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Foggy honestly doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve such terrible luck. Was he a horrible person in a past life and karma is finally coming back to bite him in the ass? He hopes not.
Foggy thinks he’s a fairly decent person. He’s nice to mostly everyone he meets. He’s never kicked any puppies or anything like that. He even donates to charity sometimes--no, scratch that. He’s too dirt poor to do that, but he wants to, and that’s what really counts.
So for the life of him, he can’t figure out what kind of shitty karmic retribution is causing him to be stuck in the awkward situation that he is currently in.
The whole mess began Tuesday night. Foggy had just dropped Karen off at her place after a few too many drinks at Josie’s. Before she closes the door behind her, Karen turns around and gives him a friendly peck on the cheek. “I wish Matt could’ve come with us instead of going to bed early like he always does.”
Foggy swallows and forces a smile. He knows what Matt’s actually doing right now, but he doesn’t say anything to Karen, never does, even though it pains him to have to keep the truth from her. “Yeah, well, you know Matt. He’s so handsome that he has to get all of the beauty sleep he can.”
Karen yawns and smiles back, warm and lazy from the alcohol. “Well, I can’t argue with that. Goodnight, Foggy.”
“Night, Karen.”
Foggy waits until he hears Karen lock the door, then he turns and begins his journey back home. It’s not an incredibly long walk, but the alcohol in his system definitely makes the task seem more daunting than usual.
He fumbles around in his pocked and activates his phone’s flashlight with one hand and draws out his pepper spray with the other hand. It’s pink and feminine-looking because Foggy bought it in support for Breast Cancer Awareness Month, but hey, it still serves its purpose.
Walking alone in the dark forces Foggy to wonder exactly what Matt is getting himself into this late at night. Most likely something illegal and extremely violent, which could possibly end in him passing out in a dumpster, or worse.
The thought doesn’t make Foggy feel better at all. In fact, it just makes his heart speed up and he experiences a brief bout of nausea and paranoia that makes him whip around from the phantom sensation that somebody bad is following him and--
Jesus, you are never walking home by yourself when you’re drunk ever again, buddy, Foggy thinks to himself.
Finally, finally, after what seems like an hour (but in reality is only fifteen minutes or so) he arrives home. He climbs the steps and shakily fumbles the key inside the door’s lock, and then--he’s inside of his apartment. Safe.
He flips on the light switch and the room is flooded with bright light. He breathes a sigh of relief and sinks down onto his couch. This elated feeling doesn’t last long, though. He is soon reminded that Matt is still out in Hell’s Kitchen kicking ass and taking names, and he has no way of knowing if he’s safe or not.
Foggy continually checks his phone, almost bordering on obsessively, for texts, voicemails, anything from Matt to assure him that his best friend isn’t currently lying dead or injured in an alley somewhere. But no. He never receives anything.
Typically, when he stays out late, Matt will text him something short and simple if he has the opportunity, just so Foggy doesn’t have to worry about him. Not tonight, though.
Foggy sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He texts Matt, How u doing buddy? followed by three calls that go straight to voicemail. He checks the clock on his phone and realizes that it’s almost two in the morning.
“For fuck’s sake, Matt,” Foggy mutters, already resigning himself to his fate. He decides that he’s not going to sleep until he hears back from Matt. Of course, this is a supremely dumb idea, since they have to be at the office by eight, but Foggy’s used to making stupid decisions. In fact, he’s the goddamn king of stupid decisions, and he has the receipts from his many years as Matt’s best friend to prove it.
He snatches the half-empty bottle of whiskey from the dingy little coffee table sitting in front of the couch and takes a long swig, shuddering afterwards. If he’s going to stay up into the wee hours of the morning for his asshole vigilante best friend to call him back, the least he can do is make it a bit more bearable.
Foggy sort of turns it into a game: When five minutes would pass after a text or call without Matt calling back, he would take another drink. By the time that Phone Call Number Twelve goes unanswered, Foggy drunkenly tries to figure out if he’s winning or losing against himself. In his defense, it is kind of difficult to figure out, and his frustration and pounding head, added onto the alcohol’s effects and Foggy’s anxiety over Matt’s wellbeing causes him to become emotional.
