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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 2 days ago

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staring at the sun (a matt murdock short story)

Synopsis: Sunny, Foggy Nelson’s other best friend from college, was a sharp-tongued, chaos-loving café owner who plays barista just for the hell of it. Matt was just a sight-impaired lawyer who came in for coffee and stayed for the banter. He leaned in first, sure of the signals, confident in her body language... but she turned him down. Complicated, she said. Messy. And then, in a moment of guilt or self-preservation, she turned him to Karen Page. The lines blur even further. The nights get longer. The lies get heavier. And neither of them can stop circling the moment they almost had—quiet, dangerous, and always just out of reach. Inspired by Staring at the Sun by TV on the Radio, this story is about almosts, bad timing, and the slow, impossible pull between two people who shouldn’t—but do—keep finding their way back to each other.

Pairing: Matthew Murdock x afab!reader

Author's notes: Let me start by preempting this: I know that a reader with an attitude isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. She’s a bit of a handful, I get it. But she was created to feel human—to have layers, flaws, and a whole lot of contradictions. I did my best to keep some of the mystery, the vagueness, to make her feel real. But if that’s not your thing? That’s okay. Skip this fic. You won’t lose out on much. ❤ This was, hands down, the most fun and wild ride I’ve ever had writing. There were moments when I literally grinned and laughed at my own jokes like a lunatic, playing out scenarios in my head over and over again. It took me almost 5 weeks to put together, and I spent nearly every moment off work perfecting it, tweaking it, making it just right.

And now, looking at it? Finished? I’m so, so proud. I feel my writing style has sharpened over the last few months. Lost in Translation (a series I hope to release over the summer) helped me with that. It feels more human, more lived-in, vivid. I’ve been experimenting with styling (italicizing, bolding, playing with paragraph breaks) and I love it.

This fic holds a piece of me. It’s a piece I’ve given away for you to enjoy with me. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride

Word count: 55K

Music inspiration:

Staring at the Sun (2003) by TV On The Radio (especially the live @ SXSW 2011 rendition)

Late Night Feelings + Prelude (2019) by Mark Ronson & Lykke Li

Roi (2021) by VIDEOCLUB

Chemtrails Over the Country Club (2021) by Lana Del Rey

Seventeen & Jupiter 4 (2019) by Sharon Van Etten

Now I'm In It (2020) by HAIM

"You're staring at the sun. You're standing in the sea. Your mouth is open wide. You're trying hard to breathe. The water's at your neck. There's lightning in your teeth. Your body's over me."

Staring at the Sun (2003) by TV On The Radio

Sunny'd been a fixture of Foggy's life for over a decade. He didn't like her much at first. She liked him even less. She wasn't like his friends.

They met during their Columbia years. She had arrived at a pub quiz with Jonah. Unannounced. Uninvited. But she was there. She arrived bundled in an enormous coat, a beanie slipping over her eyes, and a wool scarf wrapped so high only the tip of her nose peeked through. Her eyes had done most of the talking that night—sharp, bright, impossible to ignore. She didn't say much. Just smiled and laughed. Snorted when Foggy said something hilarious. Argued with him half the time. Later, she'd explained she was 'trying to leave a good impression'. "This Y/N," Jonah boasted. She always said she was a catch, in the end. It was his new girlfriend. Jonah hoped she’d fit in with the guys.

She did. The photos and grainy videos from those years said as much. She stuck around long after Jonah didn’t. Drunk texts. Deranged 3AM calls. Singing when walking home in the rain, tipsy and happy. That spontaneous road trip down the coastline Matt had refused to take.

Yeah. She’d fit in just fine. Maybe too well for Jonah’s taste.

While Nelson studied law, Y/N pursued management and economics. Their ways never really separated. Blurry photos from hangouts, parties, and late-night trips—all tucked neatly in a battered album she only cracked open when she was drunk enough. She’d seen him stumble. He’d never let her. When she fell, he was there to hold her, make her laugh... to reassure her that she was worth all the trouble and nerve.

Sunny even suffered through his entire Marci debacle. Went out for a double date with the pair. And if that wasn't a sign of a true friendship... Foggy didn't know what it was. Just once. Never again. She still swore she saw Marci check her reflection in the back of a spoon.

She cried along with him. Laughed when the mood was right.

And then, she watched as Foggy started a law practice with his other best friend. Witnessed it in real time, from the ground up. The practice was something that was his. A legacy. Something Foggy was proud of, despite spending most of the time yammering about what a stupid idea it was. She was proud, too, even if she would’ve rather been shot than admit it. Nelson & Murdock. It sounded posh. Sunny offered quiet support through the process—free coffee, pep talks, and pastries. The works. She listened when he cursed Murdock to hell and back for being either a stubborn idiot, a man-whore, or vanishing for days.

Matt, of course. The brooding ghost of a man who was somehow everywhere and nowhere at once. The man she'd heard so much about... and still felt like she didn't know.

Sunny remained stuck at a café. Working as a barista... with the best latté in downtown Hell's Kitchen. Nelson never understood, but he didn’t argue—Y/N, with her independence, slight air of mystery, and effortless cool, was always a bit of an enigma.

Sunny yammered about the job all the time, but never quit. She didn't even attempt to resign. She often said the pay was shit, the shifts were hell, and the coworkers were dicks… but she stayed. For years now, actually. 'It’s simpler, y’see?' she always muttered when Foggy pressed. 'I can do whatever I want, whenever I want… I’ve barely lifted a finger in the past few years. And my boss fucking adores me, so…' she'd smirk 'Why not?'

She was usually like that—straight to the point, a pain in the ass, and secretly soft-hearted beneath it all.

Funnily enough, Sunny'd never met Matthew Murdock. The one Foggy always yammered about. His 'other best friend'. There had never been a right opportunity, at least not one Foggy deemed just right. But deep down, he knew they’d get along. Too well. But he also knew the two would get along easily... too easily. Both were sharp-tongued, witty, and sarcastic to their last breaths. And both were good-willed idiots with rough edges. ... with similar abandonment issues.

The idea of Sunny and Murdock interacting had always irritated Foggy. Always. They were aware of each other's existence; they sent regards and best wishes, but were never introduced. Foggy ensured to separate the two entities, two universes where Foggy felt the safest. Partially... it came down to the fact that most women deemed Matt a ridiculous catch. He was a lawyer, tall-ish, handsome, smart, and a seducer. A player, if you will. And Foggy didn't want to deal with that emotional mess, albeit potentially. Especially if Foggy would sit beside him, involuntarily serving as the wingman. Maybe it was because Y/N was charming in that impossible-to-pin-down way—the kind of Foggy never felt himself, but watched other men gravitate toward.

But... Things were about to change.

Matt and Foggy strolled down the streets of Hell's Kitchen, the bustle of New York buzzing around them—people weaving through the sidewalks, taxi cabs splashing through puddles, the heavy scent of asphalt and rain lingering in the air. Their destination was close, just a five-minute walk from the office. Foggy was talking a mile a minute, clearly excited about something, while Matt was just trying to make it through another long day. Difficult cases, legal loopholes, and fancy, meaningless words cluttered his head—a headache simmering beneath the surface.

"Alright, Murdock, you're in for a treat today," Foggy announced as they climbed the stairs into a small, lively café. The smell hit them immediately—coffee, lemon zest, cinnamon. The space was modest, with around six to seven tables total, each impressively occupied despite the midday rush. Others sat on the porch. Matt could hear laughter, soft murmurs, baristas taking orders, chatting, and exchanging pleasantries. The hiss of espresso machines. The soft thud of music. A woman's voice softly hummed along it. Matt smiled to himself.

"If this is another one of your ‘I've got a friend who'll change your life’ situations, I’m walking away," Matt muttered, dry as ever, his hand brushing Foggy’s elbow for balance, just enough not to send someone’s almond latte flying. "So," Foggy grinned, clearly unfazed by the threat. "I've got a friend who'll change our lives." Matt huffed a laugh under his breath. "I hate you." "You'll love her," Foggy promised.

The smell of fresh coffee and pastries hit Matt’s senses—rich, warm, inviting, and genuinely good. It reminded him he hadn't eaten all day.

"Another coffee shop, huh? Should’ve known," Matt murmured, his sarcasm slipping away. Foggy chuckled. "Nah, this place is different. It’s got a personality." "You mean she’s got one, no?" Matt hummed, nudging Foggy’s side. Oh, Nelson hated it when Matt got like this. Insinuating that this wasn’t about coffee, but rather a crush. "Leave me out of these speculations," Foggy shot back, steady as always. No crushes here—just years of friendship. "It'll make sense when you see her." "Low blow." "You asked for it." "I guess." Matt smiled, a rare, genuine one, his face softening.

The café bustled as they waited in line, chatting about nonsense. Matt's senses were pleasantly overwhelmed. Foggy spotted her behind the counter, arms crossed, watching the barista with boredom and amusement. As always, she was chewing gum, her hair twisted into a messy bun, the shared apron hanging on her like she owned the place.

"Yo, Y/N!" Foggy called out, waving at her with his usual grin. "Over here!" Her eyes shot up at the sound of his voice, warm and familiar. She raised an eyebrow at the sight of the two of them, her sharp gaze assessing Matt, chin tilting just slightly. With a sigh, she stepped forward, meeting them at the pastry display. "Always nice seeing you," Foggy hummed, giving her a quick hug. Her palm patted his shoulder in return. "Yeah, figures. I’m a motherfucking catch," she muttered, both of them snickering. "Who’d the cat drag in?"

Her eyes were on Matt now—he could feel it. Y/N was studying him, slowly and thoroughly. The reaction inside her body was nearly instant. Her heart rate picked up, and her blood ran faster. She tried to hide the quick gulp, licking her lips as she breathed in shallowly. Her scent shifted. Frankly, she smelled fucking amazing—coffee, vanilla, perfume... and, well, her. But she played it cool.

"Matt, this is Y/N Y/L/N, my other best friend, whom I also call Sunny," Foggy announced proudly. Matt assumed she gave a dramatic bow because Foggy scoffed, shaking his head. "You'd probably already met her at Columbia. Do you remember Jonah?" "An insufferable asshole? Junior year's property law?" Matt shot back, a playful grin spreading across his face as he turned to Foggy. "He could barely tie his shoelaces." "My words exactly," Y/N agreed, grinning. "Your guy's got charm, Fogster. That deserves a coffee on the house." "Where did Sunny come from?" Matt asked, intrigued. "Ah, you know it," Foggy scoffed. "She my fucking ray of sunshine." "Oh, fuck off." Y/N laughed back, rolling her eyes.

"Sunny, this is Matt Murdock." "The Matt Murdock? The man, the myth, the legend? The best man walking the Earth?" Y/N cackled, already moving behind the counter to start their order. "Oh, that’s rich." "Do I have a reputation?" Matt asked innocently, letting Foggy guide him toward a chair so he wouldn’t get in the way of the busy waitstaff. "I’m honored." "Mhm. Foggy mentioned you think coffee’s a personality trait," Y/N smirked, her voice almost flirtatious, sending Matt a wink. She clearly didn’t know that Matt, for lack of a better word, was blind. But Matt, on instinct, shot back with a sarcastic grin. There was silence before Y/N leaned in slightly, as if letting Matt in on a secret, "Poor Fogster can’t stop talking about you."

"Well, for the record, I don't think coffee's a personality trait. I just think it's essential. There's a difference." Matt teased back, and Foggy stood by, witnessing the collision of two worlds that had seemed so distant just that morning. "Uh-huh," Y/N nodded, mouth open as she watched her co-worker finish a triple americano. "Just by looking at you, you only drink black and without flair?"

This assumption took Murdock back.

A barista who knew her craft, it seemed, tuned in with an almost eerie sense for her customers’ tastes. What gave him away? Was it intuition? Years of practice? Or just a lucky guess? "You've got me all figured out," Matt admitted, grinning from ear to ear. It wasn’t an explicit confession, yet it conveyed so much. She’d know he’d just put himself in her good graces in record time if she paid attention.

His judgment was cloudier than he cared to admit. Because just as her body reacted to his presence, so did his. Her voice was so pleasant, and the way her tongue curled around his name had Matt’s heart skipping a beat. An absentminded grin formed on his lips. The shift in her scent set off something primal inside him. His pulse quickened, blood ran hotter, and—fuck—unwanted, indecent images flashed in his mind. Inside the coffee, outside it. In his bed. In hers.

Thankfully, Foggy was none the wiser—probably relieved they were getting along.

"Sure, I've got you pegged. Black coffee, no sugar, no frills. A typical lawyer move… speaking from experience," her eyes flicked to Foggy. The way her lips moved? Diabolical. Matt would swear he senses each twist and curl. She didn't flinch at his comment, her playful grin tightening for a second—a brief acknowledgment that she caught what he was putting down. A bite on her lower lip, a shallow exhale. Then, a soft scoff. But she didn’t bite. Not yet. She didn't visibly react to Matt's statement. Good. No reaction. Good. That answer was safe—she was either more reasonable than he was, or playing the game. Either way, they were in the clear.

Foggy let out a low grunt. "Not true," Foggy defended against the implication that this opinion was based on years of personal experience. "I go for a gingerbread latté whenever your boss puts it on the menu." "True that," Y/N hummed. "Gotta admit, she’s a bit of a dunce—told her a million and one times she should make it a permanent item, but she insists it’s a seasonal delicacy and that the upkeep would be too expensive."

One of the baristas shot Sunny a strange look. Like they weren't in on a joke. Sunny raised her brows in return. "What? She, categorically, is a dunce," Sunny muttered, earning scoffs from Foggy and Matt. "If you say so…" the coworker hummed, clearly biting back a response before stepping away from the espresso machine. Y/N just smirked.

"Maybe we'll surprise you," Matt mused, leaning into Sunny’s playful energy. He could feel her skepticism in the shift of her weight, the way her breath caught just slightly. There was something about her collected demeanor that didn't fit. Something she desperately tried to hide. It was strange. His body reacted to her. The entirety of her. Her reactions and physical processes. It was like hell and heaven in one package. He could feel her eyes moving over him, even if he’d never see it himself.

"I’ll believe it when I see it," she quipped. "You’d better not be as boring as Foggy says you are." "Oh, okay." Foggy scoffed, exasperated. "Are you just trying to start drama because you're bored?" "I don’t know—am I, Nelson?" Y/N replied innocently, though amusement laced every word. "And if I am, what are you gonna do about it? Object? Give me a break with that lawyer bullshit."

"You know,... I only ever see you working when I come in?" Foggy teased, their long history of banter evident. "Every other time I pass by, you’re literally just sitting here, doing nothing." "My boss loves me although I’m a bitch and don't do much," Y/N said smugly, with the energy of a cat that pushed a glass of the table and got away with it. "Deal with it."

"...And, well, am I boring?" Matt hummed after Foggy and Sunny fell silent, sending Foggy a bemused smile. Not even a moment of breathing space. Foggy groaned and rolled his eyes, already feeling a headache setting in from the sheer chaos. "I never said you're boring. Just that you've got a dry sense of humor," Foggy replied swiftly. "Sue me." "I'd rather not. We're behind on paperwork as is," Matt quipped back, making Sunny scoff. The sound twitched with the corners of Matt's mouth. "We don't even have desks yet..." The first espresso-to-go landed before them, and Y/N absentmindedly worked on the second. It smelled incredible. "And knowing Nelson, it only means you’re either boring or a killer," Y/N added. "Knowing Foggy and the company he keeps, I leaned toward the first one."

"Talking from experience?" Matt prodded, entertained. Y/N shrugged, eyes flicking up briefly. "Maybe I am. Maybe I’ve dealt with enough smooth talkers to know how it ends." Matt tilted his head. "And how does it end?" "Usually? With someone getting their coffee thrown in their lap," she smiled sweetly. "Accidentally, of course." Matt chuckled under his breath, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Noted," he murmured, voice lower than before—meant for her, and her alone. She looked up at him, just for a second.

And that second stretched long enough to make Foggy clear his throat. Loudly.

Y/N laughed—bright and sharp, like the best kind of trouble. The sound hit Matt like a spark to dry kindling, setting something alight in his chest. He felt it more than heard it, how the sound curled around him, rich and reckless. If Matt could see, he was sure he’d be watching her now, completely taken.

"Also, I'm a killer. That's how I know the crowd Fogster sticks to." "You sure are," Foggy muttered, standing up to pay for the coffee. But before he could, there was a sharp smack—the distinct sound of Y/N practically slapping his wallet out of his palm. "Nu-uh. We talked about this, Nelson," she scolded, leaning in like she was sharing a government secret. Her voice dropped to a whisper-shout, just for him. "Coffee’s the only way I get to see your handsome face on a semi-regular basis—gotta take what I can get, right?. You're not paying a dime." "Appreciate the heroics, but we have a law practice. We can afford two cups of coffee," Foggy muttered back, equally stubborn.

Was this a regular thing? Was this a part of their dynamic? Matt leaned back, listening, amused. Matt noted they bickered like a married couple—comfortable, familiar, intimate in a way that didn’t ask permission. Too practiced. Too easy.

Foggy attempted to pay, and Y/N outmaneuvered him at every turn. "Send it to charity if it makes you feel better," she quipped. "I hate thinking about how much I cost you weekly, Sunshine. Would hate it if you showed up one day to shake me down when you’re suddenly homeless." "Oh. If I even asked to crash at yours," she shrugged, "it would end with you begging me not to leave, Nelson. It would take two days tops to worship me like the goddess I am. I'd cook, clean, and maybe even iron your stupid shirts." "You gave me four espressos this week alone." Foggy insisted, a bit softer. "And my boss doesn’t mind," Sunny shot back. Judging by the rustling of bags, she was now aggressively packing up sweets just to piss him off. "She likes you. And takes it out of my performance bonus."

"Maybe you could stop dressing like a clown if you weren’t constantly giving away free stuff." Silence. "Too far, Nelson." Her voice lost all bite. The tease evaporated. Foggy winced. "Sorry." She shoved the packed sweets into his chest, harder than necessary. "Anyway, stick those four dollars up your ass."

Matt heard her approach. Of course, he did. But nothing prepared him for her warmth and the intensity of her scent. Her pace was steady, not rushed but not slow—almost as if she was always on the move, even when she didn't have to be. There was the faint click of boots or heels against the hard floor, the soft shuffle of fabric brushing against her legs.

When she was near enough, Matt caught the sound of her breathing—almost like she's carrying a slight smirk, her posture a bit cocky. There was a subtle vibration of her presence in the air, like how her footsteps shifted just before she stopped before him, or how her energy seemed to fill the space. She was cocky but lovable, energetic but soft.

"Tell me you're more reasonable than Nelson," Y/N whispered, so close to his ear that Matt swallowed a breath as his head turned toward her voice. Fuck, she was so close—her pulse steadily thumbing inside the artery in her neck, her breathing irregular, her body reacting to him. Murdock allowed himself a deep breath before answering. "...I'm more reasonable than Nelson," Matt parroted, voice low. He was bewitched. Sunny scoffed in his ear. She was chewing on a gum, mint flavored based on the smell. "Great," she hummed, haphazardly pushing one of the cups and a paper bag filled with pastry into his arms.

Her fingers brushed against the back of his hand, and Matt's grip on the cup tightened instinctively. Jesus. She was warm and impossibly soft, like her touch alone could undo him if he let it. He focused on the heat of the coffee seeping through the cup, grounding himself, trying to ignore how his body reacted. A batch of uninvited, unwanted, and very explicit images and ideas filled Matt's thoughts again, nearly doing him in.

This was stupid. He was being stupid. He'd been around plenty of beautiful women before, but something about her threw Matt off balance. It wasn’t just her voice or how her laughter had lodged deep in his chest. It was how she moved, smelled, and lingered just long enough to make him wonder if she felt it too. The tension. The spark. Desire.

It was dangerous. And yet, he wasn’t pulling away. Not yet. He just wanted a bit more of her heat and scent in his nose, let his heart beat irregularly for a little longer. Matt shifted in his seat, his leg brushing against hers. His breath caught, his body betraying him for a split second, and only then did he quickly pull away.

"Take this. Run the fuck away from here before Nelson actually pays for the goods." "That a good idea?" Matt whispered back, intrigued and amused. "Yeah, why wouldn't it..." That's when she clocked it in. She stilled, still leaning over him. The cane was set between his knees—a white cane clearly communicating he was blind. Her breath stuttered slightly, and Matt felt her gaze before she even voiced it. He could almost hear the hesitation in her silence as her eyes moved to his cane and then to his glasses, lingering just a little longer than necessary. She sounded almost unsure when asked: "...Is that why the slides are red?" "... Wouldn't notice the difference, to be honest." "I'm calling the plan off." "Why?" Matt pressed, a teasing edge creeping into his voice, the challenge hanging between them. "I won’t let some blind guy run into traffic for a coffee shop heist. I might be reckless, but I’m not that cruel."

"What are you whispering about?" Foggy joined the conversation again, pushing his wallet back into his tux. He's stuck six dollars into the tip jar, taking the 'paying the bill' scene as resolved. "You didn't tell me." "Tell you what?" "That Murdock's, well, that he's..." "Sight impaired, yeah," Foggy nodded, taking everything off Y/N's hands. "What does that change?"

"Are you serious?" Y/N shot back, mock-serious. "I could look like a monster, and he'd have no clue. Honestly, I’m starting to like this guy more and more." "You're already looking like one." "Low blow, Nelson." "Low blow, but you know you love it, Y/N," Foggy hummed, the two sharing a quick hug. "Yeah, I do... bastard. See you," she smiled, turning to Matt. "See you around, Murdock. Don’t get too bored without me. You know you wanna come around and listen to how I yap."

And... Well, Y/N wasn't lying. God, she really smelled good. "Depends on the topic," Matt murmured, voice low and close, the air between them crackling with a subtle tension. "But free coffee? You might just have me sold." A scoff. A short laugh.

Y/N’s eyes softened a beat, and then she muttered, "Oh, I like you already, Murdock." Something in her tone felt like a door had just been unlocked. Foggy groaned dramatically behind them, drawing out the sound. "Oh no." "Oh yes," Y/N corrected, her grin practically audible. Matt smirked, enjoying the moment more than he’d care to admit Something told him he’d come to this café a lot more often.

The Nelson & Murdock duo started frequenting the café nearly daily. Matt was hiding his side motives well. He never said—never admitted—that he wanted... needed to see Sunny. Not once. Foggy didn’t suspect Matthew’s so-called coffee runs were getting harder and harder to walk away from. That each time Sunny got near, something in Matt pulled taut. That’s why he always blamed it on caffeine. Or fresh air. Anything but her.

Besides, seeing Y/N improved Foggy's mood each time, despite his constant complaints of "she’s a pain in the ass".

Truthfully? The Page case was dragging on longer than they liked. Exhausting. Frustrating. And Matt... Matt constantly looked like a punching bag. Bruised. Swollen. Lips split. Knuckles red and violet.

They asked. Prodded. Worried. About what was going on? Why did he look like that? Did he owe money? Did he get into a crash? A fight? How could they help? Foggy. Sunny. Both. Matt deflected every time. It became a routine. They still asked. But their voices got softer. Like they were already bracing for the lie. Like it was better not to know.

It was way past closing. They barged in too late to meaningfully explain it, catching Y/N in the middle of a tax crisis. Why was a barista doing the taxes? Sunny didn't offer an explanation. She simply deadpanned, clicked her tongue, and closed the invoice book... very dramatically. She didn’t say anything. Just walked over, flipped the sign to closed, put on Hozier, and started making tea she swore wasn’t for him.

The lights were dimmed except for the ones over the counter. Foggy was perched on a bar stool, nursing a lukewarm espresso. Matt was sitting at the corner table, knuckles red, a faint split on his lower lip, jaw already swelling. He groaned with pain, cooling the bruises with a package of ice. His tie was gone, collar open, sleeves rolled. He looked like fucking shit... again. For a third time that month alone.

Sunny moved around the café barefoot, mopping. She even threatened the duo into taking their shoes off. Full-on threatened. She was in a no-bullshit mood that night. Refused to acknowledge any lawyer mumbo jumbo. She didn't look at Matt right away. She's seen it all before. The bruises. The exhaustion. That night? They worse.

Foggy chuckled into the silence, just as Sunny put the tea in front of Matt with attitude. "Jesus, Matt. You look like you fought a city bus and lost." "At least it was a tie," Matt smiled, hissing. His cheek was on fire. "Eh... I'm still 50-50," Sunny yelped, her feet sticking to the tile floor. "On what?" Matt quipped. "At least I'm alive." "Are you sure it's not a sex thing?" Sunny asked, all innocent and smiling, twirling the mop in her palm. Foggy choked on his hot chocolate. Matt exhaled slowly, lips twitching. Here they go again.

"Can we not?" Foggy coughed, but Y/N didn't move an inch. She still twirled with the mop. "I'm just saying," she sighed. "You disappear for days, come back covered in bruises, looking half-dead but somehow too casual and smug about it. And if it's a kink, I won't judge because you do you. Maybe just don't bleed on my floors after closing time? The boss will murder me if I don't get it off." She strutted behind the counter and grabbed the disinfecting spray like it owed her money. Matt deadpanned. "I'll keep that in mind." "You better. My mop's not unionized."

Foggy threw his head back, groaning. Matt just listened, his eyes closed. He could hear her heartbeat flicker when she spoke. That her voice hitched ever so slightly, with curiosity and a bit of judgment. He could feel her watching him when she thought he wasn't paying attention. He heard each stroke of her mop. She hummed along with the song.

"... And if it was a kink?" He hummed smoothly as she passed by. His head turned as she passed. If he wasn't blind, she'd swear he was watching her ass sway. Sunny stopped in front of the counter. She didn't look at him. "Then I'd say you've got expensive taste in bruises." Without a warning, she tossed a rag at Foggy. "Make yourself useful, counselor. You're not here to brood and look cute, that's his job," she threw her head in Matt's direction. "That corner's still sticky." "Remind me, why do I hang out here?" Foggy groaned but got up nonetheless. "Because I have better coffee than your office and I let you say dumb shit without kicking you out," Y/N offered, shrugging. "Say last week, for example. You said Marci was one of the best things that happened to you. Stupid as hell." "... And because she likes us." Matthew practically murmured, softly. It was a tease, but it finally made Sunny scoff and look at him.

"Don't push it, Murdock." There was warmth in her voice. The quiet was comfortable for a moment... easy. Just them, grinning at each other. Until Matt shifted in his seat, wincing. She snapped her eyes away, eyebrow rising. "Okay, real talk, idiot—whatever that is, maybe see a doctor?" "I'll survive," Murdock hissed defiantly. "He says that a lot," Foggy jumped in, taking the first opportunity to rat him out. "One day it's not gonna be true, and then what? I gotta explain to the cops how my blind best friend tripped and fell into six guys with brass knuckles? Yeah, real funny." "Six?" Sunny hissed. Another rug hit Matt square in the chest. No rest for liars. "You told me there were three. Three guys." "I didn't want you to worry." "Too late, doofus," she gritted through her teeth, angrily rinsing the mop. "You tripped into six guys? At least bring me back a trophy." "Next time." Matt got up, groaning. His ribs were on fire. "You say next time like it's a good thing," Sunny murmured, her worry finally slipping through. "Whatever it is... Is it worth it?" "For me it is," Matt defended, getting to work.

She sighed like she wanted to argue. Add something. Yell. Scream. That's how worried she was. And instead, there was just a soft, silent: "... Okay."

They fell into a seamless rhythm. They lingered at the café whenever they wanted. Sunny never had the heart to throw them out They started going to restaurants, public events, and Josie's whenever Matt wasn't doing... whatever he did in his free time. Sometimes they hung out at Matt’s place—playing Scrabble, watching movies, or just… drinking and talking about life. They shared memories and stories—Sunny curled up on the sofa under a blanket, Foggy and Matt seated at the table. And they shared everything. From relationships, horrible dates, the good ol' Columbia days, embarrassing memories, to last week's events? They talked about all of it. For a blind man, Matt was surprisingly good at board games. He always roped Y/N into playing 'with him' under the pretense of, well... being blind. Foggy always called it unfair, but obliged. He'd won most of the games anyway. ...and wholeheartedly hated how they looked during it.

They murmured, voices low, both grinning, scoffing, and giggling more than not. Sunny always sat too close to Matt, leaning toward him, hovering in his personal space. She laughed, her fingers brushing against his hand as she passed him the tiles, but for a second—just a second—she caught herself, pulling back too quickly. Cleaned her throat. Threw a jab at Foggy. It never crossed a line. But it always hovered there, close enough to make it uncomfortable.

Foggy caught Matt’s eyes flicking toward Sunny once too often, his expression softening in a way that didn’t go unnoticed.

"You okay there, buddy?" Foggy teased, nudging Matt’s shoulder. He shot a look at Sunny, then back at Matt. "You’ve been staring at her all night. You’ve got a thing for her now, or what?" Matt flinched, trying to cover it up with a smirk. "Shut up, Foggy." "Yeah, I'm just putting the pieces on the board," Sunny shrugged, unassuming and unfazed. "Y'know, because he's blind and all?" They never addressed it. Sunny refused to talk about it. Always muttered 'You're seeing things.' She was fine with things staying the way they were, right? No complications. Why? Maybe because of her past relationships and her bond with Foggy. And Matt? He wasn't the one to call her bluff. She needed to be the one to address it. Therefore, they always covered up with cheap jokes and sarcasm.

Foggy ignored it for the most part, maybe on purpose. Ignored how Matt’s voice would drop, rasp slightly whenever she leaned just a little too close. How his breath would hitch... just enough to give away how badly he was trying to ignore what was happening. He couldn't make it stop. He couldn't stop wanting her. But he couldn't let himself get any closer.

Matthew didn’t know when it started. Didn’t mean for it to happen. But more nights than he’d admit, he imagined her naked in his bed, just one room over. Especially during Scrabble nights, when the game felt like the most serious thing in the world. He’d never touched her. Never said a word. But the thoughts kept showing up, uninvited.

He liked being near her. Laughed when she sang along to the radio. Listened to her work with confidence. Listened to her hum while she cleaned, or laughed at him like it was her favorite sport. He took it like a champ—every jab, every pun. Smiled through it like a sinner in confession. ... And Sunny never reacted. She never flirted back. Not out loud. Probably believed she was a good friend... that she was acting believable. But her body betrayed her in millions of small, impossible ways.

Over the following weeks, their visits stretched longer. What started as simple transactions turned into lingering conversations. The Nelson & Murdock cases grew more... complicated. Dangerous. They needed the distraction and tough love Y/N provided. The café started feeling like a safe haven and an escape from reality. The trio bonded over work and personal lives, filling in the gaps of familiarity; until Matt knew where she was born and raised, how she found herself in New York, and by proxy, why she picked Columbia University. Matt noted she left out the entirety of her parents from the story... as if it stung to even remember. There was more lingering under the surface. She refused to elaborate. Refused to talk. Foggy asked him not to press when feeling Matt's desperation to dig deeper.

Matthew, in exchange, shared his life story with her. It wasn´t easy... wasn't nice either. It was late, long after closing hours—the mop lazily leaned against one of the tables, forgotten. They all had a shit fucking day. Rude customers. Bad sales. Shit weather. Foggy explained that Page, their current client, got nearly choked in jail. She survived... barely.

Sunny pulled out her most expensive bottle of Jack Daniels. The bottle was usually hidden behind a stack of unopened wine crates. She only brought it out on anniversaries or emotional disasters. That night, she poured everyone a glass. To toast to Karen and thank the Lord above for not fucking it up worse. But then? When their troubled scoffs fell quiet? The shared silence was heavy. Suffocating.

Matt didn’t even know why he started talking. There was an instinct inside him. One that needed to break the silence, to make it disappear. He needed to get it off his chest. It clawed at his ribs. It came out before he could make sense of the weight. Matt barely recognized the man talking. The man who could barely get a word out about his feelings… yet there he was, spilling it all. But maybe that’s what she did to him—made him forget himself. It felt wrong and right at the same time. He hated himself for needing her, for feeling this weak.

Matt started with his dad. Remembering him, smiling as if he were bleeding. Didn't even mention his mother, who abandoned him. Then, he talked about his accident. His years at the orphanage. How he was raised to be a Catholic... carrying the guilt that he wasn't enough. That he would never be enough. Foggy was sitting at the same table, looking at him over his glass. Sunny sat atop the counter, her legs swinging as she hummed and nodded, listening.

Foggy already knew Matt’s story, but it pained him like the first time he heard it. It was a tough listen. No one should carry all that. Especially not a kid. Y/N was silent, absorbing it all. She was a tough crowd and didn't cry often. Not even when watching How to Train Your Dragon. But Matt? Matt got to her. She was furrowing, fidgeting with her fingers, and her cheeks were puffed out as she tried to keep the tears in. She looked like a toddler, not knowing what to do with their emotion. She was mad at herself for letting it get to her at all.

Then, before Matt could process it, she moved. She hugged him. Quick, unceremonious, but warm. She grounded him, and for a beat, they both got lost in the small, fleeting connection.

Her scent hit him first—coffee, vanilla, burnt sugar, and something distinctly her. Strands of her hair brushed against his fingers, barely within reach. The softness of her pressed against his chest, the curve of her collarbone beneath his chin for just a second. His palm settled on the small of her back instinctively. He held her tight. Like he'd drown if she let go of him. And then she was gone, just as fast as she had approached. Matt barely exhaled.

Foggy cleared his throat, shifting beside him. "You good, buddy? You looked like you've just returned from five minutes in heaven." His tone was amused but not unknowing. Matthew Murdock wasn't a communicative man. Not half of his flings knew what he did for work before they had sex, Foggy assumed. And until that night, Foggy might as well have been the only person who heard the full story.

And yet, something urged Matt to talk about his life, which was rarer than a good day in Hell’s Kitchen. Foggy was smart enough to figure it was connected to Sunny, at least a little. But he decided, again, to turn a blind eye. If something were going to happen between them, it probably would’ve by now. There were only a few people immune to Matt’s blind-man charm. Sunny just happened to be one of them... or for Foggy’s sake, she played the part well.

Sunny ignored them, grabbed a paper bag from behind the counter, and shoved it into Matt’s palm. "Raspberry muffins, on the house," she announced, like it was nothing. Like the entire moment hadn’t just shaken something loose in him. Like she didn't have tears in the corners of her eyes. That night, Sunny and Matt stopped being casual acquaintances or just 'friends'. They became best friends.

Matt and Foggy picked up on Y/N’s questionable work ethic fairly quickly. She bent the rules as she deemed fit, refusing to acknowledge the "business has to be profitable to be run" concept. Matt caught on to it first, of course.

"You do realize you just gave us three extra pastries and didn’t ring them up, right?" he remarked one afternoon as she slid a brown bag across the counter. "The boss won’t mind." Matt arched a brow. "That so?" "Oh, yeah," she said, deadpan. "She’s a real softie." Foggy, halfway through unwrapping his sandwich, paused. "Wait—hold on. Do you actually like your boss, or is this sarcasm? Because I feel like it could go either way." "It’s sarcasm," Matt murmured while Y/N said, "I love my boss." She smiled, not helping herself. Matt smirked.

Y/N’s questionable antics became more frequent with each visit. Sometimes, she let them pay. On other days, she cut the total in half, like it was a casual suggestion. And on certain occasions, she’d even toss extra pastries into the bag with a half-hearted "Oops." Neither Matt nor Foggy questioned it too hard. They might've had a law practice, but weren't above taking free food and coffee.

But one night, after a long day, the café was nearly empty, and Sunny remained one of the last two workers standing. Matt had already noticed the pattern—too much overtime for it to be healthy, too often for it to be a coincidence. As was usual, he and Foggy waltzed in, dropping into the seats nearest the counter. Before they could even argue, their orders landed in front of them... with attitude. Y/N plopped into the chair across from them, letting out a tired huff as she surveyed the room.

Matt, as always, was listening. The way her heartbeat lagged slightly, the telltale exhaustion in her breath. He’d been piecing it together—the mystery of her connection to the café. ... Just as he’d also pieced together how her gaze tended to linger when he wore this particular shirt. Dark burgundy, Karen had once described it when he asked about it during a night at Josie's. Matt noted Sunny's eyes hadn't left him whenever he wore it. He’d left the first two buttons undone tonight, and… he wasn’t above playing into it. Especially when he realized it might play into Y/N's work ethic. Or her stubbornness.

"Let us pay today?" he murmured, disrupting the peace. His fingers traced the rim of his cup. He couldn’t see her, but his head tilted just so, aimed at her like he could. Sunny didn’t even blink. "How about you fuck off?" Foggy snorted. "You sure about that? I heard your boss flew back in from the Dominican Republic today... and the rent's due soon." Y/N waved her hand lazily. "Please. My boss is probably too busy reading her emails to care." Matt smirked, and Foggy outright laughed. "You’re a real piece of work, Y/N." "I just give people what they want," she said through a loud yawn, stretching in her chair as her coworker passed by with another order. Then, under her breath, "…free fucking espresso."

It was far from the last instance of her questionable work choices. She started experimenting on them. Sometimes she announced it, but oftentimes she didn't. At first, it was just... small details. New drink or pastry. A different brew. A different cooking process she'd seen on the internet. Coffee beans that were ordered from a different supplier. Foggy could always tell—her eyes would narrow, darting between him and Matt like she was running a controlled study. The only thing she was missing? A white lab coat and a sheet to record the results. Matt? Of course, he knew. He always knew. Even before his lips touched the cup. But he'd rarely ruin it for her. He just pretended to be surprised for her amusement.

That day was no different. Sunny slid Matt his usual—black, no frills—across the counter. But this time, the aroma hit him before the cup did. Strong. It was too strong. She was testing him. Matt smirked, already bracing for the hit of caffeine. "Feeling adventurous, are we?" "You can’t drink weak coffee and expect to make it in this city, Murdock," she shot back, caramel latte in hand for table seven. "What would this establishment do without its patrons?"

Both men snickered. Patrons. Sure. They’d cost this café more money than they’d made for it.

Foggy took a sip of his raspberry lemonade, cappuccino on the side. "I believe you just want to see Matt twitch with all that extra caffeine." "Maybe," Y/N’s smile was all too sweet. "But that’s beside the point. You two keep asking about my boss, and I keep telling you—she won’t care. I have free range. I can do whatever the fuck I want." "Gives you the right to treat us like lab subjects?" Foggy teased. "Yeah, you’re skating on thin ice," Matt added, playing along. "Might be enough to file a complaint. And I'm a lawyer. I'd win."

He could hear Y/N shift, leaning in close. When she spoke, her voice dropped to a mock-serious murmur. "Honey, I live on thin ice. It’s not like they’re gonna fire me—no one else can keep this place running anyway." Matt smirked. "On the other hand… a slice of that lemon pie might keep me from actually complaining." "You, Murdock, are a dog." She offered her hand, shaking on it. "Deal."

Other times, she was moody with them. She placed the coffee down with too much emphasis, her tone casual and uncaring, her expression neutral, not hostile, but not welcoming.

Foggy and Matt watched her deal with the customers during a rush, standing next to the espresso machine, leaning onto the counter, countless orders practically flying under her palms, served one after the other without care. Her co-workers dealt with the pleasantries, not her. "Does she ever follow the rules?" Foggy wondered, whispering to Matt. "Y'know, like... greeting the customers or being nice, for once?" Matt shook his head, grinning. "I think the rules are more of a suggestion for her." She scoffs at first, winking at them. "If you wanna call it that... call me a rebel with a cause, but I'm not in this for the rules. Either take your coffee and fuck off, or..." "Just fuck off?" Foggy offered, making her laugh wholeheartedly. "You seem to get into the groove of things."

