Sunlight
A noise that sounded like a cuckoo was the first catalyst in your slow rise from sleep.
Early morning light streamed into the bedroom, warm and balmy and blithe. Though you weren’t quite awake, you could feel it as it shone against your bare arms, could feel its welcoming warmth trickle over your skin. You lay on your stomach, blithely unaware as your head lay on Matt’s chest, your body draped over his, one leg hooked across him. Your hands rested at his shoulders, and his left arm was curled around your waist. The hand of that arm had slipped beneath your shirt and palmed up your spine, a handprint of warmth still and sturdy at the lower half of your back as you lay atop him, slowly and softly breathing. Matt’s other hand rested at his side, fingertips brushing your raised knee.
The cuckoo crowed again, and you partly groaned. Still in slumber, you used your hands on Matt’s shoulders to drag yourself upward in an effort to regain the comfort lost to that cuckoo sound. Matt’s left arm remained snug around your waist as you shifted over him. Your nose met the crook of his neck, and you dragged in a breath, lungs filling with cinnamon, prompting a soundless and content sigh from your lips. His skin here felt soft, and you moved further into it, nudging your head beneath his chin as you settled once more.
Matt’s slow, deep breaths beneath you moved you slightly, and you felt his body shift - just as another cuckoo call rang out from the side of the bed. You frowned in your sleep, finally semi-waking, and you blinked your eyes open to see Matt’s free hand drift out to the side of the bed to land on a white pyramid-shaped object, pressing down on it with a click. The thing let out a loud ringing noise, and you groaned in your half-awake drowsiness at the sound.
“Seven o’clock AM,” the once-cuckoo called out in a robotic, feminine-sounding voice.
Matt stretched, the strain in his torso lifting him gently against you - as if he could be any closer. His voice rumbled out raspy from above your head in a deep, sleepy mumble.
“Sorry.”
“’S okay,” you mumbled back, your lips half-pressed against the fabric of his t-shirt. No sooner did the response leave you, though, did your eyes snap open.
Immediately, your brain scrambled to make sense of your positioning. Matt’s body was quite literally beneath you, his chest a new, cradling, muscular pillow for your head. Your hands stiffened against his broad shoulders as your attention fell down both of your bodies - to where your thigh was crossed entirely over his hips, with the associated foot brushing the outer side of his leg.
The leg on the opposite side of his body from where you lay.
Though the sleepy side of you found Matt to be one of the more comfortable body pillows you’d tried as of late, the reasonable side of you was awake, and you sprung halfway up, eyes half-wide.
Matt’s sleepy brows drew together. He blinked away the last few bits of sleep, eyes crinkling up in your direction.
“Hi,” he murmured. Your lips fell apart slightly, not knowing what to do as your weight rested half on your hands, having slipped onto the mattress on either side of Matt’s shoulders. The other half of your weight was split between your leg on the bed and your leg strung across him.
Strung across his literal hips.
Oh my goodness.
“Hi-hi,” you stammered, eyes flitting between Matt’s, which were dark and warm and full of honey in the morning light. His head rested back on the pillow beneath it, and he seemed entirely unbothered - though you’d caught a hint of surprise in his expression. “I-“ you stammered again, lifting your far hand in an attempt to give Matt some space. It landed right on Matt’s chest, sending your eyes to grow wider, and you drew it back toward you at the accidental-but-firm touch. Matt’s brow quirked up, his lips amused. You noticed that his hand on your spine hadn’t moved, but he started to slip it out from under your top, calloused and soft skin sliding over your lower back.
“Sorry,” Matt breathed. “We can move.”
“No, no, I’m sorry,” you offered. “You’re fine. I didn’t mean to-“
With your weight somewhat unbalanced and your sleepy, frazzled mind not quite equipped to deal with the situation before you, your lifted hand fell again, pressing into Matt’s abdomen. His muscles twitched and flexed under your touch, and you drew your hand back up; this time, it flew to land over your mouth as if you’d said something incredibly embarrassing. Matt laughed, but his brows and eyes painted a knowing expression.
“Here, I’ll move. I don’t want you uncomfortable.”
“I’m not,” you blurted from behind your hand. Matt’s brow furrowed, his lips curving up - and though a blush had crossed over your face, you felt your own lips begin to show a smile. “I’m not uncomfortable. I just don’t want you to be.”
