Marci was complaining about the dingy little bar Foggy had dragged them into, but Foggy was ignoring her. She came five times last night; that meant Foggy got to choose their bar, in his book. Besides, he had argued, dropping Marci's drink in front of her, alcohol is alcohol. She had made a face, a derisive comment, and Foggy had decided to ignore her.
That is, until Marci's prada heels clicked against the floor, and Foggy got a whiff of her strong, expensive perfume. He glanced at her, and was met with an eye-full of her cleavage. Her professional button-up was opened one button more than office appropriate, and her push-up bra made the fabric stretch across her breasts; the way she was leaning in towards Foggy, careful not to touch the table, did nothing to help. Foggy's eyes flickered up to her face, and he saw her smirk. He rolled his eyes.
"You should get out more," Marci said casually, taking a sip of her drink, "get laid more."
"You know how often I get laid," Foggy deadpanned, "and it's not like you have any complaints."
"True," Marci flicked her hair over her shoulder, "but you always get that look when you've gone too long without sex with feelings, or whatever. Like a kicked puppy, or something."
Foggy snorted. "Don't act like you don't have emotions, Marci," Foggy took a sip of his beer, "you just like to hide it below expensive bags and shoes. Deep down, deep, deep down, beneath that black hole and frozen wasteland," he made a vague, hand-waving gesture around her torso, "you've got a heart."
Marci huffed, rolling her eyes. "Please, Foggy-bear."
"And anyway," Foggy continued, going for flippant but falling flat. He hesitated with his bottle, before placing it on the table. "It's not like I've got time to be looking, and I haven't exactly got anyone chasing after me."
"You're so full of shit!" Marci pointed a finger at Foggy around her glass, "We are in a bar, Franklin Nelson, it is not that hard to talk to someone!"
"Yeah, a bar," Foggy exclaimed, but keeping his voice low, not wanting to draw attention to himself. "If I talked to someone here, they'd think I'm looking to get laid, not a date!"
Marci rolled her eyes, "you chat them up, give them your number, then walk away. It's not that hard."
Foggy muttered something under his breath that sounded like "booty call", but Marci had already turned her attention to the bar, scanning the room for potential targets. Her eyes landed on a man at the end of the bar, and she let out a little "oh" of not only surprise, but mischief.
She turned back to Foggy.
Foggy hated it when Marci got that look in her eye. He knew it meant nothing good for him. Or, well, sometimes it meant orgasms, but usually orgasms and pain, and he just generally was not a fan of this look.
"How drunk are you?" She asked sharply. Foggy glanced at his beer, almost empty, knowing by the tone of Marci's voice that he better give an answer--the right answer--or reap the consequences.
"Not nearly enough for whatever you're planning," Foggy said honestly, knocking back the rest of his beer and accepting his fate.
"Drink this," Marci said, shoving her drink in Foggy's hand. Foggy sighed, but did as he was told, knocking the glass back in a motion similar to what he had just done with his beer. The alcohol burned on the way down, choking Foggy, who coughed and spluttered, his eyes watering.
"Jesus Christ, Marci," he wheezed out. "What was in that? Jet fuel?"
Marci hummed, amused. "Woman up, Fog, it's not that bad," she scolded. She watched as Foggy tried to get a hold of himself, waiting but not very patiently. She pulled out a mirror, examining her makeup instead.
"All better?" She asked, keeping her voice uninterested and unimpressed. Foggy glared at her, but didn't say anything. "Now," she snapped her mirror shut, "the cute guy at the end of the bar? Nice face and better ass? You're going to go talk to him."
"Marci, no," Foggy said, an edge of desperation in his voice. "This is not a good idea."
"It's a fantastic idea," Marci insisted, shooing Foggy off of his chair. She fixed him with a stern look. "You are not to return until you have his number, or he has yours, understood?"
Foggy sighed. He nodded. "Understood."
Foggy spent the whole walk to the other side of the bar telling himself what a bad idea this was, cursing Marci, and trying to psyche himself because the guy at the end of the bar really was cute. Maybe they can laugh about it someday.
Foggy shook himself. The likelihood of this not crashing an burning was immeasurably small.
Shit, he was nearly at the end of the bar, and the man had a body like woah, and Marci was right about his ass, and the dark stubble contrasted against pale skin just got Foggy thinking about how said stubble would feel against his inner thighs, and, fuck, those lips. This was going to end so, so badly, and Foggy was so, so screwed.
He slid up next to the man, thankful he didn't trip, and plastered on his most charming smile. "This seat taken?"