There were even day that were striaght-up shit. For all of them. They left their practice long after closing hours, both slouched and exhausted. And just as they crossed by the café, there it was—the silent, soft "Yo!" She'd invite them inside, the place half-cleaned, the light in the kitchen still on. Even though the espresso machine was cleaned and turned off, she'd make them a fresh cup without asking.

"You two better be glad I'm in a good mood today. Or else, I'd charge your asses extra for that shot of espresso you didn't ask for." "Did you make me a double again?" Foggy whined despite knowing that Y/N's espressos were life-savers. "You'll learn to appreciate it one day." She half-mouthed, putting some of the sandwiches no one bought in front of them, sitting beside them with a coffee, and one for herself. "You're gonna get yourself in trouble," Matt whispered, carefully and softly. He could feel her palm shooting his shoulder before she bit into the delicious sandwich. "You can't just lose profit like this. Your boss will be furious." "Nah, I got connections. This job pays the bills; I'm here for the chaos." Y/N answered sternly. "Besides, she likes you two idiots."

Her laugh was tense, almost forced—a layer of mystery surrounding Y/N. It was clear she was hiding something. ... like the true owner of the place, for example. She never let it slip, stopped play-pretending, or gave them a solid clue. She just played it off as another barista who doesn't follow the rules. But Matt suspected there was more than met the eye. She was smart, sharp, and absolutely fearless.

Sunny slowly crossed the line and became a part of their office over time. She started bringing gifts in the form of fresh pastries and coffee at the nearest convenience, seemingly leaving her shift without repercussions. Always said that 'the girls got it'. She'd always show up unannounced, especially when things got too much. It felt like she had a shit-meter that screamed whenever Matt and Foggy needed a bit of commanding a moment off. The house and office spaces were old, their furniture beaten down, far from appearing even slightly professional... but it was the best start their law career could ask for. It was easily accessible for most clients, and the beaten-down aesthetics had their charm. Just like them.

That was when she met Karen Page, their newest client/assistant/intern/secretary/volunteer. The two found a quiet understanding, to Foggy's surprise. Sunny offered to help. She volunteered. She didn't want any money or a reward. She was there as a friend, supporting her friends who were struggling.

Sunny and Karen co-operated seamlessly, sorting through papers and useless junk Foggy hoarded. She also memorized Karen's favorites fast, such as coffee and pastries, always leaving them on Karen's desk. With a sticky note, usually. One that had a smiley face drawn on it. One day, Y/N even set out on an office necessities hunt around the town. Karen wanted to buy cheap. So they visited garage sales. And Sunny, acting like the personal cheerleader, supported most of Karen's decisions with a thumbs-up. Concerning technology, neither Sunny nor Karen was a particular expert. It wasn't surprising to anyone that half of the machinery didn't work... and the other half, that originally worked, was soon out of order thanks to a rat problem. Foggy wouldn't forget it or shut up about it anytime soon, that much was for sure.

"God, I can't believe you made Karen buy a broken printer," Foggy groaned, shaking his head. Sunny grinned. "Hey, she was so confident that it’d work. I couldn’t just not let her have her moment. She looked so happy spending your money, just so you know." "Yeah, well, that moment’s over, and now you owe her a new printer," Foggy retorted. "Oh, don’t worry, I’ll help her set up the real one. After you get rid of your little rat problem." She raised her hands in mock surrender. "Yeah, sure, the real one," Foggy grumbled. "Next time, I’m choosing the office supplies." "Fine, but I’m picking the snacks." Sunny leaned back, eyes sparkling with mischief. Matt’s laughter rumbled from the couch, and Sunny caught his eye for a split second before quickly looking away. Focus, Y/N, she reminded herself.

It didn't take too long for Karen to become a natural part of their dynamic. She was naturally curious, perceptive, smart, and funny. Her jokes were on par with Sunny and Foggy's, and Karen loved it when the two started arguing, yelling at one another through the entire office. It was easy. Practicter. The dynamic between Foggy and Sunny was natural. Kindled over the years of friendship. 'We're nagging like we've been married for way too long, honestly,' Y/N sometimes muttered to Karen, making her laugh.

Foggy tossed another file into the pile, leaning back in his chair with a grin. "This place is a circus. And you're the ringmaster, Sunny. You make us all jump through hoops just for a cup of coffee." "Hey, I didn't force you to drink my experimental batch this morning. You were very eager to try it." She shot him a playful wink. Karen giggled, watching them. "Eager? You mean desperate for caffeine in a place where no one knows what they’re doing?" Foggy laughed, flicking a stray piece of paper off his desk. "Oh, please, you act like I made it up on the spot. That was a high-end brew, thank you very much." Sunny crossed her arms, looking mock-serious. She was leaning into a doorframe, sending Foggy an egging smirk. Matt smirked, listening from the couch. "I thought I was the one who was supposed to have a caffeine problem here.” "You, Murdock, have a lot of problems, and caffeine's just the tip of the iceberg," Sunny shot back without missing a beat. "But it’s okay, I’m not judging you. You're just here to look cute, anyway." And Karen? She laughed, covering her mouth.

Yeah, Karen fit in just fine. A little too fine for comfort. Sunny noticed how Karen behaved around Matt. Her vocabulary changed, her voice softened, and she dropped into a lower register. She let the words roll off her tongue—distracted, but deliberate. Like her mouth was on autopilot, and her thoughts were somewhere else. Her eyes were distracted. It was subtle, but unmistakable. Karen Page wanted Matt Murdock—whether just the man or just the dick, Sunny couldn’t tell. And from what Sunny'd seen and heard... Matt thought about Karen in that way, too. And she told herself she didn’t care. That it didn’t matter who Matt leaned toward. But the way he leaned made her stomach twist.

Sunny heard it in his voice whenever they talked, especially after Karen dropped one of her insightful jokes. Usually, Sunny would laugh too. She heard the hushed laughs and scoffs as they leaned over his desk, like kids gossiping, thinking they were invisible. And as if that wasn’t already enough to grind her gears, Matt’s head kept tracking Karen around the office. Like he couldn’t help it. Like he needed her in his orbit.

Was that Murdock's usual, then? Did he trick Sunny before pulling back after realizing she's not giving in that easily? Hunt Karen down next—let Sunny watch, just to make a point? The same routine. The same trick. A lure to attract any woman he set his sights on. ... Why did it feel like a punch in the gut?

It was another late night. Loads of boxes to be organized and put aside. The office smelled like cinnamon, sugar, and burnt espresso—courtesy of the busted coffee machine Sunny had gifted them. It barely managed an americano and nearly exploded when asked for a latté. But hey… better than nothing. Matt put on a jazzy playlist as they lounged around in silence. Sunny way sat on Matt's desk, legs swaying around. Foggy was right next to her, sitting in the chair.

Matt and Karen were piled on the old, worn-out couch that had surely seen better days. They sat too straight, a bit too close. Matt had sat down the second Karen did—too impatient. A little too eager. And Y/N clocked it all, like a hawk. Like an uninvolved watcher. How Karen smiled and played with the ends of her hair. How Matt's knee bounced slightly from the internal tension. Sunny prayed that her and Matt's situation would be fixed thanks to Karen's (pretty obvious) crush. Called it 'the perfect solution'. On the other hand, it made Sunny nauseous, seeing them like this.

Sunny couldn’t know Matt wasn’t avoiding her because he didn’t want her. He was avoiding her because she still smiled like Foggy was home. That's who he was to her, after all. And for all the sins he could forgive himself… hurting Foggy like that wasn't to be one of them. But this was a line, and some lines weren't his to cross first. Matt would’ve rather taken a bullet than let her find out the truth.

He still wanted her in a way that made his hands shake. Still suffered every inappropriate thought—her naked, breathless, groaning his name—right alongside visions of her laughing in Times Square. Or drinking tea. Kissing him goodnight. Dancing to a '60s song playing from the stereo. In the end, it was all the same ache. Wanting her. And not being allowed to. He kept pretending the ache would fade. That if he ignored it long enough, it might forget its name. But he kept telling himself: Foggy mattered more than that. More than any fantasy. For both of them.

As she watched Matt’s knee bounce, her chest tightened. She tried to focus on anything else, but it was impossible. The air between her and Matt always hummed with something unsaid, something she was trying to ignore. And she was tired of that noise. For months now. She'd spent too long pretending not to notice how his scent lingered in her mind long after their meetings, how her pulse sped up when he leaned too close. He was so effortlessly perfect in a way that made her question if she was even allowed to want him.

The thought of him and Karen made her stomach twist. But if Karen had feelings, maybe Matt would chase her. And that would finally be the excuse Sunny needed to shut her heart down. But what if Karen didn’t? What if this never resolved? What would happen to them then? Did she even want to know? Sunny smiled half-heartedly as Karen cracked another joke, hoping the sound would drown out the sudden weight on her chest. She nearly yelped when Karen's crystal blue eyes suddenly turned to her.

"Okay, but... how did you and Foggy even start being friends? You're so... different," Karen wondered, leaning into the couch. "You never told me the story." "Ah, I get that one a lot," Sunny sighed, overly dramatic, pressing her palm to Matt’s desk like it owed her something. "Top ten questions for sure, right after 'Are you hiring?' Like how would I know, y'see?" "Oh?" Foggy soffed. "Do you, now?" "Yeah. No one in their right mind believes a catch like me would willingly spend time with you, Fogster," Sunny deadpanned—no blink, no pause, just murder. Foggy's lips turned into a wide O. Matt covered his grin with his palm, pretending not to listen. But she was sitting close. Too close. And her laugh still hit the part of him that couldn’t quite behave. Her gaze drifted, just for a second. Long enough for Matt to notice. Long enough for her to pretend she hadn’t. "Don't worry, I always say I'm sticking for your shining personality."

"You're such a bitch," Foggy muttered as Sunny laughed, her gaze drifting for a moment before she pulled herself back to the conversation. "But… it was a forced proximity kinda situation, yeah." Sunny nodded, her smile softening as her gaze drifted again, just for a second. "It’s… actually been so long. Wild, right?" "Yeah, I would," Foggy said. And then, quieter: "You’re not even that bad."

"So, forced proximity, huh?" Karen repeated, curling her legs under herself, sinking into the couch like she owned it. Closer to Matt now, who—almost too casually—draped his arm over the backrest. Sunny's breath hitched before she looked down at Foggy. Foggy scoffed, nearly choking on his latté. "Excuse me—forced? You came in uninvited, showed up with my friend, stole my fries, and told my trivia team name was trash." "First off, I was dragged to that trivia night against my will," she shot back, voice laced with mock offense. "And that team name was trash. You can't call yourselves the Legal Beagles and expect anyone to take you seriously." Karen let out a snort. "Oh my god, you were the Legal Beagles?"

"Don't… Let’s not," Matt grinned, trying to look casual, but his voice was strained, sipping his tea as if he could drink his way out of the awkwardness. "Let’s not ever talk about that again." Sunny continued, a bolt of energy suddenly passing through her. "I hated him at first. Thought he was cocky, annoying, and couldn’t shut up for five seconds." "And now she’s just listed all my best qualities," Foggy chimed, leaning back smugly like he’d won the lottery.

Sunny pointed at him. "Exactly! Took me nearly a year to see them, sure..." "Oh, fuck off. I hated you, too, you know?" "Oh, I do," Sunny snorted, leaning back. Karen's eyes darted between the two, a smile growing on her lips. "You weren't subtle about it." "You were… a lot back then. Commanding, loud, and a bit of a pain in the ass. Honestly, you still are," Foggy quipped. "Why am I even talking to you, huh?"

"So, how the hell did this happen?" Matt furrowed, glancing between Sunny and Foggy, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You should know?" Karen wondered. "Though you three have known each other for years." "No," Matt's voice softened, almost like he was sharing a secret. "I met her about six months ago." "There was this one night… Jonah ditched me. And you," she nudged Foggy’s knee with her foot, "stuck around. Cooked me pancakes. Walked me home. Didn't even try anything sleazy. And I… never actually thanked you for that." "My pleasure," Foggy hummed, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze, the gesture light and easy, like they’d done it a thousand times.

Karen looked between them, a fond smile tugging at her lips. "Well, that does explain a lot," she said, eyes glinting with amusement. "That does it." "Yeah," Sunny agreed, her voice softening a little. "That’s when I figured, fine, I’ll keep him. He’s... not that bad." "I'm flattered," Foggy said, placing a hand over his heart and exaggerating the gesture with a dramatic gasp. Matt let out a low, almost dismissive huff, meeting Sunny’s gaze for a beat longer than necessary. "You stayed... for pancakes?" His tone was casual, but there was an edge to it, something that was just a touch too light to be nothing. "Have you ever had pancakes at two a.m.?" Sunny grinned mischievously. "Life-changing. Seriously. It earned Foggy the coveted spot as the first guy I’ve ever spent Christmas and New Year’s with." Matt raised an eyebrow, scoffing lightly. "You took him home? Must've made quite the impression. Introduced him to your parents, even? Must've been head over heels back then."

Foggy and Matt started bickering, their voices overlapping in a playful back-and-forth. But Sunny froze, her smile slipping just a fraction, her mind briefly wandering. Home, huh? Parents… The thought felt like a weight on her chest. Too soon. Too personal. Too raw. Some things never heal. Karen caught it instantly. Her gaze softened. She didn't say a word. Just mouthed a soft, knowing 'thank you.'

Matthew's melting point came a week later. The office was a mess—loose papers everywhere, law books cracked open and abandoned, the scent of old coffee lingering in the air. The fan rattled softly overhead, cutting through the quiet. The Union Allied scandal was heavy and fresh on everyone's mind, bringing the overall morale down. Matt, again, was bruised up like an abstract painting—a black bruise around his left eye, a swollen left cheek, and a burst lower lip. He grunted and whispered various profanities when he thought anyone paid attention. Matt winced slightly as he shifted, trying to find a position that didn’t aggravate the bruises. But his body betrayed him—his left eye nearly shut from the swelling, his movements stiff, betraying the fight he had with whatever latest mess had come his way.

Sunny glanced at Matt, but quickly looked away. She could feel the weight of his pain in the air, thick and suffocating. But she didn’t ask, didn’t even want to. The result would be the same. Matt would grin. Deflect. There was no point. He wouldn’t let her in. Would never let her in. The space between them was widening, not shrinking—not after everything that had gone unsaid. Foggy and Karen were long gone. No wonder. It was around 10pm—Matt and Y/N just finished sorting out another batch of useless, unrelated papers that Foggy insisted on keeping.

Y/N was curled into the end of the couch, her to-go cup balanced on her knee, long since turned lukewarm. Matt was next to her, stretched out with one arm draped over the back of the sofa, a go-to cup resting in his lap against his stomach, eyes closed under the glasses. He let out a relaxed hum, leaning his head into the worn-down couch.

"So, let me get this straight," Y/N started, shifting just enough to nudge him with her foot. His head turned in her direction. "You two took on a client who can’t pay you." Matt smirked, lifting the cup to his lips. "We take on a lot of clients who can’t pay us. That's where my conviction stands, actually." "Yeah, but this one is…" Y/N waved a hand in a vague circle, thinking. "Extra broke?" "She’s sweet," Matt counters. "Just got a bad deal. And you should hear how Foggy talks about her—practically fell in love at first consultation." "Sounds about right," Y/N snorted, sipping her coffee, then quirked a brow. "Wait, is she cute?"

Matt tilted his head, feigning deep thought. "Objectively speaking…" Sunny playfully gasped for air, prodded, leaning a little closer, her knee brushing his as she smirked, "No fucking way, Murdock. You’re blushing. Go on, admit it." Matt shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking to his cup. "I'm not blushing," he muttered, but his tone was too defensive. He could feel his face heating, and he was sure Y/N caught it. "Come on, Murdock, stop being so mysterious. Just say it��she's cute, right? I know you think so." He fought back a grin. "I’d say, based on my experience with her... very cute."

It was a lighthearted moment. A throwaway comment. But then— Something shifted.

It was subtle. So subtle that Matt nearly missed it. He froze, just for a second, before he forced himself to lean back against the couch, his smirk returning like armor. A small shift in the air. The near-imperceptible way Y/N stilled—thinking, wondering. Her heart beat irregularly as she tried to hide something away. Her fingers twitched around the cup, tapping once before stilling. The faintest shift in her shoulders suggested she was bracing herself, like she was preparing for something she wasn’t quite ready for. Her pulse jumped before settling again, like she was forcing herself to play it cool. Matt didn’t move. But he clocked it—the full-blown battle Y/N fought beside him, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

And maybe—maybe it should've been nothing. Maybe he was imagining things, reading into something that wasn't there. Maybe Matt had already grown so desperate for her that everything she did felt like a signal. So he let it sit. Didn’t push. Instead, he leaned his head back against the couch, smirking.

"... You sound jealous," he teased—light, easy, sharp. The kind of thing Y/N was already used to. Familiar. It would push the conversation back to safer ground. She scoffed, shaking her head. "Yeah, I’m desperate for a woman I’ve never met to notice me. Get me her number the next time she drops by." "That’s not what I meant." "I know what you meant." It came off too harsh and fast. Defensive. She took another sip of her coffee, still playing it down. "You’re getting cocky, Murdock." Matt smirked. "It’s a law degree side effect."

She hummed, effortlessly shifting the conversation. "Speaking of, how’s the empire holding up? You two gonna make it to the end of the year, or should I start researching bankruptcy laws?" Matt chuckled, shaking his head. "We’re making it. Barely, but we are. The Union Allied might put us on the map. But... I'm sure I don't have to remind you how hard it is to run a business." "Yeah," her tone shifted—quiet, dismissive, warning him not to overstep. "Sure." "You never told us what you do, actually," his head turned toward her. "Why?" Y/N grinned, a little wicked. "But I do tell you. I yap about it for hours, and you see me suffer daily." "You tell me you’re a barista. That's just the tip of the iceberg."

"Exactly." She lifted her cup as if to prove her point. "I'm a fucking barista who hates their job. Sue me. There are thousands of us in New York alone. Coffee in hand, stains of that fucking syrup on my fucking jeans and everything." Matt huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You know, most people complain about their boss. You talk about her like she’s your best friend." "Foggy doesn't complain about you." "I'm not his boss. We're partners." "If you say so. And... she’s a nightmare," Y/N deadpanned. "Total hard-ass. No one listens to her."

Matt grinned, letting it go. "Poor woman." Y/N wasn’t budging—not tonight, anyway. Y/N sighed dramatically. "Yeah. If only she knew."

The room settled into a comfortable quiet. Matt could feel it. Her warmth was right beside him. Her weight leaned into his side of the couch just slightly. He could smell the faint traces of vanilla and coffee and heard Y/N's breath slow—she was more relaxed now. Smiling softly, if he guessed correctly.

And something shifted again. But this time, it was different. The room read differently. Tension crackled in the air. Electricity ran through him when she looked at him again. Matt turned his head, just slightly. The space between them was small. His hand twitched on the couch, resisting the urge to reach. Y/N’s voice was softer when she spoke.

"You good, Matt?" Matt swallowed, tilting his chin down, the smirk on his lips barely there. "Yeah." She raised a brow, noticing the hesitation. "You're staring," she murmured, poking fun at him. "I'm not." "Hm-hm." She hummed, giggling. "You totally are."

Matthew moved before he could reason with himself. His hand found her knee first, the fingertips skimming against denim. There was a slight, desperate tremor in his fingers. He paused for a second, breath catching, before letting his fingertips travel around her lower thigh—hesitant but eager to go higher. But he didn’t.

Sunny was silent. Her thighs clenched, her breath hitched as she sat up, slightly leaning toward him. Her heart raced, like she’d imagined this moment a hundred times—and now it was finally real.

She didn’t pull away. She didn’t stiffen. In fact, she scooted a little closer, her breath fanning against his jaw as she tilted her head just so. And he took it as permission. The kiss was slow at first, testing. She tasted better than she smelled. Like coffee and remnants of mental bubble gum.

When her fingers softly wrapped around his throat, it shattered whatever restraint he had left. His body recoiled under her touch, making her moan. As she opened her mouth, Matt deepened the kiss, pressing her back into the cushions. They lay body to body, tangled on that old, worn-out couch. Her legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, her lap desperately chasing the pressure of his cock. They could break that fucking couch for all Matthew cared. Hell, he would buy a new one.

He towered over her now, one hand braced beside her head, the other tracing the line of her jaw. She could feel him grinding into her. Her fingers curled into his shirt, and the feeling shot straight through him.

It was good—too good. His body burned, breath hitching, blood boiling. Her body beneath him roared like a motor. His glasses were gone—she’d probably taken them off. His right hand worked to undo his shirt, fingers trembling with adrenaline, while she helped untuck it from his pants. It felt so fucking good.

That was also why Matt noticed instantly when Sunny stilled beneath him. Her hands moved, then paused—fingers splayed gently against his abdomen. It wasn’t forceful. Not rejection. Just… a stop. Matt froze. His breath was heavy, pulse thrumming in his ears. He lingered for half a second but slowly pulled back, hovering just above her.

Y/N exhaled shakily, her voice quiet and careful. "We won’t be doing this." The words landed between them. A firm, full stop. Matt's jaw tensed. He cleared his throat. His dick, hard against her jeans, throbbed miserably. He muttered, barely above a whisper, "I thought you wanted—" "You thought wrong, Matthew."

She didn’t mean it. She didn’t believe her own words. Her body—and everything firing inside her—betrayed her. Matt knew that. ... But she said it anyway and stopped them before something detrimental happened. Something neither of them could take back. The problem was… it had already happened, to some extent. And Matthew was certain neither of them would just forget it. They’d pretend. But they wouldn’t. It would always linger, like a ghost—her taste on his lips, her sounds and scents, her body wrapped around him, impossibly soft and warm.

Matt let out a soft scoff—the kind that barely escaped his throat. Disoriented. Nearly ashamed. His hands let go of her slowly, reluctantly, pressing into the couch instead. Her hips buckled the moment he did, like she missed him already. Matt had to bite his lip... just so he'd stop himself from meeting her hips again.

He started to say, "Can we pretend…" Y/N finished it for him. "This never happened?" A beat. Then, a wry chuckle. The ghost of a smirk. "You got it, champ."

Another beat.

"...I saw it, y'know?" "Saw what exactly?" Matt scoffed, turning his head away. "Saw Karen." She mentioned it like it was nothing. Of course, she noticed. Y/N was too observant for her own good. "What did you see? There's nothing to see there." "I saw everything." Her voice softened. She shifted beneath him—not to escape, just to settle. "How she talks to you. Watches you like no other man on the planet. She’s crazy about you."

"Y/N, that's..." He scoffed again, leaning forward like he might press his forehead to hers. But her head turned away as she swallowed, nodding. "...I don't know what you're talking about." "You're different around her, too, you know?" "How?" "I can't describe how, Matthew. You just are." "You're seeing things that aren't there." A heavy pause. Then she muttered, "I'd better go now."

Matt listened as Sunny packed up in silence. No teasing. No humming. She didn’t even look at him before she left the office... Didn’t even say 'see you' in that breezy, sunny way she always did. He heard how sharply she turned off the lights. She just left. Left him alone in an empty office. Along with his thoughts.

The click of the door shutting still echoed inside the office, where the shadows suddenly felt heavier than the bruises. He hissed and forced himself to sit straight. His pulse was still racing in his ears, but it was different now. A knot tightened in his stomach, and his hand curled into the fabric of his pants. Matt sat alone in the dark, the echo of the door clicking shut ringing louder than any heartbeat.

He leaned back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling as if it might offer answers. Instead, a slow, sinking weight spread through his chest like wet cement. Matt didn’t move. Not right away, he let the thoughts sink in. The couch was still warm where she’d been. Her scent still hung in the air. He sat there with his head in his hands, the rough pads of his fingers pressing into his eyelids, feeling every aching pulse beneath bruised skin.

Her words were still fresh and sharp. We won't be doing this. He desperately wanted to believe it was nothing, that she was just deflecting, just playing it cool. But there was something deeper gnawing at him now, something he couldn't shake off. He had believed... no, convinced himself he and Sunny were friends. That they could bounce back. That they'd be okay if he kissed her. More than okay. He’d pictured this night, this very moment, in a thousand different ways. In none of them had she left.

But now?

Now, it felt like a line had been crossed. And not the kind he could charm his way back over. It wasn’t just about the kiss. It was about the months of holding back, the things he didn’t let himself think when she smiled at him like that. About how he’d looked for her in a crowd without meaning to. About how his world always bent just slightly in her direction, like it was inevitable.

And he’d been so careful.

He was a good boy, doing what good boys were supposed to do. A good lawyer. Tried to be an attentive friend. Someone who tried to be decent. And Y/N? She’d seen all of that. She’d once called him a great soldier, and he clung to it like a benediction. Because soldiers followed orders. They held the line. They resisted.

His mind wandered to Foggy. His constant. His best friend. The one who’d introduced them, who always noticed when Matt got quiet around her. Foggy trusted him to be the version of himself that didn’t wreck things like this. He allowed Sunny to become part of that small, sacred universe. Woven into their trio so seamlessly that it felt like she’d always been there. She knew Matt now—really knew him. Knew his likes and dislikes. Knew how to make his brain shut up for five minutes. Knew how to talk nonsense in a way that felt like a lullaby instead of a distraction.

And now?

Now, the silence she left behind was deafening.

The truth settled over him like a weighted blanket. Too heavy. Too late. She had seen it. Not just what had happened with Karen—no, him. The way he compartmentalized. The way he fooled himself. The way he tried to keep everything in neat little boxes. His life. His lies. His longing. And tonight... the box around Sunny had cracked.

Sunny also noticed Karen wanted to tear clothes off him, which Matt knew for weeks by then. He just opted not to lean on it too much. Because Karen's crush was anything but subtle. Even Foggy asked Matt here and there, whether he'd asked Karen out already... if she spent the night at his place. Matt just grinned. Karen tried to keep it under wraps. She tried. But there were certain reactions she couldn't fake or hide.

Matt replayed it in his mind—Sunny's body, and how it fit under his. The intoxicating and addictive whole of her. The taste of her. The way she whimpered when he kissed her just right, like he was the only person in the world who ever had. But it was more than want.

That’s what scared him. Matt wanted Sunny in ways that weren’t physical. He wanted her there. In his chaos. In his quiet. In his fucking life. And maybe she’d known that. Maybe that’s why she stopped it. Maybe she didn’t want to be another name he burned through.

Matt leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly in front of him like he was praying. But there was no saving this—not with a prayer. Not tonight.

He hadn’t been thinking. He’d acted on instinct. On heat. On everything that had built over months of teasing and lingering looks and arguments over shitty coffee. He wanted her. But Sunny wasn’t his. She didn't belong to anyone other than herself. And Foggy was, obviously, more important to her than some cheap hookup with his other best friend. And he’d promised himself he wouldn’t ruin anything for her.

Outside, New York was still alive. He could hear sirens. The distant rustle of radio calls. Distant car horns. Wind was howling faintly through the alley. Laughter, clinking of glasses, chatter, life... But inside the office, it was quiet. Too quiet.

His hand reached out like a reflex, brushing the spot where her thigh had been. Empty. Cold. He whispered into the dark, even though no one was there to hear it. "...I didn’t think you’d stop me." And maybe that’s what scared him the most. Because he was positive she wouldn't pull away. She wouldn't stop him. But she did. And, he’d have to live with the fact that she did.

The following few weeks passed in their own rhythm. Air was thick with unspoken tension. The world felt quieter and smaller than before. The café's familiar hum was quieter now that Matt had stopped just popping with Foggy. Sunny asked multiple times—Where is he? Why isn't he talking or showing? Why doesn't he react to any messages in their group chat? Did his... passion kill him? She tried to tell herself she didn’t care. That it was just Matt being his usual elusive self. But that nagging feeling in her stomach didn’t go away. Secretly, she hoped Murdock would just... walk through the door. So they could talk. Yell at each other. Resolve it somehow... anyhow.

It was a gloomy, rainy day; the café was empty, thanks to the downpour. The kind of day when you don't even want to leave bed. When everyone looks at you like they want to get punched in the face. "Spill it, Fogster," she fired, putting Foggy's mug down with attitude and sheer force. She didn't look at him. Despite that, Foggy already knew who she was going to ask about.

"What happened? Where's your little shadow?" Then, she started polishing the cup set for the fifth time. She wanted to occupy her mind... concentrate on anything other than Matthew.

Foggy blinked from his coffee, confused. "Huh?" "Matthew. Murdock. Blind guy. Glides in here like a ghost, nearly hits me with his cane, and then makes you pay? Sits in that corner like it's his goddamn throne? Ring any bells?" "Ooooh." Foggy snorted. "Yeah, I remember him. Saw him once or twice." "Ha-ha. You're so funny. Where is he? Hadn't shown in a few weeks, and my raspberry tart sales dropped by twenty percent, and my boss is unhappy." "Dunno." Foggy shrugged, putting his phone down. "Haven't seen much of him either."

Y/N visibly paused for a second. Was Murdock avoiding her? Was she too brash or harsh with him the other night? Well, she could've figured... he hadn't called since.

She tried her best to be gentle when letting Matt down. It wasn't that she wasn't attracted to him. Only God knew how empty Sunny's mind was the first time Matthew showed up... how rapidly it became emptier the longer he stayed. Sometimes, the only coherent thought in her mind was a vivid image of the two of them fucking. The sounds he'd make. How good would it fucking feel. How would he look resting on her knees with his head between her...

Foggy paused, disrupting Sunny's entire train of thought, eyeing her over his mug. "You okay?" "....Since when?" Sunny frowned. "Since when what?" Foggy reiterated, not catching on. "Since when is he MIA?" "Like... a week?" Y/N set the cup down and crossed her arms, a genuine frown forming. "That's like... weird, no? He's usually like clockwork. Is he ditching you?" What she asked, in reality, was: Is he ditching us? Is he ditching me? "He comes to work and texts me, but..." "So he's avoiding this place," Sunny muttered. Foggy's confirmation sank in. Matt was openly ditching her. The fragile truce they'd balanced on was broken—the truce of them not tearing the clothes off each other.

"I'm not gonna lie, Sunny. It certainly feels and looks like it," Foggy busied himself with his coffee, refusing to meet her eyes. "Whatever happened..." "Did he say anything?" She peeped, her usual energy gone. If Matthew also shouted that they nearly fucked on that nasty old couch, Y/N wouldn't survive it. How would she even look Foggy or Karen in the eyes? Foggy, thankfully, scoffed.

"Why are you looking at me like I've got the answers? It's Matt, and it's not unusual for him to act up like this. I don't know what's up with him. Maybe the planets are aligned weird or something." Foggy huffed, trying to play it down. "You always know what's up with him." "I usually know what's up with him; there's a difference. And this time, I simply don't know." "You think he's okay?" She murmured, leaning into the counter, looking at the life outside the café. It passed, no matter how much Y/N wished for it to slow down—to give Matt a chance to catch up.

"I... Think he's okay?" Foggy huffed, leaning in too—they were whispering now. "Are you okay, though? You're being weird." "Weird?" "You usually don't really care about either of us. We could be in the hospital for all you care, and you'd just send a get-well-soon card." "Fuck off, Fogster." A guilty grin tugged on her lips. "But yeah," Foggy nodded. "I assume he's okay. No need for you to worry." "You assume? You see him at work, text him, talk to him, and still just assume?"

"He's Matt. He gets like this sometimes. Trust me. It's just you seeing it for the first time," Foggy scoffed softly, patting Y/N's shoulder. "You'll get used to it." "It's just like... he was here. Like, every day. Along your annoying ass. And now he's not. So... I'm stuck with you and only you." "So you miss him?" "I miss my regulars, Nelson. They keep the lights on and raspberry tart sales above thirty percent." Y/N muttered, moving to clean the espresso machine for the fourth time that day.

"Right. Strictly business." Foggy nodded, not believing a word. "Strictly business," Y/N parroted back. "So, hypothetically, you definitely wouldn't care if he, say, started seeing someone and got too busy to let you bully him?" Y/N blinked, caught off-guard, forgetting the machine. "... Seeing someone?" Foggy shrugged, suddenly invested in stirring his coffee. "Hey, I said hypothetical. Don’t look at me like that." "That's a strangely specific hypothetical." "Hey, it's Matt. I know you can't see it, but there's this devilish charm about him. Plus, he's blind, which makes women empathetic. He’s been known to charm a girl or two. Wouldn’t be the first. Won’t be the last," Foggy explained calmly.

Devilish charm. Yeah, that described Matt’s presence perfectly. Cocked brow, mischievous grin… the way he tilted his head when listening, like he already knew what you were going to say. The way he stayed quiet, let the air stretch just long enough before answering, making you wait for it. Making you feel like you were the only thing in the room worth listening to.

Yeah... devilish charm.

It wasn’t hard to imagine him saying something low and teasing, running his thumb over a girl’s wrist absentmindedly as he spoke. It wasn’t hard to imagine him leading someone through the city with that ridiculous, ridiculous confidence—pulling her just a little too close, like he wanted her there. It wasn’t hard to imagine Matt kissing someone else the way he kissed her.

And that thought—that one—landed like a hook to the ribs. Y/N swallowed, forcing herself to shake it off. "You're right," Y/N nodded, quiet and beside herself. Tried to shake it off. Lowered her head, breathing shakily. "Whatever. He can do whatever he wants for all I care. I'm not his mother. And he's an adult." "This is how you handle 'strictly business', huh?" "That's how I handle friendship," Y/N hissed, emphasizing the word in particular. That's who they were. Friends. Who they were supposed to be. ... Sunny wouldn't be a good choice for him. Karen was warm, soft, and calm.

Out of the two? Karen with her blue eyes, blonde hair, endless legs, and the smile of a Disney princess? Yeah. That's how things were supposed to be—what Y/N nudged Matt toward, what Y/N made herself believe was the good choice.

"Whatever, I'm telling Murdock you miss him." Foggy huffed, shaking his head. "I don't," Y/N huffed, scoffing in disbelief. "That you ugly cried because your tart sales dropped," Foggy egged on, a teasing grin on his lips. "That you're on the verge of poverty because your boss charges the costs off your paycheck... and that you miss his ugly face." "Go to hell, Fogster," Y/N muttered, chuckling as she turned away. "You love me." "You're one lucky bastard."

Matt was a friend. A good one. More importantly, he spent most of his time trying to be a decent person. That was a quality Y/N found admirable. He was full of easy banter and smooth comments that always felt like a challenge, keeping Y/N on her toes. Now? The café felt silent despite bursting with life and profit. It felt lifeless. The world kept moving, people came and went, Foggy stuck to his usual routine—yet something was missing.

The routine had shifted. She didn’t press Foggy’s comment. Didn’t ask for details. Matt was seeing someone. That was a fact—undisputable, unchangeable. She didn't ask where Matt was... why he stopped showing up—never again. Never let herself dwell on the fact that their last conversation had ended with the ball on his side of the court—and he never picked it back up. It wasn't her place to ask. Not now. Not ever. But the tension was there. An awareness she couldn't shake off, one she never expected to feel around the people she considered closest friends. The distance between her and Matt? The weight of his absence? It crushed her in ways she didn't predict. It stung in a way she couldn't quite articulate... a way she didn't wanna admit.

So Sunny did what she did best: she treaded water. Kept up the jokes. Kept things light. Kept things moving. Day to day, dollar after dollar, latté after latté. Foggy didn't press her either; God bless him for that. He just tuned into her energy, keeping her from drowning. He was a good person. A good friend. ... unlike how Sunny and Matt were to each other.

And then, one sunny afternoon, he walked in. But not alone.

Karen Page.

Y/N's gaze flickered briefly toward the door as the bell above jingled. She assumed it was nothing. That it was another customer, another passing moment. And then she saw him. Of course, she saw him first. Matthew Murdock stood in the doorway, looking every bit like the man she remembered. He had a sharp suit, perfectly disheveled hair, stubble, glasses perched on his nose, and a confident smirk curling at the edges of his lips. The sight of him pulled at something in her, something she'd buried under sarcasm and self-preservation.

A reflexive smile flickered across Y/N's face until she saw her.

Karen walked in beside him, and suddenly, the world felt off-balance.

Y/N's stomach turned, but she held her expression steady. She had mastered that particular skill a long time ago. Still, she couldn't stop her eyes from darting between them—the easy way they moved together, the familiarity in the way Matt's hand rested at the small of Karen’s back, the quiet way he tilted his head when she spoke.

And Karen?

God. She was beautiful.

Not just beautiful in a way that made people look twice... but in a way that made them look once and immediately understand why Matt had chosen her. Blonde, soft but striking features, long legs, and a posture that exuded quiet confidence. She was put together, healthily confident, elegant without trying too hard. A stark contrast to Y/N, who was still wearing a goddamn apron, smelling like espresso and burned sugar.

And worse?

Karen lit up around Matthew.

Her laugh, bright and easy, rang through the café like music, like jingle bells. And Matt? He was listening. Not just in that casual, conversational way—but in the way he did when he cared. When he was invested. He nodded, hummed in response, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. He had always been good at that—making a person feel like the only one in the room.

Y/N felt something twist in her chest. No, twist wasn’t the right word. It fractured.

The café felt smaller all of a sudden. The walls were closer. The air was heavier. She forced her gaze back to the counter, her hands moving on autopilot, gripping the edges just to keep them from shaking.

Matt and Karen weren’t just together.

They were together here. In her space. In his space. In the place where, for months, she had stolen his time with free coffee and sarcastic banter, where he had lingered at the counter longer than necessary, where she had memorized the way he smirked after making some clever remark, where he had made her laugh without even trying.

And now?

Now, Karen was in his seat. Sunny was suddenly very, very aware of how fucking empty that seat had been until that moment. Foggy turned to look at her, but Y/N didn’t meet his gaze. She didn’t need to. She could already feel his concern, hear the weight of his realization in the sharp inhale.

But she refused to give Foggy, or anyone, anything to see. So she did what she did best. Playing unaffected. Reasonable. The big girl who didn't wanna steal others' toys. Y/N smoothed her expression while clearing her throat and forced a smile that she prayed looked real.

They approached fast. Slow enough for Y/N to take the image of them together, and too fast for her to at least attempt to deal with it. Even before they greeted, the air thickened so much it was nearly impossible to breathe. Karen was a new variable in this unspoken equation that's been building between them, one which Y/N wrote in herself. Recklessly. Stupidly.

But she hadn’t expected it to matter so soon. Certainly not even a month after Matt had nearly undressed her on that old office sofa. Did Karen know? And... Did Matt reminisce about it, just like she did? Or did he just throw it out of the window like it hadn't mattered? ... probably the latter.

"Hey there, stranger," Matt greeted, his voice smooth, a grin on his lips. A hint of unease didn't escape Foggy or Y/N. "How's it going?" "Still the same old shit..." Y/N muttered, already reaching for their usual cups—except for Karen’s. Sunny stilled, her gaze drifting. Karen didn’t have a usual yet. She would. Eventually. The thought made Y/N’s hands tighten around the ceramic. "... We're underpaid, understaffed, unrested, tart sales dropped another thirty percent, and I'm still forced to supply Nelson with free espresso. So..." "You could always stop," Foggy objected, trying to keep things light. "Nonsense. My boss counts on you idiots to defend the café in court if they find out about the laundry scheme." Y/N deadpanned.

