You May Not See Me, But I Am Always Near
Matt did not want to wake up. He was warm, and he was squished pleasantly between said warmth and squishy softness.
His alarm had other ideas.
He could hear it, faintly, ringing from his room.
From his room.
Which he wasn’t in.
Oh.
He hoped it wouldn’t wake Foggy and Karen. It was hard for him to differentiate between the loudness of things early in the morning, his brain still resetting, so everything was just ‘loud’ to his brain. This meant it may be blaring loud enough to wake his neighbors as easily as barely being above a whisper.
Despite his fervor, wishing at it wouldn’t make it shut up, so he squirmed out from under his two best friends. He didn’t know how they both ended up on top of him, but he wasn’t complaining, even if it made things more difficult. The maximized contact, the weight… It was nice. He didn’t want to move. But he also didn’t want them to wake up, and the alarm was a sure-fire way to ruin that plan.
He also kind of needed to pee.
He hit the floor with a soft thump, somehow not waking up either of his best friends. Karen shifted in her sleep slightly, grabbing onto Foggy instead, who smacked his lips and snored harder in return.
Their breathing evened out again, and their hearts didn’t miss a beat.
He pulled himself upright, grumbling internally as he dragged himself to his room. He smacked his alarm clock, perhaps with a tad too much aggression, but anyone who might call him out for it was asleep.
6:15, the automated voice said.
Yuck.
He trudged to the kitchen, hunting for a morning snack while he made breakfast for the two lumps on his couch.
He found one within seconds, and slurped it eagerly as he prepared the coffee.
As a vampire, strictly speaking, he shouldn’t drink coffee. It was terrible for him.
He did it anyway.
He turned the knobs on the stove, waiting patiently for the clicks to settle into the whoosh of flame, drizzling olive oil onto the ready cast iron pan.
He padded softly over to the fridge while it heated up, carefully selecting the eggs he kept specifically for this reason.
Matt hummed softly, swaying his hips to Lisa-down-the-road’s music playing on her radio as it woke her up for her shift. He whisked the eggs together lightly, and poured it onto the pan, decorating it liberally with cheese. Before long he flipped it expertly with his nice little spatula.
That spatula was a gift from Foggy, a long time ago. The poor man had no idea how a blind man could cook, much less one that hardly ate whatever he made, but he had appreciated Matt’s skill in the kitchen anyway and was eager to help anywhere he could if it meant he got to eat more of Matt’s food.
While that omelet cooked, he prepared to scramble the next batch, as per Karen’s preference.
He then moved on, frying some bacon next to the cooking eggs, and pulled out some yogurt, fruit, and nuts.
He took out some nice, large, shot glasses, and made some delightful yogurt parfaits, knowing how much they’d appreciate the apparent prettiness of his efforts.
It wasn’t long before Karen ambled into the kitchen, drawn by the scent of coffee and bacon. She made a cute noise of approval around her yawn as she slumped in a chair while he plated about half of what he had made for her. She didn’t say thank you, and he didn’t say good morning.
It was way, way too early to speak. Neither of them were morning people.
Foggy, when he finally woke up, would be perfectly alert. Foggy also was currently asleep. If he woke up and started being loud, Matt would hold Foggy down while Karen gagged him with one of Matt’s spare socks.
Karen eyed him appreciatively as he plated Foggy’s food, placing it in the oven, slightly preheated specifically for this purpose.
After a minute, she mumbled, “Cute. Domestic Daredevil.”
He grunted in acknowledgment and folded himself into a chair, sipping noisily at his coffee. He may have overestimated her anti-morningness.
He may have projected a little.
He did not particularly care.
“Gonna eat?” She said around a mouthful a moment later.
He grunted again, this time adding a shrug, running one long-fingered hand through his hair.
“Mmm.”
When she finished, she simply stared at her empty plate, as if she hadn’t processed it yet. Matt swept up and dumped it in his sink, immediately cleaning it.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, which he understood was for more than cleaning her plate for her.
He hummed instead of grunting, this time, and bumped her shoulder lightly when returning to his seat.
“You like lots of touching, huh?” She mused absently.
He huffed, tugging slightly on his hair as he ducked his head, refusing to acknowledge that statement.
“He’s touch starved, like, all the time,” a perky voice informed her.
Matt whimpered, tucking his face into his knees.
“Sorry buddy,” Foggy said as he rounded the corner. He was too cheerful to sound sorry, though.
Karen seemed unamused. Matt simply pointed at the oven.
“For me?” He asked, his voice pitching slightly higher in his delight.
If you’ll shut up, Matt tried to convey.
Foggy did not get the message.
Instead, he began prattling on, after thanking Matt. Loudly. As if he had never gotten treated to breakfast from his best friend before.
