#lingered affection

You glanced at Matt, who angled his face toward the window as if his city, which always moved in blurry shapes and danced in transient flames, suddenly came to him in every little detail so sharp that he could touch it with his unsighted eyes, and he couldn't help but marvel.

You took a steady inhale, then exhaled softly through your lips. The easiest thing you could do for yourself right now was to say what was perching on your lips the moment Matt pulled you to the side at the fundraiser.

"I wanted to tell you. I really wanted to."

But you couldn't, not after everything that happened between the two of you. If your self-sabotage tendencies were like headaches, your family and everything that came with them were like migraines that only intensified, never relented. You thought you could spare Matt from descending downward into the neverending pit. It was a gateway that, once you opened, would never shut.

Your parents' maltreatment was like a program ingrained in your mind, impossible to unlearn, much less remove entirely. But it seemed like no matter what you did, Matt would end up in the midst of it. The only thing you could do was to be honest. But it was hard, and you couldn't help the way you were. The way you had always been. Your secrecy was your way of protecting yourself, looking out for your sanity because who else would?

"I'm really sorry. The last thing I want for you is to be involved with my family's… drama."

Such a trivial word for an intricate situation. It couldn't encapsulate the scope of virulency your parents were capable of. You knew that, and Matt had started to grasp the weight of your situation, too. It wasn't a walk in the park. It was a run for your life through the woods on injured ankles with bloodhounds chasing after you, their mouths foaming, their teeth snapping at your heels. And you couldn't outrun them.

Matt sighed and turned to your side of the cab. You couldn't gauge his emotions in the dark of the taxi. His face was cut with sharp angles by the shadows, but there was a softened edge of defeat in his voice.

"All I ask is for you to be honest with me."

When you were lost in your own turmoil with your parents, you neglected Matt. You forgot that he, just like you, also had a hard time getting close to others, especially when it came to his Daredevil identity. It took time, patience, and so much commitment for the two of you to reach this point where you could trust each other completely and wholly. You messed it up more than once, but here he was, still giving you his all. For as long as you thought you were protecting him by keeping him at arm's length, it only hurt both of you in the long run. You had to learn how to balance. Allowing Matt to know more about what was going on between you and your parents seemed like a fair trade for the time being.

"I know."

You allowed the rumble of the car and the low jazz to take over again. In the back of the cab, your hand found Matt's on the worn-out leather seat. At first, it was a barely-there contact; your skin grazed his. You drew on your courage to move atop his hand, feeling the small raises of his scars underneath your palm. For a moment, he didn't move. You breathed a relieved sigh as Matt responded to your touch, turning his palm upward to enclose your hand, your fingers wove tightly. Those were the last words exchanged for the rest of the ride.

–

Matt's home granted you great relief from the outside world, but his persistent silence did not. After closing the door behind you, he walked ahead while you lingered at the console table. You understood the gust of indifference he left behind was for you. Like a moth to the flame, he could never truly stay away, yet, for tonight, it didn't keep him from trying.

You followed Matt into the living room, where he had stopped to tug on his tie. He pulled it loose, draping it over the back of the sofa before working to discard his suit jacket. You tossed your purse along with the sealed file on the dining table, allowing the important document to be nothing but a scrap of paper and made your way to him, stepping into his space with so much uncertainty.

You reached out to him with your hands curled on his wrists, silently asking. After a moment, Matt let his arms fall to the sides, allowing you to help him. You felt the tension in your body wane with every button unfastened, slowly and languidly, until you reached the bottom that disappeared into the waist of his pressed slacks. You tugged slightly on the soft material, freeing the rest of the white shirt. Once all the buttons were undone, Matt's chest was bare to you, naked and moving steadily with every breath he took.

You couldn't help but risk a touch below his belly button, feeling the faint dust of fine hair tickle your fingertips. Your brief contact raised goosebumps on his skin, and Matt drew in a soft breath, held it there and waited for your next move. He looked beautiful like this, patient, yet his longing was palpable to your eyes, and you wanted nothing more than indulge. You missed this, the intimacy you shared, the deliberateness as you really took your time with each other until the need you built was so unbearable that you gave in. You dragged your fingers up, barely touching him, and the hitch in his throat was so quiet that you almost missed it. It gave you a small boost forward as you grew bolder; your hand ghosted over his abs, the hard planes on his chest, and only stopped to stroke teasingly at the column of his throat, feeling him swallow hard. You dared a look at his face to see his unsighted eyes settled on you, his lips parted and quivered in soft, careful exhales. Your eyes fluttered, and your heart skipped a beat as you took his slightly dishevelled self in, reading the barely hidden yet, still restrained desire written all over his glossy eyes, his parted lips and the way his breaths seemed to grow even quieter at his control.

You leaned in, only paused when there was barely any distance in between so he could end this if he wished to. But Matt made no move to push you away. So you followed the natural course laid out before you; your fingers were replaced with your lips on the delicate flesh with a light-as-feather touch. The small caresses were careful, experimental as you were unsure of your place until they became insistent as you pressed harder, wanting to feel more of him. Your lips parted to suck on his skin; your tongue darted out to taste it. You felt Matt's arm close around the small of your back, pulling you closer like an invitation for you to continue. Your teeth closed around his skin and tugged, drawing a deep groan from his throat. Matt's hands grasped you through the material of your dress; the low resonant of his whine urged you to continue. Your arms wrapped around his neck, one hand found its home in his hair, carding through the soft strands and tugging as your mouth moved to nip at his jaw. Matt liked that, his grunt of approval and the tightening of his arms around you, pressing you against him even more, was an obvious indication.

His hand grasped your chin and tilted your face to meet his. He caught your lips with such urgency as if he couldn't do it soon enough. A dam broke inside you when your lips connected; a swirl of relief and exhilaration winded deep in the pit of your stomach. His hand banded around your throat, his fingers brushed against your pounding pulse, holding you still but not restricting your movement. Your kiss was unrestrained and desperate, releasing all the bottled frustration from your earlier exchange in the closet. It was also a physical proof made of skin, bones, and the thundering of your hearts that you were here together, that this was real. Matt had longed to hold you like this, to have you like this, and you had yearned to feel once again the home you made in his arms. In this sacred moment, you didn't need words. You had already said so much in so little time and trusted that your action was enough to show him how much you wanted him. Matt crushed you to him, making your dress bunch and wrinkle, and you groaned at the barrier in between. You pushed at the shirt on his shoulders with impatience, and Matt helped you get rid of it. You sighed as your hands met his bare skin, warm, alive, and taut over the expanse of muscles.

You barely parted. You couldn't, even when the air in your lungs wane. When you were desperate for it, you would pull back slightly only to gravitate toward Matt again. Your teeth clashed, your tongues intertwined. You needed the lack of distance, the growing intensity, and the impatience you shared. Matt found the zipper of your dress and tugged on it harshly, eager to free you of your confinement. He pulled on it several times, but the creased garment refused to give. You felt his grunt of frustration before his withdrawal from your lips, felt his hands hold the fabric in place so he could slide the zipper down while you peppered kisses all over his neck and collarbone, licking and nipping at his skin like it was a drug.

After a final decisive pull and a satisfied groan, your dress came loose and pooled at your feet. Matt's warm hands raised goosebumps on your skin as he caressed your body, worshipping with every fervent touch. His hands moved and kneaded and groped as if you were to disappear any moment, and he needed to seize every moment, every second. Your bodies fused as one as you moved backward and bumped into the back of the couch. You felt his erection straining against his dress pants, pressing into your thighs. You felt lightheaded, not only from the onslaught of kisses, of the intoxicating air you breathed in but from the dizzying need to shed his clothes, to get him naked, to have nothing else in the way.

With shaky but determined hands, you reached for his belt, tugging it loose with Matt's help. You sighed breathily into his mouth as his pants fell, and the hard outline of his erection felt more noticeable now. You palmed it, and Matt moaned softly, his face contorted as if your touch was enough to make him lose it. He made his way to your throat, making you gasp and moan as you could tell his bites were hard enough to leave marks. You couldn't care less about how you would be perceived with Matt's love bites on your neck the next morning. You could only focus on how good he made you feel, how he lavished his attention on you. He settled on the point between your neck and shoulder, sucking on the delicate flesh. One hand guided your neck to arch into his mouth while the other reached for your bra and unfastened the hook. You tossed the garment over your shoulders, and Matt wasted no time attaching his skilled mouth to your breast. You felt your legs weakened as he worked you over relentlessly; his tongue swirled over your sensitive nipple, his teeth dug softly into the supple flesh, sucking and nipping and licking while his other tended to the other, groping and rolling your hardened nub between his forefingers. You threw your head back, letting your moans of ecstasy bounce freely off of the brick walls. Your hands grasped his shoulders; your nails dug into his skin to warn him of your urgency.

"Take me to bed, please. I need you."

Matt came back to you, so breathless and speechless that all he could do was nod, his breathing laboured. You were picked up in one swift movement; Matt's hands dug into your thighs. He laid you onto the bed gently, a contrary to the way he had been handling you. You crawled backward on your arms, watching as he followed. Your gaze roamed over the mushed-up hair on his head, his glossy unsighted eyes trained on you. You eyed the faint smear of your lipstick all over his lips; the clumsy imprint was blurry and only enhanced the irresistible dishevelled look on Matt's face. You caught a brief glimpse of the pigment before Matt brought you back to him by capturing your lips in a searing kiss, by the feel of his hand on your hip bone, his thumb delved under the lace of your underwear. You lifted your hips, and he worked quickly to rid of them. You went for his boxers, pulling the waistband down the globes of his ass until he was free from the containment. His cock was hot and heavy on your thigh, and you couldn't help but moan softly at the sheer anticipation.

Matt touched you where you needed him most, and you couldn't help the moan that escaped. His skilled fingers ran along your wet folds, grazing your sensitive clit. Your back arched off the silk sheet as his movement grew persistent, drawing needy whimpers from you as if he could feast on your pretty sound of pleasure. Your hips chased after his hand even after he pulled it away to retrieve a condom from the bedside table. A wave of relief washed over you as Matt returned. He braced himself above you, close enough for you to feel his warmth, yet not enough that he could crush you. You involuntarily tensed as he poised at your entrance; the tip of his aching cock caught on your folds. You hadn't been intimated with anyone else since your breakup, and you had the feeling that it was the same for him. Matt sensed your uneasiness and drew his hips back, giving you some space. His hands found yours; his thumbs drew soothing patterns on your palm. Even though there hadn't been a single word exchanged between you ever since you got back, you understood everything Matt had been telling you with his actions. His face softened, and his unseeing eyes settled on you with affection and love as he waited for your permission.

Your heart swelled in your chest at the tenderness evident in every fibre of Matt's being. You knew you were safe here and how much you had desperately wanted that safety net to catch you. All you had to do was to let yourself fall into his arms.

