Chapter Text
Foggy was healing, probably. It was hard to tell; his baseline for “okay” was probably much lower than other people’s after everything, but he was certainly doing better than he was six months ago, when Matt was…
Well, when Matt was dead.
He didn’t quite know what to call that period in his life. He knew that Matt wasn’t dead, knew it every time Matt groaned at one of his jokes or showed up to work with a black eye, but for all intents and purposes, Matt had been dead for those few months.
Foggy had grieved for weeks. From the moment that Matt didn’t walk through the precinct door, Foggy had felt empty. Every single fight they’d ever had, every time Foggy blamed Matt or Daredevil for what happened to the firm, every time Foggy scolded Matt for doing what he did rang through Foggy’s head like a shout echoing through a vast cave. And through the volume of those memories, one in particular became louder and louder.
A rough canvas bag in his hands. The determined set of Matt’s jaw. The weight of leather and kevlar and carbon fiber.
I still have a key to your place, so I brought you a change of clothes.
Then Matt was gone. Crushed beneath thousands of tons of steel and soil and guilt. And Foggy had put him there.
A distant voice in his head had told him that that wasn’t fair, that Matt made a choice not to escape with the rest of them, that Foggy couldn’t have possibly known how the night would end, but Foggy didn’t listen.
He walked Karen home, trying his damndest to hide how much he was shaking but knowing that she could still tell. He called out of work. Then he called out of work again. He locked himself in his apartment for two weeks, only ever getting out of bed to go to the bathroom or open the door for whatever delivery guy was bringing him comfort food. He cried every day for those two weeks, screamed until his throat was raw and dry and his cheeks were slick with tears. He ignored Karen’s calls and Jeri’s emails, just laid in his unwashed sheets and soaked his pillow through with saltwater until he fell back asleep.
In the darkest moments, he wished that he had been down there with Matt. If the building had crushed both of them, then Foggy wouldn’t have to grieve.
It was Marci who finally forced herself into his apartment and dragged him into the shower. She washed his sheets and did his dishes and made him eat actual vegetables instead of his rotating menu of cereal and pizza. Foggy was grateful for it, for everything that she did to drag him out of his debilitating grief and into the real world.
And Foggy had thought that his gratefulness was love.
It was love, he equivocated to himself, he did love Marci’s determination and patience, he loved spending time with her, loved her protectiveness of him. But he wasn’t in love.
Matt had come back and stolen Foggy’s wallet and nearly killed a man, and Foggy spent another two weeks crying every time Matt texted him or met him for coffee or just existed. His renewed presence in Foggy’s life, hell, his presence in life itself, made Foggy’s world tilt on its axis, and Foggy realized, painfully, that his feelings for Matt were far bigger than friendship, far bigger than what he felt for Marci.
Foggy had always thought he was straight. He’d thought he was straight and just really, really, liked being best friends with Matt. But now Foggy knew what it was like to live in a Matt-less world, and it had felt like drowning, like having hands wrapped around his throat and squeezing until he could barely take a single breath.
Foggy didn’t pay much attention to how Marci smelled, but he did to Matt. Foggy didn’t light up from the inside out when Marci touched him, but he did when Matt did. Foggy didn’t lay awake at night thinking about Marci, even when she laid right next to him, he didn’t think about her voice or her smile or her hands on his body or her life intertwining with his.
But he did think all of that about Matt.
The realization made him lurch out of bed in the middle of the night into a cold shower, made him lean his forehead against the shower wall and touch himself, crying at the guilt and the relief and the longing. There he was, thirty-one years old, having his gay (bi? queer?) awakening to his straight best friend while he was already in a committed relationship. He felt like he was in the sixth grade again, waking up to sticky sheets for the first time and trying to wash them in secret so he wouldn’t have to tell his mom about the dream he’d had about Michelle Horowitz in his algebra class.
Except Matt wasn’t Michelle Horowitz, he was muscular, bearded, male Matt Murdock, Foggy’s best friend of almost a decade.
