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Matt doesn’t know how late it is, but the sounds of the dorm have grown quieter around them since Foggy came back from his after-dinner study session. It is never completely quiet in the dorms, any more than it is anywhere where people live, but he has come to appreciate the reliable ebb and flow of voices that mark weeknights. Everyone needs to sleep sometime.
Foggy does, too—Matt heard him tossing and turning all night last night—but instead, he is talking to Matt.
“You used to have a soulmate,” Matt repeats. He doesn’t mean to sound amused, but Foggy’s tone is so light, it’s hard not to.
“Yup.” Foggy shifts a little in his chair. His hair is long enough that it brushes against the fabric of his shirt with the movement. “Had a soulmark when I was kid, but then one day, just. Gone.” He accompanies this with a slicing movement, but he doesn’t narrate it, so it can’t be important.
Matt hums. “Any idea where it went?”
Foggy’s laughter is a startled, delighted sound. “Wish I did. My pop was so pleased that soulmarks ran in the family, he was already threatening to track my soulmate down for me the minute it resolved. He was so bummed.”
“And open himself to accusations of misleading people who were looking for their partner? It’s a good thing he didn’t chance it,” Matt says, knowing that it will get a snort and an eye-roll out of Foggy. They already hashed out their differing opinions on when coincidence starts to look like fraud during their legal ethics class. As far as Matt is concerned, people who go looking for their soulmates and succeed in finding them are deluding themselves at best. Foggy, of course, feels that it’s fate either way.
As predicted, Foggy snorts so hard it disturbs his hair. “Yeah, yeah. Like the threat of a little misdemeanor ever stopped him.” Matt raises his eyebrows. “Kidding,” he adds quickly, like Matt can’t see right through him.
“Your grandfather’s criminal record aside, do you have any idea what happened?”
“You asking if there is precedent for this, Murdock? Nah. Having your soulmark disappear is really freakin’ weird. Our best guess is that they died unexpectedly.”
Foggy doesn’t sound bitter, and Matt can’t understand it. Not everyone has one, a soulmate. They’re supposed to be rare, but they’re all over the news these days, people finding love in unexpected places and celebrating it. Matt knows there is more to it than they tell the reporters. He has listened to enough fights he wasn’t meant to hear, heard enough bitter disappointment underneath the yelling and the tears, to know that a soulmark is no guarantee of happiness.
But it is a guarantee of a chance, a promise that you will meet someone who is connected to you in a way no one can explain. Matt can’t imagine being given that chance and then having it snatched away.
Matt is aware of Foggy’s warmth in the closeness of their dorm room. The heat of his blood in his veins makes him the brightest point in the room. “Maybe you still have a soulmate,” he muses, and Foggy’s heart beats just a little faster.
“Right? My mom always had this theory that it was time-travel related. With all this weird shit that has been going on lately, who knows. Hey, maybe my soulmate is like Captain America, frozen in the ice!”
Matt knows that Foggy has been attracted to him since the first day they met. This is good, he tells himself. It’s good that Foggy is hopeful that he will find someone who isn’t Matt. He was worried that Foggy would take their growing friendship as encouragement, but Foggy’s heart hasn’t been beating as fast around Matt these days, now that they know each other better. It would be good if Foggy really did have a soulmate after all—Foggy, who is so kind and gentle and selfless. Matt can’t imagine anyone would willingly give up the chance to spend the rest of their life with him. If there is one person who deserves a soulmate, he thinks, it’s Foggy Nelson.
Foggy’s breathing changes, the way it does when he is thinking carefully about what he is going to say next. Matt focuses on the sound of his heartbeat. It always relaxes Matt, even now, when it’s beating one and a half beats to Matt’s one.
“Do you have a mark?”
Matt’s fingers curl reflexively under the edge of his desk chair. Splinters of the unfinished wood prickle his fingers as he traces the head of a screw. He thinks about lying, about telling Foggy that he doesn’t have one just to avoid hearing the pity in Foggy’s voice he knows will be there, but this isn’t something he wants to lie to Foggy about. “I don’t know. I have a few birthmarks, but I never knew if they were soulmarks or not. None of them resolved before, um.” He smiles briefly, makes an aborted gesture towards his own face. “The peepers.” He thinks Foggy smiles. “I guess I didn’t care enough when I could still see them, and now—” He shrugs.
Foggy nods a little. “Gotcha.” Matt holds his breath, waiting for the, “Don’t you want to know?”, but all Foggy says next is, “Hey, did you hear about the Mets game last night?”
Stick didn’t exactly care about soulmarks.
“Think about it,” he told Matt. “Maybe you’ve got this mark on your body, maybe you don’t. If you do, so what? Even if you knew what it said, it’s just a person’s name. It doesn’t matter how great everyone else says this lovey-dovey stuff is. People are a distraction, and they will hurt you if you let them. No amount of predetermined bullshit is going to change that, Matty.”
“Do you have one?” Matt asked.
“Do I have one?” Stick laughed. “I don’t care if I’ve got the name of the Dalai Lama written on my ass, and neither should you. Stop talking and give me twenty push-ups. I didn’t say you could take a break.”
Elektra, when he meets her, is more similar to Matt than he would have thought possible. She is fiercely passionate in a way that few people are, like everything in the world is hers for the taking. If Matt has the devil in him, so does Elektra, and it doesn’t scare her.
