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Foggy still couldn’t tell if the beeping of the heart monitor was the best thing, or the worst, that he’d ever heard in his life. It didn’t stop, slow and constant, monotonous and grounding. Save for the rise and fall of his chest, it was the only sign he had that Matt was still alive.
A week after, and he still hadn’t awoken. They’d removed the breathing tube a few days after the operations, and he’d coughed, and Foggy, his heart in his chest, had thought he’d wake up. But once they’d tucked him back in and left him alone again, his heartbeat had slowed, and Matt had drifted away again.
The nurse told Foggy it had been a week at about midnight, when she came in to check up on Matt before her shift ended, but he’d lost all sense of time days ago. Only going home to shower and change clothes tended to ruin a routine pretty quickly.
And now, Foggy sat with his eyes shut, trying to find sleep in the awful hospital armchair. Every time he tried to drift off, all he could see was Matt lying there on the pavement, blue and red lights flashing across his pale, blood-streaked face. His limbs lay at odd angles, and though Foggy shook him, held his hand and yelled his name, he didn’t respond. He just stayed there with his nose broken. Foggy had never felt fear like it. Every time he shut his eyes, Matt dying on the cold ground was all he could see, and he’d always jolt himself awake in a cold sweat, hands fisted in the arms of the chair and desperately listening for the beeping of the heart monitor.
The doctors had said he might not wake up. He couldn’t listen. Nor did he when they told him to go home. He couldn’t leave him, not now. If he left, Matt might wake up alone. Or slip further away. Foggy couldn’t bear that. Losing his best friend, his whole world, just like that, it was so unfair. And he knew it was selfish, but he couldn’t let him die without telling him how he felt.
The bed beside him rustled, and Foggy was on his feet instantly. He knew it might have been nothing, had been nothing so many times already, but that didn’t mean his heart wasn’t back in his mouth, pounding in his ears. His eyes blinked, adjusting to the dim orange light of the hospital room. Leaning over Matt, his hands on the edge of the bed, he waited, remembering to breathe.
“F’gy,” Matt murmured eventually, a frown appearing between his eyes, and Foggy heard the beeping on the monitor increase as Matt climbed towards consciousness. His legs almost gave out beneath him as he sagged with relief.
“Don’t try and- Stay still, you’re in hospital, you broke… everything, jesus, you broke everything, just stay there…” His voice shook, and he scrubbed his hands over his face, pushing his hair back.
“Ow…” Matt breathed, finally opening his eyes. And though Foggy was overjoyed, ecstatic even, an unbelievable anger washed over him. Matt was okay, the best thing that ever happened to him was going to be alright, and all he wanted to do was throttle the bastard.
“Ow? Seriously? Ow? That’s all you’ve got to say?!” He took a step back from the bed and blew out a breath, shaking his head. “You’ve been out for a week, Matt, a whole damn week, and all you’ve got to say is ow?!”
“A week?” Matt asked quietly, clearly confused.
“Yes, Matt, a week! I’ve been sat here for a week waiting for you to wake up. While you’ve been laying there all… asleep and unconscious, I’ve been sat here, worried stupid. I haven’t slept in a week. You broke your arm, your wrist, your nose, most of your ribs. You were bleeding out, and your lung collapsed. They had to drill a hole in your skull so your brain didn’t crush itself, and you almost died twice! Twice, Matt, I had to stand out there twice and watch through the window while doctors shocked you with those… things.” He waved his arms in front of him, not caring Matt couldn’t see. “What if you didn’t wake up? Huh? What was I supposed to do then? They said you might not wake up, you ass. I thought I was going to lose you, I thought-” His voice cracked, and he felt his eyes sting. He turned away from the bed, from Matt’s pained frown, and started pacing.
“Foggy-”
“No, shut up. What the hell were you thinking? What the hell?! You went out there on your own, what the hell did you do that for?” He heard Matt start to reply, and interrupted him. “No. No, you don’t get to sit there and say ‘it had to be done’, or that you were doing it to save some poor defenceless whatever. No, you don’t get to say that, you don’t have to be that. You don’t have to put your life on the line every single damn day to save whoever the hell you’re trying to save this time. Because I can’t bear it. I can’t, Matt. What if you didn’t wake up? What if one day you don’t crawl back home and get better, and no one gets to you in time? And you’re stuck at home bleeding out, or-” He stopped, unable to continue his train of thought, a white panic creeping into the edges of his vision.
“What am I supposed to do then, huh? Why does it have to be you?” He rounded on Matt, and he was looking right back at him, his eyes shining and his hands twisted in the bedsheets. Matt’s heart monitor was racing. “I know it’s selfish, but… What am I supposed to do without you?” Foggy asked, desperation creeping into his voice as the anger started to ebb. He was still breathing heavily as he crossed the room in only a few steps. His cheeks were damp and his stomach was in knots, but he didn’t pay attention to any of that, because Matt was awake.
He took one of Matt’s hands in his own, pulling it roughly from the sheets and squeezing his fingers in his own. His other hand, he curled around the back of Matt’s head. Matt swallowed hard - Foggy watched his throat move as he leant over him - and blinked rapidly.
“I’m not dead,” said Matt softly, shutting his eyes and flitting his tongue nervously over his lips.
“I can’t lose you for them,” Foggy said, his voice thick and quiet, and he pressed his forehead against Matt’s. Matt’s breath caught, and Foggy’s stomach flipped. “I could’ve lost you. I can’t lose you, Matt, I fucking love you, I can’t…” He exhaled shakily, and felt one of Matt’s hands rest on the back of his neck. But Matt said nothing, just curled his fingers into Foggy’ hair and held him there, eyes shut. The words hung heavy between them, silent only for the rapid beep of Matt’s heart and their breathing. Foggy knew Matt could hear so much more, could probably hear Foggy’s own distress and anger and fear. As the silence stretched on for what felt like years, but was probably only seconds, Foggy began to regret his outburst.
“I should probably tell a nurse-” he started, going to pull away, but Matt shook his head and tightened his hand in his hair.
“Don’t. Please don’t, just… Say that again,” he said, the barest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his lips.
“Which- which bit?” Foggy stammered, nerves getting the better of adrenaline. Matt tutted - fucking tutted, seriously? - and his smile grew.
“Foggy,” he said in a warning tone, and Foggy couldn’t help but start smiling back, his hand tightening around Matt’s.
“I’m in love with you, Matt,” he said, barely a whisper, not trusting himself to be able to say them any louder, but it didn’t matter, he didn’t need to. Matt heard him.
“I know,” he said back, pulling down on the back of Foggy’s neck. Foggy let him.
“You ass,” he said, laughing despite himself, and then Matt was tilting his head up and pressing dry, chapped lips to damp, salty ones, and it didn’t matter that he’d almost died. The ‘what-if’s’ faded, because all that mattered was that Matt was alive, and breathing, making sarcastic comments and kissing him softly and slowly, finally. Matt’s fingers squeezed his hand back, his hand curling into his hair further, and it felt like Matt was as desperate as Foggy felt, the emotion in one single kiss almost overwhelming. Nothing else mattered any more.
He was alive.