Stay
You could have clamored up Matt’s fire escape, but you simply didn’t have the energy. You weren’t injured, save for the blood in your nose and the bruises forming on either side of your head, but with the weight of what you’d lost tonight, the weight of what you hadn’t been able to stop-
It was too much to carry on sturdy ground, let alone another set of rungs and steps of worn, rusting metal.
Your suit wasn’t that conspicuous, anyway. The all-midnight-blue of it was a little on the nose, but if you were quick, let your hair loose, took your mask and gloves off, and kept your head down, you could make it to and through his apartment, no problem. To the average person, it looked more like athletic wear than anything else - and there never seemed to be many people active in the halls of his building, anyway.
No one to take a closer, implicating look.
The car was stashed in some alleyway, far closer to the docks than to Matt’s place, for both his sake and yours. Your trek back to his apartment felt longer than it actually was, and every duck into an alley and climb up or down a ladder took more and more effort as the path went on.
So, here you were, in front of Matt’s door once more. Mask in your hand, you rubbed it over your mouth and nose a final time - although you knew he’d be able to smell the blood regardless.
Not bothering to knock, you twisted the knob and slowly pushed the door open. His place was dark, although you caught a few shadows and shards of dim color over the floor from the billboard light. You stepped around the door to close it softly and walked on shaky, quiet feet toward his living room.
Your eyes caught on the staircase across from you, leading from his rooftop door into the living room - and your breath hitched. The bottom step was all but destroyed, cracked and splintered, with jagged pieces of wood scattered across the floor around it. It was as if someone had dropped a cinderblock from the ceiling and let it tumble down the staircase, wrecking the wood in its wake.
Stepping into the living room, you turned your head to see the aftermath of what could only be described as carnage. The sliding door to Matt’s bedroom lay haphazardly against one of his chairs, riddled with cracks, the top edge of the chair peeking through the top of the plastic. His coffee table, once a pristine and simple piece of furniture, was now reduced to shards and scraps of wood.
And your breath caught as your eyes lifted to Matt, sitting still and silent on the couch. He’d turned his head away as you entered, and you watched with a broken gaze as he dragged a hand down his face before turning back to face his bedroom door - or what was left of it.
“Oh, Matt,” you breathed. He clenched his jaw, and you caught the briefest twitch dance over his lower lip.
“Stick paid me one last visit,” Matt muttered, his nonchalant tone doing little to cover the light shake in his low voice. Your brows drew together.
“Matt, he- the kid-“
“I know.” Matt tipped his head down before lifting it again. “I know.”
You took another step forward, feeling the earth as it turned, unruly and unforgiving, beneath your feet. Your voice didn’t shake, but it was close, and you felt that familiar burn return to your eyes.
“I tried, Matt,” you breathed, though it was closer to a whimper. “I tried.”
Matt pressed his lips together, window light glinting off his weary eyes with a slicker shine than usual. “Me too.”
The scent of sawdust was usually a pleasant one, one you didn’t mind - but here, in the rubble lining Matt’s apartment, it filtered up through the air like some airborne toxin, unwanted and suffocating. You stepped forward again, your eyes falling back to what used to be his coffee table. It seemed as though he’d begun to clean it up, with some of the wood pieces shifted into small stacks, but he’d given up at some point before you’d arrived.
“He’s gone?” You asked, turning to Matt now, where you stood just a few feet from the arm of the couch. Matt nodded.
“He’s gone. Don’t know if he’ll be back, but I doubt it.”
As Matt spoke, your eyes fell to the arm of the couch - upon which rested some sort of construction of colorful paper. Intricately folded, it curled into a circle like a small bracelet. Your eyes narrowed thoughtfully as you examined it.
“What’s that?” you asked quietly. A beat passed before Matt drew in a silent breath, tipping his head toward you.
“What?”
“That-“ you paused, another step leading you closer. “The- bracelet? If that’s what it is?”
You observed Matt as he took another breath and shifted slightly in his seat. He moved his jaw gently, his fingers moving through a line of taps along the couch before stilling, tension lining his hand. A flicker of tender sorrow rippled through you at the sight. It wasn’t like he was extremely visibly upset, or sobbing, or screaming, or anything like that - but you could see the pain in his stillness, could feel the dejection in his slow-blinking eyes.
