Chapter Text
Bright six am sunlight greets you that Tuesday. You stifle a yawn, trying to make sense of Matt Murdock’s sleepy phonecall as your rubber clogs hit the pavement, leading you to work. You’re quick to take his call, pressing the phone against your cheek, taking a quick sip of the flat white in your other hand.
‘You’re having coffee without me.’ He mumbles, voice sleep roughened, not a hi nor hello in him. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen sure gets clingy on Tuesdays. You laugh.
‘I have an early start, got a new hire to train. I also had to drop by my place to get new clothes, too.’ You say. ‘Foggy’s picking you up, yeah?’
‘I thought you liked living in my clothes?’
‘There’s a thing at work called being professional, Matthew.’
You can hear him smile.
‘You could just move your things to my place, you know. Save you the time going back and forth apartments.’
‘Or… You can move your stuff into mine.’
He laughs with you, but you know he’s serious.
‘We can talk about it later.’ he says. ’In my bed, preferably.’
‘Hush, Matthew. I think I see the new kid. Loveyoubye!’
From afar, you spot a young man hanging about the closed store, paper in hand, looking up at the shop sign distractedly. He looks a mite familiar, you can only squint and try to make out his side profile, from where you stand. Messy brown hair, perpetual puppy dog eyes expression on his face, a backpack slung around his left shoulder… Yeah, that’s him.
You take in a sharp inhale, breathing in the morning air. Your lips break into a friendly smile ready to greet the young man standing around. He’s quick to notice you, eyes darting back and forth towards your walking figure and the store, eyes widening in recognition.
‘Oh, uh, hi—‘
‘Hey! You’re the new guy, right?’ You preface, voice too bright this early in the morning. ‘Hang on, uh—let me open up first.’
‘I can take those, if you want.’ He offers, extending his arm out towards you.
Your eyes are quick to spot it before you could hand your things to him.
You aren’t sure if it’s the consequence of having been with Matt Murdock all these years, or it’s your own little superpower where you’re quick to observe injuries or wounds on anyone. Blood stains on clothes too. Because you notice it now, on your new co-worker. A spot of blood on his shirt sleeve, blooming. Dripping. Which brings all your thoughts and whatever you’re going to say next to a halt.
‘Whoawhoawhoa. You’re bleeding, dude.’
He looks at you with a split-second delay, like he’s been running on adrenaline all this time—never realising the blood dripping from his shirt.
‘Fuck—’ he blurts out, dropping the copy of his CV and your flat white—paper and coffee spilling across the pavement.
You’re quick to take his other uninjured arm, pulling him into the bookshop’s break room. You and your co-worker Shivani had managed to squeeze in an old table you found left at the dumpster at the side of the building, and a couple of plastic chairs in the already cramped room. Anything to make the old place a little less dreary. You sit him in one of the plastic chairs, as you get on your tiptoes trying to reach for the large med kit you had above the lockers, one you’ve specifically kept for Matt Murdock-shaped emergencies.
He quietly watches as you pull out antiseptic wipes and a new gauze pad from the bag. You sit next to him, hands pulling his shirt sleeve up to take a good look at his wound. You sigh, relieved. It’s a shallow one.
‘What happened?’
‘Uh, a bike. Hit me.’ His words come out as stammers, eyebrows scrunched, looking embarrassed. ‘Thought I didn’t get hurt.’
You don’t reply, frowning. Got hit by a bike? Wouldn’t the fabric on his sleeve be all torn to match the wound on his arm? But you don’t pry, your focus only on the wound to clean. It’s a shallow one, and you put a gauze pad over it to tamp down the bleeding.
‘Sure.’ You say. ‘Memorable first day, huh?’
‘The bike thought so too.’ he mumbles at you, which makes you smile a little. ‘Sorry about your coffee. I’m still, uh… Hired, right?’
