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Matt had always been a tactile child. He’d tried to tone it down, as he aged, but the truth was he just loved any human contact.
As a kid, Jack hadn’t been overly touchy feely, but he’d done more than a lot of fathers would.
If they crossed the street, they held hands, even more so after the accident of course.
If Matt was sick, there were always calloused hands against his forehead, lips brushing away slick hair, a chest to lay his heavy head on as the heartbeat lulled him to sleep.
As time moved on, these touches faded from Matt’s memory. They returned in his dreams, wispy and never strong enough to feel real. But they were the basis of his childhood, a decade full of fatherly touches and gentle reminders he wasn’t alone.
The accident changed a lot, though.
Touch became a thing to avoid, unless by his father, or later by Father Lantom’s guiding hands or Sister Maggie’s gentle nudges.
Touch became overwhelming, overstimulating. Touch became hell for Matt, on top of the hell of everything else.
Growing up through adolescence and into young adulthood, Matt grew to loathe touch. He grew to shy away from shaking hands if possible. He grew to be far more independent than he ever needed to be, even on days where he clearly needed help.
As a blind man, people were often trying to help him. They tried to help him cross the street, or lead him through crowded streets. Of course they didn’t know he didn’t need the help. They were just trying to be good citizens.
But Matt couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t handle their unwashed skin rubbing against his, their clothes scratching at his nerves, their too hot bodies pressed against his. It was too much, too much, too much.
He said no a lot more often than he should have.
But, it’s what Matt had grown used to.
It was safe, shying away from touches Matt couldn’t control, from people Matt didn’t know.
The only time he ever broke his own rules were when he was in mock court or had to make the best first impression.
It’s why he’d touched Foggy Nelson’s hand the minute he met him. What he hadn’t expected was how that became the beginning of something else entirely.
He’d wanted to make a good first impression, make sure that this roommate didn’t think he was rude and switch between treating him like a breakable and treating him with disdain. He’d been through that before and Matt just wanted to try for something a little more…open.
So, he’d held out his hand, tensing his muscles to prepare for the onslaught of sensory information and plucked up a too tight smile.
Foggy had quickly crossed the space between them and taken Matt’s hand. His hands were dry, not as soft as Matt had expected, and it fit comfortably in his own with a grip that was just a tad too tight.
It felt oddly good.
Matt had relaxed, his smile easing into a genuine one, and he’d introduced himself properly. Maybe, for once, touch wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
Still, Matt hadn’t expected it to suddenly become his favorite thing.
He’d spent so many years forcing down the desire to touch and be touched that Matt forgot how good it felt. He forgot how much he’d loved it as a kid. Foggy was tactile with everyone, constantly passing out hugs or head pats or high fives, so it wasn’t out of the ordinary for his routine. Matt assumed that was the only reason he ever managed to get away with it.
Trying to keep his sudden touch starvation to a minimum, Matt only accepted hugs when Foggy offered, only brushed against him when he thought he could get away with it, only offered his arm for guidance when the crowds were of suffocating size. He spent over a decade of friendship thinking he was getting away with it.
“Seriously?” Karen’s voice floated through the floor, barely muffled by it. Matt knew a normal person wouldn’t be able to hear her, but when had he ever fallen into the realm of normal?
“Yes, seriously, Kare.” Foggy replied with a half laugh, sounding slightly strained. Matt frowned, eyebrows pinching together. What was he eavesdropping on?
“Does he think we’re that oblivious?”
“No, I just think he’s really good at fooling himself.” Honesty rang true in Foggy’s words and Matt could hear his suit brush across his skin as he moved his arms around, constantly gesturing as he spoke. “You know how Matt is. He doesn’t have a single crumb of self worth, so he just convinces himself that everything’s okay.”
Karen laughed, but it was dark, sad. “Do you think there’s a way we could tell him it’s okay?”
More rustling as Foggy shrugged. “I think it’s better if we don’t say anything. It’s worked in all the time I’ve known him. If you just…pin the blame on yourself, Matt never notices. He doesn’t stop to consider it could be for his benefit.”
His benefit? What the hell were these two talking about? Matt continued up the stairs, standing at the end of their hallway now, still listening intently.
“So, what, just tell him I’m suddenly in need of constant touch?” Karen sounded incredulous, like Foggy must be joking for that to be a real plan.
“No. You have to be more subtle than that, Karen. Matt may be an idiot, but he isn’t stupid.” Matt could hear the damned grin in Foggy’s voice. “Just… Hug him whenever you feel like it and it seems appropriate. If he says anything, apologize and act like you weren’t thinking. Trust me, his catholic guilt will kick in and he’ll immediately apologize and never speak against it again. Brush against him when you walk or hand him things. It’s a lot easier than you think to touch him. I’m telling you, he’s like a magnet and he’ll chase you down for it if he thinks it’s for you and not him.”
“And he won’t mind?” Karen asked while Matt tried to calm the sudden pounding in his ears that tried to drown her out. “I mean…I’ve never seen him touch anyone but you?…”
Foggy chuckled, softer, barely a whisper past Matt’s blood racing. “He trusts you, K. I promise. Give him some time and soon he’ll be drunkenly slobbering on your shoulder, too.”
Karen laughed, loud and surprised. “I think that can continue being your job, Fogs.”
Foggy laughed as well and Matt had to swallow down a gulp of air.
Foggy had noticed.
He’d spent years thinking he was safe, thinking he was a better liar, better at hiding than this. Had he always been so transparent?
A voice in his head, sounding suspiciously of Father Lantom, pointed out the obvious. “Does it matter, Matthew? They’re happy to help you, to indulge in your desire to be held and touched. Does it matter if you never hid that desire well?”
And….. It didn’t? Not really.
Foggy had never minded. After their first month together as roommates their couch cuddling during movies had become a daily tradition. After a year together in an apartment Matt couldn’t go a few hours without Foggy ruffling his hair or growing bored and connecting old scars and freckles on Matt’s skin. After nearly a decade together, Matt wasn’t sure there was a time when he saw Foggy and wasn’t brushed against in some way.
Foggy didn’t mind. He freely gave out this affection, despite the fact that Matt didn’t deserve it, despite the fact that Matt had never voiced this need out loud.
Foggy enjoyed it.
Based off the conversation he’d just overheard, Karen wanted to do the same.
So, in the end, it didn’t matter that Matt was a horrible liar who was as easily seen through as cellophane.
Taking a slow breath, Matt pushed off the wall and headed towards the door. When he walked in, both Foggy and Karen crowed his name. He could smell fresh coffee emanating from the pot and hear the printing going at full speed, but instead of starting the day off with a question about their clearly new case, Matt did something different.
Striding confidently forward, he dragged his two best friends into a huge, awkwardly spaced hug.
Karen cried in surprise and Foggy let out a ‘humph’ noise, but both returned the hug with the same fervor, melting into Matt’s embrace.
“What’s this all about, buddy? Did you get your sight back or something?” Foggy joked, nosing into Matt’s collarbone.
Matt laughed, shaking his head. “No. I just really love you guys and I thought you should know.”
And he did. He really really did.