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"HOLY SHIT!" Foggy exclaimed leaping out of his chair, phone clutched tightly to his ear. "HOLY FREAKING SHIT! I AM CALLER NUMBER NINE, MATT!"
Matt chuckled to himself as the local radio station played back Foggy's reaction, bleeping out the expletives, of course.
The host laughed on air, "I don't know who Matt is, but I do know that you are caller number nine!" He paused for a second, letting Foggy hoot and holler for a little bit longer. "Caller nine... What is your name?"
"Foggy Nelson." Foggy said, smiling stupidly, bouncing on his toes. "Legally, it's Franklin, but that's not really the best name. Oh my God. I'm caller nine." He fell back into his chair and brushed his hair out of his eyes, his words echoing from the radio a few seconds later. "You know, I was convinced that caller number nine never existed and that you guys just pulled the consumer's leg by dangling free passes to Disneyland and concerts and other shit in front of us. But I have apparently misjudged you and your fellow radio-disk-jockey colleagues, and for that, I am sorry."
The man on the radio laughed again, apprehension creeping into his chuckle as Foggy rambled. He cleared his throat and Matt could feel him put back on his fake smile. "Well, Foggy Nelson, you are the elusive caller number nine. Congratulations!" Foggy squealed into the phone again and then cleared his throat. "And you know the drill. Monster Amphitheater. Six o'clock. This Friday. Station 97.3 booth."
"Yes. Yes, of course." Foggy nodded, still grinning from ear to ear. "I will be there. I will definitely be there."
"Good to hear." The host said flatly, obviously done with Foggy and his antics. "Bring a hot date and we will see you Friday." With that, the man clicked Foggy off the air, exhaling before he introduced the next song.
"Oh my god." Foggy smiled from his chair, lolling his head backwards, his hair dangling behind him. "Murdock. We won!"
"We?" Matt asked, laughing again, fingers idly trailing over his Legal Writing assignment.
Foggy brought his head back up and looked at Matt incredulously. "Of course, we, stupid. You're going with me! The man told me to bring a hot date and who am I to go against Jeff Mickelson."
"You do know that we have an Intellectual Property test on Monday, right?" Matt reminded him, fully aware that Foggy would go out regardless of their course load.
"C'mon, Murdock, don't be a bore." Foggy protested, paddling his chair closer to Matt's. "It's not like I won tickets to a movie or a firework show. It's a concert, Murdock. You can enjoy that."
Foggy yelped as Matt's cane bit his leg, grabbing it with a proud grin, holding onto it tightly so Matt couldn't pull it away. "The only time we ever go out together is to get shitfaced."
"That's not entirely tru--"
"I'm making my case, Murdock."
"You can't base your opening statement on a technicality, Foggy."
"That didn't stop you last week during Mock Trial."
"That was then, Foggy..."
"Yes, I know, and this is now, Murdock. You're getting predictable." Foggy tsked him as Matt pulled on the cane to whack him again. "Other than the occasional, sober dinner, we hardly ever do anything but drink our asses off." He released his grip on the cane, letting it fall to the floor. "Come on, Matty. It'll be fun."
"You're a terrible influence, Foggy." Matt said, a careless grin playing across his lips. "I'll go, but if I get a shit grade, it's because of you."
"You're so dramatic, Murdock," Foggy rolled his eyes and pushed away from his friend. "I'm giving you a free ticket and you can do nothing but complain. One of these days that attitude is gonna bite you in the ass."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, Foggy," Matt said, waving him off. "And you not doing your homework is going to bite you in the ass one day as well." He turned back to his assignment, "Do some work for once in your life, Fogs. I don't want to hear another Professor Zigman lecture about ‘responsibility in the professional world’." He picked up his cane again and gently rapped it against Foggy’s knee.
Foggy grabbed at it again, nearly falling out of his chair at the attempt. Matt stifled a laugh and, just maybe, helped it into Foggy’s grip. Foggy howled in success and tugged on the cane, his chair inching toward Matt. “You complain a lot.” He noted, pulling on the cane again.
Met with more resistance on Matt’s end of the cane, Foggy’s chair sped more quickly toward his roommate. Their knees bumped together and Foggy giggled, leaning forward into Matt’s space. “You shouldn't complain so much. It's unbecoming, Murdock.”
Matt opened his mouth to reply, but was met with a small hush, and promptly sealed his lips. “Better.” Foggy purred, nuzzling his nose into Matt’s cheek.
“We will have fun.” Foggy promised, gently pressing his mouth to Matt’s. “Lighten up, Murdock.” He teased, letting the cane rattle to the floor as one of his hands worked through Matt’s soft hair. “You can't live with that stick in your ass 24/7.”