Nelsons are sensitive and extremely easy criers by nature, and Foggy is definitely no exception. His emotional disposition, along with his interesting reactions to alcohol…well, it makes him pretty goddamn weepy, to be honest.
His eyes burn and he starts sniffling just thinking about Matt being out in the big bad city fighting crime by himself. Matt worries him so much when he goes out as Daredevil, and especially nights like these when there’s no way of communicating with him.
“He’s…he’s too cute to be fighting bad people all night,” Foggy mumbles to himself as he dials Matt’s number three more times. “Maybe if he had…had someone waiting for him in his bed to come back, he wouldn’t go out as much. I could prolly do that…” He snorts in a self-deprecating way. “Nah, that’s Claire-Hottie-Nurse-Burner-Phone’s job. Most likely.”
Foggy vaguely realizes that he’s rapidly entering Forbidden Thoughts Land, where he admits to himself that he’s been pining over his best friend since law school and quietly entertains the possibility of being romantically involved with him. Foggy allows himself to privately enjoy this fantasy two times per year, maybe three, max. He’s pretty certain that he’s surpassed this year’s limit so many times that he’s jumped from Forbidden Thoughts Land straight into Domestic Homosexual Fantasy Hell.
Not that he’d ever regret loving Matt, but it sure did a number on his emotional state sometimes.
Just then, Foggy is interrupted out of his weepy pining daydream when “Devil in Disguise” plays through his phone’s speakers. He gasps and presses “Accept” before Elvis can even sing a full verse. “Matt?” His own voice sounds far away and hollow in his ears.
“Foggy, what’s wrong?” Matt’s voice is tinged with panic and concern as well as exhaustion. “You called me fifteen times. I got held up--there’s a new group of Russians gaining power, and I had to deal with them.”
Foggy sighs as new waves of relief wash over him. He’s so overwhelmed by all of it--that Matt’s safe and alive and here (well, okay, not here here, but present enough that Foggy can hear his voice) that he can’t help the tears in his eyes or his cracking voice. “Jesus, Matty. I’m fine. I just--you weren’t answering your calls or texts and I kept thinking ‘What if my best friend, my favorite bro in the whole wide world, passes out in a smelly disgusting dumpster somewhere' and I was scared that a cat would pee on you or something, or that you would be in a dumpster with a bunch of old and moldy fruit--I know how much you hate the smell of rotten food, Matty! And I was just really worried about you--”
He breaks off mid-sentence and fails to control the tears from spilling down his cheeks.
“Foggy,” Matt whispers through the other end, almost painfully gentle.
Foggy laughs, loud and wet. “Goddamn, that’s the last time I drink when I’m nervous,” he slurs.
“Foggy, how much did you drink tonight? You sound terrible.”
“You sound terrible,” Foggy shoots back, but then he shakes his head, not knowing why he said that. “Sorry, no you don’t. You always sound like a beautiful ruggedly handsome angel, and it kind of pisses me off sometimes how perfect you are.”
Matt gives him a surprised laugh. “I’m guessing it was a lot, then? You normally don’t wax poetic at me unless you’re totally hammered.”
“Bullshit,” Foggy objects, feeling personally offended by Matt’s statement. “I wax poetic about you all the time, shut up. “You’re the love of my life, so of course I like talking about your--”
“Wait, what did you just say?”
Oh, shit. Foggy’s mouth is still hanging open mid-sentence and he finally realizes the full reality of what he just said. “I--nothing. Nothing important.”
“Foggy, did you say that I’m--”
“No! No, I absolutely did not say that.” He’s panicking just a little bit now. “Okay, well thanks for calling me back. I’m glad you’re safe. I’m--I’m gonna go now, we have to be at the office early, remember? So…bye, Matt.”
Before giving him the chance to say anything in return, Foggy ends the call and stares at the phone in shock for a solid thirty seconds.
“Holy shit, that just happened. This is how I die. I’m dead now,” he mutters in disbelief, laying down and curling up on the couch. “Maybe he won’t remember this later. Maybe this is just some horrible dream and I haven’t woken up yet.” He pinches himself just to make sure. It doesn’t work.
