For the past fourteen years, the holidays have been hell for Matt. Not even just the holidays, but winter in general. Sure, when he was little, it was his favorite season. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and his birthday all stacked up so perfectly, plus the weather leading to the lack of his father's fights once the snow would start? It made up for a perfect few months. But now, however, all it was was a painful reminder of what he'd lost. That perfect setup was replaced with the anniversary of his dad's death, lonely holidays, and an uncelebrated birthday. The cherry on top was his intolerance of the cold since the accident, making it an altogether miserable season.
Which is exactly why he is so hesitant to do anything in the winter, let alone celebrate Christmas with his friend's family. His friend's big, loud family. He can put on a brave face for Foggy on some occasions; for example, when Foggy wants to listen to Christmas music and constantly has a holiday related movie on the TV in their dorm. With that, Matt can just sit silently on his bed or at his desk and ignore, put on his headphones, or feign enjoyment, because at least he knows he can slip out and escape the bombardment of joy and celebration when his friend falls asleep. But at a family gathering, it's considered rude to just disappear. Especially when it isn't even his own family.
"I feel weird about this," Matt says, grabbing Foggy's sleeve just before he can open the door. He'd never even met Foggy's family, and now he's about to celebrate Christmas, of all things, for the first time in years with them? It's gonna be uncomfortable and upsetting, he should've just stayed home.
"What? Come on, don't chicken out on me now, Murdock!" Foggy exclaims, but steps away from the door. Matt doesn't talk about it, or admit it, but he knows that his friend has a lot of anxiety and trauma. He's only seen him have a panic attack once, but he's not looking to cause another one. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know, Fog, I just," he hesitates. "I haven't had a real Christmas since I was nine, I don't know what to expect, even." There's more to it than that, and he knows that Foggy knows that, but it's all he can muster right now.
"Since you were nine? Oh, since your dad…" Foggy realizes too late. Seeing annoyment on Matt's face, as he clearly didn't want to actually bring up his late father, Foggy quickly moves on. "Listen, it's gonna be fun. I already told people you're coming."
"It's gonna be weird, I've never met them, they're gonna ask weird questions," he rambles, his anxiety skyrocketing. "I should just go back to the apartment, you have fun."
"Okay, first of all, I've given them the basic rundown, and most of them have the decency to not ask why you're blind. Except my little niece, but I know you'll give her a pass," Foggy replies. "Listen, they're gonna love you and you'll love them, I promise. Plus, some of them already got you a gift. Come on, you got this, Matty," he assures him, giving his shoulder a shake.
Matt sighs upon hearing the nickname, but smiles as he reminds himself that his friend uses it kindly, unlike who used to call him that. "Okay. Okay, sorry."
"It's okay, buddy."
They walk in, and Matt's immediately overwhelmed by all the sounds and smells. He knew from outside that it would be a lot, but he wasn't quite prepared for being in the middle of it. He takes a deep breath and holds on tighter to Foggy's arm.
Foggy leans over, and whispers so that only Matt can hear, "Hey, it's okay." And then, louder to his family, "Your favorite child's here!"
"I don't have a favorite child," his mom replies, laughing. "Merry Christmas sweetie! Come here." She goes in for a hug and Matt lets go of Foggy's arm, still unsure where he fits in all this. As she pulls away from Foggy, she turns towards Matt and says, "You must be Matthew! I'm Anna, Franklin's mom."
"Just Matt is fine. It's nice to meet you, thanks for having me," Matt says, putting his hand out.
"Oh, no need for the formality, we're all already a few drinks in. Come on in, make yourself at home." As she walks back to the kitchen, she instructs, "Hon, show your friend around. Everyone say hi to Matt!"
He immediately tenses up, having so much attention on him. He grips his cane and picks at his sleeve. Foggy sees this of course, he always does, and recognizes the signs of his anxiety. "They're gonna love you," he repeats.
‘No, I'm gonna be a buzzkill,’ Matt almost retorts, but he stops himself. Just because he can't handle the holidays doesn't mean he wants to ruin it for everyone else. So he plasters on a smile, hopes it looks real, and does his best to keep track of the many voices greeting him, saying merry Christmas, and some simply raising a glass at him. Their drinks are painfully loud, the wine/champagne/cider/drink-of-choice sloshing and bubbling and spilling. He takes a deep breath and grabs Foggy's arm again.
