Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The rain came down, washing Hell’s Kitchen in a dull gray that blurred streetlights. Frank Castle wasn’t the kind of man to complain about the weather—he liked the rain. It made the world quieter, easier to deal with. Max, his pitbull, trotted beside him, unfazed by the downpour. The dog had energy to burn, and Frank needed the walk.

But he sure as hell could use a cup of coffee.

His usual spots were either too far or too crowded, but as he turned a corner, something caught his eye. A small café, its name scrawled in elegant gold cursive above the door: Devil’s Brew. The warm glow spilling out onto the wet sidewalk made it look damn near inviting.

Frank hesitated. He wasn’t much for cozy places, and coffee shops usually meant overpriced nonsense. But the thought of warmth and caffeine was too tempting, so he exhaled sharply and pushed open the door.

A bell chimed softly. The smell of freshly ground coffee, vanilla, and something rich and dark curled around him immediately. It was a small place—wooden counters, exposed brick, bookshelves lining the walls, and a low hum of jazz playing in the background. There were a few customers, mostly reading or typing on laptops, but his attention was immediately pulled to the man behind the counter.

The owner.

Frank had seen plenty of men in his life, but he had never seen one like this.

Leaning against the counter, looking almost too good to be real, was a man with messy red hair and a knowing smile. His strong jaw was covered in just enough stubble to make him look effortlessly attractive. He was wearing a simple black Henley, sleeves pushed up, exposing muscular forearms.

The worst part? The man was blind.

Frank could tell by the way his dark red-tinted glasses sat perfectly on his nose and the way his fingers brushed the counter just slightly as if mapping his surroundings. But it didn’t stop him from carrying himself with confidence.

Damn it.

Frank swallowed hard and looked away, suddenly feeling like a goddamn idiot for standing there dripping wet like some lost puppy. Max, the traitor, was already wagging his tail at the man.

The redhead grinned. “Looks like someone found his way out of the storm.”

Frank cleared his throat. “Yeah. Dog needed a walk.”

“Smart dog,” the man said, tilting his head slightly. “Knows where to find the best coffee.”

Frank scoffed. “You callin’ yourself the best coffee in Hell’s Kitchen?”

“That’s what the sign says,” the man said easily, gesturing toward a chalkboard behind him that read: The Best Coffee in Hell’s Kitchen – Guaranteed.

Cocky bastard.

Frank huffed, but he couldn’t ignore the way his ears burned at the sound of the guy’s voice—smooth, warm, teasing. He shouldn’t be noticing things like that.

“What can I get you?”

“Just black,” Frank muttered. “None of that fancy stuff.”

The redhead smirked, as if he expected that answer. He moved with an easy grace, reaching for a cup and starting the order. “No sugar, no milk. Straight to the point. I like it.”

Frank shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to being the one under scrutiny, and he could feel the guy’s attention on him even though he wasn’t looking.

“You got a name, or should I just call you ‘mystery man with a dog’?”

Frank hesitated. He didn’t usually give out his name, especially not to flirty redheaded baristas who made him feel like an awkward teenager. But something about this guy’s tone made it impossible to lie.

“…Frank.”

The redhead’s smile widened. “Nice to meet you, Frank. I’m Matt.” He placed the cup on the counter, fingers grazing it lightly before sliding it toward him. “Enjoy.”

Frank grabbed the cup quickly, trying not to react to the way Matt’s fingers had barely brushed his. He took a sip—strong, smooth, no bullshit. He had to admit, it was good.

Matt leaned on the counter again. “So, Frank… you live around here?”

Frank narrowed his eyes. “You always ask this many questions?”

Matt chuckled. “Only when someone interesting walks in.”

Frank’s stomach did something stupid, something he ignored immediately. He focused on Max instead, scratching behind the dog’s ears. “Just moved back to the neighborhood. Needed somewhere quiet.”

Matt nodded. “Hell’s Kitchen isn’t as quiet as it used to be.”

Frank knew that better than anyone. He just shrugged. “It’ll do.”

Matt hummed in amusement. “And here I thought you were just here for my incredible coffee.”

Frank took another sip. “It’s decent.”

Matt gasped dramatically. “Decent?”

Frank smirked, despite himself. “I’ve had worse.”

Matt grinned. “Guess that means I’ll have to win you over, huh?”

Frank didn’t have an answer to that. He just focused on drinking his coffee, ignoring the way his face felt hot. He didn’t do this. He didn’t flirt. He didn’t—

“Hey, Red?”

Frank nearly choked at his slip-up. He stared at Matt, who had the audacity to look pleased.

Matt tilted his head. “Hmm. That’s a new one.”

Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. It just slipped out. He blamed the damn hair. And the smug little smirk Matt was giving him wasn’t helping.

“Red, huh?” Matt mused, as if testing the name. “I kinda like it.”

Frank scowled. “Forget it.”

“Oh, no, it’s too late now,” Matt said, grinning. “It’s official. I’m Red.”

Frank groaned. He needed to leave before he did something even stupider, like blush harder.

Matt leaned closer, voice dropping slightly. “You know, Frank, if you keep coming back, I might just start thinking you like me.”

Frank grumbled something under his breath, grabbed Max’s leash, and turned toward the door.

But as he stepped outside into the rain again, he realized something.

He was already thinking about coming back.

Chapter Text

Frank hadn’t planned on coming back.

Really, he hadn’t.

