Summary: Thursday’s party arrives, and you and Matt follow suit. Things go a little sideways.
Warnings/Tags: One tense moment, and that’s it! Egregious amounts of flirting, *GASP* They touch?!, Matt’s still a slut BUT, also featured: his Catholic guilt
Cross-posted on AO3!
Party No. 2’s playlist here!
Wood creaks beneath your feet as you ascend the steps of the porch, its extravagance wrapping around the sides of the house and out of your line of sight. Twenty-somethings have spilled out of the front door and dispersed around the porch, some sitting on its railing and some gathered in clumps further away from the door, drinks in hand. Amelia trails behind you, a few people giving her familiar waves, and gives you a light poke in the arm.
"You sure you wanna go in? Tab always gets a little crazy when she throws a party," Amelia remarks, catching up to where you now stand beside the door. A sick bassline thumping out from inside confirms her statement, the door's stained glass showing outlines of a crowd within.
You take a breath, it fogging in the frigid air, and curse the cold under your breath, turning to look at her. "Yeah. I told him I'd be here."
"You told him you might be here. Can still dip out if it's too much. He's just a guy, anyways."
"I know that, but... he seems— really cool. I want to see him again," you say, albeit a bit bashful, and watch Amelia grin. Her toothy, evil one that means she's about to say something stupid.
"See him again?"
You snort despite yourself, waving a finger at her. "Alright, pack up the blind jokes. Get 'em all out while you still can."
"Don't worry, that was the last one. For now." She waggles her eyebrows as you make a disbelieving noise, sliding out of the way to make room for a couple of people to walk in. "How are you even going to find him? Everyone in the state's probably in there. And it's not like he can look for you."
"I don't know, I think I'm just gonna look around. Traverse the place and shit."
Amelia chuckles, putting on a snooty accent. "Human female searches for mate amongst fellow Homo sapiens…"
"Wow. It's like David Attenborough's really here!" You put a mocking hand over your heart, and she puts hers up like she's surrendering.
"Hey man, young him can get it," Amelia says, eyes picturing something you can only imagine to be less than PG-13, then continues, "I wonder how many movies he's actually narrated."
"Probably two billion. He's like this haunting presence in every nature documentary."
"You should let me narrate what you're doing to your guy. Like a play by play. 'Oh! Wow. She just started vigorously twerking!'"
"Classic me."
"Imagine he reaches out to smack your hypothetical twerking ass."
"Stop! Don't make me think that." Giggling, you give a lighthearted sigh. "I honestly feel like it's a good thing that he can't see me. I have zero poker face." Her evil smile returns, and you pre-emptively roll your eyes.
"Human female showcases absolutely no poker face whatsoever…"
"I'm opening the door."
Twisting open the doorknob reveals what feels like a teeny parallel universe within. Christmas lights are strung haphazard on the walls, flashing different colours in a steady, slow rhythm and mixing with the light of the table lamps around the rooms. There's so many people inside that it feels like you just stepped into the rainforest.
"Hey, if you need me, just text me, okay? I'll keep my phone on vibrate," Amelia says, giving you a light touch with her elbow to get your attention. Someone calls her name, but she swats a dismissive hand in their direction, not looking away from you.
"Okay! Thanks," you respond, waving your phone at her to show that you have it before shoving it back into your pocket. Her eyes sparkle with mirth, and she gives you a two finger salute.
"Good luck."
Amelia gets sucked into the crowd in five seconds flat, disappearing deep within the depths of the masses, and leaves you to adventure on your own.
You stand frozen for a moment, arms hanging limp at your sides as you try and map out a way to get through the raving crowd. People are fully hooting and hollering to the music, and you absentmindedly wonder if this house's ancient foundation is even able to handle such force.
When someone makes a particularly impressive slide from the dance floor, a path reveals itself to you, and you eagerly rush forward to take it, squeezing your shoulders inward to try and slip between the wall and the strangers opposite. It honestly feels like you should have brought some rope to leave a trail, because upon taking a glance at where you just came through, the opening is completely gone.
At one point, you're almost pressed against the wall, and you have to do this sideways shuffle maneuver to get through. There's a couple making out in the corner that are unavoidable along this path, so you very awkwardly slide past them, giving a grimace of a smile before you can help it as they pause to stare at you. The girl laughs, watching you for a second before she descends once more upon the guy who she's partnered with.
