Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry, what?”

Matt isn’t sure how Foggy hadn’t known before now, nor why he’s so upset about it. 

“Seriously, it’s fine. I go to Mass, that’s all I need,” Matt insists with a weak smile. He’s fairly certain Foggy is going into what Matt has affectionately dubbed ‘Lawyer Mode’ in his head- when he gets all argumentative and plans his sentences three turns ahead of the conversation.

Foggy’s casual question of what Matt’s plans are for the next two days had been what started it, although it isn’t exactly clear why Foggy is asking. Maybe he thinks Matt will be lonely. No matter, though, since it doesn’t change his answer: he’s going to order cheap Chinese food, settle into his creaky, over-worn desk chair, and study the night away. The following day he’ll attend Mass at dawn and midnight. All the same things he does every year.

“Matt, Christmas Day is about all that is good and holy in the world! Family, and food, and presents, and my mom’s glazed ham- seriously Matt you *have* to try the food. My mom will restore your faith in humanity with this ham.” His arms make a swoosh through the air as he moves them emphatically.

“I’ve had your mom’s cooking, Fog. It is pretty amazing. Also, I’m pretty sure that’s not what Christmas is about?”

“And Jesus too, yeah, sure. But Matt, Matt, hang on, I’m gonna appeal to your Catholicism here.” He pauses, then speaks slowly, haltingly. “What, better way… to honor Jesus… than to spend time with people you care about?”

Matt scoffs in amusement. He adjusts his glasses, which are pinching his nose. The rectangular black frames had been irritating him lately, what with them never staying on right.  “You’re- you’re not wrong.”

“Then come with me!” Foggy is definitely in ‘Lawyer Mode’, and that’s how Matt knows he’s lost. Foggy tears even the professor to shreds in their debate class, Matt’s seen it first-hand. “Come on, I’ll even drive you to Mass.”

He sighs, but only for the drama of it. “You’re sure?”

“Matt, there is nothing I want for Christmas more than for you to stay with my family this weekend.”

“Even more than the glazed ham?” Matt mocks innocently.

Foggy hesitates, taking a sharp breath in. “... There is one thing I want more. But you’re a close runner-up!”

His voice sounds like the verbal equivalent of a shrug, and Matt laughs, genuine, throaty and just this side of too-loud. “Yeah, buddy, I’ll come with you.”

- - -

It’s during the taxi ride to the Nelsons’ that he realizes he doesn’t have gifts for anyone.

He shifts uncomfortably at the thought, pushing himself up with one palm against the itchy, cracking pleather seat and nervously twirling his compacted cane in the other. 

“Hey, Fog?”

“Hm?” Foggy turns in his seat. He’s been describing the scenery blurring past the windows, but since they’re stopped in traffic, his monologue has dwindled to the occasional comment on interesting-looking passersby.

“Am I gonna be expected to have gifts for everyone?”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about that,” Foggy gives a jittery laugh. “They, uh. May have only learned you were coming about an hour ago, so. Uh. It’s not like they’ll have anything for you either.”

“Foggy!” Matt’s eyebrows shoot up in indignation, chin jerking forward.

“What?”

“You didn’t tell them I was coming?!”

“I told them! Just… a little after we were on the way.”

Matt makes a frustrated noise. “This is such a bad idea.”

“It’ll be fine! Look, I knew they weren’t gonna say no. Everyone in my family loves you, you’ve charmed the shit out of them. I just…” he trails off, breathing irregular.

“What is it?”

“I…” Foggy licks his lips, tongue rasping over a crack that sprouted last week after their last snowball fight. “I wasn’t sure you were going to say yes. It would have been unbearable if I told them in advance, then ended up coming alone. They’re always telling me I need to… make more friends.”

Matt frowns. Foggy has plenty of friends, he’s a gosh dang social butterfly. Sure, he isn’t close with many of them, but he can start up a conversation with anybody. His family should recognize that.

He claps a hand on Foggy’s shoulder, smiling flatly. “Well then, I’m happy to help. I’ll get them off your back, at least for this weekend.”

Matt can hear a strained sort of relief in Foggy’s voice when he says “thanks.”

- - - 

Mrs. Nelson greets them at the door as soon as they knock (“How many times do I have to tell you? It’s Anna, dear”), pulling them both into tight hugs, one after the other, then ushers them in and hurries back to the kitchen.

They make it one whole step before Matt grinds to a halt, having just been slapped in the face with a full-frontal wave of sensory input. It’s not bad, but it is a lot. There’s a roast in the oven just shy of done, coated with something peppery and tart, and fresh-baked rolls cooling on the counter. Faint Christmas music floats from the ancient record player in one corner, nearly drowned out by the dull roar of half a dozen people conversing. He blinks hard and tries to take it all in.

“Matty?”

“Huh?” Matt’s attention snaps back to the man standing next to him. 

“You alright, man? You kinda just… stopped.”

Matt shakes his head, clearing his senses like a bad Etch-a-Sketch. “Yeah, sorry, just processing everything. Appreciating.”

Foggy chuckles. “Just wait until you actually get to taste the food. So, uh, my mom’s cooking awaits. ...Shall we?” He extends a hand towards the living room. 

In a singular moment of unrestrained, uncalculated instinct, Matt grabs it. 

“Oh-”

He retracts his hand and repeatedly fails to put it in his pocket, face flaming. The edges of his coat suddenly feel unbearably itchy. “Sorry, uh-”

“It’s all good, I don’t mind.” Foggy offers his hand again, this time towards Matt instead of the path forward. Matt takes it in his own again, then slides up his arm until he lands in the crook of Foggy’s elbow. 

Safer territory.

“Ready?” Foggy asks, pulling the door closed behind them.

Matt takes a deep breath, letting it punch out of his chest into a slightly stressed sigh. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Then right this way, my good sir!” 

- - - 

The Nelsons are as friendly as ever. Foggy tells him that Uncle Timmy and Aunt Jeanie are on one side of the room, talking to Grandpa Bob while little Ruthie runs circles around them. Theo stands towards the counters with two more of Foggy’s cousins. Mr. Nelson is in the kitchen tossing pasta salad- Matt can smell the vinegar and hear the olives hitting the bowl with dull little plink sounds. Mrs. Nelson, of course, tends to the roast. It may not be the famous glazed ham, but any of Anna’s cooking is a coveted thing, and everyone knows to leave her be when she’s working.

Foggy greets his brother, then beelines to join the conversation with his grandfather. Matt trails along with him, clinging a little tighter and pressing minutely into his side. He’s not ready to let go yet.

Matt had nearly forgotten how cozy it is in the Nelson abode. Bob may be a little grouchy, but everyone else is almost comically friendly, like a cartoon about Christmas, rather than a real family. It all sounds very… soft, to Matt’s ears. Soft and kind and welcoming. Foggy, in particular, promotes that feeling. His knit sweater and the faint vanilla scent of his shampoo make Matt want to tuck his entire face into his chest and stay there for an inordinate amount of time. 

He restrains himself. Instead, he joins the conversation, offering opinions and talking about his time at Columbia. The Nelsons haven’t gotten any new additions to family get-togethers in years, so they all want to dote on him. Ruthie takes a particular liking to him, and practically begs him to sit next to her for dinner. That’s how he finds himself wedged between Foggy’s youngest cousin and his Aunt Jeanie, directly across from Foggy himself. 

The food smells delicious, and tastes even better. The scalloped potatoes are perfectly cheesy and soft, the pasta salad has a good zing to it, the meat is impossibly tender and the rolls melt in his mouth. It’s been… Matt doesn’t even want to figure out how long it’s been since he’s eaten a home-cooked meal. There’s even wine to go with it, and while it’s far from fancy, he’s sure it’s nicer than anything he and Foggy could afford. He gladly accepts a glass.

Ruthie is easy to talk to. He lets her ramble about her days at school, how she likes her teacher and all her different classmates. She loves P.E. and Science, but hates English, which she informs him of through the gap in where one of her front teeth should be. Matt chuckles and prompts her to keep talking. 

Conversation cycles around the table, bouncing between family members at either end. In the midst of the comfortable chaos, Foggy finds Matt’s feet under the table, and kicks him. Matt covers a smirk with his hand and kicks back. 

