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“Okay,” Foggy says, clapping her hands—Matt thinks that she shimmies from the sound of her dress moving against her skin. “Zip me up, dude. I’m going to get laid.”
She brought her clothes and makeup to Matt’s room to get ready because she’s in the middle of a blood feud with her current roommate and his room’s the closest. Matt’s been sitting on his bed and trying to hide the blush that’s been creeping up his neck for an hour.
He stands up and lets his fingers brush against Foggy’s back, warm soft skin where the dress isn’t closed. He resists the urge to let them slide lower, finding the zipper and pulling it up, struggling a little bit in the middle.
“It’s kind of small, you might have to work for it,” she says, before he can say anything. “But it was twenty bucks and makes my ass look amazing. Sizes aren’t real, anyway.”
“Sizes aren’t real?” Matt repeats, as the zipper finally shifts so he can pull it all the way up.
“Someday,” she says, gravely, “I will force you to come shopping for fancy lawyer clothes with me and you will understand the horror show that is the women’s fashion industry.”
“That sounds terrible,” Matt says.
“You’re gonna do it anyway,” Foggy says, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. It’s friendly. It’s—it’s friendly. Matt’s fine. “Based on the amount of time I spend here, I’m pretty sure you’re my common law husband and I need someone to carry my bags for me. Frees up my hands for snacks.”
The dress slides against Foggy’s thighs as she walks. Matt wants to feel where it’s stretched against her body, follow the lines of her figure that he has a decent impression of when it’s in jeans and t-shirts and loose cotton dresses. His brain idles on the idea of getting Foggy in his bed, pushing that dress up to her hips and eating her out until she forgets about meeting somebody else, but that’s creepy, to fantasize about her while she’s in the room.
She sits at his desk and fusses with her hair in the mirror that she brought, and Matt goes to sit on the edge of the bed close by, listening and trying to hide his interest as she goes into detail about the underwear that she’s wearing.
“They cost more than a textbook,” she says, aimlessly, “but they just do the trick so well.”
“That seems impractical,” Matt says, smiling. “Wouldn’t it be just as effective to wear no underwear at all?”
“What kind of girl do you think I am, Murdock?” Foggy asks, laughing. “Although, actually, I have tried that and I just spent all night concerned about what my junk would come in contact with if I sat on bar stools. Plus, you have no idea how soft these things are. I’ll have to let you touch them some day.”
Matt’s laugh dies in his throat so the only thing that comes out is a dry cough.
“You okay?” Foggy asks.
“Fine,” Matt says, hoarsely. “Just fine.”
“If you say so,” she says, reaching out to ruffle his hair before she stands up. “Okay, hook-up check list me.”
“Condoms?” Matt asks.
“Check,” Foggy says.
“Phone charger?”
“That’s basically the only thing that’ll fit in this tiny ass purse,” she says, picking it up and shaking it.
“Self-esteem?” Matt asks, smiling when she laughs.
“Really high, actually,” she says, shifting on her feet, voice going a little hesitant. “I know you can’t see, but I’m—kind of killing it. I mean, I would have sex with me for sure.”
“Good,” Matt says. “That’s—I’m glad you realize how great you are, Fog.”
“Oh. Well, you’re great, too, Matty,” she says, sounding touched, pulse picking up just enough that Matt notices. “Sure you don’t want to come out with us? I can help you scope out possible temporary sex pals.”
Matt nods.
“I’ve got too much work to do,” he says. “Maybe next time, though. I want to get drunk, at least.”
“Definitely next time,” she says, sinking down to sit next to him, leaning on him heavily as she puts on her heels. “Okay, done. Cool if I leave all the patriarchal beauty standard bullshit here? I’ll collect it tomorrow and bring back war stories for you.”
“Sounds good,” Matt says, making a soft noise when Foggy suddenly turns to pull him into a quick hug, their bodies pressing together. She stands up after that, groaning at the feeling of standing on heels before she sighs resolutely and walks towards the door.
“Wish me luck,” she says, over her shoulder.
“Luck,” Matt echoes.
As soon as she shuts the door, Matt twists around and falls onto his stomach, pressing his face into the sheets. He’s fine. Everything’s fine. It’s–it’s fine.
*
Matt’s still asleep when Foggy knocks on his door the next morning, barely awake when he drags himself out of bed to open it. She smells like stale morning breath and somebody else’s perfume.
“I stopped for coffee on the way,” she says, touching his hand so he raises it and she can press a warm cup into it. “I was going to go back to my place and sleep but effing Becky’s got a frat guy in there, so I’m seeking shelter.”
“What time is it?” Matt asks, yawning and stepping aside so she can walk past him.
“Well into the morning, my friend,” she says. “Did you stay up late studying?”
“I did,” he says. “It was a wild night—though, probably not as wild as yours.”