“It’s kind of cute,” you half-smiled, leaning toward the bracelet - and Matt, in turn. He twisted his lips as you eyed it more closely. “Looks like it would have taken a while to fold like that.”
Your eyes flicked over to Matt’s, and he let out a short breath, then another, before his lips just barely curved upward, though his eyes remained still and low.
“It did,” he whispered.
Not wanting to pry any further, you moved wordlessly closer to Matt, stepping around his feet as he remained unmoved and quiet on the couch. You heard him draw a breath as you lowered yourself slowly to sit at his side.
“My mom made bracelets with me when I was younger,” you mused, settling against the cushions. “Nothing like that one, just string friendship bracelets with beads - but it was sweet, even though I thought I was too old for it. It was simple, in a loving sort of way.”
Matt shifted beside you, and you turned to look at him. His lip lifted slightly to match the furrow of his brow.
“I’m sorry. About your mom.”
You shook your head. “Oh, no, no - I’m talking about my adoptive mom. She’s still alive,” you breathed, though it was tainted by the fact that it had been years since you’d seen her. “My birth mom - I never knew her.”
Matt frowned. “Stick, when he-“
“She died, yeah,” you murmured, your low voice feeling louder in the empty, broken space. “In childbirth.”
“Oh,” Matt sighed. “With- with you?”
You nodded grimly. Matt hummed your name, the sound of it dripping with sympathy.
“I’m so sorry.”
A brief lull fell over the two of you - not an uncomfortable one, but a worthy silence, given the heavy nature of what had been shared. You felt a pang spill through your chest as you opened weak lips to speak.
“They would- they would use it against me,” you began. “I don’t even know how they knew, but they’d use it to taunt me. Said if I was capable of killing my own mother-“ you shifted your jaw, eyes glazing, “-then random other people with no connection to me should be nothing.”
In a heavy, disheartened sigh, Matt said your name again, leaning forward slightly to angle his body toward yours. You braced yourself for his words, knowing what he was about to say but dreading it all the same, an oozing buzz boiling in your gut.
“That was not your fault.”
“I know,” you nodded, closing your eyes - only to see blades and bloodied mats behind your eyelids. You shot them open, clenching your jaw. “As far as taunts go, though, that one was pretty effective. I’ll give them that, at least,” you huffed, the remnants of what would have been a bitter laugh reduced to little more than a lilting breath.
You felt Matt’s warmth at your side extend toward you across the little space between your legs. One of his hands remained on the arm of the couch while the other rested in his lap, his index finger dragging rhythmically back and forth in small drags along his thigh.
“The bracelet,” Matt started, turning to face the small creation where it lay. You turned your head with his, watching with cooled warmth in your eyes as he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “The bracelet was something I made for Stick, all those years ago - when I was a kid. I found it after he left. Must have-“ Matt paused, jaw clenching as he worked to mask the hitch in his breath. “Must have fallen from his pocket, or his bag, or something.”
Your brow shifted downward, lips parting in a sad curve.
Oh, Matt.
“See,” Matt huffed, the sound of it a cracked, broken laugh. “He kept it all these years. Even after he left.”
You nodded. Matt pressed his lips together before continuing.
“And I was left alone. But-“ Matt paused again, a frowning twist of his lips, nose and brows fighting to cast away the hurt beneath his mask of calm. “But he kept the bracelet.”
Matt’s fidgeting returned, that hand on his thigh tapping scattered, disjointed patterns against the fabric of his pants. You simply breathed beside him, not quite knowing what to say, hoping your presence could be of some small comfort.
After a beat, Matt shook his head, frowning. “But what the hell am I doing, sitting here, talking about some bracelet?” He turned his head toward you, voice low and raspy in the dark, and you met his wide and frowning eyes with sympathy drowning yours. “From what you guys were saying, it sounded like he put you through- I don’t know.” Matt paused, his expression softening as he said your name. “Sounded like he put you through a hell of a lot worse.”
You shook your head vehemently, your hair whipping from side to side as your tight lips and drawn brow made sharper insistence than your words. “No. Don’t do that.”
