Archive of Our Own ^beta

Maybe, in hindsight, trying to take on a building full of biker gang members at once was not the brightest decision. 

Matt laid in an alley as he mulled on that. A deep, deep cut on his side – right in a chink of his armor, dammit – had him hesitating to move. Matt was pretty sure he was in shock, as he could feel the blood pool around his middle from his cut but he didn’t really feel the pain anymore. He just felt very, very tired. That was probably the multiple blows to the head. Or the fact that he had just fought twenty very muscular and aggressive men by himself. 

He began to twist to sit up. His shoulder was the first to make itself known – he definitely dislocated it. He then felt his cut and his hand went to his side only to be immediately coated in warm blood. It was deep . It would need to be looked at probably soon or it would become a problem. He moaned as he shakily rose to his feet. He inhaled deep breaths through his nose and out of his mouth, trying to breathe through the pain. The throbbing in his head tilted his world and he fought gravity that was trying to push him back to the ground. 

Claire’s place was two blocks over. He could make it two blocks. He stumbled forward. He could sense there was a fire escape along this building, but the sharp copper smell of blood currently blocking his nose and the ringing in his ears made his world fuzzy and dim.

Slick, blood-covered hands found the fire escape and he groaned as he pulled down the ladder. He just had to make it two blocks. Two blocks. He repeated to himself over and over like a mantra. He climbed the fire escape, trying to not use his dislocated shoulder too much. He had to stop a couple of times to breathe as his world darkened to nothing with the pain in his head. Two blocks. Two blocks.

He made it to the roof, falling on his hands and knees after he climbed over the lip. Gravel dug into the butts of his hands through his gloves and he focused on that sharpness as he breathed in and out and tried not to lose consciousness. Two blocks.

Shock started to take over and his muscles started to feel heavy, but he pushed through it. There was a little window of energy he could get to if he pushed through the heaviness phase – a little spurt of panicked adrenaline that happened when his body thought it was dying, he guessed. He jumped from that building to the one below it, losing his footing and thumping painfully onto the roof. 

He laid on his side for a moment and kicked himself. He had to keep vertical. It took more energy getting to his feet than it did keeping on them. He forced himself upright, his hand over his side. Two blocks.

He breathed in, coughing on blood mostly. The pain was dulling as shock was really taking over and he hurried to Claire’s, trying to beat his slipping unconsciousness. He tried to outrace the way his surroundings kept tilting from side-to-side, threatening to tip him off of his feet. He did stumble once, his knees catching him on more sharp roof gravel and he hissed, tasting blood in the back of his throat. 

He had to descend two balconies to get to hers and each step had him grunting heavily with pain. But, he finally made it to Claire’s, hearing her heartbeat inside and a television playing. He coughed up blood as he slumped against her window, his fingers squeaking against the glass. He tapped on the pane with his knuckle.

The heartbeat inside started to pound loud and anxious. A couple of seconds later a lock was undone and a window was shoved open. Matt’s world started to darken and he panted.

“Matt?” Claire said. “What the-,”

Matt went unconscious. 

When Claire got off of work that evening she had thought she was going to have a light night. Pick up some takeout, maybe treat herself to a People Magazine from a newstand. Captain America was on the cover of this week’s edition. She planned on taking a long shower and watching the next episode of Drag Race with her heat pad and a glass of wine. Maybe she would’ve even broke out that facial mask her sister got her.

Boy, was she fucking wrong. 

“Matthew,” she groaned, rubbing the wrist of her gloved hand on the forehead as she inspected the man currently bleeding onto her couch. “The new episode of Drag Race was on tonight.” 

She had gotten him into her apartment through the window – no thanks to him, of course. And he managed to stumble the last couple of steps to her sofa himself. He unceremoniously dropped onto it and immediately fell unconscious. She washed her hands and got the first aid kit

Well. Matt definitely got in over his head tonight. He had a large laceration on his side. He probably needed a tetanus shot. He had some wounds on his head and face, but upon closer inspection they seemed less concerning than the side wound – mostly superficial. He had broken ribs, she was sure as she palpitated his torso looking for signs of internal bleeding. Her first instinct was to call 911 and get him to a hospital to check more thoroughly for hemorrhaging. Maybe he could finally get that psychological evaluation that he so desperately needed. But, she couldn’t take him to the hospital. No. 

Claire started disinfecting the wound on Matt’s side when he started to cough, blood bubbling to his lips.

“F-Foggy.” He grunted, his eyes open now on the ceiling.

“Are you feeling foggy?” Claire murmured she reached for a suture kit. She tore it open and unfolded it on Matt’s legs. 

“I-I need-,” he hissed with pain and then coughed again. 

“Shhh,” She hushed him. “Whatever it is, it can wait. I need to get you stitched up before you die from blood loss.” 

He grunted and fell unconscious again, his eyes closing and his head tipping. Claire stitched up the wound on his side, wiping blood away with the handfuls of gauze she now kept stock on hand for nights like these. Although, he really, probably needed more than that. Antibiotics, at least? An x-ray? She dressed it and then started attending to his head wounds.

“Matt,” She shook him. “Matt, can you wake up? I need to make sure you aren’t concussed.” She said as she used an iodine stick to disinfect the wounds in his hairline. 

Matt coughed and his eyes opened again. “Foggy.” He grunted. 

“Well, that’s what happens when you get hit multiple times in the head, Matthew.” Claire said. “Things will go a bit foggy." 

“Can you-,” Matt gasped, his hands flying to his chest. “I-I can’t breathe.”

“Shit.” Claire glanced around her coffee table that was now covered in medical supplies, but she didn’t bring her stethoscope with her when she got the first aid kit. She pulled off her gloves to get it from her work bag. She pulled it out just as Matt’s labored breathing went wheezy and dangerous.

She determined it was a collapsed lung and got the air drained with a clean needle. That reminded her of when they had first met after he had been fished from that dumpster and subsequently made her life way more complicated than she could’ve ever thought. She listened to his breathing return to normal – albeit normal for him was labored and wounded – with her stethoscope.

“Thanks.” He managed. And then Matt fell unconscious again.

Foggy was panicking.

It was now 8:30am – the time he had to leave his place to make it to work before nine. Foggy had waited up all night, but there had been no sign of Matt or a text that he had made it home back to his place. Foggy shouldn’t be panicking. No, of course not. Matt probably just forgot to text him back. He never checked his phone. Foggy was going to find him at the office, safe and sound. 

Foggy tried to remind himself of these mental bullet points as he flicked through his last couple of text messages to Matt, his stomach twisting and twisting like that margarita machine at Josie’s that smelled like an electrical fire in the summer.

Did you get home ok? 

Good morning, Sunshine

Matt? 

Matthew?

Can you call me when you get this? 

Foggy started to walk the ten blocks to Matt’s place. Horrific, gory images of Matt smeared somewhere on the side of a building plagued Foggy and he felt himself grow clammy as his stomach twisted into hard knots.

But, then Foggy stopped himself on the sidewalk, the person walking behind him almost colliding into his back. “Hey, watch it!” They yelled before stepping around Foggy. 

Foggy shouldn’t be panicking. Matt can take care of himself. He was very capable of taking care of himself. He has proven that over and over to Foggy. Matt’s fine, wherever he was. Foggy took a deep breath and turned around and started walking towards the office.

Foggy’s theory that Matt was fine became very brittle and the mental image of him smeared on the side of the building became more vivid when he walked into the office to find only Karen there. 

“Hey,” Karen greeted brightly from her desk, her laptop already open and some files on her desk. She was wearing a blue cardigan that matched her eyes. 

“Hey,” Foggy tried to sound casual. “Did Matt text or call you?”

Karen’s eyebrows furrowed. “No,” she said. “Why…why do you ask?”

Foggy looked into Matt’s empty office, releasing a little breath. Or well, it felt more like the air was forcefully pulled from him like he was stuck in a vacuum. “No reason.” He managed, hoping it didn’t sound as strangled as it felt. “Just wondering.”

“Everything…alright?” Karen asked carefully.

After Karen had walked in on them making out, they had to have a “staff meeting” (Foggy made a memo named Addressing The Desk Incident) which consisted of Matt and Foggy awkwardly explaining to Karen that yes, they had a fight, but it was resolved now. And that yes, they were dating now. And yes, this was a very weird situation.

Karen said she was very happy for the both of them. Foggy was half-expecting her to say something along the lines of about fucking time. Karen was polite, however, and didn’t say that. But, she had a very knowing gleam in her eyes, so Foggy assumed that she was definitely thinking it.

And Matt and Foggy made a rule to not make out in the office anymore. Which sucked, but it was for the best. Instead when they didn’t have clients in the office they politely touched, well, liked boyfriends politely touched in public. They put their hands on each other’s legs when they were sitting and the smalls of each other’s backs when they were standing together. They could do that now in front of Karen. It was nice. Almost nicer than sneaking around to make out against the fax machine.

“Fine, fine.” Foggy assured and went to the kitchenette to make coffee, trying to make it look business as usual. 

“Okay.” Karen said. “You both have an appointment at nine-thirty about that custody case and then,” she picked up a sticky note. “Mr. O’Henry called from the fifteenth. I think he got into a bar fight again.” 

“Okay,” Foggy nodded. “Thanks.”

“Do you know if Matt will be in today? He could go down to the fifteenth.” 

“I’m not sure.” Foggy lied quickly. “I think he said he was feeling a little under the weather last night. He probably slept through his alarm. I’ll try calling him.”

Foggy retreated to his office with his coffee that kind of tasted like burnt rubber. He pulled out his phone, hoping for a notification, finding nothing. He dialed Matt’s number.

