Often Matt finds himself at the edge, alone in a corner, shoved off to the side because where else is he supposed to go? He sure doesn't know, and seemingly neither does anyone else.
He's decided he's finished lying to himself (ignoring the fact that he knows just how long this will last doesn't count as lying because he makes the rules), and consequently he's finally admitted just how terrified he is to be on his own.
Now, don't get him wrong, he's been well alone for years now. But alone surrounded by people you know and alone surrounded by people you don't are two very different things.
Though the nuns at the orphanage had made absolutely spectacular company over the last portion of his life, Matt decided to enroll in university. Sorry sisters, but really, he'd take the ostracization somewhere where most everyone else is at least partially as nervous as him over the one where he is supposed to feel safe and loved.
That doesn't mean he can't worry a little.
When Matt is informed of his room situation, he's given a building and a number and nothing more. All he can do is hope that whoever he's stuck with is not a serious serial killer. Casual, maybe he could live with.
The room he makes his way to is warm, and meeting the person he's sharing it with is only a little awkward. The roomie in question is extremely enthusiastic in a way that's somehow not irritating.
Foggy, as he introduces himself, immediately suggests going out, and despite every part of his brain screaming at him that it's not a good idea, he agrees, Lead the way. Foggy Nelson has no idea what he is getting himself into, but then again maybe neither does Matt.
Things change, more quickly than Matt had been anticipating. He finds himself more relaxed around Foggy, this guy he hardly knows, than he's been for the last decade.
Gradually, he lets himself allow Foggy to be a constant in his life. He lets himself become used to having a friend, used to having someone to tell all of his thoughts to (even the stupid, insignificant ones, though Foggy is quick to assure him that they are not), used to coming back to his dorm and being faced with someone who's happy to see him, and vice versa, rather than a cold, empty room.
Of course, his instinctual reaction is abort, abort, abort, because feelings are weakness and connections are weakness and relationships are weakness.
But he'd been through with lying to himself for some time, and if he asks himself if he's happy, if he's glad he left, he thinks that he can honestly answer I'm getting there without breaking his word. He beats back his impulse to break it off, to run before he can get any more attached with a stick.
He tries not to, he really does, but he starts to feel like he's who he's supposed to be at Foggy's side.
Trips to the coffee spot not far from their building become more frequent, turning slowly into trips to the shoddy bar just off-campus, and Matt begins to anticipate their walks back from each just as much.
Walks might be overselling it a bit, if you take into account the way half of Foggy's weight is concentrated on Matt's shoulder. Stumbles could be more accurate. He thinks vaguely that he's doing a better job guiding Foggy than he is Matt, but hey, if he's not complaining then Matt's not either.
They burst into their dorm, Foggy laughing just as hysterically as he had the first time he heard the joke (a block ago), Matt hushing him from behind a grin, no chastisement in it because really he's making just as much noise.
"Foggy, we- there's neighbors," Matt reminds him, all efforts to retain the friendly relationships he has with the people next door gone when he knocks into the wall while attempting to kick off his shoes.
From across the room there's a grunt, then a sigh as Foggy flops onto Matt's bed. "So? If they're sleeping right now that's their problem. College was made for partying! Live a little!"
Matt chuckles and makes his way over, removing his glasses to set them on his nightstand before falling down beside Foggy. "I think they might've had other intentions in mind when inventing college, buddy."
"You do not know that," Foggy replies gravely. "Maybe the inventor of college was a party animal."
The sheets underhead rustle when Matt turns his head towards Foggy's voice. "No, yeah, you definitely are making points here."
After a moment Foggy abruptly sits up. "Can I ask you a question?"
Because Matt's brain is always working against him at any given moment, it instantly floods with worst-case-scenarios like it tends to do with vague questions like that. But he doesn't want to say no to Foggy, so- "Sure, shoot."
Why are you always acting so weird?
Can you get out?
Do you by chance have super-senses from that one time you got chemicals in your eyeballs after shoving some guy out of their way?
"What do you think I look like?"
Caught off guard by both the question and his tone of voice, Matt half-asks, "Hm?"
