"OK, so - it went okay, then?" Foggy asked, hating himself, just a little, for how needy it came out. How weak. Matt wasn't his friend, his partner in arms: he was a lunatic in a mask who went out at night to put criminals in comas.

"Yeah," Matt said. His breathing was a little uneven, but nothing - nothing unexpected. "You? You and Karen?"

"I'm shrugging," Foggy said. "Yeah. Nothing exciting, but we've got to be ready for Fisk's trial. You're sure you're okay? You sound a little -"

"Tired," Matt said. Sighed into the phone, and it was ridiculous how quickly it happened: suddenly Matt was that dumbass, ridiculously pretty kid Foggy'd been stuck rooming with, and all the assholes and petty criminals in Hell's Kitchen couldn't change that.

"I wish I knew why your heartbeat changes for no reason," Matt said, sounding thoughtful, almost - slurred?

"I worry about you," Foggy said, which was honest, but not quite the answer to the question that Matt was asking.

Matt sighed; Foggy could hear it down the line. Cell phones didn't have lines, did they? So that was just Matt's sigh, shivering through frequency, that Foggy had caught; well, he'd keep it. It felt precious enough.

(...ok gimme a minute, but after all these shenanigans you deserve something real, OP.)