The First Time Foggy Saw Matt Cry
The first time he saw Matt cry, it felt like the world was falling apart around him. Numbness, hollowness inside, like a punch to the stomach, hit him so hard he felt sick. Matt was crying. And God did it hurt.
He'd been coming back into their room, expecting to find Matt, massive nerd that he was, immersed in studying, and so he'd automatically started talking, some lame story about a girl who'd been pestering him all week but had actually been chasing Matt all along, and how hot she had inevitably been – 'dammit Murdock' – and then he'd seen his best friend sat there, staring sightlessly at the wall, fucking crying. The story had stopped short, words failing to express just how much it hurt to see Matt in that state.
Foggy himself could name countless times when, after less-than-satisfactory breakups (meaning every breakup), and maybe a few too many drinks (translation: definitely way, way too many drinks), that Matt had come along and somehow managed to help him back to their room. Talk about the blind leading the blind.
But in all the time he'd been rooming with Matt Murdock, he'd never seen him cry once. No matter what assholes on campus said or did, he didn't care. It was actually quite annoying because when Foggy wanted to report them for their sincerely dickish behaviour, Matt got infuriatingly Catholic about it and just told him to drop the matter, to turn the other cheek. Nothing upset him. He didn't care what anyone thought. Foggy had formed the hypothesis that Matt couldn't cry, that his tear ducts must have been damaged in the accident that had claimed his sight.
Evidently he had been wrong. Hypothesis disproven.
"Matt..." he ventured, uncertain what to say, unable to find anything else. His friend tensed but said nothing. "You okay, buddy?"
Matt turned to face roughly in Foggy's direction. His glasses were off, resting on the side, and his eyes, glassy as ever, were full of tears. He looked so lost, Foggy had to go to him, to sit down next to his friend and put his arm around him. Matt leant into his friend, still silent, and wept. It was then that Foggy noticed his friend was wearing headphones, listening to something on his laptop. He looked at the computer screen and realisation dawned on him. 'Dammit Murdock' didn't even begin to cover how broken he felt inside right then.
It was a video of his father's last fight, paused now Foggy was here. The night that Battlin' Jack Murdock had won, only to be murdered in an alley not long after. It was today. The anniversary of Matt's father's death. It was today.
"Oh man, I'm sorry." Foggy managed, tears welling up in his own eyes, the pain of seeing Matt so hurt too much for him. "You've got me crying too, by the way." Matt nodded. "Dammit Matt, say something. This is freaking me the hell out."
"It was my fault." Matt said, almost inaudibly, after some silence. "He died because of me."
"What do you mean?" Foggy asked, confused as to why his best friend would so much as think that, let alone say it out loud.
And so Matt told him – how men had paid his father to lose, how his dad had only wanted his son to be proud of him, how he'd won and they had killed him for it. By the end of it, Foggy couldn't speak. He hugged Matt tightly, and tried not to cry into his shirt (replace 'tried' with 'failed in his vain attempt' and you've got it).
"I was already proud of him!" Matt sobbed, his face scrunching up as he tried to form words, struggled, but succeeded. "He could have lost every fight and I'd still have been proud of him. He didn't need to-" he trailed off and Foggy knew he needed to say something. Squeezing his best friend's shoulder he tried – failed – to think of anything that could possibly make it better. He settled for something else.
"But he did. It's not your fault, Matt, he made his choice. And hey – if he could see you know he'd be so proud of you. And that's not me being corny here."
"You think?"
"Yeah man, I do." Silence."Hey, do you think we should get takeout?" Matt nodded, and Foggy slowly extricated himself from the perhaps excessively long hug, stood up, and pulled his phone from his pocket to order.
"Foggy?" He stopped, looking back to Matt, who smiled. "Thanks."
"No problem buddy. What else are friends for?"
And with that he ordered them Chinese and tried – failed – to stop tears from rolling down his own cheeks. That didn't matter though.
At least Matt was okay.