The two keep playing footsie. They trade ankle-jabs and toe-nudges, right up until the moment that Aunt Jeanie gets caught in the crossfire. Both boys immediately sit still, and Matt offers a quiet, “Sorry, Mrs. Nelson.”

In a casual, melodic voice, she tells them, “It’s alright, boys.”

- - -

A long while later, when more than one bottle of wine has been drained and Ruthie has started yawning, they get up to clean. While everyone else does dishes and packs leftovers, Matt sits with the youngest Nelson. She’s still talking, more slowly now, and her already-scattered trains of thought have become nigh impossible to understand. 

Aunt Jeanie sets a hand on his shoulder. “It’s time for bed, sweetheart,” she tells her daughter. 

Ruthie doesn’t even protest, like Matt is fairly certain kids are wont to do. She just says, “I want Uncle Matt to tuck me in.” 

Matt’s lips part in surprise. Uncle Matt.

He turns to be almost-looking at Jeanie. “Do you mind?” he asks carefully. 

She thinks about it for a moment before agreeing, “I don’t see why not. I’ll show you which room.”

Matt stands, only to feel little Ruthie tugging at his pant leg. “Will you carry me?” Her high voice is so quiet, barely peeping through the syllables. 

Matt chuckles. “I thought you were a big girl, Ruthie! Isn’t eleven too old to be carried to bed?” He can practically hear her posture drooping before he scoops her up in his arms. “Just joking, kiddo.”

She tucks her chin over his shoulder with a happy squeal.

The way to the guest bedroom is barely more than a minute, but Matt’s chest must be the most comfortable place in the world, because the little girl is already asleep by the time they get to the top of the stairs. 

“She certainly seems to have taken a liking to you,” Jeanie says softly. She pushes the door open for him.

He hums in agreement. “Seems like. Shouldn’t she brush her teeth?”

Jeanie waves a hand dismissively, Matt can hear the way it splits the air without much force. “She’ll be ok for one night.”

Matt nods in assent, careful of the fragile body by his neck, then finds the bed with his knee and sets her down on a pillow. He arranges the thin limbs and pulls the blanket over her. He doesn’t think he could keep the fond smile from his face even if he tried.

Jeanie leads him back to the living room, where the adults are just settling in for an extra glass of wine; it is cramped with so many people, but the thick rug cushioning the ratty carpet makes it seem cozy. The whole place still smells like good food. Matt finds his place next to Foggy, claiming an armrest for himself with Foggy pressed up against him.

The group is a little more raucous than before, what with the amount of alcohol in them, but Matt is just tipsy enough not to mind. He and Foggy chat about anything and everything, joined occasionally by Theo.

At one point, Matt thinks to ask, “So what does Christmas look like for you guys, anyway?”

Theo starts to explain earnestly. “Well, there’s plenty of gift-giving, usually on Christmas morning. And we’ll have a big dinner tomorrow night, even better than tonight. And we decorate a pine tree, or an evergreen actually, with ornaments and lights and popcorn and stuff.”

Matt had noticed the tree early on, couldn’t smell any pine so it must be plastic, but he can hear the tinny buzzing of the lights he supposes must be strung around it. They sound sort of cute.

“Really it’s about time with family,” says Foggy, “But most kids don’t care much about that, so Santa- they think that Santa is gonna come down the chimney and leave them presents under the tree.”

Matt can’t contain a snort at that. Most of it makes sense, it isn’t far off what he’d done in the orphanage, but Santa? It was supposed to be about Jesus, and the Holy Trinity. 

“Hey! Don’t you laugh at me!” Foggy is smiling too, he can hear it in his voice. “So sorry that not all of us can be as pious as you, O Holy One.”

“Mm. Sucks to be you, I guess.” Matt takes a casual sip from his glass, then sets it on the end table behind him.

“Oh you’ll pay for that.” That’s all the warning Matt gets before Foggy knocks him back, and proceeds to tickle the everloving shit out of him. Turns out, if you watch enough late-night movies on your laptop with someone, you can learn all their ticklish spots, and Foggy is abusing this knowledge to its full extent.

Normally Matt would be mortified by doing anything so familiar as this in front of anyone else, but somehow the embarrassment never sets in. Instead, he’s reduced to a weak wheeze-laugh as he tries to turn over and crawl away. “Fo- Foggy please- we can- we can talk about this-”

“It’s too late, Matthew! You brought this upon yourself!”

“No, please!” He tries without any real effort to push Foggy off.

In the background, he hears Theo telling Foggy to “go for the ribs!”, while Anna and Ed laugh at them good-naturedly. 

Finally, Foggy has to stop, but only because he himself is laughing too hard to continue. He collapses, forehead to Matt’s collarbone, as the pair cough out the last of the humor before sitting up again with goofy smiles plastered to their faces.

The rest of the family has stopped paying attention by now, and actually begins to filter out in favor of finding their beds. Matt and Foggy follow suit, ambling through the steps of brushing their teeth and changing before fitting themselves in Foggy’s bed. It’s queen-size, so while they’re not horribly cramped, they don’t exactly have space to spread out. Matt finds Foggy’s arm acting as his pillow, and one of Matt’s knees slots between both of Foggy’s. 

It wasn’t like they’d never been this close. Their dorm is hardly bigger than a shoebox; the two end up wrapped around each other more often than not. Matt has no trouble falling right asleep.

- - - 

The first sound that registers in Matt’s sleep-addled mind is the obnoxiously cheerful pealing of his alarm. He utters a quiet groan into the pillow, reaching vaguely to the side and slapping the ‘off’ button. 

He sighs, dropping onto his front and letting his shoulders sag. Foggy’s arm weighs down the small of his back, and his soft snoring reverberates off the poster-covered walls of the room. One floor below them, Ruthie is breathing softly, sandwiched between both of her parents. Cars are already running on the street outside, headlights buzzing in the predawn darkness. It’s blissfully peaceful. 

He sighs one more time before heaving himself up, wriggling out from under Foggy’s arm and tiptoeing to his suitcase. He puts himself together in the bathroom- Foggy is a deep sleeper, but he doesn’t want to risk waking his friend up so early in the morning. The tile is cold even through his socks, and the hiss of the faucet is a shock against the near-silence.

He locks the handle of the front door and closes it behind him, stepping out into the biting cold of late December in New York. He can feel the moisture being stripped from his throat with every exhale. He pulls his shabby coat a little tighter around him, bristly fabric chafing his wrists and neck, then readjusts his glasses (still pinching, always pinching his nose) and sets off. The tapping of his cane against the pavement seems particularly loud in the frozen quiet of 5am.

Taxi rides cost a fortune on Christmas Day, so Matt is limiting himself to one, instead choosing to walk the way to his church. Thankfully it’s not too far, and once he gets moving, it’s easier to keep going than it would be to stop.

The air stings every bit of exposed skin, bringing blood to the tip of his nose and making his eyes water. He pops his ears, sliding his jaw from one side to the other and back, then speeds up.

The relative warmth of St. Agnes’ is a welcome sensation. He slides into a seat in the pews. He can uncurl his fingers from the handle of his cane again- gradually, and carefully. The polished oak beneath him starts to thaw him out, although it’s sure to be near-freezing too. The smooth, aged varnish is reassuring for its familiarity. The room is cavernous and largely empty, that much he can feel- The cathedral is built to hold hundreds, and barely more than a few dozen are here. But despite the loneliness, despite the cold, despite the stark design, he can’t help but be warmed by the comfort settling into his bones. He rearranges himself and waits for the dawn service to begin.

- - -

By the time Matt steps back through the tall double doors, smelling of rosemary and myrrh, it has warmed to an almost-tolerable temperature, and he takes that as his sign to finally get Foggy a gift. He’s thinking maybe a new beanie, seeing as his last one had blown into the marina, the one and only time he and Matt had gone on a ferry ride.

In line to check out, Matt tunes out the poppy music spitting from the overheard speakers, but  catches the sugary-sweet aroma of highly processed chocolate. He sweeps his hand over an item on the shelves. 

For lack of a less questionable-looking investigation method he can use while in broad daylight, Matt asks a nearby employee to describe it to him. She calls it ‘a tin wreath, filled with ganache chocolates’. 

He smiles wryly and adds it to the belt.

