daredevilkink | Prompt Post #6

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Prompt Post #6

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so there's a certain amount of creepiness inherent in the kissed-you-while-you're-sleeping trope, but Matt felt that wasn't creepy enough so orz
title thanks to "To Kill a King - I work nights and you work days"
--

So it starts at Colombia, because that's when they meet, right?

And Matt, he doesn't think much of Franklin "Foggy" Nelson - doesn't think poorly of him, because Foggy's got some kind of quality that Matt wishes he had, where people just can't seem to dislike him. It's not anything in particular that Foggy does, as far as he can tell - and he's been paying attention! For science. Oh, Matt's good at charming people, and he'd learned really quick as a kid to play the limping gazelle.

But he has to work at it. Foggy just is and he gets invites to parties (" - oh, and, uh - you can bring him, too, I guess.") and study partners and people do favors for him. So, okay, Matt's maybe a little green with envy and maybe spending twenty-four hours a day in the guy's presence is enough to drive anyone crazy, right? So. Um. Maybe he acts like a bit of an asshole? Just a bit?

Okay, bad idea to pick a fight with the guy people like. Worse idea to pick a fight with your dormmate.

Foggy doesn't do anything especially dickish, like move the furniture or anything - of course he doesn't, he's perfect, right? But Matt apparently hadn't realized how much Foggy had helped him with things - small things, like making sure Matt actually got up when his alarm went off, and that all his laundry made it to the laundromat and back, and -

It's not that people don't like Matt, even though it feels a bit like that. A few months is apparently long enough for Matt to forget how much work it is to make himself approachable on his own. Because he's blind, and people don't know what to do with that. Because they think he's attractive, and that intimidates them. There seems to be something about him, maybe something in the way he stands or the line of his jaw that discourages idle conversation, the normal social ease.

Apparently when Foggy isn't there to act as a buffer, most people don't feel comfortable coming too close.

Matt can't remember how it happened anymore - he thinks he might have followed Foggy to a party. Not so anyone would notice, of course. He knows for a fact that alcohol was involved, that he was a bit drunker than Foggy when they finally came face-to-face.

All of that is a much softer blur than later, back at the dorm, remembering howling laughter and the spins (terrible thing, the spins, his senses muffled and his world whirling upside down) and Foggy going quiet. Matt had gotten a bit worried, as hysterical as a drunk person can get, thinking about alcohol poisoning. It's the only excuse he thinks he has for putting his hands all over Foggy - his senses were muffled, but his sense of touch was as good as a normal person's, still, and he had to make sure nothing would go wrong, that he wouldn't wake up with a dead man on the floor.

It's the only excuse he can think of, for sitting there next to Foggy and putting his hands on him, and then reading his face. It's not a real thing, but he craves it - he can't see people, but he can touch them like this, and listen to the nervous patter of their heart. It's as close as he'll ever get to looking into someone's eyes.

(It's the only excuse he can think of - that he was drunk, and scared to death - for taking advantage, and curling his fingers around the curve of Foggy's face, and tasting his breath for the moment it turns sick and poisoned, and leaning into the softness of his mouth.)

--

It doesn't stop there, because that would be nice, or easy, or kind, and the world very rarely treats Matt in any of those ways. No, he avoids drinking after that, but it's the most popular social activity and Foggy says, "your choice, buddy" and Matt taps his fingers against his virgin drinks and listens to people not relax around him.

So, rarely - when he has the time, when he knows he can spend the next day curled in the bottom of the bathtub with a blanket - he indulges.

It's always a bad idea. Matt indulging seems to egg Foggy on, somehow, and Matt is never as drunk as Foggy is, not with how it effects his senses. And nearly every time, it seems completely logical to drunk-Matt to make sure Foggy's not going to die from alcohol poisoning the same way he did the first night.

Matt's pretty sure he's breaking some kind of sexual harassment law here. Or at least some kind of public decency law, even if they're in their room most of the time, come on, Murdock, what the Hell is wrong with you?

It's gone on to the point that when Matt feels like he has to put a stop to the drinking and go completely teetotaler, there's no way he can tell Foggy why he makes the decision. He was probably going to graduate summa cum laude anyway, but staying in those nights probably made it easier.

--

And - well - it doesn't come up for a while. Suddenly they're trying to be professionals and they're interning and then they're quitting and Matt -

Matt has the city on his mind - on his shoulders, resting directly on the bone between his shoulders, below the knob of his neck, and it's so heavy. The city is so heavy, beating down on the discs between his bones and bowing his neck. He spills its blood and it spills his, and he takes his pound of flesh from it and it carves scars into his skin and lays claim to him.

