Comfortable
The night came and went, as did the next, and the next.
You hardly saw Matt over those few mornings - and the nights, too. He resumed sleeping on the couch, so you’d catch him briefly as you woke and he was heading off to work, greeted by his fleeting smile and a hot mug of freshly prepared coffee waiting for you on the dining table. Your job continued to keep you late with administrative duties, as Janelle had set a harrowing goal of wrapping up the Velluchi case in its entirety before the gala, on top of the other work you had to do with other, more minor cases. With Gio and Hector in custody, the evidence against them, the case was done, wrapped up in a pretty pink bow of arrest and trial preparations to be spearheaded by another department.
Ray should be really proud of himself. Held it all together.
You’d stumble back to Matt’s exhausted and far past sunset; having left the door open for you, Matt would be out on patrol, and you all but crashed into your bed as soon as you managed to clean yourself up from the day and slip into your sleeping clothes.
Today was Saturday. No work, no obligations - and no alarms.
You blinked your eyes awake to find your face entirely smushed against a pillow, your limbs sprawled across Matt’s bed as though you were some giant, web-less spider - unless the thin stripe of drool at the edge of your cheek counted as webbing. Swiping a hand across your face, you twisted in the sheets until you were on your back, your hair splayed out messily from your head, legs tangled in silk.
The buttery fabric was soft at every edge of your skin where it lay bare beyond your pajama set, and you sunk perfectly against the mattress, your head dipping deep into the plush of your pillow. Closing your eyes, you drew a deep, hearty breath as daylight mingled with the well-placated hairs of your open skin. The air around you smelled warm and fresh, and your lips shifted in a peaceful yawn as you reached for your phone.
Your jaw dropped when you saw the time.
How the hell did I sleep in until 1:32pm?
Alongside the shock of how late in the day it was, you saw a text from Matt:
MATT: Just letting you know I’ll be out for the afternoon. Should be back around dinnertime. Call if you need anything, unless you need advice on a movie to watch
You chuckled, tossing the phone aside as you drew a hand across your eyes.
Even texting, he’s charismatic.
Rising out of bed once and for all, your stretch drew your arms up to the sky as your bones creaked in waking. Making Matt’s bed came next, and you found the simplicity of it to be more than pleasant, smoothing out every section of fabric and cushion, inch by inch, soft thread by soft thread. You also took the time to reorganize the few belongings you’d brought - folding clothes and separating the clean and need-to-be-washed, tucking any non-pressing items into their respective compartments in your bag, and pulling out your laptop and its charger.
In Matt’s living room, you paused briefly, unsure of how to lounge through a few episodes of TV on your laptop with no coffee table to set it on. You decided to tug over one of Matt’s chairs and use that as a makeshift TV stand for the time being.
After setting up your laptop, your focus shifted. The apartment around you was already clean - spick and span, really - and it was difficult to determine what you could actually help with.
The kitchen was clean as ever, but you did wipe down Matt’s countertops and wash your water glass from the night before. Wiping down the bathroom counter and sink came next, and you made sure to organize your belongings on one side of the sink so that they wouldn’t be confused with Matt’s. Stepping back from that bathroom counter to admire your work, a part of you warmed at the sight of your things on his counter - as small as such a thing was.
Finally satisfied with doing what you could to start balancing out all that Matt had given you in the last almost week, you settled onto his couch and flipped through a few shows on your laptop before settling on one - a sitcom, light with short episodes, easy on the mind.
So easy on the mind, in fact, that not even your hours upon hours of slumber the night before could stop you from dozing off again on the leather cushions of Matt’s couch.
The front door shut softly, latching with a click - but that was just enough to rouse you from your sleep.
Careful footsteps strode inside, shoes clacking through Matt’s entryway. A pause came, and noticeably quieter footsteps moved past the couch and into the kitchen, the rustling of what sounded like shopping bags particularly catching your attention. You stretched on the couch as you blinked awake, catching the sight of that dimmed Are you still watching? screen on your laptop. It was darker in the room than before - not past dusk, but the sun was surely on its evening descent, though the room felt warm and balmy and perfect for yet another nap.
No, you mentally shook yourself. That is more than enough of being a total corpse for one day.
Pushing yourself to sit up, you stretched, turning toward the kitchen. About four or five plastic shopping bags sat full of items on the countertop, and Matt was working diligently to put them away. Standing behind the fridge door, you watched him place a fresh carton of juice inside before shutting it and flashing you a warm smile.
“Morning,” he joked. You chuckled, lifting your arms to rest your weight against the back of the couch.
“Morning.”
Matt stepped back to the counter, setting one full bag of groceries off to the side and pulling some packages of fruit from another.
“Groceries, huh?”
“Gotta feed you at some point.”
You chuckled. “I can help pay for them. Looks like you got a lot.”
With a container of blueberries in one hand and the other hand on the fridge door, Matt shook his head sharply.
“Nope,” he hummed. “You didn’t have to tidy my place, either. Very sweet, but I want you to let yourself relax.”
A flutter of warmth kicked at you.
“So you noticed?”
Matt’s head tipped, his brow lowering as he turned his face toward you.
“Of course I noticed.”