Matt smiled into the gentle kiss, earning a pleased noise from Foggy, and settled his hand on Foggy’s knee. A few moments later, Matt pushed back into the hand in his hair and ducked his head to end the kiss. “Puterbaugh will have our heads if we don't finish our essays.”
Foggy snorted and climbed into Matt’s lap, “Puterbaugh be damned, Matthew. Indulge me for ten minutes, you little shit.”
--
“Oh, my god, Matt!!” Foggy exclaimed, tugging Matt forward, causing them both to half stumble toward the concert hall. “We are here. Is this a dream? This has to be a dream!” Foggy fell silent for half a second, his heart rate accelerating. “… If this is a scam, Matt…” He said apprehensively, earning an amused smile from his friend.
“It's not a scam, Foggy.” Matt assured him, stepping beside Foggy to use him as a guide, his cane idly dangling off his wrist. “But, if it was, I'm fairly certain we could hear the noise from out here.”
“What Steve Angello does is not noise, Murdock. It is music. And damn good music at that.” Foggy chastised, shaking his head and muttering about Matt’s sacrilegious statement.
Matt raised his hands, asking for forgiveness, and laughed softly when Foggy bumped into him with a wide smile.
“I'm sorry,” Foggy started, sliding closer to Matt, hugging his elbow tightly. “I'm just really excited; I haven't been to a concert since I was in the fifth grade.” He fell silent for half a second, his brow furrowing, his heart rate accelerating. “You don't think it is a scam, right?”
“I don't know where your deeply rooted mistrust of disk jockeys came from, Fogs,” Matt started with a chuckle, “But I am 98% sure that there are tickets waiting for us at the booth.”
They walked forward, bumping into each other happily, for a while until Foggy could see the 97.3 FM booth at the edge of the amphitheater grounds. He took off for the bright red and white banner, Matt trailing behind him at a steady power walk. “Are you Nadia?” Foggy nearly shouted, grinning stupidly as he planted his hands on the vinyl covered table.
The brunette looked Foggy over, nodding slowly as she straightened out the press t-shirts. “I'm guessing you're the kid who won the tickets?” She turned to grab the folder from the plastic filing cabinet sitting atop a metal folding chair. “Did you manage to find a hot date?”
“Hell, yeah, I did,” Foggy said, reaching behind him to pull Matt into his space. “Matt, Nadia. Nadia, Matt.” He introduced, as if he had been friends with both of them their entire lives. “She's the one with the nice voice.”
Nadia turned back to the two college students and paused, her eyes widening at Matt’s presence. “Oh,” She gasped, mostly to herself. “Oh, wow.” With a soft motion, Nadia flipped her hair over her shoulders, offering Matt a cheery smile.
Foggy looked between Matt and Nadia and then leaned over the counter, garnering a skeptical side-glance from the girl. “He can't see, you know.”
Nadia furrowed her brow and looked Matt over again, a slight blush flooding her high cheekbones as she noted the cane and colored glasses, averting her eyes to the Manila envelope.
Matt frowned and reached for Foggy, catching him by the elbow, “Why did you tell her that?” He asked, his words low but held the slight flexion in tone that indicated his genuine curiosity.
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Foggy apologized, realizing he hadn't interpreted the girl’s movements for Matt. He placed his hand on top of Matt’s and dropped his volume half a notch, “She was acting all pretty and flirty, flipping her hair and stuff, to get your attention.”
Matt lifted his head and offered her a smile, but found that the weight of her gaze no longer fell on him.
“I guess you did have to find someone who could enjoy the concert without having to…” Nadia looked Foggy over again, her critical eyes raking over his form. “Well, see you.”
Matt’s fingers tightened around his cane and he felt Foggy shrink behind him, holding the manila folder to his chest. He placed himself between Foggy and the girl and leaned forward, still flashing his sweet smile to Nadia. “You know, when you have to base your judgements off of people’s actions, it’s a lot easier to ‘see’ who they really are.”
He stepped back and lowered his cane to the floor, reaching back with his free hand for Foggy’s elbow and tugging them away from the booth. His hand dropped to Foggy’s and he intertwined their fingers, squeezing gently as they walked toward the entrance to the concert hall.
---
The opening act was a band or troop or DJ or whatever it's called that Matt was familiar with thanks to Foggy. Apparently booking a gig with Steve Angello was a huge deal for them because between every song, or every other song, Matt couldn't tell where one stopped and the other started, the guy thanked Steve for the opportunity to “spin on the same stage as the master,” a statement that made the crowd whoop and Matt cringe every time.
