Work Text:
It’s been a good, long day. Everyone at the newly reformed Nelson, Murdock & Page spent weeks working to find and move into the new office. Juggling clients — new and old — while squeezing in walkthroughs and making endless, redundant calls to utility companies.
But they did it.
Tonight, the office is quiet, save for the hum of the old fridge and the occasional creak from upstairs. Nelson and Murdock are still at their respective desks — Page, sensible as ever, had left while it was still daylight. Matt lifts his head and really listens. Foggy’s heartbeat is ever-present, steady and prominent in his ears. The sound grounds him. A true tether — holding him down, pulling him up.
A moment later, Matt opens his eyes behind rose-colored glasses, letting the world ease its way back in.
Matt grabs his coat off the rack and hesitates by the door. He can hear the shift in Foggy’s breathing before he even turns—slow, a little too heavy, like the weight hasn’t really lifted even though they’re back, together, and technically alive.
He can’t leave yet.
“Hey,” Matt says, soft. “You okay?”
Foggy leans back in his chair, rubbing at one eye. “I’m just tired.”
Matt takes a breath like he’s considering something dangerous. “Workday ended hours ago, bud.”
Foggy huffs a tired laugh. “What, and go home to my apartment with a broken elevator, a raggedy couch and a fridge full of beer?”
“No.” Matt tilts his head. “Come home with me.”
That gets Foggy’s attention. He looks over, blinking like he’s not sure he heard right. “What?”
Matt’s voice softens, low and careful. “Let’s go home. Together.”
Foggy doesn’t move for a long second, then slowly stands, grabbing his coat. “You better have decent blankets this time,” he says, not quite smiling.
Matt smiles for both of them. “I’ll even let you pick the side of the bed.”
Foggy bumps his shoulder on the way out, lingering just a little too close as they lock the office behind them.
They walk in silence, the night soft and damp around them. Streetlights cast glowing halos on the wet pavement. Matt’s footsteps fall a beat behind Foggy’s—deliberate, measured.
“Can you lead?” Matt asks, brushing the backs of his fingers against Foggy’s arm.
“You’re barely using your cane. You literally know this route by heart.”
“And I’d like you to guide me.”
Foggy glances over, then offers his arm with a small, crooked smile.
Matt slides his arm into place like it belongs there— it does.
“Thank you,” Matt breathes, and his heart alights as he picks up a slight uptick in Foggy’s heartbeat.
His grip is both gentle and firm in the crook of Foggy’s arm. And Foggy, dependable as ever, walks toward the apartment without missing a step.
As soon as the door clicks shut behind them, Foggy starts toeing off his shoes with a heavy sigh.
Matt tilts his head, amused. “Rough day, Grandpa?”
“I’m really feeling those three months between us,” Foggy mutters, leaning against the wall as he peels off a sock. “Though technically, it’s probably more now—since, you know, you came back from the dead.”
Matt sets his cane aside and drifts in closer, his voice low and teasing. “Guess that makes me your hot young partner.”
“Those 90 days really make the man, huh?”
Matt slips off his glasses, cocking an eyebrow like he knows exactly how charming he is. “Good thing you still look thirty-five and fine. Brains and beauty? You really are the whole package, Fog.”
Foggy snorts. “You can’t even see me.”
“Don’t need to.” Matt’s smirk is audible.
Foggy shoots him a look, playful. “Such a sweet talker. You’re gonna make me blush.”
Matt grins and bumps his shoulder as he passes. “That’s the idea.”
Foggy flops onto the couch with a dramatic groan. “I claim this here in the name of Foggy Nelson.”
Matt makes a face at him.
“Absolutely not,” Matt huffs, heading toward the bedroom.
Foggy calls after him, “Goodnight Matt. Sleep tight.”
Matt reappears at the door, something soft and navy blue in his hands.
He tosses it underhand, and it lands on Foggy’s chest.
Foggy blinks, looks down.
“No way,” he says, holding up the well-worn Columbia sweatshirt like it’s a ghost from the past. “This thing still exists?”
“You left it here,” Matt says, leaning casually against the doorframe. “It’s basically my emotional support hoodie.”
Foggy laughs, breathless and warm, and runs a hand over the faded logo. “It still smells like you. And, like, bad decisions.”
“I wore it through half of law school finals. It’s part of the original Murdock-Nelson crime-fighting uniform.”
“I thought that was a pizza-stained tie and crushing student debt.”
“That too.”
Foggy tugs the sweatshirt over his head, and Matt goes quiet. He can hear the way it settles on Foggy’s skin, the familiar rustle of cotton over his heartbeat. It makes something ache in his chest—something that’s been quietly hurting for too long.
“Alright,” Foggy says through a yawn, collapsing back against the arm of the couch. “I’m warm. I’m horizontal. Don’t even try to move me.”
Matt lingers in the doorway, just watching.
“I can hear your heart from here,” he says softly.
Foggy cracks one eye open. “Weirdo.”
“I just- Please Fog.”
Matt smiles faintly, then crosses the room and kneels beside the couch. His voice drops even more, almost a whisper. “I spent so long thinking I’d never hear it again. Thinking I lost you. And now you’re here.”
“You used to say you could hear it from halfway across the city.”
“I can,” Matt murmurs. “But that’s not the same as hearing it right next to me. Not the same as falling asleep beside you. Knowing you’re safe.“
Foggy looks at him for a long moment, the teasing fading into something quieter, heavier.
“Damn it,” he mutters, rubbing at his face. “You’re not fighting fair.”
“I never do,” Matt whispers.
A pause.
Then Foggy grumbles, “If you kick me in your sleep again, I’m suing for emotional damages.”
“I’ll sign the settlement in the morning.”
Foggy rolls his eyes, smiling, as he heads into the bedroom. Beaming, Matt slides the bedroom door shut behind them.