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The feel of lips against yours, the scratch of facial hair against your cheek, your neck.
It was strange, looking at the man sitting in the chair next to your hospital bed. As far as you know, you’ve never met him. According to him, you’ve been dating for the past year.
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The light streaming through the windows was the first thing you noticed upon reaching the end of the hall. Brighter than anticipated, considering the sun had set a while ago.
“I know what the doctor said, that you shouldn’t be alone right now, but it’s fine. I’ll take you to your apartment if you want.” He says it like you’ve already agreed to stay in a strange apartment alone. Not in a way that’s trying to push you out, but rather like he’s assumed you want nothing to do with him. It’s bad enough that you don’t know what’s happened during the last year plus of your life, but to then be left alone? With nothing to guide you? That is by far a lot worse than what you’re going through now.
“No, it’s okay. I’ll stay with you,” you say. You’re both standing in the lobby of the hospital waiting for a taxi, after you were rolled down in a wheelchair.
“Are you sure?” Matt asks, the hesitance still in his voice, though some hope seems to be creeping through.
You pause a moment, wondering if you should tell him the truth. In the end, you do.
“I don’t want to be alone right now.”
His breath catches in his throat. “You don’t even know me.” Why is he fighting you?
“But I want to.”
From what the nurses have told you, Matt had been at your bedside practically 24/7, with the occasional brief switch with one of his friends so he could go home and change. He sat there, holding your hand, praying that you would wake up.
And you did. He was there when you finally opened your eyes. You looked at him and he started crying. He stood and said your name in the most revenant way.
You were still out of it enough at that point that you just watched it happen. The things you did remember didn’t hit you in the moment. Instead, it was like waking up in a new place when you hadn’t quite realized it yet. Sleep still clouding your mind, you weren’t truly aware that something wasn’t right. You didn’t notice that this man who had just kissed you on the forehead like he was afraid you would break was a stranger.
“How are you feeling?” he had asked after pressing the nurse call button.
It had taken a moment for you to process what he asked. Looking around, you realized that you weren’t at home, in your bedroom where you expected to be upon walking up. The buildings outside the window were strange.
Matt whispered your name, trying to get your attention. You turned to look at him.
“Are you a doctor?” You asked, voice cracking from disuse.
Now, just like when you first woke up, Matt stood frozen.
“Matt?” You started reaching out a hand to touch him, to restart his brain, but decide against it and pull your hand back. You aren’t normally touchy with strangers, you don’t understand why you want to touch Matt.
Matt sucks in a breath, like he just remembered that he needed to.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go.” He reaches a hand out for your arm before pausing.
Without thinking, you move your arm so he can grab it.
“It feels a little odd to be saying ‘lead the way’ to a blind man, but I’m at a loss,” you say, trying to lighten the mood.
Matt huffs a laugh, a small smile trying to pull at his mouth.
“I’ll try not to lead you astray, but no promises.”
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Light shone against your closed eyelids even though it’s surely the middle of the night. The rooftop door closed softly and you heard footsteps padding quietly down the stairs.
“Is there any particular reason you’re living on the top floor of a building without a working elevator?” You ask, your breath coming out in mild huffs after climbing all those steps after being bedridden for the last couple of weeks.
“The rent’s cheap,” Matt replies. “Well, cheaper than some other places in the city. And besides, it’s not so bad.”
You’re inclined to believe him until you exit the entryway and see the billboard shining through the windows and it suddenly makes sense why a blind man would jump on a cheap apartment that no one else wanted. Taking a second look, however, you notice partitions folded up between the panes of glass. The windows themselves are ceiling high, so the partitions don’t quite cover the whole of them, but they would do a decent job at blocking some of the light. You suppose those are for you, whenever you would need them.
You stand at the end of the hall, taking everything in. All in all, the apartment is rather small, but from what you know of New York, this place could practically be a palace.
Matt stands behind you, waiting. Then he says, “It’s not much, but it’s home.”
Home.
The word hits you hard and you suck in a breath, trying not to cry. This isn’t the home you remember. Home , to you, the one you remember, isn’t even in this city. The thought of telling Matt goodbye, going back to your family, leaving Hell’s Kitchen, briefly enters your mind before disappearing just as quickly, though the tears that sprang up still cling to your lashes.
You feel Matt tense behind you.
“It’s nice,” you say and it’s true. Ignoring your own reaction you take a step into the living room, blinking away the tears, and you start to notice all the traces of you that are littered everywhere. The books, the small tv shoved into the corner on a rolling stand, the decorations that are completely your style.
The pictures of you and Matt and a couple of other people you don’t recognize.
Not that you really doubted Matt after your introduction at the hospital, but this apartment is utter proof that you belong here. That this is your space as much as it is Matt’s. The sense of homecoming washes over you, though the familiarity that normally comes with the feeling is absent. It’s as if someone reached into your head and pulled out everything that you loved and built a space meant for you, rather than something you had a hand in creating.
You walk over to the couch, running your hand along the blanket draped across the back as fatigue catches up with you. The trip from the hospital wasn’t that long, but it feels like a year has passed in between waking up and arriving at the apartment.
Matt is still standing in the doorway, white knuckle grip on your bag that he insisted on carrying for you. With his glasses, you don’t see the way he tries to blink away tears of his own.
“The bedroom is through here,” he says as he walks toward the closed sliding door at the back of the living room. He slides the door open and walks in, placing your bag on the bed.
You step around the coffee table and follow him in. Matt turns around, mouth open as if to say something, though nothing comes out.
You bite your lip, unsure of what to say yourself. Finally you settle on saying, “I’m a little tired. Is it okay if I lie down for a bit?”
“Of course, you don’t have to ask.” Matt immediately starts to walk around you to leave the room. You catch his arm just as he’s passing. It crosses your mind that it’s a little odd that he knows how to perfectly dodge you, but you put it down to the fact that you were practically living with the man.
“Thank you, Matt,” you say, putting everything into those words. “For taking care of me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” It was true. Even though you were a little nervous to say it, your heartbeat is utterly calm. Without this man refusing to leave your side, even though at times it seemed like he was afraid you would jump at the chance to leave him, you would be lost.
Matt places his hand on yours, squeezing it, as if saying “Thank you” back, before leaving the room and quietly sliding the door closed.
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.
.
You could smell the food as soon as you walked in. You felt Matt’s arm flex under your hand and you wondered if it was intentional as the two of you walked to the table.
A few days go by. Matt spends all that time with you. Taking you to places he said were both old and new, though it was all new for you. You loved it when he took you to different parks around New York. You missed seeing something green.
“I can stay for a couple more days if you need me to,” Matt says, hands paused on the tie he has wrapped around his neck. You stare at the bruises on his knuckles you know weren’t there last night.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll be fine,” you say, bringing your attention back to the conversation. While it was nice having Matt around, going on little adventures around the city, it couldn’t last. He was needed at work and you felt bad about keeping him from his job as long as you have.
“If you want, I can take you back to your apartment if you’d be more comfortable,” Matt says, finishing the knot in his tie and pretending that the thought of you leaving doesn’t bother him.
The two of you haven’t had this conversation since the day he brought you home—to his apartment. The thought of leaving hadn’t crossed your mind in all that time.
“There’s not much there, to be honest,” Matt continues slowly. “We had talked…” he trails off, not sure how to continue.
“About me moving in, I’m guessing?” You fill in for him.
“Yeah,” Matt says, releasing the breath he had been holding.
