#devilsdare

[text]  where’s your sense of adventure, matthew? at least i’m not talking about the confession booth anymore.

“i told you, it’s really not that bad.” foggy shrugs. for all of matt’s extrasensory abilities, he’s still technically blind - and foggy hopes that’ll be enough to fool him for now. “my face is a little bruised up, so what? it’s not a big deal, matt.” his cracked ribs say otherwise every time he takes a breath. he’s trying his best to hide it underneath layers of clothing and gauze bandages, but foggy knows matt’s not stupid. “i’ll be fine. you need to stop worrying about me.”

Elektra paces silently around his apartment, picking things up and setting them back in place, familiarizing herself with his space, and she can still smell lingering touches of the same soap he used before, back when he was hers. Not everything changes.

Whatever it is he’s always had inside him, what it was she saw--and loved--at least he’s come to embrace it. Shame about him doing so in the service of Wilson Fisk. Shame about what it means for him, if he’s not willing to cooperate. 

She’s sat in his armchair, one hand on the knife at her side, when he comes home, and Elektra’s certain he knows she’s here before she opens her mouth, even with her heart rate slow and controlled and barely 50 beats per minute. He’s always had a sense for her. She’s always had a sense for him, too. 

"Hello, Matthew.” He looks the same, underneath all of it. He smells the same, too. “It’s been a long time.”

[ text: matthew ] only where the confessional booth is concerned.