#funnylittle writings
Text
Back to School - Eddie Munson x gn!reader
re-edited (Feb. 2023)
Read on AO3 - Masterlist
summary: When Eddie starts working as the handyman for the high school in the next town over he isn't expecting to make any friends. He certainly isn't expecting to meet a kindred spirit in the form of a U.S. History teacher.
word count: 13.6k
tags/warnings: nothing but fluff, no y/n, clumsy Eddie, Steve and Robin being the worst best friends a boy can ask for, HEAVY on the LOTR references like I got self-indulgent not even gonna lie, post-graduation Eddie, Wayne is an angel, Eddie loves pussy almost as much as pussy loves Eddie (a cat it's literally a cat), mentions of weed in passing, nerds in love, strangers to friends to lovers, brief mentions of food, mentions of jail, mentions of death, mentions of alcoholism, mentions of family members drunk driving.
Eddie never thought he’d end up back in high school after finally graduating. If anything, he thought he’d be dead in a ditch somewhere before he ever let that happen. Yet, here he is walking into Jenkinson High for his first day of work. It’s in the town next to Hawkins.
Even if he wanted a job as a handyman at Hawkins High he’s pretty sure they’d laugh in his face. Luckily, his reputation hasn't followed him to Jenkinson High. Only his skill with his hands and his resourcefulness that’s gotten him this far. It’s not a bad gig, Jenkinson is a well-off town full of well-off people. There are never any serious repairs needed.
It’s an overall uneventful day. He would even hazard to call it boring. Eddie is sitting in the little office he shares with the custodians in the basement with his boots up on the desk. He’s tossing a blue rubber ball up in the air and catching it. He’s been finding different ways to pass the time until something needs fixing.
The ball reaches its peak in the air when the phone on the desk rings. Eddie’s feet slam to the ground as he quickly sits up, startled by the sudden trilling. The ball bounces off the top of his head before bouncing across the floor.
“Maintenance,” Eddie answers the phone.
“Yes, is Mr. Munson there?” a somewhat frazzled-sounding voice asks.
“Speaking.”
“Oh! Perfect! Would you be able to come over to room 218? My overhead screen is stuck and I’m afraid one of the kids will break it if any more of them try,” your voice becomes a little more distant by the end like you pulled away from the phone.
“Yeah, I’ll be right over,” Eddie says.
“Kevin, go sit down. We’re not trying to get the screen up anymore. No, Mr. Munson is going to come help so none of you end up owing the school hundreds of dollars,” you call out, away from the phone.
“Their parents can afford it,” Eddie mumbles without really thinking about it.
You snort, causing him to realize he said the thought out loud. Thankfully, you found it funny or he could have been in trouble.
“Room 218,” you remind him.
“Room 218.”
***
The first thing that strikes Eddie is you sitting on your desk. Your legs are crossed at the ankles, clean black converse swinging slightly. You gesture wildly as you speak. Then your arms, clad in the forest green knit of your oversized cardigan, pause bent at the elbow. Your hands create finger guns that aim at the ceiling.
“Okay, question time. When was America first discovered?” you ask the class.
A few hands go up. You point a finger gun at a kid in the front right corner.
“Henry, right?” you ask.
It’s still the first week of class and you have a good twenty-five kids in those seats. Names are gonna take a while.
“Yeah, uh- 1776?” he answers, confidence waning.
“While that is an important year in US History, it’s not the one I’m looking for, Henry,” you tell him.
Then you point your other finger gun at a student near the back.
“Mara?”
“Yes, 1492,” she’s much more confident than Henry.
Eddie is sure Mara is right. Then you do the second thing that strikes him.
“I can understand why you think that. However, while that’s also an important year in U.S. History, it’s not the one I’m looking for,” you say and put your finger guns back to their starting position.
Any hand that was still up drops. You scan the room for a few moments to see if anyone else decides to take a stab at it.
“No one?” you ask.
No hands raise. You nod and pretend to holster your finger guns before resting your hands on your lap.
“The country we currently call America was invaded in 1492. There was a vibrant, rich, society that existed for centuries before that. Our first unit is going to be dedicated to unpacking the notion that the country was discovered in 1492, despite there having been flourishing communities populating it before that year,” you lecture in a gentle way as if you’re easing them into the lesson.
Eddie swallows nervously, realizing he's been standing in the doorway watching. He definitely doesn't remember a lecture like that during his time at Hawkins High. With a hesitant breath, Eddie gives a rhythmic knock on the open door with a single knuckle. You look over with a smile that makes him feel warm.
“Are you Mr. Munson?”
“You can just call me Eddie,” he smiles back.
“Okay, Mr. Eddie, I think my overhead screen is jammed,” you nod over your shoulder where, sure enough, the screen hangs half rolled up and lopsided.
Mr. Eddie reddens his cheeks and softens his gaze. It brings up thoughts of Samwise and his Mr. Frodo. He’s tempted to make the reference, but the chances you know a niche set of books are slim to none. Instead, he just nods, feeling like an idiot, and goes to inspect the problem. It’s an unsurprisingly easy fix. He just had to remove the front panel of the mechanism to unbunch the screen. Once he does it snaps up and you clap.
“Thank you! You're a hero!” you cheer.
Eddie gives a dramatic bow.
“Why, thank you.”
You let out a little laugh.
“No problem, Mr. Eddie.”
Eddie leaves breathing just a little harder.
***
The next time Eddie sees you is in your classroom again, two days later. It’s lunchtime. All of the other teachers are eating together in the lounge, but not you. You’re eating your sandwich at your desk as you read a book. The midday sun drenches you in golden light from the windows lining the far wall. He takes a self-indulgent moment to stare before giving a light tap on the open door. You jump a little as you whip your head to look at him.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Just seeing if everything is alright,” he says, raising a hand apologetically.
