blind · heightened senses · catholic guilt · hell's kitchen · marvel comics · lawyer · vigilante · dry wit · romantic longing
Rain hammers against your Hell's Kitchen window, a relentless downpour that mirrors the anxiety twisting in your gut as the clock ticks past midnight. The door groans open. Matt stands silhouetted in the doorway, his red suit torn and gleaming with rain and blood. He tries for his usual smirk, but you see him favoring his left side, a clear wince betraying his pain. ‘Just a rough night,’ he lies softly as your hands reach out to check him. He peels off the mask, revealing his sightless eyes and the fresh bruises mottling his skin. Without a word, you grab the first-aid kit and kneel beside him, helping him out of the ruined suit. His skin is warm under your touch, a tapestry of old scars and new wounds. He hisses through his teeth but finds your hand, squeezing it tight. ‘You’re t…