Idiot.
Karen sighed, before harnessing her iconic Karen Energy. “Bathroom’s mine!”
Finally, Foggy stopped talking. “Oh, come on,” he cursed as she fled. “I’m never going to get in there! She takes forever!” He whined.
Sucks to be you, Matt thought at him grumpily. It was his own fault he needed so long in his bathroom.
Foggy was an experienced Matt-friend by now. Without missing a beat, he protested, “It takes effort to get hair this good! I mean, I know you can’t see its amazingness, obviously,” Matt snorted, “but surely you can, I don’t know, tell by the sound or something? It's incredible, and everyone loves it, and I need to fix it so I can look incredible and wow everyone! Our clients will just leave us if I don’t. They’re only here for my hair, you see,” Foggy continued, chattering on as he stuffed bites of his omelet in his mouth.
Matt cleaned his dish when he was done. Foggy knew better than to try and help him. Matt had a method, and he was not going to let Foggy ruin his house with his nasty wrong cleaning.
Foggy then made the mistake of standing up, presumably to get another cup of coffee.
He suddenly had a grumpy vigilante wrapped around his middle, burying his face into Foggy’s clothes and taking a deep breath.
“Buddy,” Foggy said, amused and fond. “I need more coffee. Buddy. Snuggles after?”
Matt did not let go.
Foggy was in his house. Foggy had wanted cuddles last night. Foggy would simply have to deal with the consequences.
After another moment, Foggy understood this. He really did know Matt very well. He simply shifted him over, completely familiar with the art of shuffling Matt along with him, and poured himself another cup of coffee. Then he tugged Matt back to the couch, and curled up with his best friend while he waited for Karen to get out of the bathroom.
She would take cuddle duty, and he would freshen up. She did not have a choice in this.
She didn’t seem to mind, however, when she finally got out of the bathroom. She took the cranky ninja quite happily, and he tucked his face into her soft stomach while she played with his hair.
She smelled like his soap and shampoo, and like his clothes. He didn’t like it. It made it harder to smell her. He liked her smell. It was comforting. It was like Foggy-smell, in that it was absolutely the best thing ever and should be all over everything so he can smell it all the time.
He hated when people tried to describe people's scent in ways like, “She smells like cinnamon, and he smells like a bonfire, and-”. People smelled like themselves. They might have a scent over that, that might be a part of the them-smell, but it was all unique, and them. It just wasn’t that simple. Foggy smelled like Foggy, and Karen smelled like Karen, no matter if she used her regular shampoo or his. It was different, without her regular covering scent, but it was still her beneath his smell.
That didn’t mean he had to like the change, however. He was awake, and it was morning, and he was allowed to be annoyed. And it was not adorable, nor was he pouting, no matter what either of his friends claimed.
They made it to work eventually, loose-limbed and happy-smelling. Matt liked it. It was comfortable, even if they were late.
He hated being late.
Punctuality was important. Schedules were important. He didn’t like it when those things changed.
(He also hated the pity-annoyance-disgust that happened when he was late. ‘Oh, it's okay, he’s blind. He probably got lost, the poor baby!’ ‘He’s useless. Can’t even stumble in the right direction fast enough to get here on time.’ Whatever.)
He didn’t like being late.
But he loved his friends more. And his being with them- especially when they were happy-calm-relaxed- made up for it.
He settled into his office, immediately setting up. Everything had a place. They had a meeting in an hour- he could afford to at least adhere to the schedule in his regular pacing, even if he wouldn’t get everything done he had planned in that time.
It would be fine.
He had his friends. Of course he would be fine.
Matt felt himself tense as he caught a whiff of his new client.
Mr. Jameson, an extremely polite, stereotypical British butler type of guy, had been framed for poisoning his neighbor's cat. He most certainly did not, considering his tearful explanation of how much he loved the cat during their previous meeting. Apparently, he took better care of the cat than the cat’s owner did, and he was distraught at the cat’s passing- far more than the actual owner was. His words were honest, and his distress was genuine.
Mr. Jameson’s soothing scent was not what he smelled when he walked in.
Instead, he smelled old-dust-ancient-blood.
Foggy tugged him forward, seemingly without thinking, though Matt knew there would be questions later. Matt started breathing again- he hadn’t realized he’d stopped.
After only a few breaths, he recognized Mr. Jameson’s regular scent, and he forced himself to relax, despite how badly he needed to put on his suit and go Daredeviling.
It was personal now. The vampire had fed on one of his clients- and one of the nicest clients by far. He absently prepared an apology in his mind for Foggy, because there was no way he was going to be able to focus on helping poor Mr. Jameson. Not now. Not when he was planning his next move.