Banoona

"You sure you wanna go in? Tab always gets a little crazy when she throws a party," Amelia remarks, catching up to where you now stand beside the door. A sick bassline thumping out from inside confirms her statement, the door's stained glass showing outlines of a crowd within.

You take a breath, it fogging in the frigid air, and curse the cold under your breath, turning to look at her. "Yeah. I told him I'd be here."

"You told him you might be here. Can still dip out if it's too much. He's just a guy, anyways."

"I know that, but... he seems— really cool. I want to see him again," you say, albeit a bit bashful, and watch Amelia grin. Her toothy, evil one that means she's about to say something stupid.

"See him again?"

You snort despite yourself, waving a finger at her. "Alright, pack up the blind jokes. Get 'em all out while you still can."

"Don't worry, that was the last one. For now." She waggles her eyebrows as you make a disbelieving noise, sliding out of the way to make room for a couple of people to walk in. "How are you even going to find him? Everyone in the state's probably in there. And it's not like he can look for you."

"I don't know, I think I'm just gonna look around. Traverse the place and shit."

Amelia chuckles, putting on a snooty accent. "Human female searches for mate amongst fellow Homo sapiens…"

"Wow. It's like David Attenborough's really here!" You put a mocking hand over your heart, and she puts hers up like she's surrendering.

"Hey man, young him can get it," Amelia says, eyes picturing something you can only imagine to be less than PG-13, then continues, "I wonder how many movies he's actually narrated."

"Probably two billion. He's like this haunting presence in every nature documentary." 

"You should let me narrate what you're doing to your guy. Like a play by play. 'Oh! Wow. She just started vigorously twerking!'"

"Classic me."

"Imagine he reaches out to smack your hypothetical twerking ass."

"Stop! Don't make me think that." Giggling, you give a lighthearted sigh. "I honestly feel like it's a good thing that he can't see me. I have zero poker face." Her evil smile returns, and you pre-emptively roll your eyes. 

"Human female showcases absolutely no poker face whatsoever…"

"I'm opening the door."

Twisting open the doorknob reveals what feels like a teeny parallel universe within. Christmas lights are strung haphazard on the walls, flashing different colours in a steady, slow rhythm and mixing with the light of the table lamps around the rooms. There's so many people inside that it feels like you just stepped into the rainforest.

"Hey, if you need me, just text me, okay? I'll keep my phone on vibrate," Amelia says, giving you a light touch with her elbow to get your attention. Someone calls her name, but she swats a dismissive hand in their direction, not looking away from you.

"Okay! Thanks," you respond, waving your phone at her to show that you have it before shoving it back into your pocket.  Her eyes sparkle with mirth, and she gives you a two finger salute.

"Good luck."

Amelia gets sucked into the crowd in five seconds flat, disappearing deep within the depths of the masses, and leaves you to adventure on your own. 

You stand frozen for a moment, arms hanging limp at your sides as you try and map out a way to get through the raving crowd. People are fully hooting and hollering to the music, and you absentmindedly wonder if this house's ancient foundation is even able to handle such force.

When someone makes a particularly impressive slide from the dance floor, a path reveals itself to you, and you eagerly rush forward to take it, squeezing your shoulders inward to try and slip between the wall and the strangers opposite. It honestly feels like you should have brought some rope to leave a trail, because upon taking a glance at where you just came through, the opening is completely gone.

At one point, you're almost pressed against the wall, and you have to do this sideways shuffle maneuver to get through. There's a couple making out in the corner that are unavoidable along this path, so you very awkwardly slide past them, giving a grimace of a smile before you can help it as they pause to stare at you. The girl laughs, watching you for a second before she descends once more upon the guy who she's partnered with.

After what seems like years, you finally pop out into an open area that looks like a hallway, only a few people conversing down its lengths while the main crowd dances at its entrance. Sweat's already starting to form on your neck and upper lip from all of the body heat radiating off of everyone. You stand just outside of the party, taking a deep breath, and take a step closer to the storm, craning your neck to see if you can catch any glimpse of Matt over the chaos at your front. All of the bodies seem to blend together in this light.

The whole thing makes you feel a little desperate, and you tug at your skirt, trying not to chastise yourself for coming here in the first place. Matt was sort of aloof, yeah. But he seemed great. But you also don't even see him here. God, why did you have to try to be all cute and vague? You should've explicitly asked if he was going to show up. Gone over exactly where you'd meet. Shit, maybe clarified his exact intentions, while you were at it. Make actually seeing each other again a viable, concrete thing instead of a weird, hazy idea that's built on ninety percent hopes and dreams and the power of friendship.

Groaning to yourself, you retreat, slithering back into the shadows a few feet from the raging crowd. You lean head first against the wall with an unceremonious thunk, staring at the faint scratches in its wallpaper and feeling wholeheartedly stupid. It's a pretty pattern, though. Angel's trumpet and bleeding heart flowers repeating in different positions all the way down the wall. You go to caress the shapes of them with your pinkie, but halt when you feel a presence envelop you from behind, the sound of their approach having been cancelled out by the surrounding clamor. Though not touching, you can still feel their energy at your back, and your whole body stiffens in fear.

"It's you again," a voice says in your ear, and you fully feel yourself jump through the roof of the house and into space. As well as yell. Two things can be true.

On instinct, you turn around and move to punch the person square in the face.

Your hands make no such punch, however. They've somehow been frozen halfway to their destination, a pressure locking them in place, and your now crazed eyes frantically dart around to catch up with what's happening and to process it.

In front of you stands Matt, your wrists clutched firm in his grasp on either side of his head. Though they're not suspended painfully, he doesn't have a feather light touch, either. You can feel his fingers through the sleeves of your jacket. His expression is oddly focused, and you stare up at him in shock, chest heaving like you're the heroine in some 80's bodice ripper.

Remembering yourself, you wrench your wrists from his clutches. "Jesus Christ dude! You scared the shit out of me!" You exclaim, absentmindedly rubbing where he'd touched you. It's clammy, just like the rest of your body, which only makes you feel worse. Matt starts laughing so hard he throws his head back, and your mouth forms a tiny, frustrated frown.