The man looked up at him, startled, and Foggy noticed his dark glasses, a cane leaned up against the wooden bar. Blind. This was so beyond 'bad idea' territory, and Foggy was going to kill Marci.
"Oh, uh, no," the man said, startling Foggy out of his murderous thoughts, "please."
Foggy sat, facing the man, his brain working overtime to remember how to talk, because this man was hot and Foggy hadn't had to actually flirt with anyone since he started whatever he and Marci were doing.
"So, uh, you come here often?" Foggy decides, in that moment, that he is going to move. Somewhere very, very far away. Across the country. Maybe even to India. Put his college Punjabi classes to good use.
The man blinks, and grins a bit hesitantly, "not really. I'm just waiting for a friend."
"Oh," Foggy said, and there were so many things in that 'oh'. He shifted awkwardly, unsure if he should just get up and leave. The man hummed in what could be agreement. They sat there a moment, neither speaking, and Foggy could physically feel the uneasy tension in the air. It prickled his skin and he sighed, shifting to stand. "I guess I should just--"
"My name's Matt," the man cut in, and Foggy froze. He sat back down.
"F-Foggy," he said, taking the hand Matt offered.
Matt grinned more genuinely, "Sorry, it just seemed like you were having some trouble."
"Yeah, well, have you seen yourself?" Foggy huffed, waving a hand in a way to indicate Matt's inhuman attractiveness. A beat later, his words caught up with him. "Wait--shit--that's not--I mean--holy shit, I'm sorry."
Matt was laughing, a small amused thing, and Foggy felt his brain break a little. "D-don't apologize," Matt said through chuckles, "it's fine." Matt sobered up a bit, but his smile lingered, "I hate it when people do that, treat me like I'm made of glass."
"Well, sure," Foggy shrugged, still trying to get his wits about him. "You're just like any other, incredibly hot, guy around."
Matt's mouth opened in shock, and Foggy was wondering when he was going to regain control of his mouth.
"I mean," he continued, and apparently the answer was 'not any time soon', "I can't possibly be the first person to tell you that."
"I--er, w-well, it's, it's not something," Matt stuttered, blush rising up his neck, "I don't, um."
"Fuck," Foggy muttered to himself as Matt stumbled over his words, brain-to-mouth filter nothing more than a distant memory. "Fuck, not only is he hot like burning, he's really fucking adorable. Fuck. You are so screwed, Nelson."
"O-Oh," Matt breathed, his mouth working but no more words came out. Matt was blushing brighter and a smile broke out across his face, and Foggy decided that somehow this man's cuteness was going to kill him. Cause of Death: Cute Guy at the End of the Bar's Stuttering and Smile.
"It would be Marci's fault," Foggy continued his thought process out loud, "I should put that in my will: 'charge Marci Stahl with manslaughter'."
"Um, what?" Matt said, looking taken aback, and very confused.
"Sorry," Foggy said quickly, realizing he had been speaking aloud, "oh my god. You are just very attractive, and I think it's short circuited my brain a little bit."
"W-what?" Matt repeated, lost and flustered.
"We should just start over. Can we start over? Let's start over. Have you heard the one about the polar bear?" Foggy spared a moment to wish he had been raised religious, because he could really use some divine intervention here.
"What?" Matt said a third time.
"It broke the ice," The words came out a bit strangled as Foggy accepted the fact that he was so beyond help at this point. Matt let out a startled laugh.
"D-did you really just--?" Matt managed through his laughter, disbelieving. Foggy groaned, and just dropped his head against the bar.
"Trust me," Foggy muttered, eyes closed and praying for death, "I am regretting everything, right now, up to and including my birth."
"It--it wasn't that bad," Matt tried to comfort him, though he was still laughing.
"Yes, it was."
"Yes, it was," Matt agreed, almost doubled over in laughter. Foggy turned his face, cheek pressed against the sticky surface of the bar, and watched Matt as he laughed.
"You really are, though," Matt's eyebrows furrowed, and Foggy sat up, "attractive, that is. Marci described you as the 'cute guy at the end of the bar with a nice face and better ass', and that's without seeing your smile."
Matt was blushing again. He raised an eyebrow. "Marci? The one you're going to charge with manslaughter?"
"Yup," Foggy popped the 'p' with a nod, "the very same."
Matt was grinning, and Foggy couldn't help smiling himself.
"How-how does that even work?" Matt asked, the beginnings of laughter working it's way back into his words.
"Easily," Foggy said, "simultaneously loving and wanting to kill someone is what friendship is, right?"
