#eschatologies

What kind of tree is that?

Artis-tree

Matt didn’t actually mean to push Foggy into the pool, but they’re both way too drunk to be near this much water, and Matt’s bare feet slip on tile and he grabs Foggy around the waist to try to steady himself. It doesn’t work. It really doesn’t work, it does the opposite of working, because they both end up toppling into the pool and going under.

Matt surfaces and coughs up water, laughing hard, and Foggy follows him a few seconds later, only he’s not laughing.

“Sorry,” Matt says, grinning apologetically at him until he smells something new. It smells like the ocean, like salt, a little bit like fish but not in an unbearable way. He makes a curious noise and drifts closer to Foggy, whose breath catches.

“So,” Foggy says, weakly. “You know I said I don’t swim because I don’t like taking my shirt off in public?”

“Yeah,” Matt says. He might not have done this if it weren’t for all the tequila in his body right now, but he reaches out slowly to touch Foggy’s stomach under the water, listening to Foggy’s racing heart race even faster.

Matt slides his hand to Foggy’s hip and gasps.

“It’s genetic,” Foggy says. “I didn’t even get to talk to a sea witch, it really sucks.” 

Their whole apartment smells like cinnamon and nutmeg and pumpkin and melted butter and a few other things that make Matt breathe deeply and sigh when he steps inside.

“Stress baking already?” he asks, smiling at Foggy and shrugging out of his jacket, who’s moving around the kitchen erratically. “It’s barely October.” 

“Law school is killing me,” Foggy says. “Head’s up, I’m handing you a muffin that’s problem going to make you fall in love with me.”

Too late, Matt thinks, feeling a definite tiny pang in his heart as his smile falters until he takes a bite of the warm muffin that Foggy presses into his hand. The smell hits him first, everything blended together perfectly, and it’s so good that he moans a little, going quiet when Foggy’s heartbeat picks up.

“It’s great,” he says, with his mouth full.

“Thanks,” Foggy says, wiping his hands together before boosting himself up to sit on the countertop. “Maybe I can start up a bakery after I finally fail out of school.” 

“You’re not gonna fail,” Matt says, taking another bite of the muffin before he sits it down carefully and moves closer to Foggy, reaching out until his fingers brush against Foggy’s knee. “I would definitely pay money for these muffins, though.” 

There’s Foggy’s heart again. It comes and goes, how it speeds up around Matt. It’s been awhile since it’s seemed so--possible. 

“Feel free to abandon your law dreams with me, then,” Foggy says, kicking his foot out to nudge Matt’s leg gently. “You can use your ridiculous muscles and hand mix everything, we’ll be a hit.” 

“Just say the word,” Matt says, smiling up at him, leaving his hand on Foggy’s knee. He wants to keep eating that muffin. He wants to kiss Foggy. He wants to feed a muffin to Foggy and then kiss him afterward. 

“Can I help you with something, there, buddy?” Foggy asks, a little nervously. 

“Yeah,” Matt says, reaching up to brush Foggy’s hair away from his face. “Did you eat one already?” 

“Oh, I ate three,” Foggy says, laughing, “because everything is terrible.” 

“Good,” Matt says, softly, pushing up to kiss him and taste the cinnamon on his tongue. Foggy goes still before he kisses him back, spreading his legs so Matt can stand between them.

“Less terrible now,” Foggy breathes, when they break apart.