Foggy sighs and sits down. Takes a breath.] Yeah, I miss it. But we can't - we can't go back to how it used to be. Too much happened. You... [She stops. It won't help much to say you hurt me right now, however true it is.] We both made choices.
[She's quiet for a second.] --That doesn't mean we can't be friends.
Why not?! [The plastic water bottle gets deformed as he squeezes his hand involuntarily and crushes it a little bit. Some of the water spills out and he pulls his hand away as if he's been burnt. The man his father never wanted him to be surges uncomfortably beneath his skin like an anaconda waiting to strike. There's a sudden moment of realisation that dawns upon him after he snaps and it's not clear for a moment with the way his facial expression started morphing from shock to something else whether the pain or the guilt would win out.]
M'sorry. I shouldn't- you- I- I should go. [He almost trips over himself trying to reverse clumsily out of her seat and bumps noisily into the back of her couch.]
[She's - startled, for a second, but all he does is snap a little and squeeze a water bottle, it's not a big deal. If anything's a real problem here, it's the fact that he's trying to have this conversation while he's drunk and it's not - it's not fair to her, him poking clumsily at all these scabs in their shared past. If they want to have a relationship, then there's thing she wants to say to him, things she needs to say to him, that won't do any good right now because he's too fucking out of it to understand.
--But at the end of the day, she still cares about him and he is too out of it to have wandering around Hell's Kitchen on his own.] Matt. Don't go.
and then when she tries to talk to him sober - “nah it’s k I don’t wanna talk about it bro”
[The floor rushes up to meet his ass as he slides down the back of the couch and sits down, rubbing the carpet like something is supposed to be there or he’s not sure the ground is flat. He uncurls his other hand and plucks the bottlecap out of it, turning it over gingerly between his hands like a Rubik’s cube or one of those fidget desk toys. For a precious few seconds he probably comes across as more autistic than drunk, sitting there silently in the dark feeling all the ridges on the plastic round thing he’s occupying his hands with. At least until he starts talking again - not that the words that come out are particularly coherent. But at least the keywords are there.] It’s cold outside. M’staying. My roommate Foggy. Like old times! Roomie... we used to be... mmmI liked Foggy.
ok but consider this: "we're fucking talking about this, Matt, I don't care."
[She sighs, sounding very tired all of the sudden.] I know, Matty. I make you feel better, and I smell like hayfever. [She grabs a towel to quickly dry off the counter. The bottle's still plenty full, so after straightening it out a little so it's not deformed where he squeezed it, she brings it over to him.] Drink your water.
I'm reminded of the scene where Foggy tells Karen he has a drinking problem
[He stayed sitting on her floor and drank his water obediently. He's given her enough headaches tonight and neither of them would probably mind him taking a piss and passing out in her bathroom until the warmth of the morning woke him up.] ...am I in trouble?
[The answer's too complicated, and if she says no, he'll probably hear a lie in her heartbeat or something, so instead she repeats herself:] Just drink your water. Please.
[In the meantime, she's going to disappear into her bedroom for a minute to retrieve a soft fleece throw that she drops onto the couch for him to use whenever he gets around to trying to sleep.]
[Well it definitely felt like he was in trouble. He stroked one of the dents in the water bottle with a guilty look on his face, half-wondering if it was because of his mini-meltdown or if he'd done something else. Maybe she'd tell him once he finished his water. But he'd likely need to go to the bathroom before he got to the bottom of of the bottle. He listened to her footsteps getting softer and louder as she moved around her place. Even though lots of things have changed, the sound of her footsteps were a constant pitter-patter of footfalls that he could pick out in a crowd.
He tilted his head back when she came back to her couch and hovered close to him. He looked confused for a moment, and then his eyes widened and narrowed when it clicked.] ...shirt thiefff.
--What? [She's honestly baffled for a moment before she glances down at her shirt and realizes what he's talking about.
She tugs the hem of the t-shirt down a little, self-conscious now that he's pointed it out. She 'borrowed' this particular shirt from him before things went... well, the way they went, and never got it back to him. Not that she was honestly planning to; it's ridiculously soft and comfortable and it's hers now forever, no take-backs.
Besides, it probably wouldn't fit him right anymore after getting kind of stretched out by her, ah. Apples.] Think it's mine now.
[He's smiling to himself like he knows something she doesn't. Yeah, all his shirts are ridiculously soft and comfortable. They had to be or he'd be in agony wearing them feeling coarse weaves like velcro hooks scraping his chest and back.] OK. You can have it. No fight.
[She's a touch suspicious of that smile, but you know what? She'll take it. He's smiling, he's drinking his water, he's officially giving her his blessing to keep his shirt, things are going pretty okay right this second.] Thanks.
[She ends up sitting on the couch next to the very soft fleece so she can stay close by and keep an eye on him in case of further mini-crises.]