He told himself that plenty of times over the next few days. He liked his habits simple—black coffee, early morning runs, avoiding unnecessary human interaction. And yet, here he was, standing outside Devil’s Brew again like some dumbass who didn’t know better.

Max wagged his tail expectantly, already pulling toward the door.

Frank exhaled sharply. “You gotta stop makin’ decisions for me, bud.”

Max ignored him, tail thumping against Frank’s leg.

With a sigh, Frank pushed the door open.

A familiar bell chimed, and the warm scent of roasted coffee and something sweet—maybe cinnamon?—wrapped around him. The place wasn’t too crowded, just a couple of people tucked into corners with books and laptops. It was peaceful, which was one of the reasons Frank hadn’t completely ruled it out as a potential regular spot.

That, and—

“Frank.”

Frank stiffened slightly at the sound of his name.

Matt stood behind the counter, that same knowing smirk tugging at his lips. His hair was a little messier today, like he’d run his hands through it a few too many times. He wore a dark red sweater that clung to his shoulders, the sleeves pushed up to reveal those goddamn forearms again.

Frank looked away, scowling. “Didn’t think you’d remember me.”

Matt raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the counter. “Hard to forget a guy who calls me ‘Red’ and then runs out into the night like Cinderella.”

Frank made a face. “I did not.”

Matt grinned. “You kinda did.”

Frank muttered something under his breath and tugged Max’s leash, trying to ground himself. He was a grown-ass man. He had been in war zones, he had handled the worst of humanity, and yet somehow, one flirty redheaded barista was getting under his skin like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

Matt tilted his head slightly, as if he was still watching him despite the dark glasses covering his eyes. “So, what’ll it be today?”

Frank considered leaving. He could just turn around, pretend this never happened. But then Max, traitor that he was, padded up to the counter and gave Matt a slow, deliberate tail wag.

Matt crouched down, running a hand along Max’s back with practiced ease. “You again,” he murmured, voice warm. “You’re just here for the pets, aren’t you?”

Max gave an enthusiastic huff in response.

Frank sighed. “Black coffee. Same as last time.”

Matt chuckled as he straightened, moving behind the counter. “Predictable.”

Frank crossed his arms. “You callin’ me boring?”

Matt turned slightly toward him, that damn smirk still in place. “Did I say that?”

Frank huffed but didn’t argue. Instead, he let his eyes wander around the café, looking anywhere but at Matt. He had to admit, the place had character. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with books that looked well-loved. The furniture was mismatched but comfortable. There were even some old records near the register, stacked neatly as if Matt actually played them.

“Music guy, huh?” Frank muttered, eyeing the vinyl.

Matt glanced in his direction. “Something wrong with that?”

Frank shrugged. “Nah. Just figured you’d be one of those artsy types.”

Matt snorted. “Because I own a café?”

Frank gestured vaguely. “The whole vibe, Red. The books, the jazz, the damn sweater.”

Matt looked down at himself and laughed. “You don’t like my sweater, Frank?”

Frank absolutely did not look at how well it fit him. “I didn’t say that.”

Matt chuckled as he slid the cup toward him. “Here. On the house.”

Frank narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

Matt tilted his head. “I have a soft spot for lost causes.”

Frank scowled, grabbing the cup a little too forcefully. “I’m not a lost cause.”

Matt just smiled, clearly enjoying himself. “Sure you’re not.”

Frank took a sip of his coffee, scowling even harder when he realized it was, once again, damn good.

Matt leaned forward on the counter. “You know, you don’t have to make this so difficult.”

Frank glanced up. “Make what difficult?”

Matt grinned. “Talking to me.”

Frank felt his jaw tighten. He wasn’t used to people like Matt—people who were so openly charming, who flirted like it was second nature. He’d spent years building walls, keeping people at arm’s length. And yet, somehow, in just two conversations, Matt had cracked something open without even trying.

Matt must have sensed his hesitation, because his expression softened just slightly. “Look, I get it. You don’t seem like the social type. But you came back.”

Frank shifted. “Yeah, well. Coffee’s decent.”

Matt smiled knowingly. “Decent, huh?”

Frank rolled his eyes and took another sip, ignoring the way his ears burned.

Matt tapped his fingers lightly against the counter. “Tell you what. You come in a third time, and I’m officially considering you a regular.”

Frank scoffed. “You got rules for this kinda thing?”

“Absolutely,” Matt said, straight-faced. “Three visits, and I get to learn at least one fun fact about you.”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “That right?”

Matt grinned. “Mm-hmm.”

Frank huffed a laugh despite himself. “Good luck with that.”

Matt tilted his head. “Oh, I like a challenge.”

Frank shook his head, pushing off the counter. “We’ll see about that, Red.”

Matt just smiled, like he already knew the outcome.

And as Frank walked out into the cold again, Max trotting happily beside him, he had the sinking feeling that Matt Murdock was right.

Because he was already planning on coming back.

Chapter Text

The thing was, Frank Castle wasn’t supposed to be a “regular.”

He wasn’t supposed to be the guy who sat in the same spot every morning, sipping coffee from the same mug while his dog wagged his tail at every passing customer. He was supposed to be the guy who kept moving, who didn’t put down roots, who didn’t let anyone get close enough to notice when his ears turned red at the smallest provocation.

And yet.

Three days later, Frank found himself once again pushing open the glass door of Devil’s Brew, rain dripping off his jacket, Max tugging him inside like the café had suddenly become their second home.

The bell chimed, and Frank braced himself for it.