You snort. ‘I’m not going to un-hire you because you came in with a bleeding arm. I’ve seen worse, uh—‘ You frown, trying to remember the name printed on the CV in his hand.
‘Peter Parker.’ he supplies, before you can pre-empt the question.
‘Right.’ You say, looking up at him with a smile. ‘Well, you’re all good now, Peter. Just try not to get hit by another bike on your second day, okay?’
He tells you he got hit by another bike on his second day.
His bleeding left calf says the same thing. You usher him back into the break room. You fold up his trouser pants, and you’re quick to spot the gauze peeling off, too small on the wound, the suture peeking out of the dressing and it’s all stitched… Horribly. You bite your lip, squinting. Your voice is a little more severe than yesterday. It doesn’t help you had a little tiff with Matt about who gets to move in where before you left. That annoying man. You try not to think about him. And about rent-controlled apartments in New York.
‘Shouldn’t you be going to urgent care for this? Did you do your own stitches?’
He shrugs, not a yes or a no. ‘I’m just… Having problems with healthcare stuff at the moment. Money’s a little, uh… Tight.’
You sigh, unsurprised by his admittance. ‘Let’s fix you up then, yeah?’
You grab the first aid bag again, rummaging for your usual things. Tiny scalpel, suture kit, gauze pads, wipes, gloves. You arrange them all on the table neatly, putting on gloves, ready to go.
‘That’s a big med kit.’ he observes. You beckon for his leg, sitting his calf on your lap, making work of his wound.
‘Got it on sale.’ You say shortly, as vaguely as possible. Because my stubborn boyfriend with the pointy ear mask likes to punch burglars in the middle of the night and comes home or here at work, in worse states than you, was the thing you had wanted to add. But you try not to. It’s so hard to be angry with Matt. And with this kid. It’s the puppy dog eyes thing. You grimace at his shoddy work.
‘I’ll have to restitch it. It looks like the stitches are loose. Gonna hurt a bit, but you have to stay still for me, okay? Next time, god forbid you get hurt again—’
Oh god, are you gonna say it? You’re gonna say it.
‘—Just come to me, okay?’
He nods silently. Peter does his best to keep still, biting his lip when it gets a little too painful, watching silently as you clean up his feeble attempt to close up the cut across his leg.
‘If you sew it up too tightly,’ you explain, as you begin closing up. ‘It’s not going to heal well. Too loose, same thing. It just has to be right. And you gotta trust your body, ya know? It’ll heal, but you gotta give it time to do its work. You can’t just go about your day and shrug it off like nothing happened. You got hurt, Peter.’
Stubborn and easily hurt. Reminds you of someone, huh?
‘How do you know all this stuff?’
‘YouTube.’
‘Because…?’
You purse your lips. You’re not really in the headspace to explain to your new co-worker that your boyfriend’s the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.
‘We don’t have universal healthcare.’ you say flatly. ‘Stay still, kid.’
Your co-worker Shivani arrives, pulling out the AirPods from her ears, looking at the scene unfolding in front of her. The smell of antiseptic wipes, your gloved hands stitching up the new hire, Peter’s blood on you. She looks like she got transported into another dimension. Her wide brown eyes immediately sharpen at the sight of the new hire, however. Peter offers a shy smile, to which her frown only deepens.
‘You two know this is a bookshop, right?’ She begins. ‘Is it even like, sanitary for me to eat my bagel here while his leg’s bleeding in the corner?’
You make a face, flashing a stressful glare her way. She takes the hint.
‘Okay, okay — I’ll eat it outside. Good luck with… Whatever that is!’ Shivani makes her retreat without another word.
‘I’m still hired, right?’ Peter wonders aloud, his voice uncertain.
’Still hired.’ you assure him, a deep sigh leaving your body when you start putting back the things from your med kit. ‘Just watch where you’re going, please. If I see you bleeding one more time before lunch break’s over I’m covering you in bubble wrap.’