At night when Matt has nothing to listen to but the sirens, or when he is walking across campus and hears a distant scream, the parts of him that go quiet around Foggy crackle to life. It’s more than the weight he throws behind his punches, more than the way sparring with Elektra is a greater thrill than anything else he has ever felt. It’s the constant anger buzzing under his skin that he doesn’t think Foggy would like or understand. It’s the violence in him that will always come out, whether he wants it to or not.
They never talk about soulmarks. The way it ends, he doesn’t think she would have told him if he had one even if she had known. His relationship with Elektra crashes and burns, and he wonders if that was it, a brief, bright flare in his life.
“Is it a fashion thing?” Karen asks. “Because I don’t think anyone would blame you if you chose comfort over fashion in this weather.”
It has only been a few weeks since Karen became a part of Nelson and Murdock, but it already feels so right, like this is how their law firm was always supposed to be. Matt absently keeps half of his attention on Karen’s conversation with Foggy as he skims his fingers over the latest report. Karen is leaning against her desk, smelling faintly of lemon and the coffee she drank that morning. Foggy smells like he needs a shower.
“Are you telling me that I don’t look professional when I’m sweating through this shirt in three different places?” Foggy asks. Karen must smile, because Foggy sighs the long sigh of the long-suffering. Matt’s mouth quirks up at the corner as he turns a page. “No, Karen, it’s not a fashion thing. See? I’ll roll up my sleeves right now.”
Matt’s fingers slow at the rustle of fabric from the next room. Karen’s heartbeat picks up just slightly. The smell of Foggy’s body wash and the sharp scent of his sweat grow stronger. The last time Foggy had his sleeves rolled up around Matt was on a truly brutal summer night during their time at Landman and Zack, when Foggy had sprawled on Matt’s couch, loosened his tie, and told him, “I would kill for a chilled beer, buddy.”
Matt swallows. He gives up on reading the report entirely.
“So yeah, no idea what happened to it, but it was on my arm. T-shirts didn’t quite cover it, so I got in the habit of wearing long sleeves,” Foggy is telling Karen.
“How old were you?”
“Pfft, this was ages ago. I must’ve been – No, I do remember. It was the same summer Matt, you know.” He waves a hand over his face, the flurries of air momentarily throwing the surface of Karen’s desk into sharp relief. “Lost the use of his peepers. It was all over the news.”
Matt smiles. He doesn’t think he will ever get used to the way Foggy talks about it, like it is just something that happened. He knows Foggy said that for his benefit, but before he can let them know that he’s listening, Karen says, “And it disappeared before it resolved? So you have no idea who it was?” She sounds stunned. She ducks her head. “Sorry, of course you don’t.”
“Nope, no idea. It’s just one of those mysteries of the universe, I guess.”
Karen laughs a little. “I’ve just never heard of that happening before. I know that sometimes they don’t resolve into a person’s name, but disappearing entirely…”
“I know,” Foggy says, spreading his arms out to the side. “I’m a freak.”
Matt frowns, but Karen beats him to it. “You’re not a freak, Frank,” she says quickly. “Who would want to be bound to someone like that, anyway?”
There is silence in the office. Karen, realizing what she just said, clasps her hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, Foggy, I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice muffled. “I didn’t –”
Matt stands. As he moves around his desk, Foggy laughs and says, “Seriously, it’s fine. Can’t miss what you never had, right?” But his voice sounds wistful in a way that Matt has never heard before, and the relief in his voice is audible when he sees Matt standing in the doorway of his office.
“Matt! I was just telling Karen about my claim to fame.”
Matt moves fully into the room. “Do you have a mark, Karen?”
She shakes her head, a whisper of her hair against her cheek. “No. I just, ah, have kind of a weird relationship with the idea.”
“Do tell,” Foggy says.
“It just seems strange to be tied to someone without your permission. I mean, no one really knows what they mean, of course, but…” She swallows. “My family always thought it was something you were bound by. You were somehow lesser if you didn’t have one.” Before either of them can say something, she adds quickly, “Almost every generation in my family has a pair of soulmates. You know that lasagna I made you, to thank you?” Foggy nods. Of course they do. “That’s sort of a tradition in my family. It’s supposed to be the first meal you share after you find out that you, you know.” She twists her hands together. “Have matching marks.”
“We’re honored,” Matt tells her. It comes out a little too soft to be a joke, but he smiles. Karen lets out a tearful laugh.
“My family has a tradition, too,” Foggy says. Matt, who knows where this is going, grins.
“Yeah?” Karen says, quickly wiping her eyes.
“Yup. My grandma used to believe everyone had one, but that most of us have them on our heads.”
“Really?” Karen doesn’t sound like she quite believes him. “Did she…shave her head?”
“Nope. Didn’t need to. Hers was on her thumb. She told everyone she went on a date with to shave their head, though. If they said no, she didn’t want to be married to them anyway.”
“And this is…a tradition?”
Foggy shrugs. “I say tradition, but after she made my mom shave her head just to check she didn’t have one, it died pretty quickly.”
Matt struggles to school his expression into something only mildly interested as he turns towards Foggy. “Remind me again what happened with your grandfather?”