- - -

He lets himself into the Nelson household after carefully running his fingers under the welcome mat for the spare key. It closes behind him with a quiet creak. It’s still dark, none of the lights are making any noise, but it won’t be that way for long; he can hear people starting to shift in their beds. 

The whole place smells lived-in, and while he wouldn’t yet go so far as to call it home, Matt rests easy here. His bones are at peace. He feels tension beginning to leak out through the worn-down soles of his shoes.

He removes his outermost layers, then pads upstairs, anchoring himself on the familiar sound of Foggy’s heartbeat. The plywood door scrapes gently over the thin carpet. He trades the rest of his clothes for a comfy pair of sweatpants, setting his glasses on the bedside table, then peels back the comforter and crawls into bed next to his best friend. He replaces Foggy’s arm over his waist, just the way it was before he left, and tucks his forehead into the center of Foggy’s chest without a second thought. Every remaining bit of stress leaves him in a rush; a gooey puddle of Murdock melts into place against Foggy’s warmth. 

He heaves a deep sigh. A faint, contented smile plays onto his face. 

Foggy’s heartbeat is strong and steady. Matt can feel it against the tip of his nose. Foggy’s breathing passes through his chest without even a little bit of a wheeze, coming out his nose and mouth as a gentle snore. He still smells like vanilla shampoo, and now like the gingerbread candle that had been lit after dinner last night, like good wine, and a little like his childhood home, and Matt wants to smother himself in it for the foreseeable future.

This, right here. This is what Matt wants.

Of course, it doesn’t last for long. Before Foggy’s breathing can even begin to shift to signal that he might wake soon, Ruthie barrels into the room at top speed. She launches herself into the air, and all 75 pounds of excitement lands on top of the pair. Foggy’s snoring switches to an involuntary “oOF-” as all the air is forced out of him. Matt bears the pain of a tiny foot in his stomach. 

“FROGGY!!! Uncle Froggy, Uncle Matt! Uncle Froggy, Uncle Matt! Wake up wake up wake up wake up!”

Foggy groans quietly, then blinks hard. “Well good morning, Baby Ruth! What’s got you so excited?” He picks her up and rolls over to sit her in his lap.

“It’s Christmas!!!” she says with an overwhelming level of gusto, bouncing on Foggy’s stomach and forcing another quiet “ouff” out of him. “There are presents!!”

Matt chuckles and sits up too, “No, it can’t be. Are you sure?” 

She seems to miss the teasing in his tone. “Yes!! Come on, I’m sure there’s something for you too!!” She hops down and makes it her mission to drag them both out of bed by the hand, and although Matt is fairly sure he could sling her entire body over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, they let her ‘lift’ them up and lead them downstairs.

Most of the adults are already there, and Mrs. Nelson has somehow managed to whip up breakfast for eleven people in the hour or two that Matt was ‘asleep’. They all sit and eat, and although Ruthie is practically vibrating with gift-impatience the whole time, she still enjoys more than her share of sugar-topped blueberry muffins.

The Christmas tree is situated in a corner of the living room; Matt likes the way that sound fractures and bounces between the plastic tines. Ruthie tears open two of her gifts with zealous frenzy before remembering her manners and passing some out to everyone else. 

It’s with a sudden, cloying dread, that floods from his chest up his throat that Matt remembers he never wrapped Foggy’s gifts. They’re sitting next to his bed, right where he dropped them a few hours ago. 

He sets a hand on Foggy’s arm to assure him that everything is alright as he stands, stepping carefully through the drifts of paper he can hear being brushed around the living room floor. He finds Mrs. Nelson’s voice, then taps her on the shoulder and leans down to mutter in her ear: “Can you help me wrap something for Foggy?”

She jumps slightly, but responds with a swift and equally quiet “of course, dear.”

Five minutes later, Matt returns, a novelty gift bag swinging from one hand. He drops it into Foggy’s lap and seats himself between his friend and the fabric-covered couch arm again. He’s been told it has a glitter-coated image of a Christmas tree on it.

“Oh!” Foggy says. “Thanks, Matt. I have one for you too, over on the- here, let me show you.” He slides his fingers over the back of Matt’s wrist and up the tendons of his hand, and guides it to the end table, where he finds a small box. 

Everyone else is tearing paper open at the same time, so Matt figures he doesn’t need to wait. He slips his fingers under the taped seams, finding the cardboard already open for him. He reaches in to find- glasses.

He’s not wearing his glasses. He flushes slightly in embarrassment, feeling all-too-suddenly vulnerable.

“They’re red,” Foggy informs him. “They’re uh- round, with silver frames. I thought they might look good on you.” 

The embarrassment is gone for the moment when he grins wide, wider than that comment should make him want to, and slips them onto his face. They sit comfortably on his nose, plastic pads only a little stiff from lack of use. Much better than his old, beat-up pair.

“How do I look?” he asks.

Foggy carefully straightens one corner, hand barely brushing Matt’s cheek. Matt flushes a little more at the contact.

“Always knew red was your color,” is Foggy’s affectionate response.

Matt forcefully ignores the pounding tempo in his chest, choosing instead to gesture at the bag in Foggy’s lap. “So? Are you gonna open it?”

Foggy chuckles. “So impatient, Murdock.”

There’s a shuffling, crinkling sound as Foggy removes the thrice-reused tissue paper, and then the first item. “Oh, nice, new beanie. Been meaning to buy another one. Thanks.” The paper crinkles some more as Foggy goes, “Is this a… wreath?”

“Filled with chocolates.” Matt ducks his head, scratching nervously at the back of his neck. “It’s- you wanted to hang a wreath outside our dorm, but the super wouldn’t let you put a nail in the door. I just thought this might be a good substitute.” 

There’s a short pause. Then Foggy opens the tin with a hollow pop, places one truffle in Matt’s hand, and closes his fingers around it. “Why don’t you try one, then.”

Matt blinks. He takes a bite. “Mm- they’re not that bad, actually. A little on the sweet side.” They’re undeniably cheap, tasting of processed ingredients and stale nuts and not much else- but hey, they’re college students. Cheap is all they know.

“Perfect for me, then!” Foggy pops one into his mouth and clacks it against his teeth before biting it in half.

Matt pushes his new glasses further up his nose, beaming proudly. “I’m glad.”

- - - 

If Matt was in Mrs. Nelson’s position, he’s sure he would have gone insane many hours ago. As it turns out, she has much more patience than him, and makes it all the way till early afternoon before snapping and banishing everyone from the apartment. 

After a short debate (“I just don’t want you to freeze, buddy” - “I’ll be fine, Foggy”), they decide to kill some time with a walk through Central Park. The air is bitingly cold, and a wind has risen since morning, buffeting their limbs this way and that with the occasional aggressive gust. Matt can smell the frost in the air, can feel sharp crystals that he’s come to associate with microscopic ice particles, and Foggy warns him that he has to step carefully because the ground is frozen.

Matt likes when it snows. The cold is miserable, of course, making his overworked joints ache and freezing his fingers stiff around the handle of his cane. But he has fond memories of snow days- curling up with his dad and some cheesy movies, buried in a comically large pile of blankets. He can practically feel the mug of watery hot chocolate in his hands, burning his tongue whenever he dares take a sip. 

Back then, he had loved the coziness of it all, and the time he got to spend with his dad. Now, he’s learned to love how quiet snow makes things. It acts as a thick carpet, muffling all the sounds of the city.

Matt likes snow days. Plus, they give him an excuse to stand closer to Foggy, and Matt likes Foggy. He tucks himself further into the man’s side, searching for that precious warmth that Foggy exudes like a never-failing space heater. 

Foggy slows his stride. “Are you still cold?”

Matt just shrugs in response, unable to keep himself from shivering. “Not very.”

“Here.” Foggy takes Matt’s hand from where it’s hooked through his elbow and instead sticks it in his own jacket pocket. “Better?”

Matt runs his fingertips down Foggy’s open palm, then curls them into a fist for Foggy to wrap his hand around Matt’s knuckles. “Yeah, thanks.” 

There’s lint in his pocket, and tangled thread loose from the stitching. Foggy has extra blood running to his face, Matt can hear it circulating in his cheeks. Must be from the wind. “We should probably get back, right?”

