Chapter Two: A love in the dark
Matt Murdock Ć Gender neutral reader
{Slow-burn/angst to comfort/ miscommunication/a slight pregnancy trope. Karen x Foggy}
I watched him, the faint tremble in his hands, the way his shoulders hunched like he was trying to hold the world together on his own. And maybe he was.
āMatt,ā I said softly, trying to catch his gaze. But he was somewhere else, staring through me like he was seeing ghosts. āYou donāt have to do this alone.ā
He lifted his head, and for a split second, I saw something break in him, something raw and real and utterly heartbreaking. He smelled like rain, sweat, and exhaustionālike a man whoād been fighting his own demons for so long heād forgotten how to stop.
Just as I opened my mouth to speak, the sudden ring of my phone cut through the quiet. The sound startled me, and I glanced at the screen, my heart stuttering when I saw Mattās name.
I blinked, looking at the empty spot beside me on the couch where heād just been. Only, he wasnāt there. The apartment was still, and suddenly, I felt every ounce of the emptiness pressing down on me. I picked up the phone, my voice wavering as I answered.
āHey,ā came his voice, rough and low, the words distorted by static. There was something off about itāan edge that made my skin prickle, like the ghost of a snarl hidden beneath the surface. It was Matt, but it wasnāt. It was harsher, darker, tinged with an anger that wasnāt usually directed at me. āYou home?ā
āYeah, Iā¦ Iām here,ā I said, looking around the empty apartment, my confusion mounting. āWhere are you?ā
There was a pause, just the sound of his breathing crackling through the line. For a moment, I thought he might hang up, but then he spoke again, quieter this time, almost hesitant. āIām close. Iāll be there soon.ā
The call ended abruptly, leaving me staring at the screen, the silence suddenly suffocating. I stood up, pacing the length of the room, my mind racing. Something was wrong. Something had been wrong for a long time, and now it was right on the edge of boiling over.
Before I could think too hard about it, there was a soft knock at the door, so gentle I almost missed it. I opened it slowly, and there he was, drenched in rain and shadow, his cane folded neatly in his hand. He slipped inside without a word, his movements fluid and deliberate, like he already knew every corner of the room without needing to look.
Matt didnāt bother with his usual pleasantries. His steps were deliberate, purposeful as he walked further into my apartment, each footfall soft but assured, like he was gliding through the dark. The cane folded in his grip felt more like an afterthought, something he carried not out of necessity but routine. He knew the layout of my space better than anyoneābetter than me, even. Heād memorized every table leg, every uneven floorboard, every creak and groan of the old walls.
But tonight, he was different. He carried the weight of the city with him, the air around him heavy with the scent of rain, sweat, and something darkerāsomething sharp and metallic, like the echo of a fight that hadnāt yet ended. His hair was wet, plastered against his forehead, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and ragged, stripped of the warmth Iād come to know. It was the voice of someone used to giving orders, not asking questions.
āIām sorry for calling like that,ā he said, but it didnāt sound like an apology. His voice had an edge to it, something deeper, grittier, that sent a shiver down my spine. It was like heād brought the cityās darkness with him, dragging it through the threshold and spilling it onto my worn carpet. āI justā¦ I didnāt know where else to go.ā
āItās okay,ā I said, though it wasnāt. None of this was okay, and the way he was looking at meālike he was seeing something but not quite thereāmade my chest tighten. āAre you hurt?ā
He shook his head, but I didnāt believe him. There were bruises creeping along his jaw, a faint trickle of dried blood near his ear that he hadnāt bothered to clean. Up close, I could smell itāthe iron tang of fresh cuts mingling with the faint musk of leather and sweat. It was the scent of the city at its worst, of late nights and alleyways, of battles fought in places no one was meant to see. I reached out instinctively, my hand hovering just over his cheek, but he pulled back, stiffening at the contact.
āMatt,ā I said, my voice breaking at the sight of him. āWhat the hell is going on with you?ā
He turned away, his grip tightening around his cane, knuckles white against the dark wood. I watched as he leaned against the wall, his shoulders slumped, a man teetering on the edge of something he couldnāt name. The air between us was thick, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid, and I felt like I was grasping at smoke, trying to catch hold of a man who was slipping further and further away.