“Frank.”

That voice. Warm, teasing, with just enough smugness baked in to make Frank want to turn around and leave—except he didn’t. He never did.

Matt was behind the counter again, dressed in a dark blue button-down that was rolled up to the elbows. His red hair was just as wild, his smile just as damn infuriating. He was mid-pour, filling a French press, but he angled his head toward Frank with laser precision.

“Took you long enough,” Matt said, grin widening. “I was starting to think maybe I dreamed you up.”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “What, you dreamin’ about me now?”

Matt didn’t miss a beat. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Frank cursed silently. He walked to the counter with Max padding alongside him, trying to ignore the heat crawling up his neck. He hated that Matt was good at this—at disarming him, at finding cracks in walls that had been up for years.

“Black coffee,” Frank muttered, tugging at Max’s leash like it might distract him.

Matt leaned his hip against the counter, smirking. “That’s three visits, Frank.”

“Don’t start.”

“Oh, it’s too late,” Matt said. “Rules are rules. You’re officially a regular. Which means…” He gestured toward Frank with a flourish. “Fun fact time.”

Frank scowled. “I didn’t agree to that.”

Matt tapped his chin, pretending to think. “Let’s see. My guess? You’re a retired boxer.”

Frank blinked. “What?”

“Come on,” Matt said, grinning. “You’ve got the build, the scowl, the air of someone who’s been hit in the face a few too many times but still somehow won.”

Frank let out a sharp laugh before he could stop himself. “You’re outta your damn mind.”

Matt spread his hands innocently. “Hey, I said it was a guess.”

“I was never a boxer.”

Matt tilted his head, considering. “Hmm. Military then. Definitely military.”

Frank froze. For a moment, the warmth of the cafe seemed too sharp, the smell of coffee beans too thick in his throat. He didn’t answer right away, and Matt must have sensed the shift, because his grin softened into something gentler.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Matt said quietly. “I just… you’ve got that look.”

Frank finally exhaled, shaking his head. “You’re too damn observant for your own good, Red.”

Matt smirked again, the tension dissolving. “So I was right.”

Frank shot him a look. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Frank grumbled, but his lips twitched despite himself. He grabbed his coffee when Matt slid it across the counter, their fingers brushing just barely.

“So,” Matt said, leaning forward, “now that you’re a regular, I should probably warn you. The fourth visit comes with another rule.”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

Matt smiled wickedly. “You have to let me buy you a pastry.”

Frank snorted. “That’s a rule?”

“It is now.”

Frank shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee. “You make this up as you go, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Matt said smoothly. “That’s half the fun.”

Max, sensing that the conversation wasn’t going anywhere, decided to plop down at Matt’s feet with a satisfied huff. Matt crouched, running his hand along Max’s back, earning a happy thump of the tail.

“You see that?” Matt said. “Your dog already loves me. It’s only a matter of time before you admit you do too.”

Frank nearly choked on his coffee. “Jesus Christ, Red.”

Matt laughed, the sound low and unbothered. “What? Did I say something untrue?”

“You’re somethin’ else,” Frank muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

Matt straightened, adjusting his glasses with a smug smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

For a moment, there was silence between them—comfortable, surprisingly. Frank leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee, while Matt busied himself with another order. It was… easy, in a way Frank hadn’t felt in a long time.

Too easy.

When Matt slid back over, wiping his hands on a towel, his smile was softer. “You know, Frank, I get the feeling you don’t let yourself do this often.”

Frank frowned. “Do what?”

“Sit,” Matt said simply. “Talk. Enjoy something without waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Frank stared at him. He didn’t like how much that hit. Didn’t like that Matt could read him so easily.

But before he could come up with a retort, Matt’s grin returned, teasing again. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret. Mr. Brooding Coffee Drinker.”

Frank rolled his eyes, setting down his empty cup. “You done psychoanalyzing me, Doc?”

Matt smirked. “For now.”

Frank reached for Max’s leash, but before he could tug it, Matt’s hand brushed the counter lightly. “Hey, Frank.”

Frank looked up.

“Next time,” Matt said casually, “I’m giving you a pastry.”

Frank gave him a flat look. “Who said there’s gonna be a next time?”

Matt’s smile was slow, certain. “You did.”

Frank left without answering, but the heat in his chest wouldn’t quit, even as the cold rain hit him outside.

Max trotted beside him, tail high, like the dog knew something Frank didn’t want to admit.

Because deep down, Frank already knew—

There was gonna be a next time.

Chapter Text

Frank told himself a hundred times he wasn’t coming back.

And then, for the fourth damn time, he found himself standing in front of Devil’s Brew, rain soaking the shoulders of his jacket, Max tugging at the leash like he owned the place.

“You’re too spoiled,” Frank muttered to the dog.

Max wagged his tail harder.

The bell chimed when Frank pushed the door open, and the warmth hit him immediately. Coffee, cinnamon, the faint sound of music. Cozy. Too cozy.

And then, of course, there was him.

Matt was behind the counter in a dark gray henley that fit a little too well, sleeves rolled up, messy hair that looked like he’d just rolled out of bed—but in a way that somehow made Frank’s stomach twist.

“Frank,” Matt said, voice warm with something that could only be smugness. “I knew you’d come back.”

Frank grunted. “You keep sayin’ that like you got me figured out.”

Matt smirked, tilting his head toward him. “Don’t I?”

Frank didn’t answer. He marched up to the counter, set his hands on it, and braced himself.