"All right, buddy, let me give you the grand tour before Mom gives me the death stare for being rude," Foggy declares, clearly understanding that Matt needs to immediately retreat and regroup. He guides him through the living room, to the kitchen, back out, down the hall to the back room, to the bathroom, and finally back outside, narrating all the while.
Once outside, away from anyone who Matt could potentially be embarrassed in front of, Foggy drops the cheery voice and asks, "Are you okay? I know it's a lot."
Matt nods, not letting go of his friend despite the fact that they're standing still. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he lies. "It's just loud. And I know we're around loud places all the time, it's just-"
"It's a different kind of loud, I know," he finishes for his friend. "Maybe I shouldn't have pushed you to come, we can leave if you want. I don't want you to be stressed."
"No! No, come on, I've come this far," Matt replies, finally letting go. He smiles, trying and failing to convince both Foggy and himself that he's really okay. "They seem great, I just need a minute. I'm really okay."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course I am. I always am."
"Haha. I'm serious, Matt. If you need to go home, we go home."
“Fog, it's Christmas. I'm not banishing you to our sad little dorm. I'm okay, let's go back in."
Foggy takes a deep breath, clearly unconvinced, but he knows better than to try to argue any further. Best to just enjoy the night and keep a close eye on his secretive but sensitive friend.
They re-enter through the back door, and upon Matt's repeated permission, Foggy joins his siblings in the living room and grabs a drink while Matt remains at the doorway. He's perfectly fine just observing and listening, it's probably less upsetting for him that way. Or that's what he tries to convince himself as he lingers, slipping off his gloves and picking at the loose threads.
"Matthew! Oh, Matt, sorry," someone says, Foggy's mom if he's remembering correctly. "It's Anna again, Frankie's mom." Ah, so he was right. Frankie, he thinks. He'll have to make fun of him for that later.
"Oh, hi! Hi, Mrs. Nelson. Anna. Hi, Anna," he fumbles through the greeting. He usually knows when someone's next to him, but he's been so lost in his head that he wasn't even paying attention.
"You okay, hon? You're all tucked away over here," she inquires. She leans against the wall, clearly ready for a long answer that Matt does not give her.
"I'm fine," he replies, his go to. "Thank you, though," he adds with a smile, not wanting to be rude. After all, she's invited him into her home and all he's really doing is taking up wall space.
"Mmhmm. Have you eaten? We've got a lot of options, we have so many picky eaters in the family, including myself honestly." Foggy must've told her about his food problems. He feels his ears heat up as embarrassment settles in. He doesn't tell anyone about that. Hell, the only reason Foggy knows is because they're roommates and as such, it was a hard topic to avoid. Even then, Foggy doesn't even know the half of it.
"So Foggy told you I guess?" He asks, trying to make conversations while also prying into any other personal information his friend had revealed.
"I can't believe he actually goes by that," she mutters, clearly not intending for Matt to hear. He ignores it and holds back a laugh. "I really forced him to tell me, I wouldn't stop asking him what you like to eat. He didn't go into detail, I promise," she assures him.
Matt nods, grateful but uncomfortable. "Can I ask where the nickname 'Foggy' came from? He refuses to tell me," he asks, hoping she'll take the hint and drop the subject.
"Oh, that was his siblings. Jesus, I hate it," she answers, laughing. "He always shared a room with his brother, Theo. He's in the living room, the one who's very drunk and laughing too loud." Matt smiles, she's so much like Foggy. "He always said that he snores like a foghorn, and well, now he's Foggy."
Matt laughs, thinking about his own experience having him as a roommate. The first night, he didn't sleep at all. And sure he usually has trouble sleeping anyway, but Foggy's snoring certainly didn't help matters. "Yeah, that adds up. He's gotta be the loudest guy I've ever met," he replies affectionately. Foggy's loudness was something he's grown to love. "You two are a lot alike."
"What, because we're loud?" She teases.
"No! No, that's not what I meant," he says, not having realized how it sounded. "I just mean, neither of you are weird around me. I appreciate it," he clarifies, smiling.
"Don't mention it," she responds, a smile evident in her voice. "Come on, I'll tell you where everything in the kitchen is. Frankie's clearly not the best host." She offers her arm and Matt gratefully takes it, honestly just happy to have a distraction from the festivities he had been listening in on.
Anna wasn't exaggerating when she said they had a lot of options, and she tells him where every single entree is. She practically forces a plate into his hands and dishes all the food he says he likes, and then she heads into the living room to tease her kids, but only after ensuring that he's okay. He wonders what it would've been like to have a mom growing up, especially one like her. She seems to care so much about him already, and he doesn't quite understand why.
