summary: y/n meets elektra in an unconventional way
warnings: mentions of blood/wounds, angst
word count: 1028 words
a/n: im getting back into writing so let me know what you think!
find me on @hes-writer
buy me a ko-fi :)
____
The first spike of doubt coursed through Y/N when her sleepless night was rattled with the front door of Matt’s apartment bursting open. Her half-opened eyes peeled widely in alarm, sitting up from her place on his couch.
The lights were turned off, mind for the reflection of the giant billboard illuminating the area. Swirls of pink cherry blossoms spotlighted the place she felt most safe in—but nothing compared to being in Matt’s embrace.
Matt gave her a haste greeting, his arms filled with a woman moaning in pain. The fabric of her clothing was sliced through, allowing the crimson red liquid to catch the glimmer of said pink hue. Y/N gasped, frozen; partly in shock, mostly in curiosity. Her mind screamed questions; apart from the warranted what the hell is happening? Is Matt okay? Who is this woman? And what is Stick doing here?
The woman’s cries echoed in the vast space, the high ceiling causing an echo that made everyone in the room grimace except for Stick who hummed as he settled his things on the furniture. His unseeing eyes scanned the room, Y/N’s bated breath probably giving her presence away. He nodded in her direction as if to say ‘hi’, and as much as it was petty for Y/N to think—it was more of a greeting than Matt had given her.
“Stick, do something. W-what’s going on?” Matt voiced out from his position, kneeling on the floor.
Y/N noted that his face was bare from the mask that hid his identity. She swallowed when the realization dawned on her that whoever this person knew about his nightly activities. Only a handful of people knew of it so it sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine to see Matt being so affectionate towards her.
She shook her head. The woman was clearly in pain yet Y/N dwelled on something unimportant to the circumstance. When she began to pay attention, Stick was already instructing Matt to gather items for him as he walked into the bedroom.
Y/N leaned forward in curiosity. She could hear Stick patting the silk sheets of the bed, laying down towels which Y/N could only assume to make the woman more comfortable. Behind her, Matt knocked some bottles over trying to grab the right ones: baking soda, toilet cleaner, a box of tea. A clang sounded when he lifted the lid of the kettle to fill it with water.
“Matt?” Y/N called out, his head moving instinctively to the sound of her voice.
“Bring her over here, Matty,”
Matt rushed over, his arms carrying the supplies supposedly needed. He whizzed by her with no less than an acknowledgement before whispering under his breath, counting down to one before hoisting the weight of the woman back into his arms.
Y/N should’ve known by that point—who the woman was and why Matt had such a reactive response to her in pain. Obviously, anyone would react the same if they saw someone hurting; but this was different. To Y/N it may have been odd, as she was used to the one on the receiving end of said affection. But to Matt, it seemed familiar. As if he’d done it countless times before.
This woman was not just a random person. Y/N was almost certain that it was Elektra. An ex-girlfriend that she’d only had the pleasure of hearing about in the timeless stories that Foggy mentions. His drunken stupors contributed to more than half of what she knew now about Matthew’s past. He kept that part of him a secret, even to her.
She wished she had done something to help rather than standing idly by as the two sightless men worked in tandem. It would’ve distracted her from overthinking.
“Is she going to be okay?”
“Not before I make her worse,” Stick answered, using the spoon to mix the ingredients. He poured the contents on Elektra, keeping a stoic face as the sizzling sound of acidity mixed with the delicate contents of—well, her.
Yet amongst the screams of pain, Stick’s reassurances, and the sirens sounding somewhere in the city—the loudest sound echoed in Y/N’s ears.
“Stay with me, sweetheart,”
It was barely above a decibel. A quiet whisper of his lips touching the skin of the back of her hand which he was clutching tightly in his gloved ones. His forehead pressed against her arm when Elektra gave no response except a pained scream from the reaction of the poisoned wound.
She could hear Matt muttering a prayer beneath his breath, praying for his ex-girlfriend’s well-being.
“Girl, get me some sheets,” Stick directed towards her.
Y/N’s legs were blocky as she took a quick pace towards the wardrobe, pulling out clean sheets.
Stick folded that stack of fabric, laying it over Elektra’s middle. “It’s not neat but it’ll do. Tea?”
In true Matt fashion, he reached behind his back to grasp the steaming cup, handing it over to Stick.