Matt tipped his head to the side as you stilled. “What do you mean?”
You settled your breath.
“We’ve both been through a lot, evidently. We can’t compare this stuff.”
Matt’s brow furrowed. You tipped your head to match the tilt of his, and with soft eyes and a softer tone, you continued.
“I haven’t exactly had an easy go of things, but that doesn’t mean you have.”
Your name came low and chiding from Matt’s lips, but you cut him off.
“Don’t do that to yourself. Your suffering matters, too.”
Matt blinked at you slowly and softly. With a still-furrowed brow, his lips parted, and his head twitched slightly as he moved to tilt it fully upright. You watched him close his mouth before letting his lips split once more, as if he wanted to respond but didn’t know how.
Your gaze fell down to Matt’s lap. That hand had resumed its tapping, unsteady fingers restless and heavy against his thigh. The breath you drew was light and low, and you pursed your lips gently, lifting your own hand. Matt waited patiently as it snaked over to his forearm, and you felt his breath hitch when you lowered your touch to meet him, though his fingers kept twitching.
The fabric of Matt’s shirt felt fibrous but still soft as your fingertips dragged across the sleeve. You watched your movements with bated breath as your hand slipped toward his wrist. His chest rose and fell silently, and your fingers and palm collided with the soft heat of his skin, gliding over the back of his hand. You hooked those fingers into the crook between his thumb and index finger - and the second you did, his fingers slowed before stilling.
A pause fell over the two of you, and you breathed together in silence - before Matt curled his fingers in toward his palm, gently gripping yours.
You tugged your lip between your teeth as you felt the subtle pressure of Matt’s hand wrapped over your fingers. Shifting slightly, you began to make the slightest movements of your fingertips where they curled into his palm. You could feel the lines in his skin, calloused at each peak, soft and warm at every dip.
“I didn’t get anything from Owlsley,” Matt started, breaking the silence. Your lips pursed back into their normal position, but his gentle-though-firm grip didn’t falter - and neither did yours.
“Stick showed up in the middle of the mission. Basically wrecked my chances.”
“Ah, he tends to do that,” you joked, tilting your head to the side, toward Matt’s. You could feel his lips quirk up, though you couldn’t see them, and a line of satisfaction drew itself across your skin.
“I wasn’t gonna say anything, but…” Matt continued, his hand squeezing your fingers as though they were delicate, finely crafted and nimble in his grasp. “I take it you and Stick had your own- goodbye, of sorts.”
You nodded, jaw tight, eyes flashing dark with the memory. “Yeah. I’m okay, though.”
Matt shook his head beside you, and you turned to see his forehead lined in disagreement. “You were bleeding.”
“And now I’m not.”
He huffed lightly. “What was all that you just told me about comparing? Negating your own suffering?” You let your head sway to the side, trying not to roll your eyes.
“Come on, Matt. He trashed your place, practically, and I am sure he got a few good licks in, too-“
“That doesn’t mean he didn’t hurt you.”
You sighed. Beside you, you felt Matt lean closer, his back shifting against the cushions. Your breath caught on his flickering, hushed tones.
“The guy kicked you. More than once. Kicked you in the face.”
Your brow furrowed, jaw falling behind closed lips.
Okay, sure, Matt’s senses were heightened - but how the hell did he catch that?
“What?” You turned to face Matt, mildly stunned. “How do you-“
“I can smell the residue. But it’s not important. What matters is you being okay.”
A heartstring thrummed against your ribs, vibrating through your chest - and despite your bewilderment at the power and accuracy of Matt’s abilities, your gaze on him grew softer.
“Not just me.”
Matt twisted his lips, and you watched as the lines in his forehead both deepened and relaxed, his dark brows shifting in similar measure. His eyes drifted back and forth over you, and the glint of light from the windows at your back drew a gold shimmer over their surface. They sparkled, their glitter more prominent than usual.
Didn’t see him crying.
But…
I suspect that may be what he tried to cover when I came in.
You felt a stiffness creep up your back, driving pins against the base of your skull, and Matt tipped his head. Leaning toward him was easy enough, spurned by that stiffness as the back of you parted from the couch. Your body felt rigid and tight, and you couldn’t help but frown at the man next to you, noting the tired skin beneath those eyes, the scattered scars you were beginning to recognize more readily.
