#daredevil mcu

Silence.

The words leave his mouth before he can stop them.

The second they're out, his stomach drops.

Fuck.

Your smile disappears.

"Huh?"

Dex can hears his own heartbeat.

Too fast.

Way too fast.

You blink at him.

Confused.

Then uncertain.

"Matt," he says.

His voice sounds strange.

Too sharp.

Too direct.

"Do you like him?"

Fuck.

Stop.

Stop talking.

You glance away immediately.

And that alone feels like an answer.

"I-I don't understand what you're talking about."

You're lying.

Or maybe you're not.

Maybe you're confused.

Maybe you're uncomfortable.

Maybe—

Stop.

Your fingers tighten around your cup.

You still won't look at him.

See?

See that?

She knows.

She knows exactly what you're asking.

She just doesn't want to answer.

Because the answer is obvious.

Because you're making things weird.

Because you always make things weird.

"Dex—"

Don't.

Don't interrupt her.

Let it go.

Let it go right now.

"I think you know what I'm talking about."

The second he says it, he hates himself.

Your shoulders tense.

Slightly.

Just slightly.

But he sees it.

Of course he sees it.

"Dex—"

"Oh, come on."

No.

Stop.

His own voice sounds wrong now.

Like somebody else talking through his mouth.

"Matt this."

You flinch.

"Matt that."

Stop.

"It's always Matt."

Stop.

"You can't go five minutes without talking about him, can you?"

He wants the words back.

Instantly.

Immediately.

Like reaching for a knife after it's already been thrown.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Your face changes.

Not dramatically.

Not loudly.

Just—

small.

You look smaller somehow.

Your eyes drop toward the table.

Your voice comes out quieter.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

The guilt hits him so hard it almost makes him dizzy.

No.

No.

That's not—

That's not what he meant.

He didn't mean—

His eyes lift.

And then he sees it.

Your eyes.

Glassy.

Not crying yet.

But close.

That horrible shine sitting there.

The shine people get when they're trying very hard not to cry.

And suddenly every angry thought evaporates.

Gone.

Instantly.

Leaving only horror behind.

No.

No no no.

Fuck.

What have you done?

His stomach drops straight through the floor.

You weren't arguing.

You weren't getting defensive.

You were apologizing.

Apologizing.

Because you think you upset him.

Jesus Christ.

"Dex."

Your voice is small now.

Small enough to break him.

"No."

The word leaves him immediately.

Too fast.

"I—I didn't mean—"

But you stand up.

The movement is quiet.

Gentle.

Somehow that makes it worse.

You don't look angry.

You don't yell.

You don't tell him he's an asshole.

You just stand.

And suddenly he realizes what's happening.

You're leaving.

No.

Please don't.

His chest tightens violently.

"I think I should go."

The words hit harder than they should.

Because they're calm.

Because they're final.

Because you won't look at him.

And for one horrible second, Dex doesn't move.

His brain simply refuses to understand what's happening.

You're leaving.

The words don't fit together properly.

People leave all the time.

He knows that.

People walk away from conversations every day.

But something about watching you stand there, avoiding his eyes, gathering your bag with shaking hands—

it feels different.

Wrong.

Like watching a door close while he's still standing in the doorway.

No.

The word explodes inside his skull.

No no no no.

Not like this.

Not after—

Not after everything.

Not after the bracelet.

Not after your everyday coffee.

Not after all those walks home.

Not after you smiled every time you saw him walk through the door.

Not after you said you were friends.

You turn slightly.

And panic hits him.

Real panic.

The kind that feels like drowning.

Like suddenly realizing the ground underneath you isn't there anymore.

His chair scrapes violently against the floor.

"Wha—"

He stands too fast.

People glance over.

He doesn't care.

You take a small step backward.

And somehow that hurts more than anything.

"No."

The word comes out rough.

Desperate.

"I didn't mean—"

His hand closes around your wrist.