Foggy moans into the lumpy throw pillow. “I am never getting drunk again.”
***
Foggy wakes up five hours later spread-eagled on his couch. His mouth tastes like a garbage disposal and the sunlight coming in through the window hurts his head more than it normally does.
He experiences a few hazy minutes of hangover-induced confusion, and then.
And then he remembers everything that happened earlier. He throws an arm over his face and groans in embarrassment.
Foggy thinks fuzzily, Maybe I just hallucinated confessing my love to my best friend. Wouldn’t be the most unbelievable thing to happen in my life.
He fumbles for his cell and holds his breath in anticipation as he selects his call history. Dammit. Fifteen sent calls to Matt, and one call from Matt, all of them made after midnight.
Foggy stands up and wonders how he’s supposed to face Matt today. He can’t exactly call off sick for a hangover; they have too many clients, and the office is severely understaffed as it is.
Sighing in resignation, he makes his way to his bathroom to brush his teeth in hopes of removing the nasty taste from his mouth.
As soon as he gets a good look at himself in the mirror, he becomes aware that he looks as shitty as he feels. It’s going to be a long day.
***
When Foggy arrives at the office thirty minutes later, Karen is making her disgusting coffee and Matt is nowhere to be seen. “Hey Foggy, do you want some?” Karen asks in greeting, holding out a cup.
Foggy crinkles his nose in distaste. The potent smell is made even more unbearable thanks to his untimely hangover. “Yeah, no thanks. I don’t think I could handle something that strong right now.”
Karen smiles sympathetically. “That bad, huh? I wondered if you had a hangover when you walked in wearing those.” She points meaningfully at the sunglasses still perched on his face.
“Oh.” Foggy reaches up and touches them. “I guess I forgot to take them off.” He begins to pull them off, but immediately changes his mind when the lighting in the office instantly becomes ten times brighter. “Okay, never mind. They’re staying.”
Karen grins and sets the cup down on her desk. She travels over to the window and lowers the blinds. “There, is that better?”
Foggy tentatively removes the glasses once again and exhales in relief. “Yeah, much better. Thanks, Karen.”
He pauses nervously. “Has…has Matt showed up yet?”
Karen shakes her head. “Nope. Maybe he’s running late.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he murmurs, sinking down into his chair and resting his pounding head in his hands.
Karen seats herself on the edge of his desk. “If you don’t mind me asking, what the hell happened to you after you dropped me off last night? Because if I remember correctly, you didn’t drink enough to make you this hungover.”
Foggy smiles thinly. “When I got home, I had a couple of drinks. And then a couple drinks quickly turned into…well, I don’t remember exactly how many drinks it was, but let’s just say it was way too many.”
Foggy neglects to tell Karen exactly why he was drinking in his apartment, or what the ultimate (and mortifying) outcome of that decision had been.
Karen hums in sympathy and pats him gently on the shoulder. “I’m sorry. Do you…do you want to talk about it?”
The thing is, Foggy does want to talk about it sometimes, especially when the pressure of staying silent about your best friend’s secret identity becomes too much to handle.
He would love to talk to Karen about it, if he could. He could tell her about Daredevil, about how he’s paralyzed with fear most of the time, how he really feels about Matt…and she’d probably be such an amazing friend throughout all of it, too.
She would probably listen with that receptive and genuine face she always has, and there’s a good chance that she would give him a hug afterwards and tell him everything would be alright…so yeah, Foggy would love to tell Karen everything. But he can’t.
So instead, he puts on his most convincing smile and replies, “Nah, I’m fine. There’s not really anything to talk about.”
Karen returns the smile, only hers is laced with skepticism. “If you’re sure. I’m going to be making copies if you need me.” She squeezes his shoulder one more time, and then she’s leaving the room with a stack of papers in her hands.
Moments after Karen leaves, Matt enters the office, cane clicking against the floorboards. His entire body, and especially his face, is tense and strained, as if he’s agitated about something.
Foggy wants more than anything to diffuse the awkward silence that has permeated the office. “You’re late, buddy,” he comments as nonchalantly as he can.
Matt relaxes ever so slightly. “I…I stopped by your place before I came here. You weren’t home.”
