Chapter Text
Matt awoke to an empty bed, a pounding head, and the sounds of Foggy quietly humming to himself while he made breakfast. The shower to the right of Matt’s form was running behind a closed door, so something ice cold to jump-start himself for the day was out of the question. The scent of coffee had permeated the apartment, so the secondary choice was not a bad one by any stretch.
Matt stood and scratched at his chest, then padded his way out to the kitchen where Foggy shifted from foot to foot.
“It should be illegal for you to be so upbeat after last night.” Matt groaned as he made his way to the carafe of life-giving coffee.
“My secret is that I don’t over indulge. Unlike some people…” He stirred the eggs he was scrambling in the pan. “You owe me another bottle, by the way.” Foggy’s words were, as always, good-natured. He leaned an elbow out to catch Matt in the side as Matt raised up onto his toes to reach his coffee mugs.
“‘Mornin’.” Frank’s baritone came from the doorway that led to Matt’s bedroom, and Matt froze at the feeling of eyes on his back. Stretched up for a mug. The moment was over in an instant, and Matt sank back to his heels as he picked up the carafe by the handle.
“So…” Foggy sounded like he was about to reveal a big secret. That was never a good sign. “How long have you two been dating?” At least he’d kept his voice down to a register it was likely only Matt could hear.
Matt spluttered, having just raised the hot coffee to his lips as Foggy’s question filled the relative silence. Matt set his coffee down, wished the pounding in his head away, (which, of course, did nothing), and leaned into his best friend. “We are not dating, Foggy.” Matt whispered urgently into his friend’s ear.
“Ri-i-i-ight…” Foggy whispered back. He playfully knocked his shoulder into Matt’s. It was confusing, his friend being so… okay with that thought. “I’m blind too, obviously, and can’t see the way you two are with each other. Totally didn’t wake up to you two dancing together last night, either. Must have dreamed it.”
Foggy sounded too smug, and Matt slapped his arm playfully even as he listened intently to Frank getting dressed in the next room, the door still open, for any sign that he was hearing their conversation. That steady heart in his chest ‘lub-dubbed’ in its normal pattern, however.
“We’re not dating, Foggy.” His friend was smart. Certainly, he’d be able to understand the context of his words.
Foggy nodded. “Got it.” He hummed as Frank stepped out of the bedroom. His friend turned around and gasped loudly. “Oh my God, he stole your clothes.” The whisper seemed to be low enough that Frank didn’t hear it, or at least, it didn’t do anything to him if it did. His heart beat continued its march, and Frank didn’t miss a step as he moved in beside Matt.
“Didn’t make me a cup?” He grunted out, and yeah, he must have been feeling the hangover, too, for his voice to sound that rough without any major injuries.
“Didn’t know if you were staying.” Matt said pointedly, did his best not to look at Foggy as he did so.
“Food, coffee, ibuprofen. Then I’ll leave.” Frank’s words were matter-of-fact, but there was a smile in them that made something warm swell up in Matt’s chest.
Matt opened the cabinet door and reached for another mug, but Frank reached as well, his hand fell to Matt’s hip to steady himself as their hands touched over two different mugs.
“Oh, um, I’ll-” Matt retracted his hand like he’d been burned, and Foggy let out a strangled noise that earned him a glare from Matt as he sank back to his feet.
Foggy, meanwhile, had opened another cabinet door and seemed to be searching for plates. “Top left.” Frank said, and Matt heard the “swoosh” of air as the man made a gesture behind his shoulders.
There definitely wasn’t a flush to Matt’s cheeks. He was still a bit drunk, obviously. Hangovers could still happen while you were a little intoxicated, right?
Frank poured himself a coffee, still so close that Matt could feel the space where their hips almost touched like electricity was bouncing between them.
With breakfast on plates, simple scrambled eggs and toast, and coffee in hand, they all made their way to the couch.
Breakfast was a quiet affair, once Matt had thanked Foggy for cooking, and soon enough both lawyers were being ushered out the door by the time. They would be late, but Karen probably wouldn’t mind.
His best friend waited about thirty seconds before he started in on Matt. Their feet hit the stairwell in thumps that hurt his head, the ibuprofen hadn’t kicked in yet, but Foggy was all geared up.
“What the fuck did I just witness, Matthew Murdock?” The full name. He was in trouble.
“A wonderful breakfast shared amongst friends.” He was laying on the flattery a little thickly, but it didn’t work.
“No, I witnessed a couple of idiots making moon-eyes at each other all night, only to wake up and act like I was the unknowing third-wheel!” Foggy shouted as they moved onto the street.
“I thought you didn’t like Frank. What he does, at least.” Matt asked lightly, doing his best to block out the city noise.
“I don’t. You don’t. But that doesn’t change the fact that you two were dancing to Patsy Cline last night. Like teenagers. I swear to God, I thought I was having the weirdest dream until I looked at the clock.” Foggy was waving his hands in the air, shouting, and attracting the notice of a few passers-by. Matt felt his face heat at the attention.
“If you wouldn’t mind keeping this conversation to ourselves- Wait. What does the clock have to do with it?” Matt asked, a subtle deflection, one he hoped would work.
No such luck.
“Everyone knows clocks look weird in dreams. You’re not supposed to look at them, like liminal spaces. Not the point. The point is that you two slept in the same bed after getting drunk together and dancing like you were at the prom. Then, you try to tell me that you two aren’t dating?” Foggy’s words stabbed through him uncomfortably.