He can’t keep doing this to himself.
Letting himself hurt and suffer and not do anything to take care of it.
You bit your lip and released it, letting that tightness return to your jaw.
How could he possibly be focused on me right now?
Matt’s brows drew together as if he’d sensed your very thoughts. With movements slow and sure, he shifted his hand, turning it gently outward and drawing your attention back down to his lap. You moved your eyes back up, tracing over the dark along his jaw, toward his lips, parted in the low light and darkness - and his eyes, still aglow in the night.
Matt tipped his head to the side, his searching face remaining head-on toward you, and slipped his thumb out from beneath your palm as his hand twisted around. A glimmer rose from within your core, sparking up through your chest - and sparking with a sharper sting when he pressed his palm to yours, hot and certain. He slipped his fingers forward, skin drifting against skin in what must have been ten different places on one small extremity, and your breath hitched as your hands finally intertwined.
“Not just me, either,” he murmured.
The space between you was warm and still, and you floated in it for a moment, eyes and lips thoughtfully parted at this gentle care when Matt should be worried about himself.
“You can tell me whatever you feel comfortable telling me - about your experience with Stick and… everything else,” Matt continued, his tone still low, full of grace and patience. “Take the time you need - or just don’t tell me if you don’t want to. It’s- it’s crazy, really, about Stick, I mean-” Matt almost laughed, shaking his head. “I can’t believe someone else knows who he is, let alone… I don’t know. But if anyone might get it, it would be me - so I’m here. If that’s… something you’d ever need.”
Toxic, slithering green flame licked through your chest, over your gut. Every time you grew closer to Matt, every time something was said or done that meant something, you’d ultimately feel regret over it. It was a risk to you, and to him, to get too close.
But that regret hadn’t truly stopped you yet, not with Matt. The discomfort was unavoidable - but so, apparently, was the connection, this magnetic, heart-wrenching pull you couldn’t ignore. Something in your heart flicked.
Maybe, you thought, gritting your teeth, maybe, in a way, at this point - those feelings will just have to… coexist.
And in a reasonable way, of course.
I can manage that. I have experience from the Jessica situation, at least.
No unnecessary risks, right?
“No, no, me too,” you affirmed. “And- and you, too, Matt. Whatever you feel comfortable sharing, if anything. I’m here to hear it, and I’m also just…” you pressed your lips together, hating the intimacy of the statement but knowing it was the truth, “…here.”
Matt’s eyes drifted over you, his lips parted and minutely shifting. You turned your head back toward the open doorway of his bedroom, that plastic sliding panel resting, in dejected destruction, against that chair - one of the pieces of his place which was not totally destroyed.
“I’ll take care of it tomorrow,” Matt breathed, his head turning forward alongside you. You nodded, slowly letting yourself lean back against the couch. The cushion cradled you, and you relaxed into it, a long breath drawing from your lips. Matt’s fingers remained unchanged, laced in quiet comfort with yours.
“Maybe Stick wasn’t trying to make a mess of things,” you hummed. You felt Matt’s head turn quizzically toward yours, and you let a small smirk grace your lips. “Maybe he’s just grown partial to… redecorating.”
Matt snorted, shifting his face back in the direction of that shattered panel. “Yeah. We blind men are all about redecorating.” You stifled a chuckle and felt Matt let a light laugh through at your side. “I doubt Stick’s priority was the aesthetic nature of my apartment.”
You curved your lips downward with a nod, a light raise of your brow, shoulders raising. “That’s a fair point. Still, though.” You examined the broken, cracked sliding door through narrowed eyes before jumping your gaze down to the wood pieces scattered in front of the couch. “Don’t people usually try out new hobbies when they hit retirement age?”
“Sure,” Matt nodded. “But usually, it’s something like gardening. Or knitting. Not crushing coffee tables and killing children.”
A snort of a laugh escaped you, and your hand flew up to clamp over your mouth.
Not funny.
That was not funny.
“I am so sorry,” you breathed behind your clammy hand. “That wasn’t funny. I am so sorry. Oh my God.”