He’d spent three days in a trance before breaking it off with Marci. He told her some bullshit lie about being together for the wrong reasons and then packed up some clothes to stay on Theo’s couch until he found his own place.
That was three weeks ago, and now Foggy almost felt like he was approaching normal again. He had a small, ragtag law firm, he tried (and failed) to convince Karen to watch Star Trek, he cajoled Matt into coming out for drinks with him and Karen.
Matt took Foggy to meet his mother a few days after opening Nelson, Murdock, & Page. She was waiting for them outside Clinton Church in her neat habit and greeted them stiffly, but there was a strange look in her eye. They were soon interrupted by Matt’s phone ringing, and Foggy was left with Sister Maggie while Matt discussed case specifics with their first official client.
Foggy rocked back and forth on his heels with his hands stuffed in his pockets and let out an awkward breath. “It’s kinda weird, knowing him all these years and finally meeting you. Not– not bad weird, I mean, just… weird.”
Maggie chuckled a little and pursed her lips. “I know what you’re talking about. It’s a big adjustment to make, especially for him.” Foggy hummed affirmatively and felt Maggie look him up and down. She took in a quick breath and stepped towards him. “You look happy that he’s back.”
“I am,” Foggy confirmed. “I don’t even think ‘happy’ is a good enough word. I mean, to me, he came back from the dead, you know? And he’s… he’s himself again.”
Maggie nodded and squinted slightly. “You seem nervous, Mr. Nelson. And I don’t think it’s just about meeting me.”
Foggy’s eyes widened and he felt himself pale. “I, uh, wha–?”
“Tell him,” Maggie interrupted. “You’ll both be better off once it’s out in the open.”
Foggy couldn’t reply, couldn’t say anything that might hint to what she was talking about. Matt was only a few yards away, he could probably hear their conversation better than Foggy could. So instead of talking, Foggy just clenched his jaw shut and gave a slow nod, grateful that Matt came back to him and Maggie soon after.
The worst part was that Maggie was right. Foggy had given Matt far too many lectures about openness and honesty to even consider keeping it a secret. All three of them were trying to tell the truth more; Foggy did it to encourage Matt and Karen, and Matt and Karen did it to avoid any more assassination attempts. Foggy knew that Matt deserved to know, deserved to be shown that their new honesty policy wasn’t a one-way street, and he knew that keeping it in forever wouldn’t be healthy, anyway. So a week after his conversation with Maggie, Foggy swallowed his pride, dialed Matt’s number, and asked him to come over to Foggy’s new apartment to christen it with beer and Mexican food.
Matt knocked on Foggy’s door at precisely 7:30 with a six-pack of beer, and Foggy tried to remember the breathing exercises he’d Googled to keep his heart rate down. Matt was kind enough to not mention Foggy’s hormones or blood pressure or whatever he could sense while they ate, and Foggy was thankful for it. He wanted to hang onto this feeling of being best friends again before Matt found out that Foggy wanted more.
Finally, as they both polished off their second beers, Matt changed his posture slightly. “You, uh, you’ve been really nervous all night,” he said simply.
Foggy sighed and set down his empty bottle. “Yeah, I… there’s something I need to talk to you about.” Matt’s eyebrows drew together and he sat up a little straighter. Foggy had already planned out how he wanted to say this, he just needed to run with his mental script. “I’m so happy you’re back, Matty. I really can’t describe how amazing it is that you’re alive, that you wanna stick around and be Matt Murdock again. The… the months that I thought you were dead were the worst I’ve ever had. And I’m not saying that to guilt trip you, before you get all Catholic on me. But when you were dead, I… there was this hole in me, it felt like I was walking around with a limb missing.”
“Foggy, I–” Matt started, but Foggy cut him off.
