Matt felt a headache coming on.
He could hardly remember what the world looked like now; all he had to go off were some fuzzy memories, as he unconsciously blocked out a lot of his childhood.
It’s not that “Battlin’ Jack” Murdock was a bad father, in fact, he was far from it. Matt could confidently say his father had been one of the most supportive ones in the world. However, his profession resulted in a lot of dark imagery being exposed to a young Matt. A young Matt whose mind would block out those memories. It didn’t help that he lived in Hell’s Kitchen, either. There wasn’t much there for a child that *wasn’t* mildly traumatizing at best.
But no, Matt Murdock didn’t have much to go off for what the world around him looked like. He could make out blobs, sure, but these blobs were unfocused and bathed in a sea of red that made everything indiscernible.
He could pick out people fairly easily once he knew them, but some were easier than others. Matt‘s favourite blob by far, the one he could recognize easiest, was of course Foggy’s. He couldn’t put his finger on a specific feature that brought out Foggy’s frame easier, but he stuck at the front of Matt’s consciousness and was readily available to be picked out of a crowd. Ever since they finally gave in and started going out in a more romantic context, it only became easier. Whenever Foggy’s blob would come near, Matt’s smile would poke at the sides of his mouth even before he consciously picked up on the blob in question.
Foggy’s blob was Matt’s comfort. His 100% Guaranteed Satisfaction or Get Your Money Back Comfort. Unless, of course, he was busy with work or was otherwise occupied and was not at Matt’s disposal on a bad day.
So, that’s why today, when Matt recognized all the tell-tale signs of an overstimulating day, he felt his mood sink.
Matt knew that Foggy was going to be mostly unavailable today, with a long list of clients requesting private appointments. (As it seems, some citizens of Hell’s Kitchen are still quite ableist towards Matt, despite him having done more than enough to prove his ability. But what are you gonna do, right? Some assholes are just unwilling to be educated.) Matt knew that Foggy would be unreachable. He knew that if he concentrated hard enough, he could probably hear Foggy’s *thrilling* legal conversation several blocks away.
Matt figured it wouldn’t be the end of the world if he took a sick day. He’d had a rough night, already taken a bit of a beating, but nothing out of the ordinary for his usual nighttime activities. He could still pass it off as having gotten into an accident, but he can only get away with so many accidents before he started to worry people. People, in this case, being Karen. God knows she had enough to worry about without throwing Matt’s well-being into the mix. She already wore herself thin with concern the few other times Matt’s been in “accidents” and not only would she worry about him, but Matt also knew it was only a matter of time before she saw through his excuses.
Foggy, on the other hand, worried in a different way. Knowing about Matt’s secret identity made his worry more intense. Matt could literally die on any given night, and that’s not something he wants Foggy worrying about. Matt doesn’t want to be lectured on being safe, or the whole “maybe it’s time you stopped all this,” conversation.
Thinking made Matt’s head hurt even more. He sat up, finally deciding to get out of bed and take some damn advil. The first thing he noticed was the feeling of silk on his chest. For some reason, it wasn’t the comfort he was used to. It felt too slippery, sliding across his body and making him want to stand up. So stand up, he did. Then he heard it.
And by it, I mean everything.
God, has Hell’s Kitchen always been this *loud?* Matt wasn’t even concentrating on anything in particular, but it felt like he was focusing on everything all at once, every sound within a 3-mile radius of his apartment filling his head as if it were right next to him.
Matt whined lowly, uneasily raising his hands to his ears. It was all too much. He tried to focus on something quiet near him, like the whirring of his air conditioning, or the hum of the electric sign outside his window. But it was all for naught; Matt was simply having a bad sensory day.
He managed to tiptoe out of bed and into his kitchen, ears still covered with both hands, trying to not make any more sounds that would set him off. He swallowed an advil pill, then leaned exhaustedly against the wall. The creak of the infrastructure whined in his ears, a shrill sound tearing through his head. He groaned quietly, turning up his nose in discomfort.
“Ugh…” Matt huffed before removing himself from the wall, running one hand gently through his hair. Soon, the advil took effect and his headache was gone, so the loud city noises were easier to manage. He sighed, trying to calm himself down. However, when one problem goes away, another takes its place.
Matt’s new issue was his touch. Everything felt uncomfortable, too many different textures and too many different feelings coursing through his veins. He didn’t like the feeling of the cold on his chest so he moved to pull a sweater on; but the wool made him tense up and immediately swap it for a loose-fitting t-shirt. He attempted some stims he’d learned in therapy, like tapping his fingers together or snapping his fingers, but nothing was helping.
He shook his head frustratedly, and lay on the couch, wrapping himself in a soft blanket and curling up like a cocoon.
He must have fallen asleep, because he awoke to knocking on his door. The particular vibration of the sounds on the floor and walls told Matt it was Foggy. Matt immediately felt a weight off his chest, albeit small.
Matt got up. “I’m coming,” He called, getting himself untangled from the mess of blanket he’d created. He made it to the door and opened it.
