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Overstimulation. Caused by the hundreds of sounds, smells, touches. By the incessant noise of the city, the constant hustle and bustle. It comes and goes, waxing and waning. The city never sleeps, of course, but it naps. Everything slows in the early morning and early evening, normally. Everyone’s in their offices, their noses shoved in spreadsheets and books. These are Matt Murdock’s favorite times of day. These are when he can take off his glasses, kick up his feet, and relax. There’s one other time, for Matt, when the world isn’t screaming at him.
He’s perched on the edge of a rooftop, listening and waiting. There’s a lot going on tonight, but nothing of interest. Just laughs and smiles, warm food and full bellies. Matt perks up, a soft /thwip/ echoing off the walls. Matt grins, standing up and hopping of the edge. A few seconds later, a soft thud on the roof lets him know his red and blue clad friend has arrived.
“Hi, Matty. Looking good tonight.” The voice works it’s way into his head, drowning out everything else.
“I thought I told you not to same my name while we’re out like this.”
“There’s no one around, I checked.”
“There’s a couple in the stairwell, Pete. I think they’re fucking.”
Peter scoffs. “Then they’re probably too preoccupied with each other to hear us.” He pauses, “You just said my name dickhead!”
Matt laughs and walks over to Peter. He reaches out to him and pulls him into a hug. “I missed you, buddy.” Peter smells like sweat and blood, Old Spice and berries. Berries?
“You smell different.”
“Bad different?”
Matt laughs and smiles, letting him go. “No, not bad. Just different. Did you have some sort of berry?”
Peter nods, before remembering Matt can’t see him. “Yeah, uh, berry medley. Strawberries, blackberries, and uh-“
“Blueberries.”
“Yeah. Blueberries.” Peter smiles under his mask. He hops onto the ledge Matt had just stood on, scanning the streets below. Matt joins him, sitting next to a perched Peter, legs swinging off the side. They sit, idly chatting and waiting. It’s a quiet night, but it’s still so loud. Peter stops talking, shockingly, and then it really gets loud. There’s a traffic jam two blocks down, some massive truck blocking the intersection. People won’t stop honking, but he’s not moving. The honking is driving him crazy, burrowing into his head and making it impossible to hear anything else. And the smells. Someone started cooking something, meat with a lot of seasoning. It’s fills his airways, making him feel like he’ll never get away from it. It starts to rain, because of course it fucking does, and Matt’s soaking within a few minutes. The suits got some sweat wicking technology, but it’s not made for this much moisture. It soaks through, chilling him to the bone. It’s not even cold, it’s a good night, but with the wind and the wet, Matt feels like he’s gonna freeze to death.
It’s all too much for him. It’s wet and it’s cold, it smells and it’s so /fucking/ loud. He takes a deep breath, rolling back over the ledge onto the roof. He sits down against the wall, saying nothing. He can’t hear when Peter steps down next to him, can’t hear him when he says his name, can’t feel Pete’s hand on his shoulder. He can feel when Pete grabs him around the waist and hauls him to his feet. He can hear the soft /thwip/ that comes from his web-shooter and he can feel the wind on his jaw while they’re swinging through the city. They’re swinging for a few minutes before they hit the ground again. Peter leads him inside and up a few stairs, through a door and then he puts Matt on a couch. Peter says something to him, but that honking, as far away as it is, is still in his head.
“Peter,” Matt’s voice is soft. “Pete, come here, please.”
A few moments later, the weight on the couch shifts and Pete presses his thigh against Matt’s.
“I’m right here, buddy, what do you need?”
“Get me out of this fucking suit.” He musters, already scratching at the clasps on his helmet.
Pete chuckles and shifts, his hands warm against Matt’s body. “Stop squirming so much and maybe I can.” It takes a second, but then Matt’s out of the wet gear. And yeah, he’s sitting in his boxers in Peter Parker’s apartment, but at least he can feel again.
“Are there windows open?” Matt’s head moves as he tries to feel for a breeze in the air.
“No, but I have the fan on. Are you cold? Let me get you some clothes, they might be a little big on you.”
“Calling me small, Parker?”
“Calling you short, Murdock.”
Matt smiles and accepts the hoodie and sweats Pete throws his way. He shimmies into them (they are a little too big) and heaves a sigh, leaning his head back on the couch. Peter sits next to him and they just sit for a minute.
“It just. It gets so loud, sometimes, you know? There’s so much happening and… it gets to be too much.”
There’s a beat, and Matt can feel Pete turn to look at him.
“Yeah. I get it, I do. The, uh, the ‘spidey sense,’ it’s a lot too. The hairs on my body are always standing up. I… flinch a lot. I… I get it, Matty.”
Matt heaves another sigh and runs his hands through his hair. He leans to his right and puts his head on Pete’s shoulder. And Pete leans into him, warm and comforting. They sit there, leaning into each other, blocking out the noises and smells. They sit there all night. Together, two vigilante, crime-fighting, building-hopping, villain-beating boys. Just sitting.