Chapter Text
Matt hasn’t even entered his new dorm room for the first time and he already has a distaste for his roommate. He could hear him just as he was stepping into the dormitory, laughing loudly on the phone and creaking on his bed.
When he gets to the door of room 312, he can smell the heavy scent of coconut–God, he hates coconut–shampoo wafting out from under the door. There are other layers of vaguely disgusting scents, such as the chemical smell of Cheetos and a concerning amount of cheap ramen (Seriously, he has to have just moved in, how did he get this much ramen?).
His mystery roommate has since moved off the bed; Matt can no longer hear the rusty springs creaking with his every move. It's quiet save for a few scattered mouse clicks and keyboard presses and the calm rhythm of the man’s heart. Matt simply plasters on a fake smile, adjusts his sad excuse of belongings, and opens the door.
“Excuse me, is this room 312?
“Yeah, who are you looking for?”
Matt internally sighs. The guy is either being a jerk, or hasn’t looked up from where he’s sitting at his computer. “Oh, uh, sorry.”
Matt realizes that the guy finally looks up as his heart rate spikes and stays there. “What for? You’re blind, right?”
“Uh, yeah, so they tell me. I hope that won’t be a problem,” Matt grits out behind his polite smile. His knuckles grip tightly at his singular duffle bag.
“Why would it?” Matt can tell the guy is smiling. “Oh! You’re my roomie!”
Matt’s smile tightens. “Uh, Matt Murdock.”
“Foggy Nelson. Wait, Matt Murdock? Are you – You’re not from Hell’s Kitchen, are you?”
“Yeah, born and raised.”
“So am I! Yeah, I heard about you when you were a kid, what you did, saving that guy crossing the street.
“Yeah, I-I just did what anyone would have.”
“Bullshit. You’re a hero.”
Matt’s grip, impossibly, gets tighter. “I'm really not.”
“Come on! You got your peepers knocked out saving that old dude.”
“They didn't get knocked out.”
“Good, 'cause that would be a little freaky. But no offense.”
“None taken. Most people just dance around me like I’m made of glass.”
“Yeah, you're just a guy, right? A really, really good-looking guy.”
Matt had been wondering why Foggy’s heart rate was still elevated. Of course his annoying roommate thinks he’s attractive. Just another reason added to the already-lengthening list to stay away from Foggy as much as possible.
“Um,” Matt starts awkwardly.
“I mean, girls must love that, the whole wounded, handsome duck thing,” Foggy blurts out, rather loudly. “Am I right?”
“Right. Yeah, it's been known to happen.”
Matt shuffles over to his side of the room, swinging his cane around to get a feel for the size of the cramped room. He gently tosses his duffle on the bed and begins tapping his way back to the door before Foggy speaks up again.
“Hey, do you know a good place to get a cup of coffee on campus?”
Matt stills, swaying in the open doorframe to their room. “No.”
“Well, lucky for you, I do. And it's filled with luscious coeds. Wanna go?”
Matt considers it, he really does. What if he could just ignore the little crush Foggy had on him and pushed through, maybe get to know a few other students?
Matt swallows past an invisible lump in his throat and roughly responds, “I’ll think I’ll pass. I’ve still got to pick up the braille copies of my textbooks from administration. Thanks for the offer though.”
Foggy’s heart takes a sudden drop and he sounds a little less enthusiastic when he says, “No problem man! Always up for the offer, though.”
Matt nods, but figures they both know that he likely will not take up that offer any time soon. He quietly exits with a muttered goodbye.
Matt comes back to the dorm hours after the sun has set. He didn’t lie to Foggy though; he has a heavy stack of braille books in his arms.
“How’d it go?” A sleepy Foggy asks from the abyss that is Foggy’s bed.
“A, ah, ‘Professor Key’ unfortunately could not find a braille copy of the textbook from class and didn’t find any alternatives. Other than that though, pretty much fine.”
Foggy sits up straight in his bed, the creaking springs irritating Matt even more than he already is with having to talk to his roommate. “You’re kidding.”
“Alas. I’m not.” Matt says deadpan, stacking the huge pile of books on the floor at the end of his bed.
“I’m-I’m gonna go down there right now and show Columbia administration just what Franklin Nelson is made of.”
Matt can’t help but laugh. “Franklin?”