“Well, I’m quite comfortable, actually,” Matt drawled, his head tilting to the side as his lazy grin shone up at you. You couldn’t help but grin back, fingers relaxing, your smile peeking through the gaps. Matt’s hand stilled where it was against your waist and slowly inched back toward your spine, settling at the small of your back. Your breath hitched, butterflies flapping their wings in your core, just ahead of his hand - so vibrant in their feeling, it was as if those wings could stretch out far enough to wisp across his skin.
“Are you?” you hummed.
“Mhm,” Matt murmured, his free hand drifting back under the covers, fingertips grazing over your knee. Your breath more than hitched at the touch. It entirely stilled in your throat, hot and bothered and fizzing.
Matt’s hand on your back slipped away from your skin entirely, and he tugged it to his side, moving his other arm in tandem to prop himself up on his elbows. He pushed himself up, shifting you with his movements as your leg remained slung over his body - your thigh a band across his hips. Your eyes flitted over his rosy face, his upturned lips, as he lifted himself closer to you, placing his weight on his hands now instead of his elbows. You almost forgot yourself before shifting your thigh down until your knee rested against his. Matt smiled.
“Gotta get up for work, though,” he breathed, tilting his head as it floated inches from yours. “I’m gonna get ready, okay? You stay in here as long as you want.”
A part of your chest dropped, but you shook it off quick, smiling warmth his way. “Okay.”
Matt’s grin was just as warm, all morning peace, as his eyes crinkled at the outer edges. He slid himself out from under you at long last, and you sunk back into the sheets, pressing the side of your face into his pillow as he stood. It felt warm against your skin, and you curled further into it; your reasonable side was awake now, sure, but the sleepy side of you was winning out.
“Maybe I’ll call in sick,” you mumbled. “Stay here all day.”
Matt chuckled. From where he stood, facing away from you, he stretched, elbows straining up to the sides of his shoulders. The movement spawned a few quiet cracks from his spine, and you became strikingly aware of his height - at least relative to where you lay on the bed.
“I did say as long as you want,” he offered on the tail end of a yawn.
“Mhm.”
You tipped your head to eye Matt as he padded away from the bed, running a hand down his face. His shirt and sweatpants fit him well, though they were loose enough to be comfortable, and you couldn’t help but let your lips part at the sight of his broad shoulders stretching the black fabric, his powerful legs shifting soft gray.
Matt reached the dresser on the far wall and lifted his hands up to the collar of his shirt. You watched on, half-surprised, as he tugged it up and over his head. Inch by fast inch, the lowermost edge of the shirt lifted to reveal more and more skin until his fluffy hair drew once more out from beneath black fabric. Your lower lip slipped between your teeth, and your eyes all but glazed at the sight of his heavily muscular back, all bare across from you, rippling and shifting as he folded the shirt. His bare arms, thickly carved and sparingly veined, elicited that same low-humming heat within you. Your eyes caught, too, on the indentation of his waist - his sweatpants hanging a touch further down on his body than you’d realized.
Matt paused in his movements, and your lip fell fast out of its bite. He turned his head to the side, that chiseled jaw jutting in your direction, a dimple betraying his amusement as he smirked, eyes narrow with a furrowed brow.
“You’re staring.”
You shot your wide gaze toward the sliding door and half-gulped, face hot.
“Am not.”
Matt only chuckled, and you saw him turn his head back out of the corner of your eye, leaning down to place the folded shirt in one of his dresser drawers. A curve returned to your lips, and you shoved your head back into that pillow with shut, smiling eyes.
Matt made little noise as he changed. Fabric shifting over fabric, zips and footsteps, and the closing of drawers were decently calming bits of ambiance as your still-tired limbs melted back into the bed. A few minutes later, you felt a warm hand on your shoulder, and you blinked your eyes back open to see Matt crouched in front of you, his white dress shirt buttoned and finished off with the usual black tie.
“I’ve got some breakfast stuff in the cupboards,” Matt offered, his voice raspy and light as though he didn’t want to wake you - no matter the fact that you were already awake. “You’re welcome to have whatever you like.”
You smiled. “Very nice of you.”
Matt smiled back, tipping his head. “Want some coffee?”
You paused for a moment before nodding slowly.
I mean, if he’s offering.
