Writer and Nerd

Slumped over the opposite side of the table, your chin rested in the palm of your hand as you absently watched a droplet of condensation run down the side of your iced coffee. A wet ring had formed beneath it on the wooden table as the pair of you sat at a coffee shop on the outskirts of Hell’s Kitchen. You'd intentionally gone out of your way to stay outside of Matt's hearing range for these meet ups discussing Katy’s article with her, though you were actively being eaten alive with the guilt.

It felt wrong lying to Matt. You didn't like it. And not just about the story Katy was working on that you'd spent the past nearly two weeks helping her with in your downtime, but you'd also had a couple of self-defense training sessions with Karen and Frank already. Training sessions that you’d still not mentioned to him because you knew how Matt would react to learning that you were spending time with Frank Castle and having him teach you how to shoot a gun. 

Keeping the secrets hadn’t been difficult, though. Matt was rarely in the apartment lately, spending more time than usual out at the office to work. Even his usual off hours when you'd usually get to see him were now spent at Nelson, Murdock and Page if he wasn't out as Daredevil solely so that he could get away from the stench of skunk still lingering at home. Because while the scent had significantly faded for you, it hadn’t quite faded for Matt and his bloodhound nose. 

But with Matt not being around as much, it made avoiding telling him what you were doing far too easy. There was no need to hide why you came home covered in sweat and smelling like gun powder from a shooting range, because a simple shower while he was out washed away the evidence. Any residual scent lingering in the air was either masked by the skunk or you figured that he assumed it was from his own suit. Because not once had Matt suspected anything.

And not once had he inquired about all the extra time you'd been spending with Katy at The Bulletin, which only made the pit in your stomach grow into a gaping blackhole of guilt. Matt trusted you to be forthright and honest with him, to tell him if you ever found yourself chasing after a story that would put you in danger after what had happened the last time you did. Yet here you were keeping secrets from him once again, and it made you feel sick to your stomach. 

But the secrecy was only temporary, and it was just to keep him safe. You didn't plan to keep the story about an escaped prisoner from The Raft from him for too much longer, but that didn't alleviate the sinking feeling you carried around on a daily basis. 

Not that Matt noticed anything off with you. He hadn’t been around you long enough for that. 

Katy's fingers snapped twice in front of your face, and your head swiftly raised from your palm at the sound. You blinked back at her across the table as you were drawn from your thoughts, noticing the frown deepening on her lips.

“Are you overthinking on me again?” she asked. 

“Sorry,” you apologized. “Just got lost in my thoughts. What were you saying?”

“I was saying that digging through the old, physical copies of past papers isn't exactly cutting it,” Katy told you. “We don't even know what we're looking for besides some sort of big, publicized arrest. But with all the crazy shit that occurs in New York City, it's almost impossible to remember every out of the ordinary thing that’s happened here.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, trying to focus on the conversation and not your spiraling thoughts. “Especially when you work in the news and you're surrounded by it every day. It all starts to blur together.”

Katy’s eyes narrowed back at you from across the table as she raised the ceramic mug to her lips. She stared at you beneath the blunt cut of her dark bangs as she drank her coffee, the corners of her eyes creasing. You knew that look well, it was the look she always gave you when she was seeing straight through you. A unique skill of hers that was useful for journalism and frustrating when it came to your personal life.

Sighing heavily, you sat back in your chair, gaze dropping back down to the ice melting in your coffee. “I just feel guilty,” you confessed. “It doesn’t feel right not telling him what we're doing. Especially not with who he is.”

“You’re thinking about Matt again, aren’t you?” she pressed, lowering her cup to the table. “At some point during these meetups, you always get this broody, distant look on your face. You look like someone forced the bacteria-ridden tap water from Josie’s down your throat.”

“Look, I get it,” Katy soothed. “But you're only doing it so that he doesn't go running out into the streets at night and just jump headfirst into danger. Especially when it’s danger that we still know nothing about.” 

“I know,” you mumbled.

Katy leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table as she lowered her voice. This was not a conversation the rest of Black Out Coffee needed to eavesdrop on.

“What if the person we're looking for can raise the dead or control lightning?” Katy speculated. “Or shoot fireballs from their hands? Or, I don't fucking know, turn random objects into crazy explosives? Wouldn't you rather hand this over to Matt with something more for him to go on than the fact that they're enhanced? For all we know, this escaped prisoner could be Avenger-level scary. You want Matt running into that without–”

“I know,” you repeated more firmly. Eyes raising from the iced coffee in front of you, you met her stare. “I get it, Katy. That's why I haven't said anything. I'm scared for Matt. I'd rather risk his anger and ask for forgiveness later than have him just gone because something awful happened to him. But that doesn't mean I don't feel incredibly shitty hiding this from him.” 

A frown settled onto your face as you ran your index finger along the condensation of your cup, the pad of your fingertip growing damp. It was only months ago that you'd made that pinky promise with Matt about using your words and communicating with each other, and now here you were breaking it shortly after he finally proposed to you. 

“That's not what we're supposed to do,” you mumbled.

“You two are disgustingly perfect for each other,” Katy said, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “He'll get over it. You both already had your big breakup, there's no way he'd be stupid enough to end things a second time.”

Looking up from your coffee, you shot Katy a flat look. While you admired how much faith she had in yours and Matt's relationship, you didn't fully believe it had already been fully tested to its limits, especially considering that Matt was Daredevil. His life was wrought with danger, and navigating it together as a couple wouldn't always be easy. Especially since there was no instruction manual on how to date a masked vigilante.

Bringing your coffee to your lips, you sipped the cold liquid through the straw as you glanced around the coffee shop. It was late afternoon now, and the sun shone through all the large windows lining the shop as it started inching towards the skyline. But as you absentmindedly looked around, you found yourself doing a double take back towards a man standing near the counter. He looked out of place in the shop with how well-dressed he was for a Saturday afternoon, wearing what looked like a designer suit in an uncommon color that you didn't see often–dark purple. 

A crease formed between your brows as you sat there staring at him, something strange scratching in the back of your mind as if you recognized him from somewhere. You watched as he spoke to the barista behind the counter making his drink, trying to place why he'd caught your attention.

“What?” Katy asked. She turned her head over her shoulder, her eyes openly following where your attention had gone. “You're looking at purple man?”

“Yeah,” you answered.

“Why?” she asked curiously. “Do you know him?”

You shook your head lightly, brows creasing together as you continued studying the man at the counter. Something about him just seemed off. Everyone near him was smiling, but considering the late rush at the coffee shop now that it was so late in the afternoon, the broad smiles on their faces looked out of place. They hadn't been smiling that wide when you and Katy had ordered.

“No,” you said, “but something about him seems familiar, right?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Katy tip her head to the side as she observed the man. He grabbed his coffee from the young woman behind the counter before turning around, and that odd feeling grew even stronger as you saw his entire face. But his eyes met yours from across the shop and he hesitated, catching both you and Katy openly staring at him. 

“Shit,” Katy whispered, ducking her head away. “That's not awkward.”

A chill crept up your spine as he stood there staring back at you, your hand tightening around your coffee cup. Before you could break the uncomfortable eye contact, the man in the purple suit began making his way towards your table near the window. 

“And now he's coming over,” you whispered, finally tearing your attention from him. “Maybe it's nothing, but I just have this weird feeling like he looks familiar. I just can't place why–”

“Good afternoon, ladies.”

You stiffened at the cheerful, accented voice. The sound of it seeped into your skin, sparking an unexplainable fear that you couldn't quite pinpoint as it squeezed itself into your veins. Something felt inexplicably off as you hesitantly glanced up at him now standing beside the table, his coffee in one hand and his attention fixed on you.

“You know they say it's rude to stare,” he stated, undeterred by the looks on yours' and Katie's faces. “So go on. Introduce yourselves.”

Your name fell out of your mouth as if it was dragged out by a magnetic pull at the same time Katy gave him hers. Eyes shifting towards her, you caught Katy giving you the same confused look from the opposite side of the table. What the hell had that just been, you hadn’t–

“Eyes on me.”

His voice cut through your thoughts, and your eyes abruptly snapped back towards him. His smile widened, but something sinister lurked beneath it, causing the hair on the back of your neck to bristle.

“Now why don't you tell me what caught your attention and had you so rudely gawking at me?” he demanded. 

“You looked familiar,” you answered automatically. 