He's not wearing a suit today. The formality of it's been replaced with an oversized, patterned maroon sweater and dark wash jeans, and he looks surprisingly laid back. It's a stark contrast to how he'd looked when you first met, but it suits him.

Through the aftershocks of laughter, Matt puts a hand on his stomach, stating, "Didn't mean to sneak up on 'ya."

"Well, you did." Matt adjusts his glasses, and you get a brief glimpse of his eyes, only able to catch that they're brown before they're hidden once more beneath his shades. He wasn't looking directly at you, moreso at your nose, and it gives you a very physical reminder that he can't see you.

Brow slowly starting to knit together, you take a breath, wanting to speak, but find the words a traffic jam in your throat in hesitation.

"What?" Matt asks, a bit breathless from his exertions. He takes a step back so as not to continue crowding you, which you appreciate.

"…How did you find me?"

"I…" Momentarily taken aback, he straightens his spine, wincing at a beat drop in the new song playing, then composes himself. "You have a very distinct perfume."

Your lip forms a confused 'o' as you ponder over his answer for a second, and you scoff, giving him an equally as confused look. "Enough to smell in this room? There's so many people in here."

"I've got a good nose."

"What?" The disbelief in your voice is evident, and you look left and right, as if that will provide clarity. "Are you just like," you jokingly lick your finger and hold it up as if checking the wind, realising as your hand's already up that he can't see it, "'hmm, notes of jasmine… There she is!'"

"I don't exactly lick my fingers, but yeah." He must've heard you stick yours in your mouth. Slightly embarrassing. "Yours is sort of… spicy-sweet. It's easy to recognise."

He remembered your perfume. You've met this man once, and he remembered your perfume enough to recognise it, follow your scent within a crowded room, and find you. What would hide and seek be like with this guy? He'd fine you by nose alone.

"Spicy-sweet? You hungry?" You say, tittering as you fidget with a thread on your jacket sleeve. A small, almost knowing smile splits his mouth.

"In a way."

You shoot a pointed look at Matt, having had enough vagueness for one night. It’s starting to make your head hurt. "Alright, let's put a ceasefire to the talking in riddles, okay? I know I started it, but I was literally just worrying that I'd fucked up last time by being all cute and mysterious and you weren't actually gonna show up."

"Nice to know you've been thinking about me."

That gets you. Your whole body flushes with a surge of hot embarrassment, and it feels like you're going to burn alive.

"Well— you've had to think about me at least once. You're here."

"Never said I hadn't." Matt tilts his neck like he's remembered something, looking a bit predacious. "It's a bit unfair, you know."

You cross your hands behind your back, pressing your weight against the wall and onto them. "What?"

"You know my name, I don’t know yours… Not very quid pro quo."

"Oh we're using legal terms? Let's see…" You pretend to tap your chin in thought, "I plead the fifth."

"I don't think that means what you think it does."

"How do you know? I could be a lawyer. Wear suits everyday and have a personal assistant running around doing stuff for me."

"Because pleading the fifth is… in simple terms, saying you're not going to incriminate yourself. And I don't see how telling me your name would incriminate you in any way—unless you're some sort of wild vigilante—so I think it's safe to say you're not working the court."

"Hm." Narrowing your eyes, you give him a suspicious once over. "That's very lawyerly of you to say."

"You'd never guess what I'm studying."

"Art history."

He chuckles, pointing a finger at you. "Great guess. Unfortunately—"

A very large, very rowdy man strides right up behind Matt as he gallivants through the hallway, Matt remarkably flinching out of the way just before he's able to be shoved with a strange amount of gracefulness. Though in performing this maneuver, something clatters to the floor at his back, and you spot his cane rolling along the hardwood, presumably dislodged from his back pocket since it's so oversized in comparison.

"Oh shit! Sorry, man!" The behemoth says, gritting his teeth in a wince before continuing on his path to one of the doors at the end of the hall. You glare at him, then switch your gaze back to Matt, finding him rooted to the ground, jaw clenched abnormally tight. Uneasy at seeing him in such a way, you lower your voice, feeling your shoulders tense at the strange edge within the air.

"You good?"

Matt gives a dry laugh, exhaling with more force than necessary, and swallows. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"…Okay." You clench your toes in your shoes, not knowing where to put this newfound nervous energy, and then remember that Matt's cane is still on the floor. At least that's something. Bending over, you reach your arm down, stretching it out to try and grab ahold of the cane without flashing the whole party your ass. "Here, I'll—"

"Don't."

You freeze. Matt practically spat the word at you, the two syllables louder than anything else you'd ever heard him say before.

"I'll get it." He still sounds aggressive, but maybe a tad less than a second ago. He shuffles in the direction of the cane, crouching down and miracuously finding it on his first try. Matt stands up again right around the same time you do, and you back away from him as far as you're able without breaking apart from societal niceties. 

You clutch your arms against your body, all amusement in your face gone, and repeat yourself, the word sounding small. "Okay."

Matt almost stops tucking his cane back in his pocket when he hears your response, lips fast forming a thin line. He secures the cane, then hesitantly takes a small step towards you. Your fingers start to pinch the skin of your arms.

"Hey, I… I'm sorry." He looks like he's about to outstretch his hand, then decides against it. "I just—" Matt struggles to get the words out, "I don't like pity."

Your voice sounds hard, even to your ears. "I wasn't pitying you. I was trying to grab your stick." He moves to say something, but you put a hand up, almost correcting yourself before you see he'd actually swallowed whatever words had been in his mouth. Blind man instincts win again. "And you know what, Matt? I really don't fucking appreciate being yelled at by people. So you better fix that shit up real quick."

He nods, keeping quiet as if waiting for you to say something else, but you don't.

"It's a… thing. I've had," Matt finally says, and you can feel frustration boiling at your gut at the words, but he rectifies it. "But that's just an excuse. I shouldn't have done that. You were just trying to help."

"Correct," you say, letting out a long, irritated sigh. It helps fizzle out a bit of the anger you're feeling, its weight at least leaving the very forefront of your mind, and you put a hand on your forehead. "Do people… infantilise you, or something?"

