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Something is wrong. Matt blinks his eyes as he wakes, pushes himself to a seated position and then freezes when his muzzy brain finally processes the lack of any noise.
He's in his apartment. He thinks. It smells like his apartment. It smells like his couch, leather, disinfectant, blood. His socked feet, when they touch the floor, pick up familiar vibrations. He doesn't remember. He wasn't - What was he doing, before? His head hurts, and his ribs ache. He -
There's someone there, footsteps behind him. Matt tenses, fingers curling around the edge of the cushion. The footsteps stop. Matt can feel his breathing pick up, can feel his pulse pounding hard in his throat, in his fingers where they're gripping the cushion tight.
He moves. Shoving himself up, over the coffee table, spinning, tripping backwards, landing hard against the wall, facing the intruder.
He feels a question itching in his throat, a "who's there" threatening to spill out. But he doesn't. He doesn't want to - They'll know. He doesn't want them to know.
What the hell happened?
The footsteps start again. Much slower, and, Matt thinks, maybe more deliberate. Firmer. Like - like they know he can feel them.
Matt sucks in a breath through his nose and sinks to the floor, landing on his ass on the hardwood, like a puppet with his strings cut. Sweat and coffee, citrus shampoo and New York smog.
"Foggy," Matt says, breathes it out in relief, unable to hear it.
The footsteps come close and stop, and then there's a thump, like Foggy sits down a little too hard, and the sound of knuckles on hardwood. He knocks out shave and a haircut, tapping Matt's foot for the last two beats.
Matt stretches out a hand towards him, and shudders out a breath when Foggy tangles their fingers together. He lets Matt squeeze his hand, lets him let go and feel up his arm, holds still as Matt brushes fingertips over his face.
"What happened?" Matt asks, "Where - I don't, I don't remember what-"
Foggy grips his fingers then and pulls them gently away from his jaw, pressing a stiff piece of cardstock in his hand. Matt takes a breath and runs his fingers over the braille embossed on it.
This is temporary
It's a goddamn spell if you can believe that
I can't hear either
Matt blinks and re-reads the card, and then Foggy puts another in his hand, smaller and with ragged edges, like part of it was torn off.
You need new super friends, dude
Matt groans and remembers, vaguely, leaving court in the afternoon with Foggy, an impact, big enough to register as an explosion to his senses at first. Screaming. Maybe. Matt huffs out a breath and scrubs at his face. The fucking Avengers. He turns his face up, reaching back towards Foggy, patting gently at him, at his shoulders.
"Are you okay?" he asks, hoping Foggy can read his lips. He tucks his fingers around the back of Foggy's neck just in time to feel him nod. He slumps a bit. Foggy takes his hand from the back of his neck, holds it in front of him and Matt feels him shift around and get to his knees. Matt takes the hint and lets Foggy help him stand, lets him lead them both back, around the coffee table. They plop on the couch, side by side. Matt sets the notes on his thigh, shuffling them one handed until the first one is on top, running his fingers over the words.
This is temporary
Matt shakes Foggy's hand, the one he hasn't let go of, to get his attention, and motions to the note, then his ears. "How long?"
He feels what might be a shrug, and then Foggy's turning his hand over, dragging a finger across Matt's palm.
hours , he scribbles out with a fingertip, blunt nail scraping lightly, and Matt blinks and nods. not sure, Foggy writes next, over the same stretch of skin.
"Fucking Avengers," Matt mutters, startling a little when he feels Foggy's torso bounce next to him, feels his breath on an exhale. Oh. He's laughing. Matt reaches up, brushing fingers through the shorn hair by the nape of Foggy's neck, citrus and sweat and smog. Foggy nods, agreeing. Fucking Avengers. Matt laughs too, turning back to his knees, leaning his shoulder into Foggy and running his fingers over the note.
I can't hear either
He wants to ask what happened. Wants his brain to spit out the answers to the questions he keeps coming up with. He sighs. "My head hurts," he says to his knees, just to feel the vibrations.
Foggy shifts next to him, grabs his hand again and traces a question mark into his palm. Matt tilts his head listlessly, grabs Foggy's hand back and writes headache on his skin. He feels a rumble from Foggy, some sort of grumbling agreement.
same Foggy scribbles back, and then stands.
Matt follows him, stilling when Foggy hesitates. He presses his fingertips to Foggy's arm, feeling him shrug after a beat of stillness and then start to move away.
Foggy takes them to the kitchen, and Matt would feel guilty, any other day, would feel uncomfortable following him around and holding onto him and being unwilling to let him go. But today he is tired, and his head aches, and he can't hear Foggy's heart or his breathing or the way he snorts when Matt says or does something dumb, so he follows Foggy to the kitchen and keeps his fingers curled around a stretch of Foggy's shirt, bunching up the fabric at the small of Foggy's back as he does whatever he's doing. Matt stands there, tired and docile, and sways as Foggy shifts and reaches, sniffs slightly sour aspirin, the wet, mineral scent of water. He takes the pills Foggy drops in his palm, tosses them back and holds the same hand out for the glass of water without letting go of Foggy's shirt.
He waits as Foggy downs his own pills, uses the same glass Matt had, and then lifts his hand, palm up, for Foggy to write on, when Foggy turns towards him and reaches.
nap?
God yes, Matt thinks, and nods, sure his face looks as pathetic as he feels. Foggy lifts an arm, over the one Matt has curled around his side, still gripping his shirt, and ruffles Matt's hair, pulls him in for a quick hug before turning and leading them to the bedroom.
Foggy stops beside the bed, staying in one place but shifting around. The heels of his shoes clatter to the floor, one after another, and then they tumble under the bed. Foggy still doesn't move, but Matt can feel his shirt stir, like he's moving his arms. Taking his pants off, maybe. Matt's nose twitches as he takes stock of himself, thin dress socks, slacks and a button-up.
He switches hands on Foggy's shirt, thumbing his buttons open and shrugging out of his shirt, one arm at a time. He feels the clunk of Foggy's belt and buckle hit the floor, and the slide of it being kicked under the bed to rest by Foggy's shoes. Matt throws his shirt towards where his hamper should be and slides a knee onto the bed, hesitating a moment before letting go of Foggy.
He holds his breath as he crawls onto the covers, doesn't let it go until the bed dips with Foggy's weight.
Wriggling under the blanket, Matt pulls it up to his waist and stretches out facing Foggy, eyes open and head cocking aimlessly, trying and failing to pick up the sounds of his bedmate.
Foggy shoves his way under the covers, flopping down facing Matt with a huff of breath Matt can feel.
The bed springs ping vibrations beneath them with a weight shift that rolls Matt towards Foggy, and Matt catches his breath when he feels fingertips press into his ribs.
It's sore, where Foggy's touching, and Matt thinks there's probably bruising there from earlier in the week. The fingertips lift away until just one remains, and Foggy draws a sad face across Matt's ribs.
Matt snorts and hides his smile, burying his face in the soft pillow case. He lifts a hand, feeling gingerly up to Foggy's face and ghosting his fingers down over Foggy's eyelids, closing them.
Go to sleep.
He lets his fingers trace over Foggy's smile, and down his neck, pressing in to catch the thrum of his heartbeat. He feels Foggy say something, tilts his head and traces a question mark above his pulse.
Foggy shakes his head, and Matt lets him get away with it, retreating, dragging his touch across Foggy's shoulder, down his arm. He wraps his fingers loosely around Foggy's wrist, turning his face towards him and settling with a sigh.