God. Maybe Matt’s right. Maybe you should just move in to his place. You sink into his mattress that Friday night, so soft and nice — breathing in the smell of crisp new linens, sighing deeply. You try to ignore the aches in your body — the sharp pain radiating across your back, one you’ve had to smile through during your shift today. It’s been a long week. The chronic pain that comes unexpectedly, most often when you’re stressed, doesn’t help.
Your thoughts are elsewhere, watching Matt skin off his shirt as he comes in, walking around shirtless — the picture of comfort. His bed is a trap, really. Did he make it extra cozy for you because he’s about to put on his lawyer voice and argue his ass off, convincing you to move in with him? Is he walking around looking unnecessarily sexy, right now as a tactic?
Or is he just… Going to bed?
Okay yeah, he’s probably just going to bed with you.
He lies beside you, his hand quick to go under his hoodie you’ve been wearing, calloused palm feeling the small of your back. You ease into his touch, sighing.
‘Hurts?’
‘Mm-hmm. Chronic pain. Long shift, too.’ Your voice is barely a whisper, any louder and everything would start hurting again. But Matt picks up every word. Nothing escapes him, really.
He sits up, taking the bottle of liniment he keeps for you in his bedside drawer. He wordlessly asks you to sit. Your legs are crossed, your back’s facing him, rolling up the hoodie just enough to expose the spot where the pain’s radiating from.
‘Don’t you have Hell’s Kitchen things to do tonight?’
‘That can wait.’ He doesn’t budge, stubborn as he always is.
‘You’re an angel.’ you breathe out, no words left in you to describe him, the pain too distracting to make up anything more sweet. You look to your side, watching as he pours the liniment on his palm before pressing it on the small of your back. You sigh, head bowed down, feeling his touch cool and hot at the same time. The strong smell of menthol emanating from your back. His fingers are quick to find the little knots of pain that had burrowed in your back, the liniment easing the aches in your muscles, his thumbs pressing deep.
You can’t help but let out a moan of relief.
‘So much better.’ you say. ‘Have I told you how much I love you?’
‘Every opportunity.’ he smiles.
‘Sorry I put on my lawyer voice this morning.’ Matt goes on, serious and quiet. ‘About moving in. Not an excuse.’
You shrug. ‘That’s fine. I know you just want things to be…’ your breath hitches, as his thumbs apply pressure exactly where you want it to be. How does Matt know this? You’d ask him later. You gather your thoughts and go on. ‘I know you just want things to be easier for us.’
Matt takes you in for a moment, deep in thought.
‘I thought you’d get more people working at the shop? Why are you taking longer hours?’
‘Oh, yeah. Bubble wrap boy. No, I told him to take a day off. Told him I’ll cover him in bubble wrap if he keeps coming to work bleeding his ass off.’
‘“Bubble wrap boy”?’
‘Peter Parker. His name’s Peter.’ The reminder more to yourself than him. Matt laughs softly at the nickname. ‘He’s a good kid. Quick to learn. He can carry like… So many boxes of books from inventory faster than Shiv and I. He just has a tendency to get little scrapes and bruises during work days. Like a certain someone I know.’
‘What is it with you and stitching up strangers?’
‘Maybe that’s my superpower.’ you say. ‘You have your super strength and super senses and I have… Whatever this is. Patron Saint of Stitching People Back Together.’
‘We’d make a good superhero team.’
‘Sorry, Matt. Avengers already called. We have to break up.’
‘It was a good ten seconds, button.’
You laugh with him, dimming the lights in your corner.
The pain eventually subsides, a little more manageable after the quick massage. You take it as a signal to curl up beside him. You rest your chin on the curve of his shoulder, your arms stretching across his torso, pulling him close to you under the blankets. People long for exciting Friday nights out in New York. Your perfect night consists of cuddling Matt Murdock and listening to your favourite audio book until one of you falls asleep.
You wouldn't have it any other way, really.