Matt set his voicemail like ten years ago and hadn’t ever changed it. Foggy could recite it word-for-word after all the times Matt had ghosted his calls. This is Matt Murdock. Leave a message. Foggy mouthed along with the recording, waiting for the beep. 

“Matty,” Foggy said as sweetly as possible, the memory of a million unanswered voicemail messages playing in his head as he left this one. “Can you call me back when you get this, please? Thanks. I’ll talk to you soon.” He hung up and pressed the butt of his phone in between the lines on his forehead. 

Matt, where are you? 

Matt fell in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he was jostled awake by Claire checking for head trauma symptoms. Sometimes he woke up to pain only to pass out again a couple of minutes later. Sometimes he existed in the liminal space between unconsciousness and consciousness where pain wouldn’t let him drift completely away. Every time he came to completely, he only had one thought – Foggy. Matt promised every night that he would call if something happened or send a text, at least. Matt needed to let him know he was alive. 

He woke up again to Claire sitting on her coffee table replacing a bandage. He swallowed thickly, tasting asphalt and blood in the back of his throat. He cleared his throat before he spoke. “Claire.”

“You’re awake.” Claire said. “How are you feeling?”

“Foggy.” Matt managed. 

“You’re feeling foggy?” Claire said, her voice serious and low as gloved fingers inspected his side.

“No,” Matt shook his head. “Foggy Nelson.”

“What?” She asked.

“My-,” he sighed and gestured. His hand thumped to his chest. “I need to…” Matt fought the way his senses started to pull in as his consciousness started to slip. “Text him.” 

“Foggy?” Claire asked confusedly. 

“Yes,” Matt managed. “He called you…that one night.”

“Oh, the blonde guy with the He-Man haircut?” Claire asked and Matt nodded. “I can text him. Do you know his number?” Claire took her gloves off. 

Matt grunted at a bunch of hard pain points made themselves known. The skin at his side was pulled taut and ached with sutures. His head throbbed and his ears rang. His shoulder was swollen. He gulped again, fighting through the haze of pain. He had Foggy’s phone number memorized, of course, but thoughts were coming slow and arduously. It was like trying to think through peanut butter. “Yeah,” he said.

Claire got up and pulled her phone out of her back pocket. “Okay, I’m ready.” 

“Two-one-two.” Matt started. “Six-five-,”

He was unconscious before he could finish. 

“Matt,” Claire jostled him, her phone still in her hand. “Matt.”

But, he was out . Claire sighed and put her phone down on the coffee table she was sitting on. She knew once Matt fully regained consciousness, he would want to leave her place – way before he was ready to walk or even stand. 

He needs fluids. She thought despondently. Antibiotics. An EKG, probably. Some supplemental oxygen. An x-ray. She had her portable pulse oximeter clipped to his finger to monitor his pulse and oxygen levels and they weren’t good. He needed a hospital.

She could just call 911. What would he actually do? Wake up in the hospital getting actual care instead of this frontier medicine bullshit? She was not a doctor. He was bleeding on her couch . But, she knew. She knew that if he was taken to the hospital he would just escape as soon as he was able. She would have to explain how she knew him. She would have to explain the wounds in a way that didn’t give away his identity as Daredevil or in a way that didn’t paint him as absolutely psychotic.

“You should be happy I’m your friend.” She bit to an unconscious Matt before rising to her feet to toss out the trash. “Today is my day off, you know? I was going to go to the laundromat and the grocery store.” She washed her hands in her kitchen. “I was going to go to that bakery on tenth. You know, the one with mini cheesecakes? They have a German chocolate cake flavored one now. You definitely owe me a dozen when you’re back on your feet.” 

She reemerged to her living room to the man stretched out on her couch, unconscious. She was glad that their paths had crossed. She was glad that the city had someone as determined and compassionate as Matt out there defending it but she couldn’t imagine him doing what he was doing out there all alone. She was glad they were friends.

Matt did have his sweaty, blonde friend, Foggy Nelson too. he presumed. She thought back to that night that Foggy had called her, hysterical and sobbing into the phone. And then he cried and shook the whole time she stitched him up muttering incoherently. Claire thought he was going to have a complete breakdown when she gave him instructions for Matt’s wounds after he woke up, Foggy’s hand gripping his tie so tight she thought he was going to strangle himself with it.  

He had been a victim of that building bombing that Fisk caused too. She remembered him at the hospital but only just. That night had been a blur with all the wounded people being funneled into the ER and the horror of knowing her neighborhood was being reduced to rubble. 

She sat down on her armchair across from Matt and opened the magazine she bought. She crossed her legs and waited for him to regain consciousness again. 

Foggy made it to the end of the day – three appointments and two calls to the police station  – without a word from Matt. He checked his phone multiple times an hour all day long. Nothing. Foggy’s intrusive thoughts were becoming very creative. Matt was smeared on the side of a building. Matt’s body floating in the Hudson. Matt trapped in a dank room being tortured in ways that would violate the Geneva Convention. 

Foggy did the only thing that seemed appropriate when he got off of work – he drank. He went to Josie’s and pounded the cheap swill they served just cold enough to put ‘chilled beer’ on the sign in the window. He played the New York Times Wordle. The winning word was STARK. Which was a little weak he thought. He tried to go through folders, but his brain was rocking like a washing machine with a broken agitator with anxiety over the fact that his boyfriend was missing. 

But, there wasn’t anything he could do . He had called multiple times. He had texted multiple times. Nothing. He had to trust that wherever Matt was, he was alive and okay. That he would make it through it, whatever 'it' was. 

Foggy just hoped he wasn’t being ghosted again. He knew about Daredevil now. He was dating him now, for chrissakes. He knew that Matt tended to shut people out when things weren’t right. Foggy desperately hoped that he was the exception to all of that now.

But, he knew deep down he wasn’t. 

Foggy went home after four beers and still no sign of Matt. He wasn’t going to sleep, he knew that much. His sleep schedule was almost in-tune with Matt’s now. He went to bed at 2 or 3am most evenings. But, tonight he knew he wasn’t going to get his brain to calm down to sleep even in the wee hours of the morning that night. At least, not without Matt there next to him or knowing Matt got back to his place safely. 

So, he decided to go to the other end of that extreme. He played a video game on the TV, hooking up online with Theo to play some Halo like they used to do when Foggy was in college. He played music from his stereo for background noise and then during loading screens he scrolled Instagram on his phone. 

Foggy could hear Theo’s kids in the background through his headphones. “Hey!” Theo scolded. “Get that out of your sister’s mouth, please. Sorry, Fog.” He apologized. “I’m back.”

“No worries.” Foggy said that a lot for someone who was very full of worries.

“How are things with the firm?” Theo asked as they started a new match of Capture the Flag.

“Fine,” Foggy answered as he played. “Business is picking up.”

“Oh, yeah?” Theo said. “Anything juicy?”

“I can’t talk about my cases like that.” Foggy groaned. “You know that. But, no. Not really. We take on mostly locals from the neighborhood, you know?”

“Low-income,” Theo inserted. “People who can’t afford legal counsel.” 

“You got it.” Foggy slouched into the couch, putting his feet up on his coffee table.  

“Are you still dating Matt?” Theo asked slowly and robotically like he was reading something. 

“Are you being put up to ask this?” Foggy asked, immediately suspicious. “You don’t care about who I date.” 

“You’re right, I don’t care.” Theo said. “Mandy’s poised to text Candance right now.” 

There was a hey! Don’t tell him! proclaimed in the background from Theo’s wife. Theo laughed at her and then there was a happy shriek and foot pats of a small child running across a tile floor. A dog barked. It was a whole symphony of a happy family. 

“To answer your question – I am still dating Matt.” Foggy said once the background noise had died down. 

“That’s good.” Theo said. “He’s still dating Matt, babe!” He called to his wife.

“Thank you!” Mandy called in the background.

“Why is my love life such a hot topic?” Foggy chuckled.

“Well, you know, you’ve never really been in a relationship . It’s just been dates. Everyone's just so happy for you.” Theo said. "And we all love Matt so much." 

“ Marry him! ” Theo’s wife called. 

Foggy laughed at them and then looked at his dark phone he had set down in his lap. He tapped the screen and watched his background – a picture of Matt with messy hair sipping some coffee next to his window on a sunny Saturday morning – light up. No notifications from him. Not a call. Not a text. 

Nothing.

Claire had to call out of her next day at work. Matt was still unconscious. She monitored his vitals closely, watched his wound for bleeding, and watched to make sure he wasn’t having any seizure activity. His condition seemed alright, he was just out . It made sense to Claire that his body must be tired . 

However, Claire started to grow worried when they started to approach the twenty-four hour mark of the last time he was conscious. She didn’t want him to slip into a coma without proper medical intervention. Things would get very messy very fast after that. 

“I’m taking you to the hospital if you don’t wake up in the next two hours.” She threatened his unconscious form, her arms crossed. “Do you hear me in there? Two more hours and then I’m calling an ambulance to pick your ass up.” 

Matt sputtered awake with a gasp, his eyes flying open. His pupils that were always blown wide roved around for a second. “Claire?”

“Oh, so that’s what got you awake?” She threw her hands up. “Threats of modern medicine?”

“What time is it?” Matt asked weakly and then coughed.

She looked at her watch. “Two-thirty-seven pm.” And then she gave him the date as well. 

His eyebrows furrowed after he did the math. “Two days?”

“Just about,” she said.

“Shit.” He said and started to twist to sit up. He groaned and he thumped back to the couch. His hand went to his head and he winced. “Can I have some aspirin?” 

“No, I’m not giving you aspirin .” She said. “You’re bleeding . You can take some Tylenol.” She said and moved to her kitchen to get the Tylenol and some water. “Are you going to tell me what happened?” 

“I got into a fight.” He said simply.