There was a smile on her face, but her posture and tone were... Off. Matt huffed a soft laugh. Sunny could feel his eyes—or whatever he was doing—on her, but she refused to look at him.

"Sounds like you didn’t even notice I..." Matt muttered and hesitated, searching for the right word. What would he say, were they alone? ‘Avoided you? ’ ‘Thought about cutting you off? ’ No, that'd be too blunt, especially in front of other people. Matthew Murdock wouldn't ever say that. Eventually, he settled on: "... Haven't dropped by in a while." "Oh, why do you think I mentioned the tarts?" Y/N's lips twitched. It almost felt like their old banter was back. The words were light, nearly flippant, but they hit the mark. "You're the only one eating that shit anyway."

It must've been the stare that gave Y/N away—the hardened, cold one. One that slipped past her, one she meant to keep in, not out. It wasn't like Y/N to delve into her emotions publicly. And Nelson sensed something was very wrong. "How can you even have minus ten percent of..." Foggy's voice disappeared in the murmur of others, in porcelain clinking and silent music playing from the speakers. Sunny concentrated on making the coffee—she knew Karen's favorite, at least. She could make that. The hissing and sounds of the machine were familiar and calming. She didn't turn around to talk to either of them as usual, no jabs or dry jokes forming in her mind—they weren't tugging at the corners of her lips. She didn't want to look at Matthew. She couldn't look at him.

But Matt—grip tightening on his cane, jaw shifting—wasn't looking at Karen.

"So, you two, huh? Together?" That was the first sentence when she tuned back in. Foggy was asking them about what was already incredibly obvious, nearly freaking out. Sunny put the cups down forcefully—the porcelain clanked against the wood, making Foggy and Karen jump slightly. "Mhm," Karen nodded, giggling, blushing. "It happened... suddenly." "He treating you good?" Y/N hissed, leaning her palms into the counter, lifting her chin ever so slightly. Like she was measuring Matthew. "If not, I can always beat him to a pulp." "Why would you do that?" Foggy jumped in giddily, sending Y/N a clear message: calm down. "Because he’s blind, meaning I’d actually stand a chance. Gotta take the win where I can." Y/N explained as if it were obvious.

"That would be... unnecessary. He's been good to me, I swear." Karen laughed very uncomfortably while gently draping her hand over Matt's knee. "... Very good," she added." Y/N felt small in a way she didn't foresee—the dynamic between Matt and Karen, the way they already fell into a certain rhythm after only a month, the ease between them. A stark contrast to the ferality, passion, and dissonance she felt when she'd been with Matt alone.

Y/N nodded, inhaling deeply. The weight of the situation didn't settle right until she slid the pastry toward them. Her brain disconnected from the present. She just laughed when necessary, nodded, huffed, and hummed along. Matt's head lingered in Y/N's direction for just a fraction longer than necessary—long enough for Y/N to catch it. Long enough for her heart to race. What a traitor.

It didn't make any fucking sense—the way Sunny was overly suddenly affected by his presence, by how his attention flit back and forth between her and Karen, listening to them chatting about. The four of them were in this moment together, no longer just two friends and a sidekick. No longer just their little universe. It tilted and expanded. And Y/N hated it.

It was clear there was a divide, a shift she didn't anticipate, and impossible to ignore. The feeling in her chest? She didn't know what to name it. She didn't know how to name the space between her and Matt anymore—it wasn't safety nor affection, but it wasn't hatred or anger. More of... Sour anticipation. Like waiting to see which one breaks first.

As the trio left for their office, laughing and in good spirits, Matt handed Y/N her dishes back—an innocent gesture accompanied by his usual smirk. Her pulse spiked the moment their fingers brushed. She felt it. And Matt smirked. She wondered if he knew. His head was tilted, turned toward her, lips parted with unsaid words—ones that couldn't slip by under any circumstance. Did he know how much she felt his touch? All of it? Did he know how it lingered in ways it shouldn't? He must've.

As the door closed behind them, Sunny exhaled, trying to steady herself. But she couldn't stop thinking about it—about him.

The worst part of it? Karen wasn't hostile. In fact, she was the opposite. She was warm. Too warm.

Whenever Karen smiled at Sunny, it was genuine, as if Karen didn't know that the weight of her presence in this space was impossible to ignore. Karen was kind and soft. Genuinely a joy to be around. She often leaned on the counter and asked questions. She still stuck to Sunny's side whenever she swung by Foggy and Matthew's office. She asked the kind of questions that made Y/N want to retreat—personal things like life, the café, the city, her past, her likes and dislikes, her history with Foggy… everything. She tagged her on social media. Texted whenever she felt she hadn't seen Sunny in a long time.

Karen’s kindness wasn’t forced either. It was smooth and friendly, impossible to find any excuse to push her away and keep her at arm’s length. And that, for Sunny, it was really fucking uncomfortable. Karen appeared vulnerable, lonely, a little scared, and lost. It felt like Karen searched for validation, safety, and a group of people to take her in. A found family.

What did she want with Y/N, honestly? Win her over? Stake her claim in this group that used to be so easy to navigate? Just the three of them before Karen appeared? Before the unspoken words between Y/N and Matt started pulling things into a mess that felt too tangled to even begin unraveling?

Karen's eyes met Sunny's too often. Too insistently for it to be a subconscious pattern. Each time Y/N took her up on the challenge and kept staring, a sweet and welcoming smile tugged the corners of Karen's lips. And if Y/N insisted even then, Karen took it as a signal to have a conversation—to talk and share news and opinions. Karen wasn't trying to claim a space in Matt's life, no. It was something else. Karen wanted to fit into the routine, the rhythm they'd settled into. She wanted to be a part of the trio, to belong.

Sunny recognized how hard Karen tried—that to Karen, she only had been someone to befriend and connect with in a way that Matt and Foggy already had. But it felt like constant pressure, a gentle push, a suffocating one. Unsaid expectations. Karen's hopes were high already and rose with each question and interaction. Small thoughtful gifts, such as take-outs and rounds of shots and drinks at Josie that Karen paid for. She picked up Foggy’s stupid nickname, too. Sunny this, Sunny that. Annoying.

This was nothing like the coldness Sunny expected. No, Karen was a ray of sunshine—too warm, making Y/N wonder if she was missing something. If Y/N was wrong to want to distance herself from this, from Karen. How could someone resent another person for offering a genuine friendship?

And yet, it still stung.

No matter how warm Karen's smile was, how effortlessly she fell into conversation with Sunny, it didn't stop Sunny from feeling like an outsider. It didn't stop the heavy, gnawing feeling in Y/N's gut—that ache in her chest when she realized Karen wasn't just in Matt's life. She wanted to be in their life, in her and Foggy's.

It had Y/N wondering if there was still some room left for her, too.

When Karen asked if Y/N had any plans for the evening, she just smiled tightly. She gave a shrug, trying to hide the frustration. "I'll be here, as usual, just running this place because my boss is a dunce." Karen's question was a diversion, landing softly—but the words felt too familiar, like Karen was already carving out a space in Y/N’s future, trying to belong in a world that had never made room for her. And in that warmth, in that casual friendliness, Y/N felt the shift. The wedge was there, invisible, but cutting so fucking deep.

Matt always stood beside Karen, his attention flickering between the two women as they chatted (with more laughter and ease each passing day), and Y/N could nearly hear his thoughts. He didn't know what he was doing, what his presence inside the café was doing. But it was almost like he was too distracted to notice how Karen wove herself into this space, or maybe he was too far gone.

So... The worst part?

Karen's warmth, her humanity, how easily and naturally she slid into the space Suny thought was hers, Matt's, and Foggy's only... resulting in the fact that, for the first time, Y/N didn't know if she belonged here anymore.

It'd been a while since Y/N became a regular part of the trio's regular outings to Josie's—a bar Foggy and Matt discovered during their university days of absolute poverty. Josie's held a reputation in Hell's Kitchen, specifically for the quality of served drinks, which resembled, smelled, and tasted like the worst spirits ever. It was suspiciously dim, smelled like an ashtray, had sticky floors, and featured belligerent drunks. Nightly. ... exactly the type of Sunny's establishment, Nelson announced. She nearly slapped the smug out of him before she started laughing.

It was lively with the usual hum of conversation, the occasional holler from the dartboard crowd, laughter from the billiard table, and the clink of very cheap drinks. Filled with petty criminals and bikers, also. The four of them were settled at their usual corner table, the remnants of a few rounds scattered across the wood—they were tipsy. Not drunk enough to spill any secrets, but not sober enough to keep their mouths shut.

After weeks of watching Karen and Matt, together and happy, and suffering in silence, Y/N didn't feel any weight on her shoulders that night. She just felt... light. Tipsy. In a good company. In safety. Her phone buzzed in her pocket—a text from this guy she met at the café. He asked for her number, and she turned him down. Fast and brash, as was on-brand for Sunny. So he came back. Again and again, until she gave in.

Brad (the guy's name) was not Y/N's usual type—in no way, shape, or form. Brad wasn't that funny, devilishly charming, effortlessly charismatic, broody, or banter with Y/N like his life depended on it. He wasn't 6'0", and he didn't have dark brown hair or glasses with red tints. He didn't wear nice suits and hadn't graduate with summa cum laude in law. Brad was, at least, romantic and sweet... nearly overly so. It seemed so from what Y/N had experienced so far. Very love-bombing, materialistic when showing his affection—flowers, nice dinners, finer things in life, which Sunny enjoyed.

He was a distraction. Brad wasn't a 'good boyfriend' type, definitely not a love-of-my-life material, but he was a good distraction. He didn’t make her nervous to sit too close or scared to meet his eyes for too long. And he was good in bed, that was for sure. Sunny texted back fast, shoving the phone back into her pocket. It buzzed almost instantly—Matt knew because, of course, he knew. Each time her phone buzzed, Matt's head tilted toward her slightly, almost unnoticeably—like he could guess what words and answers Y/N typed based on which part of her screen her thumb hit.

"You look..." Foggy sighed, taking Sunny back into the present. Karen was muttering something to Matt, her eyes darting to someone at the bar—she was probably describing someone's ridiculous outfit. "I look what?" Y/N whispered, sending Foggy a genuine smile, the first in weeks. "You look jolly... and alive. It's scary," he finished, sipping on a lukewarm ale. "What did you do? Did you put the tab on Matt and not tell him? Again? Did you read today's obituary? Who died? Anyone we know?" "You nicknamed me Sunny for a reason, baby," Y/N sang back, teasing. "Yeah, because you're actually a pain the ass. People thought you might hit them if they told you any unpleasant news back in uni." "Oh, they still do," Y/N shorted, laughing.

And, out of nowhere, Karen cocked her head and asked: "Did you and Y/N ever date, Foggy?" Silence. Both frozen mid-sip, their eyes darting to each other like two people who had just been accused of a felony. Looking at it now, Sunny understood where that came from—her body was fully turned toward Foggy, too close for being casual acquaintances out for a beer. They sat too relaxed, too open, and too near.

And then? Sunny erupted. Full-body laughter, head thrown back, practically gasping for air. "Karen," she wheezed between hiccups, trying to get her shit together. "Karen, you're growing on me, holy shit." Foggy blocked before shaking his head, his own laughter bubbling up. "Me and this bitch?" He gestured vaguely. "Oh, no. No, no." "Karen, babes." Sunny's palm landed on Karen's arm, startling them all—just a week ago, Y/N had refused to go within a foot of Karen... let alone touch her. "I'd fucking ruin this poor fella. For that question alone? The next round's on me, fucking hell..." Matt, who had been sipping on his drink quietly, finally spoke. "Some people want to be ruined," Matt mused, voice deceptively mild.

There were a few weeks of peace. Peace, when Matt was fully wrapped around Karen. Weeks where he listened to her, grinned at her jokes, and supported her in fully incorporating into the trio's lives. Matt's eyes were on Karen—and Karen only. As if they never kissed on that couch. As if he never cracked the compartmentalized box she'd been taking in his head... as if the box never existed in the first place. There were no suspicious comments, off-hand remarks, or suspiciously lingering gazes. Matt behaved like a good boy, a great soldier. Lust was a double-edged sword, but thankfully, Matthew was smart enough to seemingly just... bury it. Forget it. Move on.

And suddenly, he dropped this.

"What?" Foggy muttered. Both Sunny and Karen just frowned, waiting for an explanation. It took a moment. Matthew was thinking, calculating, trying to deduce which outcome would be the best.... something to say to save the situation. After a momentary panic, he simply grinned in his own wicked way. "I always pegged you to be such a type, Franklin. No offense." "Well, offense taken," Foggy huffed, and Karen giggled, letting out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. Not Sunny, however. She glared. "Not against you, Sunny. I wouldn't say that unless I had a death wish, but I value myself and my mental well-being a great deal." "... And I'm not supposed to get offended?" Y/N muttered, her palm gripping the table's edge.

Fuck Matthew Michael Murdock.

"So, I take it as a no?" Karen inquired after a moment of silence. "He wishes we dated," Y/N muttered, playing with her drink until abruptly standing and kicking the rest of her ale in. "_But I was always too cool for Fogster anyway. I'll move to the pool tables, thought I saw Joe over there." "Joe who?" Karen asked, genuinely looking at the pool table to spot the man, except there was no Joe. Y/N gulped the joke down her throat. "Doesn't matter."

It didn't take long for Matt to approach Y/N under the pretense of playing a game of pool with her. A strange excuse for a blind man, sure, but nobody seemed to question. Foggy and Karen moved to the bar, chatting with Josie, while Matt practically snuck up on Y/N, who was chalking her cue and frowning at the table.

"Your eight ball isn't aligned properly." It was a sudden whisper—one that nearly earned Murdock a right hook. Sunny squealed and jumped away, shaking her head while looking at Matt with her mouth open. "How would you know?" She scoffed. It was melodic and rich. "Aren't you supposed to be blind?" "I've played loads of pool here, actually," Matt mused, taking the cue himself, leaning over the table. He placed his hands to further inspect the balls, fingers wandering, gently bumping. "Some called me a lucky son a whore... but I've won around five hundred in cash during uni. Loads of coffee from those shit campus coffee machines." "Don't you say," Y/N muttered, unfazed. She couldn't care less. If he attempted to impress her, he failed.

A quick, forceful nudge sent the balls flying—a few landing in pockets. Silence spread between them. Sunny stared at the table, one palm leaning into the edge, the other in the back pocket of her jeans. Matthew stood opposite her, leaning into the cue, head slightly tilted.

"Did I say something wrong?" "Oh, no," Y/N muttered dryly, without looking at him. "You were perfectly charming, as always." Matt studied her for a moment, leaning his head as he listened to her heartbeat and shaky breathing. Her pressure was high... she was pissed off. "Didn't feel that way." "I think you're just losing your fucking touch." She exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders like she was shaking something off, stretching her neck. "That would be a first." Matt chuckled softly, but there was something unreadable about it. Y/N's head moved, her heart skipped a beat—her eyes met his. Or, well, his glasses. As if she were deliberating on something. "Would it, now?"

There was a pause before Matt leaned over. Another sharp nudge—another ball. A nearly impossible shot to begin with, and he played it like it was a child's game. Of course he was being a smug, insufferable asshole.

"You're mad at me," Matt stated, lining up his cue. Another nudge. With one smooth, confident stroke, the ball clicked against another, then rolled clean into the pocket. He straightened up, smirking. "Don't flatter yourself." Y/N shrugged, sounding casual. She was amazing at downplaying things, so much so that it sometimes left Matt in awe. "Who is he?" "Who? Joe?" "That's a childish joke, even for you," was a silent retort. As if coming from a disappointed parent. "Oh, I'm sorry for being hilarious, but I controlled myself. Karen was nearly under fire."

"The guy," Matt shot almost immediately, sending in another nudge. Y/N knew the shot wasn't aligned properly—it slipped because Matt's palm trembled softly. "The one you've been texting all night." "... there's no guy." "Sunny," Matt straightened up, sending her a soft furrow. "We're adults. And given the frequency of the texts and your inclination to text back..." "There's no guy, Murdock. End of story." "You text Foggy back after four hours, as a rule." Matt opposed, scoffing in disbelief, shaking his head. "And suddenly, there's someone you text back immediately? C'mon."

He looked so devilishly handsome that it nearly made Y/N want to cry. She'd forgotten how sexy Murdock could be when he tried. The sleeves of his shirt rolled to his elbows, the formal trousers doing nothing for his ass. One palm placed on his hip, and the other held the cue. And that smirk. A quiet challenge. That ridiculously handsome fucking smirk that said 'you're lying and I know it.' Tousled hair. Tidbit too-long stubble. The soft dimples that formed in his cheeks.

"There's no guy," she whispered before walking off the bar, taking out her wallet, tears forming in her eyes. It was unfair. So unfair. "Sunny!" It nearly drowned in the bar's hum. She pulled out her wallet with shaking fingers. Keep it together. Left, right... There you go. Attagirl. A twenty slapped onto the bar. A quiet 'I'll call you tomorrow, Foggy!' as she stormed off. She turned, barely swallowing the lump in her throat. "Y/N!" Matt called after her. A little louder this time. "I was being a dick. I'm sorry!" But she didn’t stop. "…Don’t leave." He muttered, head tilting slightly like he was listening for her heartbeat, waiting for some sign that she’d turn around.

But she was already gone.

It reopened something Y/N already deemed sealed. A wound healed. A deal done. No more bargains or look-backs. And even though... Matt broke her in with his questioning.

Matthew hadn't tried openly inquiring again, but Y/N observed him. Each time she pulled out her phone, his head tilted slightly, like he was listening for something. The quiet twitch of his lips. The subtle shift of his shoulders. His fingers tapped absently against the table, matching the rhythm of her typing as if he were seriously guessing what she was texting. He'd jump back to the present the moment she put the phone away—to Foggy and Karen's conversation straight after, with unforced fluency.

Matt's mood worsened every time she spent a night at Brad’s. Sunny would barely be through her first sip of coffee, and Matt would already be slouched further in his chair, rolling his neck like he was working out tension. Tsk. His tongue clicked against his teeth. Another bad day in court, apparently. Another shit case. Another fucking box of papers sitting on his desk. No idea how Matthew knew when she literally looked, smelled and moved the same every damn day, but it was as if his little radar beeped anytime she got laid.

Sometimes, Foggy and Karen had to put him back in his place. 'What's wrong with you?' 'That was so uncalled for.' 'You're taking it a bit too far, buddy.' Other times, Y/N did it herself: 'One more word and you're out.' 'What was that, Matthew?' 'Too far, Murdock.' And each time, Y/N got: 'Sorry, Sunny. Had a bad day in the court.' The usual excuse. The same even tone. The same apologetic smirk—so practiced it made her teeth grind. And, like always, she let it slide. Gave him the benefit of the doubt.

Y/N didn't inform the others about seeing Brad. She let him introduce her to all his best friends, sure. Rolled her eyes while at it. Ground her teeth at horrible jokes. Even went as far as to hang out with them at times, but she didn't let him meet hers.

Foggy, Matt, and Karen were her safe little bubble. And Brad wasn't here to stay... nor in her life or her friend group. Foggy and Karen, of course, noticed that Sunny was seeing someone. They questioned, poked fun, and made her flustered. As good friends would. But Matt? He just watched and waited for only God knew what. And that made her suffer.

It was a usual Friday at Josie's—the café cleaned and closed, the office a fucking mess. The group stuck to their usual seats, chatting. The night was one where everything felt warm—the whiskey was cheap, the lights were low, and the air was thick with that kind of laughter that only comes when you're with the right people. Karen was curled up against Matt's side in the booth, too close for comfort but far away enough not to be annoying. Karen smiled against the rim of her glass, nodding at Matt's soft murmur. One of Karen's knees swung over Matthew's thigh. His fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of her fucking pencil skirt. Sunny scoffed. Jesus.

She was good for him, too good. Everyone knew it, and no one said it. But it lingered in the way she squeezed his hand under the table. Karen burst into laughter along with Matthew. She always asked Matt if he was okay, if he was comfortable. Too good for a greedy, selfish motherfucker who very carefully eyed a different woman sitting just opposite them.

Foggy and Y/N, as was their usual, were locked in a ridiculous debate of hypotheticals—the kind only they could have. Something was wrong, something shifted. Sunny had drunk too much, based on the tempo of her speech and the velvet-y, monotone tone. No one asked. They knew Y/N wouldn't answer.

"No, I'm saying that if you had to choose between fighting one horse-sized duck and a hundred duck-sized horses, you'd pick the horse," Foggy exclaimed theatrically, making Y/N laugh. "Otherwise, you're just getting your ass kicked in surround sound." She snorted into her drink, smacking Foggy's knee as she tried to re-gather. "Foggy, be so serious. You'd get one good punch in before you get steamrolled. Had you seen yourself?" "And you'd do better?" "Uh, fuck yeah. I'd run, idiot." "Even if it had the ability of a horse?" Foggy pressed on, raising his eyebrows. "Now you're just making shit up."

Matt, tuned into their debate now, huffed out a quiet laugh. Karen nudged him playfully, a contented smile on her lips. She was relaxed, happy, and in good company. What else could she ask for? "You're in good spirits today," she teased, making Matt hum. No texts today, that's why. But he didn't admit it aloud. "Am I?" Matt murmured. He was. Karen made things easy, simple... quiet. It felt relieving.

Then, across the table—laughter. Bright, sharp, and completely untethered. Y/N, curled into Foggy’s side, was grinning at some ridiculous debate, her face half-hidden behind the rim of her glass. Matt’s attention was pulled like a thread caught in a spool. Automatically.

Foggy and Y/N were tilted toward them, the duck-horses forgotten. Sunny's eyes were laced with amusement, and her heart thumped along happily—a sound Matt loved to hear. "Don't let us keep you, champs," she said too sweetly. "Wouldn't want you turning into a pumpkin." "Huh?" Foggy retorted. "They surely have better things to do." Y/N snorted, making Karen shift with discomfort. Nicknames weren't new, nor was the teasing lilt in her voice. But tonight, it didn't land too well. "What, and make us miss out on another round of whatever this is?" Matt quipped with a clear warning. "Would be tragic, really," Y/N smirked.

Yeah, she had enough to drink for the night. But the words lingered, just for a second. Just enough for Foggy to cut in before it settled.

"Alright, I'm getting us all another round before this gets weird," Foggy announced, clapping loudly... except for the fact that it was already weird. He was standing, already gesturing for Karen to help carry drinks. And just like that, it was just Matt and Sunny at the table, looking at each other. "She looks like she's got a debt to settle." They heard Foggy say over the typical pub ruckus. "I thought it was delicious." "Yeah, yesterday, he hit into that lemon Meringue like there was no tomorrow." Karen agreed before they finally disappeared. Funny. Real funny. She stayed over at Brad's yesterday.

A beat of silence. Sunny lazily swirled the last sip of her drink, watching the amber liquid coat the sides of the glass. "You're drinking more than your usual," Matt noted neutrally. "Counting?" She simply shot back. "What's going on?" he tried to press on. "Nothing." "Yeah, and I'm not blind," Matt scoffed, shiting in his seat, shaking his head. Sunny also grabbed his glass, pouring it straight down her throat. "Don't stick your nose somewhere it doesn't belong, Murdock. Doesn't suit you." "I'm a lawyer. Of course, I'm nosy." "She's good for you." And just like that, Sunny had him speechless. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. She dropped the ball just like that, without a warning. He tipped his head—Matt knew. "You look happy. Both of you."

"That's what's been eating you up, then?" he murmured, unable to stop the grin forming on his lips. "Not really, no. Just an observation." "Sunny..." "I just don't think it's fair to her, y'know?"

Everything about that sentence was an open attack. Y/N wasn't blind or stupid. She got a read on Murdock—a long time ago, actually. "What I'm getting across is... Get your shit together and stop. Whatever this is between us? Karen doesn't deserve any piece of this. Neither does Foggy." "I'm not doing anything," Matt tried to defend himself. He straightened up, his Adam's apple bobbing with a forced gulp. "Yeah, sure, whatever." "So did something happen with the guy of yours, then?" Murdock pressed on. "There's no guy. Already told you." She hissed back, taking a long breath to ground herself.

"So you only fuck guys you won’t introduce to your friends?" Matt jabbed. And he hit a nerve. Sunny straightened, raised her jaw, and exhaled loudly. Loud enough to signal Matt to draw back immediately. "What do fucking care about some guy?" There. She finally admitted there was someone else. "What's it to you? You're dating a literal bombshell." "That's not what this is about." Matt deflected, laughing dryly. "Oh," Sunny matched his energy, snorting from anger. "But it clearly is." "Is this how we communicate now?" Matt wondered, genuine sorrow tinting his voice ever so slightly. He tilted his head, furrowing a little. "We used to be best friends, Y/N. And now? We don't even tell each other the truth."

"Yeah, well," she rolled her shoulders, shrugging. She swallowed. Blinked rapidly, like she was clearing something out of her system. Like she wasn’t about to break apart at the seams. "Shit happened," she said, but it sounded like she wanted to say something else, heavier. "Yeah, it did," Matt muttered in defeat. There wasn't more to add if he'd have to be honest. And Sunny'd agree. "Do you... Ever think about that?"

There wasn't a need to specify. He knew what she was asking about. That one kiss, that one night when she stopped him. The one where they could become something more than friends, and she turned him down. And yet, the raw vulnerability and tears in her voice felt like a hook to the ribs. The words burned and tasted bitter on his tongue. So much that his head turned away, in the direction of others.

Of course, he did. He didn't understand why she turned him down. It didn't make sense—the chemistry clearly pointed at that. Her body reacted to him unwittingly, automatically. Her heart still pounded when she looked at him, her voice was slightly pitched when she talked to him, and... So much evidence supported that she wanted him exactly the way Matt wanted her, too. They got along so well—stars aligned, a perfect symbiosis.

Then, she brought Karen into the picture. Neatly, perfectly, like she belonged there. As the obvious choice. The correct choice. And Matt? He liked being Karen’s boyfriend. He liked that it was easy, gave him structure, and something to reach for. He liked the laughter, the warmth, the uncomplicated intimacy that didn’t require second-guessing. And the sex was, frankly, amazing.

And yet, it was never quite enough. It was tainted.

So, as the good boy, Matt took a breath and smiled. His grin was easy, and his posture was confident: "What's there to think about?" One sentence—one which nearly had Y/N's entire world crumble apart. She nodded, scoffing and sniffling. "Nothing, I guess. You're right." Another beat. Then, she stretched, shook the tears off, and the moment passed like smoke through fingers.

"I'm hitting the jukebox. champ. Try not to look too miserable without me," and just like that, Sunny was gone too. What a hard task.

Matthew Murdock started a war that night. Because Sunny was on her behavior until he pressed. Until he dug in a freshly healed wound with his nail. She was reasonable and civil up to that point She talked to him, paid attention, and laughed at his anecdotes. Since that night? Cold as ice. Pretended Matthew didn't exist in her space, didn't breathe the same air, didn't react to what she'd said. She wasn't laughing with him anymore; she started laughing at him. And that, for one, drove Matt up the wall.

The further she was, hovering on his orbit yet away from his reach, the more desperate he became for her attention. His senses were on her whenever she was near. Her body still reacted the same—her heart skipped a beat when his fingers brushed her shoulder. Her breath still hitched when their arms touched. But her face? Her eyes? Her tone? Nothing. No reaction.

And that silence, that perfect detachment, ate at Matt like rot in his ribs. She’d learned him. Knew every game, every reach, every little trick he used to keep her orbiting him—and she no longer played along. Y/N's mind was trained now. She got used to Matt's selfish attempts to keep her attention on him and him only. She'd risen above their little game of push-and-pull.

But someone was watching, taking it all in. Karen. She observed Matt's behavior. She wasn't looking for any signs. But once she saw them? They were everywhere.

It started slow, inconspicuously. A few weeks in, they all gathered in the newly re-instated Nelson, Murdock & Page—the same old law practice, now dressed in a new coat. Foggy and Y/N were planning a celebration. The Union Allied case was finally put to rest. It recently passed its final inspection. Good to go and in the clear.

Sunny acted strangely around Matt for the past two weeks. They were talking, but it didn't feel genuine anymore. She responded, nodded, hummed, and laughed—but her eyes gave her away. Her head wasn't present in the conversation.

They were discussing something—whatever it was, it was loud enough to catch Karen's attention but not enough for her to actively engage and try smoothing things out. But something hung in the air. Matt's voice dipped, became smoother, and softened whenever the two engaged in an isolated conversation. It was subtle but distinct to a trained ear. His breath hitched as Sunny cracked a joke—a detached one. And Matt? He laughed like it was the first time he'd heard sarcasm.

Karen recognized the telltale signs—his body shifted subtly to face her. And not just turned to her; it was opened on all fronts All of Matt's walls were down. He angled his body toward Sunny, relaxed his shoulders in a way they rarely were. His voice was soft, like it was meant just for her. There was no tension, no guard. He was just… open. And Karen would also swear it wasn't like this just a month ago. Matt and Y/N talked, yes. And... they did so often. But Matt never made it this personal before.

Thankfully, Y/N seemed to ignore it as she put on her sunglasses, walked straight out of the office, and said loud goodbyes over her shoulder.

Karen kept on watching, on her toes. And it didn't take long for another clue to drop. It happened at Josie's. A week after Karen first noticed Matt's best attempts to bring Sunny back to his orbit. Sunny was leaning against the bar, chatting with Foggy. Her eyes beamed, her smile stretched so wide it looked like it might split her cheeks. It was a genuine, present one.

And suddenly, Matt was next to them—he and Karen had just finished playing a game of pool, walking back to regroup. His body shifted again whenever Y/N spoke. His shoulders settled forward, head tilted subtly so it seemed he was looking at her, even though he wasn't. It wasn't a flirtatious move, but there was something instinctive in how he was pulled toward her. When Matt laughed at something Y/N said, it wasn't forced—his body was drawn to her words.

Karen couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was, but she felt it: his attention was a little more on Sunny, like he refused to miss anything.

Another situation—Matt's apartment, a month later. It was a friendly hangout after a long time of no signs. After a period of peace, so to speak. Sunny kept to her side of the court, Matt to his. He hadn't tried to overstep in weeks, his senses and full attention on Karen and Karen only.

It was a rare incident for the four of them to hang out nowadays. The firm was neck-deep into heavy cases, and Y/N? She spent overtime after overtime in the café, claiming her idiot boss messed up the taxes, and she had to fix it—or the café would be shut down faster than she could say 'the Avengers'.

Matt and Karen sat on one side of the room, Y/N and Foggy on the other. They just finished watching a movie, and there was an easy, comfortable vibe—except for the subtle tension. Y/N decided not to be absent, voluntarily exchanging a few jokes with Matt. Again, he was faced toward Y/N. He wasn’t even pretending to hold back anymore. His body just followed her, instinctively. It followed while Y/N walked around the room with Foggy, bringing the takeout they'd ordered. As if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Sunny adjusted around the room, and Matt followed, even though he couldn't have known. His radar was on, always picking up on Y/N's signal, mirroring her as if he knew where she was and what she was up to, without a sight. Karen wondered if he even knew he was doing it.

The realization came a month later. It happened at Josie's late at night. The usual crew gathered around in their usual booth, celebrating—another case closed and the tax returns properly turned in. It was a great night. They were winding down, downing shots, and celebrating. Sunny, as usual, was in deep hypotheticals with Foggy—laughing, snorting, and bending over at her waist.

Karen could feel Matt's attention shift to the other side of the table—how Matt's body just gave in.

It started as a fight for Sunny’s attention. Over time, it turned into something that neared submission. Matt turned into a dog and lay on his back, waiting for her to pet his belly. To call him a good boy. Matt was at Y/N's mercy. And Karen didn't assume he, sadly, didn't realize so. Each time she moved, adjusted, or even laughed, Matt followed the shift. Like he was on his knees, holding the last breath of hope, hoping for Sunny to answer.

It was a dance without choreography—Matt's body naturally and instinctively turned to Sunny. She was the one his senses were constantly tracing. Not Karen. Sunny. And it wasn't just a suspicion anymore—it was confirmed, undeniable.

As the night passed, Y/N and Matt got into a conversation. Sunny was drunk, giggly, and happy, showing Matt the warmth he'd missed for months... and he leeched onto it as if it were the last time he'd feel it. Karen watched Matt while playing pool with Foggy. Matthew hadn't overstepped, crossed any line, and wasn't too close or noticeable—but it felt like a gut punch to Karen.

Matt’s smile. The grip on his beer. The way his fingers tapped the bottle whenever she laughed. His quiet, bubbling laughter. His tongue over his lower lip—then the bite. The burgundy shirt. The one Y/N used to praise before him and Karen made things official. The one Matt stopped wearing. Until that night.

Karen's heart sank a little, but she didn't say anything. It was nothing—must've been. They were all good friends out for a drink, playing pool, occupying the jukebox, and singing drunkily. A natural dynamic, a natural order of how things should be. Karen pushed it aside, but the feeling lingered.

When the evening winded, Karen stood beside Matt, watching as Foggy supported Sunny by the waist. She was laughing loudly, pissed beyond anyone's expectations—waving at the pair of them, screaming 'I love you', into the void of Hell's Kitchen, ushered by Foggy who was also heavily intoxcicated. Karen sighed, glancing at Matt. The obligatory 'What is it? Are you cold?' came, it always does. 'Nothing,' Karen muttered back, entwining her elbow with Matt's. 'Just cold.' 'I'll warm you up soon,' Matt muttered seductively, making Karen scoff—but it was emotionless, just an obligation, a courtesy. She leaned her head on his shoulder—not out of love, but out of memory. Out of muscle memory, maybe. She didn't ask him about it. Would he deny it? Would he lie to her face? Or worse—would he hesitate? No, Karen didn't want to press yet. She wasn't sure if she wanted the answer.

Karen, sadly, didn't have to wait too long to get her answers. Something was going on with Sunny. She'd vanished into thin air, not seen in the café or their office. She wasn't picking up the phone and didn't bother to text back. Foggy was reaching out for a week, the most insistent and confused of the three. 'She'd never done this before,' he muttered when she hung up on him for the fifth time that evening alone. 'Do you think she wasn't kidding? That her boss runs a laundering scheme and is covering it up with the café? That Sunny'd entangle with some bad guys?'

It hurt to see Foggy this confused... left behind. Matt's mood worsened from day to day. Karen'd heard some of the messages he'd left in Y/N's voicemail: 'I don't know what's gotten into you, but we're here for you.' 'Just call us back.' 'We miss you. Foggy cried in the bathroom stall this morning—you'd laugh at him if you knew.' And the last one—a silent mumble Matt hoped anyone'd hear: '... don't leave me behind.'

Karen's heart shattered.

Sunny's text came on the same day, around eleven. Matt, Foggy, and Karen were hanging out at Josie's... but the atmosphere was tight. Even Josie noticed, asking, 'Where's the loud friend of theirs at?' Neither of them could answer. But the text? Simple and cutting. 'Anyone awake? I have booze. Come to the café.' Foggy was half-dressed the moment he'd seen the few words. Karen put on her coat while Matt sent her ahead to keep an eye on Foggy. He paid the tab before running into the rainy night after them. It didn't take long for him to be in the front.

The café was messy. The music was angry. No Hozier. Not even the early 2000s. Just a bunch of sounds that made Matt's ears itch. Y/N was already a bottle Jack in, holding it in her palm as she crashed another porcelain cup on the ground, massaging her face before taking a swing. No apron, laughter, or greeting—just a ratty sweatshirt, shorts, and bare feet... in late September. She stood, broken and hunched, behind the bar—the café turned into a warzone.

She'd been crying, Karen noticed immediately—mascara smeared, eyes red, nose running. She and Foggy exchanged a quick glance. This was bad. The bell jingled above them, catching Sunny's attention. Her eyes snapped to them—she stepped aside from the bar, bare feet crunching on the porcelain before exuberantly bowing. She nearly fell over.

"Welcome to the fucking circus," she announced, taking another swing. "Holy shit," Foggy muttered, breathless and stunned. "Sunny...?" Karen whispered, putting down her soaked coat and handbag, walking toward Sunny through pieces of glass. Another cup smashed on the ground It made Karen jump and cover her mouth. Y/N'd managed to get through the first shelf of the coffee's on-hand cups. Impressive.

"There she is, my voice of reason." Y/N's voice was flat and hoarse as she lifted the bottle toward Karen. "Want a drink? I promise I didn't poison it." "What the hell happened to you? You disappeared. You ghosted us," Foggy wadded through the debris, panicked, accusatory. Sunny snorted, nodding, humming. She sipped from the bottle like it was water. "And yet... here you all are. Like good little soldiers."

Matt, who had remained in the shadows until now, stepped into the dim lighting. Her pressure was high, her heart pounding, muscles tensed—whatever she'd been up to for the last weeks... must've been intense. Seemed like she'd avoided the shower and bed for the better part. "What's going on?" Matt was calm but tense. Sunny snickered. "Don't start with that lawyer tone. You sound like a fucking cop." "We were worried." Foggy tried approaching her, putting his hand on her shoulder, turning her toward him—his hand smoothed her upper arm, his expression troubled. "I've been calling you daily, Sunshine, and you kept hanging up on me."

Sunny nodded, popping her lips, stepping aside. "Yeah, I know. I was... busy." "Busy what?" Matt hissed. Oh, he'd already known. Read her like a book. "There was a lot." She hiccuped. On a whim, she reached for one of the syrup bottles. She smashed it against the counter, watching the sticky liquid spill everywhere, unamused. "Self-pity, wallowing, contemplating why I'm never enough... You can choose, really." "You don't get to do this," Karen whispered, approaching gently. "Push us away and pretend it's noble, Y/N. That's not a strength. That's..." "What? Cowardice? Delusion?" She leaned into the counter, tilting her head at Karen, sniffing. "Please, say it. Say what you all really think."' "We think something happened, and you're hurting." Matt gritted through his teeth, and Y/N snapped again—her head turned to him as if he was the one she'd had a personal vendetta with.

"Oh, so now I get to hurt? Suddenly, my emotions get a seat at the table?" Another cup. "You don't get to walk in like this and talk, Matthew." "Calm down, Sunny. What are you even talking about? We've always cared, you know that." Foggy sighed, eyes tearing up. This wasn't the first of Y/N's reactions to something he'd witnessed, but hearing she still doubted him? That hurt. "No, you kept on teasing. Prodding. And thought you were soooo fucking slick with it, that me neither she can see it. Months after I told you we ain't working out. To fucking drop it. To value the good that's happened to you. And now you come running because I texted?" Y/N mimicked him, her tone and accent eerily similar to Matthew's. "It feels like I'm the punchline, don't it? Because what would I tell you when you kept pestering me about him? 'Yeah, actually, he's fucking me raw on Sundays and ignors me on Mondays?' Good one. That he called me a phase? Oh, let's all fucking laugh, it's hilarious."

Foggy flinched in shock. Karen covered her mouth, and Matt? Didn't move, just stared at her, studied her. She'd been drunk enough for Foggy and Karen to ignore the first half of her speech, thankfully—otherwise, Matt knew he'd be in deep shit.