"Moreso act like if they breathe too hard, I'll die."

"Is that why you didn't tell me the truth the first time I asked about your glasses?"

"Partially." He forms the beginnings of a smile, "But mostly, I just wanted to fuck with you."

Surprisingly, you laugh. Not a belly laugh, but enough that you're able to see a smidgen of relief flash across Matt's face.

"I dunno. You seem pretty well off to me. You've got those blind person superpowers."

His smile starts to fade almost as soon as the words leave your mouth, the corners of his lips turning downward. "What did you say?"

"You know." He stays still, waiting for you to elaborate. "The thing? When someone loses one sense, all the others get stronger? That's why you were able to dodge that guy, 'cause you sensed it or something, right? Or is that just a myth?"

"No, yeah. It's… I sensed him. Yeah," Matt says, resting his back against the wall, still looking a bit tense. You open your mouth to respond, then at the same time feel a bead of sweat that had apparently formed between your shoulders roll all the way down your spine and onto your lower back. The words that had been on your tongue evaporate into thin air, unlike your sweat.

"Can you sense how hot it is in here? Because I'm sweating. It's nasty. It's like the swamps of Mordor on my back."

Giggling, Matt pushes himself off of the wall, making a sweeping motion with his arm. "Do you want to go outside, Sméagol?"

"That's Gollum, right?" You get a nod of affirmation and smile to yourself, turning around in an awkward circle to try and find the door to the backyard through the now gyrating crowd, as the front was far too crowded for your taste upon entering. "Yeah, sure. Where the hell is the door?"

"I think I'm the wrong guy to ask."

"Was talking to myself. Not everything's about you, Matt," you say, sarcasm practically dripping from the sentiment. A few more searching circles are turned before you finally lock eyes with the outline of a sliding door on the other side of the room, it having blended in with the walls. "Wait, I think I found it."

"And people say miracles don't happen." Matt grins when he hears the disapproving noise that echoes from your throat, and you wave a hand at him to follow you, taking several steps into the crowd to walk through and part the ones off to the side like the Red Sea, then stop in your tracks.

Matt didn't see what the hell you just did, nor is it likely that he possesses the ability to navigate a bunch of people in the same way that you're able to. Gonna have to get used to that.

Slowly backtracking, you find Matt standing patiently in the hall, a smug little look on his face. "Walk off?"

"Perhaps." He doesn't say anything in response, revelling in your mistake, and you resist the urge to make a smartass comment. Squinting, you scan over the swarm between the two of you and the door once again, trying to figure out how you'd get Matt through, then look back at him, picking at a nail. "Would it be weird if I just… grabbed you and walked us through?"

"Depends on where you grab me."

You gasp, thwapping him on the shoulder. "No! Bad! Bad Matt!" He shrugs, playing it off, and you scoff. "Jesus. I'll be grabbing you on your arm, weirdo."

Tentatively, you reach out your hand, lightly wrapping your fingers around his forearm's circumference. The material of Matt's sweater is oddly soft beneath your fingertips, which you wouldn't have expected from something that looks so thick.

Matt turns himself to face where you're grasping him, and you turn around, heading into the middle of the party to try and make a beeline for the back door, knowing it'll be the quickest route for him. Every time someone accidentally hits you with an appendage or bumps you with their hip, you take a peek over your shoulder to make sure that Matt is doing okay. He's sort of gliding between everyone, and you can't tell if it's because you've beared the brunt of the collisions with people or he just knows where to go. The latter of which would be insane, but you don’t put it past him with what he's showcased he can do so far.

The hoarde is thinned out by the door since there's people coming in and out every now and then, and you slide it open, welcoming the crisp, deliciously cool winter air as it wraps around you in little wisps the moment you step through the threshold and onto the backyard's section of the wraparound porch. This particular bit is a bit more open than the front, the property having had more yard in the back to give up for its construction, so all of the people are a lot more spaced out. 

For a second, it's the respite you've been needing for the past several minutes. You hold out your free arm, exhaling contentedly and letting the lower temperatures outside wash away the sweat collected on your skin.

Then the wind comes.

"Homygodohmygodcoldcoldcoldcold!" You shriek, eyes widening in shock as the breeze rips through your very bones. Matt slides the door closed behind you, and you desperately slap the arm you'd just been outstretching onto the forearm you aren't already holding, starting to reposition him. "Human shield me. Right now."

Emitting a sort of confused sound as you clasp his arms in your hands, Matt lets you manhandle him to stand in front of you while you cower against the brick wall, trying to warm yourself as much as possible. The next gust blows through the yard and onto the porch, then hits Matt square in the back, mostly avoiding you save for bits of your legs and face. Sighing in relief, you sheath your fingers in the depths of your coat pockets, making Matt chuckle, crossing his arms.

"Better?"

"Absolutely." You tut your tongue, attempting to squish your jacket closed at your front with your elbows so you don’t have to remove your hands. "I keep on forgetting how cold it is. I should've packed thermal tights."

The wind whistles between the wood holding up the porch's bannister, and Matt moves his head curiously. "Packed?"

Might as well drop the bomb while it's not atomic. "Oh. Yeah. Uh… I don't actually live here. I'm staying with a friend for the holidays."

"'Here' as in…?"

"Massachusetts."

He's goes quiet for a long second. "…So when are you here 'till?"

"The day before school starts back up. For you guys, at least." You press your shoulders into the brick at your back, welcoming the harsh texture through the layers of your clothes. "I graduated."

"Master's?"

"Bachelor's. In English."

Matt nods slowly, obviously contemplative. "Okay. That's about ten days, right?"

"Yeah? I think so." Taking your hands from your pockets, you use them to fully cocoon yourself beneath your coat, holding them underneath your armpits to keep them warm. Matt's quiet for another beat, and you notice a small smile spreading upon his lips.

"I can work with that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"We've got ten days to get to know each other as much as we physically can." He states, adjusting himself to shield you from another rush of wind that blows in from a different direction. "Or nine, if we're counting today."