Foggy twists a little where he sits. "Well, you're blind, obviously."
"Obviously."
A short pause of feigned annoyance. "Yes. So, do you, like, come up with appearances for the people you talk to, or is it just disembodied voices floating around up there?" He taps Matt's temple for emphasis.
Matt tilts his head and says thoughtfully, "That makes me sound like a haunted house."
Above him comes a surprised snort. "Well, is your brain haunted or what?"
He hums. "Not exactly. I don't really think about what whoever I'm talking to looks like when we speak. Voices are so distinct they're kind of like their own separate identifier."
"So... you don't have any idea of what I'd look like?'
"Not really, no," Matt replies with honesty before thinking it over some. "I think you'd look very approachable."
Foggy snickers. "How should I take that?"
"As a compliment. Do you think you're going to get to be a renowned lawyer with thousands of clients if you scare all your business off?" A lightbulb blinks on in Matt's head and he continues before Foggy has the chance to respond, "I have an idea. Want me to touch your face?"
He sputters for a second before getting out something sounding like Huh?
Matt laughs and sits up. "Haven't used that one in a while, had to make sure it still works. It's just to gauge what you look like. If you'll have me, of course."
There's a moment of hesitation, just a second where Foggy's heart rate picks up, and Matt prays he hasn't overstepped. But Foggy huffs right back, saying, "'Course I'll have you. Get your feelers over here, I guess. And tell me that doesn't actually work as a pick-up line?"
Letting a breath out, he smiles. "Oh, you'd be surprised. 'Wounded duck thing'? Works wonders."
"Aw, I knew it," Foggy shifts on the bed so their knees are opposite each other, just barely touching. It's all Matt can feel. "Your secret weapon, so unfair."
He doesn't reply, just lets his smile soften. He raises his hands just a bit before telling Foggy, "Alright, take the lead."
Foggy's heart beat stutters again. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. Matt isn't incredibly fond of the possibility of killing his friend.
"Do I just, like..." He takes hold of Matt's wrists and places them carefully on either side of his face. "Okay, do your thing, man."
Underneath his hands Foggy's skin is warm, warmer than it maybe should be. His fingers find the long pieces of hair falling in front of his ears, curling around them, and he grins. Foggy still doesn't say one word, heart just beating faster and faster until-
"Are you okay?" Matt asks, hands still touching his face.
Foggy exhales as if he'd been holding his breath the entire time (had he been?). "What? I'm fine, I'm great. You, though? Have you been blown away by my incredible beauty yet?"
Automatically: Lie.
He's lying. Why is he lying? Did Matt do something wrong? Probably. He won't ask, though. Doesn't want to mess anything else up. He lowers his hands again and folds them in his lap to keep them in place.
"Me? Oh, I'm blown away right now. Can't you tell by my face?"
"You look part awestruck, part horrified, but I'll choose to believe that last one is my imagination for my ego's sake." The smile is obvious in his voice even through his words and it calms Matt's worries just a little. He wonders if he ever sounds like that.
Matt hums. "Good. If you were horrifying me, I'd let you know."
Which is a lie. Even if he had just discovered that Foggy had two heads, he'd likely still be sitting right in front of him, grinning like an idiot. But since it's for someone else, and has a purpose, Matt decides that it's not really terrible if he lets that one slide.
Between them there's a beat of silence, then another. Foggy's breath hitches three times before he finally says, quickly, words jumbling together, "Hey, you wonder what I'd think you looked like if I was the one who couldn't see?"
It takes Matt a moment to decipher the question, but when he does, he tips his head to the side, repressing a laugh. "Foggy, do you want to touch my face?"
Foggy huffs loudly. "What? Do I- I did not say that."
"Did you hear what you said?"
"Did you hear what I said?"
Matt refolds his hands overtop of each other, businesslike. "If you would like to touch my face you can just ask, Foggy."
"But I- Hm." He sighs, considering. "Okay, maybe I do. Just for the authentic experience, though."
Nodding seriously, Matt replies, "Of course. For the authentic experience."
