[ the funny thing about friendship is this: it's surprisingly easy to lose the thread that binds you together, you can be close one day, and the next, it's three months, two weeks later when you get a familiar chime on your phone.
one name, two syllables. foggy. foggy. foggy.
remember, this is all your own doing. love and loneliness go hand in hand, and you find no other solution in your prayers, and so you don't try at all.
matt says yes when foggy calls, when he finds a pocket of time in between his pro bono cases and lying to himself about not missing that life, the devil locked away in his little box as if banishing it could set him on the path to a purposeful life.
funny thing is: it doesn't work that way.
matt arrives at josie's first, orders a beer for himself and waits. foggy must have things to do; big name law firms do things differently from what they'd previously had before, and now there is only one name left in the firm matt works in, and jury's out on whether he genuinely likes how it now sounds. he nurses his beer, and thinks of what to do next, when he has no real excuse to continue pushing his loved ones away anymore. when has he ever thought so hard about what to possibly say to foggy, of all people?
he hears it then, familiar footfalls plucked out from the white noise of the friday-evening crowd, and he asks josie for another beer, parked squarely before foggy when he senses him close. ]
Last good one Josie's got for the evening. Whether or not you can brave the whiskey is between you and your colon.
He'd been angry, first, for a while, hurt and raw from Matt's sudden unreliability during the Punisher case, then he'd just. Not called, after a while, because what do you say to someone you were best friends with once? What do you say to someone whose back pocket you practically lived in, once? What do you say to someone when all those things are in the past tense now?
You say: can we get a drink?
So. There's a drink, and a bar, and Foggy waves at Josie's and tries to flatter her a little, gets an eyeroll in response. He's a little late, okay, big-name law firms keep their lawyers really busy, and Foggy's caseload is pretty huge. That's part of why he called Matt, in the first place, because Matt is a damn good lawyer for all his faults.
And Foggy wants to keep him safe, wants to keep Hell's Kitchen from tearing him apart just a little while longer.]
I appreciate the warning, thanks. [He pulls a seat up. Once upon a time—
But this isn't that time anymore.] I'm sure my colon can manage it. [A huff. It used to be they could talk about anything, but now there's a silence as Foggy tries to search for the best topic to start off with. God, things were never this awkward before.] Hey, so—I heard about the case. Congrats.
no subject
one name, two syllables. foggy. foggy. foggy.
remember, this is all your own doing. love and loneliness go hand in hand, and you find no other solution in your prayers, and so you don't try at all.
matt says yes when foggy calls, when he finds a pocket of time in between his pro bono cases and lying to himself about not missing that life, the devil locked away in his little box as if banishing it could set him on the path to a purposeful life.
funny thing is: it doesn't work that way.
matt arrives at josie's first, orders a beer for himself and waits. foggy must have things to do; big name law firms do things differently from what they'd previously had before, and now there is only one name left in the firm matt works in, and jury's out on whether he genuinely likes how it now sounds. he nurses his beer, and thinks of what to do next, when he has no real excuse to continue pushing his loved ones away anymore. when has he ever thought so hard about what to possibly say to foggy, of all people?
he hears it then, familiar footfalls plucked out from the white noise of the friday-evening crowd, and he asks josie for another beer, parked squarely before foggy when he senses him close. ]
Last good one Josie's got for the evening. Whether or not you can brave the whiskey is between you and your colon.
no subject
He'd been angry, first, for a while, hurt and raw from Matt's sudden unreliability during the Punisher case, then he'd just. Not called, after a while, because what do you say to someone you were best friends with once? What do you say to someone whose back pocket you practically lived in, once? What do you say to someone when all those things are in the past tense now?
You say: can we get a drink?
So. There's a drink, and a bar, and Foggy waves at Josie's and tries to flatter her a little, gets an eyeroll in response. He's a little late, okay, big-name law firms keep their lawyers really busy, and Foggy's caseload is pretty huge. That's part of why he called Matt, in the first place, because Matt is a damn good lawyer for all his faults.
And Foggy wants to keep him safe, wants to keep Hell's Kitchen from tearing him apart just a little while longer.]
I appreciate the warning, thanks. [He pulls a seat up. Once upon a time—
But this isn't that time anymore.] I'm sure my colon can manage it. [A huff. It used to be they could talk about anything, but now there's a silence as Foggy tries to search for the best topic to start off with. God, things were never this awkward before.] Hey, so—I heard about the case. Congrats.