The room’s light was dim but bathed in a pleasant mix of orange and golden hues. As you lifted yourself off the couch, you glanced toward one of Matt’s windows, seeing Saturday evening traffic in its full glory, all buzzing with light and energy and impatient drivers. You wrapped your arms around your chest as you approached Matt’s kitchen island.
“How was shopping?”
“Great,” Matt offered, placing a package of strawberries in the fridge and a set of bananas on the far end of the counter. “Foggy likes to come with me. Make sure the unsuspecting blind shopper doesn’t get taken advantage of.”
“Ah,” you nodded. You tilted your head at Matt, leaning your elbows on the other side of the island from him. “And what did he think of you buying five heaping bags of groceries all for yourself?”
Matt shrugged, though his lips curved up.
“He didn’t question it.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really,” Matt insisted, placing a bag of bread on a far section of his countertop. “Okay, maybe there were some raised eyebrows, but for all he knows, I’ve been living off beer, coffee, and takeout for weeks. He’s glad to make sure I have actual food.”
You smiled but shook your head, knowing Foggy wasn’t an idiot - and if there were pieces to pull together, he’d paint a clear picture of things pretty quickly. “Are you forgetting the night after that dinner?”
At that, Matt paused, his hands lifted and still over the groceries on the countertop between you. His brow furrowed as he leaned toward you with the slink of his smile leaking through his words.
“How could I?”
You tipped your head and raised your eyebrows back at Matt, even as he turned away to place some other items in cupboards, some vegetables in the fridge.
“I’m not gonna tell him you’re staying here,” Matt offered, his back to you. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“I know,” you nodded. “But I’d say he’s pretty capable of figuring this sort of thing out.”
Matt closed his last cupboard, made sure the fridge was shut, and turned back to you.
“He won’t.”
“And if he does?”
Matt sighed. “Then we’ll cross that bridge at that point. And, even if he figures out that you’re staying here, he has no possible way of knowing why.”
You pursed your lips, Wesley’s snakelike grin flashing in your mind’s eye. “Fair point.”
Tugging that once set-aside bag of groceries back to the center of the countertop, Matt threw the empty plastic bags in the trash. You eyed him as he rolled up the sleeves of his thin gray sweater, turning on the tap to wash his hands.
“What are you doing?”
“Making dinner.”
Your brows shot up.
“Matt, you don’t have to make me dinner-“
“Sure, I do.” Matt turned off the faucet, shaking his hands before drying them on a blue dishtowel. “You’re my guest.”
“Yeah, because the criminal underworld is out to get me, not because you’re just having me over for the fun of it.”
Matt didn’t so much as lift his head, rummaging through this last grocery bag, pulling out item after item.
“Exactly. Makes it even more imperative that I make you dinner. It’s a way for me to spite the criminal underworld.” Aligning onions and garlic on the counter, he placed his hands back into the bag. “And making dinner for you will be plenty of fun.”
Matt’s lips quirked out lightly as you inwardly groaned.
So, so stubborn.
“Fine,” you hummed. You stepped around the island and Matt - in his gray sweater and navy-blue slacks - to stand directly beside him, peering into the shopping bag. “What are we making?”
Matt hung his head, sighing as he turned it in your direction.
“Do I need to command you to go chill out-“
“Yes. And not even that will work.” You reached around Matt’s outstretched arms, palms down on the countertop, to draw out a small tub of what looked like… ricotta cheese? Placing it down on the counter, you reached into the bag again, where your hand grazed a container of ground beef. You turned to look at Matt, who was already facing you.
“Hope you like lasagna.”
Your mouth watered at the mention of the dish - partly because, yes, great choice, Matt, and also because you’d been too busy sleeping all day to eat anything.
“I definitely do.”
Matt tipped his head, his brows furrowing at your response.
“Sound like you’d like just about anything right now.”
He stepped away from the island and grabbed a banana, tossing it your way. You caught the fruit just as Matt pointed a finger at you.
“Eat. Then you can help me. Okay?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Nice try, getting me to focus on something else so I’m not-“
He hummed your name, stepping closer to you, so close that the tiny threads of his cashmere sweater could brush against your shirt if he moved any further. “Eat.”
Your lip jokingly curled, and you flipped your hands up in mock defense, stepping over to lean against the back wall of Matt’s kitchen. The banana peeled smoothly, and you made a point of exaggerating the way you tugged each section down.
Matt smiled to himself as he got to work. You marveled at the ease with which he moved through the kitchen, heating the oven and setting pans atop the stove. He first got to work on the meat sauce, pouring olive oil into a pan before adding the ground beef, along with various spices and one of the best-smelling pasta sauces you’d even been privy to. Stirring the meat sauce in the pan, it crackled and bubbled lightly in the heat, sending waves of spice and flavor through the air. You took the last bite of your banana, tossed the peel, and washed your hands - just in time for Matt to call you over to the stove.
“Watch the sauce for me?”
