, he kept the thinking short. Mentally pat yourself on the back for being so awesome and knitting this awesome friendship back together. For being an adult and not minding Matt’s various love affairs. For doing some dating yourself, like a normal person. Good job, Foggy. Then, move on. Don’t dwell on the past, on past complications. Keep it simple. Rock this internship. Drink shots with your best friend on Friday nights to celebrate another week accomplished. If your best friend doesn’t have a date that night, of course.

It was a good life. Foggy was good at his life; everything was good.

—

In college, Foggy was so excited to discover he was bi. He was really into the full college experience, after all – the parties, the school spirit, the late night, stoned philosophical discussions - the whole works. And discovering something about your sexuality was one of those college things people did. Everything was intense and new. Everything was about maximizing your fun in between exam cramming sessions, and what better way to expand your fun than being attracted to more kinds of people?

So Foggy announced his bisexuality to the world. Which included Matt.

They were already close by halfway through freshman year, and Foggy told Matt pretty much everything. He described how things looked to Matt when they went to new places, narrated movies for him, and just basically talked at Matt all the time. It took Matt a little bit to get used to it – he was a much more reserved person, when it came to saying whatever was on his mind – and he’d been getting along so well without the narration help that he tried to brush it off at first. But he grew to like it, and he told Foggy that. Matt told him that even though he didn’t really need Foggy’s help getting around, he liked hearing Foggy describe their surroundings. And Foggy’s movie descriptions made Matt laugh, which was, for Foggy, the best drug imaginable.

Of course once Foggy figured out he was bi, Matt got to hear about all the hot dudes at parties, and the deliciousness of actors on the screen when they watched movies on their dorm room DVD player.

“Keanu– I mean, Neo– looks so damn good in this long black jacket and dark black shades, holding these two ginormous guns,” Foggy gushed to Matt. It was their second time renting The Matrix, which Matt had missed in theaters and Foggy insisted they rectify. Foggy was still pleasantly buzzed off some bong hits he’d had at a party they’d been at earlier that night. Matt had abstained from the weed; his go-to was just plain booze.

Matt laughed and shook his head at Foggy’s Neo description. Matt always got a little shifty when Foggy talked about men being hot. Catholic orphanage upbringing and all that – Foggy figured he was just very sheltered and not used to it. Matt’s squirming just made Foggy want to talk about it even more. It was so fun to tease him.

This time, after Matt stopped laughing, he asked Foggy: “but, like, what is it about him that you find attractive?”

“Eh, I don’t know,” Foggy said. “Mostly? He’s just super badass looking in these clothes. But also, I dunno, his face?”

“What do you like about his face?”

Now Matt was kind of making Foggy squirm, for a change. This was interesting. “Uhhhh, um, it’s hard to explain why someone’s face looks pretty,” Foggy said. “He’s just got, like, really good features? Big warm brown eyes, y’know… Nice lips, that kind of thing?”

Foggy looked at Matt, who had a loopy smile on his face. Matt tried to shift on the couch and lost his balance, had to catch himself with a hand against Foggy’s arm. Huh, maybe Matt’d had more to drink at that party than Foggy had thought.

“Who else, what other uh, guys do you think are hot?” Matt asked him.

Foggy ran a hand through his hair and puffed out a breath. Where is he going with this? You know where he is going with this! “Uh, like, you know, the same ones everybody thinks are hot. Like, Captain America, obviously? Um, Manuel from our poli sci class? I don’t know, lots of guys.”

“And me?” Matt said, and his face instantly went red as hell.

Foggy froze. And then tried to laugh it off, but it came out high-pitched and strained. He patted Matt on the shoulder. “What’s wrong, Matt, only seven girls hit on you at that party instead of your usual seventeen, and you’re feeling in need of some reassurance?”

Matt laughed, but shook his head, ignoring the joke. “When you first met me, you said this thing - I mean, I don’t know if you meant it or not. About me being – that I was, um,”

“A really, really good-looking guy,” Foggy said, dropping his face into his hands. He remembered what he’d said word-for-word, because it was an embarrassing enough moment to haunt him for months. Thanks, brain.