"I'm not worth the worry or the attention. Y'all have a whole law practice to run, to keep track of. I'm just me—running a shitty café downtown Hell's Kitchen." "That's bullshit," Foggy argued, voice firm. "Don't you dare. How long have I dragged your ass down, Fogster, huh? For over ten years. And for these two?" She pointed to Matt straight away, fuming. He was no longer the subtext—he became the topic. That was his last straw. "Oh, come on. Give me a break with that bullshit. That's a whole other mess." "You think we didn't notice?" Matthew's voice was now sharp, loud, taking over the café as he walked toward Sunny. "You think I didn't hear it every time you tried to laugh like you weren't dying inside? Why do you think I pressed? Asked about him? About how things were with him? Just to hear 'Oh, there's no one. I'm not seeing anyone.' every fucking time? Like running into a wall."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Y/N froze, eyes meeting his. The conversation didn't concern Karen and Foggy anymore—did it ever? "Because you wouldn't let me!" That was one of the rare occasions where Matt didn't control himself and lashed out, snapping out of his calm lawyer persona. "Because you said the same fucking thing over and over again, kept me out, lied." "Because I needed someone to make me distracted, you idiot. And you were ruining it for both of us!" And just like that, all of Karen's worries were outright confirmed. No denial anymore—just pure facts. "You thought you needed him and kept me at arm's length. There's a difference." Matthew muttered. "Fucking look at her!" Y/M shrieked, pointing at Karen, who was hugging herself. She was crying. "She's the girl. Beautiful, soft, calm, and perfect—she deserves the world. And you were too stubborn to let go of me and give it to her." "Do you think I enjoyed it? Feeling the disappointment and confusion every fucking night?" "Seemed it!"

The silence was thick and crushing as Karen looked between them. Whether Matt and Sunny realized it, this was a full-on lovers' quarrel. Settling problems and observations they've held in for months, feelings Y/N ran away from. Karen blinked, tears lining her lashes. She'd seen this spiral before. In herself. In Matt. That quiet, destructive way of disappearing before someone could tell you they loved you anyway.

"Brad... He had this way of... making me feel wanted. Not like the fifth wheel. Brad was a nobody, just like me, just living his life out here." "And now he's gone. And you were about to leave us, too." Matt hissed, leaning into one of the chairs, taking a deep breath—he was on the verge of breaking. "I didn't want you to see me like this. I'm a letdown enough as is. Just look at me," she threw up her hands, scoffing with despair, full-on crying now. "You're ours, dumbass," Foggy muttered, voice cracking. "We're not going anywhere, don't you get that?"

"I didn't want to be the sad one, the messy one, the one you have to clean up after," Sunny muttered, finally setting the bottle of booze down. She's finally letting Foggy approach her. "And yet, here we are." Karen was soft but direct, keeping up the act despite Sunny's outright admission. Making sure Sunny was safe was a priority for Karen. She could deal with Matt's ass later. "Because we choose you, even when you're messy. Especially then. It wouldn't be us without you." "You want to push us away?" Matt joined in—quiet but dangerous. "Fine, but you don't get to pretend we didn't care... That I didn't. You keep me out of this mess of yours." "Matthew, shut up." Karen hissed. "You don't get to talk now." "Don't I? Because—" "And there he goes—Matthew fucking Murdock, everyone. Even though you're persisting about caring, it fucking feels like I'm alone here." "You're refusing to leave any of us in, you idiot!" Even though he tried to keep it cool, he, too, reached for a cup and shattered it on the ground. Foggy, betrayed and confused, just watched as it all fell apart—the past year of their friendship. "Instead of acknowledging anything, you keep hiding behind your little walls, not even letting me approach you. I tried. And you shut me off, saying Karen's the right choice. So I moved on—for you. And you're right. She's fucking perfect while we're both a fucking mess."

Matt's words cut deep, leaving everyone in stunned silence.

"What do you think I was supposed to do? Dump all my shit on the three people who have their perfect lives and their perfect dynamic?" Sunny's voice was quiet as she leaned into the counter, scoffing at Matthew's words. "That's not what this is. Don't even fucking bother." Matt spat back, also quietly. The energy was already let out—only the aftermath remained. "No? Then what, Matt? Why are you mad? Doesn't this disrupt your little evening out with your perfect girl and best friend?" "I'm not mad." "Oh, fuck off, you're seething." Sunny scoffed.

"Alright!" Foggy yelled, watching the situation unfold—Karen, broken, was ushered to one corner. Sunny stared at Matt, ready to launch another ballistic missile. And Matt? Half-expecting Y/N to kiss him, half-expecting her to slap him... to do anything. "That's enough, you two. You've both said plenty." "No, no," Y/N raised her palm, stepping toward Matt with a frown. "Gotta something to say, Murdock? Go on." "You shut me out," Matt repeated. The room was silent for a heartbeat. Maybe two. Then, Sunny scoffed. "We've heard that before. Any other closing argument?" "You were something to me." It was a whisper—loud enough to break Karen's heart. "And you still are. And the further away you are, the more desperate I am to get close." "Oh, great," Y/N spat, leaning into a chair before throwing it to the side. "You just love fucking things up for everyone, don't you?" "Matt..." Karen was soft, nearly inaudible.

But Matthew heard Karen's heart break into pieces. She was trembling, tensing up. She had started five minutes ago, but now his words had settled in; there was no going back. "Okay, this is done. Everyone's got enough for tonight." Foggy cleared his throat, stepping forward, trying to disperse it before it got even uglier. "God, I'm such a cliché. Screaming in a place I own, drunk on two bottles of fucking Jack Daniels." Y/N wiped her face, laughing bitterly. "You're everything but a cliché," Matt countered, helplessly quiet. "But I am. And you just didn't notice until it wasn't cute anymore."

"Alright, you. You're going home," Foggy hissed, wrapping his coat around Sunny and walking to the staff room to retrieve her slippers. "Karen, are you okay?" She hadn't answered for a bit, just sniffing, hugging herself. "Karen, I—" Sunny stuttered, but Karen scoffed with disbelief. "I've known for a while," the blonde admitted, putting her coat back on. "It's just... different, hearing it aloud." "I didn't mean..." Matt jumped in, but Karen's palm on his elbow stopped him from saying anything. The squeeze was tight, painful. "No." Karen hissed, shaking her head. Karen’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—a finality that made Matt’s blood run cold. "Not here, not now. Foggy'll take Sunny home, and he'll make sure she's safe. We'll go to yours, I'll pack my shit and we're done with this." "Fuck..." Y/N muttered under her breath, leaning into Foggy's side. "Do you understand me?" Karen inquired, gritting through her teeth. "Karen—" "I said: Do you fucking understand?" Matt’s chest tightened like he was suffocating in the weight of it all. He whispered, barely audible, "Yes."

The word was like a stone dropping into an abyss. Defeat.

The night was rainy yet crisp, and the city noises seemed muffled as the group left the café. Sunny's café. The sidewalk felt far too empty. Foggy, still a little too tipsy for his own good, was supporting Sunny by the waist—they would wait for a taxi under the canopé. Karen shot one last look toward the duo.

"Do you have her?" Karen asked the question, loaded with more meaning than the simple words implied. "Yeah, yeah. Nothing new; I saw it all before. You know how she is. Comes, goes, gets pissed and sets off some nukes. That's our Sunny." Foggy kept a hand firmly on Sunny’s waist, guiding her with the kind of care that didn’t match his carefree tone. He knew this dance well. She’d fall apart, pick herself up, and burn it down again. But that night felt different. His voice didn’t carry the usual lightness

Matt wasn't listening. His attention had already drifted toward the distant streets, the low hum of the city somehow feeling far too long. He didn't wanna talk about it... any of it—didn't wanna voice the frustration over the admission he'd just... yeelled into Y/N's face, hurting Karen in the process—hurting her beyond salvation. Karen never deserved this. He thought he'd been subtler about all of this—as if. Karen saw right through him.

He wasn't sure when it had happened. Sunny'd always had him wrapped around her little finger. But when did he let those feelings cross the threshold? That Matt didn't know. And he was fucking furious with himself for it. Furious that ot was more than her breaking things off with someone else—he hated that it hurt, even when he knew it shouldn't.

And the worst part? He’d dragged Karen into this mess, espeically when he knew she didn't deserve any fucking part in this. Matt was furious with himself. He hadn’t just let things slip with Sunny; he’d let the whole damn thing spiral out of control. He didn’t even have the right to be part of any of this. He wasn’t good enough for either of them.

"We need to talk," Matt muttered again, this time with more weight, like the words were a sentence he couldn’t take back. Karen's palm was steady on his elbow, but she didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. The silence between them had already said everything that needed to be said. She was waiting for him to say the right thing, but deep down, Matt knew there was no way to make it right. "Who were you trying to fool?" She inquired after a bit. "I don't even know." "Finally," Karen scoffed coldly. "Some fucking honesty." "Karen..." "Don't Karen me."

There was silence as they walked through Hell's Kitchen. It was late and dark, long after midnight—the streets were empty, save for the occasional taxi, its headlights cutting through the darkness. The noise of Hell's Kitchen had softened, the usual energy now muted by the stillness of the night. It was as if the city had quieted down in sympathy with the weight hanging between them. Matt loved this part of New York. It was familiar—tenements as high as he could see, sun reflecting in closed windows, the smell of bistros, and the unrelenting ruckus of tourists. The adrenaline thrilled him, the usual fuss filled with energy to keep moving, night after night. Not even doing anything. Just keep moving. For himself, Sunny, Foggy, Karen, and countless others, nameless faces in the crowd—those, he'd save in the dead of night. Usually, he'd feel safe... at home. Not that night.

That night, Hell's Kitchen felt like a foreign place. The buzz of the streets that usually fed his restless energy now felt oppressive, suffocating. Matt’s footsteps were heavy, his pace slow—he couldn’t outrun the storm inside him. This wasn’t home anymore, not with the weight of everything he'd just said—the weight of what Sunny said and the turmoil and debris it'd left.

Matt’s usual calm was cracked, a tension neither of them had seen before. He was caving in. "Did you know it the entire time?" Karen peeped, voice shaky as she held back tears. "I'm just wondering if it was all a lie. If we were a lie... if I was just some fucking distraction?" "We weren't a lie," Matt butted in immediately. "How?" "How what?" "How did we happen then? Was I an afterthought? Someone to lick your wounds when she kicked you down the stairs?" "No, Karen. You'll never be anything like that to anyone. Not to me, and certainly not to her." "Didn't sound like it back there." Karen snickered sarcastically, gulping her tears down.

"I knew since the moment I met her," Matt admitted, clearing his throat. His palm landed on Karen's in a friendly, apologetic gesture. His thumb drew absent-minded circles on her knuckle. He sensed it—the hitch down Karen's spine, her heartbeat slowing down with adrenaline, and her stomach turning when she gasped for air. "I think she knew too. Either about me or her, Sunny knew."

"And you have the gut to tell me I wasn't—" "You were the right choice, Karen. That’s the truth. That's who you are." Matt’s voice softened, but the words still cut deep, cutting through the bitterness in his chest. "You were always the right choice, but I was too selfish to know how to appreciate that. Too caught up in my own damn shit to see it. I dragged you into this... Into me. And I’m sorry for that."

Karen stopped walking for a second, her breath coming in uneven gasps. The words were there... hanging in the air, but she couldn’t bring herself to say them. Instead, she settled for a long, shaky breath and a final glance at Matt. "I don’t know if I’ll ever understand any of this," she whispered, her voice barely audible in the dark. "I don't think any of us will," Matt muttered, his words heavy with truth. The city lights flickered around them, offering no comfort as his gaze shifted toward the ground. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to focus, but his mind spun. "Karen, if I could’ve fixed this, I would’ve. But if I try to do that, we'll both suffer." "If I’m the right choice," Karen’s voice faltered, "then why am I not enough?" "You are. You're everything anyone could ever need," Matt whispered, his voice cracked and rough. His shoulders sagged under the weight of his words, guilt and grief pulling him down. "But the truth is, I’m just not the guy you deserve, Karen. You need someone who isn’t… broken. Someone who isn't stuck on someone they can't have. Someone who can give you what you need without dragging you through all of their shit."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the distant hum of traffic. Matt’s hand hovered near Karen’s, but he didn’t touch her. The space between them felt vast, more than just the distance of the sidewalk they walked on. They were both lost in the same silence, aware of the finality in the air. There'd be no epilogue. No continuation. No re-opening. A chapter closed. They continued walking, worlds apart. The quiet between them was deafening, filled with everything they hadn’t said and couldn’t fix. Karen wasn’t looking at him anymore. Neither was Matt. It felt like the last time they’d ever walked like this—together, yet so far apart.

She'd packed her clothes, personal belongings, even her favorite mug—small souvenirs she moved to Matt's as their relationship progressed. The bottle of perfume hidden in his bathroom cabinet. Her favorite jersey thrown over the head of his bed. The nice spices she'd introduced him to. Her toothbrush. The surplus pair of shoes hidden in the shoe rack. Sweatshirt on the coathanger. All gone in one night.

Matt helped her pack with a patient, bittersweet smile. Offered her a warm cup of coffee while they waited for her cab. They communicated while Karen packed—Matt was with her each step of the way, ensuring Karen knew how much she'd meant to him. To all three of them. She'd become a friend, a co-worker, and an irreplaceable part of the family. He repeated, again and again, that it was his fault. He beat himself down just to see Karen come up on top, feeling a bit easier. She smiled—knew him too well. But didn't oblige. Didn't indulge his martyr routine.

"What did Sunny mean when she said you ruined this for yourself?" "She meant that she set us up," Matt muttered, head hanging low. His voice was rough, truthful to a fault. There was nothing to hide anymore. Karen froze, setting her cup down too fast, reflexively. "Insisted she wasn't good news. She made me realize that you had feelings for me, and I had them for you, too." "Oh?" Karen scoffed, her voice quiet, too quiet. The past tense Matt used hadn’t escaped her—had meant final. Meant done. There was a new, unspoken edge Matt wasn't familiar with. But he deserved it, each and every last bit. "When?" "Karen..." Matt breathed, pleading. She didn't wanna know—didn't need to know. "Don't. You owe me the truth." "I owe you the truth," Matt admitted, turning away, his fingers curling around the edge of the countertop. "Not to torture you more over something you don't deserve." "I asked you a question." Karen insisted.

"Months ago." "Figures, Matthew." She turned sharply. "Stop being a fucking lawyer for once and say it." "It was late. You and Foggy had left the office… I kissed her. We nearly—on the couch—I wanted to, God, I wanted to. She stopped me. Beat some sense into me." A beat of stunned silence hung between them, the room holding its breath. "What?" "You've heard me the first time, Karen." "You can't be serious," she took a deep breath, her breath growing shallow as she started pacing around, massaging her stomach. "And you just..." "It made sense back then, okay?" "Well," Karen said, voice tinged with bitterness, "she's also the one who tore us apart, hm?"

Matt’s throat tightened, guilt crashing over him in waves. He couldn't speak, even though he knew Karen’s words were right. He knew Karen wasn't wrong. Karen sniffed, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand as she took a slow step back.

"I... I don't think—It’s not her fault. And even though it’s foolish," her voice cracked just a little, but she caught it quickly, "I don’t blame you either." She shook her head, trying to regain her composure, burying everything she felt underneath that mask of calm. "But stay out of my sight for some time. Don't text me. Don't call me. Avoid me inside the office."

The words hit Matt like a blow to the chest. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Karen’s words cut deeper than he imagined. He opened his mouth, trying to speak, to fix things, but nothing came out. Before he did, the door clicked closed behind Karen, leaving him alone inside the darkened apartment.

Thankfully, he'd already known where his next steps would lead. To someone who orchestrated this. Someone who'd poured the gasoline into the fire. To the idiot who hurt his girl. To Brad, who had no idea Matt had been tailing him for weeks.

The mornings came with new beginnings. Absolutions. Resolutions. Not this one.

The night was too long for Foggy's liking—and even longer when Matt asked for a meet-up in front of Y/N's tenement.

As Foggy said, the night was awfully long. From clearing the wounds on Sunny's feet to a wave of fresh, unfiltered rage toward Matt… to a full-blown breakdown once the alcohol started wearing off and the consequences came into focus. She hated herself for a bit. Said a few awful things about herself.

Actually, she said a lot of awful things as Foggy kept the hair out of her face and mouth. She was crying. Apologizing. Begging for forgiveness—when she wasn't even the one who should've been begging in the first place.

That bit made Foggy cry. Then came the vomiting. Foggy had stayed beside Sunny through it all, a steady presence, the only thing keeping her tethered. He’d smoothed her hair, dried her tears, and listened while she spiraled. Swore she was enough. Promised Karen wouldn’t hate her. And swore—multiple times—to kick Matt in the balls.

By sunrise, Matt and Foggy were walking the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, aimless and half-numb. The café—Sunny’s café—was closed. The morning shift had clocked in already and discovered the wreckage. Probably called the police and only checked the security cameras after. They must've been shocked to see the night's events unravel.

Half an hour passed in silence before Matt finally exhaled, his voice low, thick with regret—his knuckles still pulsing from the night before. "I fucked up." Foggy shot him a look, the kind that held nothing but tired honesty. "Yeah, man. You fucking did. And this time, I don't see how you could get out of this unscathed. And just for the record—you deserve everything you got." Matt nodded once, already aware. "Easy. I won't. Y/N will make sure I won't."

And just like that, everything changed. The air between them was different, colder, heavier. Nearly ten years of friendship, memories, and hardships. Matt was his rock, his best friend, his man.

But right there and then? They both knew there was no going back from here. Everything Foggy feared would happen? Happened, bringing everything down in flames. He'd been unsure about introducing Matthew to Sunny for this exact reason—Foggy was worried they might hook up and destroy everything. And yet, it worked well. All too well. They became the best of friends. They became a well-oiled machine. And then Matt found Karen. Since then? Straight to the pits of hell. And all of this? Everything that'd been said and admitted? Matt burned the whole damn bridge... not only the bridge but the entire fucking town, including lifestock.

Their friendship entered a new era—one Foggy didn't know how to navigate.

Foggy crossed his arms, staring Matt down with an unimpressed glare that only years of friendship can refine. Like a let-down parent. Like someone who'd trusted him just to be gutted out like a swine. The dim glow of the streetlights outside cast long shadows across Matt’s face. He didn't need to see Foggy to know what he looked like.

"You're such a selfish, stupid, idotic dick who always get the best girls and lets them down like it's nothing," Foggy started, railing up, voice filled with rage. "Yeah." "That's why I didn't want to introduce Sunny to you. Because you always fuck it up—no idea how you manage, but you ensure everyone ends up in shambles." "You're right," Matt admitted, head low. "By God and everything above, you don't even reach Sunny's ankles, and Karen shouldn't be even looking your way. But somehow, you have them both all over you." "Yeah, you're... Both?" "What are we? Playing stupid? Deaf? You're already blind—you can't be dense and deaf too." "You said both," Matt pressed, stepping forward. His breath was shallow. Did Y/N talk? About him and her? About what she really felt? Everything Matt had already known and hoped she'd admit? "Did she..."

"Oh, ho-ho," Foggy laughed without any amusement whatsoever. "We're not playing this fucking game, Matthew. Don't get your hopes up," Foggy muttered in defeat, knowing well that he'd just admitted something he shouldn't have. Sunny would kill him if she found out that Matt also knew. "She's ready to tear you a new one once she wakes up. She'll... Murder you, or worse." "Figures."

Foggy’s hand curled into a fist at his side—tight, white-knuckled, like the tension had finally reached bone. He stepped forward once, close enough for Matt to smell the remnants of last night’s whiskey and desperation on him. "I swear to God, if you weren't my best friend—" Matt didn’t flinch. He didn’t have to. He stood still, almost like he wanted Foggy to do it. Like a man ready to be punished. Because he deserved it, all of it.

Foggy froze, jaw clenched so tight it popped. The moment hovered—too hot, too fragile—until he exhaled and spun away, muttering something between a curse and a prayer under his breath. "You’re not even worth the bruise I’d get on my hand," Foggy added bitterly. "But I am your best friend," Matt smirked, devoid of emotion. Foggy sighed, exasperated. "Fucking unfortunately."

Finally, Foggy exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face like he was trying to scrub away the exhaustion Matt had caused him. Then, once he properly set his eyes on Matthew, he cackled with disbelief.

"Look at you, Jesus Christ," Foggy suddenly scoffed, turning away again. "What?" Matt asked patiently. "Ruffled hair, shirt askew, and that bruise on your cheek?" "What are you talking about?" "Is he still among us?" Foggy asked, his voice dry. Matt tilted his head. "Who?" "You know who," Foggy expanded, shooting Matt a look. "That guy of hers?" "That... Brad, you mean?" Matt asked innocently. Caught red-handed. Literally—his knuckles were bursting, buried, and bloody. He didn't kill him. He was very tempted, but his faith didn't allow him to—and Y/N wouldn't ever forget it if he did.

"Yeah, that one." Matt exhaled, the corner of his mouth twitching as if debating how much he wanted to reveal. "Eh..." He gestured vaguely, and Foggy groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Matt remembered the sounds, the cracking of bones, even Brad's hoarse apologies and pleas. But Foggy didn't need to know.

"Matt." "He’s breathing," Matt says, ever so casual and reluctant. "Maybe not enjoying it, but breathing."' Foggy closed his eyes for a long moment. “Jesus Christ.” "He cheated on her," Matt said, like that explained everything. And to him, it did. "Admitted it himself." "After you made him." Foggy objected, and Matt nodded, looking away. Foggy had a point. Foggy let out a sharp breath. "You don’t have the right to be jealous here. You know that, right? You had Karen. You weren’t supposed to care."

That name—Karen—landed like a punch. Matt didn’t answer. His jaw flexed once. Twice. Matt's throat bobbed as he swallowed whatever guilt was threatening to surface, and for a second, just a second, he looked like a man choking on the truth. He turned his head slightly away, as if avoiding the weight of it, the name.

And Foggy saw it. Saw how it cracked something in Matthew—small, but real.

Matt tensed just slightly, his jaw tightening. "I didn’t care." Foggy scoffed, spitting. "Uh-huh. Right. And that's why your knuckles are bloody and I’m the goddamn Pope. Anything else to add to this pile of nonsense? Your fucking lies? Like you're not sneaking out at night doing God knows what? Like you didn't try to bone my best friend? Like you didn't use our other best friend as a band-aid? Am I missing something?"

Matt stayed quiet, his smirk fading. Foggy watched him for a long moment before shaking his head, the frustration warring with something almost like sympathy. "You know what your problem is, man?" Foggy finally said, crossing his arms tightly. "You pretend like you don’t feel things. Like you’re above it all. But the second someone actually matters to you? You go nuclear. Every damn fucking time. And I'm sick of it." Matt exhaled through his nose, looking almost amused. "That’s a bit dramatic." "Oh, is it?" Foggy shot back. "Let's have a fucking rundown, then. First, there was this woman... Oh, yes, Claire. And now Karen. And Sunny. You don’t know how to sit with your feelings without burning everything down. You have no idea how to keep your fucking hands to yourself. And the worst part? They let you. All these gorgeous, intelligent women let you. They trust to get close enough so you can stab."

Matt rubbed at his temple, voice tight. "I had it under control."

"Oh, let's hear about that," Foggy laughed, but there was no humor. "Bull-fucking-shit. You were barely keeping it together; you barely are, even now. And then, Sunny moved on. Why is that? Oh, because she's an actual decent friend who didn't wanna fuck it up. And what did you do in retaliation? You put some poor bastard in the ER because you couldn’t handle the fact that she was finally trying to get over you while having Karen Page at home." Matt clenched his jaw. "... I didn’t put him in the ER." "Oh, well, I’m sure that’ll hold up in court," Foggy deadpans. "‘Your honor, my client only broke his nose and maybe a few ribs, but he did not, in fact, put him in the ER. May I encourage a bail?’"

Matt didn't respond.

Foggy sighed again, rubbing his temple now. "Look, man, I don’t know what you want me to say here. That you’re right? That you’re justified? Because I don’t think you even believe that." Matt swallowed, the fight slowly draining from his posture. "You could’ve told me. Looking back at it, it was fucking obvious, you obnoxious bastard, but you could've..." Foggy said, softer this time. "Instead of letting me find out like this... let alone poor Karen. She okay?"

A beat. And then Matt finally muttered, "Yeah. She'd a fighter. She's doing better than me... Isn't as much of a mess, anyway."

Foggy watched Matthew for a moment longer, something unreadable in his expression. Then, shaking his head once more, he muttered, "You fucking idiot."

The follow-up was always the worst. Always.

Sunny dreaded it like the day of the kingdom come. She constructed scenes and dialogues. Replayed the scenarios inside her head, again and again. Nearly to the point of making herself believe it'd already happened. She was never good with forgiveness and reckoning. On letting go. On forgiving—or being forgiven, for that matter.

Since her little breakdown at the café, she’d felt small. Insignificant in ways she hadn't ever imagined. Like a leftover someone had to clean up. Just a broken-down, used toy.

Sunny genuinely feared the day she’d run into Karen or Matthew again.

But it had to come. And—God help her—she wanted it to come. Sunny wanted to face it all: the guilt, the pain, the way Karen’s eyes might cut through her like glass. She wanted the shame. The full weight of whatever Karen wanted to throw her way. She wanted to earn it. To earn forgiveness and resolution, the friendship Karen used to offer so scot-free. Now that Sunny fucked up? She wished things were as easy as they were just a few weeks ago, back when they laughed over a stupid joke or a hypothetical at Josie's.

The café was nearly empty. The evening light stretched across the floor in long gold lines... like it didn’t even want to be here. Since Sunny's return from her "well-being break," the place had gone tiptoe-quiet. No one joked around anymore. No one snapped back when she barked.

They asked questions now. Genuinely wondered. Deepened their bond. Tried to support her. You okay, boss? Need help with that, boss? How are you feeling today?

Like she was a glass left too close to the edge.

They’d all seen it. The security footage. Of course they did. It was inevitable. They loved the café as much as Sunny did. It was their home, their livelihood. They watched their boss down two bottles of Jack behind the bar. They've seen her chuck mug after mug at the floor—the good ones, her favorites. The ones that cost a fortune. The ones she'd always freaked out whenever one got broken. Syrup bottles shattered across the counter. Watched as she threw furniture to the floor.

And then... they arrived. Karen. Foggy. Matthew. In all their fucking, shining glory. They were talking. Arguing. Faces sharp and tired and beautiful in ways she couldn’t stand to look at for long. Then everyone else cleared out, just like that. Nobody asked what happened after. Nobody needed to. She didn’t remember them leaving—only that they had. Only that the mess had been cleaned by hands that weren’t hers. Only that someone had tucked her into bed, and the scent of cologne she couldn’t admit she missed.

The café was too quiet now. Too polite. No one played the radio anymore. The regulars stopped teasing her about the playlist. Even Luca, the old man who used to complain about her latte art, only smiled at her sadly now. As if he were waiting for her to break again. Like it was inevitable.

Sunny hated it.

She hated the hush of it all—how the world rearranged around her like she was fragile porcelain someone had already dropped. She was never fragile before. Never considered to be someone to look after, to clean after. That wasn't her. She was fast, rough around the edges, loud-mouthed, funny, and often considered rude. She was a fighter. Not a victim.

The bell over the door rang like a scream.

Sunny didn’t flinch, but she didn’t breathe either. She started behaving like this. Flinching whenever the door opened. She shot her eyes up, stilling before realizing... it wasn't Matt or Karen. Only then, she breathed. It must've been another customer, Sunny assumed, another passing moment. She'd be let into their life briefly before getting kicked out again—talking about their day, family, work. She forced out a pleasant smile, which faded the second she looked up from the register and saw her. Tall. Blonde. Composed. Wearing her trench like armor and looking around like she hadn’t mapped the entire room before she walked in. Like she hadn't spent day after day there already.

Karen Page.

Sunny’s mouth went dry. Her hands twitched at her sides, craving something to hold, fix, to anchor. She couldn't breathe. Her eyelids twitched, the sour taste of worries settling on her tongue.

It was time. Sunny wanted this. She wanted it, and her knees were shaking. She stepped out from behind the counter.

"Karen." "Sunny," Karen muttered back, the corners of her lips twitching in a smile she hadn't let out. As usual, she took the corner seat at the bar—the one usually occupied by Matthew. "You look..." "I look like what? Like, I hadn't slept in a week? Like, I can't live with myself? Like the worst person in the entirety of New York? All of the above?" "I meant to keep it at 'like a piece of fucking shit,'" Karen declared, snickering. It made Sunny smile as she turned to fetch Karen's cup. She stilled for a beat. Oh, right. Matt's usual cup was the first to go during Sunny's rampage. Karen's cup was right after.

"That works too," Y/N hummed, nodding before picking up her personal cup—elegant with golden rimming, one anyone but Sunny was allowed to touch. The cup was passing down to Karen now. And Karen was well aware. "I would've imagined Foggy would tag along? Just in case you'd have an insatiable urge to choke me? Which I wouldn't even blame you for."

Karen offered a small, tired smile before glancing around the café. It was homely, familiar, and surprisingly still felt like safety, the friend group's hangout spot that Karen loved deeply. "Foggy's dealing with Matt. At least he's trying to, from what I've heard. He wanted me to check in on you, though..." Karen paused, her voice dropping lower and smoother. "Okay, yeah. I wanted to check on you; figured I should see you myself. I was worried about you, you know? And you hadn't even... called or texted."

They shared a beat of silence. Karen's genuine worry and friendship felt like a right hook. With everything Matthew admitted... with what Sunny admitted, Karen should've hated them both. Instead, she came to the cafe and scolded Sunny because she was worried about her. For fuck's sake. Y/N let out a long breath and stepped aside the espresso maker, tearing up, sniffling into the sleeve of her sweater.

In Sunny's scenario, Karen was raging—yelling at the top of her lungs, blaming her for destroying her little fairytale. And instead? Absolution. Care. Love. A kind smile to go along with it.

"I don't... I don't even know what to say, Karen. This is... is all so messed up. And it's my fault. I fucked it up, fucked everything up. For everyone. For you, Foggy..." She didn't add 'for Matthew', but the flicker of Sunny's eyes conveyed the sentiment clearly. Karen didn't move for a moment. She simply studied Y/N's face with lips slightly parted and an inquiring look in her eyes. Then, she let the trench slip off her shoulders—she sat across Y/N, but not too far away. The warmth was still there, despite everything.

"Sunny..." "This is freaking me out, Karen. Can you... I don't know. Scream? Throw a cup or two? Anything?" "Stop," Karen hissed, quiet but deadly—it made Y/N stand straight, waiting for the confrontation. "I crossed that bridge already. You should see what I've done to Matt's desk." Karen smiled, eyes shooting up to Sunny to see her reaction. "Knowing you? Fuck, Sunny, you'd love it... I think." "This is not how this is supposed to go, Karen." "No. You don't have to say anything. You don't owe me shit. Don't explain a mess that wasn't only yours to make. I just... wanted to see you, make sure you're okay." Karen's eyes landed on Y/N's palms, forcefully gripping the counter. "You're not hiding from me, are you?" Sunny slowly glanced up, shaking her head slightly. "I don't do hiding, Karen. I'm just making sure to keep things from going off the rails, ensuring the situation won't get worse than it already is."

The blonde nodded, chuckling dryly. The weight hung between them, but neither seemed eager to dive into it.

"I've been talking to Foggy," Karen muttered after a pause, looking away as Y/N resumed her usual cup of coffee. "A lot, over the past few weeks. And we both agreed you're not the problem here. Matthew's the one who should've acted like the grown-up, not you. Foggy, he's... worried for you too, you know?" "Foggy knows I'm fine." "You hadn't insulted his hairstyle in two weeks," Karen hummed, tilting her head. "If things were normal, I'd be sure you're running for a record. But when things are like this." "I'm fine." Sunny insisted, furrowing. "I'm... okay. Doing good." "Have you seen him lately?" Karen wondered quietly, playing with a nearby sugar jar and the coffee spoon sticking out. "Is he still showing up after close like he used to?" "So... That's who you think I am, huh?"

There it was. There it, finally, fucking was. The accusation was dressed in velvet. What Karen meant: 'You're still seeing him, aren't you?' 'You're a little slippery eel, huh?' 'This was the endgame the entire time, wasn't it?'

"What are you talking about, Sunny?" Karen scoffed nervously, hunching her shoulders to appear smaller. "You just insinuated..." Karen snapped her eyes at Sunny. "I didn't insinuate anything." "But you should, because it was my fault," Sunny hissed, finally cracking. "And there's always two sides to..." "No." Karen turned Y/N down quickly, resolutely. There it was. The hurt turned into anger. And Karen? She was fuming. But not in Y/N's direction.

"Listen, no matter how much would I loved for that asshole to eat it all up..." Y/N laughed, her voice unsteady and weak. Karen grinned. "Don't play the devil's advocate." "There are always two sides to a coin," Y/N argued, standing her ground. "Even though I've thought about it a million times and don't know what more I could do to keep him at arm's length... There must've been something that I was doing to keep Matthew—I don't know—keep his hopes up. It might've been a phrase, a look, anything, but I'm not innocent."

"No matter how much I appreciate you trying to own your share of blame," Karen started slowly, her blue eyes rising to Y/N with conviction. "This is, in fact, Matthew's mess. You've done your damndest to avoid this, and yet? He pushed through. Like the hard-ass idiot he is. Chasing stars when you informed him they'd never be in his reach. This had very little to do with you." "I'm the cause, Karen." "And he's the one who acted." Karen banged her palm on the wooden counter, taking a deep breath as she realized she had overstretched it.

Sunny looked down, her fingers tracing the plating under Karen's coffee mug. She wanted to apologize, but realized it was too complicated for a simple 'sorry' to solve anything. There was more going on than just Matt. This was about Sunny and Karen, too. By proxy, even about her and Foggy. They as a whole. As friends... family.

"It doesn't feel like that, though. I was just trying to—fuck, I don't know what I was trying to do, okay?" Sunny's voice was meek as she looked up, like a child attempting dishonesty for the first time. "I just didn't want to hurt anyone, okay? You know that, right?" Karen's eyes softened, but a quiet pain still hid inside. She leaned forward slightly, her voice quiet but firm. "I know. I know you didn't mean to, Sunny." There was a beat of silence.

"I just thought Matt and I had something... real. I thought we were solid." Karen's eyes dropped to the counter for a beat. When she looked back up, they were glassy. "I didn't realize I was the second option after he shot his shot with you—that I was the consolation prize." Her voice caught slightly, then steadied. "And knowing you were the one who nudged him to ask me out?" She laughed once, bitterly. "Knowing you sent him to me right after you nearly fucked in our office?" A beat of silence. "Yeah," she said, voice low. "I'll admit—that stung."

So... Karen knew about the night. About Sunny and Matthew. About what they've nearly done. Karen knew about the few hasty kisses that could've led to damnation... the kisses that felt like knocking on heaven's gates and deepest pits of hell. Did Y/N tell her when she was drunk, or did Matthew finally own it after months of hiding it? Did Foggy know? He'd bring it up, no? No? Because if he knew... Sunny nearly threw up at the thought alone.

Sunny swallowed loudly and clearly, putting Karen's usual in front of her, guilt tightening her throat. Another anxiety attack set off in her chest, another wave of tears in her eyes as she blinked rapidly, her pressure rising exponentially. Sunny's mouth opened and closed again, no words coming out. She wished to say something apologetic and comforting, but nothing could make things better. None of what she could say wouldn't paint Sunny as the scum of the Earth. She was the cause of the disctrucion, she wasn't blameless—she fucking orchestrated it.

The silence was thick, but Karen broke it. She shook her head, laughing softly at herself.

"I'm not mad at you, dummy. Not really." Karen paused, as if testing her own words. "It's just... he does this." She leaned her elbows on the counter, eyes far away now. "The night Matt cracked and let me take the first step? That wasn’t the first time I made a move on him, you know?" A soft scoff escaped her. "Back when I shot my first shot... You weren’t even in the picture yet. Not for me, anyway." Her gaze sharpened again, like she was replaying it all in her head. "And he turned me down that night. Said he had 'someone else on his mind.’" She nodded slowly to herself, lips pressed in a tight line. "Should’ve left it as it was."

"But I was stupid enough to come back for a second round. And a third. And I should've known better." Karen nodded to herself. "When he just said 'okay'? I should've been more vigilant. Because you and him?" Karen huffed a soft laugh, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Looking back now… you two were really fucking obvious. God, I missed your coffee so fucking much." "You have every right to be mad at me." Sunny landed up, a little confused. "I should be furious, yeah. But the thing is, I can't be mad at you, Sunny. Not when it's Matt. Not when I know how he operates, when he's the one who fucks everyone over." There was a beat of silence. "I was pissed. I'm still pissed. But he... He's just like this. Selfish, broken, doesn't have his shit togeter. It's not just you; it's him also."

Y/N sat down on her stool, watching Jas deal with the pleasantries. The internal conflict was evident. "I didn't want him to get hurt when I turned him down, you see? I... I tried not to... but then—" She paused for a second, deep in her thought, frowning. "I didn't think it'd backfire, not like this. He was just... there, y'know? I didn't want to stop it... Stop him. I wanted it. But it didn't feel right. We didn't feel right. But you two did." "I'm not as perfect as you like to think, Sunny." Karen hummed. "Right, you're more than that." "You don't owe me an explanation for him. Or for what happened between you two." Karen reached out for her palm, squeezing it with hers softly. Sunny’s face fell. Her mouth opened like she might speak, but nothing came. Her throat clicked in silence. "It's not just about him and what happened. It's about us, too. About the friendship we have. And we've been friends for too long for me to be mad at you for trying to do what you assumed was right."

"I sold you like a piece of meat, Karen," Y/N muttered, voice trembling, first tear rolling down her cheek. "Yeah, well... It wouldn't have happened if I hadn't wanted it, would it?" Karen opposed. "I made decision after decision that let me lose everything with a clean fucking cut." Sunny scoffed and looked away. Her fingers twitched, then closed around Karen’s wrist—something to hold onto. Something real.

"Yeah. And guess who had to sit across from him pretending it didn’t gut me?” Karen caught herself and exhaled slowly. "Sorry. That wasn’t fair. What I was gonna say is... You haven't lost me, Sunny. Not yet. And Foggy's there, too. And, even though you hate hearing it, Matt's also waiting for your next step, I bet." Karen cleared her throat, sighing. "You're dealing with your mess, but don't think you've lost us. You're my best friend—that someone I call when shit goes south. And I worked too damn hard to tear your walls down to just let go. Even though I see why you were so damn unapproachable now..."

"I was just..." Sunny breathed, shaking her head. Karen paused. She watched her friend, shoulders hunched, trembling fingers around her wrist. "You really cared about him, didn’t you?" Sunny didn’t answer. Karen’s voice dipped low, almost a whisper. "Then why didn’t you go for it?" That landed. Heavy. Too honest. But it was already out there

Karen gave a humorless laugh, eyes glassy. "And it stung, didn't it?" Sunny blinked at her. "...What?" "Seeing someone you're pinning after with somebody else. It’s brutal." Karen exhaled through her nose, her voice calmer now, almost too casual. "And now imagine dating that person. Watching them slowly come alive for someone else." She looked down, a thumb running absentmindedly along her cup. "Someone who fits better. Who sees all the same ghosts and still wants to stay."

Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but Karen cut in gently, not looking at her. "You had a shot with him, Sunny." "...Karen—" "You had him," Karen repeated, her voice almost kind. "So... why didn’t you hold on?" "Because I'm not a good fit... Not for him... For anyone. I don't have anything to show up for." "But you have Foggy. Us. The café. You never owned up to owning the café before you drank your ass off, Sunny," Karen mumbled, sending Y/N a soft frown. "You always downplay everything you achieved, even yourself. Isn't that a shame? Because what I see before me is a wonderful, hilarious, and intelligent woman who fucking owns the world."

"I don't deserve you saying that," Sunny shook her head violently before turning away. "Karen, I don't even know what I'm doing. Never really figured out who I'm supposed to be." "And who the fuck did? People who pretend they have it all figured out are liars," Karen whispered, tearing up, too. "None of us knows what we're doing, Sunny. That doesn't change; we're both here. And we're both worth the attention and everything we got." She leaned forward, a sour smile on her lips. "We worked for it. You don't have it all figured out. Just... don't push me away. Not over him. Not over this."

There was still so much to solve, but this was enough for now. A closing Y/N so desperately searched for. Better than anything she had hoped for. Enough for Y/N to walk around the counter and hug Karen firmly, clinging to her for her dear life. And Karen held her just as tight. None of this would be easy, but they were holding on. And that counted for something.

After ten minutes of casual chatting and catching up, Karen picked herself up to leave—her queue to hit the office. And as she paused by the door, she looked back at Sunny with a warm smile. "Take care of yourself, okay? Don't let this mess you up more than it already has. It's not worth it. It'll all work out in the end." "...Only if you will." "There she is," Karen hummed, a pleased smile on her lips. "My favorite smart-ass." "You'r so fucking lucky I won't tell Foggy you said that." "Wouldn't you look at that? She's feisty too." Karen snickered, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. "I missed you." "Yeah, yeah. Just go already, Page, before you inflate my ego too much. It's enjoyable, but yannow what they say..." "Wouldn't love nothing more." Karen sang as she left, waving at Y/N, smiling widely at her.

Foggy showed up a few days later, looking as if he’d come from the ends of the earth. The last espresso shot whirred out with a tired groan. Sunny leaned against the counter like she owned the place, of course, which she did.

But today? She wanted to play pretend and fully embrace the part of a disgruntled employee. Her fingers tapped an absent rhythm against her half-finished drink, eyes flicking to the door like she was waiting for a ghost. And she was waiting for one.

She was waiting for Matthew Murdock. His presence lingered. His absence was loud. The last untangled thread. The last issue left unsolved. The last conversation that needed to be had. Or, to use the correct term, it was an argument waiting to happen, looming on the horizon like a storm.

The conversation she had with Karen? The absolution she had found? It tightened their friendship. Now, said friendship ascended into sisterhood.

Sunny and Karen phoned daily now, sent each other cat videos (to give Y/N credibility as said disgruntled employee), and went out for a glass of wine two times a week. For the first time in a while, Y/N felt… good about herself. Confident, even. If Matt came crawling back now, asking for another chance, maybe she’d entertain it. Maybe. The idea shouldn’t have felt like a temptation, but here she was, thinking about it.

And suddenly, Foggy arrived, sending Sunny a tired nod, his body slouched with exhaustion. Franklin Nelson, her best friend. He approached just as Y/N giggled over a video Karen had sent her a few minutes ago. Despite his usually carefully curated visage, he looked dishevelled, like someone running on exhaustion, guilt, Red Bull, and caffeine. His hair was windblown, tie half-undone, and he wore the face of a man who's been through seven special kinds of hell and got kicked out of the eighth. He looked like he had sprinted into the café and immediately forgotten why.

Y/N didn't bother looking up from her phone as she mindlessly scrolled down her Instagram page. "Well, if it isn't Hell's Kitchen's most overworked manchild? You look like a rejected extra from Law & Order," she crunched her nose. "Fuck, you smell like one too." Foggy deadpanned as he approached the counter. He took his usual seat with a heavy sigh. "If only. At least then I'd get a catering table and someone to explain what the hell is going on with my main co-star." He planted his hands on the counter like he might physically hold himself together that way.

Y/N finally moved—she raised an eyebrow. "Matt finally started ghosting you, too? Cute. I was starting to think I was special. He hadn't bothered picking up my calls for a few weeks now, didn't even bother listening to a single voicemail." "Yeah, and if I know you—and I do—most of those voicemails probably sounded like a death threat. I’d be hiding under the bed if I were him," Foggy said, forcing a dry chuckle as he watched Y/N prepare his usual coffee. "Touché." Y/N murmured. "He's vanished, Sunny. And I mean—vanished. No texts, no calls, no 'Hey, I'm going through a moral and mental breakdown again' post-it on the door, no Facebook updates, just... radio silence. I even tried knocking at his door, which felt weirdly domestic." Foggy looked up to her as if she had answers. Y/N's lips curled into a horseshoe as she nodded dryly. "He wasn't home. The door was locked, but I'd swear I heard someone inside."

"Well," Y/N then snickered as she sipped her coffee, unimpressed and unfazed. "I didn't get a memo either, so unless he joined a cult or found God again, we're all equally screwed. Karen said she hadn't seen or heard of him in weeks." "Impossible to rule out either." Foggy sighed, rubbing his eyes like it was all starting to blur together—the casework, the disappearing act, the emotional whiplash. "So what, Fogster?" Y/N muttered while leaning in, tilting her head to the side cockily. Her tone was sharp. "You came here hoping I'd give you his GPS coordinates? Or just wanted the comfort of mediocre coffee and my sparkling fucking personality?"

Foggy smirked, shaking his head. As Y/N leaned back behind the counter, she pushed a piece of chocolate cake his way. Foggy opened his mouth to argue... to see a middle finger as he looked up. Sunny was, again, absentmindedly staring into her phone. "Came mostly the personality. The free pastry and coffee are a bonus. Also, I figured if anyone's got a bat signal for Matt, it's you." "Wow. What an honor," Y/N gasped sourly, mockingly. "And here I thought I was just the emotionally neglected side piece of his disappearing act or the one who tried to pull head out of his ass... unsuccessfully, mind you." "C'mon, that's just mean," Foggy muttered against his better judgment.

Matthew fucked up... and he was also aware that hell would break loose once he stood before Sunny. That's what Matt was terrified of: talking to her. Resolving the issues. Arguing again. Admitting this was something more than simple physical attraction. Therefore, Foggy didn't mean to fuel Sunny's fire any further. But... Sadly for Matt, she did that on her own.

Foggy and Matt... They've talked a lot before Matt vanished. Day after day, Foggy chipped at Matt's defense, question after question, silence after silence, jab after jab. Foggy was pissed it Matthew. So fucking pissed. But... Matt was his best friend, still. They discussed the events of the last year. Everything that happened, everything Matthew wanted and thought about, was what Matt was desperately running away from. About how Y/N was bringing Matthew to the verge of insanity. And about how Matt tried to be a good soldier, listened to orders and restrictions, and followed her wishes. Even fell in love with Karen for a few passing months. And how Matt, for the love of God, tried to stay strong. But Sunny broke him each time, without fail.

Foggy had forgiven Matt. Mostly. But he knew it wasn’t enough. Sunny needed closure, and Matt wasn’t going to give it up. Push and pull. Again and again. "It’s how Matt copes, Sunny. It’s not intentional. Or at least… I don’t think it is," he muttered, rubbing his eyes in frustration..

"No, he just ghosts anyone who gives a damn. Same thing, really," Y/N shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She took a sip of her coffee, eyebrows raised. "You did that too, Y/N. Hypocrite much?" "But I came around." Sunny hissed back. "It’s like he thinks asking for help is a sin. Like his Catholic guilt will crush him if he admits he’s not okay… but then he’s gone before he has to deal with it," Foggy said, his voice dropping into something that wasn’t quite humor anymore. He chewed the chocolate cake slowly, lost in his thoughts.

"Newsflash, counselor—Matthew Murdock, your boss and best buddy, was never okay. This man treats emotional intimacy like it's a goddamn virus. And guess what? I'm out of fucking gloves." "Sunny..." Foggy sighed softly with his typical Foggy warmth.

"No, seriously, Fogster," Sunny exhaled, "I've been doing the whole 'wait for him to come around' thing," Sunny threw out her palms, running them through her hair as she breathed deeply. "I even tried to be nice. I'm pretending I don't wanna stomp him into the ground. I call and text persistently. I begged him to talk. I promised I'd keep it together, no yelling, no anger… just a conversation to figure out where the hell we stand.... And for what?" She cleared her throat, looking away, rolling her eyes. "So he can disappear the second it gets hard? When's the time to apologize and face his own mess? Deal with the consequences of his own fucking actions? No, Foggy, I'm not doing that. None of that." She scoffed, tossing her hair out of her face like she was also trying to shake Matt off.

"Look, Sunny, I'm not saying you should wait. Everything you feel is valid. I'm just saying... don't pretend you don't care. Stop pretending it doesn't concern you," Foggy muttered tiredly. "You're awful at it, especially with him." "Oh, no, I'm great at it. Shut up." Y/N quipped, both smiling sadly. "...Fuck, I'm a whole ass mess. Aren't I?" "Yeah, but it’s your mess. You thrive in chaos, even when it’s self-inflicted." Franklin sighed, leaning into his chair to look Y/N in the eyes. "It's your default. But honestly? Pretending you're a heartless bitch is way more functional than whatever cryptic monk routine Matt's pulling." Y/N grinned despite her best attempt at resisting. "That's the nicest insult I've gotten all week. Thanks, buddy." "Anytime. I'm great at those when I'm not portraying the role of a confused, forgotten best friend."

"Do you..." Y/N whispered after a moment, thoughtful. "Do you think he'll come back? I mean, what happened was fucked up, but we can get through it. We can talk about it, y'know? Or... is this his new persona? Part-time ghost and full-time martyr? Might get the girls going when he's blind, on top of that." "When it comes to Matt? Flip a coin, break a mirror, light a candle. That's about as good as it gets." Foggy shrugged—his worries were visible despite his dry humor. Y/N leaned into the counter, her voice dipping into something raw and honest. "Cool. So I'll keep making coffee and pretending I don't check the door every five seconds like a lovesick Victorian widow." "Hey," Foggy leaned in with a smile. "At least your cappuccino slaps." "Damn right it does."

They shared a chuckle, quiet and tired. It didn't fix anything, but it made the weight easier to carry. Y/N playfully nudged Foggy's shoulder, sending him a small smile. "Guess that makes us the unofficial heartbreak club. You bring the lawyer tears, I'll bring the espresso, and Karen will be our mascot since she's the prettiest of the three of us." Foggy, as a champ, raised his coffee like a toast. "To messy hearts and overpriced prosecco." "And the assholes who don't deserve either," she whispered, clinking her mug with his.

There was a pause as they watched the life unravel around them. The café hummed, soft and steady, like it held a breath for both of them.

Y/N’s gaze drifted toward the door, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her coffee mug. The sound of the milk frothing in the back, the low conversations filling the air—it all felt distant, like she was hearing it underwater. Everything was static, but the tension between her and Foggy was so palpable it could suffocate her. Foggy noticed her change in energy. She was still, too still, her expression clouding over with something unsaid, but deeply felt. She wasn’t looking at him anymore, and in that silence, Foggy could almost hear the weight pressing on her chest.

Y/N’s breath hitched, just barely—a subtle thing, a breath that didn’t quite reach her lungs all the way. She exhaled slowly, as if trying to release the heaviness that was piling up inside of her. She glanced at Foggy, and her eyes, despite the quiet, betrayed everything. He wasn’t sure if she was afraid or frustrated, but whatever it was, it was gnawing at her, eating her alive.

After a long beat, she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, "Do you think he'll come back?"

Foggy paused, his heart sinking at the fragility in her voice. It wasn't a question she'd asked before—not like this. She wasn’t angry anymore. She was broken open, vulnerable. The kind of vulnerability Matt didn’t know how to handle, the kind Y/N had been hiding behind the sarcasm and bravado.

"Do you think he's coming back?" she repeated, quieter now, almost to herself. Foggy didn’t know how to answer that. He leaned back in his chair, letting the silence stretch out, unsure of what would fix this. His thoughts circled around Matt, around their friendship, around everything that had gone wrong.

Y/N looked down, blinking hard as she seemed to gather herself. She exhaled sharply. "I'm done waiting for Matthew to crawl out of his guilt-ridden man cave like some trauma-soaked soldier," she muttered, standing up suddenly. The movement was decisive—almost like she was forcing herself to move before her resolve crumbled under its own weight.

Foggy didn't move. He watched as Sunny undid her apron by muscle memory, her fingers trembling slightly as she worked, but not enough for anyone else to notice. There was something deeply final about the way she moved now, like this moment, this step, was all that was left. "Sunny—" he started, voice quiet, trying to stop her from doing something impulsive, but she shook her head before he could finish. "No, Fogster," she said softly, her voice flat. "I'm not going there to cry or beg or ask if he still wants me because I know he does."

Foggy froze, but Y/N kept going, furrowing and fidgeting with all the anger and confusion. "He wants me. He always has and never really stopped. And that's the damn problem. He wants everything, all and at once—me, Karen, you, Claire, redemption, punishment, control, chaos... But the second it stops fitting into his little compartments of right and wrong, Murdock bolts. And somehow, we're the ones left feeling like we did something wrong." She took a breath, steadier now, letting the stress out.

"I'm not going to tell him he's broken. Because he isn't," Sunny shook her head, her fingers wrapping around the back of Foggy's chair. She smiled, somber and quiet. "I'm going to tell him he's selfish and stubborn and a pain in the ass. Because he is. And I'll tell him, loud and clear, that I'm not just gonna sit in this café pretending I wasn't part of what he's actively attempting to leave behind." Foggy didn’t answer. He just watched, eyes full of quiet grief and awe, like he was seeing her clearly for the first time.

He'd never seen her actively pushing against something in such a vulnerable, poetic way. Usually, she'd just chug it to Matt being a dick and leave it at that. It wasn’t about love, or sex, or even the relationship. It was about friendship. And some damn fucking respect.

She looked at Foggy, softening a little. "I know I'm not the easiest person to want... I'm messy and loud, and I give away cake I should charge double for." "That's why we like you," Foggy argued back, making her chuckle. "But he was trying. And I kept turning him down—my ego, issues, whatever. Because Matt's not easy to want either. And I never asked him to want me. But I want to ask him to finally own it, own me with all my shit, problems and bagagge. And if he can't... then at least I said my piece."

She walked past Foggy, feeling his eyes on her back. She paused at the door, watching the world outside move on, unbothered, unaware, and uncaring. It was just another day in Hell's Kitchen. The world didn't stop for her, Matt Murdock, heartbreak, or drama. It didn't really matter. In the large scale of the universe, they meant nothing. And yet, everything rode on this moment and the upcoming conversation. Her fucking universe threthened to fall apart.

"And if he dodges me again? I swear to God, I’ll throw a brick through his window and bring whiskey to toast the wreckage. I’m done chasing ghosts." Foggy nodded, furrowing a bit. Then, he lifted his coffee in a mock salute, barely holding back a smile. "Give him hell." "Oh, I intend to," Y/N smirked, half-hearted but real.

She stepped into the street—hellbent, exhausted, furious, and full of the clarity that only comes after chasing someone too long without ever saying it out loud. This wasn't about getting him back. It was about finally showing up for herself, to prove her self-worth.

Y/N’s boots echoed sharply against the sidewalk as she cut through Hell’s Kitchen, every step laced with purpose. The city didn’t care—still alive with tourists, street vendors, and flashes of culture that felt distant and irrelevant to the storm in her chest. Yellow cabs hissed past. The sun had started its slow descent, casting the streets in that golden-hour haze where everything felt a little too cinematic to be real.

She'd spent the entire walk crafting a speech. Something about how Matt needed to fix things with Karen, stop ghosting his own emotions, call Foggy back, and quit acting like the world’s pain was his personal burden to carry. How he needed to stop being such a damn idiot. How she was finally—finally—ready for him. Ready to let him in. Or walk away for good.

Her pace quickened as his building came into view. Her fists clenched at her sides, not in anger but in anticipation. This was it. No more circles. No more ghosts. She was going to put the truth on the table and make him choose—step up or step aside. No more spiraling. No more silence. Tonight, she would either fix this or let it burn.

She pressed the buzzer at the front entrance, her nerves suddenly flaring in her stomach. A moment passed, and the door creaked open. And when it did, Sunny's index was pointed right at the person standing in them, nostrils wide and voice halfway loaded with a snarl. "Matthew Michael Murdock, you absolute prick, I swear to God if you don't explain why I've been calling you for three weeks without a single text back, I'm kicking your balls..." She stopped dead in her tracks, staring at a strange woman standing in Matthew's doorframe.

She was striking, with dark curly hair and stormy eyes. One that'd kick your ass without lifting a finger. And she was... covered in blood. It was on her hands, t-shirt, jeans, and even smeared on her face, accompanying her frown. And it wasn't just a few drops. The woman was soaked in it. Sunny saw maps and drips of the liquid smeared and splattered across the wooden floor. She blinked, taking a step back, trying to process what she saw.

The apartment, usually so simplistic, bright, clean, and neat? It was messy, reeking of pain, blood, chaos, and fear. The smell of copper, iron, and dust lingered. It was dark, empty, laced in darkness—this was nothing like the Matt Y/N'd known.

The woman's gaze was sharp, and though she seemed unbothered, Sunny's mind went off the rails instantly. She was distressed and confused and barely grasped the view. "What the fuck?" Sunny asked, her voice shaky though her anger was bubbling on the surface. "Is Matt... even here?" "You’re the one who's not supposed to be here. Not at this hour, not now." The woman hissed back, closing the door a bit. "What do you want here?" "You—are you his newest...?" Sunny's voice cracked, unsure if it was jealousy, panic, or pure confusion. "Jesus. Of course. I was so fucking stupid." "Excuse me?"

That tipped the scales. Sunny took in a breath, and something within her... it broke. She was furious. Her entire plan was already falling apart, and here was this bloodied stranger standing between her and Matt. "Where is he, then? And who are you? What is going on here?" Sunny demanded, not caring to hide the irritation. The woman didn’t answer right away. She just tilted her head like she was trying to remember a dream. "I’ve seen you… Once or twice," she finally said. "Oh, yeah?" Y/N scoffed in return, nearly hysterical. "That's cute." "You’re... the barista," Claire muttered, recognizing her. "Figures. Matthew, he has... pictures of you and your friends. All over the place, actually." The woman sighed and let the door go, walking inside the flat and plopping a fresh pair of plastic gloves on. "God knows what for," she muttered, her eyes lingering on Sunny just a beat too long. "It's not like he can see them."

Sunny flinched. She didn’t know what stung more—what the woman said or how easily she said it. "Is he hurt?" Sunny whispered, finally catching the scent of iron and fear. "What happened in here?" The blood wasn’t just on the floor—it was drying in ugly handprints on the wall. A streak across the kitchen tiles. A smear on the couch. The whole apartment reeked like copper and sweat and smoke. Like someone had screamed, and no one came. Sunny’s brain lagged. It wasn’t just a few drops. There were patterns of it. Trails and spatters. It was still wet.

The air hit her next. A thick, metallic tang that clung to her tongue and stuck to the roof of her mouth. She blinked hard, the dim apartment making her eyes strain to adjust. The familiar corners of Matt’s place, once so clean and curated, were gone beneath the carnage. The floor was stained. The coffee table askew. There was a jacket half-draped over a chair, torn and dark with something that hadn’t dried yet.

Sunny’s stomach rolled. She took a step back, the toe of her boot skimming something sticky. A chill shot up her spine. It was like the air had been sucked out of the room.

"Matt?" Sunny cried out weakly. Her voice trembled, and tears formed in her eyes. No answer. Just a faint, wet sound—air scraping against blood. And then, she stopped, dead in her tracks, her eyes popped open. Sunny didn't see him at first. She'd heard him wheezing and fighting for air before seeing his silhouette—he'd blended into the couch, dressed in all back and covered in sticky, hardened, congealing blood.

It was him.

Matthew—bleeding out on his fucking couch. Stirring, hissing with pain, growling quietly. The couch was soaked. Black in the dim lighting. He looked awful. Worse than awful. The man she’d known as the sharp, witty, blind lawyer was… broken. His face was bruised, his clothes torn, and his breathing labored.

This wasn't Matthew but someone entirely else.

Matt lay atop the couch, blending in, half out of his suit, mask off, but the upper part still on, torn from force, cut in places. Someone had swung a knife at Matt, clearly attempting to kill him. A gash, dark and ugly, painted his side like something biblical. The room stank of iron, sweat, and something darker—desperation and fear.

The stranger sat beside him. She was calm, capable. Wearing scrubs and rubber gloves like this was just another Tuesday. She didn't look up, her fingers working on Matt's side.

The stranger was stitching Matthew up with a concentrated furrow, her hands steady. She didn't even look up at Y/N. "Close the damn door. We don't need the neighbors noticing or seeing what Murdock's up to." Sunny didn’t move, just stared at Matt, then at the woman, then back again. "What the fuck is this?" she whispered. The woman sighed. "What does it look like?"

"Who even are you?" "Huh?" The woman grumbled, shooting Y/N a cold stare. "The door. Close it. Now." "Are you his... girlfriend? Is that it?" Y/N shot instead, her anger bubbling beneath the surface. She didn't know why, but she couldn't stop the words from spilling out.

The woman exhaled, stretching her neck before finally answering. "I'm Claire," she replied, her tone flat. "And I'm the one who's been patching him up. He's a stubborn fucking idiot who knows well that showing up in a hospital would lead to federal charges. He's been a real pain in my ass. Now, please, close the door." Y/N stopped but nodded and slowly walked back to the entrance, sealing it shut before begrudgingly walking back to the scene of a—literal—crime.

"I—" Y/N stumbled, heat rising in her throat. "I came to scream at him, and you weren't supposed to be here. This wasn't supposed to be here." "Yeah, well, he wasn't supposed to get stabbed in the ribs either, but here we are." Claire wiped more blood from his abdomen like she's already done it a hundred times. "Whatever you came to talk about? Wave it goodbye. He's not in a state to talk, let alone think. Help me or get out.''

"S-stabbed in the ribs?" Y/N stuttered, leaning into the kitchen sink as she processed Claire's statement. "Like actually stabbed?" "No. He's just pretending to be bleeding out, of course. This ensemble cost us a fortune, didn't it, Matt?" Claire clicked her tongue, rolling her eyes. "Listen. I know it's a lot to handle for one evening, but do us both a favor and either be useful or leave." "You're joking." Y/N scoffed, pieces slowly falling together. "You're fucking joking. He's the... guy. The one the news writes about. The... Devil guy or whoever." Y/N took in a shaky, panicked breath. "It's him."

Claire wanted to throw in another jab, but Matt stirred under her palms, deliriously turning his head around, locating something. Claire tried to push him down to the couch, but his upper body was dangling in the air... his senses betrayed him. It was like he heard her. On all sides. Everywhere. All at once.

"Sunny?" Her name on his lips was broken, barely conscious.

"He's delirious. Don't take it personally." Claire muttered, glancing up sharply. "It's extremely personal, though," Y/N whispered, slowly dropping her coat and crossing the room, kneeling next to Claire. Sunny's hands hovered as she watched Claire still holding the needle—she didn't know where to begin. She locked eyes with Claire. "Are you his nurse? What do you want me to do? What am I supposed to..." "Take his hand and hold it. He blabbers about you each time he's nearly passed out. Mumbles your name like a damn prayer." Claire announced, fast and harsh, not giving Y/N any choice. "No. I’m not his girlfriend. God forbid. I’m just the idiot who keeps stitching him up every time he decides to play martyr."

Sunny exhaled through her nose, her chest aching before she dragged the tips of her fingers across his palm—it was deathly cold, sticky with sweat. And yet, she carefully squeezed it between her fingers. "So, it's real then? There's a blind guy who beats up all the goons, thugs and rapists in the still of night? All of it?" Sunny wondered, her other palm carefully tracing the back of Matt's head. It was covered with black cloth, hiding away most of his face. His lips opened and closed as he gasped for air." Claide nodded. "All of it."

Matt reached for Sunny again, his fingers tracing her wrist. "Y/n... Didn't want... You to know..." "Oh, I bet you didn't, you insolent prick," she muttered bitterly, but she still grabbed a rag that Claire pressed to her palm wordlessly. "Let me guess. Guilt? Self-sacrifice? A bad case of the 'I'm too broken to be loved'? You can fucking choose, you idiot." Claire hummed, watching Y/N closely. Then: "He's lucky you're here... that he has you around." "Yeah, well," Sunny pressed the rag to his side, ignoring how warm he still felt, even bleeding out. "He's so much luckier than he deserves."

Matt groaned as they shifted him around. His hand latched onto Y/N's forearm with surprising strength for someone half-conscious. Claire's gloves snapped off as she grabbed the med kit. The stab wound was sewn together, and the rag in Y/N's palms was soaked with blood, dripplets falling to the wooden floor. The scar was to be bulky and ugly, but at least he wasn't bleeding out.

"Okay, Romeo, hands to yourself. You're not dying that fast." Claire muttered, passing gauze like she's done this blindfolded a thousand times before. "If you keep reaching for her like you're in a Nicholas Sparks movie, I'm tranquilizing you for my benefit and her convenience." Y/N swallowed hard. Matt's fingers weren't letting go—his grip was trembling but insistent and unrelenting.

"I'm here," Sunny mumbled, leaning in close as Claire nodded, diving in with the medkit. She pressed her forehead to his just as he groaned through gritted teeth. "Jesus, Matthew, you fathead... what the hell did you do to yourself?" "She knows," Matt mumbled, like it was the worst confession of his life. His head searched for Claire, lips parted as he gasped for air. "Claire, didn't want her to—Sunny—wasn't supposed to... know." "Yeah, well, you've bled on the furniture and ruined the fucking mystique, idiot," Y/N snapped, then grabbed his jaw lightly, forcing his head toward hers. "You fucking idiot. You could've died."

Claire scoffed, raising a brow. "You really don't hold back, do you? It turns him on. Mentioned it here and there while bleeding out." "I've had weeks to plan this monologue," Sunny gritted, finally slipping the mask off to brush the damp curls off his head. His skin was unhealthily pale, his cheeks slightly hollowed. They were drenched in ice-cold sweat. His eyes, even though dysfunctional, felt empty that night. "But I didn't expect it to be so... slurred."

Matt groaned again, half a wince, half a laugh. Claire popped a protein bar and a bottle of electrolytes on the table next to him. "He hadn't eaten in two days. Won't take it from me. Try your luck." Y/N eyed her, palm still playing with Matt's hair.

Worse than that, there was a batch of fresh clothes laid on the side and a whole package of moisture wipes. "... You mean to feed him like a Victorian wife?" Sunny muttered humorlessly. Claire shrugged and scoffed. "Surely showed up with the energy of one."

Y/N stared for a bit, then ripped open the bar with her teeth and broke off a piece. "Fine. But if he bites me, I'm smothering him with a pillow." Matt blinked, his head nuzzling toward Sunny's chest—he closed his eyes, humming, as if he searched for something and just found it. "...you're real mad, huh." Sunny didn't answer straight away, just snorted and looked aside, trying to keep her cool. "I'm actively not screaming because you're leaking vital fluids, Matthew. If you weren't half-dead, I'd've been putting you through the wall."

Matt opened his mouth, letting her shove in the food because he couldn't figure out anything smug to save his life. "Chew," Y/N barked, and Matthew? Obeyed without a word. Claire bit back a smile as she taped fresh gauze over a stitched gash. "This is the weirdest rom-com I've ever been third-wheeling." "I'm not... " Y/N started, then stopped, letting out a defeated sigh.

Her voice was sharp with something that tasted like grief. "I didn't come here to do this... Didn't want to be here like this." "I know," Claire chirped simply. "But you are." They exchanged a glance. Quiet understanding. "Next in order... you're gonna have to get him out of the rest of his... suit. He won't let me touch him." Claire announced.

Y/N stared at Claire for a bit, jaw falling open. She instinctively pushed away from Matthew's delirious form. "I'm not his..." Matt stirred, clutching at her again. His nails dug into her tender, warm skin. "Don't go." She let out a soft grunt, taking in all the pleading... the genuine desperation in his expression. He was softly gasping for air like a fish out of water, his entire upper body curling up to her chest. Like he was listening to something—some sound that grounded him and calmed him.

"And can I... Will you let me..." Sunny cleared her throat, shooting a glare at Claire. "Your scary doctor here said we need to clean you up. And I'll need to... Undress you for that. Is that okay?" "Oh, please. Like he hadn't imagined it before." Claire scoffed dryly. "Okay." Matt nodded, inhaling deeply before shooting up with a loud groan—Y/N nearly didn't have time to catch him mid-sit. Claire jolted too, catching his arm, pulling him up with one well-timed tug. Matthew whined while dragging himself through the apartment, gritting his teeth together, grinding and clenching his jaw... just so he wouldn't scream. He basically collapsed into the shower. That was Claire's cue.

"All yours now." She pointed at Matt, stretching her back with a huff. "I'll be back in the morning with antibiotics. And coffee. We'll need both." "I own a café," Y/N yelled at her, offended. "I am running solely on caffeine, stress, and bad decisions." Claire scoffed, looking down at Matt. Then, she walked herself out. "Wouldn't have guessed if I tried. Channel that energy into undressing that vigilante boyfriend, will you?" "He's not—!" Sunny growled, tossing her head back like the universe was laughing at her. And it clearly was. "I'll be right back, okay? Don't go anywhere."

She walked to the living room, taking the clothes Claire prepared—the water was already running when Y/N came back. It had begun to fog up the tiny bathroom by the time she came back. Matt crawled up the tiles, half-standing, half-holding himself up on the wall now. And he was shivering from more than the cold.

His suit had been stripped off in bloody pieces, crusted against his skin like battle-worn armor. Carefully, with quick but forceful tugs from Sunny. She always whispered a 'sorry', leaning her forehead into his shoulder blades while waiting for the immediate pain to subside. The tips of his fingers traced his skin and muscle. Matt was swaying now, barefoot, holding onto the tile wall, in a flickering bathroom light, shoulders caked with dried blood and soot.

Y/N was still in her jeans. The tank top clung to her sides from the heat and dampness of supporting him. She stepped in after him without ceremony, shoes kicked somewhere outside the door, socks forgotten on the tile. The second the water hit his skin, Matt hissed. His knees buckled. She caught him—one arm under his, the other gripping his chest, her palm pressed just over his heart.

"Jesus, Matt..." "I’m fine,” he rasped, breath hitching, "—I’m fine. Just—" "You're fucking not." Her voice was low, almost a growl filled with tears. "Shut up and let me help you, yeah?" His head tilted, nose brushing against her temple like he was trying to place her. His hair was dripping into his mouth. He looked lost, helpless, and so young, bleeding in places she hadn't reached yet.

"You're warm," he mumbled suddenly as she cleaned his throat. She stilled for a fraction before getting back. He was leaning into her, cheek pressed to her shoulder, mouth too close to her skin. "You smell like—like oranges. You always do that. Why do you do that?" "I—what?" She blinked, scoffing, shaking her head. "It's just soap, Murdock; it's not that deep." He made a noise like he didn't believe her. Like even now, half-dead, he was still taking inventory of her.

"Did you know," he mumbled, eyes half-closed as she ran her hands up his spine to rinse off the blood. "You hum when you're nervous?" Y/N's motions stopped altogether. "I heard you. In the café. After that night." "What night?" she asked softly, even though she knew. "The one where I was with Karen," he whispered. "And you told us about Brad."

Silence fell between them, all but the steady beat of water against tile. Her hands slowed, and so did her breathing. They'd reached his lower back, and she could feel the tremor in his legs... muscles giving up, body refusing to fill orders. "You hummed," Matt continued, scoffing. "When Foggy held you together, so you wouldn't fall apart. You looked at me like you were begging me not to say the wrong thing. And I said the worst thing." Y/N's voice cracked. "You were jealous, Matthew. You weren't thinking straight." "Didn't know what to do with it," he admitted, nodding, wheezing for air.

"And now? He swayed a little. "Now I'm naked in my shower, and you're fully dressed, and it feels like penance." She let out a dry, breathy laugh, forehead falling forward to press against his chest. "You're delirious. Won't even remember half of the shit you'd told me." He dropped his chin to the top of her head. "I know. But I'll remember this, though. Us. Here."

They stood there for a long time. Water rushed down on them, blood thinning out, pink-tinged rivulets spiralling toward the drain. The blood and soot disappeared, showing all the bruises that were hidden until then. Dark, violet splashes of clogged blood on his ribs, his back, abdomen, and even his thighs. His ankle looked busted. Her hands moved again—careful, efficient, almost reverent—over every cut and bruise. He let her. Didn't hide, didn't run away. Just Matt Murdock and his vigilante bullshit.

"Hey," he muttered suddenly, voice rough and wrecked. She glanced up, keeping up the motion. "I would've come to you sooner. To talk and smooth things out. But I'm a goddamn coward." She didn't answer. Didn't need to. She just tipped his head under the spray and washed the last of the blood from his hair.

Matt nearly fell getting out. She caught him again. Of course, she did. Her arm wrapped under his ribs, the towel already waiting on the sink. Matt let her manhandle him into sitting on the closed toilet lid, his face tilted to the side, eyes closed, breath coming fast and shallow like every little moment lit his nerves on fire. He was shivering now, a damp towel clutched loosely in one hand, the other arm resting against the sink as if the porcelain might stop the world from spinning.

"Let me do it," Y/N murmured, kneeling down in front of him. "I won't look. Promise." She touched his knee, softly and warmly, her nails tingling his skin. Matt scoffed, despite the fever, muscle spasms, and blood loss. His head turned toward her, his eyes lowering and darting in her approximate location. "You can." "Shut the fuck up." Y/N scoffed back, getting to work.

She dried his legs first—calves, knees, thighs—with gentle, practiced motions. Moved to his arms. Across his collarbone. Up his neck, where bruises were blooming like plum-colored secrets. "You're not gentle," he whispered, almost smiling. "You're just pretending to be." She looked up, towel still on his shoulder, covering anything deemed inappropriate. "You don't know me." "But I do," Matt argued back, voice too sure. "Better than anyone." "Delirious," she reminded, tapping his nose with the corner of the towel in her palms.

He caught her wrist and held it, just for a second. "You're warm again," he murmured, thumb brushing the inside of her wrist like he could hear something underneath. His eyes closed, his lips flinching as if he were counting. Her pulse. His thumb was put directly on her artery. "I used to imagine what it'd feel like. Feeling this." "And how is it?" "Better," Matt admitted. "You were with Karen," Y/N murmured after a beat. Her voice had no edge. It wasn't scolding—just a reminder. A soft one. "I know." "You had someone. I had someone. And I was..." "Hurt," he said simply. "Lonely. Stunning. Too fucking loud in every room. You always made it so hard to breathe... still do."

"Matt..." He finally opened his eyes. Bloodshot. Glassy. But focused, fixed in her general direction. "Don't go," he rasped, softly and quietly. "Not tonight." Sunny felt the air change in her chest. Something caught in it, caught and stayed there. "Where? Where shouldn't I go?" "Stay here," he gulped, lowering his hand down to lay it on his thigh, still holding onto her. "Bed. Just..." Matt breathed out in agony. "Just next to me."

The vulnerability was staggering. No smug smile. No teasing. Just a man with open wounds and cracked ribs asking someone—the woman that mattered the most—to stay like it mattered. Because it did. "Okay," she nodded. "Yeah?" Matt smiled, his voice cracking as it was the best news he'd heard all month. "Yeah."

How could she not? How could she leave? How would she find the guts to leave him alone and on the brink of death? She wouldn't ever forgive herself.

By the time she got him into bed, he was half-asleep again. Too tired to put up a fight about the fresh gauze or the old, forgotten, too-big shirt she'd slipped over his head. She also stole one, leaving her clothes out to dry. He hummed something when she lifted the blanket—something about how her hands were too cold and she always smelled like tangerines, which still made no sense to her. She slipped beside him, fully clothed. No touching. No cuddling. Just them, drifting off to sleep.

Until his hand finds her under the sheets. Fumbling. Tired. Fidgeting. Weak. Shaky... Warm. Their fingers laced. Quietly. Like it counted, like it mattered. Neither said a thing. They didn't need to.

"I can... hear it," he stuttered, drifting in and out of sleep, voice raspy and forced. The fever was reaching its peak. Sunny turned her head to him, furrowing. "I feel it." "What?" "You." "What can you hear?" "Everything," he smiled, humming as he took a long breath. "You're so far away. Close but so far away." "You're being melodramatic." "Can I?" "Can you what, Matt?" Y/N wondered quietly. "Come closer," he breathed out, already counting on a sharp 'no.'

It'd be understandable, logical even. After so many lost battles, wars, disappointments, genuine happiness, and push-and-pulls? She wouldn't even entertain...

"I'm cold," she whispered, looking up, breathing in shakily. Her body was coming alive under Matt's hands—her blood running quicker, her heart beating like a drum, her breath shaky and uneven. It wasn't appropriate... but it was human. "Make it better." "Yeah."

He moved closer to her in silence—she adjusted to fit his beaten-down form. Her elbow supported his head as a pillow, and she wrapped around him like a safety blanket. They weren't cuddling. They simply lay impossibly close, feeling each other's breath and each small movement. Matt hummed again, his forehead gently bumping into her ribcage, his palm weakly grasping at Y/N's hip. "What are you... Humming about? You've done it multiple times tonight." "It's rhythmic. Steady. Constant," Matt explained, starting in the middle of his train of thought, as usual. He scoffed, gulping. "I'd recognize it anywhere." "Okay..." She sighed, realizing she couldn't get any sort of answer. "Your heart." his ear nuzzled even closer. "It beats like a drum."

"Sure, Romeo," Y/N muttered, but couldn't hide a smirk. "Go to sleep now, you've pushed through too much already." "But... you'll be gone when I wake up," he winced, already half-knocked out. "Yeah, probably. But that's how this works. We both fucked up." "Will I see you again?" He wondered, genuinely scared and already half-asleep. Everything shrunk inside Y/N. Her stomach churned with nerves. She didn't think about it. Before she could stop herself, she soothed his shoulder. At first, her palm jolted back—her brain finally caught up with her actions. Then, her hand settled again, its fingers drawing nearly insensible circles on his skin.

"Yeah," she murmured finally. "You’ll see me again, Matt. I’m not done being mad at you yet." "I'm... glad."

His voice was barely there—just a crackled breath, like the sound of something fragile finally being set down. He didn’t smile, not really. But his lips parted like the weight in his chest had shifted, just enough to breathe again. Y/N swallowed hard. Her fingers stayed on his shoulder, still tracing mindless patterns. Matt was already slipping back under, the lines of pain softening with every breath.

And suddenly, she wasn't so sure she could leave. Not because he asked. Not because he needed her. But because, for the first time, Sunny needed him, too. Even like this. Especially like this. And she slept decently for the first time in a long time.

Claire arrived early in the morning, when the city was still foggy and dim. She tried to be quiet... as quiet as a woman juggling a paper bag filled with antibiotics, gauze, and two large coffees manages. She knew Matthew's apartment would still be messy. The bloodstained towels lay by the bathroom where Y/N dumped them. The shreds of Matthew's clothes, the remnants of his 'suit', all lay on the ground, left as they were. The weird, humming stillness that only comes after a storm? Claire is familiar with that.