“Yeah? With the whole Tri-State area?” She joked as she filled a glass up at the sink with water.

Matt chuckled and then groaned. “Just about,” he parroted back to her.

Claire moved back to the living room and sat down on the coffee table. She handed the Tylenol one at a time to Matt and then the glass of water. He winced and his hand shook with the weight of the glass. Claire grasped his hand to keep him steady and he washed the pills down. 

He groaned and then sighed, his eyes wincing. “Two days.”

“Just about.” She said again, crossing her legs. 

“I need to get home.” He said and started to shift again to a sitting position. He managed to push himself to sit up. He gasped for air, his hand on his side and sweat beading down his hairline. 

“No, you need to rest.” Claire put his hands on his shoulders and tried to gently push him back down. He resisted. 

“No, no.” Matt shakily got to his feet. “Where’s my helmet?”

Claire sighed, knowing it was futile to try and argue and grabbed Matt’s helmet for him from where she had set it on the coffee table. She handed it to him and it was like placing the last weight on an overburdened scale. Matt dropped the helmet to the floor with a groan and his knees buckled. Claire just had enough time to grab him under the arms and guide him back to the couch before he collapsed completely. 

“Breathe, breathe.” She coached as she listened to his breathing get wheezy. She reached for her stethoscope and used it to listen to Matt’s chest sounds. His eyelids fluttered and he grunted. She waited until Matt’s heart rate returned to a normal pace and his breathing evened out. “You need to rest .” She punctuated that with a forehead kiss. 

Foggy swung by Matt’s apartment to check to see if he was there. Foggy didn’t know why his stomach knotted so hard in hope to see Matt home. He knew he was going to be disappointed.

Maybe Foggy was actually preparing himself. Preparing himself to find Matt on his floor bleeding out like he did that night after his fight with Nobu. He wasn’t sure what would be worse – not finding Matt in his apartment, only God knowing where he was or actually finding him in the worst possible scenario Foggy’s stupid, vivid imagination thought up. 

Either way, Foggy felt like shit when he got to Matt's apartment to find it dark and empty.

The place was as tidy as it normally was – save a couple of dishes in the sink. Foggy found Matt's phone on his dining room table. He picked it up to see all of his own missed calls and texts. He also had a text from Karen asking where he was. Foggy sighed as he put it on the living room charger for him, the little robot voice telling him that his phone was plugged in. He wondered if Matt always left his phone at home or if he had forgotten it this time.

Foggy walked to the bedroom and clicked the lights on. The bed was still made and Matt’s dirty clothes from a couple of nights ago were piled on the floor next to his hamper. 

There were signs of Matt but there was no Matt. 

“Where are you?” Foggy asked into the empty apartment, tears prickling his eyes. “Matty, where are you?” He looked at the billboard outside his window that was currently screening an Arby’s ad.

Foggy sniffed those tears and busied himself with cleaning up Matt’s clothes and then he did his dishes in the sink, making himself feel better by keeping moving. He couldn’t remain still. If he did, then he panicked. If Foggy did this, at least it wasn’t something Matt had to do when he got home. He was remaining helpful too. He just had to keep moving and helping and reminding himself that Matt could take care of himself, wherever he was.

And if he did keep moving, he wouldn’t be able to stop long enough to notice his own hands shaking. 

Matt fell in and out of fitful consciousness. The fatigue wasn’t as heavy or pressing as it was twenty-four hours ago, but it was still enough that it made getting to his feet and getting back to his place twenty blocks away very unappealing. His head hurt and with the throbbing and the ringing in his ears, he was unsure if he would’ve made it anyway. 

Foggy.

Matt still needed to contact Foggy and tell him he was okay. He had promised.

“Claire?” He asked, but he was meant with no answer and he couldn’t sense her in the apartment. She had said she needed to grab some more gauze and pain medicine from the drugstore and left. 

Foggy’s freaking out. Matt thought. He thought about the way the heat rose on the back of Foggy’s neck when he was upset, the way he choked back tears, the way his voice would crack with them in a way that broke Matt’s heart. That Unfortunate Day ran through Matt’s head – as it did every time he was reminded that he almost destroyed the longest, closest relationship he’s ever had – and he sighed. Two, almost three days now. Foggy must be so pissed at him.

Claire came back through the door, a grocery store bag in her hand.

“Claire?” He pushed himself up a little. 

“Hmm?” She hummed and kicked off her shoes at the doorway. “You ready for more Tylenol? You’re at about the five-hour mark now.”

“No, um,” he put his hand on his side and groaned with the pain throbbing there. His whole body throbbed with it. “Can you text Foggy for me?”

“Oh, yeah,” She said. “You passed out while you were giving me the number.”

She finished unpacking the stuff she got at the drugstore and then sat on the coffee table in front of him with her phone out. Matt gave her Foggy’s phone number and Claire tapped out a simple message. Matt released a small sigh of relief. At least he could assure Foggy he was alive.

“He asks if he can come by?” Claire said a moment later. 

Matt shook his head quickly, his memories blinking through That Unfortunate Night again, making him break out into a clammy sweat and his heart rate increased. He didn’t want Foggy to see him like this. He couldn’t have Foggy see him like this. 

“No.” He said. “Just tell him I’ll be home in a day or two.”

“ Matt ,” Claire groaned.

“Please,” Matt said, his eyebrows furrowing. “Please just say that.”

Claire just gave a short sigh and Matt listened to her type that out and hit send. She sighed. “This person, Foggy, he’s your friend, right?”

“H-he’s my boyfriend.” Matt said quietly, his hand rubbing his side wound. “We started dating about a month ago.”

Claire was silent for a long moment. She shifted on the coffee table, putting her leg up. “Wow. I didn’t know someone could pin down Matt Murd-,” her phone swooshed and she looked at it. Matt knew it was Foggy again, upset that Matt was avoiding him. 

“Just,” Matt shook his head. “Just leave it.” 

“You should respond to him.” Claire urged. “Or call him? You can call him.”

“No,” Matt groaned when his fingers pressed a little too deep into his own wound. Pain made his head throb. “There’s no use. I’ll be home tomorrow.” 

“Matt,” Claire said. “I’ve only met him one and half times, but he seems to care very much about you.”

“I don’t want him here.” Matt said. “There wouldn't be any reason for him to be here.” 

“I don’t think-,” Claire groaned again. 

“I’ll be fine,” Matt said, a little sharper than he meant. “And he will be too.”

“Alright.” Claire held up her hands in surrender. “Fine.”

Matt breathed through the pain that shot from his side in zaps. He closed his eyes and started to drift, his mind full of Foggy and his heart full of regret. 

This is Claire. Matt’s at my place. He’s wounded but he’s stable and on the mend. 

Foggy stood in the middle of his kitchen, reading that text message over and over. He read it so many times the words lost all meaning and Foggy was convinced it was actually a different language. Matt was okay. Matt was with Claire. He was stable.

The biggest sigh of relief had Foggy turning gelatinous. He slid against his cabinets to sit on the vinyl floor of his kitchen. Matt was okay. He wasn’t dead. Foggy knew he was going to have to get used to this feeling. He wondered for a second if he was physically capable of getting used to this feeling of dread and horror over potentially losing Matt and then the washing relief when he didn’t.

Foggy guessed he would have to. He couldn’t have Matt Murdock without Daredevil. 

Foggy immediately typed a message back. can I see him? 

She texted back. He says that’s not necessary. He’ll be home in a day or 2.

Foggy read that next message over and over again, trying to let every word sink in. Why didn’t Matt want to see him? A familiar unpleasant chill had Foggy thunking his head against the cabinet door in disbelief.

Was Matt ghosting him?

And that chill was replaced by hot, hot irritation. Matt could not be doing this to Foggy right now. Not again . He had disappeared for two days. Two days. Not a word from him. Nothing. Foggy was his boyfriend. His boyfriend . Didn’t that mean anything? And Foggy knew about Daredevil now. It wasn’t like he had to hide what he was doing to Foggy anymore.

Why didn’t Matt want to see him? 

Foggy climbed to his feet, his phone still in his hands. He texted back a request for a call, but it was not met with a reply. He didn’t expect one, but he tried anyway. He felt…betrayed. It made Foggy feel like garbage. Was he really being shut out right now? Foggy couldn't really believe it. He thought they were beyond all of this. He was hurt for chrissakes. Why didn't he want Foggy there? 

Foggy took some comfort in knowing Matt was safe and under the care of Claire. At least Foggy could stop churning up worst possible case scenarios about his condition.

Foggy would just have to wait. He was excellent at that. 

Two more days.

Matt had to wait two more agonizing days until standing didn’t make him immediately dizzy. But, once he was on his feet and his world didn’t start rotating around him in a way that made him want to immediately vomit, then he decided he was fit enough to get back to his own apartment.

“Are you sure?” Claire asked as she followed him to the fire escape window.

“I’m sure.” Matt assured her as he undid the latch.

“I can get you some clothes.” Claire offered. “And call you a cab?”

“No,” Matt said. “I’ll be okay.”

“I can call Fog-,”

“Claire,” he turned around. “Thank you for all of your help. I truly appreciate it but I will be okay getting back home by myself.” He assured her. 

She stuffed her hands in her front scrub pockets and nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll come by your place and check up on you this weekend sometime to check the sutures.”

“Okay,” Matt said as he slid on his cowl.“Thanks.”

“Good luck getting home.”

And with that he slid out the window and started up the fire escape stairs to the roof. His side hurt and he groaned as he carefully, carefully made his way back to his place by the rooftops. He didn’t want to split open the stitches and have to call Claire only for her to say told you so .