āFisk is getting bolder,ā Matt said finally, his voice low and laced with something that bordered on a snarl. āHeāsā¦ Heās tearing this city apart.ā
I flinched at the venom in his tone. Iād heard Matt angry before, but this was differentāthis was rage, pure and unfiltered, the kind that didnāt just come from frustration but from something deeper, something personal. I knew Fisk was bad newsāhe was on every channel, his smug face plastered across every screen in Hellās Kitchen. But thisā¦ this was something else.
āWhat does that have to do with you?ā I asked, my voice small in the dim room. āWhy are you always in the middle of this?ā
His silence was answer enough. Matt clenched his jaw, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring ready to snap. I could see the conflict warring in his expression, the shadows under his eyes deepening as he struggled to keep his secrets buried. It was like he was on the brink of telling me somethingāsomething that could change everythingābut fear held him back. Or maybe it was pride.
āI canāt tell you,ā he said finally, each word dragged out like it hurt to say. āI want to. God, I want to tell you everything, but I canāt. Not yet.ā
I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest, feeling the weight of his words settle like lead in my stomach. There was so much he wasnāt saying, so many cracks in the faƧade heād spent years building, and I was terrified of what lay underneath. But more than that, I was scared of losing himāof watching him disappear into the darkness heād been dancing with for far too long.
āYou donāt have to do this alone, Matt,ā I said, stepping closer, my hand reaching for his despite the chill between us. āWhatever it is, whatever youāre fighting, let me help you.ā
His breath hitched, and for a moment, I saw the mask slip, just a little. There was something broken in his eyes, something fragile and desperate that he couldnāt quite hide. He reached up, his fingers brushing mine in a touch so light it was almost a question, and for the first time that night, I thought he might actually let me in.
But then the mask was back, the walls slamming down as he pulled away, retreating into himself like he always did. āI canāt,ā he whispered, the words barely audible over the sound of the rain against the window. āNot yet.ā
And just like that, the distance between us stretched wide again, the unspoken things building a wall I couldnāt see over. Matt turned, folding his cane with a practiced flick of his wrist, and headed toward the door, his shoulders hunched against the weight of his own secrets.
I watched him go, feeling the ache of his absence before heād even left the room. There was so much I wanted to say, so much I needed to hear, but the words wouldnāt come. Matt paused at the door, his hand resting on the knob, and for a moment, I thought he might turn back, that he might finally tell me the truth.
Instead, he glanced over his shoulder, his face half-hidden in shadow. āStay safe,ā he said, his voice raw and jagged, like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. And then he was gone, swallowed by the night and the storm outside, leaving me alone in the dim glow of my apartment, surrounded by questions that I didnāt have the answers to.
I stood there long after the door had closed, staring at the empty space where heād been, my heart heavy with the weight of all the things we never said. Whatever was going on with Matt, it was bigger than me, bigger than both of us. And as much as I wanted to help, to fight alongside him, I knew that some battles he would have to face alone.
For now, all I could do was wait.
The first time he showed up like this, it was raining, too. I remember the soft patter against the window, the way the city seemed to hold its breath as he stumbled inside, dripping and bruised. Iād never seen him look so small, so utterly defeated, and for a moment, I wasnāt sure if the man standing in front of me was Matt Murdock or the ghost of the vigilante heād tried so hard to keep hidden. His suit was torn in places, blood seeping through the fabric, and his hair was a matted mess sticking to his forehead. There was a wild, desperate look in his eyes, like heād been running from something that still had its claws in him.
āMatt?ā Iād whispered, the question hanging heavy in the air between us. He didnāt answer, just stood there, water pooling at his feet, his hands trembling as he struggled to pull off his mask. Iād never seen him like thisāso vulnerable, so raw. It was like watching a dam break, the weight of everything heād been carrying spilling out all at once.
