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Columbia is in the midst of exams and no one is exactly doing well. Matt’s been holed up in the library for the past week and a half, poured over his textbooks, tracing their words again and again with shaky, caffeinated hands.
He returns to his dorm at two o’clock in the morning, his roommate Foggy nowhere to be found. Foggy is one of those types, though, who can roll out of bed, take his exam, and pass with flying colors. Probably out again, determined to drink until he’s reached the eel. He always invites Matt, even though he knows Matt prefers to study all he can. Instead, Foggy’s been bringing him meals and sitting in silence with him for an hour or so a day. It’s the best hour, in Matt’s opinion, but he has to admit he doesn’t get much work done. Even silent, Foggy is too distracting with his erratic heartbeat, restless legs, heavy sighs, and impatient page-turning. Matt doesn’t mind.
As Matt peels off his shirt, his nose wrinkles. He reaches for a fresh t-shirt, but finds the drawer empty. He could benefit from doing laundry. He has no idea when he last did some. With that thought, he takes his overflowing hamper, a textbook, some detergent, and his cane (for show).
The smell of laundry is especially overwhelming. The entire basement smells damp and it’s Citrus, Citrus, Citrus. His cane makes a splash first, then Matt’s sock-clad foot, water soaking most of his pant leg. The laundry room’s flooded again. Excellent. Matt listens for the drip-drip-drip, but it doesn’t come. Instead, it’s a steady whoosh.
He hurries down the hall, calling out a redundant, “Hello?” It’s Foggy. Matt sees his fiery outline twist around, hears the splashes his feet make. “What the--?”
“Matty!” he cheers. “You’re home pretty early tonight. Where’s your shirt? Hey, I could have thrown in that load for y--” He stops, as if realizing the current load isn’t going so well. “Well, it’s a good thing you can’t see this.”
Matt can’t help but crack a smile that turns into a few chuckles. He knows exactly what mess Foggy’s gotten into this time, just like when he knows who’s picking on Foggy across campus. “Foggy,” he begins exasperatedly. “You flooded the place?”
“Yeah, well, for all you know, you accidentally walked into the showers,” Foggy murmurs hotly.
“I’m blind, not clueless,” Matt insists. “What did you do?” He makes a show of finding the counter so he can put his things down before wading his way over to Foggy.
“I just-- I put the soap in the, uh, compartment and just--”
“Never mind,” Matt laughs, waving him off. “Did you get the door open?”
“Hence Niagara Falls, here,” Foggy shoots back.
“Help me get your clothes, then.”
Together, Matt and Foggy pull every piece of clothing they can from the machine, ignoring the violent sounds of protest from the washing machine. By the time they get the last sock, the two are sopping wet, shivering, and using one another for balance.
“I’m never doing laundry again,” Foggy vows and, from the sound of it, wrings his unruly locks out over the counter. “You’d still like me if I smelled, right? Joined a nudist colony, even?”
“Sure,” Matt says with a grin, sliding over to his things.
“You could even visit,” Foggy offers. “Nude only, of course.”
Matt busies himself with gathering his hamper, trying his hardest to control the blush that wants to show. “Maybe,” he murmurs.
“Father probably wouldn’t like that, though,” Foggy laughs under his breath, skidding until he was beside Matt. “Man, you are drenched-- covered in bubbles.” As if not thinking, Foggy runs his hands through Matt’s hair, the tips of his fingers and his dull nails gliding over Matt’s scalp. At first, it’s a quick stroke, like he’s getting rid of the bubbles, but then Foggy keeps going. Matt leans into his touch, his eyes slipping shut. When’s the last time he slept? Oh, right. Last night, in the library, using his torts textbook as a pillow. The librarian who smelled like baby powder had to shake him awake, calloused fingers irritating his bicep.
Foggy’s hands are soft. His nails don’t get in the way. He smells good, like coconuts and shea butter and the chocolate chip cookies they have in the dining hall and Coca Cola. He doesn’t smell like alcohol, not tonight.
“Matty,” Foggy breathes, the worry reflected in his tone. Matt frowns. He shouldn’t have to worry. So, he pulls away with a wince at the loss of contact. He’ll prove he’s fine. “I--”
“So, uh, how did you manage this anyway?”
“Well, I just did everything like normal-- borrowed your dish soap, because I was out of--”
“My dish soap?!”
