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Only a short little bit. Foggy's POV in the next section :)

The silence that follows is oppressive. His senses are still heightened enough that everything he’s experiencing is dialled up a notch (or ten), so the quietness that blankets the room, aside from his own panting, sets him off balance. He casts his hearing outward without consciously trying, catching the sounds of footsteps down the hall; trainers with a worn in heel, the clank of pipes in the bathrooms, and sirens in the distance; a girl two rooms over is coughing wetly in her sleep. He winces, slams his hands over his ears in an attempt to block it out, but he’s not had to do this since before he met Stick all those years ago, and it’s excruciating. His skin feels like it’s on fire, and he can taste the chalky remnants of the pill, the brownies, and the girl’s lip-gloss on his tongue.

Smells begin to filter in too, and he becomes keenly aware that their dorm room isn’t as clean as it looks. He can smell beer where Foggy had spilled some on the carpet three weeks ago, can smell the sweat on the bed sheets and the heady odour of panic coming from his own body. He gets himself upright enough that he can strip the bedcovers from his bed, then curls up in the middle of it and rocks himself till the ecstasy begins to wear off and the hypersensitivity lessens, and he manages to fall into a blissful, dreamless sleep.

He wakes up with a start, his head throbbing and his mouth dry, sweat cooled against his skin and making him shiver. When he cautiously opens one eye the fire licks back against his vision, and he slams it shut again. He’s managed to get his senses back under control, but he can still remember the leftover tastes in his mouth, and the overwhelming smells in the room, and he can’t push it away. He wants to brush his teeth and shower, and he wants to clean the room till there’s not a single smell beyond that of bleach, but his body is aching still, so instead he stays where he is, and he lets himself cry into his hands until his tears dry up and he can only breathe harshly against his skin.

Oh, Matt ):

It starts with Foggy leaving Matt on his own for longer than five goddamn minutes. The man can take care of himself, sure, but he attracts trouble like nothing he’s seen before. Matt has many good attributes, but luck is not one of them. Neither is judgment of other people, which is how he this whole mess happened in the first place. Foggy hadn’t really liked the girl Matt had been seeing during their final year of college, she wasn’t a terrible person or anything, but she was...callous, is probably the best word for it. She’d been entirely focused on her own pleasure, without much regard for Matt, who’d been sort of infatuated with her. It’d been a rough period for him anyways, though why exactly Foggy isn’t sure exactly, all he knows is that Matt had been spending longer in bed and less time in classes and actually took up smoking weed on the regular, which he’d only done maybe half a dozen times in the entire time they’d been at college.

So when Foggy has to spend a week dealing with Matt losing his shit because of a bad trip, he’s not entirely surprised. He’s sad, and he’s freaking out, but not surprised. So it starts with Foggy leaving Matt alone. He’d been away for the weekend for his sister’s wedding, so he’s hungover, but relatively happy when he gets back to their dorm. He sobers up pretty damn quick the moment he opens the door, and he winces, at first just because of the smell that hits him like a wall; of stale sweat, food leftovers, and vomit. Foggy has a brief second to think okay, maybe Matt is just sick, till he actually sees him. It seems like half of Matt’s side of the room is strewed about the floor; the entirety of his bedding, an empty pizza box, a crumb-stained plate surrounded by the half-eaten remnants of some brownies (and goddamnit, Foggy can smell the dope from the doorway), a few textbooks, and even Matt’s clothes. That is, the ones he’d evidently been wearing before he stripped out of them and curled up in the middle of his bed.

Matt’s in a fetal position, vomit that’s actually (thankfully) more like bile streaked down his chest and the mattress beneath him, hands curled in fists and pressed over his ears while he mumbles something Foggy can’t quite catch, and shakes so hard that he worries for a second it might be a seizure. It isn’t though, because Matt just carries on shaking and murmuring between hitched breaths. Foggy’s brain shorts out for a while, not quite registering what he’s seeing, because in all the time he’s known Matt he’s only seen him more than slightly-unruffled twice, and one of those times was when Foggy had broken his arm attempting a somewhat ill-advised drunk cartwheel. He doesn’t know either.

Point is, Foggy’s has to take a second to reconcile what he knows about Matt with what he’s seeing in front of him, before he snaps out of it drops his bags in the doorway and runs over to the bed. He hesitates for a second, fingers hovering, thinking about how sometimes Matt doesn’t seem to like to be touched, but desperate measures and all that. He lays a hand on Matt’s shoulder, wincing as he flinches.

“Matt, listen buddy you need to explain to me what happened. Matty, can you take your hands off your ears for just a second,” he tugs gently at Matt’s balled up hands, trying not to freak out when Matt just goes pliant and lets him. “There we go bud, that’s real good, okay, can you tell me what’s wrong Matt? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Nn-no, no,it’s too loud, there’s too- too much, I c-can’t--” Matt says, and goes right on back to ignoring him in favour of hyperventilating. That’s about the time Foggy realises that he is in way over his head and calls an ambulance.

Then he’s left waiting, unsure what to do with himself, till he looks up from his phone and catches sight of the sick on Matt’s chest again, and thinks fuck, he’d never forgive me for letting other people see him like this. So he grabs Matt’s shirt from the floor and uses it to wipe away the worst of the mess on his chest and face, then tugs his sweatpants free from beneath the pizza box and sets about trying to get them on Matt.

He’s sweating, just about managed to tug them up over Matt’s hips whilst avoiding being kneed in the face, when Matt suddenly goes rigid and starts screaming. A second later Foggy can just about hear sirens in the distance and he has a moment of relief, even while he’s holding Matt’s wrists so he doesn’t hurt himself and repeating a desperate mantra of it’s okay, you’re okay buddy, it’s fine, we’re gonna get you some help and it’ll be fine in hopes that it’ll calm him down. He doesn’t have to wait long, because evidently Matt’s screaming tells the paramedics exactly where they need to be, and they push through the open door, taking in the scene and quickly coming over to Matt’s bed, asking Foggy questions that he does not know a single answer to, beyond “No, his eyes won’t respond, he’s blind.” Matt freaks out even worse when the medics get their hands on him, lashing out and trying to push himself out of their reach at the same time, and in the end they have to sedate him.

Foggy watches the whole thing with his eyes wide and his heart beating a mile a freaking minute, and he can only relax (even then only minutely, because he still hasn’t a clue what’s wrong with him, what had happened) when Matt’s muscles go lax, and his breathing slow, and his wide, panicked eyes slide shut.

Oh noooooo

(by which I mean yes yes great fill)

GOOD FOGGY CALL AN AMBULANCE YES

This is amazing. Looking forward to more. :D I- I kinda love seeing poor Matt wake up in a hospital all drugged and disoriented and overwhelmed.

Prompt Post #1

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