Chapter 1
The cramped dorm room at Columbia University was a study in organized chaos. Textbooks, notebooks, and papers were scattered haphazardly across the small space, a few precariously stacked in piles, others spilling off desks or tossed onto the floor. The space smelled faintly of coffee and old paper, with the sharp scent of ink lingering in the air. Matt Murdock moved through the room with practiced ease, his cane tapping softly against the linoleum floor, the rhythm a comforting constant to his heightened senses.
As Matt entered, he could hear the low hum of Foggy’s voice, even before he saw him. Foggy was sprawled across the bed in the far corner of the room, surrounded by a fortress of textbooks, his body slouched in a way that suggested he had long given up on any semblance of organization. The mess was both familiar and comforting to Matt, a reflection of their college life, chaotic yet somehow manageable.
With a soft smile, Matt maneuvered around the clutter, heading towards the bed. His cane clicked rhythmically against the floor as he took his place beside Foggy, letting out a small sigh as he sank onto his own twin-sized bed.
"Hey, Foggy," Matt greeted, his voice warm but tired as he placed his cane gently in the corner of the room.
Foggy glanced up at him, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Hey, Matt! How was your day?"
Matt shrugged, the motion small and nonchalant, though the weight of his words carried more. "Same as usual. Just trying to stay on top of my assignments." He adjusted his glasses with a slight flick of his hand, settling them more comfortably on his nose, the familiar weight a constant presence. With a soft grunt, he shifted his position on the bed, his body sinking further into the worn mattress.
Foggy chuckled, eyes flicking to the mess around them. "Tell me about it. These readings are killing me," he said, grabbing a nearby textbook and tossing it aside in frustration. The pile of books on his bed threatened to spill over, an ever-present reminder of the overwhelming workload that seemed to follow them everywhere.
Matt let out a small, dry laugh, the sound cutting through the tension of the room. "Yeah, I know the feeling. It's like no matter how much I get done, there's always more waiting for me."
Settling into a more comfortable position, Matt opened his laptop with a practiced movement, his fingers effortlessly finding the keys as he slipped on his headphones. The noise around him seemed to fade away as the quiet buzz of the newest lecture filled his ears. His brow furrowed slightly in concentration, and his face became a mask of focus.
Foggy watched him for a moment, his grin slowly fading as he observed his friend’s familiar routine. The image of Matt sitting there, with his glasses perfectly perched on his nose, was one that had become as much a part of the landscape of their room as the clutter surrounding them.
But there was something that always nagged at Foggy. He had never once seen Matt without those glasses. Not even once. It didn’t matter if they were in the dorm room, in class, or at the library—Matt always wore them. Foggy knew they weren’t needed, not really. Matt was blind, after all. But still, those glasses were always there, a permanent fixture in his life.
They were the first thing Matt put on in the morning, and sometimes the last thing he took off at night, often slipping into sleep without even bothering to remove them. It had become a pattern Foggy couldn’t ignore, but he never dared to ask about it—until now.
As he sat there, his thoughts circling like a whirlpool, Foggy couldn’t help but wonder. What was it about those glasses? Why did Matt hold onto them so tightly? Was there a reason he was hiding behind that thin veil of darkened lenses, or was it simply a matter of routine?
Foggy leaned back against his pillow, staring up at the ceiling as his mind raced with questions, none of which seemed to have a clear answer. He glanced at Matt again, watching as his friend silently worked, lost in his own world of lectures and assignments. But a nagging curiosity clung to Foggy, one that seemed impossible to shake.
The quiet tension in the room seemed to grow as Foggy continued to stare at Matt, thoughts spinning like a wheel with no way to stop it. He couldn’t help but feel there was more to the story, something Matt wasn’t saying. Something deeper than just routine.
Matt, however, remained focused on his work, oblivious to the storm brewing in Foggy’s mind. But then, as if the weight of the unspoken words had finally become too much, a faint prickle of unease shot up Matt’s spine. It was the kind of sensation he knew all too well—someone’s eyes on him. His senses flared, the hairs on the back of his neck rising, and with a sudden motion, he ripped off his headphones and turned sharply towards Foggy.
“What?” His voice was sharp, laced with an edge of apprehension. The words hung in the air, a mix of confusion and the kind of vulnerability Matt rarely allowed anyone to see.
Foggy froze, startled by the sudden intensity in Matt’s voice. For a moment, neither of them moved, the silence thick between them. Finally, Foggy cleared his throat, trying to hide the sudden discomfort he felt under Matt’s gaze.
“Nothing,” Foggy said, his voice quieter than usual, as if he was holding something back. “I just realized… I’ve never seen you without your glasses on.”
The words landed between them, heavier than Foggy had intended, and the room seemed to hold its breath. Matt’s heart skipped a beat, the rawness of the question hitting him harder than he’d anticipated. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it before, but hearing Foggy say it out loud made the weight of the truth feel even heavier.
Matt swallowed, his throat tight as he tried to form a response. “It’s… complicated,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Foggy’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the vulnerability that had slipped into Matt’s voice. He had never seen Matt like this before—never seen him so exposed, even in this small way. The change in Matt’s demeanor was subtle, but to Foggy, it was a crack in the armor Matt wore so carefully.
Matt quickly slipped his headphones back on, the soft click of the device signaling the end of their conversation. But Foggy remained still, his eyes fixed on his friend as the silence stretched between them. The weight of the unasked questions lingered in the air, and though he couldn’t quite place why, Foggy knew there was a reason Matt wasn’t ready to share it.
What was so complicated about those glasses?