“I kind of figured. I mean, I know I don’t remember, but it doesn’t really seem like I’m missing anything. I have so many clothes here, my skincare is taking up half of the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Frankly, I was surprised when I remembered I technically have my own apartment when so much of my junk is lying around here,” you say and glance around from your place on the couch, taking note of all the pieces of you mixed with Matt there are in this space. “Is there even anything left at my place?”
“Well, your bed is still there and a mostly functioning kitchen, minus the food,” Matt says. “You could still live there. We’d have to talk to you landlord about resigning the lease, if she hasn’t already found someone to move in—“
“You want me to move out?” Your voice is small, quiet, trying not to let Matt know that those words— resigning the lease —made your heart skip and throat constrict. You brought your arms up around yourself, hands twisting the fabric of your shirt, trying to protect yourself from the hurt even though half of you wasn’t sure why it hurt at all.
You didn’t want to leave. Not this apartment, not Matt.
“No!” Matt quickly steps over to you, deftly stepping between the coffee table and couch. He looks as if he wants to pull you in, wrap his arms around you, but he settles for sitting on the edge of the couch and grasping your arms instead. “No, I don’t want you to move out. I just…I thought you would want…” He stops, either unsure of what to say or unsure of saying it out loud.
“You thought that I wouldn’t want to be around you anymore?” That is the only thing that makes sense to you at this moment.
True, all your knowledge of Matt and your relationship is based entirely off of a little over a week of knowing him, but it’s like you do know him. You know that he doubts, that he’s afraid. That he thinks all good things that happen to him eventually end. Matt has been so careful around you, always asking if you’re sure. Are you sure you want to go home with him, to go out to dinner with him, to stay with him now that you have a perfect excuse to get him out of your life?
“Matt, you have done nothing to make me want to leave. I—“ It’s like something catches in your throat, trying to keep you from admitting something that seems so strange to say in such a short amount of time. “I like it here, I like…being around you.” The two of you just sit there a moment, absorbing each other as silence washes over you. You wonder if Matt notices that you move forward the tiniest bit, trying to be closer to him. His face is so close to yours.
“I’ll only leave if you ask me to,” you say. Can he feel your breath brush against his lips?
“Oh, sweetheart, there’s no chance of that.”
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Your head against someone’s chest. A heartbeat in your ear. A soft hum resonating through his—Matt’s chest.
Ever since you left the hospital, Matt had been sleeping on the couch while you took the bedroom. You felt bad about essentially kicking the man out of his own bed, but he assured you it wasn’t a problem. You knew it couldn’t be that comfortable sleeping on a couch night after night, especially since he had fancy silk sheets that you’re positive he didn’t own simply because he had money to burn.
Some mornings, Matt was gone before you got up, having no reason to be up before the sun. When he first went back to work, he would wake you up, letting you know that he was leaving, to call him if you needed anything, before heading out after you wished him a good day. Today, though, you were up before Matt.
It was four in the morning. You had been tossing and turning all night and after finally being startled awake by some sound or another, though you could have sworn it came from the living room, you had given up. Oh so quietly you slide the bedroom door open. You pause a moment, taking in Matt as he lay on the couch, looking as though he had just fallen on it and barely managed to toss a blanket over himself before falling asleep.
You pad across the apartment as quietly as you can, making your way to the kitchen. You don’t know what else to do besides make tea, figuring out of everything food related that would be the quietest, as long as you pulled the kettle off the burner before it whistled.
“What’s wrong?” The words nearly made you jump out of your skin.
You turn around and see Matt standing on the other side of the counter. How did you not notice him getting up?
“Nothing. I just couldn’t sleep,” you say, staring at Matt in the blue light of the billboard shining through the uncovered windows. He was shirtless and for the first time you finally see the myriad of scars covering his body. And were those fresh bruises?
“What’s bothering you?” Matt reaches out for the jacket that’s hanging on the back of one of the chairs at the table and pulls it on, zipping it up to his neck. With that you look at his face and notice the furrow to his brows, the concern evident.
“It’s just…I got a call yesterday,” you say, going back to your task, filling the kettle with water, setting it on the stove, and moving to the cupboard to pull out a mug and a teabag.
“From who? You didn’t tell me.” Matt's shoulders tensed, though you’re unsure why.
You thought about not telling him about the call. Honestly, you had already decided yesterday after answering it that you weren’t going to. But with the situation as it was now, you didn’t want to keep anything from him.
“Someone from my job. Anna, I think? She was asking when I would be able to come back.”
“What? No, I contacted them, I told them that you would need more time.” Matt starts pacing back and forth on his side of the counter. “It hasn’t even been a month! They shouldn’t be pressuring you to go back.”
Your eyes track his movements, watching as he works himself up, defensive anger overtaking him. A far different reaction than your mild panic attack in the bedroom yesterday. And even though this is about you, you can’t help but reach out to him. Your arm doesn’t quite make it across the counter, like you would put your hand on him if you could.
“Matt.” His name leaving your mouth is so soft, you're not sure that he could hear it over his racing mind. But he stops, head tilted toward you.
Then Matt turns to face you. It still baffles you that he can always guess where exactly you are. He hesitates for a moment, like he’s thinking over something. He steps up to the counter and takes your outstretched hand in his. He holds it so carefully, like something precious, the pressure light enough that you could pull away if you want to. Your heart skips a beat, as it had been doing more often over the last couple of days. Matt seems to wait another moment, waiting for you to pull away.
You don’t want to. You flip your hand so you can hold Matt’s in return.
“Do you want to go back?” he asks.
It’s such a simple question. An expected one, even. You would have to face it sooner rather than later. But the anticipation of it and the reality are two different things. Tears spring to your eyes and your pulse spikes, though not in the pleasant way from just a moment before. No, this is dread setting in.
“I don’t even know what my job is, Matt!” It feels like everything is crashing down around you. You still don’t remember anything. You don’t remember coming to this city, finding a job, meeting Matt. You don’t know if you’ll ever regain those memories, but that hasn’t stopped people from asking when you’re going to take up the mantle of some stranger and try to fill their shoes, live their life like it’s your own. “I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be!” Your breath hitches, and though you try to reign it all in, your breathing starts coming faster and faster.
You’re not that person. Not anymore. You’re just some unlucky bastard who got tossed into a mess and is expected to roll with it without being given much instruction.
You don’t notice when you fall to the floor. You just know that Matt is there, arms wrapped around you, talking you through box breathing to stop you from hyperventilating. You try to resist at first, tears spilling down your face. That urge to push him away, for him not to touch you, is fighting your common sense. Eventually the rational side of your mind wins out and you fall into his side, your face buried in his neck as you breathe in for four seconds and out for another four, his hands stroking up and down your back.
It takes a minute or five, you don’t know. Matt’s arms are still tight around you, not once slackening throughout your ordeal. You’ve stopped crying, though your face is still wet.
“I don’t know what to do.” Your voice is a hoarse, harsh whisper in the dead silence of the apartment.
“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out, together.” And you know, no matter what, Matt will stay by your side through whatever you decide.
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The brush of air as Matt elegantly moved past you, the two of you carefully dodging around each other as you get ready. Matt’s hand pressed gently on your back to guide you forward a step so he could slip past you.
After that night, you and Matt fall into an easy routine. He goes to work, you stay home—venturing out if you’re feeling brave, then you make dinner together or Matt gets takeout. You spend the evening enjoying each other’s company, listening to something or other either on your phone or set up on the TV. More often than not, though, you talked. About anything and everything, there was no topic that wasn’t covered.
