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Foggy isn’t sure what time it is. He isn't sure that he wants to check. So he doesn't.
Matt has a vague idea of what time it is; It’s late as hell.
The two are further planning and preparing their opening statement regarding a case neither of them are feeling particularly passionate about. They are sitting on Matt’s couch.
Some papers are spread across Matt’s table. Foggy’s laptop also rests there, unused for the last hour.
Both of them are acting like they'd rather be at home than dealing with this prep, but that's only true to a point.
Matt enjoys the bickering, the easy back and forth, and the conversation that comes naturally.
Foggy likes the safe space that is simply being with Matt like this, as well as the antics they never fail to get up to, even when working.
It is getting ridiculously late now, though. Matt’s eyes are heavy, and he wants nothing more than to collapse onto his bed. But he’s stubborn, and Foggy and he had clashed just a couple of hours ago about who’d crash first. They even bet on it.
Foggy says something that Matt doesn’t process. He hesitates.
“What?”
Foggy laughs at him.
Hypocrite, Matt playfully thinks. Not a day goes by without Foggy zoning out randomly.
Foggy yawns at some point, and Matt pokes slight fun at him. It’s a pointless battle.
They are making progress, despite having the hour, the pace they're at, and the conversations they keep getting side tracked with. It’s just slow progress. But hey, any progress at… whatever hour it is… is impressive.
The exhaustion is eating away at Matt. He leans his head back briefly, but it nearly gets the best of him, so he sits back up.
He is unsure of how much time goes by. His watch was discarded a long time ago, so he can't check now. His jokes get lazier, his ideas grow lesser in quality. He wants to call it a night.
But he doesn't want to stop whatever this is. He smiles to himself when Foggy lets out a small laugh at his own joke. Matt laughs too. It probably isn’t even funny, but it's late and everything seems funny right now.
At some point, though, the two get quiet. Both waiting on the other to say something. Foggy keeps biting back words. Eventually, he leans back and sinks into the couch.
“Man,” he sighs. Matt can hear the smile on his face.
“Yeah,” he airily laughs. It’s been productive, but that has withered away now. He copies Foggy, letting himself rest against the couch. It’s way more comfortable than it has ever felt. His hands rest clasped in his lap.
Foggy yawns. This time, Matt does too.
He listens to Foggy’s steady heartbeat. It’s awfully relaxing. He listens to each calm breath. A very small, lazy smile appears on his face.
Sense clears from his mind, and his head shifts to lean against Foggy’s shoulder. It’s much cozier than he imagined.
Foggy spares him a glance, a tired grin, and then closes his eyes. He doesn't have any further thoughts about it.
Both of them are thinking about how neither of them won their stupid bet. In fact, they both fall asleep thinking about that. They will likely bring it up when they wake up in the morning, and laugh about it. It will be Matt’s alarm on his phone that will wake them up. His neck will be sore, and they both will feel gross still being in their day clothes.
But neither will regret it.