Matt leaned casually on his elbows. “You know what today is, right?”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “Tuesday?”

Matt grinned. “Pastry Day.”

Frank sighed. “You weren’t kiddin’ about that rule.”

“I never kid about pastry,” Matt said with mock gravity. He reached toward the display case, fingers brushing the edge before pointing confidently. “One chocolate croissant. Best in the city.”

Frank gave him a look. “Chocolate?”

Matt smirked. “Trust me, Frank. It’ll change your life.”

“Doubt it,” Frank muttered, but he took the plate when Matt slid it toward him. He tore off a corner, popped it into his mouth—and froze.

It was… good. Too damn good.

Matt’s grin widened. “Oh, you like it.”

Frank swallowed hard. “It’s fine.”

“Fine?” Matt repeated, scandalized. “That pastry is a work of art.”

Frank snorted. “You’re dramatic, you know that?”

Matt grinned. “I’ve been told.”

Frank tried to ignore the flutter in his chest. He sat at the counter, Max flopping at his feet, and chewed another bite.

And then it hit him—he was tired of being on the defensive. Tired of Matt poking and prodding, smirking like he had the upper hand. Two could play this damn game.

He leaned forward, squinting slightly. “You know, Red… if you keep givin’ me free pastries, I might start thinkin’ you like me.”

The words were out before he could stop them.

Matt blinked. Then his grin spread slow, deliberate. “Oh?”

Frank’s face heated. He cleared his throat, fumbling for his coffee like it might save him. “Just sayin’.”

Matt chuckled, low and amused. “That was you trying to flirt, wasn’t it?”

Frank scowled. “I don’t flirt.”

“Oh, you definitely just tried,” Matt teased, his smile wicked. “It was… adorable.”

Frank groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Forget I said anything.”

Matt leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough to make Frank’s ears burn. “You know, for someone who ‘doesn’t flirt,’ you’re blushing awfully hard.”

Frank set his jaw, staring down at the croissant like it might open up and swallow him whole. He wasn’t cut out for this—banter, teasing, whatever the hell this was. He’d gone years without letting anyone this close, and now here he was, awkward as a goddamn teenager.

Matt chuckled again, softer this time. “Don’t worry, Frank. You’ll get the hang of it. Practice makes perfect.”

Frank grunted, forcing another bite of pastry into his mouth just so he wouldn’t have to respond.

Matt leaned back, satisfied. “Besides,” he said lightly, “I like it when you try.”

Frank froze.

Matt’s smile was small but certain, and Frank had the sinking feeling that no matter how hard he tried to play it cool, Matt Murdock was always going to have the upper hand.

And for some reason, Frank wasn’t sure he minded.

Chapter Text

Frank wasn’t going to let himself get rattled this time.

That’s what he told himself on the fifth visit to Devil’s Brew, Max’s leash tugging in one hand, rain dripping from his jacket. He had replayed the last conversation in his head more times than he’d admit, every awkward line, every stumble of his tongue, every smirk Matt had thrown back at him.

This time, Frank decided, he’d get the upper hand.

The bell chimed as he stepped inside. Same warmth. Same scent of coffee and sugar. Same low hum of jazz. And—

“Frank.”

There it was, that damn voice again. Matt was leaning on the counter in another henley (how many of those things did he own?), this one green, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. His red hair looked especially wild today.

Frank’s chest did a stupid flip. He ignored it.

“Red,” he muttered, stepping up to the counter.

Matt grinned. “You’re getting comfortable with the nickname. I like it.”

Frank smirked, just a little. “Don’t get too used to it.”

Matt tilted his head, glasses catching the light. “You keep showing up here, I’d say I’m allowed to get used to a few things.”

Frank set his jaw. Not today. Today he was ready. He leaned casually—well, what he thought was casually—against the counter. “You know, Red…”

Matt’s smile tugged wider. “Mm?”

Frank cleared his throat. “I was thinkin’… you keep smilin’ at me like that, people are gonna think you're into me or something.”

There. Smooth. Nailed it.

Matt paused, then burst out laughing.

Frank blinked. “What?”

Matt covered his mouth briefly, trying and failing to smother the grin. “Frank, you just… that was…” He shook his head, chuckling. “You’re hopeless.”

Frank scowled. “I was flirtin’.”

“That’s what that was?” Matt teased, grinning wickedly. “I thought you were warning me.”

Frank’s ears burned. “You’re impossible.”

Matt leaned forward, voice dropping just slightly. “Admit it, though, you’ve been practicing.”

Frank froze. He had, actually. Alone in his apartment, muttering half-baked lines under his breath like a damn fool. But he sure as hell wasn’t admitting that.

He crossed his arms. “Maybe I’m just a natural.”

Matt chuckled. “Oh, you’re something, alright.”

Before Frank could respond, Max decided to save him by thumping his tail loudly against the counter. Matt crouched down, running a hand along Max’s head, earning a happy huff.

“You know,” Matt said, “I think your dog likes me better than you do.”

Frank smirked faintly. “Wouldn’t take much.”

Matt tilted his head toward him, that smug grin returning. “Funny, since you keep coming back.”

Frank rolled his eyes and reached for his coffee as Matt slid it over, but Matt didn’t move his hand right away. Their fingers brushed—again—and Frank felt his pulse jump.

Matt smiled knowingly. “Careful, Frank. If you keep trying to flirt with me, I might just flirt back.”