“No, Matt, I know. You’ve already been forgiven. I’m just saying that when you weren’t around, I wasn’t me anymore.” Foggy swallowed around the lump in his throat and forced himself to continue. “Even when Marci and I got back together, I never stopped feeling that empty space where you used to be. And then when you came back, right before I broke it off with Marci, I realized that… I realized that the space in my heart that you took up was so much bigger than the one for her.
“I’m not telling you any of this because I expect anything from you, you just deserve to know. It wouldn’t be fair of me to preach to you about honesty all the time and then keep a secret like this.” Foggy was shamefully grateful that Matt was blind, he didn’t know if he would have been able to make eye contact with him while he said what he was about to say. “I love you, Matt. A lot. Romantically. I think I’m in love with you.”
Foggy looked up from his shaking hands to see Matt’s mouth hanging open slightly, dumbstruck, before he let out a relieved sigh and cracked into a grin bigger than Foggy had ever seen on him before. He didn’t have much time to look at it though, because, in an instant, Matt grabbed Foggy’s face in both hands and kissed him forcefully. For a moment Foggy sat frozen as Matt’s lips moved against his own, but he snapped back to the present once he heard Matt take in a deep, hungry breath. Foggy closed his eyes and tangled his hands in Matt’s hair as he began to kiss back, not even bothering to stop the tears from falling down his cheeks.
Matt brushed a thumb over Foggy’s cheek and, feeling the wetness, drew back, a concerned look on his face. “Foggy, are you–”
“No, no, I’m fine,” Foggy laughed, wiping at his cheeks. “I’m better than fine. I’m, like, really, really good right now.”
Matt’s smile came back a little bit softer, but still just as genuine. He placed a gentle hand on Foggy’s cheek and Foggy leaned into it. “Well, in case it wasn’t obvious, I love you, too, Fogs.”
“Yeah, I sorta picked that up,” Foggy laughed wetly before leaning in for another kiss. Matt moved against his lips slowly, running his fingers through Foggy’s hair as he licked into his mouth. Foggy groaned and stood up, dragging Matt to the bedroom by his necktie.
An hour later and Foggy was laying in his bed, light from the street spilling into the room, with Matt’s head lying on his bare chest. Matt’s breathing was slow and even as Foggy massaged his head, feeling the soft strands of brown hair part between his fingers with each stroke. Foggy centered himself a little and concentrated on taking in every detail around him; he had a feeling he’d want to keep this memory for a long time.
Matt had an arm and a leg thrown over Foggy, and a few lingering droplets of sweat still clung to his naked body. In the soft light of the bedroom, Foggy could still see scars all over his body, some old and beginning to fade, others still tight and irritated. Those were the ones that Fisk had given him, Fisk and Poindexter. Beneath the scars, Foggy could see the rolling plains of Matt’s muscled figure, sturdy and heavy on top of Foggy’s body. His large hand was splayed across Foggy’s chest and, if Foggy tilted his head just right, he could see the span of Matt’s long eyelashes. Each breath that he took felt surreal against Foggy’s body, like a fantasy. Foggy didn’t know how long he’d wanted this for, could probably be convinced that he’d been in love with Matt for years without realizing it, but he knew that he wouldn’t change a single part of this moment he was sharing with him.
Foggy woke up the next morning extremely thankful that it was the weekend, because it meant he could stay in bed with Matt for as long as he wanted. At some point in the night, they had somehow switched positions, and now Foggy’s head lay on Matt’s chest, Matt’s fingers in his hair. He could feel the soft wisps of brown hair on Matt’s chest and stomach below his cheek, and he breathed in Matt’s scent, soft and masculine. Foggy groaned and squeezed Matt’s middle briefly before tilting his head to look up at Matt, a soft smile already crossing his face.
Matt’s hand stilled in Foggy’s hair and his smile grew wider. “Good morning, sunshine.”
“That’s my line,” Foggy grumbled. He hesitated for a moment, then reached up for a kiss. “Sorry if I have morning breath.”