And it gets to the point that he doesn't know how he even breathes, and the memory comes back to him: sticky and wet and sharp with the bite of ethanol, but - soft. Warm. Familiar skin and familiar sounds and familiar smells. The memory comes back, and he doesn't know why, but it lingers in the corners of Nelson and Murdock, in certain words beneath his fingers, in the clipping echoes of running feet in an alley way, in the hush and harsh breath when a fight is over and he has beaten his opponents again.

(He thinks he shouldn't - knows he shouldn't, knows he's pushing some kind of boundary, toeing some kind of line that shouldn't be crossed. Should be listening to the city, but sometimes it's quiet, and he's left standing on a familiar rooftop listening to familiar breaths, familiar heartbeats, his fingers twitching like they can recall once-familiar skin)

It lingers, and hollows him, and the City pours in.

--

and things go to Hell.

--

When things tilt back again, Matt loses his balance.

That's what it feels like. Like he's lost his balance, or gotten the spins more seriously than he ever has before. His feet move desperately to keep him upright and he's never sure at any second whether or not he'll be left standing. He's not quite panicked, but he's almost there, his heart is racing -

It's more early morning than late night, and he knows the pattern of Foggy's breathing, of his resting heartbeat. He cracks the window open just to listen closely and - he can't find his own feet, but these things are at least steady, things that he can anchor himself against, and he does

he anchors himself against them

and it is soft

and warm

and tastes faintly of cinnamon

and his feet find steady ground again, and set flat and firm upon it, and the City isn't quite so heavy anymore. For a brief instant in the night, its weight is distant against the bite of sweet and spice, and he's so, so tired, and he doesn't want to get up and move again.

But he can, and that's the important part: the getting up. He does. He gets up and lets himself back out the window, and shuts it behind him and the City comes and swallows him whole again.

--

And the world is not kind, or easy, or nice. When it can't go after Matt, it goes after what he cares about (and he cares about so much, he feels that he is an open wound, a living bruise, with not enough but too much to lose.)

"He's sleeping now," Karen tells him outside of Foggy's room. This time, at least, Matt has heard about it. This time, at least, he was able to answer his phone to Karen's upset words -
(But the danger has passed. It has happened and it has gone and there is nothing for Matt to do but stand there, vibrating, feeling so much coil inside of him and bang on his ribs and bones and teeth, desperate to escape him in an explosion of violence.)

"How bad is it," he asks, because he has to - he should already know, he should have been here to listen in on the doctors, and the nurses. He has to hear it from someone - it isn't like anyone is going to leave Foggy's charts laying around in braille for him to read.

Foggy sounds fine, mostly - his heart a little sluggish, his breathing a little slow, nothing particularly tight in his throat: he's on some kind of analgesic, and asleep. He sounds fine, but Matt can't tell - he doesn't know.

"Uh," Karen says, and her voice is still a little tight from the shock, but her heart is steady. "The doctors say he'll be fine, but they're still running blood tests. You know. The wound looked clean, but - Um. Uh, he's been in and out, you know. He asked for you. Sounded worried."

Matt inhales. He has been beaten too often and been responsible for too much to feel guilty about this, but it aches a bit, deep within him, like a fractured bone that hasn't yet healed. "Right," he says, because he doesn't know what else to say.

"Right," she echoes, sighs a bit and looks away. "I'll wait out here for you. I think he's sleeping right now."

Matt steps into the room and swings the door mostly shut behind him and is thankful for whatever it is that keeps Karen from following him in, thinking to help him, maybe. Right now he doesn't want to know what Foggy looks like - the hospital already screams and cries and moans and weeps around him, vomits and bleeds and he smells the antiseptic, and the saline, and the blood.

He is not lost, and he is not stumbling and he has not lost his balance, but Matt circles around the bed, and he puts his hands on Foggy to make sure that he's going to survive. His skin is cold on the surface, but Foggy is always warm at his core, and anywhere that Matt's fingers linger warms quickly. He's alive, Matt thinks, despite the knife wound. He's alive, and he'll be okay - he'll be okay -

Foggy's face is lax under his hands, slack with sleep or the drugs or both, and it warms quickly under his palms. He dips his thumbs into the hollows of Foggy's eyes, the tickle of his lashes against the softest part of his thumb, below the calloused pad, and runs the edges of his nails over the arch of his brows. At this range, Matt can hear his heart beat - no need for monitors, apparently, which is good - but he slides his hands around to feel along his neck and find the source of the soft susurrous of blood rushing through his veins, and -

His breath is stale against Matt's tongue, faint traces of wheat, something sticky and sweet, and acrid fear and the chemical bite of the analgesic in his blood. But it's not his breath that Matt's seeking out, is it?