Foggy raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You could have tried calling me before walking all the way to my apartment on the off-chance that I would still be there.”
“I did. You never answered.”
“Oh.” Foggy pulls out his phone and realizes that he’s had it on silent the entire morning. After seeing the five missed calls from Matt, he replies, “Sorry, I guess I just didn’t hear you calling.”
Matt smiles kindly. “It’s fine. I was just worried you were ignoring me.”
Foggy swallows around the lump in his throat and smiles back, doing his best to slow his speeding heartbeat. “Nope. I’m not ignoring you, buddy. Sorry that I had you worried.”
“That’s…I’m glad.” Matt pauses, and his expression instantly grows more serious. “Foggy, we need to talk about last night.”
Foggy’s mind blanks momentarily, and when he finally manages to rub a few functioning brain cells together, he wonders what going into shock feels like. “Last night? There’s…what’s there to talk about? Honestly, I don’t know what I said to you, I was so wasted.”
At that moment, Karen re-enters the room and glances between them curiously. “What are you two talking about?” she inquires with a slightly anxious smile.
“We’re discussing Matt’s tardiness habits,” Foggy lies mock-cheerfully.
Karen clearly doesn’t buy it, but she plays along anyways. “Oh…well, okay then. Good morning, Matt,” she says before returning to the copy machine.
“Good morning, Karen,” he calls back, and then the two men are alone once again.
Thankfully (at least to Foggy), their conversation is interrupted by the phone ringing on Matt’s desk. Matt looks uncomfortable and reluctant, as if he doesn’t want to move from where he’s standing.
Before he goes to answer the phone, he walks over into Foggy’s space, leans in close to his ear, and murmurs, “We are discussing this later, Foggy.”
Foggy can’t help the shiver that runs through his body as Matt steps away from him.
Like hell we’re discussing it, he stubbornly tells himself.
***
Matt ends up cornering him a few hours later. Like, literally corners him. Karen leaves at noon to pick up some lunch for the three of them, subsequently leaving Matt and Foggy at the office by themselves.
Foggy has been effectively avoiding Matt up until this point by making unnecessary phone calls and engaging Karen in long conversations about New York politicians. However, now that Karen’s gone, Foggy is struggling to prevent the inevitable “discussion” that Matt is apparently so determined to have.
After several minutes of heavy silence, Foggy decides that he needs to get away from Matt. As a result, he mutters, “I’ll be back in a few,” before grabbing a pile of papers and heading to the outdated copy machine that Karen had managed to find for them.
He makes a point of not breaking eye contact with the copies as they are being dispensed out of the machine; he knows for certain that if he turns around and sees Matt sitting at his desk with his wounded-duck facial expressions, he’ll just feel like an even bigger asshole.
Finally, after what seems like forever, the copier whirs to a stop and Foggy gathers up all of the papers.
He turns around to head back to his desk and then--
Matt’s standing there right in front of him, so close that Foggy’s almost pressed up against the copy machine.
Jesus, Matt could be quiet when he really wanted to be.
“Shit, Matt, don’t sneak up on me like that,” he gasps, his pulse speeding up at an alarming rate.
“Sorry.” Matt laughs nervously and runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to scare you.
I wanted to ask if you wanted to come over for dinner tonight. I’ll cook.”
Foggy can’t help but snort in disbelief. “Matthew Murdock, that is a big fat lie, and you know it.”
Matt grins. You’re right. I’ll probably end up getting takeout and then pretend I was the one who made it.”
Foggy laughs softly, then sobers when he remembers what exactly the question had been. “Um…yeah, buddy, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
Matt frowns, which makes his eyebrows scrunch together in a way that Foggy absolutely does not find adorable. “Why? Are you upset with me?”
Foggy wants to laugh. If there’s anyone he’s upset with, it’s himself. Instead, he gives a world-weary sigh. “No, Matt. Of course not. I just…I have a feeling that there’s certain topics you want to talk about, and I really don’t feel like talking about them right now.” Or ever.
Even though he doesn’t think it’s physically possible, Matt steps even closer to him. He replies in a low voice, “Foggy, we need to talk about the other night, when you said...implied that you were in love with me. I need to know if what you said about me was true.”