He stopped to catch his breath about halfway there. At this distance, he could sense Foggy’s familiar heartbeat in his apartment waiting for him. He wondered how long he had been there. Since Claire texted him? Foggy worried so deeply for Matt. He’d probably been there since the night he went out just waiting for him to come home. 

Matt’s heart clenched. 

He got up and continued on, making it to his own roof alright – mostly just clammy from the exertion and out of breath. He looked forward to getting out of this suit and getting a shower. He thought about that as he carefully headed down the stairs of his fire escape. 

“Matt?” Foggy said. “Jesus Christ, Matt? What happened?” 

Matt made it to the end of the stairs where Foggy’s warm form was rushing to meet him. Matt wanted to embrace him – to pull him in by the hand and press his face into Foggy’s shoulder and inhale in scent. Matt wanted to squeeze him and touch him and kiss him and calm down the heart inside of his chest that always beat so loud and so fast for him. 

But, he didn’t. He was bloody and dirty and smelled after 5 days of not showering. Instead he let Foggy help him to the couch where he plunked heavily with a sigh. He removed his cowl and his gloves, tossing everything on the ground to be dealt with later. 

“Are you okay?” Foggy asked as he stood in the middle of the living room, taking Matt all in. Matt knew he looked like shit but being scrutinized by Foggy he became very aware of how disheveled he was – blood caked into his suit, his face was torn up and bruised, his lips were dry and cracked. His hair was greasy from not washing it and his facial hair was overgrown and unkempt. 

“I’m fine.” Matt assured him. “I’m all patched up. I promise.”

That released some tension in Foggy’s body. “Do you need some water?” He almost whispered.

“I’m fine.” Matt insisted.

"Have you been," Foggy gulped, "resting at all?"

"Yeah, I’ve been sleeping mostly the last couple of days.”

“At Claire’s?”

“Yeah.”

"I'm glad you are okay."

There was a long moment of silence. Matt could feel Foggy’s body tense, his breathing change as he got his thoughts together. He could hear his heartbeat increase and his body flushed with the exasperation that had been churning and churning for days now. 

“Why didn't you let me see you?” Foggy asked, his voice level and professional despite all the physical signs that he was pissed . He was so convincing. It’s part of the reason why he was such a good lawyer. He was good at inflection and he was good at acting. 

Matt rubbed his side as Foggy waited for an answer, his breathing hitching. “There would’ve been no use.” He just said.

“What?” Foggy sputtered, his emotions overriding his control. “What do you mean ‘no use'? I could’ve brought you clean clothes, at least. So, you wouldn’t have to hop home in your suit that you’ve been pickling in for the last working week.” He started to pace in the middle of the living room. 

“Foggy-,”

“Please tell me why, Matt.” Foggy interrupted. “Because that's a pretty shitty excuse."

“It’s the truth .” Matt insisted. “There would be no reason for you to be there. All Claire did was stitch me up and make sure I didn’t bleed out. You wouldn’t have been needed.” 

“Needed or wanted?” Foggy asked, his pacing stopped. 

“Foggy,” Matt rolled his eyes. He hated arguing with Foggy when he got like this. He never listened. Or at least, it never seemed like he listened. He built up what he thought was the truth in his head and then his imagination took it to the next level. “That’s not fair.” 

“And what about me?” Foggy asked, his voice finally cracking. “You don’t think making me wait around for you to show up for days is fair?”

Matt let his head drop back and his eyes shut. “I’m sorry about that.” He said. “I had Claire text as soon as I could.”

Foggy was trying not to cry, but Matt could tell his body was tensing to start. It was horrible. Every time he gasped, trying to keep it together felt like a punch to Matt’s gut. Matt was always the cause, too. He hated Foggy’s tears so much and yet always caused them. It was a part of the cruel irony that ran Matt’s life. 

“I just didn’t want you to see me like that.” Matt whispered.

“Why?” Foggy asked. “Do you think I can’t handle seeing you hurt?” 

Well, yeah. But, Matt didn’t say that. He just sighed and gave a little, tired shrug. He couldn’t explain. He didn’t want to explain. He just needed to keep Foggy away from that part of the whole deal.

"I'm a little desensitized to all that now, don't you think?" Foggy asked.

"I don't know, Foggy." Matt groaned and then shrugged again. "I was pretty beat up."

"I see you after other fights." Foggy pointed out, his voice full of exasperation.

Well, I don't lose those fights. Matt thought but didn't say. "Foggy-,"

Foggy huffed out a little laugh. "Claire can see you like that." 

“Well, Claire is useful.” Matt snapped back.

Foggy went deathly still and Matt regretted his word choices as soon as they left his mouth. Foggy’s breathing hitched and hitched and hitched. It was like every time he tried to gasp in air, it got stuck halfway

Matt's annoyance was snuffed out and in its place he felt a weight drop into his middle, threatening to put him on the floor. 

“ Useful ?” Foggy whispered.

“Foggy-,” Matt started.

 Foggy let all that air that he had taken in out in a huffed, ironic laugh. “I’m fucking leaving.” He said and started to storm off towards the door.

“Foggy,” Matt said and shifted to his feet. “Foggy, wait. Please.”

“No.” Foggy shook his head. “I get it now. Useful ? Okay.”  

“Foggy, I’m sorry.” Matt said as he followed Foggy down the hallway to his front door. “That’s not what I meant.”

Foggy stopped and wheeled around. “No. It’s exactly what you meant.” He bit. “I’m not a fucking nurse, right? Why would you call me , your boyfriend of all people, right?” He laughed again, pained and wheezy. “God, I’m such an idiot.” 

“Foggy,” Matt felt his own breathing coming in short huffs as his own tears stung his eyes. “That’s not what I meant.” Matt repeated weakly. “I just-,”

Foggy’s chuckles died. “So, tell me Matt – do you consider me useless to you?” 

“Foggy, no.” Matt said. “No. You’re not useless. That’s not what I meant.” Matt said. It wasn’t what he meant at all . He just couldn’t have Foggy there while he was like that. He couldn’t deal with Foggy’s despair over seeing Matt that helpless. Matt didn’t want Foggy to see Matt that hurt because it reminded Foggy of how absolutely unhinged Matt was for going out and doing this every night.

And if he was reminded of that, he might try and stop Matt from doing it again. 

But, he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t say that it was impossible for him to let Foggy get that close to that part of Daredevil. Not again. It wasn’t physically possible over the weight on his chest.

“You’re allowed to have people in your corner, you know?” Foggy cut him off, his voice thick with sobs, it broke Matt’s heart. “Besides Claire. People who want to help you. People who love you.” 

“Yes, of course. Foggy I’m-,”

“I thought I was in your corner but I’m not, right?” Foggy laughed again and then sniffled. “I’m not even allowed near the goddamn gym.” 

“Foggy, please.” Matt’s hand came out to touch his arm and Foggy recoiled his whole body back from his hand. Matt felt that smart painfully on his face. “I’m sorry.” 

“I’m leaving,” Foggy said again. He turned towards the door, his hand on the knob. He turned around again. “And by the way, I was useful. I was so fucking useful. I covered for you to Karen. I worked all your cases all week. I went to fucking court and the jailhouse without you.” He laughed and shook his head. “Fuck, Matt, I even did your dishes .”

Matt put his hand on the wall. He couldn’t say anything back, it felt like he was being punched in the ribs over and over. He couldn’t breathe. He just felt hot tears roll down his face. He felt his own guilt drop heavily through him like gravity had been turned up in his apartment. 

Foggy tensed like he was going to say something again and then he sighed and shook his head. The door closed behind him. “ Useful .” He scoffed before starting for the stairs.

Matt rushed to the door, about to open it and chase Foggy down. He let Foggy leave angry. Again. It was all Matt’s fault. Why was Matt so fucking stupid? But, then he remembered he was still dressed as Daredevil. He couldn’t run down his hallway in his suit with no mask and risk being seen.

Instead he felt his knees buckle. He slid down to the floor, leaning heavily against the closed door. He sobbed with a hand on his forehead. Why did he always hurt Foggy? Why did he ruin everything good in his life? 

Foggy was laughing and crying. 

Not at the same time. He would cry until he was breathless, until he was dry. He felt like someone punched his lungs out through his back. His chest hurt like his heart had been pulled out and was bit into like a goddamn mango. He cried over Matt fucking Murdock and his stupid, complicated face. 

And then he had to laugh because it was so fucking absurd. His boyfriend , who fought crime as a vigilante during the night called him, a geeky, soft lawyer from Hell’s Kitchen who proudly owned the entire Golden Girls boxed sets useless. Of course he was fucking useless. What was he going to offer to Matt’s divine fight for justice? Legal advice? Matt was a lawyer too and he got better grades in law school.

But, Foggy was still Matt’s boyfriend. And that should mean something, right? Maybe not in the grand scheme of the divine fight for justice, or whatever. But, gosh golly gee, Foggy could’ve at least come over and held his hand while he bled onto that nice nurse’s carpeting. He could’ve at least been there for him to offer comfort . 

But, Matt didn’t want comfort. He was so clinical all the time, so…black and white. And maybe that’s what truly hurt Foggy the most. Color couldn’t exist when everything was just darkness and light, right? Two ends of a scale with nothing to exist in the middle. Foggy existed in a different world from Daredevil.

Maybe there wasn’t really a place in Matt’s life for Foggy. At least, not in the capacity that Foggy wanted. Foggy could take Daredevil with Matt, but would Daredevil even want Foggy? Foggy was an obstacle to the end goal, an anchor holding Daredevil back. He was, well…

Useless .

Foggy’s phone buzzed from where he had slid it against the vinyl floor of his kitchen. He wasn’t sure why he always ended up on the floor of his kitchen. Seemed right, he guessed. Everything else was backwards in Foggy’s life, he might as well choose the room in his house that was not meant to be a place to wallow in self-pity. He laid with his head on the squishy mat and he opened and closed a cabinet with one hand while he oscillated between laughter and weeping.