“Oh, yeah.” Foggy’s tone is full and cheerful. “He actually did have it on his head, but it was right in the middle of his bald spot. He shaved off all the rest of his hair for her anyway.”
This time, there is no taste of salt in the air when Karen laughs. “Did she make you check after yours disappeared?”
“Are you kidding? Do you think I let her anywhere near these luscious locks?”
Karen covers her mouth with her hand, stifling further laughter. She looks up, her hair falling in a soft cascade over her shoulder, and Matt feels her eyes land on him. Her voice goes soft. “Do you have one, Matt?”
Matt knows that Foggy is looking at him. He would be able to tell even if Foggy didn’t shift his weight just slightly towards Matt, even without the change in his breathing. He can tell from signs too subtle for him to verbalize, from the way the air suddenly feels thicker between them. He will always know when Foggy is looking at him, just like he will always know if Foggy is ever nearby. There is a part of Matt that will always be straining to pick out the scents and sounds that are just Foggy from the chaos of the city.
Matt turns to Karen. His smile is strained when he says, “No, I don’t.”
Maybe Karen deserves more of the truth than that, but as far as Matt is concerned, it isn’t a lie. It doesn’t matter if Matt has as a soulmate, because if he does, it’s not Foggy.
“And it’s just as well,” Matt continues, “since most perpetrators of fraud involving soulmarks are never convicted. Even if someone gets a tattoo made to look like a soulmark or changes their name to match someone else’s mark, there usually isn’t enough evidence for the case to go to trial.”
“Oh jeez,” Foggy says, throwing up his hands. The corner of Matt’s mouth twitches upwards as Foggy heads to his office.
“Old argument?” Karen asks Matt in an undertone.
“Definitely,” Matt agrees.
“Matt has no faith in humanity,” Foggy calls through his open office door. “Don’t let him influence you, Karen.”
“We live in the best of all possible worlds,” Matt tells Karen, deadpan.
“How depressing.”
“Exactly.”
“Stop it!” Foggy calls. “I’ll make optimists out of both of you yet. Maybe we all have soulmates, and we just haven’t met them yet.”
“Very profound,” Karen says, and Matt grins. Stick was right, he thinks. He never wants to know if has a soulmark. Foggy as good as told Matt they would spend the rest of their lives together when he wrote Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law on a napkin. Now Karen is a part of that future they made for themselves. The paper sign taped to their door that smells faintly of permanent marker, the one that is going to become a real sign someday, is more binding than any mark they could have their skin.
Matt doesn’t want to know, but he finds out anyway.
He thinks he might be getting close to the bottom of the tenement case when he comes to Claire with a knife wound bleeding sluggishly from his thigh. It’s his own fault for being careless; he shouldn’t have let the man get to the knife in the first place.
He never thought he’d find the scents of antiseptic and latex to be comforting, but he breathes them in deeply as he eases through Claire’s window and lands in her living room. Claire takes one look at him and orders him onto the couch.
“I hope you’re not attached to these cargo pants,” she says dryly as she pulls out a pair of scissors and starts to cut away the fabric.
“Nothing a bit of thread and a needle can’t fix.” His voice rasps in his dry throat. He isn’t sure how long he was out tonight, but it was long enough that just resting his head on the couch armrest is almost enough to send him to sleep.
“Uh-huh,” she says, peeling back the fabric. “I guess now is the time to point out that just because you can’t see—oh, Matt.”
Every one of Matt’s senses go on high alert. He struggles to sit up. “What?”
“No, no.” She presses him back into the couch with a hand on his chest. “You sit back. We need to keep this elevated—Santino! I know you’re lurking back there.”
The smells of blood and damp fabric are overwhelming. He starts when Santino opens the door to Claire’s apartment and creeps inside. That isn’t good; he hadn’t realized there was anyone there.
Claire rips the fabric away from the wound and presses gauze against it. Matt grunts. Claire is giving Santino instructions in low, rapid Spanish. Matt’s medical vocabulary isn’t very good, but he still thinks it’s probably a bad sign that he is having as much difficulty following the conversation as he is. He didn’t lose that much blood on the way over—did he? There is a snap as Santino pulls on a pair of latex gloves with trembling hands.
Claire says something about forceps and Matt yanks himself back to the present. “Sólo puntos de sutura,” he says quickly, trying to wave Santino back to Claire’s medical bag so he can get the suture kit.
“You are only getting stitches after I pull this out of you,” Claire snaps. “Do you have people trying to stake you now? Santino, ahora, por favor.”
Matt tries to feel the cut, but Claire's hands and the gauze are in the way. She’s right, though; there’s something in the wound.
“He pushed me into wooden railing, after he got me,” Matt rasps. “It broke when I fell, and it must—”
“This is going to hurt,” Claire interrupts, and she pours antiseptic over the wound. Matt clenches his teeth. “This is the last time, Matt,” she informs him. He has never heard her this angry before. “The next time you need me to pull things out of you, you are going to a hospital. I’m a nurse, not a doctor, and I am definitely not a surgeon.”
Matt lets his head fall back against the armrest. He distantly hears Claire telling Santino to get a bowl from the kitchen. He tries to hold still as Claire swabs the skin around the cut. There’s a moment as she drags the gauze over his skin when her breathing picks up just slightly, but then she is tossing it in the bowl and asking Santino to wipe away the rest of the blood. She moves away, picking up the forceps and letting Santino take her place.