Foggy couldn’t stand to look through his fingers, but he heard Matt’s breathing. “So … Am I?” Matt said, quietly.

Foggy snorted. “Well, yeah, duh. Hence all the girls hitting on you at parties.”

Matt sighed. He rubbed at the base of his neck, rolled his shoulders. “I mean, what I’m asking is. Like…”

Foggy broke in - there was no sense drawing this awkwardness out. “Like, do I, Foggy Nelson, personally find you attractive, in my own, personal opinion?” He watched Matt nod. “Yes, yes I do, Matt, duh. Like, definitely, yes, for sure. Yes.”

Matt started to laugh halfway through Foggy’s nonsensical litany. “So, like, yes?”

“Yes,” Foggy agreed firmly.

“Not ‘no’, then.”

“No, definitely not ‘no’.”

They giggled together for a few more seconds. God, it was cute how much Matt was blushing. It helped Foggy with his own embarrassment. But, it was okay. Matt knew he was bi, and Foggy loved to proclaim all his attractions, and Foggy had no mouth filter anyway, and Matt loved that about him. It was okay for Matt to know that Foggy found him attractive. They’d be fine.

Foggy put his hand on Matt’s shoulder again. He had to smooth this over a little bit. “Don’t worry though, you’re my roomie and I love and respect you and we’ll always be best bud—what are y—” he was cut off by Matt taking his face in his hands and kissing him on the mouth.

Matt pulled back after a moment, but didn’t immediately let go of Foggy’s face. Foggy could feel Matt’s heavy breath on his mouth. And then Matt was retreating, putting space between their bodies. “I’m … I’m sorry, I…” to Foggy’s horror, Matt looked like he might cry.

Foggy closed the distance and wrapped his arms around Matt, slowly, gently, like he might bolt. This was the time to rally and help out his friend. Who was probably having a sexual identity crisis. “Matty, Matty, Matty, it’s okay, it’s alright, man! Relax!” Foggy said, petting Matt’s hair. “Sounds like you’re having some brand-new gay feelings, am I right? It’s all good! Welcome to the club, we’re glad to have you!”

Matt’s stricken look relaxed a little; he cracked a bit of a smile through his worry. “See, Foggy, I also, I um…” He took a deep breath, and straightened his spine in Foggy’s arms. “I think you’re attractive, too. It’s different for me, though y’know - that’s why I wanted to know … for people with vision, what is attractive to you. Because for me, it’s – it’s your voice, and the um .. the sounds of you moving, and how your arm feels when you guide me when we walk together, and uh.” He fell silent, pressing his lips together and ducking his head.

Foggy kept stroking Matt’s hair, listening to this stumbling speech with wonder. “Matt, wow. Are you like, into me?”

Matt didn’t seem able to open his mouth. He nodded his head.

Foggy felt the urge to make another one of those nervous laughs, but he forced it down. This was serious business for Matt. “Oh, Matt, your first gay crush, this is monumental,” he said.

“Don’t tease me!”

“I’m not! I’m really not, it’s a big deal, Matt! It’s a great thing.” And it’s on me! What the fuck! “I’m so honored, too,” Foggy added. Smoking hot, chick magnet Matt Murdock! Has a crush on me! “I mean, I’m sure it’s just proximity and all that. Like, I’m the only guy you ever touch, probably, so—”

“No,” Matt said, vigorously shaking his head. “It’s really not just that. It’s, it’s real. I think about you…”

Foggy had let go of Matt a little bit to look at him. He stroked Matt’s arm as he listened. Man, the boy had some nice muscles under that long-sleeved tee shirt.

“Like, I can’t help wanting you,” Matt all but whispered. “Even right now. Just from you touching my arm. I…”

Foggy couldn’t stop himself, he leaned in and kissed Matt again. Those curvy lips he’d stared at so much all semester. They felt good.

“I want you, too,” Foggy said to Matt. God, did he. He kissed him again, harder. Matt’s hands slid up his back, and to have Matt touching him like this, Matt kissing him, Matt wanting him - Foggy didn’t have to hold it in anymore, he didn’t have to try to tamp down his attraction to Matt anymore. Holy shit.