“It’s okay,” you smile, “everything’s fine. Why did someone say something?”
Eddie catches your eyes darting to the empty hallway behind him.
“No, it’s just that I’ve noticed the teachers eat together in the lounge, but you’re uh… not,” he rubs the back of his neck suddenly feeling like maybe he should have kept his mouth shut.
Maybe he should have minded his business.
“Oh, no I don't usually eat with them. They’re… Well, let’s just say there are some generational differences,” you explain tightly.
Eddie nods understandingly.
“I get it. They’re dicks.”
You burst out in surprised laughter. Eddie smiles as he watches your hands cover your mouth, concealing the bright smile you wear. When your laughter peters off, you seem to think about something for a moment.
“Would you like to eat lunch in here with me?” you ask with a shy smile.
His grip tightens on the little silver lunch box that once hid his inventory but now does its intended job. No one has ever asked him to sit with them during lunch. Jenkinson High is providing a much kinder high school experience to Eddie.
“Sure.”
He pulls a chair up in front of your desk to be across from you. You use a receipt as a bookmark and plop the book in a desk drawer.
“So, where are you from, Mr. Eddie?” you ask pleasantly.
“You can really just call me Eddie,” he chuckles.
Redness floats to the tops of your cheeks. Mild embarrassment crosses your features.
“Sorry, I thought your tattoo was… I was making a silly joke about these books-”
“Wait, my tattoo? You mean this one,” he points to the most recent addition on the inside of his right upper arm.
It’s the ring of power on the chain Frodo wears. Half of it disappears beneath his short sleeve.
“Yeah, isn't that Lord of the Rings?”
Eddie’s mouth falls open briefly before he snaps it shut.
“It sure is. I didn't think anyone else around here would know anything about it,” he beams.
His smile encourages you to relax.
“Are you kidding? Those books are a history buff’s dream. It’s high fantasy with real-life historical context and a rich fictional history that’s detailed. Plus, I think being a hobbit sounds peaceful. Y’know, when they're not being dragged on life-threatening quests,” you ramble excitedly.
“I’m more of a Dúnedain guy myself.”
You squint and really size him up.
“I guess that makes sense. I can see you being a dark mysterious ranger like Aragorn. Does that mean I should call you Strider instead of Mr. Eddie?” You throw him a teasing smile and take a bite of your sandwich.
The action reminds Eddie he’s supposed to be eating too. He pulls out a sloppy PB&J he made himself in haste this morning.
“I think I like Mr. Eddie better. What’s that make you then?” He jerks his chin up at you before biting into his own sandwich.
A goofy smile takes over your face.
“Why, your gardener, of course.”
Eddie feels his face heat up, but powers through it. Where the hell did you come from? It’s like someone made you just for him and planted you here for him to find.
“So?” You ask expectantly.
“What?” He blinks still caught up in the idea of you and him.
“Where are you from?” You chuckle.
“Oh- Hawkins.”
“I go to the movies there sometimes!”
“Yeah?” Eddie smiles.
“Okay, well, in all honesty, I go once a week,” you admit shyly, “Friday is my movie day.”
Eddie nods as he makes a mental note of that. Every Friday you're in Hawkins.
“What about you?”
A blush rises to the tops of your cheeks.
“I’m living here in town right now.”
“Are you from here?” Eddie arches an eyebrow.
You stare right into his eyes for a moment. Your eyebrows set and your mouth tightens as if you're thinking hard. Eddie’s own eyes widen under your gaze.
“No, I’m not.”
Eddie nods again, choosing not to push further. Clearly, there's something there you don't want to discuss. Far be it from him to make you.
“I still can't believe you know Lord of the Rings,” he switches the conversation back to a topic he knows is safe.
A wide grin breaks out on your face. You start digging around your lower left drawer. One by one you drop well-loved copies of The Fellowship of the Ring, The Two Towers, and The Return of the King on top of one another. After another moment of shuffling things around you pull out equally loved copies of The Hobbit and even The Silmarillion .
“I think we’re gonna be great friends,” Eddie decides with a nod.
You laugh but agree. It does feel like the start of a beautiful friendship.
***
Lunch at your desk with Eddie silently becomes routine. The two of you share extensive notes on just about every little detail LOTR has to offer. There’s some arguing, but mostly a lot of agreeing and adding onto each other’s theories. It’s the highlight of both your days. It’s the only time Eddie sees you for a while. Nothing in your classroom has needed his attention. He finds himself quietly willing things to break just to have an excuse to be in your presence for a few more moments.
Eddie is pushing an AV cart of busted equipment back to the maintenance office. He takes the scenic route, the one that takes him by your classroom. As usual, your door is ajar so your voice carries to the end of the hall. You’re lecturing on the process of immigrating through Ellis Island. He watches as you weave a story with your entire body, much like he does when DM-ing. As rare as those times are beginning to feel.
He peers in from the hall as you act out a family going through Ellis Island. Only their name and, therefore, identity is changed. The family then has to figure out how to survive in a new place and a new language they don't fully understand. Watching you is almost like watching a movie. Eddie becomes so lost in your storytelling that he misses the few students who catch him through the door. Smirks and notes go flying as rumors spread about the seniors’ favorite history teacher and the cute maintenance guy.
Eddie lets himself slip into a dreamy trance, leaning against the AV cart, and propping his face up on his hand. The thing about AV carts is they're on wheels. Wheels Eddie didn't lock because he’s supposed to be walking it back to the maintenance office. As he leans against it, the cart slowly starts rolling. By the time he realizes, eyes going wide, the world is already toppling over.