Santino smells like nervous sweat and fear, but his heartbeat is strong and steady as he cleans the area around the wound. The cut is longer than Matt had realized. It curves down his thigh and around the side of his knee. Matt hisses when Santino gets too close to the wound, and for a moment, he thinks that is why Santino’s heartbeat spikes.
“Foggy,” Santino blurts out. His hands have stopped moving, and the tang of Matt’s blood is heavy in the air.
Matt is overwhelmed with a wave of terror so powerful at the alarm in Santino’s voice, he nearly upsets the tray of carefully arranged medical supplies on the coffee table beside him. “Foggy?” he says. “What about Foggy? Foggy esta aquí?” He struggles to sit up, one hand braced on the coffee table and the other gripping the back of the couch. Foggy can’t be there; he would have noticed if Foggy were there. “How do you know Foggy’s name?” he nearly shouts.
“Matt, you need to calm down,” Claire is saying. There are two sets of hands on his chest that are trying to push him back onto the couch.
“What does he mean?” Matt demands. “Claire, what is he talking about?”
“Firma de la sangre,” Santino whispers, sounding awed. There is a ripping sound, and then he is pressing fresh gauze over the cut, stanching the flow of blood.
Matt’s heartbeat is racing. “Firma de la sangre?” he repeats. The syllables are unfamiliar on his tongue. Blood signature. “What does that—Qué significa eso?”
But Matt knows what it means. Claire is telling Santino something about pressure and blood loss, but all Matt can think about is Stick saying, If you do have one, so what? He swats aside Santino’s hands and peels back the gauze. His fingers slide through his own blood as he tries to find it—Foggy, that can’t be what it says, but how else would—
“¿Dónde está?” he demands. There is nothing there. “Where is it, Santino?”
But Claire’s heart is beating fast, too. Foggy, he thinks, and he finally lets Claire push him back the rest of the way onto the couch.
“I’m guessing you can’t tell me if I got all of it,” Claire says later when she drops the fourth sliver of wood into the bowl on the floor between them. It makes a faint ringing sound as it connects with the ceramic.
Matt licks his lips and tries to pull back into himself. He can smell the damp wood, now, but when he moves his leg, he can’t feel anything unusual. He presses his fingers over the gauze Claire has used to cover the wound again. There is no grinding of wood fibers. “I think that’s all of it.”
Claire sighs and sits back on her heels. He listens to the familiar sound of her opening the suture kit. “Still don’t want painkillers?”
“No.”
Claire’s voice is quiet as she tells Santino that he can leave. Matt waits until the door has closed behind him and Claire has threaded the needle before he asks, “How long have you known?”
“Since the first day.” She starts the sutures, her movements quick and sure. “You were beat up pretty badly, Matt. There was a while there where I wasn’t sure you would be able to walk even if you woke up, there was so much blood. I had to make sure I had stitched up everything. That was hard to do through all that fabric.”
“So you have been trying to get me naked since we first met.”
Claire snorts softly. “If I wanted you naked, you’d know.”
Matt’s smile fades. He thinks back to their kiss. “You never said anything.” He clears his throat. “You never asked what happened, or if I knew.”
“It wasn’t any of my business.”
“Is that why you didn’t want to give…this…us a try?”
Claire’s voice is gentle. “You know why I didn’t want to try. A word on your skin has nothing to do with it.”
But what does it mean, Matt wonders, that Matt has a mark when Foggy doesn’t? He clenches his hands into fists as Claire knots the thread. He knows the answer to that. From the moment the accident happened, Matt was destined to lie to Foggy, to do things Foggy would never be able to forgive him for. He doesn’t deserve Foggy, and he never will.
Matt avoids Foggy as much as he can over the next few days. Foggy finally corners him and says, “Look, I know this isn’t exactly what we had in mind when we decided to save the world one client at a time, but we’re doing good, okay? Business will pick up soon. Don’t lose hope, buddy.”
Matt makes himself smile. “I know. It’s just hard to feel that way sometimes.”
Foggy claps him on the arm. “Just let me know when something is bothering you, okay? We’re partners. That means no secrets, Murdock.” Foggy squeezes once and then lets go.
“Right,” Matt says. He pulls himself a little straighter and gives him the smile he knows will make his heart skip a beat. “Avocados at Law.”
Foggy’s breath stutters in his chest. Matt feels himself warm with satisfaction at the knowledge that Foggy is still attracted to him, even if it doesn’t matter, even if it’s vain and selfish of him to be glad that he is. “The best damn avocados,” Foggy confirms. When he loops an arm around Matt’s neck, Matt leans into his touch, just a little.
He hasn’t forgotten the rest of what Stick told him.
“No,” Foggy tells him later, when Matt tries to explain that he was only trying to keep his city safe. Keep Foggy safe. “You think I care about what you can or can’t do? I care that you lied. You weren’t thinking about me. You were thinking about yourself.”
There are tears in Foggy’s voice. They clog his throat and make the air taste like salt. Maybe he’s right. Maybe Matt shouldn’t have kept the truth from him. Maybe he shouldn’t have lied away the bruises and the late nights.
“Is there anything else you forgot to tell me?”