Despite the usual fear that she felt in it, the dark could be comforting at times. It allowed her to stay hidden in the shadows. Not voluntarily though, as in right now where Y/N felt almost invisible. Maybe it was the lateness of the night. Maybe it was sleep finally calling her body to rest, tired eyes drooping from emotional exhaustion yet her mind ran a million thoughts a minute. Maybe it was the insecurities she already had upon hearing about how impactful Elektra was to Matt—which she tried to push to the back burner because when was she actually going to meet this said ex, if ever? Apparently now.
But Y/N couldn’t help but feel out of place in the apartment that she called home. With the bed she slept on every single night. With the man that she called her boyfriend. Seeing the sight of Matt kneeling at the bedside, glazed eyes directed towards where Elektra lay—Y/N felt the sudden urge to run. As if she wasn’t supposed to be there. Someone had taken her place both at the side of the bed and apparently Matt’s heart.
we are one in the same bc college!matt also consumes my thoughts
hell yeah!!
(blurb ft. f!reader)
college!matt about halfway through the semester when Foggy decides to play the dreaded prank on him. While Matt was studying at the library with the Greek girl, Foggy had been busy moving all of his roommates’ stuff across the hall.
Y/N was kind enough to let Foggy use her living space to store Matt’s furniture—well, as kind as one would be helping to prank a blind man. Foggy remembers bursting into laughter as he explained the prank, loosening his hold on the side table and causing Y/N to yelp at the sudden shift of added weight on her side.
“I’m sorry! Too bad you won’t see his face,” Foggy snickers.
“Might I remind you that I haven’t seen this roommate of yours at all,”
And it was true. A few months into first year and Y/N hasn’t as much as caught a glimpse of this wonderfully handsome man that Foggy keeps gushing about. How smart Matt is. How thoughtful, how caring. You’d think the man would make an appearance by now if he was so considerate.
___
The tell-tale sound of tap tap tap as Matt approached their dorm sounded through the thin walls. Matt could hear a shift in Foggy’s breath and a small giggle escape. He furrows his brows at the sound before unlocking the door. His cane leads the way, making a show of attempting to identify the room as if he didn’t already know. But what surprised Matt was that this room didn’t feel much like his room. He knows Foggy was there, sitting on the bed but now he wasn’t quite certain if it was Foggy with the way the layout seemed to be increasingly unfamiliar to him.
“Is this—is this my room? Am I in the right room?”
___
A vigilante Y/N who did what Peter had to do in NWH, making everyone forget about them to save the world, including their lover (and vigilante colleague) Matt Murdock, Daredevil.
Now Y/N is all alone, trying to have a new life, still fighting crimes, meeting the Devil from time to time, who can hear that Y/N really likes him, their heart is beating so fast when he’s around, and he doesn’t understand, mocking them a bit because they don’t know each other.
One day Y/N is really hurt, bleeding a lot, and Matt is trying to help.
"How do you feel ?“
”Fine.“
"You’re clearly not.”
"How can you tell ?“
"It’s obvious.”
"For someone who is not blind, I guess.“
Matt freezes, while Y/N starts to cough blood. Bad sign.
"Shit… Matt. Matt, I don’t want to die…”
"It’s okay. I called Claire, it’ll be okay.“
"I miss you so much.”
He still has no idea what Y/N is talking about, how they know who he is, and yet he feels something. Weird. Familiar. Like a déjà vu. So he stays with them, doing everything to save Y/N, waiting to ask questions later.
no cause say he’ll take reader to his apartment while waiting for Claire. Y/N has enough coherency to notice that the one of his lightbulbs were flickering—not quite sure if it’s just the blood loss taking effect.
Maybe the light wasn’t actually dimming but it’s their vision vignetting because they could feel Matt shaking their body and muttering, ‘stay with me, sweetheart’.
Y/N can’t help but comment on it.
“You still haven’t changed the light bulb, have you?” Y/N’s lips splutter as Matt sets them down on the couch, upright to prevent choking.
Regardless, Y/N continues—a slumbered smile quirking their mouth upwards, “I bet you’re out of w-walking sticks t-too,” They cough, groaning at a spike of pain.
Matt freezes on the spot because how could they know that the usual bundle of white canes was dwindling? In fact, he only had three remaining—no, wait—two because he tossed the third one behind a dumpster sometime earlier that day.
summary: y/n meets elektra in an unconventional way
warnings: mentions of blood/wounds, major angst
word count: 2.4k
a/n: if you liked this, let me know! you can find more of me on @hes-writer
helpful links: part one | matt murdock masterlist | harry styles masterlist | buy me a coffee?
