Black and Midnight Blue

You breezed past Matt when he opened the door for you, striding all the way into his living room - which, you noticed, was now more or less back to normal, although it was now noticeably missing a coffee table, and that last step of his staircase was still… in shambles. With hands too weak to hold up any sort of weight anymore, your bag fell to the floor with a thud as Matt locked up his entrance, your shaky fingers floating up to cradle your face. 

The dry streaks of salt down your cheeks felt too eerily familiar. Recent tears, just in their sheer amount, were doing a number on your skin, which felt dry, flaky, and damaged under your hands. 

“Hey,” Matt hummed from behind you, making you jump. In your rush to get somewhere safe, your storm past him and all the horrible thoughts swarming through your brain had blocked you from hearing his footsteps. You sighed, splitting your fingers over your eyes as you dragged them down your face.

“Sorry, I-“ you began. A hiccup stopped you. “Sorry.”

“Why don’t we sit down?” Matt offered, his hand floating to the small of your back. As if in a daze, you nodded and let him lead you to the couch. 

The room seemed different when lit, a lamp in the corner illuminating the space in something more gold and subtle than just big-screen outdoor advertising - though rosy, purplish gold still shone through the windows, as usual. Settling into the couch, you turned to Matt - who, still in his work clothes, took a seat on the other end. He pressed his lips together.

“What happened?”

You blinked hard. The sight of your apartment flashed over your closed eyes - before visions of Wesley in that same place, his snakelike grin eating at you. Another vision came of Cruz, his piercing eyes sparkling with recognition in the dark. Then you saw Jessica, bloody and furious; Stick, snarling and self-important; and Matt - broken and beaten and hurt in all the ways a person can be. 

Opening your eyes again, you saw Matt, for real. In this light, he seemed calm - comfortable, even - though he leaned toward you in earnest, concern written everywhere from his forehead to his still hands where they lay in his lap. It reassured you, just enough.

“Someone broke into my apartment,” you sighed. “Trashed it. I don’t think they took anything, but I think they would have, if whatever they’d been looking for had been there.”

Matt nodded. His incredible calm was surprising and impressive. “What do you think they were looking for?”

“The files, maybe, if they knew I had information,” you offered with a shrug, staring down at the empty space which had once housed Matt’s coffee table. “Could have been my suit. Or,” you paused, shifting your jaw. “Or they could have been looking for me.”

You felt Matt shift beside you, and a low sigh fell from his lips.

“Who would be looking for you?”

Eyes still trained on the floor in front of you, you twisted your lips, gritting your teeth together. Matt said your name firmly - not cross, but clearly needing you to explain what you thought you knew.

“If they’re after you, how would they know where to look?”

Your eyes fluttered. Beside you, you could feel Matt’s worry mingle with agitation, though his sometimes twitching hands remained still. 

“I should have told you earlier,” you breathed, turning to face him. Matt frowned as you continued. “I don’t know why I didn’t. Maybe I got cocky, or maybe I just pushed it from my mind - I mean, we had enough on our plates. But-“ you paused, pursing your lips and stretching your eyes wide as if that would spread out their tears enough to stop them from falling. “I should have told you earlier.”

Matt’s sigh was long, flowy - but his words were curt.

“Told me what?”

You knew Matt would probably be upset that you hadn’t told him about the Wesley stuff. And, it’s true - you kept it to yourself for his safety and because you honestly thought Wesley's warning would likely just end with Jessica’s unfortunate punishment. You didn't want him to add any more suffering of others to his plate than he already constantly had.

Again.

Stupid.

But it’s time to rip the band-aid off.

“When that friend of mine was tailing some people for me,” you started, your voice steady and cold, “One of those people was James Wesley.”

Matt’s brow and nose twitched.

“He caught on, apparently got to her, and - long story short - he found me.”

“He found you?”

“My legal name, my job - my address.”

Matt’s head jerked slightly back. “What?”

You nodded with a bleak shut of your eyes. “He showed up at my place a bit before the bombings. Tried to interrogate me, made some minor, indirect threats to my friend - you know, to try and get me to admit that I was the one who hired her. And he didn’t get anything concrete on my life outside of work, but he made it pretty clear that any threats to the work of him and ‘his employer’ would not go unpunished.” You twisted your hands together in your lap. “I guess I thought that was the end of it, after the bombings. Thought he wasn't this close on my trail. Guess I was wrong.”