You snort, thinking that he's trying to joke around with you somehow, but he doesn't budge. Nervously, you slide around the ring on your index finger. "Are you being serious?"

Matt makes a small gesture towards you with his tucked in hand. "If that's okay with you."

Alright. You need to lay out the facts, here. This guy is smart. Funny. Apologetic. And—you've got to admit it—very pretty. As well as a pre-law student, which means beaucoup bucks in the future. Not that it would actually matter, but it's nice to know there's gonna be stability in his life. And he's offering a sort of… what, trial period? To you.

What about Amelia? You're in Massachusetts to see her. It would be shitty of you to spend all of your time here with a guy you met at a party when it's her time of need. The rest of the friend group couldn't fly out, and her family is absolute horseshit, so you're an anchor for her right now, and that's not going to change for Matt. She'd need to be okay with you going to see him, and even when you do, it can't take up the whole break.

Then there's the fact of your leaving. What are Matt's intentions? If he's trying to just get into your pants, that's not gonna happen. It doesn't seem likely, since he specifically said 'get to know you,' but maybe that could be a euphemism? And even if he doesn't mean that, would he be willing to do long distance? Would he be committed?

God, look at you. Thinking two bajillion years into the future instead of just answering the man's question. It's really quite simple. Do you want to keep on seeing him, or do you not? You can figure out the complexities later.

"Yeah." You offhandedly wonder if he can hear the erratic beating of your heart, but know that would be ridiculous. "I'm okay with that."

"Yeah?" He gives a cheeky quirk of his brow, and you groan with fake annoyance.

"What is this, anyways? Is it… courting? I think it counts as courting on a technicality." His glasses catch the light again as he considers the question, and you trace their outline with your eyes, hearing the playfulness in your own voice. "You know, you don't even know what I look like. You're going based off of personality alone. Which is pretty commendable."

Matt moves a bit closer to you again, though you know this time it's not due to the wind. "What do you look like?"

That's… a loaded question. He may not be into you based off of what you look like, which is super great because you now know your personality is enough to attract people, but he might have built up an image of you in his mind. Which feels scarier than him actually being able to see you. What has he imagined you to look like, if at all? Characteristics and features that are total antitheses to your actual appearance? A huge sex fantasy?

"Oh, you know," you finally get out, deciding to go the humorous route. "Seven foot three, six heads… Oh! My nose grows when I lie."

It relieves you to see him amused instead of disappointed. "Never met a hydra before."

"Well, there's a first time for everything."

The steam emitting from the both of your sniggering intermingles with one another, the mist twisting and turning until it's carried off with the wind, and you look up at Matt, noticing the way his entire face is taken over when he smiles. There's dimples reaching the middle of his cheeks, his eyebrows knit together in good humor, and what you can see of his eyes crinkle at the ends.

Gaze trained on those same bits of his eyes, you almost bite your tongue before you summon up a bit of courage. "Hey. Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did," he states plainly, obviously thinking he's the funniest man in the world. You roll your eyes.

"Okay. Another one."

"Go ahead."

Matt looks like he's fully focused on what you have to say, which doesn't make you any less jittery. "…I'm gonna preface this by saying I know you've probably been asked this, like. A million times. And I know you probably hate it by now and will want to murder me for asking, but—"

"How did I go blind?"

You blink in surprise, nodding. "Yeah."

"I could tell where that was going." He laughs softly, voice gentle even as his words sound practiced. Like he's said these lines over and over. "It was when I was a kid. Pushed a guy out of a truck's way, and that truck happened to have some toxic waste that happened to get into my eyes."

Toxic waste? What is this guy, the Joker?

"Waitwaitwait. Hold on. So you're telling me that you one, saved a man's life, and two, have the most classic superhero origin story ever? Or villain, too, I guess, if you decide to be evil."

Matt's eyebrows raise, then his face lights up with a smile. "I guess you could say that."

"That sucks. But… was the old guy walking stupid? Or was the truck guy driving recklessly? 'Cause either way, it pisses me off. It wasn't your fault."

"It was sort of a mixture of both? There was another car involved, I'm pretty sure, but I don't remember everything. I try not to dwell on it too much."

"I can understand why," you say, in wonder. Matt's blind because he saved someone's life. And he's acting all blasé about it. If that were you, you'd never shut up.

But here he is, only having told you his backstory upon request. And as much ire as you feel for the idiotic strangers that forced Matt into such an impossible situation, you also feel a surge of fondness. The stomach flurries that you get when your guts are floating on a roller coaster.

"You're a good person."

"What?" He takes a step back, almost like he's startled, and you wonder if you've messed up. The breeze comes through again, trying to rip your hair out of its updo, and Matt rubs the back of his head. "Sorry, it's just— I don't think I agree."

"Why? Are you evil?"

"I hope not." He drops his hand with a sense of defeat. "It's just… there's a lot of things that I could do something about, but. I don't. Sort of eats me up inside."

You take a second, pondering over your answer. "I don't know what 'things' you're talking about, but… we can't do everything. It's not really any one person's responsibility to deal with all of the problems in the world."

"But what if you had the power to? Or at the very least, the power to fix one?"

At this, your brow furrows into a concerned crinkle. "What are you talking about, Matt?"

"It's nothing," he responds, shifting closer to you once again and plastering on a smile, clearly uncomfortable with where the conversation has turned. Alright. No more philosophy, then. "Call it Catholic guilt."

"You're Catholic?" Judgment rings clear in your tone, and you try to reign it in. "You're not one of those Catholics that's against autonomy and gay people and stuff, are you? That's a big no-go."

Matt shakes his head quickly. "No, no. It's— more of a comfort thing for me. The idea that… somewhere out there is a person that sees you. That can see you in your worst moments and still have the capability to forgive. And that we're all connected to Him."

"That's actually… a pretty interesting way of describing it." You look up at the slats in the porch's roof, seeing a few stars between the larger holes. "I've never really believed in the whole 'sky daddy' thing, but… it sounds really nice, the way you put it."

Matt chuckles, rubbing his palm against the fabric of his jeans. "Never heard God referred to as 'sky daddy' before, but like you said, first time for everything."

