I moved from NYC to PA to vote democrat. I'm smack in the middle of Trump country. In fact, this county was the determining factor for why PA went to Trump in 2016. I desperately miss my home, but it's important to be here now. I just met 4 LGBT kids that have been admiring the pride flag on my porch. They had never seen one openly out in town before. They deserve to grow up feeling safe with people who support them. Can you write something about Matt or Foggy's love for NYC?
“Go home,” Matt says, for the third time, after Foggy comes in to sit in front of his desk and rest his head on it, complaining about his headache.
“We have work to do,” Foggy says.
“I’ll finish the work,” Matt says, reaching over to find Foggy’s head and run his fingers through his hair. “Just order some food and I’ll pick it up on my way over later.”
“You don’t have to come over,” Foggy says. “I’m not going to be any fun.”
“Do you want me to come over?” Matt asks, raising his eyebrows.
“. . .yeah,” Foggy says, softly, always surprised by how shy and fluttery and stupid he can still feel around Matt—especially now that they’ve finally taken a big step past friendship.
“Then I’m coming over,” Matt says, standing up to lean down and press a kiss to the top of Foggy’s head, rubbing his back. “Up.”
Foggy makes a sad noise but follows the gentle tug of Matt’s hand on his arm when he helps him stand up and pulls him into a tight hug.
“You know, you’re a surprisingly competent boyfriend,” Foggy murmurs, into Matt’s shoulder. “When you wanna be.”
“I think I should be offended by that,” Matt says, “but I’ll take it as a compliment.”
“It is,” Foggy promises.
*
“Tell me what you can hear right now,” Foggy says, after they’ve eaten and turned all the lights out, sprawled out on his couch with his head in Matt’s lap. “The good stuff.”
“The good stuff,” Matt says, softly. “Give me a second.”
Foggy shifts to look at Matt’s face as he closes his eyes and tips his head back a little, fingers tracing Foggy’s face aimlessly while he listens. After a minute or two, Foggy shuts his eyes, too, lulled by the feeling of Matt’s fingers until Matt suddenly says, “Four languages.”
“Huh?” Foggy asks.
“I can hear people speaking in four different languages,” Matt says, “at least.”
“That’s really cool,” Foggy says, smiling up at him.
Matt’s fingers move to Foggy’s hair and he shifts again so Matt can pet him, making an involuntary happy noise even though his brain still feels like it’s trying to get out of his skull.
“That was one thing that helped me a lot when I was getting used to it, after the accident,” Matt says, voice low and soft. “I’d try to narrow everything down to just voices and see what languages I could recognize. I’m pretty well-versed in domestic arguments in many different languages. It really made me. . .appreciate the city more, y’know?”
“Would it be easier to live in the middle of nowhere?” Foggy asks. “Less noise, less. . .stimuli in general?”
“. . .no, I think I’d go crazy,” Matt says, laughing softly. “Imagine going from hearing everything to, like. . .only hearing. . .I don’t know, sheep.”
“And only solving sheep-based crime,” Foggy says. “I think I get it.”
“I’d rather be overwhelmed than bored,” Matt says, shrugging a little.
Foggy sits up slowly so he can curl up against Matt’s side instead, resting his head on his shoulder and settling in when Matt slips an arm around him.
“We used to go to the beach when I was a kid,” he says, slowly, trying to pick the right words out because it’s easier to listen than talk when he feels like this. “To this, like, tiny shack one of my aunts owns. We were supposed to relax, which I’ve always been bad at, but I barely slept because all I could hear was the ocean and not. . .”
“Everything,” Matt says, smiling.
“Yeah, I can’t sleep unless I can hear car alarms and music and constant--stuff,” Foggy says. “That’s what this city does to people.”
"I like it,” Matt says.
Foggy smiles and moves to kiss him on the cheek. He doesn’t think he could ever have the same connection to the city that Matt does because his scope is limited in comparison but. . .
“I like it, too,” he says. “Just not so much right now. Can you go fight whoever is apparently bowling upstairs?”
“It really does sound like bowling,” Matt says, curiously. “I brought you earplugs, though, so I don’t think I’ll have to fight them. You ready to sleep?”
"Mmm hmm,” Foggy hums, yawning and letting himself be hauled to his feet and steered toward his bedroom. "You don’t have to go out tonight, Daredevil? Keep the city safe?”
“I’d rather focus on keeping you safe tonight,” Matt says and Foggy’s breath catches a little.
I’ll prioritize you over justice sounds a lot like I love you in Matt language.