They made out for hours that night. They ended up horizontal and thoroughly uncomfortable on their ratty hand-me-down couch. Foggy ached to move them to one of their beds, just steps away in their tiny dorm room, but he didn’t want to push Matt. A bed seemed like a big step toward sex, or something, as if people couldn’t get up to all the same activities on a couch.

Foggy longed to get Matt’s clothes off, but he didn’t try that, either; didn’t even get his hands up underneath Matt’s shirt, much as he craved touching his skin. This was all going to be on Matt’s terms. Foggy knew, even through his haze of lust and pot, that this was a delicate thing. It was a really new thing for Matt, kissing a guy, and for all Foggy knew, his crush on Foggy would be short-lived. Foggy would let him explore, help guide him through his sexual experimentation the same way he helped guide him around campus. He’d be a good friend about it. And get to kiss Matt in the meantime. It seemed like the biggest win-win Foggy had ever had in his life.

—

The next morning, as they got up and got ready for class, everything was tense and stiff and weird. Foggy couldn’t not say anything, so he just smashed the tension with his big mouth.

“So, we made out last night.”

Matt was blushing before Foggy had finished his sentence. “Yes, we did.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I am just going to put this out there,” Foggy said, piling notebooks into his backpack. “I had a really good time. And I hope you did too?”

“I did,” Matt said, half turned away from Foggy, holding a sweater in his hands he hadn’t put on yet. “I really did.” His voice was quiet, but he was smiling.

Foggy beamed. He’d figured there was a decent chance Matt would freak out in the light of day and they would had to have a big talk. Worse, there was the worry that Matt might be uncomfortable around him now. But, being willing to admit he’d enjoyed it, without caveats or signs of panic, that was a good first step.

Foggy slung his backpack over his shoulder and shoved his feet into his shoes. “So, you wanna maybe… Do it again sometime?”

Matt turned more toward Foggy, straightening his spine. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

They both nodded awkwardly then, Foggy forgetting to tell Matt he was nodding. But Matt at least seemed sure.

“Well, good, great!” Foggy said finally. “Excellent! I very much look forward to it. Very much! Shit, I have to get to class. See you later, Matt!”

He escaped before he was overwhelmed with the need to grab Matt and kiss him right now.

It was kind of impossible to concentrate in class all day.

Foggy found himself back in their room later that afternoon, not remembering a damn thing from any of his lectures. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he opened up one of his notebooks, and found that, for at least one lecture, he’d written the date and topic, and a handful of scattered, individual words that no longer made any sense. He sighed and closed the notebook. So much for going to class – he might as well have slept in.

Matt came home earlier than Foggy expected. “Don’t you have debate practice?”

“Skipping,” Matt said, setting his bag down. “Too tired to muster up the brain power for it today. I figured I could take a short nap and then practice on my own tonight.”

“A nap, now that sounds good,” said Foggy. He tried not to stare as Matt pulled his sweater over his head, exposing the lower part of his stomach before he tugged his t-shirt down.

“You should take one, too,” Matt said. “We were, um, up late.” He chuckled, and sat on his own bed to pull his jeans off. Foggy swallowed. A flash of legs as Matt got under the covers.

“You’re right,” Foggy said, snapping out of it and making a sudden, rash decision. He shucked his own sweatshirt and jeans and climbed into Matt’s bed next to him.

“What are you doing?” Matt said, laughing.

“Taking a nap with you,” Foggy said, matter-of-factly. He wrapped an arm around Matt and pulled himself in close to Matt’s back. “It’ll be warmer this way.”

“We barely fit,” Matt complained.

“We fit fine,” Foggy said against the back of Matt’s neck. He breathed against the skin there, and a shudder went through Matt’s whole body.

Chapter Text

“You’re really good at this,” says Foggy. “How did you get good at this? Like, you haven’t watched any strippers before.”

Matt, shirtless, grins, hands above his head, and undulates in a way that his pants start falling down his hips. Foggy is still holding his belt from when he handed him one end and walked backwards. The truth is that Elektra taught him, but saying that would ruin the moment.

“I just have a feel for these kinds of things,” he says.

“That rings true, actually,” Foggy says, voice weak.