You nodded as he moved back to the island, quickly striding over to grasp the handle of the pan with one hand, the wooden spoon Matt had left for you in the other. Stirring the sauce drew up all new fresh waves of pasta sauce and sizzling meat, the low heat of it simmering with all the prowess of a professionally-made restaurant meal. Unfortunately, the heat of it was higher than you’d realized, and you leaned just a bit too far forward - just in time for a light sputter of sauce to spurt a few drops of red over your top. You quickly stepped back and let out a faint sigh before shaking it off, clearing your throat.
“I didn’t know you could cook.”
“Surprise,” Matt joked. You turned to look at him, eyes smiling, and saw he was already hard at work dicing onions and garlic. “I learned at St. Agnes. Good thing about being brought up in a Catholic orphanage is that there are always meals to be made for the less fortunate, and they always welcome as many hands as are able - including the older kids.” Still watching Matt, his back to you, you stirred through the pan once as he continued to chop. “I got to give back to the community and develop some life skills in the process.”
You nodded, turning back to the stovetop as Matt stepped over to stand beside you, pouring oil and the onions and garlic into the second pan, their juices hissing against the hot metal.
“So you got pretty good at making casseroles, then?”
“Ha, ha.”
You chuckled while Matt stirred his pan next to you, his arm brushing yours.
“I can make more than just casseroles, I’ll tell you that right now.”
He stepped back to the island just as you gave a shrug.
“Hate to break it to you, but lasagna is really just a glorified casserole.” Matt scoffed as he stepped back to the stove, spices in hand.
“Well, then, I hope it tastes more glorified than the average casserole.”
“I mean, with your senses, I’m sure it will,” you offered, pursing your lips down.
Huh.
Never really thought of that.
The pan beside yours hissed as Matt mixed spices in with the already-simmering onions. “You’re really setting up some high expectations here.”
“Not everyone has superhuman smell and taste. It does track that you should be an excellent cook.”
Matt shook his head, smiling, as he turned toward you before stepping back to the island. His eyes glinted with mischief.
“Good thing you’re helping out, then, actually,” he considered. “If it turns out terribly, I have someone else to blame.”
You turned back to Matt, the dramatic drop of your jaw unmatched by the light in your grinning eyes.
“Wow. Didn’t think you were the type of host to blame things on your guests.”
“Right,” Matt nodded, his eyes narrow and light as he smiled, his words matter-of-fact. “Because you’re just a guest.”
The stove's heat sent a blush over your skin as you turned back toward it, stirring the sauce with a smile.
Right.
The heat from the stove.
That’s what it is.
You kept careful focus on the meat as it cooked through. Matt grabbed the pan with onions and garlic and drew it back to the island, presumably to mix with the ricotta for the cheese filling. This was confirmed by a quick glance his way, his broad shoulders shifting as he stirred the onion mixture with ricotta, parmesan, and whatever other ingredients in a glass mixing bowl.
The two of you worked silently and diligently together in the kitchen. Granted, you didn’t have much in the way of responsibility, but you were content with managing your small part of watching the meat sauce as you listened to Matt work behind you. You heard him draw out a glass baking dish before he stepped over to you, his hand grazing your lower back.
“Sauce is done.”
You nodded and let him lift the pan away from you, turning off the stove. He strode over to the baking dish, placed not on the island but on the counter space across from it, next to you. You watched as he spread some of the meat sauce over the bottom of the baking dish, and just as he turned around, you stepped over to the island and grabbed the already-opened package of lasagna noodles. Turning to face Matt, his eyebrows raised, hands landing on his hips.
“What?” you asked, stepping toward him and the baking dish. “You said I could help. So I’m helping.”
Matt sighed through a smile, shaking his head.
“Move,” you hummed, brushing his arm as you attempted to get right in front of the baking dish. Matt stepped back, moving to grab the cheese filling from the island.
You drew out the first lasagna noodle. It was lightly floured under your touch, powder gracing your fingertips. With stiff and careful hands, you pursed your lips, reaching over the dish to place the first noodle down. Although you genuinely did work to make the placement as perfect as possible, the noodle fell at a slightly awkward angle, the corner of it brushing the edge of the glass.
Shit.
Reaching back into the dish, your fingertips barely grazed the noodle - before you felt warmth at your back, the soft-and-rough sensation of large hands snaking down your arms and wrists, to place guiding weight at your fingers.
Your breath caught as you felt Matt’s head next to yours, his chest grazing your back. The cashmere of his sweater was a welcome soft, woolen sensation against your bare arms - which, though it was warm in the room, were now peppered with goosebumps. He leaned gently into you as his fingers guided yours through shifting the noodle back into a proper position, with space between its edges and the glass.
“Here,” Matt murmured, the sound of his low voice so close to you that you swore you could feel the vibration of every syllable along the skin of your ear, the skin of your neck. “The noodles expand, so you need to make sure there’s enough space for all of them.”
As Matt used your fingertips to carefully arrange the pasta, it was all you could do to give a slight, subtle nod, the heat of the sauce on your skin no match for Matt’s gentle, pressing hands.
You reached for the next noodle, and Matt didn’t move from his position at your back. His hands met yours again as you lifted the pasta above the dish, angling it to rest right in the center, overlapping slightly with the first but not touching the glass and leaving space for the third.
