Apartment 6A

BY : Prentice
Category: Marvel Verse TV > no category yet
Dragon prints: 781
Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

In the grand scheme of things, Foggy figured falling down a flight of stairs and landing on top of your new neighbor probably wasn’t the worst thing that could happen on a Monday. It probably wasn’t the best either – yeah, okay, it wasn’t the best – but he was trying to look on the bright side. If there was a bright side, which he really didn’t think there was because – jesus fucking christ – that had hurt, kind of a lot, and he was totally going to be feeling it for a long while – oh, and also, he was pretty sure he’d just killed his neighbor.

Only not, because the guy was like, not groaning exactly, but whining, maybe? Or, no, not whining, but more wheezing? Definitely wheezing.  A long drawn out wheezing, as though Foggy had knocked every bit of breath the guy ever had in his body out of him.

It kind of made Foggy want to die a little.

“Oh my god,” he groaned, clambering as fast as he could off the guy. Which, really, wasn’t that fast because the other man might have broken his fall but that hadn’t stopped him from slamming his hands, knees, and right shoulder against the landing. “Oh fuck, shit, ow, um, fuck! God, uh, man, I’m so freaking sorry! Are you all right? I hope you’re all right. Please tell me you’re all right!”

A soft wheezing cough and then a choked: “I’m all right.”

Foggy winced. That hadn’t sounded all right. Not all right at all

“Dude,” he said, gaze sweeping over the guy. He looked a little dazed, his eyes unfocused and – oh – oh shit. He was blind. Foggy had just mowed down a blind guy. Who was also kind of hot. Shit.  “You’re bl – !  Uh, I mean, you don’t sound all right.”

Another wheeze, another cough, and blind guy grimaced, unfocused eyes rolling a little in their sockets as  he rolled a little to one side, suit-and-tie clad body curling in on itself a little before straightening. “I’m all right,” he rasped again, another cough rattling out of him before he cleared his throat and repeated. “I’m all right. Just got the wind –” cough “ – knocked out of me. Are you all right?”

“I’m, um, I’m good,” Foggy replied, because surprisingly he was. He had some bruises, sure, and they were going to hurt like a bitch later, and he was pretty sure his body was going to hate him for at least a while because he wasn’t as young as he used to be but, for the most part, he was fine. His pride on the other hand – yeah, he was pretty sure that would never recover, because he’d just used a hot blind guy to break his fall.

Jesus, his life – and luck – sucked big time.

“Are you sure you’re – whoa, wait,” Foggy started, hastily shuffling forward and curling bruised fingers around the guy’s surprisingly firm shoulder as he slowly tried to sit up, his hair rumpled and slightly adorable looking. Not that Foggy was going to notice that sort of thing at a time like this. Because he wasn’t.  “Not so fast, buddy. I hit you pretty hard. You could have a concussion or something.”

“I don’t,” blind guy assured – or, well, tried to, because saying it in a voice like that – all rough and wheezy – wasn’t really that convincing. “I didn’t hit my head but –”  for a moment, he groped blindly around his body, “do you see a pair of glasses around anywhere? They must have gotten knocked off when we ran into each other.”

Flushing – because, way to go, Nelson – Foggy glanced around, wincing when he finally spotted them – and a white cane – sitting an inch or two away from the bottom of the stairs. From what Foggy could see, the cane was fine. The glasses on the other hand…

“I’m really sorry, man,” he apologized, cheeks hot with mortification as he retrieved them. As he’d thought, the cane was fine, but the glasses. They had a huge splintering crack on one side, the red lens spider webbed irrevocably. “They broke. But,” he added hurriedly. “I’ll buy you some new ones. I swear.”

Hand lifting to drag through his still adorably tousled hair, the guy shook his head slightly. “It’s okay. I think I have a spare pair in my apartment that should work.” For a moment, he hesitated, lips pulling down into a vaguely uncomfortable grimace as he shifted, legs shuffling against the floor. “Is – uh, did my cane survive at least?”