___
It wasn’t even that the facts were stacked right in front of her face that Y/N blinked twice to ensure she wasn’t dreaming. It was the reminder that the signs were all around her before she even acknowledged them—before she took notice and actually considered those to be the signs that maybe Matt wasn’t fully hers, to begin with.
With the knowledge that she now holds; it made a lot of sense. Patrolling at night as Daredevil was always risky. More often than not, Matt came home with visible remnants that his encounters were less than friendly. The blossoming bruises on his pale skin, tender to the touch and sore from movement. What made Y/N scoff in irony was how she managed to attain the skills to attend to the cuts on his body. How she was the one that had to stitch him up in the end—and it wasn’t like she was complaining because he was doing good for the city.
He was being Daredevil for the benefit of others, and he was being Matt just as he would in different contexts. Good, kind-hearted Matt. Genuine and concise.
On a different note, it might’ve been comical to think that Y/N was now the one with an open wound. A metaphorical one that ached deep within her chest. It felt like her emotions were being forced to the surface—was it sheer jealousy? Frustration? Curiosity? Or was it a mixture of all of those that made her wonder how she could ever think that she was good enough for him? Not even that, but compared to her.
summary: y/n meets elektra in an unconventional way
warnings: mentions of blood/wounds, major angst
word count: 2.4k
a/n: if you liked this, let me know! you can find more of me on @hes-writer
helpful links: part one | matt murdock masterlist | harry styles masterlist | buy me a coffee?
___
It wasn’t even that the facts were stacked right in front of her face that Y/N blinked twice to ensure she wasn’t dreaming. It was the reminder that the signs were all around her before she even acknowledged them—before she took notice and actually considered those to be the signs that maybe Matt wasn’t fully hers, to begin with.
With the knowledge that she now holds; it made a lot of sense. Patrolling at night as Daredevil was always risky. More often than not, Matt came home with visible remnants that his encounters were less than friendly. The blossoming bruises on his pale skin, tender to the touch and sore from movement. What made Y/N scoff in irony was how she managed to attain the skills to attend to the cuts on his body. How she was the one that had to stitch him up in the end—and it wasn’t like she was complaining because he was doing good for the city.
He was being Daredevil for the benefit of others, and he was being Matt just as he would in different contexts. Good, kind-hearted Matt. Genuine and concise.
On a different note, it might’ve been comical to think that Y/N was now the one with an open wound. A metaphorical one that ached deep within her chest. It felt like her emotions were being forced to the surface—was it sheer jealousy? Frustration? Curiosity? Or was it a mixture of all of those that made her wonder how she could ever think that she was good enough for him? Not even that, but compared to her.
AAAAAAHHHHHHH I NEED A PART 3 ENDURING LIKE ASAPPPP maybe a happy ending, but not for matt, but frank cos as much as i love matt. he is just a big nono when hes with elektra (in my opinion ofc)
____
summary: y/n meets elektra in an unconventional way
warnings: mentions of blood/wounds, major angst
word count: 2.4k
a/n: if you liked this, let me know! you can find more of me on @hes-writer
helpful links: part one | matt murdock masterlist | harry styles masterlist | buy me a coffee?
___
It wasn’t even that the facts were stacked right in front of her face that Y/N blinked twice to ensure she wasn’t dreaming. It was the reminder that the signs were all around her before she even acknowledged them—before she took notice and actually considered those to be the signs that maybe Matt wasn’t fully hers, to begin with.
With the knowledge that she now holds; it made a lot of sense. Patrolling at night as Daredevil was always risky. More often than not, Matt came home with visible remnants that his encounters were less than friendly. The blossoming bruises on his pale skin, tender to the touch and sore from movement. What made Y/N scoff in irony was how she managed to attain the skills to attend to the cuts on his body. How she was the one that had to stitch him up in the end—and it wasn’t like she was complaining because he was doing good for the city.
He was being Daredevil for the benefit of others, and he was being Matt just as he would in different contexts. Good, kind-hearted Matt. Genuine and concise.