Matt hung his head, breathing out the ghost of another breathy, sad laugh. “No, I know. Don’t worry. That’s on me.”
You let your hand fall from your lips, resting it on your knee. The thrum of your heartbeat felt steady in your chest, but you could feel your blood surge through its vessels, swishing in the dark within your body. You shifted slightly and felt your steady pulse finally skip a beat when your shoulder brushed against Matt’s, your knee bumping his thigh.
But he didn’t move. So, settling yourself with a deep breath, neither did you.
With your shoulder against Matt’s, your arms fell closer together - not quite pressed flush, but touching along far more points than they had earlier. Matt’s height made it so that yes, part of your shoulder bumped against his in this position, but if you let yourself relax further into the couch, if you slumped into your tiredness and he kept leaning back in this same manner - you could tip your head, and it would rest perfectly atop his shoulder, your hair left to brush the crook of his neck.
No, you thought to yourself, snapping yourself out of that consideration. No. Not the time. Not- no.
And you were tired, but you didn’t want Matt to worry about you. You knew he could sense your fatigue - somehow, however he does that - but you, slumping on his couch, letting yourself wearily crash against his equally exhausted body?
That was more than he needed right now.
So, to keep your aching eyes open and your posture steady, you opened your mouth to continue the conversation.
“Speaking of apartments,” you began, “I went on a mission of my own tonight - and, God, if anyone needs redecorating and a visit from Stick, it is this guy.”
Matt laughed softly. His thumb drifted up and down over your skin, and a hum rose in your core.
“Really? Is this connected to work?”
“Yeah. We had a big heist today. Got the guys we were looking for.”
The calm excitement in your voice was palpable, pride leaking through your words. It wasn’t like this was of any sort of personal value to Matt, but you could feel him smiling at your side, his tone full of genuine joy at your success. “That’s great!”
You smiled to yourself, feeling a quiet blush line your cheeks. Still, Matt hummed softly, leaving no stone unturned.
“I suppose, though, that this mission of your own had something to do with a guy you were looking for?”
You nearly shook your head at how well he’d predicted your story. “Perhaps. But I think there’s a strong link between him and Confed Global - and, in turn, Fisk.”
Matt tipped his head beside you, and you knew his brows had risen, just as you heard the subtle curve of his lips through his words. “Well, then - tell me more.”
Your smile remained - though your heart fluttered mildly.
Maybe I’ll just leave out the part about the dangerous, powerful enemy potentially recognizing me.
You and Matt remained side-by-side on the couch as you told him about the mission, briefed him on what had gone right and wrong - in your opinion - and detailed what a marvel the Velluchi mansion was. You described for him the squalor of Cruz’s apartment, the goldfish strewn literally everywhere. Matt laughed along, asked questions, listened intently - all while leaving that hand locked in yours. You caught a glimpse of his expression every so often and, to your relief, found that some of that tension in his brow, the sadness in his eyes - it seemed to have dissipated just a touch.
And, yes, you left out that part about Cruz and his mention of debts, Cruz and his accusing gaze, Cruz and the headlights shining right in your eyes and the jab to his face and your sprinting escape.
It’s…
It’s hardly relevant.
And if Matt is apparently going to worry about me regardless, he doesn’t need to be made aware of these… little details.
I mean - if I didn’t worry him with Wesley showing up at my place, why should I tell him about this?
He’s got enough on his plate.
The time passed quicker than you had expected. Slowly, as you spoke, you felt your limbs sink more heavily into the cushioning beneath you. You found you had to rest your head back against the couch, telling yourself that this bit of respite would ultimately help keep you awake.
Against your best wishes and greatest efforts - it did not.
The first thing you became aware of was this striking, pleasant warmth. Dragging in a low breath, you found yourself curving into it, yielding and indulgent in the face of its all-encompassing comfort. Heat seemed to surround you on all sides - though, through the lessening veil of sleep, you could just make out that it was focused along the left side of your body.
Next, as your consciousness slowly continued to rise, this heat began to take shape. It felt more tangible against you as your body rested against it, growing strong and palpable along the entire side of your thigh and against your hip. With your arm slightly ahead, your torso was pressed into the warmth, as well - and your arm seemed twisted against it, your fingers laying intertwined with warmth itself. Your head rested snug and gentle into the heat, and you felt this very heat resting against your head as if it had a head of its own.