He ends up sitting on the floor, a habit he's had as long as he can remember, but became more practical once he lost his sight. The security of being against a wall in a new environment, even with his heightened senses, has given him a sense of safety. The food's surprisingly good. Despite his earlier embarrassment, he's grateful that Foggy told his mom about his sensory issues in regards to eating.
He's only there a few minutes when he hears quiet footsteps and a small, fast heartbeat wandering towards him. Must be Foggy's niece. She's about five if he's remembering right.
"Hi," a little voice says. "I'm Annie."
Matt smiles and faces her. "Hi, Annie. I'm Matt, I'm your uncle's friend."
"I know. Daddy told me. He also told me not to ask why you can't see."
He laughs. He's never minded a kid's innocent curiosity, it's a bit funny if he's being honest. "Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah, but I can ask other questions because asking questions is good. That's what Mommy says," she says, plopping down across from him. "Why are you sitting on the floor?"
"No particular reason really. I've always liked sitting on the floor," he answers truthfully, enjoying the little one's company.
"Me too! I think it's more comfier than sitting on the couch, 'cause I can roll around without getting in trouble," she says, as if it's a completely normal thing to say. "Why do you wear sunglasses inside?"
"They're just to protect my eyes. I really only have to wear them outside, but I like having them on," he says, trying to keep any medical jargon to a minimum. But if the girl is curious, she's curious. Foggy was right, he always gives little kids a pass.
"Can I see your eyes?"
"Annie!" A woman's voice scolds before he has the chance to answer. "Annie, we told you not to ask things like that."
"But I didn't ask why he can't see!"
"I didn't think we'd have to give you a list of rules, baby," the woman responds, obviously exhausted. "I'm sorry, Matt. I'm Sarah by the way, Foggy's sister-in-law. I'm really sorry about her."
"Hi," he says, smiling. "She's fine, we're just talking." He turns his attention back to the kid. "Since you asked so nicely, yes. But you can't ask other blind people that, okay? Deal?"
"Deal!" Annie replies excitedly.
He takes his sunglasses off and hands them to the kid, knowing children well enough to anticipate that her next question will be if she can try them on.
"These are really dark."
"Yeah, that's kinda the point," he laughs.
"You have pretty eyes."
"Thank you."
"They're kind of weird," she says quietly, clearly a bit confused about what being completely blind really means.
"Annie! Oh my god, Matt, I'm so sorry, she knows better than this," Sarah exclaims, clearly embarrassed. "Honey, come on, leave him alone."
"Don't worry about it! It's really okay, she's just a kid," Matt says sincerely, hoping to keep the kid from getting into trouble. "I really don't mind. She can hang out with me."
"Alright, if you're sure. Thanks," she says, and goes back to the living room where her husband is playing a spirited game of Uno with Foggy.
"Sorry if I hurt your feelings," Annie says, handing Matt his glasses back. "They don't really tell me anything."
He laughs and puts his glasses back on. "That's okay, my dad was the same way when I was little. You'll understand a little better when you're older."
"I know Mommy told me not to ask, but Mommy's not here," she starts, and scoots closer to whisper, "Why can't you see?"
"I used to be able to see," he whispers back, hoping that if he plays into the idea of it being some big secret, she won't get freaked out by the idea of someone going blind.
"Really?" She replies, clearly shocked that such a thing could possibly be true.
"Mmhmm. But when I was a little older than you, I got hurt a little bit and now I can't see anymore."
"Does that make you sad?" She asks, her voice small and hesitant.
"Not really anymore," he answers truthfully, smiling. "Because guess what?"
"What?" She asks, not whispering anymore, and clearly excited to have a new friend.
"I get to live in the world in a way most people don't, and it's really cool."
"I wanna be blind!"
Matt laughs, despite his best efforts not to, and silently kicks himself for making this five year old loudly announce her desire to be blind. ‘Better than scaring her,’ he thinks. That seems to be Sarah's last straw, as she quickly stomps over and scoops the giggling girl into her arms, profusely apologizes, and heads upstairs, telling Annie that it's bedtime.
And so Matt's alone once again. He gets up to put his dishes in the sink, and then returns to his original spot in the doorway, simply listening to the busy house. Without the distraction of Foggy's mom or niece, the overstimulation and sadness sets back in. He had almost forgotten that it's even Christmas. But now it's become impossible to ignore the blaring music, poor singing, conversations about previous holidays, and very drunk laughter. He's hidden himself away so well that he thinks he could get away with slipping out, just for a second, to take a few breaths; before he gets the opportunity, however, a voice that must belong to Foggy's dad shouts, "Okay everyone! Gift time! I've got the camera rolling already and I wanna go to bed!"