But this, Matt thinks as he clenches his fist into the fabric of the blanket, is one secret Matt can keep for himself. He is allowed this. He can be just a little more selfish just this once.
“No,” he says. “Nothing else.”
Foggy stays. Matt can hear the rise and fall of the sound of the city outside as people move about their day hour by hour, and still Foggy brings Matt food and water and asks him questions. It’s more than Matt would have hoped for.
Foggy offers to help Matt dress.
“You can’t even stand up,” Foggy says in that awful, flat voice. Matt opens his mouth to protest, but Foggy cuts him short. “And even if you could, I wouldn’t let you. Just swing your legs over the side and I’ll help you put on your sweats. Please, Matt.”
“No,” Matt says. He never thought he would be able to refuse Foggy anything if he asked for it. He clutches the blanket to his chest like a lifeline. He knows that Foggy hasn’t seen the mark, because he hasn’t said anything. At another time, he might have thought that Foggy was just being polite. He doesn’t think there is anything that Foggy wouldn’t say to him now.
“I promise I won’t stand up,” he tells Foggy. “Just turn around and close your eyes. Can you just allow me this one thing? Foggy?”
Foggy sighs. Matt knows before he holds out the sweatpants that he has given in. “I’m holding out the sweats, okay? Don’t rip out your stitches. I don’t want to be the one to tell Claire that she has to come back here.”
“Me neither,” Matt says quietly as he takes the fabric. Foggy turns around and faces the door. Matt pulls the sweats on, one leg at a time.
“Thank you,” he says when he cinches them around his waist.
“Don’t mention it,” Foggy says, his voice choked.
And, without Matt even having to mention the soulmark, Foggy leaves.
Matt would sacrifice Foggy to save his city. There are not many things he wouldn’t do for Foggy, but he would do anything for this place he calls home.
It’s hard to remember that, though, when Foggy isn’t talking to him and he can’t tell Karen why. He finds himself running his fingers over the ridge of scar tissue that curls around his thigh just above his knee. So Stick was right. So he can’t sense his own mark, the only part of Foggy he knows he will always have. Life isn’t fair.
Still, life goes on in the city around him. Foggy agrees to try to move forward. That’s something.
The office smells like day-old coffee grounds and the remains of the donuts that Foggy grabbed on their way back from lunch. “Here’s to hoping that that bastard Fisk gets life without parole,” Foggy said as he bumped Matt’s shoulder, and Matt felt like maybe he had done something right.
That was a hours ago, though, and Matt is starting to wonder how long it’s going to take until the office stops smelling like greasy cardboard this time.
Two rooms over, Foggy stands with a creaking of his desk chair. He stretches and pops his back with a satisfying sound. “Hey, Matt, you want any coffee?” he asks as he comes through the main part of the office. “I’m making a fresh pot.”
“No thanks, I’m good,” Matt replies. He’s having a hard enough time concentrating on the work in front of him as it is. Caffeine is probably the last thing he needs right now.
“Karen?” Foggy moves into the kitchenette. Karen raises her head, and her breathing picks up.
“Sure. I could do with a pick-me-up.”
Her heartbeat is uneven. Lie.
Matt has been trying to be better about not eavesdropping on Karen and Foggy now that he knows how Foggy feels about it, but it’s hard not to in their small office. He tunes out the deposition he is listening to as Karen stands up and follows Foggy.
“Hey, Foggy?” Karen says quietly. “I know we usually go out for drinks, but I was thinking that tonight I might…not.”
“Why not?” There is the sudden scent of fresh coffee grounds as Foggy refills the coffee maker. “Do you have plans, Miss Page?”
Karen laughs a little. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”
Matt frowns. Karen doesn’t seem upset or worried, but she is almost nervous. Has something happened? Does she no longer feel safe with them? Is—
“I thought that you might have plans.”
Foggy sounds as confused as Matt feels. “With who? Marci? We’re not seeing each other anymore.” Foggy’s heart starts to beat faster. Matt doesn’t think he imagines the bitter note to his falsely cheerful voice when he says, “Or are you finally making a move on Matt? In that case, I definitely have plans. Netflix and chill plans, with my good friend alcohol that is not purchased at Josie’s.”
Karen laughs. “No, I meant—” She drops her voice even lower. “I meant that since things seem to be going so much better between you and Matt…”
The water starts to burble as it drips into the pot. Matt strains to hear them over the sound, but neither Foggy nor Karen say anything. “What?” Foggy finally says. His voice squeaks. He clears his throat. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Foggy.” Karen is whispering now. “You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
Foggy’s body heat is rising. Matt shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “There isn’t anything to notice,” Foggy says. “I don’t know what you think you’ve seen, but Matt and I, uhhh.” Matt can hear the moment when Foggy remembers that Matt can hear him, because there is a sudden whooshing of air. Foggy, he is pretty sure, has just made a slicing motion in front of him. “You haven’t seen it.”
Lie.
“Uh-huh.” Karen doesn’t sound like she buys it, either. “So, you definitely don’t check out Matt when he goes looking for the extra sugar packets in the cabinet up there.”
Matt winces in sympathy. Foggy’s palms are sweaty, and his heart is beating overtime. “Nope!” he says loudly. He pulls a mug out of a cupboard and puts it on the counter.
“And I definitely haven’t seen Matt looking at you in the same way.”
Matt feels himself go cold.