"Well he is technically a daddy—"

A sudden buzzing at your side makes you trail off your sentence. Your phone vibrates against your waist, and you glare at it for several seconds before finally picking it up from your pocket. A picture of Amelia's face warped with a stupid filter glows across the screen, and the icons on the bottom beckon for you to answer her call.

Glancing at Matt apologetically, you hover your finger above the green accept button. "I'm sorry. It's my friend. It's— she's the one I'm here with. I know she wouldn't call me if there wasn't something important."

Matt, seeming much more unbothered than you'd expect someone to be in this scenario, motions to your hand with his chin. "It's okay. Answer it."

Giving him a thankful pat on the shoulder, you pick up, pressing the phone up to your ear.

"Hello?" You ask, barely able to get the word out before a breathless Amelia responds. The song playing in the house echoes through her side of the call, too.

"Hey, I'm so sorry. I know you're— doing your thing. But we've gotta go. Or, I've gotta go, but I'm your ride and I'm not gonna ditch you."

That doesn't sound worrying at all. "What happened?"

"Remember—" Amelia yipes, and there's a muffled commotion before she's able to continue. "Remember Imogen?"

"Your ex? The crazy one?"

"She's here, apparently. And—" Another whoosh sounds off in the background, and you take a peek up at Matt, who you find looking thoroughly entertained. "—She may or may not be throwing things."

A strange squawking sound leaves your throat. "What is she throwing? It sounds like a fucking war-zone!"

"Pillows, jewelry… Oh! That's a phone."

"Okay, I'll— be right out, okay? I'll meet you out front."

"Sounds good. I'll meet you there. Sorry again!" She hangs up when another object's clattering has just started, and your lock screen shines in lieu of her face.

"That sounded hectic," Matt states, not even trying to hide his shit-eating grin. You groan, pressing the balls of your hands into your eyes.

"Yeah. Just a bit." When you uncover your eyes, you unlock your phone, tapping the messages app. "Since I have to go, can I— have your number?" Feeling a bit exposed, you follow the question with, "Since you're courting me and all."

"That I am." Matt huffs, reaching around to his back pocket and pulling out his own phone. He unlocks it, then clicks on an app that says 'contacts' out loud. "It's easier if you just put your information in my phone. Then you'll show up as a contact already and all that."

Putting your own device away, you gingerly take Matt's and start to type in your number. "How do you text? Is it better for me to just call you? I'm sort of horrible on the phone with new people, heads up."

"How can you be horrible on the phone? And whatever you'd prefer. I've got a system."

"I don't know! I just get all weird. I don’t know what to say." Holding up his phone, you level the camera with yourself and take a very tame photo, making a peace sign with your fingers, then save your contact, giving it back to Matt. "Just took a really hot contact photo, by the way. My whole tit was out."

"I'll have to ask Foggy to describe it to me." You giggle, glancing at the door, and Matt turns off his screen, sliding his phone back in his pocket. "Maybe you should make flash cards. For your little calling problem."

"I think I'm gonna pass on that. You’re just going to have to deal with some awkward silences the first few times we… call." Talking about the future like that feels a little forward, but fuck it. The words already left your mouth.

Matt leans in like he's about to discuss the hottest of gossip. "What about after those first few times?"

Nevermind. Forwardness is Matt's specialty, apparently.

“That's— up in the air. Debatable."

"I'll just have to wait and see, then."

"I guess you will."

Neither of you thinks to move away until your phone lights up in your pocket, you taking a step back to check what the notification is. Amelia texted to let you know she's waiting out front.

"I've actually gotta go this time," you say, flattening against the wall like it'll soak you up and let you stay here. "Do you need me to walk you back in?"

Matt reaches out, rests his hand on your arm in the same way you did a few minutes ago, and starts escorting you to the back door. "I'm alright. Go and save your friend." He stops when you're in front of the glass, no one inside glancing your way in the midst of their partying.

"I will, don't you worry." 

When you place a hand on the door handle, you glance at Matt one more time, a funny thought crossing your mind, and smile, repeating his earlier words back to him. "I'll see you around."

You’re able to catch a glimpse of Matt grinning before you slide open the door, the warm air sticking to your skin. Shutting the door behind you, you search for another opening through the partygoers. Unfortunately, the little trail you'd shoved through has all but disappeared now, so you'll have to do your little awkward shuffle once again.

This time, the best way to leave has you making a shortcut through the kitchen to the right of the door, then shimmying around the corner of a wall, clutching your phone tight in fear you'll never see the thing again if it drops onto the floor. It's slow progress, but you eventually get to the hallway where you almost attacked Matt, tucking a stray strand of hair away from your face and pulling up your messages to text Amelia.

The words On my way out are typed and ready to be sent when you get a notification from an unknown number. Curious, you send your text, then tap on the unknown number's message, eyeing the back door and feeling altogether giddy upon reading it.

I still never got your name, mystery woman.

You must’ve spaced and only put your number. Thinking for a moment to try and come up with a clever thing to say, you decide on, You might find out when we call, and hit send with a very eager finger. For a few more seconds, you linger in the hallway, but feel bad about Amelia up front, even though you know she'll just be basking in the warmth of the car heater. The moment you move to continue your twists and turns of departure, however, your phone screen lights up in your hand. You tap on the message like you're a kid unwrapping a Christmas present.

I'll hold you to that. Then, popping up right after, Tomorrow?

You maneuver past the rest of the crowd, reaching the front door, and step onto the front porch before you let yourself look at your phone again. The wind cuts through you unobstructed, clothes feeling like they're more for decoration than anything, and you wrap your coat tight to your body once more.

Fingers stiff, you tap at your phone keyboard, responding with a simple, Absolutely, watching the screen like a hawk for Matt's answer. Instead, you get a text from Amelia.

I see you, whore. Let's go!

With a snort, you look up, trying to locate where the two of you had parked, and find her a little ways down the street, waving at you. Waving back, you make a run for the car, squealing at the air biting at your legs and wishing you had a certain human shield to block the wind for you again.