If it was loud before, now it's absolutely unbearable. While people rush to get into the living room, shout who should go first, and grab last minute drinks and snacks, Matt remains frozen in the doorway, eyes wide. He silently waits for Foggy to get him, internally praying that he won't have to remind his friend that he has no idea what the Nelson's "gift time" entails. Thankfully, despite his inebriation, Foggy eventually makes his way over and instructs Matt to sit on the floor next to him.
Foggy's far too drunk to notice Matt's anxiety tics like he usually does, which Matt is honestly not too upset about. He doesn't want to ruin anything, so he'll just sit and wait and smile. But it's loud, and it smells, and his sweater is scratching the back of his neck funny. He mentally curses himself for not wearing one of his comfort sweaters, wishing he had chosen to minimize his many sensory issues even a little bit.
"Fog, how does your family's gift time work?" He asks, trying to distract himself from the onslaught of input.
"Oh shit I forgot to tell you, huh?" Foggy says, trying very hard to whisper. He doesn't succeed. "Basically everyone who bought people gifts takes turns passing them out, and then everyone opens their shit at the same time, and we just do that until the last person hands out gifts. We used to open them individually, but once people started getting married it started taking too long," he explains surprisingly well for someone so drunk.
Matt nods, glad there won't be too much attention on him, as everyone will be too distracted by their own gifts. But then they start handing out and opening gifts, and he has nothing to do except listen to every sound that comes about. He tries to focus on his own breathing, like Stick taught him, but the thought of that man just makes him more anxious and overwhelmed. He picks at his nails, his sweater, his skin, the carpet, pretty much anything and everything around him. It's just all too much, and Foggy still doesn't notice. He's not feeling as okay with that anymore.
Foggy, Foggy's parents, his sister Candice, and a cousin Matt didn't catch the name of, all got Matt a few gifts. He's grateful of course, and smiles and thanks them. He carefully opens each gift, hoping that focusing on that will calm him. It doesn't. Foggy poorly describes the gifts when he remembers, but Matt can hardly process what he's saying, so he doesn't even notice when he forgets. All of the gifts are soft sweaters, soft socks, soft gloves, etc. Clearly Foggy told them that anything soft is safe. He's not sure what color most of them are, but Fog says a few of them are red.
Between the people who got him gifts, Matt just continues picking. Now he has wrapping paper to mess with, so that's a positive he supposes. He tries so hard to keep a smile on, but he knows it's dropped more times than he'd like. He's sure there are gaps of time that he's completely lost due to dissociation. It's all too much. But he endures.
Finally, it's Theo's turn, who for some undisclosed reason always goes last. He says he wants everyone to open their gifts at once, except for his dad, who he wants to go last so he can see his reaction. Matt feels an ache deep in his chest and bites his lip, trying to ignore the memories popping up in his head. He used to save up all the change he found laying around, and the odd cash he got from neighbors, for Christmas. He'd spend hours counting and recounting whatever money he'd come up with through the year, and go to the store to get his dad a gift. His dad's tears when he opened the gift always made Matt swell with pride. He didn't know at the time that his dad would've cried at literally any gift from his son, but he knows now.
So when he hears Foggy's dad start blubbering about how much he loves the gift, how much he adores Theo, how much he treasures their time together, and so on and so forth, it's no surprise that it pushes him over the edge. He picks the skin around his nails until they bleed, bites his cheek so hard that he tastes blood in his mouth, and he tries to blink back the tears in his own eyes as a tightness in his chest makes it harder and harder to take a full breath.
The second everyone starts clapping and saying merry Christmas again, he silently slips out the back door and collapses against the wall, sliding down to sit. But he sits in snow, and immediately stands back up, the cold and wet feeling making him feel sick. He navigates his way to a side patio covered by a roof, and sits there instead. It really doesn't help much. His sweater is still too scratchy, his shoes feel wrong, he can feel the skin on his fingers rub against each other, and he's shaking uncontrollably. Not to mention everything he can hear, smell, and taste from inside the house. Every laugh, hell, every breath he hears is like sticking a needle into his brain.
He can't stop thinking about his dad. First it was the good memories, but they're always followed by the bad. He can practically feel his father's face, or what was left of it, from when he found him in that alleyway. He keeps trying to think of something else but it just keeps going back to that. He just can't escape it.