You learned everything there was to know about Matt and you were starting to see why the two of you dated. He was just so… Matt . There was just no other way to explain him. The way he sought out the good in people, believed that they could change for the better. How much he cared about people, about his city. How, even though he was a lawyer, he knew that sometimes the law doesn’t always work the way you hope it does, though that doesn’t mean it should be disregarded altogether.
How protective of those he cares about. He was ready to fight your coworker the other day when it led you to a panic attack. Matt is so ready to help people, the amount of pro bono work he and his friend Foggy does astounds you.
How he wishes he could see the sky one more time.
It would be so easy to fall for this man, and you think, maybe, you are, though you try not to let the thought linger.
The situation is odd to say the least. You and Matt were together before the accident. Very happy based on what Matt tells you and the fact that you were moving in with him. But then you lost your memories. You’ve forgotten everything about the past year. But Matt is still around. He hasn’t left your side once and isn't willing to. And though he would let you walk away if you so chose, they would have to rip his bloody and bruised hands away before he left you.
Matt had stayed late at work tonight. You didn’t mind, you know how much he cares about his clients. And besides, it’s not like the two of you need to be attached at the hip. While you’re not sure you’d ever say it to him, you do miss Matt these evenings he’s out late. His presence in your life has become comforting, familiar, but you would never keep him from what he needs to do.
You had gotten a late start on dinner and just finished putting it together. You're just starting to make up your plate when you hear the door unlocking and swinging open.
“Hey,” you call. “Just in time. I was going to eat without you.” You turn and see Matt walking into the living room.
“And I wouldn’t have blamed you,” he says with a smile. You notice the white box in his hands. “Plus, you’d get to eat this sooner,” he continues, holding the box out for you to take.
“What is it?” You walk over and take the box from his hands, feeling the slight heft of whatever it contained.
“Your fav–a dessert you…you love.” The words come out clumsy, like Matt isn’t sure the best way to phrase it.
A burst of warmth fills your chest and you smile anyway, knowing that he’s trying to say it was once your favorite.
“Why?” Even though you enjoy the gift before you even truly know what it is, the word falls out of your mouth before you can stop it. It’s an automatic response. You’re not used to people just gifting you things unless they’re making up for or wanting something. You already know Matt isn’t like that, but some small part of your brain is still defensive, trying to sniff out the threat or the true reason for this seemingly unprompted gift.
Matt fidgets a little and tilts his head down toward the floor, perhaps hoping that you wouldn’t see the slight flush to his cheeks. “I was thinking of you. Of how much you loved it. I wanted to get it for you. I wanted you to have something good.”
Your smile widens as you feel heat rush to your own face. Without thinking, you step forward, shifting the box to one hand and wrapping the other around Matt.
“Thank you, Matty,” you say. You feel Matt freeze, good or bad you’re not sure, but you let him go and practically run the few steps to the kitchen to set the box on the counter. The nickname came to you unbidden. It felt right, though, and you hope Matt doesn’t mind.
“Now hurry up and eat! I can’t wait to eat this.” You grab a second plate from the cupboard and start filling it with food.
“Anything for you sweetheart.” Matt’s voice is quiet as he starts toward the kitchen. You’re not sure he meant for you to hear him, but the words send a pleasant thrill through you, much like they did the first time he called you that.
The dessert, the nicknames, Matt refusing to let go of you the other night until the both of you practically fell asleep on the kitchen floor… It’s obvious really, but it isn’t until now that the thought finally occurs to you: Matt is still in love with you.
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Laughter bubbling up in your throat. You tried to hide the smile threatening to form with your hand, but it didn’t work. Matt pretended to be offended, but you could see his own smile creeping onto his face.
You’re panicking again, though for a less stressful reason. Matt had asked last night after dinner if you wanted to go out to a bar called Josie’s and meet his friends, Foggy and Karen. That’s not to say that they weren’t also your friends once upon a time and even now, but you couldn’t argue that they were first and foremost Matt’s.
But they were more than just his friends, weren’t they? They were two of the most important people in Matt’s life and he was taking you to meet them. Things were getting serious.
Was it still serious, though, if they already knew you and presumably approved of you? They wouldn’t change their minds and convince Matt that you were no good, right?
Right.
That didn’t stop you from pacing the apartment for the last hour, attempting to get ready so that you could leave when Matt came to get you after he left work. What do you even wear when you’re meeting your maybe-boyfriend’s found family?
Then the door opened. Your time has run out.
You run into the bedroom and slam the sliding door shut and stare at the pile of clothes that you left scattered on the bed.
Matt calls your name. “Everything alright?”
“Yes, fine! I’ll be out in a minute,” you say, like a liar.
“…Are you sure?” He’s outside the door now. You wonder if he would come in without asking first. You don’t want him to. What would he even say to you? You’re in a frenzy because you’re meeting friends. It shouldn’t be this stressful!
You think you hear the door start to slide open and you do the only thing that makes any sense at the moment. You pull off your shirt.
“Don’t come in, I’m not dressed!” Which was now technically true, though it doesn’t really matter considering the man is blind and presumably has been around your unclothed body at some point in the past.
“It’s okay if you want to cancel,” Matt says through the door, all sounds of it opening ceased. “We can go some other time.” Of course he would understand the impending meeting is what has you so worked up.
“No, I want to go.” And you do. You want to meet his friends, the people who you’re pretty sure he would knock someone’s teeth out for if they got hurt.
“Can I come in?” Matt asks.
You sigh and sit on the bed, grabbing one of the random shirts you had tossed there earlier. “Yeah, come on in.”
The door slides open and Matt slowly enters. He walks over to the bed and sits down next to you without even guessing at where you were.
“Tell me?” He leans over and brushes his shoulder against yours before pulling back.
“It’s just…” You bite your lip, not wanting to tell him the truth. You’re slightly afraid to tell him, that he’ll think it’s stupid, but the rational part of your brain knows it’s not true. “What if they don’t like me?” you whisper, hoping that if the words are quiet enough he wouldn’t hear you.
“They already love you.”
“I knew you would say that,” you say, not looking at him.
The two of you sit in silence for a moment before Matt speaks.
“You know I’ll be there with you the entire time,” he says. “I won’t leave your side, not to get drinks, not for anything if you don’t want me to. And when you want to leave, even if it’s five minutes after we get there, just let me know and we’ll leave.”
Matt grabs one of your hands, something that he’s steadily become more comfortable with doing and something that sends a thrill through you every time. His thumb brushes back and forth across your knuckles. He takes a deep breath before speaking again.
“This is about how it went the first time.”
That finally draws you out. The two of you haven’t spoken at length about the past, instead focusing on the present. Sure, occasionally it would come up, but it was clear to Matt when you first came home you were uncomfortable hearing about this other life. Now, though, you started to crave it. You wanted to know everything, wanted so badly to remember your life with the man beside you.
“I did?”
Matt nods. “Of course, we weren’t living together then, but I went to your apartment to pick you up. At first, you wouldn’t answer the door.”
You let out a slight chuckle. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” Matt laughs too.
“I may have manipulated you into letting me in when I said that we were going to be late. And when we got to Josie’s, and you met Foggy and Karen? It was perfect.” You stared at Matt, watching him relive the moment. His thumb is still moving across your knuckles, the motion soothing. “So believe me when I say I know you can do this.”
At some point, your eyes had started to water.
“What if it’s not perfect this time?” What if you couldn’t live up to the you who went through this the already?
“With you? It always will be,” Matt says, bringing your hand up and placing the lightest kiss on your knuckles.
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.
.