One of his dark brows lifted at the comment, his eyes narrowing suspiciously down at you. You wanted to look at Katy, to gauge how she felt about this odd encounter, but for some reason you couldn't seem to look away from him. 

“So you know who I am?” he pressed.

“No.”

He nodded slowly, seemingly content with that answer. “And who would you happen to be? What do you both do?”

“We're journalists,” you replied, the answer falling off your tongue “For The Bulletin.”

His smile spread even wider in delight as a gleeful noise slipped out of him, and that only made you grow increasingly uneasy. Yet for some reason, you still couldn't look away from him. You tried to turn your head, desperate to know if Katy seemed to be experiencing whatever you were, but you simply couldn’t control the muscles of your neck. Your head remained fixed straight forward, your eyes focused on the man in the dark purple suit.

“Lovely!” he exclaimed, beaming down at the both of you. “I've heard that Devil git prefers The Bulletin. Good to know I've made some friends there now myself, hmm?”

You swallowed hard, eyes still stuck to him. You had no idea what he meant by making friends because this entire interaction was making your skin crawl and you definitely never wanted to see him again. But the mention of the Devil had your mind instantly conjuring up Matt's smiling face, and your heart thundered in your chest. Was he talking about Daredevil? Because it was well-known that Daredevil often gave story leaks specifically to The Bulletin in order to out criminals. Mostly because Matt favored you. 

“But unfortunately I need to cut our introductions short. I have other issues to deal with this evening. Shame, really. I imagine this could’ve been much more fun if I’d had more time,” he mused to himself. “Obviously you’ll both need to forget about this meeting when I leave,” he continued. “But before I do, I have to say that those frowns on your faces are rather upsetting. You both should smile more, be more excited. Today is a very good day after all, don’t you think?”

The second his accented voice mentioned smiling, your mouth moved on its own, sweeping up into a bright smile that made your cheeks ache. Across the table, you heard Katy abruptly agree with him about what a good day it was, and for some reason that you couldn't understand, you felt compelled to agree with her. 

The man in the purple suit turned and left your table, heading for the exit of the coffee shop as he took a drink of his coffee. Whatever had been holding your head in place seemed to release it, and you finally switched your attention over towards Katy. But just as you’d opened your mouth to say something, you completely forgot what you’d been about to say. The thought abruptly slipped from your mind as if it'd never been there.

Blinking at Katy a handful of times, your smile continued to stretch wide across your lips. Slightly confused about what you’d been about to tell her, you shook your head and picked up your coffee, raising the straw to your lips and taking a drink. Almost simultaneously you were struck with a sudden burst of excitement, not really in the mood to sit and discuss the story you'd both been chasing after for weeks.

“Let's not worry about the massive backlog of newspapers anymore today,” you told Katy. “It'll be fine. We'll figure it out. Besides, it's too nice of a day to complain about the out of date way Ellison stores them. We should go do something else that’s actually fun. Like shopping!” You instantly perked up in your seat as the idea burst out of you. “Do you want to go shopping instead?"

“Ugh, yes!” Katy eagerly agreed, pushing her chair back and standing up. “We should go find some cute outfits, I have a date coming up anyway. Seems too nice of a day to just sit here, right?”

Matt pushed open the rooftop access door, his tired feet dragging his battered body inside the apartment. After he'd gotten sprayed by that skunk a couple of weeks ago, he hadn't managed to successfully wash the scent out of the material of his old suit enough for it to not constantly interfere with his senses, which meant he'd been forced to toss it. He’d returned to wearing his “original” suit that provided absolutely no protection while he waited for a new suit to be finished as yet another favor. 

His nose instantly burned as he stepped inside, the repulsive scent of skunk once again slipping into his nose as his own guilt steadily uncoiled in his gut. He’d barely been here all week. The last time he’d had much of a conversation with you was days ago because he was always running in to grab his Daredevil suit after work before disappearing again. Or he was peeling it off of himself before taking a shower and climbing into bed with you, burying his face against your neck in an attempt to block out the smell so that he could get a few hours of sleep.

You hadn’t commented on his constant disappearances, but Matt knew that you were upset with him. He’d been vanishing on you frequently, leaving you alone more often than not. Of course he knew that you’d never actually say anything about his absence because you were always so understanding when it came to him, which only made him feel worse. You knew that the smell in the apartment burned the inside of his nose and gave him excruciating headaches just from sleeping here at night, and you were far too selfless to ever complain or demand that he stayed home knowing that. But Matt was well aware that it bothered you that he was never around even if you didn’t say it.

You’d been quieter than usual over the past couple of weeks. Your mood seemed off, as if that awkward brightness he loved so much had suddenly dimmed. He knew that it was solely his doing, and he’d been internally berating himself over it for the past few days, telling himself that he needed to make more time for you. Which was what he planned to do tonight, and it was why he’d come home a bit earlier from patrolling the city. He wanted to be more present, even if it meant enduring the rancid scent of skunk and the negative effects it’d leave him with. You at least deserved to be with someone who didn’t constantly leave you to yourself.

As he began descending the stairs to the living room, one hand removing the black mask from his sweaty head, his senses located you in the kitchen putting away clean dishes from the dishwasher. Matt made it only halfway down the stairs before he heard your high pitched voice squeal out an unexpected “Matty!” excitedly from across the room. Matt’s foot hesitated briefly on the next step, his head tipping slightly to the side as his dark brows pinched together. Seconds later, he caught the sound of your bare feet lightheartedly skipping across the apartment towards him.

That was…new.

“You’re home early!” you cheerfully trilled.

When he descended the last step, you didn't wait to check for injuries before flinging yourself forward at him. Encircling your arms around his neck, you latched onto him and abruptly planted three kisses to his cheek in quick succession. Matt’s hands hovered in the air at his sides in confusion, not entirely certain what was going on. It wasn’t like you hadn’t been happy to see him in the past when he came home, but he’d never experienced you quite so exuberant at his arrival before. And certainly not lately.

“I–yeah,” he replied. Recovering from the shock at your significantly altered mood, his arms finally wrapped around your waist, pulling you towards his chest for a hug. “I’m aware that I haven’t been around as much lately after the skunk incident, and I've been feeling guilty about it,” he admitted against the top of your head. “I missed you, sweetheart. Thought I'd come home earlier so we could actually spend some time together.”

“I missed you too, Matty,” you told him. “Which reminds me!”

You swiftly disentangled yourself from his embrace before quite literally hopping backwards two steps on your bare feet, the smile on your face apparent in your own voice. Though as Matt listened a little closer, he caught something peculiar about just how wide your smile actually sounded to his ears. The muscles of your face were strained, making a noise like that of sandpaper scratching against itself. Which meant you’d been doing a lot of smiling today, something Matt could only assume was an abnormal amount to cause that level of strain. He’d certainly never heard that from someone in all his years with his heightened senses. 

“I made you another batch of trail mix!” you excitedly relayed. “Or, well, like five batches, really. I know how much you’ve been going nonstop lately between work and Deviling. I figured it’d be a great way to make sure you’re keeping your body from depleting its energy levels. Can’t have the Devil going out on an empty stomach!”

The crease between Matt’s brows deepened further, his eyes fixing somewhere around your chest. Your heart rate was a little more elevated than usual, and your nervous system was in high gear, but not from anxiety. He could smell higher amounts of dopamine coming off of you, and Matt could guess that you had raised levels of serotonin and oxytocin in your bloodstream. Your body was reacting almost as similarly as it had done the night he’d proposed and you’d said yes, but why? What could have possibly occurred to make you quite this excited today?

“Sweetheart, did something happen today?” he asked hesitantly. “You seem…in a rather good mood tonight.”

You shrugged your shoulders, the smile still firmly planted on your lips despite how tired the rest of your body sounded. Something about it felt off to Matt, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The entirety of your body sounded like it usually did at the end of the day–tired and ready for sleep–yet you also seemed equally and uncharacteristically lively.

“Nope!” you chirped. “It’s just a very good day today, don’t you think, Matty?”

His senses snapped fully and completely onto your body, trying to search for a cause as to why you sounded so unlike yourself tonight. His gut was telling him something wasn't right, but he couldn’t seem to pinpoint anything being the cause of the strange juxtaposition occurring inside of you. You didn't sound sick or injured, and there weren't any signs leading him to think that Katy had gotten you high or that someone had unexpectedly drugged you with something. There was absolutely nothing noticeably wrong with you even if he could feel it. Maybe you really were just having an oddly good day? Still holding the mask in his left hand, Matt heard the air shift as you gestured a hand towards the bathroom down the short hallway. 