A…
A head of its own?
Your eyes blinked open, and it took you a moment to reorient yourself, bleary gaze drifting over your surroundings, adjusting to the dark - and the glimmers of neon light shining through it.
There’s…
There’s that panel.
All cracked up and broken.
You swallowed, eyes widening as you finally approached full wakefulness.
The door.
Matt’s door.
I am still at Matt’s.
A sliver of anxiety rose up inside you.
That physical embodiment of heat was just - just Matt.
And I am curled up against him.
Still sitting up somewhat, you took note of the position of your body, mapping out every inch of connection with newfound clarity.
Your thigh and his were pressed together, as were your hands, fingers interlocked, unchanged in their tender position - though his trailing thumb was now still. Matt’s arm rested beneath yours, and you were tucked into the side of his body from his hip to… pretty much all the way up. Just as you’d considered earlier, your head lay against his shoulder, his body angled slightly so that the crown of your head could tuck snugly into the crook of his neck. And, to top it all off, Matt’s head had tipped to lean down atop yours.
You swallowed, taking a slow, shallow breath. Matt breathed silently next to you, moving you gently with each subtle rise and fall of his chest. A part of you warmed at this, a fissure in your chest melting outwards at his vulnerable state of rest - of peace.
But - you were still shocked at yourself.
Did I seriously fall asleep?
Clenching your jaw, you moved slowly and carefully to avoid waking Matt as he dozed. Slipping your head out from beneath his was easier than expected - he did shift slightly but settled quick, eliciting a long breath of relief from you. The greater challenge would be separating your fingers, you thought, but that wasn’t too difficult, either. You took it one finger at a time, from pinkies to thumbs - and slowly parted your skin from his at long last.
You moved to stand and took your time in doing so. Moving the cushion too much could wake Matt, especially with his senses - and he did shift again, a vein of tension crossing his brow, but he relaxed back against the couch in no time.
God.
He must be exhausted.
The apartment felt quieter and simpler in the dark, especially after all that had happened. Behind Matt was a haze of shadow, intermittently overcome by shards of low light, few and far between in how they cut up the dark. Drawing your phone out revealed that, holy shit, it’s past midnight. You shook your head and drew a silent sigh before stepping carefully around Matt, aiming to tiptoe to the door as soundlessly as possible.
And you would have left right then, stalking out with no problem; sneaking around was never something you’d struggled with, of course. You took a few soft steps away from the couch and turned back to glance in Matt’s direction, prepared to head back into the night.
Your eyes caught, though, on Matt’s sleeping figure. Hair lightly ruffled, his eyes lay shut and relaxed, the lines of worry and suffering and fight and fear having melted from his face, with only faint traces in the skin a reminder of their existence. The few rays of billboard light shining through his window landed across his body in a warm, dark glow. Matt breathed quietly, his chest rising and falling, stretching and releasing the tight fabric of his shirt.
He was hardly ever this relaxed, this peaceful. A part of you bloomed with simple bliss at Matt’s apparent comfort - but the rest of you snapped back into reality.
What am I doing? Watching him fucking sleep?
It’s about time I get myself the hell home.
And you would go, you would.
But your eyes couldn’t seem to leave him.
Forcing your nerves to settle, you drew a breath and stepped back toward Matt, your gaze catching on the paper bracelet at his side. You drew yourself closer, planting your feet just beside his, and leaned toward him with one hand on the arm of the couch to brace yourself.
A deep breath drew welcome cool through your lungs and mingled with the remaining warmth from earlier. Beneath the weight of this breath, Matt's expression lay slack and simple before you. His lips rested closed and pink in the light-scattered darkness, each breath swirling in and out through his nose. You stilled your lungs and fought to still your heart as you watched him. A feeling of peace washed over you, of care, compassion - and your expression softened as if it wasn’t already as soft as it may have ever been.
