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When Matt returned to his apartment that night, sweat and blood coating his skin under the suit, there was one other heartbeat waiting for him. He came in through the roof entrance, stripping off the suit as he went. He dropped the cowl on the first step.
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Matt said into the darkness. The heartbeat sped up, then evened out again.
“I did,” Foggy replied. Matt stepped off the stairs, and Foggy’s hands were on him, tugging off his gloves, removing his weapons, unzipping him from the suit. “How was it tonight?”
Matt just shook his head. Foggy pushed the suit off his shoulders and helped him to step out of it. He tossed it over the back of the armchair and led Matt to the sofa.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” Foggy murmured, and Matt buried his face in the juncture of Foggy’s neck and shoulder. He focused on the pulse pounding through Foggy’s throat, on the rise and fall of his chest under his palm.
“I just want to forget,” Matt said into Foggy’s skin. Foggy kissed the top of his head and pulled him closer.
“Then forget,” Foggy whispered back. Matt exhaled and shut his eyes. “Matt.”
“Mm.”
“It’s going to be okay.” Foggy ran his nails through Matt’s hair, scratched down Matt’s back. “I got you.”
Matt nodded. Foggy led him into sleep.