Matt knew we were there as soon as we stepped in, by the way. He just didn’t want to look like a creep (failed) so he waited around for a second. Ergo, the hallway. For context, college-era Matt’s canonically also a bit more touchy about how others perceive him and his blindness, as he’s still young and learning to deal with all that jazz. Also isn’t it so cute the DCU exists within the MCU?! Also (x2), I’m not Catholic, if you can’t tell, but Matt is, so I hope I did him and (the good aspects of) Catholicism justice with that! Anyways, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! :)

Getting ready is always the best part. Listening to some music with friends while you procure a cute outfit for the occasion is infinitely better than wincing at the too-loud music and voluntarily retreating to the nearest couch with everyone's purses like you always end up doing at parties. At least you get to people watch. It's always nice to see other people having a good time. Or see drama occur. Both are good.

Tonight, your pre-party getting ready ritual had been in the very small, very cozy apartment of one your friends since high school, Amelia. She hadn't had anyone to spend the winter holidays with, so you'd packed up and flew up to Massachusetts to see her for her winter break.

Amelia had been belting out showtunes practically the whole time she'd been doing her makeup as the two of you were getting ready, and you'd joined her in the ones you knew. She's getting her master's in mechanical engineering, genius math wiz she is, but also participates in literally any theatre event Harvard has going on that she's allowed to join, this party being no exception. You can take the girl out of drama class and all that.

She'd promised that this party would be different from the ones you'd been to before. Said it was more of a gathering of her theatre friends than anything else. There'd be no slurring drunk guys grabbing your arm and telling you to dance, some cool people from within the department and non-alcoholic drink options for you. Seemed like a dream.

Now, to give it to Amelia, she hadn't lied about any of of those things. All of the people here are cool, and it is different than any of the other parties you've been to.

It's just very, very loud.

You've also been a theatre kid since high school, but you'd honestly forgotten how loud a big group of you can be at once. And while it is, technically, a gathering of drama students, it feels like it's every last one from the school, and then some. There's also a few outliers here and there that obviously aren't from the main scene, some guys wearing suits with loosened ties or girls with impeccably tight buns, but they seem to be having as good a time as anyone else.

Amelia had disappeared somewhere down a hallway while talking animatedly to a friend with brightly dyed red hair, and you've once again become the harbinger of purses. There's a girl on the couch beside you that's somehow dead asleep in the middle of all of this chaos, and you mentally applaud her, crossing your legs and leaning up against them. One of your hands steadily taps out the beat to a funky song blasting from a speaker somewhere in the room on your couch cushion, and you observe as a long-haired blonde man animatedly chats with a girl with a tattoo sleeve. She places a hand on his arm as she laughs.

A couple of people shuffle over and near where you sit in drunken laughter, breaths wheezy with giggles, and you make the decision to get up and find somewhere else to go. It's okay if you're off to the sidelines and fairly isolated, but when things start getting too crowded, you've gotta move.

Glancing at the girl deep in her REM cycle on the couch, you chew on the inside of your cheek, wondering if it would be weird to put the blanket you'd been sitting by over her. You're getting up anyways, so you might as well. There's a bit more gnawing before you eventually decide to grab the threadbare blanket, gingerly laying it down across the girl. She moves a bit and you wince, praying she doesn't wake up and create an awkward encounter, but she just opens her mouth and starts to drool into the couch cushions.

With a quick adjustment of yours and Amelia's purses, you stand up, stretching your back out and then maneuvering your way through the party. You accidentally bump into a few sweaty bodies, quietly saying excuse me's to them, but are able to get by relatively unscathed. There's a hallway with splintering sections that you tread down, then stop halfway when you see an open doorway that leads into the kitchen.

After walking over a fairly strange step through its threshold, you're thankful to find only one other occupant inside; one of the suits. He retrieves a beer from the fridge, closes it, then stands in front of the sink, holding his beer above it and twisting his palm to get the cap off.

The kitchen muffles the sound of the party raging in the other room quite a decent amount, and you practically levitate with relief as you take his place at the fridge. Upon opening it, you find a slew of beverages within, both alcoholic and non, as promised by Amelia. Your eyes pass by a hearty amount of wine coolers, sparkling water, and Dr. Pepper before landing on a large jug of unsweetened cranberry juice at the back, which you snatch eagerly, grabbing a cup from a stack on the counter and pouring a fair helping. God, this shit is so nasty. It's great.

The song changes through the other side of the wall, a bit slower than the one before, and you nurse another tiny sip of the putrid juice within your cup. The guy in the room does the same, now resting his hips against the sink's counter and staring at the wall ahead. With his face now to you, you see that he's wearing sunglasses. Which is weird.

You look away from him, not wanting to be caught staring, and wonder if he's high. He'd definitely not be the only one here who was.

Over the rim of your cup, you steal another glance at the guy, finding him stretching his legs and tapping out the song's beat on his beer. You smile, taking another sip, and look forward again, taking a nice big inhale and letting it out slowly. Amelia should hopefully be ready to go soon. It's almost midnight, and she'd said she wanted to show you this Greek restaurant she's really into before it closed, which is at two, so she's bound to scoop you up soon.

Seconds tick by in silence, save for the muffled music of the party, and you start to feel mildly uncomfortable. It'd be better if the sunglasses dude weren't here. Then, you could do nothing with the peace of mind that someone isn't in the room with you, equally as untalking. Even if it's probably because he's high.

Another beat of silence passes by, and you've stopped sipping on your drink. It feels like it's rude to not say something. Is it? Because he isn't either, but then again, maybe he also just wants to be alone. He did get here first. You sort of took over his territory, and that makes you the aggressor. Should you make conversation, or just keep quiet?

With another sip of your drink, you decide to just bite the bullet and say something. You swallow, then position yourself in the man's direction, hesitating a moment before you ask, "So, why are you wearing sunglasses?"

Raising his eyebrows, he slowly turns his head in your direction. He thinks for a moment, lips pursing, then grins.

"I'm one of those assholes who thinks it looks cool."

You huff in amusement, shoulders slowly dropping at the dip in tension. Careful not to slosh your juice, you cross your arms, a small smile spreading across your lips.