Foggy clears his throat. “Uh, yeah, probably.”

Matt makes sure to press as close to Foggy as he can the whole way back. The air doesn’t sting quite so bad anymore.

- - - 

The apartment is warm, so very warm, and Matt can feel the tip of his nose start to thaw. Even the entryway is thick with the scent of honey and oranges, blended with the curing spices on the ham. There are other dishes, too- he can smell the delicate layer of oil and salt on the green beans, and a hearty amount of garlic in the starchy mashed potatoes.

He gives one big shiver, shaking off the chill of the outdoors as well as his overcoat, then cracks his neck and follows Foggy into the dining room. Soon, the last of the family files in, and Ruthie’s blood is pumping hard from her time outside as she sits herself next to him. She starts talking fast, even faster than the night before, and keeps on talking until well into the meal.

Dinner is absolutely delicious. Foggy may have been right about the ham. Matt doesn’t have any faith in humanity that needs restoring, since Foggy takes care of that for him every day, but it is really good. He gladly takes a second serving, along with everyone else. He isn’t sure that there’ll be any leftovers. He makes sure to savor the flavors on his tongue; the steady cumin and earthy cloves, little punches of paprika and onion, topped beautifully with a syrupy orange glaze.

The atmosphere, too, is more perfect than he could have asked for. So much laughter and joy at one table. Everyone has as much wine and food as they could want, and little Ruthie is enjoying 

 a champagne flute of fizzing apple cider. The air is warm with the heat of so many bodies. Foggy is barely two feet away from him, Matt can hear the regular beating of his heart more clearly than he can the old-fashioned music from the other room.

The evening is a long, drawn-out affair, and Matt loves all of it. In the end, though, it’s been a long day, and everyone is ready to get some rest. Ruthie’s dad carries her to bed, and the adults all agree to leave the dishes for tomorrow. Matt and Foggy retreat to their room, feet clunking on the steps. 

- - -

Matt plops himself onto the bed without pause, crossing his legs and holding his ankles in front of him. 

“I’m gonna touch your face now, Matt,” Foggy warns him. 

“Yup.”

Foggy pokes the tip of one finger into the center of his forehead, and Matt lets himself roll backwards as if Foggy had actually pushed him over. He splays his arms out when he lands, going loose and puffing his cheeks out with a tired sigh. Foggy’s weight makes a dent in the bed next to him.

“I’m still driving you to Mass, right?” Foggy checks.

“Mhm.”

Matt’s eyes drift closed, revelling in the tranquil stillness of the room and the perfect cushion of the bed against his tired muscles. It’s just a little too cold, making the hair on his arms stand up in the confines of his jacket, but he doesn’t mind.

Foggy mirrors him, laying down and stretching his arms out in the other direction, so they fill up the whole bed. They sit like that, decompressing, for more than a few minutes.

“Have you ever danced?” Foggy asks suddenly.

Matt blinks rapidly. “I- what? I mean, I assume I have at some point, just. By myself, or whatever.”

“No, I mean, like- like with someone. Ballroom dancing, or something like it.”

He laughs at that, propping himself up on his elbows. “No, Foggy, I can’t say that I’ve ever… ballroom danced before.”

“Me neither.” Foggy falls into a thoughtful silence. “Come on, I have an idea.” He drags Matt upright, like Ruthie did this morning only with much, much more strength. Matt tamps that thought down and follows him downstairs. 

There’s only one light left on, on the far end of the kitchen. Matt wonders how dark it must be for Foggy. The man in question doesn’t turn any on, though, focusing instead on loading the record player and dropping the needle. Suddenly Frank Sinatra croons through the speaker, imploring them to recognize the loveliness of the Christmas season. 

“I’m gonna touch you now, Matt,” Foggy warns, then steps far closer than Matt had anticipated. “Yeah?”

Matt nods, so Foggy sets Matt’s hands on his shoulders, and both of his own around Matt’s waist. Matt tries not to inhale too sharply. Foggy’s hair is swishing softly over the backs of his hands- it's very soft.

He shoves the mental static from that thought aside and follows along as Foggy says “Then we just… step? I’ll narrate, here- right foot,-** back-” he takes a slow step forward with his left, and Matt stumbles to get his foot out of the way in time. “Then left foot, out-” he steps out with his right, and Matt copies him on the left. “Yeah, then left forward, and right..”

It’s fairly easy to pick up. Actually, it’s a little like boxing footwork. By the time Sinatra has finished convincing them of the virtues of the snowy season, the pair moves smoothly around the living room. A new song starts up for them. 

“I’ve seen my parents doing this,” Foggy explains. “They always seem so… peaceful, when they dance. I thought you might like to try.”

“It’s nice, Fog.” He’s trying to be normal about it, although that’s effectively shattered when he slides his arms around Foggy’s neck and sets his head on his friend’s shoulder. He barely refrains from tucking his nose all the way into his neck. Foggy just sighs, leaning his head against Matt’s temple.

They stay like that, swaying in gentle circles around the little room to a medley of Christmas songs for… Matt isn’t sure how long. The crackle of the record player and the soft pressure of Foggy’s hands on his waist lull him into a meditative state.

Eventually, though, Foggy lifts his head enough to look to the kitchen, presumably towards a clock. “Yep,” he mumbles softly, “time to go.” 

Then he freezes, arms stiff around Matt, heart fluttering as he stops breathing for a moment. Foggy tears himself away all at once, putting far too much distance between them and running his hands through his hair. “Um- it’s time to go, if you wanna make it on time. Are you ready? My dad is letting me borrow the car.”

Matt’s head twitches to one side, brow furrowing in confusion. “Fogs? Are you-”

“I’m fine. C’mon, let’s go.”

He trails after his friend into the freezing night air once again. Foggy shows him where the car is and holds the door open for him, then falls into the driver's seat with a distinct lack of grace. 

They drive the whole way to the church in silence. Foggy is locked in place, every muscle pulled taught as he clenches his fingers around the steering wheel. It’s only when they pull in next to the church, leaving the car running at the curbside, that Matt is able to put a hand on Foggy’s knee.

In the smallest, most careful voice, he asks, “Are you ok?”, and Foggy’s shoulders go slack. Fabric shifts as Foggy’s tension begins to dissipate.

“I’m ok, Matt. I just need to get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow, alright? You’ve got a ride back?”

Matt nods, hesitates, then pulls Foggy into a hug as best he can over the center console. Foggy buries his face in his shoulder. Matt listens to the way his heart rate starts to slow as he breathes.

He takes one more deep, steadying breath before sitting up. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Matt.”

“See you, Fog.” Matt hauls himself out of the car, unfolding his cane and making his way towards the smell of frankincense.

- - -

It’s nearly two hours later when Matt steps out of the cab, paying the driver, and slipping through the front door of the Nelson home for the third time that day.

He leaves his shoes by the door and pads upstairs, socks making near-silent noises against the carpet.

He yawns three times in succession while undressing and brushing his teeth, ears popping on the first and third. 

In their room, Foggy is fast asleep, muscles no longer tense and heart no longer irregular. His breathing is slow. Matt slides into bed next to him with leaden limbs. The shifting sheets seem loud in the fragile quiet.

Matt takes a deep breath, soaking in the calm, and rubs circles into Foggy’s back. His friend makes a low humming sound in his chest and rolls closer, and Matt welcomes him with open arms. 

- - -

Matt wakes slowly, to the sound of chirping birds and bustling cars and the steady breathing of his best friend. Foggy is lying next to him, breath fanning over his face, and Matt is blinking his sleep-heavy eyelids open and trying to determine if Foggy is awake yet when Foggy darts forward and kisses him. 

He doesn’t linger, just starts apologizing before their lips have even separated. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. That was so fucked up, I’m sorry, I should have asked, and you don’t even swing that way, and-”

Foggy is acting far too awake for whatever time it is, and Matt is very in love with him, and he can’t stand this any longer. He rushes forward to clutch at his friend’s face and kisses him as hard as he can. 

It’s desperate, and slow, and Matt can feel every nerve in his body singing with how right it is. 

“But-” Foggy tries when they break for air. Matt kisses him again to shut him up. 