He's not sure how long he's been out here, crying and shaking in the cold, when Anna finds him. He must've gone into a full blown panic attack, because he doesn't even notice her until she says, "Oh, there you are! I was wondering-" she stops short, immediately recognizing the signs of a panic attack. "Whoa, whoa, Matt, are you okay, honey?"
His hands fly to his face, trying desperately to wipe away any tears, despite the fact that they are still flowing. He vaguely notices that his glasses have fallen off. He starts trying to get up, though he's still shaking almost violently. "Oh, hi, Anna," he manages, gasping between every word.
"No, no, sit back down, it's okay," she demands, rushing to his side. He flinches away when she tries to touch him, and his hands return to his face, palms pressed to his forehead and eyes squeezed shut. He takes quick, uneven, shallow breaths, completely unable to control them. Stick would scold him for that. Even his dad would say he can do better than that. The thought makes him panic more.
"Matt. Matt, honey, listen to me. It's okay, you're safe," Anna says. He'd nearly forgotten she was even there. "Can you take a deep breath for me? Matt?"
He cries harder, thinking about how he's inconveniencing this poor woman. Every muscle in his body is tight, a few in his legs occasionally spasming. He hasn't had an episode like this in a long time. He knew he shouldn't have come. This was a mistake. He shouldn't be here, causing a scene. Before he knows it, he's lightly hitting his head with his hands, an action that's only ever actually been stopped by a nun at the orphanage, Sister Maggie. She was always annoyed by it. He cries more.
"Oh, honey, no, let's not do that," Anna says gently, gingerly taking his hands. There's dried blood on his nails, he can feel it, but she doesn't say anything about it if she notices. "That's better, right?"
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispers, barely audible between his gasping breaths. "I'm really really sorry, I'm sorry," he keeps repeating over and over, leaning into the older woman's embrace. He's still tense and stiff, but she doesn't seem to mind.
"Nope. You have nothing to apologize for, you hear me? Nothing at all," she assures him. He doesn't need to hear her heartbeat to know she means it, but he still can't quite believe that someone would be so kind to him. Especially in this state.
He wants to apologize more, to thank her for being so kind, and for the invitation. He wants to apologize for even coming tonight, for imposing on her family's holiday traditions. He wants to tell her that the holidays are hard for him, and that this whole… thing isn't her fault. But he doesn't say that. He doesn't have the energy or the awareness to get it from his brain to his tongue at the moment. All he can get out is, "I miss my dad."
It's so small, so pitiful. Barely a whisper. The second he says it, he's embarrassed, and wants to get up right that second and leave. But instead he just cries harder. Is that all he knows how to do? Cry in the arms of a woman who's known him for a few hours? Part of him expects her to just disappear, to abandon him like everyone else.
"I know, honey. I'm so sorry," he hears instead. It pauses his sobs long enough for them to take a deep breath together. How long she guides him through breathing, he's not sure, but he knows it takes a while before his muscles finally relax.
After who knows how long, Matt pulls away and wipes his eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't…" he pauses for a breath, his breathing still not quite even. "I don't know what that was."
"Hey, don't apologize. You have nothing to be sorry about, do you understand me?"
"No, no, I, um," he stutters, feeling around for his glasses. Where the fuck did they end up? His mind is such a mess right now he can't even figure out where his glasses are, much less how to properly form a sentence. "I'm sorry for bothering you, that's not fair," he finally gets out, a few fresh tears falling down his cheeks as he forces a very fake smile.
"Honey, you are not bothering me. Hell, I'm happy to be out of the house, it's loud in there," she states, one hand rubbing his back.
He nods, glad to know that it's not just him overwhelmed by the sound.
"We'll stay out here as long as you need. And arguing with me will get you nowhere," she says matter of factly, as if she's known him his whole life. It's kind of terrifying, but in the best possible way.
They sit there for a few minutes, Matt still trying to even out his breaths as Anna rubs his back and holds his hand. They stay mostly silent, save for a few words of encouragement and comfort from Anna. Stuff like, "You're doing so good," "It's gonna be okay," "You're safe," and "I'm so proud of you." Stuff he hasn't heard in years.
Once he's calmed down well enough, he manages a truly deep breath, followed by a shaky exhale. "Thank you, Mrs. Nelson," he says, pulling his hand from hers and going straight back to his nail picking. She won't have that.