A moment passed, the two of you breathing together in tense silence. Matt spoke up.

“Why would he come after you now?”

You dipped your head, pushing a sharp breath out through your nose, before looking back at Matt. “You know that mission I told you about? Cruz Velluchi?”

He nodded, his eyes narrowing in memory. “Yeah.”

You nodded back, turning your gaze back toward your hands. “Well, Cruz was connected to Confed Global, as I mentioned.” A low breath, a sharp blink, and you let out the real fun fact of the evening.

"What I failed to mention was that he might have recognized me.”

Matt’s hiss beside you was nothing short of stunned. “What-“

“Well, no. He definitely recognized me. Know that now.”

Matt heaved another agitated breath. “How would he recognize you?”

“I mean, I arrested him that morning, Matt,” you stressed. “Basically, a light shone through his apartment and lit up my face, and when you see somebody that soon - God, it was so stupid. I got so ahead of myself.”

Matt nodded. “So you think they’re connected?”

“I don’t know. I think it looks like it - maybe Wesley’s out to hunt me down, maybe Cruz is in on it and confirmed his suspicions, I don’t know.”

Shaking your head, you let your face fall into your hands, fingers stretching over your eyes as if that would save you from the sight of what your life had become. Matt hummed your name, but his voice didn’t lose its edge.

“This isn’t the sort of thing we can keep from each other anymore.”

Oh, no, he doesn’t.

You whipped to face Matt, suddenly on the verge of seething.

“You were hurting, Matt!” you hissed, eyes wide and pained. Matt stiffened, tipping his head to the side, his brow and eyes drawing together. “What, did you expect me to drop something else on your shoulders after everything with Stick?”

Matt stayed still. Those fingers hadn’t so much as twitched. You huffed a shaky breath.

“I know I should have told you, but you were hurting then. It wasn’t the time. And I-” you paused for a breath, fighting a tremor in your voice, fighting the clear stretch of burn newly casing your eyes. “I wasn’t going to be another burden for you. I am not going to be a burden for you.”

Though the hard surprise in Matt’s eyes was no less apparent, he shook his head, voice just as strong as before.

“You are not a burden.”

Your gaze on Matt was hard and icy, still in the certainty that your past had taught you - a certainty that, wherever you went, you were either a force to be reckoned with or a problem to be solved.

Well - either solved or abandoned, done away with under the premise that you were too much as you were and not worth enough to keep. Matt saying you weren’t a burden - it didn’t fix that feeling. Still, though, you felt a flutter in your chest at the statement; you felt, for a moment, your icy gaze show a flicker of a thaw.

You bit your lip, staving off the moment, fighting away the honest kindness in Matt’s strong lean toward you.

If anyone knows whether I’m more than you need right now, it’s me, for fuck’s sake.

Whatever.

“Can you hand me my bag?” You asked quietly. He obliged. Inside was the letter left for you by Wesley, which you handed back to Matt, who promptly ran his fingers over it.

“He - or whoever did the job - left it on my couch. It basically says that it’s time for me to ‘focus on my day job’-“

“-and that there will be consequences if you fail to comply.” 

Matt finishing your sentence for you drew your brows together. He turned his head briefly in your direction, fingertips still over Wesley’s thinly-veiled threats.

“I can feel the letters. Something with the ink and the indentation, basically.”

With your lips already parted, you just shook your head, blinking slowly.

I swear, I’m learning something new about him every damn day.

Matt refolded the letter grimly and placed it back on top of your bag, which lay just at your feet.

“Well,” Matt began, softer than before. “I do wish you’d told me earlier. But I’m glad you called.”

You nodded, pressing your lips together, and Matt gave you a sad half-smile. The sight of it quirked your lips up by just a touch. His voice held a hint of that smile in its low rasp.

“I think we both know you can’t stay there.”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Figured as much.”

He hummed kindly, drifting his hands up and down his thighs once.

“I’m glad, too, that you know you can come here.”

“I didn’t have much choice,” you hummed back, tilting your head. “Besides,” you lilted, opting to bring some light into an otherwise bleak conversation. “You’ve owed me a favor for a while now.”

Matt gave a small, light laugh. “Was wondering when you were gonna cash it in.” He paused, drawing his hands together. Your stomach twisted, though, with the last thing you had to tell him.