On a different note, it might’ve been comical to think that Y/N was now the one with an open wound. A metaphorical one that ached deep within her chest. It felt like her emotions were being forced to the surface—was it sheer jealousy? Frustration? Curiosity? Or was it a mixture of all of those that made her wonder how she could ever think that she was good enough for him? Not even that, but compared to her.
summary: y/n meets elektra in an unconventional way
warnings: mentions of blood/wounds, major angst
word count: 2.4k
a/n: if you liked this, let me know! you can find more of me on @hes-writer
helpful links: part one | matt murdock masterlist | harry styles masterlist | buy me a coffee?
___
It wasn’t even that the facts were stacked right in front of her face that Y/N blinked twice to ensure she wasn’t dreaming. It was the reminder that the signs were all around her before she even acknowledged them—before she took notice and actually considered those to be the signs that maybe Matt wasn’t fully hers, to begin with.
With the knowledge that she now holds; it made a lot of sense. Patrolling at night as Daredevil was always risky. More often than not, Matt came home with visible remnants that his encounters were less than friendly. The blossoming bruises on his pale skin, tender to the touch and sore from movement. What made Y/N scoff in irony was how she managed to attain the skills to attend to the cuts on his body. How she was the one that had to stitch him up in the end—and it wasn’t like she was complaining because he was doing good for the city.
He was being Daredevil for the benefit of others, and he was being Matt just as he would in different contexts. Good, kind-hearted Matt. Genuine and concise.
On a different note, it might’ve been comical to think that Y/N was now the one with an open wound. A metaphorical one that ached deep within her chest. It felt like her emotions were being forced to the surface—was it sheer jealousy? Frustration? Curiosity? Or was it a mixture of all of those that made her wonder how she could ever think that she was good enough for him? Not even that, but compared to her.
summary: y/n meets elektra in an unconventional way
warnings: mentions of blood/wounds, major angst
word count: 2.4k
a/n: if you liked this, let me know! you can find more of me on @hes-writer
helpful links: part one | matt murdock masterlist | harry styles masterlist | buy me a coffee?
___
It wasn’t even that the facts were stacked right in front of her face that Y/N blinked twice to ensure she wasn’t dreaming. It was the reminder that the signs were all around her before she even acknowledged them—before she took notice and actually considered those to be the signs that maybe Matt wasn’t fully hers, to begin with.
With the knowledge that she now holds; it made a lot of sense. Patrolling at night as Daredevil was always risky. More often than not, Matt came home with visible remnants that his encounters were less than friendly. The blossoming bruises on his pale skin, tender to the touch and sore from movement. What made Y/N scoff in irony was how she managed to attain the skills to attend to the cuts on his body. How she was the one that had to stitch him up in the end—and it wasn’t like she was complaining because he was doing good for the city.
He was being Daredevil for the benefit of others, and he was being Matt just as he would in different contexts. Good, kind-hearted Matt. Genuine and concise.
On a different note, it might’ve been comical to think that Y/N was now the one with an open wound. A metaphorical one that ached deep within her chest. It felt like her emotions were being forced to the surface—was it sheer jealousy? Frustration? Curiosity? Or was it a mixture of all of those that made her wonder how she could ever think that she was good enough for him? Not even that, but compared to her.
Her stomach churned as she stood there, breathing heavily as Matt tucked the sheets around Elektra’s sleeping form. Just behind her, Y/N could hear Stick slumping on the couch, exhaling deeply as she imagined exhaustion taking over his aged body.
Her heart thumped with great effort to keep the blood pumping through her body despite her inability to feel anything from her fingertips. Y/N’s feet stayed planted on the floor and her throat was dry. Or maybe she was just rendered numb.
It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. There was no way Matt was that stupid, was he? He should’ve been able to sense her presence lingering on the sliding doors leading to his bedroom. The rise in her core body temperature as it increased to the point where she could actually feel the tips of her ears steaming amidst the cool New York air. Her breathing pattern; was hitched and disjointed as she tried to take control of her breaths. If not, the cracking of her metacarpals as she formed her hands in a fist.
He should’ve been able to tell.
So why did Matt lean over to kiss Elektra’s forehead?
Was it to add fuel to the fire? Was it a subconscious action? Y/N could feel her mirror neurons working as watching Matt plant his lips on another woman’s forehead allowed her to feel the ghost of a touch on her own. Reminded of the times when he would press a chaste kiss just before he ran off to work—or whenever he went.