You’re over him in a blink. Eddie is sure his face is about to melt off with how hot it is. A few students snicker, which garners scolding from you.
“Are you alright, Mr. Eddie?” You ask with knit eyebrows.
“Yep- good- I’m good,” he says quickly, scrambling back to his feet.
You give a small amused smile as he dusts himself off. The sight of it causes a smile to grow involuntarily on Eddie’s lips.
“Okay,” you nod, “good.”
“I’ll- uh… see you at lunch?” The question feels incredibly stupid coming out.
You smile like it isn't, though. It calms some of his nerves.
“See you at lunch,” you confirm.
Eddie gives you a two-finger salute as he continues his trek. You disappear back into your classroom. Eddie can hear your lecture continue. He listens for as long as your voice will travel to him.
***
“Are you sure this isn't like super creepy?” Eddie asks for the tenth time.
The blue and red glow of the movie theater awning barely reaches the tips of his white shoes. He’s huddled by a phone booth, anxiously trying to talk Steve into telling him to go home. Eddie truly never imagined he would be chattering away to Steve Harrington for dating advice . He can thank Dustin for this strange newfound friendship.
“I don't know if I'd say super creepy, but it might be like a three out of ten on the creepy-dar,” Steve answers with a shrug in his voice.
“Nope, I’m going home. This was stupid. I’m stupid,” Eddie shakes his head to himself.
“Eddie, will you just shut up and go watch a movie? It’s perfectly normal for a guy to go see a movie and run into a coworker. Stop overthinking this and don’t forget to bring me popcorn after when you come over to spill allll the details.”
“Tell Robin I’m not coming over to spill anything. If the two of you old birds want gossip, you’ll have to come see the movie with me,” Eddie tells him.
He can hear Robin’s groan in the background and smiles a little.
“Nice try, Munson. No buffers, go see your damn movie,” Steve orders firmly.
Before Eddie can try to procrastinate any further, Steve hangs up. Eddie slams the phone back on the hook and sighs. Okay, he can do this… right? Right ? He’s beginning to think he should go home and ask you to hang out the next time he sees you like a normal person. Is that what you do with real adult friends? Ask do you want to hang out sometime ? or is there some other secret adult social cue he missed out on during his time repeating senior year? He doesn't get very long to explore the possibilities before your voice breaks him from his thoughts.
“Mr. Eddie?” You call curiously from beneath the lit-up awning.
Warm light hugs you, making you almost glow from where he is in the shadows.
“Oh- uh- Hey,” he stutters with a weak wave.
You smile wide at him, causing a relieved breath to escape his chest. You walk over to him, leaving the light to place yourself right by him. Even though your smile remains, your nose scrunches up.
“It’s weird seeing you outside of school,” you chuckle.
He mimics your facial expression.
“You too, kinda,” he agrees.
The two of you laugh lightly as you take each other in. You aren't in your usual clothes. It’s then Eddie realizes that he’s only ever seen you in your work clothes. Nice pants, cardigans, and clean sneakers aren't necessarily your daily go-to's. If Eddie had to guess based on right now, you seem extremely comfortable in a pair of worn-in jeans, beat-up black vans, and a black Purdue hoodie.
“Actually, it's perfect that you're here. I got these shelves for my classroom, but I could use help putting them together. Are you busy tomorrow?” You give him a hopeful look that makes it impossible for him to deny you.
“Not at all. I can meet you at the school around ten if that works?” He offers easily.
“Ten is perfect!”
The two of you stand there smiling at each other like idiots. You shift awkwardly on your feet. Your eyes drift to the entrance of the theatre and then back to Eddie.
“Are you busy now? I wouldn't say no to some company,” you smile shyly.
Eddie’s own smile grows soft.
“I’d be happy to provide you with some company,” he says with a dramatic effect to his voice.
He bends slightly at the hips and offers you his elbow. With a chuckle, you loop your arm through his and let him lead the way toward the building. He pauses before the ticket booth and looks at you.
“Wait, what are you seeing?”
***
Some annoyed glares get sent your way, but you don't care. You and Eddie exit the theatre leaning on each other as you laugh in harmony. The two of you watched some god-awful horror film. The kind you spent the entire time making fun of, which the other viewers didn't quite appreciate.
“I’m really glad you decided to watch that with me,” you tell Eddie as you come to a halt on the sidewalk.
“So am I.”
Eddie stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jean vest. Your eyes drift over the various pins and patches in the low light of the building. At school, Eddie is always in a plain, usually sweaty, t-shirt and a pair of work pants. His casual clothes feel a lot more natural for him. It’s like taking a peek into the mind and life of Eddie Munson that you don't usually get.
“If only the kids got to see this side of Mr. Eddie. All metal and cool instead of falling over AV carts in the hallways,” you throw him a playful smile.
His cheeks heat up at the memory.
“That really damaged my street cred, huh?” Eddie chuckles and rubs the back of his neck.
You shrug.
“Probably with everyone else, but I still think you’re pretty cool.”
A goofy smile crawls across Eddie’s face.
“Yeah?”
“I mean… maybe not as cool as me ,” you tease.
“Oh, no, I don't think I could ever be as cool as my gardener.”
A small giggle tumbles from your lips. Your eyes find the toes of your sneakers. They're tattered and nervously squishing a leaf into the sidewalk.
“Would you be willing to make this a regular thing? I usually just come alone, but I liked it better with you,” your nose scrunches up anxiously as you ask.
Eddie’s heart flutters. You liked a part of your weekly routine better with Eddie around. So much so, you’d like to alter it so he could always be around for it. Sure, it's just a movie, but it feels like so much more. It feels like the promise of things starting to grow.
“Yeah, that sounds fun.”
You beam at him.