Matt nodded back and moved back up to standing, drifting a hand between your shoulder blades as he stepped away from the bed and through the sliding door.
The sleepy side overtook you once more until your alarm went off at 7:30. Funnily enough, it was that now-familiar sound of Three Six Mafia - specifically the guttural male voice calling out in a throaty Yeah! that led into Stay Fly’s incessant beat. You reached for your phone where you’d placed it on the other side of the bed, tapping around with a few grumbles before you finally managed to turn it off.
Sure, the ringtone had been an accident at first, but if there was any sound out there that you would certainly never sleep through, it was this one. You didn’t usually use it, but since the Velluchi case changed your start time to pre-sunrise most days, such an alarm was direly needed. Thankfully, now that the case was wrapping up, you no longer had to head to the office quite so early - hence the 7:30 alarm - but you’d neglected to change the sound just yet.
Back in silent sunlight, you stretched onto your back in Matt’s bed, feeling your limbs extend, your muscles flex in waking. A yawn came over you before you drew yourself out from under the covers. On quiet feet, you stepped toward Matt’s half-open door and through it to see him standing on the other side of his kitchen island, two simple white mugs of steaming coffee in his hands - and a somewhat quizzical smile on his face.
“Was that Three Six Mafia?” Matt half-laughed as you moved through his living room, combing your hair behind your ears with your fingers. The two of you met in front of his kitchen table. He set down your coffee as you pulled out a chair for yourself, and you eyed him, letting out a short chuckle with a shake of your head.
“Long story.”
Matt placed his mug beside yours and moved to grab cream and sugar. You found yourself admiring the fit of his work clothes, as basic as the outfit was. He hadn’t yet put on a blazer, and his crisp white button-down shifted with him as he opened and closed the fridge and lifted a jar of sugar from his kitchen island.
And yes, he always seemed to look great in a blazer - but he looked just as good without one.
Especially with the way that black tie hung from his neck, perfectly pressed. The way his black slacks fit over his legs was nothing short of perfect, too. And the hug of his belt around that waist, tucking the button-down cleanly beneath it - the sight had your eyes glazing.
“You know the song?” You asked, tipping your head. Matt pursed his lips in a downward curve with a shrugging nod.
“I’ve heard it. It’s good,” Matt offered, bringing sugar, coffee cream, and two teaspoons to the table, “but I’d say I’m more of a 90s top 40 guy.”
Your brows lifted. “Ah. A man of taste, I see.”
Matt chuckled as he moved into the seat beside you.
You grabbed the sugar jar and untwisted its cap, eyes catching on the small braille tag strung around the jar’s neck. Matt poured cream into his coffee as you spooned sugar into yours before trading. It was a quiet, comfortable, homey endeavor, making your morning coffee side-by-side - complete with stolen glances on your part and subtle smiles crossing both of your lips.
“I must say,” Matt hummed after a sip of his coffee, “I really hope this encourages you to see reason.”
With your fingers on either side of your mug, its heat leaking into your skin, you frowned. “What?”
“We’ve been over this. You really can’t be wasting your money on instant coffee.”
You laughed in recognition at Matt’s joke. He grinned in response, lifting his mug once more to his lips.
“I thought you said I proved you wrong about my coffee,” you hummed, tipping your head pointedly in his direction. Matt placed his mug back on the table, licking his lips as he matched the tilt of your head, the curve of his mouth dimpling his cheeks.
“You did, I’ll give you that,” Matt admitted, “but trust me. This is much better.” He drifted a hand forward to push your mug toward you, and you chuckled at the movement.
Gazing down into your coffee, you felt its warm steam waft up and over your nose, your cheeks, your lips. It smelled perfect, and you stirred it once more with your teaspoon before drawing the small silver utensil up to tap along the mug’s edge. It made a satisfying clinking sound, and you set it gently on the table as you watched your reflection swirl unnaturally in the coffee’s uneven surface.
This brief gaze at a muddled capture of your likeness drew up a familiar twinge of pain in your chest. Your face was distorted in the coffee; every feature integral to who you believed yourself to be was shifted and changed by the rippling impact of your actions. Just by stirring your cup, you changed your entire reflection - your entire view of yourself in the face of the decisions you’d made.
Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Matt’s head shift forward less than an inch. His brow twitched, and you snapped yourself out of the short moment.