After what seems like years, you finally pop out into an open area that looks like a hallway, only a few people conversing down its lengths while the main crowd dances at its entrance. Sweat's already starting to form on your neck and upper lip from all of the body heat radiating off of everyone. You stand just outside of the party, taking a deep breath, and take a step closer to the storm, craning your neck to see if you can catch any glimpse of Matt over the chaos at your front. All of the bodies seem to blend together in this light.
The whole thing makes you feel a little desperate, and you tug at your skirt, trying not to chastise yourself for coming here in the first place. Matt was sort of aloof, yeah. But he seemed great. But you also don't even see him here. God, why did you have to try to be all cute and vague? You should've explicitly asked if he was going to show up. Gone over exactly where you'd meet. Shit, maybe clarified his exact intentions, while you were at it. Make actually seeing each other again a viable, concrete thing instead of a weird, hazy idea that's built on ninety percent hopes and dreams and the power of friendship.
Groaning to yourself, you retreat, slithering back into the shadows a few feet from the raging crowd. You lean head first against the wall with an unceremonious thunk, staring at the faint scratches in its wallpaper and feeling wholeheartedly stupid. It's a pretty pattern, though. Angel's trumpet and bleeding heart flowers repeating in different positions all the way down the wall. You go to caress the shapes of them with your pinkie, but halt when you feel a presence envelop you from behind, the sound of their approach having been cancelled out by the surrounding clamor. Though not touching, you can still feel their energy at your back, and your whole body stiffens in fear.
"It's you again," a voice says in your ear, and you fully feel yourself jump through the roof of the house and into space. As well as yell. Two things can be true.
On instinct, you turn around and move to punch the person square in the face.
Your hands make no such punch, however. They've somehow been frozen halfway to their destination, a pressure locking them in place, and your now crazed eyes frantically dart around to catch up with what's happening and to process it.
In front of you stands Matt, your wrists clutched firm in his grasp on either side of his head. Though they're not suspended painfully, he doesn't have a feather light touch, either. You can feel his fingers through the sleeves of your jacket. His expression is oddly focused, and you stare up at him in shock, chest heaving like you're the heroine in some 80's bodice ripper.
Remembering yourself, you wrench your wrists from his clutches. "Jesus Christ dude! You scared the shit out of me!" You exclaim, absentmindedly rubbing where he'd touched you. It's clammy, just like the rest of your body, which only makes you feel worse. Matt starts laughing so hard he throws his head back, and your mouth forms a tiny, frustrated frown.
He's not wearing a suit today. The formality of it's been replaced with an oversized, patterned maroon sweater and dark wash jeans, and he looks surprisingly laid back. It's a stark contrast to how he'd looked when you first met, but it suits him.
Through the aftershocks of laughter, Matt puts a hand on his stomach, stating, "Didn't mean to sneak up on 'ya."
"Well, you did." Matt adjusts his glasses, and you get a brief glimpse of his eyes, only able to catch that they're brown before they're hidden once more beneath his shades. He wasn't looking directly at you, moreso at your nose, and it gives you a very physical reminder that he can't see you.
Brow slowly starting to knit together, you take a breath, wanting to speak, but find the words a traffic jam in your throat in hesitation.
"What?" Matt asks, a bit breathless from his exertions. He takes a step back so as not to continue crowding you, which you appreciate.
"…How did you find me?"
"I…" Momentarily taken aback, he straightens his spine, wincing at a beat drop in the new song playing, then composes himself. "You have a very distinct perfume."
Your lip forms a confused 'o' as you ponder over his answer for a second, and you scoff, giving him an equally as confused look. "Enough to smell in this room? There's so many people in here."
"I've got a good nose."
"What?" The disbelief in your voice is evident, and you look left and right, as if that will provide clarity. "Are you just like," you jokingly lick your finger and hold it up as if checking the wind, realising as your hand's already up that he can't see it, "'hmm, notes of jasmine… There she is!'"
"I don't exactly lick my fingers, but yeah." He must've heard you stick yours in your mouth. Slightly embarrassing. "Yours is sort of… spicy-sweet. It's easy to recognise."
He remembered your perfume. You've met this man once, and he remembered your perfume enough to recognise it, follow your scent within a crowded room, and find you. What would hide and seek be like with this guy? He'd fine you by nose alone.