“Great! We can figure out what to see next week during lunch one day. I’ll bring in the paper so we can look at the showtimes,” you say excitedly.
Eddie nods enthusiastically. A moment passes where the two of you bask in the joy the other brings you. Your friendship is still new, but being in each other’s lives feels so normal .
“I should go if I want to catch the last bus back,” you finally sigh.
“Let me drive you.”
You blink at Eddie for a second.
“Are you sure?” you ask.
“Yeah, just let me know where you live. My van’s right over there- that sounds really creepy, I’m hearing it now,” he nods at your amused expression.
“Lead the way to your chariot, Mr. Eddie,” you smile.
Eddie’s heart thumps. He’s so very sure at that moment that you’re made for him. He's sure someone dug around in his dreams and pulled you out. Jesus Christ, he’s terrified he’ll wake up and you won't have ever existed in the first place.
His movements are frantic as he cleans up the front seat. A couple of fast food wrappers were scattered on the seat, but are now occupying the back instead. Eddie gives a sheepish smile as he gestures for you to get in. You do so with a reassuring squeeze of his upper arm. It’s such a small gesture, but it does everything to rid Eddie of his anxiety. At least about you seeing him as a slob.
“Are you taking the bus tomorrow?” he asks as he pulls away from the curb.
“No, the route to the school doesn't run on weekends. It should be nice, though. I’ll probably just walk,” you shrug.
“Absolutely not,” Eddie shakes his head dramatically, “I’ll pick you up.”
“I walk all the time,” you chuckle.
“Not anymore. No gardener of mine is braving the elements when my chariot awaits.”
Heat rises to your face as you fight down a smile. The goal isn't to not smile, but to not smile so damn hard. You feel like you do nothing but smile like an idiot around Eddie. It’s so hard not to.
“You’re…,” you start, but struggle to find the right words.
Eddie stops the van at a red light.
“Amazing? Ingenious? Devilishly Handsome?” he leans in toward you with a wide smile.
You can't help but chuckle.
“I was thinking incredibly kind , but I guess those work too,” you tease.
The red light washes Eddie’s face with color, but you swear you see the red deepen. He offers you a strangely bashful smile.
“It’s nothing, really,” he shrugs.
The light turns and you’re moving again.
“I don't just mean tonight. It’s like you always happen to be there. Even when I don't realize I want you there,” you tell him while playing with the hem of your shirt.
“I went to the movies just to run into you,” he blurts the confession out.
There’s a beat of silence that Eddie swears is about to swallow him whole. His grip on the steering wheel goes white knuckle.
“You can just call me next time,” you tell him amused.
He glances over, needing to see what thoughts are crossing your features. You’re already smiling at him.
“I don’t have your number.”
You grab an old receipt from the center console. Then you dig a pen out of the glove box. Without a word, you scribble down your phone number. You write your name above it with a smiley face then leave it in the frontmost cup holder.
“Will you call me to let me know you made it home safe?” You ask.
Breathing is suddenly really fucking hard. Eddie nods in confirmation, not trusting his voice. It feels broken and he isn't even using it right now. He'd probably sound like a thirteen-year-old if he opens his mouth. All voice cracks, leaving no room for eloquence. The remainder of the drive is made in companionable silence. Far too soon, Eddie parks on the street in front of your little apartment building.
“Do you want to come up for coffee?” You ask, trying to shove down your nervousness.
“Coffee?” Eddie’s nose scrunches in disgust.
You laugh, causing Eddie to smile.
“I don't know why I said that. I don't even have coffee. It just felt like the thing I was supposed to do,” you admit.
Eddie’s smile softens. Maybe you’re just as lost with this whole adult thing as he is.
“D’you ever feel like you're pretending to be an adult? Like you're just waiting for someone to realize you’re faking it and then you'll turn into three kids in a trenchcoat?” He asks thoughtfully.
“Only every minute of every day,” you answer without hesitation.
“You seem like you have it all figured out.”
“Thanks,” you breathe a laugh, “I spend a lot of time acting like I have it all figured out, but I’m terrified. I’m terrified all the time.”
“Yeah, me too,” Eddie offers you a lopsided smile.
You return it, your stomach coming alive with little sparks. There’s something so sweet about feeling understood.
“Do you want to come up for anything other than coffee?” You make a second attempt at inviting him in.
Eddie is tempted. Christ, it’s like there's a gun to his back. Still, he can't bring himself to agree. He can't yet step into a space that's unadulteratedly you. No distillation from the school environment, no holding back due to being in public, and no fear of ridicule.
“I should get home before my uncle declares me a missing person,” he offers an apologetic smile.
Your own expression doesn't falter. Any disappointment is covered by understanding.
“I’ll see you in the morning?”
“Expect me laying on the horn at nine fifty-five sharp .”
You grimace.
“Please don’t honk your horn before noon. My neighbors would kill me.”
“Guess you just gotta make sure you’re outside then,” he shrugs.
“Have a good night, Mr. Eddie,” you smile as you slide out of the van.
“Have a good night.”
You definitely make sure to be outside by nine fifty-five the next morning.
***
The sunlight seems to drip across any exposed skin Eddie has. His arms, a strip of his lower back as he bends, and the back of his neck beneath where his hair is being held up by a black scrunchie. You study the focused knit of his eyebrow as he screws the metal shelf together. It’s possible you could have done this on your own, but as you watch him you're glad you didn't. Watching Eddie exist is quickly becoming one of your favorite pastimes.
“What’s the next lesson on?” Eddie asks without taking his attention off what he’s doing.
You’re sitting on top of your desk, legs crisscrossed, as Eddie takes up residence in your chair.
“Well, next class we're finishing up the Ellis Island unit with essay presentations. After that comes the introduction to urbanization as a concept and a curse,” you tell him happily.