Your hand travelled along the side of his firm body to reach his back, relishing in the coiled muscles, feeling the divots of his waist, and urged him to move with a slight nudge. The other came to rest on the side of his face, softly caressing the stubble that tickled your fingertips. Matt understood your cues, pressing his lips into your palm before pushing in. You felt the slow and delicious stretch of his cock, your mouth fell open, and a moan parted your throat in a way that drove him mad. He took his time and moved slowly, and as impatient as you both were, you understood that Matt was careful not to break you. The world and your worries ceased to exist as you were wrapped in the enrapture of one another, lost at being so physically connected that the only person you knew of was him. The only thing you felt was him.

Matt increased the pace, jolting you with each hard thrust as he pulled out just to slam back in again. Euphoria filled your body and mind, inspiring your thought to spiral into something deeper you weren't even aware of. You missed this. You missed sex, but not as much in the act itself. You missed being intimate with Matt. The way he understood you, the way he knew what you needed in the heated moments. He listened, he obliged, and he cared more about your pleasure than his. Finally having him here, like this, despite the rift you caused just months ago, made your nose sting. You thought you had lost him for good, and that alone gave a final push to the salted tears gathered in your eyes. Matt's pace faltered, yet, he still kept a steady rhythm, only slower than before. He touched your cheek, feeling the wetness at the corner of your eye, his brows furrowed in concern.

"Am I hurting you? Should I stop?"

You shook your head and pulled him down to kiss you; your lips moved together in urgency. He felt your plea to be consumed wholly, so he kissed you just like how you needed. Deeply, thoroughly, wholeheartedly. Your mouth eagerly opened to his demanding tongue. Your hips arched to meet his, silently asking him to pick up the pace. And he did. You let go; your fervent moans materialized and molten together in a melody. A song of lovers found, of lost souls touched and intertwined. Your hands grasped his sweat-dotted skin; your thighs banded around his hips like a mark. You tried to hold on as you didn't want this to end already, but Matt gave your wrist a squeeze, promising you it was okay. The frantic drive of his hips made it harder and harder for you to hold off, so you conceded. You came with a loud cry, and Matt held you through the intense wave of ecstasy. You moved your hips to meet his stuttering thrusts before Matt came too. A broken moan enveloped your hearing and pounding heart in a warm embrace. You held him close as he lay on top of you, welcoming his weight like an anchor, binding you to him, to where you had always belonged.

Time slipped by your woven hands much too fast to your liking as you nestled in Matt's arms, with his hand covering yours on your chest. He lavished you with attention, adorning you with kisses to dry up the tears that poured moments before until the inevitable happened. When it did, Matt left the bed with much reluctance, leaving you in the remnant of his warmth on the sheet. You heard him putting on his Daredevil suit and watched as he made his way to you, giving you one last lingering kiss. He smoothed a hand over your hair before putting his gloves on, and then he was gone with a promise of returning soon.

You flopped back to the bed and sighed, relishing in the afterglow. A tiredness settled in your bones, a result of all the exhilaration and anxiety that happened in the span of one night. You buried your face in the pillow that smelled like Matt, wishing he was here with you.

You could feel the pull of fatigue in your body, but your mind insisted on staying awake no matter how much you willed yourself to fall asleep. You tossed and turned and eventually gave up when it was clear you were only wasting time.

You leaned against the kitchen counter while waiting for the water to boil. The aroma of dry tea leaves soothed your nerves as you zoned out, trying to clear your head. Your eyes roamed the room aimlessly until they fell on the sealed file perched atop the dining room table alongside your purse. Its whispered promises of secrets revealed drew on your interest, and you allowed your curiosity to win after debating whether you should open it. After all, you had time to spare. For once, maybe you could stay ahead of your father's game.

You sat down and flipped through the file; your eyes read and examined every word written on the pages. Your eyes read the names next to their black-and-white photos. Ethan F., Theodore K., Terry M., Minh T., Rob H. No last names. Nothing else that might give away too much, only short descriptions of their blood types, medical summaries and respective recordings of what you couldn't fully understand. Stabilized with Aconitine. Responded well to the insertion process. Metal compounds with complicated names were assigned to each man. In Terry M.'s report, the recording was only half as long. His page was crossed out in a red X. You skimmed through the paragraph, noting the small differences compared to other men, and at the very end of it: Subject responded negatively to graphene. Increased dose. Subject unresponsive. Your brows scrunched together, and your stomach churned at what you were reading. You shut the file and leaned back in the seat, taking a moment to process.

Just because you hated your father didn't mean whatever he was planning was illegal. Maybe your source was wrong. Perhaps you were the bad person in this situation. You were so desperately hoping for your father's life-long project to be malfeasance that you overlooked the good things that did come out of it. He saved a life. He might have hit you, injured you for a long stretch of your life, but he saved someone. That must make the scale balanced.

The thought grew ugly and vile as it twisted at your insides, knowing it had the upper hand already. Your eyes were pricked with fresh, frustrating tears, and you blinked slowly, willing them to not fall.

No matter how you looked at it, abuse was still abuse. You had to remind yourself. It was hard to remember and believe it on most days because who were you to say that you were innocent, that you didn't deserve your father's beatings? If only you were a better daughter, a better person–

You stood up abruptly, cutting off your train of thought forcefully. The chair scraped the hardwood floor, making an unpleasant sound that made you wince. You hunched over, forcing yourself to inhale and exhale slowly in an attempt to slow your heart rate and the growing anxiety. You did it until your pulse returned to normal, until the dread in your stomach wasn't as intimidating as before.

You eyed your purse on the table and realized you might have a better understanding if you knew at least some of the extent of your father's project. You reached for your phone and quickly looked up your father's name. You watched as the results showed within seconds and scrolled through the headlines. They were all praises dedicated to "the most innovative doctor of our time". You clicked on the link written by a reputable scientist who worked closely with your father throughout the early stages of development, the article cited. The details they shared were generic enough to give a normal person a good understanding but not in-depth enough to give away their life's work. You read on as they sang your father's praises on how he reconstructed Aaron's broken spine by providing support with an unnamed material that was flexible yet durable. The procedure was described as "delicate, one-of-a-kind, state-of-the-art that will change the world for the better."

Before you could read further, the door to the roof opened, signalling Matt's return. You placed your phone on the table and watched him descend the stairs, gauging for any sign of injuries. He appeared unharmed, his steps light and quick as he approached you. You greeted him in the middle, your arms opened with a hug, and Matt returned your gesture of affection. You let him lift you off the ground, his face tilted up to find yours; his lips captured yours with urgency with his cowl still on. The hard material dug into your face, but you couldn't care less as you melted in his arms, grateful for his presence.

When you finally pulled away, Matt spoke, his voice deep and drunk from the kiss.

"What are you doing up?"

"I'm just looking over some stuff we took earlier tonight. I couldn't sleep."

You took hold of the helmet with one hand and tried to free Matt from it.

"Anything important?"

His hand moved to help you with the cowl as you responded distractedly at the sight of his face revealed.

"Oh, I'm sure everything in that file is important. I haven't figured it out yet though."

He went in for a peck, and your nose scrunched as it landed.

"I know you will. I'm here to help you as well."

"Thank you. I appreciate you."

You stroked the back of his neck, feeling the slightly damped hair there. Matt cleared his throat softly; a touch of tease edged in his voice.

"If you're still up, that means … I didn't do my job right."

Your smile widened at his meaning.

"You'll have to try harder then."

"Is that a challenge?"

He arched a brow, and you couldn't help but chuckle.

"It is if you want it to be. Do you … want it to be?"

"I think you know the answer to that already."

You threw your head back and laughed softly, exposing your throat to him. Matt caught the chance, dipping his head to kiss the sensitive skin. You squirmed in his hold and gasped softly when his grip on your thighs tightened as he carried you to the bedroom.

–

You pulled your bag closer to yourself as you stepped off of the subway, navigating the flow of pavement traffic. The weather had warmed up so much that you could ditch the scarf and heavy coat and opt for a light jacket instead. You checked your phone again to be safe and continued your route. Eventually, you stopped before your destination. The building looked decent from the outside as you took it in before checking the address one more time. Figuring you shouldn't stand in the middle of the sidewalk any longer, you walked in through the door. It opened even though it looked like you needed a key. You didn't question it as you took the elevator going up. The number ticked up slowly, and you felt your anxiety rise with it.

The elevator's doors opened, and you stepped out. At the end of the hall was where you saw it: the writing on the frosted glass pulled at your attention, indicating your stop. You closed the distance with assured steps and took a deep breath before you knocked. You waited patiently, listening as some dull sounds made it to your ears: a dull thud, a chair push, boots steps on the floor, and finally, the wooden door with glass pane revealed the person on the other side.

"You."

The woman levelled you with a cool gaze and an even colder tone, almost as if she was bored by your mere appearance.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. The one with mommy and daddy issues."

You gave her a tight-lipped smile.

"It's nice to finally meet you in person, Detective Jones."

She rolled her eyes; her annoyance was clear at the formal and false title.

"I'm not a detective."

She turned on her heels and walked over to her desk, not bothering to see if you would follow her.

"Come in. Whatever you found for me better be good."

The building looked somewhat newly renovated compared to other structures in Yorkville. Only five floors high, with glossy glass panes and a white brick exterior, the infrastructure still exuded that refinement that allowed it to bond well with the rest of the neighbourhood. You exited the car before the doorman could even offer assistance and observed your surroundings. Judging by the pressed suits and extravagant gowns pouring from expensive vehicles into the wide-open entrance, this fundraiser was indeed a big deal. 

You dropped off your modest coat at the front desk, hanging onto your small purse before joining a group of eager people in the elevator. You watched as the number went up until it reached the highest digit, listening to the conversations that arose in the small space. The door opened, welcoming you into the excitement lying ahead. Once again, you were surprised by how grand everything was. The room was fairly large, with a high ceiling. An impressive chandelier hung from it, lighting the room up from where you stood. Partygoers were in abundance, chatting amongst themselves or gathering in groups and couples, posing with their smiling faces for photographers. Servers weaved through that traffic with agility; trays of champagne flutes and hors d'oeuvres were never so much as falter on their course. You stood idly on the sideline, feeling out of place as you watched more guests arrive. They busied themselves with greetings, gossip, and those canapé pieces that never quite satisfied anyone.

Everything about it screamed old money, and even though your father was far from it, you hated how seamlessly he blended in. He was a fucking natural. A respectable man of his profession. But no one here knew who he really was, and if you had to be honest, they probably wouldn't care. 

You moved slowly, your eyes searching for your parents, when a person walked into your path. A man about your father's age gave you a look of acknowledgment and a smile that didn't reach his eyes. 

"Miss?"

"Yes?"

You answered, somewhat hesitant at his intense stare.

"My name is Andrew. Your father is requesting your presence at his office."

Your sardonic smile went unnoticed. 

"Why? He doesn't trust that I can be on my own?"

"He would like to go over a few things before the event with you."

