i'm going to take you texting me at ass in the morning asking me about our 10am meeting as a good sign that you're home and alive.
[it's not like foggy can stop matt from doing what he thinks he has to do. but he's also thinking this is why his friend can't get himself to sleep; too much adrenaline? either way, at least he's not unconscious in the gutter or up on a rooftop.]
want to talk about tonight? i could head over. we can discuss our client's situation.
[ He does, indeed, go through the effort of saying and punctuating this. Matt is blind, but he isn't blind to the way Foggy talks. He knows him. Knows what he means, especially when he puts emphasis on 'you're home and alive'. But that doesn't mean he readily replies to his suggestion, the unsaid request to just come check up on him to see how bad he's bleeding (arguably, not terrible, but not great either — still, Matt has become used to stitching himself up).
It's a few minutes of tense thought before he replies. Gives him not necessarily a no, not necessarily a yes, either. ]
[now, here’s the thing: foggy knows that it’s not fair of him to put matt on the spot, even if he personally thinks that this whole thing that he does is reckless and, at times, stupid. he is also aware that matt could very well leave him out of his vigilantism if he deems foggy as too nagging or just interfering in what he thinks must be done.
it’s a very thin line between being unable to stop worrying over his best friend and not wanting to do too much of it as to not have him be closed off from everyone.]
i really hate that every time i want to go over to hang out, you’re going to think that it’s because i’m “secretly” trying to check if you’re bleeding on the couch.
[at least they have a level of openness with one another. and, since it was neither a no nor a yes...]
i’ll head over and we can discuss our client’s case. i really need to go over this opening statement with you, man.
i promise i won’t say anything about your appearance or anything. other than ‘maybe stop being so handsome’, because you’ll probably need that ego boost.
okay?
[they both can’t sleep, wired as they may be for different things. foggy thinks this might help.]
[ Matt lets his back dig into the back of the couch, head angled slightly towards the screen reader that reads out Foggy's texts message by message. He imagines his voice in his head with every word that's pronounced, gently lets the full weight of his head rest on the cushion.
And then— there's a wry sort of smile. He's right, tends to always be when he reads him hook, line, and sinker. It's freeing in a way, to be read so easily between the lines like this. Foggy makes it a little less scary — arguably manages this with a lot of things — the thought of him coming over while he's like this. ]
I'm handsome, though? I didn't even know.
[ Teasing. Goading. Purposely obtuse because Foggy has told Matt enough how good looking he is. Then there's a beat or two of silence, a quiet 'but' that precursors his— ]
Okay.
[ And he's up, gently moving off the couch to wander over to his fridge to see if he has anything to offer Foggy when he arrives (all with a slow, careful and strained gait). ]
We can run over your opening statement and work through some talking points we need to hit. I'll be here.
[that’s the thing with having the responsibility of being matt’s best friend: patience, and being able to read between the lines at all those things left unsaid. they used to be inseparable, once upon a time, when the playing field was even (yes, even, despite matt being blind), but now with this daredevil side gig (or main gig?) that matt’s got going on, it’s hard for foggy to feel like they are even in the same planet at times.
to be able to touch base on these small things that are still them is important to him, and it’s important also for matt, he bets. to make that clear line between matt the lawyer and matt the vigilante.
foggy worries, and yet this is one of the very few things he can focus on doing.
he leaves matt a couple of messages for when he’s heading out, to keep his friend in the loop, and takes a sideturn into a deli to buy some very late night pulled-beef tacos. god bless new york, the city that never sleeps.
this does eat up some extra minutes of his arrival time, but foggy makes it quite alright, helping himself inside the apartment after checking to see if the door was locked or not.]
You know— you’re not allowed to tell me to be careful because it’s late at night when you leave your door unlocked.
[maybe he left it for foggy! but his point stands. the apartment is, unsurprisingly, in the dark, but for the neon-bright light that spills in through the tall windows; there is some light coming from the kitchen’s sink area, and foggy helps himself further inside, setting his bag of goodies on the dining table, his backpack on a chair.]
Do I get to comment on how you look?