“A concept and a curse?” He laughs.
“Yeah, y’know, what it is, why it came about, and the ways it's weakening our communities.”
“I’ve never met a teacher like you,” Eddie shakes his head with a smile.
Blush burns across your cheeks. Your shoulders rise as you shrink into yourself.
“Is that a good thing?”
He looks at you with those big brown eyes, wide and full of sincerity.
“Are you kidding? It’s the best! I wish I had a teacher like you in high school. Maybe then I would’a only done senior year once.”
“Well, personally, I’m glad I have you as a friend rather than a student.”
Eddie is ready to melt on the spot. He’s ready to become nothing but a whining little puddle on the linoleum. It would be incredibly nice to be able to kiss you right now, but Eddie shows more restraint than he thought he could muster.
“Probably for the best. I was terrible to have as a student,” he chuckles.
“Somehow, that doesn't completely surprise me.”
His hands fly to his chest and he falls back into the chair dramatically. Eddie’s head lolls to the side, tongue sticking out. You can't help the laugh that comes out. You don't miss the way his lips quirk up at the sound.
“You wound me,” he tells you, one eye open.
“Oh, I’m so sorry , Mr. Eddie. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?” you lean toward him with big puppy dog eyes.
Both of his eyes open and he sits forward again with an amused smile. Eddie’s face comes so close you can smell the mint of his toothpaste.
“I think I can find forgiveness in my heart this one time.”
“Thank you Eddie the Forgiving, Eddie the Kind Hearted- Oh , Eddie the Merciful!” your face brightens more with each name you come up with.
“ Eddie the Merciful sure beats Eddie the Freak ,” Eddie chuckles and goes back to his work.
“ Eddie the Freak ?” you ask curiously.
He stiffens, the screwdriver faltering in his hand. Sometimes it's easy to forget that his reputation begins and ends in Hawkins. Sometimes it's hard to remember you don't know about him.
“Uh- yeah, it’s just something assholes in high school called me… and pretty much the rest of Hawkins,” he explains sheepishly.
A frown plants firmly on your face.
“Sounds like a bunch of idiots who don't know what they’re talking about,” you decide.
Eddie glances at you with warm eyes. The corners of his mouth pull up just a bit, just enough for you to know you made him feel better.
When the shelf is complete you cheer and throw your arms around Eddie. He absorbs every molecule of you he can through his clothes. You silently do the same. It’s over too quickly, yet not quick enough for friends and coworkers. The shelf stands behind your desk, off to the side so as to not block the blackboard. You begin to load it full of books that have been cluttering your desk, both the surface and the drawers. Eddie moves to help you but stops when he sees your wide-eyed stare.
“What?”
“Nothing… I just… It’s just that I have a system, is all. It’s not time for those yet.”
Eddie nods, examining your suddenly anxious form.
“Tell me what comes next and I’ll hand it to you,” he says.
You smile softly. The two of you work in perfect harmony. It’s an effortless task to work beside and with Eddie.
***
“Is Mr. Eddie stopping by today?” Mara asks from the back of the class before you can get started for the period.
“Not unless you plan on breaking something in the classroom,” you answer amused.
“Well, he comes by just to listen to the lecture sometimes,” she shrugs.
Your face is on fire.
“He does?”
Some light chuckles rumble through the room. Your eyes scan your students. It feels like all of them are in on something you aren't. Which is a terrifying feeling when you’re dealing with a room full of teenagers.
“Yeah, he stands by the door for a minute if he’s going by,” she tells you casually.
Another couple of chuckles let you know that this isn't a new topic of conversation for these kids.
“If he does, I’m sure he’s just checking in on his colleague,” you say.
Jeffery, who sits near the middle, raises his hand. It causes his jacket to scrape against itself.
“Yes, Jeffery.”
“Is that s’pose to do that?” He points at the ceiling behind you.
You turn your head with furrowed brows.
“Oh- fuck ,” you curse hastily.
A chorus of ooooooooo ripples through the classroom. You’re too busy trying to push your bookshelf out of the way of the stream of water pouring from the ceiling. How did I not hear that? you question in your head.
“Mara, I need you to call Mr. Eddie. Extension 1892,” you order as you continue your effort.
She rushes over to the phone to do what you said. It becomes clear fast that moving the entire shelf isn't an option. Your priority now is salvaging your books. Three, or four books at a time you rip from the topmost shelf. They make wet slapping noises as you toss them on your desk.
Once the top shelf is cleared, the water begins slipping between the metal cracks of the framework. The water slows to a stop, but you don't stop removing the books. Each time you survey the damage your stomach twists. Eddie is rushing in a couple of minutes later, red in the face and out of breath.
He sees the distraught on your shoulders as you face away from him. That’s when he sees the pile of soaked books on your desk. His own heart tears in two when he sees your Tolkien collection amongst the most damaged.
“I turned off the water to the floor, so only use the bathroom downstairs. You should probably move class while I… deal with this,” he says gently.
Eddie sees your arms move to rub at your face before your turn to him. Your eyes are hollow, your face crestfallen, and your breathing is still a little erratic.
“Y’know what, kids,” Eddie claps his hands together and turns toward the class, “I think that pipe just bought you a free period in the library to study.”
None of them dare to groan. They can tell how upset you are. The kids in your classes respect and like you too much to feel anything other than sympathetic. There's the creaking of chairs, the shuffling of bags, and then steady footsteps exiting to the hall. You don't see any of it. Your eyes stare, but all you can register is a single thought. What am I going to do?
“Hey,” Eddie prompts softly once the room is emptied.
He lightly tugs on your elbow when you don't respond. Your eyes focus on his worried expression.