Neither of them move.
"Well, are you going to?"
Foggy huffs again, grumbling, "Leave me alone, I'm preparing myself." His shirt sleeves whisper as he raises his hands, leaving them suspended in the air before him.
Matt raises his eyebrows in question.
"May I?"
He breathes a laugh. "Yes, you may."
Slowly, gingerly, Foggy lets his fingers touch Matt's face, just barely, and all at once he thinks he might understand why Foggy's heart was freaking out.
He doesn't know what he's supposed to do with himself, searching for somewhere to put his hands. Matt reaches his arms through the space between them, over Foggy's and flutters his fingers over Foggy's open eyes. Almost touching his eyelids, but not quite. "You gotta do it right, Fogs."
"Huh? What did I do?"
"You have to close your eyes," Matt explains, snaking his hands back to sit in his lap again. "You're the one who wanted the authentic experience, right?"
Foggy retracts his hands slightly. "Have to close my eyes. Alright."
And then even slower than before, Foggy's hands reach back towards Matt's face. As soon as they touch him, impatient as always, Matt takes his wrists in his hands as Foggy did before, guiding them to his cheeks, his forehead, his nose.
He leaves them there while Foggy's hands move around. They are warm in the trail they leave behind, tracing Matt's features so lightly. Matt didn't think Foggy had ever been this gentle. He was always so fervent in everything he did.
Though it's not like he can see what Foggy's doing at the moment, Matt feels like he should close his eyes. So he does.
Focusing on the feeling of his fingers soft on his face, Matt tracks the movement in his mind. He wonders idly if he should say something, if Foggy's getting uncomfortable with the quiet, but he can't think of anything good. Besides, it's not like he really wants to interrupt him.
After a bit, Foggy sets his hands back down onto the bed between them, Matt's fingers still wrapped loosely around his wrists. Foggy makes no move to remove them, so Matt doesn't either.
He can feel Foggy's eyes on him, so he opens his again in return. His gaze still burns into him, so he breaks the silence: "So? Amazed by my dashing good looks?"
"I knew what you looked like already."
Matt grins. "Well, how was I supposed to know that? For all I knew, you were blind too. Maybe you're just a great actor."
"I was a theatre kid in high school," he says wistfully, then stiffens. "Pretend you didn't hear that."
He's already stored that piece of information away for later along with the thought of Foggy singing on a stage, but he decides to spare him for now. He shakes his head from side to side like an Etch-a-Sketch. "It's gone. What were you saying?"
Foggy chuckles. "I was saying how I think I'm about to pass out. I'm going to turn in. You?"
"Really? What happened to Party Animal Foggy?" Matt doesn't want to keep him up, not really, because not only is he realizing just how tired he is, but Morning Foggy after a late night can be a terrifying thing to experience. Still, now that he's got his full attention, he's not inclined to let it go.
"He drank a bunch of bad alcohol and then had a serious revelation," Foggy replies, then more sincerely, "I'm going to go sleep now."
Matt wonders what his serious revelation was, but decides that figuring it out will take too much brainpower. So instead he nods, and Foggy stands, taking both of their hands with him.
He lets his hands go slack where they are still wound around Foggy's wrists and they fall into his hands instead. Foggy holds them in his, lightly, just for a moment.
"Night, buddy," he says softly, and drops them back onto the bed.
"Night," Matt whispers after him.
With Foggy gone from his side, he feels momentarily off, as if he's just woken up from a dream, or resurfaced from underwater. When he lays his head down and gets under the heavy covers, not bothering to change into sleeping clothes, it's like everything around him gets a little louder, a little clearer. Like he'd been tuning everything else out.
There, laying in bed facing the ceiling, the only clear thought in Matt's mind, no matter how nonsensical, is just how real he feels.
He falls asleep listening to Foggy's steady heartbeat. Maybe Matt's falls in sync with his, but he's not really the most reliable source. When he wakes up, he wakes different than he was. He blames it on the cheap, shitty alcohol from the night before.
This is what he tells himself. From somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, comes blaringly loud: Lie.