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There are a great many things about living with Foggy Nelson that Matt is still getting used to. Foggy might've adjusted to having a blind roommate well enough that he's pretty good about keeping his things out of the way. Still, somehow there are always stray socks on the floor, singles laid out in weird places - and really, how many pairs does the guy go through in a day because for the life of him, Matt can't make the numbers add up. Foggy snores and occasionally talks in his sleep, (though Matt doesn't mind the latter so much because it's funny.) He's overly fond of highly-processed cheese-flavored snacks. When they're studying, Foggy has this weird habit of repeatedly combing his hair back into a ponytail only to tug it out again minutes later in some weird, rinse-and-repeat cycle.
Of all the strange things he does, the one that always seems to perplex Matt the most is that Foggy sings. A lot. And badly.
He sings under his breath when he's making breakfast at their little kitchenette. He sings when he's tidying, loudly because his earphones block the sound. He tends to sing more when Matt's not there, although Matt can always hear him from the ground floor when he comes back from classes. And Foggy goes full-on Broadway diva in the showers down the hall, which never fails to leave Matt snickering over his textbooks as he hears the poor saps with rooms closest to the communal showers grumbling about it.
Music isn't something Matt fully understands (although the noises that Foggy produces some days can hardly be considered 'music' in even the broadest sense.) It was never a huge part of his life growing up, and the most experience he had with it was the classic rock that sometimes played over the grainy speakers in the gym where his dad trained. After Jack Murdock died, Matt's music was fairly limited to hymnals at Mass. It wasn't like the nuns let them sit around listening to Top 40 radio. Stick, of course, hated music, claiming it was sentimental distractions, and for a long time, Matt held onto that belief.
(This would all change when Foggy's grandfather leaves him a vintage record player, and Matt falls in love with the crackle and hiss of vinyl coming to life, but that's a different story altogether.)
Matt gets the story of Foggy's love of music one night when they're stumbling home from the local dive bar, celebrating passing their first semester of law school. Foggy's leaning against Matt just as much as leading him, belting out some show tune from a play Matt's sure he's never heard of - something about a cat, he thinks, but that's ridiculous because who sings about cats?
"You sing a lot," Matt points out after Foggy collapses into laughter in the middle of the chorus.
"Because music is good," Foggy says emphatically. "Should come to my house for Christmas, whole family sings. Nelsons like to sing."
"Are they all as bad as you?" Matt asks, smirking.
"Hey!" Foggy objects, removing his arm from Matt's shoulders to shove him lightly. Caught off guard, Matt trips off the sidewalk into the snow. Foggy calls out, "Bench!" a split second before Matt hits it with his leg. Matt collapses onto the cold metal, laughing, and a moment later, Foggy slumps down next to him.
"I sing great," says Foggy, picking up the thread of conversation again. "Did all kindsa plays when I was a kid. S'a Nelson thing. Got lead roles all through el'mentry school."
"What happened?" Matt asks, sensing there's more to the story.
"Prubety," Foggy says sagely. Then he frowns and giggles. "Pru-ber-ty. Prube- Ah, shit, you know what I mean."
"Puberty?" Matt offers between laughs.
"Yeah, that one," says Foggy. "Traded in my pretty singin' voice for this manly sexy voice." Matt snorts. "Shut up, you know it's sexy." Foggy's head falls against the back of the bench, and he lets out a gusty breath. "Rest the fam still does 'em though. Plays. Meg was gonna go Broadway, 'fore she got pregnant and decided she'd rather repopulate the earth with little Nelson-Rodriguez hybrids."
Matt cocks his head, trying to pinpoint the emotion under the slur. "You miss it?"
"Sometimes," Foggy agrees. That's one thing Matt loves about his new best friend; Foggy doesn't pussyfoot or try to hide his feelings behind machismo. If he's feeling something, he has no problems admitting to it. Matt wishes he can be that brave. "Liked being up there in front o' people. S'why I 'cided to become a lawyer, you know?"
"Cause you're an attention whore?"
Foggy huffs and shoves Matt again. "I've just always been good at talking in front of people. Theatre teacher suggested I try debate, and I was good. Damn good." Foggy sighs and then stands up with a groan. "C'mon, let's go home. This bench is freezing, so unless you're gonna use your bat-senses to find us a hot chick to warm me up before my ass turns into a butt-cicle, let's get inside."
"Butt-cicle," Matt echoes with a giggle. He holds out a hand and lets Foggy pull him to his feet, and then they stagger back to their dorm with their arms around each other.
After that day, Foggy becomes a little less shy about singing in front of Matt, and Matt never complains. He can hear it, now, the way that the music makes Foggy's heart rate pick up. Smells the endorphins. Music makes Foggy happy, and some strange part of Matt that still isn't used to the idea of having friends finds he enjoys things that made Foggy happy.
And when Matt gets cajoled into going home for winter break with Foggy, he discovers that his friend wasn't exaggerating. All of the Nelsons sing, even his eighty-something-year-old gran who wheezes her way through a string of Christmas carols with the best of them. Some of them, like Foggy's dad and two of his sisters, are even really good at it.
Matt might be just a little biased, but he still prefers Foggy's off-key, uninhibited singing.