“Like this?” you asked, lowering the noodle, grateful your voice wasn’t as breathless as it felt. You felt Matt’s head nod, his hands moving with yours as the two of you placed the piece of pasta down into the sauce.
“Just like that,” he breathed.
The sound of Matt’s voice was so soft that you were sure he'd be able to hear the fierce pounding of your heartbeat, even without superhuman hearing. Your heart thumped so roughly in your chest, it was as if the thing threatened to burst out of your body altogether.
This time, Matt reached for the last noodle, your hands hovering over the dish as he kept you gently encased between his warm body - all along the back of yours - and the counter.
“Put your hands on mine,” Matt rumbled. “Follow what I do.”
You couldn’t help but make a remark, although you did slide your fingers along the backs of Matt’s hands, your bare forearms resting atop his clothed ones.
“You think I need this much help with pasta placement?”
Matt chuckled at your back. The sound of it vibrated through you, his chest dragging lightly on your spine and shoulders, and you felt your insides flutter and tumble and buzz every which way as his head dipped lightly down, stubble brushing your cheek in a fleeting, barely-there graze.
“Third time’s a charm.”
With heated butterflies still fluttering in your core, your voice drew lower. "Or do you just want a reason to get my hands on you?"
Matt dipped his head slightly, that stubble grazing your skin once more as his voice met the depth of your tone. "I'm gonna plead the fifth on that one."
"Mhm," you hummed teasingly.
Praying your hands wouldn’t shake against Matt’s, you paid careful attention as he lowered the last noodle into the dish. Your fingers shifted with the movements of his as he arranged it carefully, letting this last piece of pasta overlap slightly with the one beside it, leaving the perfect amount of space between the noodle and the edges of the dish.
Having placed the last section of this pasta layer, Matt’s hands hovered under yours for a moment before he pulled them out from under your grasp, stepping back and around you to grab the cheese filling. It took you a moment to reorient yourself - to realize your lips had dazedly parted, and promptly shut them.
As you brought your mind back to earth, Matt gently tugged the dish toward him, and you shook your head. Turning to face Matt as he spooned a layer of ricotta filling over the pasta, you caught a dimple in his cheek, spurned by the low upward curve of his lips. You leaned against the counter at his side, smiling back in comfortable silence.
Standing there, you remembered the slight sauce splatter over your shirt - and became strikingly aware of the minimal but apparent grease in your hair, the slightly dry ache of tight, tired skin from the grind of the week behind you.
“I can finish up here if you want to grab a shower,” Matt hummed, his focus still close on the meticulous spread of ricotta over noodles. You pressed your lips together, considering, and Matt continued. “This’ll take about an hour to cook, anyway.”
His hands worked diligently to spoon out and spread the rest of this ricotta layer before he stepped around you to grab the meat sauce, beginning a repeat of the layering process. You eyed his fingers, nimble as they spooned out meat in a spiced bath of thick, flavourful red, and considered your options.
“Okay,” you nodded. “But would you mind if I washed my clothes first? I don’t have much left in the way of clean pajamas.”
Matt paused, tipping his head, brows drawing lightly. They then lifted in a subtle upturn, and he pursed his lips.
“You could borrow some of my clothes.”
Your brow lifted, and Matt continued, still spooning out the meat sauce with careful precision.
“It’ll take a while for yours to be washed and dried, and I know you’re tired.” Matt placed down the sauce and reached for a noodle. “You’re more than welcome, you know.”
You fumbled with your fingers at your sides, something warm tightening your lungs as your lips parted, then closed, then parted again.
I mean, it would be easier that way.
And tomorrow’s Sunday; I can just wash everything then.
You blinked, and your voice came out soft.
“Are you sure that’s okay?”
With the third pasta noodle of this layer in his hands, Matt paused. He turned his face to you, glasses glinting as his mouth lifted in a knowing smile.
“If I minded, would I have offered?”
You twisted your lips together, eyes glittering. “Guess not.”
Matt placed the last noodle in the dish and reached again for the cheese, the corners of his mouth softly quirked upward.
“Just let me finish this off, and I’ll find something for you.”
You nodded, tugging the inside of your lip between your teeth. You leaned back against the counter and watched Matt as he worked. The masterful movements of his hands - placing pasta, spreading ricotta, spooning out sauce; the attention to detail was a basic element of cooking, sure, but he was good at it regardless. Still hungry, your stomach rumbled at the thought of tasting what he was pulling together.
What he’s pulling together for me.
For… us, to share.
Together.
Blushing by way of your own thoughts, you watched on warmly as Matt stepped back to the island to grab a bag of shredded cheddar. He sprinkled it atop the last layer of the lasagna, stepping back with satisfaction at the almost-finished product.
“Well done,” you offered as he lifted the dish. Matt smiled, tugging the oven door open and leaning down to place the lasagna inside.
“Hope you learned something,” he chuckled.
Your jaw jokingly dropped. “I can cook too, you know.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Like… lots of things.”
Matt laughed as he closed the oven door, standing tall once more.
“How convincing.”
You pulled a face at him as he turned to walk off toward his room with an only slightly haughty grin.
“You know, you don’t need superpowers to be able to cook.”
“You don’t need superpowers to know how to place pasta noodles properly, either,” Matt drawled, stepping into his room.