During the opener’s ‘final song’, Matt noticed a distinct change in the ratio of treble to bass and the room began to thud with both the excitement of the crowd and the hum of a lower, more constant beat. Foggy grabbed onto his arm, pulling Matt off balance for a quick moment, giggling and tugging as he shouted something Matt couldn't discern.
Then everything went silent and the heat Matt could feel from the strobing lights dissipated. A deep vibration began to thrum, spreading to every crevice of the amphitheater, and the crowd started to cheer, a few high pitched screams from excited women made Matt recoil and stumble into Foggy, muttering an apology that went unheard.
When the cannon-like sounds, announcing Steve’s presence on stage, shot out of the speakers, Matt found himself stumbling backward, his vision a confusing, vibrating blur of reds and blacks. The back of his knees bumped into something hard, the minuscule coherent section of Matt’s brain said chair, and he rushed forward, nearly tumbling over the row of chairs in front of them. Something warm closed around his wrist, and Matt let out a low pule, pulling back until his hand came free of the clasp.
Faintly, he heard his name, in between pounding sounds and overpowering vibrations, but found no comfort in the word. The music screeched higher and higher, the deep tones fading for something more jarring and shrill, until it didn't. The room exploded as the bass dropped and Matt let his base instincts take over, bolting for the exit he remembered from their entrance, leaving his cane at the seats with Foggy.
Foggy hollered for him, grabbing the cane has he jostled through the crowd to keep up with Matt, apologizing to all of the people his roommate had shoved aside, the words lost in the noise.
The contrast from the concert hall and to the lobby was deafening, and, though Matt could still feel the beat of the music vibrating through the walls, turning his head into a well of molten lead, he found some reprise in the muted room, leaning against the wall, panting heavily.
“Matt!” Foggy shouted, bursting through the amphitheater doors, sending a wave of harsh vibrations flooding into the lobby, forcing Matt to slide down the wall, holding his head. “There you are, buddy,” Foggy said with a faltering smile, quickly realizing something was definitely off. He knelt beside Matt and placed his hand on Matt’s shoulder, frowning as the cowering man winced.
“Foggy…” Matt panted, his body minutely moving in circles, indicating his disorientation. “I can't… See.”
“Well, that's nothing new, Matty,” Foggy tried to joke, stroking Matt’s back softly, noting unhappily how his boyfriend grimaced at the touch. “I never… I didn't think that the concert would… I'm sorry, Matt.” He rambled, shaking his head furiously, words pouring out of his lips.
Matt struggled to let go of his temples, blindly pressing a hand to what he estimated was Foggy’s mouth; unfortunately, Matt found Foggy’s forehead, but the message was clear and Foggy quieted down. “Home.” He grunted after a moment of silence. “Get me home… please.”
“Yeah… Yes,” Foggy said, wrapping his arm around Matt’s waist, the cane hanging idly from his other forearm, “Come on, Matt, let's get you up… Let's get home.” Matt made a small, hissed ‘shhh’ and Foggy apologized, then apologized for apologizing, then apologized for apologiz-- “you know what, I'll just shut up.”
Matt offered him a weak smile, wincing as they started to move toward the exit. It felt like it took a lifetime and a half to get outside, and, while the noise from the concert faded even more, Matt was met with the cacophony of the city streets, distributing more of his weight to Foggy who grunted in effort to keep Matt up.
“Too much to drink in there?” A cabbie called out with a laugh, looking at his watch. “Or are you two just calling it an early night to bring the good time home?”
Matt stumbled toward the cab, taking a few steps away from Foggy, causing the other man to rush after him, catching Matt before he stumbled down the curb. “A little of both,” Foggy lied, folding Matt into the back seat. He pulled out a $20 and gave it to the taxi driver. “This plus normal fare if you don't talk and get us to Hartley Hall at Columbia as fast as possible.”
The man looked down at the bill and shrugged, pocketing it as he walked around his car. “Sure thing, pal, just keep your pants on in my cab.”
Foggy rolled his eyes and piled into the backseat next to Matt, pulling his sweat-dampened head into his lap. Matt whined as the cab started to move, fisting a handful of Foggy’s jeans to steady himself.
“I got you, Matty.” Foggy promised, stroking Matt’s hair off of his forehead. “Don't you worry, buddy, I'm here. I've got you.”
--
Foggy paid the driver, not waiting for the change, a detail he, as a broke college student would later regret, and helped Matt out of the cab, catching him again as he attempted to faceplant on the concrete. “Almost there, Matty.” Foggy urged, carrying most of both of their weight, nearly tripping over the cane dangling from his wrist.