“Mhmm,” you hummed out, energetically nodding your head. “I’m perfectly fine. Great, actually.”

“Why don’t you go get showered and changed?” you suggested before tossing a thumb over your shoulder at the kitchen. “I can make you something for dinner, and then afterwards we can do whatever you want. Oh!” You exclaimed loudly, another burst of adrenaline shooting through you. “Do you want to go to that park nearby? It’s still open for a few more hours, and then we can get out of the house and away from the smell of skunk. We could go for a walk and you can–”

“Breathe, sweetheart,” Matt said, cutting you off as he raised a gloved hand to your shoulder. “You sound as if you’ve had fifteen coffees tonight, yet your body doesn’t seem to be matching up. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah?” he cautiously questioned.

You shrugged easily once more, the smile still drawn tight across your lips. “Yeah,” you agreed. “Today just feels like a very good day, don’t you think, Matty?”

Matt’s eyes narrowed back at you, catching the odd way you repeated yourself. It had that uncomfortable sensation in his gut screaming at him, something itching inside of him telling him that you weren’t acting like yourself. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find a reason for your unusualness this evening. 

With an abrupt shake of his head, he shifted his senses more outwards again, no longer focusing so intensely on just you. Maybe you really were just that excited to see him again with how he'd been neglecting you lately, and that thought had guilt and regret steadily filling him as he turned and headed towards the bathroom for a shower. He really had been a horrible fiancé lately, and he figured he’d try to make it up to you tonight. He wouldn't let himself destroy your good mood with his endless remorse.

Slumped over the opposite side of the table, your chin rested in the palm of your hand as you absently watched a droplet of condensation run down the side of your iced coffee. A wet ring had formed beneath it on the wooden table as the pair of you sat at a coffee shop on the outskirts of Hell’s Kitchen. You'd intentionally gone out of your way to stay outside of Matt's hearing range for these meet ups discussing Katy’s article with her, though you were actively being eaten alive with the guilt.

It felt wrong lying to Matt. You didn't like it. And not just about the story Katy was working on that you'd spent the past nearly two weeks helping her with in your downtime, but you'd also had a couple of self-defense training sessions with Karen and Frank already. Training sessions that you’d still not mentioned to him because you knew how Matt would react to learning that you were spending time with Frank Castle and having him teach you how to shoot a gun. 

Keeping the secrets hadn’t been difficult, though. Matt was rarely in the apartment lately, spending more time than usual out at the office to work. Even his usual off hours when you'd usually get to see him were now spent at Nelson, Murdock and Page if he wasn't out as Daredevil solely so that he could get away from the stench of skunk still lingering at home. Because while the scent had significantly faded for you, it hadn’t quite faded for Matt and his bloodhound nose. 

But with Matt not being around as much, it made avoiding telling him what you were doing far too easy. There was no need to hide why you came home covered in sweat and smelling like gun powder from a shooting range, because a simple shower while he was out washed away the evidence. Any residual scent lingering in the air was either masked by the skunk or you figured that he assumed it was from his own suit. Because not once had Matt suspected anything.

And not once had he inquired about all the extra time you'd been spending with Katy at The Bulletin, which only made the pit in your stomach grow into a gaping blackhole of guilt. Matt trusted you to be forthright and honest with him, to tell him if you ever found yourself chasing after a story that would put you in danger after what had happened the last time you did. Yet here you were keeping secrets from him once again, and it made you feel sick to your stomach. 

But the secrecy was only temporary, and it was just to keep him safe. You didn't plan to keep the story about an escaped prisoner from The Raft from him for too much longer, but that didn't alleviate the sinking feeling you carried around on a daily basis. 

Not that Matt noticed anything off with you. He hadn’t been around you long enough for that. 

Katy's fingers snapped twice in front of your face, and your head swiftly raised from your palm at the sound. You blinked back at her across the table as you were drawn from your thoughts, noticing the frown deepening on her lips.

“Are you overthinking on me again?” she asked. 

“Sorry,” you apologized. “Just got lost in my thoughts. What were you saying?”

“I was saying that digging through the old, physical copies of past papers isn't exactly cutting it,” Katy told you. “We don't even know what we're looking for besides some sort of big, publicized arrest. But with all the crazy shit that occurs in New York City, it's almost impossible to remember every out of the ordinary thing that’s happened here.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, trying to focus on the conversation and not your spiraling thoughts. “Especially when you work in the news and you're surrounded by it every day. It all starts to blur together.”

Katy’s eyes narrowed back at you from across the table as she raised the ceramic mug to her lips. She stared at you beneath the blunt cut of her dark bangs as she drank her coffee, the corners of her eyes creasing. You knew that look well, it was the look she always gave you when she was seeing straight through you. A unique skill of hers that was useful for journalism and frustrating when it came to your personal life.

Sighing heavily, you sat back in your chair, gaze dropping back down to the ice melting in your coffee. “I just feel guilty,” you confessed. “It doesn’t feel right not telling him what we're doing. Especially not with who he is.”

“You’re thinking about Matt again, aren’t you?” she pressed, lowering her cup to the table. “At some point during these meetups, you always get this broody, distant look on your face. You look like someone forced the bacteria-ridden tap water from Josie’s down your throat.”

“Look, I get it,” Katy soothed. “But you're only doing it so that he doesn't go running out into the streets at night and just jump headfirst into danger. Especially when it’s danger that we still know nothing about.” 

“I know,” you mumbled.

Katy leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table as she lowered her voice. This was not a conversation the rest of Black Out Coffee needed to eavesdrop on.

“What if the person we're looking for can raise the dead or control lightning?” Katy speculated. “Or shoot fireballs from their hands? Or, I don't fucking know, turn random objects into crazy explosives? Wouldn't you rather hand this over to Matt with something more for him to go on than the fact that they're enhanced? For all we know, this escaped prisoner could be Avenger-level scary. You want Matt running into that without–”

“I know,” you repeated more firmly. Eyes raising from the iced coffee in front of you, you met her stare. “I get it, Katy. That's why I haven't said anything. I'm scared for Matt. I'd rather risk his anger and ask for forgiveness later than have him just gone because something awful happened to him. But that doesn't mean I don't feel incredibly shitty hiding this from him.” 

A frown settled onto your face as you ran your index finger along the condensation of your cup, the pad of your fingertip growing damp. It was only months ago that you'd made that pinky promise with Matt about using your words and communicating with each other, and now here you were breaking it shortly after he finally proposed to you. 

“That's not what we're supposed to do,” you mumbled.

“You two are disgustingly perfect for each other,” Katy said, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “He'll get over it. You both already had your big breakup, there's no way he'd be stupid enough to end things a second time.”

Looking up from your coffee, you shot Katy a flat look. While you admired how much faith she had in yours and Matt's relationship, you didn't fully believe it had already been fully tested to its limits, especially considering that Matt was Daredevil. His life was wrought with danger, and navigating it together as a couple wouldn't always be easy. Especially since there was no instruction manual on how to date a masked vigilante.

Bringing your coffee to your lips, you sipped the cold liquid through the straw as you glanced around the coffee shop. It was late afternoon now, and the sun shone through all the large windows lining the shop as it started inching towards the skyline. But as you absentmindedly looked around, you found yourself doing a double take back towards a man standing near the counter. He looked out of place in the shop with how well-dressed he was for a Saturday afternoon, wearing what looked like a designer suit in an uncommon color that you didn't see often–dark purple. 

A crease formed between your brows as you sat there staring at him, something strange scratching in the back of your mind as if you recognized him from somewhere. You watched as he spoke to the barista behind the counter making his drink, trying to place why he'd caught your attention.

“What?” Katy asked. She turned her head over her shoulder, her eyes openly following where your attention had gone. “You're looking at purple man?”

“Yeah,” you answered.

“Why?” she asked curiously. “Do you know him?”

You shook your head lightly, brows creasing together as you continued studying the man at the counter. Something about him just seemed off. Everyone near him was smiling, but considering the late rush at the coffee shop now that it was so late in the afternoon, the broad smiles on their faces looked out of place. They hadn't been smiling that wide when you and Katy had ordered.

“No,” you said, “but something about him seems familiar, right?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Katy tip her head to the side as she observed the man. He grabbed his coffee from the young woman behind the counter before turning around, and that odd feeling grew even stronger as you saw his entire face. But his eyes met yours from across the shop and he hesitated, catching both you and Katy openly staring at him. 