Soft notes flowed from the record playing at the side of the room. Matt sat in one of the chairs in the living room, the one closest to the window. The light hit his face in such a way that it took your breath away and in the moment, you knew.
“Tell me more?” you ask one night after dinner. After that night out with Foggy and Karen, you wanted to hear more. You wanted him to tell you that you weren’t actually a different person now than who you were before.
Matt knew what you were asking. “What do you want to know?”
“Let’s start with your favorite memory.”
Matt lets out a quiet hum as he turns things over in his mind. “And I’m guessing I’m not allowed to say ‘everything?’” he asks.
“No, that’s cheating and you know it.” Matt laughs and you smile in return. How you’ve grown to love that sound.
Matt thinks for another moment before slowly speaking. “There was...one night.”
You’re sitting on the couch, leaning back against one of the arms with your legs stretched out across the length of it. Matt is sitting across from you in one of the chairs. You turn, resting on your hip, putting your elbow on the arm of the chair to hold your head, preparing yourself for a story.
“What happened?”
“I had gotten into a fight. You were staying over and I had debated not coming home, at least until I got cleaned up. I was afraid of what you would think of me.” Matt’s head was tilted down, more caught up in retelling that moment than focusing on you now.
You smile to yourself when he says he was in a fight, not finding it strange at all. You know there was very little stopping him from punching someone who deserves it.
“But,” Matt continued, “I figured I’d be in worse trouble if I didn’t come home at all than if I just showed up with a couple of bruises and a bloody lip.” He was right. If Matt had gotten into a fight, he would have taken a hit or two himself and you would much rather see him with a black eye and know he was okay than have him missing the whole night with no idea what happened to him.
“When I walked in, you were on the couch, waiting for me. I was shocked at first. It’s like you knew—“ Matt stumbles over the words for a moment. “Like…you knew what I had been up to.”
“Me waiting to fix your split lip is your favorite memory?” you tease, your mouth titling up in a smirk that he can’t see.
“I haven’t finished yet,” Matt says, that small smile appearing on his face.
“Then do go on,” you say.
“When you saw me, you asked if I was okay. To be honest, I was expecting you to be angry, to yell maybe, to ask me why I did it...tell me to never do it again, but you didn’t.” Matt looks up, toward you. “When I asked why you weren’t mad, you said you couldn’t be. That that is who I am. Then, all you said was that next time, I needed to tell you about it and that no matter what, I had to come home.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” you say.
Matt bites his lip in thought, trying to work out how best to explain it to you.
“You found out about something that I had tried to hide from you. Something that I was so afraid would make you leave. Instead, you said that you still loved me and that it wasn’t something to run from or to ask me to stop doing. The only thing you asked of me at that moment was to come home to you. That is my favorite memory of you.”
You didn’t turn him away when he had come back from doing something that, while he himself may not be ashamed of, was afraid that you would be. That you would be angry, upset with him. But, as he said–as you said, that is who Matt is. It would be impossible for you to love him and not accept every part of him.
Words you weren’t sure you should say almost slipped out. It didn’t feel like the right time. It was almost like the two of you were still getting to know each other, or rather, that you were still getting to know Matt. Besides, there was no need to rush anything. Matt hadn’t given any indication that he wanted this new relationship to end, that he wasn’t going to wait for you to be sure or that he was tired of waiting around for your memories to return.
So, instead of those words, you say something else.
“I’m not sure I would turn you away for anything, Matty.” Then, you did something you haven’t done since losing your memories. You got up, walked the two steps to stand in front of Matt before getting on your knees and hugging him. “Thank you for sharing that moment with me.”
* * *
What Matt didn’t tell you was that was also the moment he truly knew you loved him. Of course, he knew he loved you and that love only grew in that moment, but to Matt it was like he finally had tangible proof that you loved him. You didn’t turn him away, you didn’t run. You had stayed. You had chosen him. Every part. And maybe, one day, he could tell you the truth again. And maybe, when he did, you would still stay. He tried not to get his hopes up. Things had changed, they were a little different now than they had been before. But even so, after spending all this time with you, after all the things you still say to him when you don’t remember having said them before, for once it felt like he had hope that things were going to turn out okay.
.
.
.
The reassuring weight of you lying on his chest as you slept. The two of you couldn’t get any closer, yet Matt still tried. The arm around your waist pressed you more firmly against him.
Matt was so scared at first. He didn’t know what happened to you, then he didn’t know if you would wake up. Finally, he wasn’t sure you would ever remember him, your relationship, your time together.
He was scared, even when he brought you to his apartment that day you were released from the hospital. He had asked if you would rather go to your place and when you’d said no, he could have sworn his heart almost burst from his chest. But then it slowed and thumped at a deathly slow pace yet again when it hit him that the two of you were no longer the same
Matt’s heartbeat was in never-ending flux. He’d be euphoric when you never turned him away. That was proof, wasn’t it? The part of you that knew him was still hanging on, was allowing him close when you normally wouldn’t dare spend time alone with a stranger like this.
Then his heart would break and his mind would fill with self-loathing when he would then realize that he couldn’t hold you like he used to. Matt loved coming up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, kissing your neck. He loved coming back from a night out, crawling back into bed, and you would turn, still asleep, to burrow into his chest, seeking him out even in sleep because you couldn’t be without him for a moment, just like he never wanted to be without you.
Matt was a wreck at first. He tried so hard not to cross boundaries. How he craved to crawl into bed with you again, instead of trying to find a comfortable position on the couch and listening to your heartbeat in the next room, hyper aware of your every movement.
The first few nights, he couldn't sleep. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to risk waking in a world where you were gone from his life completely rather than just missing memories. So he listened, to your heartbeat, to your breathing, the sounds of you rolling over in the night. This left Matt exhausted the first few mornings, but that didn’t stop him from taking you out. He didn’t want you to feel trapped with him, so he wanted to take you to places you loved or places he thought you would love. He wanted you to see everything there was to see in the city he cared so much about.
Matt tried to convince himself that, no, he wasn’t trying to make you fall in love with him again. He was just being a good man and taking care of you. In time, perhaps you would move on, find someone new. Or maybe, in the place in his heart he tried not to think about too often, you would wrap your arms around him again and tell him you loved him.
He desperately wants that to happen.
“I wouldn’t turn you away for anything, Matt. ”
Matt keeps replaying those words over and over again in his mind, and how you had come to him and hugged him. Words he knew he couldn’t say almost slipped out. He bit his tongue to keep them in and simply hugged you back, trying not to hold on too tightly.
And even though he tries not to, he falls a little bit more in love with you every moment like this.
And though that memory of you accepting him as he was is so precious to him, Matt hopes that it isn’t going to be repeated, at least not in the same way. He just has to figure out a way to ease the truth onto you. He needs to figure out the right way to do it. After all, just because you accepted him once doesn’t mean it‘ll happen again. But maybe, if he does it just right, everything will be fine.
.
.
.
Dark red on red. The thought of the outfit being stained passed through your mind, though you knew it should have been that last thing you were thinking of when you saw him.
At first, you weren’t sure what woke you up. You roll over and squint at the alarm clock on the nightstand, the bright numbers telling you that it was just after two in the morning.
Your eyes are only closed for a moment when you hear it again. A thump and a soft grunt.
“Matt?” You call, trying to raise your voice enough that he could hear you if he was awake, but not enough if he was actually still sleeping.
A beat of silence. Then,
“I’m fine, go back to sleep.” Matt’s voice had an edge to it that you couldn’t quite place. You start to sit up.
“Are you sure?” You ask.