Frank swallowed hard, muttering into his cup. “Pretty sure you already do.”

Matt’s grin widened. “Good. Then we’re on the same page.”

For a long moment, the noise of the café seemed to fade, and it was just the two of them—Matt leaning forward with that infuriating smirk, Frank pretending he wasn’t blushing like hell, Max sprawled contentedly at their feet like he was rooting for this whole ridiculous dance.

Frank finally cleared his throat, straightening. “Coffee’s good.”

Matt chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

But his smile lingered. And Frank, against his better judgment, found himself smiling too.

Chapter Text

Frank hadn’t realized how quickly something could start feeling like routine.

A week ago, the idea of walking into the same cafe every morning would’ve made his skin crawl. He didn’t do routines, didn’t do familiarity.

And yet—

The bell over Devil’s Brew chimed, and Frank was already muttering under his breath, “We ain’t stayin’ long, Max,” as the pit bull padded happily at his side.

Matt was behind the counter, naturally, like he’d been waiting. He wore a dark maroon shirt today, the top button unbuttoned to show the line of his collarbone. His hair looked damp, like maybe he’d been caught in the rain earlier.

“Frank,” Matt said with that warm grin that made Frank’s stomach do a stupid little turn. “Back again. At this point, I should just keep your order ready before you even walk in.”

Frank grunted, tugging at Max’s leash. “Don’t get cocky.”

Matt smirked. “Too late.”

Frank walked to the counter, trying not to notice the way Matt’s glasses tilted when he cocked his head, or the way his mouth curved like he knew exactly how much he was getting under Frank’s skin.

Matt slid a steaming mug toward him without being asked. “There you go. Black, no nonsense. Just like you.”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “You callin’ me boring again?”

Matt chuckled. “No, just predictable. There’s a difference.”

Frank took the mug, sipped, and muttered, “Still dramatic.”

“Always.” Matt leaned forward on the counter, chin resting lightly on his hand. “So, Frank… have you been practicing?”

Frank frowned. “Practicing what?”

Matt grinned. “Your flirting. Last time was… what’s the word…” He tapped the counter lightly with his fingers. “Adorable.”

Frank groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus, Red.”

Matt laughed, warm and unbothered. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you some tips.”

“I don’t need tips,” Frank muttered, glaring into his coffee.

“Oh, you definitely do,” Matt teased. “Step one: eye contact. Very important.”

Frank huffed. “You’re blind.”

Matt smirked. “Doesn’t mean I can’t tell when someone’s looking at me.”

Frank shifted uncomfortably on his stool. He didn’t usually look people in the eye for long. It felt too exposing, too much like letting someone in. But here he was, staring at Matt’s face longer than he should, trying not to notice the curve of his smile.

Matt tilted his head. “Better. Step two: compliments. But they have to sound genuine, not like you’re choking on the words.”

Frank scowled. “I don’t choke.”

“Mm-hmm.” Matt’s grin widened. “Go on then. Compliment me.”

Frank froze. His mind went blank. Compliment him? What the hell was he supposed to say? He couldn’t exactly blurt out your hair looks like a damn fire in the sun and I keep thinkin’ about it, or you got a smile that make me lose my train of thought.

He cleared his throat. “Uh… nice sweater.”

Matt burst out laughing.

Frank groaned, muttering, “Forget it.”

“No, no,” Matt said between chuckles, leaning on the counter. “That was sweet. Completely hopeless, but sweet.”

Frank drank more coffee just to shut him up. His ears were burning, and he knew it.

Matt’s grin softened, though, not quite as sharp now. “Don’t worry. You’ll get there. I mean, you already call me Red. That’s practically a pet name.”

Frank nearly choked on his coffee this time. “It’s not a—”

Matt interrupted, smirk widening. “Don’t ruin it for me, Frank. It’s endearing.”

Frank muttered into his cup, “Endearing’s not the word I’d use.”

Matt leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough to make Frank’s pulse jump. “What word would you use, then?”

Frank swallowed hard. He didn’t answer.

Max, sensing the tension, thumped his tail against the counter again. Matt crouched down to scratch behind his ears, smiling warmly.

“You know, Frank,” Matt said, still focused on the dog, “you don’t have to try so hard. You being here… that’s enough.”

Frank stared at him, the words sitting heavy in his chest in a way he didn’t expect.

Matt stood again, brushing his hands off. “But I’ll still take the flirting attempts. They’re growing on me.”

Frank shook his head, hiding a small, reluctant smile behind his mug.

Hopeless, huh? Maybe. But for the first time in a long time, hopeless didn’t feel so bad.

Chapter Text

Frank wasn’t used to coincidences. He didn’t believe in them. So when he saw him—the cafe owner with the smile that made Frank’s thoughts skid sideways—standing at the corner of the street, fumbling with a stubborn umbrella in the drizzle, Frank almost convinced himself it was just bad luck.

Matt cursed softly under his breath, wrestling with the contraption. The umbrella sprang open, then immediately flipped inside out with the wind. Frank snorted before he could stop himself.

Matt’s head turned toward him instantly. “Frank?”

Frank froze mid-step. “...What’re the odds,” he muttered.

Matt grinned, even as the umbrella flapped helplessly in his hands. “Ah, so you do exist outside of Devil’s Brew. I was beginning to think you were part of the furniture.”

Frank’s mouth twitched, somewhere between a smirk and a scowl. “I get out.”