Without letting go, he sits up and situates himself in Foggy’s lap, then just… takes his time, enjoying the way Foggy’s lips feel moving against his. He scratches his fingertips through the scrubby shape of Foggy’s facial hair, liking the way the prickly-soft texture keeps him grounded.

The second kiss is followed by a third, then a fourth, until suddenly Foggy is the one leaning in, grasping Matt’s chin with thumb and pointer and holding it in place to kiss him for a fifth, a sixth, so many times that Matt loses count. 

A while later- a minute, or maybe a lifetime, a life well spent- Matt has no choice but to pull away and catch his breath. He links his hands at the back of Foggy’s neck, under his wild bedhead, and rests their foreheads together. They’re breathing morning breath in each other’s faces, but he hardly notices anymore.

“We really should talk about this,” Foggy reasons.

“I love you,” is what Matt says.

Foggy laughs incredulously, ducking to knock his forehead against Matt’s collarbone, then starts pressing kisses against the column of his neck. Matt’s certainly not about to protest. 

“Can’t believe you… one-upping…” the words are hard to understand when most of Foggy’s attention is going to Matt’s neck, but he gets the gist. “Stubborn… ass…” He nips at one spot near the base, working Matt’s skin between his teeth, and Matt makes an odd sort of keening noise. Foggy ignores it and travels up his neck, his jaw, and back to his lips. “I… love you too!” 

He plants another kiss on Matt’s lips, seeming like he just can’t help himself, before he says “God, I love you so much. Loved you since the day I met you, do you remember?”

Matt grins, a besotted, overwhelmed thing, and his face feels like it must be an interesting shade of red. “You flirted with me.”

“I flirted with you,” Foggy confirms dejectedly. 

Matt hums, noncommittal. “Seems to have worked out pretty well for you though, hasn’t it?”

Foggy scoffs. “Only after years of pining- God, Matt, it was so pathetic.” He kisses him again. “You’re so- we really should talk about this though.” 

“Talking is overrated,” Matt mumbles distractedly.

“... Matt, we’re training to be lawyers. Our whole job is gonna be talking.”

Matt reaches down to find Foggy’s collarbone and leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses past his clavicle. “This sounds like more fun, though.”

Foggy laughs, a deep, hearty, from-the-diaphragm kind of laugh that bursts from his throat and makes Matt’s heart skip.

“What?!” Matt asks incredulously, not stopping the onslaught of attention with lips and tongue and teeth against Foggy’s collarbones. He pulls his t-shirt down for more access. “It’s not like I’m wrong.”

“Mmm. I’ll give you that,” Foggy admits. He cups a hand around Matt’s cheek, fingers splitting around his ear and scratching into his hair, then pulls him up for another deep kiss.

Outside the window, birds are singing warbly melodies, and Foggy’s family is clattering around in the kitchen downstairs. The blankets around them are soft, the top layer cool from the fading night air. Foggy is a warm weight against him, and Matt has never felt more loved.

Chapter Text

Foggy blinked once, twice, in rapid succession. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Seriously, it’s fine. I go to Mass, that’s all I need,” Matt insisted, visibly shrinking. 

Absolutely not. Foggy wasn’t gonna let him do his ‘tragic Catholic duck’ routine, he wasn’t letting his friend spend Christmas alone, for what sounded like the many-th time in a row. Unacceptable. Completely unacceptable, when Foggy’s family was always willing to welcome another body for the holiday season.

“Matt, Christmas Day is about all that is good and holy in the world! Family, and food, and presents, and my mom’s glazed ham-” He was gesticulating with his arms, trying to make his point more convincing, even if Matt couldn’t see that detail. “-seriously Matt, you have to try the food. My mom will restore your faith in humanity with this ham.” 

Matt’s eyebrows knit together in the cutest way. “I’ve had your mom’s cooking, Fog. It is amazing. Also, I’m pretty sure that’s not what Christmas is about?”

“And Jesus too, yeah, sure. But Matt, Matt, hang on, I’m gonna appeal to your Catholicism here.” He took a deep breath, schooling his features for no benefit except his own composure. “What, better way… to honor Jesus… than to spend time with people you care about?”

Matt’s amused, slightly unsure scoff was what told Foggy that he was winning. He adjusted his glasses in that signature way of his. “You’re- you’re not wrong.”

“Then come with me!” Foggy pounced on the opening- he wasn’t about to let up now. “Come on, I’ll even drive you to Mass.”

Matt knew he was beaten. He sighed, ducking his chin just a little, and said “you’re sure?”

Foggy straightened his posture in mocking, yet resolute confidence. “Matt, there is nothing I want for Christmas more than for you to stay with my family this weekend.” 

“Even more than the glazed ham?”

He inhaled sharply, holding up one finger, then sagged. “... There is one thing I want more. But you’re a close runner-up!” He raised his hands placatingly in a not-sorry shrug.

Matt laughed then, laughed at Foggy’s faux-apology, and Foggy grinned wide. Score. Matt’s laugh was one of his favorite sounds, especially when it came out sounding like a shout like it did now.

“Yeah, buddy, I’ll come with you.”

- - -

Foggy always did his best to narrate for Matt, even things that weren’t important. That included the scenery passing outside the taxi window- and that’s what he had done, for the first bit of the drive. But now they were stopped in traffic, and despite his best efforts, there were only so many things Foggy could describe in one place. 

Matt shifted uncomfortably in his seat, twirling his collapsed cane in his hand. That was never a good sign.

“Hey, Fog?”

“Hm?” 

Matt bit nervously at the side of his lip, and Foggy did not stare, he did not. “Am I gonna be expected to have gifts for everyone?”

Foggy went stiff. “Oh, no, don’t worry about that.” He gave a jittery laugh. “They, uh. May have only learned you were coming about an hour ago, so. Uh. It’s not like they’ll have anything for you either.” 

“Foggy!” Matt’s eyebrows shot up above the black lenses of his glasses, mouth open in shocked offense. 

“What?” 

“You didn’t tell them I was coming?!”

Foggy rubbed the hem of his jacket between two fingers. “I told them! Just… a little after we were on the way.”

Matt made a frustrated noise. “This is such a bad idea.”

“It’ll be fine!” He raised his hands to mollify him, like Matt could even tell. “Look, I knew they weren’t gonna say no, everyone in my family loves you, you’ve charmed the shit out of them. I just…” he trailed off without finishing. They won’t stop telling me to ask you out, he didn’t say. Even if it was true.

“What is it?”

“I…” he scrambled, “I wasn’t sure you were going to say yes. It would have been unbearable if I told them in advance, then ended up coming alone. They’re always telling me I need to… make more friends.” That’s not what they say. Please don’t look into it. 

Foggy fidgeted even more, completely on edge. This was veering into dangerous territory.

Thankfully, Matt just clapped a hand on Foggy’s shoulder, giving him a weird smile. “Well then, I’m happy to help. I’ll get them off your back, at least for this weekend.”

Foggy gave a weak “thanks”. His ribs caved, pulverizing his lungs, and he counted himself lucky that he was already sitting down.

- - -

His mom looked a little thinner with every passing year, and with a few more greys. She greeted them at the door, hugging them tight (she may have been thinner, but her strength hadn’t waned a bit, uhff-) and beckoning them in before hurrying back to the kitchen.

The place smelled delicious, and Foggy was happy to be back in his family’s home. Matt, however, made it all of one step through the door before wobbling to a halt- Foggy had to backtrack to watch Matt’s face twitch, first the nose, then the eyebrows, then the jaw. The comfy yellow light was reflecting off his glasses in an intriguing way. 

“...Matty?” he uttered hesitantly. 

“Huh?” Matt’s head snapped to almost-look at him, eyes wide.

“You alright, man? You kinda just… stopped.”

Matt shook his head, blinking hard and scrunching his whole face up for half a second. “Yeah, sorry, just processing everything. Appreciating.”

Foggy chuckled awkwardly. “Just wait until you actually get to taste the food. So, uh, my mom’s cooking awaits. …Shall we?” He extended a hand towards the living room with a mock flourish.

Matt swayed his whole body to the side to reach out and grab it, making Foggy jump. “Oh-”

He quickly took it back and missed the opening of his pocket multiple times in a row, cheeks turning a bright shade of red. He apologized, voice shaking. “Sorry, uh-” he ducked his chin, as if trying to hide his face.