“There’s one more thing.”

Matt raised his brows expectantly, and you sighed.

“You remember that time on the docks - where we ambushed those two guys, one of them had a gun, it was raining - that time?”

“I do.”

“Well, as it turns out, those two guys were fixers of some sort for the Velluchi family. Long story short, since the cops came on the scene that night, they got the gun - and my coworkers were able to trace it back to one of the family's goons.”

Matt’s brows raised once more. “Wow.”

“Yeah. Traced the bullet to the autopsy report of that guy who died. Marcus.”

Matt nodded. For context, you’d shared some of these case details with him the night before. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“For the FBI, yeah,” you shrugged. “But Gio Velluchi - our main suspect - was telling one of my coworkers that the two fixers had been checking on inventory at the docks that night when - all of a sudden - they were attacked by a man in a mask.”

You eyed Matt carefully, gauging his reaction. Apart from a brief twitch in his brow, nothing else of note showed over his face. You frowned.

“Matt, this guy’s not actively looking into you, but he’s paying attention. And he’s the FBI.”

Matt nodded. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well, you were there that night, too,” Matt shifted in his seat, frowning. “What did Gio say about you?”

The shake of your head was slow.

“He didn’t say anything about me. Think he was trying to frame you as Marcus’ killer. Even people that powerful start grasping at straws when they know there's a gun at their back.”

Matt shifted his jaw, the furrow of his brow lightly confused. “So he just left you out?”

A light laugh, breathy and knowing, left your lips.

“Jealous?”

“Confused.”

You flicked your tongue out over your bottom lip.

“Look, I was a bit surprised too - but I think it’s a reputation thing.” You pressed your lips together and twisted your fingers together in your lap. “They have allies I’ve crossed paths with - and I think Gio Velluchi wants to do whatever he can to stay out of trouble at this point.”

A long beat passed, and Matt slowly nodded. He then raised his brows over closed eyes, a light smile gracing his lips. “Guess it’s a good thing I’ve got you in my corner.”

You laughed, but it faded quickly. “You should be careful, though. I mean it.”

“I will be. Thank you for letting me know.”

Your smile was thin and translucent as you leaned back into the cushioning behind you. Matt's reaction - or lack thereof - surprised you. 

Guess it's his care instinct kicking in, hyperfocused on everyone else's needs but his own.

The feeling faded quickly, though, and Matt shifted at your side.

“Do you want anything? Food, a drink?”

You shook your head, eyes closing tiredly. “No, thank you. I ate earlier. I honestly don’t feel like talking about things anymore tonight, either.” A sigh that sounded like a sigh and felt more like a groan coursed through you, and your head fell back against the couch. “All I want is to crash into bed right now.”

Matt nodded slowly, his voice calming and patient. “Okay.”

Your smile to him was sad, pained with your suffering - and your wish not to draw him into it. He smiled back.

“I’ll do up the bed for you, okay?”

You frowned.

“Matt, I can take the couch. The crash into bed was metaphorical. I don’t want to kick you out of your own room-“

“I’m sure you’ve noticed that my living room isn’t exactly the darkest place there is. Not very conducive to sleeping, unfortunately.”

Glancing at those windows, permanently lit up in shifting shades of pink, purple, and blue - and whatever other advertising colors may be employed at any given time - you raised your brows.

“Lucky thing about not being able to see,” Matt continued, “is that light has no bearing on where I can sleep.” You turned back to see him smiling kindly and sighed, wishing he wouldn’t be so damn self-sacrificing.

“I slept fine last night,” you offered - although you did recall a few points in the night where you’d blink briefly awake to the sight of a vibrant color change. Not enough to actually wake you, but enough to… interrupt.

“Because you were exhausted. Tonight, you’re - you’re scared,” Matt expressed, his voice softening. “You’re stressed. Not that you didn’t feel that way last night - but this is a different type of tired.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, grasping at straws.

“What if I just used your mask?”

That drew a chuckle from Matt. You found yourself laughing back, even as his voice settled. He shifted closer to you on the couch - not crossing the distance enough so that your legs would touch, but enough for you to feel his honest concern wash over your clothes, driving through to bathe over your skin.

“I do not mind you taking the bed.”