“Hey.”
“It’ll be okay. There's a heat gun downstairs I can-”
“No,” you shake your head.
“No?” he asks, confused.
“It’s too late, Eddie. The pages will fall apart if we even try opening them right now. They’re… gone. They’re just gone.”
The lack of Mr. in front of his name lodges a pit in his stomach.
“We can still try t-”
“Please, just, don't try to give me hope right now. Those books were all I came to Indiana with, literally. I need a moment to process this,” you tell him quietly, arms hugging yourself.
Eddie keeps his mouth shut. He lets you stand there staring forlornly at the ruined pile of the things you prized the most, and apparently the longest. He gets to work on the pipe. The ceiling tile is ruined. It crumbles once Eddie’s fingers touch it, causing more water to pour down. The pipe itself will need to be replaced, but he can patch it up with tape until that can get done. At least so the water can go back on.
You expect him to leave when he’s done. Like he should. It almost startles you to hear him starting to clean behind you once he was done with the pipe. He’s mopping up the water with… the American flag.
“What are you doing ?” You screech, hands flying out to stop him.
“What, I didn't have anything else!” He protests, hands flying up in surrender.
To Eddie’s utter shock, you start laughing.
“The flag can’t touch the floor and I really don't think it can be used to clean something up.”
He looks down at the soaked flag, then back up at you. He shrugs.
“It is right now.”
“I’m talking about the Flag Code,” you chuckle further, but the hollowness is still present in your eyes.
“The what ?”
“Alright, Mr. Eddie, I guess this is the first lesson you aren't auditing from my doorway,” you tease, “there are a set of rules on how the American flag should be handled, displayed, and treated.”
Heat tears across Eddie’s face.
“You’ve noticed that, huh?” He asks sheepishly.
“No, but my kids have. I think they like you.”
His eyebrows shoot up. High school kids liking Eddie? That’s a new one for him. You sigh a little and look back to the sopping mess on your desk. Slowly, you sit down on your chair. It’s as if your legs physically couldn't hold you up anymore. There is so much tied to those books for you and they're just gone.
“In my defense, you really are a great teacher. You make everything feel more alive,” he smiles softly.
Your eyes move up to him. The faintest hint of a smile nudges at the corners of your lips.
“Thanks. I think you and the kids are the only ones who think so.”
“Then we’re the only ones that matter,” he decides.
The smile nudging your lips grows.
“Yeah, I guess you are.”
“Can I finish cleaning up the water or are you gonna call the army on me?”
“You're safe for now,” you breathe a laugh.
You listen to the sound of Eddie cleaning up the remnants of what just destroyed your life. Okay, you could possibly be being dramatic. It really does feel like you lost someone important, though. In a way, you have. Those books were all you had from before you ran. Before Maryland couldn't be your home any more thanks to a dangerous man and an even more dangerous system.
“I should go to the library,” you sigh.
Eddie finishes soaking up the water. He rings the flag out the window and hangs it over the nearest chair to dry. You haven't moved an inch when he turns back around. When you register the movement in your peripheral, your eyes move to him.
“Would you… take care of this for me? I can’t…,” you trail off.
“Don’t worry about it. I got it.”
You nod, which is how you realize tears have started falling. They hit your forearms where they rest on your thighs. Eddie sees them drip off your chin. He’s around your desk in an instant. His arms pull you into him. You remain seated, head buried in Eddie’s shirt, and arms around his waist. He stands, arms around your shoulders, and gently delivers hushed it's okay's .
“I got you,” he whispers reassuringly.
Those words swell your heart until you think it may just explode. I got you. You don't doubt that for a second. Eddie has got you. He has you in his arms. You have him in your heart. As he squeezes you into him further, you understand just how much you’ve grown to like Eddie. In some ways, he feels like another aspect of you. In others, he feels so otherworldly that you can't help but want to know more, and explore every unknown he has to offer.
Seeing you like this tightens Eddie’s chest until he’s sure he’s going to stop breathing. He doesn't know why the books are so important, but he understands it. He understands the way he would feel if he had to helplessly watch his guitar be destroyed. He understands leaving what you know behind with nothing but a few possessions and the hope of something better on the horizon. That's how he arrived on Wayne’s doorstep all those years ago. He just wished there was more he could do to help. He wished he could provide to you what Wayne was able to provide to him. Stability, comfort, and the most real version of love he’s ever experienced.
“Thanks, Mr. Eddie,” you whisper as you pull back.
He watches you stand and collect yourself. With a deep breath, you fix your face into a calm smile and nod. Eddie observes the way you put up the facade, the part you need to play in order to do your job. He isn't sure he’d be able to do the same. He’s sure you’re the bravest person he knows for that. You walk out of the room.
“Anything for my gardener.”
It takes Eddie the rest of the day to fix everything up. He makes an attempt to save your books with his heat gun, but you were right. The moment he tries to gently peel open the books his fingers go through the softened paperback covers. The pages themselves are already adhering to each other. It gives his stomach a sick twist, but he ends up throwing them out. Some of the books on the second shelf were salvageable. The ones lower than that were safe thanks to the others taking the brunt of the damage.
As he looks down at The Return of the King in the bin, he makes a decision. If four halflings who do nothing but smoke weed and eat can save all of Middle Earth, then he can fix this. It won't be the same. The books themselves won't be the same ones physically, but he hopes he can at least ease the pain of losing them. There’s just one problem. There is only one person he knows of that could possibly help him get what he needs. Reefer Rick.
***
“Ah, Munson, you're funny , man,” Reefer Rick drawls.
He’s sitting on a park table, where he agreed to meet Eddie. Eddie is sitting on the actual bench part of the table, back pressed into the hard edge of the table.