“Yes, please, just go back to sleep.” That worries you. If everything were fine, Matt wouldn’t be trying to beg you to go back to bed.
You throw the sheets off and practically run the few steps it took to reach the door, with another thud coming from the living room.
As soon as you open the door you see him.
Matt, sitting on the couch, head hanging low, wearing some kind of red and black suit. There is enough light shining through the windows for you to see the hand pressed to his side and the first aid kit sitting on the coffee table in front of him.
The sight of it knocks the breath out of you.
“Are you okay?” You step around the chairs, past the coffee table, and kneel on the floor next to him. Your knee bumps something on the way down and you see a horned mask.
You pick it up. Matt keeps his head down. Some things click into place. The fresh bruises in the morning where there weren’t any the night before. The myriad of scars covering his body that Matt is so careful to keep you from seeing. The way he always seems to know where you are.
You had asked Matt once what he thought of all the people running around New York in weird suits. He shrugged off the conversation, neither directly praising certain parties (Daredevil) nor disparaging others (the Avengers, though he disliked commenting on their combined body count). You had assumed it was because he was a lawyer, that he didn’t want to get caught saying something that may get him in a legal bind one day, even if it was with you in a private conversation. Either way, it didn’t matter so much to you as you weren’t invested in suited up vigilantes and sanctioned government super weapons.
Now, seeing him in the suit, you start to see the pieces you have falling into place, though there is still a blank spot or two. Matt is Daredevil. How or why aren’t things you need to know right now. You have more important things to be worried about.
Matt had started peeling off the suit when you came out of the bedroom. He had his, rather large now that you think about it, first aid kit laid out in front of him.
Without thinking you reach over, brushing his hand away from the spot on his side that he had been covering. The suit was torn, and even though it was small, you could still see the blood on his skin.
“Take this off,” you say even as you tug at the suit, trying to find a way to get it off Matt yourself.
Matt doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything for a moment before silently complying. He stands, removing the top half of the suit that vaguely reminds you of a Kevlar vest.
The light from the billboard lights up his pale skin, showing you the new bruises covering his body. The wound at his side, though, seems to be the only place he’s bleeding from.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Matt says quietly. “You don’t need to do this.”
“Sit down, I’m going to go wash my hands,” you reply. Matt promptly sits back down as you stand and walk to the kitchen, turning the living room light on along the way. If you were going to clean up Matt’s…stab wound? You want to be able to see it properly.
When you come back, you kneel down on the floor again. It was the best vantage point for you to see what you were doing. Matt was holding some gauze to the wound and without thinking you grabbed it from his hand and started dabbing at the wound yourself, trying to clear away some of the blood and to see how much it was still bleeding.
“Anything in here that needs to be cleaned out?” you ask.
“No, it’s good. And it’s shallow, nothing serious,” Matt says. He’s lying, at least about it being shallow. You can practically see it in the way he’s clenching his jaw. You’re not entirely sure how deep is too deep, but considering Matt was about to patch himself back up, probably not deep enough that he’s going to die soon.
You hope.
“‘Nothing serious’,” you repeat, your voice taking on a lower tone, trying to mimic Matt’s. “‘My name’s Matt Murdock and I run around on rooftops at night for fun,” you continue, trying to keep your tone light. Matt doesn’t seem concerned that he’s leaking blood, so you try not to be worried, but your heart is beating out of your chest and your hands are shaking as you grab an alcohol wipe to follow the gauze.
You glance at Matt out of the corner of your eye and see that his mouth had turned upward on one side, a somewhat smile that tells you that Matt knows, at least right now, you aren’t trying to scold him. But then his mouth quickly turns into a grimace.
“I’m sorry,” Matt says softly. Sorry for getting hurt, for being Daredevil. Sorry for disappointing you. The list could go on and you think he’s apologizing for all of those things at once.
You set the alcohol wipe aside. The wound looks pretty nasty to you, but then again, you’ve never seen much beyond a bad scrape. On the bright side, the bleeding seems to have slowed.
You’re at a loss for what to do next when Matt picks up a curved needle and some thread. You freeze. You’re not sure if you can stitch him up properly with how much your hands are shaking.
“I’ve got this part,” Matt says. “You don’t have to watch.”
You shake your head. “Yes, I do.” What if it happens again and Matt isn’t able to do it himself? You need to know what to do.
Matt just nods, takes another alcohol wipe and disinfects the needle as best he can with what he has. It makes you squirm, but you sit and watch as Matt deftly feels for the edges of the opening in his side and puts a few stitches into his skin, pulling the thread taught, knotting, and cutting it.
With the hard part out of the way, you’re surprisingly eager to continue to help. Matt seems to sense this and hands you a jar of something before wiping his hands on some gauze, trying to clean off some of the blood. You open it, the medicinal herbal scent hits you right away. You scoop out a small amount and spread it across the stitches, the weird salve and the blood mixing together.
“You don’t need to apologize, by the way,” you say, putting the lid back on the jar and wiping the excess salve off with a bit of clean gauze. You don’t want him to apologize. Matt being Daredevil… feels right . Like this is how the world is supposed to be. “Apologies are for when you do something wrong.”
Matt takes a shaky breath, though he doesn’t say anything. You stare at your and Matt’s handiwork. Matt’s suit seems to have lessened the impact of whatever caused it, or at least you hope it did. You know it was deeper than Matt wanted to admit, but judging by the quick look you got at the suit, it could have been much worse. You sit back for a second before deciding to tape some gauze over the stitches. Better safe than sorry if it started to bleed again.
You let out a deep sigh, grabbing your own thighs, trying to center yourself and stop your shaking hands and making your heart rate lower. Matt sits in silence, waiting for a cue from you before making a move.
Gathering your thoughts, you finally stand. Matt opens his mouth and you know another apology is going to try to come out. Before he can get the words out, you gently take his face in your hands. You lean forward and kiss his forehead.
“Go get ready for bed, Matty,” you whisper after a moment, lips brushing against him still as you haven’t pulled away.
When you straighten, you keep your hands on his face, your thumb brushing across the reddening of a bruise on his left cheekbone. Matt’s eyes are tightly shut, though not because he’s in pain.
“Okay,” Matt whispers back. You step away, your hands falling from Matt’s face. He leans forward, trying to follow you before he catches himself and stands.
You move out of Matt’s way as he heads to the bathroom or wipe off the sweat and blood from the night. You take your time cleaning up the scattering of gauze and used alcohol wipes before finally closing up the first aid kit.
You throw the garbage away and wash your hands again. Going back into the living room you aren’t sure what to do with the top half of Matt’s suit, so you simply pick up the mask and set it on the couch, folding it to keep the bloody part off the couch, and leave it there to deal with in the morning.
You grab the clothes Matt uses as pajamas that he has seemingly left on one of the living room chairs as a permanent spot for them and carry them to the bathroom door.
“Clothes,” you call after two quick knocks. Matt opens the door slightly, staying mostly behind it as he reaches a hand out.
“Thank you,” he says.
“Come to the bedroom when you’re done, okay?” Matt nods.
You turn off the living room light and go crawl into bed.
When Matt finally leaves that bathroom, he just stands in the bedroom doorway. You flip the sheets up and pat the bed. “Come,” you say. You’re on the side farthest from the door, leaving the right side of the bed closest to the door for Matt.
Matt hesitates. “I can stay on the couch.” You see Matt’s body start to rock back, moving to go back to the living room.
