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There was a knock on the closet door.
Foggy slowly lifted his head from where it had been pressed into his knees, legs drawn up to his chest, back against the wall. Lifting his damp face didn't accomplish much, since the closet was pitch black and he couldn't see anything either way.
The surreal nature of the situation stole his voice, his mind jumping around from question to question. Was that really knocking? Was he imagining things? Should he pretend he's not here? The silence stretched to a point where it would have been ridiculous to say anything, so he didn't.
The knock came again, soft and hesitant but three distinct taps against the wooden door, impossible to be someone just brushing up against it as they bumbled around the dorm room. Impossible to be anything other than a knock.
Then, when Foggy still didn't say anything, the door cracked open just an inch.
He screwed up his eyes against the light spilling in from the dorm room beyond. As they adjusted, the door opened further and his roommate's form developed in front of him like a photograph, one hand on the doorknob and the other gripping his cane, backpack still slung over his shoulder, everything indicating he had just arrived back to the room. There was a furrow between his brows and a slight tilt to his head.
Foggy sniffed, rubbed the back of his hand against his nose. Just staying quiet didn't really seem like a viable option anymore, seeing as Matt wasn't an idiot and Foggy didn't think he went around knocking on closets unless he was fairly certain his roommate was currently hiding in one.
"Hey, buddy," Foggy said, voice embarrassingly wet and weak to his own ears.
"Hey," Matt said back. He didn't angle his head down toward Foggy curled up on the floor of the closet like anyone else would have, instead keeping his unfocused eyes straight ahead, as if he found something particularly fascinating about the back wall. "You, um, you okay?"
Foggy gave a little disparaging laugh. "Yup. Peachy." He rubbed the side of his neck, wondering what he was going to say when Matt asked him why he was hiding in their closet.
"Uh, can I join you?"
Any smooth tangents Foggy had been about to attempt for distraction were completely driven from his mind. He stared up at his roommate and felt a flush cover his face for no particular reason, other than being caught in one of the most embarrassing positions imaginable in front of a really cool person whom you really wanted to like you and now you were pretty sure thought you were a lunatic.
"Sure," Foggy croaked out, instead of saying all of that.
Matt shrugged out of his backpack and tossed it in the direction of his bed, the springs squeaking as it landed safely. Then he folded his cane and did the same. He took off his glasses, folded and tucked them into the pocket of his shirt, and put his hand on the frame of the closet doorway. He used it as a guide as he slid down to the floor. He ended up seated with the door frame at his back, braced against it.
Foggy slid until he was facing Matt, making more room for the two of them in the small space. The only way the both of them fit was to sit facing each other with their legs bent, Foggy's feet on the outside and Matt's feet between them. It was incredibly close, and something about that brought Foggy back into focus, brought reality pressing back in on him, chasing away the panicky, disconnected from reality feeling that had been suffocating him in the musty air of the closet.
He took a deep breath and felt some measure of relief when it actually felt like his chest expanded fully, finally seemed like he was getting enough air. The niggling feeling like there had been an anvil on his chest, keeping his diaphragm from extending all the way, seemed to have been chased away with Matt's presence.
The painful feeling of his heart rushing along at a frantic pace, like he had just been in a marathon instead of huddled in the bottom of a closet, eased as it started to return to a normal pace, aided by his easier breaths. Foggy closed his eyes and concentrated on just breathing.
"So, um, can I ask what you're doing?" Matt then said.
Foggy groaned and put his face back into his knees. He mumbled under his breath.
Matt had really good hearing. "A panic attack?" he repeated. "What happened?"
Foggy's shoulders jumped up listlessly in a helpless shrug. "I dunno," he muttered into his knees.
"Foggy, could you sit up so I'm not having a conversation with the top of your head?"
Foggy lifted his head and rubbed his eyes a little and hoped his wasn't grossing his roommate out by wiping tears and snot on the sleeve of his shirt while sitting inches in front of him. Which Matt could no doubt tell by the gross noise that that was exactly what Foggy was doing.
At least he was nice enough not to mention it. "So, was there something in particular that made you, uh, I mean, set you off?"
Foggy didn't want to admit it, but he didn't want to make up something false, either. "It was Jefferson's class," he finally said, speaking more to his lap than to Matt, afraid to look up and see his roommate's expression. He knew it would change to exasperation once Foggy explained. He took a rallying breath.
"I-I was reading the syllabus and -- did you know the final is seventy-five percent of our grade? Seventy. Five. Matt, if I fail the final I fail the class. And I can't fail that class, I can't fail, I have to have a certain number of passing credits for my scholarship or--!" The words tumbled over themselves as he started speaking faster and faster.
"Whoa, whoa," Matt said. "The final's not coming up for like six weeks."
"I know, but--"
"And you're not going to fail anyway, you love that class."
"I have a B- right now. Failing the final will tank it."
"Well you're not going to fail the final. We'll study."
Foggy let out a long, slow breath. "Yeah, I know," he said, but his voice was doubtful.
They lapsed into silence. Matt spoke first. "So, I didn't know you, um, had panic attacks," he said, like he was attempting to sound conversational but mostly sounding confused instead.
Foggy sighed. "Well, yeah, it's not something I really open with," he drawled. "'Hi roommie, nice to meet you, by the way don't mind me if I sometimes curl up into a tiny ball in the back of the closet and only respond with frightened whimpers.'"
Matt's face creased with worry. "It's that bad?"
Foggy shrugged. "Not so much. Usually. I used to get them a lot more when I was a kid, but they don't happen as much now. Actually, I haven't had one since school started." He added wistfully, "I was kinda hoping I'd outgrown it."