[not on a handsome scale! but on a ‘you look like shit scale’.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[blaming him for it, that's right.]
i'm going to take you texting me at ass in the morning asking me about our 10am meeting as a good sign that you're home and alive.
[it's not like foggy can stop matt from doing what he thinks he has to do. but he's also thinking this is why his friend can't get himself to sleep; too much adrenaline? either way, at least he's not unconscious in the gutter or up on a rooftop.]
want to talk about tonight? i could head over.
we can discuss our client's situation.
no subject
[ He does, indeed, go through the effort of saying and punctuating this. Matt is blind, but he isn't blind to the way Foggy talks. He knows him. Knows what he means, especially when he puts emphasis on 'you're home and alive'. But that doesn't mean he readily replies to his suggestion, the unsaid request to just come check up on him to see how bad he's bleeding (arguably, not terrible, but not great either — still, Matt has become used to stitching himself up).
It's a few minutes of tense thought before he replies. Gives him not necessarily a no, not necessarily a yes, either. ]
You don't have to, Foggy.
I'll be fine.
You should get some rest.
no subject
it’s a very thin line between being unable to stop worrying over his best friend and not wanting to do too much of it as to not have him be closed off from everyone.]
i really hate that every time i want to go over to hang out, you’re going to think that it’s because i’m “secretly” trying to check if you’re bleeding on the couch.
[at least they have a level of openness with one another. and, since it was neither a no nor a yes...]
i’ll head over and we can discuss our client’s case.
i really need to go over this opening statement with you, man.
i promise i won’t say anything about your appearance or anything. other than ‘maybe stop being so handsome’, because you’ll probably need that ego boost.
okay?
[they both can’t sleep, wired as they may be for different things. foggy thinks this might help.]
no subject
Just this time.
[ Matt lets his back dig into the back of the couch, head angled slightly towards the screen reader that reads out Foggy's texts message by message. He imagines his voice in his head with every word that's pronounced, gently lets the full weight of his head rest on the cushion.
And then— there's a wry sort of smile. He's right, tends to always be when he reads him hook, line, and sinker. It's freeing in a way, to be read so easily between the lines like this. Foggy makes it a little less scary — arguably manages this with a lot of things — the thought of him coming over while he's like this. ]
I'm handsome, though? I didn't even know.
[ Teasing. Goading. Purposely obtuse because Foggy has told Matt enough how good looking he is. Then there's a beat or two of silence, a quiet 'but' that precursors his— ]
Okay.
[ And he's up, gently moving off the couch to wander over to his fridge to see if he has anything to offer Foggy when he arrives (all with a slow, careful and strained gait). ]
We can run over your opening statement and work through some talking points we need to hit.
I'll be here.
Be careful, it's late at night.
no subject
[that’s the thing with having the responsibility of being matt’s best friend: patience, and being able to read between the lines at all those things left unsaid. they used to be inseparable, once upon a time, when the playing field was even (yes, even, despite matt being blind), but now with this daredevil side gig (or main gig?) that matt’s got going on, it’s hard for foggy to feel like they are even in the same planet at times.
to be able to touch base on these small things that are still them is important to him, and it’s important also for matt, he bets. to make that clear line between matt the lawyer and matt the vigilante.
foggy worries, and yet this is one of the very few things he can focus on doing.
he leaves matt a couple of messages for when he’s heading out, to keep his friend in the loop, and takes a sideturn into a deli to buy some very late night pulled-beef tacos. god bless new york, the city that never sleeps.
this does eat up some extra minutes of his arrival time, but foggy makes it quite alright, helping himself inside the apartment after checking to see if the door was locked or not.]
You know— you’re not allowed to tell me to be careful because it’s late at night when you leave your door unlocked.
[maybe he left it for foggy! but his point stands. the apartment is, unsurprisingly, in the dark, but for the neon-bright light that spills in through the tall windows; there is some light coming from the kitchen’s sink area, and foggy helps himself further inside, setting his bag of goodies on the dining table, his backpack on a chair.]
Do I get to comment on how you look?
[not on a handsome scale! but on a ‘you look like shit scale’.]