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Columbia University, New Year's Day - 8:30AM
“I am never drinking again, Matt.”
New Year's Eve on a college campus, rife with overly stressed law students and undergrads, was a recipe for a very long New Year's Day. Foggy wakes up on a couch he has no recollection of lying down in and is only half sure that he’s still at Marci’s. He hopes he’s at Marci’s, it was her party after all. Then again, it would be so like Matt to take them somewhere not populated by drunk students and free alcohol.
Matt still hasn’t laughed at his joke. (He said he was never going to drink again every time he was hungover).
Foggy scrubs a hand down his face, trying in vain to stave off the incoming headache. He peaks an eye open, grateful for the early morning’s relatively diminished sunlight, and sees a very much still asleep Matt Murdock. Haphazardly curled up on a very old armchair, his chest rises and falls in slow even breaths. There’s glitter on the ground and even some in his hair, Foggy is certain that he is no different. He stares at Matt for a moment, knowing that the opportunity is few. Somehow the guy can always tell when someone is staring at him, even though he is very clearly staring at nothing.
The first thing Foggy notices is that his glasses are off, pushed up and into his hair probably in his sleep. Foggy has seen Matt without his glasses plenty enough times to not be fazed by it, but it always makes something in him tighten. Maybe it’s because he only sees Matt without them when he’s upset, but it always has the same effect.
He thinks it must be fondness, maybe even protectiveness. (Which Foggy knows is just silly, since Matt could kick his ass ten times over. But still, the feeling is there).
A voice clears from somewhere behind him. Foggy glances backward.
Marci is standing, dressed, and already put together, filing her nails. “Listen,” she says. “You guys can stay as long as you want, just make sure to actually leave at some point.”
Foggy smiles at her. “Can do, Captain,” he says as he mock salutes her and falls back onto the couch.
“Do you have any Advil?” It really was going to be a long day. Marci hums in confirmation and a moment later a small bottle lands with a thud on his chest. She circles around to the front to perch on the armrest, setting a glass of water on the coffee table as she does.
Foggy swallows no less than four.
“You know,” Marci starts to say, looking up from her nails. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Matt looked a little disappointed you kissed me at midnight.”
He sighs. This is not a new conversation between them. “As opposed to who, Marce?”
She glances at Matt, pointing the sharp end of her file at him.
“Marci!”
She shrugs her shoulders and holds her hands up in a defensive gesture.
Matt was not, and never would be, aware of his untimely and inappropriate crush. Marci, however, was. And if nothing else, she would dig for the gossip until she found the truth. (This is partly why Foggy knows she will be a great lawyer).
“I’m just saying,” she says as she stands back up. Foggy doesn’t answer her, or rebuttal her, so she sighs and changes the subject. “I’m going out, try and be gone before I’m back.”
_
An hour passes and eventually, Matt starts to stir. Foggy has tried in vain to wake up himself, borrowing (stealing) no less than two K-Cups from Marci’s supply.
There’s a muffled groan as Matt finally sits up, glasses falling on the ground as he does, scrubbing a palm over his face as he tries to orient himself. He begins to search the surrounding area for his missing glasses.
Foggy can’t help but stare at him. It’s not often he catches Matt by surprise. Unfortunately, the coffee pot begins to brew, emitting a hiss.
“Foggy?” He asks, head tilted toward the sound.
“Right here, bud,” Foggy answers. “To your left, by the way. On the floor. Your glasses.”
Matt makes a small “oh” face, before reaching down to pick them up. “Thanks.”
“No worries,” he shrugs while walking over to him. He picks up the bottle of Advil Marci gave him earlier and shakes it. “Advil? Coffee? Both?”
“You know me so well, Fogs.”
Hell’s Kitchen, New Year’s Day - 2AM
The vibe in the cab is… tense. There’s really no other way to put it.
Foggy was perfectly content to enjoy his New Year’s Day (early morning?) working on organizing files and gathering evidence for he and Matt’s latest case. It was a simple one, but it required them to go over documents that were both boring and redundant. It was going to be a late night, and not a fun one. In college he may have been living it up; hell, a year ago he may have been living it up, but not tonight. These days he can’t find the time or the energy.
Then Matt called, because of course he did.
Ever since Foggy found out about Matt’s nightlife, things had been… not the same. In fact, that was putting it mildly. There was a lot of yelling. A lot of words said in anger. Months later, Foggy was just hoping they had found some form of middle ground. Matt would go out doing whatever it is he wanted to do, but if he was hurt he would call someone. (Or he was supposed to. So far, Foggy’s apparently been putting his ringer on for telemarketers).
“Foggy,” Matt said when the ringer stopped. His voice was tinny over the phone (the cost of using a flip phone burner), but it also sounded a little panicked. “Fogs,” he started again. “Can you get me? I’m- I know it’s New Year's and you’re probably out, but I think-”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Where are you?”
A beat of silence. Foggy thinks he can hear the wind as Matt cocks his head, probably trying to orient himself. “Uh, the ATM on 23rd street?” He cleared his throat. “I’m on the rooftop by it.”
“Don’t move.”