“Clearly.” Matt finally gave up and snapped the umbrella shut, rain soaking into his maroon coat. “Though I’m not sure where you’re going, exactly. You don’t strike me as the type to enjoy evening strolls in the rain.”

“Dog’s gotta walk,” Frank grunted, tugging Max closer. The pit bull shook himself, spraying droplets everywhere, then looked up at Matt with unabashed adoration.

Matt crouched down with a laugh. “Max, you’re a lifesaver. At least someone around here appreciates me.”

Frank rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’re real underappreciated, Red.”

Matt’s grin widened at the nickname. “Flattery again? Careful, Frank. You’re improving.”

“Wasn’t flattery.”

“Of course not,” Matt said smoothly, standing back up. His hair was plastered damp against his forehead, curls sticking out at odd angles, and Frank hated how much he noticed it. “So—what’s a mysterious man like you doing out here at this hour? Besides walking Max, of course.”

Frank shrugged. “Nothin’ special.”

Matt tilted his head, amused. “That’s the most evasive answer I’ve ever heard. Congratulations.”

Frank shot him a look. “Not everything’s an interrogation.”

Matt smirked. “For the record, I wasn’t interrogating. I was… making conversation.”

Frank grunted, but didn’t walk away. That was the surprising part. Normally he’d shut this down, keep moving. But there was something about Matt standing there in the drizzle, smug and unbothered, that rooted Frank to the spot.

Matt adjusted his useless umbrella under his arm and added, “You know, if this keeps happening, people are going to think you’re following me.”

Frank arched a brow. “You think I’d follow you?”

Matt’s grin turned mischievous. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

Frank nearly choked on his own tongue. “Jesus, Red.”

“What? I’m just saying.” Matt looked far too pleased with himself. “Besides, I’d notice. Subtlety doesn’t seem to be your strong suit.”

Frank muttered, “You got a death wish, huh?”

Matt leaned just slightly closer, rain dripping off his glasses. “Maybe. But only if you’re involved.”

Frank blinked at him, utterly thrown. Matt had been teasing before, sure, but there was something heavier in those words. Something that made Frank’s stomach tighten.

Max barked once, breaking the moment. Matt chuckled and straightened, patting the dog’s head.

“Well,” Matt said lightly, “since we’ve both been caught in this very coincidental run-in, how about I buy you a drink? Something that isn’t coffee, for once.”

Frank narrowed his eyes. “You hittin’ on me outside your own cafe now?" Frank sighed, shaking his head, but he couldn’t hide the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re a piece of work.”

“Glad you noticed,” Matt said with infuriating cheer. “Come on. I know a bar a few blocks away. Unless you’re afraid of spending more than ten minutes with me.”

Frank stared at him for a long moment, then let out a low laugh—short, rough, and reluctant. “You got no idea what you’re gettin’ into.”

Matt’s smile softened. “Good thing I like surprises.”

And against every instinct that told him to walk away, Frank found himself falling into step beside him.

Chapter Text

The bar Matt led him to wasn’t much to look at—dim lights, old wooden stools, a jukebox that probably hadn’t been updated since the ’90s. Frank liked it immediately. No one was paying attention, no one was looking at him. Just people, their drinks, and a dartboard in the corner.

“Cozy,” Matt said as he let Frank guide him through the doorway. “It smells like spilled beer.”

Frank snorted. “That’s how you know it’s authentic.”

They took a booth in the back, Max curling up at Frank’s feet with a sigh like he owned the place. A waitress came over, barely glancing at them as Frank ordered a whiskey and Matt asked for red wine—smooth as if he’d memorized the menu decades ago.

“Wine?” Frank said once she left. “In a place like this?”

Matt smirked, resting his chin in his hand. “What? A man can’t have standards?”

“Standards’ll get you food poisoning around here.”

“Then I’ll just trust you to save me,” Matt replied, tone dripping with mischief.

Frank shifted uncomfortably in his seat, tugging at his jacket. “You don’t quit, do you?”

“Why should I?” Matt leaned back, looking far too smug for someone who’d dragged Frank into a dive bar during a drizzle. “You blush every time, and I find it endlessly entertaining.”

“I don’t blush.”

Matt’s grin sharpened. “Sure you don’t.”

The drinks arrived, and Frank downed half his whiskey in one go just to give his hands something to do. Matt sipped his wine like he was born in a vineyard, somehow making it look elegant even in a bar sticky with spilled beer.

Frank set his glass down with a thud. “So, this your thing? Just pick a guy, tease him till he loses his mind?”

Matt tilted his head. “Just you.”

Frank blinked. “...What?”

“Relax,” Matt said smoothly, swirling his glass. “I don’t go around collecting strays. You would be jealous.”

Frank let out a short laugh before he could stop himself, shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ else.”

“Glad you noticed,” Matt said, throwing his own words from the other night back at him.

Frank scowled, though it didn’t stick. “I don't—”

Matt smirked. “You’re not very good at keeping it a secret, Frank. First you stumble through flirting like a teenager, and now this. If you’re not careful, I’ll end up running this whole game.”

Frank leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Game, huh? You think I don’t know how to play?”

Matt raised his brows. “Do you?”

Frank’s mouth twitched, caught between irritation and something dangerously close to a smile. “Two can play at this game, Red.”

Matt’s grin was slow and infuriating. “Finally.”

Silence stretched for a moment—well, silence except for the hum of the jukebox and Max’s soft snoring. Frank’s whiskey warmed his chest, and Matt’s presence—laughter in his voice, heat in his grin—did something warmer still.