Foggy’s heart thumps uncomfortably. He forces a laugh as he yanks the coffee pot out of the coffee maker. “Sorry to break it to you, Karen, but—”
“You know what I mean!” Karen hisses. “I’m pretty sure Matt is in love with you, you dork!”
There is a crash. It startles Matt badly enough that he bangs his knee on the underside of his desk. The smell of coffee is overpowering, and Karen is swearing. Foggy says very clearly, “Shit!”
“Oh my God, Foggy, your shirt—”
“Don’t worry,” Foggy calls to Matt. “I just spilled coffee over myself. We’re fine.”
“Define fine!” Karen exclaims as she starts wadding up paper towels. “Your shirt is going to be ruined.”
“Yeah, I have a spare in my desk. Besides, we don’t have any meetings for the rest of the day, do we?”
Foggy heartbeat is still racing. Matt feels a little bit sick. He makes himself remain seated behind his desk as Karen and Foggy move into the main office. Foggy is unbuttoning his shirt one-handed while Karen shoves paper towels into his other hand. Everything smells like coffee, and Matt can’t tell if Foggy was badly burned or not because everything is too hot. It must have been at least hot enough to scald him, though, because Karen hisses in sympathy when Foggy gets his shirt off all the way.
“Yeah, I’m a little pink, but nothing some paper towels can fix,” Foggy says, still falsely cheerful. “Good thing my undershirt protected me from the worst of it, right?”
“Oh, Foggy. You should run some cold water on that.”
Karen is bending over Foggy’s arms, which are bright with heat. Matt clenches his hands into fists under his desk. Foggy says lightly, “Nah, It’ll be fine.”
Karen hands Foggy some paper towels. Together, they wipe at Foggy’s arms. “Huh,” Karen says.
“What?”
Karen’s heartbeat and breathing have barely changed; she is only mildly curious. “It looks like you’ve got a patch of dry skin here.”
“Really?” Foggy runs his hand over his right arm. “Oh, you’re right. It’s all bumpy.”
“Here. I have some hand lotion in my purse.”
Taking a deep breath, Matt restarts the deposition. I was getting ready for a meeting…
As Karen rummages in her purse, Foggy’s heartbeat picks up. He has gone strangely quiet as he runs his fingers over the spot repeatedly.
…running late, so I went back to get my notes…
“Got it.” Karen returns to Foggy’s side with a small tube that smells like lemon and oil.
…the window when I saw…
“Hey, Karen,” Foggy says, his voice a little strange. “Does this feel like a pattern to you?”
There is something happening to Foggy, a chemical change that makes the air thicker and taste like sweat and anxiety without the racing heartbeat.
“A pattern?” Karen asks, sounding incredulous.
“Yeah. These two here, look—”
…a meeting…
Matt pauses the deposition.
Karen puts down the lotion and bends over his arm, feeling the patch of skin with her fingertips. “Huh.”
Matt removes the earbud from his ear. Without really being aware of what he is doing, he stands and moves to the door to his office. “Can I?”
Karen jumps at the sound of his voice. Foggy raises his head but doesn’t seem surprised. “Sure, Matt,” he says, still in that strange voice.
Matt crosses the room. “It’s right here,” Karen says. She gently takes his hand and guides it to Foggy’s skin before she steps away.
Foggy’s skin is warm. Matt can understand why Karen thought it was dry; the bumps are small enough that they make his skin feel rough. Matt skims them with his fingers again and again, even thought he doesn’t need to. It only takes one brush of his fingers to read the four letters that are as familiar as breathing.
“Pretty weird, huh?” says Foggy. His voice is low. His breath is warm on Matt’s cheek.
“Yeah.” Matt drops his hand. He takes a deep breath, then steps back. He turns and heads for the door.
“The funny thing is,” Foggy says to Karen as the door shuts behind Matt, his voice thick with amazement and other emotions Matt can’t name, “that’s where my soulmark used to be.”
By the time Foggy reaches the door of Matt’s apartment, Matt has taken off his jacket and is sitting on the couch with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Foggy has been out of breath since the second landing, and he takes a few deep breaths before he knocks on Matt’s door. “It’s me,” he calls.
“Hey,” Matt says when he opens the door.
“Hey,” Foggy replies breathlessly. Matt closes the door behind him. “I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here or if you would have jumped out a window by now.”
Foggy has changed his shirt, but he must still be wearing his tie. He smells like fresh detergent underneath the smell of coffee and damp polyester.
“I think someone would notice if I left through a window, Foggy,” Matt points out, but he can’t quite make himself smile.
“Details, details.”
Matt sits on the couch out of habit, ceding the rest of the room to Foggy. When he is agitated, Foggy paces, throws things up in the air and catches them, gestures with his hands. Instead of doing any of these things, he stands across from Matt and shoves his hands in his pockets. His breath keeps catching like he is going to say something, but then he pauses like he wants Matt to speak first. Matt captures the edge of his tie between thumb and forefinger and rolls it back and forth. His own throat is tight, and he can’t think of anything to say.
“I guess this means you have one.” Foggy’s voice is calm, but his heart hasn’t slowed the frantic beat it picked up before he even started up the stairs.
“Yeah, I do.” Matt’s tongue feels like lead in his mouth.
Foggy’s chest swells as he takes in a breath. “You knew about it already?”
