Chapter 3
The rain had settled into a soft drizzle, but it was still enough to keep Frank firmly planted on Matt’s couch. He hadn’t moved much, except to shift his weight and grumble about the tightness of his stitches, which Matt had expertly handled earlier.
In the kitchen, Matt was rummaging through his cupboards, muttering under his breath.
“You keep mumblin’ over there, Red. You forget I can’t hear as good as you?” Frank called out, propping himself up on one elbow, wincing at the sharp sting in his side.
“I said,” Matt replied, raising his voice just enough to carry over the sound of water dripping outside, “you’d think a guy who eats as much as you would learn to carry snacks.”
Frank smirked. “I’d say I don’t need to when I’ve got people like you, but I’m guessin’ that’s not the answer you’re lookin’ for.”
Matt didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he pulled a few items from the cabinets— a box of pasta, and some spices, a can of tomato sauce—laying them on the counter with purpose.
“You’re cooking?” Frank asked, his tone somewhere between amused and skeptical.
“I’m making something edible,” Matt corrected, opening the can of tomato sauce with practiced ease. “You need to eat, and I’m not letting you limp out of here to find fast food.”
Frank chuckled, the sound low and rough. “Didn’t think you’d go all domestic on me, Red. You got an apron back there too?”
Matt paused, turning his head slightly in Frank’s direction, a small smile tugging at his lips. “If I do, you’re not getting to see it.”
Frank laughed outright this time, leaning back into the couch cushions. “Shame. Would’ve made my night.”
Matt ignored the comment, though his faint smirk betrayed his amusement. He focused on boiling water and sautéing garlic, moving through the kitchen with a precision that only someone who could "see" in his unique way could manage.
The smell of cooking filled the apartment, rich and savory. Frank closed his eyes, breathing it in. “Damn. Didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Stick around, and you’ll learn all kinds of things,” Matt replied smoothly, stirring the sauce.
Frank raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a sly grin. “That an invitation, Red?”
Matt faltered just a second too long before recovering. “Only if you’re planning on pulling your weight next time. I’m not running a free diner here.”
Frank laughed again, but this time it was softer, more genuine. “Fair enough. You want me to clean up? I can hobble my way over there.”
“Stay put,” Matt ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
Frank threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Yes, sir.”
A few minutes later, Matt placed two plates on the small dining table. “Come on,” he said, gesturing toward the food.
Frank struggled to his feet, biting back a groan as pain shot through his leg. Matt was by his side in an instant, one hand under Frank’s arm to steady him.
“You’re worse than a damn nurse,” Frank muttered, though he didn’t pull away.
“And yet, you’re not complaining,” Matt shot back, guiding him to the chair.
Frank eased himself down with a grunt, eyeing the plate of steaming pasta. “If this tastes as good as it smells, I might just start showing up for dinner uninvited.”
“Don’t push your luck,” Matt said, sitting across from him.
Frank took a bite, his expression shifting from skeptical to impressed. “Shit, Red. This is actually good.”
“Thanks for the ringing endorsement,” Matt replied dryly, though he couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face.
They ate in relative silence after that, the storm outside fading into the background.
“So,” Frank said, breaking the quiet as he pushed his empty plate aside, “what’s the real reason you’re putting up with me tonight?”
Matt leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “I told you. You showed up bleeding. What was I supposed to do?”
Frank shook his head. “Nah, there’s more to it. You don’t just let people crash here, not even me. So, spill it.”
Matt hesitated, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. “You were hurt,” he said finally, his voice quieter. “I couldn’t just leave you out there.”
“Even if I’m a pain in your ass?” Frank pressed, a teasing edge to his tone.
“Even then,” Matt admitted, his lips quirking into a reluctant smile.
Frank leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, don’t get used to this. I’m not exactly the ‘couch-surfing’ type.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Matt said, standing to clear the table.
As he reached for Frank’s plate, their hands brushed. The contact was brief but enough to make Frank glance up, his smirk softening into something quieter.
“Thanks, Red,” he said, his voice low.
Matt paused, holding the plate but not moving away. “For the food?”
“For everything,” Frank clarified.
Matt gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. “Get some rest, Frank.”
Frank watched him disappear into the kitchen, a faint smile tugging at his lips. For a guy who claimed he didn’t like company, Matt Murdock sure had a way of making people feel at home.