“I know what this is, it’s a delayed reaction hangover,” Foggy announces gleefully as he stands over Matt’s bed. “Payback for you calling me a lightweight yesterday.”
Matt rolls over to face him, wearing a pained expression. His skin is too pale, clammy, his hair is flat and stuck to his brow by the sheen of sweat that covers his face. His cheeks are flush with fever. He really does look terrible. Foggy feels a pang of guilt for his mocking tone.
“You want some water or something?” He asks. Without waiting for an answer, he grabs a bottle from the mini fridge they keep in the corner of the room and taps Matt on the back of the hand with it.
Matt shakes his head and begins to kick off his covers.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?”
“Class,” Matt says. His voice comes out as a hoarse, croaky whisper.
Foggy almost laughs. “Yeah, right. You’re barely fit to get to the bathroom on your own. What kind of a roommate would I be if I let you go walking around in that condition?
“The kind that doesn’t want me to fail my classes,” Matt tells him.
“You couldn’t fail if you tried.” Foggy reaches down and gently pushes Matt back down onto the mattress. To his surprise, he meets very little resistance. “I’ll take notes,” he promises.
Matt shakes his head. “I can’t read them.”
Shit. He hadn’t thought of that. Foggy chews thoughtfully on his bottom lip. “I’ll type them up and e-mail them to you,” he says. “No, better yet, gimme that dictaphone thing you use. I’ll record the whole class, type up my notes of anything else you might need to know, and if there are any worksheets or handouts, they’ll have done one in Braille for you, so I’ll be able to just collect it when I pick up my own.”
Matt opens his mouth to answer but instead, a nasty sounding cough erupts from somewhere deep inside his chest. Foggy winces in sympathy.
“I’m going to take that as a yes,” Foggy tells him. “Frankly, if you turn up to class looking and sounding like that, nobody’s going to be impressed, they’re just going to wonder what the hell you were thinking. And be pissed at you when they all come down with it too.”
“Okay,” Matt says.
Foggy blinks. “Really? Wow, that was easier than I expected, you must be sicker than I thought.” He opens the bottle of water and offers it to Matt again. “I know you’re going to think I’m mother-henning you, but drink the water, okay? You don’t want to get dehydrated on top of everything else. Want me to pick you up anything on the way back? Tylenol, Gatorade, maybe one of those ice pack things people always put on their head on TV when they’re sick?”
Matt shakes his head slowly, but accepts the bottle of water and takes a sip. He winces as he swallows, but has another sip before he puts it down. Foggy nods, satisfied for now. He grabs the dictaphone from the desk next to Matt’s computer and shoves it it in his pocket.
“Back in a couple of hours,” he says. He grabs his jacket as he exits the room. Matt doesn’t answer, he is already asleep.
Re: Where Matt has a real identical twin named Mike who is sighted and is Daredevil
Matt rolls over to face him, wearing a pained expression. His skin is too pale, clammy, his hair is flat and stuck to his brow by the sheen of sweat that covers his face. His cheeks are flush with fever. He really does look terrible. Foggy feels a pang of guilt for his mocking tone.
“You want some water or something?” He asks. Without waiting for an answer, he grabs a bottle from the mini fridge they keep in the corner of the room and taps Matt on the back of the hand with it.
Matt shakes his head and begins to kick off his covers.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?”
“Class,” Matt says. His voice comes out as a hoarse, croaky whisper.
Foggy almost laughs. “Yeah, right. You’re barely fit to get to the bathroom on your own. What kind of a roommate would I be if I let you go walking around in that condition?
“The kind that doesn’t want me to fail my classes,” Matt tells him.
“You couldn’t fail if you tried.” Foggy reaches down and gently pushes Matt back down onto the mattress. To his surprise, he meets very little resistance. “I’ll take notes,” he promises.
Matt shakes his head. “I can’t read them.”
Shit. He hadn’t thought of that. Foggy chews thoughtfully on his bottom lip. “I’ll type them up and e-mail them to you,” he says. “No, better yet, gimme that dictaphone thing you use. I’ll record the whole class, type up my notes of anything else you might need to know, and if there are any worksheets or handouts, they’ll have done one in Braille for you, so I’ll be able to just collect it when I pick up my own.”
Matt opens his mouth to answer but instead, a nasty sounding cough erupts from somewhere deep inside his chest. Foggy winces in sympathy.
“I’m going to take that as a yes,” Foggy tells him. “Frankly, if you turn up to class looking and sounding like that, nobody’s going to be impressed, they’re just going to wonder what the hell you were thinking. And be pissed at you when they all come down with it too.”
“Okay,” Matt says.
Foggy blinks. “Really? Wow, that was easier than I expected, you must be sicker than I thought.” He opens the bottle of water and offers it to Matt again. “I know you’re going to think I’m mother-henning you, but drink the water, okay? You don’t want to get dehydrated on top of everything else. Want me to pick you up anything on the way back? Tylenol, Gatorade, maybe one of those ice pack things people always put on their head on TV when they’re sick?”
Matt shakes his head slowly, but accepts the bottle of water and takes a sip. He winces as he swallows, but has another sip before he puts it down. Foggy nods, satisfied for now. He grabs the dictaphone from the desk next to Matt’s computer and shoves it it in his pocket.
“Back in a couple of hours,” he says. He grabs his jacket as he exits the room. Matt doesn’t answer, he is already asleep.