"Spicy-sweet? You hungry?" You say, tittering as you fidget with a thread on your jacket sleeve. A small, almost knowing smile splits his mouth.
"In a way."
You shoot a pointed look at Matt, having had enough vagueness for one night. It’s starting to make your head hurt. "Alright, let's put a ceasefire to the talking in riddles, okay? I know I started it, but I was literally just worrying that I'd fucked up last time by being all cute and mysterious and you weren't actually gonna show up."
"Nice to know you've been thinking about me."
That gets you. Your whole body flushes with a surge of hot embarrassment, and it feels like you're going to burn alive.
"Well— you've had to think about me at least once. You're here."
"Never said I hadn't." Matt tilts his neck like he's remembered something, looking a bit predacious. "It's a bit unfair, you know."
You cross your hands behind your back, pressing your weight against the wall and onto them. "What?"
"You know my name, I don’t know yours… Not very quid pro quo."
"Oh we're using legal terms? Let's see…" You pretend to tap your chin in thought, "I plead the fifth."
"I don't think that means what you think it does."
"How do you know? I could be a lawyer. Wear suits everyday and have a personal assistant running around doing stuff for me."
"Because pleading the fifth is… in simple terms, saying you're not going to incriminate yourself. And I don't see how telling me your name would incriminate you in any way—unless you're some sort of wild vigilante—so I think it's safe to say you're not working the court."
"Hm." Narrowing your eyes, you give him a suspicious once over. "That's very lawyerly of you to say."
"You'd never guess what I'm studying."
"Art history."
He chuckles, pointing a finger at you. "Great guess. Unfortunately—"
A very large, very rowdy man strides right up behind Matt as he gallivants through the hallway, Matt remarkably flinching out of the way just before he's able to be shoved with a strange amount of gracefulness. Though in performing this maneuver, something clatters to the floor at his back, and you spot his cane rolling along the hardwood, presumably dislodged from his back pocket since it's so oversized in comparison.
"Oh shit! Sorry, man!" The behemoth says, gritting his teeth in a wince before continuing on his path to one of the doors at the end of the hall. You glare at him, then switch your gaze back to Matt, finding him rooted to the ground, jaw clenched abnormally tight. Uneasy at seeing him in such a way, you lower your voice, feeling your shoulders tense at the strange edge within the air.
"You good?"
Matt gives a dry laugh, exhaling with more force than necessary, and swallows. "Yeah. I'm fine."
"…Okay." You clench your toes in your shoes, not knowing where to put this newfound nervous energy, and then remember that Matt's cane is still on the floor. At least that's something. Bending over, you reach your arm down, stretching it out to try and grab ahold of the cane without flashing the whole party your ass. "Here, I'll—"
"Don't."
You freeze. Matt practically spat the word at you, the two syllables louder than anything else you'd ever heard him say before.
"I'll get it." He still sounds aggressive, but maybe a tad less than a second ago. He shuffles in the direction of the cane, crouching down and miracuously finding it on his first try. Matt stands up again right around the same time you do, and you back away from him as far as you're able without breaking apart from societal niceties.
You clutch your arms against your body, all amusement in your face gone, and repeat yourself, the word sounding small. "Okay."
Matt almost stops tucking his cane back in his pocket when he hears your response, lips fast forming a thin line. He secures the cane, then hesitantly takes a small step towards you. Your fingers start to pinch the skin of your arms.
"Hey, I… I'm sorry." He looks like he's about to outstretch his hand, then decides against it. "I just—" Matt struggles to get the words out, "I don't like pity."
Your voice sounds hard, even to your ears. "I wasn't pitying you. I was trying to grab your stick." He moves to say something, but you put a hand up, almost correcting yourself before you see he'd actually swallowed whatever words had been in his mouth. Blind man instincts win again. "And you know what, Matt? I really don't fucking appreciate being yelled at by people. So you better fix that shit up real quick."
He nods, keeping quiet as if waiting for you to say something else, but you don't.
"It's a… thing. I've had," Matt finally says, and you can feel frustration boiling at your gut at the words, but he rectifies it. "But that's just an excuse. I shouldn't have done that. You were just trying to help."
"Correct," you say, letting out a long, irritated sigh. It helps fizzle out a bit of the anger you're feeling, its weight at least leaving the very forefront of your mind, and you put a hand on your forehead. "Do people… infantilise you, or something?"