You sighed, making a gesture for him to lead the way. Andrew only nodded before turning on his heels. He cut through the crowd of people to go down a hallway. You followed him until the sound of the party was only background noise, stopping in front of a large dark wood door with your father's nameplate. The older man opened the door, inviting you to step inside. The office was quite plain, which wasn't what you expected from your father. More dark wood, bookshelves, cabinets and a modern touch of black leather. One of the walls was decorated heavily with plaques bolted to the wood and awards on floating shelves. Of course, he brought all of his achievements to New York. The sight reminded you of his office back at home; the shiny plaques looked down on you when you bore his insults and beatings. A chill rose along your spine, making you shiver involuntarily. It was dead quiet here, save for the crackling of the fire, and that was when you realized you were left alone with your father.

He worked at the cuffs of his sleeves, looking at you through the mirror above the fireplace. You sucked in an unsteady breath, feeling exposed under his scrutinizing gaze. 

"Where's Clarice?"

"She's your mother and you will call her as such."

You scoffed bitterly.

"I'd rather not. I'm only here because you threatened me. Besides, she's made it clear that she hates me, so there's no need for pretense."

Your father's scowl told you he wasn't happy with your snide remark. 

"A lot of important people are here, and I would hate it if you ruined this for me. Be on your best behaviour tonight."

Having finished the final details on his attire, he crossed the room until he met you at a closer distance. One that you weren't comfortable with, but you stood your ground.

"Of course. Have I ever disappointed you?"

You replied with a sarcastic tone and a slight smile on your lips. With a sharp movement, your father's hand was on your jaw, gripping painfully. 

"Careful. Don't fuck around tonight. Am I clear?"

He enunciated each word with a warning echo, ensuring you didn't miss how much he meant it. You returned his scowl, glaring and resisting his display of power. Until he roared into your face. 

"Am I clear?"

Eventually, you nodded. Not satisfied with what you gave him, your father shook your jaw harder.

"Speak!"

"Yes. Yes!"

The second yes came out harsher than he would like, so he used his force to push you back, throwing you off balance. 

"Compose yourself."

Your hand came up to brush off the remnant of his grip as you loosened your jaw. No one was watching, but you felt the shame anyway. Your face burned with it, and you could feel the tears sting at the rims of your eyes. You willed yourself not to crumble in front of him, and you felt like you were doing a good job at it as you reached the entrance to the main room with your father only five steps ahead.

"Stay out of my sight, and don't embarrass me. Get on the stage when it's your cue."

You were relieved when he left you by yourself. You found a spot next to a long table decorated with trays of finger food, fruit and empty glasses. You could see your father heading towards your mother from where you were standing. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, proudly displaying his affection and brought her into his embrace. You could see it so clearly, too, the cold and uncaring gaze when your mother's eyes settled on you from over your father's shoulder. She gave you a warning look before hooking her arm through your father's inviting one. You were only at the back of their minds and the least of their concern as long as you did what they told you to. And for tonight, you didn't even care to make trouble. You just wanted it to be over with. You would get what you needed and get the hell out. 

A server walked by you, and with a sleight of hand, you plucked two fresh flutes of champagne out of her tray. You knocked them back before setting the empty glasses on the table. The bubbly finish coated your tongue and mind, taking the edge off your nerves. Warmth rushed through your body, and you were grateful for it. Anything that triumphed over the burn of embarrassment, humiliation, and shame you felt. Anything that didn't make you feel small and helpless.

You sucked on your teeth, momentarily distracted by how empty your stomach was. You hadn't eaten much due to nerves and were afraid the alcohol would get to your head too quickly. You glanced at the table to take in your options. Those pitiful pieces of lemon pie didn't look too terrible. You served yourself a good portion and gulped it down before checking your phone. Nothing yet. Before you could go back to sulking, a hand grabbed your arm, startling you. You whirled around; your eyes widened in alarm even when they settled on the sight of Matt standing so close to you. Your heartbeat picked up regardless, and for more than one reason, as he took your hand and pulled you towards the darkened hallway. His hold was firm despite your relentless effort to break free. He didn't stop until your back was against the wall, trapping you between his arms on either side of you. With your guard relaxed, still, you shoved him back, and you wouldn't disagree if someone said that push was personal. He barely budged.

"Matt?! What are you doing here?"

You hissed lowly.

"I could ask you the same thing."

He returned your fire. 

"Did you follow me here?"

You refused to let him turn the argument onto you. 

"That doesn't matter right now. Why are you here? I thought you didn't want to be anywhere near your father."

You knew that, and you had established as much, but–

"He … forced me."

Matt softened at that. The corner of his mouth formed a frown of empathy and understanding. You knew that even though he didn't know the full extent of it, he understood the complexity between you and your parents. Matt hesitantly caressed your arms, raising goosebumps along the patch of skin that his fingers touched.

"You could've come to me for help."

His voice was calm, hushed, in the way that urged you to be truthful with him. You bit your bottom lip to prevent the slight quiver and shook your head with a sense of finality.

"No, I couldn't."

You hated the weakness that you failed to mask. Wordlessly, you pulled yourself free from Matt's embrace and walked back to the party with him not too far behind. 

The sound of microphone feedback rang out loudly, drawing your and everyone else's attention to the man on the stage. The music faded, and the lights in the room dimmed, save for the elevated platform to reveal your parents. With a champagne glass in one hand, your father tapped the mic a few times, waiting for the room to quiet down. After a long moment, when the almost-silence finally satisfied him, he began with a broad smile.

"Thank you everyone for coming here tonight!"

That earned jarringly loud cheers and whoops as your father nodded at the crowd approvingly.

"It is my great honour to host this fundraiser where I have worked everyday for the past two months. The reason we hold it here is because this is where all the ideas and brainstorming come to fruition. This is where we make those ideas into reality, where we feel connected to what we strive for. So take a look around, because this is where miracles happen."

Your father took a deliberate pause for the expected rounds of applause. 

 "I would like to express my gratitude to many of you for being generous donors to a noble cause. I appreciate everyone just for being here tonight."

He took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, there was the slightest hint of tears in the purposeful tremor of his voice.

"There's another reason for my gratitude tonight. I'm only a man, and I could not have done this without my family. My daughter is the reason why I'm always inspired, why I always strive to be a better man, a better scientist, and most importantly, a better father. Come up here, sweetheart."

Your heart dropped at the nickname as the cheers rose once more. You stared wide-eyed at your father as he motioned for you to come forward. You felt like you were forced to move with all the eyes on you, watching, staring. Matt's warm hand on your wrist fell away when you gingerly made your way toward the stage, a bone-deep cold taking over your body. The overhead light found you, locking you in your path with its brightness. You felt like a deer in the headlights, alienated and afraid. The closer you were, the better you saw your father's beaming face and what looked like a genuine smile on your mother's. The sight looked surreal as if your mind had made it up. With final agonizing steps, you made it to your parents' side. They wounded their arms around you, tightening like a vice as if you were about to bolt at any moment. The stage light was so bright it hurt your eyes. You tried to loosen your parents' grip on you, but they locked you tightly in place.

"My daughter, in a rebellious fit, ran away from home. We poured our hearts, minds and best resources in finding her. And we did. Our family is reconciled, and I couldn't be happier that she's here with us tonight, as how it always should be. And along with the initial success of my project, this is truly a joyous occasion for our family and everyone who has invested in me."

When you looked at the crowd, that was when you saw it. Smiling faces with admiration, with approval, with adoration. And you understood your reason here tonight. Your family, once broken, was now whole and happy again. A sob story with a happy ending that would loosen the strings on the investors' pockets, pouring money into your father's project. This was a show. And your role was to smile, nod, and be the good daughter you were supposed to be. 

Your father raised his champagne glass. The crowd mirrored him.

"Let's raise a toast! To project Osiris!"

A loud cheer rang out, and you felt like you couldn't breathe. You took advantage of the moment the party continued in full swing, walking off the stage to find Matt at the back of the room. Your parents didn't let you off their hook that easily, and they followed you. Your father sized Matt up and down; his annoyance was barely disguised in a friendly manner.

"Matthew! What a surprise! I don't remember sending you an invitation."

Matt shrugged, brushing off your father's attempt to provoke him.

"I didn't realize that I needed one."

Your mother chimed in. 

"We don't let just anyone in."

You glared at your mom as a sarcastic frown pulled on Matt's lips. With so little civility on your mother's part, it was so effortless to aggravate her. Before she could say anything else, an unfamiliar person pulled the tension away like a loose thread. 

"Arthur! There you are!"

The newcomer set his eyes on you with a pique of interest. He was tall, with dirty blond hair framing his face. A friendly smile enhanced the mild lines around his eyes. With unmatched enthusiasm, he thrust a hand toward you.

"Aaron Pierce. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Taken aback by his friendliness, you uttered your name under your breath. He caught your whisper, and his smile widened. 

"I just have to get to know the daughter of the genius who saved my life."

"I'm glad that you could be here with us tonight. My father talked about you a lot. All good things, of course."

You didn't have to look, yet you could feel the nods of approval coming from your parents. You hooked your hand to the crook of Matt's elbow.

"And this is my boyfriend."

Matt offered his hand a little off to the left where Aaron was. Their hands met in a firm grip with a little more force from Matt's side.

"Matt Murdock."

"Murdock? Sounds familiar. Are you from Nelson and Murdock?"

"The one and only."

The conversation became one person too crowded when a guest chimed in with the recognition of Aaron. You detached yourself from Matt's arm with the excuse of touching up your lipstick. You needed a moment to yourself with preferably no one invading your space. Not even ten steps later, Matt caught up with you.

"There's something off about that guy." 

You chuckled lightly.

"He's associated with my father, of course he's off. That doesn't matter. Did you follow me here?"

He nodded after a brief pause. 

"Why did you lie to me?"

There was sadness in his genuine inquiry. It seemed like Matt wouldn't give up on his pursuit of the truth tonight. You had a feeling he would pry it out of your mouth with his merciful force if he had to. 

"I had my reasons."

You sighed heavily, knowing what he was going to say to that. 

"No, no, you're not doing this again."

You sighed, lowering your head to compose yourself. 

"Look, I'll tell you everything when we get back. I promise."

"How do I know you won't lie again?"

The touch of earnestness in his questioning tugged on your heart. He deserved the truth way before this mess even happened. You knew that. You ceased your steps, turning to Matt to hold both of his hands in yours. Your thumbs caressed his knuckles gently, feeling the small ridges of scars, healed and unhealed. You hoped he could feel your honesty, your effort at being open to him. Being better.

"Trust me. I know that you have no reason to, but please, trust me."

You waited and waited. Matt gave you a slight nod, which was all you needed.

"Can we at least talk about what's just happened up there? Are you okay?"

You bit down on your bottom lip and sighed heavily, refusing to give in to the mortification. 

"I'm… not okay. Can we please talk about this later?"

Matt knew what it meant, and he nodded. He pulled you into his embrace with one arm wounded around you protectively, the other hand held onto yours tight. You laid your head on his shoulder, allowing yourself a moment of peace. You sniffled dryly before taking a small step back, bringing his hand to your lips. You lay kisses across his scarred hand, showing him how much you appreciated his loving gesture.

