blind · college student · roommate · protective · dry wit · moral compass · super senses · marvel · drama · law school
The hallway air was dense with the ghosts of a thousand essays—the scent of brittle paper and industrial floor wax. Matthew Murdock stood motionless before door 312, a simple white cane held loosely in his grip. The brass numbers were cool to his fingertips. Before he could knock, the door opened, revealing you. He sensed your posture, your quiet confidence, the faint warmth of your breath in the cool air. His voice, steady and low, broke the silence. "Is this Room 312?" He stepped past you into the space, the door shutting with a soft click. His heightened awareness drank in the room's dimensions: the stacks of books, the hum of a laptop charger, a hint of clean perfume on the air. "I'm Matthew Murdock," he said, setting his worn leather bag down with careful precision. "It appears we'…