"Moreso act like if they breathe too hard, I'll die."
"Is that why you didn't tell me the truth the first time I asked about your glasses?"
"Partially." He forms the beginnings of a smile, "But mostly, I just wanted to fuck with you."
Surprisingly, you laugh. Not a belly laugh, but enough that you're able to see a smidgen of relief flash across Matt's face.
"I dunno. You seem pretty well off to me. You've got those blind person superpowers."
His smile starts to fade almost as soon as the words leave your mouth, the corners of his lips turning downward. "What did you say?"
"You know." He stays still, waiting for you to elaborate. "The thing? When someone loses one sense, all the others get stronger? That's why you were able to dodge that guy, 'cause you sensed it or something, right? Or is that just a myth?"
"No, yeah. It's… I sensed him. Yeah," Matt says, resting his back against the wall, still looking a bit tense. You open your mouth to respond, then at the same time feel a bead of sweat that had apparently formed between your shoulders roll all the way down your spine and onto your lower back. The words that had been on your tongue evaporate into thin air, unlike your sweat.
"Can you sense how hot it is in here? Because I'm sweating. It's nasty. It's like the swamps of Mordor on my back."
Giggling, Matt pushes himself off of the wall, making a sweeping motion with his arm. "Do you want to go outside, Sméagol?"
"That's Gollum, right?" You get a nod of affirmation and smile to yourself, turning around in an awkward circle to try and find the door to the backyard through the now gyrating crowd, as the front was far too crowded for your taste upon entering. "Yeah, sure. Where the hell is the door?"
"I think I'm the wrong guy to ask."
"Was talking to myself. Not everything's about you, Matt," you say, sarcasm practically dripping from the sentiment. A few more searching circles are turned before you finally lock eyes with the outline of a sliding door on the other side of the room, it having blended in with the walls. "Wait, I think I found it."
"And people say miracles don't happen." Matt grins when he hears the disapproving noise that echoes from your throat, and you wave a hand at him to follow you, taking several steps into the crowd to walk through and part the ones off to the side like the Red Sea, then stop in your tracks.
Matt didn't see what the hell you just did, nor is it likely that he possesses the ability to navigate a bunch of people in the same way that you're able to. Gonna have to get used to that.
Slowly backtracking, you find Matt standing patiently in the hall, a smug little look on his face. "Walk off?"
"Perhaps." He doesn't say anything in response, revelling in your mistake, and you resist the urge to make a smartass comment. Squinting, you scan over the swarm between the two of you and the door once again, trying to figure out how you'd get Matt through, then look back at him, picking at a nail. "Would it be weird if I just… grabbed you and walked us through?"
"Depends on where you grab me."
You gasp, thwapping him on the shoulder. "No! Bad! Bad Matt!" He shrugs, playing it off, and you scoff. "Jesus. I'll be grabbing you on your arm, weirdo."
Tentatively, you reach out your hand, lightly wrapping your fingers around his forearm's circumference. The material of Matt's sweater is oddly soft beneath your fingertips, which you wouldn't have expected from something that looks so thick.
Matt turns himself to face where you're grasping him, and you turn around, heading into the middle of the party to try and make a beeline for the back door, knowing it'll be the quickest route for him. Every time someone accidentally hits you with an appendage or bumps you with their hip, you take a peek over your shoulder to make sure that Matt is doing okay. He's sort of gliding between everyone, and you can't tell if it's because you've beared the brunt of the collisions with people or he just knows where to go. The latter of which would be insane, but you don’t put it past him with what he's showcased he can do so far.
The hoarde is thinned out by the door since there's people coming in and out every now and then, and you slide it open, welcoming the crisp, deliciously cool winter air as it wraps around you in little wisps the moment you step through the threshold and onto the backyard's section of the wraparound porch. This particular bit is a bit more open than the front, the property having had more yard in the back to give up for its construction, so all of the people are a lot more spaced out.
For a second, it's the respite you've been needing for the past several minutes. You hold out your free arm, exhaling contentedly and letting the lower temperatures outside wash away the sweat collected on your skin.
Then the wind comes.
"Homygodohmygodcoldcoldcoldcold!" You shriek, eyes widening in shock as the breeze rips through your very bones. Matt slides the door closed behind you, and you desperately slap the arm you'd just been outstretching onto the forearm you aren't already holding, starting to reposition him. "Human shield me. Right now."