“Shit,” Katy whispered, ducking her head away. “That's not awkward.”

A chill crept up your spine as he stood there staring back at you, your hand tightening around your coffee cup. Before you could break the uncomfortable eye contact, the man in the purple suit began making his way towards your table near the window. 

“And now he's coming over,” you whispered, finally tearing your attention from him. “Maybe it's nothing, but I just have this weird feeling like he looks familiar. I just can't place why–”

“Good afternoon, ladies.”

You stiffened at the cheerful, accented voice. The sound of it seeped into your skin, sparking an unexplainable fear that you couldn't quite pinpoint as it squeezed itself into your veins. Something felt inexplicably off as you hesitantly glanced up at him now standing beside the table, his coffee in one hand and his attention fixed on you.

“You know they say it's rude to stare,” he stated, undeterred by the looks on yours' and Katie's faces. “So go on. Introduce yourselves.”

Your name fell out of your mouth as if it was dragged out by a magnetic pull at the same time Katy gave him hers. Eyes shifting towards her, you caught Katy giving you the same confused look from the opposite side of the table. What the hell had that just been, you hadn’t–

“Eyes on me.”

His voice cut through your thoughts, and your eyes abruptly snapped back towards him. His smile widened, but something sinister lurked beneath it, causing the hair on the back of your neck to bristle.

“Now why don't you tell me what caught your attention and had you so rudely gawking at me?” he demanded. 

“You looked familiar,” you answered automatically. 

One of his dark brows lifted at the comment, his eyes narrowing suspiciously down at you. You wanted to look at Katy, to gauge how she felt about this odd encounter, but for some reason you couldn't seem to look away from him. 

“So you know who I am?” he pressed.

“No.”

He nodded slowly, seemingly content with that answer. “And who would you happen to be? What do you both do?”

“We're journalists,” you replied, the answer falling off your tongue “For The Bulletin.”

His smile spread even wider in delight as a gleeful noise slipped out of him, and that only made you grow increasingly uneasy. Yet for some reason, you still couldn't look away from him. You tried to turn your head, desperate to know if Katy seemed to be experiencing whatever you were, but you simply couldn’t control the muscles of your neck. Your head remained fixed straight forward, your eyes focused on the man in the dark purple suit.

“Lovely!” he exclaimed, beaming down at the both of you. “I've heard that Devil git prefers The Bulletin. Good to know I've made some friends there now myself, hmm?”

You swallowed hard, eyes still stuck to him. You had no idea what he meant by making friends because this entire interaction was making your skin crawl and you definitely never wanted to see him again. But the mention of the Devil had your mind instantly conjuring up Matt's smiling face, and your heart thundered in your chest. Was he talking about Daredevil? Because it was well-known that Daredevil often gave story leaks specifically to The Bulletin in order to out criminals. Mostly because Matt favored you. 

“But unfortunately I need to cut our introductions short. I have other issues to deal with this evening. Shame, really. I imagine this could’ve been much more fun if I’d had more time,” he mused to himself. “Obviously you’ll both need to forget about this meeting when I leave,” he continued. “But before I do, I have to say that those frowns on your faces are rather upsetting. You both should smile more, be more excited. Today is a very good day after all, don’t you think?”

The second his accented voice mentioned smiling, your mouth moved on its own, sweeping up into a bright smile that made your cheeks ache. Across the table, you heard Katy abruptly agree with him about what a good day it was, and for some reason that you couldn't understand, you felt compelled to agree with her. 

The man in the purple suit turned and left your table, heading for the exit of the coffee shop as he took a drink of his coffee. Whatever had been holding your head in place seemed to release it, and you finally switched your attention over towards Katy. But just as you’d opened your mouth to say something, you completely forgot what you’d been about to say. The thought abruptly slipped from your mind as if it'd never been there.

Blinking at Katy a handful of times, your smile continued to stretch wide across your lips. Slightly confused about what you’d been about to tell her, you shook your head and picked up your coffee, raising the straw to your lips and taking a drink. Almost simultaneously you were struck with a sudden burst of excitement, not really in the mood to sit and discuss the story you'd both been chasing after for weeks.

“Let's not worry about the massive backlog of newspapers anymore today,” you told Katy. “It'll be fine. We'll figure it out. Besides, it's too nice of a day to complain about the out of date way Ellison stores them. We should go do something else that’s actually fun. Like shopping!” You instantly perked up in your seat as the idea burst out of you. “Do you want to go shopping instead?"

“Ugh, yes!” Katy eagerly agreed, pushing her chair back and standing up. “We should go find some cute outfits, I have a date coming up anyway. Seems too nice of a day to just sit here, right?”

Matt pushed open the rooftop access door, his tired feet dragging his battered body inside the apartment. After he'd gotten sprayed by that skunk a couple of weeks ago, he hadn't managed to successfully wash the scent out of the material of his old suit enough for it to not constantly interfere with his senses, which meant he'd been forced to toss it. He’d returned to wearing his “original” suit that provided absolutely no protection while he waited for a new suit to be finished as yet another favor. 

His nose instantly burned as he stepped inside, the repulsive scent of skunk once again slipping into his nose as his own guilt steadily uncoiled in his gut. He’d barely been here all week. The last time he’d had much of a conversation with you was days ago because he was always running in to grab his Daredevil suit after work before disappearing again. Or he was peeling it off of himself before taking a shower and climbing into bed with you, burying his face against your neck in an attempt to block out the smell so that he could get a few hours of sleep.

You hadn’t commented on his constant disappearances, but Matt knew that you were upset with him. He’d been vanishing on you frequently, leaving you alone more often than not. Of course he knew that you’d never actually say anything about his absence because you were always so understanding when it came to him, which only made him feel worse. You knew that the smell in the apartment burned the inside of his nose and gave him excruciating headaches just from sleeping here at night, and you were far too selfless to ever complain or demand that he stayed home knowing that. But Matt was well aware that it bothered you that he was never around even if you didn’t say it.

You’d been quieter than usual over the past couple of weeks. Your mood seemed off, as if that awkward brightness he loved so much had suddenly dimmed. He knew that it was solely his doing, and he’d been internally berating himself over it for the past few days, telling himself that he needed to make more time for you. Which was what he planned to do tonight, and it was why he’d come home a bit earlier from patrolling the city. He wanted to be more present, even if it meant enduring the rancid scent of skunk and the negative effects it’d leave him with. You at least deserved to be with someone who didn’t constantly leave you to yourself.

As he began descending the stairs to the living room, one hand removing the black mask from his sweaty head, his senses located you in the kitchen putting away clean dishes from the dishwasher. Matt made it only halfway down the stairs before he heard your high pitched voice squeal out an unexpected “Matty!” excitedly from across the room. Matt’s foot hesitated briefly on the next step, his head tipping slightly to the side as his dark brows pinched together. Seconds later, he caught the sound of your bare feet lightheartedly skipping across the apartment towards him.

That was…new.

“You’re home early!” you cheerfully trilled.

When he descended the last step, you didn't wait to check for injuries before flinging yourself forward at him. Encircling your arms around his neck, you latched onto him and abruptly planted three kisses to his cheek in quick succession. Matt’s hands hovered in the air at his sides in confusion, not entirely certain what was going on. It wasn’t like you hadn’t been happy to see him in the past when he came home, but he’d never experienced you quite so exuberant at his arrival before. And certainly not lately.

“I–yeah,” he replied. Recovering from the shock at your significantly altered mood, his arms finally wrapped around your waist, pulling you towards his chest for a hug. “I’m aware that I haven’t been around as much lately after the skunk incident, and I've been feeling guilty about it,” he admitted against the top of your head. “I missed you, sweetheart. Thought I'd come home earlier so we could actually spend some time together.”

“I missed you too, Matty,” you told him. “Which reminds me!”

You swiftly disentangled yourself from his embrace before quite literally hopping backwards two steps on your bare feet, the smile on your face apparent in your own voice. Though as Matt listened a little closer, he caught something peculiar about just how wide your smile actually sounded to his ears. The muscles of your face were strained, making a noise like that of sandpaper scratching against itself. Which meant you’d been doing a lot of smiling today, something Matt could only assume was an abnormal amount to cause that level of strain. He’d certainly never heard that from someone in all his years with his heightened senses. 