“Foggy…” Matt mumbled as they stepped into the half sterile, mostly dirty scent of the dorm hall foyer, relishing in the familiarity of smell. “My… Head.” He managed, wincing at the ding of the elevator. “‘T’s spinning… Hurts…”
“We’re almost there. I’ll get you some painkillers and you'll be out in no time.” Foggy pressed the third floor button, taking Matt’s pained appearance in with a heavy frown.
Matt rubbed at his temples, resting against the cold wall, trying not to tip off balance as the elevator lurched into motion. “Won't help.” He muttered, reaching for Foggy.
Foggy furrowed his brow in confusion but supported Matt again when they reached their floor, heading out of the elevator. “What helps then?” He asked, pulling out his dorm key with the hand sans Matt, the tip of the cane clattering on the floor.
“Quiet…” Matt said after a moment, reaching out for a wall he knew marked the frame of their dorm, resting against it, grateful for the proximity of their room to the elevator. “Ice… Maybe…” He offered, knowing that Foggy wouldn't be able to simply be quiet, assuming it couldn't hurt.
While the vibrations and overpowering noise had diminished since they left the concert, Matt’s head still throbbed. He felt as if his brain had swollen and threatened to burst through his skull.
Foggy opened the door and Matt stumbled forward without him, ramming into his bedside table, yelping in surprise. Foggy hurried beside him and guided him to the bed, quipping something Matt couldn't understand about how the furniture must have been moved.
While Foggy left to collect ice from their mini fridge, Matt collapsed on the soft, silk sheets and curled into himself, folding his head into his stomach, letting out a ragged groan. He tried to settle his breathing, though his inhales were considerably shorter than his exhales, and concentrated on blocking out the heavy scent of Ramen-filled vomit from the alleyway beside the dorm hall and the sounds of the busy New York streets.
A loud honk outside the Duane Reed a few doors down jarred Matt back to reality, huffing for breath. Foggy rested an ice cold hand on Matt’s side, his heart rate through the roof. “Matty.” He murmured, moving his hand to Matt’s cheek, earning a tight inhale as a result of the frozen contact. “Jesus, Matthew, you stopped breathing for a minute there.”
“‘M’fine.” Matt grunted, shifting under the cold touch. “I'll… Be fine… Promise.” He mumbled, his eyes closing tightly as his head pounded with another mighty throb. “Please, the, uh,” Matt drifted off, exhaling shakily as he tried to remember the word for solid water. Unable to find it, Matt settled with, “stuff…”
Foggy cocked his head, trying to figure out what ‘stuff’ could be. “Ice?”
Matt nodded slowly, groaning as someone shouted on the street. “Hold on my…” He lifted his hand and rested it over his temples. “Please.”
Foggy nodded and shifted closer to Matt on the bed. “It's gonna be cold,” he warned softly, gently stroking Matt’s hair away from his temple, replacing it with the ziplock bag of ice cubes. Though he was warned, Matt stifled a cry as the cold encompassed the side of his head, grimacing as the sharp, plastic corner scraped his temple.
Foggy shushed him quietly, petting his shoulder as Matt started to relax into the treatment. It took Matt a while to zone out again, but his breath began to level, showing his discomfort through small hitches in his breathing and his strained expression.
“My mom gets migraines,” Foggy whispered after a few minutes of silence. “She gets real sensitive about noise too… Curses New York street-goers and their excessive use of horns and has a blatant distrust for cab drivers as a result.”
Matt furrowed his brow and cocked his head slightly, trying to understand why the story was relevant in his current state.
Knowing the expression far too well, Foggy offered a gentle laugh and swept Matt’s hair off his forehead. “Apparently it's genetic, the migraines, I mean. I haven't ever gotten one that's been comparable to either hers or yours, given that this is a migraine and not something weirder -- there's a reason I'm not going to medical school. But, I digress, she got me stocked up on all the medications a migraine suffer-er would ever need.” Foggy explained, shifting the bag of ice to his other hand, wiping the condensation on his shirt. “Will you please take something? You need rest, Matt, and you're not going to get any if you're in this much pain.”
Matt considered his options and, deciding that the medication would not make him feel any worse, slowly nodded his consent. Foggy leaned down to press a kiss to Matt’s forehead, muttering soft words of gratitude before hopping off the bed. He rifled through his night table carefully before procuring a mostly filled pill bottle; after grabbing a bottle of water, Foggy found himself on the bed again, helping Matt sit up to take the medication.
Matt teetered as he swallowed heavily, eventually resting his head on Foggy’s shoulder, reaching for his hand. “You’ll stay, right?” He asked quietly, letting his weight fall nearly entirely onto his roommate.