You didn’t move, your eyes drifting between his. They glittered with insistence, flecked with brown and gold and care on every level. The warmth of the color was refracted by the window light and the soft glow of that lamp in the corner, and you found yourself tugging on the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to just up and give in to his desire to help.

“And I don’t mind the couch-“

Matt cut you off with a strong hum of your name. You sighed, turning your head - and he leaned closer, arcing his neck to try and get you to look back at him. 

Which you did - just in time for him to lightly smile and chide you in stern warmth.

“You’re taking the bed.” 

Matt’s persistence both surprised you and didn’t at all.

And, if he’s stuck on this, he will not let go of it, no matter what reasonable counter I give.

A twist of your lips, a flutter of your eyes, a flip in your stomach, and:

“Fine,” you breathed. Matt grinned, brushing your shoulder as he moved to stand.

“I’ll go make it up for you.”

Matt’s bathroom was very basic, to say the least, but it was nice enough. As he set up the bed for you, you washed the day off your face and stepped into the one pajama set you’d managed to stuff into your bag. It was that sage green one from the night he’d stitched you up and washed your hair.

The night Jessica’s life went to shit.

Because of me.

You shook your head. It didn’t help shake those thoughts off, though, so you opted to place your hands at the edge of the countertop, gripping it with bitter resolve as you dipped your head low. The pressure of your fingers against something hard and real, something solid, brought you somewhat back to earth.

Tipping your face back up showed you a reflection that you somewhat recognized. Any makeup or residue had been stripped from your skin, which just left that inner bruising that only you could make out. Alone here, for now, there was no reason to hold up your daily mask, no reason to be strong and brave and perfectly together when it was just you and your mirror-self.

And she - she had so much she’d lost, and so much still to lose.

You hated that you were the reason.

With a sharp inhale and a quick re-capping of your toothpaste, you left your things on the counter and stepped back out into the living room, leaving the bathroom door ajar behind you. Matt waited for you there, now wearing gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt, hands in his pockets where he stood. You felt somewhat naked, to say the least, in your thin shirt and shorts ensemble - even though he technically couldn’t see you, even though you’d worn this very thing in front of him before.

But it wasn’t quite uncomfortable, per se. Everything had just been a lot lately, and you weren’t used to… whatever this was.

You weren't used to being this vulnerable.

And, in the face of such vulnerability:

You weren’t used to being taken care of.

Matt’s smile formed all light and lopsided as you entered the living room. You smiled back, somewhat awkwardly, as you stepped slowly toward him, wrapping your arms across your chest.

“Another new ensemble I haven’t seen you in,” you jokingly mused. Matt breathed a laugh your way and turned to step toward his bedroom. You followed, just a few steps behind.

“We don’t get much time to relax, I guess,” he offered, passing the threshold into the dark. “I assume you don’t often have time for your sweatpants, either.”

“Not as much as I’d like, no,” you smiled. Squinting in the darkened room - save for light that streamed in from that lamp and the living room windows - your eyes adjusted quickly. Ahead of you, Matt tugged down the covers of his cleanly made bed. It seemed king-size, with all white sheets - or gray; you couldn't quite tell. Your eyes flitted over the rest of the room, catching a dresser and a nightstand. 

And, of course, there were two large windows, the panes of which were scattered in slightly different colors. Here, they were mostly dark - thanks to the lack of electric billboard screens right behind them.

“There you go,” Matt offered, smoothing out the pulled-down sheets. “I’ll be right back.”

Matt stepped around you and out of the room. As he left, you approached one of those darkened windows, somewhat entranced by its shading and thick, rectangular panes. With each pane so similar and yet distinct from the last, you found the arrangement was a parallel to your many points of grief - different in their details, alike in the pain they caused.

Jessica, used and gone.

Stick, a wound reopened.

Home lost, and heartache found - too many times to count.

As you let your eyes drift and glaze in their focus on the window, you slowed your breath, fighting the urge to let the pain consume you. It was challenging, to say the least - keeping your breath steady, letting your pounding heart slow, staving off the burn at the base of your throat and the back of your eyes. You bit at the inside of your lip, twisting the loose fabric of your shirt between your fingers as if the sensation of the material would calm you completely. It was only a weak distraction, as thin as the shirt’s loose layer over your torso, and your nose twitched as that incessant burn continued to reduce your resolve to ash.