"What, are you Roy Orbison?"

His grin grows into a smirk, and he sets his beer down on the counter to his left, body also turning to face you now. "Depends. Are you a pretty woman?"

Your cheeks rush with warmth as you process what he said, and you still, fingers stiff against your cup.

"Uh, I…" Say something. You lean against the counter yourself, hoping it makes you look more at ease. "I think I'm more of a Mean Woman Blues type deal. I'll bite'cha."

The guy laughs, a genuine little chuckle that makes your heart flutter, slightly relieved. Giving a lighthearted sigh, he shakes his head, then cocks it to the side. "I take it you're a fan, then?"

You give a quick shake of your own head, waving your hand in dismissal. "Nah, I only know, like, three songs by him. I could've given you one more and then I'd have been done for."

He adjusts the sleeve of his suit jacket, tone a bit teasing. "That's honest."

"Well I would have looked pretty stupid after the third song," you point out, raising your drink to your mouth again, though you don't take your eyes from off of him as you sip. Feels like if you blink, he'll disappear, somehow.

This, because of course it does, leads to you overestimating how much liquid is going to slosh into your mouth, and you spill half of your cup's contents onto your dress.

"Shit! Fuck!" The juice runs down your neck and into the top of your dress, spreading throughout the fabric like the plague, and the guy's mouth falls open. You slam your cup down on the counter, maneuvering past him and to the sink to try and squeeze anything you can from the fabric and into its depths. Barely any juice comes out, and you groan miserably, snatching up several paper towels, forming them into a pile, and grab a few to press against your torso in an attempt to seep what you can out.

The guy turns around, hand landing on the sink's edge as he makes a vague gesture in your direction. "Think that's gonna stain?" He asks, obviously entertained. You scowl, pressing harder with the towel in your hand.

"What do you think?"

He hums, rubbing little circles on his finger with his thumb from the sink. "I think baking soda can help get rid of blood stains. Maybe you could try that."

Tittering, you grab a new towel to apply pressure with. "Are you an axe murderer? Why do you know that?" You ask, making an angry noise at the lack of success from your pressing.

"Axes? No, I prefer knives," he responds, a cheeky little smirk appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye. He straightens himself out a bit, thumb stopping. "No, uh… My dad was a boxer."

"Oh? Did he do, like, actual fights, or was it more WWE?"

His voice instantly grows firm. "No. He fought." You pause your movements, fingers stilling against your chest at the change in tone. He exhales, then slides his palm along the counter until it hits the stack of paper towels you'd ripped off, handing you one. "He was good, too."

Was. He's using the past tense a little bit too much to just be referencing an old job. Something must have happened. Trepid waters to tread through, here.

Giving up on your dress, you bunch up the towels in your hands into a wad and set them on the counter. "Gave 'em the old one-two?"

He huffs, looking off towards the window above the sink and sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks. Some dim light from a street lamp outside outlines bits of his face. "Something like that."

There's a small pause, the song slowly thumping through the walls. It echoes throughout the silence between you both, you not knowing what to say and him not offering anything else in terms of a response. You ultimately decide to change the subject to something less touchy.

"Do you think I can tie-dye this? Or just dye it?"

Stretching out your dress, you look down at the large red stain and wonder if Amelia would let you use her bathtub to dye the thing. The guy turns his head back to you, his tongue running along his teeth as he gives you a small smile.

"What kind of fabric is it?"

"I dunno. Probably polyester or some shit. Cotton's hard to find."

He shrugs, answering with an amused sigh. "Then I don't know."

Rolling your eyes, you try and reach behind your back to grab the dress' tag and see if it has the material labelled. "Thanks for all the help."

"I live to please."

He takes a hand out of his pocket and reaches behind himself on the counter, getting a grip on the beer he'd set down, then takes a sip. Lips slowly forming into a frown, you watch his neck as he swallows, throat bobbing up and down.

"How do you even drink that?" You blurt out, almost instantly wincing at how juvenile it sounds. Instead of giving you a look, however, he pauses, then sets his drink down next to him again, shrugging.

"It sort of… drowns things out, in a way."

Raising an eyebrow, you cross your arms once more, purse straps digging into the skin beneath your shoulders. "What do you have that needs to be drowned out?"

"Mmm, that feels more like a third date question." His lips wrap with a sly smile around his beer again, and he takes another swig. He's evading the question with flirtation, and you know that, but god is it working.

"Third? I didn't know this was the first," you respond, and he cocks his head once again.

"Do you want it to be?"

"I…" He doesn't move. This has got to be a trick question, right? "Do you?"

He inhales, tongue darting over his lip as he thinks over his response, when you hear a loud, energetic voice sound off unexpectedly to your right.

"Matt! There you are, buddy." Your head snaps over to see the voice's source, finding the guy with the long blonde hair from earlier coming in through the kitchen doorway opposite the one you came through. "Jesus, dude, I've been looking everywhere for you! You love to hide, dontcha?"

Turning back to face the man you'd just been talking to, you narrow your eyes, biting back a smile. "Matt?"

He sighs, shaking his head. "Seems like my mysterious allure is gone."

"I don't know if you ever had that, to begin with," you poke, eyeing the blonde as he joins the two of you in the corner. He stares quizzically at the red all over your dress, looks at Matt with obvious confusion, then returns his eyes to you.

"Hello… bloody woman?" The blonde gives a small, hesitant wave, and you snort. He then opens his mouth, looks like he's about to ask you a question, and decides against it, turning to Matt. "Okay, I know it's been more than an hour. But," a huge smile spreads across his face, his eyes lighting up as he claps Matt on the shoulder, "I think she's into me, man! Methinks I've got a chance."

"That's great, Fog!" Matt taps the hand the blonde—Fog, apparently—has on his shoulder encouragingly, holding it as he speaks again. "But can you— can you just give me one second?"

Fog looks momentarily taken aback, then looks between you and Matt for the second time, eyebrows raising higher with every second that passes. Eventually, he puts his hands up, taking a few steps back in the direction he came from.