"At least pick at your cane, huh?" She suggests, handing it to him. Truthfully, he doesn't even remember dropping it. Just that one moment he was holding it, and the next he wasn't. Either way, he gratefully accepts it. "Do you wanna talk about it?" She asks gently, but in a tone that almost makes him feel like he has to say yes. Almost.
"Um, I just," he starts, feeling the tightness in his chest start to return. "I'm not sure that's the best idea."
"I understand. But it's important to talk about it, you know? So next time it isn't so bad," she offers, clearly not wanting to take no as an answer. He had figured as much.
"I haven't done a real Christmas since before my dad died," he blurts out, unsure what came over him. He's never that honest, especially with who might as well be a stranger. But she deserves an answer, he guesses, since she did just spend a good chunk of her night calming him down. "Since before my accident, too, actually," he adds, not having even thought about that before. "I thought I could do it, I really did, but it's just so loud and you're all so happy and… I'm sorry, that's rude, I don't mean that I don't want you to be happy." He's talking too fast, and his hands are shaking again. God, he doesn't want to have another attack. He takes a deep breath, expecting her to say something, but she doesn't. She just listens. "It just doesn't seem fair."
"You're right," she says after a long while. "It's not fair. It's not fair at all. You should still have your dad for Christmas. And I'm sorry he's not here," she finishes, every word calculated yet sincere.
"Me too," he replies quietly. After another minute, he abruptly says, "You're all really nice. I do appreciate you, um, dealing with me."
"Oh, don't say it like that. I'm glad you're here. I wouldn't want you to go through an attack like that alone," she says, shock evident in her tone. "Listen, I know you feel bad, but try not to, okay? You're a great kid, and I'm happy to have you here."
He nods slowly, not having enough energy to argue. His exhaustion is finally hitting him, and the freezing cold isn't helping matters. Plus, he's already sore from the picking, the hitting, the everything really. He just wants to sleep.
"Let's head in," she suggests, seemingly having read his mind. She hands him his glasses, and he wonders when she even picked them up. "Everyone except Foggy is already gone or asleep. He's worried about you."
Matt gives a small smile. "I'm surprised he hasn't forgotten about me, he's so drunk," he jokes, starting to stand. He feels a bit unsteady, but Anna takes it in stride and takes his arm like it's nothing.
Once inside, Foggy practically tackles Matt, clearly worried sick. How long had he even been out there? "Jesus Christ, Murdock, you scared the shit out of me!" He exclaims, holding him tightly. "Are you okay? What happened? Was it something someone said?" He asks, pulling away and taking a good look at his friend.
"I'm fine, Foggy," he answers, too tired to get into it yet again, but Foggy is clearly unsatisfied with his answer. "It wasn't any specific thing. I just… You know, the holidays," he barely explains, but hopes the answer is taken how he means it: can we talk about this tomorrow?
Foggy pulls him into another hug, and grabs his hands. He definitely notices the blood around his nails, and he will always mention it. "Goddammit, Matt. I wish you would tell me when you feel like this, you idiot," he says, frustration in his voice.
"Hey, don't be mean!" Anna calls from halfway up the stairs. "Matt, if you need anything, you tell me," she demands. He nods.
"Come on, you need band-aids," Foggy says, borderline dragging Matt to the bathroom.
"Foggy, Fog, Fog" he says, each time increasing slightly in volume. "You know I love and appreciate you. But you smell, and I'm tired, so let's just leave it. Please."
Foggy hesitates, but ultimately, he is very drunk and very tired, so Matt easily convinces him to just go to sleep. Foggy heads to his childhood room, as Theo had already gone home with Sarah and a sleeping Annie, and Matt sleeps on the couch.
Well, "sleeps" is a bit of an exaggeration. In actuality, he lies on the couch with his eyes closed and mostly replays his talk with Mrs. Nelson, or Anna, or Foggy's Mom, or whatever name he could muster in his sleep deprived mind.
Sure, tonight has really sucked. And yes, he's just had one of the worst attacks of his life thus far. But he's also fairly certain that he's just found out what having a mom is like. He's unsure if he likes knowing what he missed out on, but he's at least grateful that he had someone to stay with him during such a scary moment.
He does fall asleep, eventually, and as usual, he has a nightmare. But when he wakes up, this time he knows he's not alone. He hasn't felt like he's not alone in years. At this moment, however, his best friend is down the hall, and his best friend's possibly too kind mother is upstairs. And although he doesn't wake either of them, he's grateful for the knowledge that if he really needed to, he could.