“Got you some water,” Matt hummed from behind you. With a sniff and a hard blink, you gulped down your feelings, pasted on a smile, and turned to see him place a full glass on his nightstand.

“Thank you,” you offered, glad your voice didn’t break. Matt stood tall across from you on the other side of the room, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he stepped back toward the doorway. On only slightly shaky footing, you stepped over to that side of the bed and reached down to tug the covers further back for yourself. They felt immaculately soft under your touch, cool and buttery smooth.

“Silk sheets, huh?” you laughed, lowering yourself onto the bed. Matt grinned as you tucked your legs under the covers. “Did you predict I'd come over?”

“Only the best for a guest,” he shrugged with a soft laugh. “It’s a senses thing.”

Right. 

“Could’ve figured that, at this point.”

Matt laughed again, tipping his head to the side. “Am I that predictable?”

Tugging the covers up to your hips, you shifted further down the bed - which was quite comfortable. In a display of plush luxury, it held soft protection to your aching muscles, the creaking bones in your legs and hips, as if in a hug of memory foam comfort. You felt every inch of your skin relax the second it came into contact with the sheets, the comforter, the cradling hold of the bed overall.

“I’ll admit, I didn’t expect silk,” you offered, tilting your head - and eying the fluff of Matt’s hair, the curve of his smile, the semi-tight fit of his plain t-shirt. “But you were right about the mattress. Or just the bed in general.”

With a joking mask of shock, Matt took a leaning step toward you, a hand flying up to land on his chest.

“So I was right? Against you?”

Now really smiling, despite your circumstances, you lightly rolled your eyes.

“Enjoy it while it lasts, Murdock.”

“Oh, I certainly will,” he nodded. A beat passed, your eyes on him, his attention on you, hazy smiles and tired eyes in the relative dark. You pursed your lips, and his expression shifted.

“If there’s anything you need,” Matt offered softly, “I’m just one room over, okay?”

You nodded with a smile as you leaned back into the bed, letting the sheets and pillow surround you with silken comfort. “Okay.”

As Matt turned to leave, offering you a goodnight and a warm utterance of your name along with it - you stopped him.

“Matt?”

With his hand on that sliding bedroom door - which he’d somehow managed to get back into its proper place, though the cracks would have to be addressed another time - he turned back to face you, patient and calm in his gravelly tone.

“Yeah?”

A deep breath passed in through your nose, out through your mouth, and you ran your tongue over lips that would have been trembling had Matt not been so kind.

“I just - thank you, Matt.” Another shaky breath, another forced smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes. “Really. Thank you.”

Whispery and warm, he smiled back at you, his smile entirely real.

“Sleep well, sweetheart.”

The world around you was dark, and you were spinning.

Spinning - as you fell.

Heart in your throat, you reached up toward light, only for it to fade the second your gaze met it, a star extinguished in the universe’s vast expanse of black.

Your arms sprawled out sideways in desperation. Your hands scrabbled along non-existent walls, rungs, anything and everything that might stop your surging drop. Nothing was there, and you were alone in the dark, falling through eternity-

-until you crashed. 

A barrier beneath you snapped open as you collided with it, pain shooting up through your feet, your legs, your back and arms. Light burst through you from the edges of your vision to the center of your chest, and you shut your eyes, grasping at them desperately to fight away such bright, blaring pain.

Next, you felt your body slam against flat, unforgiving concrete - your skin splashing into hard-edged puddles.

Potholes.

Potholes?

The weakness in your arms was extraordinary as you struggled to push yourself up. Slipping on your first attempt, your head slammed face-first into another hole in the ground, splattering cold over your eyes and nose. You coughed, sputtering, as you tried to blink away the water and clear it from your lungs. Your eyes only burned in response.

Another try and all you could do was flip onto your back, the back of your head dipping into another puddle. The only resolve was the barrage of thick droplets you could now feel splashing onto your face and body from above, cold and calming, as your scalp grew soaked.

Okay.

One more try.

With a surge of grit and adrenaline, fire racing down your limbs, you flipped yourself around and shoved yourself off the ground. It was dizzying, to say the least, and you felt the world spin as you stood, felt those raindrops slam against you from all sides.

But you were on your feet.

Finally.

It was hard to blink back the water, the unnatural thickness of each raindrop clouding and curdling your vision, but you could just make out the blocky structure of shipping containers, all shapes and sizes surrounding you.

The docks.

