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They’ve been studying in silence for hours, and Foggy is going crazy. Between all the readings and lack of conversation, his brain feels like it’s been turned to mush. The words had started to blur together about twenty minutes ago, and he’s been rereading the same paragraph for the last ten. Another moment of reading about the nuances of constitutional law, and Foggy just may combust.
He spins around in his bar stool to look over and sees Matt, sans glasses, reading his textbook while lying on the couch. Cheers to Foggy finally corrupting his roommate’s impeccable posture after five years of classes and living together. The only indication Matt might also be tired is that his eyes are closed, but his hands continue at the same steady pace across the pages. Foggy ogles at Matt’s elegant hands flowing over his textbook for a moment before a not so fleeting intrusive thought passes his mind.
“Matt~,” he singsongs.
“Foggy,” Matt levels back, voice decidedly flat. His hands continue to work, probably taking in some unit at least a week ahead of where Foggy is at.
“What if we did a staring contest?”
Matt’s hands don’t stop, but his brows furrow just the tiniest bit, forming the beginnings of a frown. “Lest you forget, Foggy, I AM blind.”
“Okay, but…” Foggy would really like to admire his gorgeous roommate’s face instead of this page of whether Darby could exploit his employees in the 1940s. Matt would say no to that.
“I’m sick of studying, and you could also probably use a break too,” he finishes.
“And how would that work?”
“You could do the thing you usually do when talking to me!”
Matt sits up to face Foggy. His pale eyes level roughly at Foggy’s mouth across the living room.
“The thing…?”
“The thing you’re doing right now! Looking at my mouth!”
“It’s not really looking if I can’t see you.”
“Fine. A MOCK unblinking contest where we both just don’t blink and face each other.”
Matt sighs and rubs his eyes, contemplating the inane challenge. For a moment, Foggy thinks he’s going to say they both need to study more, but then he sees the smoothing of his brow and the faintest trace of a smile. Matt is SO in.
“Foggy, you could be blinking the whole time, and I would never know.”
Okay, Mr. Hard-to-Get. Foggy scoffs with mock offense. “Matt I would NEVER.”
“Like the way you would NEVER steal some of my fries on that walk back from grabbing takeout.” Well. Guilty as charged. He had been working late too, and the fries had smelled so delicious when all he had had that day was coffee and stress.
“Point taken, counselor. I swear upon my next burger outing’s fries that I will not cheat.”
Matt hmms in approval and puts his book aside onto their coffee table. “Late night fries on you doesn’t sound too bad.”
“But I, Franklin Foggy Nelson, am going to win.” Foggy moves from the kitchen counter to the couch so that they can sit staring at each other. “Okay, so I can just count down from 3 and then we can just lock in. Usually I just close my eyes and then open on go.”
“Foggy,” Matt says, and the way he says it sounds like an eye roll in and of itself, “I know how staring contests work.”
Oh, right. Matt COULD see for the years a kid usually went around challenging people to staring duels. Foggy’s cheeks are warm with embarrassment. Whatever. He’s going to kick Matt’s butt and keep his fries.
“Aight, 3 – 2 – 1, go.”
They’re staring in dead silence, inches from each other. Well, this is... Staring contests really were more entertaining as a kid. Matt’s not even remotely looking at Foggy’s eyes. Rather, his unfocused gaze is somewhere past Foggy’s lips; and the stupidity of challenging a blind man to a staring contest is rapidly dawning upon Foggy. An uncomfortable rush of heat is almost certainly turning his cheeks a flushed pink, and he can feel the nervous smile creeping up his face. Matt seems to be experiencing the similar feeling based on the twitch upwards at the corners of his mouth.
“I’m not going to lie; I saw this going better in my head.”
Matt laughs, breaking the tension, and his unfocused gaze floats to some point beyond Foggy’s left shoulder, “Stay focused, Fogs, or I’m taking your fries.”
Foggy bites down a retort and finds himself examining Matt’s eyes. They’re a pale blue, but whether that’s a result of the whitish film covering them or his natural color is a mystery. If Foggy stares really hard, he can almost see the outline of Matt’s pupils through the hazy film. He wonders if they’ve always been blue. It’s a really gorgeous blue, framed by darker lashes, and between his fluffy red hair, ever so slightly crooked nose, full lips, and how close they’re sitting, Foggy can’t help but think of how lovely it would be if I could kiss you right now, Matt Murdock.
“What?” Matt’s face is beet red.
It takes Foggy a moment before realizing he’s said the thought out loud. His face is rapidly working to match the hue of Matt’s face, and he squeezes his eyes shut briefly as he internally facepalms himself. A facepalm probably isn’t enough; this is almost certainly converging on head desk territory. He takes a deep breath.
“I—,” his heart is jackhammering. Matt’s definitely known Foggy found him attractive since that comment about being a good-looking guy the first time they had met five years ago as undergrads, but now Foggy has truly gone and done it. “Sorry, that—that wasn’t supposed to come out.”
Matt’s jaw is working overtime, and no words are coming out. Foggy wants to jump out their apartment window. Or crawl into a hole of shame and never emerge. Anywhere but on this couch inches away from Murdock’s blushing face.
“You want to kiss me?”
Oh does he want to kiss him. Foggy’s wanted to kiss Matt since his wounded handsome duck self walked into their dorm room five years ago. And every time Matt has looked sad or lost ever since. So yes he wants to kiss him, but only if Matt also wants to kiss him, and Foggy has only ever seen Matt bring home beautiful women, so that’s going to be a resounding no.
“No?” he eeks out, but the denial is more question than statement. Matt tilts his head slightly, as if he’s listening for something more, but Foggy is at a loss for words, mind spinning in a blank spiral.
“I wouldn’t mind if you… you know…” and now it’s Matt’s turn to look sheepish as he trails off. His face is as red as his hair, and those pale pale eyes look so open, so earnest, mouth in the most uncertain and shy smile Foggy has ever seen.
Well that’s a development Foggy did not see coming. Not an unwelcome one, but definitely unexpected. Matt? Wanting to kiss his pining roommate?
“Yeah, let’s…” and Foggy leans in close. Matt closes the distance, and it’s the gentlest, most tentative, brushes of lips. Foggy’s heart feels like it’s about to explode. This is really happening. He exhales a giddy laugh, but Matt’s not pulling back. Rather, his lips find Foggy’s again, this time a little more confidently, and, oh, oh, how he’s dreamed of this for years.
It’s… perfect.
After a breathless moment, they pull away from each other, and Foggy is left sitting in stunned silence.
“Woah.”
Matt seems to be recovering a little faster than Foggy from what just happened, “Not the staring contest you were asking for, I’m guessing. Did I lose just now?”
Oh, right. That. Foggy lost that a while ago, along with every brain cell in his head, it seems.
“Oh. No, I blinked after I blurted that I would kiss you if I could.”
Matt’s lips quirk into a satisfied smile, “And thus he blinks and does not inform the blind man.”
Foggy sputters. “It wasn’t on PURPOSE.”
Matt gives an unconvinced shrug, and Foggy swats at him good naturedly.
“Fries are on you, counselor.”