“I’m not joking. Can you help me out or not?” Eddie questions shortly.
Rick blinks at him in surprise. He leans onto his knee, leaning in toward Eddie.
“You want first edition Tolkiens? Do you have any idea what that’ll cost you?”
“A few hundred dollars?”
“Try about a month’s rent just for Fellowship ,” Rick scoffs at Eddie’s ignorance.
Eddie runs a hand down his face. The metal of his rings leaves a trail of biting cold on his skin. He has a decent amount of savings from when he was still dealing and the new steadier income that’s been adding to it. He knows he could swing it and still have money left over. Unless the van needs work, which it almost always does. Or the trailer needs work, which it almost always does.
“Can you get them or not?”
Rick leans back and strokes his chin thoughtfully. God, this guy’s a prick. He’s only become more insufferable now that Eddie isn't competition anymore.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you,” Eddie sighs exasperatedly.
He pushes himself up from where he was seated. Before he can get more than a few steps, Rick speaks up.
“So, who's sucking your dick?”
Eddie snaps around and stares down Rick. Rick just sits there with a smug grin.
“What?”
“Someone’s gotta be giving you some real good head for you to go through all this,” Rick shrugs.
“Yeah, your mom.”
“Fuck you, Munson.”
“Fuck you, Rick. Just get me the books.”
With that, Eddie stalks off to where his van is parked in the gravel lot. Bills should be on his mind when he buckles in, but they're not. He’s not even concerned with the amount of money this will cost him really. He’s only concerned with seeing you smile brightly again.
Eddie pulls up to your apartment not much later. He announces his arrival with three short honks. It’s Friday, or as he calls it: his favorite day of the week. You’re outside a few moments later jogging up to his van. His eyes are trained on your hoodie as you hop in.
“Is that a Hawkins hoodie?” He asks, pointing to the green letters on your gray hoodie.
You look down at them too.
“Oh, yeah, I got this from the store down the street from the movie theater. It gets really cold in there sometimes and I don't always think to bring something with me,” you explain.
Eddie reads HAWKINS in large green letters and indiana in smaller green letters below it. It feels strangely personal, seeing you in that. It isn't his hoodie, but it still feels like you're wearing part of him. He really fucking likes it.
“Alright, you ready?”
“Sure am.”
He takes off back to Hawkins. You update him on some of the drama you’ve overheard from the kids. How Mara has a crush on Chris, but Chris is dating Jenna. Then there’s the dispute between the notorious best friend duo of the school that are always seen together. He listens happily, asking questions and making comments.
“What about you?” You ask.
He glances over at you. Your body is angled so you’re facing him as much as you can while buckled into the passenger seat.
“What about me?”
“Anything new?”
He thinks for a moment.
“Wayne got us a new microwave,” he says finally.
“What happened to your old one?”
“I kinda set it on fire,” he tells you sheepishly.
You burst out laughing.
“ How ?”
“In my defense, I was really high and-”
“You put a fork in there didn't you?”
“ No, ” he scoffs defensively, “it was a spoon. I left it in the bowl of mac and cheese I was heating up.”
Once again, you’re laughing. The sound makes Eddie smile. Laughter and smiles haven't been lacking in the few days since you lost your books. They just haven't quite been the same. Usually, you reach a radiance setting of ten. Lately, you’ve maxed out at a five.
A beat of comfortable silence passes as Hawkins begins to appear around you.
“Would it be okay if I ask you something personal?” You inquire quietly.
Eddie’s eyes shift to you quickly. You're no longer facing him, but the windshield. Your head is leaning back on the headrest and your eyes are trained on the side view mirror.
“Yeah, shoot.”
“Why do you live with your uncle?”
A thick lump forms in Eddie’s throat. He swears you must have been able to hear the way he choked on your words. There’s a panicked moment where he considers lying, convincing himself you’ll never see past the story he has to tell. He swallows that panic with the lump in his throat. He pushes through.
“My mom skipped kinda early on. Guess she realized dad was a sleazy piece of shit around the third stolen car he sold. I think she thought I was a lost cause and left me behind. When I was twelve, dad got arrested. Last I knew he was still in there, but,” he shrugs.
The time it takes you to process the story Eddie uses to torture himself. He’s so sure his family history has stained him like coffee on paper. He’s brittle, wrinkled, and discolored. Unusable, unlikeable, and impure.
“My dad got out of prison my senior year of high school,” you tell him.
“What was he in for- uh- if you don't mind me asking.”
“Manslaughter. He went in when I was a toddler so I didn't even remember him when he came back. I grew up with my grandmother while he was away,” you explain softly.
A sick relief cracks open Eddie’s chest and relieves the pressure there. Maybe he is stained, but you are too. Perhaps between the two of you, there's still some paper left that can be used, some bits untouched by the warping of your similar pasts.
“Shit… That’s heavy,” he breathes, feeling dumb once it comes out.
You chuckle.
“Guess it is. Yours isn't exactly light either, though,” you point out.
He nods thoughtfully.
“We both got some heavy shit.”
“Mine… mine might get heavier than what I’ve said,” you admit.
You don't know why you do it. All this time you’ve kept it tucked away, hidden from where anyone could dig it up. Yet, in Eddie’s van, driving through Hawkins, surrounded by a gentle understanding conversation, you don't want to hide anymore. Eddie has done nothing but see past the bullshit. He’s done nothing but look past whatever is around to see you . After he took care of you in your classroom, after he held you the way he did, you’re ready for him to really see you.
“It’d probably be rude to ask, huh?” Eddie attempts to lighten the mood a touch.
“Probably, but I’m willing to answer.”
“Alright… How does it get heavier?”