What she doesn't expect is them—in bed, curled up, vulnerable, and asleep. She wasn't expecting to walk into a Hallmark Christmas movie.

Matt was dead asleep on his back, arms slack at his sides, bandages peeking from under a t-shirt Claire'd never seen on him. He didn’t flinch when the door opened. Not even when Claire swore under her breath. Sunny was curled beside him in a borrowed, too-soft tee, tangled in the blankets. One of her hands rested against Matt's chest. She must've fallen asleep trying to make sure he was still breathing. Claire stood there for a second, long enough to let the judgment roll in. Long enough for a gentle furrow of brows, lips curling downward.

Matt's head rested next to Y/N's chest, her breath and heartbeat his lullaby—her nose buried in his hair, lips touching his forehead. He'd never fallen asleep like that next to Claire. Never.

"Unbelievable," she muttered, not loud—but not exactly quiet either. Y/N stirred. Groaned. Blinked awake, disoriented, like her brain forgot where she fell asleep. She sat up fast, eyes adjusting to the light, heart pounding from the instinct alone. "Jesus—Claire? Is that you?" Sunny croaked, voice hoarse. "What time is it?" "Time for my shift," Claire answered, holding the bag for Y/N to see. "Which apparently includes third-wheeling a Florence Nightingale reenactment."

Y/N groaned again, pulling away from Matt like she remembered he was real. "I wasn't—this wasn't what it—" Claire raises an eyebrow and puts Sunny's coffee on the counter too hard. "Relax. I'm not his mom... or his girlfriend." Y/N scoffed softly, still rubbing her eyes with one hand. "Still not what you think." Claire shrugged, watching Sunny lazily lounge toward the counter, wearing only Matt's t-shirt and underwear. Claire grimaced. Nearly every woman who'd entered this flat looked exactly like Sunny did. Not one had the man himself clinging to them like they were his lifeline.

"He talks about you a lot, you know," Claire announced, watching Sunny with interest, and didn't bother hiding. As if she were deciphering her and Matt's attraction to her. "Mainly when he's on the brink." That got Y/N's attention. Her hand stilled mid-air. Claire started unpacking supplies, not looking up. "Between all the fever spikes, gallons of blood, trying to crawl off the couch, and burst knuckles? You often are the only thing he kept asking for. There was you, then some Karen gal for a month or two, and then you. Just you. I feel like I've been living with you for the last few months." Sunny blinked, lips parting, but said nothing. She just picked up her coffee, like it was the only thing keeping her upright

Claire didn’t know why she told Sunny. Maybe to warn her. Maybe to watch her flinch. Maybe to say it aloud.

But Y/N just nodded, sighing, letting the information run through her brain. The weight settled fast, and it was dense. Heavy as fuck. How was one supposed to react, hearing someone very close cry for them when bleeding out after beating down low goons, petty criminals and rapists? "He... say anything specific?" Sunny asked finally, voice soft. Her eyes were glassy but wide open, her pupils dilating. Claire responded with a look. One part amused, two parts exhausted. "Nothing I'd repeat before coffee," Claire smirked, shaking her head. "But I remember he yammered about your laughter making his teeth ache. That it is 'too close', like he could feel it in his bones... whatever the hell that means."

Sunny was stuck, her eyes lingering on Claire. Sunny didn't understand this statement either, just like Matt's whole tangent about tangerines and oranges... but it touched something inside her. Claire continued casually, just updating a chart: "Also asked if you still wore that ridiculous bandana when you cleaned the espresso machine?" She genuinely tilted her head, flashing Sunny an amused look. "Said it made him crazy. I said you do, for your information." "I—what?" For the first time, the woman opposite Claire smiled. Then, she started laughing. Sunny's entire facial structure softened, nearly glowed. Her laughter was so heartfelt and lively... and it all started making sense.

Claire didn’t smile back. Not at first. She just watched Sunny. That laugh—that was the one Matt meant. Loud, short, rough around the edges, but real. It hit like a body blow, just for a second, watching it come to life before her after hearing about it like a campfire ghost story through all those half-conscious nights.

"You know," Claire said finally, voice quiet again. "I thought he was delirious. Kept saying your name like it was a goddamn prayer. Whispered it like he was asking for forgiveness." Sunny’s smile faltered. Her knuckles tightened around the coffee cup, white at the edges. Claire shrugged, not cruel, just honest. "He never did that with me."

There it was. The admission. It hit Y/N like a truck as she lowered the cup back down, lips parting. Of course. Of fucking course. Claire was right up Matt's alley—no beating around the bush, no-bullshit attitude, beautiful, stormy, and with a dry sense of humor. A woman at her place, excellent medical knowledge, sharp tongue, and impeccable work under pressure skills. Compared to her? Y/N looked like a boutique mannequin. What was she good for? Brewing coffee?

There wasn't a trace of bitterness in Claire's statement. Just a sense of clarity. It felt like Claire had already let the wound heal, but still needed to press on the scab to see it come off, just a little. "Back then, it was all adrenaline and distraction," Claire continued. "Found that clown in a trashcan, bleeding out. I was all about hookups, patched-up ribs, and keeping things surface-level back then. I liked it that way. The danger, y'know? The mystery of him." Sunny looked like she was holding her breath. "I wondered. Every woman does when they have a man..." Claire clicked her tongue, scolding herself. "The way he talks about you... It's not surface. It's marrow-deep. And it's unsettling."

Sunny didn’t answer right away. She just looked down at the bloodstained towel still on the floor, the remnants of something violent, terrible, and familiar. Then quietly, like she was asking herself: "So what am I supposed to do with that?" Claire sipped her coffee. "No idea. But if you figure it out, write a book. I’ll preorder." "Yeah. As if." "I found a man whom I settled with," Claire said after a moment, voice turning reflective. "He's... great. Has a criminal history and an insane ex, but he's... he made me feel whole," A wry smile touched Claire's lips. "I used to wonder if Matt was even capable of that. Of choosing peace. Convinced myself he wasn’t. And then you showed up."

Sunny let out a dry laugh. One that didn’t reach her eyes. "Yeah, well. I’m not sure I’m the ‘settling down’ type either." Claire gave her a once-over, brow lifting slightly. "You sure about that?" Sunny didn’t answer. Just tightened her arms around herself. The coffee was growing cold in her hands. And Claire didn’t push. She just nodded toward the bedroom, where the faint sound of movement rustled from the sheets—Matt stirring.

"You’re not just another warm body in his bed, if that’s what you’re trying to convince yourself of," Claire said softly. "Trust me, I’ve been one. I know the difference. That Karen of yours probably saw it too… from what Matt spewed." Sunny stayed quiet. Still looking down. The professional mode settled back in like a jacket shrugged over tired shoulders. "Don’t let him scare you off," she added. "He’s an idiot, not a ghost." "…He’s both," Sunny murmured, barely audible. Claire grinned. "Yeah. But for some reason, he keeps coming back to you." She cleared her throat. "So. Are you sticking around?"

"I..." Y/N let out a short breath, closing her eyes before letting her face fall to her hands. "I..." "You can't," Claire finished. "I get it." "But... Keep me posted?" Sunny offered, almost shyly.

That surprised Claire. But she nodded, watching as Sunny stood, pulling on her jeans. She didn’t bother changing the stolen t-shirt—just shrugged on her coat. "Does he have your number?" "If he didn't erase it?" Sunny gave a half-shrug, glancing toward the bedroom like it hurt to look. "You're giving him way too much credit." Claire's voice was dry. "This one doesn't have any self-preservation instinct."

Sunny didn't walk to the café. Not at all. She got lost in the early-morning Hell's Kitchen. People rushing for work, tourists flowing around her, and taking photos of the marvels of central New York. Cars passed by, people yelled—a mix of curse words and inaudible accents. Vendors were already in their places. The gloominess. Incoming storm. Steam is coming out of the ventilation system. Everything. The blood—Matt's blood—clotted and dried deep under her nails.

Foggy called her. Multiple times, just as she walked on the Brooklyn Bridge. Hair ruffled her hair as she stared at Foggy's number and contact photo (of them laughing together) before she shoved the phone back into her pocket. Karen was next to call. Then Foggy, again. She assumed they were sitting next to each other in the office. The only thing she paid attention to? Claire’s texts. Claire texted sharply and quick, straight to the point—just like she spoke. No bullshit atop, no nothing.

7:15: He’s awake. 7:34: He’s being a pain in my ass. 7:40: Just checked the wounds. He’s healing fast, but don’t tell him I said that. He'd get cocky. 9:04: He asked about you. 9:45: He keeps asking if you’re cold. Keeps insisting you should’ve taken his coat. 10:57: Still asking about you.

She entered her tenement around noon, just after finishing some noodles two streets over. Exhausted and shellshocked, she accidentally kicked the trash bag next to her apartment door—except it was no trash bag. It was Franklin Nelson, slumped over, his jacket bunched beneath him like a pillow. He had a to-go cup of coffee before him, gone ice-cold by now. He looked exhausted—eyes pink-rimmed, phone clutched in one hand like he was willing it to ring.

The sound of soft footsteps and gentle stumble jolted him awake. He looked up, confused, rubbing his eyes, watching Sunny as if deciding if she was real. Her hair was windswept, wet, and messy. Coat wrapped tightly, like armor. Her eyes flickered to him, and she didn't say a word. Just... nodded and unlocked the door, leaving it open. Foggy hesitated, but followed with a heavy sigh.

Sunny's place was dim, clearly not used in a few days. The fridge hum was too loud. The incoming train shook the entire apartment. The sun was piercing. Her favorite blanket, half-folded, lay on the couch just as she left it. Clothes were all over her bedroom floor as she left them, running late for yesterday's shift. The undone dishes still clogged the wash-basin. It was her home, her small flat on the outskirts of Hell's Kitchen. Just how she left it. And now? After what she'd seen? It felt so alien.

When Foggy caught up, Sunny stood in the kitchen, leaning on the counter. Her gaze was absent, her body trembling—her palms were in front of her face as if she prayed. She didn't take her coat off. She still didn't spare Foggy a glance. No grin. No snarky remark. Just a horrified, stone mask on her face.

"Want coffee?" She muttered after a moment. It was so silent that Foggy almost didn't catch it. "Only if you're making for yourself," he smiled gently, sitting at the kitchen table. But Sunny? She just turned around. Didn't answer. Didn't bite back. Didn't move, either. "Rough night?" "You can't imagine."

There's silence as Sunny moves around the kitchen. It's quick and methodical, perfectly paced—it's a mechanical distraction. Foggy stepped closer, but not too close. She heard him coming, even saw him, and still jolted away from him. Foggy's eyes fell on her face. No bruises, just tiredness. A long, sleepless night. But then, he clocked it in. Small trails of blood under her nails and between the rough skin of her knuckles. One that you can't wash off easily. It's dried, barely visible unless you're looking for it.

"...I take it you've spent the night at Matt's?" That makes her pause. Then, she lets go of the cup, and it shatters. Sunny doesn't nod. Doesn't confirm. Just breathes—shallow and sharp. "...He was bleeding," Sunny muttered, voice unstable, shaky. Foggy didn't flinch—didn't offer comfort when she glanced at him. When she searched for shock and disbelief. "Yeah. That's kind of the deal with him."

And just like that, it clicked. Sunny scoffed—a low sound that sent chills down Foggy's spine. Her head snapped up as she fought for another breath, slowly and carefully, like the hinge of her neck just unlocked.

"You know." She didn't need to say more. Foggy met her eyes—no use pretending, he figured. "I've known for some time, yeah," he admitted softly. Silence. Her eyelids fluttered, nostrils widening as she nodded shakily, processing the information. She gulped, leaning into the counter like her knees were giving out.

"He didn't tell me. None of you did. Not even once, not a hint," there was a beat of silence as her brain caught up to speed. "Do you know how many times we joked about that... what's his fucking... Daredevil? How often did I call him a walking concussion with a cape? And how Matt laughed each fucking time?´" Foggy smiled, sad and exhausted. When he attempted to smooth Y/N's shoulder, she maneuvered away and pointed her finger at him, moving her mouth as if it could make the sourness disappear. "...He doesn't wear a cape.

That almost earned a laugh from her. Almost. "Jesus..." Sunny scoffs, looking at Foggy as if she'd never met him before. Her ass collapsed on her table. "How long?" "What? How long has he been doing it?" Foggy scoffed with disbelief, ready to defend Matt—he was still disappointed over what Matt'd done to Sunny and Karen, and he didn't understand Daredevil that well either... but it was Matt's choice, by the end of the day. His way of saving the world. The light... the little that remained. "Jesus, Y/N, how am I supposed..."

"No," she hissed suddenly, recoiling. "You don't get to fucking say this, Franklin. And you know damn well that this isn't what I'm asking. When did he care to inform you? How long are you his guy in the chair?" "I'm not his—" "How. Long." She gritted through her teeth, giving Foggy one last chance to answer. "Last fall," Foggy answers against his will. "I accidentally found out last fall." "Oh, fuck me," Y/N recoiled even more, putting her hands on her hips, hyperventilating. "Oh, Jesus. And none of you... Fuck you. Fuck you, Franklin. Fuck. You."

"Sunny, c'mon. I couldn't just come to you and say: 'Oh, guess what Matt's up to during weekends? That's right. Being a local punching bag!' It was his secret, not mine," Foggy mocked, but that's when she hit him with: "He could've died, Nelson." It was quiet, broken. Sunny teared up. "Like... One day, he wouldn't show up at the café. And I wouldn't know. I would ask you both, again and again. And you wouldn't tell me. We wouldn't even know where he was or who landed the last stab?" She scoffed again. "And you're standing here, just okay knowing with that?" "I have... faith in him. I've seen him take on Wilson Fisk. Matt's being careful. He's a pro by now..." "Careful?!" She shrieked. "That's what you call careful?! I'm surprised he's even alive!"

They fell into silence as Sunny hyperventilated, trying not to cry—a train passed by the tenement, the fridge still humming.

"I didn't want you to carry this secret. Because it's fucking crushing," Foggy muttered after a bit, sniffing. "And before you, Matt didn't want Karen to know... he didn't even plan on me knowing. I used to think he's just whoring around. That was back when he started. Late-night adventures, last-minute plan cancellations. Meanwhile, he'd been the most wanted punching bag in Hell's Kitchen."

Y/N didn't answer and watched Foggy like a cobra ready to strike. "It was... when I found out... it nearly ended our friendship. And I refused to let you go through this—sitting up at night, wondering if he's ever coming back." "But I was wondering. I always was, Foggy," Y/N sniffled, her voice hoarse. "But I just didn't know why." She swept her face, furious that she was crying. "You think that’s better? Thinking I was too much? Too clingy? That I wanted too much from him?" Then, she tilted her head and put her palms at the small of her back, preparing for the final blow:

"Meanwhile, he was out there bleeding out, and you two were swapping stories over drinks. He could've died," Sunny muttered again. "And I would've just thought he's ghosting me again. And don't lie to me now—you and Karen would've kept me in the dark, propping it up."

"...But you went to see him anyway," Foggy mumbled, trying to change the topic. Sunny nodded sourly, looking away, contemplating whether to talk or throw him out. "Claire was there. She knew what to do. I just stood there with a towel," she raised her trembling hands, looking at her fingers. "There was so much blood. He got—got stabbed in the ribs. Repeated my name in his sleep."

That was when Foggy finally approached, softly smoothing her shoulders. "Welcome to the club, sweetheart." "The club where you watch the people you love bleed out?" she asked, her voice flat. It made Foggy scoff unhappily. "Yeah, that one." "How do I forgive him for it?" She asks, her eyes meeting Foggy's. He was silent for a long beat before gulping forcefully. "You don't... I never did," he admitted. "But you love him anyway. Because that's what Matt'd do for you if the roles were reversed."

She nodded frantically, her eyes darting across Foggy's face. "Can I hug you now?" "Of course," he whispered. "C'mere, here you go. I got you... I got you."

It took fifteen minutes for her to get the worst out. And Franklin held her through all of it—palm planted at the back of her head, the other at the small of her back to keep her from falling on her knees as she swayed. The screams muffled by his sweatshirt were bad. Her fingers, grasping for his shoulder like she was drowning, were worse. But she sat at the table when she was done, her coat finally off. Matt's t-shirt surrounded her like a shield. It smelled like him. Foggy made tea.

"I thought I knew what kind of damage he came with," she muttered, hugging herself, rocking back and forth with her eyes closed. "The Catholic guilt. The hot-and-cold routine. He looked at you like he was reading scripture between your ribs. How he disappeared for days, and it felt like I couldn't take a breath..." "Yeah," Foggy nodded. "That sounds like Matt." "But this? This is blood-on-the-sidewalk, ribs-cracked-on-a-Tuesday kind of damage. Do you know if he ever played pool or went out with us, because I pushed, while still..." Sunny furrowed, thinking how to phrase it. Bled? Had his kidney kicked in? Knuckles burst to strain? "I wouldn't think about it," Foggy muttered. Nearly every other week, he meant to say.

"And the worst part?" Sunny's voice cracked, just a little. The laugh coming with it is bitter. Singular. "He let me think I knew him. Matt... he let me think he's just a blind lawyer with a chip on his shoulder and a thing for rooftop views. I thought I was the one with secrets." Foggy didn't interrupt. Simply listened—that's what he'd always done best. "He didn't even flinch, Fogster. Not when I found him lying there. Not when I saw what was left of the suit. He just looked at me, even though he couldn't see me. Gurgled my name through the blood in his fucking mouth. Like telling a punchline to some sick joke that's been flying over my head this entire time."

Foggy sighed quietly. "That's because he never thought he deserved to keep you around in the first place. But you swept him off his feet." "Claire insinuated that's not a hard feat either," Sunny grimaces, silently thanking Foggy for the tea. "Claire was... A phase, workplace mishap if anything," Foggy muttered against his better judgment. "He pushes people away constantly, Sunny. You've seen it. You've felt it. And he'd always done it. But you're still here. Still standing. Unrelenting. Ready to kick his senses back into him."

"And for fucking what?" She grinned. "So I can bandage him up while he bleeds out for a city that doesn't even know his name? So I can blow on his gunshot wound and tell him it'll be okay soon?" "You stayed because you give a damn," Foggy smiled at her. Albeit sadly, he smiled. "And Matt needs that so fucking much. He's just a stubborn idiot who refuses to admit it."

The silence returned, heavier this time. Filled with the storm-cloud of pressure setting in. "I missed it." She mutters, barely above a whisper. "I watched him so closely but missed this. Foggy, I missed all of it." "You didn't miss him," Foggy scoffed humorlessly. "You found Matt inside the storm exactly because you didn't know any better. And you've seen him for him only."

Sunny exhales, shaky, raw—like something inside her chest just cracked. "He didn't call me. Not once. Over the last few weeks, I mean... doing God knew what." "Because he refused to let you see him like that." "Too late," she whispered, her voice hollow, gaze absent again.

They sat at the table, both lost to their thoughts, silent. The clock ticked. The pipes shrieked. The sun moved, disappearing out of sight.

"What now?" Foggy whispered. Sunny stood up. Paced around the room, her movements sharp, like her body couldn't even sit still under the weight of everything. "I don't know. I thought I could walk away. No matter. That I'd just say my piece while he sits and listens." "...and can you?"

Sunny's face turned to him, her lips curling. Fingers dug deeper into the curve of her hips as she watched him. The guy she'd known for nearly a decade now, someone she'd call first if shit hit the fan—someone she viewed as a brother. One she'd breathe for if needed.

"...no." She stopped pacing. Didn't look away from Foggy, pure tiredness and woe deep inside her eyes. "Didn't think so," Foggy nodded. "How the hell do I live someone who wears a mask to war every night?" Her voice was small. Real. "One day at a time," Foggy hummed without missing a beat.

It was the calm after the storm. The small break when things feel nearly normal... even though they aren't. Everything felt so mundane—except it isn't.

The café hummed with the usual chatter and coffee-steam noise. Smelled like coffee beans, whipped milk, and burnt sugar. There's a clatter of people enjoying Sunny's brew, chatting, laughing. Friends meeting after a rough week, coworkers buying mass orders for boring board meetings, and mothers, with their newborn babies, and best friends sat in the corner, sipping on mimosas.

Sunny stood behind the counter, a coffee filter in her hand, but her eyes were fixed on a new addition to the forefront. A simple corkboard. Beaten down, bought in the stationery store down the street. It's been slowly growing together.

She found a few old Polaroids in her drawer, neatly hidden away—out of sight, out of mind. It was a collection of blurry shots collected over the last year. Foggy and Karen bought it for Sunny's birthday. It was awfully sentimental for her taste—they made her cry with the first few photos they snuck and already added to the album. She refused to admit it.

In the first picture, Karen and Foggy laughed while licking ice-lollies. The camera showed their faces at a questionable angle. In the second photo? Matt was waving at the camera, sitting in their office, a collection of laws translated to Braille sitting in front of him. Other? Small moments of stillness and beauty.

Her café in the golden hour. Karen was walking on the Brooklyn Bridge, the golden sunlight creating a halo around her. Sunny and Foggy's former hanging spot. Their law practice, the office to be exact—it was vacant in the picture, silent and messy, as always. The last photo was of her. Sunny was standing behind the espresso machine. She looked... gorgeous. Serene, a half-smile on her lips as if she thought about something. The duo insisted Matt had taken it with Karen's help.

And they, over the past year, added on. There were tens of pictures. All of them looked ridiculous. It made Sunny scoff and grin, her heart missing a beat. No context needed... And yet, Sunny always wrote the date and occasion on the back of the photo. A photo of Matthew at a Hallowe'en party, dressed as a police officer. A hot one, if Sunny had to admit. Grinning like a doofus—the kind of smile Sunny liked the most. God. He was gorgeous.

She stared at it with a furrow, shaking her head. A roll of scotch tape stuck to her wrist like a bracelet, her apron slightly dusted in flour even though she hadn't touched it all morning. "Fucker. Could've told me, stop me from feeling like... I'm insane. You want insane? I'll show you insane." She got to work with the quiet focus of someone assembling a shrine. Or, maybe, a future crime scene. Because right in the center of the corkboard, in fresh ink and all caps, were three separate mugshot-style Polaroids. She hadn't the heart to desecrate the memories. She'd scanned the photos... like a bitch.

Above them, on a rippled notebook paper, the title read: "DO NOT SERVE. COMMITTED A FRIENDSHIP MISCONDUCT. THEY KNOW WHAT THEY DID."

Foggy's photos were first. He looked bewildered in it, mid-blink, holding a sandwich. The caption underneath read: "CRIME: MAIN ACCOMPLICE. KNEW EVERYTHING. SAID NOTHING. ATE MY COOKIES. PROBABLY STOLE MY FAVORITE FUZZY SOCKS (yes, I remember)." Karen was next. She was caught in profile, sunglasses on, sipping something iced. She was drop-dead gorgeous. "CRIME: PETTY LIES. MAKING SHIT UP. KNOW SHE'D SAY 'IT'S COMPLICATED' LIKE I'D HELP. ACCESSORY TO SECRECY." Last but not least, there was Matt. Of course, he was. A blutty, overexposed shitty shot taken during Saint Patrick's day at Josies. Half his smirk caught in frame, head tilted like he knew it was coming. "CRIME: ARE YOU JOKING? COME ON. YOU KNOW. DON'T EVEN."

Customers coming through stared at the board, confused. A teenager squinted at it and asked her friend if it was 'some kind of performance art'. A woman with a stroller whispered, 'I think I saw that blonde guy at the legal clinic.' Barista on shift—Anita—just stared at Sunny, then back at the board, lips parted in confusion. Café's entire ensemble of employees—at least the college students who stuck for good wages and low requirements—knew Foggy for well over five years now... and he was amazing. The calm to Sunny's chaos. He was the sun to her perpetual internal storm. All the employees also knew Karen and Matt. Mainly thanks to the extensive time they spent with Sunny over the last year. And the café is becoming their hangout spot. Many bet that Sunny and Murdock would hit it off the moment they met. The energy? How did Sunny seem calmer around Matt? And the way he always searched for her whenever he walked in? And let's say that last year's unpredictable developments cost a few bored students too much money.

"Wait, am I allowed to serve them still or…" Anita asked cautiously, handing off a cappuccino. Sunny didn’t answer. She just added a paper gold star to the corner of the board, like she was grading betrayal. Then she stepped away, furrowing, tilting her head before adding another one. Half past one. Time for their lunch breaks. Time for Karen and Foggy to arrive any moment. Karen arrived about ten minutes later, holding a brown paper bag with apology pastries. Foggy told her Sunny was mad... like, real pissed. But Karen didn't know why. She froze when she saw the board. Then read the caption under her name. After, she looked at Sunny, who met her gaze and didn’t blink once.

"Okay," Karen nodded. There was no need to explain. Karen was smarter than she looked. "I deserve that." "You think?" Sunny deadpanned, not a grin in sight. She turned back to the espresso machine, putting the metallic milk jug so forcefully that Anita flinched. "Do you want milk with your lies or just a splash of guilt and my tears?" Foggy appeared behind Karen, holding Sunny's favorite take-out. "Oh boy," he muttered, keeping his hand tucked in his coat like he was walking into court. "Traitors. Both of you." Sunny muttered simply, unapologetically. "I didn't know how to tell you." Karen smiled humourlessly, stepping toward the counter.

"Oh, you know what's really funny?" Sunny said, overfrothing the shit out of the milk for Karen's latté. "You all knew that I hate surprises. But somehow, somehow, none of you thought maybe the part where my friend moonlights as a... you know who might warrant a fucking group text." Foggy raised a hand halfway. "We... talked about it, Y/N. It isn't simple." "I know," Sunny cut him off. "But you still suck for it." He nodded solemnly. "Fair." "I brought apology croissants?" Karen gently slid the bag across the counter. Sunny looked at it, unimpressed and cool as a cucumber. Then glanced back at Karen, grasping the bag, sending Foggy a nod so he'd also hand over the peace offerings.

"Are they... chocolate or almond?" Sunny muttered, eyeing the bad with an exhausted, overly dramatic sigh. "Both." "...Damn it." Foggy leaned over to Karen and whispered, "This is going better than I expected." Karen nodded, whispering back while Sunny started chewing on the first croissant, grimacing like an angry toddler. "She hadn't thrown them at us yet. Good sign."

Foggy then obediently placed the takeout bag on the counter next to the croissants, like he was offering tribute to a queen in the middle of a very inconvenient coup. Sunny inspected the contents without a word—opened the top, peeked inside, nodded once like a war general surveying rations. "Okay," she said, tone unreadable. "This buys you... three sips and no eye contact." Karen blinked. "Three sips?" "Of your coffee. Before I say something that ruins your entire week." "Karen, this is an offer you don't argue. That feels fair," Foggy nodded, inching toward the other end of the counter where he knew the emergency cookies were stashed.

"No," Sunny snapped, eyes narrowing. "You're not off the hook either, Nelson. You knew. You helped." "I brought noodles!" he argued, holding the bag up slightly, like it was holy. "And I brought a deep emotional wound, so I think I win," Sunny replied sweetly, slapping a lid on Karen’s latte with the most unholy clack.

Karen slid into her usual spot by the window (Matt's former seat). Foggy followed and sat across from her, but neither of them dared to touch their food or their coffee yet. Sunny watched them with all the grace and forgiveness of a god waiting for her thunderbolt. Anita wandered by, leaned in toward Sunny. "Should I... like... put 'milk with guilt' on the specials board or? Sounded good, boss."

"Leave it blank," Sunny said. "Let them live in uncertainty. Like I did." "Jesus Christ," Karen muttered under her breath. "You heard that?" Sunny called from behind the counter without even looking up. "No! I—" Karen froze, eyes wide. "God, it’s freaky how good you are at this." "Yeah, imagine how Matthew felt," Sunny said airily, wiping the steam wand like she was sharpening a sword. Foggy leaned toward Karen, whispering, “We might not survive this lunch. In such a case, just call my parents and tell them I love them." "I'll call them," Sunny muttered again. Karen looked down at her cup, sighed. "Just drink slowly." They each took one sip. Sunny stared at them like a predator with excellent customer service.

From behind them, one of the regulars pointed at Matt’s photo and asked, "Wait, is that the guy who always orders the cortado?" Anita nodded slowly. "Yup. That's Matt.” "Why’s he banned?" "…I have no idea." Anita sighed. "And if you know what's good for you, I wouldn't bother asking."

Sunny didn’t explain. She didn’t need to. The corkboard said enough. And Matt wasn’t there to defend himself anyway. She continued watching Karen and Foggy with the expression of a toddler on the brink of a tantrum. But bringing her favorite noodles sure put them back in her good graces.

Sunny kept the corkboard up even after Karen and Foggy left—croissants forgiven, not forgotten. But the mugshots? She took those down the next day. Matthew wouldn't even see it, so there was no point in being overly petty. Not because she wasn’t still mad. She absolutely was. She just… needed the space. And she’d run out of gold stars.

Instead, she tacked up something new. Little clippings. A growing, chaotic collage. Spent the entire night putting it together, cruising through various websites, Instagram posts, and Reddit threads. There were so many people talking about him—he'd touched the lives of so many that didn't even know his name. Never seen his face. People who hadn't heard him laugh and didn't know how scared of octopuses he is. But they were all thankful. Over the social media—small forums, posts, and news articles. All talking about him. About Matthew. Celebrating the fact that he was a hero. He was a small one, compared to the Avengers, but he impacted so many lives of everyday people.

It started with a torn corner of a New York Bulletin front page. "DEVIL OF HELL'S KITCHEN STRIKES AGAIN," it read in heavy black ink, the photo underneath grainy and off-center—a figure in black, mid-jump between rooftops. Bloody. Bruised. But kicking. She pinned it right where Matt’s “CRIME: YOU KNOW.” caption had been. Sunny never addressed it. Not even when asked. Especially when asked. Just pinned picture after picture, article after article, each small 'thank you' after thank you. She also spent an ungodly amounts of time just looking at it.

Then came more.

Screenshots from local Reddit threads. Blurry cellphone captures posted with captions like “caught this outside 10th & 47th, dude MOVES like a damn ghost,” and “he pulled me out of a flipped taxi, not joking.” A stitched-together timeline from an amateur conspiracy blog theorizing patterns in Daredevil’s appearance: colored strings drawn on with red Sharpie, circled dates, a heavily pixelated still from what looked like a doorbell camera. Someone had left behind a scribbled "thank you for saving my little sister" on a napkin once, unsigned. She pinned that up too.

Foggy showed up. When he'd seen it, Sunny's newest art installation, his expression tightened into an unhappy frown. Then, he walked to the board, pulled out a receipt from his wallet—handwritten on the back in Sharpie: "Double espresso, extra shot, don’t get cute." Matt dictated it to Foggy back when he and Sunny still argued over just stupid, petty bullshit—back when she wouldn't even look at Matt if he didn't offer a megapack of M&Ms upfront. Foggy pinned it up.

Karen added one too when she and Sunny regrouped for a late-afternoon mimosa. She'd kissed a napkin, writing a short "thank you for everything" on it. She pinned it up right next to Foggy's receipt. "He's still being a no-show?" The blonde muttered when sitting back down. "It's his turn to crawl," Y/N answered, watching the corkboard. "I've done my share. Seen him in the office lately?" "No."

None of it was polished. It was chaotic and messy and very obviously curated by someone pretending they weren’t deeply invested. ' But still—it was there. And it was important. No names. No faces. Just the ghost of a man she hadn’t seen since the storm.

Anita noticed how the stupid corkboard had grown first. It wasn't just Sunny's pissy art installation anymore. It became a place for quiet community acknowledgement. A head nod. A soft, whispered 'we see what you're doing and we're grateful for it.' There were children's drawings now. Personal letters. A picture saying: "WHERE DID THE DEVIL OF HELL'S KITCHEN VANISH?" She aused mid-shift, cocked her head. "Uh… new art direction? I thought you hated the Avengers after Hulk bulldozed your former café to the ground and Stark sent you a letter practically saying 'sowwy, uwu'?"

Sunny was wiping down the espresso machine like it was the most interesting thing in the universe, refusing to look up. "Don't worry about it. I have it under control." "You realize he's probably dead, right?" Anita tried softly. "People hadn't seen him in nearly three weeks. That guy's schedule is a mystery, but..." "Yeah, and I'm also aware that the tooth fairy moonlights in organized crime. Get back to work," Sunny gritted, giving Amita an unflattering glare. One that sent a chill down her spine.

Foggy, sitting at the bar and quietly working on a case, watches Sunny with the corner of his eye. How she flinches, puffs out her cheeks like she's considering it. That Matt hadn't made it through the latest nonsense he'd tangled himself in. That he wasn't among the living anymore.

Foggy stared at his phone when Sunny turned her back to him, sniffling. His thumb hovered. He typed. Deleted. Rewritten.

YOU:

Corkboard’s full of clippings now. News stuff. Reddit junk. A napkin that says "thank you" in glitter pen. She made you a wall, man. No pictures. Nothing traceable. You’re safe. But she knows. And she kept you on the wall anyway.

Foggy paused. The thread read 'delivered'. Matt's status wasn't even showing—he wasn't online in weeks. Then, Foggy added:

You don’t have to respond. Just figured you’d want to know someone’s out here being mad and proud of you at the same time. Classic Y/N. She hates you. Misses you. Loads. We all do.

He sent it, then leaned back in his chair and exhaled tiredly. And maybe, just maybe, he let himself hope Matt'd come back soon.

It had been nearly a month since any of them had heard about Matt. As if he vanished. They factually knew he was locked up in his penthouse, probably only leaving at night—his neighbors confirmed it. They heard shuffling, this, and groans. Two people arguing. Quietly. Which meant Matt was still letting Claire in.

Until he reappeared. Like a ghost. Out of nowhere. Just like that. As if picking his phone was too fucking hard.

The café was just closing—a late January evening. The snow was falling. No Doubt on full blast, patrons and regulars spread across the establishment—Joe working on his laptop in the far corner, Lindsay and her daughter eating Sunny's chocolate-chip cookies at the bar, both getting a mug of marshmallow-induced hot chocolate in front of them. The scent of cinnamon and gingerbread spread across the café, and Sunny's jeans were messy with flour and burnt sugar. A nice day. The corkboard was still up, overflowing with mementoes and letters.

The bell over the door hadn't rung in half an hour, but Sunny looked up anyway—the sensation of someone watching burnt into her head. And there he was. Matthew Murdock. Sticking against the white powder snow like a sore thumb—black glasses, black jacket, hands in pocket, and a cap on his head. No cane in sight. He even nodded when Y/N clocked him in. As if he knew. As if he felt something shift. His head was slightly tilted as if he listened for said something.

Sunny froze, everything inside her stilling for a beat. A flicker of emotion—fear, ache, and terrible anger—crossed her eyes. But she didn't move. Matt matched her—didn't knock, didn't walk in. He knew she was watching already... and he waited for her to move.

She straightened, forcing a gulp before she slapped the towel off her shoulder, folded it cleared her throat. Amita noticed. The mile-long stare, saying 'you better have a good reason,' aimed straight at Matthew. His tightened posture, as if he felt he wasn't supposed to be there, but came anyway. "Amita?" "Yeah, Y/N?" "I either walk back in with federal charges," Sunny muttered, leaving the counter. "Or won't come back. You got your keys?" "I'll lock up," Amita nodded, leaning in. "Get his ass." Matthew scoffed outside. As if he heard. What the fuck was that about?

The walk of shame toward the door felt endless. She didn't open it. Just stood on the other side of the glass, arms crossed, furrow on her face. Matt matched her again, step by step—he leaned toward the glass. "Can we talk?" He asked, muffled by the glass. Sunny scoffs bitterly, shaking her head. "You said everything." "...Not everything." She exhaled. Looked up at the ceiling like it might offer answers. Then she opened the door—just barely. Just enough to lean against the frame, keep a physical barrier between them. "Running off for a month with a saviour complex said the rest."

"C'mon, Sunny..." "Don't you—" She hissed, nearly slamming the door shut. "You lied. For months, and even made Foggy and Karen lie, too." "I was protecting you," Matt argued. "But God knows there is nothing I could keep away from you." "I didn't ask for protection, Matthew. I asked for you. And I didn't even ask that much... or did I?" Sunny snarled, her eyes darting across his face. His jaw shifted, like her accusation stung—because it did.

"I didn't know how. If you noticed, I'm not too good with keeping people in." Murdock whispered, leaning a bit closer. His eyes closed, lips trembling slightly—he was, again, listening for something. Counting. "You knew how to flirt. Knew how to behave to keep me around. Knew how to touch me like you'd memorized every inch of me before you ever laid a hand on me," Sunny spat like a professional rapper. "Not good with people? Hypocrite much?"

Silence. His brows furrowed—he couldn't come back with anything. Sunny was dead on. Relentless. Pissed off. Hurt. Turning him on. His lips opened and closed of their own volition.

"So you know how to make me feel like I'm wanted, but not how to make me stay?" She asked, full-on rhetorical. "That's what you said to Claire to keep her at arm's length? To Karen? That's what you're here to say to me?" She stepped just enough to let the door fall shut behind her, standing close now, toe-to-toe. Fierceness, no-bullshit attitude, just like Matt loved her. He felt her scent at the back of his nose. Her pulse raced through her body. Her heart beat like a drum. Her fingers trembled—either from the cold or the urge to hit him... and God knew Matt would've let her.

"Don’t act like you’ve been a saint in all this. You think I ran? You’ve been pushing and pulling for over a year. That's fucking rich." Matt hissed back, finally fending for himself. "When I wanted you—on that fucking couch—you pulled away. Then you asked me if I still think about it. You fell asleep next to me... and trust me, I realized how little remained for you to climb on top of me, Sunny. When I was half-dead. You went to Claire. Not me. Then didn't even bother texting or calling. You like the push-and-pull. And you keep on coming for a second round. So maybe stop pretending it’s just me." Sunny fell silent, staring him down, her lips parted. Matthew didn't realize he'd closed the gap while talking, that her chest was heaving, bumping into his. He could feel the warmth of her nose and breath on his face. Each slight twitch and tilt of her head was torturous.

"And you think you're the only one who bleeds? Come the fuck on, Matt. Wake up." She whispered after a beat of silence, standing her ground. "Do you think you're the only person in New York who struggles with intimacy? With keeping people in? Wake up." His throat bobbed. "This was never about hurting you, Sunny." "Except you did. Oopsie, am I right? You still do. Each time you disappear and show up like this, you look at me like I'm the reason you can't breathe, and then disappear when I reach for you." She scoffed, stepping aside. "So. Why are you here? To blame me? To taunt me? To remind me of your martyr status or your exclusive pussy club? Or..."

"I’m here because I miss you, alright? Because I couldn’t sleep. Because the silence nearly killed me. Because food doesn't taste the same!" Matthew exclaimed before she could hit another rhetorical right hook. He ran a hand through his hair, voice raw now, "I’ve been living with your ghost—with your laughter in my walls, your heartbeat in my ears, and your smell on my sheets. You have no idea what that's like." "I don't?—" Sunny cackled, loud and rich. Just once to let his blood curl. Her mouth twitched like she might've had something else to say—but she didn't. Just gave him a nod. Slow. Firm. The kind that closes a door without slamming it. "Can't believe I waited for a month for you to accuse me of... Just go."