Matt’s skin lay bathed in shadow, gleaming where stray shards of light splayed across it. Your eyes drifted up from his lips to his shut eyes, to his brows, and back again, and you leaned closer to him. Keeping your breath still and shallow was difficult, but you managed, spurned forth by the need to let him stay soundly asleep.
And he will.
With your eyes flitting over his sleeping face, you lifted your free hand to Matt’s jaw. His skin felt surprisingly soft through his stubble, though the dark scruff did catch lightly against your skin - but you didn’t mind. Another brief flicker of tension passed through his brows, through his lips, and you froze. It faded, though, just as fast as it appeared.
Shutting your eyes, you leaned forward, a breath held tightly in your chest - and you pressed your lips warmly to the center of his forehead, slow and tender against his lined and scarred skin.
The regret will come later, and I’ll deal with it when it does.
This is here and now.
This is right.
And it did feel that way - it felt impossibly right, the connection between his skin and yours. Your kiss held there for a moment before you lifted your lips, pausing just above him in a quiet hover. The darkness of the space around you seemed to only be a balm to your tense connection, stringing waves of feeling between you into something tangible, palpable in the energy contained within the mere inches between your faces. The hand cradling Matt’s jaw drifted back toward you, fingertips parting from his skin with a careful, reluctant drag. And you moved to straighten your posture, about to stand tall and strong and stalk off toward the midnight streets once more - when, out of nowhere, Matt’s hand lifted to clasp around your wrist.
You froze, entirely gobsmacked. Adrenaline surged through you - a deer in the headlights, a criminal caught red-handed, struck into freeze instead of fight or flight. Matt’s once-sleeping face was now adorned with bleary, now-open eyes, reflecting gold and stretched wide as wakefulness allowed them to sharpen. His brows had drawn together just slightly, angling upward, and those eyes shifted back and forth in a scattered effort to make sense of the current situation.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
“I- fuck.” You breathed, your gaze scattered and frazzled and full of nervous energy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t- were you…?” You trailed off with a sigh, pausing again as your eyes hit that deep glint within Matt’s. “I’m sorry.”
Those eyes darted over where you stood before slowing, settling, and landing somewhere close to your face - which was doubtlessly crossed with reddened embarrassment. Still frozen, you watched Matt through wide eyes, glancing at his hand where it held onto your wrist - not tight, but firm, gentling by the second. Matt parted his lips to speak, and his words were a quiet rasp as if part of his tone was still caught within a dream.
“Are you…” Matt blinked, flicking his tongue out over his lips. “Are you leaving?”
Encased in that warmth once more, the skin of your wrist felt as though it was buzzing, energy dancing through it where it connected with Matt’s grasp. You worked to slow your shallow breaths and nodded.
“Yeah. Yes. I- yeah.”
The flash that passed over his eyes was discreet, short and simple, nearly invisible. Its blue tone, though, was visible to you, and it sent a slow wave of regret across your skin.
“Okay,” Matt nodded, the flash long gone, replaced by a sense of reason, an understanding, almost smiling expression. “Get home safe.”
Finally, Matt’s hand parted from your wrist, drifting toward his lap as if in slow motion, like his skin was a magnet to yours. You just stood there like a block of ice with your hand still outstretched. It took a moment for you to remember your stance, and you cleared your throat, pulling the hand to your side. That wrist felt unreasonably cold now.
Matt was still relaxed, but something seemed off. The curve of his lips wasn’t quite genuine, and neither was the peaceful spark in his eyes. Even the rays of light across his body seemed dimmer, less vibrant. You searched your brain, searched his well-meaning and reasonable expression to find some reason why.
It was a long night, for sure.
A lot of haunting memories forced back to the surface.
The kinds of memories that aren’t exactly pleasant to dig back up - especially when you weren’t planning on resurrecting them.
A flutter danced coldly in your chest, wings of ice extending from either side of your heart, and your drawn brow relaxed just a bit. Tension ran lowly through your neck and shoulders. You knew, though, that this same tension must be riled up and ready to surge through Matt as soon as you stepped past his door.
And, as you’d mulled over many times on this night - he did not need any extra suffering.
“Matt,” you began tentatively, carefully eyeing his warm but weary expression. He tipped his head up at you, brows raising in anticipation, and you breathed out softly.