“I’m not kicking an injured man out of his bed,” you say before he can take more than a step. “And I can’t use the couch because your suit’s taking up all the room.” You know that’s not why you want to share a bed with Matt and you briefly wonder if he’ll figure out the lie. “Besides, I need to make sure you don’t do anything stupid,” you continue, though that’s not quite the truth either. After this, you want him close. You want to know that he’s okay. You want to know this when you go to sleep and you want to know it as soon as you wake up.
You pat Matt’s side of the bed again.
Matt waits a moment more, seemingly frozen to the spot, before he takes a slow step towards the bed.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Yes.”
And with that, Matt closes the distance to the bed and lies down beside you.
.
.
.
Matt’s hand on top of your left, playing with your fingers. He was grinning and so were you. You’ll have to start going through your things.
It was both familiar and new, having Matt sleep next to you. He was still there when you woke up the next morning, eyes closed and breathing deep. It wasn’t a sight you remember seeing, yet at the same time it felt like the two of you had done this a million times before. Looking at Matt next to you gave you a giddy feeling, the sensation of being with a new significant other for the first time mixed with realizing you still love the person you’ve been with for years already.
Matt lying next to you, asleep, peaceful, made your heart swell. Last night was mildly stressful, yes, but that didn’t change your feelings. You care deeply for him. No, it was more than that.
You are in love with him. Any thoughts of the strangeness of it all completely left your mind. After all, it wasn’t strange, not really. You had already loved Matt once, for good reason. The man clearly loved you, wanting to cling to you yet giving you the chance to leave if you wanted, then proving through every action afterward how devoted he was to you, being there when you needed him, getting you things he knew you liked just because he knew it would make you happy. All of that had easily gained your affection. Learning about Daredevil? That only made you realize that you didn’t want to let this man go for anything.
While the familiarity lingered in the background, this all felt new to you in the end. The emotions were hitting hard and fast. At first, you tried to slow down, not let them take over. You tried not to think about Matt that way. It wasn’t right, was it? You hadn’t earned this man. You had done nothing to have him care so much about you. At least, that’s what it felt like.
One moment, you were home (not the one you had found in Hell’s Kitchen) and the next you were waking up in a hospital bed with Matt rushing to your side.
“Sweetheart, can you hear me?”
You couldn’t think of a single thing you had done to deserve being handed a life like this. True, not everything is perfect, but with Matt it feels like it is. And so you watch him as he sleeps, hoping this moment will last.
And then, Matt starts to wake up. It starts slowly at first, his breathing changing, the fluttering of his eyelids. He turns his head further into his pillow, trying to burrow deeper and deny the new day. But his breathing stays steady. He’s not trying to fall back asleep and instead you have the sense that he’s listening for you, to you, waiting.
“Morning,” you say softly, acknowledging that you both know the other is awake.
“Morning,” Matt replies. Neither of you move. “I’m sorry—“ Matt starts.
“I told you apologies are for when you do something wrong,” you repeat.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Matt finishes, his voice rough from sleep.
“Ah, well…” You can feel your face heat a little. Yes, you suppose, that could be considered wrong and that is a fair apology to make. “How could you tell me? After what happened?” You didn’t blame him. How was the man supposed to tell his amnesiac partner who didn’t even remember him that he ran around breaking people’s legs?
“I still should have. I should have found the time, explained it to you. Instead, you just walked out and saw me like that.” Matt grimaces. “I should go.” He starts to sit, gives a small wince, though the minor hole in his side doesn’t seem to bother him too much. “I shouldn’t have let you stay here.”
This definitely feels familiar.
Unlike before, when you thought he was asking you to move out, you don’t panic. In your heart you know these moves he’s making. You know even though he’s saying this, being hurtful because he thinks he doesn’t deserve it, he wouldn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to.
You reach out and grab Matt’s arm before he can fully sit up and get out of bed.
“I wanted to stay here,” you say and Matt freezes. You don’t have him in a death grip by any means. He could easily shake your hand off of him and continue on toward self destruction. But as much as he may think he’s done you wrong, he still wants you to stop him. To love him.
“You didn’t have a choice,” Matt says, though there’s no weight behind the words. He doesn’t even believe them himself. He could still have supported you had you not decided to live with him. You could have found your way in the world completely without him had you wanted.
“I chose you every time.” You let go of Matt’s arm and sit up yourself, with him following just after. “I chose you before I lost my memories. I chose you after. I choose you now.” Even though you’re no longer holding him in place, Matt doesn’t try to leave.
“The things I’ve done—“ Matt still tries.
“Don’t make you any less of the man I already know.” Matt doesn’t turn to face you. “I won’t say that what you do doesn’t worry me, but it’s not going to make me let you go.”
“You would change your mind if you really knew,” Matt says. The words are weak, his voice is soft. He doesn’t want to stop you, not really. You wonder if he’s said these things before.
“Then explain it to me again,” you say. This conversation can’t be anything new for Matt, not if you knew about this once before. You don’t know when you originally found out about him, but it must have been some time before he asked you to move in. You understood once and you didn’t leave then. You’re not convinced you wouldn’t understand a second time.
“Matt.” Your voice is firm. He finally turns his head toward you. You stare at him for a moment, wondering if this is the right time. Then, you grab his arm again and pull him toward you.
Matt falls into you without a word. You shift, bringing his head to your chest in a move that you just know you’ve done before. He curls around you, though he doesn’t wrap his arms around you like you know he should. You wrap one arm around his shoulders, your opposite hand comes to rest on his head, fingers running through his hair, holding him in place.
“Matt,” you say his name again, softly this time. “I love you.”
Then his arms were around you, his breath hitching. His face is buried against your chest, the words muffled, yet you hear them clearly all the same.
“I love you, too.”
.
.
.
Music from the record player filled the apartment. A single rose sat on the table in a glass; neither you nor Matt had a vase. And lastly, a few battery powered fake candles scattered around the apartment. The lighting they provided was mainly for you, but you hoped Matt would appreciate the gesture.
Things had changed between you and Matt and it was a little odd, you had to admit. After your insistence that Matt shouldn’t sleep on the couch while he was hurt, the two of you continued to share the bed. Then Matt had taken out his stitches and you were sure he would attempt to retreat back to the couch. So, at the expense of a good night’s sleep, you set multiple alarms starting around two in the morning. You had to catch him when he came back home.
The two of you had talked. Matt had explained everything. What he did, why, how hearing that little girl being hurt was the last straw. How he didn’t want to stop. You told him you didn’t want him to. You would never ask him to stop trying to protect people.
Now, Matt didn’t have to worry about sneaking out, didn’t have to wait for you to fall asleep before he could leave. Instead, after you had gotten ready for bed, he told you he was going out. He looked nervous when he said it, like he still wasn’t sure that you weren’t going to change your mind about being okay with everything.
“Make sure to come home,” you told him.
Matt reached out a hand toward your face, his fingers just barely tracing along your jaw.
“Always."
And now, you played the waiting game, hoping your alarm would wake you up in time. At first, you weren't sure if it would be easier to simply try to stay up until he got back, but then you remember the night of your panic attack and how Matt had just laid down on the couch at four in the morning when you had just woken up. No, it would be better to get at least a couple hours of rest before moving to the couch and catching Matt.
It felt like you had barely gotten any sleep by the time your alarm went off. Without thinking you turn it off, your sleep addled mind not remembering why the alarm was going off in the first place. Then, when the second went off at 2:30, you jump out of bed and throw open the bedroom door, making sure Matt isn’t already home. The couch is empty and you sigh in relief. You shuffle over to the couch, take the blanket off the back, and settle in. You’re sitting up, facing the stairs, figuring it would be easier to wake up if you heard something or if Matt tried to move you. You knew if he saw you asleep on the couch he would try to carry you back to bed. You’re not entirely convinced he would succeed if he tried, but you didn’t want to risk lying down just in case.