He knew Matt had messaged him and then called him and left a voicemail. But, he didn’t open them or listen. It wasn’t going to make anything better. 

He heard his phone chime again with a social media notification. Foggy just shifted his body over so he could grab his phone from where it had slid just out of reach of his fingers. He held it up. It was a Snapchat notification from Marci Stahl. Foggy rolled his eyes and almost threw his phone into his sink. Not fucking now.

But then an idea came to him. He sat up and opened the snap, which ended up being of her cat. He closed Snapchat and opened his texts, ignoring Matt’s voice messages at the top and instead scrolled his hundred message threads – mostly family but some password reset texts and unread groupchats – to Marci’s number. 

What are you doing tonight? 

And that’s how he ended up at Josie’s 45 minutes later, a vodka tonic – probably the safest mixed drink on Josie’s menu – and a beer in front of him at the bar. 

“Foggy Bear!” Marci greeted when she entered, her blonde hair perfect as always and her smile wide on her face as she slid her butt onto the booth stool next to him. “I did not expect a text from you of all people -,” 

“This isn’t a hookup.” Foggy greeted curtly. But, Marci didn’t pick up hints very well and he knew that’s where she expected this evening to go with a text out of the blue like that. It’s where it usually went, at least.

Marci deflated dramatically, her head rolling back. “You couldn’t have warned me when you texted me? I wouldn’t have shaved my legs otherwise.”

“Sorry.” Foggy blushed. “But, no. I really just needed a drink out with someone,” w ho wasn’t Matt he wanted to add but didn’t. 

Marci slumped against the bar and picked up her drink, sliding the straw in it and sipping until the whole drink was gone. She put her glass down and slid it towards Josie for a refill. “What happened?”

And what was Foggy doing right now? It’s not like he could explain to Marci why he was there. At least, not in a way that didn’t give Daredevil away or paint him as actually insane or worse – criminalize him. 

“Relationship problems?” Marci guessed when Foggy didn’t say anything. She sat up and leaned forward. “Do I know her? Did she go to school with us? Or does she work at L & Z? Please, please, please tell me it was that Heather chick. Remember her? The brunette that had those huge boobs? I always thought she had a crush on you with your,” she waggled her fingers up and down as she sipped her refreshed drink, "nerdy hipster thing you have going on."

“It’s a him , actually.” Foggy said.

Marci looked confused for a second. “Are you gay ?” She almost shouted and Foggy ducked his head when a couple of people looked over. “You’re not gay.” She scoffed. “Because that night after midterms...” she gave a knowing cackle. 

“ Bisexual , Marci.” Foggy sipped his beer. “The B in LGBT? You know – Callie Torres from Grey’s , Liv Tyler, Obi-Wan Kenobi-,”

“Ah,” Marci said and. “I guess that makes sense."

Foggy just rolled his eyes in response.

“So, what’s his name? Do I know him?” She pressed.

“It’s Matt Murdock.” Foggy said in a whisper.

“What?”

“It’s Matt Murdock.”

Marci never looked so delighted in all of her life. Foggy could’ve told her that he cracked the DaVinci code or there was an 80% off sale at Lululemon or that he got her a date with Tony Stark and Marci couldn’t have looked more elated than she did right at that very moment. 

“Matthew Murdock?” She almost yelled again, her hair shaking. “Your blind roommate from college ? Your law partner? Really ? I didn’t know he liked guys. What the-,”

“Stop, stop.” Foggy interrupted. “I’m trying to forget him tonight.”

Marci pouted, the excitement steaming out of her. “Oh, Foggy Bear.” She said. “He really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

Foggy made a sweeping motion. “Hence the drinking.”

Marci snapped her fingers to get Josie’s attention. Josie looked a second away from jumping over the bar at the polished white girl snapping her fingers at her, a homicidal gleam in her eye. Foggy had already accepted that he would have to be the one to defend Josie in court if it ever came down to it. He just hoped it wasn't for assaulting Marci Stahl. “Ma’am,” she asked. “Can we get two shots of tequila? Doubles please.”

“Hey,” Foggy protested as Marci slid him his shot. “I said I wanted to drink , not die .”

“Well,” Marci started and picked up her shot. “I’m either getting drunk or laid tonight and you cockblocked me fifteen minutes ago. Drink up.”

Foggy sighed and picked up his tequila shot. At least this was better than laying on his kitchen floor. 

“Let’s get a hot dog.” Foggy said, stumbling down the sidewalk, his arm over Marci’s shoulders. “I want a hot dog so bad.”

“Let’s do it. You’re so fucking smart, Foggy Bear.” Marci said back, stumbling along with Foggy, her heels hanging from her fingers. “You have no fashion sense, but you are smart.” She slurred.

“Hey!” Foggy protested, his own words slurring. “I have an impercival, impeccacable, good fashion taste.” 

“You’re wearing a short sleeve button up with geese on it.” Marci stopped him in the light of a bodega sign, her hand on his shoulder to appraise his outfit. “Is this geese or ducks ? And skinny jeans ? Foggy Bear, let’s step up your game. Listen to me. Three. Piece. Suits." She clapped with her words.

Foggy was drunk . Drunk drunk. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this drunk. The last L & Z Christmas party maybe? He knew he was going to be so fucking hungover tomorrow. But, he didn’t care. Not at the moment. No, he was having so much fun right now. The lights glowed brighter, the city was humming, the night was warm. Foggy felt like he could fade into it for a bit, just be a part of the masses. There were no problems when house music drummed through his whole being and alcohol made everything fuzzy. 

“And your hair-,” Marci continued.

“Hey,” Foggy swayed and put a finger up. “My hair rocks .” 

“Your hair is fine. It’s getting so long, though.” Marci said, her fingers going to his head. Her eyes widened with an idea.“You should let me braid it.” She grinned wide. “ Please ? Pretty please?” 

Marci could hold her liquor better than Foggy could. Or at the very least, was definitely more hip to the nightlife of Hell’s Kitchen. After Josies, Marci took Foggy to a club where they had more expensive, boldly colored mixed drinks named after sex positions. Once they were thoroughly under the influence there, they found an empty-ish karaoke bar with the private rooms to drink and sing in and scream-sang Taylor Swift at each other until they were both out of breath, until Foggy felt lighter than he had felt in days . 

“Braid it?”

“Yes!” Marci said and looked around like she was noticing her surroundings for the first time. “My place is like two blocks over. Let’s watch Jersey Shore and let me braid your hair. I have ice cream.” 

“Ugh,” Foggy groaned. “Is that a euphemism? Like Netflix and chill? I'm not having sex with you."

"It's not sex." Marci said. "It's hair braiding." 

"So this is a sleepover?" Foggy said. "I'm not a thirteen-year-old girl." 

“No, you’re a thirty-one year old bisexual lawyer-man in a goose shirt who just got his heart broken by a boy.” Marci said and pulled out a cigarette from her purse. She pulled her lighter out next. Foggy took it from her and lit her cigarette and then she handed him the box. 

He pulled one out for himself. Foggy wasn’t a smoker but Marci was and she smoked a lot . He bummed from her when she went outside to the sidewalk for smoke breaks between drinks. 

“You need some hair braiding.” Marci’s eyes rolled in her head and she smoked with her cigarette pinched between her two first fingers. “It’s basically therapy."

Foggy smoked Marci’s Marlboro and considered his options. He could try and stay out. Try and make this night last as long as he could or he could go home by himself and end up spiraling back on his kitchen floor. But, he wasn’t thinking about that right now. He wasn’t thinking about Matt Murdock right now. He wasn’t thinking about being useless right now. He couldn’t. His brain was sloshy and slow from lots of shots and cigarette smoke and the feeling of the night.

“Fine.” He conceded. “But I need food first. I’m so hungry .” 

“Me too.” Marci groaned, throwing her head back. “Let’s get pizza .”

“What about hot dogs?”

“Pizza!”

They ended up getting pizza and heading to Marci’s place – which now that she was at L & Z was way nicer and newer than Foggy’s apartment building. They stumbled up her steps, accidentally knocking each other into the walls and giggling with jokes. They laughed so hard they had to stop before they got to the top of the steps, Foggy sliding on the wall holding the pizza box and Marci crying with her laughs while she gripped the stair railing.

A neighbor opened their front door. "Do you mind? I'm trying to sleep here." 

Foggy and Marci looked at each other before hurrying up the steps 

“So sorry!” Foggy said back to the neighbor.

“Oh my god,” Marci said. “Don’t get me get kicked out.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen.” Foggy assured. “As your legal counselor-,” Marci slapped his arm as they got into her apartment. 

Marci turned on music and they ate pizza at her marble breakfast bar and drank the half-drunk box of wine in her fancy fridge with a screen out of coffee mugs. Then Marci disappeared into her bedroom and reemerged a second later with a bag of hair things. Foggy groaned, forgetting about the hair braiding Marci was insisting on doing.

“Did you wash your hands?” Foggy griped as Marci started parting his hair in the middle. “I don’t want pizza grease in my hair.”

“Like it would matter with all the product that you use anyway.” She scoffed back. “Here.” She handed him a handheld mirror so he could watch what she was doing.

She started french braiding one side of his head, her polished fingers weaving through his blonde hair with practice and ease. He didn’t know if this was particularly therapeutic but it definitely was interesting. Foggy didn’t think his hair was long enough to be french braided.

“How do you do that?” Foggy asked when she started on the second braid.

“What?”

“French braiding.” He motioned to his head.