And she walked back inside, leaving him standing in the snowy afternoon. Except this time, Matthew doesn't leave. The bell jingled twice as he followed her inside, not asking for permission. Like he owned the place, damn side walk and the five feet of space between them.

"We're not doing this again. You don't get the walk away just because it's inconvenient for you, not this time," his voice regained its typical raspiness and vibrato. "So let’s stop pretending. Let’s either end this now, or end up in bed. I’m tired, Sunny. I’m tired of us doing this dance and calling it anything else. I'm tired of our shit, Sunny." Lindsey nearly choked on her hot chocolate, and she rushed to cover her daughter's ears. Amita's eyes snapped toward them. The café fell silent as Y/N straightened and stretched her neck. Then, she turned around. Slowly. Menacingly.

"I walked away?!" She full-on, no warning ahead screamed into his face. "You were incapacitated on your couch with another woman nursing you back to life—whom you also fucked might I add—while calling my name!" Silence. The café was dead silent. 'Fuck me sideways,' Amita muttered, already typing into the barista group chat. "She saved it," he muttered. Like that explained everything. "And I was a convenient body to warm your bed between shifts?" Sunny bounced the metaphorical ball right back, nodding sweetly. Except it was rotten to the core. "Got it, Matty. Understood." "God, you are so stubborn—" "Me? Stubborn? Rich, coming from you!" Now, she was pointing at Matt, hands and lips trembling—her body couldn't decide whether to cry or to slap him. "Who's the one who lied about everything? About who they are? And, then, listen to this," she actually looked around the café, rising both her fingers, "he has the fucking audacity to look heartbroken when I gound out? Let alone that little, petty, month-lasting hiatus you pulled."

"I didn't lie about a thing," that, sadly, was true. Matt couldn't lie under the pretense that Sunny never really asked. "You didn't tell me either." Immediate shutdown. Sunny was shouting again, having even the tourists outside watching. Frankly? She couldn't care less. "I wanted you. Not the fucking lawyer who turns everything into arguments and defense. Not even the fucking... whatever is that you do in your free time. Not the martyr. I wanted you. And each time I thought I had a piece of that—every time—I lost it."

Instead of pulling away after being called out, for the first time ever, Matthew took a step toward Sunny. "You know why?" "Enlighten me." Sunny quipped back. "Because that piece? The one you're yammering about? I never gave it to you. You took it." He smiled. It wasn't ironic or biting. It was a full-on, wide, Matt Murdock smile. Then one that lit his expression up. "Foggy just... forced you into my life, then you handed me god-awful coffee, game shit for weeks and I knew I was done. You have no idea what it was like—how it felt—to walk in here and just listen to you, knowing I can't touch. Day after day, month after month. Just pretending I'm content with what we had." Y/N scoffed flatly, her hands on her hips. "Let me take a guess? It felt like nothing." "It felt like coming home," that shut her up for a beat. Just a half though. She was feisty, just like he liked it.

"Except I'm not home, Matt," she muttered bitterly. "Not to you, not to Foggy, barely to myself. I'm a stopover. I make noise. I make jokes. I make coffee. And then? I get left. And I'm fine—" "Bullshit," he retorted, fast and sharp. Cut through her defense like a knife. "You're not a stopover. You're the only fucking thing I ever kept coming for." "Then why did you leave?" She muttered. Matt flinched, his jaw clenching. Sunny wasn't asking about just now—she meant each time he left. Repeatedly. "Because I thought you didn't want me," he answered honestly. "Because you said you don't want me." "But I do want you. Of course I do!" She shrieked from the bottom of her lungs, gasping for air. "But I'm not good enough for you, and you know that!"

The entire café stiffened as everyone inside—and outside—watched the two. Matthew stared at Sunny, stunned, his mouth open. His senses were dialed to a hundred as he perceived her. She was blinking erratically, the weight of her atonement heavy on her shoulders. The hot tears on her cheeks, the panicked breaths, fidgeting of fingers. All the shit she'd ever inertnalized, every demon that'd ever haunted her... Matt could see it all if he wanted. And he did.

"You think you're not good enough for me?" Matt laughed, but he wasn't amused. He was wrecked, her low self-esteem hitting him like a truck. He stepped closer, voice lower and softer now, breath warm against her cheek. "You're everything a fool like me could ask for, Sunny. Every second I've spent pretending otherwise was just me—being a goddamn coward." "I run a café," she hiccuped, hollow. "No, you own it, there's a difference," Matt grinned, voice cracking. "You make people feel seen. You remember orders, and stories, and heartbreaks. You watch kids grow and celebrate milestones with others. You give people a safe place to be." She was shaking, lips parted, eyes glassy with fury... and something else. "You're making me feel like I matter. And I hate you for that." "You matter more than anyone," Matt whispered softly, his nose bumping into her forehead before he planted a quick peck on the crown of her head.

A siren wailed in the distance. Someone whistled from across the street. "Go get a room!" Someone screamed across the street, but neither of them moved. His palm carefully played with her hair, his nose buried in her hair where her scent was the most instance. Sunny didn't even attempt to embrace him back. In fact, her body was tense.

"So. Now, that we're done..." Matthew whispered directly into her ear. "What's the verdict?" "Of?" She scoffed, ironic. "What would it be? The bed or the end?" He muttered, voice raspy, cracking at the utterly inappropriate images flashing inside his head. "I haven't even..." Sunny pushed him off herself, taking off the apron. She stretched her palm toward Amita, who handed her her coat and essentials, wishing Y/N a nice evening. "Can you at least let me digest this shit?" "Are you serious, Sunny? Running away? Again?" Matt followed right in her steps, outside the café like a shadow, mirroring her steps and tempo. "Right after I had the whole speech about this being it?" "You put me on an emotional fucking whirlwind, Matthew," she hissed, not even looking at him as she fixed her scarf. "That shit I've screamed at you? I've never admitted to anyone. And I yelled it in a café full of people."

"I figured you might not be the one to openly share your feelings," Matt mused. They were slowly setting back into a certain rhythm, one that wasn't as alien or hostile. "You'd hate group therapy." Y/N was running home to hide before the world, and Matt followed. She wasn't pushing him away, didn't send him to the furthest ends of hell. That was a victory in Matt's book, albeit minuscule.

"Jokes? Really? Now?" She grimaced. They stopped at the crosswalk, next to each other, watching the city move on without them. The snow kept falling, sticking to the ground. "Also, bullshit. You're talking like you've been to one. You'd never get therapy." "Touché," Matt chuckled, feeling as she warmed up. Her voice was fuller, melodic again. "Just for the record, if I did therapy," she started, crossing the crossroads. Her elbow, by muscle memory, bumped into Matthew's palm. Another green light. His fingers grasped for the coat as if he were drowning. "...It'd be solo. One-on-one. No audience. No. There wouldn't be Matthew Murdock, watching me spiral." "That's a shame," Matt muttered, half-smiling. The moment they stepped back on the sidewalk? Sunny shook his hand off. Violently. As if he were burning through the material of her coat. "I'd bring popcorn."

"You’re not letting go, are you?" She stopped all of a sudden, staring at him. "You're serious." "Dead serious," he nodded. "I can’t believe I dumped all that in front of Amita like a goddamn live mic..." "Deflecting much?" Matt muttered, tilting his head. "What?" "Keep at it and you might believe it's true... one day," he continued as if it was obvious. Y/N straightened up, sending him a confused frown. "Your mind is racing. With you and me, inside your shoebox apartment. You've already nudged the door open and your brain can't catch up to speed," Matt hummed, stepping close—he inhaled deeply, humming. Sunny stared at him for a beat too long, her breathing shallow. It wasn't a surrender, but not a retreat either. Her throat bobbed before she cleared her throat.

"You don't know what you're asking about, Matt." She stepped a bit closer, her body shaking. She constantly shifted weight from one for to another, debating a retreat. "Stop pretending you got me to read like a book." "The problem is I do," Matt's head tilted slightly—in the way it always did when he was about to corner someone. His voice dipped low, circling with something dark and certain. "I know what you sound like when you lie, Sunny." She blinked, stunned.

"Your breath hitches. You talk faster, spew whatever comes to mind—like you're trying to outrun the lie while digging a deeper hole. Your shoulders tense up and you shift your weight to the left... just like now. You clench your jaw and raise your chin. Every single fucking time." Matt had never had her speechless like this. Her eyes fell down to watch her body moving, and Matthew... he was right. On all accounts. Without seeing her. She just stared... so Matt kept going. "I know what your heartbeat does when I'm close. What your scent does when you're angry at me but still... famished. I know the difference between your laugh when you mean it, and the one you use to push me away."

He slipped his palms into his pockets, all his senses clinging to her. Tourists and others passed around them. Some grumbled. Some didn't pay any attention. And Sunny stood there, unable to argue back. She felt stripped bare. Matthew took a step forward. He wasn't close to touch. Just close enough to haunt.

"So when you insist you don't want me the way I want you?" His voice dropped into a raspy, broken whisper that sent a chill down her spine. "I know you're lying before you even finish the fucking sentence. And God help me, Sunny, but every time you lie like that—I want to tear the truth out of you with my mouth... and imagine how you'd sound while I'd be doing it." "Get out of my head," she mustered. But her voice lacked conviction. Like he was already in, and hated it. "You don’t get to know me like that."

"You think I don't?" Matthew pranced, clearly running a victory lap. The words were measured. Calm. Final. Thought through. "You think I couldn't tell what I was doing to you? When you first laid eyes on me? I wondered how close you are to squirming." She flinches like he struck her, and Matt takes it as another opportunity to step closer. "I could hear your pulse shift every time I leaned in. I could smell it on your skin, taste it in the air—that you're close to coming undone just by walking around me. It had me imagine what'd happen if I touched you in that moment. I felt your body betraying every word coming out of your mouth."

Her breath hitched, indicating a comeback. So he shook his head and clicked his tongue. That shut her down again. He was quiet and dangerously honest. "The whole 'We're not doing this' act? Cute. Real cute. If I kissed you again, you'd forget you ever pulled back. You said 'it's nothing' like I've imagined things. But you'd tense and tilt your chin. Your lips would part—just a little. And your heart—God, your fucking heart—it raced like it was trying to outrun the lie."

"Y-you're imagining things," Sunny whispered, gasping for air. Her body vibrated, practically begged for Matt to just touch it already. But he wasn't doing it until she'd say the words. He wanted her as a whole. "No. I'm blind, not oblivious. That's the thing about me—you lie with your words, but I get the truth anyway. I always do." He scoffed, turning his head away. "You think it didn't kill me? Having you close, pretending we're nothing, while every inch of you begged me to close the space?" "Don't." She begged, meek and soft. "You’re not being fair." "Every time I touched your wrist passing a mug, your breath would hitch. You'd stand still a second too long. Your fingers would curl in, like you were trying to hold yourself back. For your good conscience. For Foggy and Karen. I didn't have to guess. I didn't have to see. I could feel it." Matt, gaining, inhaled deeply, tilting his head. Oh, Sunny realized. That's what he was doing. While he breathed weirdly. "I can feel it now, Sunny. Right here. Like you’re trying not to fall apart. I can smell it, like you're doing your damndest not to come undone. Hear it. Taste it... And all I’ve done is talk. Ran my fucking mouth. But it should be somewhere else."

"So what? You just... just let it happen? Sat like a good boy with hands on your knees and what? Tasted me? From the fucking air? Because I walked by?" She scoffed, shaking her head. "Do you even hear yourself? You sound insane." "No," Matt admitted flatly. "I suffered every second of it." That stopped Sunny again. Matt's voice shook, dropping even lower. Like he was grasping on remnants of his will not to pounce on her. "I went home, each second of it carved into me. Every smell. Every tremble. Every quiver. Every clench of thighs. Each time you scooped on your chair and cleared your throat, looking away."

They fell silent, the world moving past. It was too quiet. Too raw. "It drove me insane. You drove inane. And I let it happen, because I'd rather have a piece of you than nothing at all," he admitted softly. "Because you refused to betray Foggy. Because you wanted to believe Karen's the perfect match for me. Because you prayed that it'd go away one day." He sniffled like he hated himself for admitting, "But it didn’t. And it won’t. Not for me. Not when it's you."

Sunny was frozen. Breathing hard. Tearing up. All of her walls were down. All that remained was Matthew in front of her, admitting something deep which neither truly grasped. Mo one’s ever said anything like that to her before, not like this. Not from a place of such damning, brutal clarity.

"And if you want to keep pretending this was one-sided—if you want to say you don’t feel it right now—then go ahead," Matt straightened again, bracing before her final words. "But I know what I’m doing to you. Because you do the exact same thing to me. And there's not much control left in me. You're my garrotor, jury, and judge."

"I'm not saying it didn't mean something..." Sunny retorted, backing away. Her voice was shaky but defiant. There was still fight left in her... Matt'd be surprised if there wasn't. "I'm saying you don't get to do this, not to me and not like this." "Do what?" Matt murmured. "Be right? Finally admitting to it aloud?" "Be smug about it," she snapped, turning on her heel, storming down the sidewalk. Matt, again, fell in step beside like they were out for a stroll, like she didn't just crack her rib cage open in public.

"You don't realize how unfair this fucking is. You have all these cheat codes. Hearing shit, smelling stuff, feeling things. That's just—" "What, an evolutionary advantage? I'm already blind, Y/N. I need to catch up in other areas." "It's like you read me, you dick—" She spat. "Like I don't get a single secret in this city." "Only when I'm interested and listening." Matt hummed. "Things got a range, too, you see?" "Which is always, you nosy prick." Sunny retorted. "...I do enjoy a good audiobook."

"You're enjoying this," Y/N fumed without turning. "Immensely." Matt nodded, a pleased smile on his lips. "I should leave you in a ditch next time." "We both know you won't, Sunny." She spun around, throwing her hands into the air. "And how the hell do you know what I won't do? Are you a psychic, too?" "Because you could've done so before, and you chose not to," Matt barked, matching her energy. "Even after you found out who I really am. Even after you watched me bleed all over my couch and ruined your night." "I should've smothered you with a fucking pillow," she groaned, more to herself than her.

"Mhm. Feisty." "Oh, don't you fucking dare doing that." Y/N hissed over her shoulder. "Do what now?" Matt teased, faux innocent. "Feisty. Like I'm some challenge for you to win. I'm not a prize, Matthew." "Never said you were," Matt retorted. "You're just impossible to walk away from." "Bull-fucking-shit." "Why else am I walking next to you instead of limping away from Claire's?" He hit a nerve with that one. Sunny faltered, and Matt clocked it—the stutter in her step. "You don't get to spin this into some flirtation. This isn't cute." "No, you're right. It's real. And it's driving you insane."

She scoffed so hard she nearly tripped over a cracked sidewalk. They've arrived at her tenement now, her keys clutched in one trembling hand, body radiating 'don't you dare follow me inside' while her other hand still reached back to ensure he was there. Matt stepped in close—too close. The air between them crackled with static. "Give me one good fucking reason why we're still yapping here instead of standing in your bedroom, ensuring you don't have a damn article of clothing on?" Sunny choked on air. "Jesus, Matt—" "You want honesty?" It was just a whisper, eerily calm, disrupted only by the passing train. "You're not the only one who's been suffering. But I'm done with play pretend. You want me? Then stop running. Let me in. Let me have you."

"What if it's just physical? What if it doesn't work out?" She whispered back. "What if you won't want me after you conquer me? Will I just be another name on some mental checklist? Another notch in the belt of whatever fucked-up thing you call intimacy? I don't want to lose myself." "You won't, I promise," Matt smirked, his palms shooting up to her jaw to caress it, his forehead leaning to hers. "I've already done the losing part for both of us. But if you want to keep yourself safe, pretending your hands weren't shaking, putting those keys in... I'll walk away. I'll be your good soldier. Just say the words." But she remained silent. Her eyes were closed. She was thinking, contemplating.

"I can hear your heartbeat. You're thinking about it." "I don't want to think about it," she winced. "But you are. Every second we're standing here," Matthew cooed, letting his finger numb on the warmth and feel of her skin. "Let that breath out, the one your body's holding. You're aching, and it's killing me that you don't allow me to give you what you want. Each of your nerves is on fire." "I don't trust myself with you," she murmurs, barely above a whisper. "Good. You shouldn't," Matt admits earnestly. He knows himself, seen himself operate. She was right for still keeping the red light on. "Because I'll ruin every rule you have if you let me, Y/N. I'll peel you down to bone and worship what's underneath. We're allowed to want this." "Matt..." "Then say it. Get it out. Tell me to leave and I'm gone. Say it like you mean it, not like you're hoping I call your bluff. Because I will. I'll walk away. But if you don't... if you won't say it, then I'm not taking a goddamn step away from you." Her eyes met his. She was crying, and he could feel it. He smeared tears with his fingers, shooing them away. Her throat worked as she swallowed, her lips trembling. "Your mouth says no. But baby... everything else on you is begging." "Are you bluffing?" She hated how close he was. How safe it felt. "I've never been more serious about anything in my life."

It came without a warning. None of her physical reactions indicated the split-second decision. Her keys jingled to the ground, and her purse followed suit. Her hands in his coat, in his hair, mouth crashing like she was starving and he was the first breath of oxygen. She surged into him, toes barely hitting the sidewalk as she collided with his chest. The kiss was open-mouthed and messy at first—an ugly bump of noses, her hair in his mouth, her teeth pinching his lip. Matt winced from the jolt of pain, letting it travel down his spine before embracing her. His palms settled on her hips, feeling the friction of her body against his—it burned so fucking right. He couldn't help it and groaned... like he'd wasted a lifetime waiting for this.

Because in a way, he had.

The door of her apartment clicked shut behind them. Sunny cried and laughed the entire time she led him up the stairs. Her breath was unsteady, and she stumbled multiple times. Matt found it endearing. But when she led him inside her shoebox apartment... he just stood there. Still. Frozen. Because... fuck.

The door closed behind him, and it felt like submersion. He didn’t step inside—he sank. Sunny's scent hit him first. Her. Just her. All around him. Suffocating him. So thick he swayed, one palm catching the wall to keep him upright. The place smelled like vanilla and citrus, and the ghost of whatever lotion she used now. The sun-warmed sheets, thanks to how her bed was positioned directly under the fire escape, something sweet on the counter, her shampoo in the bathroom, and the hall. And her again. Unmistakable. Undefinable. Her. All over the sheets, the couch, the bed, in the fabric of her clothes... Just her, so intense he wouldn't dream of it.

His lips parted as he gasped for air, but each breath just tore the remnants of his will. It wasn't one smell. It was a map. A fucking universe. And he was locked away for so long it hurt. "Jesus Christ..." Matt muttered, barely audible. He didn’t mean to say it. Didn��t mean to fall to pieces standing in her doorway, already undone before she ever touched him.

He sensed her tossing her coat over a chair, taking off her boots like nothing was different, like this wasn't the moment he'd gone mad over. Matt didn't follow. Not right away. He couldn't. Because her apartment was so loud to him. Not in noise... no. In feeling. In the hum of her absence, where she just stood. In the quiet beat of her heart down the hall. The scent of her skin soaked into every inch of this place. It was unbearable.

It was heaven.

It was warm. Lived in. A couch with a throw blanket she never folded. A record player with dust on the speakers. Books were stacked in corners like she was halfway through all of them. He could smell the paper, the glue holding the paperbacks together. And that smell. God. It was in the walls around him. It was in him now.

Matt let out a slow, controlled breath. He's been in fights that felt less overwhelming.

"Are you okay?" She muttered, a grin clearly audible in how she said it. "Coming in or planning to pass out by the door?" "Trying to decide if I'm even awake." She stopped and scoffed, turned around to say something snarky—but the look on his face made her pause. He looked wrecked. And she hadn't even touched him yet. "... Matt?" She muttered softly, warmly, her steps leading her closer. Her fingertips tug on his glasses and cap, setting them down on the table. "Here you go. Give me this... take your time."

He moved, finally. It was deliberate—like he worried the place might vanish if he moved too fast. The tips of his fingers traced the curve of her ass before he tapped onto the wall, moving forward, slowly and methodically. He traced the back of her chair. Trailed along the kitchen counter. The edge of the wall. Memorizing it. Mapping her life.

He was inside her home. In her space. In her.

Sunny moved around carefully and silently, following and watching. She was smiling. Matt felt that. His ears caught the sound of her heartbeat. The incoming train, the track vibrating in the distance. The snowstorm outside was picking up. The radiators were buzzing, the steam moving through them. Matt followed around, his head tilting and turning, to where she stood. Bare feet on the hardwood, her weight shifting like she was trying to pretend this wasn't seismic.

He reached for her. Found her hand. Tugged on his and made her giggle breathlessly. When she didn't pull away, he brought it to his mouth and kissed her palm. A silent thank you. A quiet worship. He felt it. The jolt running through her. The clench of her thighs. The hitch in her breathing. Then, he pressed the palm to her face, running her fingers across his cheek, jaw, and mouth. She pressed her fingertips into his skin with childlike fascination.

"You don't know what this is doing to me." His voice was low, hoarse—so unlike him, he couldn’t recall when he’d ever been this desperate for a woman’s touch... if he ever was. "Then tell me." She whispered back. And he wanted. But couldn't. Not with words. But he could show her.

His hands reached for Y/N's waist—finally, finally—and he drew her in like he was breathing her for the first time. And in a way, he was. Her heartbeat stuttered when he dipped his head, nose grazing her neck. Her head tilted instinctively, her fingers grasping the hair on his neck. He groaned. Like a man shot through. Because her scent was right there, clinging to her skin. Coming from there. And this close, Matthew was utterly undone.

"You smell like heaven..." He murmured into her throat, pressing an open-mouthed kiss right where her pulse palpitated. "And bad ideas." She laughed, breathless. "You're the one to talk." But Matt? He shivered. His palms shook when he skimmed the hem of her shirt, unsure where to start and what to savor first. He wanted all of it. But his senses were on fire—every square inch of her body screaming at him. Warmth. Pulse. Need.

And he could hear it. In how she breathed. In how she shifted closer. In how her asking warmed his hands as he moved higher and higher... And then, the shirt was off. Matt just stood there. His hands hovered, breathing raggedly. He was starving. Famished.

"You're gonna break me," he winced. She smiled, pulling him closer. "Then break."

And he did. They haven't even made it to the bed. Not fully. Matt was half-undressed, t-shirt off, belt unbuckled, Sunny's thigh hooked around his waist as he pressed her back against the door. Her fingers roamed through his hair, her lips sucking on the soft skin on her collarbone. Everything was heat, chaos, and reckless want... Until he forced himself to stop, pressing his forehead to hers. His chest heaved. His heart was too loud and fast. He looked pained, gasping for air. Feral. Like he was trying not to come apart at the seams.

"What are you doing to me?" He stutters, voice rough, strangled. Y/N blinked. Furrowed and tried reading him, pulling away... his body followed immediately. "Too much?" He laughed—sharp and desperate. "You... you don't get it."

Matt's hands trembled where he cupped her hips. He pulled back a fraction, just enough to look at her—even if he couldn't see her. He felt her. And then it broke. The dam. He started talking. Low and unfiltered.

"Your heart's been pounding since I stepped through the door. I can—can hear it in your throat, in your wrists, in your chest—like a fucking drum. And every time you breathe, I smell you. You changed shampoos. From tangerines to vanilla and something—peach?" He guessed. Sunny choked a laugh. "Apricot, actually." "It's all over your pillow. All over me now. I can taste it on my tongue. You moved your leg just now. The air shifted—I felt it. I heard how the fabric on your jeans rubs against your thighs. How your bra scratched your skin."

Matt leaned back in, his lips brushing her cheekbone. "And I'm hard as a fucking rock just from the sound of your mouth parting." Sunny shuddered, pressing her thighs together in search of a bit of release—but Matt wasn't done. "You keep saying you're nothing special. You have no idea. Just the way you move? I've been memorizing it for a year. The tilt of your hips when you walk. How you always prop your ass up. Like you want me to see it... and slap, knead, kiss, and worship it. You don't have to touch me. I can feel what you want." He exhaled, near trembling.

"I’ve had to walk out of that café more times than I’m proud of… just to keep myself from doing something I couldn’t take back. But I carried you with me—your laughter, scent... and it drove me insane. Especially when I felt it in the courtroom," he whispered, clearly not proud of himself. "Made me feel like I could tear any defence apart." And then, he pulled her back in, voice nearly breaking. "Before I can... Before we... Before I'm inside you, I need you to understand what you're doing to me. Because if I touch you now, really touch you, I'm not stopping. I won't want to stop."

And for once, Sunny didn't deflect. She didn't tease him as she ran her fingertips across his temple, idly moving strands of hair out of his eyes. Because she could see it. How overwhelmed Matthew was. How fragile his control had become. How close to falling apart he actually was. And it wasn't just lust. It was everything.

"Then don't, Matt," she whispered softly. The sound of his name falling off her lips in this way and setting had him scoff with desire. "Don't stop." He exhaled like he'd been hit. Pressed his mouth to hers—slower this time. Reverence, yes, but a hunger behind it. Like he was tasting the answer to the question he dreaded asking… and yet, he couldn’t stop himself now.

It was hungry, consuming. The kind of kiss you feel days later, when no one's looking. The kind of kiss that makes you forget your name, let alone whatever excuses you had for pushing it away in the first place. His hands moved with purpose. Not frantic, not clumsy. Matt knew Y/N like the back of his hand. He suspected what made her tilt her head like that, what made her fingers curl in his hair, and lips on a soft, involuntary noise that shoots straight to his gut. It made him groan. That, in return, flashed heat between her legs, making her moan. What a fucking mess they were.

They, finally, fell into her bed. The wind howled outside, like it couldn’t decide whether to scream or freeze them in time. Snow and ice drummed against the window, matching the frantic pulse of his heart as her legs wrapped around him instinctively. But he stopped. Didn't press forward—just felt how her hands were above her head, her breasts slipping out of her bra. He just... breathed. Took it in. As before, he nuzzled the underside of her jaw. Breathed against her pulse point. Rocked himself against her lap, making her back arch. His voice came out wrecked.

"How can you be fucking everywhere?" He paused, breathing against her pulse point, like he could feel every beat of her heart against his lips. His fingers lingered at her throat, a feather-light touch, dragging down with agonizing slowness. He could feel the heat of her skin seeping into his fingers even before he made contact… and then he did, tracing the valley between her breasts, feeling the way her chest rose sharply with every breath she took. His voice was tight, forced through a strangled groan, "Jesus... your skin. It's hot. So hot. I can feel your heat before I touch you." Sunny just watched, arched her back, breathing loudly... waiting. Her eyes were blown wide, hips buckling. She tried her best not to move, to give Matt the space he needed. But she physically couldn't stay still.

Her chest heaved, the need inside her building with every brush of his skin. She tried to hold back, but it was getting harder. She wasn’t used to waiting—not like this. She could feel the heat of him pressed against her, the tension between them making her body ache with want. But still, she tried to hold off, giving him space—because if she didn’t, she might not have the strength to stop him, or herself.

"I've imagined this... a hundred different ways. More than that. I've fucked my hand to the sound of your voice in my head and still didn't come as hard as I will inside you," he muttered, reverent, confessing. She whined when he palmed her crotch through the jeans. She winced once, biting it back as if she regretted satisfying him. His lips curled into a dangerous smile. He heard it. "There it is." His palm moved, squeezed her, copying the lazy sways of her hips. "You're a real smug son of a bitch, you know that?" "You're just mad we waited until now, Sunny." "You didn't wait," she scoffed, eliciting a sensational moan as she swayed against his palm again. "You chickened out." "Oh, honey." Matt scoffed, slow, controlled. "You’re trying so hard to behave, aren’t you?" he murmured, voice thick with hunger. "But I can feel how much you want it. Every breath you take, each time your hips move without permission... It's all written on your skin. And I see it."

He propped one arm next to her head, one knee between her thighs, hovering just above her. His senses were roaring. Her skin burned beneath his palms, her breath hitched unevenly against his chest. The scent of her arousal soaked the air—sweet, heady, impossible to ignore. Her pulse was frantic, a staccato drum beneath soft, overheated skin. She moved slowly, intentionally, propping herself on her elbow to kiss him. Her mouth was hot and clumsy with need. Her hand slid down, unfastening the button of her jeans, guiding his fingers under the fabric The moment he touched her, she shuddered—a sharp inhale through her teeth, her body arching helplessly. "Fuck," he breathed, practically purred into her mouth, a guttural sound catching in his throat.

His fingers slid through slick heat, and his brain short-circuited.

"Oh my God…" he muttered against her ear, forehead falling to hers. He smirked. That smug mothefucker smirked. "You’re soaked, Sunny." His breath hitched. He pulled back just enough to drag his lips along her jaw, intoxicated. "I knew you were dripping," he groaned, his voice low, reverent. "But this?" He kissed her neck, just under her jaw, right where her pulse was hammering. "Your scent. That fucking taste... It’s amazing." A pause. A breath. A smirk. "...It’s all over you now. Hovering in the air." He nearly didn't finish the sentence. Could barely think at all.

She whimpered into his mouth, trembling. Her jeans were still half-on, digging into her thighs, but she didn’t care. Neither did he. The only thing that mattered was his hand between her legs and the way her hips rolled shamelessly into it.

He moved with practiced precision—slow, reverent strokes designed to undo her. He'd done it a thousand times—with different women, at different places, under different circumstances. But any of it mattered until that night. Matt was watching Sunny fall apart in high definition. Fucking finally, long overdue. He felt each twitch of her lips, every catch in her breath, every flutter of her lashes. She was trying not to fall, and failing beautifully.

He felt her. Everywhere. Not just under his fingers, soaked and grinding, not just in the way her moans spilled into his mouth like confession, but everywhere. Her breath ghosted against his cheek—hot, trembling, and uneven. Her heartbeat thundered, syncing with the pulse between her thighs. The little gasp she made when he curled his fingers just right? He’d chase that sound like a song stuck in his head for the rest of his life. "Matt—" she whimpered, voice barely hanging on. "Shh," he whispered, kissing her jaw, the corner of her lips, her throat. "I know. I know, sweetheart." He wasn’t teasing her, not like usual. This was deeper. Slower. Cruel in its tenderness.

She was writhing under him now—knees falling open, jeans shoved halfway down her calves, breath stuttering like her body was short-circuiting. Matt was grinning. Fucking grinning. He kissed her—messy, slow, obscene—and said, against her lips, "Jesus," he scoffed. "You’re not even trying to be quiet anymore." Her only answer was a moan—thick, guttural, throatier than it should’ve been—and the way her hips bucked into his palm, desperate for more. "That smug mouth of yours," she gasped, hips rocking up. "You talk too much, Matt." "You love it," he growled back

He played with her like a new Christmas toy—the kind he’d begged for all year and finally got to unwrap. Testing what made her squeak. What made her sob. What made her gush.

And she both hated and loved him for it.

"Matt... I'm gonna," she whispered, and Matt smiled against her jaw. "I'm gonna..." He slowed down, making her huff. "You will," he murmured, promising. "You’ve waited this long, sweetheart, and you can wait a bit longer. I wanted to fuck you into the mattress the second you showed up with that cheap apron and smartass mouth." She sucked in a breath, feeling his fingers slipping under her panties. Sunny didn't deny it, just nodded frantically, biting her bottom lip. She was hot. Sticky. Soft. Tasted like honey. He could taste it.

"I wanted you then. I want you now. I've always fucking wanted you." He pulled just enough to speak directly over her mouth. "So try giving me one good reason why I'm not inside you yet... why I wasn't a year ago?" His fingers slipped inside her, moving slowly. So achingly slow it had her mouth open agape, her face turning to him. Her hips pressed against his hand in a deliciously torturous rhythm. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. He waited, feeling her body trembling. The more it trembled, the more Matt smirked knowingly. "Didn't think so."

Her body gave the answer before her mouth did. The way her legs tightened around his waist. The way her nails dug into his shoulders. The way her breath hitched and her head tilted back, like she was already halfway gone.

He watched her face the whole time—because that’s what Matt did. He watched. Every stutter of her pulse, every ragged inhale, every time her lips parted like she might say something, only to get swallowed by sensation again. It was worship and ruin, wrapped into one.

"I hate you," she whispered, broken and breathless. "I hate how good this feels." He chuckled. "No, you don’t." "I do," she gasped, voice shaking as his fingers curled just right. "I hate that you knew exactly how to—" "You mean this?" he whispered, dragging his thumb just slightly higher, circling slowly, deliberately. She cried out. He caught the sound with his mouth, kissing her like he could pull it into his lungs.

"I could do this all night, Sunny," he murmured against her lips. "So unless you want me to make you come like this, with your jeans still halfway on and my fingers inside you, you better say it." She blinked up at him, dazed. "Say what?" His lips ghosted over hers. "Say you want me." "That some fucked up moral code'f yours?" She scoffed, biting on his lips lightly. "Ruining panties and pussies only after permission? A 'your daughter will be back by ten situation?'" Matthew laughed, genuinely amused. "Look at how talkative you are." His hand sped up, giving her a taste of heaven. She clenched around him. "I need to hear you say it. Please. I could’ve had you all this time," he muttered, forehead pressed to hers. "Don’t make me wait any longer."

Her breath hitched, the word please hitting her like a punch to the gut. Not because it was desperate, but because it wasn’t. Because it was controlled. Because he meant it. Because Matthew Murdock never asked for what he didn’t already know he could have.

And that made the 'please' feel like something else entirely. Like reverence. Like surrender. Like devotion.

Sunny's laugh cracked—barely a sound, more like a choked gasp—because how the hell was she supposed to be witty when his fingers moved like that? "Jesus, Matt, what makes you think I’ll let you?" she whispered, hips rolling hard against his hand now, her walls fluttering around his fingers. "You’re gonna make me say it?" "I’m making you feel it," he countered, lips against her neck, voice so low it rumbled right through her. She whined, eyes fluttering shut. Her head hit the pillow like she was giving up the last bit of control she had.

"...I want you," she whispered, too soft, barely a confession. He stilled. "What was that, honey?" Her eyes snapped open. She scowled, breathless and shaking, half-crazy from the denial and how close she was. "You smug little shit."

Matthew grinned—really grinned, wide and wicked—and kissed her like it was the last thing he'd ever do. His fingers moved, deeper this time, dragging her back toward the edge. "That’s not a no," he said smugly, and she moaned through clenched teeth. "No," she echoed, a gasp now. "It’s a fucking yes. Fuck me so hard I won't walk tomorrow. So hard that my neighbors come knocking. So hard that when you think about it in court, you'll have to stare at the judge, hard as a rock, unable to think about anything other than how I feel around you."

And just like that, he moved. Tore the rest of her jeans off like they’d offended him. Kissed down her body like he was praying. She took care of the rest of his clothes, hungrily palming and scratching each inch of him. And it felt heavenly. And when he finally pushed inside? When they both winced and curled? When she screamed his name like there wasn't another man on the planet? It was like everything in the world snapped into place.

She was still panting when he kissed her again. Just after coming apart. Was it her hand or his that rubbed her clit? Matt couldn't recall. She just remembered how she screamed. It echoed inside his ears. The kiss felt softer this time, like he didn’t want to scare the moment away. But his body betrayed him. Still hard inside her. Still twitching. She felt it. Of course she did.

"You're still..." she started, voice shredded and breathless. He'd just finished ruining her. It was a miracle the bed survived. He felt the grate falling off. The mattress was falling through. Her neighbour shuffled toward the wall right as he growled into her throat. He nearly snapped at them to mind their own fucking business. "...fuck, Matt."

He didn’t move. Just kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then lower. "I told you," he murmured, voice wrecked and sweet all at once. "I could do this all night." His hips rolled once, lazy and deep, and she gasped—body arching like she’d been shocked. "Oh my God—" "I know," he muttered. He didn’t mean her exclamation. He meant her. How hot she still was. How tight. How wet. How perfectly she fit around him, like this was what they were always meant for.

He pulled out—just enough to drag the head of his cock against her, slick with her, teasing her—and then pushed back in slow. Her nails dug into his shoulder. He grinned. "You’re sensitive," he noted, smug as ever. "Poor thing." "Don’t tease me," she warned, voice hoarse.

He thrust again—harder, deliberate, and her body jolted beneath him. "Who’s teasing?" he whispered. "Is this teasing? Teasing would be pulling out. Teasing would be stopping." Sunny moaned—bit into his neck like she wanted to shut him up and never stop hearing him at the same time. He fucked her slow, deep, endless. Hands on her hips. Her legs locked tight around his waist. Sweat collected between them.

Matt buried his face in her neck, breath ragged. She kept clenching like she didn’t want to let go of him. Like she didn’t want to wake up. God help him, he wanted to stay. "You feel like sin," he whispered, almost angry with how good it was. "Like heaven and hell got in a bar fight and I’m the loser." She laughed—high and breathless—and rolled her hips up to meet him, harder. "Shut up and lose, then." He growled. "Gladly."

Matt didn’t stop—of course he didn’t. He was already obsessed. Addicted. She clenched around him like her body wanted to keep him forever, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

"Oh, honey," he drawled, dragging his teeth against her collarbone. Another roll of his hips—deep, controlled, cruel. She gasped, clung to him like she was falling. He chuckled, low and wicked. Another thrust, this time slow enough to make her feel every inch. "Want me to stop?"

"Fuck no," she rasped, nails dragging down his back. "Don’t you dare." He groaned into her skin, lips brushing her ear as he whispered, "Then take it. Take all of it." And God, did she.

The rhythm he found was deeper now, steadier—not frantic, but possessive. Each movement grounded like a promise. Each drag of his cock meant to remind her. Who was inside her. Who knew her. Who would ruin her again, and again, and again. Her moans were louder now. She didn’t even try to hide them. Didn’t care about the neighbors. Didn’t care about the broken bed. All she cared about was him—his hands, his breath, the words rasped against her neck.

"You’re mine right now, Sunny," he muttered against her throat, almost in disbelief. "All mine." She nodded, eyes glazed, body giving in. "Yours," she breathed. "Yours, just yours, baby." Then, as she arched, she softly whispered, "Don’t stop. Not yet. You're doing so good for me." And that did it. Matt was lost, gone in an instant. He slammed into her, his control slipping just enough to make her cry out. He felt her tighten around him, helpless, her orgasm coming on again, fast and raw. One of her hands was in his hair, the other frantically working between her thighs.

"Come for me again," he whispered. "Right now, honey. Show me." And she did. Writhing under him, breath breaking into sobs of pleasure. She winced his name like it was salvation. And Matt—Matt didn’t stop. Not even as she fell apart.

It happened during one of his last, forceful thrusts—loud and sudden. The sharp CRACK of the headboard splitting sent them freezing for a heartbeat. Matt stilled, breath caught in his throat, his hand splayed wide on the mattress like he could hold the world steady if he had to. Sunny blinked up at him, wide-eyed and flushed, chest rising fast beneath him. "...Did we just—?"

Matt laughed, breathless and completely wrecked, his forehead falling to her shoulder. "That wasn't me," he muttered, even as his hips rolled again, slow and possessive. "That was you." She gasped, legs tightening around his waist. "You broke my bed, Matthew."

"No," he corrected, grinning against her skin. "We broke your bed." Another thrust, this one rough enough to knock the frame again. A loud thump followed. He didn’t even flinch this time. "I'll buy you a new one."