Foggy initially blushes, flustered that Matt actually put “the incident” into words. Then he groans, because he is pissed and exhausted and frustrated at how dense Matt could be sometimes. “Of course I meant it, you idiot!” he hisses. “You know me well enough by now that drinking makes me honest--painfully honest, most of the time. I figured you would have found it out by now, because of your stupid ninja heart-rate monitoring skills or whatever.”
“I just thought that’s how your heart sounded! It’s always been fast around me,” Matt counters helplessly. “Your heartbeat has been that way for years, Foggy, even back during law school, and…oh.”
Yeah, oh.
(Foggy can safely say that this whole conversation is ten times worse than when Matt confessed to him that he could sense other people’s boners).
He can pinpoint the exact moment when everything starts clicking into place for Matt, when he figures out that this means that Foggy must have been in love with him for years, and that it’s not just a recent development. And honestly, that realization makes Foggy want nothing more than to crawl into a deep dark hole and die. Or at least hibernate for a few years so when he wakes up, he won’t remember this mortifying conversation.
That “oh” isn’t one of happiness; instead it makes Matt sound surprised and upset.
Foggy shrugs as offhandedly as he can muster, even though he can feel his heart break into a million little pieces. “Yeah, sorry if that’s inconvenient for you, or makes you uncomfortable, buddy. I’m not going to jump you, so you don’t need to worry about it.”
“Foggy,” Matt breathes, sounding flabbergasted, “this doesn’t make me uncomfortable, how could you even think--”
Both men freeze when they hear the door creak open and Karen call out, “I’m back! I hope you guys like Mexican food.”
Matt instantly takes a couple of steps back from Foggy, and that’s when it fully sinks in how close they had been standing only a few seconds ago, so close that Foggy was able to feel Matt’s warm breath fanning across his cheeks…
Foggy clears his throat and answers, “You bet your pretty face I do, Karen!”
He sidesteps Matt, and begins striding away as quickly as he can, hoping that Matt won’t have time to bring up the subject again.
Before he can fully leave the room, Matt grabs him by the wrist and gently tugs him back. “Foggy, please just--”
“No, Matt,” he whispers back vehemently, face burning and tears pricking at his eyes, “We are not doing this. You--just forget about it. Alright?”
He tugs his arm away and doesn’t allow Matt any time to respond before meeting Karen at her desk and thanking her for lunch.
***
Whether it was due to karmic justice, or just the Big Guy Upstairs doing him a solid, Foggy becomes violently ill approximately forty minutes after the three Nelson and Murdock employees finish lunch.
As it turns out, Mexican food does not sit well in Foggy’s stomach, and as a result he ends up bent over the toilet in their tiny closet of a bathroom, puking his guts out.
Normally, he wouldn’t consider vomiting a good thing, but in this case it’s a goddamned blessing in disguise, because he is now able to go home early rather than sit around looking at Matt’s kicked-puppy face for the remainder of the day.
Matt even offers to take him back to his apartment and make him peppermint tea for his upset stomach, the considerate asshole. But of course, Foggy rejects his offer as gently as possible, and instead promises the both of them that he’ll be in first thing tomorrow, then purposely leaves without looking at Matt.
***
So now here he is, lying on his couch while watching some foreign soap opera and nibbling on saltine crackers, hoping to settle the raging war zone that is currently his intestinal tract. He hasn’t thrown up since he first got home, which is nice, but his stomach is still on fire, and he feels gross and worn out.
He’s attempting to figure out the plot of the television show (something about twins and a murder suspect, maybe?) when his phone buzzes in his lap. Against his better judgment, he picks it up and reads the message.
From: Matt
is there anything i can do to make you feel better?
Foggy snorts. Yeah, Matt could stop acting like an awkward, guilty Catholic puppy just because he doesn’t reciprocate his best friend’s romantic feelings. That would definitely make Foggy feel better, but he doesn’t see that happening anytime soon. Oh, well. It doesn’t hurt to dream.
He doesn’t reply to Matt’s text. Instead, he turns off the phone and sets it on the floor before returning his attention to the television screen.