“We aren’t. He’s just… we’re just…” They were standing at a light, a crowd of people crushing in on them. Thankfully, none of them were paying more attention than a quick glance.
“Just what, Matty?” Foggy’s voice had softened. A thread of understanding that Matt did not want to hear wove its way into the words.
Matt sighed, felt the weight of the prior months and all that had happened settle on his shoulders. “We’re not dating, but we’re not… nothing. Not to me, at least. We can talk about it later, though.”
Foggy, for once, acquiesced to his request. They finished the walk to the office in silence. He didn’t even bring it up at lunch, bless him. Just split a sandwich with him in the break room while Karen went over new potential cases in between bites of her pasta.
Towards the end of the day, Matt began preparing himself to go home to an empty apartment. He was sure Frank would have left a little after they did, having no reason to stay. Matt wasn’t injured or recovering. So, he wasn’t expecting him to be there making dinner, or reading on the couch, or quietly cleaning while dinner baked in the oven.
__________________________
Frank stood alone in Red’s apartment, taking in the morning in hind-sight. It hadn’t been awkward for any particular reason, but rather quiet. He hadn’t liked it. Still, the simple breakfast had stopped some of the riotous pounding in his head, at least.
For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to do. The door had closed behind Red and Foggy as they left for the office, Foggy in his wrinkled suit and Matt in a pressed one. Nothing had seemed entirely out of the ordinary from the time when he’d been living with Red, making sure he took care of himself and his brain. Could that have been it? That he’d settled back into that after so much time spent living in his own space again?
He meandered, idly wondering whether he should just leave but not wanting to, just yet. He’d lived here, after all. Read Matt novels on that couch instead of watching movies at night. Strummed his guitar while Matt had been out at the bodega or off working in the office. The space still felt like it was home.
So, even though he was unsure why he was doing it, he loitered.
Drank more coffee, picked up the last novel he’d been reading to Matt on their last slow night for a while, but made sure to leave the receipt for it in the page they’d left off on. He would have kicked a rock around the space if he had had one.
When noon rolled around, Frank found himself fresh out of excuses to stay in the apartment. He’d cleaned up the dishes from breakfast and put them away, de-scaled the coffee pot, even made the bed. Unless he was going to scrub the toilet, there was no reason to stay.
At three, having sat on the couch after picking up the book once more for a while, he realized that Matt would be returning soon. Red was going to come home, find him in his apartment, and… what?
What would happen?
Would Matt tell him to leave? Gather his things for a patrol? Step in close to him and…? What? What would he need to step in close, for, anyways? Why did just the thought of them, being close, make Frank’s heart jump in his chest?
What did it matter, anyways? It wasn’t like they hadn’t been through the exact same scenario while Matt was recovering, right? Back then, he’d come home to Frank reading on the couch and just start dinner, or stir the pot or check the oven if Frank was cooking something. Or join him on the couch with the take out that had been left in the corridor. Listen to Frank’s music while they ate in comfortable silence.
Frank shoved the thought of how much he had missed those days into the recesses of his mind. Tried and failed to pick up where he’d left off in the book. It took him too long to realize he’d been reading the same paragraph over and over again.
Frustrated, he’d been getting back into his clothes from the night prior, having shucked off the ones he’d borrowed from Matt that morning, when the door opened. Red stepped in, and his head turned right towards Frank.
“You’re still here.” The words left his mouth with something like awe, even if Frank disregarded that as impossible.
“Yeah, I uh, was just about to head out.” Frank finished pulling on his jeans, and watched Matt’s brow furrow.
“You know, you can stay.” The words were so matter-of-fact, it froze Frank in his half-bent position, reaching for the wrinkled tee-shirt he’d left on the ground.
“Well, uh, I didn’t want to impose or-”
“You’re not.” Frank wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. Matt’s were twisting in front of himself, something Frank had never seen from the smaller man. “We could… order some thai? I’ve been wondering how that book ends…”
They stood in a silence that, for all intents and purposes, should not have been as awkward as it was.
Finally, Frank found his voice. “Yeah, I could uh, I could stay for that.”
Matt smiled, looking relieved, and Frank’s heart kicked in his chest. “Would you like to patrol? After, I mean?”
“Sure, yeah. We could do that.”
Routine came back like it’d never been interrupted. They both found the rhythm they once knew so well easily, once the initial moment was over. Settled on the couch, Matt’s feet on his lap because the guy was a fuckin’ princess and wanted his feet up, Frank read from their original bookmark until the Thai was delivered. They ate to the sounds of Stevie Nicks, The Stones, and CCR. They chatted between bites about Matt’s day as a fully-functioning citizen.
Later, they patrolled for a few hours, but found nothing more than petty criminals that Frank made sure were still breathing by the time the cops were called on them.
When they returned in the small hours of the morning, Frank stole new clothes from Matt and left the other man to get changed, but when he emerged, he found the guy in the sweats and shirt Frank had been stretching out all day. They hung a bit looser than they should have, but Matt didn’t say anything about it, and Frank, for all he was worth, wasn’t about to either. They simply crawled into bed, like they’d done plenty of times before. Matt had moved to the furthest edge he could find from Frank, which only sat with him for about two minutes before Frank was pulling that form into his chest.
There was no protest, no reasons why they shouldn’t, just the quiet dark and whispered, “good night”’s.