Foggy’s gotten pretty decent at naming which red-themed vigilante is coming through his window in the middle of the night without even opening his eyes: Matt tries to be quiet so he doesn’t wake him up, Deadpool is talking before he even gets the window open and Peter knocks like a goddamn decent human being.
“Come in!” he yells, deciding that he won’t get out of bed until he knows if there’s an emergency or Peter just wants to raid his first aid kit and fridge.
“Sorry, Mr. Nelson,” Peter says, climbing inside and dropping lightly to the floor. “I know it’s late but I had a question.”
“Shoot, Spiderboy,” Foggy says, sitting up to see Peter lingering awkwardly close by in full Spiderman gear and oversized hoodie, backpack slung over one shoulder.
“It’s just that Mr. Murdock said that you might be willing to look over one of my essays,” Peter says, “but I kind of got distracted doing, y’know--” Peter makes a vague punching motion with a soft pow sound. “--and it’s kind of due tomorrow morning.”
“Oh my god,” Foggy says, sighing and pushing aside his sheets to get out of bed. “This is actually the least stressful thing one of you weirdos has ever asked me to do. What’s your essay about?”
“Y’know, Matt was an English major,” Foggy says, huffing out a laugh and finding a sweatshirt to pull on before he turns on the lights. “You should probably be offended that he passed you off on me.”
“What was your major?” Peter asks.
“Business,” Foggy says. “Did I ever tell you about how my mom wanted me to be a butcher?”
“You have,” Peter says, dutifully, sitting his backpack on the floor and digging through it, “but you can tell me again, if you want.”
“You’re a good kid,” Foggy says, taking the essay when Peter finds it and hands it to him. “There’s leftovers in the fridge. Go eat while I check this bad boy out.”
"You're my hero," Peter says, fervently.
Foggy's never been called that before.
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