Enough.
“First silk sheets, now gourmet coffee?” You laughed breathily, catching a fleck of concern in Matt’s eyes where they’d landed near your chin. You readily worked to ignore it - and, after a beat, Matt’s lips quirked up again. In a re-ignition of boldness, you smirked and continued.
“You do this for all the women who let you touch their faces?”
Wrapping your hands around the mug, you cocked your head to the side, brows lifting. Matt’s jaw dropped slightly in mock shock before he shifted slightly in your direction, his hands palming the sides of his mug.
“In case you’ve forgotten,” Matt chided, joking and husky in his low, flowing tone, “this is a strictly professional relationship.” You giggled, and Matt stifled a smile as he kept on. “Any implications otherwise will not be tolerated.”
Settling your expression, you leaned your head toward Matt’s, tease written over your brow.
“Well, of course, it’s strictly professional,” you insisted, matter-of-fact, drawing up as much false confusion in your gaze as you could. “Whatever else would it be?”
Matt grinned. He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, and you swore you caught the faintest hint of a blush rise over his cheeks. You smiled to him and to yourself and drew your mug to your lips, finally tasting his coffee. It splashed over your tongue in hot, bitter, creamy sweetness - the perfect mesh of earthy notes and tones of sunlight mingling with every one of your tastebuds. Your eyes widened slightly, just by virtue of how good it really was, and you took another long, indulgent sip. At your side, Matt breathed out a whisper of a laugh.
“So, I was right, wasn’t I?”
You gave him a pointed look, placing your mug back down. “You need to get that ego checked, Matthew.”
Matt snorted. “Way to avoid the point.”
“The point?”
“That I’ve been right twice in the past twelve hours?”
Your jaw dropped mockingly. “Twice? Wow. That’s, like, more than once.”
At your retort, Matt leaned closer to you, his elbows dragging against the wood surface of his table.
“Yeah,” he breathed, tease in the smiling twist of his lips. “Still counts.”
You felt your eyes glitter as you stared into Matt’s. The same sunlight from the bedroom streamed into his kitchen, encasing everything in a goldenrod glow. He smelled like cinnamon, vanilla, a hint of pine - and you tapped your fingers against your mug as you tried to hide the way you kept drawing in his scent.
Matt’s elbow slid over further, tapping against yours. Your gaze flitted down to the contact before floating back to his eyes. They were crossed with compassion, flavored with worry, his brow lifted in honest concern.
“You okay?” Matt asked simply. His voice was low, soothing in its quiet rasp. Your stomach fluttered, and your eyes fell back to the shifting surface of your coffee, hands re-grasping the sides of the mug.
“Yeah,” you started. “I mean- yeah.” Tipping your head back toward Matt’s, you couldn’t mask the shards of sadness in your eyes, not even with a small smile to match. “As okay as I can be.”
Matt’s jaw shifted. His face flickered with faint tension - tension born of concern and of what you thought was a hint of anger. It disappeared as fast as it had come up.
“I think you should stay here for the time being,” he asserted, not gruff but unyielding in his tone. “Not just one night.”
You nodded. “If that’s okay with you.”
“It is more than okay with me.”
His tone hadn’t changed, yet you felt a whisper of warmth crack through your chest. It faded fast, though, and you felt your expression fade into stone as you spoke.
“We’ll get them, Matt. You know we will.”
To be honest with yourself, you weren’t sure of the truth in your statement - but you had to say it, anyway.
Matt sucked in a breath as his brows drew up. He leaned back in his seat, letting out this breath as his fingers tapped along the sides of his mug. He definitely heard the skip in your pulse, the telling hint that you didn’t fully believe what you were saying. Still, though, he nodded.
“We will.”
A pause came as Matt got to his feet, his hand brushing your shoulder as he pushed his chair in - his words less determined, closer to hardened desperation.
“We have to.”
Soon after, Matt reiterated that whatever you wanted from his cupboards was yours as he slipped on his glasses. You let out some joke about taking everything for yourself, and Matt responded with an affirmation that if that was what you needed, he’d happily let you. You then proceeded to blush as he grabbed his briefcase, mentioned something about Foggy being on his ass for showing up late, and left - but not before offering you one last glowing smile for the morning. The gentle tilt of his head was sweet, matching the sunny energy swirling between the two of you, rays of your own sort of sunlight twirling throughout the entire apartment.