“Sorry, I didn’t think you’d--”
“Of course I don’t! I don’t… Take whatever you want, Foggy, but you can’t use dish soap.”
“Soap is soap,” Foggy dismissed nonchalantly.
“Dish soap is not laundry detergent.” To prove his point, Matt throws his hands up to gesture to the room.
“Duly noted,” Foggy grumbles. “You should probably go to bed.”
“No, I have to finish a few chapters and I have to get this laundry done. I can’t exactly take an exam without a shirt.”
“Who’s the professor?”
“You should know. It’s McKenna. We have her exam tomorrow at ten.”
“Oh, she won’t mind,” Foggy snickers.
“Wha--?”
“Let’s just say she’s very into that wounded, handsome duck thing.”
“I--”
“Can’t really blame her, though.”
“It’d be great if you could let me know these things, maybe?”
“I’ll let you know right now. Sudsy is a good look for you.”
“Oh, uh, thanks.”
“‘Thanks’, he says,” Foggy scoffs, but Matt hears his heart beating, beating faster than it normally does. Matt bites his lip unsurely. He never knows what to do when Foggy says things like this. He’s also not sure what makes him particularly duck-like.
“Do you… Do you want to come do laundry with me? In the next building?” Even though he doesn’t know what to say, he knows he never wants Foggy to stray too far.
Maybe that’s what’s keeping him from responding the way he might with, say, that girl from the second floor, because the girl from the second floor doesn’t matter. Maybe she’s fun to talk to for a night, but she treats him like glass like the others. Foggy’s not afraid to make blind jokes and he doesn’t give him a hard time for studying. He takes care of him, especially during exam weeks, but he makes sure he lets loose. He’s never laughed more since Foggy introduced himself as his roommate, never considered telling anyone about the things he hears or smells or sees in that strange way. If Matt lost it all-- well, he doesn’t like to think about that.
“Yeah,” Foggy sighs. “I should try this again.” He knows Foggy is disappointed, can hear it in his voice, and it’s a sound like that that makes him reconsider. Instead, he gathers his things.
“Where’s my--?”
“Your textbook?” Foggy interrupts. “Oh, you won’t be needing that.”
“No, I should--”
“We’re gonna do some laundry. The books can wait.” Foggy’s hands on Matt’s shoulders get him buzzing, and Foggy doesn’t take them away until they’re in another dorm’s laundry room. There’s a series of loud slaps as Foggy loads his wet clothes into the washer. He puts Matt’s clothes into the next machine.
“All right, Captain, what’s next?”
Matt laughs, pulling himself out of his head. “Just put a cap-full in and start it up.” Normally, he would insist he could do his own laundry, but it makes Foggy happy to do it for him.
“That should do it,” Foggy says triumphantly.
“How long did you set it for?”
“Long enough for a stroll,” Foggy replies vaguely, pulling Matt outside by the hand while Matt thinks of shrunken clothes turned pink. Despite the thoughts, Matt hooks his arm with Foggy’s after their hands come apart in exchange for Foggy’s palpable grin. If this felt wrong, it would be much easier, Matt thinks. “Let’s sit,” Foggy suggests and Matt knows it’s because Foggy feels his feet dragging tiredly. The two stretch out on the grass. Even though Matt tries to put some distance between them, Foggy pulls him close until Matt’s nearly cuddled into Foggy’s chest. Matt’s too tired to care. “Here.” Foggy sets Matt on the grass gently and sits up. There’s a rustle of fabric before Foggy’s prying Matt up, slipping a flannel around his shoulders. “Help, just… a little…” At the request, Matt stuffs his bare arms into the sleeves and lies back in the grass. Somewhere in the jumble of it all, he ends up back on Foggy’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, and it’s more clear than it ever has been before. It’s all Matt cares to know at the moment. Coconuts, shea butter, chocolate chip cookies, Coca Cola, and an unsteady beat lulling him into relaxation.
“I care about you, you know,” Foggy murmurs. “Worry, too.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I’ll decide that.” The response is gruff, defensive.
Matt breaths in and it’s all Foggy, Foggy, Foggy. “I do, too.”
“You what?”
“Care. Worry.” Matt wishes he were a little more alert. Then, maybe he doesn’t. Maybe it’s for the best.
“Oh.” Now it’s Foggy caught off guard. It’s two words, but it’s two words more than Matt ever says on the subject. “So, Murdick has a heart after all.”