The moment you realized where you were, you felt an ear-splitting scream tear through your ears, hurtling all the way to your chest. The sound was so shrill, so sharp, that you felt it inside you, like a bullet seething through your sternum to burn a hole through your heart. Your hands flew up to cover your ears as the scream returned, and you felt your face contort into an uncontrollable, horrified mask, eyes twisting shut with curled lips to match as you curled into yourself.

As you heard the scream again, your eyes widened, recognition hitting you hard.

The child.

Desperation filled your body, and you turned to scour the containers around you. 

He has to be here.

I have to find him.

I have to save him.

The shrill noise continued to rack your ears, splinter through your heart, but it didn’t matter. That child was your first priority, regardless of whatever threats your body was facing.

You ran on shaky legs through pouring rain, container after container, in search of the screaming. It got louder and louder as you ran - and finally, at the end of a long stretch, blurred and marred by rain, you found it.

That blue shipping container.

The one he’s in.

With that desperation fuelling your movements, you threw open the doors with clawing, anguished vigor. You stepped forward, eyes adjusting to the dark - and drew in a gasp as the screaming finally stopped.

The boy wasn’t there, but, in his place, there sat a young girl in a metal-backed chair, her arms chained behind her, ankles chained to the floor.

Your eyes struck wide and fearful at the sight of her - and not because of the chains.

Her hair, left stringy and soaked down her face and neck, was stained a deep shade of wine red- the type of wine red that could only be blood.

It streaked over her forehead, down her brows and lashes, smeared in thick trails over her nose, cheeks, and lips. And she just sat there, eyes dead forward, tired and aching and nothing else but entirely done.

She looked right through you, and as you examined her empty gaze more carefully, you noticed with horror that the whites of her eyes had turned entirely red. This crimson seemed to keep streaking over her eyes entirely, no matter how much she tried to blink it away.

Your brows lifted in pained, horrified sorrow, and you opened your mouth to say something - but she beat you to it, her pale lips parting, drawing blood into her mouth as they moved.

“If you’re gonna do it,” she managed, her voice weak and crackling, “then just do it already.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” crowed a deep voice from behind you. The sound of it was startling, to say the least, its depth and poorly constrained rage resonating all the way through your chest.

Turning around on fearful, weak legs, you blinked away more rainwater from your lashes and looked, only to see that no one was there.

What the fuck?

You tried to step forward but found that your leg was stuck. The other one wouldn’t budge, either, and you worked to kick, to jump, to sprint out of the container, but you simply could not move.

The urge to cough rose sharply within you, and you hacked, racking your lungs roughly as you fought against the painful, itching sensation. A final hack sent red spewing from your lips, blood spattering over the container's floor. 

And, as if coughing up your own blood wasn’t horrifying enough, that glance down showed your legs to be newly wrapped in thick links of metal chain.

Your eyes widened, and you tried to move - but found that your arms were chained behind you, affixing you entirely to a metal-backed chair.

You swung your head to the left, to the right, and it stuck to your face in streaking strings, left soaked by the rainwater. Another blink, though, and this thick rainwater blurred your vision in nothing but deep, dark scarlet.

Blood.

It’s blood.

Terror rose in your throat. You smelled copper on all sides, the only thing you could seem to drag in. A breath through your mouth only drew the taste of hot, thick blood over your tongue. You felt it twist through your teeth, roll in strings down your throat, burning and thick, salty and metallic, making you choke as you struggled to breathe. The damp smearing over your face felt sticky, and every breath you could manage grew more shallow, more rapid - more full of panic than you’d ever felt.

You managed another breath and, with fire and crimson and aching pain in your young and battered limbs -

You screamed, the sound of it shrill and sharp, splitting through you like a knife to the center of your chest, cutting through the bones of your body to the skin of your soul.

The cold sweat over your body alarmed you the most as you shot awake, your eyes snapping open in the dark. With heaving breaths, you scrambled back up the bed, running your hands down your skin, over your arms, your neck, your face.

Not real.

It’s not real.

Just a dream.

Still scrambling, you knocked your head against the wall behind you and winced, eyes shutting at the small flash of real-life pain.

“Fuck,” you hissed.

As you cracked your eyes back open, the room around you began to regain its recognizable form from before your less-than-restful bout of sleep. Your eyes flitted from the nightstand at your side to the dresser, to that window, chock-full of thickly paneled glass in their varying shades.