“Hey,” you called out, following Matt through the living room as you heard a drawer slide open. “I also don’t need this patronization, Murdock.”
“Everyone knows the first step to dealing with your flaws,” Matt called back from inside his room, “is admitting you have them. I’m just helping you out here.”
“That’s it,” you huffed in jest, crossing your arms. “Next time, I will be the one cooking, just to prove the point.”
Matt stepped out of his room, a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt in hand. His brow curved low, but his grin ran high.
“Careful. Now you’ve got me expecting nothing less than breakfast in bed.”
With a pointed look of false annoyance, you grabbed the clothes from Matt - and leaned in, your low voice sharp and lilting.
“And it’ll be the best damn breakfast you’ve ever had.”
Matt’s chest shook with a singular, hearty chuckle, and you couldn’t fight the stretching smile across your lips as you strode off toward his bathroom.
You ended up taking a longer shower than you’d originally planned. Over the last few mornings and evenings, you’d grabbed quick showers, clean and concise and the bare minimum of what you needed. You’d become loosely acquainted with Matt’s soaps, all either scent-free or extremely subtle in their aromas. Tonight, though, you took your time.
You had an hour, anyway, and you were sure Matt didn’t mind. You worked to gently but thoroughly scrub every inch of your skin clean, working up one of the frothiest lathers of body wash you thought had ever graced your skin.
It was partly psychological, really, with everything else going on.
A part of you found the symbolism of it funny - that it was Matt’s body wash absolving your skin of its painful memories, casting off the touch of your predators as they lurked in the dark, waiting for their next chance to tear right through your skin, all the way to your soul.
The rest of you just liked the fact that it was his.
Working shampoo into your tired hair drew up memories of Matt’s touch. With every drag of your thumbs across your scalp, you felt the ghost of his hands on you in the same manner. Conditioning your hair only furthered the remembrance of those same sensations in your mind, the comforting massage of his fingers into your scalp and neck having created one of the most calming, relaxing memories you had in your arsenal.
You rinsed and towel-dried your hair, shaking as much water out of it as possible, before you lifted Matt’s sweatpants. Even at the first touch, they were unbelievably soft. The inside layer felt like a cloud against your legs, all fluffy, light, and warm. You tugged on his shirt next - the black one he’d worn just a few nights before - and found it also more comfortable than you expected.
You drew in a deep breath and felt a coiling buzz grow in your stomach, eyes closing for a moment. The clothes smelled so much like him.
Cinnamon and pine and vanilla and smoke wafted at every edge of your focus now that you were all but wrapped in Matt, to put it plainly. Tongue flicking out over your lips, you eyed yourself in the mirror, admiring the way his shirt and sweatpants fit over you. They were a bit too long, but you didn’t mind. There was something extra comforting about that, anyway.
You finally stepped out of the bathroom to see Matt setting the dish of lasagna on his dining table. He’d also changed, trading his slacks for another pair of sweatpants. Although that gray cashmere sweater remained, you could see the edge of a darker gray t-shirt peeking through his collar. His glasses were off, too, and with the light of the sunset having faded from warm gold to a darker orange, he’d turned on that lamp in his living room, setting the space alight in a new sort of golden glow.
Matt lifted his head in your direction. He paused for a moment, and you caught the briefest part of his lips, the most subtle graze of his tongue across that lower lip - before he smiled.
“Want a drink?”
The table was fully set, with two identical arrangements of a plate, cutlery, a napkin, and a glass arranged at close spots on the circular space. You noticed Matt had also made a Caesar salad, which was in a blue bowl with brown wooden tongs at its side.
“This is quite something,” you hummed, your eyes twinkling toward Matt and his little setup as you padded toward the table. “What drinks are on tap tonight?”
Matt tilted his head in thought. “We’ve got water, bad beer, and… orange juice, I believe.” You chuckled, noticing the way Matt’s eyes glinted when you did.
“Quite the selection.”
“I’ll say.”
Meeting the table, you glanced down at the lasagna, wisps of steam floating toward you and carrying its delicious scent through your nose. You dragged in a long breath, all but tasting the meat and ricotta, anticipating the glide of flavors over your tongue when you finally got to eat. A low rumble in your stomach only magnified this anticipation, and needless to say, your mouth watered.
Your eyes flicked up to Matt, who stood on the other side of the table, a peaceful expression on his face and through his eyes, slightly crinkled at the edges.
“I actually picked up this bottle of cheap wine, too,” Matt hummed. “If that would interest you.”
Your brows lifted.
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s cheap, remember that,” Matt chuckled, “but it seemed good enough. Smelled like it, at least.”
There was something unnaturally shy about the way he said it - not that he was lacking confidence, just that it was… particularly thoughtful, in an almost random-feeling sort of way.
Your eyes twinkled, narrowing slightly. “What type of wine is it?”
“Moscato,” Matt offered. “Supposed to be strawberry flavored.”
Your lips, of their own volition, drew up into a soft grin, your cheeks dimpling in a wildly-failing attempt to stifle the strength of the expression.
“I said I didn’t like your beer,” you started, “so you bought me wine that tastes like strawberries?”