“I made you another batch of trail mix!” you excitedly relayed. “Or, well, like five batches, really. I know how much you’ve been going nonstop lately between work and Deviling. I figured it’d be a great way to make sure you’re keeping your body from depleting its energy levels. Can’t have the Devil going out on an empty stomach!”

The crease between Matt’s brows deepened further, his eyes fixing somewhere around your chest. Your heart rate was a little more elevated than usual, and your nervous system was in high gear, but not from anxiety. He could smell higher amounts of dopamine coming off of you, and Matt could guess that you had raised levels of serotonin and oxytocin in your bloodstream. Your body was reacting almost as similarly as it had done the night he’d proposed and you’d said yes, but why? What could have possibly occurred to make you quite this excited today?

“Sweetheart, did something happen today?” he asked hesitantly. “You seem…in a rather good mood tonight.”

You shrugged your shoulders, the smile still firmly planted on your lips despite how tired the rest of your body sounded. Something about it felt off to Matt, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The entirety of your body sounded like it usually did at the end of the day–tired and ready for sleep–yet you also seemed equally and uncharacteristically lively.

“Nope!” you chirped. “It’s just a very good day today, don’t you think, Matty?”

His senses snapped fully and completely onto your body, trying to search for a cause as to why you sounded so unlike yourself tonight. His gut was telling him something wasn't right, but he couldn’t seem to pinpoint anything being the cause of the strange juxtaposition occurring inside of you. You didn't sound sick or injured, and there weren't any signs leading him to think that Katy had gotten you high or that someone had unexpectedly drugged you with something. There was absolutely nothing noticeably wrong with you even if he could feel it. Maybe you really were just having an oddly good day? Still holding the mask in his left hand, Matt heard the air shift as you gestured a hand towards the bathroom down the short hallway. 

“Mhmm,” you hummed out, energetically nodding your head. “I’m perfectly fine. Great, actually.”

“Why don’t you go get showered and changed?” you suggested before tossing a thumb over your shoulder at the kitchen. “I can make you something for dinner, and then afterwards we can do whatever you want. Oh!” You exclaimed loudly, another burst of adrenaline shooting through you. “Do you want to go to that park nearby? It’s still open for a few more hours, and then we can get out of the house and away from the smell of skunk. We could go for a walk and you can–”

“Breathe, sweetheart,” Matt said, cutting you off as he raised a gloved hand to your shoulder. “You sound as if you’ve had fifteen coffees tonight, yet your body doesn’t seem to be matching up. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah?” he cautiously questioned.

You shrugged easily once more, the smile still drawn tight across your lips. “Yeah,” you agreed. “Today just feels like a very good day, don’t you think, Matty?”

Matt’s eyes narrowed back at you, catching the odd way you repeated yourself. It had that uncomfortable sensation in his gut screaming at him, something itching inside of him telling him that you weren’t acting like yourself. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find a reason for your unusualness this evening. 

With an abrupt shake of his head, he shifted his senses more outwards again, no longer focusing so intensely on just you. Maybe you really were just that excited to see him again with how he'd been neglecting you lately, and that thought had guilt and regret steadily filling him as he turned and headed towards the bathroom for a shower. He really had been a horrible fiancé lately, and he figured he’d try to make it up to you tonight. He wouldn't let himself destroy your good mood with his endless remorse.

Irritated at the waste of time and frustrating loss of sleep, especially since you had work in the morning, you shoved your phone away from yourself along the nightstand in annoyance. With an exasperated huff, you grabbed the sheets and finally flung them off of yourself before sitting upright in bed. As a resigned breath passed from between your lips into the darkness, you turned and placed your feet along the floor. Maybe if you gave up on quieting your mind and gave into the odd craving you currently had for orange juice, you might have more luck falling asleep afterwards.

Padding barefoot out of your bedroom, you shuffled down the hall and towards your kitchen while rubbing a hand against your tired eyes. You wore nothing but an oversized shirt and a pair of panties beneath it since today had been an unseasonably warm day for mid-spring, making it far too warm to sleep dressed in multiple layers. You’d wondered if it was the heat in your apartment causing you to struggle to fall asleep tonight, rolling back and forth in an attempt to get comfortable. Though you knew that if you were being honest with yourself, that wasn’t really the reason.

Flipping on the lightswitch as you stepped into your kitchen, you squinted at the abrupt harsh light that flooded your apartment. Dragging your tired feet over the worn wood floor, you walked over to your fridge as thoughts of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen began to flood your mind again.

You were certain your offer to become friends with benefits had been the cause of the sudden ending to your unexpected friendship with the Devil. Nearly three weeks had passed since that night you’d suggested the idea and you still hadn’t seen him since. You continued filling the Devil’s Pantry for him every single night with snacks, bottles of water, and simple medical supplies, faithfully intending to keep him fed, hydrated, and safe. Yet every morning when you pulled the container back inside, it was clear that he hadn’t stopped by your place. Nothing had been touched. 

It’d been over a month and you'd only had that single encounter with him, the one in which you’d opened your big mouth and permanently sent your favorite stray back out into the night. There was no mistaking what his absence meant–whatever had been going on was over. You’d gotten too close to him, pushed too hard for something he’d made clear that he wasn’t going to give, and now he was gone. Your life had returned to being the same boring, monotonous thing that it’d always been, and you cursed the snowstorm which had brought the Devil into your world in the first place.

You grabbed the jug of orange juice out of your fridge and closed the door before turning and taking a few steps further into your small kitchen. Reaching your free hand up, you opened a cabinet and pulled out a black coffee mug, too tired to care about grabbing an actual glass. You set it down on the counter and untwisted the cap on the jug. Tipping the container over the cup, you filled it about halfway with orange liquid before screwing the lid back on. 

After returning the orange juice back to the fridge, you picked up the ceramic cup and brought it to your lips, sipping at the sweet, tangy juice. Your aching, tired eyes slowly lowered shut as you leaned forward, resting your forearms along the kitchen counter and stretching your back. Your mind temporarily went blissfully blank amidst the quiet of your apartment and the relative calm of the city so early in the morning, but you were still left with that heaviness lingering in your chest.

This was your life again. Working Monday through Friday at a boring, thankless office job and staring at a computer screen all day every day. Coming home to change into comfortable clothes before making dinner and eating it while having no one to share the details of your day with. You spent your nights watching television shows and movies cuddling pillows on the couch before eventually crawling into your big bed only to fall asleep alone. Then you woke up to do it all over again. Sometimes on the weekends you’d meet up with friends for a bit, or go out to run errands, or curl up with a book on your couch, but otherwise your life was just a string of the same things repeating themselves over and over. 

You’d been content with the way things were until you’d met the Devil. Now everything seemed so bleak and mundane, and you'd come to realize exactly how lonely you'd been beneath all that routine. The thrill of getting an unexpected visit while you were cooking dinner or beginning to fall asleep on the couch always had you rushing to get home after work, trying to put yourself together just for the Devil. And whenever he did visit, you replayed that brief encounter over and over in your head until he slipped back through your window again another night. 

You had inevitably fallen into like with the Devil. Not love, certainly not that. But feelings definitely placed themselves into the equation against any level of reason. Which was strange considering you technically didn’t know much about him. Though you supposed that while you didn’t know his name, his career, or what he looked like beneath the mask, you had gotten to know the deeper parts of him. 

You knew the Devil had a big heart which encompassed the entirety of Hell’s Kitchen, and you knew that he was fearless and headstrong, still running out into the night to protect the city even with the possibility of multiple broken ribs. He was selfless to the point that he never properly took care of himself, and you were positive that he spent his nights with only the company of criminals. You knew he could throw himself off your fire escape and be just fine, and you knew beneath all that grit was a witty, charming man who made you laugh. 

During his last visit, he’d made it clear that he didn’t harbor any feelings for you and that all he felt was purely attraction. But at this point, you’d take whatever you could get if it meant he'd return to your fire escape. You’d find a way to be content with only his battered body and a few random nights of pleasure if that’s all he’d share with you, because there was no denying the intense attraction that drew you to him. He plagued your thoughts all day at work before haunting your dreams most nights.

You missed him.

With your eyes still closed, you continued sipping at the juice in your mug, still hunched over your kitchen counter. Running your other hand across your forehead, the tips of your fingers pressed firm circles into the space between your eyes. You really hoped the orange juice would somehow magically quiet your thoughts, otherwise you’d be miserably exhausted at work all day tomorrow from not getting any sleep. 

“I don’t know how many times I've said this, but you really should keep your window locked.”

