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“Matt,” Foggy says, gently, shaking his shoulder. “Hey, dude, you fell asleep in the library again. You need to get up so people don’t start thinking I’m neglecting my sacred roommate duties or, like, saying I’m kicking you out while I have casual sex all the time. Actually, it would be cool if they were saying that but—regardless, wake the fuck up.”
“Shit, sorry,” Matt sighs, sitting up, hair a mess from where his forehead was resting on the table. “I just need to finish this assignment and I’ll be done.”
Foggy looks at his laptop screen and sighs, saying, “That is not due for a damn week, you lunatic. Get up.”
“But if I finish it now, I can get a head start on next week,” Matt says, in the strained tone of someone that knows he’s pushing both of their limits.
“And if you get some beauty sleep, the fully horizontal kind with a pillow—maybe even two, I’ll share—you’ll keep those good looks of yours,” Foggy says, plucking at the sleeve of his t-shirt. It’s a little too tight because Matt’s been going to the gym a lot. Foggy has absolutely no thoughts on this.
“Thank you for the concern for my face,” Matt says, dryly, but with a tiny tired smile that makes it seem genuine, “but I just need one more hour—maybe two. I’ll come back after that.”
“Matt,” Foggy snaps, not completely sure where it comes from. He’s not exactly annoyed that Matt isn’t doing what he says, he’s annoyed that Matt isn’t taking care of himself—and, maybe, further back in his head, even further than the part of his brain that sounds like his mom—that he won’t let Foggy do it, either.
Matt raises his head, eyes just a little bigger, glasses forgotten haphazardly on the table.
Foggy should apologize. But Matt’s definitely listening now.
His voice only wavers a little when he says, “Up.”
Matt’s face goes a little slack but he almost immediately nods and gets up slowly, not stopping Foggy when he packs his backup up for him while he stretches out.
“My bones,” Matt moans, soft, a little pathetic.
“I know, buddy,” Foggy says, hefting Matt’s backpack on and gently taking his arm. “Come on. We’re getting dinner and then you’re gonna sleep, alright? Multiple hours.”
“Wait, my bag—” Matt says, starting to turn back.
“I’ve got it,” Foggy says. “No worries.”
“You’re carrying my bag for me?” Matt asks, amused.
“I'm a gentleman,” Foggy says, guiding him toward the door before he can protest. “I’ll pay for your dinner, too. The finest dining hall my meal plan can afford.”
“Romantic,” Matt says, yawning.
—
“How high are you?” Foggy asks, amused, about ten seconds after Matt comes back to the dorm after a study session that clearly didn’t involve a lot of studying.
“. . .how did you know?” Matt asks, suspiciously, collapsing on his bed fully dressed.
“You still kinda radiate an energy that you’re worried about getting caught by a nun,” Foggy says, smiling, sitting up to see Matt huff out a laugh. “Also, the smell. Dude, you’ve gotta go brush your teeth and change before you pass out. You’re gonna have some regrets in the morning.”
“I will in a minute,” Matt says, yawning and squirming a little, t-shirt riding up his stomach.
Foggy stares for a solid ten seconds before he gives in to his impulses and starts untying Matt’s shoes, glancing up to see Matt sitting up on his elbows with his mouth slightly open, shivering when Foggy takes his shoes and socks off for him slowly, fingers barely brushing against his bare feet.
“Go brush your teeth,” Foggy says, squeezing his ankle.
Matt gets up, still a little shaky on his feet, and goes to do it.
When he comes back, he hesitates in the middle of the room and it almost knocks Foggy out when he realizes that Matt’s waiting for him to tell him what to do next.
“Take off your clothes,” Foggy says.
“. . .what?” Matt asks, mouth falling open.
“To—go to sleep, I mean,” Foggy says, quickly, blushing. “Change your clothes.”
“Right,” Matt says, softly. “To—right.”
—
“You’re too sad to take another shot,” Foggy says.
It’s a week after Elektra, after whatever the fuck happened that Matt is keeping his mouth shut about, and he’s not handling it especially well.
“I disagree,” Matt murmurs, starting to lift his hand to signal for the bartender when Foggy reaches out quickly to pin it down.
Matt’s breath catches and he twists his wrist just enough to feel Foggy pin it down again. Any denial Foggy was still managing that his urge to push Matt around in a loving way was at all platonic flies out the window. He tightens his grip enough that Matt gasps and then immediately starts to let go, saying, “Fuck, sorry,” when Matt’s other hand covers his, keeping it exactly where it is, fingers barely pushing through his.
“Don’t,” he says, softly, cheeks pink. “Don’t—don’t apologize.”
“Okay,” Foggy says, faintly, nodding.
When Foggy orders water for him later without asking, Matt starts to blush even harder.
—
Matt kisses him outside the bar that night, pulling him to the side against the building, almost whining when he says, “Foggy, please—this is—you want this, right? I’m not completely insane?” when Foggy doesn’t kiss him back immediately.
Foggy smiles, gently pushing Matt back into the wall, gripping both of his arms.
“You really want this,” he says, not even pretending it’s a question.
“You think?” Matt says, scoffing, but he doesn’t move an inch.
“How much?” Foggy asks.
“. . .what do you want me to say?” Matt asks, laughing. “You’ve been messing with me for—weeks. I didn’t know I might be interested in other guys until you—told me to take my fucking clothes off and my brain—dissolved.”
“Did you want to do it?” Foggy says, laughing a little despite how mildly terrified he is, sliding his hands down slowly to hold onto Matt’s elbows instead and pull him in just a little bit. “Take your clothes off for me?”
Matt groans, dropping his head, and Foggy lets go of one of his arms to gently push his chin up.
Matt’s mouth hangs open.
“Yeah,” he breathes.