“Probably not,” she says, laughing. Her voice is kind of scratchy. “I’m changing back into the clothes I left here last night, by the way.”
Matt crawls back into his bed and listens to her change for a moment before he asks, “How was she?”
“She?” Foggy asks.
“The girl you went home with,” Matt says, smiling.
“How did you know it was a. . .oh my god, you smelled her perfume, didn’t you?” she asks, sounding delighted when Matt nods. “Admittedly, she was wearing a lot of it. It was her one flaw.”
“Her one flaw?” he asks. “That’s impressive.”
“Well,” she says, “her one flaw in the scale of drunk hook-ups. I didn’t learn much about her—it’s kind of hard to talk when one of you has their face between the other’s legs, y’know?”
“I’m aware,” Matt says, gravely.
“She was fun, though,” Foggy says, happy. Her dress hits the floor, quickly followed by her bra and allegedly fancy underwear. “Definitely worth the effort.”
As soon as Foggy’s dressed again, wearing yoga pants and a big hoodie—Matt’s borderline ashamed of himself that he can sense when Foggy’s wearing yoga pants just by listening to her body—she joins Matt on the bed, shoving herself up against his side.
“You want to sleep here?” Matt asks, hopefully.
“I would love to sleep here,” she says. “Will you join me?”
“I would love to join you,” he says, laughing when she wraps her arms around him and basically tackles him so he’s lying down and she’s sprawled out on top of him. They both move around until they’re comfortable, and Matt takes the opportunity to pet Foggy’s hair, untangling it gently as she falls asleep with her head resting against his chest.
They’re friends.
*
“Marci’s committed to going back out this weekend,” Foggy says, when she meets Matt in their dorm’s lobby to walk to class together. “She’s still trying to get that bartender to fall for her advances so she can drink for free. You’re coming with us, right?”
“Uh—sure,” Matt says, before his instincts to say no kick in.
“Yes,” Foggy says. “High five for wing-personing.”
Matt raises his hand obediently for Foggy to hit.
“You looking to get laid again?” he asks, close enough to close his fingers around Foggy’s bare arm, holding on as she leads them out.
“Eh, if it happens,” she says. “I think I’ll focus on getting you laid, though. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”
“Not that long,” Matt says, even though, yes, it’s been awhile. “Are you keeping a calendar or something?”
“Yeah, I check your trash daily for condoms,” she says, dryly. “No, you’re just. . .you know, dating your schoolwork exclusively lately, which is ridiculous, looking like you do.”
“Should I stop studying and coast by on my looks?” he asks, raising his eyebrows, narrowly resisting the urge to ask Foggy exactly what she thinks about his body.
“Probably,” Foggy says, laughing softly. “Do your notes keep you warm at night?”
“Not really,” Matt admits.
“Well, there are plenty of people who’d like to replace them,” she says. “We can find you a nice, forgettable girl or—guy?” Matt shrugs and she continues, “Or guy to let out some urges with and you’ll probably add like two more days to your life. If you’re interested, that is. I’m not peer pressuring you.”
“I wouldn’t mind bringing someone home with me,” Matt says. It’s not a lie. Even if it’s not Foggy coming home with him, it wouldn’t be that bad to meet someone else, even just for the night.
“There’s that Murdock enthusiasm,” Foggy says, stopping for a second so Matt lets go of her arm and she can wrap it around his waist instead and rest her head against his shoulder as they walk, making a soft unreadable noise when Matt wraps his arms around her, too.
*
On Friday night, Matt’s getting dressed when Foggy comes into his room without knocking and says, “Hey, can you help me with my hair, because—whoa, sorry, was not expecting your abs to be out.”
“You’ve seen them before,” Matt says, but he pulls the shirt in his hands on, feeling Foggy watching him.
“That shirt’s—nice, it’s good, a good—choice,” she says, still standing in the doorway, voice going kind of weird.
“Just a t-shirt,” Matt says, smiling at her. He’s aware that it’s not just a t-shirt, that there is something about the way he looks in this one particular white t-shirt that came in a pack of three other white t-shirts that just really, really works.
“You should wear t-shirts all the time,” she says, finally coming inside and shutting the door behind her. “Oh—also, the reason I came: will you do my hair for me?”
“I keep telling you,” he says, laughing, “I don’t know how to do your hair.”
“Then why does it look so damn good every time you do it?” she asks. “C’mon, just do that braid thing and I’ll pin it up and it’ll be great.”
Matt sighs and gestures for her to sit on his bed, taking the hairbrush that she offers him before he climbs up to sit cross-legged behind her and touch her hair. He learned how to French braid from the daughter of one of his foster families and his fingers never really forgot the motions.