Matt chuckles blearily. “For you, sure.”
“And for half the girl’s a capella group.” Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump--
“They sound nice,” Matt protests.
“Right, and you’re just looking for someone you like listening to,” Foggy sighs, an eye roll nearly sending a wave down his entire body and, thus, Matt’s.
“Part of why you’re still around.”
“I thought you were just stuck with me.” Foggy makes everything sound like a joke, but Matt’s learned better.
With a quiet groan, Matt sits up and rolls onto his stomach. He rests his head on his folded arms, turned towards Foggy. “I like your laugh.” Apparently, sleep lowers Matt’s inhibitions. And lowered inhibitions make Foggy’s heart go crazy. “I like your stories. I like… I like that you treat me like everyone else.”
“Well, not everyone…” Foggy trails off, the words seemingly lost.
“I know,” Matt says, thinking through it all. It was a moment like this that he would give anything to lay just one eye on Foggy. Give anything to not work as hard to drink him in and process all the details. Foggy and the sky. That’s all.
Foggy sits up on his elbows. “The laundry is probably--”
Matt follows him, resting a hand on Foggy’s shoulder and pushing him back down beside him. Before he can think of a single thing, doubt anything, he curls his hand around Foggy’s cheek. His other hand rises from his shoulder to his nose, a finger grazing down its slope. He lets the same finger fall into the divot over his lips, then outline those lips, taking in the slightly chapped feeling of them. Girls rave about these lips (among other things). His other hand slides into Foggy’s hair and his fingers comb through the wet locks, pushing them back. “Matty, what’re y--?” “Shh.” After all, if Foggy starts talking, Matt will lose his nerve. There’s not much there to begin with. With that thought, Matt holds Foggy’s head steady. He leans in.
“Matt!” Foggy squawks, propelling back into the grass. “What are you-- what are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Matt furrows his eyebrows, stung, before rushing inside toward the laundry room. Foggy groans from the grass and races after him. “Matt!” Matt’s never slowing down, if it’s up to him. “Matt!” Foggy hangs in the doorway, catching his breath, while Matt’s already loading clothes into the dryers wildly. “Talk to me for a second! Just--” Foggy exhales heavily, leaning on the counter. “Do you… Do you feel that way a-about me?”
Everything inside Matt is on fire, the way everything he sees is. His face is flushed and he’s not sure he’ll ever cool down. He wants to rip Foggy’s shirt off and demand a housing change from the Residence Life office.
“No.” He slams the door to the dryer and nearly rips the start knob off the machine. “Maybe? I don’t know.”
“You don’t know,” Foggy prompts, confused.
“I don’t!” He can feel Foggy’s gaze on him and it’s only adding to the fire.
“Hey, okay.” Foggy, ever gently, takes a few steps closer.
“If you hadn’t said anything…”
“If I hadn’t said anything, what? You could’ve kept denying everything? Brushing me off?”
“No… No,” Matt practically whispers, shaking his head vehemently. “I don’t… I just don’t want to, like… I don’t want to mess anything up.”
“Who says anything gets messed up?”
“Who says it doesn’t?” Matt mumbles petulantly.
“All right, fair enough,” Foggy sighs. “I guess… It’s just a risk you have to take.” Foggy’s getting closer, closer, closer. Matt’s judgment is getting cloudier, cloudier, cloudier. “So?”
That “so” is what does it, really. It’s a challenge and Matt Murdock doesn’t back down from a challenge, even if it means launching so fiercely at Foggy that their lips smash together and their teeth clack as Foggy grins. Foggy’s chuckles sit on Matt’s lower lip until Foggy licks them away, fueling the fire and taming it all at once. Foggy Nelson tastes better than he smells and Matt realizes it in waves as he fights for his own taste. It’s quick and hungry as Foggy gets seated Matt seated on the dryer and Foggy’s hands slide down Matt’s thighs, resting in the crook behind his knees.
“So?” Foggy asks breathlessly, an entirely different sound.
“Everyone experiments in college,” Matt jokes with a smirk, because they both know they’ve been doing a bit more than experiment. Leaning in for another kiss, Matt decides it’s worth risking.
So worth it, in fact, that the two wear shrunken t-shirts and pants that have become shorts and dodge the eyes of the cleaning staff mopping up their basement for the next couple weeks.