Oh, he thinks, and for the first time, his mouth softens into a kiss.

And the world is not kind, or easy, or gentle or nice, and so against his mouth is said: "what the fuck."

His skin goes numb, adrenaline and and shock, and then he's electrified, but Matt doesn't jump, doesn't jerk and doesn't start. He calmly, deliberately releases Foggy and straightens up.

Now he registers that Foggy's breathing is faster, his heart beating quicker - he missed the shift from unconsciousness to awareness, and now it's already fast with preemptive fight-or-flight. Well, not quite that much. Foggy is alarmed, but this isn't Foggy's panic response, yet, he thinks.

"Karen called me," he says, mustering himself for innocence - he can only hope he's gotten better since Colombia, because according to Foggy, he can't act worth shit. "I came as soon as I could. How bad is it? Do you know who they were?" Not that it matters much: the City will give him his ton of flesh for this, so he'll find them sooner or later.

Foggy's heart is only beating faster, though his breathing isn't too bad. He's sweating slightly, an adrenal response, and his skin has heated enough again that it's registering strongly against Matt's own. He's upset, and Matt kind of can't really blame him, because - because. Matt would be upset. He revisits the thoughts he had back when this all first started, that he was violating some kind of decency law or performing some kind of sexual misconduct.

Which he had been, for God's sake, even if apparently he'd been refusing to acknowledge it for - years.

"I'm fine," Foggy says, somewhat doubtfully, and Matt doesn't even bother with his 'invasive' and dodgy polygraph techniques to overanalyze that - there is obviously nothing okay with this situation. "No need for the good drugs," he adds graciously, "I am already high enough as it is, because I could have sworn you just kissed me."

Matt hates this game and doesn't care if his face shows it - this game that Foggy plays where he pretends, blatantly, that he's going along with whatever fib has been told: handing his prey more and more rope with which to hang themselves. Matt has listened to him play it with his teenaged sisters before, and doesn't appreciate that it's being used here. There's no question in Foggy's mind what he woke up to, and Matt - Matt's not being left off the hook.

"Huh," he offers, flatly, like: what an outlandish hallucination, Foggy, golly gee whiz.

"Dunno why I would have hallucinated that," Foggy adds, pointedly. "I mean, I have not been short on hot nurses - I'm a hero, you know - has anyone given you the whole story? There was a little old lady involved."

Of course there was. Foggy has a soft-spot for the elderly ever since his grandmother moved in with his family shortly before highschool. She's still kicking, of course, and is allegedly the origin of the Nelsons' good genes and why they're all going to live forever.

"When isn't there," Matt asks.

His hopes that the story would distract Foggy are dashed, because Foggy says "Uh-huh, so. 's strange, you know. I'm tired and on drugs, but I'm pretty sure that I didn't lose enough blood to be hallucinating my best friend kissing me - but weirder things have happened! I mean, aliens invaded, so."

Matt's not sure why that galls him, but it does: that him kissing Foggy somehow ranks on the same levels as the chitauri. He should probably take the out - he should probably -

He's been reliable informed his self-preservation instinct is for shit and Jack didn't raise a coward and there have been lies enough so Matt says "Okay, so maybe I've been doing that for years."

Foggy says, "what."

"I didn't mean to," Matt says, even though he did, he really did, every time, he just didn't know the why of it. "I know it's not -" okay "but I just-" need to know you're okay, you're alive, you're going to be there the next day, but "I'll stop, okay? I'll -"

Go out of my mind. He feels like it anyway, right this moment, frustrated and losing the war with his words. He knows what to say to charm people, most of the time, but not Foggy. It's always harder when it's Foggy, because Foggy knows him and he knows Foggy and it's bad enough to lie, he doesn't need to add to that by trying to manipulate Foggy because Foggy finds out - Foggy always finds out, and this last round of revelations had nearly flayed Matt alive, he can't survive something like that twice. He's strong and he's got the devil inside him and Murdocks can take a hit and the getting up is the part that matters, but he's never been as strong as his Dad, he won't get up again.

"Matt," Foggy says, and "Matt" like he's still talking even though he's already stuttered to a stop. He's just shaking, but he always shakes a bit when he gets this frustrated, this infuriated, at himself and at the world and at everything. "Matt," he says a third time, then: "you don't have to stop."