"Come on. If you're going to tag along, you'd better be helpful."

The women's washroom was unexpectedly empty, but you weren't complaining. Two women were sharing a smoke by the sink, and you thanked the stars that the stall you needed to get into was unoccupied. Closing the door behind you, you crouched down as low as the dress allowed, reaching for the back of the toilet. You searched with your hand, and when your fingers brushed against it, you pulled it off the cool surface. In your hand was a key, just like it should be. Slipping it into your purse, you flushed the toilet and opened the door. 

Matt was waiting for you patiently when you came out of the washroom. He walked with you side by side as you took a right turn, returning to the familiar route you had taken just about less than an hour ago.

"At least tell me what we're doing."

You whispered, feeling the rhythm of your heart pick up steadily. You didn't know if it was the alcohol, the nerves, or the combination of both. You felt audacious either way. 

"We're going to break into my father's office."

At this point in your plan, it should be safe for you to snoop around without the cameras recording your movement. You would have twelve minutes to get what you needed and get out. Even though you knew what you needed to find, it would be like finding a needle in a haystack. 

"I can't even tell how the file actually looks like."

You squinted at the pixelated pictures taken of your father outside of his lab from a varied of the same angle. His arm covered most of the document, but there were a few details you could make out. White cover with a circle on the spine. You brought the photo to your eyes, zeroing in on the squiggly grey line woven around the solid black outline of the ring.

"It's the best I can do, okay? With your daddy's security swarming around him."

You felt the pointed implication and sighed. 

"It'll do."

You took another look at the blurry photo. 

"All you have to do is get in, take some pictures, and get out. Alright? I'll take care of the rest."

You nodded.

"Okay. How much should I take? What should I even take?"

"Unless you can make a trip to the photocopier and make a copy of everything in that binder, I suggest you take as much as you can."

Something was amiss about your father's project, and that was the only thing your trusted source could confidently disclose. They needed more information, and you were the only person who could get access to that without raising much suspicion. And here you were, playing a spy in your father's vicinity with your old new lover, a set of unimaginable circumstances and positions you thought you would never be in. You didn't have time to go further down that thought as your phone vibrated, signalling green light in the form of a text. You started the countdown on your phone and moved from your spot, gently pulling Matt by the cuff of his suit. 

Using the key from earlier, you unlocked the door to the office. You headed for the desk, which was spotless and organized methodically down to the pencil sharpener. Everything looked like it was taken out from an office supply and furniture showcase magazine, idealistic and too pristine. No white binder on the desk, only a pile of neatly stacked notebooks with hasty sketches and frantic writings that didn't bound to the ruled lines. You return the journals to their old order, ensuring not even an inch was off. The drawers were next, and you didn't have much luck with them either. They were either empty or filled with more paper scraps filed neatly. You rifled through the files, carefully not to disturb their order; your insides churned with urgency as the time ticked by.

Meanwhile, Matt ran a hand over the black cabinet against the wall. He followed the scent of bleach, which was dull now compared to the other night, and found himself stopping at the third compartment from the top down. Pulling it open, Matt settled his hand over the file and began flicking through them, feeling for the paper, each varied with different smells.

After giving up on the desk, you turned to the bookshelf against the wall. The folders and books on the mahogany wood were tightly packed together, and their spines told you nothing of their content. Blank and uncommunicative. You pulled at the only one that was white and a few that was almost white just to be throughout, only to turn up with nothing. You closed your eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. You needed to approach this from a different angle. 

Your father was nothing, if not the most particular asshole you had ever seen, and his desk was only one of many indications. The chance that he organized his bookshelf in order wouldn't be too far out of reach. But in what order? You wouldn't have enough time to go through every sequence unless–

You thought of the circle on the spine and came to a realization. 

O for Osiris. 

With each title you pulled, your heart hammered in your chest was an escalation of the alphabet. You skipped a few, took one out and repeat until you reached Os. No white binder there. You delved your hand in, taking out the first one and opening it only to see an ordinary book. Disappointed, you put it back before pulling on the next one and felt it shift slightly in your hand. It felt like it was rattling in its own casing like something didn't fit right. You tilted the book to examine it and found two hardcovers squeezing together by the bound of the leather material. You laid it out on the desk and turned on the expensive-looking reading light, carefully removing the leather and the stiff outer cover to reveal the white binder. Your heart pounded harder as you turned the file to the side, yet your body relaxed as your eyes detected the symbol on the spine. With steady hands, you flipped through the pages, capturing your father's classified research with your phone. Your father's handwriting and sloppy drawings didn't make sense before your eyes, and time wasn't a luxury you could afford, so you moved through them rapidly and were surprised when you reached the end. There wasn't as much to record as you initially thought. Matt called your name lowly in the quiet space as you closed the binder.

"There's something different in here. Something new."

You put the binder back into the book cover, made sure that the leather was fastened on like it was, and put it back before heading over to where Matt was standing.

"Do you think it's worth a look?"

Matt nodded, and you got to work immediately. You opened the first drawer, your hand flicking through the files quickly. Matt shook his head, and you moved on to the next one and repeated. The flutter of air from the files helped Matt distinguish the smell more easily, pinpointing what was out of place. He focused, recalling the potent smell of bleach, disinfectant, metal, and gunpowder. It was right there, so close, so familiar. And when his sensitive nose picked up on it, he touched your hand to cease your movement. You picked the file up and brought it closer to him. With a deep inhale, there it was. It smelled like the night he followed Arthur to Lower East Side. 

"This is it."

Matt's hand squeezed your wrist in assurance. You closed the cabinet, took the folder, and exited the room. You locked the door behind you, careful not to make a sound. You checked the timer and saw that you had three minutes and forty-eight seconds to spare. That wasn't too bad, considering this was your first time doing this. But your relief was short-lived as the echoes of footsteps from the end of the hallway headed toward where you were. Before you could register the slight creak of a door hinge, Matt pulled you into the welcoming embrace of darkness.

In an instant, you found yourself pressed to the door with Matt's hand muffling your startled gasp. Your heart thundered against your chest, and your body went stiff as the footsteps grew closer. Matt was still against you, and you could feel the tension running through his body in the way he held you. With one hand on your mouth and the other wrapped around your waist, there wasn't a part of you that wasn't touching him. You could feel the warmth seeping through the layers of his clothes. His hand on your waist was burning, and you felt like you were burning from the inside, too. At this proximity, the air you took in your lungs was all him. Leather, cinnamon and the slightest hint of sweat brought out his natural scent. It was all so very intoxicating and left you breathless. 

"What–"

"Quiet."

He shushed you, which annoyed the hell out of you. You heard muffled reverberation of a conversation drifting down the hallway from your father's office, but you couldn't decipher what they were saying. You held your breath low and steady, so Matt could listen to their conversation. His brows furrowed in concentration.

"He looks just fine to me. So what's the holdup?"

Matt didn't recognize this person, but he had no doubt when the next one spoke.

"He's not ready. There's still the migraine problem, I still need to run more tests."

Arthur. The other guy sighed heavily, seeming exasperated with your father's response.

"Look, it's not up to me. You have to hurry up."

There was a delay in response from your father, but eventually–

"I'll see what I can do."

That seemed to be the end of their exchange as their heartbeats gradually vacated the empty hallway. Matt felt a gentle tug on the lapel of his suit.

"What did they say?"

In the dark, his head lowered to seek yours. You could feel the fan of his breath on your forehead, warm and so intimate.

"I'll tell you once you tell me why we're here."

You rolled your eyes, knowing you deserved that. You looked around, squinting your eyes to better see the small room through the sliver of light underneath the threshold. Empty test tubes, large bottles with labels on them, … 

"A supply closet, really? You're so cliche."

You chuckled softly, and the moment made your chest press even closer to Matt's. At this distance, you could kiss him. You were only a breath away from kissing him. Your lips parted to embrace his hot and heavy breaths, and suddenly, you felt lightheaded. There was a tingly sensation on your lips and tongue, and it was as if Matt was feeding you the liquor of anticipation with his own device. You felt drunk on him all the same. Matt felt the change in the air, and you knew it by the way his throat moved when he swallowed hard, and by the way he licked his lips briefly. And when he spoke, his voice was deep, barely hiding the longing for you.

"If you think I dragged you in here to make out with you, you're wrong."

His tone betrayed his words. The air was heavy with a fog of need and tension. You would lie if you said this didn't turn you on. 

"I didn't say anything about making out, Matt. But you seem eager about it."

He swallowed hard again, and you could hear it clearly this time. You could help the grin that spread, knowing that you weren't the only one to feel this way. Matt dipped his head to meet yours, and you turned your head away at the last second, making his lips land on your jaw instead.

The hot contact of his lips took the breath out of you, making you gasp out loud. The file slipped slightly in your hand, and it took great effort from you to keep it from dropping to the floor. Even though what you did was intentional, you regretted it. Not that you didn't want to kiss him, for crying out loud. It was all you wanted to do. But you didn't want your first act of affection with him to be in a supply closet, especially when you hadn't been entirely truthful to him. Besides, you were on a mission, and you were running out of time. 

His fist clenched, creasing the fabric at your waist. It took all his self-control not to devour you right then. You cleared your throat, whispering. 

"Are they really gone?"

It took Matt a moment to compose himself before he nodded.

You slipped quietly out of the room with Matt right on your heels. You navigated through the dimly lit hallway, keeping your eyes out for the backup route in case you took something with you, which was only a few steps away. 

The garbage chute. 

The metal door was shiny and clean due to the renovation done just two weeks ago. You took out a creased plastic folder in your purse, shoved the file in, and zipped it up. Without a word, you pulled the door open and slipped it in, sending it down the chute. Besides you, Matt had a confused look on his face. An adorable expression, you had to admit, as you bit back a smile.

"Why?"

You brought a hand to his face, tenderly touching the curve of his jaw.

"It's garbage day."

You reached for him, and Matt let you wove your hand around his arm. You heaved a sigh of relief and pulled him with you, heading towards the main room where the party was. The adrenaline swirled in your blood, amplified by the champagne you took, making you feel giddy. Not even the scowling face of your mother could make you feel anything less, you thought as she made her way toward you.

"Where did the two of you go?"

Matt pulled you to him by your waistline, and you felt your cheeks get even hotter at his display of affection. His hand stroked your waist lazily, and with just one look, your mother came to a conclusion. She took in the flush on your cheeks, the crease on your dress from Matt's hold on you earlier, the crookedness of his tie, the bashful look you spared. Her look of disdain barely registered in your gleeful mood.

"Where's dad? Did he let you go off his leash?" 

Your mother's face reddened, her mouth opened and closed as she couldn't come up with a snarky and all the more insulting response. 

"Speak of the devil …."

You mumbled under your breath, which earned a chuckle from Matt as your father made his way towards you. An uneasiness crawled over your skin, and all you wanted to do was to leave. You cleared your throat, acknowledging your father as he neared.