“Found out a few months ago.” Matt's smile feels strained. “Claire knew about this one even before I did.”
Foggy lets out an amused breath. “I bet.” He pauses. “Is this another thing – ”
“I never planned on telling you about? Yes.”
“I was going to say that you’re not comfortable talking about, but that too.”
The corner of Matt’s mouth twitches upwards. Foggy seems to take that as a good sign, because he takes a deep breath and starts talking.
“Look, I know this isn’t the sort of thing that makes the news, but there are platonic soulmates. The way I see it, us having marks? This changes nothing.” Matt doesn’t understand how he can say that. This changes everything. “This is just more proof that you and I are meant to be together, buddy. We can put it on our sign. Nelson and Murdock—”
“Avocados at Law.” It feels like there is cotton in Matt’s mouth.
“—And soulmates. Right! We can become the most famous soulmate legal duo in all of New York State. Even Maverick and Goose can’t claim that.”
Matt tries to smile. “I think they fail on more than a few counts.”
“Exactly. No one can touch us.”
This time, Matt’s smile is little more real. Foggy goes quiet again, still nervous but breathing more evenly now. Matt waits him out. It only takes a few moments for Foggy’s breathing to change like he is about to speak.
“So, that time when I told Karen about my mark—”
“You can take off the kid gloves, Nelson. I won’t break.”
“Well, shit, Matt. Those things were expensive.”
The corner of Matt’s mouth twitches upwards a little farther. Foggy pulls his hands out of his pockets and moves over to Matt. The couch dips under his weight as he sits down. Matt holds his breath, but Foggy rests his arms on his knees and leans forward, clasping his hands together in an unconscious indication that he isn’t going to try to touch Matt.
“I just mean, you’ve never been shy about saying what you think about soulmates, and when you told her you didn’t have one—well, it kind of sounded like you didn’t want to have one.” Matt’s heart clenches. He would never not want one if it was Foggy. Before he can say anything, Foggy continues hurriedly, “I was just wondering—I remember you talking about that guy, Stick. Did he have anything to do with this?”
Foggy has always been more perceptive than Matt gives him credit for. “To say that Stick didn’t like soulmarks would be an understatement. He used to tell me that the mind controls the body. I always figured it must have bugged the hell out of him that that wasn’t true.”
Foggy lets out a breath. “You and your secrets, Matt, I swear. Speaking of—Okay, I have to ask.” Matt swallows. His hands clench into fists on his knees. “Does it say Franklin?”
Matt’s hands relax. “What?”
“Is it Frank? Because I know that I let Karen call me that, but that really isn’t my name.”
Matt smiles. There is a light, fluttering feeling in his chest. “I don’t think that’s what it says.” He licks his lips. Foggy must be dying to ask, but he hasn’t. “You can see it if you want. It’s just, ah. In a kind of awkward place.”
Foggy’s heartbeat spikes, then evens out. He heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Okay. Is it on the left butt cheek or the right butt cheek?”
Matt grins. “It’s not—Foggy. It’s on my leg.”
“Alrighty then. Let’s see those ankles!”
Matt thinks he should probably feel awkward about this, but he can’t, not with Foggy being the same he has always been. Matt stands up and unbuttons his fly. He doesn’t know the last time Foggy saw him in boxers—not since Columbia, probably, if he doesn’t count the time Foggy helped Claire. Even back in law school, he didn’t see Matt in anything more revealing than his pajamas very often. Matt always made an effort to avoid changing around Foggy after that first time when Foggy got so embarrassed, he had to leave the room.
This time, Foggy’s heartbeat and breathing elevate only slightly as Matt drops his pants around his ankles.
“It might be easiest if I lie down on the couch,” Matt says.
“Right.”
Foggy immediately stands and moves out of the way. Matt tries to lie down the way he did on Claire’s couch, but he doesn’t know how well Foggy will be able to see it. He hovers his hand over the scar on his thigh, just above his knee. “I think it’s about here.”
Foggy crouches down next to him. Matt drops his hand. Foggy’s breathing is coming more quickly, but he doesn't say anything. His hair brushes softly against his cheek as he leans a little closer.
“I see why no one pointed it out to you before,” Foggy says finally. He clears his throat. “It’s pretty light, and sort of—” Foggy clears his throat again. Matt can hear his heart pounding. The scent of arousal is rising in the air. Matt’s own heart is in his throat. He clenches his fingers into the couch cushions. If he doesn’t, he thinks he might do something he will regret, like reach out and read the expression on Foggy’s face.
Foggy shifts a little. “May I touch it?”
Matt lets out a breath. “Sure.”
Foggy settles his fingers over the skin just above his knee. Matt can feel the calluses on the pads of his fingers. “It’s right here,” Foggy says, and the nerve endings in Matt’s skin come alight as his fingers begin to move.
Foggy’s touch is light and careful as he gently traces out the letters. There are five of them, Foggy, just like Santino had said. Foggy traces them again, his touch reverent, and Matt’s heart feels like it is trying to beat out of his rib cage. He has never felt like this before, like he is something precious. He lets his head fall back against the armrest and doesn’t try to hide that his breath is coming in quiet gasps. Foggy’s touch slows, then disappears, and his fingers close around Matt’s wrist.
