You found him on the floor of his apartment, gasping for breath and hand pressed against a wound, blood from it staining the hardwoods and his skin. His eyes were wide and wild, scanning the area he heard you in.
You rushed over, groceries you had brought discarded haphazardly on the floor as you slid beside him, immediately bringing your hands to lift his hands from his wound, pulling his shirt above the cut, now only trickling blood.
"Matt, are you able to speak."
He gasped, a soft and weak 'yes' spilling out of his lips, a groan following.
"When did this happen?" You ask, getting up quickly to run to his bathroom, opening the cabinets under his sink to grab all of the medical supplies you could see and a bowl water and rag.
"About-" he gasped in pain as you press down on the wound, praying the bleeding stopped as soon as possible. "About an hour ago, across town. Mugger overwhelmed me and found a soft spot in the armor, ran away with the purse."
You cringe at the thought of him running back here on the rooftop, gritting his teeth as he fought to not collapse in pain.
"Why the fuck did you not call me, Matt."
He cringed at the visceral anger in your tone, gasping you let off pressure, pulling off the cloth, sighing in relief as you saw only coagulated blood.
"I didn't want to bother- I was fine. I am fine." You scoff, dipping the now bloody rag into the water, watching as the blood spread like food coloring in the clear. You pulled it out, wringing it out.
"How much blood did you lose? Enough to need a transfusion?" You wiped around the wound, gentle as you could be. He shook his head, eyes closed as he relaxed into your careful ministrations.
"Not enough for transfusion. I'll be fine, I told you."
You couldn't help but feel a little satisfied as he hissed soon after the idiotic statement, his knuckles blanching white as he balled his hands into fists to stop himself from writhing in pain as you wiped the quickly scabbing wound with alcohol.
"You're not fine, and you could have fucking bled out had I not came by to give you groceries. Which are still on the floor, by the way, asshole."
He went silent at your anger, barely reacting as you rubbed on antibiotic ointment, pressing a thick bandage onto the wound. You made quick work of bandaging the wound, wrapping around his torso to keep pressure on it, softly whispering for him to move his chest up as you went around his back.
You stood, cringing as the metallic smell of blood finally hit your nose. You walked to the sink, watching as the blood ran off of your hands in a river of watered down red, swirling as it drained.
You heard him moving before you saw him in your peripherals. You quickly turned, storming over as he struggled to get up.
You grabbed his arm, slinging it around your neck, walking with him over to the bar. You cringed as you felt a wet feeling soak into your side, realizing quickly it was the risidual blood on his shirt. You stopped, propping him on the counter, turning to face him.
You moved to pull his shirt over his head, careful as you grabbed the hem to avoid the dark stain of blood on his left.
"As much as I am down to, don't you think it's a little soon after I've been stabbed to start shedding clothes?"
You swat him on his arm, scoffing. "Stop trying to get into my pants, Murdock. Just trying to make sure you don't get blood all over those expensive, silky sheets in your bed, sweetheart."
You manage to finally pull it over his head, discarding it on the ground. "Oh wow, trying to get me into bed and calling me sweetheart. You really are falling hard."
You just huff a laugh, grabbing his arm once again to walk him to his room. He sits on the edge of the bed, gasping slightly as he did so in pain. "This one's gonna sting for a while, won't it."
"Most likely. Do you need your phone by the bed, in case you need any more help?"
He went silent. You watched him as he balled the covers under him into his hands. "Can-" he cursed under his breath, heaving a sigh. "Can you stay here?"
You can't help but blush at the request, turning even redder when you remember he can sense the blood rushing to your cheeks.
"You can sleep on the couch, or I can sleep on the couch, I just... in case I do need some extra help." You knew subconsciously that it wasn't truly about him possibly needing his bandaging redone, but you weren't going to bring it up.
"Absolutely not," you say, crossing your arms. He seems to stiffen, expecting you to say something about how strange it would be. "I will not be sleeping on that god awful couch, and neither will you. You'll reopen your wound, and I'm not getting back pain for the next day because you want us to be in separate rooms."
He seemed to relax, letting out a soft chuckle at your snarky response.
"I have to go put your groceries up. You lay down, and don't move too much. I do not want to get blood on my hands again. Literally."
He sighed, twisting to push his feet into the bed and under the covers, flopping down as his head bounced on the pillow under him. You made quick work of putting up the food you had gotten, sighing as you threw away a carton of milk that had busted in your rush to get to the then bleeding Matt.
You made your way to the bedroom, walking over to his dresser, pulling out a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt that made you look two times smaller than you actually were. You pulled off your graphic tee and jeans, tugging on his clothes quickly, ignoring the attention you knew Matt was giving you.
"How can it feel like your staring at my ass right now." He was turned on his good side, head propped on his hand as eyes stared in your direction, distant as always, burning with something you couldn't, or didn't, want to place.
He shrugged, rolling back to lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. You climbed into his bed, running a hand over the expensive sheets appreciatively before slipping under the thick covers, rolling yourself in them like a burrito. You began laughing as you heard Matt's protests, rolling as you unfurled the covers around you, rolling you towards him.
You found yourself with your nose brushing against his chest, his breath fanning hot against the top of your head. "Nice to see you here," you say jokingly, eyes wide as you looked up at him.
You twist around, back to him, gasping slightly as an arms snakes around your waist. He pulls you to him, chest colliding with his back. "Is this okay," he asks softly, chin resting on the top of your head.
"Is it alright with you?" You ask softly, your hand tracing the veins in his hand resting on your stomach.
"As long as it is with you."
"Just shut up and go to sleep, Murdock." He huffs, brushing his lips against the top of your head.
"Good night."
"Good night."