Foggy loved Matt and because he loved Matt he let him wear his goddamn lavender tie to court. And also because he loved Matt, he made sure that it dropped into the bottom of the clothes hamper and was then donated with their accumulated collection of old socks to the local thrift store.
No purple ties.
Matt, of course, realized after a week that he could not find his well-loved new purple tie. His solution to this was go out and get another one, which he then proudly wore to court again, having been emboldened by Foggy’s earlier permission.
Foggy loved Matt. He needed to remind himself some days, but he did, really.
“Fogs, lavender is in,” Karen told him, all dressed up in light china blue prints and a darker lavender skirt. “It’s spring. Live a little.”
He would. As soon as people admitted that lavender was a horrible fucking color which should be used to adorn children and children only.
“Dude, what’s with the war on pastels?”
It wasn’t the pastels that were the problem. It was lavender, get with the program, Karen.
“I like his tie. It looks good.”
“It looks like I’m a shit boyfriend who lets him out of the house looking like an idiot.”
“Woah, dude, no. Matt has agency. He can pick his own clothes.”
“I’m not saying he can’t—“
“Really? ‘Cause it sounds like you’re saying he can’t.”
Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.
Fine. Okay, maybe he was going a little overboard with this. It was just a hideous color and he couldn’t understand for the life of him why everyone was wearing it when they had the very good and trustworthy alternative of pink or orange or whatever.
Not green. No light greens.
“How about teals?”
Light teal is acceptable.
“What’s light teal look like?”
Foggy and Karen turned to welcome Matt back into the office. Given the lack of grumbling, it appeared that Nelson, Murdock & Page had yet another happy, well-defended client.
“Think of the ocean, but from far away,” Foggy said. Matt hummed and went to drop his shit off in his office.
“Like, a nice ocean or like, Coney Island ocean?” he asked from inside the office.
“A nice one,” Foggy clarified. Karen smirked at him over the rim of her mug.
“So poetic, Mr. Nelson,” she said. “If only you could be so kind to our friend, our darling child lavender.”
He could just about strangle her. Matt popped his head out of his office in sudden alertness.
“You hate lavender?” he asked, devastation awaiting just behind those words.
Thanks, Kare. Doing us all a solid over here.
“I don’t hate lavender,” he clarified, “It’s just not my favorite color, or you know, life style or anything like that.”
Matt’s face dropped into a pout.
“You don’t like my tie?” he asked. Karen brought her mug up to her face and said nothing. Damn her.
“Your tie is fine,” Foggy gritted out.
Matt’s face fell further at the lie.
“I’ll take it off?”
“Here, I’ll take it off.”
“Matt, listen. No, it’s fine.”
“No, no worries. I’ve got a spare. I think it’s blue? Black? What color is this?”
This guy was exhausting. Foggy caught his hands and pushed them back up to his chest.
“Your tie is fine,” he said, “You are unspeakably handsome. In an Easter kind of way. Enjoy your tie. Bask in your tie.”
Matt stared at him the best that he could for a long moment, and then yanked his tie over his head, fucking up his collar six ways to hell as he did so. He offered it to Foggy like a hopeful Labrador.
For all that super-hearing he wasn’t too good at listening, was he?
“Matty. I love you. I didn’t mean—”
“No, you wear it.”
Karen choked on her coffee and started coughing. She had to lean on the microwave to get herself together.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Well,” Matt said a little shyly, “Maybe it looks silly on me, but it’ll look good on you, I’m sure of it.”
Such a fucking charmer. Ugh.
“Bud, I’m wearing blue today, I can’t wear lavender with blue.”
“Sure you can.”
“No, man. You can do lavender with gray and sometimes with black, but blue? Uh-uh.”
“What color am I wearing?”
“But you’re wearing blue.”
“It’ll go with blue. Put it on.”
This. Guy. Foggy could not say no to him. And he knew it, the bastard, with his big hopeful puppy eyes. Karen peeked out at them both from behind the microwave meaningfully. This was her fault. Foggy made that clear with his face in her direction. She tossed her hair and touched her hand to her chin in innocence.
He sighed, then yanked his own tie off, managing not to grumble as he did so, and pulled Matt’s hatched lavender one over his head and under his collar. He smoothed the collar down as best as he could. He was allowed to scowl. No one said he wasn’t allowed to scowl.
“The tie is on,” he said magnanimously.
Matt reached a hand forward and pressed a few fingers into the tie and then stroked them down Foggy’s lapel and breast pocket.
He beamed. Then leaned in for a kiss.
Fine. But only for the kiss.
“You’re very handsome, Mr. Nelson,” Matt murmured between them. He pulled back, pleased with himself. “It suits you better,” he decided. “You should have it. I’ll wear this one.”
He snatched the tie in Foggy’s hand and promptly locked himself in his office, leaving Foggy standing there in the kitchenette like a chump. Completely at the mercy of Karen’s smirking.
“You’re so handsome, Mr. Nelson,” she said.
“It’s almost like lavender’s your color, Mr. Nelson.”
“You know, it actually does kind of work with that blue.”
So what if it did? So what if it brought out the blue undertones in his current teal-gray. What did it matter?
“Fogs. Suck it up. Purple’s your color.”
“It is,” Matt’s voice echoed from his office.
“You’re dismissed,” Foggy called at him. He pretended not to hear the laugh.
“The man has spoken,” Karen said. “And appreciates the better of this season’s upcoming colors. We’re getting you more purple.”
“A cardigan?” Matt suggested, peeking out his door like a dick.
“Dude, you literally just want to wear all my shit,” Foggy snapped back at him. He hunkered down, caught but not sorry.
“Green, then?” he tried. Foggy wasn’t sure whether he wanted to hold his cheeks or his neck.
“No, green’s not your color. Too soft for the likes of you,” he said instead.
“I can be soft.”
False. Only when it was cold at night and when he wanted something. Karen was so happy in this mess she’d created. She wriggled her way back to her office in pride. Foggy watched her go with eyes like slits.
“Fine. But I’m getting Frank a purple shirt,” he announced. Her back jerked. “We can match.”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” she said, turning slowly to menace him with her mug, “He can’t do pastels, Fogs, that’s like false advertising for humanity.”
Uh-huh, sure it was.
Text opened. Text sent.
Matt cackled behind his door. It made Foggy’s cheeks hurt a little bit.