“Here,” Foggy says quietly. He guides Matt’s fingers to the ridge of scar tissue, then past it. He gives Matt time to measure how far down from the scar the mark is before he uses Matt’s fingers to trace out the letters. Now that he knows exactly where each letter is, Matt can detect an almost imperceptible change in the texture of his skin. It is slightly raised, slightly rougher.
Foggy, Matt reads, and he finally believes it.
It must show on his face, because Foggy’s heartbeat spikes. “Yeah,” Foggy says, his voice rough.
“Yeah,” Matt repeats, because there isn’t anything else to say.
Foggy clears his throat once, twice. The arousal is still there, and now the scent of sweat and anxiety and excitement is getting stronger. “Would you mind…?”
“Sure.” Matt pulls on his pants as quickly as he can before he sits back down. Foggy stands and moves away from Matt, putting the coffee table between them.
“Okay, the kid gloves are going back on, because I don’t think I can do this otherwise,” Foggy says in a shaky voice. “Look, Matt, I know you heard Karen, and I don’t know if she was right about you, but we both know that she was right about me.” Foggy’s voice breaks. “Platonic soulmates may be a thing, but for me, this really isn’t—” He waves a hand between the two of them. “I’m waving my hands wildly right now. I know you already knew that, but it needs saying, okay?”
“Foggy,” he says.
“And we both know this is kind of a big deal, so if you want to hold off on dealing with it—”
“Foggy.”
“—That’s fine! You can take all the time you need. We can even keep it a secret, if you want. Well, a sort-of secret. Karen already knows, but we can hold off on telling anyone else. I would like to tell some people eventually, okay, like my parents, and maybe Brett—well, maybe not Brett. Bess, though. She’d like to know.”
“Foggy.” Matt stands. “I don’t care if it gets printed on the front page of the newspaper.”
“That might be going a little far. Maybe page nine? We could go old school about it, put a little announcements in the personals.”
Matt steps forward. He has never loved the smell of coffee on Foggy’s breath as much as he does in that moment. He cups Foggy’s face in his hands. “Foggy,” he says.
Foggy tastes like stale coffee and processed sugar. He is so reassuringly real and solid beneath Matt’s hands. The warmth of him travels through Matt’s palms and down his spine. Foggy grips Matt back tightly, like he is worried that this time, Matt will be the one to leave.
“Anything else you want to let me know about?” Foggy says when Matt pulls back. He is breathless, and his heart is beating so fast. “Any other secrets you’ve been avoiding mentioning?”
Matt grins. “No. Nothing else.” He leans back in, and this time, he can feel every crease in Foggy’s face when he smiles.
Matt almost can’t believe that Foggy is really here, in their bed. It’s still Matt’s apartment, technically, but he barely sleeps alone anymore. It won’t be just his for much longer. They haven’t talked about it, but they both know that Foggy is going to let his lease lapse next month when it comes up for renewal.
Matt isn’t sure what time it is. Judging from the roar of traffic outside and the clatter of plates in the apartment below them, the day has already started. The door to the convenience store on the corner opens with a bang, setting the bell ringing wildly. The smell of fresh bread is only just starting to drift through the walls from down the street. It must be Saturday.
Matt strokes his fingers over the bumps on Foggy’s arm. His skin is soft and warm. Underneath, the blood pulses in his veins with a soft rushing sound. Foggy turns his head towards Matt, the movement making the sheets rustle.
“You really like that, don’t you?”
“Mm.” Matt’s fingers don’t slow.
“We can get it put on a promise ring, if you want.” There is a note of uncertainty to Foggy’s voice, but Matt doesn’t know if it’s because he isn’t sure what Matt thinks about promise rings, or if it’s because he’s wondering if Matt would even wear a ring with how much he is going out these days. “You know, raised on the outside so you can always read it.”
“Getting my name printed on my own ring seems a little egotistical, Foggy.”
“Well, I don’t know! I just thought it might be nice for you to always have a little—” Foggy cuts himself off, then seems to decide he might as well say it anyway. “Have a little piece of me with you,” he mumbles.
Instead of running his finger over the word, Matt pauses, then begins to trace small circles onto Foggy’s arm. He already has a piece of Foggy with him, just like Foggy does, but that isn’t what Foggy is really saying.
“I would get one too, of course,” Foggy continues when Matt doesn’t say anything. “It’s traditional for you to get your own soulmark printed on your ring, anyway. We could get it embossed or engraved deep enough so you can read it. If you want, we can bring in a photo so your ring would match your mark exactly.”
Matt thinks about being able to rub his thumb over Foggy’s name whenever he wants to. He thinks about being able to reach over and take Foggy’s hands in his and feel the warm metal of the band on Foggy’s finger, a matched pair. “That sounds nice.”
Foggy’s heartbeat quickens, just slightly. “This means my parents will want to know all about it, you know. They’re probably going to insist that we get fancy announcements printed up so that they can brag to all their friends.”
“Sure. They can throw us a party as long as your aunt caters.”
Foggy laughs. “Of course you would say that. You do realize she is going to be bummed if she goes to all that effort and we aren’t even in the county clerk’s records.” His breathing catches, like he thinks he might have said too much.
Matt’s fingers return to the mark. Matt, it says. Matt smiles and presses his lips to Foggy skin. “Sounds like we’re getting married.”