Matt burst into laughter again, and Foggy's smile widened. "I don't think," Matt started, "I don't think that's how that's supposed to work."
"Are you telling me that you have never done something or said something just to make your friend groan or because you knew they would hate it? Gotten a little stab of vicious joy from it?" Foggy pointed at him, "you know you have! Everyone has."
"S-sure," Matt choked out, "but that's not the same as wanting to charge someone with manslaughter."
"You have obviously never met Marci," Foggy sniffed.
Matt was giggling, and it was a beautiful sound, something Foggy could listen to for forever.
Foggy realized he had spoken aloud, again, when Matt suddenly stopped laughing, eyes widening, and lips parting in shock. Matt was flushed red, and Foggy felt his own blush rise, heat in his cheeks. Matt was obviously struggling for words, and Foggy's mouth took off without his permission once again.
"Oh, God," Foggy groaned, "It's just--you're so--" Foggy made a noise, that was supposed to somehow some up Matt. Foggy felt it woefully inadequate. "And then you start smiling, and blushing, and laughing, and it's awful because how can someone be so hot and so cute? It's just not fair. And I really, really wish I could stop talking because this is getting embarrassing. Please say something."
The moment was ruined, and they both turned towards the voice that had said Matt's name. Standing just behind Matt was a cute girl, blonde and wearing a pretty dress. Her cheeks were faintly pink.
"Karen," Matt said, his voice sounding strangled. He cleared his throat. "Hi."
"Who's your friend?" Karen asked lightly, but Foggy heard some sort of significance weighing down her words. Foggy swallowed, and stood.
"I-I really should be..." He trailed off, his eyes landing on the now-empty table that he had been sitting at with Marci.
"This is Foggy," Matt introduced breezily, ignoring Foggy's words.
"I was looking for you," Karen accused, though she didn't actually sound that put out. More exasperatedly fond, than anything else.
Matt smiled sheepishly at Karen, apologetic, "Sorry, we kinda got carried away. Wait for me? I'll be right out."
"Sure you won't get 'carried away' again?" Karen teased, and Matt grinned.
Karen nodded, leaning in to press a kiss to Matt's cheek. She shot Foggy one more glance before she turned and walked to the exit. Matt turned his grin to Foggy, and Foggy, as he was very used to doing, accepted his fate.
"Do you want to go out sometime?" Matt licked his lips, and, while he hadn't really stopped blushing, but the color had faded. Now, though, it was rising again. "O-on a date."
"Is that even a question?" Foggy really hated himself sometimes, "I mean--yes. Yes, I would love that. Um."
"Oh, g-good," Matt nodded, absently, almost as if to himself. They sat in a stilted silence for a moment, both hovering and unsure. "My number," Matt said suddenly, reaching inside of his suit jacket and pulling out a pen. He scrambled for a napkin, and scribbled his number down. "Is it--can you read that?"
"Probably," Foggy said, "I mean, honestly? You're blushing again, and I can't stop staring, and I haven't even looked at it. You are very mesmerizing and I am going to walk away now before I say anything else to embarrass myself, but I will call you." Foggy didn't move, and he really did try his best, honestly tried to stop himself from talking and just walk away, but he couldn't take his eyes off of Matt. "Oh my god, you're gorgeous."
Matt was blushing full force again, and Foggy was absolutely ready for the floor to open and swallow him whole.
"W-well, I've, um," Matt stood as well, and Foggy hadn't moved, so now they were standing incredibly close, and Foggy was convinced that his heart would beat right out of his chest. "K-Karen's waiting for me."
"R-right," Foggy said, "I should, um, should go find Marci. Make sure she hasn't scarred anyone while I've been embarrassing myself."
"B-but, you'll call?" Matt asked, hesitant, as if he wasn't sure Foggy actually would.
"Yes, absolutely, yup, yes," Foggy nodded, "I will call you. Now, I really am going to walk away, because I don't think the human body was made to process this much embarrassment so, I'm just going to...go. But, I'll call you! Totally, yes."
"Okay," Matt smiled softly, nodding, "okay. See you, Foggy."
Foggy managed to tear himself away from Matt, walking through the bar and not stopping until he burst through the front door. He saw Marci waiting for him, fixing her lipstick.
"That was awful," Foggy groaned.
"It was cute," Marci said, and Foggy knew she was mocking him.
"You're mocking me."
"A little," she admitted. Foggy huffed, and she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, leaving lipstick behind. She hailed a cab, and climbed in. "But now we both have numbers, so tonight was a good night. Bye, Foggy-bear."
"I hate you!" He called after her, and she laughed as she shut the door.