For Y/N, it was the symbol of a promise. A promise to return despite leaving. An oath to keep that when she opened her eyes, and after the blurriness of her vision shifted to a focus; that Matt would be there in front of her. His sightless eyes would stamp their sight a fraction about her own; never quite meeting hers but his lips puckered to press against her skin made up for it.
It churned her stomach to the point where she felt ill. Seeing him do it so easily to someone else was comparable to a firework. Except for the splatter of colour was a seed of doubt that sparked a thought in her mind. A reminder that while Y/N may be the most recent of his relationships, she wasn’t the first. Nor was she the one that held a lasting grip on his existence.
Perhaps at this point, she could ask if this is how Matt felt all the time. Each crackle of a firework was a loud echo of hesitance and self-imposed wondering.
Y/N wondered when Matt’s ex-girlfriend had returned. According to Foggy, she disappeared one night, causing Matt to spiral by her departure. It took many weeks to console him—and even more, time for him to accept that Elektra wasn’t coming back. At least, not any time soon. Maybe 10 years was enough time.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Murdock?” Y/N spat out, one hand gripping the frame to steady herself.
Matt’s head snapped in her direction, wide eyes alarmed by her voice.
“Y/N?”
“I’m glad you finally noticed me,”
The silence that overtook the room was deafening. He had no excuse. Matt had nothing. Y/N knew that. He knew that she knew that. It wasn’t like he let her in on the fact that his ex was back in town. Or that he had been gallivanting from rooftop to rooftop with Elektra right on his trail. And it wasn’t like Matt gave Y/N a heads up that he was going to haul his wounded ex over along with Stick to their shared apartment.
So excuse him for being quite speechless by the inception of a conversation.
Matt was suddenly aware of the pounding at the base of his skull. Dried sweat and blood clung to his temples, his hair musing in whatever way the horned helmet of his suit pulled it when he hastily removed it from his head.
He took slow steps towards his closet, rounding the foot of the bed.
“Can we—can we not do this tonight?”
Y/N watched, observing his paced movements. There was a limp to his walk and he was clutching his side with a grimace on his face. She hated the way her first instinct was to disregard everything and come to his aid.
“Do what? Talk about how you brought her into our home?” Y/N gestured towards Elektra, knowing that he would be able to pick up on the shuffle of the wind around her movements, “Who is she, Matt?”
Matt sighed as the cotton shirt he had picked ruffled over his sensitive skin.
“Elektra,” He breathed out, “Her name’s Elektra,”
He could hear Y/N’s heart thump, echoing in his ears like a drum. That should have indicated the gravity of the situation, should’ve alerted him that he had messed up somehow but God, he was so tired. After getting his ass handed to him by what Elektra described as ninjas--all he wanted to do was to attempt to rest his eyes, and hopefully his body. Matt had strained his senses to try and get a reading of his enemies. They were far too quiet; trained to make no sound aside from the puffing of the breaths when they exhaled and even that wasn’t enough to help Matt out.
“Tell me if she’s going to be fine,” Y/N asked. Despite her situation, she still cared for the health of another person. Getting stabbed by a poisoned arrow did not sound fun at all.
Matt tilted his head to the side, listening.
“She’s fine,” The scratch of velcro sounded in the room, indicating that Matt had taken off his gloves.
“What about you?”
“Fine as well. Just tired,”
Y/N sighed deeply, torn between wanting to have a conversation or letting him rest.
“So? Does she not have a home? I heard from Foggy that she’s got a penthouse in Midtown,”
“She does,”
“And you decided to bring her here?”
“Yes,” Matt responded with an edge in his voice. The material of his red suit slipped off with ease, unlike the black long-sleeve that did nothing to protect him. “Look, Y/N, I’m sorry that I brought her here but I couldn’t take her anywhere else,”
“Her place, maybe? Surely, she’s got other people to help her,”
Matt paused, briefly glancing over at Elektra’s figure, “She doesn’t. Only me,”
Y/N scoffed as she watched him pull a hoodie on his body. His breath hitched at the strain of his muscles, and bruised ribs as well. Did he not get it? Matt is a good person but he was so goddamn clueless.
“And when were you going to tell me that you’ve been hanging around rooftops with your ex-girlfriend?”
Matt hesitated, “I-it’s not like that. Y/N, there are dangerous people out there. She got a lead and–and–”
“That doesn’t change anything. You should have told me,”
“It hardly concerns you. I didn't think–”
“Of course, you don't fucking think,” Y/N mutters under her breath, probably screaming for Matt.