Your entire body tensed at the deep, familiar voice suddenly behind you, your fingers pausing their circles against your forehead. The saliva in your mouth dried instantly, leaving your tongue parched and heavy where it sat. You were too afraid to open your eyes and turn to look behind you, not entirely certain if you’d reached a new low and begun hallucinating the Devil or if he was actually here after weeks of his continued painful absence. 

A long, weighted silence engulfed your apartment as you stood half-slouched against the counter, so uncertain whether he was real that you were barely breathing. The longer the quiet stretched on, the more you’d started to convince yourself that you hadn’t actually heard him, your mind beginning to play tricks on you. Until he spoke again and your fingers tightened around the handle of your mug.

“Suppose I deserve the lack of greeting,” he mused, his voice sounding closer now. “I haven’t exactly checked in with you in awhile.”

Sucking a deep breath into your lungs and holding it, you opened your eyes and braced yourself. But as you stared at the dark tile backsplash on the wall in front of you, you weren’t entirely certain what you were bracing yourself for. A fight? Him returning only to officially end the friendship? To turn around and realize you were hallucinating disembodied voices now? Or to brace yourself against the hope that you felt tickling its way through you because he’d returned, and that meant maybe you might not have scared him away as permanently as you'd believed.

“Angel?” he hesitantly called out. “You're uncharacteristically silent tonight. Usually when I stop by you have plenty more to say.”

Exhaling the breath you’d been holding, you let go of the black ceramic mug and turned around to face him. But seeing him actually standing there merely three feet away had you stumbling backwards into the counter behind you. The Devil was not only really here, but he was standing so very, very close to you. You attempted to swallow the lump forming in the back of your throat, but your mouth was far too dry to accomplish the task.

Your eyes began roving over him in a rush as if you were taking stock of him, committing him to memory after the weeks that’d gone by without him. His face was still mostly covered with that ridiculous black fabric which was always pulled down to just past the tip of his nose, leaving his beautiful full lips and that angular jaw covered in delicious dark stubble visible. You had forgotten exactly how tight his black shirts were, clinging to him in a way which further accentuated each of his muscles beneath the dark fabric. While you had never forgotten just how well he filled out those black pants from that time you'd pulled him out of them, you had forgotten the way they seemed to strain at the seams on the sides because of how thick his thighs were. Noticing that little detail again had your heart thundering in your own ears. 

But besides all of that, he looked entirely fine. There was no sign of limping or bleeding, no reason as to why he might’ve disappeared for weeks. Not that you hadn’t already heard him featured in multiple news stories in the days that'd passed since you'd last spoken with him. You knew he was still venturing out into the city at night, he just hadn't ventured to see you.

The Devil’s covered head tipped to the side, his lips curving downwards at the corners. You realized you’d just been standing there staring at him in your kitchen for a long, drawn out minute without having said anything yet. But instead of feeling embarrassed or uncomfortable, the question that had been scratching at your mind ever since that last time he’d flung himself over the railing of your fire escape flew off your tongue.

“You disappeared for weeks. Why?” you demanded.

His lips pursed in response, a few of his fingers twitching at his sides inside of his black gloves. Another silence dragged itself out between you both, and you continued to grow increasingly aware of just how close he stood to you in the kitchen. Leaning further back against the counter behind you, feeling the edge of it press into your lower back, you tried to maintain your distance as if that would somehow help contain the tumultuous onslaught of emotions now coursing through you just from seeing him again. 

“I thought it was for the best,” he finally answered. “I was afraid you might be getting attached, and I can’t exactly have attachments. Not doing all of this.” He raised a gloved hand, gesturing it at his chest and implying his nightly vigilante activities. “I’m not the guy you should be interested in, angel. So I thought it would be better if I stopped intruding on your evenings and gave you space, but–.”

“It wasn’t better,” you shot back, cutting him off. 

The words had come out a bit harsher than you'd intended, so you paused, pressing your lips firmly together while you took a second to rein in your emotions. Telling him off would probably just send him back out onto your fire escape, and that was the opposite of what you wanted.

“I thought we’d become friends after all those times I helped you,” you tried again, managing to keep your tone even. “I thought you would have at least given me some sort of an actual goodbye instead of just ghosting me if you weren’t planning to come back.”

The corner of his lip twitched, guiltily tugging to the side. “You're right, we did become friends over these past few months,” he agreed softly. “And I’m sorry for my absence. I shouldn’t have just disappeared on you like that, but I wasn't necessarily intending to never come back.”

It wasn’t much of an apology, especially considering this wasn't the first time he'd disappeared on you after your strange friendship had begun, yet you couldn’t deny the way the frustration and hurt began to ease its way out of you. He was acknowledging his actions at least, and maybe he was truly sorry. He certainly sounded like it. While it still upset you that he’d just ignored you for weeks, not even leaving you a note or stopping by to take something from the Devil’s Pantry which you dutifully set outside solely for him every single night, you couldn’t deny how elated you were that he’d simply returned to you.

But that begged the question as to why he was here tonight.

“So what brought you back then?” you asked, brows furrowing together. “I thought what I said last time freaked you out after you stopped visiting. It's been weeks since I've seen you, why show up now?”

The Devil took a half step closer to you, shrinking the already small distance between you both, and your reaction was immediate. Your pulse sped up, your heart thudding like a drum inside your chest as he drew even closer. The remaining space between your bodies grew thick and heated as something settled in it, something that had your stomach dipping anxiously as if you’d just jumped over the railing of your fire escape yourself. 

The Devil's heavy boots came to an abrupt halt along the floor, his lips twisting into a grimace as his hands curled into fists at his sides. You wondered what that was about, curious to know if he could somehow feel that same tension in the air that you did.

“I came because of what you said last time,” he admitted, sounding oddly pained. “I've been…wanting to know if you really meant it.”

Your heart gave a sharp, unexpected jolt as if it could somehow fling itself from your chest at him, so you grabbed onto the counter behind you to steady yourself. Had he really just spent all this time thinking about your offer of sleeping together? Conflicted over it for weeks instead of being completely put off by the idea? Was that why he'd disappeared for so long? Because he’d actually been considering making that sort of arrangement with you?

“You mean about being friends who are sometimes more than that?” you hesitantly clarified.

“Yes,” the Devil answered. 

He took another half-step closer to you, and you swore every nerve-ending in your body sparked to life. His tongue slipped out between his lips, making you acutely aware of how you were currently dressed right now–in just the oversized shirt and panties. Panties which were quite honestly growing a bit damp with the way you could feel him staring at you beneath that mask.

“Do you truly think that's something you could do?” he questioned huskily. “The physical without anything more than friendship? Especially with someone you know so little about?”

“I told you I already know enough about you,” you replied. You’d caught the breathlessness of your own voice, his proximity having a strong effect on you considering the topic of conversation. “I know enough about your character even without your name. I imagine you could say the same about me.”

He shook his masked head from side to side slowly, taking another step closer as he did. There was less than a foot of space left between your bodies now, and you could smell the sweat and the city on him. Your hands curled tighter around the kitchen counter behind you, nails digging into the stone as you leaned against it, fighting the growing lightheadedness as your breaths came in sharper.

“That wasn’t what I asked,” the Devil pointed out. “I asked if you could do the physical and only accept my friendship in return.”

It was impossible not to stare at his lips with him standing as close as he was, your eyes drawn to them when he'd spoken, watching the way they formed each word. Your breathing was coming in short and embarrassingly ragged, and you were certain he could hear the way it’d changed.

Something about the Devil had you constantly wanting more from him. More nighttime visits, more conversations, more touches with or without the gloves, more personal facts accidentally slipping out of his beautiful mouth. You wanted more than friendship because you'd certainly gone and developed feelings for him, but that wasn't what he was offering. 

If it was a choice between friends who fucked or nothing at all, you knew the answer. You'd shove down every scrap of feelings you felt for him if it meant he kept climbing through your window at night. And if you got to have just a fraction more of him in the process, you were willing to deal with the emotional fallout later. Maybe all it was between you two was sexual attraction in the end, just like he'd said before.

“Yes,” you told him. “I can handle it.”

Which was true, because you knew that was the only way you'd ever keep the Devil. And right now, you’d have agreed to anything to make that happen.

His head tipped to the side as he fell into quiet contemplation, apparently mulling over your response. You remembered once that he’d mentioned he could tell when people were lying, and you wondered if he was somehow using that ability on you now, however the hell it worked.

