Matt freezes mid-slurp, noodles suspended between mouth and the chopsticks in his right hand. His left hand has, for maybe the first time all day, stopped scratching at his chest. “Hm?”

“You’ve been scratching for, like, three days now. Are you okay? Is there--” he lowers his voice even more. “Is there some awful new wound that’s healing under there or something?”

Matt slurps the noodles the rest of the way into his mouth and chuckles. “I’m fine, Foggy. Besides, I have not been scratching for--”

“You’re doing it right now.”

Matt’s mouth pulls down into a petulant frown and he drops his left hand to the table. “I’m fine,” he says. “No more scratching.”

They go back to eating in silence, and it isn’t long before Matt’s leg starts bouncing, fast, shaking the whole table. His left hand is curled into a tight fist, and he looks immensely uncomfortable.

“Matt, come on,” Foggy says.

“I’m fine!”

“You’re grimacing.”

“I’m not--oh damn it.” And then he’s scratching again.

As kind of funny as it is, Foggy feels his eyebrows furrow in concern. “How long has this been going on?”

“I dunno, maybe a week?”

“Have you had any other symptoms? Fever, headache--”

“No, Foggy!” Matt interrupts with a smile. “I swear, I’m fine.”

Foggy takes another bite of his udon miso carbonara and watches Matt with narrowed eyes. He’s said that before. One time he said that and nearly died in the car a few minutes later while Foggy rushed him to the hospital.

Foggy’s determined not to let that happen again.

xxx

The walk back to Matt’s apartment is filled mostly with Foggy talking about various people he knows who have had rashes that turned out to be horrible illnesses--lupus, meningitis, lyme disease, measles chicken pox shingles syphilis--

“I do not have syphilis!” Matt cries, nudging Foggy in the ribs.

“Ow!” Foggy says with a laugh as they walk into Matt’s apartment building. “Okay, yeah it’s probably not syphilis.”

Matt turns to Foggy as he lets them both into his apartment. “Wait, so your great uncle Percy had syphilis? The great uncle Percy that you got your middle name from?”

“He was a great man! Also, please don’t tell any of my family that you know, it’s supposed to be a secret.”

Matt laughs, but it quickly dies off as the skin on his chest flares up again and he finds himself scratching at it once again. It’s been driving him crazy for over a week now, alternating between crazy itchy and stinging, with only brief intervals of blessed relief from both.

“Let me see,” Foggy says, and his voice is surprisingly gentle.

Matt sighs and unbuttons his shirt. He knows there are bumps, some of them probably raw from the scratching, but he has no idea what it looks like, only that Foggy draws in a sharp breath.

“God, Matty.”

“That bad?”

“I mean, it’s not great. I’m calling Claire.”

“Don’t do that,” Matt says, balking at the idea. He’s fairly sure Claire will not enjoy a phone call from them on a Saturday night. She won’t enjoy a call from them any time, but on her night off? Nu uh. The poor woman needs her rest. “I’ll just get some hydrocortisone cream or something, don’t call Claire.”

“It’s too late, I just hit call!”

Matt can hear the phone ringing a second later and groans loudly. He hates that Foggy has turned the keyboard sounds off on his phone so Matt can’t hear him typing anymore.

“Foggy…”

“It’s a video call.”

“Foggy!”

Before he can snatch the phone away, Claire’s voice greets him.

“What did he do this time, Foggy?”

“Nothing!” Matt calls at the same time Foggy says, “He’s got some kind of rash!”

“You--you called me for a rash? Oh, Foggy. That’s what GPs are for! For fuck’s sake…”

“I’m sorry Claire!” Matt says.

“Look, you know he won’t go in unless he’s dying, and even then...Could you just take a look and make sure it’s nothing serious? If it is I’ll drag him to urgent care myself, I promise.”

There’s a long pause, with Matt contemplating how he’s going to get away with murdering his law partner, when Claire finally sighs loudly.

“Fine, show me.”

