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Matt likes soft things.

He doesn't really want to like them, doesn't really think he deserves to have them, but he likes them.

This... isn't exactly the kind of soft thing he likes. It's soft, definitely, but.

"Foggy," he says, voice muffled. Why is his voice muffled, you might ask? That's the sixty-four thousand dollar question. "Did you wrap my entire body in gauze at some point yesterday?"

Foggy hums, standing somewhere over Matt (he thinks) (it's hard to tell right now, what with all the sound being muffled). "I think it's wool? Maybe cotton, but if it's cotton it's the raw stuff people use to stuff pillows? Definitely not gauze," he concludes.

"Thank you for avoiding the question entirely," Matt mutters. "And it's definitely cotton."

"Sorry, what did you say?" Foggy asks, voice like syrup. "I can't hear you because you're wrapped in some kind of white, puffy material that you don't seem able to get free of!"


"And why might you not be able to escape?"


"Could it be," Foggy says, faux-thoughtfully, tapping a finger loudly against his chin, "that you were significantly injured recently, and have yet to recover sufficiently to break out of cotton's gentle hold?"

Matt groans.

"And could it be," Foggy continues, "that you were so injured that, for the first time in living memory you required pain medication? And could it be you were so affected by said medication that an anonymous individual, no one person in particular, would be able to move you around in your sleep without you making so much as a peep, and so wrap you in cotton?"

"Your point is made, counselor," Matt sighs.

"Is it?" Foggy leans down, and the cotton around Matt's head is removed. Sound comes rushing back in, and Matt has to take a moment to filter out the sounds of the city that usually register as white noise. "Is it really?"

"How long has it been since you last slept?"

"Irrelevant!" That long, then. Matt would almost feel guilty, but: wrapped in cotton. "What point has been made, Matt?"

"I won't go out again until my ribs are fully healed."

"You promise?"

Matt breathes out heavily through his nose. "If you want me to pinkie swear, you'll need to untie my hands first."

"I don't know. This is a pretty good look for you, Matt."

"You're going to regret this, Foggy," Matt says in his best Daredevil voice. "I know you. I know what keeps you up at night, the noises that will wake you from a sound sleep, the smells you just can't ignore. If you want a minute's peace for the rest of the - "

"Jesus Christ, fine!" Foggy says, cutting Matt free. "You're a terrifying son of a bitch when you want to be, you know that?" He waits for Matt to sit up, wincing a little when the movement jars his injuries, then says, "I'll take that pinkie swear now."

Matt offers him a finger.

"...that's not your pinkie, buddy."

"I know what I'm doing."