“It’s kind of like…knitting?” She said, her voice slurring. “Like, you take one strand and another and another and then you just kinda…” she shrugged. “Twist them over and over.” 

Foggy hummed as he watched her work. 

“The trick is,” she said. “Is to stitch the braid to your head by…”

Foggy froze with an idea that buzzed so angrily around his drunk brain, it felt like a bee trapped in a jar. Stitch . Foggy could learn to stitch up wounds. Foggy could find Claire and she could teach him to stitch. It would be great because 1) it would take the load off of Claire and 2) Foggy would be useful to Daredevil. Daredevil would have a reason to keep him around if he was medically trained, right? Foggy could be in Matt’s corner if he had a bit of medical training. And it couldn’t be that complicated. Matt was stitching up his own father at nine- or ten-years-old, for chrissakes. Foggy could do that. He could learn how to stitch.

It was so fucking genius.

“If I was less drunk I could explain it better, but that’s the gist of it.” She said and finished at the same time Foggy hopped to his feet. “Where are you going?”

“I gotta go.” Foggy said and pecked Marci on the lips. “You just gave me a brilliant idea. Thank you, Marci. Thank you for this evening. Thank you. Thank you.” 

“Wait!” Marci called, her face confused. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I know what to do to get Matt back.” He said happily.

“Foggy, it’s like three in the morning.” Marci called.

But, he was already out the door. 

Claire was charting behind the nurses’ station, eating one of those cracker sandwich packs that had the gritty peanut butter in the middle she found in the breakroom. She wasn’t sure how elderly it was, but she was hungry and she had worked through her lunch break. It tasted alright, she guessed. 

She checked her phone for any notifications before sliding it back into her scrub pocket. She had checked on Matt the day after he had insisted he’d leave her place. Physically, he was recovering just fine but something must’ve happened with Foggy when he got home because he had been in bed, inert and depressed, his puppy face sad and splotchy red with tears. He had only responded to her in one-worded responses or not at all. 

“Are you in pain?” She had asked when she had gotten him to roll over in his ridiculously high thread count sheets so she could check his sutures.

“No,” he said. 

“How’s your head?”

“Fine.”

And that’s how her whole visit went. She wanted to ask what was wrong – but she knew it was probably self-inflicted. Actually, she was positive it was self-inflicted. And honestly, she was too involved anyway as is. She didn’t also need to meddle in his love life. She almost did once and that was a mistake . 

“Can you check on that call light?” Her charge nurse asked, coming behind the nurses’ station to grab a file. She disappeared just a quick.

“Yep,” Claire said and dusted off her hands of cracker dust. She stood up and checked on her patient who was looking for more ice chips. She grabbed their cup and started back for the nurses’ station when Matt’s blonde friend stood in front of the counter holding a white bakery box. She eyeballed him as she passed him to get to the ice maker.

“Hello,” He greeted brightly, his smile wide across his face. “The front reception told me you were working this section today. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m-,”

“Foggy Nelson.” She finished for him, letting the ice chest door slam. She inhaled a deep, cleansing breath for 8 seconds like her guided meditations Youtube told her. She didn’t want to get involved any deeper than she was already but she had a sneaking suspicion that she wasn’t about to get what she wanted.

“You do remember me.” Foggy said. “That’s great. That’ll make this…easier.”

“If you’re here about our mutual friend then I-,” Claire started. 

“I’m not here for him.” Foggy said quickly, cutting her off. She looked up at him in surprise. “I’m here for me.”

Claire scanned him quickly looking for injuries or illness. He was wearing street clothes – jeans, a t-shirt and his hair was a little wild, but he looked healthy and his blue eyes were bright and full of life. “What do you want?” She asked.

“First of all, I brought these for you.” He said and smiled this wide, charming smile. He was cute as he gently slid the white box on the counter. “I hope you like cheesecake."

Claire took the box and opened it up. Inside were a dozen assorted mini cheesecakes from the bakery on tenth. “Is this one-,” she pointed at the chocolate one with the coconut on top. 

“German chocolate cake?” Foggy said. “I hope that’s okay? I just got an variety. I’m not sure what flavors you liked.” 

She sat down heavily in the chair she was just sitting in to chart. She crossed her legs and pulled a cheesecake out of the box. She made a ‘continue’ motion with her hand as she ate her cheesecake which was so much better than a cracker pack. Thank the heavens mini cheesecakes exist.

Foggy inhaled a deep breath. “I want you to teach me how to stitch wounds.”

“Why?” Claire licked cheesecake off of her lip. She felt her eyebrows furrow. 

“I want to be…” Foggy shrugged. “ Helpful to…our mutual friend. He thinks I’m not,” he skated his fingertips over the top of the counter and then straightened out a stack of pamphlets. “...pertinent, I guess, when he gets injured. I was thinking if you show me some basic things, I can take some of that off your plate?”

“You want to learn how to suture wounds close?” She asked as she went for a second cheesecake. She wasn’t comprehending what he was asking. He wanted to do wound care ?

“Yes,” Foggy nodded. “You teach me a basic stitch or two and then I can help handle the stuff that doesn’t require a full nursing degree to handle.”

“Mat-,” she cut herself off. She was getting cheesecake drunk and had to be more careful. “ Our mutual friend ,” she corrected. “handles small sutures himself.”

“Yeah, but if he’s also concussed or in a place he can't reach, that would make that difficult.” He pointed out. 

Claire put her half-eaten cheesecake down in surprise at his candidness. “Are you okay with what he does out there?” 

Foggy’s eyes dropped. “I don’t know if ‘okay’ is the word I would use for it.” He said. “It’s more like,” he sighed deeply. “I’ve come to accept it for what it is because I love our mutual friend so much that I rather take them both than have neither, you know?” 

“Does he know that?” Claire asked, thinking back to Matt laying in bed looking like he just got dumped at prom.

Foggy looked surprised. His eyebrows furrowed. “I think so?”

She hummed with skepticism. She didn’t want to meddle anymore than she already had been, so she left it at that. Instead she reached for one of the many memo pads that had a prescription brand logo on the bottom on the nurses’ station desk and made a short grocery list. 2 bags of citrus fruit. Gloves. 

“There’s a Westside Market up the block.” She handed him the sheet. “Get this stuff and then come back to the hospital.” She stood up and pointed down the hallway. “There’s a room down this hallway called the Sunshine Room. It’s a little waiting room that's always empty. I’m off in an hour, I’ll meet you there.” 

Foggy brightened. He gave a little salute and then stuffed the paper in his jeans pocket. “Aye aye, captain.” 

“Don’t tell anyone I’m doing this.” Claire said. “I’m risking my job.”

“And I’m risking jail time for aiding and abetting.” Foggy pointed out the list in his hand. “But, thank you Claire.” He said, his blue-gray eyes getting a little feral gleam in them. “Really.”

“Sure thing.” Claire said and then sighed. 

At least she had cheesecake.

“Okay,” Claire coached. “Now unlock the needle driver. You do that by squeezing – yup, you got it. Now pull the tip of the needle through until you have a bit of slack on the other side. Wrap twice, yep. Yep. Just like that. That’s called the what?” 

“First throw.” Foggy said from his seat next to her.

Foggy was suturing an orange back together after Claire had cut it open with a scalpel. Citrus fruit had good tough skin that was about the right thickness for practicing stitching on. And with a couple filched suture kits from the supply closet, Foggy was adequately prepared to learn how to do wound care. 

Foggy wasn’t too bad at this. Claire was impressed with how fast he was catching on. He would need practice to keep the wounds tight and straight. But, a couple hundred sutures and he would be just as good as her.

“Do you have any experience sewing?” Claire asked, her own example grapefruit sitting on a paper towel in her lap. The netted bag of oranges and grapefruits sat open on the sparse waiting room coffee table in front of them. 

“I was a theater kid growing up.” Foggy said as he reclamped a needle, his gloved hands covered in orange juice and pulp. “I’ve made a couple of costumes in my day.” He explained. 

“Theater like Shakespeare?” Claire asked. “Or theater like Broadway?”

Foggy chuckled. “Both, technically.” He said. “I preferred doing stage shows, though. more fun than trying to recite Shakespearean prose in iambic pentameter.”

“Did you do anything big? Any major parts?” 

“Yeah,” Foggy laughed. “I was Kenickie in Grease my senior year of high school.”

“Alright, Kenickie.” Claire said. “Second throw.” 

She guided him through finishing that suture and then took the orange from him, inspecting his first line of ten stitches. She ran her own gloved thumb over them. 

“Well,” she said and plunked the fruit back in his lap. “You just need to practice, but you make good sutures. But, you should learn about emergency response too. It’s not just stitching. You’ll want to learn the ABCs of emergency care  – airway, breathing, circulation. How to check for cervical spinal injuries, internal bleeding, blood loss, shock. How to respond to seizures, potentially. Matt gets concussed a lot, but he’s blind and his pupils don’t respond to light the same way a sighted person would so it can be tricky to see if he has head trauma. Um,” she shrugged. “His lung has collapsed a couple of times. It’ll be good to know how to release the air.”

Foggy nodded along, his eyes wide as he took that all in. 

“How good are you with blood?” She asked. 

“Besides making me want to immediately projectile vomit,” he said with a straight face. “I’m great.”

“Well, you’ll need to get over that.” Claire said. “Evel Knevel has no sense of self-preservation.”

“I’m very aware.” He said, his eyes going distant and his smile fading. 

Do you have your CPR card?”

“I did.” Foggy said. “I need to get it renewed.”

“The hospital here offers classes weekly on Tuesday. You could probably get in this week’s session.” She offered, her hands going into her scrub pockets.

“That would be great.” He said. “Do you think there are some other classes I can take?”

“Besides going to college for nursing?” She asked. 

