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Foggy’s already saying, “Sophomore year, Murdock, we’ve got this,” as he opens the door to their new room, expecting to find Matt on the other side of it. Instead, he finds some guy he’s never seen before.
“Hi?” the guys says.
“Uhm,” Foggy replies.
Three seconds later, his phone rings.
“Where are you?” Matt asks. “I’m in our room but there’s only one bed.”
“Wait, I’m in our room,” Foggy says.
“…305 B?” Matt asks.
“No, 205 B,” Foggy says.
“Are you Franklin?” the stranger in his room interrupts, and Foggy frowns at him.
“Who’s asking?”
“Uh, I think I’m your new roommate,” the guy continues. “Ben?”
He hands over a piece of paper that Foggy vaguely recognizes as a letter he got, glanced at, and then immediately threw away, because it was summer, damn it, he shouldn’t have to read things. It says, in clear bold letters Franklin Nelson and Ben Rosenstein, 205 B.
Foggy’s stomach drops.
“Matt,” he whispers, into the phone. “Something horrible has happened.”
*
Foggy’s headed for the elevator when it opens and Matt steps out, looking confused.
“How did this happen?” he asks.
“Columbia,” Foggy hisses. “Mother effin’ Columbia.”
“Can we fix it? Should I pull the blind card?” Matt asks. He doesn’t pull the blind card very often and often explicitly denies the blind card’s existence, saying that any benefits that he might receive from casually pointing out that his eyes don’t work—say, getting to skip like seven steps in the process of touching hot girls, though that could also have something to do with his face—are counteracted by the fact that his eyes don’t work.
“I assume the blind card’s why they shoved you into a single room and abandoned me to the wolves,” Foggy says. “Let’s go raise hell.”
“Let’s go politely inquire about switching,” Matt says, wryly.
“And then raise hell.”
*
When they go to Housing Office, they are politely informed that housing for the semester is full and that Columbia University does not have the time or the resources to prioritize the housing situation of two students over the rest of the population, which Foggy is pretty sure means: fuck off, children, we’re only here to take all of your money and ruin your lives.
Matt blurts out, “But I’m blind,” as a last resort, and the lady at the desk stares balefully at them.
“Do you need Mr. Nelson to function, Mr. Murdock?” she asks.
“Well. . .” Matt says, which Foggy is pretty sure means: YES.
“I’m sure you’ll get used to your new living arrangements shortly,” she says, gesturing to the door. “If you don’t mind…”
“Actually, I do mind,” Foggy starts, but then Matt takes his arm and tugs him in the direction of the door. They stand silently in the hallway for a few moments after it shuts behind them.
“We could just deal with it,” Matt says, eventually. “It’s not like we won’t see each other.”
“But roomies,” Foggy says. “Our eternal sacred bond.”
“I know,” Matt agrees, “but we’ll be fine. Probably.”
If Matt’s grip on Foggy’s arm is a little tighter as they walk back to the dorm, neither of them say anything about it.
*
Ben Rosenstein snores and not like Matt snores, which is, like, cute little snuffly breaths. Like a precious cartoon animal. Ben Rosenstein snores like a freight train and Foggy is going to smother him in his sleep.
He goes out into the hallway and calls Matt at 2:30 AM.
“Hi,” he says, sadly.
“Hi,” Matt says. “Can’t sleep?”
“The snoring, Matt,” he says, hoarsely.
“It’s too quiet here,” Matt says. “I got so used to your snoring that now I can’t sleep without it.”
“This is an injustice,” Foggy says, “of the highest order.”
“I know, but it’ll be good for us, right?” Matt says.
“You’re just saying that because you’re going to turn your room into your own private sex den,” Foggy says, frowning at the opposite wall. Matt’s totally going to have a sex den and Foggy’s going to go to jail for murdering his roommate.
“I can neither confirm nor deny the sex den,” Matt says, serenely.
Foggy frowns harder, then says, “I’m frowning at you.”