Your chest felt as though it might explode at any second, your heart pounding hot and fast against your ribs, lungs taking in one quick, shallow breath after another.

You could still feel the shrill reverberation of that scream in your sternum - the scream that had been your own.

But it was just another nightmare, you thought to yourself, closing your eyes gently, though you couldn’t seem to get your heart to slow. Just another nightmare.

A slow, quiet slide of metal against metal and plastic against plastic shot your eyes right back open to focus on the bedroom door. It creaked further open, and you gripped your hands against the sheets with white-hot knuckles as a hand snaked over the edge of the door, followed by the outline of an arm, then a shoulder, then dark, fluffy hair inching its way into the room.

A piece of the tension in your chest finally released.

Matt.

Of course.

Fuck.

“Hey,” he whispered, quiet and slow and warm.

“Hi,” you whispered back, unclenching your fists at long last. Your knuckles creaked as they released, the silk finally able to breathe. You worked a calm smile over your still-panicked face. “Everything okay?”

“I, uh,” Matt continued, his tone low and quiet as he took a small step further into the room, his hand still on the edge of the door. “I don’t mean to intrude, but I was gonna ask you the same question.”

You eyed him for a moment. Though you couldn’t make out the details of Matt in the dark, you saw that his hair was ruffled with sleep, his stance relaxed and tired - but on alert. As the second passed, you realized how shallow and worked up your breaths still were, and you blinked hard, working to relax.

“Yeah, I-“ you paused, that adrenaline still surging in your blood. “Just a nightmare. I get them sometimes.” You paused, tugging your lip between your teeth. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Matt’s chest rose and fell in silence. He shook his head and tipped it to the side in the dark, a few rays of light streaking out from the edges of his silhouette, offering a clear and calm rejection of any idea that he was bothered. You could just barely make out the sad curve of his lips and watched as they parted, preparing to speak.

“But I’m okay, really,” you insisted. Matt’s brows drew together, lifting at the center.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The memory of the dream flowed up from within you - blood and pain and screaming heartache - and you shook your head sharply, pressing your lips together.

“No. I- I don’t. But thank you.”

A beat passed, and Matt nodded.

“Well- okay. If you’re sure.”

Your lips curved up halfway, though your voice was weak. “I’m sure.”

With a tap of his fingers along the door, Matt turned to step out of the room - and you felt another wave of panic rise within you, another flow of fearful shock washing down your skin in a prickling of goosebumps. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, and your blood ran cold. You shivered and, on the heels of your adrenaline, couldn’t stop yourself from calling out.

“Wait.”

Matt immediately stilled, turning back to face you, that hand still against the door.

“Yeah?”

A warm blush rose over your cheeks. You felt that same bashful blush encroach on your chest, making you sheepish at calling out to him. Fighting any display of your shaky grip, you pushed yourself back down the bed until you sat in the reasonable center of it, no longer crowded up amongst the pillows, back free from the wall. Silk rasped over the bare parts of your skin with your movements. You opened your mouth to speak, and no sound came - but Matt’s patient stance encouraged you.

A part of you just felt weak at this situation you’d ended up in. You were fear-stricken, frightened, and you’d handled this before, anyway. Handled it alone.

But Matt was right there, and you knew that the second he left the room again, panic would rise in your throat and hack itself out of your lungs into every inch of the air around you - as fast and splitting and horrifying as the bloody terror of your nightmare.

So, you cleared your throat, praying that your voice wouldn't sound as shaky as it felt.

“Is there any chance- do you think, maybe… maybe you could stay?”

Matt only stood there for a moment before tipping his head to the side. He let out a faint sigh, and you panicked.

“But you don’t have to,” you insisted. “Don’t worry. It’s really nothing-“

“No,” Matt interrupted, turning to you fully, that hand drifting down the door and back to his side. “I can stay. Of course I can stay.”

You tugged at your lip in the shadows, blinking at Matt as he shifted his jaw, his chest rising and falling, all slow and steady. And your voice, weaker and meeker than you’d meant for it to sound, carried out over the bedroom air in little more than a breath.

“Okay.”

Matt turned back to the door to slide it fully closed. Caught in darkness, you shifted over in the bed, leaving more space on your right side for Matt to slide in. You held the edge of the sheets in your lap, sitting cross-legged in silence, your fingers twisting the soft fabric between them.

