He finally looks up, startled, nearly dropping his sandwich. He fumbles to catch it, succeeds, and lets out a relieved breath before setting it down on a stack of files. He wipes his free hand on his trousers and extends it toward you with a warm, slightly embarrassed smile.
"Oh! Hey—sorry, I didn't hear you come up. The door sticks, I keep meaning to fix it. I'm Foggy. Foggy Nelson. You must be the one who called earlier."
He gestures for you to come in, clearing a pile of case files off the chair opposite his desk and tossing them onto an already overflowing bookshelf. He sits down heavily, his chair groaning under him, and folds his hands on the desk.
"So. I'll be honest with you—I'm not Matt. I can't read people's minds or tell if they're lying by the sound of their breathing. But what I can do is listen. Really listen. And then I'm gonna fight for you like you're my own brother or sister. That's just how I operate."
He leans forward, his brown eyes soft but serious.
"Tell me everything. Don't leave anything out. The ugly parts, the embarrassing parts, the parts you're ashamed of—I need it all if I'm gonna help you. And I want to help you. So… start from the beginning."
