Chapter Text
Matt sat on the edge of the closed toilet seat, listening to the familiar drip of water hitting porcelain. Each drop fell with the sharp rhythm of a leaky faucet, hollow and irregular. The shower head had been temperamental for weeks. Sometimes it sprayed normally, sometimes it sputtered and coughed like it had caught a cold, and sometimes it wept steadily no matter how tightly Matt twisted the knobs.
He had tried not to notice it, the way he tried not to notice other small irritations in the apartment, but living with heightened senses made ignoring impossible. Every drop struck his ears like the tick of a clock in a silent room. It drove him half mad during the quiet stretches of the night.
Foggy knelt in the bathtub with his sleeves rolled up, his tie thrown onto the counter. Matt could hear the fabric of his shirt pulling tight across his shoulders every time he reached upward to adjust the exposed pipe. The sound of metal against metal, the faint squeak of a wrench biting down, echoed against the tile walls. The bathroom smelled faintly of soap and damp plaster, layered with Foggy's sweat and the faint tang of his aftershave.
"You know," Foggy said, grunting as he twisted something into place, "most people would just call the super about this kind of thing."
"Most people are not you," Matt answered, leaning back slightly as his boyfriend made the pipes groan.
"Exactly. You happen to be dating a man who grew up stocking shelves of pipe fittings and washers every summer from age ten through college. So instead of waiting a week for someone to show up, you get me, live and in person, with all the Nelson family hardware expertise."
The wrench slipped slightly and Foggy muttered something Matt decided not to comment on.
"Remind me to thank your parents for the free labor," Matt said.
Foggy snorted. "They would be delighted to know that their youngest is moonlighting as a shower mechanic. Makes all that student loan debt worth it. Maybe I can put it on the next Nelson and Murdock business card. Attorneys at law. Plumbing optional."
Matt smiled, a small tug at the corner of his mouth. He liked the sound of Foggy's voice echoing in the bathroom. He liked the cadence of his sentences, the way he talked when his hands were busy. He sounded focused but relaxed, as though this was second nature to him. Matt wondered if there was anything Foggy couldn't fix once he decided to.
Another squeak of metal came, followed by a steady twist. Foggy blew out a breath, and Matt could hear the warm puff of air ruffle the water droplets clinging to the steel pipe.
"I think the issue is the diverter valve," Foggy muttered. "It looks older than me, and that is saying something."
"You are not that old," Matt replied automatically.
"I am old enough that crouching in a bathtub is starting to feel like a lifestyle choice I did not sign up for," Foggy said. "Next time this thing breaks, I am charging to fix it."
Matt chuckled. He could hear the precise rattle of the screw being loosened, the tiny metallic ping when Foggy set it carefully on the soap dish so it wouldn't roll away.
The truth was that Matt loved this. He loved that Foggy was here in his apartment, sleeves pushed up, fixing something that had irritated Matt for weeks. It was such an ordinary, domestic task, but that was exactly what made it extraordinary for him. He had spent so much of his life telling himself he was meant to endure rather than enjoy, to grit his teeth through the small irritations of life because wanting more was weakness. Yet here was Foggy, kneeling in a bathtub with a wrench, giving him something he didn't know he needed: a sense of home.
"You're awfully quiet," Foggy said, glancing over his shoulder though Matt knew he was still mostly focused on the valve. "Should I be worried? Do you secretly think I am about to make the entire plumbing system explode?"
Matt tilted his head, smiling faintly. "I was thinking about how lucky I am."
The wrench stopped mid twist. Foggy was silent for a moment, and Matt could hear the small shift in his breathing, faster and warmer, the way it always got when Matt said something that slipped past his defenses.
"You know," Foggy said finally, his voice softening, "if you keep saying things like that, I am going to start charging for compliments too. Maintenance fees."
Matt stood and leaned one shoulder against the wall, close enough that he could feel the faint humidity rolling off the bathtub. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly along Foggy's arm where the fabric of his shirt was pulled taut. He traced the line of muscle, the familiar strength he had memorized in countless touches. Foggy's skin was warm beneath the thin cotton.
"Worth every penny," Matt said quietly.
Foggy cleared his throat and pretended to focus on the diverter valve again. Matt did not need sight to know the blush had climbed up his neck. He could feel the heat radiating from him.
The valve gave way with a final squeak, and Foggy pulled the piece free. He rattled it in his hand, the faint hollow rattle of old metal. "Yep. Just as I thought. This thing is shot. Lucky for you, I picked up a replacement yesterday. Call it intuition."
Matt arched an eyebrow. "You were planning to fix this before I asked?"
Foggy shifted, reaching into the toolbox by his knee. The small clink of tools echoed. "I was planning to fix it before you drove yourself insane listening to the drip at three in the morning."
Matt laughed, the sound echoing warmly in the tiled space. "You really do know me too well."
"Somebody has to," Foggy said, his tone fond.
Matt sat back down on the closed toilet seat and listened as Foggy worked. He could hear the exact rhythm of the new valve being slotted into place, the twist of the wrench anchoring it securely. Each movement was sure, practiced, and steady. Matt could tell that Foggy was proud of the work, even if he masked it behind jokes.
When the last screw was tightened, Foggy straightened with a groan and rolled his shoulders. "Moment of truth," he said, turning the faucet knob.
Water surged through the pipe with a low rush, strong and steady. The spray that came from the shower head was even and full, no longer sputtering. Matt tilted his head, listening to the clean rhythm of water striking the porcelain tub. It was steady, almost soothing. The irritating drip had vanished.
"Well?" Foggy asked, watching him expectantly.
Matt smiled, letting the sound wash over him. "Perfect."
Foggy let out a satisfied huff. "Another job well done. I should really start keeping a log. Nelson's home repair services. Satisfaction guaranteed."
"You are not putting that on our letterhead," Matt said, laughing.
Foggy stepped out of the bathtub, his shoes squeaking slightly against the tile. Matt stood, reaching instinctively to steady him as he climbed over the edge. Their hands brushed, fingers sliding together without thought, as natural as breathing.
"Seriously though," Matt said, his voice softer now. "Thank you. I know it seems like a small thing, but it matters. More than I can explain."
Foggy's hand squeezed his. "Then it isn't a small thing."
Matt leaned in and kissed him, brief but lingering, tasting the salt of Foggy's skin and the faint sweetness of the soda he had drunk earlier. Foggy kissed him back with the easy affection that had become the center of Matt's life, the thing grounding him more than anything else.
When they pulled apart, Foggy rested his forehead against Matt's. "Next time something breaks, just tell me sooner, okay? No suffering in silence."
Matt smiled. "I'll try."
"You better," Foggy said, though his voice was more warmth than threat.
Matt listened again to the steady spray of the repaired shower, the soft hum of water filling the room with calm. For once, there was no drip driving him to distraction, no chaos pressing in from the city outside. There was only Foggy beside him, smelling of soap and steel and home.