Foggy made a face. “Well, you see, I would but I already have enough student loan debt to cover a five-bedroom house in Texas from law school and a whole practice I’m trying to not let close…” 

Claire looked at her own grapefruit for a second as she thought. “Here’s what I’ll do,” she started. “I’ll sign you up for a CPR class and type up a guide of specific things you should know. You go home and practice suturing on the rest of these oranges. Come back on Tuesday for your class and I’ll give you the guide.” She shrugged. “It’s not the same as being a nurse or a doctor, but it’ll do for your purposes, I think.” 

Foggy nodded. “Okay,” he said and started to pack up the fruit and other items back in the grocery bag. “That would be great. Thank you, Claire.” He said sincerely.

“Can I ask you a question?” Claire started, crossing her legs. 

“Sure.”

“Does our mutual friend know you are doing this?” She asked.

Foggy stopped packing. “No, he doesn’t.”

Claire hummed. “I assume the motivation to do this came from him spending the last week bleeding on my couch and not letting you over?”

Foggy didn’t say anything – he just started cleaning up again – and Claire took that as a big, fat yes . She closed her eyes for a minute. Oh, Matthew. She thought. You’re going to drive away everyone good in your life if you keep this up. 

“I’m not getting involved.” Claire sighed, feeling like she was definitely getting involved. “But, just so you know because I feel like it’s important that you do know – the only thing he talked about the whole time he was with me was getting in contact with you. He loves you a lot .” 

Foggy didn’t say anything, his hands frozen on an orange that had rolled out of the bag and his eyes distant.

She took that as her cue and stood up to leave. “CPR classes are at one pm in the auditorium.” She said and handed him her grapefruit. 

Matt had texted and called Foggy the night of their fight, but they had gone unanswered, as Matt assumed they would. Foggy was, at his very core, a people-pleaser. He was helpful and good and thrived best when he knew he was helping someone, whether that be helping his neighbor move a couch up the stairs or guiding Matt around the city or defending someone in court. He lived to delight and in turn, be praised. He was a sunshine in everyone’s life.

And Matt, his boyfriend , called him useless. Or well, it was implied and that’s exactly how Foggy took it. No wonder why Foggy never got back to him. Why the fuck would he? 

Matt felt like shit because he knew he made Foggy feel like shit. Foggy didn’t deserve to feel like shit. And it was only made worse with the fact that Matt couldn’t fix this. How could he, really? Being Daredevil was gruesome and bloody and horrible and Matt tried to keep Foggy away from that side of it and in turn only ended up alienating him completely. Matt wasn’t allowed to have sunshine in life.

He wasn’t sure how he managed to get up and change and shave on Monday morning, but he did. He fell into the same numb routine, the rote motions he had to do because it was expected of him. He missed Foggy’s breath in his ear whispering good morning to him. He missed Foggy’s coffee which was always too sweet, but he didn’t mind because it reminded him of Foggy. He missed Foggy’s presence next to him on the sidewalk.

Matt was used to being lonely, but not like this. This loneliness was like being caught in a landslide – slipping without purchase, being smothered and crushed under it until Matt suffocated. He hated it. He hated it so much.

Foggy wasn’t in the office. Matt could tell a couple of blocks away when he started looking for his presence there. He felt like turning around and going back to his apartment when he couldn't find Foggy's familiar heartbeat. He felt like crying.

“Matt?” Karen asked from her desk, surprised. “Goodness. What happened to your face?”

“I fell.” Matt said simply and flatly, leaning his cane against the wall. “Did Foggy-,”

“Foggy texted me this morning saying he was feeling under the weather.” Karen said. “He’s taking the day off.”

“Alright,” Matt headed for his office, feeling numb.

“Did something happen between you two?” She asked curiously.

“No,” Matt just said. There wasn’t any point in elaborating beyond that. It wasn’t like Karen would understand Matt’s crushing need of ruining everything good in his life. 

She sighed deeply. “Alright,” she whispered. “Well, you have a ten-thirty as your first appointment and then there is a deposition scheduled in the afternoon. The file for the first case has already been scanned into the computer for you to review.” 

“Fine,” Matt said. A ten-thirty would give him some time to hide in his office before he had to face people. He started for his office before remembering his manners. He turned. “Thank you, Karen.” 

“Uh-huh,” she said. “I hope you guys work through this one quickly.” She said as she typed on the computer.  “I know it’s not my place, but you guys are better together than you are separately.” 

That stopped Matt in his doorway. He skated his fingertips against the chipping paint of the doorframe. “You’re right,” he said lowly. “It’s not your place.” 

Karen was so tired of this. 

First, it was Foggy and his neurosis all last week as he covered for Matt – he’s sick, he’s not feeling well – all while looking on the verge of a nervous breakdown the whole time. Then she received a text at six in the morning from Foggy saying he wasn’t going to be in to work that day and then Matt showed up looking like he did six rounds in the octagon and acting like someone drowned his cat. 

Something definitely happened between them. Something she was certain had to do with Daredevil. 

She glanced at Matt in his office – his lip split and yellow bruises highlighting his cheekbone – and then she opened the website for the New York Bulletin and searched ‘Devil,’ in the search bar at the top, clicking on the first article in the results.

She studied the picture of the masked man attached to the headline. He had a new outfit now. It wasn’t the all-black getup that made him look like a Mission Impossible cast member. But, now that she knew and could compare she could see the similarities in the chin and jawline. She glanced over at Matt in his office again. It was definitely him, she was so sure .

She just didn’t know what to do with the information now that she had it. But, also, what if it wasn’t him? Matt Murdock was blind . This man in the article definitely seemed like he didn’t need a white cane to get around. But, she had heard them that day. But, what if it was a joke? Foggy always joked. But, also why did Matt come to work so beat up all the time? What was the cause of that? 

And she went round and round like this in her head. She didn’t know what to make of it. It kept her awake at night trying to make sense of it all. 

And she was tired of whatever the hell was going on between Matt and Foggy. At least when they were together, the office didn’t feel like such a warzone. At least when they were together, they moved mountains for this city. It made her so angry that it seemed to be flushed down the tubes now. That they were back to where they were a couple of months ago where Matt snuck around doing whatever the fuck he did and Foggy avoided him like the plague. 

Before she could stop herself, she was on her feet and then in the doorway of Matt’s office. She thunked her knuckles on the wall to get his attention and Matt’s head turned towards her. “Hey,” she said. “I don’t know what’s going on and frankly, I don’t think I even really want to know. But, whatever your deal is with Foggy, can you please for the love of God work it out? Because you know what? The last month with you guys has been amazing . The best . You guys works so well together . You do so much good together for this city. but this,” she motioned around their empty office. “This can only survive with the both of you working together and I’m going batshit insane that you both seem intent on burning it to the ground.”

Matt held a neutral expression but his shoulders were tense and his fingers played with a clicky pen. He clicked and clicked and clicked it. “I’m sorry, Karen.” He just said. Click. Click. Click.

Karen felt the steam wheeze out of her as she couldn’t think of anything else to say. She huffed a small sigh and went back to her desk, the screen still open to the picture of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. She looked at Matt again. 

Karen was tired of this. 

Foggy stitched up so many goddamn oranges and grapefruits, he was pretty sure he was going to smell like bathroom cleaner for weeks . 

He was given a scalpel by Claire to open citrus fruit up with before stitching it back closed and after a couple fifty straight lines, he got bored with that and started doing patterns like zig-zags and shapes like triangles and circles. He was getting pretty good at this – being able to throw stitches while not even looking at the orange, most of the time. When he was done covering the fruit in stitches, he placed it on his coffee table next to the others. 

He was suturing a decent-looking penis shape he had cut into the side of a grapefruit, the television on to his binge of The Office that had been playing for the last three days when his phone buzzed next to him and he glanced over at it. It wasn’t Matt, Foggy knew that. He knew Matt would only send a text or two and then call once and leave it at that. Matt wasn’t pushy or obsessive in that way. 

Foggy wished it was Matt. He desperately wished Matt was pushy and obsessive that way. He wished Matt didn’t give up so easily when it came to the people he loved, when it came to his relationships. Foggy assumed that had something to do with his deeply rooted abandonment issues but Foggy went to school for law, not psychology. 

I have to do everything myself. Foggy thought as he finished the third throw of the last suture. It was fine. Or at least, it was going to be when he was done. He guaranteed that. 

The notification on his phone was a text from Claire. 

Kenickie, I left your guide in the auditorium under a seat in row D. It’s a red binder. 

Row D for Daredevil. Cheeky . Foggy thought as he watched another text come through from her.

Good luck. 

Foggy checked the time. He guessed he should get ready for his CPR class. He stood up from his couch and two oranges fell from his lap to the ground. He picked them up and put them on the coffee table with the others in his citrus fruit graveyard.

Before he headed out of his place, he grabbed a fresh, un-operated-on orange and ate it on the way to the hospital, tossing the peel in the trash outside the hospital's auditorium. He got there early before anyone else had, but the doors were open so Foggy just let himself in. The auditorium was completely empty of people and his sneaker squeaks echoed through the large hall.

He found the binder that Claire had hidden. It was under and slightly behind seat 12, so obscured from view that he almost missed it if he wasn’t actively looking for it. Nobody else would have found it there.

He said in the chair it was under and started leafing through it. It was very thorough and neatly separated into sections with labels like head trauma and gunshot wounds. And the notes were good. Professional and typed up with numbered sections and subsections.  Foggy wondered how Claire got this together in a day or if she always had something like this prepared. The Guide to Medical Care for Reckless Vigilantes.

Foggy closed the binder and ran his hand over the front. What a fucking shitshow his life was now. It made him laugh again with how preposterous it was. But, if it was the life that meant he got to be with Matt Murdock, so be it. 