Frank cleared his throat. “So. You drag every guy who wanders into your café out to a bar, or am I special?”

Matt didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, you’re very special.”

Frank blinked, thrown. “That… wasn’t supposed to sound like—”

Matt leaned in, lips quirking. “Like a compliment? A confession? Don’t worry, I caught it.”

Frank buried his face in his glass, muttering, “You’re a menace.”

“Mm.” Matt sipped his wine again, perfectly content. “And you keep showing up anyway.”

Frank chuckled, low and reluctant, shaking his head. “Guess I do.”

And though he didn’t want to admit it, sitting there across from Matt—outside the café, outside the usual banter—felt dangerously close to comfortable.

Chapter Text

Matt had been patient. Really, he had.

He’d waited through Frank’s gruff silences, through the half-smiles that vanished the second they started, through the faintest brush of fingers that left the air charged and empty all at once. But there was only so long a man could sit across from someone this stubborn before his sanity—or self-control—gave out.

And Frank wasn’t making it easy.

The man sat across from him in that same booth, shoulders broad and solid in his worn jacket, calloused fingers wrapped around a whiskey glass. He wasn’t saying much—he rarely did—but the weight of him was loud enough. Every time he shifted, Matt could feel it. Every heartbeat, every inhale. The sound was steady, grounding, and entirely distracting.

Matt’s patience frayed another inch.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said, swirling the dregs of his wine.

Frank glanced up. “Ain’t much to say.”

“That’s never stopped me.”

Frank smirked faintly. “That’s the problem.”

Matt chuckled. “You wound me.”

Frank tilted his glass, not looking at him. “You’ll live.”

There it was again—that maddening calm, that solid, stoic wall Matt had been chipping at since the first time Frank walked into Devil’s Brew.

Alright, then. If Frank wasn’t going to make a move, Matt damn well would.

He leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table, chin in his palm. “You know,” he said conversationally, “I think I’ve been very patient with you.”

Frank blinked. “Patient?”

“Yes,” Matt said. “I’ve been throwing you every possible hint, and you’re still sitting there pretending you don’t notice.”

“I notice,” Frank muttered.

Matt’s smile turned slow. “Do you now?”

Frank shifted, suddenly looking anywhere but at him. “You don’t quit, do you?”

“Not when I’m enjoying myself.”

“Enjoyin’ messin’ with me, you mean.”

Matt leaned a little closer, voice dipping low. “Maybe I just enjoy you, Frank.”

Frank’s breath caught—Matt heard it, felt the subtle stutter in his pulse—and for a second, the world seemed to pause. The jukebox buzzed quietly in the background, Max snored under the table, and rain pattered faintly against the windows.

Frank’s mouth opened like he wanted to say something smart—or maybe stupid—but nothing came out.

Matt smiled, thoroughly satisfied. “That’s what I thought.”

He stood, slow and unhurried, and rounded the table. Frank looked up at him with a mix of confusion and disbelief.

“What’re you—”

Matt slid into the seat beside him. Close. Maybe a little too close. Frank stiffened, pressing back instinctively, but didn’t move away.

“Relax,” Matt said softly, smiling in his direction. “I’m not gonna bite.”

Frank muttered under his breath, “Not convinced of that.”

Matt grinned. “Would you rather I proved you right?”

Frank looked like he was seriously rethinking every life decision that led him to this moment. “You really don’t have a filter, do you?”

“I do,” Matt said lightly. “I just don’t use it with you.”

For a long moment, Frank didn’t say anything. He was staring at him—Matt could feel it, the way his gaze lingered, uncertain, drawn in despite himself.

Finally, Frank sighed, voice low and rough. “You’re somethin’ else, Red.”

Matt smiled faintly. “You keep saying that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not,” Frank admitted. The words slipped out like they’d been waiting.

Matt’s grin softened into something smaller, quieter, and—if Frank had been paying attention—fond. “Good,” he murmured.

They sat like that for a while—too close, neither of them quite willing to move. The air between them hummed with the kind of tension that wasn’t loud or frantic, just steady. A current running underneath everything they weren’t saying.

Then, Matt tilted his head slightly toward him. “If you’re going to keep pretending you don’t want to do something about this, you should probably stop staring at me like that.”

Frank blinked. “Like what?”

Matt smiled, teeth just visible. “Like I’m the last sane thing in your life.”

Frank groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Matt said softly, “you’re still here.”

Frank muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse, but Matt caught the warmth in his tone—the tiniest crack in the armor. He didn’t push any further. Not tonight.

Instead, he just leaned back, brushing his knee against Frank’s under the table. “You’ll catch up eventually,” he said with a grin.

Frank didn’t pull away this time.

It was late when they left the bar—late enough that the streets had emptied, and the rain had softened into a steady mist. The kind that clung to your clothes and made the city glow under the lamplight.

Matt walked beside Frank, his cane tapping quietly against the sidewalk, Max trotting faithfully at their heels. 

They hadn’t said much since leaving. Frank wasn’t the type to fill silence, and Matt didn’t mind it. It gave him space to listen—to the sound of Frank’s boots hitting puddles, to the low hum in his chest whenever he exhaled.

He could tell Frank was overthinking again. Probably replaying every word from the bar, wondering what the hell Matt was doing and why he couldn’t just let things be simple.

Thing was, Matt didn’t do simple. Not when it came to Frank Castle.

