charlotte

Tears streamed down Y/N’s face as she pressed her back against the door, head tilted back and eyes squeezed shut. She could picture him; his voice was so close he must have his own forehead pressed against the door, unseeing eyes hazy with unshed tears. The thought did nothing to stop the flow of her own. 

Her mind was a mess of emotions - angry, sadness, confusion. But rising above all of them; the sharp sting of betrayal. How could he keep this from me?

“Y/N. Please.” His voice cracked, heavy with emotion. “Please, let me explain.” She shook her head, keeping it pushed almost painfully against the door. She knew he would hear it, would sense it. Because she knew now, knew how far his abilities truly stretched. Could he hear the sound of her heart breaking? Splintering, cracking, gaping down the middle. She felt hollow, and overflowing, and everything in between. 

Matt, her Matt, was someone else entirely. She didn’t know if she’d even recognise him anymore, if she could combine in her head the image of her Matt, soft and good and full of love, with the image of a night-roaming, violent vigilante. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. She’d been so blind, so stupid. All those times he’d shown up with fresh bruises, every time he’d wince when she hugged him too tight. All brushed off as a side effect of his disability. He’s just clumsy. She would think. Prone to disaster. She supposed she wasn’t too far off there. 

He was still breathing her name on the other side of the door, calling out to her in a voice so broken she almost caved, almost pulled the door open and sank into his awaiting arms. But she couldn’t shake the memory out of her head; Matt, wearing that mask, crawling through his window with blood smeared across his cheek. The way he froze when he sensed her - sensed her; she still couldn’t grasp that was something he was able to do now - sitting, waiting on his couch. The realisation that had dawned on her, that had stolen the very breath from her lungs and sent the blood pounding to her head. Leaving his apartment was a blur; a desperate haze of blurry eyes, reeling mind and fast breaths, until she had slammed the door of her own apartment in his face.

Y/N sagged down against it now, sliding down until she was curled with her knees against her chest. She heard the brush of movement against wood behind her, as Matt followed her down on the other side. He was silent now. There was no sound for a few, long moments. Only her own ragged breaths, and the ticking of the clock on the wall. 

“Y/N.” His voice was shaky. “I really fucked up.” A beat. “I should have told you.”

She could only sigh unevenly.

“Please. Tell me what I can do to fix this.” She could hear the desperation in his voice. 

And she wanted to. Wanted to accept his whispered apologies and start again. Wanted to go back to the way things were. She wanted late nights talking, whispers in the dark, smiles against each other’s lips. She wanted Matt’s arms around her, wanted drinks at Josie’s and laughter with his friends. She wanted the unfiltered happiness he always brought her, the easy way they moved together, perfect Sundays just the two of them in his apartment.