I need to- bathroom... [He caps the bottle and set it down somewhere in the blackness. It's a bit of a struggle to his feet, but he can probably navigate the dark better than she can even though it's his first time groping the walls here. He doesn't feel nauseous, just a bit dizzy, and with less control over his senses the roar of the flush is deafening, the soap is very drying and the water is very cold. But he otherwise looks fine when he stumbles back to the living room again, leaving a couple of wet handprints on her wall. He sits down on her couch with his empty wet hands in his lap, smiling in her general direction.]
I feel fabulous. We had a good night, Foggy. [Well, he certainly did. That she didn't spend most of her night with him escapes his attention for the moment.]
Oh, we did, huh. [A good night is not exactly how she would describe what's been happening here if left to her own devices. Definitely not boring, at least.
In the meantime, it's late, and it seems like he might be starting to settle down, or at least might not run off somewhere and do something stupid if unsupervised. So.] I should get some sleep. You should, too.
[It wouldn't hurt for her to check that her windows are locked. Just in case Matthew feels invincible and wants to backflip out onto the streets like a crime-fighting vigilante.] OK. I'll take the floor. [She's taking the couch and he's taking the floor, yes? Yes. It makes perfect sense.]
[An excellent idea that she will hopefully think of before she tries to sleep.] You can have the couch, Matt. One of the nice things about this fancy apartment of mine is that I have a bed all of my own to sleep in in addition to the nice couch.
[He's too drunk to have separation anxiety, so she can be rest assured that he'll be fine on his own. Whether he tries to climb out of her kitchen window in the middle of the night is another matter entirely.] Goodnight Foggy. I'll be- I don't want to sleep with you. I'll be here. [He might insist he isn't that tired and will be sitting there in the dark for a while running his hands through the unbelievably soft blanket, but he'll be out soon enough.]
[She mutters something that sounds like well, gee, good to know under her breath when he says he doesn't want to sleep with her, and then she stands up and heads for her bedroom, pausing briefly to squeeze his shoulder as she leaves him.] G'night, Matt.
[She does think to make sure her windows are closed and locked in addition to the door, thankfully, so that's a crisis maybe averted. She shuts her bedroom door and is up for a little while after, changing into pajama pants and sliding off the bra under her shirt (because fuck it, she's sleeping in the ridiculously comfortable shirt tonight) and brushing her teeth, etc. It's not long before she settles into her bed, although he'll probably be out before she is.]
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i'm sure there is
Foggy sighs and sits down. Takes a breath.] Yeah, I miss it. But we can't - we can't go back to how it used to be. Too much happened. You... [She stops. It won't help much to say you hurt me right now, however true it is.] We both made choices.
[She's quiet for a second.] --That doesn't mean we can't be friends.
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M'sorry. I shouldn't- you- I- I should go. [He almost trips over himself trying to reverse clumsily out of her seat and bumps noisily into the back of her couch.]
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--But at the end of the day, she still cares about him and he is too out of it to have wandering around Hell's Kitchen on his own.] Matt. Don't go.
and then when she tries to talk to him sober - “nah it’s k I don’t wanna talk about it bro”
ok but consider this: "we're fucking talking about this, Matt, I don't care."
I'm reminded of the scene where Foggy tells Karen he has a drinking problem
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[In the meantime, she's going to disappear into her bedroom for a minute to retrieve a soft fleece throw that she drops onto the couch for him to use whenever he gets around to trying to sleep.]
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He tilted his head back when she came back to her couch and hovered close to him. He looked confused for a moment, and then his eyes widened and narrowed when it clicked.] ...shirt thiefff.
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She tugs the hem of the t-shirt down a little, self-conscious now that he's pointed it out. She 'borrowed' this particular shirt from him before things went... well, the way they went, and never got it back to him. Not that she was honestly planning to; it's ridiculously soft and comfortable and it's hers now forever, no take-backs.
Besides, it probably wouldn't fit him right anymore after getting kind of stretched out by her, ah. Apples.] Think it's mine now.
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[She ends up sitting on the couch next to the very soft fleece so she can stay close by and keep an eye on him in case of further mini-crises.]
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I feel fabulous. We had a good night, Foggy. [Well, he certainly did. That she didn't spend most of her night with him escapes his attention for the moment.]
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In the meantime, it's late, and it seems like he might be starting to settle down, or at least might not run off somewhere and do something stupid if unsupervised. So.] I should get some sleep. You should, too.
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[She does think to make sure her windows are closed and locked in addition to the door, thankfully, so that's a crisis maybe averted. She shuts her bedroom door and is up for a little while after, changing into pajama pants and sliding off the bra under her shirt (because fuck it, she's sleeping in the ridiculously comfortable shirt tonight) and brushing her teeth, etc. It's not long before she settles into her bed, although he'll probably be out before she is.]