“You’re quiet again,” Matt said finally, breaking the quiet hum of the street.

Frank glanced over. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

“I don’t,” Matt said softly. “I just keep wondering if you’re quiet because you don’t want me to talk—” He turned his head toward Frank, smiling faintly. “—or because you’re too busy thinking about me talking.”

Frank huffed out a laugh. “You don’t quit, huh?”

Matt smirked. “Told you. Not when I’m enjoying myself.”

They reached the corner where Frank usually turned toward his apartment. Matt could feel the shift in the air when he slowed, like he was gearing up to say goodnight.

Matt didn’t let him.

“You know, Frank,” he said, voice low and steady, “if you keep walking me home every night, people might start talking.”

Frank blinked. “I’ve done it only this once.”

“I know.”

Frank exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ else.”

“Mm,” Matt said. “You’ve mentioned that.”

They stopped under the awning of a closed bookstore. Rain dripped from the edge, pooling near their boots. The air was damp and cold, but somehow the space between them felt anything but.

Matt tilted his head up toward him, that small smile playing on his lips. “You’re still not gonna do anything, are you?”

Frank’s voice was low. “Don’t wanna cross a line.”

Matt’s expression softened. “Frank.”

He reached out, slow enough to give him time to pull away, and rested a hand against his chest. The fabric of Frank’s jacket was cool, but the heartbeat underneath wasn’t.

“This is the line,” Matt murmured. “And I’ve been standing on it for weeks.”

Frank’s breath hitched. “You don’t make this easy.”

“I wasn’t trying to.” Matt smiled faintly, tilting his face just a little closer. “I’m trying to make it worth it.”

And before Frank could come up with another excuse, another wall, another half-muttered don’t, Matt leaned up and kissed him.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t calculated. It was warm, rain-damp, clumsy in the way things are when they’ve been waiting too long to happen.

Frank didn’t move at first—didn’t breathe, didn’t think. But then his hands came up, rough and uncertain, one finding Matt’s jaw, the other his waist. And when he kissed him back, it was like the tension of every smart remark, every half-flirted line, every coffee poured with a smirk finally broke.

Matt smiled against his mouth, whispering, “Took you long enough.”

Frank chuckled, low and rough. “You don’t shut up even now, do you?”

“Not a chance.”

They stayed like that for a moment—rain falling around them, the world small and quiet and theirs. When they finally pulled apart, Matt rested his forehead against Frank’s, both of them a little breathless, a little stunned.

“So,” Matt said, voice lighter now, “you coming by the café tomorrow?”

Frank smirked faintly. “You ever think I stopped?”

Matt grinned, tapping his fingers lightly against Frank’s chest. “Good. ’Cause I make a mean latte.”

Frank groaned, laughing despite himself. “You’re impossible, Red.”

“And yet,” Matt said with a quiet smile, “you’re still here.”

Frank just shook his head, but his arm found its way around Matt’s shoulders as they started walking again, Max trotting happily beside them. The rain didn’t seem so cold anymore.

And Devil’s Brew had never felt closer to home.

Chapter Text

Devil’s Brew was quiet after the closing hours.
The neon sign hummed faintly against the rain outside, throwing a soft glow across the floorboards. The chairs were stacked, the lights dimmed. Only the smell of roasted coffee and rain lingered, soft and familiar.

Frank was still there.

He shouldn’t have been. Matt had flipped the Closed sign an hour ago, and anyone else would’ve taken that as a hint. But Frank just… stayed. Sitting at the counter, one arm draped over the back of the stool, nursing the last of his coffee while Max dozed underfoot.

Matt didn’t tell him to leave.
He didn’t really want to.

“You know,” Matt said, drying a mug for the fifth time just to keep his hands busy, “most people take the hint when I start cleaning up.”

Frank glanced up from his cup. “Most people ain’t me.”

“Mm.” Matt leaned against the counter, facing him. “You think that’s a good thing?”

“Dunno yet,” Frank said. Then, after a beat, “Probably.”

Matt laughed softly, shaking his head. The sound filled the empty café like music. “You’re ridiculous.”

Frank gave him that half-smile—the one that looked like he didn’t know how to smile properly anymore, but did it anyway. “You like ridiculous.”

Matt set the mug down and folded his arms. “Maybe I do.”

Silence drifted in again, easy and unhurried. The rain had slowed to a gentle patter against the windows. Outside, the streetlights glowed gold, painting everything in a haze of warmth.

Matt took a slow step closer. Then another.

He reached out, fingertips brushing the edge of Frank’s sleeve. “You’re still here,” he said quietly.

Frank met his touch halfway. “Told you I wasn’t goin’ anywhere.”

Matt smiled—small, real, and soft enough to make Frank’s chest ache. “Good.”

They stood there for a long moment, close enough that the warmth between them felt louder than words. Matt’s hand found Frank’s collar, tracing the edge of his jacket, while Frank’s rough knuckles brushed against Matt’s waist.

Matt tilted his head just slightly, enough to feel Frank’s breath on his lips. “If you stay past closing again,” he murmured, “people might talk.”

Frank’s mouth curved into a grin. “Let ‘em.”

And when Matt leaned in, slow and sure, Frank met him halfway—steady and certain this time, no hesitation, no distance left between them.

Outside, the rain kept falling. Inside, the coffee cooled, the clock ticked past one, and Devil’s Brew stayed open just a little longer than usual.

Because some nights weren’t meant to end on time.