āSorry,ā heād muttered, voice cracking as he finally let the mask fall to the floor. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he didnāt know what to do with them. āI didnāt know where else to go.ā
I didnāt ask questions. Not then. I just took him by the arm, guiding him to the couch as he sagged against me, the strength in his legs giving way. He winced when I touched his side, the sharp intake of breath telling me more than words ever could. He was hurtābadly. And yet, heād come here. To me. When he could barely stand, when his body was a map of pain and bruises, heād chosen my door.
Iād gone to grab a first aid kit, but by the time Iād returned, he was already trying to clean his wounds, his movements stiff and shaky. I watched him struggle, stubbornly pushing through the pain like it was a challenge he couldnāt afford to lose. I sat beside him, taking the cloth from his hands, my touch gentle, careful not to push too hard.
āLet me help,ā Iād said softly, and heād nodded, too exhausted to argue.
As I wrapped his ribs, I couldnāt help but notice the faint tremor in his hands, the way he clenched his jaw like he was holding something back. Heād always been good at thatāat hiding. But that night, in the dim light of my apartment, it was like the mask he wore had slipped, just a little, and I could see the man beneath. The one who bled, who hurt, who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders even when it was too much.
āThank you,ā heād said quietly when I was done, his voice barely above a whisper. It was the kind of gratitude that came from a place of deep, unspoken pain, and it hit me harder than I expected. There was something in his eyes then, something vulnerable and raw that he rarely let anyone see. And in that moment, Iād realized just how much he was fightingānot just the criminals, the shadows of Hellās Kitchen, but himself. His past, his guilt, the unrelenting need to do more, to be more than just the blind lawyer or the devil in the dark.
āIām here,ā Iād told him, my voice steady despite the tremor in my heart. āWhenever you need me.ā
Heād nodded, but there was a sadness in his smile, a flicker of something that told me he didnāt believe it could be that simple. And maybe it wasnāt. But Iād meant every word. Because Matt was more than just the man who kept coming back bruised and battered. He was the one who fought for the voiceless, who stood up when no one else would. And even though he never said it, I knew that, in his own way, he was fighting for me too.
But as I watched him disappear into the night once more, a shadow among the rain-soaked streets, I couldnāt shake the feeling that we were both losing a battle we didnāt know how to win. That no matter how many times he found his way back to my door, we were still trapped in this endless dance of secrets and silence.
Now, standing alone in the dim light of my apartment, I thought of that nightāthe first time heād let his guard down, the first time heād let me see the cracks in his armor. It was a memory that haunted me, one that lingered in the quiet moments when I was left to wonder if there would ever be a day when Matt didnāt feel the need to fight alone.
And as I stared at the door, hoping against hope that he might come back, I realized that all I could do was wait. To be here when he was ready. To love him in the silence, even if it meant loving a man who might never be able to love himself.
I stood there long after the door had closed, staring at the empty space where Matt had been. The silence was overwhelming, filled with questions that spun wildly in my head. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to make sense of it all, but every thought led me back to the same place: Matt was in trouble, and whatever he was facing was bigger than anything I could handle alone.
I grabbed my phone, my fingers trembling as I scrolled through my contacts. Foggyās name stared back at me, a small comfort in a sea of uncertainty. If anyone could make sense of this, it was Foggy. He was Mattās best friend, his anchor, the one person whoād always managed to pull him back when the darkness threatened to consume him.
I hit call, pressing the phone to my ear, pacing anxiously around the apartment as it rang.
āHey, whatās up?ā Foggyās voice was light, but there was a tiredness beneath it, the kind that came from too many late nights and too much worrying.