Emitting a sort of confused sound as you clasp his arms in your hands, Matt lets you manhandle him to stand in front of you while you cower against the brick wall, trying to warm yourself as much as possible. The next gust blows through the yard and onto the porch, then hits Matt square in the back, mostly avoiding you save for bits of your legs and face. Sighing in relief, you sheath your fingers in the depths of your coat pockets, making Matt chuckle, crossing his arms.
"Better?"
"Absolutely." You tut your tongue, attempting to squish your jacket closed at your front with your elbows so you don’t have to remove your hands. "I keep on forgetting how cold it is. I should've packed thermal tights."
The wind whistles between the wood holding up the porch's bannister, and Matt moves his head curiously. "Packed?"
Might as well drop the bomb while it's not atomic. "Oh. Yeah. Uh… I don't actually live here. I'm staying with a friend for the holidays."
"'Here' as in…?"
"Massachusetts."
He's goes quiet for a long second. "…So when are you here 'till?"
"The day before school starts back up. For you guys, at least." You press your shoulders into the brick at your back, welcoming the harsh texture through the layers of your clothes. "I graduated."
"Master's?"
"Bachelor's. In English."
Matt nods slowly, obviously contemplative. "Okay. That's about ten days, right?"
"Yeah? I think so." Taking your hands from your pockets, you use them to fully cocoon yourself beneath your coat, holding them underneath your armpits to keep them warm. Matt's quiet for another beat, and you notice a small smile spreading upon his lips.
"I can work with that."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"We've got ten days to get to know each other as much as we physically can." He states, adjusting himself to shield you from another rush of wind that blows in from a different direction. "Or nine, if we're counting today."
You snort, thinking that he's trying to joke around with you somehow, but he doesn't budge. Nervously, you slide around the ring on your index finger. "Are you being serious?"
Matt makes a small gesture towards you with his tucked in hand. "If that's okay with you."
Alright. You need to lay out the facts, here. This guy is smart. Funny. Apologetic. And—you've got to admit it—very pretty. As well as a pre-law student, which means beaucoup bucks in the future. Not that it would actually matter, but it's nice to know there's gonna be stability in his life. And he's offering a sort of… what, trial period? To you.
What about Amelia? You're in Massachusetts to see her. It would be shitty of you to spend all of your time here with a guy you met at a party when it's her time of need. The rest of the friend group couldn't fly out, and her family is absolute horseshit, so you're an anchor for her right now, and that's not going to change for Matt. She'd need to be okay with you going to see him, and even when you do, it can't take up the whole break.
Then there's the fact of your leaving. What are Matt's intentions? If he's trying to just get into your pants, that's not gonna happen. It doesn't seem likely, since he specifically said 'get to know you,' but maybe that could be a euphemism? And even if he doesn't mean that, would he be willing to do long distance? Would he be committed?
God, look at you. Thinking two bajillion years into the future instead of just answering the man's question. It's really quite simple. Do you want to keep on seeing him, or do you not? You can figure out the complexities later.
"Yeah." You offhandedly wonder if he can hear the erratic beating of your heart, but know that would be ridiculous. "I'm okay with that."
"Yeah?" He gives a cheeky quirk of his brow, and you groan with fake annoyance.
"What is this, anyways? Is it… courting? I think it counts as courting on a technicality." His glasses catch the light again as he considers the question, and you trace their outline with your eyes, hearing the playfulness in your own voice. "You know, you don't even know what I look like. You're going based off of personality alone. Which is pretty commendable."
Matt moves a bit closer to you again, though you know this time it's not due to the wind. "What do you look like?"
That's… a loaded question. He may not be into you based off of what you look like, which is super great because you now know your personality is enough to attract people, but he might have built up an image of you in his mind. Which feels scarier than him actually being able to see you. What has he imagined you to look like, if at all? Characteristics and features that are total antitheses to your actual appearance? A huge sex fantasy?
"Oh, you know," you finally get out, deciding to go the humorous route. "Seven foot three, six heads… Oh! My nose grows when I lie."
It relieves you to see him amused instead of disappointed. "Never met a hydra before."
"Well, there's a first time for everything."
The steam emitting from the both of your sniggering intermingles with one another, the mist twisting and turning until it's carried off with the wind, and you look up at Matt, noticing the way his entire face is taken over when he smiles. There's dimples reaching the middle of his cheeks, his eyebrows knit together in good humor, and what you can see of his eyes crinkle at the ends.