"Sort of thing that isn't that simple to outgrow, I guess," Matt said faintly, almost as if he was talking more to himself.
Foggy grunted an agreement.
"Well, how're you feeling now?" Matt asked, tipping his head in a way that Foggy associated with him studying something in front of him carefully. Usually it was class notes. Tonight it was his roommate.
Foggy dredged up a lopsided grin for him. "Not great, if I'm being honest," he said, wondering if and when Matt was going to get sick of hand-holding a roommate who talked too much, wasn't really clear on the concept of personal space, and revealed more and more weird issues as time went by.
"Then, can I try something?" Matt responded.
Foggy blinked in confusion. He was already on the floor of the closet with him, what else did he have planned?
Matt took his silence for hesitation. "It's like a grounding exercise they taught me in therapy after the accident," he confessed, his voice taking on the careful edge that it always did when he confessed something he considered a big secret part of him. Which didn't happen often because his roommate was incredibly private, especially by Foggy's standards, but it had happened enough times that Foggy recognized his tone.
He hadn't even known Matt had to go to therapy after going blind. It was a depressing thought. Less depressing than not having therapy for newly blind kids, though.
The silence was stretching too long, again. Foggy cleared his throat hastily. "Yeah, yeah, go ahead," he said. "I don't have much to lose at this point."
Matt gave him a little, cautious smile. Foggy was getting good at reading Matt's expressions, and this one was like a prize for not making fun of him when he had said something he thought was too frivolous or too revealing. One that showed a little bit of surprise, a little disbelief. As if any time Foggy did something that wasn't an insult was a pleasant revelation to him.
Well, the feeling was mutual. Maybe that's why they got along so well.
Matt lifted his hands and held them up in front of him, palms down. Foggy stared at them, uncomprehending.
"Put your hands here," Matt prompted.
"On top of yours?"
Matt nodded, so Foggy lifted his hands and gently placed them on top of Matt's, still hovering in the air between the two of them. If Matt could feel the dampness from sweat and tears on Foggy's palms, he at least had the grace not to say so.
"Close your eyes," Matt said.
Foggy swallowed, suddenly nervous for a reason he didn't understand. It wouldn't be that much different than sitting in a closet with your blind roommate with your eyes open. But it felt different.
"Okay," he said, closing his eyes. It didn't even cross his mind to say so without doing it, even if Matt wouldn't be able to tell.
"Concentrate on what your hands can feel." Matt's voice came to him, low and cautious, only a few inches away. "Put all your focus there, in one location. Push everything else out of your mind. Pretend your hands are the only things that exist."
Foggy tried. It wasn't easy. His back hurt from the cramped sitting position he'd been in for so long, and he felt hyper-aware of how close Matt was, how much space the two of them took up in the closet together. How they were practically breathing the same air. He worried what Matt thought of him now and if this would change their friendship, which Foggy realized he was relying on more and more as the semester went on. But he tried to ignore all that and instead tried to concentrate only on what he could feel with his hands.
His palms were much warmer than the backs of Matt's hands. Resting on them felt like they were cooling an overheated part of his body, like the excess heat was bleeding off of him and into Matt. Matt's hands were smooth and soft. It was a nice feeling.
Matt's quiet voice continued. "Now allow your focus to travel to your wrists, then up your arms. Next, your neck and your shoulders, and be aware of how tense your muscles are. Let your shoulders relax. Let your neck straighten. Then focus on your torso and the air moving in and out as you breathe. Feel your ribs move with your breath. Send your awareness down your spine, to your tailbone. Then your thighs, your ankles, and finally your feet. Feel where they're resting on the floor. Be aware of your body, existing and working as a single unit. Your heart's beating, your lungs are moving, your circulatory system is cycling.
"Okay, now open your eyes."
Foggy opened his eyes and immediately bit back a squeak of surprise. He had been so focused on himself that he had completely forgotten Matt's face was barely ten inches away from his own. Their hands were still touching, hovering in the air between them.
Foggy felt heat rise to his face. Matt's gaze might have been unfocused, but Foggy knew he had his complete attention. He had never been this close to anyone, had never had this much scrutiny from another person that wasn't a family member before.
"Does that help any?"
A slow smile spread across his face. "Hey... yeah, I think it did. Thanks."
Foggy searched for something else to say that was more significant than just thanks. He didn't know anyone who would go to this much trouble for him, especially now that Matt knew yet another weird thing about him. Sometimes all he wanted was to have normal reactions to just about anything. It never seemed to happen.
"Can I have my hands back?"
"Oh, geez!" Foggy yanked his hands away and pressed them to his chest, then realized he probably looked like a scandalized Victorian maid and dropped them to his lap (remembering afterward that Matt couldn't see how he looked anyway). "I'm so sorry," he said, embarrassed.
Matt chuckled, but not in a bad way. "It's okay. I'm glad it helped." He had the expression again, the cautious one that confessed he was being his most serious, when he added, "You've helped me a lot since I got here, Fog. I'm really glad I could do something for you in return."
Foggy scrambled to his feet and held out a hand. "Need a hand?" he added, so Matt knew it was there. Matt's questing reach brushed against Foggy's outstretched fingers and he grabbed on, allowing Foggy to pull him up to his feet and out into the room.
"You've helped me way more than just this," Foggy said honestly. Being friends with Matt was one of the best things that had happened to him since he came to Columbia. Then he grinned and added, "Plus, I'm really proud of you for resisting the urge to make any coming out of the closet jokes."
"Oh, were we in the closet?" Matt asked, feigning surprise.
Foggy threw back his head and laughed. "Nothing gets by you, buddy," he said, and he meant more than just the joke. "Thanks for that."
The little impish smile on Matt's face grew into something more genuine. "Any time."