While he stood silent, your eyes dropped to the line of his jaw. It was even more exposed beneath the overhead light in your kitchen with the way he’d tipped his head to the side, and you desperately wanted to run your tongue along the length of it. You wanted to taste his skin, to feel the sharp rasp of his stubble, and to hear what sounds he might make. You wanted to twist your fingers into the little brown hairs that peeked out beneath the back of his mask and kiss him until you couldn't breathe.

Having grown so absorbed in the fantasy playing out in your head, your stupid mind only making you more aroused than you already were seconds ago, you were taken by surprise when the Devil abruptly moved. A startled gasp slipped out of you the moment he lunged forward, his rough gloves grabbing onto either side of your face. He closed the remaining distance without warning, and his impossibly soft and warm lips crashed onto yours before your brain had a second to comprehend what was happening. 

It took you a moment to register that he was kissing you, that after months of fantasizing about this exact scenario, the Devil was finally kissing you. Your hands released the counter and grabbed onto the thin fabric of his shirt along his chest, your fingers twisting into the dark material. Moving your lips against his, you kissed him back with the hungry determination you’d been holding back for months. Every part of you became hyper-aware of the Devil, because for once you were touching him and it wasn't with the sole intention of helping him. 

You could feel the hard planes of muscle beneath your palms, the muscle you’d known was there because you'd seen it before, but now you didn't have to hide how incredibly attracted you’d always been to him. So when he took another step forward and pressed himself against you, trapping you between him and the counter, all of the blood in your veins rushed to a singular point between your thighs. His solid chest brushed against your peaked nipples poking through the thin cotton of your shirt, and you audibly moaned at the sensation. Seizing the opportunity, the Devil’s tongue slid right into your mouth, his gloved hands still firmly holding your face steady in his grip. 

With each sensual lap of his tongue against yours, you could feel a bulge straining against the front of his pants. Fingers still tangled in the fabric of his shirt, you reacted without thinking as his erection pushed into your thigh. Your hips bucked forward against his, desperate for more contact–for more of him. But instead he abruptly broke away from your lips with a long, deep groan of pleasure as if somehow it was all too much, and you swore the sound lit your body on fire. 

You stared at his kiss swollen lips beneath the harsh lighting of your kitchen, your breath coming in ragged, harsh bursts. Not quite ready to have ended such a heated moment, you inched forward towards him, eager to continue what had been easily the hottest kiss of your life, but you were stopped as the Devil’s hands fell away from your face and he took a partial step backwards.

“Wait,” he hoarsely ordered. His own chest rapidly rose and fell as if he was struggling to catch his breath, one of his hands raising in the space between you. “We should–should discuss things first. Boundaries.”

Still utterly breathless from the kiss, the air rushed in and out between your parted lips. You felt as disheveled and undone as the Devil currently looked, his shirt rumpled and his cheeks flushed. Your panties were noticeably wet, something that was impossible to ignore now. So was the throbbing between your legs that was beating in sync with your pulse. 

He huffed out a breathy laugh while nodding his head. But as the grin lingered on his lips, you caught the hard swallow with the bob of his throat before he turned, moving with barely a sound in his heavy boots as he navigated through your kitchen and headed straight towards your couch. Disappointment crept through you, his retreat the equivalent of someone spraying you with a garden hose. Talking was the last thing you were in the mood for after that frenzied kiss you'd both just shared, but you followed after him anyway. Somewhere in your lust-filled mind you knew he had a point, there were details to discuss if this were to work. 

“Boundaries,” you repeated. “That–that makes sense. If we’re, you know, doing this.”

“If we are doing this,” the Devil began, voice still tight as he settled onto the couch, “then I need to set some rules.”

“Rules, right,” you agreed breathlessly, making your way through your kitchen. The abrupt switch from wanting to tear through his clothes with your nails to needing to discuss boundaries for this ‘relationship’ had your head spinning. “I can do rules.”

“Even if that means my mask can never come off?” the Devil questioned.

“Maybe I’ll develop a mask kink,” you teased back, bare feet padding towards him. “Or maybe I already have one.”

As you stepped around the side of the couch, about to make your way to sit down beside him, you were caught off guard when he leaned forward. His hand shot out and latched onto your wrist, gently yet firmly tugging you towards him. You stumbled forward a step, letting him guide you down onto what you assumed would be his lap, but instead he settled you down to straddle one of his thighs. 

You became exceedingly aware of the length of thick muscle along the top of it, the thin layer of your damp panties not creating much of a barrier between your aching cunt and that heavenly muscle. Your traitorous pussy clenched around nothing as you sat there, silently begging for you both to shut up already and give into the desire burning through you. As if the Devil could feel your impatience, his hands roughly landed on your hips as a throaty hum rumbled in his chest, the sound vibrating through your entire body before heading straight to your cunt.

“You know I can’t ever give you my name, either,” he continued in a lower, huskier tone. “I need to remain anonymous.”

Placing your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, you felt his gloved fingers digging into the flesh of your hips through your shirt. He nudged you slightly forward along his thigh, dragging your cunt over him just enough. The sweet, delicious friction that resulted elicited the softest whine from your lips and you visibly quivered. The Devil’s grip tightened even further on your hips, his nostrils flaring sharply beneath his mask.

“We don’t–dont need names,” you whispered.

Another low, pleased noise vibrated deep in the back of his throat. He tipped his head back against the back of your couch, staring up at you from beneath the mask as one of his hands released your hip, gliding up the top of your thigh before disappearing beneath your shirt. The coarse material of his glove dragging its way tantalizingly slowly over your ribs caused the muscles in your stomach to twitch. 

“This can only ever be sex,” he stated.

Your eyelids fluttered as his hand continued moving further upwards, teasing you with its unhurried pace until it inevitably came to palm your breast. He cupped the weight of it in his hand, the corner of his lips curving upwards as you involuntarily shifted along his leg. The hand on your hip urged you to move against him again, causing sparks of heat to dance under your skin as he encouraged you to grind along his exceptionally solid thigh.

“I have a feeling tending injuries and–and feeding you might also be involved in this arrangement,” you murmured, half-distracted from the conversation by pleasure. 

The softest chuckle tumbled past his lips as he looked up at you, a cocky smirk playing along them. “Then I suppose you should get your fair share out of this arrangement too, angel.”

His voice was a low purr that had your eyelids falling shut and your nails digging into his shoulders. Your body started moving in a rhythm all on its own, your hips rocking back and forth along his thigh as the hem of your shirt rode higher up your legs with the movement. The ridge of his thick quad was perfectly slotted between your thighs, allowing you to grind yourself along him at the exact angle that already had your stomach knotting up in pleasure. 

Everything else melted away as you straddled his thigh chasing after something to soothe the ache you felt for him between your own. It no longer mattered that he’d been gone for weeks, or how hurt you’d been over his silence, or that it was incredibly late and you were absolutely exhausted and needed to sleep. You’d never felt so good before and you weren’t even fucking him yet. Because there was something there between you both, something that made your pulse pound and your brain go hazy, something that you’d never experienced before.

“Is this what you think about when I'm not around?” he asked.

As your eyes gradually fluttered back open, you were met with the view of the Devil still casually watching you. His lips were parted as his hand beneath your shirt continued kneading your breast. Beneath the black mask, his cheeks were still somewhat flushed, and you could feel the tension in his shoulders beneath your palms, as if all that dangerous power was being held back while he let you ride his thigh.

“Yes,” you breathed out. “This and…other things…”

Releasing your grip on his shoulder, you dragged your nails softly down his chest, letting them skip over his belt buckle. But the second you palmed the tented fabric of his pants, the Devil’s teeth clamped together and a sharp hiss of air passed through them as he arched against the couch. Your tongue slid out, wetting your lips in delight at his reaction to simply being touched. You wanted more of it, so your hand inched upwards towards his belt buckle with every intention of freeing him from the confines of his pants so that you could take care of him.

But when his hand left your hip to abruptly grasp your neck, you froze in place beneath his grip. Your hips stuttered to a stop along his thigh as your hand lingered on his belt buckle, wondering if somehow undressing him was crossing one of his boundaries. While he wasn’t gripping you hard enough to choke, he'd certainly grabbed you with enough pressure to feel his gloved hand pressing against your windpipe. 

The Devil gave a single shake of his head. “No. Not tonight,” he said. “Only this.”