He yawns. Jesus, he’s tired. Everything that has happened to him in the past twenty-four hours, including the excessive drinking, hangover, The Great Intestinal Rebellion of 2015, and having to deal with Matt…it’s exhausted him.
His eyes begin drooping shut, no matter how much he tries fighting it. Finally, after several minutes of struggling to keep up with the soap opera’s plot, he resigns himself to his fate.
It’ll only be for little bit. Just a few minutes, he promises himself as he drifts off into some much-needed sleep.
***
Yeah, that whole “just a few minutes” thing? That never happens. Despite Foggy’s good intentions, he ends up sleeping a solid four hours. He wakes up at 6:30 p.m., and his first coherent thought is, Holy shit, what day is it?
His next action after waking up from his nap is dragging himself into the bathroom and brushing his teeth, because--yeah, disgusting. Obviously.
It isn’t too long after Foggy returns to the living room, looking for something to drink, when there is a light knocking on his door.
He tentatively walks over to the entranceway and wonders who in the world would want to visit him right now. He looks through the peephole suspiciously (because hey, knowing his luck, it could be a serial killer or someone equally as terrible) but when he sees that it’s Matt, he sighs and opens the door.
He takes one look at Matt and notices that he’s holding a Walgreens bag and a bouquet of flowers. Like, expensive, straight from the floral shop flowers. “Hey, Foggy,” he greets, looking nervous. “I tried to call.”
Foggy stares at him incredulously and says, “You’re telling me that you once again walked all the way to my apartment, not even knowing if I would be here or not?”
Matt shrugs. “It was worth the risk.”
Foggy sighs once again (honestly, he surely has to have an amazing lung capacity by now) and replies, “Come on in, Matt.”
Matt does so somewhat reluctantly, as if he’s nervous to be alone with Foggy in his apartment. The thought doesn’t inspire much confidence in Foggy, to say the least.
They end up standing a few feet apart in the living room. In the background, Foggy can hear pre-recorded laughter from some sit-com playing on the television.
There’s a heavy silence hanging in the air around them, so after a few moments Foggy points to the plastic bag curiously and asks, “What’s in there?”
“Different types of teas and medicines for your stomach,” Matt says, smiling a little bit. “I didn’t really know what would work or not, or what your preferences were, so I kind of just bought all of it.”
Foggy laughs and can’t help the warm feeling that spreads over him when he thinks about the lengths that Matt Murdock will go to in order to help somebody he cares about. “Did somebody help you out with this Walgreens adventure, or…?”
Matt’s grin grows wider. “Yeah, one of the managers helped me find most of the stuff. She was nice,” he says simply.
“Oh, well…thanks. You didn’t have to do that.” Foggy’s blushing now, and he’s pretty certain that Matt can tell as well.
“It’s fine. I wanted to,” Matt says with a soft smile. He pauses, and then he holds out the bouquet of flowers; it’s a multi-colored array of tulips, roses, and orchids, and now that Foggy’s actually taking the time to look them over, they look pretty damn amazing. “I also bought these for you.”
Foggy smiles and gingerly takes the bouquet out of Matt’s hands. “Jesus, these are beautiful, Matt. Thank you.” He also pulls the bag away from Matt and heads to the kitchen, Matt slowly following behind. He sets the Walgreens bag on the counter and searches through his cupboards for a vase or something suitable to place the flowers in.
Matt is completely silent during those couple of minutes, but then he clears his throat and asks in a small voice, “Do you think we can...sit on the couch for a minute and talk?” Foggy turns around to look at him. Matt’s glasses are now off, which makes him seem especially vulnerable and genuine.
Foggy bites his lip anxiously, then nods. “Sure, Matt.” He quickly fills the vase up with water and sets the flowers inside before turning towards Matt again and saying, “Lead the way.”
They walk the few steps it takes to reach the living room, and then they both settle on the couch. Foggy adjusts himself so he’s completely facing Matt. “So you…you bought me flowers for throwing up and stinking up the office bathroom?” Foggy asks, amused and slightly perplexed.
Matt lets out a huffy laugh. “No. I bought you flowers to apologize for how I reacted earlier.”