And so you sat, leaning against the back of the couch for somewhere to rest your head, snuggled under the blanket, waiting for Matt to come home. You aren’t sure if you just blinked or if you had fallen asleep when finally, blessedly, the rooftop door opened just after 3:00 am. You stare at Matt as he walks in and pauses at the top of the stairs.
“You’re awake,” he says.
“I’m just going to bed,” you say, which is technically true now that Matt is home. If he couldn’t figure out that you were waiting for him then he wasn’t as perceptive as he claimed.
Matt walks down the stairs, still focusing on you, waiting for you to explain or to try to tell if something is wrong, perhaps.
“You’re coming to bed, right?” You ask in a way that isn’t truly a question, but more of a command you expect him to follow. You stand, putting the blanket back in its place on the back of the couch.
You don’t know if it’s perhaps the most appropriate thing to ask since neither of you have really wholly confirmed—or is it reaffirmed—your relationship. All you knew was that you wanted him next to you again when you fell asleep. It had been wonderful to have him there those few nights, even though Matt had been injured. You want that feeling to stay.
You’re half expecting Matt to ask if you’re sure, as is his favorite phrase when it comes to things between the two of you. But instead, he surprises you a little.
“Yeah,” Matt says. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a second.”
You smile to yourself, proud that your plan had worked. Now all that was left was lying in bed and staying awake a little while longer just to make sure that Matt was indeed going to take his side of the bed.
You failed. As soon as your head hit the pillow you were out like a light. There was no hope for it. When you open your eyes in the morning, though, you’re glad to see Matt had been true to his word. There he was, curled on his side, facing you, one hand entwined with yours.
.
.
.
The first time you heard those words, your heart nearly exploded. As time went on, the feeling never went away.
You were determined to get this right, no matter what. It was a Wednesday and with Matt having work the next day plus going out to patrol the city in a couple of hours, the two of you were usually determined to do something together in the few hours you had with each other during the week. As much as you could anyway. Tonight, time together meant washing the dishes after dinner.
“Do you have any plans this weekend?” you ask.
“No, do you have something you want to do?” Matt was standing next to you. You washed, he dried.
You bit your lip. You don’t know why this was so hard to ask, you were living with the man and sharing his bed for God’s sake. Still, the words don’t want to come out.
Matt says your name, bringing your attention back after it had wandered for a moment. You hand him another plate.
“Do you…” you start.
“…Do I?”
Heat rushes to your face and your ears are burning. “Do you want to go on a date?” You don’t look at him. You’re a little afraid to, if you were being honest with yourself. In theory, Matt shouldn’t, couldn’t , turn you down, but that didn’t mean the fear that he would isn’t there.
Matt’s hands slip on the plate, but it manages to stay in his hands.
“You’re asking me out?” He’s surprised, maybe a little shocked. Yes, you had told Matt you loved him, and he had said it back, but beyond that the two of you had yet to make any more progress in your relationship. A date seemed the best and most logical step and you aren’t sure Matt was going to ask anytime soon.
“I am,” you say, squaring your shoulders in an attempt to project the confidence you wish you felt. “Yeah, you’ve taken me out, but those weren’t really…”
“Romantic,” Matt finishes for you.
“No,” you agree. “And I would like that with you.” You turn to face him, setting down the dish you were been holding. “If that’s alright.”
“Yeah, I—yes, I want to,” Matt stumbles over his words, a red flush tinting his cheeks. He pauses a moment to collect himself. “I would love to go out with you.” His smile is tentative, a little nervous, but it lights up his face and you can feel your heart skip a beat. You smile back.
“Do you want me to—“ Matt starts.
“No!” You cut him off. “I asked you, I’ll make the plans. You just stand there and look pretty until Saturday comes around.” Which shouldn’t be hard for him to do , you think.
Matt chuckles. “Okay, just let me know when and where you want me.”
“Okay.” You smile, heat still rising to your face, though the feeling was more pleasant now.
Matt went out not long after the two of you had finished washing the dishes. You wait a few minutes afterward, wanting to make sure he wouldn’t know about what you were going to do. You pull out your phone and send a text.
I need a huge favor. You type. It wasn’t too late at night, but that doesn’t mean they’ll respond.
A second later, your phone vibrates..
What do you need?
* * *
“Are you texting someone?” Matt asks, noticing that you had been checking your phone. He could probably also tell your heart rate was higher than usual, but you had hoped he would assume you were nervous about the date and not figure out that you were planning something. You want it to be a surprise.
“Everything’s fine,” you say. “I promise.” You bring your hand up to where he is holding on to your upper arm, touching his wrist. Matt relaxes a little and you hope that he doesn’t make note of it. You’ll have to be more careful now when you check your phone.
Your nerves heighten when you and Matt walk up to the restaurant. It wasn’t anything too nice, but still a good place for a date, you thought. Matt had taken you out to eat a couple of times since coming back from the hospital, but he hadn’t really done so in an effort to gain your attention or affection, though it did work out that way when he would suggest a dish you ended up enjoying that he later told you was one of your favorites. This time you specifically planned it with the intention of Matt seeing you in a romantic light, though you doubt he ever really stopped doing that.
You dug the nicest clothes out of your closet you could find. The shirt was also the softest you owned and it made you wonder if you had bought it specifically with Matt’s senses in mind. As a final touch, you had dabbed just a touch of the perfume you owned on your wrists, hoping that since it made the move from your apartment to Matt’s that he liked it.
Once the two of you are seated, you surreptitiously wipe your palms on your thighs, trying to make it look like you’re just smoothing the fabric. Picking up the menu, you sweep your eyes over it before asking Matt his preferences before reading out the options. Your choices made, you pick out a wine you hope you both would like, though only a glass for each of you. You were willing to splurge on the date as a whole, but you were hard pressed to cough up the money for a whole bottle of wine, especially with what you had waiting back at the apartment.
Dinner went on, the two of you talking, enjoying each other’s company. You made sure to try to be more flirtatious than you normally would. You even made what could be considered the first move, lightly running your fingers across the back of Matt’s wrist after he rested his hand on the table.
The two of you lingered in the restaurant for a little while after finishing your meal, though you skipped out on dessert. Eventually the two of you left. The night had cooled off considerably, but the chill in the air was pleasant against your constantly heated skin. The two of you continue chatting on the walk back to the apartment, Matt’s hand on your arm again.
“Tonight was nice,” Matt says, walking up the final steps before reaching the apartment door.
“If you don’t mind, I have one more thing planned,” you say, pulling out your key and unlocking the door.
“Oh?” You’re getting nervous again and you really hope that your palms won’t be damp for this.
“Yeah. Keep your shoes on,” you say as the two of you walk down the hall, Matt dropping off his cane without stopping.
Matt pauses once the two of you reach the living room, head tilted to the side, though you continue walking toward the stairs heading to the roof.
“Foggy and Karen were here,” Matt says.
You stop at the bottom of the stairs. You figured he would notice they had been inside the apartment while you two were away, but it was necessary for how you planned to end the night. “They’re who I was texting earlier,” you tell him.
“And they took the record player?” He’s confused. He can’t figure out what exactly was going on.
“Do you trust me?” you ask, holding out your hand, knowing he would sense it. Without a thought, Matt walks over to you and takes your hand.