āItās Matt,ā I said, the words rushing out before I could stop them. āSomethingāsā¦ somethingās really wrong.ā
There was a pause, and I could almost hear the shift in Foggyās demeanor, the lightness gone in an instant. āWhat happened? Is he hurt?ā
āHeāsā¦ā I hesitated, struggling to find the right words. āHe showed up here, bruised and bleeding, and he wouldnāt tell me what was going on. He said Fisk is tearing the city apart, but itās more than that. Itās like heāsā¦ unraveling.ā
āShit,ā Foggy muttered, his voice laced with a mix of anger and fear. āWhere is he now?ā
āHe left. I tried to get him to stay, to talk, but he justāhe wouldnāt let me in. Heās shutting everyone out, and I donāt know what to do.ā
Foggy sighed heavily, and I could hear him moving, grabbing his things. āIām on my way. Iāll call Karen too. Meet us at Josieās in ten.ā
He hung up before I could respond, and I was left staring at the phone, feeling the weight of what was happening settle even heavier on my shoulders. I knew this wasnāt the first time Matt had gone off the rails, but something about tonight felt different, like he was teetering on the edge of something dangerous, and there was no pulling him back. Not without help.
I grabbed my coat and headed out, the cold night air hitting me as I made my way to Josieās. The streets were slick with rain, the city lights reflecting in the puddles like fractured stars. It felt fitting, somehowāeverything just a little broken, a little off.
When I walked into the bar, Foggy was already there, pacing near the entrance. His expression was a mix of worry and frustration, the lines on his face deeper than I remembered. Karen was seated at a table nearby, her eyes flicking anxiously between her phone and the door. She looked up when she saw me, her expression softening, but the concern was still etched in every line of her face.
āI got here as fast as I could,ā Karen said, her voice quiet but urgent. āWhatās going on? What happened with Matt?ā
I slid into the seat beside her, feeling the warmth of the barās dim lighting chase away the chill from outside. āHeās falling apart, Karen. He came to my place tonight, bruised and bloody, talking about Fisk, about the city tearing itself apart. But he wouldnāt tell me anything real. He wouldnāt let me help.ā
Foggy sat down across from us, rubbing a hand over his face. āHeās been pulling away for weeks now. Every time I try to get through to him, he shuts me out. I thoughtā¦ I donāt know what I thought. That maybe heād get it together, that heād let one of us in. But itās like heās on some kind of self-destruct path, and he wonāt stop until heāsāā
He trailed off, the fear in his eyes saying more than his words ever could. I knew what he was thinking, what we were all thinking: that one day, Matt might not come back from whatever fight heād thrown himself into.
Karen leaned forward, her voice a whisper as she tried to piece it all together. āDid he say anything about Fisk? About whatās going on?ā
āJust that Fisk is getting bolder,ā I said, the memory of Mattās snarled words still fresh, still raw. āHeās acting like this is his fight, like heās the only one who can stop it. But heās not just angry, heāsā¦ heās scared. Iāve never seen him like this.ā
Foggy slammed his fist on the table, startling both of us. āGoddammit, Matt. Why does he always think he has to do this alone? Weāre his friends, for Christās sake. Weāre supposed to be in this together.ā
Karen placed a hand on Foggyās arm, her touch gentle, but her voice firm. āWe need to find him. Before he does something reckless.ā
āBut how?ā I asked, feeling the weight of the question settle heavily between us. āHeās not exactly easy to track down, and even if we do find him, how do we get through to him?ā
Foggy looked at me, his expression softening just a little. āWe justā¦ we keep trying. We keep showing up, no matter how many times he pushes us away. Mattās stubborn, but heās not invincible. Heās still human, and he needs us, whether he wants to admit it or not.ā
Karen nodded, determination flashing in her eyes. āWe start with what we know. We dig into Fisk, figure out whatās got Matt so spooked. And we keep reaching out, keep reminding him that heās not alone in this.ā
I glanced between them, feeling a surge of something close to hope. It wasnāt much, but it was enough. Enough to keep fighting, enough to keep believing that maybe, somehow, we could pull Matt back from the edge before it was too late.
āYeah,ā I said, my voice steadier than I felt. āWeāre in this together.ā
And as we sat there, huddled in the dim light of Josieās, I felt the faint stirrings of resolve, the beginning of a plan. We werenāt going to give up on Matt. Not now, not ever. Because no matter how far he fell, no matter how deep the darkness, we were his light. And we were going to find him, to stand by him, to love him through the silence.
vaporwave
blakekathryn
discoholicmusic
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
turnnoffyourmind
amandla
romaincrisis
andulkaphoto
tangentwithtanner