“Hey, man! When you didn’t show up to the office I figured you’d taken a sick day.” Foggy said, sounding relieved.
“Hmm,” Matt smirked. “You sure that was your first thought?” A smile poked at his lips when he heard Foggy’s sigh.
“…Of course not. I was convinced you’d gotten… well, got.” Foggy’s posture relaxed, as he had been tense with worry whether Matt was safe. “I *really* didn’t need a repeat of what happened that time Punisher kidnapped you.”
Matt chuckled, standing back to let Foggy step out of the hallway. “That was ages ago, Fogs. You know I’m more careful now.”
Foggy was quiet for a second, taking his bag off his shoulder and removing his jacket. “I can tell; you don’t look very beaten after last night. So, what kept you today?” He said suddenly, not-so-subtly changing the subject.
Matt twisted his lips at the question, not quite sure how to answer. He’d never really mentioned his sensory issues to Foggy before outside of the things Foggy could see; such as his silk sheets or his stims. “Just a… hard morning.” He said simply.
“Oh.” Foggy responded, leading Matt to the interior of the apartment, where they could sit and chat as they usually did after work. “How so? Tell me about it.”
Foggy sat, but Matt uncomfortably stayed standing.
“Hey. Matt.” Foggy chimed, noticing Matt’s discomfort. “Whatever it is, I won’t tell anyone. Scout’s honour.” He held up the hand sign for the boy scouts. “I’m doing the hand sign and everything.”
Matt chuckled. “You were never a boy scout.”
“What?? How’d you know that?”
“Your heart beat was a little uneasy when you were trying to remember what the hand sign was.” Matt felt himself ease up a little, sitting down next to his boyfriend. He was still tense, his hands firmly in his lap.
“Damn. And I still don’t know if I got it right; you can’t even tell me if I did it right!” Foggy laughed at his own stupidity, before sighing and turning back to Matt. “Seriously, what’s up?”
Matt sighed. “You know, just the world being loud and touch being too much. It’s bad enough having heightened senses when you go blind, but add my weird sense thing into the mix and some days are just… hard.” Matt pointed his head at the floor, not wanting to try and make eye contact with Foggy for this conversation.
“So, like overstimulation?” Foggy asked.
“Yeah. I guess it kind of is. Sometimes it’s just a lot to take in.”
“That makes total sense. Do you still feel like that right now?” Foggy asked gently, not wanting to pry.
“Kinda. I’m a little better now but my advil’s starting to wear off and the texture of everything is still… loud? If that makes sense?” Matt hesitates, not being sure how to put his problems into words.
“Yeah, of course it does. Do you need anything?” Foggy asked. “Can I touch you?”
Matt nodded, a small smile ghosting his lips. Foggy was always gentle like this, making sure every little thing he did was okay with Matt. It made Matt feel safe and cared for.
Foggy carefully scooted himself and Matt closer together, placing his hands over Matt’s shoulders. “Here, let’s…” He trailed off, arranging them so they were now laying on the couch, Foggy leaning on the arm rest and Matt laying on Foggy’s chest. “Is this comfortable for you?”
Matt paused, laying his head flush to Foggy’s chest and listening to his steady heartbeat, this time normally, without his powers. “Yeah, this is good, Fogs. Real good.” Matt let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding all day, relaxing in Foggy’s embrace.
Foggy lay one of his hands on Matt’s back, gently tracing patterns into the soft fabric of his t-shirt. His free hand took the blanket Matt had been sleeping under earlier, covering the two of them. He then allowed himself to run his fingers through Matt’s hair slowly, taking time to appreciate every auburn lock, admiring the way it shined a pale orange under the light.
They stayed like that for a while; Foggy quietly keeping Matt grounded on a handful of sensations instead of truck loads, and Matt feeling his overstimulation drift away as he focused on Foggy. The feeling of his hair being unintentionally pulled (not painfully, but there was still some resistance there), the way Foggy’s fingers ghosted his back in tiny circles and swirls, and of course the low ba-dump of his heartbeat below Matt’s head. It was all Matt needed to stay mentally in the room, the reminder that Foggy was here with him and that’s all that mattered.
Eventually, Matt’s anxiety cleared, and he was preparing to tell Foggy he was feeling better. He didn’t want to leave this wonderful, comfortable position they’d been in. But he figured by now Foggy must be getting bored and he should probably let him get up and stretch his legs. Matt lifted his head, then realized why he hadn’t felt Foggy’s fingers on him in a while. Foggy was fast asleep, his head resting on the armrest behind him, breathing lowly.
Matt smiled in admiration, shifting his position and leaning up to place a gentle kiss on Foggy’s cheek. “Thank you.” He beamed, returning to his previous position and closing his eyes to join Foggy in sleep.
There, the pair would stay all night, neither one ever wishing to leave their position, their arms wrapped around each other and their minds at full contentedness. Matt’s mind and senses finally quiet after a very long day. And, in the morning, Matt would wake up to Foggy next to him, perfectly willing and eager to do it all again.