There was something laced in those few words that felt like a warning. Apparently sex wasn’t on the table tonight, and while you were moderately disappointed that you’d have to wait even longer for that, you could hardly remain disappointed when his hand beneath your shirt pinched your nipple, rolling it between his fingers.

“Keep going,” he ordered. “You’re not finished until you come on my thigh, angel.”

You needed no further encouragement, your body once more resuming its motion along his leg. His hand remained wrapped around your throat though. The pressure was not enough to restrict your airflow, but it caused little white spots to appear in the corner of your vision. 

Being choked by the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had a thrill tingling its way up your spine. How many men had been strangled by these exact hands? And now here he was holding himself back with you. He could squeeze just a little more, press his fingers into the delicate skin of your neck hard enough to block your breath until you passed out like he’d no doubt done countless times with so many others, but you trusted him completely. Because you knew the Devil wouldn’t cross that line with you.

And the thought of that had you panting and whimpering on him in a matter of minutes, your slick panties leaving wet stains along the top of his dark pants. You could feel yourself inching closer to a release, your stomach tightening with each roll of your hips as you rutted against him like a pathetic, single-minded animal. 

“That’s it, angel,” he husked. “You’re turning into such a mess for me.”

With one hand braced against his shoulder, nails digging into him so firmly that you were surprised you hadn’t torn his shirt, your other hand was curled over the top of his pants, palm flat against his belt buckle that he'd stopped you from undoing. Your thighs were trembling around his as pleasure surged its way through your body like a wave cresting against the shore, and you ground against him until finally reaching your breaking point. 

Your head tipped back over your shoulders, your eyes clamping shut as a low moan barreled straight out of your mouth, the sound vibrating against his palm. His fingers tightened around your neck as you came on his thigh, your entire body quaking with pleasure. You thought you heard a throaty groan rumble out of him, but your brain was too muddied to know for certain.

Shuddering against him, your hips eventually slowed to a stop, your panties significantly damper than earlier. You were breathing hard, your heart pounding in your chest like a battering ram. Eventually the Devil released your neck from his hold, his hand finding its way back to your hip to steady you on his leg as his other reluctantly ceased toying with your nipple beneath your shirt. Still loudly gasping for air, your head rolled forward and your gaze landed back on him, catching the rather smug smile beneath the hard line of his mask.

“What’s–what’s that look for?” you breathed out.

“You have absolutely no idea how beautiful you sound to me, angel,” he murmured.

His hand lightly patted your hip, the smug smile remaining drawn across his lips. Your brows dipped together in confusion as you stared down at him, heat creeping its way up your neck. Was he talking about the sounds you’d just been making when you’d come? You’d never been complimented on that before. What another odd thing for him to say. But you were far too tired now to question much about his strangeness as your body began to slump forward against his.

“Think I should get you to bed,” the Devil teased. “Seems like you’re up well past your bedtime, angel. I don’t think my visit helped with your energy levels.”

“Mmm,” you hummed back, leaning forward towards him and wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. “On the contrary, Devil, I think your visit helped tire me out so that I can finally fall asleep.”

Simply because you could–and because once wasn’t enough tonight–you leaned in the rest of the way and pressed a kiss to his lips. He returned it, though this time it wasn’t as heated as when he’d cornered you in your kitchen. This kiss was softer and slower, with something almost sweet and hesitant about it. When you pulled back, you smiled down at where you thought his eyes were hidden beneath his mask.

“You sure you’re good tonight?” you asked. “So far this arrangement seems a bit uneven.”

His lips quirked into a mischievous grin, and you fought the urge to lean back down and keep kissing him. That was going to be difficult to stop doing now that you’d been allowed to start.

“I’ll collect what I want next time,” he promised you. “But you sound far too exhausted and I’m sure you have work in the morning, so I think this is where I see myself out and let you get to bed.”

Reluctantly disentangling yourself from his thigh, you maneuvered yourself off his lap and stood back onto your feet, readjusting the oversized shirt that had ridden up. The Devil pushed himself up from the couch after you, and while you weren’t certain in the dim lighting that reached the living room from your kitchen, you thought you saw a damp patch not just on his thigh but also near his zipper. Maybe the Devil had enjoyed himself more than you’d realized.

“So is this how it’s going to be now?” you asked curiously, watching him readjust his pants as he headed towards your window. “We fuck and then you disappear from the fifth floor?”

The Devil slid open your window before he paused, his masked face turning over his shoulder towards you. “Tehcnically we haven’t done that yet,” he pointed out. “But sometimes I suppose that’ll be the case. I’m usually on the go. Things are always happening in the city. And since this isn’t anything more than just two friends who’re attracted to each other, we shouldn’t make it anymore complicated than that.”

“Right,” you agreed, nodding your head. “Just…two friends who want to fuck each other. Really badly.”

His grin grew wider before he tipped his head at you. “Goodnight, angel.”

Before you could say more than a goodnight in return, he turned and slipped out onto your fire escape through the open window. He closed it after himself before walking over to the railing, grabbing it in both of his hands and then gracefully flinging himself over it just like he’d done so many times before.

“I can definitely do uncomplicated,” you told yourself, staring at the place he’d just been standing outside, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. “That absolutely will not be a problem.”

Didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Because Foggy was gone. Dead. Because he was too slow. Too weak. Too angry. Too reckless. Too everything. A worthless waste of oxygen that couldn’t even protect his best friend. Wouldn’t need to protect his best friend if he has just done what he was supposed to. What his father had wanted, what Foggy had wanted.

If he had just been a lawyer…Foggy would still be alive.

God, he was such a piece of shit.

It was his fault that Anna Nelson couldn’t stop crying. His fault that booming, confident Ed Nelson had spoken at his eldest son’s funeral today in a broken, shaky, reed-thin voice. They had asked Matt to speak. He had. He couldn’t remember what he said. Just that every word felt like shallowing broken shards of glass.

He doesn’t remember grabbing the beer or popping it open…

Suddenly he’s at Josie’s. His nose is filled with sour-sweet odors of cheap beer, bitter hops, the acrid choking smoke, the stink of fear…but above all the cooper of fresh blood. Thick on his tongue like he had drinking it. So much blood…too much blood. He can hear Foggy struggling to breath…each one more pained and wet than the last…his heart slowing, struggling…he was dying. Foggy was dying. No, no, no, please God, no…the salt of Karen’s tears as she begged Foggy to please hold on…

And Matt is fighting not to vomit. Not to scream. Not to smash everything in his apartment. Not to pound his fists against the wall until his hands were as broken and screaming with pain as the ragged, bleeding hole in his soul. Not to throw himself against every criminal in this city until one of them finally killed him.

He couldn’t do that. Foggy wouldn’t want that. Foggy would want him to live. To thrive. To be safe. That’s all he ever wanted for Matt. For them.

So he had to live. Had to thrive. Had to be safe. It was what Foggy wanted. Matt could at least give him that.

And just like that, the fire is gone. The rage is dead. Dead like his best friend. 

The beer has to go. Not just in the trash can. But in the dumpster. One far away from his apartment. Somewhere he didn’t have to smell it.

The beer was the first to go but it was not the last. Anything that left him tasting blood and that faltering heartbeat ringing his ears like an accusation had to go. Tossed, smashed to pieces, locked away, or sold. He didn’t care which. Just as long as it was gone.

Including him. The Kitchen held far too many memories. He couldn’t stay there.

It had been tempting to follow Karen’s example. To leave this city entirely for somewhere less painful. But in the end he remained. He couldn’t say why. But remain he did, in a new apartment as far from the Kitchen it was possible to be without leaving Manhattan. Filled it with new, impersonal things that didn’t hurt what was left of his heart. Willingly caged himself in modern glass and cold steel so high above the streets that not so many of screams reached his ears. And few that did? Well, that’s what the record player was for.

Told himself that his help in that arena was useless. Worse than useless. Actively harmful. And if he ever tempted otherwise…In Loving Memory of Franklin "Foggy" Nelson under his fingers was a good reminder about why he needed to resist it.

Ignore the screams. Ignore the blood-soaked devil and its rage. Ignore the empty space where his best friend should be. Ignore how sometimes just the sound of Cherry or Kirsten’s voices made his dreams echo with screams, left him waking up to the smell of blood, tears, and Foggy’s cologne hanging in the air like a ghost.

He buried himself in work. He cooked something new. Learned how made his own bread. Read books. Built his record collection. Drank wine, the only alcohol that didn’t leave him swallowing anguish, until he passed out.

Whatever it took to drown it out.

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