"…Sure, yeah. I'll be in the hallway."

"Thanks."

Embarrassment flushes through you at the glint of mischief in Fog's eyes, Matt fully focusing his attention on you again once his friend leaves the room. You bounce your gaze on several different things that aren't Matt before you finally work up the courage to look at him, and find him facing you with a lopsided smile.

"Fog's waiting for you," you state, nodding your head towards the doorway.

"Yes, I heard."

"Then aren't you gonna go?"

"I should." Matt sucks in a breath, taking a small step closer, and you practically stop breathing. Someone else enters the room, coming in the way you did, and starts rifling through the fridge at his back. Matt cocks his head again, raising his brow. "It was, uh… It was nice. Talking to you."

Grinning, you mimic him, catching a glimpse of your reflection in his sunglasses. "You're not that bad, either." You motion vaguely around the room, continuing, "So, why are you here in the first place if you're a hider?"

"I could ask the same of you."

You pucker your lips in thought, fiddling with the zipper on your purse. "I dunno. I like the idea of parties? But… then it's just too loud."

Matt snorts. "Oh, I get what you mean." His hand leaves his pocket to run through his dark hair, then returns. "I'm really just here for Fog."

"That's sweet," you say, actually being honest, though you huff at another thought that crosses your mind. "But it's also— kind of masochistic."

His mouth opens in surprise, but it quickly morphs into a smile. "Masochistic? Helping a friend?"

"Yeah! I mean, we show up somewhere that we know isn't gonna be pleasant for us. There's gotta be a kink in there somewhere."

“Interesting small talk."

"Small talk sucks." Bracing your hands on the counter's ledge, you brave a rock of your heels that tips you closer to Matt, lowering your voice to a very mischievous whisper. "Tell me a secret."

Matt doesn't move away, a strand of hair falling onto his forehead as he lazily angles his face toward you, voice rumbling in his chest at this pitch. "Hm, what do you want to know?"

You motion upward with your chin, forcing yourself to not retreat from the closeness.

"Why are you actually wearing those?" You ask, eyes looking over the glasses. The other person in the room could be on Mars, for all you care. When Matt doesn't answer immediately, you point a finger at him, it lightly poking the middle of his chest. "I don't think you're an asshole. Or that you think they make you look cool. So, why are you wearing them?"

This makes him go still. You watch intently, wondering what would make him hesitate as he thinks over his answer, practically seeing the cogs turn in his head, and then he grins.

"Well, you said you want a secret." He reaches into the pocket on the inside of his coat, then pauses. "…This isn't really a secret—more of an observational error—but I think it'll be good enough."

Matt shuffles within his jacket for a second, then grabs hold of whatever is inside and pulls it out. In his hand is gripped a white pole, maybe a foot long and with several different layers, all the same length. He grabs the first of the layers, a black one with a different texture than the rest, with his other hand, then starts to pull.

"What is that?" You ask, scrunching up your face as you try to decipher what the object is. His only response is slowly unfolding a layer from the pole, then moving onto the next, head still angled at you like he's waiting for you to catch onto something.

He continues to unfold the pole, another foot being added to its length with every layer, and then it catches the light, giving you a glimpse of the red mark at its end. Your eyes stay glued to the spot as Matt undoes the last layer, then holds the fully unfolded pole vertically against the floor, his fingers clutched around the black grip.

Holy shit.

"You're quiet," Matt states softly, making you rip your gaze back to his face. You scoff, throwing your hands in the air.

"Well, pardon me if I'm a little fuckin' surprised! You're blind!"

He shifts his weight a bit, features hardening. "Is that a problem?"

“No! I just… looked like a total jackass." You give a sort of nervous laugh, and Matt bares his teeth in a smile.

"I don't think a total jackass. Maybe… fifty percent."

"That's reassuring."

He hums jovially in response, head turning towards the doorway that his friend had come through, then back.

"I should probably get going. Fog might explode if he doesn't tell me about that girl."

"Okay," you extend you arm in his friend’s direction, "go ahead."

Matt doesn't move for a second, practically looking like he's stuck to the ground, then carefully waves his hand around to find the beer he'd left earlier. Once in hand, he slowly starts to take a couple of steps away, trailing his palm along the edge of the counter. After a few paces, however, he backtracks, tracing his steps much quicker than he'd left.

"Am I going to see you again?" He asks, goofy grin still plastered on his face. On instinct, you try to repress the giddy look on yours at the question, then realise that it's not even necessary. He can't see it.

"That… depends. I'll probably be at at least another one of this crowd's parties. My friend loves them."

He nods slowly, thinking. "I hear there's one this Thursday."

”You’re not gonna hide?” You taunt, wanting to get one last jab in. Matt doesn’t falter.

”Don’t think so, no.”

"Then maybe I'll be there." You watch his grin grow even wider.

"Maybe?"

"Maybe."

"Then maybe I'll be there, too." There's this sly, almost impish look on Matt's face, and he takes a step backward, levelling out his cane to be at waist height so he can use it properly. Giving a low wave with his free fingers, he turns to make his exit. "I'll see you around."

He then taps his cane against the floor, positioning his body in the direction of the small sound it makes, and walks off, tapping his way to the door that Fog waits at. You can hear Fog make a somewhat surprised noise when he spots Matt leaving the kitchen, and he giggles, saying something to Matt in a hushed whisper. You get a small glimpse of the two of them through the doorway as they walk off through the hall, and notice Matt's hand lightly resting on Fog's arm while they talk to one another as they leave.

When they're officially out of view, you slump against the counter, cheeks almost hurting from how hard you're smiling. Your fingers come up to trace your lips, and you stare off at a random spot on the floor, thinking through the whole interaction. An excited laugh escapes you before you can help it, and you cover your mouth with your hand, snickering at yourself.

Thursday it is, then.

Side note, this fic gave me the inspiration for a kitchen meet-cute! Throwing that out there. I’ve never done a playlist for a story and am kind of nervous about it, so tell me if you actually listened! :) ANYWAYS I am SO excited to write the next chapter!!!! HOO the next party is going to be tasty trust me