“It’s all good, I don’t mind.” Foggy smiled gently and offered his hand again, this time towards his friend; Matt took it in his own again, then slid down his arm until it landed in the crook of Foggy’s elbow. Foggy blinked away the flush coming to his face and pulled the door closed behind them. 

“Ready?”

Matt sighed, sounding tense. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Then right this way, my good sir!” 

- - - 

Foggy had so many family members that he had lost track, but for this weekend, he got to see nine of them. Aunt Jeanie and Uncle Timmy took up one side of the room, along with Grandpa Bob and baby Ruthie. The little girl was running laps around the trio. His brother was leaning against the outer kitchen counter, talking to two of his cousins, and both his parents were at work in the kitchen. He could smell the roast when his mom opened the oven. The peppery scent carried clear across the room.

Foggy clapped Theo on the shoulder, greeting him with a jovial “good to see you, baby brother,” and receiving the same treatment before heading over to join the conversation with his grandpa. Matt tightened his grip on his inner elbow and trailed after him.

Foggy was glad to be here. He loved his little shoebox of a dorm with Matt, but he also loved seeing his family- plus, two full days of home cooked meals after a semester of microwave cuisine didn’t exactly hurt. The atmosphere was warm and friendly, with air smelling of roasting meat and pasta salad, and soft orange-yellow lighting illuminating the pictures that stood crammed onto every available surface. He could see one of elementary-age Theo, holding a baseball bat, and one of himself, showing off a wide smile with a few gaps, the missing teeth extended pridefully in his cupped palms. There was one of the whole family from a Christmas a few years past. Near the middle, there was one of Matt and himself, wearing their cheap rented suits, right after (barely, on Foggy’s part, and with flying colors, on Matt’s) passing their very first midterm at Columbia. That one made him think that maybe next year, Foggy should give Matt a walkthrough of the display. There was no question of whether or not there would be a ‘next year’- of course there would.

As far as Foggy could tell, everyone on Earth loved Matt, and the Nelsons were no exception. Every single one of his family members were grasping for opportunities to dote on his roommate. Ruthie, in particular, seemed to be absolutely smitten with the man. She practically begged him to let her and her mom sit on either side of him- Foggy had been planning on claiming one of those spots for himself, but he supposed he could share for one night. He took the seat directly across from Matt instead.

Despite his previous emphasis on it, Foggy had nearly forgotten just how good his mother’s cooking was. He actually failed to pay attention to his surroundings for the first few minutes of the meal, too busy stuffing his face. Eventually, though, he remembered where he was. He tuned in to Matt’s conversation with Ruthie and poured himself another glass of wine.

Beneath the table, Foggy was driving his toes into the tiles. The smooth linoleum allowed them to slide with minimal noise, and he had enough room to run one foot after the other in a sort of dance. He hardly even noticed he was doing it until he slipped, one foot shooting forward and hitting Matt in the shin. He raised his head to ‘meet’ Matt’s eyes. Matt showed his teeth in a lopsided grin before covering it with his hand, then kicked back. Foggy suppressed a smile of his own.

The pair continued their game of footsie until the moment that Matt caught Jeanie’s foot instead of Foggy’s, then they quickly sat still. Matt offered a quiet apology, but she brushed him off with a casual “it’s alright, boys”. 

She looked Foggy in his reddening face and gave him a smile that told him she knew. He swallowed hard and quickly changed the topic.

- - - 

Some time later, they got up to clean, Matt was left to entertain Ruthie, and Foggy had to be careful not to let his gaze linger on the pair, lest his heart spontaneously implode.

Jeanie excused herself to put her daughter to bed, and the next thing he knew, Matt was scooping up Ruthie’s scrawny body and holding her to his chest. Foggy was suddenly very glad for his college-enhanced alcohol tolerance, because he was three glasses in, and on any more of a buzz, he probably would have burst into tears by now, or done something equally pathetic and telling. 

Matt and Jeanie vanished into the hallway, Ruthie’s little chin tucked over his shoulder, and Foggy took a deep breath. 

Theo bumped his arm from the sink next to him. “So. Matt, huh?”

Foggy left a soapy handprint on his brother’s shoulder when he shoved him. 

Once the dishes were done, everyone settled in the living room. It was pretty tightly packed, but Foggy managed to save a seat for Matt, and the man slotted himself in a minute later. Their thighs were pressed together from hip to knee, and Foggy actually had to lift an arm to keep Matt’s shoulder from digging into his side. 

The group sat and talked for an hour, then two, before Matt asked, “So what does Christmas look like for you guys, anyway?”

Theo- who had been conversing with Matt and prodding Foggy with veiled jokes about his crush on his roommate, somehow at the same time- chimed in with an earnest response. “Oh, well, there’s plenty of gift-giving, usually on Christmas morning. And we’ll have a big dinner tomorrow night, even better than tonight. And we decorate a pine tree, or an evergreen actually, with ornaments and lights and popcorn and stuff.”

“Really it’s about time with family,” continued Foggy, “But the kids don’t care much about that, so Santa- they think that Santa is gonna come down the chimney and leave them presents under the tree.”

He was going to point out the plastic tree that sat in the corner to Matt, but before he could, Matt snorted.

“Hey! Don’t you laugh at me!” He couldn’t hold back a creeping smile. “So sorry that not all of us can be as pious as you, O Holy One.”

“Mm. Sucks to be you, I guess.” 

Matt took a casual sip from his wine glass. Foggy waited for him to set it on the end table behind him before he said, “Oh, you’ll pay for that.”

With that, he tackled his friend onto his back and dug his fingers into Matt’s ticklish spots. Hey, watch enough late-night movies with someone, you’ll learn a lot about them, including where they’re ticklish.

Matt was reduced to wheeze-laughing as he tried to turn over and crawl away. “Fo- Foggy please- we can- we can talk about this-”

Foggy tried to make his voice authoritative and triumphant, but just ended up sounding smug when he said “It’s too late, Matthew! You brought this upon yourself!”

He pushed weakly at Foggy’s chest. “No, please!” 

Behind him, Theo was calling for him to “go for the ribs!”, and his parents were chuckling at them. 

Finally, Foggy had to stop, but only because he himself was laughing too hard to continue. He collapsed, forehead to Matt’s collarbone as the pair coughed out the last of the humor, before sitting up again with goofy smiles plastered to their faces.

By now, his family had begun filtering out in favor of sleep. Matt and Foggy followed suit. They ambled through the steps of brushing their teeth and changing, then fit themselves in Foggy’s bed. It wasn’t the same one he’d slept in for most of his childhood, thankfully- he’d replaced the old, creaky twin frame with a queen-size in his senior year of high school. 

Foggy stuck his arm under Matt’s pillow and Matt nudged his knee between both of Foggy’s. Foggy ignored the jolt it sent up his spine. His friend was asleep in a matter of minutes, but Foggy would take a little longer; in the meantime, his eyes were roving over his face, taking him in. 

Matt looked… there was no better word than ethereal, in the moonlight. He looked good in any light, of course, but there was something special about the nighttime. It was quiet; intimate. The world was drowsy, and Foggy could take the time to appreciate his best friend; the silvery outline of his nose, his eyebrow, the gentle fluttering of his eyelashes. His hair was smushed to one side, perfectly messy as usual, and his lips were barely parted. He had shaved this morning, so his jaw was smooth for now, but Foggy knew there would be stubble poking through in a day or so.

He drifted off to the soft sound of his friend’s breathing.

- - -

Foggy was woken harshly and quickly, by the high, screeching tones of Ruthie’s excited voice.

All the breath flew out of him as an involuntary “Ouff-!”, the space now occupied by the butt of his little cousin. 

She sat on his stomach and yelled in his face, “FROGGY!!! Uncle Froggy, Uncle Matt! Uncle Froggy, Uncle Matt! Wake up wake up wake up wake up!”

He groaned as quietly as he could. Then he blinked hard, forcefully energizing his voice and opening his eyes wide. “Well good morning, Baby Ruth! What’s got you so excited?” He lifted her and sat up with her in his lap.

“It’s Christmas!!!” She near-shouted, bouncing on Foggy’s stomach and pushing another strained “ouff” out of him. “There are presents!!”