It takes Matt a bit to process this, to parse it and place it back into the context of what he'd actually said verses what he had only thought. It still doesn't make any sense in context, either, he decides, so he says: "I'm pretty sure I do."

Foggy sighs, loud and gusty, the way he does when he's particularly frustrated with Matt. He's only rarely a soft-touch with Matt after they got to know each other - sometimes more when he's drunk. He's mostly been frustrated, recently, and Matt tries not to resent it. "No, you really don't. I mean - you're clearly being a little bit - eh -" the noise is accompanied by a gesture that is wide enough to register with Matt, a see-saw of Foggy's hand that suggests Matt's being questionable, which: thanks, he'd figured that out all on his own - "but. I guess there's probably worse coping methods? Just ... not when I'm - sleeping, or whatever. Outside of fairy tales, that's a bit much. And even inside fairy tales, that's kind of - you know."

His fingertips tingle a bit, maybe ache. A bit like they had during that long dry spell between Colombia and Daredevil. His mouth feels a bit loose and hungry, which is - new. But he hadn't known until now, so maybe that had something to do with it. He opens it to say - something - but nothing comes out, and the need to cross the space again, to set his fingertips to the tiny roadways under Foggy's skin and set his mouth to the hot wetness of Foggy's and reassure himself with all his available senses that Foggy is a thing that actually exists and will continue to exist is nearly overwhelming.

It feels greedy to ask "What about now?" But he does, because Foggy said so and he needs it - he still needs it, he feels shaky with frustration and a fear he still hasn't laid completely to rest, that Daredevil will be too much to ask of Foggy (it's been too much to ask of people before-).

"Now," Foggy echoes, sounding stunned, his heart rate ratcheting up, and Matt can't tell if it's bad or good. "You want to kiss me now? Uh, buddy, it's been kind of a long day, my mouth is pretty gross -"

"I don't care," Matt says. He doesn't. He can barely remember what it was like before his senses anymore, but he lives his day with his mouth around tailpipes, with his tongue pressed to pavement, full of water from the Hudson and grime and guts and rotting things in the alleys and in the dumpsters, so stale breath is the least of his concerns.

Foggy laughs, high and nervous, but that's the sign that Matt was looking for - the good one. That laugh is the one Foggy gives when he can't believe he's actually getting somewhere with a girl that his heart swears is the most attractive person in the entire place. "Yeah, okay."

He doesn't need to be told twice; Foggy's bright against his skin, a beacon in the chilled room, so he bends forward and reaches out, first to Foggy's shoulder and then slides it up and marks the distance with his thumb at rest on his chin. Matt's spatial awareness is pretty good, but when it comes to kissing there's so much to pay attention to he prefers to be cautious.

Foggy's heart jumps and his breath hitches in that particular way and this is it: if this happens, things are going to change. He hesitates. He almost asks 'okay', but he's not sure he wants the answer, not sure he could take a step back at this point, and so -

So Matt breaches the distance and kisses Foggy. It's soft, and warm, and Foggy is alive and well under his lips, and it's different - it's different actually being a kiss, but also and mostly because Foggy kisses back.

Foggy knows. Foggy's known him for years, and he knows what Matt does and he hates it and Foggy still kisses him back. Oh, he thinks again.

He feels hollowed out again, but the City is distant and can't crawl its way in; Matt is hollowed out, and his bones are pulled from his skin and turned around and placed back in again; he is made empty and then he is illuminated and the devil that hides inside him scrambles, and it flees to the scattered shadows and curls up small and quiet into the bend of his fingers and the curve of his spine where the only person it hurts is him.

Oh.

--

"I can't believe you tricked me into a relationship while I was high on drugs," Foggy tells him.

"You weren't that high," Matt says lazily. Foggy had been stabbed and sewn up again, but it had been a shallow cut and it hadn't punctured any organs. The nurse he'd questioned that night reassured him that Foggy's decision making skills wouldn't have been all that impaired. Not that he'd been worried or anything.

"You don't know that. I could have been tasting colors and watching cartoon characters dance across the room, Matt. Look, just because you've been pining for years -"

"I have not," he interrupts, a bit prickly. If he'd been pining, he's pretty sure he would have noticed. Probably.

"Uh huh." Foggy doesn't sound particularly impressed or convinced. "Look, just because you've been pining for years-" He ignores Matt's loud sigh, "doesn't mean you can pull a Edward Cullen-"

"We have to break up, right now, immediately," Matt says, because there are things he's willing to overlook for love and then there are Twilight jokes. Matt is never going to mention his quiet nights on patrol ever if Foggy is already breaking them out.

