Chapter 17
The storm raged outside, battering the windows with relentless rain and wind. Inside Matt’s apartment, the power had gone out an hour ago, plunging the room into darkness lit only by the occasional flash of lightning.
Frank sat on the couch, tense and silent, his arms crossed over his chest. Matt moved around the kitchen effortlessly, the storm and blackout apparently doing nothing to hinder him. Frank watched him, the quiet strength in Matt’s movements setting his nerves even more on edge.
“You’d think a guy who can move without lights would be a little less smug about it,” Frank muttered.
Matt chuckled softly as he carried two mugs of tea into the living room. “You say ‘smug,’ I say ‘confident.’”
Frank huffed, taking the mug Matt handed him. His fingers brushed against Matt’s, and it felt like an electric jolt ran through him. He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening.
“Storm’s not letting up anytime soon,” Matt said, settling into the armchair across from Frank.
“No shit,” Frank replied gruffly, staring into his tea like it held the answers to all the questions clawing at his insides.
Matt tilted his head, his voice soft but probing. “You’ve been quiet. More than usual.”
Frank grunted, refusing to meet Matt’s gaze—or at least where Matt’s gaze would be if he could see. “Nothin’ to say.”
“You’ve always got something to say,” Matt countered gently. “You just don’t like saying it.”
Frank’s grip tightened on the mug, his knuckles going white. He could feel Matt’s attention on him, sharp and unyielding, and it made the weight in his chest impossible to ignore.
“Dammit, Red,” Frank growled, setting the mug down with a little too much force. “You always gotta push?”
Matt’s expression softened, his voice steady. “Only when I know there’s something worth pushing for.”
Frank stood abruptly, pacing the length of the room. He couldn’t sit still, couldn’t breathe with the storm inside him raging louder than the one outside.
“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” Frank said, his voice rough, almost angry.
Matt leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “I think I do.”
Frank turned to face him, his eyes dark and haunted. “You don’t, Matt. You don’t know what it’s like, what I’m like. I don’t get to have this. I don’t get to have you.”
Matt stood slowly, his calm presence somehow more disarming than any argument Frank could have expected. He crossed the space between them, stopping just in front of Frank.
“You think I don’t know who you are?” Matt asked quietly. “You think I don’t see the good in you, even when you don’t?”
Frank looked away, his jaw clenched. “I don’t deserve you, Matt. Hell, I don’t even know why you want me around.”
Matt reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against Frank’s arm. It was a small gesture, but it anchored Frank in place, keeping him from running.
“I want you around because you make me feel safe,” Matt said softly.
Frank’s head snapped up, his eyes searching Matt’s face for any sign of a lie. “You’re Daredevil, Red. You don’t need me to keep you safe.”
Matt smiled faintly. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
Frank’s breath hitched, his resolve cracking. He stepped back, but Matt followed, his hand resting gently against Frank’s chest.
“You’re not as broken as you think you are,” Matt said, his voice steady but full of emotion. “You just need someone to remind you of that.”
Frank closed his eyes, his head dropping forward as he let out a shaky breath. “You’re killin’ me here, Red.”
Matt smiled softly, his fingers curling into Frank’s shirt. “No, Frank. I’m saving you.”
That was it. The dam broke. Frank reached up, his hand wrapping around Matt’s wrist as he let out a rough laugh, full of disbelief and something dangerously close to hope.
“You’re a stubborn son of a bitch, you know that?” Frank said, his voice thick.
Matt grinned, tilting his head. “I’ve been told.”
Frank pulled him closer, his other hand coming up to cup the back of Matt’s neck. For a moment, he just stood there, holding him, his forehead resting against Matt’s.
“I’m not good at this,” Frank admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Matt’s smile softened, his fingers brushing against Frank’s chest. “You’re doing just fine.”
Frank let out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing against the side of Matt’s neck. “You’re really not gonna let me walk away from this, are you?”
“No,” Matt said simply.
Frank laughed, low and rough. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t think I could.”
Before Matt could respond, Frank closed the distance between them, capturing his lips in a kiss that was rough and desperate but too tender for a man like him.
Matt melted into it, his hands sliding up to grip Frank’s shoulders. It wasn’t perfect—Frank was still holding back, afraid of breaking something fragile—but it was real.
When they finally pulled apart, both breathing heavily, Matt rested his forehead against Frank’s again.
“Feel better?” Matt teased, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Frank huffed out a laugh, his grip on Matt tightening. “Not yet. But I’m gettin’ there.”
Matt’s smile widened, and for the first time in a long time, Frank felt like maybe, just maybe, he could let himself have this.