“I don’t mind,” Matt said, smiling. The sunlight coming in from the window hit Matt’s face at just the right angle to illuminate his eyes from the side, their usual flat brown transforming into shades of gold and oak and terra cotta as they stared into Foggy’s forehead. “You want some breakfast?”
Foggy pressed a kiss to Matt’s chest before rolling off him. “God, yes. Could you smell my hunger or something?”
“Or something,” Matt winked, climbing out of bed and stepping into his underwear. Foggy watched him walk out of the bedroom shamelessly before getting out of bed himself. He put on a pair of boxers and sweatpants, then gathered his bedsheets into his arms and shoved them into his washing machine.
Foggy slumped into a stool in the kitchen after starting the cycle, looking Matt up and down as he started cracking eggs into a pan, still in only his underwear. “Do you, like, even know how hot you are?”
Matt smiled coyly at Foggy over his shoulder while he dropped two slices of bread into the toaster. “I have some idea.”
Matt slid the fried eggs onto two plates just as the toast popped up, bringing the plates over to the kitchen island while Foggy poured them each a glass of orange juice. Foggy sat back down on his stool while Matt stood across the island from him. Matt had a shy, serious look on his face when he took his first sip. “How, uh, how long have you thought I was hot?”
Foggy choked a little bit on his toast, clearing his throat and washing it down with a gulp of juice. For a moment he was relieved that Matt couldn’t see him blush, but soon remembered that he could probably feel the change in temperature on his face or some such bullshit. “Uh, I don’t… I don’t really know? I’ve only known I had feelings for you for a few weeks, but I think I’ve felt like this for a long time, I just didn’t realize it. Uh, you?”
Matt swallowed his bite of fried egg and flushed slightly. “L and Z, I think. I didn’t really want to think about it for a while, though.”
“Because of the–”
“‘Cause of the Catholicism, yeah,” Matt laughed. “Have you always liked… men?”
Foggy sighed and leaned back on his stool. “I… I think so. I just don’t think I knew that that’s what it was, you know? I just thought it was, like, a bromance or something. It wasn’t until you came back for real that I realized it’s probably not very heterosexual to fantasize about kissing your male best friend.”
Matt laughed again, bright and easy, “Probably not, no.”
They finished breakfast in a comfortable silence, and Foggy still couldn’t believe that any of it was real, the kiss or the sex or this lazy, shirtless breakfast they were sharing. When they were finished, Foggy cleared his throat. “So, not to get too serious, but, uh, where do you wanna go with this… thing?”
Matt tilted his head quizzically and raised an eyebrow. “This… thing,” he repeated back slowly.
Foggy rolled his eyes and huffed out a laugh. “Yes, this thing. Us. I just– how serious do you want this to be?”
Matt put on a small smile and walked around the island to stand next to Foggy. “I want it to be serious, Foggy. I don’t want to stop myself from being happy anymore.”
“God, this feels so juvenile to ask,” Foggy laughed shyly, “but are we, like, dating now?”
“Do you want to go steady with me, Foggy?”
Foggy snorted unflatteringly.
“Will you come with me to the sock hop at the soda fountain?” Matt’s smile grew wider as he stepped closer to Foggy and placed his hands on Foggy’s neck.
“Shut up,” Foggy laughed, swatting at Matt’s chest. “God, you’re the worst.”
“Nah, you love me,” Matt said softly.
Foggy smiled and wrapped a hand around Matt’s wrist. “Yeah, I do. Are we too old to call each other boyfriends?”
Matt chuckled. “Foggy, we’re thirty-one. I think we can call each other whatever we want.”
“Okay,” Foggy said softly before Matt leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.
Matt straightened back up and rested a hand in Foggy’s hair. “What about boo, is that one still a thing?”
“Oh, God,” Foggy groaned.
“Should I call you my boytoy? My main squeeze?”
“I want to break up.”
“No you don’t,” Matt laughed, running his hands through Foggy’s hair.
Foggy leaned his head into Matt’s hands. “No, I don’t.”