"You better," she moaned, voice thick, clinging to his back now, breathless and fucked-out. "Preferably one that can handle being fucked like this." He groaned, cock twitching inside her at the sound of it. "You keep talking like that, and I’ll break the floorboards next... or your kitchen table." "You’re a menace." "At your service." And just like that, the headboard gave another warning groan—half splintered already. Neither of them cared. Let it collapse. Let the whole fucking room fall apart. He just kept moving, kept whispering filth against her skin. And she kept coming back to life beneath him.

The world outside the bedroom didn’t exist in that moment. There was no Hell’s Kitchen, no responsibilities waiting to drag him back into the real world. It was just them. Just this.

Matt felt her fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on his back, her breath soft against his neck. He breathed it in like it was his last. The smell of her, the warmth of her skin against his, the rhythm of their hearts still tangled in the aftermath. He wanted to pull away, but he didn’t want to lose this moment. To lose her.

She felt so right, but that scared the hell out of him. Why was he letting this happen? But then she kissed his forehead, soft as a whisper, and all the thoughts scattered like they didn’t even matter. Maybe he was letting her in because, for the first time in his life, it felt like she wasn’t going to break him

They lay on the floor, atop the remnants of her collapsed bed. Sunny's embracing him, playing with his hair, kissing the crown of his head as if he hadn't ruined her pussy for the next few days. Overwhelmed and breathless, they were both staring at the ceiling. She was humming the rhythm he liked, but hadn't learned what song it was.

He didn’t recognize the tune. She was humming it so gently and softly. It sounded like a secret—not for him to hear. But she held him like she didn’t want to let go. Kissed the crown of his head like he hadn’t just ruined her. He didn’t recognize the tune… But he’d never forget it.

"What's that song?" She blinked. "What song?" "The one you hum when you think no one’s listening... the one you hummed just now." Matt breathed, tracing soft circles on her inner thigh. There was a long pause where she frowned and stilled for a second. "It’s just a song I used to cry to in college." There was a beat of silence and vulnerability. She gasped for air like it hurt. "I still cry to it sometimes, it's a banger." "You're not telling me, are you?" he murmured against her skin. "No," she answered, equally soft. "Not even if I promise to eat you out?" he half-joked, wanting to do it anyway. "Not sure if I should’ve said that… but I’d still do it." "I'm not to be bribed, Murdock." "Sorry." "No need to apologize. It’s all good." It was decided. It was her little secret. And Matt didn't press any further. "You're good."

Matt returned to the chaos inside him—his heart racing, his mind a tangled mess of emotions and urges he couldn't untangle. He was still drenched in her, and it didn’t feel real. He was here. In her arms, in her bed... and it felt like he was drowning in it. His control, everything he’d kept locked away, was slipping. He hated it. No, he loved it. Maybe he wanted it to slip... needed it to slip.

It was a year. A year of boundaries that had just… snapped. They were gone, dusted in the wind. Non-existent. She didn’t know. No one did. But he knew. The rawness of it, of her, felt dangerous.

Could he really just let this go? Just the idea of letting her walk out, slip through his fingers... It made something clench in his chest. What if they'd be back at square one by morning? What if this was just a temporary slip—a mistake that would make everything harder? What if she'd shut him out again, admitting to a momentary weakness, bringing it down to his blindness? Why was he even thinking about this? This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way.

He couldn’t stop replaying how she felt and responded to his touch. Her body was so warm and welcoming. Her hands pulled him deeper, as if she needed him to stay forever. How could he forget it? Would he even try to? It wasn’t just about the sex or about how she blew his mind. It was her. How she made him lose control. ...then held him in her arms like he wasn’t a man made of pieces that didn’t quite fit.

And he couldn’t get that out of his head.

Matt was stripped down to just his skin and her name on his tongue. Vulnerable and small in a beautiful, honest way. One that only came with post-sex clarity. But he was still famished. She begged him to slow down around forty minutes ago. ...deserved a bit of peace and rest. She was warm beneath him, too soft, too real. His mouth was everywhere—cheek, jaw, neck, shoulder, the space between her breasts, like he’s been dying of thirst and just now found water.

His voice was wrecked. "I still don't think you realize what you do to me." He wasn't trying to be poetic. It wasn't the ecstasy of a post-nut clarity either. He was being literal. "You made me feel the most of it," Sunny sighed contentedly, wriggling under him to find a better position on the broken bed. "But I got a feeling you're going to tell me." "Am I talking too much?" Matt hummed, scoffing, raising his head to hover over hers. She was smiling. Big and wide. Because of him. "I can shut up." "No," it was immediate, nearly panicked. "Don't you ever. Never again." "Want to hear it, then?" "Tell me." She muttered, giving him a quick peck before comfortably setting back down. Her fingers started gently scratching his back.

"It's funny... whenever you walk by, I taste you in the back of my throat. Every damn day. Coffee, burnt sugar, vanilla, and something... sun. That's you. Your shampoo. That vile lotion Foggy got you for Christmas," he chuckled, fully opening the gates into his world. "You rub it into your hands after closing, when your skin feels too dry from polishing the glasses." Y/N laughed. "...the one I pretend I'm not using?" "Yeah, that one. But I like it. And then, there's the sweat from when your machines break. The difference between an espresso and a double, latté and cappuccino. I can taste the raspberry tarts you've just finished baking lingering on my palate, while you're telling me it's banana bread." She scoffed in disbelief. "That's how you always knew? Even before Foggy realized? It's your... senses?" She wondered. "Guilty as charged. I smell it. Feel it. All of it. All the time." He's talking slowly and carefully, reverent and memorizing. His fingers traced her ribcage delicately.

"I get hard the second you start talking back or smack shit," he snorted, shaking his head with disbelief. Was he talking too much? Oversharing? Y/N fell silent... he definitely overstepped. "I hear your mouth and I... God, I feel in my spine." "I visited you in court once, with Karen," she admitted out of nowhere, stilling under him... smiling. "To hear you on defence. I nearly soaked the bench. It's nice hearing you feel the same." "I... didn't know that." "You weren't supposed to, dummy," she beamed, her chest shaking as she laughed. "I was mad at you back then." "Why?" "Because you called my playlist tacky," she explained. "Said, and I quote, that I'm making the entirety of New York's sightless community suffer." "Was that when you played Panic at the Disco?" "Yup." "I was fucking with you." "... you looked so gorgeous," she whispered, gently tousling his hair. That shut him up. "Tailored suit, burgundy shirt, black tie. I remember the angle of the sun—it reflected off your glasses. You walked around like you owned the place and sounded too smart... the only guy I wanted to dick me down in a court room was Gabriel Macht. Until I saw you in action." "Who's Gabriel Macht?" Matt wondered, genuinely amused. "He played Harvey Spencer in Suits? Fucking icon?" "Ah. So, I’ve got competition." "You better step up your game. I was seventeen back then, and he swept me off my feet. "Jesus." He leaned down, brushing his nose against hers. "You remember all that?" "Like it was yesterday."

"And then you laugh..." Matt continued, smiling into her lips. "And I can see it. Like stars twinkling in the darkness around me. I can fucking see you." "That sounds... nice." "More than you imagine. It's relieving. And... I can feel your heartbeat—here," he leaned down, kissing the space under her ribs. "Here." Her inner thigh. "Here." His lips brush above her, making her shudder from how overstimulated she was. "You had no idea how much I've wanted to ruin you." "Oh," she whispered, taking his chin between his fingers to lay him back down. "But I do." "Impossible." "... wanted to do the same to you. The moment Foggy introduced you? I was gone, Matt. And when I handed you the sweets and asked if you were smarter than he? And you smirked? Fuck." It's a quiet and careful admission. It's real, and it makes his heart skip a beat. "Can I try?" "Try what?" Matt smiled, dimples forming in his cheeks. "To map you... try to see you, just the way you see me?" "You'd wanna try that?"

His mind was gone with that question. Everything clicked into place. Her careful tone. Her warmth... one Matt was feeling for the first time. The tenderness of her voice. Everything on the planet was long forgotten, his lips parting and closing, his head hovering above hers as if he were watching her. He had a few girls doing it for the fun of it, sure... But this felt different. Serious.

Matt didn’t speak. He just nodded, jaw tight, throat working like he was trying not to fall apart. "Lie back for me," she whispered. "Try to relax." "You're making it sound like a colonoscopy, Sunny," Matthew tried to deflect, his voice weak. He helped her straddle him before letting go of her. "Shush, Murdock. Stop being a lawyer for a moment."

He obeyed, slow and unsure, arms behind his head, breath shaky. Her fingers started at his face, thumb grazing the ridge of his brow, the curve of his cheekbone, the scar near his temple. Sunny traced the bridge of his nose, the softness of his mouth. "You’re handsome," she whispered, even though she knew he didn’t need to hear it. Or maybe he did. Maybe now he did, when it was coming from her.

"I used to imagine this," she admitted, smile palpable in her voice. "When you’d sit at the counter, all smug in your suit. I’d think... what would it be like to learn you this way? With my hands, not my eyes." Matt’s breath caught in his throat.

She moved slowly, reverently. Her palms moved across his shoulders, chest, and the curve of his ribs. Her index finger ran across the fresh, deep cut. Matt flinched, but her lips shushed him with a soft, sweet sound he hadn't heard yet. She frowned and leaned down, kissing is tenderly. Then she continued down, over the soft scarred skin of his stomach, the dips and rises she had memorized by accident and now traced on purpose.

He was watching her the whole time, without eyes. With his breath, his heart, his stillness.

"You’re... beautiful," she murmured, hands settling over his chest again. "You know that?" He scoffed. His cheeks started warming up... it'd been years since he last blushed. "I don’t think that’s the word people usually go for." "What's the word, then?" "Ugly son of a bitch," Matt admitted. "Bastard, if they're original." "That's a phrase, not a word. One'd think a lawyer would know that." Sunny teased, her eyes still closed. "Touché." "I like my description better." "Okay," he nodded, his heart skipping a beat... as if he were a lovesick teenager. He even giggled. "Don't let it go into your head." "Mhm." "You already did, didn't you?" "Maybe," Matt jolted under her, laughing. It was a loud, melodic sound. She'd only heard him laugh like that once... so carelessly and freely. And Sunny loved it. With her eyes closed, she felt how his entire chest rumbled with the sound and felt each movement of his palms that settled on her thighs, each flicker and curl of finger. The sensation ran down her spine.

Her fingers slid lower again, carefully, as if she were reading Braille in reverse—telling his story back to him, touch by touch. Matt reached for her, one hand settling on her hip, grounding himself. "Your abs are nice," she hummed, "but your attitude still needs therapy." "Are you back at this again?" "Mhm," she nodded as a woman on a mission. "Any more jokes?" Matt teased. Sunny sighed heavily... here she goes. "Do you know... what’s scarier than a blind man with enhanced senses?" She muttered. "No?" "A man who still thinks smirking is a personality. And takes his coffee dark without any flair." "Oh God," Matthew groaned, laughing. "That was horrible." "I'm talking from experience," she laughed, opening her eyes again. Her thumb purposely traced his jaw, his stubble, and the small dimple in his chin. He was beautiful, breathtaking even. He lay in the light of the streetlamps reflected by the ongoing snowstorm, head tilted, giving her the smile she loved so much. The sky was milky white, just like his chest. Matthew didn't much, Y/N assumed.

"Did I do good?" Sunny whispered. Matt didn’t answer at first. His smile softened into something unreadable, and for a long, slow second, the only thing between them was the sound of his breath catching. Then he nodded once, subtly. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "You did more than good."

Her fingers stilled on his chest. His heartbeat fluttered under her palm like wings, trying not to take off. "Most people… they don’t really try," he added. "They touch me like I’m unbreakable. Or like I’m decoration. Or something they just wanna use and throw out. But you…" "I know better," she murmured, gaze steady on his. "You’re not breakable, Matthew." "Then what am I?" "A fucking menace," she said, grinning.

He laughed again, head dropping back against the pillow as she leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth. "But you’re my menace, if it makes any better,” she added, and this time when she spoke, her voice dipped into something serious. Something close to reverence. "And it worries me that... I don’t care if I need a little therapy after." Matt exhaled sharply, the sound caught between disbelief and want. He reached up. Brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, thumb grazing the edge of her jaw.

"I’m trying not to fall for you," he confessed, lips barely moving. "And you're making it fucking it fucking difficult. Especially when I don't know if you'll want me gone in the morning." "Same," he whispered. "Especially when you smell like cedar and expensive regret." Neither of them moved for a beat. And then, quietly, helplessly— "Let’s both keep failing. And see if ever land."

And he kissed her. Not with heat this time—but with awe. Like he was saying, thank you. Like he was promising something. Like he was already hers, long before she’d even asked.

"You're breathing differently," Matt noted, letting his arm roam to her waist. "What is it?" "Shush." "What are you doing?" "I'm listening, Matthew, and your yapping makes it really fucking difficult." She hissed back, voice laced with enjoyment. "I'm not used to things being this quiet around you." "You mean I shut up for once?" "No, you're still annoying... just in a lower register," she earned a breathless laugh when he tugged her closer, pressing her closer.

"Your heartbeat. It's calmer. Steadier." That was what she listened to. It had Matthew melting under her hands. "Yeah?" Matt wondered. "Like it knows something changed," she whispered, closing her eyes in concentration. He exhaled... as if her statement meant more than it should. "Well, it's got a lot to keep up with. The speed you ran your mouth at..." He deflected. Being called out on a bluff didn't feel good, especially unwittingly. "Watch it, Murdock." He turned toward her, smiling like he already knew she was grinning too. "Or what? You gonna hit me?" "Too early to experiment with kinks," she muttered sarcastically. "But not when you're naked. I have some decorum." "Right. Because we've been so respectable about all this."

Another beat of silence. Matt traced patterns across her back, one hand under his head, his mind elsewhere. His fingers kept moving, tracing nothing across her skin, trying to commit the moment to memory before she could take it with her. "... I'm hitting the shower," she said quietly, as if she stayed too long, something would crack. He sat up almost instantly, closing the gap again. "If you go, I'm going with you." "Only if you behave." "Not a chance." She smacked his chest lightly, squealing happily when he love-tapped her buttcheek right back. "That's domestic abuse, just to you know." "Please," she scoffed richly. "You've had worse from strangers in alleys. Real tough guys." "Yeah, but none of them smelled like jasmine and trouble." "Smartass," she mouthed, already leaning in to kiss him. "Fathead," he murmured back, letting her.

Sunny's place was trashed by the morning. Traces of a long night were everywhere. Painkiller lay forgotten on the counter. A glass was left on the bedside table. Shoes lay around the perimeter like landmines. Matt tripped over one during a bathroom break. Sunny laughed. Post-bedframe-murder, the victim still lying broken in its place. The place looked like a post-lust hurricane and smelled like sex and sin.

A leg of the broken bed leaned sadly against the wall like a fallen soldier. Matt did it around five in the morning. The mattress fell straight on the floor. Y/N bumped her head and nearly cried. The sheets are in the kitchen for some reason. A bra was thrown over her bedroom's bookshelf. The button of her jeans that Matt accidentally popped when ripping them down her thighs. A sock—his sock—was looped around the freezer handle. Neither of them knew why. There was music playing low in the background, because, of course, there was. This wasn't a brunch mood—it was a debauchery soundtrack.

Sunny herself was flat on her back across the dining table. Shirtless. Glowing. Her mouth was open, but no words were coming out. Just breathy, half-laughed curses.

Matthew was seated right in front of her, comfortably sitting in a dining chair, looking like he owned sin, church, and the Vatican, but there was a flicker of something beneath the cocky posture. His hair was a mess. His jaw ached from the grind of all the tension he'd built up. His t-shirt? Inside out, because, of course. His jeans were unbuttoned, hanging dangerously low on his hips.

He’d told himself an hour ago he was leaving. First, he swore he needed to study a case, while in reality, he needed to leave before things got too complicated. Then he’d said he didn’t want to ‘disrupt the brooding brunch’—that was the joke he’d made to cover up the lie, but the truth was, he was too tangled in the moment to let go.

And now, his head was between her thighs like it was a sacred task. His hands locked around her hips, trying to keep himself grounded—focused. Because the way she tasted, the way she moved under his hands, it made everything he was fighting for seem insignificant. He couldn’t even remember what he’d said about leaving. The weight of everything outside this room felt like it was a million miles away.

But he couldn’t forget. It would catch up to him eventually. This… thing they were doing, it wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to be better than this. Sunny asked. Pleaded. Turned him down. Repeatedly. And he didn't listen. He pulled back slightly, mouth still hovering, breathing her in, tasting her. I’m leaving. This isn’t me. This isn't us. This isn't supposed to be us. The words echoed in his head, but his body kept betraying him, staying exactly where it didn’t belong. Fuck.

"Matt?" she whispered softly, bringing him back to the moment. Her fingers brushed against his hair, the slow shift of her touch grounding him. And for a brief second, the guilt nearly swallowed him whole. He’d tried to keep his distance, be the man who didn’t let anyone too close, especially not her, but she had this way of pulling him under without even trying.

He forced himself to breathe, forced himself to smile. "I said I was leaving," he said, his voice barely above a murmur, a half-hearted deflection. He didn’t believe it and could tell she didn’t either. But it didn’t matter right now. "Then you said you didn't have breakfast yet?" Sunny teased, her nipples perking in the cool air. "Make up your fucking mind, counselor." "Which is, technically, still true." "I offered to make scrambled eggs." "But they wouldn’t taste like you." "You smug—"

The lock rattled. Violently, loudly. Sunny’s eyes shot to the clock, wide with horror. Sunny didn’t have to look at the clock—she already knew. The second hand ticked past twelve. Too late. She tensed up, choking on air, her pressure skyrocketing. Her thighs clenched, closing Matt out. Her knee nearly hit his forehead. Both of them froze in horror. "Fuck, the brunch." Matt gnarled under his breath, his mind already going over what this meant—Foggy Nelson was behind the door. No time for shoes. No time for escape. "We forgot the brunch," Sunny hissed, gasping for air—whether it was from the nerves of a near-orgasm was hard to decide. "You forgot the brunch," Matt muttered back. "Any chance I'm slipping out?"

"No way, José," she yelped, trying to get off the table. Matt's hand, still grounding her hips, obstructed her—she launched off the table with a crash loud enough to make God wince. She meowled, hiding behind the counter. "You're the catholic one, I bet you can confess your sins faster than I." "What's that supposed to mean?" Matt hissed back at her, panic overtaking him. "We'd better start with penance, is what I mean."She fumbled for a sheet like it was a lifeline, tugging it over her naked body in one panicked sweep. "Because Foggy will ensure we won't see another sunrise."

Too late. For anything.

Foggy crashed in the following second. "Yo! You will not believe the traffic..." He stopped dead in his tracks, a jug of orange juice pressed to his chest, a paper bag of pastries dangling from the other hand. His eyes swept the room. He furrowed, straightened. Looked at Matt like he wasn’t sure if he was real. Sunny clasped her mouth, closing her eyes. She tried to slow her breathing down as Foggy walked right past her.

Matthew looked… well. Freshly fucked, for lack of a better term. His jeans were unbuttoned, hanging low on his hips. His t-shirt was inside out. Hair tousled, stubborn pieces sticking up in ways that should be illegal.

"What are you—what’s going on?" Foggy asked, his voice thinning out mid-sentence. That was when he saw it. The mattress lay on the collapsed bed. Her bra was hanging off the library. Shoes were scattered like debris after a war. "I can explain. This isn't what it looks like," Matt said, hands up like he was trying to approach a feral cat—or an agitated horse.

"...So. You’re here." Foggy set the orange juice and bag of pastries on the table with a thud, like a disappointed parent who walked in on their kid throwing a rave instead of doing homework. He didn’t need details. He knew. He just didn’t want to know "I am," Matt nodded way too calmly, like this was just another Tuesday. His palms still hovered in surrender, waiting for Foggy to lunge. "At Sunny's place," Foggy pointed out, as if that part was still up for debate. "Technically, yeah." "Not invited though," he added, voice sharper now, eyes raking over the scene. Her panties were on the floor. The unmistakable smell of sex in the air. A towel half-on, half-off the bathroom door. It was the kind of visual evidence that didn’t need cross-examination. "Which is weird," Foggy continued, jaw tight, voice getting cracking as the betrayal set in, "because it was a pretty exclusive guest list. She wanted to punch you square in the face two days ago."

"Yeah, weird," Matt agreed, dead serious. Not even flinching. Not apologizing. Just standing there, looking freshly fucked and annoyingly composed. "Guess I let myself in." "Right," Foggy nodded, licking his lips, leaning his palm on the table as he tried to keep his cool. "Because usually, when I walk into someone’s apartment, there’s not a mattress imploding in the corner and a bra hanging off Dostoevsky." "…Could’ve been Sartre." Foggy blinked slowly. Scoffed. Laughed once—humorless and dry, like sand in his throat "Didn't know she..." The sound of Sunny shuffling behind the fridge was impossible to ignore—skin sticking against the wood, frantic and small. Foggy’s eyes stayed locked on Matt’s, but his voice betrayed him, quieter now, edged with a wounded kind of hurt. "Do you, at least, have the decency to come out and look me in the eyes, Sunny?"

Then, from behind the counter, so soft it almost wasn’t there... A broken, barely audible whisper. "...Hi, Foggy." Foggy’s eyes narrowed. His lips tightened into a thin line. Matt could practically feel the heat radiating off him—the fury building under his skin. It was palpable. Sunny, flushed, glowing from the aftermath, trembling where she was crouched, still gripping the wrinkled sheet to her chest like it was the only thing holding her together. Sweat beaded on her temple, her body shaking with a mixture of guilt and adrenaline. Foggy saw it all. He knew her, for fuck's sake. Seen her glowing with post-orgasm bliss already. He didn't need to ask. He looked at her, eyes wide, a moment of disbelief before the anger finally broke free.

"No fucking way," Foggy mutered, reaching for the bag lay on the table to carry it away. "No fucking way." "O-okay, hey," Sunny scrambled to her feet, holding out her hands defensively. "There's no need for a thoughtless reaction." She scrambled on her feet, blocking the exit. The entire hall could see her buttcheeks if they oh so pleased. "I didn't invite him. I... didn't know he'd stay, honestly?" She winced as soon as the words left her mouth, too rehearsed, even to her ears. They were fucked. "Oh, he stayed, huh?" Foggy spat back. "Let me guess. You have nothing to do with that bra on your bookshelf and the fact that YOUR BED HAS A BROKEN HEADBOARD AND IS MISSING A LEG?!"

Matt cleared his throat, adjusting his inside-out t-shirt like that'd somehow fix the apocalypse in the room. Matthew was guilty as charged. To the full extent.

"So did you climb in through the window? Like some role-play, voayeur shit?" Foggy cackled humourlessly, debating on whether to throw a punch. "Or did you seduce the doorknob too? "...front door," Matt muttered quietly, looking at the ground. "She opened it." "Because there was a snowstorm coming," Y/N yelped as if it'd justify them. "Oh, the snowstorm!" Foggy exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "That explains the nuclear-grade poor judgement, why of course!" "Foggy, it's..." Y/N muttered. "Not what it looks like?" Foggy smiled at her sweetly, rotten to the core. "What did you guys do, then? Watched cartoons?" "He’s—uh—he’s just here because the sink was leaking," Sunny nearly jumped after a wall when that left her mouth.

"The sink?" Foggy blinked like she had just been hit with a frying pan. "Yup," she played along, gasping for air. "Leakage. Everywhere. Biblical stuff. Like Noah’s Ark, but wetter. Catastrophic." "Y/N..." Foggy shook his head, a headache coming fast. "You nearly broke my nose the last time I tried fixing your toilet reservoir. Said you don't need 'a fucking man' to do your 'fucking plumbing.'" He sighed. "Setting aside the fact that Murdock is blind... and forgot to fix his pants." "...I did tighten a pipe or two," Matt offered weakly. Foggy didn't even look back at him: "Yeah? Tightened that headboard too, I assume?"

"To be honest, it was a shit headboard," Matthew argued. "It was from IKEA," Sunny hissed back at him, offended. "Furniture from IKEA is never shit." "Yeah, but..." "YOU ARE A BLIND LAWYER, MATTHEW," Foggy yelled, exasperated. The dam finally broke. And they both deserved it. Sunny closed her eyes, hearing the door opposite hers squeak. She was standing there, her buttcheeks on full display, taking the humiliation because she deserved it. She even heard her neighbour shuffling in the doorway. "STOP PRETENDING YOU KNOW SHIT ABOUT CARPENTING. YOU'RE NOT A CONTRACTOR EITHER."

"Foggy…" Matt whispered. "Don’t. Just… don’t. I’m not gonna defend it. But yelling’s not gonna fix anything either. She's standing stark naked in the hallway. Let her come in and close the door before unleashing hell." "Jesus Christ, you two," Foggy spat, walking toward Y/N's personal collection of bourbon hidden in the kitchen. "I'm sorry!" Foggy yelled toward the neighbor. "I just found out my two best friends are fucking behind my back like it's another Tuesday! Sorry for bothering!"

"That was so unnecessary," Sunny yelped when closing the door, adjusting the sheet around her body as she mumbled a soft 'sorry' toward the neighbor. "No," Foggy answered flatly. "No?" Sunny hissed back. "You didn’t even have the decency to move the underwear. Or I don’t know, text me? Maybe say, Hey, Foggy, don’t come over. We’re busy christening the coffee table." He took a sip of bourbon like it was water. "Real considerate."

"I didn't plan it," Sunny murmured softly. "Got tangled up and forgot about the brunch. I'm sorry, okay? It just... happened." "She didn't do anything wrong," Matthew joined, slowly approaching Foggy, his martyr persona on display. His feet stuck to the wooden door, the sounds feeling awfully domestic. "It was my decision to break the silence because I'm selfish fuckin prick who always shows up too late. Showed up at the café. Argued with her in front of half of Hell's Kitchen. Kept pestering her for nearly an hour before she even considered letting me in." His words said, 'blame me'. His face? 'Punch me.'

"Oh, so it's your fault now, huh? That supposed to make me feel better?" Foggy set the bourbon hard enough to rattle the counter. "Don't take the hit for her, Matt. She's not some helpless bystander in a tragic love story, nor are you. She knew what this would mean. You both did." "Foggy, c'mon..." Matt muttered. "You were fucking when I unlocked the door, Matthew," Nelson shot back, sharp and to the point. "Don't Foggy me." "I didn't mean for this to happen," Sunny muttered. "Oh, no, you didn't mean to hurt me," Foggy smiled humorlessly. "There's a difference. Matthew knew this was gonna happen. He planned on it. That's why you showed up at that café, didn't he?" "Yeah," Matt nodded. No need to lie any further. Foggy was pissed enough as was. "Is that what you wanted to hear? Yeah." "She's my best friend." "And we danced around it for a year, Foggy," Matt spat back. "All four of us knew this'd eventually happen. So stop acting like it's some revelation of the fucking century."

The silence was thick. No one moved. Even the creak of the old radiator felt too loud.

Sunny shifted, the sheet slipping slightly as she bent to grab the throw blanket from the couch. She wrapped it tight around her like a towel at a public pool, eyes flicking between the two men, her heart still a little too loud in her chest. "...So," she said, voice scratchy and soft. "Anyone hungry?" Foggy shot her a look that could vaporize water. Sunny raised both hands. "Okay. Not the time for jokes. Got it. Sorry."

Matt sighed and leaned against the wall, arms crossed like he was trying to hold himself together. "There was supposed to be brunch," he mumbled, more to himself than anyone else. "I said I was leaving." "Oh, that’s what this was? Brunch?" Foggy deadpanned. "And here I was, thinking it was just raw sexual tension and shattered boundaries o’clock." A beat passed. Matt cracked a smile, just a twitch at the corner of his mouth. "That’s... a long time on the clock, then."

Sunny laughed before she could stop herself. A short, guilty thing that made Foggy’s expression twitch between betrayed and exhausted. "I hate you both," he said, reaching for the bourbon again. "But I do smell bacon." Sunny blinked. "You smelled that from—wait. Are you serious?" He held up a hand. "Don’t. Just... don’t test my grief-driven powers right now." Another pause. The air had shifted. Matt dared to ask, "You want us to make you a plate?"

Foggy looked between the two of them. Still pissed. Still hurt. But under it all? "…Yeah," he muttered. "But I’m eating in complete silence while you two reevaluate your life choices." "Reasonable," Sunny nodded quickly, already half-sprinting toward the kitchen. Matt followed slowly behind her, nudging Foggy’s shoulder gently as he passed.

The tension in the room was suffocating, but it was slowly turning into something more manageable, like an overstuffed bag that's finally being zipped up after too many failed attempts. The anger hadn't evaporated, but it wasn't boiling over anymore. There was some breathing room.

Foggy looked at Matt, standing near the kitchen door, hands in his pockets, trying to look small in a space that felt like it was closing in on him. His eyes flicked over to Sunny as she moved toward the kitchen, her movement quick and awkward, but it was enough to break the moment for a second. "Still pissed," Foggy muttered under his breath. Then louder: "You’re not getting away with just bacon."

"Also reasonable," Sunny said quickly, barely glancing back as she raced to the kitchen. Her voice was light, but fragility in it that made it clear she wasn’t entirely sure if she’d ever be able to laugh about this again. Foggy, for all his frustration, cracked a small smile when he heard her voice disappear down the hallway. Then, his gaze snapped back to Matt, as if to reinforce that the tension was still there. Then, as if he snapped out of a trance, Foggy called out...

"No, Sunny, absolutely not." His tone was firm, but he couldn't keep the corner of his mouth from twitching. "You are taking a shower. And putting some clothes on. Right now." But Sunny, never one to miss a beat when challenging Foggy, smirked over her shoulder. "But you love my bacon, Fogster." "You’re not gonna make me imagine... never mind," Foggy groaned, rubbing a hand down his face in exasperation. "Just go. And pick up your underwear. I don’t need that in my head right now."

"'Kay, yeah, absolutely." Sunny slid around him and stopped next to Matt. Their shoulders brushed, but it was enough to send that little spark flying between them again. For a split second, Matt looked at her. She looked up at him. His hand brushed against her hip. Softly, carefully. Foggy clocked it in, looking away immediately. The gesture was as natural as breathing. As if it were just a thing they did. As if the rest of the world had melted away, leaving only them.

But they didn’t say anything.

"You got it?" she asked softly. "Foggy is extra about his bacon." "Mhm," Matt muttered, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. His fingers lingered on her hip a little longer than necessary. The touch wasn’t for Foggy’s benefit—it was for her, for them. He lowered his head, planting a quick peck on her temple. Foggy turned away, gulping forcefully. He didn’t want to see it, but part of him understood it. That didn’t make it easier. Or logical.

Foggy couldn't look at them as they stood there. He couldn’t—didn’t want to see whatever strange, complicated thing was playing out between them. Instead, he turned away, pretending to focus on something else. He knew his thoughts were spiraling. And he couldn’t quite stop them.

As Sunny slipped into the shower, Matt leaned against the doorframe, watching her go. " Still friends, Nelson?" he asked quietly, his voice an even murmur.

Foggy took another swig of bourbon, setting it down with a force that rattled the glass. He didn’t look at Matt. He couldn’t, not after all of this. Instead, he just muttered, "Jury's out, dickhead."

But the thing was—Foggy didn’t leave. He watched as Matt mapped out the kitchen, even muttered where Y/N kept her pans. He watched Matt attempting to cook in a different environment. And that meant something. In the world of Nelson and Murdock, that was enough to keep this strange, twisted friendship alive. For now.

Foggy was sitting at the kitchen table, watching Matt clean up the remnants of last night before he closed the bedroom door. He was acting like a boyfriend. It was... too domestic. Offputting. The silence was heavy after Sunny exited her shower, tittering about in an oversized hoodie. She immediately mixed a mimosa and collapsed in front of the couch, her legs criss-cross. Matt sat beside her. Instinctively.

"So... Brunches are over," Sunny muttered to liven up the heavy silence. "Forever. I'm changing my name tomorrow and moving to the woods. Gonna live in shame with the squirrels." Matt scoffed. "Dramatic much?" "I mean..." She exhaled, rubbing her eyes. "They're not over, dummy," Foggy hummed, staring into his plate. "But you two better never complain about my dating anyone ever again," Foggy huffed, showing bacon and surprisingly delicious scrambled eggs into his mouth. "Not even when it's Marci?" Y/N yelped, soft and innocent, sending a wide-eyed stare to Foggy. "Especially when it's about Marci."

Foggy's eyes trained toward them. Sunny was still silent. Thrown off the rails. She clearly didn't think as far... counted to have at least a few weeks before admitting to seeing Matthew. And Matt? He carried the energy of a cat that knocked over a lamp and got away with it. Matt's legs were flanking Sunny's shoulders. Like he had nothing to lose anymore... proudly showing it off. Showing her off. Foggy pointed at them.

"This is not normal brunch behavior," he announced. "I'll write it down in the rulebook. I want you to know that." "We don't have a brunch rule book." She laughed back. Sunny snorted into her drink, leaning back against Matt's knee. She jolted, scrambling away—just until his fingers brushed past her ear. He captured a damp strand of her hair, like it was nothing. Like he wasn't even touching her. Like it didn't mean everything. Foggy rolled his eyes when he saw her eyes light up. "We do. Starting today."

"Oh, who's being dramatic?" Sunny retorted, looking at Matt. "Just to recap. I brought the best croissants in NY, and you brought trauma," Foggy sighed. "Does that track?" "You walked in, unannounced," Y/N muttered dryly. "It was 12:20. That's not unannounced. That's brunch-adjacent courtesy, Sunny." "You just stuck your keys into the lock like it was nothing?" She argued back, her humor and energy coming back to her. "That's why you gave me a pair, remember?" Foggy snorted back, sarcastic as ever. Sunny was smiling. There it was. The report they built over a decade. "Besides, you were supposed to be brooding over a certain someone not calling."

"Were you?" Matt jabbed, suddenly overly-interested in the conversation." "No," Y/N snapped back immediately. "But she was," Foggy grinned, knowing he was ratting her out for fun. "She was furious that you were being a no-show. Even made you that damn corkboard. Celebrated you like a hero." "Didn't you say you literally hate superheroes since the incident?" Matt egged on innocently. "It's a 'say thank you to a local blind dumbass who takes beating and rather risks his throat than calling his friends back' board," Sunny muttered under her breath like an angry todler. "Don't get your hopes up."

"I hope you both stub your toes tonight. Without socks. On a chair," Foggy then finished, leaning into his chair. "Oh," Y/N scoffed with disbelief. "Wow." "We deserved that one," Matt muttered toward her, gently tapping her shoulder. As if he was signaling to back out. And she listened.

"No, but seriously," Foggy pointed between them. "We all saw this coming. Karen did. I did, but didn't wanna. Sunny heavily implied it, but, hear this... If you fuck this up, Matt, you're dead. I'll kill you myself. With my bare hands. This is personal." "Oof, yeah, you deserved that one." Sunny nodded, patting Matt's knee. But Matt couldn't move, his fingers freezing between Sunny's hair. This wasn't just a throwaway jab. Foggy was dead serious. Sunny wasn't just some girl. She was Foggy's girl. And he'd breathe for her if necessary. Just as she would for Foggy if it came to it.

"What do you mean?" Matt scoffed, trying to send Foggy a confident smile. But it was tight. Nervous. Message received. "You'll be home by nine, when you promise to be. No more disappearing acts before telling her. If she says 'jump', you better be already in the air, asking 'how high?' Dinners. Flowers. Sweets when she's on her period. Princess fucking treatment, Murdock," Foggy shrugged his shoulders. "And by the end of it, you better be wifing her up." "Is that a threat, Nelson?" Y/N teased, missing the context. "I can decide my own..." "Dead serious, Sunny. This isn't about you. He knows what I'm talking about." Foggy's eyes were shooting bullets through Matt. "You don't get to do whatever that was and not wife her up. I've seen too much. Karen saw more. And just because I turned a blind eye to you ogling at Sunny like a lovesick teenager."

Y/N paused mid-sip. This was serious. Very serious. Matt's hand twitched in her hair. "Foggy, you're acting up." Y/N hummed, trying to calm the situation. "No," Matt answered silently, voice raspy and broken. "He's not. He knows what he's talking about." "Do you understand, Matt?" Foggy asked, still glaring at Matt. "C'mon, you two, can you not?" Sunny laughed uncomfortably. "Noted." Matt nodded. "And if you don't, I will." Foggy closed the discussion. It made Sunny choke on air at the thought of it. Then, she started laughing, her entire body shaking. The mood slowly warmed again.

"Scandalous," she rasped for air, her head leading into Matt's knee. Her laughter tugged on his lips until he eventually gave in. "God, imagine us dating." "We’d kill each other in a week," Foggy muttered, smiling too. "Foggy, I love you... But not like that. Not even drunk on tequila and lonely." She hummed, sending him a contented smile. Her head was splayed on Matt's thigh, as if saying: 'See? It's okay. I'm okay. We're okay.'

"Yeah, but I'd learn to fold laundry your way," Foggy answered as if they were negotiating. "... And label the spice rack alphabetically because I know how often you can't find basil and oregano." "Okay, now that's a low blow, Nelson," Matthew smiled, easing back into the moment. His arm slipped around Sunny's neck, playing with the strap of her hoodie. "Love is war, Matty," Nelson argues. "And I fight dirty." She fell into careless laughter, tipping sideways until Matt caught her. His hand went around her waist. Lingered. Then back to the strap. Her laughter still had him smiling. God, Foggy realized Matt was too far gone as he mumbled, "Good to know." It was soft, like he didn't mean to say it out loud.

The conversation slowed, settling into a comfortable silence. Matt absentmindedly toyed with the strap of Sunny’s hoodie, his gaze drifting, but his mind elsewhere. Foggy broke the quiet, setting his glass down. "Alright, I’m out before you two make this weirder." Y/N teased, "Scared of me? Though you liked weird?" "Scared of both of you," Foggy grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "See you lovebirds later."

The door clicked shut behind him, and the room felt strangely final. Matt leaned back, eyes on Sunny. "So… we really wouldn’t have survived dating, huh?" Sunny’s smile softened, but there was a hint of something in her eyes that didn’t quite match the lightness of the conversation. "I don’t know. Are we even dating?" Her voice was playful, but the undertone was more serious, more uncertain. Matt cocked his head, studying her. "You tell me. You've heard Foggy." A quiet laugh escaped her. "How about we… don’t label things just yet?" she murmured, her fingers slipping into Matt’s as if to emphasize the point. "See where it leads? Take our time?" "Would a dinner cancel out your little hypothetical?" "Well, I guess I’ll leave it to you to decide?" "My place after?" Matt offered. Sunny's eyes flickered to his lips, then back to his eyes, a mischievous grin playing at the corners of her mouth. "We’re so bad for each other," she whispered, a quiet, unsaid yes hanging between them. Her body was already reacting to the invitation, even if her mind wasn’t quite ready to admit it. He nodded, a small smile forming. "Guess we’ll find out."

And for now, that was enough.

"Your mouth is open wide. The lover is inside. And all the tumults done. Collided with the sign. You're staring at the sun. You're standing in the sea. Your body's over me."

Staring at the Sun (2003) by TV On The Radio

Thank you for reading. All interactions are appreciated. ❤ Do not copy or repost. Have a wonderful day. ❤

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