“Of course,” Foggy promised, wrapping his arms around Matt’s body, tugging him down on the bed. “Rest, Matty,” He murmured, stroking Matt’s back as the man settled into his embrace. “I’ve got you. I'll take care of you, my wounded handsome duckling.”
Snorting at the nickname, Matt closed his eyes and nuzzled into Foggy’s chest, focusing on the familiar and comforting heartbeat and steady breathing. After a few long minutes, a wave rushed over his haywire senses, muting them as his world plunged into molasses.
--
“Shit.” Matt groaned, rolling over the bed as his head began to throb with a different sort of pain, not unlike that of a hangover.
“Hey, sleeping beauty,” Foggy greeted from across the room, the gentle clacking of his keyboard slowing to a stop. “Feeling any better?”
Matt propped himself up, wobbling on his forearms until his back pressed against the headboard. “Uh,” he hesitated, his brain churning despite the haze, “... Kinda?”
“Well, at least that's better than ‘no’,” Foggy said with a small chuckle, making his way to the bed. “Let's get you into your pj’s, yeah?” He put Matt’s favorite silk pajamas on the nightstand earlier in the night and transferred them to the bed with a gentle smile. “They may be a little more comfortable than jeans.”
“What time is it?” Matt mumbled, struggling to get his t-shirt over his head without tipping over.
“‘Round three am, I think?” Foggy answered, crawling over to Matt to help him out of the shirt. He honestly couldn't help it if he stared for a few seconds after the t-shirt was discarded, whistling softly as his hand fell against Matt’s chest. “I don't know how I ever got to be this lucky,” Foggy mused, trailing his fingers over warm skin until Matt’s tired groan snapped him out of the ab-induced trance. “Right. Clothes. Sorry.”
Foggy unbuttoned the silk shirt and slid it around Matt’s shoulders, kissing the soft, slightly sweat-dampened mass of brown hair. Matt exhaled heavily, focusing on Foggy’s presence, a faint smile on his lips.
With clumsy fingers, Foggy did up the front of the pajamas, whispering a goodbye to the beautiful skin beneath, earning an incredulous scoff from Matt. “You are woefully unaware of how gorgeous you are.” Foggy commented, his hands pulling at the button to Matt’s jeans. “But we will table that discussion for another day,” He compromised, tugging Matt’s hips up, inching the denim off and throwing it on the floor with a dull ‘thwump’ of fabric. “For now,” Foggy started, scrunching up the silk legs of the pajama pants, “I will just take snuggling you into oblivion.” He said, rolling the pj’s over dark colored boxers, having left them on for Matt’s comfort.
Matt smiled warmly, reaching out for Foggy, making a pleased noise when the man filled his arms, and slid down the headboard, nuzzling under Foggy’s ear.
“Cuddly little duck you are,” Foggy mused, scrunching Matt’s hair softly and then straightening it out with pious fingers. “Did it help at all?” He asked after a moment of relative silence, turning his head to graze his lips over Matt’s forehead. “The medication, I mean,” Foggy clarified, draping the arm Matt wasn't using as a pillow over his waist.
Matt nodded slowly and pressed into the gentle contact with Foggy’s lips. “It took the edge off, yeah,” he mumbled, inching his body closer to Foggy’s. “Now it just feels like the worst fucking hangover ever.”
“Matthew, language!” Foggy mock gasped and pulled his lips away from Matt’s forehead, earning him an annoyed scoff. “You'll have to mention your deviled dialect in your next confession. You'll have to pray that the Lord, God Almighty will accept your penance and abolish you of your sinful actions so that--” Foggy grunted as a stiff finger met his ribs, simply to shut his mouth. “Excuse me, what was that for?”
“You're a menace.”
“Spider-Man is a menace.” Foggy retorted, kissing the top of Matt’s nose. “I'm adorable and you love me.”
Matt huffed a short, exasperated breath and knocked their foreheads together, opting to stay silent.
“Maaaaattttttttt,” Foggy whined, casually shoving his nose into his boyfriend’s cheek to illicit a response. “I've been waiting half a night for cuddles,” He huffed, as if it was the worst trial a human could bear. “And if you can muster up enough strength to stab me in the chest, I think you are feeling well enough to snuggle.”
Matt stopped with a sigh and pressed their lips together, consenting to the usual ridiculousness of his partner, earning a triumphant noise and a soft smile. “You are so irritating sometimes,” Matt mumbled against Foggy’s mouth, feeling his counterpart’s muscles sag into a frown. “You are very lucky that I am quite patient.” He mused, kissing Foggy again, snuggling closer. “And I am very lucky to love someone like you.”