Let the Matt & Foggy College Days begin! :D
The doorbell rings. When the door doesn't open right away, Matt purses his lips, shifting slightly on the doorstep.
"Relax," Foggy says from where he's standing right next to him, Matt's hand in the crook of his elbow. "I promise they don't bite, except maybe the dog."
"What?!"
"Sorry, we don't have a dog. I dunno why I said that." Matt lets out a little exasperated snort. "Though if we did have one I'd—"
The door lock clicks and Matt stiffens in response. Foggy lightly bumps his shoulder into Matt's, which immediately and effectively causes him to revel in this casual physical contact he hasn't experienced in literal years.
The door opens. "Foggy!" a woman's voice sounds.
"Hey Mom!" Foggy says, leaving his side to presumably give his mom a hug. Which. Matt isn't needy, he can cope, he doesn't have to have someone helping him with everything. But even then he still feels almost like a third wheel, an outsider, a newcomer, someone who doesn't belong and can never belong no matter what he tries.
"And I assume this is Matt," Foggy's mom says with a smile in her voice. Matt's brain shorts out for a moment.
"Uh, yes. Thanks for inviting me, Mrs. Nelson," he says, fiddling a little with his cane.
"Oh, call me Anna! Foggy's told me so many terrible things about you!"
"What?!"
"Mom!"
"Just kidding, all good things, I promise," Mrs. Nel- Anna says. She pats his arm lightly. "Why don't you two come in. It's freezing out here!"
Matt thinks he can tell where Foggy got his sense of humor from.
"If it becomes too much or you just wanna leave, gimme the word and we can go," Foggy mutters to him in the front entryway, the sound of many overlapping voices rushing in from other rooms in the house.
Matt hesitates. "I wouldn't want to be impolite," he says.
"Dude, you're the most polite person I know. It'll be okay." He waits for Matt to nod before saying, "Okay, crash course on my family, my- ahh! Ow! What are you- sorry Matt I'm being held hostage by my least favorite brother by default. Let go!"
"I'm your only brother!" Theo Nelson says. "Grams wants to talk to you."
"Shit," Foggy says. Matt raises an eyebrow.
"I'm dragging him to the kitchen! Nice to meet you, Matt!"
"You too!" Matt says, with a confused smile.
"I'll see you later, assuming nothing fatal happens to me!" Foggy calls out. "Could you please let go, current least favorite sibling of mine?"
So Matt Meets Foggy's Dad ("Call me Ed!") and sister and cousins and aunts and uncles and it feels like it's never ending, like once he's done talking with one person he's pulled into another conversation, like he's being pulled into a million different directions at once but- but in a good way, like a good kind of tiredness, of exhaustion. It's exhilarating. He's not unwelcome. He's not intruding. He's just Matt here, Foggy's friend, and none of them treat him like an invalid. Now Matt's not a science major, but this level of kindness must be hereditary or something.
There's lots of chairs, lots of presents, and lots of food. Matt enjoys everything up until one inconspicuous cookie made out of peanut butter, which is, conveniently, the exact thing Matt is allergic to. His mouth and throat become itchy, but he thinks nothing of it until an hour later, when the nausea creeps up on him, and it's all he can focus on, not the conversations happening around him nor Foggy's warmth right next to him.
He swallows and tries to keep the nausea at bay. "Matt?" Foggy whispers. "What's wrong?"
Matt somehow finds Foggy's hand and squeezes it, probably too tight.
"Matt?" Foggy says.
"Can you tell me where the bathroom is?"
Three minutes later and Matt is puking his guts out in the toilet. This was not how he'd wanted to spend his night. He wipes his mouth with a tissue and groans. He doesn't want to be here anymore.
A knock on the door. "Matt?" Foggy asks from the other side. "Can I come in?"
"Sure," Matt says, miserable. There are tears pooling in his eyes. Why can't anything go right?
Soon, Foggy is by his side, closing the door behind him. "I've got water, 3 o'clock," he says. Matt reaches out to grab the bottle, twists open the cap, and takes a sip. It's nice. He takes another only for it to come back up. He gags, coughs, spits into the toilet, hovers there for 30 seconds before he realizes that the tears have flowed down his cheeks.
"Shh," Foggy says, sounding way out of his depth but wanting to help. His hand rubs circles against Matt's back, which just makes him sob and then cough once more.
"I'm sorry," he says.
"Shh, what for?" Foggy asks, bringing his arm up to wrap around Matt's shoulders and bring him close. This is- nice. He's never done this before, with Foggy. They've only known each other for a semester.
The last time Matt leaned against someone—
"I'm sorry," Matt says again. Foggy doesn't get it. "It's all my fault, it's always my fault."
"Hey, hey," Foggy says, pulling him even closer. "If anything, it's my fault. I forgot to tell Aunt Mar 'bout your peanut allergy, I forgot to tell you she usually puts peanuts in her baked goods. It's not your fault. You understand that, right?"
Matt sniffs. The first time he'd had an allergic reaction his dad had almost had a heart attack, had driven him to the ER in a panic.
"Matt?"
"I'm ruining your family's party," he says, voice shaking, this is so embarrassing. "I ruined everyone's night."
"We don't care about any of that if you're miserable, Matt," Foggy says. "The only thing we're mad about is not having an EpiPen on hand, sorry about that."
Matt chokes out a laugh. Foggy and his family will never stop surprising him. "It's fine. You know those only really help with ana- anaph- anaphylaxis." The word is clunky in his mouth. He takes a cautious sip of water and closes his eyes for a few seconds before opening them again.
He lays his head down on Foggy's shoulder, and Foggy tightens his hold. "Do you feel better now?" Foggy asks softly. No judgment.
Matt nods. Foggy reaches out to flush the toilet, and Matt grimaces as his disgusting stomach contents swirl down the drain.
"Hey, it's okay," Foggy says.
"Okay," Matt says, voice hitching only slightly.
"Yeah, so if you're feeling better, Mom made some bland soup for you. Not a lot. You don't have to eat it if you don't want, but it's better to get some food into you. Grams thinks you need to eat more, by the way. And Aunt Mar is definitely gonna profusely apologize the second you get out there. We don't have to go back, either. My old room's still down the hall. You haven't opened your presents yet, but I can—"
Matt smiles. "It's all good, Foggy. Let's get outta here."
"Okay," Foggy says, standing up and helping Matt up as well. When the door opens and the sounds trickle in, Matt does not find the noise overwhelming. He never did.
"Merry Christmas, Foggy," he says, almost shyly, leaning against his friend's shoulder.
Foggy sighs. "Merry Christmas, Matt. Is this going on your top 10 worst Christmas's list or what?"
Matt thinks back to his days in the orphanage, celebrating Christmas with the nuns and the priests and the other kids but always feeling like he was alone. "No," he says with a small smile, "this has been the best one in a very long time."
Originally, I was actually going to put Matt in anaphylaxis, but then, as I was writing, this chapter sort of became more about Matt's sense (or utter lack) of belonging, and also his growing friendship with Foggy. So I wanted this whump to be more emotional than physical, and it's kinda hard to do that if the guy is like...dying and almost unconscious, so here! But honestly, think of all the drama that could've happened involving Foggy's family if Matt had been half-dying.