Gaze trained on those same bits of his eyes, you almost bite your tongue before you summon up a bit of courage. "Hey. Can I ask you a question?"
"You just did," he states plainly, obviously thinking he's the funniest man in the world. You roll your eyes.
"Okay. Another one."
"Go ahead."
Matt looks like he's fully focused on what you have to say, which doesn't make you any less jittery. "…I'm gonna preface this by saying I know you've probably been asked this, like. A million times. And I know you probably hate it by now and will want to murder me for asking, but—"
"How did I go blind?"
You blink in surprise, nodding. "Yeah."
"I could tell where that was going." He laughs softly, voice gentle even as his words sound practiced. Like he's said these lines over and over. "It was when I was a kid. Pushed a guy out of a truck's way, and that truck happened to have some toxic waste that happened to get into my eyes."
Toxic waste? What is this guy, the Joker?
"Waitwaitwait. Hold on. So you're telling me that you one, saved a man's life, and two, have the most classic superhero origin story ever? Or villain, too, I guess, if you decide to be evil."
Matt's eyebrows raise, then his face lights up with a smile. "I guess you could say that."
"That sucks. But… was the old guy walking stupid? Or was the truck guy driving recklessly? 'Cause either way, it pisses me off. It wasn't your fault."
"It was sort of a mixture of both? There was another car involved, I'm pretty sure, but I don't remember everything. I try not to dwell on it too much."
"I can understand why," you say, in wonder. Matt's blind because he saved someone's life. And he's acting all blasé about it. If that were you, you'd never shut up.
But here he is, only having told you his backstory upon request. And as much ire as you feel for the idiotic strangers that forced Matt into such an impossible situation, you also feel a surge of fondness. The stomach flurries that you get when your guts are floating on a roller coaster.
"You're a good person."
"What?" He takes a step back, almost like he's startled, and you wonder if you've messed up. The breeze comes through again, trying to rip your hair out of its updo, and Matt rubs the back of his head. "Sorry, it's just— I don't think I agree."
"Why? Are you evil?"
"I hope not." He drops his hand with a sense of defeat. "It's just… there's a lot of things that I could do something about, but. I don't. Sort of eats me up inside."
You take a second, pondering over your answer. "I don't know what 'things' you're talking about, but… we can't do everything. It's not really any one person's responsibility to deal with all of the problems in the world."
"But what if you had the power to? Or at the very least, the power to fix one?"
At this, your brow furrows into a concerned crinkle. "What are you talking about, Matt?"
"It's nothing," he responds, shifting closer to you once again and plastering on a smile, clearly uncomfortable with where the conversation has turned. Alright. No more philosophy, then. "Call it Catholic guilt."
"You're Catholic?" Judgment rings clear in your tone, and you try to reign it in. "You're not one of those Catholics that's against autonomy and gay people and stuff, are you? That's a big no-go."
Matt shakes his head quickly. "No, no. It's— more of a comfort thing for me. The idea that… somewhere out there is a person that sees you. That can see you in your worst moments and still have the capability to forgive. And that we're all connected to Him."
"That's actually… a pretty interesting way of describing it." You look up at the slats in the porch's roof, seeing a few stars between the larger holes. "I've never really believed in the whole 'sky daddy' thing, but… it sounds really nice, the way you put it."
Matt chuckles, rubbing his palm against the fabric of his jeans. "Never heard God referred to as 'sky daddy' before, but like you said, first time for everything."
"Well he is technically a daddy—"
A sudden buzzing at your side makes you trail off your sentence. Your phone vibrates against your waist, and you glare at it for several seconds before finally picking it up from your pocket. A picture of Amelia's face warped with a stupid filter glows across the screen, and the icons on the bottom beckon for you to answer her call.
Glancing at Matt apologetically, you hover your finger above the green accept button. "I'm sorry. It's my friend. It's— she's the one I'm here with. I know she wouldn't call me if there wasn't something important."
Matt, seeming much more unbothered than you'd expect someone to be in this scenario, motions to your hand with his chin. "It's okay. Answer it."
Giving him a thankful pat on the shoulder, you pick up, pressing the phone up to your ear.