“Of course I do.”
“Then stop asking questions and come with me,” you say. Hand in hand the two of you walk up the stairs, through the door, and out onto the roof.
There, Foggy and Karen had set up everything like you had asked. The record player off to the right of the door, a pile of outdoor cushions and blankets to the left alongside a cooler where a dessert you had made at Karen’s the day before and a bottle of sparkling wine were stowed away. The small area around the setup also had fake candles at the edges. They were more so for a source of light for you than anything else. The lights of the city made sure that it was never completely black, but the shadows across the space still made it a little hard for you to see without the extra light source. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but it didn’t need to be.
“I had them set everything up,” you say after you and Matt take everything in. You had told the two of them how you had envisioned everything, but you weren’t able to see it yourself until now. “I figured you’d notice if I put everything up here beforehand and I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“It worked. For a second there, I thought Foggy had changed his mind about me and decided to rob me.” You laugh.
“Well, the record player could fetch a decent amount of money, so I wouldn’t be surprised if someone went for it first.”
“And now I know why you turned down dessert,” Matt says, talking a couple steps forward and gesturing to the cooler.
“It cut a little bit off the bill,” you say, trying to brush it off. While at least true enough, to you it was more special for you to make something for Matt yourself rather than having everything at the restaurant.
You leave Matt’s side to walk over to the record player. You pick up the records that had been placed on top and lifted the lid off the player. You place the records, the player is able to play multiple in a row, set the needle, and let the music play into the night. There weren’t any words, just instrumental. The soft opening notes flow around you and you turn back to face Matt.
“Dance with me?” You ask.
Without another word Matt steps forward, taking your right hand in his left, his other wrapping around your back and pulling you close, your left hand coming up to rest on his shoulder.
Neither of you say anything. You simply move to the music. Your dancing isn’t anything fancy, mainly swaying, holding each other, focusing on every movement the other makes. Then when the music swells, Matt takes a step away and unexpectedly guides you into a clumsy spin. It wasn’t graceful by any means and you laugh, Matt joining along before pulling you in again.
You look up into his face then. He’s relaxed, content, head tilted slightly, listening to you, taking you in. He still has a small smile on his face, the corners of his lips just tilted up. You bring the both of you to a stop and before you can overthink it, you kiss him.
Matt doesn’t even hesitate to return the kiss, pressing into you with what can only be described as a longing. The kiss starts slow, soft, Matt letting you set the pace, though you can practically feel him vibrating with the need to kiss you harder, pull you closer.
You deepen the kiss, your tongue slipping against his lips before he eagerly opens up, his tongue meeting yours and you practically feel as well as hear the moan that rumbles in the back of his throat. The hand that had been holding yours reaches up and gently caresses your neck, resting there while the arm around your back wraps around you more completely, pressing you firmly into Matt’s body. The music is still playing in the background, but it sounds so faint, all of your senses focused on Matt. The breaths he takes, the sounds he’s making, the way his hand on your neck tilts your head just so to kiss you more thoroughly.
You don’t know how long the two of you have been wrapped up in each other when Matt moves his head, causing his glasses to lightly bump against your face, causing you to let out a surprised noise. You and Matt finally separate.
“Sorry,” he says, the hand on your neck leaving it’s place to adjust his glasses. The slight pause in his movements when he does so makes you wonder if he’s thinking about tossing his glasses aside and kissing you again.
“It’s fine,” you say, a little breathless. Currently, your emotions are riding high. You don’t want to stop. You want to pull Matt in again, you want him to pull you close…maybe press you against a wall. But instead, you take a deep breath, forcing your heart to slow down, regain your senses. “Dessert?” You ask, feeling a little disappointed in yourself for stopping, but also wanting the rest of the night to play out like you had imagined. Besides, there’s no rush. Neither you nor Matt plan on leaving the other’s side any time soon.
“I’d love some,” Matt says. The two of you barely separate to take the few steps needed over to the cushion setup where you take your seats.
You open the cooler and pull out plates, forks, glasses, the dessert you made, and the bottle of champagne. You hesitate for a moment before holding the bottle out for Matt to take.
“Would you? I’m always afraid it’s going to explode all over the place when I do it,” you say.
“Just as long as you don’t shake it up first, it should be fine,” Matt says, taking the bottle from you. After removing the foil around the neck of the bottle, he gently coaxes the cork out. Even though he’s careful, the pop when it finally pulls free makes you jump a little. Matt holds his hand out for a glass. Once you hand him one, he manages a perfect pour and repeats it with the second glass. You carefully plate the dessert and hand a plate over to Matt.
Before you’re able to enjoy your first bite, you notice the music has briefly stopped while the needle lifts up and the next record falls into place. While the music isn’t strictly necessary, it adds to the ambiance of the setting. Plus, it’s just pleasant to listen to. When music starts up again and Matt has his glass in hand and raises it toward you. You raise your own and clink them together before taking a sip and then having a bite of dessert.
“When did you make this anyway? I had no idea,” Matt asks after a minute.
“At Karen’s yesterday. Couldn’t have you smelling it and asking where it was at,” you say. “You know, you make sneaking around a lot more difficult than it should be around a blind man,” you tease.
“I could always pretend I didn't notice,” Matt says.
“But then it wouldn’t be a surprise.” You pause. “You were surprised weren’t you?” You had tried so hard to make sure he wouldn’t figure this out before you got back. You wouldn’t be mad if he wasn’t, but it would make you try harder in the future.
Matt smiles and reaches out to grab one of your hands. “Yeah, I was.” You smile back.
You set your plate aside and lean forward, taking Matt’s face in your hands. You kiss him again, not bothering to start slow this time. Matt does his best to set his plate out of the way before returning the kiss just as fiercely.
After a moment, Matt pulls away.
“Why,” he asks, desperation creeping into his voice. “After everything, why would you still want to be with me?”
You stare at him, one hand still on his face, thumb brushing across his cheek. In moments like these, you didn’t mind repeating yourself, especially when Matt needed to hear it all again.
“I love you, Matt. I don’t think I ever stopped,” you say and Matt takes a deep breath. “I know I may not be exactly the same as I was before, but as far as I can tell, that hasn’t changed anything. I want to be with you, be around you. I want to be here with you after a bad night out and I want to be there during the best day of your life. You’ve told me everything about you and none of it has made me want to leave. If you’ll let me, I’ll stay here forever.”
Matt takes one of your hands you have on his face in his. He turns his head and kisses your palm. You can see the trail of a tear down his cheek.
“Of course I want you to stay,” he says. He kisses your palm again, then your wrist. Matt tugs you forward and then he’s kissing you.
Before you realize it, Matt has his arms around you and is slowly guiding you down to lie on the cushions with him on top of you. Your arms wrap around him, hands running through his hair, down his back, across his chest.
Matt’s lips move to your jaw, down your neck, before coming back to your lips, his tongue moving with yours. After what feels like a blessed eternity, Matt stops kissing you and nestles against your neck. You notice he lost his glasses somewhere along the way.
“I missed you,” Matt says, lips brushing against your skin, making you shiver, “Missed this.”
“I missed you, too.” While you may not remember every moment together, the familiarity is there and, every now and again, a hazy vision of the past flows through your mind. Matt is in your bones, your soul. You never forgot him, not really. There was always a part of you calling for him. You never realized how strongly you need him by your side until tonight, when you finally kissed. And now that you had him, you were never letting you go. You suspect Matt feels the same.
“I love you,” Matt says, his lips returning to you. “I will always love you.”