"Oh, shut up," Foggy says, and throws a pen at him; he's not really trying, so Matt allows it to hit his chest. "I have sisters, need I remind you. I'm just saying, there is a certain pattern of behavior here that's slightly worrying."

"Uh huh," Matt says, wondering if he's supposed to react to Foggy's words or his body, because he's getting mixed messages here. Foggy doesn't even sound particularly mad, but he's not saying anything Matt hasn't thought, either, so.

He's aware of Foggy studying his reaction and wonders what Foggy's reading. He's never entirely sure how much his own body betrays him - spatial awareness does not help with reading facial tics or body language. He doesn't know what it looks like to avoid doing it himself.

"Ah, jeez," Foggy says, sounding put out suddenly. "I'm the superhero's girlfriend! This sucks."

Okay, he's very aware of the wide grin that breaks out across his face, though he manages not to actually laugh. "I'm not a superhero," he denies, "and you're not a girl."

"Don't argue semantics with me," he says. He's well and truly angry, but not at himself and not at Matt, so that's fine. "How is this my life? How am I supposed to explain this to my mother, Matt? I'm the one she's not supposed to have to worry about! What if there are supervillain schemes and I end up getting kidnapped? We can't do that to my mom!"

"I'm almost entirely convinced that won't be a problem," he says dryly, remembering the way Foggy had effortlessly tied almost the entire campus of Colombia around his little finger. His brain helpfully offers him the scenario of Wilson Fisk giving him the shovel talk and he can't quite help the disgusted grimace.

And sure, it's an actual problem, and Matt knows that they'll revisit it soon enough - Foggy isn't one to let a problem that serious rest, just because he raised it in jest first. But for now, for right this moment, he allows himself not to worry about it, to get up and step around Foggy's desk and kiss the rest of his arguments into silence.

The City and the Devil have enough of him; here, with Foggy, in the space between their mouths, he's just Matt, illuminated.

-

Your writing is brilliant - all poetry and mystery and sense and emotion, and it makes me want to curl up around it and absorb the magic into my skin. ;_;

And then -

Oh, he thinks, and for the first time, his mouth softens into a kiss.
And the world is not kind, or easy, or gentle or nice, and so against his mouth is said: "what the fuck."
- I just about busted my gut laughing. XD

He's been reliable informed his self-preservation instinct is for shit and Jack didn't raise a coward and there have been lies enough so Matt says "Okay, so maybe I've been doing that for years."
Foggy says, "what."
- Pfffffffffft

"I didn't mean to," Matt says, even though he did, he really did, every time, he just didn't know the why of it.
- Matt, it's a four letter word beginning with "L", you silly goose.

the need to cross the space again, to set his fingertips to the tiny roadways under Foggy's skin and set his mouth to the hot wetness of Foggy's and reassure himself with all his available senses that Foggy is a thing that actually exists and will continue to exist is nearly overwhelming.
- ;____; ♥

he lives his day with his mouth around tailpipes, with his tongue pressed to pavement, full of water from the Hudson and grime and guts and rotting things in the alleys and in the dumpsters, so stale breath is the least of his concerns.
- Omg, I'd hate to be his dentist.

"Look, just because you've been pining for years-" He ignores Matt's loud sigh, "doesn't mean you can pull a Edward Cullen-"
"We have to break up, right now, immediately," Matt says, because there are things he's willing to overlook for love and then there are Twilight jokes.
- *cracks up forever*

"Ah, jeez," Foggy says, sounding put out suddenly. "I'm the superhero's girlfriend! This sucks."
Okay, he's very aware of the wide grin that breaks out across his face, though he manages not to actually laugh. "I'm not a superhero," he denies, "and you're not a girl."
"Don't argue semantics with me," he says.
- *DIES*

This was amazeballs, anon! Thank you so much for sharing!

aaaaah thanks so much!! TBH I am a bit honored that you came by to comment on my stuff! The way you do is very much awesome, keep fighting the good fight!

and yes of course, you have to throw some humor in there because otherwise Matt's just gonna bleed angst all over everything haha.

Omg, I'd hate to be his dentist.
LMAO my imagery there is a bit rough, but lbr with super senses Matt probably equally tastes smells as he does smell them, and the city is really super potent. Equally as much as crying about how cotton hurts him and everything is too loud, I think Matt should have been hurling because of all the gross smells and tastes. I bet he hates perfume and cologne because if you've ever gotten any in your mouth it's the worst.