"Hello?" You ask, barely able to get the word out before a breathless Amelia responds. The song playing in the house echoes through her side of the call, too.
"Hey, I'm so sorry. I know you're— doing your thing. But we've gotta go. Or, I've gotta go, but I'm your ride and I'm not gonna ditch you."
That doesn't sound worrying at all. "What happened?"
"Remember—" Amelia yipes, and there's a muffled commotion before she's able to continue. "Remember Imogen?"
"Your ex? The crazy one?"
"She's here, apparently. And—" Another whoosh sounds off in the background, and you take a peek up at Matt, who you find looking thoroughly entertained. "—She may or may not be throwing things."
A strange squawking sound leaves your throat. "What is she throwing? It sounds like a fucking war-zone!"
"Pillows, jewelry… Oh! That's a phone."
"Okay, I'll— be right out, okay? I'll meet you out front."
"Sounds good. I'll meet you there. Sorry again!" She hangs up when another object's clattering has just started, and your lock screen shines in lieu of her face.
"That sounded hectic," Matt states, not even trying to hide his shit-eating grin. You groan, pressing the balls of your hands into your eyes.
"Yeah. Just a bit." When you uncover your eyes, you unlock your phone, tapping the messages app. "Since I have to go, can I— have your number?" Feeling a bit exposed, you follow the question with, "Since you're courting me and all."
"That I am." Matt huffs, reaching around to his back pocket and pulling out his own phone. He unlocks it, then clicks on an app that says 'contacts' out loud. "It's easier if you just put your information in my phone. Then you'll show up as a contact already and all that."
Putting your own device away, you gingerly take Matt's and start to type in your number. "How do you text? Is it better for me to just call you? I'm sort of horrible on the phone with new people, heads up."
"How can you be horrible on the phone? And whatever you'd prefer. I've got a system."
"I don't know! I just get all weird. I don’t know what to say." Holding up his phone, you level the camera with yourself and take a very tame photo, making a peace sign with your fingers, then save your contact, giving it back to Matt. "Just took a really hot contact photo, by the way. My whole tit was out."
"I'll have to ask Foggy to describe it to me." You giggle, glancing at the door, and Matt turns off his screen, sliding his phone back in his pocket. "Maybe you should make flash cards. For your little calling problem."
"I think I'm gonna pass on that. You’re just going to have to deal with some awkward silences the first few times we… call." Talking about the future like that feels a little forward, but fuck it. The words already left your mouth.
Matt leans in like he's about to discuss the hottest of gossip. "What about after those first few times?"
Nevermind. Forwardness is Matt's specialty, apparently.
“That's— up in the air. Debatable."
"I'll just have to wait and see, then."
"I guess you will."
Neither of you thinks to move away until your phone lights up in your pocket, you taking a step back to check what the notification is. Amelia texted to let you know she's waiting out front.
"I've actually gotta go this time," you say, flattening against the wall like it'll soak you up and let you stay here. "Do you need me to walk you back in?"
Matt reaches out, rests his hand on your arm in the same way you did a few minutes ago, and starts escorting you to the back door. "I'm alright. Go and save your friend." He stops when you're in front of the glass, no one inside glancing your way in the midst of their partying.
"I will, don't you worry."
When you place a hand on the door handle, you glance at Matt one more time, a funny thought crossing your mind, and smile, repeating his earlier words back to him. "I'll see you around."
You’re able to catch a glimpse of Matt grinning before you slide open the door, the warm air sticking to your skin. Shutting the door behind you, you search for another opening through the partygoers. Unfortunately, the little trail you'd shoved through has all but disappeared now, so you'll have to do your little awkward shuffle once again.
This time, the best way to leave has you making a shortcut through the kitchen to the right of the door, then shimmying around the corner of a wall, clutching your phone tight in fear you'll never see the thing again if it drops onto the floor. It's slow progress, but you eventually get to the hallway where you almost attacked Matt, tucking a stray strand of hair away from your face and pulling up your messages to text Amelia.
The words On my way out are typed and ready to be sent when you get a notification from an unknown number. Curious, you send your text, then tap on the unknown number's message, eyeing the back door and feeling altogether giddy upon reading it.
I still never got your name, mystery woman.