“Shhhh. You’re supposed to be telling me about how I can’t just go down and beat up what is likely an ableist old woman.”
“You really don’t need to do anything. It’s fine, I’ve had a lot worse.”
Foggy’s silent for a moment. “That does not make this any better. Now I’m looking at you with a very concerned look.”
Matt shrugs off his short sleeve shirt and shuffles over to his bed in his sweatpants, trying to ignore Foggy’s increased heartbeat once again.
“You don’t need to be concerned for me, you just met me today.” Matt tries to restrain the annoyance from leaking into his tone, and he thinks he does a pretty good job.
“Yeah, well, roomie, I just don’t find it very fair when a chill guy like you gets treated like shit.”
Matt takes off the cheap sheets on his bed and puts on his expensive silk ones.
“Seriously, don’t worry about it.”
The only response he gets is a suspicious hum before Foggy snuggles back into what Matt has decided is–after knowing him for roughly 5 hours and talking to him twice–the hazardous waste zone known as Franklin Nelson’s bed.
Matt has been getting little to no sleep since being Foggy’s roommate.
The main problem is the snoring from across the room, another is the sounds of roughly 200 other young men in the moldy, musty, beer-stained dorms around him. He can deal with plenty of heartbeats and hundreds of people going about their day-to-day lives around him. He has to, living in a city as big as New York. His problem is that this place reeks of male hormones and Mountain Dew.
But the main problem is Foggy. It’s like having a thunderstorm hanging over the room, filling it with loud thunderous shakes of snores and the humid sensation of sweat and the damp heat coming off of him in waves.
Matt considers buying a pair of noise-canceling headphones.
Or getting a room change.
Well, no, that's a little too harsh. Sure, Foggy is obnoxious with his stupid fluttering heart, cheesy jokes, his crappy cologne he uses for “library studies,” and his overly-bright laundry detergent scent, not to mention said snoring that has been keeping him up for the last two months, but he doesn't want to truly upset the guy. He can deal with it. He has to.
Yeah, he’s been running on about 3 hours of sleep a night and four shots of espresso, but it's not like Foggy’s trying to sabotage Matt by purposefully making himself smell like coconut and fresh lavender.
So that's why, when the next morning Foggy says, “No offense man, but it looks like you haven't slept in days.” Matt’s sludge of a brain replies:
“Mhm, just been…overwhelmed by all the sounds and scents here, I guess.”
“I can’t imagine what that must be like,” Foggy says as he slips on a hoodie.
“It’s controllable most of the time, just being around strong stimuli for a while really runs me down,” Matt sighs while adjusting his glasses.
“Oh my god. Do I–do I smell bad, Matt? Or is it my snoring? Or are my phone calls too loud? I'm so, so sorry-”
“Hey, Foggy, it's no big deal.”
“That's what you said when one of our professors said ‘No earbuds’ when you were using text-to-speech to read along in the textbook.”
Matt feels himself make a face, and Foggy confirms it when he says, “Crap, I am making you stressed though, aren't I?”
“You didn't know-” Matt begins gently. Matts's heart is gripped so tightly by an invisible vice full of anger it’s as if his heart is about to burst. Why is Foggy doing this? Is this some new way to make fun of people?
“No. No, Matt. Oh, God. I'm so sorry. I'm going to the store. Your ass better be here when I get back because I’m getting you a ‘Sorry for making your life hell’ gift.”
“You don't have to do that. And I think that's a bit of an overstatement. Plus we're gonna miss our first class of the day.”
His response is Foggy hopping toward the door as he pulls his second shoe on, and the door to their dorm closes briskly.
Matt doesn't really mind skipping. It's not like the professor is teaching anything that isn't in the textbook. His main problem is that Matt and Foggy somehow wound up with almost identical schedules; the only difference being Matt takes Spanish while Foggy takes Punjabi.
Matt ends up curled up on his bed, trying to get any rest that he can before Foggy returns.
Foggy changes his detergent and cologne, and starts leaving the room when he has to take phone calls. Matt also receives a pair of expensive fuzzy socks and a pair of sleeping earplugs from Foggy’s trip.
He hates it.
He doesn't understand Foggy’s kindness. Matt has done nothing but try to distance himself since he met Foggy and that just seems to make Foggy even more determined to worm his way into Matt’s life.
The mysteries of Foggy Nelson, Matt supposes bitterly.