"If my presence is not needed here anymore, I'm gonna go."

Your mother found her voice. 

"You can't go yet. You've barely introduced yourself to anyone. Arthur …"

Your mother looked to your father for support while he only looked at you. He studied you, and his gaze was very telling. Suspicion. Doubtful. Scrutinizing with a sense of entitlement as if he had the right to control your every move. For a moment, you were afraid he had caught onto what you had just done. Your spine stiffened in anticipation. 

Which made what he said next all the more surprising. 

"Go home. You did a fine job tonight. I'll see you soon, honey."

Your mother was baffled, to say the least. Her mouth dropped, glaring at your father like she couldn't believe his audacity. You gave both of them a tight smile, and Matt gave them a polite nod. Together, you headed towards the elevator and didn't look back. You slipped your hand down to slot against Matt's palm, grateful for his calming presence, even though it wasn't in your plan. 

Before the elevator closed, you watched him. Your father, with his eyes trained on you as if you had painted a target on yourself. For once in your life, you weren't afraid. You would bring him down to his knees, even if that was the last thing you ever do.

"You seem a little bit tense."

"I want to look the best I can be. Isn't that kind of the point?"

You placed the brush down onto the paint palette and wiped your hands on the rag nearby. You erased the distance between you and Matt, stopping when you weren't too close or too far. Just so. He tilted his head up from he was sitting, his unsighted eyes full of curiosity. You reached out with your hands, inches away from his body, asking tentatively.

"May I … may I touch you?"

Matt swallowed, nodding his head with the barest movement but firm enough to signal you to proceed. Your fingers found the warm material of his shirt, easing out the invisible knots that strung his body up.

"Maybe, if that's what I'm aiming for. But it's not."

You had asked Matt to model for you out of the blue during one of your lunch dates. He agreed to it with little resistance, much to your surprise. He then explained that he wanted to get to know more about what you do. You were elated that you didn't ask further of him, laying out the details of what the process would entail. What he didn't tell you then was that he would do anything to hear more of your voice, to spend more time with you. He felt like he could be himself around you, for you never judged him for what he did. You had accepted him as a whole; no question asked, no condition required. So even if he had to handle the pungent smell of the oil paints you used, just for a few hours of your time, he would gladly accept the minor inconvenience.

This was the second session you had together. Gazing at Matt with his head levelled with your chest, you felt this fierce need to capture him — the vulnerability, the rough skin on his knuckles, the shreds of evidence from his nightly patrols. The late afternoon light caught him in a glorious glow, painting him in a beautiful shine. Matt gave into your touches; his throat hummed a fleeting, barely-there tune of contentment. You traced your hand along the side of his face, feeling the soft strands of his hair, the smooth curve of his ear, the roughness of his stubble underneath your fingertips. Your eyes followed your movement and failed to notice the way Matt looked at you. So much said in the blank stares of his. Full of wonder. Admiration. And lurking deep underneath was the potent desire, a craving for something he could never get enough of.

You.

You placed your hand on his shoulder, smiling at his slightly loosened posture.

"There we go. Now you look more like … you."

Matt let out a small laugh at your choice of words, shaking his head.

"I'm not sure if that's a good thing."

Your hand on his shoulder squeezed. Then, your voice dropped, indicating the truth in every single word.

"It's always a good thing, Matt. That's what I want."

Matt took your hand on his shoulder; the heat of him spread to your skin, warming you inside out. He pressed his lips to the back of your hand; the gesture was soft, simple, yet bewitching.

"I will be anything you want, with all of my strength, for as long you have me."

Your brows knitted together, you lowered yourself to level your eyes with his. You needed to look into his eyes when you were about to admit something important to you, and you wanted him to know that you meant it. You wanted your heart to acknowledge that too.

"I just want you to be yourself. No pretense. No disguise. None of that. Because it doesn't matter —"

You let out a low exhale, your voice was a touch above a whisper, but you knew Matt could hear you, loud and clear.

"— it's you that I want."

The look Matt gave you was one of adoration and realization. Your heart stayed true to the admission, beating steady in a soothing rhythm to his ears. You couldn't help yourself as you lowered your head and sealed your lips on his. The little kiss lasted no longer than three seconds before you pulled back, stunned at your rash action.

'What if he doesn't feel the same way? What if he doesn't want you? You just had to go ahead and ruin-'

Your thought was stopped from the downward spiral with the feeling of Matt's lips on yours again. His lips moved in a slow, languid manner like he was prolonging the sensation, relishing in the softness of your lips and the way you started to kiss him back. Matt's hand skimmed your jawline, pulling you closer with a gentle nudge on your chin. His legs parted for you to step in between, and his other arm coiled around your waist, holding you impossibly close. You dropped yourself on his thigh, pressing your body against his, the material of your shirts bunching upon each other as the kiss grew into something different. Something more.

You snaked a hand under his shirt, stroking the skin there; your cold hand contrasted his heated skin. Matt pulled away just enough to discard the nuisance, baring his naked upper torso to you. Even though you had already seen his body in its bloody glory, your mouth couldn't help but go dry at the hard lines of muscles and the scarred planes of his chest. He pulled your legs to straddle him, resuming the kiss with renewed passion. His hands ran underneath your shirt, raising it up but not enough to take it off entirely.

He was letting you decide where this would go.

Your breathing grew rough at the realization, and suddenly, the little fabric between you was too much. You pulled your sweatshirt over your head with Matt's assistance; your voice came out hoarse and honest.

"Matt, I want this. I want this with you."

The sight in front of you was breathtaking. Matt's face flushed a bright red; the colour ran down his neck and ears. He swallowed, standing up with your legs wrapped around his hip. His voice was husky as if there was a fog looping around the consonants.

"Bedroom?"

"Bedroom."

You kissed him with abandon as Matt carried you out of your tiny studio. Your elbow caught the canvas, knocking it over. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for a crash that never came. Opening your eyes, you saw Matt's hand had shot out, catching the painting and placing it back to where it belonged.

You let out a deep exhale through your swollen lips, whispering against his equally reddened lips.

"I don't know why, but that was hot."

Matt's little laugh rumbled in his chest; the sound created a vibration on your skin. You two stumbled into the bedroom moments later, pulling on the rest of your clothes, save for your undergarments, out of breath and high on the thrill.

Pushing Matt onto the bed, you quickly straddled him, your damp panties pressed flush against his abdomen. It was no doubt that Matt could feel how wet you were, even without his heightened sense. You could tell by the way his tongue darted out to lick his lips, pulling in the scent of your arousal; the groan in his chest went deep, echoed in your ears. It was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard.

Your fingers followed the line of his jaw onto the graceful arc of his neck. You placed your hand on his throat and gave it a light squeeze. For a moment, you thought it was too much. Instantaneously, he arched into your touch, causing your hand to put more pressure on his throat. Rough breath mingled with a euphoric moan escaped him, like he couldn't conceal his desire. His eyes fluttered blissfully, the beautiful curves of his lips slightly parted open. You took note of that, revelling in the breathtaking sight of him, open and vulnerable. You slid lower onto his body, situating yourself on top of his clothed erection, earning a guttural moan from him.

Your hand on his throat moved up to cup his jaw, pulling him into a sitting position. You crushed your lips against his, one arm winded behind his neck, snaking up his hair and pulled, exposing his neck to you. His expression was pure ecstasy, his eyes half-closed. You moved from his lips, nipped on his stubbled jawline, reached his earlobe and pulled it between your teeth. He let out another moan; his hip rutted up to yours. The movement made you hummed in bliss; the sound felt better than the rapid pour of adrenaline into his blood. You made your way down his neck with your hand still in his hair, licking and sucking on the delicate skin. You gave the base of his throat a bite, then soothed it with a lick of your tongue. He shuddered lightly, a rough groan escape his lips.

You swiped your thumb across his lips, marvelled at their softness. Gently pressed inward, his lips parted open, nipping and kissing at the pad of your thumb. His hand caressed your shoulder, moved down to cup your breast, squeezing it through the lace material. It soon joined his other hand on your back, searching for the bra clasp, pulling it free. The material loosened; he desperately tugged the straps down your arms, off your body and flung the cotton away as if he couldn't get rid of it fast enough. Matt's warm hands found your chest again, massaging them, his thumbs teasing your hardened nipples. You whimpered, your back arched into his hands, searching for more friction. He pulled the right nipple into his mouth, lapping at it, while the other hand didn't falter in its movement. You threw your head back, letting out a loud moan at the stimuli. His arm moved behind you to keep you upright and press you even closer to his mouth. Your hand found his hair, holding onto the strands, encouraging him even more. He seemed to enjoy the sensation; a deep groan rumbled in his throat. His tongue expertly probed at your nipple, working you up. You could feel the wetness pooled at your panties; the ache for him rang loud and clear in your head. You ground down onto his hardness, desperate for more friction, your pussy squeezed around nothing.

Your hip lifted from his, and Matt whined at the loss of contact. You stepped off the bed as Matt propped up on his elbow, detecting your movements. You got rid of the material concealing your drenched core, and an intense wave of scent hit him. His eyes fluttered, his groans broken as you got back on the bed again. Your hands found the waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling them down his legs, letting his erection bounce free. Your eyes slightly widened at his girth; the skin taut, smooth at the head, gleamed with precum.

You moved your hip ever-so-slightly over Matt's erection, trailing your arousal along his length as he bucked his hip up, seeking out your heat. Lining the tip at your entrance, you lowered yourself on his cock, only to pull yourself up immediately. You kept the teasing pace going as Matt let out unrestrained moans underneath you. They sounded needy. And dangerous.

You were having too much fun to notice the last part. The breath was knocked out of your lungs as Matt took over, switching your position in a flash. Your legs spread wide with his thighs slotted between, your arms pinned above your head, and you found yourself couldn't move. The smirk Matt gave you was deadly, showing a hint of teeth. You felt like you caught a glimpse of the Devil just now, and there was no doubt that he would bite. Yet, you weren't afraid. Instead, your need for him drove up and up; your heart rate elevated at the excitement.

"That's enough teasing, don't you think?"

The question was followed by a wet swipe of his tongue along your neck. His hot breath warmed your skin as if it wasn't already burning at his mercy. You whimpered, the knot in your belly twisting and coiling with need.

"Cat got your tongue? I will need you to tell me what you want, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. There was something about the way he whispered the little pet name for the first time tonight in the amorous moment. Lustful. Intimate. And full of endearment. Your heart kicked up a notch, added to the ecstasy that was already swirling in your head.

"I ... I need you, Matt. Please."

You whimpered; your breathing came out uneven. Matt touched his forehead to yours; his hands encased yours in an assuring grip.

"Anything for you."

Matt eased into you with little difficulty. Your slick wall pulled him in, eager for the friction as he slowly filled you up. You felt full as your core pulsated to adjust to his size. He buried deep inside you with a guttural groan; the sound was so deep you could feel it in your own chest. Matt pulled you in for a kiss that ravaged your consciousness as he started to move. The rolls of his hip were slow as you both moaned out at the delicious, steady rhythm. You could feel him shuddering lightly on top of you as if he was holding himself back. You wanted more. You needed more.