You must’ve spaced and only put your number. Thinking for a moment to try and come up with a clever thing to say, you decide on, You might find out when we call, and hit send with a very eager finger. For a few more seconds, you linger in the hallway, but feel bad about Amelia up front, even though you know she'll just be basking in the warmth of the car heater. The moment you move to continue your twists and turns of departure, however, your phone screen lights up in your hand. You tap on the message like you're a kid unwrapping a Christmas present.
I'll hold you to that. Then, popping up right after, Tomorrow?
You maneuver past the rest of the crowd, reaching the front door, and step onto the front porch before you let yourself look at your phone again. The wind cuts through you unobstructed, clothes feeling like they're more for decoration than anything, and you wrap your coat tight to your body once more.
Fingers stiff, you tap at your phone keyboard, responding with a simple, Absolutely, watching the screen like a hawk for Matt's answer. Instead, you get a text from Amelia.
I see you, whore. Let's go!
With a snort, you look up, trying to locate where the two of you had parked, and find her a little ways down the street, waving at you. Waving back, you make a run for the car, squealing at the air biting at your legs and wishing you had a certain human shield to block the wind for you again.
Matt knew we were there as soon as we stepped in, by the way. He just didn’t want to look like a creep (failed) so he waited around for a second. Ergo, the hallway. For context, college-era Matt’s canonically also a bit more touchy about how others perceive him and his blindness, as he’s still young and learning to deal with all that jazz. Also isn’t it so cute the DCU exists within the MCU?! Also (x2), I’m not Catholic, if you can’t tell, but Matt is, so I hope I did him and (the good aspects of) Catholicism justice with that! Anyways, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! :)
summary: a small glimpse into how matt feels about you .ᐟ
tags/warnings: drabble, very lightly suggestive themes, made with original series matt murdock in mind, unresolved tension, mentions of catholicism / religious themes, worship of reader kinda?, matt murdock is down bad for you
wc: 0.5k
matt has never cared to exact the restraint necessary for denying himself earthly pleasures. after all, he knows he’s a sinner.
so, one night stands? sure. drinking at josie’s nearly every night of the week? sign him up. beating the shit out of the scourge of the earth as the devil, shrouded in the darkness of night? check.
but matt has the capacity for a type of discipline only practiced by the most pious devotees. an unrelenting, iron-tight grip on his control, despite popular belief. at least, when it counts. that isn’t often — because he doesn’t necessarily bump into the scriptural divine casually on the sinful new york city streets. but when he does — when, despite all odds, it matters? he would never dream to forsake something holy; would never defile or soil a tangible glimpse of heaven with his blood-stained hands and tainted soul, preordained and bound for hell.
that’s why he doesn’t dare allow himself the luxury of yielding to his desire for you. the desire that has become an endless hum in the back of his head; the desire that has seeped into his corporeal form and crawled into the darkest crevices of his soul, steeping and dying it impossibly darker. giving into it would be utter blasphemy. the very thought of doing so makes the cross hung around his neck burn.
he’s…undeserving.
even as he feels the sweltering heat of hell recede, recoil and slink back into the ground beneath him—(the ground that is usually so inclined to drag him back down to the dust with the weight of sin that leaves his tracks imbedded in the summer slough of mud)—when he so much as nears you, like it fears the very presence of something as holy as you. and for some sacred moment, he doesn’t feel the insistent, creeping whispers of the damned at his back.
matt is well aware that you are the closest he will get to being in the grace of god, of earning the experience; the bliss of heaven itself. so, like any good catholic, he worships. he pays his penance to you, despite you never asking for it. he would gladly take anything you gave him—whether it be curse or praise. he would relish in it. to simply be in your proximity was more than he ever felt he had the right to ask for.
and so, when an angel like you, sanctified by the very hand of god, whispers his name like a prayer from your lips for the first time? he swears he can hear the lord speak through you. he can finally, finally taste the success of his years of atonement washing over him — salvation in the purest of forms.
you breathe redemption into him with each and every brush of your skin. it’s a hypnotic lull — the heat of you beside him a sacred fire that deliciously fuels his pyre, purifying his corrupted spirit and coaxing that seemingly intrinsic wickedness out of his veins, a heady flame he’s drawn to like a moth. he could easily burn up in it—and would be content to do so—if he only selfishly let himself.
like the bonafide divine, you are what he prays to. because you’re his religion.
a/n: characterization of matt (from the original series) is partially inspired by @pastafossa ‘s matt in ‘the red thread’ ! i hope i did it justice :(
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