“Here,” Foggy says. “Can you see that?”

“Yeah, I can see it. Does it itch at all, or hurt?”

“Uh, kind of both,” Matt says. “Mostly itches like crazy.”

“Have you gotten any new soap lately, or laundry detergent?”

Matt is taken aback at the question, and it takes him a second to answer. “Yeah. Yeah, actually, the stuff I got at the bodega was discontinued so I had to get their new stuff.”

“I think you may be allergic,” Claire says. “That looks like contact dermatitis. I can get you some cream that should help with the itching and any swelling, in the meantime you need to stop using that detergent.”

“Right,” Matt says, desperately trying to hide his embarrassment. “I, uh, I will do that. Thanks, Claire. And sorry.”

“Yeah, thanks Claire!” Foggy says.

“And?”

“...And sorry.”

“Good. Next time you call me on my day off, someone better be dying. Actually no, you know what? If someone is dying, call 911.”

“Got it,” Foggy says, but she’s already hung up.

And Matt has crossed the room and picked up a pillow, which he launches at Foggy’s head, hitting him dead on.

“Hey!” Foggy cries.

“I told you it was nothing! Lupus, really? Claire probably thinks I’m an idiot. More than before, I mean.”

“It’s not nothing. Your detergent is making you itchy, now we know! And we can fix it so that when we go to court you’re not scratching at yourself and making everyone think the defense has fleas!”

He actually has a point there--not that Matt would ever admit it. “Contact dermatitis is nothing,” he says, purely out of stubbornness.

“Look, I’ve got the perfect thing. Marcy uses them, they’re super eco friendly and hypoallergenic. What you need is soap nuts.”

“Soap nuts,” Matt repeats. “Foggy, what are you talking about?”

“Soap nuts! You just stick ‘em in the washing machine and they clean your clothes!”

“...How?”

“I dunno, ask Marcy! But I’m telling you, they work great.”

xxx

They do not, it turns out, work great. Matt did all of his laundry and not only do they not smell clean, but his gym clothes still smell like, well, gym. He picks up his phone.

“Foggy, I need you to come over. These nuts aren’t working!”

“Uuuuh, look, buddy, you’re my best friend but that’s not something I feel comfortable or qualified to help you with.”

“What? Oh! God! Foggy, no--the soap nuts! They aren’t working! Could you come show me how to use them?”

“I’ll be right over.”

And he is--he’d been in the area, because apparently he couldn’t get enough of the miso carbonara. He comes in without knocking, as usual, and Matt throws a tank top at him as soon as he’s in the door.

“Smell that!”

Foggy gives it a sniff and makes a fake gagging sound. “Oh! Yeah. That is not clean. What did you do?”

“I dunno, I just kinda...threw them in there?”

“Did you call Marcy?”

Matt groans. “If I ask Marcy how to do my laundry she will never let me live it down.”

Foggy chuckles at that. “She would not. We can figure this out! We’re two intelligent, resourceful men, armed with sharp wit...and google. To the washing machine!”

They walk to the little laundry space, and Foggy makes a strange sound in the back of his throat.

“Are...are these them, sitting on top of the washer?”

“Yeah.”

And then Foggy starts cracking up, laughing harder than Matt has heard in a very long time. Matt lets out a confused chuckle, equal parts loving hearing his friend laugh like this again and embarrassed because he has no idea what he’s laughing at.

“What?” he asks.

“Well, I-” Foggy gasps, catching his breath as his laughter wans. “I think I know what the problem is.”

“What is it?” Matt presses.

“Where’d you get these?”

“The grocer on 7th.”

“Well the grocer on 7th ripped you off, Matt. These are walnuts.”

Matt lets out a groan as Foggy starts laughing again. “I need a beer,” he gripes, trudging over the fridge “You want one?”

“What do you think, Matt? Yes! Beer me! You want me to call Marcy?”

Matt sighs as he takes out an extra beer for himself. “Yeah…”

He’s going to need it.