_
This brings him back to the now in a cab with a probably concussed Matt leaning on his shoulder, one hand still wrapped on his bicep from leading him.
He was actually a street over from the ATM, which is a testament to his current health. Foggy is both glad that he called and insurmountably angry. He was grateful that Matt at least had found somewhere to ditch the suit, and even more grateful that he remembered to bring something for him to change into. Maybe Foggy’s mother-henning was paying off.
Kind of.
“You shouldn’t have gone out tonight. You knew that! Fuck, if I can hear the music from down the road, you can probably hear it for miles.” He lowers his voice, hoping the cab driver sees Matt as nothing more than another drunk being taken home. It’s not entirely far from the truth.
Matt doesn’t say anything to this. From this angle, Foggy can see that his glasses are off and his eyes are open. He’s just ignoring him, but at least he hasn’t died in a concussed coma. Foggy sighs, resigning himself to a long drive.
The cab goes over a pothole, and that’s what finally shakes Matt out of his stupor. The sudden movement causing him to wince and squeeze Foggy’s arm.
“M’sorry,” Matt all but whispers after. He brings his hand up to gesture at his head. “It’s the, uh…” and can’t seem to finish the sentence.
“The spins?” Foggy tries.
Matt huffs a breath that may have been a laugh and tightens his grip on Foggy’s arm again. “Ringing,” he finally finishes. “It hurts.”
Foggy looks at where Matt is slumped against his shoulder. “Your ears are ringing?”
Matt nods. It would make sense. For someone like Matt, having your ears ring is probably not the greatest experience. He is suddenly reminded of the many afternoons he would find Matt with headphones on in their dorm, no iPod attached for music. Or the days Matt stayed in while it rained, the curtains were drawn tight.
They go over another pothole and Matt winces again, bringing one hand up to hold it against the ear not on Foggy’s shoulder. He doesn’t hold it there for long before he lets go. Foggy can see a bruise forming on his forearm, and wonders if it hurts to move.
And there it is again, that soft and somewhat protective feeling. He hates it sometimes.
So, without really thinking about it, Foggy brings up the arm that is not currently trapped and reaches over to cup the left side of Matt’s head. The angle brings them in a kind of almost hug; with Foggy reaching around to cover Matt’s ear on their left, and Matt leaning toward their right on Foggy’s shoulder.
Matt hums a little, relaxing his grip. Foggy’s hand is warm and softer than his own, not calloused or bruised. The world outside the cab is slightly more muffled, a little farther away. Matt closes his eyes, he would be content to sleep right here for the-
“I swear if you fall asleep I am taking you straight to the hospital.”
Nevermind.
Hell’s Kitchen, New Year's Eve 8PM
Getting Matt to take a night off and celebrate a holiday was not dissimilar to pulling teeth. They had recently moved in above the Nelson’s deli shop to open Nelson, Murdock, & Page, and both Karen and Foggy felt like they deserved a little celebration. Or at least the next day off.
“The city needs you, yes, I heard,” Foggy whines. “But a cheap bottle of tequila also needs you.”
Matt sighs and places his hands on his hips. An exasperated habit he picked up after college and never quit. Behind them, Karen leans in the doorway looking mildly amused.
“Foggy, that aside, we’re not twenty-two anymore, I don’t know if-”
Throwing a hand on his chest in feigned offense, Foggy scoffs. “How could you? Thirty -two is nothing to dismiss. The world is still our oyster!”
Matt nods. “Uh-huh. Pretty sure last time you even ate an oyster, you got so sick you were out of commission for a week.”
Foggy looks at him scandalized. “That was private, Matthew.”
From behind them Karen finally starts to laugh. “I don’t care what you guys do. I plan on going to bed early and sleeping late. Last time I drank with you Foggy, I was out of commission for a week.”
He pouts. “Not you too!”
She raises her palms up in defense, then picks her bag up to leave. “See you guys tomorrow, if you’re awake.”
Then she’s gone. Foggy still pouts at the empty doorway.
“Stop sulking, Fogs. New Year’s Eve is like the worst time to be in New York. You know this, right?”
The pout deepens. “I always kinda liked it.”
“Of course you did.”
They sit in silence for a moment, enjoying the brief reprieve between work and their commutes home. Sometimes, when they weren’t speaking, it felt like it used to be between them. As if any moment they would pick their backpacks up and go to their next class, Foggy leading Matt the whole way. It’s everything else that makes it messy. Something is always going unsaid, and Matt isn’t sure what it is anymore.
Matt sighs, relenting. “Okay. Fine. You can come over. We are not going out though.”
Foggy looks at him, his sulking barely hidden by a smile. “Can we get takeout?”
Matt looks at him. Foggy looks back.
“Fine.”
9PM
Later they find themselves at Matt’s apartment. They sit on the couch facing empty containers of takeout, an open bottle of wine between them, but no glasses.
Even without super hearing, Foggy can hear the distant sounds of music and shouting. The billboard outside Matt’s apartment blares a very obnoxious confetti New Year's sign. As the evening goes on, the streets outside have only gotten louder, filled with the sound of laughter and yelling.
