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Drunk & in Love with You

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Not many people feel comfortable enough around Matt to make fun of him, but he has a hard time remembering when Foggy didn't throw the odd blind joke his way. He doesn't mind; he'd much rather people joked about it than tiptoed around the topic. Despite the fact that Foggy is aware of just how well Matt can function without the use of his sight, Matt will occasionally pull what he calls the 'blind card'. The stick helps. It doesn't help with much else, but it's pretty much as obvious as a huge flashing neon sign above his head with the word 'BLIND' on it and an arrow pointing down. He will admit that he plays on Foggy's pity sometimes; especially when he wants food or an errand running, for example. If they have company the guilt trip is almost too tempting; all Matt has to do is trip over something or 'accidentally' bump into a wall he really knew was there, and Foggy is at his beck and call.

He feels bad for it sometimes, but then, other people get to actually see what their friends look like, while Matt will only ever see the hazy, world-on-fire imprint in his mind's eye, and have the knowledge that Foggy is blond, shorter than him, and has a flat nose. He remembers how Foggy squirmed when he let Matt touch his face for the first and last time. Matt remembers the warmth of his skin, his small forehead, the angle of his cheekbones, the curve of his mouth.

Foggy likes to whine that he never has any luck with girls. Matt remembers getting drunk with Foggy in college; all the girls cornering him in closets and quiet corners and kissing him. Matt would panic, always more disorientated when drunk and terrified of not knowing who exactly was kissing him. It baffled him that Foggy was jealous of his 'way with women'. It wasn't as much of a gift as Foggy thought. Most women, or the women Matt had come into contact with, saw him like a puppy with an injured paw; something to be nursed back to health and fussed over. The men tended to avoid him. Everyone but Foggy. Matt thinks it says a lot about the both of them that they are each other's only friend.

He's well past the point of taping foam and bits of padding to sharp corners in the house. He knows his way around now; he can map the space around him, recognises the echoes unique to every room. Foggy tells him his living room is bleak and uncomfortable, but as they sit together on the sofa, ties loosened, clutching glasses of whiskey and reminiscing about the past, Matt can't help but imagine that the room looks cosier with Foggy there. He imagines the colours from the neon sign outside his window dancing over the floors and lighting their faces. He told Foggy that he could put the light on, but he has a feeling he hasn't. Being blind has it's few perks; Matt's electric bill, for example, is satisfyingly small.

He's drunk, more drunk than he's been in a long time. Matt struggles to drink in unfamiliar spaces. At home he is comfortable enough to get drunk, knowing that his bed is only a room away. When he gets up and declares that he's going to bed, and that Foggy can crash on the couch for the night, he stumbles a little. His head is fuzzy and he falls into a crouch, unable to get his bearings.

"Come on you jackass," Foggy mumbles to his right. Matt extends an arm and Foggy takes it, helping him up. Matt isn't entirely convinced that Foggy isn't somehow lying about the laws of physics; it feels like they're standing on an angle and gravity isn't acting the way Matt has come to expect it to. He's taken off his glasses; he wonders where he's looking. He turns into the sound of Foggy's voice, smiles, hopes that he's looking at his face. Foggy sighs.

"You're a terrible drunk, Murdock."

Matt just grins and allows himself to be led into his bedroom. Foggy tries to dump Matt on the bed, but Matt refuses to let go and instead they both go down, sprawling on the mattress.

"Jesus, you're room is so boring." Foggy complains. Matt can imagine that he is staring at the white bed sheets, bare walls and uncarpeted floor.

"Not much money in interior design for blind people." Matt points out.

"I'm going to get you some inspirational quotes in Braille for the walls, maybe a nice carpet. You can at least enjoy a good carpet."

Matt laughs and lies down on his bed. "You want me to start feeling up my walls?"

"I'm just saying a bit of colour wouldn't hurt. Something for the ladies."

Matt laughs again. "What ladies?"

"You know, all those girls that dig blind guys."

Matt sits up. "They scare me." He says. Foggy laughs but Matt shakes his head. "Honestly."

"You're kidding, right? You're actually complaining about being attractive to women?"

"I'm complaining about attracting certain types of women."

"Types of women?" Matt can tell that Foggy has laid down on the bed. Matt lies down next to him again.

"The ones that want to fix me." He yawns.

In college, when the girls tried to get him alone just so they could kiss him, Matt always let them. It frightened him, when he felt their hands on him unexpectedly, or when they kissed him first, but he let them do it. Now, he likes to kiss people, but only when he initiates it, only when he kisses them first. When he knows where they are, where they will touch him, what they will do.

He rolls onto his side. Foggy's heart is beating slowly; he's breathing evenly. His hands are behind his head and he's staring at the ceiling. He's thinking of something to say. He's probably worried that Matt has ever thought that he was trying to fix him, thinking of a way to make the conversation light again.

Matt lifts his head. He wants to reach out and feel where Foggy's face is; which way his head is tilted. He wants to know which way to lean, but Foggy doesn't like Matt touching his face.

Matt likes kissing, he really does. He's never had sex, never achieved the comfort with someone that it requires, but he likes kissing.

He misses. His lips land on the corner of Foggy's mouth and he pulls back, alarmed and embarrassed.

"Matt?" Foggy says, voice hoarse.

Matt just lays there, eyes staring at a point he imagines is somewhere on the ceiling.

Foggy doesn't say anything else. Matt feels him lie down again, there is a hand touching his.

"I'm here." Foggy says, and he places Matt's fingers on his cheek. Matt carefully traces his jaw line, skimming lightly over his lips. He leans in, brushes his lips against Foggy's mouth. They're lying side by side, facing one another. They kiss slowly; it's nice. They fall asleep face to face.