Matt’s mouth quirked up, though you caught a hint of a blush grace his cheeks.
“I mean, I remember you ordered wine at the restaurant, but I don’t really know what you like. Don’t worry if it’s not what you would have chosen.”
“Oh, no, no,” you shook your head in near disbelief at how remarkably thoughtful he was being. “I’m just wondering what Foggy thought of your random flip from German beer to fruity wine.”
Matt tilted his head, his chest jumping as he chuckled. “I’ll admit, I did hide that purchase from Foggy.”
“Too obvious, huh?”
“Little bit.”
With a tug of your lip between your teeth and a graze of your tongue over the skin, you eyed Matt with warm analysis, soft admiration, appreciative heat.
“I think I will definitely go with the Moscato.”
Matt’s grin spread wide before he pursed his lips downward, giving a light nod. “Excellent choice.”
As Matt stepped back into the kitchen to get the wine, you pulled out your chair, every cell in your body going through spasms and giddy freak attacks as you lowered yourself into the seat.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
How is he so sweet?
Literally, how the hell did I end up… staying at the apartment of- getting close with- a man who is this fucking thoughtful-
A light, fizzing hiss left the wine bottle as Matt twisted off its cap. The sound of it broke you out of your brief mental ecstasy, and you sat patiently as Matt poured the drink into your cup, then his. On the redder side of pink, the wine flowed out into your glass with a minimal amount of bubbling, any pink froth at the top quickly fading off into the rest of the drink. He then placed the bottle in the center of the table, and you watched him still as he cut the first slice of the lasagna, placing it onto your empty plate.
“Why, thank you,” you hummed, watching Matt’s careful movements as he cut a slice for himself. Finally set, Matt shone a smile your way as he took his seat. He wasn’t quite across from you, but it didn’t feel as though he was directly beside you, either; it was a comfortable angle, close and cozy.
“Pleasure’s all mine,” Matt murmured warmly. You used the tongs to place some Caesar salad onto the plate before handing them to Matt, who did the same for himself. When he finished with the tongs, you lifted your glass in his direction and, with a quirking raise of his brows and his lips, Matt lifted his as well, clinking it gently against yours.
It took you a second to come up with something to toast to - but you were more than happy with what you landed on.
“To… not needing first aid for a night.”
Matt’s laugh was warm, his eyes crinkling. “I will definitely drink to that.”
With your lips still upturned, you took a sip of the wine. Strawberries, wrapped in bits of sugar, exploded over your tongue in subtle bubbles. It was sugary in a good way - not overwhelming, still tasting like wine but sweet enough to make your eyes go wide at how it was possible to make something alcoholic taste that delicious.
“Wow,” you hummed, licking your lips. “That’s really good.”
You could feel pride emanating from Matt at your side.
“Glad you like it.”
Swirling the drink once, you set it down, reaching for your cutlery. As your fingers graced the metal, though, you paused.
“Matt?”
Matt shifted his head, the tilt of it angling more closely toward you. “Yeah?”
The lighting glinted off your fork and knife where your fingertips just barely brushed them. Those fingers now lay flat on the table, stretched over the wood with light, fleeting taps - in front of the dinner Matt had prepared for you, pouring time and effort and money into it, all full of thought and compassion. You shifted your jaw and turned to Matt, a twist in your brow and over your lips drawn up by a twist in your stomach, despite your ever-growing hunger.
“Why are you doing all this?”
A pause floated between you before Matt sighed, all-knowing and patient as he leaned an inch closer to you.
“I just want to make sure you feel comfortable here, that’s all.”
“But I do already,” you asserted. “This is just… it’s really, really nice of you.”
His smiling lips twitched up, but that knowing glimmer in his eyes glinted just as bright in the gold of lamp and window light.
“You deserve to be treated nicely.”
“You can treat me nicely without spending all this time and money on me.”
Matt sighed. His expression was pointed as he turned his head to face you fully.
“I guess that may be true,” Matt murmured. His voice was low, convincing in its rasp, certain in its lilt. “But I can’t think of anything I’d rather spend my time and money on, so, I might as well spend it on you.”
You narrowed your eyes - but it didn’t stick. In the place of the expression came a softer look, this strange mixture of awe and, admittedly, comfort, that you couldn’t help but eye Matt with. He matched your expression for a brief second before gesturing to your plate.
“Don’t let the food get cold. I’m looking forward to hearing your compliments.”
Laughing at Matt, you shook your head before finally digging in.
The lasagna, needless to say, was one of the best meals you’d ever enjoyed. Each bite was bursting with flavor, rich cheese and seasoned meat mingling with the slight sweet acidity of sauce in a dance of savory goodness over your tastebuds. You caught Matt almost laughing at your first bite - what with how high your brows had risen, how long it took you to fully savor the perfection of each bite before eagerly going for another.
It was an easy sort of dinner with Matt. The conversation stayed very light. You talked about simple, silly things - stories from school, first jobs, and the happy parts of family- whatever was pleasant. Matt told you little stories of his and Foggy’s college misadventures, along with other accounts from law school and his internship with Landman and Zach. As your meals slowly disappeared from your plates, wine draining from your glasses, these sweet little conversations continued between the two of you, wholesome and pure in their unpretentious patterning.