You stood back in the bathroom again, applying your makeup methodically as, after Matt had left you with your solitude and your thoughts, that sunlight fell dim. Every movement felt cold and robotic. The press of your fingers against your own skin barely felt real - though it still felt more tangibly you than the reflection you watched with a cutting gaze as you worked.
At the very least, makeup is a decent incentive not to cry.
The tears thumped against your eyes, drilling their volatility through your eye sockets to give off a dull, gray-feeling headache.
It was more than sorrow, though.
It was a low-swirling anger, lava rising in your abdomen, the power of it raw and violent through every jagged edge of your soul.
You felt embittered in your pain. Embitterment, though, that spite - it’s an excellent motivator, you’d realized over the years. That spiteful power grew in you the farther you got in your routine - sparking up your limbs as you smoothed down your blazer, plastered on a winning smile, and hailed your cab from Matt’s building.
Every step in your black leather heels felt stronger and stronger as you clicked through your lobby, tapped your toes in the elevator, and strutted out onto the main floor.
You had so much taken from you. So much loss, with a lot of it at the hands of others, and some of it, you could admit, being no one’s fault but your own.
Everything with Jessica was just a mess. You shouldn’t have been so hasty with Cruz, you should have told Matt about Wesley, and dammit, you should have just broken Stick’s wrists while you had the chance. It all swirled heartily regretful in your chest, tightening your lungs - even as you placed your briefcase atop your desk, the cubicle encasing you in a mix of safe privacy and a haunting sense of being alone.
But, you thought to yourself, the idea seeming almost intrusive with how new it was, you’re not alone.
Ray.
Karen.
Foggy.
And, above all, more than the rest in every way…
Matt.
Your mind fell back to the early morning, dawn rising slow and eager as you’d found yourself draped over his body in sleep. And Matt, warm as he was beneath you, had let his hand slip up your back, beneath your shirt, holding you to him as if your body atop his just wasn’t enough.
It was all skin against skin, quiet breaths flowing in tandem with one another. You each reached for each other - the sensation of it so wanted and so natural-feeling that it had been an unquestionable necessity for the two of you, inhibitions done away with under the heavy blanket of sleep.
Maybe it was just the emotional weight of everything else that had pushed you together in the night. And, other than a brief blip, you hadn’t exactly been keeping your distance from one another since you’d met, so the contact wasn’t a new thing. Despite any prior touches, any prior flirting, though - this was different. Stronger, somehow. It wasn’t just tension; it was care, genuine and compassionate and real.
“Hope I’m not interrupting.”
Ray’s voice from behind you made you jump, sucking in a breath. In that brief moment of rethinking your morning, you’d been standing in front of your desk, fingers mindlessly tapping along its surface, your lower lip between your teeth as your face grew warm and your gaze grew hazy. Ray, having snapped you out of that moment quite abruptly, chuckled at your back - and you laughed, turning to face his jovial smile.
“Daydreaming is not part of the job description, Special Agent.”
“Okay, okay,” you chided, rolling your eyes. “Neither is scaring your coworkers.”
Ray shook his head and drew up a medium-sized, rectangular notecard. It had a glossy finish, complete with white cursive writing atop a gold and blue background - and your brows lifted in recognition.
“Is it that time of year already?” You asked, smiling as you took the card from Ray. He grinned.
“Just in time for the end of the case, I think.”
Your brows raised again. “Think you’ll get a shoutout as a team lead?”
Ray snorted, shrugged. “Janelle’s gonna want her moment in the sun, so I’ll say it’s a hard maybe for that one. I wouldn’t rule out a case shoutout entirely, though.” He smirked. “Maybe she’ll want to give Dex a great big congratulations for his first job well done as a One.”
Eyes shutting, you pretended to stifle a gag, and Ray rolled his eyes but laughed all the same. You glanced down at the card - the information for this year’s celebratory gala - and almost didn’t register Ray’s voice.
“Dex and I - we’ve got Gio, Sel. His lawyers are gonna put up the fight of a lifetime, but we’ve got him.”
Your eyes shot up to Ray’s. “Really? Did the inventory guys flip?” Ray nodded.
