Chapter 8
The next day dawned with the muffled sounds of early city traffic drifting through the window. Frank was already awake, leaning against the kitchen counter with a mug of black coffee in hand. He stared at the swirling liquid as if it held answers, the quiet moments of the morning offering a rare pause from the storm of his mind.
Matt emerged from his room, hair tousled and shirt wrinkled from sleep. The sight pulled a fleeting smile from Frank, which he quickly hid behind a sip of coffee. But Matt, ever perceptive even without sight, paused for a second, his brows knitting together.
“Morning,” Matt said, his voice raspier than usual.
Frank grunted, nodding toward him. “Sleep well?”
“Better than usual,” Matt admitted. He crossed the room, guiding himself to the coffee pot and pouring a cup. “It’s oddly peaceful when you’re not knocking heads together.”
A smirk tugged at the corner of Frank’s lips. “Guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Matt leaned against the counter beside Frank, sipping his coffee. Their shoulders brushed, a brief touch that felt more charged than Frank cared to admit. He stiffened slightly, and Matt picked up on it. He always did.
“You’ve been different lately,” Matt remarked, tilting his head as if searching for the right frequency in Frank’s heartbeat.
“Different how?” Frank’s voice was low, wary.
Matt shrugged, a knowing smile playing at his lips. “Less stormy. More… contemplative. It’s unsettling.”
Frank barked a short laugh, more out of surprise than amusement. “Well, maybe you’re rubbing off on me, Red. You ever think of that?”
Matt smirked, turning to face him. The space between them was minimal, almost nonexistent. “Wouldn’t that be something?”
They stood in silence, the city outside seeming to fade away. Matt shifted, leaning just a bit closer, and Frank’s pulse quickened. It was infuriating how the guy could sense things like that. The air grew heavy, their proximity crackling with unspoken tension.
Frank cleared his throat and stepped away, pretending to fiddle with the toaster. “You’re nosier than you look, you know that?”
Matt chuckled, the sound soft and warm. “And you’re easier to read than you think, Castle.”
The teasing lilt in Matt’s voice made something inside Frank twist. He shot Matt a look, half-annoyed, half-admiring. “You’d better stop that, or I’m gonna start thinkin’ you enjoy pushin’ my buttons.”
“Maybe I do,” Matt said with a smirk, sipping his coffee again, as if he hadn’t just upended Frank’s world with a simple sentence.
Frank stared at him, the sharp retort dying on his tongue. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to shove Matt away for getting too close or pull him in to see just how far Matt was willing to go. The conflict must have shown on his face because Matt’s smile softened, shifting into something gentler.
“I’m not trying to push, Frank,” Matt said, his voice sincere now. “I just… I can tell something’s going on. And if you want to talk, I’m here.”
Frank swallowed hard, the sincerity in Matt’s words making him feel exposed. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time—like he wasn’t just a weapon but a person. It was terrifying.
“Maybe one day, Red,” Frank muttered, eyes dropping to the floor. “But not today.”
Matt nodded, the moment slipping away as he finished his coffee. But the silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full of something unspoken, something that neither of them was ready to admit, but both of them felt.
That night, as Frank lay on the couch pretending to sleep, he found himself replaying the day’s interactions. The way Matt’s voice softened when he teased, the casual way he reached out to touch Frank’s arm when he made a joke, the look of understanding that seemed to pierce through Frank’s walls.
He knew it was stupid. Dangerous, even. But as he listened to Matt’s steady breathing in the next room, Frank realized with a sinking feeling that he didn’t just tolerate Matt. He loved him. More than he should. More than he wanted to.
“Goddamn it,” Frank whispered to the dark, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes as if that could erase the truth.
Because Frank Castle, the Punisher, was in deep trouble. And this time, it wasn’t a bullet or a knife wound that had him worried.
It was Matt Murdock.