“Do you want me to stay?”
A beat passed, during which you wondered whether your breathy question was an overstep. The buzz in your veins was palpable, sure - but really, you didn’t regret asking. You knew Matt wouldn’t have asked, and you also knew that somewhere deep inside, he didn’t want to be alone right now.
And you?
You could handle being on your own, sure.
But you didn’t want him to be alone, either.
Matt pursed his lips. Still raised, his brows drew together as if he was having trouble processing the question. His lips narrowly parted, dewy and unsure in the dark - though something broke in his eyes, a golden glimmer sparkling out something like surprise, dejection, wonder - as if he was totally stupefied by the fact that you’d even ask such a thing.
And that, that look in his eyes, both full of hope and shattered with hopelessness - that made the decision for you.
His jaw shifted like he was about to speak, brows flickering down, head about to swivel in a shake no to signal don’t, don’t worry about me, you can go home, take care of yourself. You interrupted him cleanly, spurned on by the cool shadows at your back, their arms reaching through the room alongside subtle window light. This dark, and this light - they were dreams and nightmares alike that could take over all the free space left in Matt’s weary mind, if no one else was there to help him fend them off.
“Okay,” you nodded in a whisper. “I’ll stay.”
Matt hummed your name. “You don’t have to-“
“I want to.”
He remained still as you stepped back toward him. You stopped just in front of Matt where he sat against the back of the couch, his head tipped up to face yours. Looking down at him, you found your eyes stuck on his, stuck on reflections of light and dark and past and present in their gleam.
His suffering reached for you in ways that he could not bring himself to. You would not let that go unseen, would not let him leave his heart to rot through the night.
“If you want me to go, I’ll go. But I want to stay. And I get the sense you wouldn’t mind me staying, either.”
On Matt’s face was written the briefest flash of golden, shadowed relief. His skin, lips, brows, eyes - they all relaxed back to that slack position of peace they’d held as he slept before returning to their normal, less-peaceful state. It only lasted a second, but it was enough.
You stepped around Matt and lowered yourself back into the spot beside him on the couch. This time, though, you let your leg collide with his from the start, let your hip press into his - and twisted your arm around his arm, running your fingers up the palm of his hand. It took him a minute to warm to your presence again, but once you pressed your fingers between his, he obliged to the intertwine, clasping your hand with warm and complete reverence.
Turning your head, you saw that Matt was already facing you. His lips were parted, and his drawn brows seemed to be far more relaxed than before. Tension still lined his face, and your own brows drew together at the sight of it - but you hoped that your presence might somehow help him still.
You returned your head to that spot on Matt’s shoulder, a chorus of butterflies raging in your stomach at the action, your cheek pressing against pure warmth. As you let yourself curl into him, a string of tension within you stretched and split, its fizzing, fiery sparks landing every which way through your body as they burned through your resistance, melted into the sharp scars at the center of your heart. Matt’s breaths, deeper but quicker than before, began to slow, and you once again felt yourself move slightly with each shift of his inhales and exhales.
Finally, finally, he tipped his head to rest it atop yours.
No more words passed between you. None were needed. You both leant into each other and held each other up, warmth cascading from fabric to fabric, skin to skin, soul to soul. Gentle pressure such as this was more than you needed to feel… safe, to put it plainly.
And you were doing it for him.
You really were.
But there was a comfort you felt, here, like this - with Matt. It was a sort of comfort - a sort of safety which you couldn’t recall having felt in forever, if you’d ever felt it quite like this.
A part of Matt seemed to know this. He felt it in the way you nearly melted into him as you fell closer to the heavy shroud of sleep. He recognized the pain you hid within yourself, reaching out in sprawling claws of harm to hack at your life, despite your best intentions. He didn’t want you to be alone, either, and he now knew you needed company more than you would let yourself realize. Matt may have explained that you didn’t have to stay, sure - but only because he wanted you to focus on yourself, not on him.
He would never have told you to leave.
And so, the two of you lay against one another, each exhausted of the ghosts of the past, so used to being on your own that the pain of it was hardly a passing thought.
Here, though, beneath the darkened, hissing shadow of all your suffering, under new light of chance and hope and possibility - you could be alone together.