XD;;; Oh, my, am I that obvious? Hahahahaha!!

Tbqh I'm behind as all get out on the kinkmeme on reading, commenting, AND writing, but this was so damn freaking perfect and cute and 2000% how I like to see Matt (AFFECTIONATE, OBSESSIVE CREEPER FTW), so I could NOT resist taking a break from obnoxious Real Life Interference to read and comment on it. There was just no chance. None. Nope. Zip. It drew me in like a magnet. ;_;

Hahahahaha, yeah, I figured it was at least partially based on scents rather than Matt's mouth actually being in contact with all of that stuff, but LBR, he's totally taken some poundings and eaten dirt. So. XD

(And unfortunately, I HAVE gotten perfume/body mist/whatever in my mouth before, and WOE. SUCH WOE.)

I love this! Your style is so evocative and personal - I love when authors have a strong sense of style like obviously the only person who could have possibly written this in the way it was written was that person. It makes me envious because even though I have my own style that I have cultivated I always feel a little like envious that I could never write in that way like the original person could.

Anyway, excellent job.

Thanks! Ah, I get feeling envious because I'm the same way toward some authors, the way they turn a phrase or paint a certain picture. The only problem is that sometimes you have to fight to figure out how to tell a story in a way that makes sense with your style?

Or perhaps you want a certain PoV, but the character who is really speaking to you with this story has a difficult voice? Like, generally my MattPoV is solely like the middle part - he experiences the worlds through sensations and sounds and so his PoVs are introspective and artsy but also full of act-react because Matt's a man of action. Foggy's just generally more down to earth so his PoV is straight-forward and factual and he's not given to thinking deeply about his emotions or logic and just does what feels right.

So generally speaking Matt would be who you'd want to use to write a mystery story because he has drive and a noir flair, but maybe it's Foggy's wryness that's speaking to you and you're just like "argh, no, stfu, Foggy! You are the worst for mysteries" and he's just like "well, no need to be rude, but this is what I think about what's going on" and you're left with your head in your hands.

And sometimes the moon aligns and Matt's willing to wax poetical about being Edward Cullen idek

I came here to say that Matt's acting very much like a certain Edward and I'm infinitely glad that Foggy thought the same. :D It was so sweet, anon, thanks.

Oh my god. OP here.

This is the very first time one of the things I prompted ever got filled, so yay! You seriously made my day, I was super exhausted from classes today, and it was amazing to come home to this! :D

This was so beautiful, your writing is brilliant. And oh my god, I just about died towards the end. Foggy is seriously the best. XD

This was a good prompt, tho, it inspired me lots so thanks for posting it! I'm glad you got to come home to something after a trying day, OTP is always very helpful, right?

and lmao yes, the ending. Foggy just doesn't know what to do with his super creeper boyfriend, he's deflecting from the fact that he likes it so much. Those boys smh

MATT YOU GIGANTIC CREEP i have to say foggy's twilight comparison was totally warranted lol

aww this was so so beautifully written and lovely and such a great little character study of matt murdock too. also foggy is too precious for this world!

His brain helpfully offers him the scenario of Wilson Fisk giving him the shovel talk and he can't quite help the disgusted grimace.

dear god lol poor matt

Aaaaaah
Aaaaaaah
Aaaaaaaaah

I am screaming with joy because this is amazing.

CONFUSED!STALKER!MURDOCK IS THE BEST MURDOCK.

Really, I love this. <3 Matt's, er, questionable tendencies were fascinating to see from the inside. And Foggy being all mmm, bit creepy, Matt, but then still being right there in it with him, gah. I love it.

(Also, If he'd been pining, he's pretty sure he would have noticed. Probably. ahahahahah. hah.)

YES I KNOW RIGHT emotionally dense matt is my favorite matt, right beside creeper!matt and just before murderdock tbh. he feels things SO INTENSELY. He's not sure what things he's feeling, BUT HE IS FEELING THEM AT FULL VOLUME IN CAPSLOCK!!!!!!!

Foggy totally digs Matt's co-dependent lack of boundaries, don't even let him lie to you. He's probably seen a few of his sibs' relationship implode due to similar behavior, but it's Matt com'n.

(HE STALKED FOGGY TO A PARTY AT COLOMBIA. BEFORE THEY WERE EVEN REALLY FRIENDS. MATT. YOU LOSER. YOU GIANT, DENSE NERD. IS2G)

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