“I know,” Matt says, and Foggy can tell that he’s smiling. God, he misses Matt. It’s not even been a full day. He needs to get a grip.
*
By the end of the second day, they try to dismantle Foggy’s bed and take it downstairs, but their R.A. catches them and yells at them about fire safety codes and responsibility.
“Okay,” Matt says. “This time we’re just going to deal with it.”
*
They make it three more days before Matt shows up at Foggy’s door and says, weakly, “Want to have a sleepover?”
“I can’t believe you broke before me,” Foggy says, grinning and turning immediately on his heel to grab some clothes and shove his books and laptop into his backpack. He pulls off his blankets and sheets and piles them into Matt’s arms before shoving a pillow under his own arm and shuffling Matt towards the door.
“Uh. . .bye,” Ben says, and Foggy waves vaguely with his free hand.
“He seems nice,” Matt says, in the elevator.
“Sure,” Foggy says. “Super nice.”
They go over their notes for one of the classes that they’re sharing for a while before Matt yawns, stretching his arms up so his t-shirt does that thing that Foggy will never mention because he gets to see Matt’s abs guilt-free.
“Ready to sleep?” Foggy asks.
“Yeah,” Matt says. “Are you okay on the floor?”
“Hell yeah,” Foggy says, grabbing his pillow and moving to lay down on a pile of his sheets on the floor.
They lay silently for a few minutes before Foggy says, “Matt, this is hell.”
Matt laughs quietly.
“Come back up,” he says.
“Really?” Foggy asks.
“It’s not like we haven’t slept in the same bed,” Matt says.
“Not sober,” Foggy murmurs, because god bless the alcohol haze that was freshman year, but he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He grabs his pillow and shoves it next to Matt’s before crawling up next to him. It’s a twin bed, so they’re face to face and really, really close. Matt gives him a smile that makes Foggy’s stomach twist.
“Good night,” he says.
“Yeah,” Foggy says, swallowing hard. “Good night.”
*
Foggy wakes up with an armful of Matt, Matt’s face shoved up against his clavicle and their legs tangled together. It should probably be weird, being like this without the addition of either alcohol or the resulting hangover, but it’s just nice. Too nice. Foggy has to roll away before Matt realizes exactly how nice Foggy thinks this situation is, and it wakes Matt up.
“Morning,” he mumbles, reaching out to aimlessly pat Foggy’s stomach like he’s verifying that it’s actually Foggy there.
“Sleep well?” Foggy asks.
“So well,” Matt says, into his pillow.
“God—me, too,” Foggy says. “Columbia’s screwed us over.”
“Mmm hmm,” Matt says, clearly not even entirely awake yet. His hair’s poking up everywhere and Foggy’s not exactly sure what it means to have your heart go pitter patter, but he’s pretty sure there’s at least some pittering happening. Maybe a little pattering.
“I’ll go,” he says. “Let you sleep more.”
Matt turns his head, blinking up at him.
“You can stay,” he says. “You can stay all weekend, if you want.”
“I can’t keep staying here if this is going to be your sex den,” Foggy says. “Unless it’s going to be a particularly weird sex den.”
“You could still stay,” Matt says, and his voice is a little shaky, not quite joking. He’s definitely awake now, shifting to sit up next to Foggy.
“I think my constant presence might be of concern to some of your lady friends,” Foggy says, slowly.
“What if there weren’t any?” Matt asks.
“No lady friends?” Foggy asks, quietly. Matt nods, one corner of his lips turned up. “Matt.”
“What?”
“If you’re about to kiss me, I’m going to have to write Ben Rosenstein a thank you card for existing,” Foggy says. Matt’s smile grows, big and warm.
“I have some nice stationary,” he says, and Foggy laughs before Matt shuts him up by sliding their mouths together in a slow, sweet kiss.
Foggy breaks the kiss for long enough to say, “I can’t believe the sex den was for me,” before Matt pulls him back down, probably to make sure that Foggy starts believing it.