Foggy raises an eyebrow. “Reacted to what, exactly?”
“For how I reacted when I realized that you’ve been in love with me for years. I didn’t expect that at all, and it took me while, but I figured out that you were upset because you thought I was disgusted or uncomfortable with it.”
Foggy pauses, not quite believing they’re actually talking about this. “And you’re not?” he asks carefully.
“No, Foggy,” Matt rushes, almost desperately. He slides over on the couch so their knees are touching. “Not at all. It’s the complete opposite, in fact. That’s why I’ve been trying to talk to you all day.
“I needed to tell you…I needed you to know that I love you, too.”
Foggy’s heart completely stops for a second, and he has to steady his breathing before he speaks. “You have to be joking. You’re not serious, are you?”
Matt grabs Foggy’s hands and squeezes them, warm and reassuring. “I’m completely serious. I would never joke about something like this. I’m in love with you, Foggy.”
He leans in, slow enough to give Foggy time to pull away or say no to him. Foggy doesn’t; all he can do is sit there and wonder if Matt is actually going to do what he thinks he’s about to do.
Foggy swallows and searches Matt’s face for any sign of reluctance or regret, and then--
Matt gently cradles Foggy’s face in his hands, and kisses him softly on the forehead, and then slowly makes his way downward until he’s pressing light kisses against Foggy’s mouth. Foggy freezes and his eyelids flutter shut, and it’s like all of the unsure and nervous thoughts racing inside of his head come to a stop as he sighs and relaxes into Matt’s touches.
It takes a few moments for Foggy’s brain to completely come back online, but when it does, he gasps and kisses Matt back. Matt moans low in his throat when Foggy nips at his lower lip and tangles his hands in Matt’s dark hair.
He wants nothing more than to kiss Matt until he’s dizzy, but there’s still something that he’s dying to ask him. He breaks the kiss, but only barely, since their faces are still centimeters apart.
“How long?” Foggy breathes heavily against Matt’s mouth. “How long have you loved me, Matt?”
Matt smiles softly and traces the outer shell of Foggy’s ear with his thumb, effectively making Foggy shiver. “Years, probably,” he admits, “but I don’t think I truly realized it until recently.”
“Years?” Foggy pulls back, surprised. “And yet you were never able to tell that I was head over heels for you until now? Not very observant, Mr. Murdock.”
Matt shrugs. “Like I said, I just thought that’s what your heart always sounded like. I mean, it sped up when we first met, but I assumed it was just physical attraction. A lot of people react that way when they first meet me.”
Foggy grins and teases, “Getting a little cocky, are we, Murdock?”
“No, I didn’t mean it that way,” Matt laughs. “I just…your heartbeat stayed the same around me for years, Foggy. Sometimes it would go fast if I would take my shirt off or something, but I thought you were just attracted to my body…so it never even crossed my mind that you were actually in love with me.”
“Oh, Matty,” Foggy sighs, fond and exasperated at the same time. “Remember that time when I called you a handsome, wounded duck? Well, that still applies, only now you’re a handsome, wounded, and painfully oblivious duck.”
Matt chuckles again and says, “ ‘Matty’?” He raises an eyebrow in amusement. “You only call me Matty when you’re either really happy or really frustrated.”
Foggy laughs at that. “What if I’m both? Like this is pretty much the best day of my life and everything, but trust me, I’m still really pissed that we could have been doing this years ago."
“That’s fine. I understand. You can be pissed off all you want as long as you kiss me again.”
“Will do, counselor.” Foggy pulls him in for another kiss, only this one is faster and harder, filled with more yearning and heat than the last one. He can admit that he’s had some pretty great kisses in his day, but this one is easily the best one he’s ever had, and it’s made even more spectacular by the fact that it’s with the man he’s been in love with for the past several years.
When they finally pull away from each other (Had it been seconds? Minutes? Foggy honestly can’t remember) Matt strokes his face and says, “I love you, Foggy. I really, really love you” like it’s a confession. Matt smiles brightly at him, and Foggy feels like the sun is shining on both of them right now.
He gently rests his forehead against Matt’s and whispers, “I love you too, Matty.”