Matt chuckled, voice not quite sleep-low but still plenty gravelly, and sat up too. Foggy eyed his adorably messy hair and glasses-less face. “No, it can’t be. Are you sure?” 

“Yes!! Come on, I’m sure there’s something for you too!!” She hopped down, and they let her hoist them up by the hand and lead them downstairs.

His mom was already there, putting the final touches on their breakfast. Foggy sat in the same spot he did last night. Matt still wasn’t wearing his glasses, and Foggy was trying really hard not to stare into his eyes as he made up a plate for him. 

There was fluffy quiche, and crunchy-topped blueberry muffins, and tall glasses of orange juice with just a splash of champagne, and Ruthie nearly fell out of her chair in gift-anticipation at least twice. The dishes were making a certain pitch of thunks against the old wooden table that somehow gave Foggy a nostalgic feeling. He smiled gently at nothing.

In the living room, the Christmas tree was all lit up, vibrant multi-colored lights twinkling at odd times. Foggy’s gaze roved over their reflections against the many, many picture frames. Under the tree was cluttered aesthetically with eleven people’s worth of presents, and Foggy grinned a little wider as he took everything in.

Unlike Foggy, Ruthie had zeroed in on the presents before anything else, and started opening them with intense, professional focus. Then she paused, and Foggy chuckled as she meekly passed some out to the rest of the group. 

His head swung around when Matt got up from his place next to him on the couch, setting a hand on Foggy’s arm for a moment before making his way over to Foggy’s mom. Foggy’s brow knit together in mild concern. He opened a gift that turned out to be a candle that he would have to regift- it was too strong for Matt’s nose.

When Matt returned, he was still glasses-less, smiling in smug relief and carrying a glittery green gift bag. Foggy blinked and scooted over to give him room. 

He dropped the bag in Foggy’s lap. 

“Oh! Thanks, Matt. I have one for you too, over on the- here, let me show you.” Without thinking, he ran his fingers over the back of Matt’s wrist and up to his knuckles, guiding his hand to a small box that Ruthie had set on the end table a few minutes prior- then realized what he just did, and retracted his arm in a flash.

Matt didn’t seem to mind, just dug his fingertips into the gift. Foggy tapped his thumb nervously.

The glasses he bought looked different in Matt’s hands, maybe like they belonged with him. “They’re red,” Foggy informed him, still fidgeting. “They’re uh- round, with silver frames. I thought they might look good on you.” 

Matt slipped them on with a grin, ducking his head. They were only slightly crooked.

“How do I look?”

Foggy’s breath caught at the loaded question, but he still reached out to straighten them at the corner. Matt’s cheeks seemed to be trying to imitate the shade of the lenses.

Foggy failed to keep the fondness out of his voice when he said, “Always knew red was your color.”

A moment passed, Foggy getting caught up in just looking at his roommate, before Matt cleared his throat and gestured at the bag in Foggy’s lap. “So? Are you gonna open it?”

Foggy startled and pulled out the first piece. “Oh, nice, new beanie. Been meaning to buy another one.” 

He brushed aside the extra tissue paper before grabbing a round, green tin that felt flimsy and strangely weighty in his hands. “Is this a… wreath?”

“Filled with chocolates.” Matt scratched nervously at the back of his neck. “It’s- you wanted to hang a wreath outside our dorm, but the super wouldn’t let you put a nail in the door? I just thought this might be a good substitute.” 

Foggy blinked, letting the personalization and care of that comment hit him, then apparently found some untapped well of confidence inside him. He cracked the tin open. “Why don’t you try one, then,” he said as he set one truffle in Matt’s palm and curled his fingers closed around it.

Matt stilled. Foggy wondered if he had noticed the lack of a question in the words. If he did, he didn’t say anything, just bit the chocolate in half- “Mm. Not bad, actually. A little on the sweet side.” 

Foggy grinned in a strangely sharp way, popping one into his mouth. “Perfect for me, then!”

Matt pushed his shiny new glasses up his nose and flashed Foggy a brilliant smile that made his heart pound. “I’m glad.”

- - - 

The apartment was packed tight, with so many cousins having stayed the night, and it was early afternoon when his mom kicked them all out to finish cooking.

Matt and Foggy had a short back-and-forth over where to go to kill the time- Matt wanted to go for a walk in the park, but Foggy was a little worried about his friend freezing in his raggedy coat (not that Foggy’s coat was any better, but he’d got layers of fat to keep him warm). Matt won anyway. 

The air outside was stiff and thin, razor-edged and stinging against his face. Occasional gusts of wind tried their damndest to blow the pair off the footpath, and Foggy warned Matt to watch out for patches of ice.

Foggy huffed a harsh breath out, making a thick white cloud, and pulled his new beanie further down to cover his ears. Matt was tucked tight into his side. 

Snow lay in a thick covering over the grass, slushy and grey on the edges of the path, but smooth and shining in the untouched parts. Foggy averted his eyes to avoid being blinded and instead studied the overcast sky. The buildings towering around the edges of the little park were all monochrome grey and white and black, too. The granule of the pavement under his feet was frozen into dramatic contrast.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take long for his friend to start shivering, and Foggy paused, looking into the red lenses veiling Matt’s melted caramel eyes. Both shades had turned pale in the grey light of the December sun. God, he sounded like a rom-com. “Are you still cold?”

Matt just shrugged. “Not very.”

Foggy took the hand that Matt had laying in his elbow and instead stuck it in his jacket pocket. "Better?"

Matt’s fingertips ran down Foggy’s palm, sending shivers up his spine; he wrapped an only slightly-sweaty hand around Matt’s closed fist.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Foggy swallowed hard, listening to the rattle of naked, icy tree branches that shook with a weak gust of wind passing through. 

“We should probably get back, right?” said Matt.

He cleared his throat and hastily agreed. Matt was pressed against his side the whole way home.

- - - 

Foggy hustled himself gratefully into the warmth of the entryway. He was welcomed by the smell of the coveted ham- the orange glaze, tart and sweet and syrupy, and the accompanying dishes, filled with garlic and salt and butter.

Matt pulled off his coat and shook the snow out of his hair, and Foggy didn’t let himself think about how cute it was. At the table, Ruthie jumped into her seat with eyes wild and bright. She started talking; Foggy, along with Matt, simply listened for most of the meal.

Christmas was one of Foggy’s favorite holidays. Almost all of them had their merits, but Christmas was so… big. Unlike outside, the air in here was nearly stuffy with the heat of so many bodies, and laughter flowed in nearly as much quantity as the wine. There were presents, and people, and food. And yes, the food- while not technically the most important part of the weekend- was superb. The ham was succulent and tender, with just the right blend of spices, and everyone else at the table seemed to recognize that too. Matt had already asked him for a second helping. Foggy wasn’t sure he could be happier than he was in this moment, surrounded by people he cared about.

Matt seemed to be having a good time too- his cheeks were flushed with joyful exertion, his smile wide and loose and real. Foggy liked seeing him like this. 

As usual, the meal turned out to be an evening-long event, and by the time they made the decision to leave cleanup for tomorrow, everyone was ready to get to bed. Ruthie had been carried away almost an hour prior. Matt and Foggy made their weary way into his old room, feet heavy on the carpeted steps. 

- - -

Matt dropped onto the bed without so much as a pause, crossing his legs and holding his ankles, posture drooping with a quiet, unconscious sigh.

Foggy was gonna push him over, because he wanted to, and he could. “I’m gonna touch your face now, Matt.” 

“Yup.”

Foggy poked Matt in the forehead, and his roommate rolled backwards with far more gusto than was justified. He went limp against the mattress, eyes closed behind the tint of his new glasses. Foggy lowered himself down next to him and copied his pose in the opposite direction. They filled the whole bed that way.

Matt almost looked like he was meditating, and Foggy was having a really hard time tearing his eyes away. He loved seeing his friend like this; relaxed, unworried. Comfortable. But stealing glances at him like this was only tempting Foggy to do something that he shouldn’t, so he had to break the silence before he made a poor decision. 

“Have you ever danced?” he blurted, without really thinking.

Matt opened his eyes. “I- what? I mean, I assume I have at some point, just. By myself, or whatever.”