It wasn’t that things couldn’t have been deeper between the two of you - not in the slightest. It was just nice, for once, to focus on things that were nice.
And we’ll have to talk about everything else soon enough.
These chances to be light, to feel like life is simple and innocent and rife with goodness-
We don’t get them often, anyway.
You’d stepped into the bedroom as Matt cleared the table, rinsing dishes and wrapping leftovers to place in his fridge. As you wrapped a hand around the upper edge of his sheets, the living room lamp went out behind you. His voice sounded out from the doorway not more than a minute later.
“Think you made that bed better than I did.”
With a laugh, you turned back to face him. Matt leaned back against the doorframe, relaxed, with his arms wrapped loosely over his chest in the dark. Eyes glinting, his head tipped, then tipped further, as those lips twitched out into a dimpled smile.
“I don’t know,” you hummed, turning back to pull the sheets down. “I remember it being pretty perfect that first night.” As you turned, settling onto the bed, the slow rise and fall of Matt’s chest in a smiling breath sent calm washing over you.
“I guess you’d have the authority on which of us is better at it. You know, given that you’re the one who can see.”
You snorted, still sitting up as you tugged the covers up and over your knees. “Unfair advantage, I guess.”
Matt chuckled, hanging his head as he shook it. You twisted your hands over the sheets, feeling their cool slide across your skin as you bit at the inside of your cheek. The inner part of your core twisted as you spoke.
“I know I probably sound like a broken record at this point, but-“ you breathed, hitching on your words as Matt’s head drew up, unfocused eyes patient and kind in your direction. “I really appreciate everything you’ve been doing. It’s- more than I could have possibly expected.”
The corner of Matt’s lips twitched before they pursed slightly, the smile behind them all-consuming - something of satisfaction, maybe pride. With a dart of your tongue over your lips, you put all your effort into keeping your voice relaxed, controlled, cool and collected.
“Tonight was really… special.”
Another tilt of his head and Matt’s smile drew up, low and meaningful.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “I agree.”
A warm, tingling sensation crept up your skin from your toes beneath the sheets, your legs and torso wrapped in Matt’s clothes. You bit your lip without thinking, though it didn’t last, as your mouth drew up into a small smile. From where Matt stood across the room, you could feel his attention on you, could feel the energy buzzing through every molecule of air between the two of you, emanating in all its intensity from him to you and back again.
His shoulders held his sweater taut, sweatpants hugging his thighs - all that soft gray layered over him in fleecy, inviting luxury.
At least, it seemed like luxury to you.
After this beat of twinkling eyes and a million words left unsaid, sensations left undescribed, Matt straightened. He placed a hand against his door and turned to you with a smile in his whispery tone.
“Sleep well, okay?”
As if in a daze, you nodded, thoughtless and hazy. But, before Matt could fully step out of the room, you snapped out of it.
“Hey, uh- Matt?”
You tapped your fingers over the sheets as Matt stepped back, brows raised, expectant and listening. A breath, and you twisted your lips together.
As much as you knew what was responsible, what was appropriate, what you were supposed to be doing - you couldn’t just let him walk off.
“Are you… sleeping on the couch again?”
Matt’s brows drew together only slightly, his lips twitching upward.
“That was the plan.”
“Oh,” you nodded. “Well - I mean, I know it’s a very comfortable couch, but usually, a person’s preference is to sleep in their own bed. So, I was thinking-”
“I thought we established that you will not be sleeping on the couch?”
Matt’s interruption was clear, low, his tone between adamance and something lighter. You shifted your jaw, biting at the inside of your cheek as Matt leaned back against the doorframe once more. Seeing him standing like that sent your voice lower, fainter, tainted with something more covetous than you’d intended.
“I didn’t say I would be.”
Brows still drawn, Matt’s eyes narrowed, his tongue darting over his lips. You cleared your throat, tone straightforward as you continued.
“And,” you offered, the statement a simple fact - despite the curling nerves in your stomach arguing otherwise. “It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.”
Matt’s jaw shifted, and your focus caught on how sharp it was, stubbled and strong.
“That’s true.”
“And,” you offered again, as if this required all the convincing in the world, your heart thumping with the lie. “I’m not sure if you noticed, but it can get cold in here. Especially when it’s just me.”
The surface of Matt’s eyes glittered with something teasing, though the rest of his expression turned plain, oblivious.
“I’m happy to get you a sweater. I also have more blankets if you need them.”
Seriously?
“Matt,” you breathed, exasperation leaking through your voice. Matt smiled.
“I’m kidding.”
You twisted your lips in a smile toward Matt, and he grinned back in the dark - but he stayed where he was, arms crossed over his chest. Tilting your head, your brow furrowed, but Matt’s words stopped you before you could ask why he wouldn’t just get into the bed with you already.
It was hesitant, the way he sounded out each word. Not weak, but wary.
“Can I tell you something? Something I’ve… noticed, about you?”
His brows drew together, and he brushed one hand up and down the tricep of the opposite arm. Your brow furrowed, but you shrugged. “Sure.”