“Are you sure this is okay? I mean, obviously, you’re not going out, right ?” It’s a rhetorical question, a very pointed rhetorical question. “But if I’m making the noise worse I can-”
Matt laughs, one that makes his shoulders shake. “Foggy, it’s okay. And no, I’m not going out.”
“Okay, but if that changes you need to tell me. I can go out and buy you some earplugs. I bet you could still hear me fine with them, but maybe…” and he keeps rambling.
The statement is so earnest that Matt can’t help the sting at the back of his eyes. No one has ever cared this much, and he’s missed it. He’s missed Foggy. Things weren’t going to ever be the same, but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t still be good .
He raises an open palm placatingly as he stands. He grabs their plates from the coffee table. He talks as he goes, clearing his throat only once beforehand, and turning to give him a smug look. “Foggy it’s fine. Besides, you’re drowning out the music just fine anyway , so.”
Foggy stops talking and reflexively gives him the middle finger. “I’m flipping you off right now,” but there’s no heat in it. If he leans into it, Matt can pretend they’re in college still, not a worry except how they’ll get to class the next day with such bad hangovers.
“Oh, I know.”
“Fuck you.”
He deposits their dishes, giggling the whole time. “Foggy, I’m insulted. It’s not even midnight. Usually, people kiss first.”
Maybe he had more wine than he thought.
Foggy seems to choke on his own voice before acting scandalized himself. “Matthew!”
But when Matt comes back from the kitchen to sit on the couch they’ve calmed down. Foggy has brought his legs up to sit more comfortably and he can’t help but notice the rosy color on the high of Matt’s cheekbones, accented only more by the red glasses. He has to stop himself from staring.
He mirrors Foggy's pose on the couch, so they’re facing each other. “I’m blaming the wine. There’s a reason I quit drinking it in college.”
Looking at Matt and his loose composure and warm cheeks, Foggy remembers why he quit drinking it as well. Despite this, he picks it up to take another swig anyway, which is gross but has never stopped either of them.
When he’s done he sees Matt tilting his head. There’s a small smile on his face like something is both endearing and also humorous.
“What is it?” He asks as he raises the bottle again.
“The apartment below us. They have kids, they’ve run their clock forward a few hours, and they just told their kids it’s almost midnight. Five minutes till.”
Nearly choking, Foggy starts to giggle, which turns into full laughter after a brief moment. He leans forward, bracing himself on Matt’s knees. “Hold on, hold on!” He catches his breath. “It’s only like 9:30PM, are they buying it?”
Matt pauses again and shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
Foggy leans conspiratorially toward Matt. “Well, shouldn’t we help them?”
“Yeah, right. We can go down there and herald them into the new year. Casual.”
He shakes his head, “No, you’re thinking about it all wrong. How much time do we have?”
Matt tilts his head, listening. “Two minutes?”
“Then start counting!”
The minutes pass slowly, as slow as two minutes can feel anyway. Foggy can feel his heart beating faster, though he doesn’t know why. He’s done way sillier stuff in the past.
“Ten,” Matt starts. “Nine”
Foggy stands up. “You might want to cover your ears.”
“What, why?” Matt says, taken off guard.
He gestures wildly. “Just do it!”
“Five. Four. Three. Two…”
“HAPPY NEW YEAR! WHOO!” Foggy yells, as loudly as possible. To make matters worse, and more believable, he gives a couple good stomps on the ground. Matt stands up on reflex. Then there’s nothing but silence and the echoey music from down the street.
For a brief moment, Matt simply looks up at Foggy, a cross between stricken and ridiculous. “Well?” Foggy asks.
Matt tears himself away, listening again. The mom and dad are shepherding the kids to bed, though even their voices are a bit surprised. Matt nods.
“Yes!” Foggy air pumps and nods to himself contentedly. “All in the day's work of being an attorney.”
When he looks back up though, Matt is closer than he thought. Or maybe they had been this close the whole time. His heart is still beating, but now there’s no excuse. Why are they still standing? Why do his knees feel like they’re going to buckle?
“Tricking kids? Doesn’t seem very lawful of you, Mr. Nelson.”
Oh , and he will be revisiting that later. Not now though, not now when Matt is so close.
“What can I say?” He exhales instead.
There’s a grin on Matt’s face as he moves impossibly closer. “Happy New Year?”
Foggy swallows. He knows Matt can hear it.
“Happy New Year, Matt.”
Then they kiss.
It’s not technically New Year's yet, so Foggy’s a little uncertain if this will count for his good luck next year. It doesn’t matter though, because Matt is warm and solid and holding onto him like he needs it. He wants to breathe him in.
The shock of it pauses him though, and quickly Matt begins to duck his head away. Which is ridiculous, he thinks. Absolutely ridiculous. So he follows, chasing his lips until he can hold Matt by the side of his face.
When they move apart he’s a little dumbstruck.
“Happy New Year, Fogs.”
Foggy huffs a laugh and drops his head to Matt’s shoulder, both happy and embarrassed. Matt brings a hand up to pet the soft ends of his hair. “It’s not even midnight,” he mumbles into his shoulder.
Foggy feels Matt shrug more than he sees it. “Guess we’ll have to do it again.”