You nudged Matt with your nose; your pleading words came out in breathy sighs.

"Harder ... please. You won't break me."

Your legs wrapped around his hip, pulling him down, causing his hip to rub harder against yours. He swallowed hard, taking in your plea, and started ramming into you at a crushing force. You couldn't do anything but hold tighter onto his hands, letting Matt take control of your pleasure. You thought you knew the true extent of his strength and stamina, but you were wrong. Time seemed to be a far-away concept in the back of your mind as you couldn't comprehend how much of it had passed. Thrust after thrust, Matt pulled all the way out to slammed back in you to the hilt, his brutal, ferocious pace unceasing. Your bedroom was brimming with filthy moans, rough grunts, the harsh sound of skin on skin. The headboard of your bed banged against the wall, accentuated every hard jolt of your joined bodies as you and Matt lost in the feeling of each other. He kept going on and on and on, and it was too much, too intense, too overwhelming, ... until the thread inside you snapped, freeing you of the luscious buildup at the pit of your stomach. Your breath hitched at the intensity of the climax; your broken throat cried out Matt's name in delirium, again and again, as if it was the only prayer you ever needed.

Matt let go of your hands, and you winded them around his neck, holding onto him as he kept on his ruthless pace. He burrowed his face into the crook of your neck, grunting and biting and licking at the delicate skin. His hip moved in the same feral manner, and Matt drove himself into that sensitive spot inside of you repeatedly, letting you ride out your wave on his thrusts. Finally, his breathing grew ragged, his strokes faltered, and he came with a throaty groan. You felt his warmth coating your inner wall, spilling out between your folds and leaking down to your bottom. Matt dropped on his forearms, holding himself up to not crush you. You pulled him down to you anyway, relishing in his weight on you. Your hand came up to scratch at his scalp, and Matt relaxed in your embrace, letting out a blissful sigh. Your strangled breathings harmonized, unrolling themselves into deep, even melodies. Your eyelids drooped as the post-orgasm euphoria took over, and you let yourself fall into the welcoming bliss of much-needed rest.

Some times later, you felt a gentle caress on your cheek with Matt's voice calling your name softly. You blinked, lifting your gaze to see him sitting on the edge of your bed. You tilted your face to plant butterfly kisses on his hand on your face over the red skin and rough scars. The stickiness between your legs was gone, as the blanket around you was tucked comfortably around you.

"I'm sorry, I can't stay. I have to head out."

You nodded. You understood. Your heart melted at the look on Matt's face, a sorrowful regret that he couldn't be by your side all night, no matter how much you both wanted to.

"Thank you for letting me know before you leave. Will you come back here ... after you're done?"

You couldn't help but added the last part. You didn't want to sound needy, didn't want to scared Matt away. You braced yourself for the rejection, which needed little preparation after years of pushing people away. But Matt was nothing, if not a man full of surprises and your contrary expectations. He pressed a lingering kiss to your lips, smiling as he traced the line of your face fondly.

The gears in Matt's head turned, grinding the minor details of your subtly odd behaviour from last night. It bothered Matt when you came home to him, noticeably distracted, with the smell of fleeting tobacco and faint sweat still lingering on your hair and clothes, the pulse underneath your skin drummed restlessly. He worried, even more, when you sought him out in the dark, holding onto him, your embrace tight but not constricted, as if you needed it. As if you needed to feel him there to calm your nerves.

It troubled Matt beyond one's wildest imagination, but what else could he do, stalk you? He could never do that, especially when the trust between you was still tender. So fragile. You were walking on broken glasses around him, and you wouldn't dare make a sound, call out for help, even though you were bleeding.

Matt knew he couldn't pry the truth out of you once you determined to hide it away. You were stubborn in a way that you would never ask for help first, determined to untangle yourself from the mess, no matter how long it took, no matter how hard it was.

No matter how much he wanted to help.

Matt suspected it came from a part of your past that you weren't ready to share with him. Whatever it was, it shaped you into the person you were, so deeply damaged. Yet, you did your best to put on a facade, pretending that everything was fine so you could be there for him while you struggled to be there for yourself.

Yes, you were stubborn. But, ironic enough, Matt was just as obstinate.

Matt heard you before you came into the living room; gentle footfalls echoed in his keen hearing, soft exhales laced with exhaustion. Matt met you halfway, pulling you into his warm embrace. He sighed in relief when you hugged him back; the scratchiness of your bandage found the bare skin under his shirt. In the stillness of his apartment, with the rise and fall of your chest, as you buried your face in his chest, breathing him in, the roughness felt better than silk on his skin. Matt dropped a kiss on your head, tugging your head to bury deeper into where his neck and shoulder met. You stood like that for a moment, listening to each other's heartbeat, until you were ready to part. Matt thought he could try his hand at picking your brain at the expense of the fresh coffee and delightful breakfast he prepared just minutes before.

"I couldn't help but notice how different you … were yesterday."

You broke a piece of omelette with your fork, putting it into your mouth.

"What do you mean? Different how?"

Matt shrugged, trying to appear casual not to set you on edge and scare you.

"You seemed … quieter. And distracted. Hence the cut."

You cleared your throat, leaning back onto the chair.

"It was a weird day, and I was being clumsy. That's all."

A vague response that couldn't satisfy Matt. He knew you were skirting around the truth by your carefully chosen, ambiguous answers. So he pressed on, eager for a breakthrough.

"Did something happen to you on your trip out?"

The scrape of the fork on your plate stopped. You seemed to go still, even your breathing, which was something Matt didn't expect. He tuned into the way your fingers clenched and unclenched themselves around the fork, the way you exhaled flatly. He hoped for clarification, not another dead end.

"It's New York. Crazy things happen here."

Matt's lips flattened into a dissatisfactory line, knowing that his effort was in vain as you picked at your food once more. By the finality of your tone, he could tell that you were done with the conversation. Your head was elsewhere instead of being here with him. The pleasant silence no longer brought him comfort as the sound of forks and knives hungrily licked at the tense air between you.

Breakfast was wrapped up in a rush as you hurriedly prepared to go out for the day. With your coat on, your bag secured on your shoulder; you gave his hand a halfhearted squeeze before walking down the hallway. Before you could disappear through the door, Matt called out to you; your name in his voice was small and uncertain.

"Are you okay?"

One. Two. Three. Three beats too long for a simple answer.

"I'm fine."

The words wrapped themselves around the curve of the weak smile you gave him before you closed the door.

But that hard thump of your heart didn't lie.

-

You exhaled deeply; your body and mind begged for the day to end. You were on edge all day, always looking over your shoulders. It didn't help when you spent the day travelling across Lower Manhattan for a client, leaving bread crumbs all over the area. All the familiar locations that could give away where you could potentially be. That thought made you restless and all the more nauseous.

After making sure you made several turns, weaving your way through small alleys, you dragged yourself up on the stairs to Matt's apartment, exhausted from the little sleep and the constant nervousness you had since last night. All you wanted was to be back at home, where it was a pair of strong arms, a body that was riddled with scars, and sometimes, bloody skin.

Matt opened the door for you before you could do it yourself. Your eyes met the breathtaking sight of him in the form-fitting black suit. Matt took your bag from you, dropping it to his feet gently. In the same movement, he pulled you towards him, and your hands, as always, found their way to wrap around his torso. It felt natural, like picking up your favourite graphite pencil, putting it on the paper and letting go. Matt placed a soft kiss on the crown of your head; his hand moved up and down your back as if he could sense your perpetual uneasiness. He just knew. It had always been that way.

Matt smelled of clean soap and aftershave. His suit looked new and definitely not the same one he wore this morning, which posed a question.

"Are you heading out?"

You couldn't disguise the disappointment in your voice. You looked forward to this, coming home to him, doing familiar unfamiliar things with him. Comfort and affection were something you so desperately needed after a day like this when words couldn't convey everything you wanted to say.

'It's not like you can tell him anyway,' you reminded yourself.

Matt ran his hand down your hair, smoothing the frizzy strands blown wild from the wind before dipping his head, placing a kiss on the frozen tip of your nose.

"I am. And you're coming with me."

The route he led you through was familiar, and you knew why when the sight of Primrose loomed close. It was only a little over six, but the cafe had its sign dimmed and curtains down, which was unusual for a weekday.

"What are we doing here, Matt?"

He turned to you with his palm up, offering you to take his hand, putting your faith in him.

"Trust me."

And you took it.

Primrose looked different in the candle lights, a welcoming contrary to the usual atmospheric fluorescent. You let out a faint gasp of surprise as your eyes lowered to the floor, scattered with roses petals, leading to the table set at the centre of the room.

"I had some help. From May, Foggy and Karen."

Matt offered a clarification with a sheepish smile on his face. You turned to face him, still amazed by the sweet gesture. You found yourself speechless; your lips parted with no word coming out. Matt sensed your silence; a subtle wave of anxiety surged up, threatened to pull him under.

"Is it … too much?"

He asked softly, with an edge of hesitation. You let out a shaky sigh, feeling your heart swell in your ribcage to the point it could explode.

"No, no. I love it."

You could hear the slight trembles in your voice, and there was no doubt Matt could too, as he stepped closer to you, feeling for your hands and bringing them to his lips. He spent time kissing them with adoration while you found enough courage to croak out.

"I just- don't... Why?"

He pressed his cheek to the palm of your hand, and you could feel the heat that could make your heart melt.

"Because you deserve it. Because I want to do this for you."

Matt walked you to the table, feeling for the back of the chair, pulling it out for you. You opened the bottle of wine on the table, pouring the crimson liquid into the glasses, letting yourself go along with the pleasant flow of the evening.

Dinner was a contrasting image of this morning's breakfast, and you were sure it wasn't due to the involvement of wine. The conversation between you didn't feel stiff and tense, especially when not one word about what happened was spoken. You didn't want to think about it, and you didn't have to. You missed this. You missed spending time with him, sharing a meal, going on a date. It felt like how it always meant to be, even with the unknown threat creeping in the back of your mind. You felt better after the long day, and it seemed like Matt knew what to do to untangle the knot you involuntarily found yourself in.

After dinner, you left Primrose with a flush on your cheeks and Matt's hand on your arm. Listening to the disarray of noise that you knew and came to love, you felt peaceful more than ever with Matt beside you. Even though your relationship wasn't perfect, it was yours. And Matt's. You were here with each other, making an effort to be better for one another. You wanted to show him how much you meant it.

You slipped your hand in his, the gesture so soft, almost as if you were afraid he would pull away. You held your breath in the capacity of your chest, waiting to see if he would do what you were so scared of. But, instead, the sight of his broad, rueful smile absolved all of your worries and nervousness.