Your eyes were wide and watching as Matt turned back from the door. He padded toward the bed on quiet feet, and as your eyes adjusted to the dark, they caught on his bare arms - arms that had always been covered with clothing of some sort in your presence, you realized. Upper arms thick with muscle, lightly veined forearms and strong hands - every last inch of that skin was full of warm, strong comfort that you found yourself… craving.

Matt placed a hand down on the mattress, and the bed dipped as he settled into it, curling onto his side, propped up on an elbow. His chest strained slightly against his t-shirt as he moved. You turned to him and, with a nip at the inside of your cheek, shifted down in the bed to face him in the same position. Tugging the covers up your body, you gave Matt a tiny half-smile, and he returned the expression.

“You sure you don’t want to talk about it?” He murmured, his eyes full of sincerity as they drifted in your direction. You nodded, and he nodded back in an okay.

Matt reached down to tug the covers up and over him. As he moved, you reached the hand of your propping elbow beneath your pillow and lowered your head onto it, letting the silk cushion comfort your tired skin. Across from you, Matt did the same, his open eyes still on you as his head settled.

“Didn’t know you were so indulgent,” you murmured, the end of it tainted with a giggle. “The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen has silk sheets.”

He grinned at you over the pillows, his free arm slipping up to rest in front of his chest. “Better than cotton.”

“Don’t like cotton?”

Matt shook his head, blinking slowly. “Feels like sandpaper.”

“Yikes,” you hummed. “Then how do you handle getting stabbed?”

He chuckled, shrugged. The sound of it warmed you, along with the shadow of his smile in the dark, and you felt that comfort let you leak slowly back toward sleep. “Same as you. Get somebody else to deal with it for me.”

Your lips curved up, though your brow furrowed. “Don’t think that solves the problem, Matt.”

“Yeah, well, if I know your stitches are coming after,” Matt drawled, mischief in his brow, “then the actual stabbing part is the least of my worries.”

“Ha,” you laughed dryly, though it was still genuine. “Very funny.”

He laughed with you, warm and heartening. Your eyelids began to droop, and you forced them open, not yet ready to settle in - especially as flutters continued through your chest. Matt’s brows knit together, and he slid his free hand forward just enough for it to meet yours, which still held tightly to the sheets. At his touch, you relaxed a bit - and you let him take your hand in his, gentle and sure.

“I’m right here, okay?” Matt offered. Your gaze on him softened, but the nerves in you still drew up a shiver. He frowned, reframing his grasp on your hand into something firmer.

“It’s just a dream, sweetheart. Whatever it is, it can’t hurt you.”

His words were everything you needed to hear - a soothing balm to your exhausted ears, your ravaged mind. You drew in a deeper breath, a longer one, and found it easier to breathe than before.

But you couldn’t sleep just yet.

“I think this is about the fifth time you’ve called me that,” you murmured softly. Matt’s brow furrowed.

“What?”

Your smile was small, though a bit teasing. “Sweetheart.”

Matt’s eyes, glazed with what could only be described as affection, blinked slowly at you through the dark. His lips parted in a slow curve that sent a warm buzz through your core.

“Do you mind it?”

His thumb, drifting as it had before, dragged in a slow pattern back and forth along your hand. Your eyes fell to the clasp of your hands together before floating back up to Matt’s eyes, his peaceful expression, his parted lips.

“No,” you offered, your head shifting only slightly, the only shake no that the pillow would allow. “I don’t.”

The answer, sure as it was, somewhat surprised you, even though you knew it was the truth. Warmth spread through your chest and over your face, and as you smiled at Matt, he smiled back. He shifted closer to you under the sheets, resting his head just a few inches in front of yours, slightly higher up on the pillow. His closeness brought more warmth your way, and you gulped, feeling the entire length of his body across from you, just by way of his heat. 

Here, you could make out a bit more detail in Matt’s face: stubble running across the sharp curve of his jaw, the flecks of gold in his rich brown eyes, the thickness of his lashes and brows. His eyes sparkled, even in the dark, and as the warmth of his hand spread steadily to yours, you felt your eyelids begin to droop once more - though, this time, you were okay with it.

With Matt close to you, you were safe.

No one could hurt you in waking life or otherwise.

With him at your side - you could rest.