“One of them, yeah. Said they threatened to hurt his family if he didn’t get rid of the gun for them. He didn’t want a guy like Gio Velluchi running his choices anymore, no matter what the consequences might be. We’re gonna make sure he’s protected for the next while - don’t need any more blood spilled.”
“Shit, Ray,” you breathed, wincing at the thought of such a painful decision for someone to make, the type of risk that doesn’t wash off easy - but your expression lifted, pride for your team’s hard work filling your smile.
Pride, most of all, for all the blood, sweat, and tears Ray had poured into this case from the start.
You lifted a fist and bumped it against Ray’s blazered shoulder. He chuckled, bashful and glad, as you spoke.
“Proud of you, man. Wouldn’t have happened without all your hard work. Seriously.”
Ray bumped your shoulder right back. “Hey, you, too. We’re all the reason it came together.”
Moments like these were part of why you loved your job so much. After all the drama, the danger, when justice was finally in view and the efforts of you and your coworkers had paid off - that was perfection to you. It was a gift after strife, a well-deserved high once you’d trudged through every necessary low.
You were still stuck under the pressure of one of those lows, a low by the name of Cruz - but that was a matter of your own. In the realm of your job, this was an undeniable win.
Ray left you to rifle through your tasks for the day. Your first order of business, though, was a closer examination of the details of this year’s gala - which, according to the card, was not this weekend but the next.
The gala was your division’s yearly celebration of everything and everyone involved in its operations. All agents were invited, along with interns, bosses, and other higher-ups. The mayor usually made an appearance, along with other local government actors and charity officials, and the NYPD always had more than a few cocktail tables to claim.
You didn’t have too many occasions to dress up and simply enjoy yourself, either, so you tended to look forward to this event every year with great enthusiasm. Some guests came in suits so sharp they could cut glass, and the dresses never failed to disappoint, whether they were sleek and simple or opulently extravagant.
You’d gotten your dress just a month earlier, and it fit you like a glove, hugging every curve in just the way you wanted - sexy, comfortable, and full of beauty. It made you feel gorgeous just thinking about wearing it. The dress was fitted at the top and just a bit at your hips before flaring slightly in a trumpet-style skirt, swirling embroidery lining the sides of the bodice and fading down to end mid-thigh on the fabric - which was a deeply vibrant, royal blue… silk.
Huh, you smiled to yourself. Funny.
Your mind drifted to the thought of potentially bringing a plus-one to this event. Over the years, you generally treated it as more of a girl’s night than anything else, as you’d never brought a date. Given that any of the few dalliances you’d had in recent history were nothing more than pleasurable distractions from the rest of your life, you’d never really had any sort of option for someone to bring - but, then again, you’d never felt comfortable getting that close. It was always either sex or self-sabotage, nothing more. Neither of those foundations seemed like the type of relationship - or lack thereof - that you’d want to bring to an event like this.
A few memories came to you of galas past - memories of your wistful glances at Ray and Seema, holding each other close on the dance floor as the band proudly played and the chandeliers above glimmered like starlight. Their love for each other warmed you, but it left your mind melancholy, your heart heavy. Viewing them and all the other couples, dressed up and close, their love on display - your most heart-wrenching, locked-away desires always seemed to bubble to the surface.
If only I could love someone like that.
If only I could let myself be loved like that.
And, although it hurt, your position was different than theirs. Unfair, sure - but such is life. No man in the world could understand your experiences, how your past bleeds through your present, or how you sacrifice the joy of your present for more... pressing matters.
Well, you thought, twisting your lips as you still stood in your cubicle. That’s not entirely true anymore.
For once - I guess I’m not entirely alone.
The comfort of company was one thing, but that power you felt building within you as you’d left Matt’s apartment still buzzed through your body. Matt helped, sure, but as you snapped out of your dreamy haze and set to start on your work for the day, purpose coursed through your veins, angry and vengeful.
And this feeling, this power - it was so much more than not being alone in your plight.
Spite.
If you had your way - and, oh, God knows I will - there’s no way these enemies of yours would get away with what they’d done.
To you, to those you cared about, and simply for the sake of it; simply because it’s what they deserve.
At this point, you couldn’t change that you weren’t alone anymore. Knowing this, though - you had so much more to protect.
They’ll get what’s coming to them.
Maybe that karma will just have to be me.