Blush intensifying – god, this was just so, so, embarrassing, not to mention awkward – Foggy nodded before cringing at himself. Blind guy, Nelson. Blind Guy. “Yeah, um, sorry. I nodded. Your cane’s good. Here, I’ll just,” pushing himself to his feet – Christ that hurt – Foggy hooked the cane’s strap around his own wrist before carefully reaching down to help the other man to his feet as well. “Let me help you up.”

Once done and after he was sure the guy wasn’t a lot more hurt than he was letting on, Foggy pressed his cane into his hand.

“Here you go, buddy. I really am sorry about all this. I, well,” Foggy paused, tongue wetting his dry lips distractedly as he watched the guy switch his cane to his other hand and awkwardly try to adjust his crooked tie and wrinkled shirt and suit-jacket. Damn, he really was attractive, especially with all that delightfully tousled hair, his scruffy chin, and disheveled suit. “Uh, I sort of lost my footing coming down the stairs and…”

“Fell?” The man prompted, vague grimace turning into a concerned frown, head tilting. “Are you sure you’re all right? That was a hell of a fall. Nothing’s broken, right? You didn’t hit your head?”

Shaking his head – because the guy could totally see that, right – Foggy reassured him. “No, I’m good. Just a little banged up. You – um, you kind of broke my fall.” He paused a beat. “Thanks for that.”

Huffing a soft laugh, the guy cracked a smile. It was – really nice. Like, super nice. Foggy kind of wanted to bottle it. “You’re welcome, I think. Seriously, though, you’re sure you’re all right? We hit each other pretty hard.”

Again, Foggy shook his head. Crap. “Seriously, I’m fine. It takes more than that to keep a Nelson down.”

Nodding, Blind guy’s smile widened. Yeah, totally bottle worthy. “Good to know. So, um, Nelson–?”

“Oh! Um,” Foggy shuffled, side aching a bit.  “Franklin. Franklin Nelson, but you can call me Foggy. Everybody does.”

“Foggy,” the other man repeated, hand flexing around his cane. It was a weirdly suggestive gesture, one that made Foggy kind of want to watch him do it again – and again. And maybe one more time. Because Foggy was apparently a pervert. With a hot blind guy with a cane fetish. Obviously. “I’m Matt. Matt Murdock.”

“Nice to meet you, Matt, even if I did kind of,” Foggy made a vaguely flappy gesture with his hand that really shouldn’t have hurt but did because maybe he had hurt something a little worse than he first thought. Which was just great. Paperwork was going to be fun. “Tried to use you as a bowling pin. Sorry about that.”

Smile dragging slightly to one side, Matt snorted softly. “It’s really okay, Foggy. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Foggy agreed, “me too. I – um, look, I know I already said I’m sorry a few times – and I really really am – but uh, can I help you to your apartment or something? I really feel like crap about all this. I mean, I already owe you some new shades and maybe a coffee or something but is there anything I can do for you right now?”

“Well,” Matt began, voice dragging the word out slowly, like he wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to say. “I wouldn’t say no to some help to my apartment. I mean,” he lifted his cane somewhat, “I can get there myself if you have somewhere you need to be but I think we could both use a drink – and an ice pack.”

As if on cue, Foggy’s shoulder and wrist ached, fingers and knees echoing in sympathy. Yeah, yeah, an ice pack sounded really good about now. As did spending some more time in Matt’s company.

“You’re on,” he replied, shifting on his feet when Matt grinned. God, forget the bottle, Foggy wanted that thing fresh, every day, possibly for the rest of his life. “What’s your apartment number?”

“Apartment 6A,” Matt supplied, hand reaching out blindly – tentatively – until it bumped into Foggy’s upper arm. Carefully, he dragged it down until his fingers settled into the crook of Foggy’s elbow. “On the corner.”

Swallowing, Foggy cleared his throat, nodded, and cleared it again. Right. “Right. Um,” hand hesitantly curling over Matt’s own, Foggy gently guided the man towards his brand new nemesis – the stairs. “Let’s go.”



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