The familiar blocks of Hell's Kitchen used to do little to soothe the fresh pain in you then. When things fell apart, everything reminded you of him. The ache in your chest never dulled. It was always there, a constant reminder of what you did. But now, the scenery filled you with a sense of contentment and happiness, instead of the usual self-loathing that slowly chipped away your spirit.

You stopped in your track, making Matt halt right beside you. The gaze he placed on you was quizzical; his nose turned red in the cold of New York winter. Your hand reached up to caress his cheek, soothing the bitter cold that took place. You took a deep breath, wanting to tell him how much he meant to you, how much you appreciate him. But the words died on your tongue as someone else's voice calling your name rose in the air. The voice that you never wanted to hear again.

You looked over Matt to see him standing just a few feet away; his eyes widened in astonishments. You pulled your hands back sharply as if Matt had burned you as if he was poisonous. The look on Matt's face was one of anguish, of devastation, and it plunged a knife into your heart. Jaw clenched. Brows knitted together. The stubborn set on his lips with a slight tilt downward. Everything you didn't want to see from him.

"It really is you."

Matt noticed how you had gone stiff at the strange man's presence. The man's voice shook almost too deliberately, as if he was forcing it. And even though he didn't like where things were headed, he couldn't help but let things unfold.

You felt as if there was a force that took over you, bound you to the ground. Even though that force was invisible in your eyes, you knew what it was. Fear. Primal fear that made you want to run, to hide. Like you had done in the past. Ice enveloped your heart, spreading its frosty bites to your veins. You felt cold, too cold even to talk, much less move.

"Don't you want to give your father a hug?"

Your body grew even more rigid at his words; the only thing in your mind was how you hoped your father didn't see the way you held Matt moments ago. The last thing you wanted to trigger your dad into doing something to you. Or worse, to Matt.

You ground your teeth; your jaw pulled so tight at how helpless you felt. You hated how your father still had power over you after all these years. Of course, he wouldn't dare put a finger on you in public, but he could do a lot worse when no one was looking. You knew that too well.

Your father's arms hung at his side in rejection as you stood your ground. Then, feeling the silence stretched on, Matt extended a hand towards your father.

"My name is Matt Murdock. And you are …?"

Your father gave Matt's hand an enthusiastic clasp, shaking it with more force necessary.

"You can call me Arthur. Any friend of my daughter is my friend. And from the look of it, you're more than friends."

Your father emphasized the last observation; his eyes scrutinized how you stood next to Matt. Finally, you cleared your throat, feeling like it was closing up. You pushed the initial fear aside, wanting to speak up, to take back some of the control before your father had more than the sliver of a chance to dissect you and Matt apart.

"What are you doing here?"

Your father gestured to you with his palm up, which was a blatant attempt at showing his fraud honesty.

"I'm ... here to find you. Look, honey. I know … we haven't talked. We had our differences."

He sighed, having the nerves to look weary like a concerned, doting father who worried about his precious daughter.

"So, I'm here to make amends."

Your voice lightly trembled, so you did your best to keep it under control.

"How did you know that I'm here? Was it your friend who stalked me yesterday, hm?"

Your self-control slipped at the end; your tone raised with accusation. Matt had gone stiff beside you at the unexpected revelation. His fists clenched hard on his sides.

"Honey, I don't know what you're talking about."

The mocking smirk on his face was blatantly displayed. It barely showed, but it was there. He didn't bother to put on a show in front of a blind man. And you. It made your blood boil. He was dead wrong if he thought you would buy his pathetic performance.

Matt tugged on your arm gently, signalling the incoming and much-needed rescue.

"Excuse us, but we have to go."

Your father took a step towards you, holding his hands up to stop your movement, while all you wanted to do was to get away from him as far as possible.

"Wait, I meant it when I said I wanted to reconcile with you. Your mother as well."

He took out a small piece of paper that looked like a business card and scribbled something on one side.

"We have a reservation at this address this Saturday night. Your mother and I would love to have you there. She would be so happy to see you. You can bring your … friend with you."

You eyed the card suspiciously, fixing him with a hardened gaze. Then, finally, you snatched it from his hand with a cold reply.

"We'll see."

The rest of the walk was painfully quiet as you quickened your pace, wanting to get off the streets, avoiding anything life wanted to pour on your head. You didn't say a word to each other until Matt set his cane on the table loudly, making you jump at the sound.

"Were you ever going to tell me about the stalker?"

You shrugged, dropping your coat carelessly in a heap on the floor.

"To be honest, no. If I had it my way, you would never know about it. But the cat's out of the bag now."

Matt huffed in disbelief at the calm tone you were giving him.

"You were in danger. How could you not tell me?"

He raised his voice, getting angrier with every confession. Matt never raised his voice at you, and you knew you deserved it.

He continued, his voice fractured at the edge when you couldn't bring yourself to tell him why.

"I … I could have helped."

You pulled your bottom lip into your mouth, shaking your head in refusal.

"There was nothing you could do, Matt. I took care of it."

The hands on his collar to loosen the tie came down to his hip, bracing on each side. He cocked his head slightly; a realization dawned on him.

"Was that the reason why you acted differently yesterday?"

You exhaled deeply, couldn't see the point in lying anymore.

"… Yes."

The movements of his hands became wild. Wrathful.

"For fuck sake, I just need you to talk to me. I need you to actually trust me for once. I could have helped, instead of being useless on the sideline, once again."

You could feel your patience running thin from having to repeat yourself.

"I'm capable of taking care of those matters myself."

Matt shortened the distance between you as the fight grew more heated. He was close enough that you could reach out to touch him. But you knew that wasn't what he wanted at the moment. Not what you wanted either.

"That's the thing. You don't have to ask. You never needed anyone because you don't trust anyone. Not even me, who wants to protect you."

You rolled your eyes, letting a frustrated huff of air escape.

"I've never needed a knight in shining armour coming to rescue me."

That only irked Matt even further.

"When will you realize that's not the problem? You don't want anyone's help because you don't want to look weak."

Bingo. What a surprise. He was right, and for once, you didn't feel like retorting with just as much heat. You were exhausted to the bones.

Matt pressed on, his questions mapping out everything he wanted to know.

"What was that about your dad?"

You sighed wearily, moving your hand with a humourless flourish.

"A dysfunctional family at your service."

He didn't buy that either.

"But it's worse than that, isn't it?"

"I heard it. A skip in his heartbeat when he said he wanted to reconcile with you. It happened again when you confronted him about the stalker."

The faint spike in his heartbeat was subtle, but Matt heard it. It seemed like your father had lied so often that the lies came out so effortlessly. You weren't surprised at that. People didn't change. They only got better at hiding what they wanted to keep hidden. You never expected honesty from your own father anyway.

Matt took hold of your arms, pulling you closer to him. The gesture was gentle, contrary to his earlier heat and fiery confrontations. His voice softened.

"Sweetheart, talk to me. Did he … did he hurt you?"

Emotionally? Physically? You were checking the box as if you were collecting prizes. You gently untangled yourself out of Matt's grasp, your voice small.

"It's late, Matt. Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Matt sighed, knowing now that you had withdrawn into your shell, you wouldn't come out. Then, dropping his arms to the sides, he turned away without a word, putting on his suit on the other side of the room while you stayed where you were.

Before putting the mask on, Matt turned his gaze to you.

"We're not done talking."

You waited there long after he disappeared onto the rooftop, then moved to gather your stuff. You felt like you were suffocated by the possibility of even more confrontation, and you didn't want to do it again. Not after tonight. Not after the shitty, nerve-wracking days you had. As you shoved your clothes into your bag, the pattern of what you were doing to yourself and Matt played in front of your eyes. If you left now, you only returned your relationship to that point when things fell to pieces, slipping uncontrollably through your hands. You were here because you were granted a second chance to be with him. Were you just going to throw it away again?

Was it worth it? Your pride in exchange for Matt?

You slowly put your stuff back to where they were before settling on the couch. You wanted this to work. You wanted to be with him.

"No, it didn't. Look, can we go back to the—"

"I think we've talked enough already."

You cut him off sharply, feeling on edge after the unwanted thoughts invaded your mind. You secured the bandage, making sure the white patch stayed in place. Your hands pulled back from the warmth of his skin, but not for long because Matt's own came up to take your wrist, locking your palm on top of the wound. You stayed like that for a moment, feeling the steady rhythm of his deep breathing. Matt held onto your hand as if it could heal the injuries on his body; his thumb made soothing circles over the faint pulses of your wrist. The touch was gentle, coaxing you to let go, to let what was bothering you out in the open air. Matt knew how to make you feel like your problem was small and that you could tell him anything.

You wished it was that simple.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not ready. I will tell you about it, eventually. Just, not now."

His face fell, and you couldn't help but feel remorseful about it. If you could have it your way, Matt would never have to learn about the existence of your parents. And you wanted it to be that way for a while longer.

Matt nodded, a look of acceptance written on his face. If he pushed too hard, you would break. You were far from delicate, Matt knew that, but even the strongest person could crumble underneath pressure if you knew where to push. Everyone had kryptonite. His was you. You shied away from the prying eyes of others to protect yourself, and he would never blame you, since he was guilty of it himself.

Matt wished you could trust him more. He would eagerly beg for scraps of your worries, your problems if that meant he could help you.

The rest of the day slipped through the tips of your fingers quietly, tenderly, and before you knew it, it was well into the night when you asked him if you could borrow his pillow and blanket. The storm was gone, leaving New York frozen in place with snow piled high. Hopefully, that meant no crime should be committed tonight, so Matt and his Catholic guilt could be at peace and stay home for once.

The look on his face was pure puzzlement.

"Why?"

"I'll sleep on the couch so that I won't take up your bed. Also, if you still want to sneak out and have fun in the snow, you'll have to pass by me. And I've been a very light sleeper lately."

Matt's brows furrowed in disapproval.

"There's no need for such extreme measure. You can sleep in my bed."

God knew how much you wanted to do just that. But you couldn't. You couldn't allow yourself to be comfortable in his space when things weren't clear between you.

"You'll need the space. You're injured."

Indulgence wasn't something you could afford, for it would only make it harder for you to leave if Matt asked of that from you. So you settled into your sleeping arrangement, despite his protest. Laying on your side, you watched as the open door of Matt's bedroom disappeared into the darkness of your slumber.

The white harsh light outside pried the sleep from you, slowly waking you up. You rubbed at your eyes, turning in your spot, when you saw Matt reclining on the armchair opposite the couch. His head rested on the top of the backrest, his arm braced on one side, sound asleep. His broad body could barely fit on the chair, much less found comfort in it. You treaded lightly to him, nudging his arm. He slowly came to; his head cocked to one side as if he was assessing you.

"Why are you sleeping out here? That can't be comfortable."

He shrugged sleepily; his unsighted eyes still had evident traces of sleep.

"You refused to use my bed, so I guess we can both be uncomfortable."

You scoffed jokingly.

"I'm about 100% sure it doesn't work like that. It's your home, Matt."

"It's your home, too."