With a slow flick of his tongue along his lips, Matt dipped his head, then lifted it to face you as he spoke. The caution in his eyes was unmistakable. You could tell, though, that every last inch of his expression was only bathed entirely in compassion.
“It seems like you can rush into things without - I don’t know - fully considering what you actually want. Then, when you realize what you’ve done, you get scared,” Matt paused, “and you pull away.”
Your eyes flashed. As if possessed, you nodded. It struck you, hard, how easily Matt read you. He sighed, his thumbs tapping over his skin.
“I just want to make sure I don’t accidentally encourage you to- I don’t want you to cross your own boundaries without realizing and then feel shitty about it later.” Eying Matt carefully, you felt yourself marveling at his assessments and how strikingly accurate they were.
And not only that, but how much he truly wanted to treat you right, in a manner as personally accurate as he possibly could.
But, before you could lose yourself in Matt’s benevolence, in his tender analysis of you, he placed the final cherry on top of it all.
“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me. Now, or… ever.”
Your breath hitched in the dark. It only took you a second to collect yourself, close your parted lips, and shake your head.
“I can assure you, what I feel around you is the furthest thing from uncomfortable.” You glanced down at your knees, tucked beneath the sheets, and shifted your jaw. “But you’re right. I- I’m definitely afraid of getting close.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“I know.” Then, you turned your head back up to face Matt, whose focus remained on you in all its softened, hopeful, kind glory. “But I’m not afraid of you.”
At that, something shifted in Matt’s eyes. They grew darker, then cracked from shadow to gold as the lines in his forehead came in and out of focus with the lift and fall of his brows. Your lips parted, words soft.
“And I would really like for you to stay.”
The air in the room swirled and stilled. Matt blinked, shifted his jaw, ran a hand up and down one of his arms.
“Are you sure?”
Okay.
He really needs to just take this win for what it is.
“Matt,” you asserted, shifting over to make room in the bed before giving a sharp, pointed finger toward the space now next to you. “Get in.”
“Alright, alright,” Matt smiled, finally stepping away from that doorframe. He lifted his hands to the back collar of his sweater and tugged it up over his head, leaving on the t-shirt beneath it. Your jaw fell slack at the brief sight of his abdomen, where the t-shirt rode up in his movements before falling back down. It was a quick flash in the dark, sure - but a six-pack isn't exactly mistakable in any lighting.
Matt folded the sweater and placed it atop his dresser, and you forced yourself to close your lips. You stretched out to finally let your head rest atop his pillows, trying and failing to ignore the flutter of butterflies in your stomach - especially when his weight dipped the mattress, the covers over you shifting as he slipped beneath them.
You turned to Matt in the bed to see that he was already facing you.
His hair was fluffy and mussed atop the pillow, a telltale smile across those dark eyes. You felt your own eyes smiling, and you turned to face the other way, warm in the wrap of his clothes around your body.
“Goodnight,” Matt whispered from behind you.
He didn’t move, though. You weren’t sure why you’d expected him to.
Well - he did need more convincing than I thought he would to get in here in the first place.
And his biggest goal is to keep me comfortable, keep me feeling safe.
He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that.
You let out a short, sharp sigh through your nose, blinking hard.
Fuck it.
Barely turning your body, you angled your head backward to half-face Matt. Your arm moved searchingly beneath the covers, and you felt something spark in both you and Matt as your hand reached his elbow. Your fingers drifted down surely and carefully until they hit his hand, which you grasped.
With a deep breath, you tugged his arm around your waist, praying that this was okay.
It only took Matt a second to show you that it certainly was.
Behind you, Matt’s warmth shifted closer, closer - until he finally pressed his body against yours. Your lungs all but stopped when you felt his arm curl tight and strong around the sensitive curve of your waist. The line of him shifted behind you, every inch of his front meshing over every inch of your back. Even his legs, thick and driving in their indisputable power, moved up to lazily tangle with yours. You obliged, blinking, swallowing hard, fighting a sigh in the dark where he’d become all but wrapped around you.
You were tense, rigid, lying on the edge of a knife - and then you were a limp, pliant puddle in Matt’s arms, entirely docile where you lay enveloped in all of him.
Already wrapped in his clothes, you were now wrapped in his body, every part of him curled around you from fabric to muscle and skin in their flowing, pulsing warmth. His breath felt hot and tingling at the back of your neck, where his lips lay inches from your skin. Every inhale and exhale at your back drew you into him further - along with that tight arm around you. Matt’s hand stretched out to press firmly against your ribcage, splitting your torso from where it would have hit the mattress. His breathing flowed cyclically with yours, and each breath sent another wave of goosebumps and shivers over your neck, down your spine, from where the heat of his breath met your bare skin. You swore you could feel his heart where it beat between your shoulders, hardy and dizzyingly rough.
And, somewhere in all of that, you sensed a feeling of relief in Matt - like he’d been waiting, hoping, praying for this, too.
Matt whispered to you again, the sound of it coiling you hotly from the inside out, despite your shivers.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
It took all the strength you had left inside your slack mind and body to wish him the same comfort, smiling to yourself as you let your eyelids close.
“Goodnight.”