“What?”
“Will you kids quiet down?” Stick yelled out, halting Y/N response. Though, her mind yelled for her to bury Matt in the ground with her words.
“Whatever,” Y/N said, turning her attention back to her boyfriend, “Do you not get it? Elektra only has you but you, Matt, you have me. But you didn’t choose me, did you? You still love her and given the chance you’d run back to her again,”
Each syllable that slipped out of her lips made Y/N want to cower and hide away from his piercing gaze–except for his incredible ability to read everything else aside from seeing her was too much right now.
“I’m not upset that you’re helping her. I’m upset because you didn’t tell me. I know you care for her but fuck, I didn’t think that you’d care this much. Still care this much despite her abandoning you,”
Matt winced at the last statement; partly in frustration because it stung to hear the reality of his past.
“It wasn’t like that, Y/N.”
“Wasn’t it? Tell me, Saint Matthew, would you have told me that you were running around with her if this didn’t happen?” Y/N gestured at the bed. Elektra ruffled under the sheets but she couldn’t give a shit if they were ruining her beauty sleep.
The same lips that Y/N longed to feel on her forehead not hours prior to the whole circumstance were now the cause of her pain. Silence–his silence--meant that one or both of them had changed in the mere span of hours. And Y/N didn’t know how to feel or what to do about it.
Despite the high-ceiling and open structure of the apartment, it had never felt more stuffy than it did now. Perhaps it was the exhaustion laying thick on Y/N’s body—there wasn’t exactly any open space to rest. With Elektra on the bed and Stick occupying the couch, the last sleeping area would be the chairs across the coffee table; saved for Matt because he needed them more.
Unless he decided to lay beside Elektra instead.
Y/N stomped up the steps of the roof access to Matt’s apartment. The sunrise had just begun to peek over the horizon, streaming through distant skylines and painting her sights with beacons of orange-hued lines.
She huffed as the breeze swayed over her body, forming goosebumps on her skin as she stood a floor above the man she loved. Y/N wondered if Matt could hear her restless steps. He probably could.
With his senses, Y/N felt as though Matt knew her more than she knew herself. She wouldn’t even notice the pricking of the cold until she was shivering from head to toe–but Matt could. It was why she was rarely surprised when his fingertips would grip the crook of her elbow a little tight, halting their steps to a stop as he pulled her off to the side when they were walking. Some passersby expressed their disdain for the inconvenience but Y/N paid them no mind. How could she? Not when the chattering of her teeth just started, noting the decrease in temperature, but Matt had already removed his chunky scarf from around his neck.
Y/N reminisced the warmth that she received, absentmindedly lifting her hand against the skin of her neck. See, Matt would have probably tilted his head to the side, blank eyes swimming in curiosity about why she had done that. It wouldn’t take him long to figure out why she was thinking about it; paired with the hastening beat of her heart and the warm flush setting on her cheeks.
She hated it. Absolutely despised how Matt knew everything about her because it meant he had all the power to crush her entire being with a simple scrunch of his fist.
Y/N didn’t need enhanced senses to know Matt. His body language said it all. Bent knees chafing from the friction of the ground, clasped hands folded over Elektra’s limp ones. His bowed head was an indication of devotion; whether it be for her well-being or quite literally the offering of his heart. Tucking Elektra as if he actually had to do that. And the lingering kiss on her forehead—it was enough for Y/N. He still loved her. Matt might not know it yet—he can be quite clueless about his own subconscious. But Y/N could see it.
All her life, Y/N betted her actions on a simple gut feeling. Often, she would plead for the universe to send her a sign; that this wasn’t the right path for her. That she was doing something right. It was sort of like a second opinion for Y/N. Sometimes she felt so strongly about something that she’d willingly overlook those signs in favour of attaining what she wanted.
Like right now, even though the evidence weighed heavy for her to break it off with Matt, there was a part of Y/N that pleaded to stay. One more night—or a few hours. Just until the dust had settled and both—all—of them had had enough shut-eye to speak coherently to each other. Powering through a bit more until Matt would say everything she wished for him to. That she had nothing to worry about. That she was merely a sidekick to the many enemies he was facing.
Y/N closed her eyes tightly. If there was a sign to leave and move on, it would have to be clear as the day rose in front of her eyes.
“I knew you were a morning person but this is a bit much, don’t you think?”