Foggy pulled out his phone and opened it to the two voice messages that Matt sent. Matt moved between sending voice messages or using speech-to-text on his phone to send texts depending on what was more convenient for him at the time. 

He clicked play on the first one and held the speaker to his ear.

“Foggy,” he was sniffling with tears. “Foggy, I know this is probably in vain but I’m really sorry I said those things. I didn’t mean them at all.”

Foggy clicked play the next one. 

“You’re not useless and I’m sorry I implied that. You’re the most useful thing in my life.” Matt snorted to himself through his tears. “Where would I be without Foggy Nelson? I really want to talk in person so I can explain why I couldn’t have you there. Can we do that? Please?” 

Foggy went to his voicemail and listened to that one next.

“Please call me back when you get this, Foggy.” He sounded desperate. “I love you so much. Please.” 

Foggy went back to his texts and sent one message to Matt. When he was done, he tapped the phone to his forehead, his fingers smelling like oranges. 

Can I come by your place this evening? 

Matt was surprised that Foggy had texted him asking to come by. Matt thought he had ran him off for good this time. He had called out of work the last couple of days through Karen and he hadn’t responded to any of his messages until that Tuesday afternoon.

But, a weight lifted off of Matt’s shoulders when his phone chirped that it was Foggy. If they could talk then Matt could explain. The impenetrable walls hadn’t gone back up yet, as much as Matt convinced himself they had as soon as Foggy stormed out his door. They could talk. They could move past this. It was a little sparkle of hope that put the feeling back in Matt’s cold fingers.

He quickly picked up his place once he got home from work. The Daredevil suit he left on his bedroom floor and the gloves and cowl he left next to his couch. He gathered everything up and stuffed it back in its box. He was locking the closet he stored everything in when he sensed Foggy’s heartbeat come down the block. 

He sighed with his fingers on the handle. This can only survive with you both working together. He mulled on Karen’s words the last twenty-four hours. Foggy and him were great together. So, so great. He felt incomplete without him. A night sky needed a morning. Matt needed Foggy.

Communicating all of that, however. That was much harder. 

Matt heard Foggy knock at his door and he got up from his knees to answer. 

“Hey-,” Matt greeted and Foggy stormed by him without a word. He filled the air around him with the heavy, sharp scent of citrus fruit – oranges and grapefruits. Matt turned and followed him down the hallway of his entryway into his living room. “Foggy what are you doing?”

Without speaking, Foggy overturned a grocery bag onto his coffee table. About two dozen grapefruits and oranges thumped over the surface and rolled onto his floor. Then he threw a book, a binder actually, down on top of them, pushing more of them to his floor. Then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened it and threw a card on top of the binder.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Matt asked, placing his hands on his hips, his floor and coffee table covered in a mess of citrus fruits now.

“My nursing degree.” Foggy motioned to the mess with lots of flourish like Vanna White motioning to the Wheel of Fortune board. There was no anger in his voice and his heartbeat was steady. Actually, he seemed amused  with Matt and Matt could tell he was smiling.

“What?” Matt asked dumbly. And that’s why Foggy was amused – he had caught Matt off-guard.

Foggy bent down and picked up an orange and he moved to placed it in Matt's hand. Matt turned the fruit in his palm feeling sutures. There were sutures tied in the shape of a penis on the orange. This did not provide any explanation or context to what Foggy was trying to get at. Honestly, he was more confused than he was before. 

“I don’t understand.” Matt said. 

“I went to Claire and asked her to teach me how to stitch.” Foggy said. “And that’s what I have been doing the last two days.” He motioned around. “And I got my CPR with AED certification card. First aid certified, baby.” He picked up the card he had thrown down and flicked it. “Although actual AEDs are expensive to buy for private use, apparently. That'll have to be bought later when our practice actually starts making-,” 

“Why?” Matt cut him off. "Wh-why are you doing this?"  

“So I can provide you medical care after you get your ass beat.” Foggy shrugged and set the card back down. “So I can be useful to Daredevil, right?”

“Foggy,” Matt cupped sutured the orange in his palms, feeling his world shift on its axis a little bit. “You went and learned how to stitch wounds? For me ?” 

“For Daredevil.” Foggy amended. “But, yes. I did.”

Matt made some noises as his tilted world started to spin backwards as he tried to comprehend the mess of fruit around his feet and Foggy in front of him. But it was more than that – he was so convinced that Foggy would try and talk him out of being Daredevil if he saw him that way. Which, he couldn’t have. Not again. He needed to be Daredevil. He needed to protect his city.

But also, if Foggy tried to talk him out of being Daredevil he would have to choose between the both of them and he already knew he would choose Foggy. And if he chose Foggy and left Daredevil, what would he do when the pressure started to build under his skin? When he felt like he was stuck in the starless, numb vacuum of space and the only thing that brought the feeling back was putting someone lawless and vile on the ground? 

What would he do when the devil needed to claw out? 

“I want to be there for you. You’re trying to keep me from Daredevil. I’m not sure why and honestly, I can’t even begin to guess what goes on in that beautiful head of yours. But, Matt Murdock wants me in his life, right? I hope?” Foggy started.

“Yes, of course I want you in my life.” Matt shook his head and his eyebrows furrowing. “Foggy-,”

“But, I want to be in Daredevil’s life too.” Foggy said and started to pace. “I had to figure out how to make myself…” he picked up a grapefruit from the ground. “Useful.”

“Foggy, no. No, no.” Matt dropped the penis orange and moved to grab Foggy’s hands. He hated that word. He was so sorry he used it. “You don’t have to do any of that. I’m sorry I said those things. I was hurt and I wasn’t thinking and it just came out.” 

“Yes I do.” Foggy argued. “Otherwise your vigilante self will see me as an obstacle and I don’t want to be an obstacle. I may not fully understand why you do what you do but, I don’t want to stand in your way anymore and I definitely don't want you to grow resentful of me.” 

Matt played with Foggy's hands as he spoke, rubbing the warm fingers and keeping his head tipped towards the ground.

"I’m a worrier and I worry over you and I get upset when you’re hurt and I know that you can take care of yourself, of course. Of course , I know that. But, I still worry, you know? Doing this,” he held up the grapefruit, “helps me feel like I can contribute. I want to be in your corner with you. I want to be there for Matt Murdock and Daredevil.” 

"I wouldn't grow resentful of you." Matt whispered.

"Yes, you would." Foggy said. "Because it's a part of you. You are Daredevil." 

Matt couldn’t talk. All he felt was this enormous rush of relief. Tears stung in his eyes as he gasped in the overwhelming scent of oranges. Foggy wasn’t going to try and prevent him from being Daredevil. He went out and learned how to stitch so he could take care of him.

“Can I hug you?” Foggy asked. “Are you in okay shape to-,”

Matt pulled Foggy into his arms. He gripped him tight, digging his nose into Foggy’s neck and breathing in his scent. He missed Foggy’s heartbeat right up against his own. “You’re not mad at me?” He asked, his fingers trying to hold on tight. 

“I was,” Foggy conceded, his own arms more careful around Matt’s torso where he was cut and bruised up. “But, I’m not anymore. Claire told me that you only talked about me when she was trying to take care of you and your voice messages..." he pulled away to look into Matt's face. He sighed. "I love you so much, Matt. I do." 

Matt gripped him again, his fingers going to Foggy's hair and he tried to breathe him all in. He felt like screaming. He felt like crying. Mostly, he just felt whole again. 

"Are you mad at me ?” Foggy asked after a moment. 

“No, I was mad at myself.” Matt said quickly, his turn to pull away. “Really, Foggy. I just spoke out of turn. I'm sorry I'm so bad at this, I truly am."

"You're not bad at this." Foggy laughed and his hand moved to cup his face. "Okay, you're a little bad at this."

Matt laughed and then sniffled. “I love you.” He managed before his throat closed with the overwhelming affection he felt for Foggy Nelson.

“I love you too.” Foggy said. “All parts. All of them. And I’ll say it over and over until you believe me, you know.”

Matt nodded. “I know. I know.” 

They kissed then amongst the mess of grapefruits and oranges, in the thick haze of sweet citrus. And Matt had never felt so warm. Matt had never felt so thankful to have his morning back in his night sky. 

“Hey, look – a fruit for a fruit.” Foggy giggled as he plunked an orange he had leaned over to pick up from the floor into Matt's lap. 

Matt shook his head as he picked up the orange and cupped it in his hands, feeling the lines of sutures on it. “I need you to leave.” He said as deadpan as possible. “I think that this relationship has reached its end.”

“A fruit joke is your last straw?” Foggy laughed. “You’re gonna hate me so much at Christmastime then.” 

They were sitting on Matt’s couch as close as they could get because they had about a week and a half of cuddling to make up for, Matt tucked up under Foggy's arm and Foggy playing with Matt's hair with his fingertips. The mess of fruit was still strewn around Matt’s living room as they hadn't moved to pick them up. Matt knew he was going to be smelling oranges for months.

“These are good lines.” Matt commented as he rolled the orange in his hand. “Straight and precise.” He said.

“Claire’s a good teacher,” Foggy said. “And she’s easy to bribe.”

Matt laughed. “I need to pay her back for last week.” 

“She likes cheesecake.” Foggy said.

“Noted.” Matt leaned over and kissed Foggy’s jaw. Foggy pecked Matt's face while cupping it before dipping down and meeting Matt's lips in a kiss. They kissed slowly and sweetly. Between the kiss and the sweet haze of citrus fruit smell, Matt felt, well, a little drunk. “Hey, Foggy?”

“Hmm?” Foggy moved his lips to Matt's neck and Matt moved to squeeze in closer to him.

“Do you want to move in together?”