“No, I mean, like- like with someone. Ballroom dancing, I guess it would be, or something like it.” 

Matt laughed, propping himself up on his elbows. “No, Foggy, I can’t say that I’ve ever… ballroom danced before.”

“Me neither.” Foggy paused, contemplating. He could feel his nerves rising, but… fuck it, this was what he was doing now. He’d always wanted to try it, anyway. “Come on, I have an idea.”

He pulled Matt by the hand until they were back in the living room. It was dim, lit solely by the stove light in the kitchen, but in that moment, he didn’t mind. He just loaded the record player with some Christmas medley and dropped the needle. Sinatra came up first.

“I’m gonna touch you now, Matt,” he warned, then stepped close, very close, but never close enough. “Yeah?”

Matt nodded mutely, so he set Matt’s hands on his shoulders, and both of his own around Matt’s waist. He kept his touch gentle and ever-so-cautious, lest his roommate decide this was too much for him. Matt’s pupils had dilated, his eyes wide, and Foggy tried not to stare at the way the growing black drowned out that beautiful hazel he loved so much in a very appealing way.

He cleared his throat. “Then we just… step? I’ll narrate, here- right foot back-”

He took a slow step forward with his left, and Matt scrambled to mirror him. “Then left foot, out- Yeah, then left forward, and right..” It was a little confusing to say the inverse of what he was doing, but it was for Matt’s benefit, and it seemed to be working- it only took a few minutes to get it to go smoothly. Another song started up, and Foggy tried to match the tempo. Matt’s hands were warm. 

The carpet condensed under their feet, making soft noises that he could barely hear over the still-quiet record player. It’d been worn thin over the years, it would need to be replaced soon. 

“I’ve seen my parents doing this,” he explained. “They always seem so… peaceful, when they dance. I thought you might like to try.”

That sounded far too romantic, and Foggy may have been close to exposing himself, but it was the truth. He wanted to give Matt the peace he deserved.

“It’s nice, Fog.” Matt said, voice just shy of casual. He slid his arms around Foggy’s neck and set his head sideways on his shoulder, the tip of his nose just brushing Foggy’s neck. Foggy sighed, simultaneously overcome with emotion and perfectly calm. He leaned his head against Matt’s temple.

They padded around in small circles like that, bare and socked feet shuffling on old carpet, for a long time. Foggy would have been happy to stay like that for the rest of their natural lives, but reluctantly, he lifted his head to check the clock. Matt still had to make it to Mass. 

“Yep,” it was almost under his breath, “time to go.” 

He turned his head again to look Matt in the face. His eyes were unfocused, as always, behind the glasses Foggy had given him that morning. His eyebrows were just slightly untidy to match his hair, his expression was open and relaxed, his lips were a pretty shade of pink, smooth, inviting, and Foggy really wanted to kiss him, and-

He tore away all at once, arms and legs and belly and chest. He put distance between them. He ran fingers through his hair, free hand tapping frantically against the side of his leg.  “Um- It’s time to go, if you wanna make it on time. Are you ready? My dad is letting me borrow the car.”

Matt twitched his head to one side. His brow furrowed. Foggy pursed his lips. “Fogs? Are you-”

“I’m fine. C’mon, let’s go.”

He tugged his shoes on and went straight for the car, barely noticing the temperature shift as he passed through the front door at a terse clip. He held the passenger side open for his roommate and dropped himself into the driver's seat. There was too much noise in his head. 

He pulled up to the curbside by St. Agnes’, and it was only when he felt Matt’s gentle hand against the rock that was his knee that he realized he was clenching every muscle in his body.

Matt’s voice was tiny and fragile, careful, when he asked, “Are you ok?”.

Foggy’s shoulders dropped. Suddenly, being so tense started to hurt. He sighed minutely.  “I’m ok, Matt. I just need to get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow, alright? You’ve got a ride back?”

Matt nodded, not looking satisfied with his answer. He pulled Foggy into an awkward hug over the center console. The gear shift was poking him in the stomach, and it was far more comfortable than where he had been a second ago; he buried his face in Matt’s shoulder. 

He took a deep, steadying breath, then sat up. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Matt.”

- - -

Foggy woke up first, the next morning. A rare occurrence in itself. He counted himself lucky and took the extra time to drink in the sight of his best friend, illuminated in the golden morning light. The sheets were wrinkled and soft on his sleep-warm skin, and Matt’s eyelashes were resting against his own cheeks. 

Foggy hadn’t shaken the feeling that had overcome him last night- that desperate, all consuming appreciation for the man currently sleeping next to him, and the consequential desire to steal all the air from his lungs. 

Matt shifted gradually, movements verging onto semi-conscious, and his eyes blinked open slowly. Foggy kissed him like it was the only thing he could do. 

It was barely a kiss, too short to be considered real, and Foggy was apologizing before it was even done- “Fuck, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. That was so fucked up, I’m sorry, I should have asked, and you don’t even swing that way, and-”

Matt’s fingers curled around his jaw and tugged their lips together. Foggy let it happen. 

“But-” he tried when they broke for air. Matt just kissed him again, and swung himself into Foggy’s lap. His fingertips skimmed through Foggy’s facial hair, and Foggy found his eyes falling shut. He kissed back, lips moving in a gentle push-and-pull with his best friend. 

It happened again, and again, and Foggy was fitting his hand under Matt’s chin to hold him in place. It was soft, and rough, and hard, and careful; they were exploring, they were learning, they were breaking down inside and rebuilding themselves into each other. Foggy’s head was empty of everything but this. This moment would last him forever. It was over in an instant.

Matt’s breath was in Foggy’s face, when he pulled away, because their foreheads were resting together, and Matt’s hands were linked behind Foggy’s neck, under the tangled mop that was his hair. Foggy was gross, he realized, with how he had just woken up. It seemed like Matt liked him anyway.

It took a moment, his head spinning after that last revelation, but Foggy slowly returned to somewhere rational. “We really should talk about this,” he reasoned.

“I love you,” was what Matt said.

Foggy laughed incredulously, knocking his head against Matt’s collarbones. He hadn’t even been awake an hour, he’d just kissed his roommate, and Matt loved him.

 It was a lot. 

He started pressing kisses into the column of Matt’s neck to cope, and Matt tipped his head to ask for more. 

“Can’t believe you… one-upping…” They weren’t even full sentences in his head, much less when he says them out loud, but he spoke anyway. “Stubborn… ass…” He nipped at one spot near the base, working Matt’s skin between his teeth, and Matt whined quietly. Foggy was devoted, and he traveled up Matt’s neck again to reach his lips. “I…” he kissed him,”... love you too!”.

He kissed him again, fervent, and breathy. “God, I love you so much. Loved you since the day I met you, do you remember?” He looked Matt in the eyes, relishing the chance to see him without his glasses. The sunlight played in the delicate hazel streaks of his irises. 

Matt grinned in a helpless way that Foggy had never seen from him, a blush spreading from his cheeks to cross the bridge of his nose. “You flirted with me.”

“I flirted with you,” Foggy confirmed glumly. 

The weight in Foggy’s lap was an easy thing when Matt hummed. “Seems to have worked out pretty well for you though, hasn’t it?”

Foggy scoffed, eyes still roaming Matt’s face. “Only after years of pining- God, Matt, it was so pathetic.” He kissed him again. “You’re so- we really should talk about this though.” 

“Mmm… talking is overrated.”

“... Matt, we’re training to be lawyers. Our whole job is gonna be talking.”

Matt found Foggy’s collarbones and left a trail of open-mouthed kisses past his clavicle. “This sounds like more fun, though.” Foggy laughed at him, then. “What?!” Matt asked incredulously, not stopping the shower of attention with lips and tongue and teeth against Foggy’s neck. He tugged at the upper hem of his shirt. “It’s not like I’m wrong.”

“Mmm. I’ll give you that,” Foggy admitted. He gave what he could see of Matt a fond look, not bothering to fight his smile. He cupped a hand around Matt’s cheek, fingers splitting around his ear and scratching into his hair, then pulled him up for another deep kiss.

The bed was slept-in cozy, sheets rumpled and tangled and warm, and outside the window, birds were singing while the world woke up again. Matt fit perfectly in his lap, and Foggy never wanted him to leave. He was home.