He runs his fingers through her hair a few times, aching a little bit at the sound of Foggy sighing and settling on the bed, then brushes it out for good measure. Foggy’s got so much hair and keeps it up in ponytails so much that it’s never fully untangled, but she sounds so pleased at the feeling that Matt just keeps brushing it gently until he can easily separate it into pieces.
“Told you that you were good at this,” she says, voice kind of low and sleepy.
“Yeah, okay,” Matt murmurs, braiding her hair slowly, not willing to give up the feeling of Foggy sinking back into him, body rumbling softly as she talks about her classes today. When he’s finished and she’s handed him a hairband, he runs his fingers down the length of the brain until they brush against Foggy’s neck for just second before she shivers and stands up.
“Was that so hard?” she asks, laughing, kind of shaky. Matt might’ve just made her uncomfortable, but he thinks maybe she liked it, that she likes it—him touching her. He listens as she digs through her bag for a mirror, making an appraising hmm before she sounds satisfied. “Okay if I change in here again?”
“Go ahead,” he says, then adds, abruptly, “Oh, wait—can you do my hair?”
Foggy’s laugh is real this time, loud and bright as she walks back to run fingers through Matt’s hair before tousling it so it stands on end.
“There,” she says, warm. “Sexy but not like you’re trying to be sexy.”
Matt nods solemnly.
“Just like I like it,” he says.
*
They walk to the bar, three blocks away, with Marci and a few other pre-law people, but Foggy’s by his side for most of the night, describing the different people in the bar and whether she thinks Matt would want to sleep with them.
“Oh, she’s—something,” Foggy says. “I can’t even describe her without being real gross and objectifying.”
“Why don’t you go for her, then?” Matt asks, nudging her foot under the table.
“She’s straight,” Foggy says. “It’s a vibe, I can just tell. Do you want me to go talk you up? I can tell you if she smells nice or however you choose your conquests.”
Matt almost says yes, almost just goes over himself to keep Foggy out of it entirely, but then he takes a drink from his beer and says, “No, I’m okay.”
“I think you would be more than okay,” she says, leaning over the table to place a hand on top of Matt’s, “if you go meet that outrageously hot girl.”
Alcohol helps, sort of, with bravery. It helps about an equal amount with stupidity, and Matt’s not sure which this is when he moves his hand to lace their fingers together and squeeze.
“I don’t think I actually want to hook up with a stranger tonight,” he says, just loud enough for Foggy to hear him over the crowd. He can hear her heartbeat over everything, the small gasp in her throat.
“Matt?” she asks.
“Have you really not noticed?” he asks, smiling sadly.
He can feel Foggy’s eyes on him for a few, lingering moments before she squeezes his hand back and stands up, tugging him up with her, saying, “Come with me.”
She guides him through the tangle of people to one of the single bathrooms in the back, locking the door behind them so all of the noise is muffled and distant. She lets go of him immediately, pacing the few feet she can before she boosts herself up onto the sink to sit with a soft grunt.
“Okay,” she says. “I’m—not gonna say I haven’t noticed.”
“You’ve never said anything,” Matt says. He wants to get closer to her, but he knows he should wait to see what she says.
“To be fair, neither have you,” she shoots back.
“I’m doing it right now,” he says. “I’m crazy about you, Fog.”
It’s probably the most honest thing he’s ever said; he wasn’t really expecting Foggy to groan afterwards, but she does, muffled by her hands.
“Are you really, though?” she asks. “Because—it could just be proximity and you could realize about two seconds after you get your hands on me that you’re not that crazy about me after all? And that scares the shit out of me, Matty.”
“Oh,” Matt says. He thought it was about him, that Foggy didn’t really want him, even if sometimes her body seemed to say she did. Now, though— “Can I—can I touch you? I want to disprove your theory.”
Foggy sighs.
“I guess,” she says.
“You know, just the other day,” Matt says, stepping forward, dropping his hands to rest on her bare knees. They’re soft, legs shaven just earlier today, “you told me that you were killing it.”
“I am killing it,” Foggy says, but it’s more of a whisper. “I’m great. It’s just. . .you.”
“Yeah,” Matt says, sliding his hands up just enough to feel the soft fabric of her dress push up underneath his touch. Her heart is pounding now, and Matt reaches up one hand to press over top of it instead. “Me.”
From there, one hand still on her thigh, he traces the other lightly up her neck to cup her face.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks. “Just once. And if you don’t like it or don’t want me, we’ll stop and pretend like this never happened.”
Foggy opens her mouth once, twice, and then she’s reaching out to touch Matt’s hair and draw him into a kiss herself, soft and curious. When they break it a few moments later, she says, “Shit,” softly.
“What?” he asks, smiling.
“You really like me, don’t you?” she asks.
Matt smiles wider and answers her by kissing her. He’s excited to prove it.