It's taken me forever to write this, and I;m still not 100% happy with it! But it's the best I'm going to be able to come up with tonight, I think...
Foggy sighs deeply as he drops down the the floor and reaches under his bed, arm swinging left and right like a pendulum in the small space, searching for his missing books. His hand locates an old sock and an unopened bag of chips. He throws the sock into his laundry hamper, then lays down on the bed to open the bag of chips.
He hasn’t seen Matt since he left that morning, and he tries not to worry about that. It isn’t that he is actually worried about Matt himself, he knows his roommate can take care of himself just fine, but their argument plays on a loop in his head and he can’t help but worry that he has damaged their friendship irreparably.
Not that it was entirely his fault, of course. Matt’s sudden and inexplicable story about an identical twin that he just hadn’t mentioned until now… Foggy finishes the last of the chips, dabs up the crumbs and salt from the bottom of the bag with a finger, and drops it in the trash just as the door opens and Matt walks in.
“Hey,” he says. He leaves his cane leaning against the wall by the door and makes his way to his desk.
Foggy glances up to answer and finds himself doing a double take. Matt has changed his clothes again, and the shirt he has chosen is easily the most hideous thing that Foggy has ever seen. “Uh, hey,” he replies.
Matt shifts uncomfortably. “About this morning…” he says.
“Forget it,” Foggy tells him. “We’ll just not mention it ever again, okay?”
Matt smiles and nods his agreement, and Foggy relaxes.
“I thought you had a class now,” he says.
“Canceled,” Matt explains. He sits down at the desk, which is when Foggy notices that he isn’t carrying his laptop bag with him. The desk is empty, and the bag doesn’t appear to be anywhere in the room.
Foggy eyes the hideous blue shirt with the pink flowers suspiciously. Matt hadn’t been wearing that when he had left that morning. Foggy remembered specifically, because he had refused to tell him what color his shirt was. He felt bad about that now, even if it was Matt’s own fault.
“Matt, are you okay?” he asks. “Did something happen?”
Matt frowns. “Like what?”
“You don’t have your laptop, and that shirt… I mean, no human being would voluntarily wear that shirt. You didn’t have some kind of an accident, break your computer, have to buy some new clothes from a store with the world’s most dishonest salesman?”
“The laptop’s fine,” Matt assures him. He brushes a hand over the shirt and shakes his head. “And I like this shirt,” he adds.
Foggy chews on his bottom lip. “Okay,” he says. “So, I figure there’s about a 50% chance you’re screwing with me for not answering you about the color of your shirt. That’s fine, it was an dick move, but that means there’s a 50% chance you’re serious. So next time you go shopping, I’m going with you, okay?”
Matt frowns. “He doesn’t… I don’t need help with…”
“Yeah, I know. But humor me, okay? It’s self preservation more than anything. I hang around with a guy wearing that, no girl is ever going to talk to me again. I hang around with a blind guy wearing that, and I’m also the asshole who didn’t tell him.”
Matt laughs. It is sudden and loud and full of humor, and it sounds different somehow from his usual laugh in a way Foggy can’t quite put his finger on. “Okay,” he says. “Sounds fair.” He swivels a full 360 on his chair. “Want to get a drink tonight?” he asks. “I know a place that almost never asks for ID.”
Foggy frowns and wonders again whether Matt is okay. Maybe this is Mike, his brain supplies. Foggy shakes the ridiculous thought away. Sounds good,” he says. “On one condition.”
Re: Where Matt has a real identical twin named Mike who is sighted and is Daredevil
Foggy sighs deeply as he drops down the the floor and reaches under his bed, arm swinging left and right like a pendulum in the small space, searching for his missing books. His hand locates an old sock and an unopened bag of chips. He throws the sock into his laundry hamper, then lays down on the bed to open the bag of chips.
He hasn’t seen Matt since he left that morning, and he tries not to worry about that. It isn’t that he is actually worried about Matt himself, he knows his roommate can take care of himself just fine, but their argument plays on a loop in his head and he can’t help but worry that he has damaged their friendship irreparably.
Not that it was entirely his fault, of course. Matt’s sudden and inexplicable story about an identical twin that he just hadn’t mentioned until now… Foggy finishes the last of the chips, dabs up the crumbs and salt from the bottom of the bag with a finger, and drops it in the trash just as the door opens and Matt walks in.
“Hey,” he says. He leaves his cane leaning against the wall by the door and makes his way to his desk.
Foggy glances up to answer and finds himself doing a double take. Matt has changed his clothes again, and the shirt he has chosen is easily the most hideous thing that Foggy has ever seen. “Uh, hey,” he replies.
Matt shifts uncomfortably. “About this morning…” he says.
“Forget it,” Foggy tells him. “We’ll just not mention it ever again, okay?”
Matt smiles and nods his agreement, and Foggy relaxes.
“I thought you had a class now,” he says.
“Canceled,” Matt explains. He sits down at the desk, which is when Foggy notices that he isn’t carrying his laptop bag with him. The desk is empty, and the bag doesn’t appear to be anywhere in the room.
Foggy eyes the hideous blue shirt with the pink flowers suspiciously. Matt hadn’t been wearing that when he had left that morning. Foggy remembered specifically, because he had refused to tell him what color his shirt was. He felt bad about that now, even if it was Matt’s own fault.
“Matt, are you okay?” he asks. “Did something happen?”
Matt frowns. “Like what?”
“You don’t have your laptop, and that shirt… I mean, no human being would voluntarily wear that shirt. You didn’t have some kind of an accident, break your computer, have to buy some new clothes from a store with the world’s most dishonest salesman?”
“The laptop’s fine,” Matt assures him. He brushes a hand over the shirt and shakes his head. “And I like this shirt,” he adds.
Foggy chews on his bottom lip. “Okay,” he says. “So, I figure there’s about a 50% chance you’re screwing with me for not answering you about the color of your shirt. That’s fine, it was an dick move, but that means there’s a 50% chance you’re serious. So next time you go shopping, I’m going with you, okay?”
Matt frowns. “He doesn’t… I don’t need help with…”
“Yeah, I know. But humor me, okay? It’s self preservation more than anything. I hang around with a guy wearing that, no girl is ever going to talk to me again. I hang around with a blind guy wearing that, and I’m also the asshole who didn’t tell him.”
Matt laughs. It is sudden and loud and full of humor, and it sounds different somehow from his usual laugh in a way Foggy can’t quite put his finger on. “Okay,” he says. “Sounds fair.” He swivels a full 360 on his chair. “Want to get a drink tonight?” he asks. “I know a place that almost never asks for ID.”
Foggy frowns and wonders again whether Matt is okay. Maybe this is Mike, his brain supplies. Foggy shakes the ridiculous thought away. Sounds good,” he says. “On one condition.”
“I’ll change the shirt,” Matt tells him.