Silence engulfed the air between you once more. Matt thought of his home as something he shared with you. It wasn't only his. It was yours as well. Before things took their course, you felt like this had been your home too. Your imprints laid here, staking your claim in his home. This place was yours as much as it was his, just like your heart.

You couldn't bring yourself to say all of that out loud. So you opted for something else.

"Do you want some French toast?"

Matt went on a call with Foggy after breakfast. Both of you were in the kitchen, like how you used to, making the most out of the little time before you had to part again for the day. But today was an exception. You had nowhere to go, and so did he. New York was still buried underneath all the snow, guaranteed for all activities to cease. Things should be back to normal in the next two or three days, so for the time being, you and Matt were stuck together. Not that you minded, as long as you kept your mouth shut.

You pushed Matt's grey shirt up, exposing his back to you so you could replace the bandages. Foggy's voice was booming from the other end of the line.

"Where have you been? You didn't answer my calls or texts. I thought you were dead, dude. You might as well be if you tell me you went out in the storm because I will strangle you myself."

You smiled at Foggy's loving way of showing concern for Matt. The man sitting before you chuckled lightly, the tiny movement of his body spread to your fingers.

"I'm fine, Foggy. I'm sorry for not replying to your calls. I had a little… mishap, that's all."

Mishap? Unbelievable. It wouldn't be Matt if he didn't downplay the seriousness of his condition to make his friends stop worrying about him. So you pressed on the edge of his wound just a touch harder than necessary. Not enough to tear the cut open, but enough to draw a small grunt from Matt.

The other side quieted before a bombard of questions was dumped onto Matt's head.

"Are you okay? Are you in pain? Do you need me to come over? I'll come over with some food—"

Matt stammered, trying to get a word in between Foggy's flurry of worries.

"No, no, that won't be necessary. Stay home. It's dangerous to go outside right now."

Foggy spoke again; his tone promised a lecture.

"I know that you have some superhero-level sense or whatever, but you're only human. You have limitations, Matt."

Matt ran a hand over his face, as yours ran across his back, tending to every injury.

"I promise I'm fine. You don't have to worry. I have … someone here with me."

That piqued Foggy's interest and curiosity like dangling a treat in front of a demanding cat.

"Who? Do I know them? Wait … did you move on from ... her already?"

Matt was once again at a loss for words. You leaned forward to where he held his phone, decided to release him from this torture.

"Hey, Foggy."

A flush bloomed across Matt's skin, spreading from his neck to the tips of his ears. Foggy gasped out loud, enough for you to hear the sheer shock in his bewilderment.

"Are you guys back together?"

His voice was hopeful, full of excitement. Oh, how you hated to keep talking.

"No, I'm just here to take care of him. After that, I'll leave."

Matt went still underneath the tips of your fingers. Too still.

"Alright. I do feel better with you there with Matt. I'll leave you ... lovebirds be for now."

After saying your goodbyes, Matt hung up. You pulled his shirt down, covering his skin once more.

He turned around; his blank gaze searched for you.

"Were you planning to leave after this whole time?"

You shrugged, keeping your voice airy.

"Yes, that was always the plan. I make sure that you're fine, then I'll let you be."

You paused for a moment with your face down, avoiding Matt's knowing stare.

"Our conversation didn't change anything."

Matt cradled your face in his hand, caressing you tenderly. You felt like you were spoiled with an abundance of physical contact from Matt in the past few days. But, as much as you loved it, you were afraid nothing good would come out of taking too much of a dose after a long time of withdrawal.

"I meant every word I said. And I know how you feel too. Can we stop running from it? From the obvious?"

You confessed to him, hoping to relieve him of the torture of not knowing. You had planned to run again; you had wished Matt would hate you for hurting him, but his love for you only seemed to grow.

"I've hurt you, Matt. I might do it again."

"And I'll let you do that again, and again. If that means you'll give us a second chance."

You shook your head. Matt wanted to give you the world, and in return, you wanted to offer him your absence. The bigger, better picture wasn't what you thought it once was; after you witnessed what entailed on the other side. He would love you until his dying breath, even if you were the person who took that from him. He loved you so, and you were inevitably intertwined; not even God himself could separate you.

You touched your forehead to his; a slight tremble ran down your back.

"You're so stubborn."

"I learned from the best."

You laughed in disbelief, pushing at his shoulder playfully. Mat caught your hand and pressed his lips to the back of it.

That kiss seemed to seal an unspoken promise of a second chance. You slept in his bed that night, woke up to find Matt there with you, your limbs tangled. You fell into an easy, effortless ritual with him as New York gradually recovered from the storm. Matt's wounds were healing at a steady pace. Everything was almost back to normal, which meant Matt would be back on the streets soon enough, for his restlessness worries for Hell's Kitchen. You understood, and you wouldn't stop him.

Two days later, when it was safe to venture outside again, you went out on a much-needed grocery trip since Matt's place was almost barren with food. You asked Matt to stay home since he needed all the healing time he could. With a bag full of groceries and medical supplies, you stepped out of your last stop with a jar of salve tugged in your pocket — a bodega closed to your place — a little hastier than you would like. You made eye contact with a strange man in there who lingered at the chips aisle a few feet from you where you stood, and when he saw you staring at him, he looked away quickly. Too quick. Almost as if he didn't want to be seen.

You quickened your pace, wanting to get home with Matt, curling up against his side to chase away the cold. A different kind of chill ran down your spine as you caught the sight of the man earlier through a convex mirror as you walked by it. Startled by his presence, you stopped in front of the mirror, pretending to fix your scarf and sneaking a glance in the mirror. The man stood a safe distance away, just shied of the mirror's rim, and you sighed in frustration. You walked away from the mirror, taking a different turn since there was a chance of you being followed. You wanted to make sure it wasn't your head making things up. So you led the man on a random trip through Hell's Kitchen, away from your place and Matt's.

It took a good twenty minutes before you stopped in front of a bakery with a gorgeous display. Pretending to be marvelled by the glossy fruit tarts and lush cheesecakes, you got your phone out, pretending to take a photo. You angled your camera in the front-view mode to catch the sight behind you and took a few pictures. A close inspection of the image confirmed your suspicion, and dread filled your stomach. It was the same man from the bodega. Now that you knew you were being followed, you had to cut the unwanted company off your tail.

You had to stay calm. You knew the nooks and alleys of Hell's Kitchen like the back of your hand; you knew which shortcuts to take to reach your desired destination. But Hell's Kitchen was small, and you couldn't risk him finding out about your place or Matt's. The best solution you had was to lead him away from the area. So you picked up your pace again. You took a path to the nearest subway, blending in with the crowded stream of people at rush hour, pouring into the station. You couldn't look back; you didn't want him to figure out that you were aware of his intention. You could only hope that your pursuer was hot on your trail. At least the foot traffic was on your side since the onslaught of people only grew thicker. You weaved your way through them, squeezing past the forest of winter coats and scarfs to get on the train. The inside of the train wasn't any better, with people filled to the brim. But it worked out perfectly for you.

You found a spot to stand, pretending to be on your phone and risked a glance at the man. You saw your pursuer's struggle to keep up with irritated New Yorkers in his way.

Get on the train. Just get on the train. You silently prayed.

He approached the door and got on with difficulty. You prayed; you waited patiently for that moment to come. He got closer, much closer than you would like.

Please, please.

He was only three people away from you now. Fuck, fuck, fuc-

"This is a Queens-bound Q Express train. The next stop …."

That was all you needed to bolt for the closing door, not before you let out a fake, loud and obvious gasp at a false mistake of getting on the wrong train. You slipped out of the door just as it closed behind you, locking the train and your pursuer in it. You walked away, didn't dare look back as you kept the pretense up, hoping the guy didn't know that you caught on with his stalking. The train left the station; only then did you let out a shaky exhale of air, feeling nervous from the chase and made your way home.

You prepared yourself, did your best to calm your frazzled nerves. You knew Matt would have questions if he could sense a sliver of anxiety from you. Wiping the sweat off your palms, you righted yourself before ascending the last flight of stairs to Matt's apartment and letting yourself in.

The light was on, not that Matt needed it, but it was for you. Stepping into the living room, you could see Matt setting the Braille document in his hand down on the table, standing up to greet you with a kiss on your forehead. He pulled back, his face puzzled in mock amusement.

"No objection?"

You scoffed playfully, doing your best to make your voice upbeat and anything but nervous.

"Maybe next time."

You broke away from him and made your way to the kitchen, keeping up the facade.

"You hungry? I'm sorry that took too long. It's crazy out there. And I got something for you."

You watched as Matt effortlessly caught the ointment jar in the air, turning it in his hand.

"Thank you."

He walked up to where you stood, wrapping his arms around you. You sighed deeply, mind still reeling from earlier. You shrugged his arms off gently, jokingly shooing him away.

"Go back to what you were doing. I would like to prepare dinner in peace, please."

"You don't want my assistance? I might be blind, but my cooking isn't bad, you know?"

"I know. I just want you to focus on your cases. I bet you have a lot to catch up with."

"You're right. I'll be right here if you need anything."

He pressed a kiss to your temple before leaving for the couch. You laid out the produces on the counter, getting to work.

You were deep in the thick of it, moving around the kitchen with a distracted mind, as if your body was a shell, making movements when your mind was busy circling the mysterious man before. The even sound of the knife met the cutting board, along with the repeated motions, made it easier for you to slip into a different headspace, one that allowed you to go through every possibility. With your mind elsewhere, the voice of Matt calling out to you was only a faint sound, creeping closer and louder, until his voice became a firm grasp around your hands, forbidding you from moving altogether.

That seemed to bring parts of your conscious back. Your eyes looked down at your hands to see that you had cut yourself. The blood fell freely onto the chopped parsley, garnishing it with speckles of red. Your mind still tried to catch up with everything around you when Matt wrapped a small towel over your hand, picking you up and setting you down onto the chair in the dining area. He was gone and back in a flash, bringing clean gauze and bandage with him.

Matt kneeled before you, his hand carefully examining your cut. You were still out of it when he was done securing the gauze over your hand. You would have agreed blindly to whatever he was saying hadn't your ears caught onto what Matt was saying.

"… staying with me for a few more days so I can keep your eyes on it."

You blinked in confusion.

"Matt, it's just a small cut."

A scowl made an appearance on his face; his worry for you etched a line in his voice.

"And that's a lot of blood. More than it should be."

You blew a disbelief breath through your lips.

"Are you a blood connoisseur or something?'

He cradled your hands in his, carefully avoiding where you cut yourself.

"No, but I've bled enough to know the difference."

You shrugged.

"I just bleed easily, that's all. I don't even need stitches."

"Nevertheless, we should take precautions."

Matt looked ... almost nervous. Guilty. His name on your lips was drawn out; your tone indicated how you caught onto his ultimate scheme.

"Is this a ploy of yours to get me to stay here longer?"

"Objection. That is a false accusation with no evidence to back up."

You chuckled at his lawyerly manner, and that pulled a smile from him.

"But I don't have many clothes here."

"You can wear mine. I don't mind at all."