Instantly.

Without thinking.

Just instinct.

Just panic.

Just don't leave.

Your entire body freezes.

And the second he feels you freeze—

the horror starts.

Because your skin is warm beneath his hand.

Because he can feel how hard he's holding you.

Because your eyes immediately drop to his grip.

Fuck.

Let go.

Let go right now.

"Dex."

Your voice sounds smaller now.

Please don't leave.

The thought is screaming so loudly he can barely hear anything else.

"I'm sorry."

The words start falling out.

Fast.

Messy.

"I didn't mean it like that, I swear, I wasn't—I wasn't trying to—"

His grip tightens unconsciously.

Not because he's angry.

Because he's terrified.

The difference doesn't matter.

Your face tightens slightly.

Pain.

He caused that.

He's hurting you.

The realization arrives and somehow still isn't enough to make him let go immediately.

Because the fear is bigger.

The fear of you leaving.

The fear of losing this.

Losing you.

"I'm sorry."

Again.

Again.

Again.

The words keep coming.

His thoughts are tripping over each other.

Fix it.

Fix it.

Fix it.

"I just—"

God.

How does he explain this?

How does he explain the feeling of listening to you talk about Matt and feeling something inside him tear itself open?

How does he explain the jealousy?

The loneliness?

The ugly selfish part of him that wanted your attention and hated sharing it with a man he'd never even met?

How does he explain any of that without sounding insane?

He can't.

Because it is insane.

"I'm sorry," he says again.

His voice cracks.

"I didn't mean to upset you."

Your eyes close briefly.

And that's somehow worse.

You finally pull your arm.

Not violently.

Not angrily.

Just firmly.

Trying to get free.

Dex immediately realizes how hard he's holding you.

Too hard.

Way too hard.

His fingers release instantly.

Like he's been burned.

"Oh God."

The words leave him automatically.

Your wrist is red.

His stomach drops.

Your wrist is red.

You rub it instinctively.

And the shame that follows is so intense he almost feels sick.

Of course.

Of course this happened.

You give him kindness.

You give him friendship.

And he responds by grabbing you hard enough to leave marks.

Good job.

Fantastic.

You finally look at him.

Actually look at him.

And somehow that hurts more than if you'd been angry.

Because you look sad.

Not scared.

Not angry.

Sad.

"Dex."

His throat closes.

"I think..."

You hesitate.

Choosing your words carefully.

And that terrifies him.

Because people only choose words carefully when they're afraid of what happens if they don't.

"I think maybe it would be better if you didn't come by the café for a little while."

The room goes silent.

At least to him.

Everything else disappears.

The words just keep echoing.

Don't come by.

Don't come by.

Don't come by.

You continue quietly.

"And maybe don't call me."

Each sentence feels like another door closing.

"Or text me."

Another one.

"Just for a little while."

Another.

Until there's almost nothing left.

You swallow.

"I think we both need some space."

Space.

The word feels enormous.

Cold.

Permanent.

Even though you didn't mean it that way.

Dex knows you didn't mean it that way.

But his brain doesn't care.

Because all it hears is:

Go away.

Go away.

Go away.

His chest hurts.

Actually hurts.

Like something sharp lodged itself between his ribs.

You look exhausted.

Heartbroken, almost.

Like this isn't easy for you either.

And somehow that's the final thing that breaks him.

The realization settles heavily inside him.

Just heavy.

Like wet concrete slowly filling his lungs.

You adjust your bag on your shoulder.

Neither of you speak.

Then finally—

"I'll see you around, okay?"

Your voice sounds fragile.

Dex opens his mouth.

Nothing comes out.

Because every apology feels useless now.

Every explanation feels selfish.

So all he manages is a small nod.

You give him one last sad smile.

Then turn.

And walk away.

This time he doesn't stop you.

He just stands there.

Watching.

Until the door closes behind you.

And for the first time since he met you—

he has no idea what to do next.

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