“My dad killed my mom in a car accident. He was drinking. When he got out of prison he showed up at my graduation. I totally freaked in front of everyone . I ran away, I ran home, but he followed me. He wouldn't stop following me for weeks . I called the police, tried to get him for stalking, but that didn't work. Then my grandmother died and a few weeks after that it was time for school.”
Eddie lets out a low whistle. He parks the van on the street of the movie theater, but neither of you moves to get out. Instead, Eddie looks fully at you. His eyebrows knit in concern.
“Wait- if the cops didn't arrest him for stalking you what happened to him?”
“He kept showing up randomly. At my house, at the store, the mall, anywhere. I kept running away. I wish I could say I even wanted to believe he was different, but I could tell he was still drinking. So, I left a week before school started. I only took the books my grandma got me as a kid. I didn't have much else worth taking.”
“I’m sorry,” he says mostly because he doesn't know what else to say.
He does mean it, though. He’s sorry you had to go through any of that. He’s sorry you went through it alone. He’s sorry you had to leave home and never look back.
“Kind of a bummer conversation to have before watching a movie, huh?” you chuckle.
“Yeah, kinda,” he chuckles back.
“If you don't want to anymore, it’s okay.”
“Do you still want to?”
You shrug noncommittally. Your eyes are trained on where you're picking at the skin around your fingers.
“I don't care what we do. I just want to hang out with you,” he admits.
Your eyes shoot up to him, wide as can be. Your eyebrows are raised curiously.
“Are you sure?”
“You kidding? I don't care about the movies. I do this to spend time with you,” he throws you a lopsided smile.
You smile back.
“I-” whatever you're about to say is cut off by a rapping on the driver-side window that causes you both to jump.
Eddie snaps his head around to see Steve and Robin standing outside the van. Both of them smile and wave. You look at Eddie curiously. He curses under his breath as he cranks the window down.
“Munson! Fancy seeing you here on a Friday night,” Steve drawls with a mischievous gleam in his eye.
He leans against the door where the window is open. One arm is supporting his body on the door while the other has his hand placed on his hip.
“Harrington, Buckley, what are you doing here?” Eddie questions, attempting to tamp down any irateness.
“We’re just on our way to see a movie and noticed you parked over here,” Steve shrugs casually.
“Is that the teacher you won't stop talking about?” Robin asks cheerily from where she stands just behind Steve’s shoulder.
Heat races up Eddie’s neck. He gives Robin a flared-nosed warning look.
“I believe I am. Well, I’m a teacher anyway. I don't know how many those Mr. Eddie hangs out with,” you say with a smile from your seat.
“Just one, as far as I know. Isn’t that right, Mr. Eddie ?” Steve flashes a shit-eating grin.
“Yeah, just the one,” Eddie grumbles.
“So, what're you guys seeing?” Robin asks, bouncing a bit on the balls of her feet.
“We were just leaving, actually,” you reply apologetically.
Robin lightly hits Steve on the shoulder.
“I thought you said they usually come around six,” she pouts.
Steve glares at her over his shoulder.
“Rob, shut up,” he hisses.
Her face becomes an apologetic grimace.
“Sorry,” she whispers, but it's no use.
You’re all too close to each other to not be heard on a quiet Hawkins night.
“So, are you going to actually introduce us?” You give Eddie an amused smirk.
He stammers as he introduces you to the two troublemakers, and them to you. You offer them a small wave in greeting.
“You’re really heading out?” Steve asks.
“Yup,” Eddie says.
“Where are you going?”
“My place,” you answer knowing Eddie didn't have one.
Steve glances at you with a smirk and then turns his teasing gaze to Eddie.
“Really, now?”
Eddie is tempted to throw the van in drive and speed off with Steve hanging onto the window.
“Goodnight, Harrington,” Eddie says shortly.
“Hey,” Steve points a finger at Eddie with raised eyebrows, “don't do anything I wouldn't do, okay?”
Eddie flips him off, earning him a round of chuckles. He cranks the window up as fast as he can manage. Steve steps back when he feels the glass rise against his arm. You shout a goodbye before the window can close all the way. He pulls away, careful not to run over any feet. Even if he really really wants to.
“Your friends seem nice,” you comment.
“We have different opinions about them right now,” he sighs.
You let out a hearty laugh.
“Do you really talk about me all the time?” You can't help but ask.
“If it’s weird, no. If it’s endearing, then totally,” he replies nervously.
“It’s definitely endearing,” you assure him.
“In that case, I talk about you even when I don’t mean to.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like the conversation could be on anything else and I still somehow end up talking about you. Shit, one time Steve was talking about basketball teams and I started going on about our argument over which Tolkien book is the best,” he chuckles anxiously.
You squeeze your hands together in your lap as you consider your next words.
“I talk about you to my cat,” are the words you decide on.
A crooked smile breaks across his face.
“You have a cat?”
“Yeah, Cookie. She’s a calico. She’s also my best friend, as sad as that is.”
“High praise if you’re talking about me to your best friend.”
“It sure is.”
The van falls into a companionable silence. Both of you let it wrap around and comfort you. Words aren't always necessary. Sometimes it's just nice being in the same space.
***
Cookie is purring and rubbing against your legs the moment you're through the door. You chuckle and as you crouch to scratch behind her ear. When you move forward and begin taking off your sneakers, Eddie enters hesitantly. He’s afraid of breaking the seal. Afraid to disturb the symbiotic feeling relationship you've established.
Once he’s through the door, Cookie is purring and rubbing against his legs too. His muscles ease as he smiles down at the cute little calico. He bends down and scoops her up. She lays purring in one of his arms like a baby. Eddie scratches her belly, causing more purring to pour out of her. He looks at where you were removing your sneakers. Except now you’re standing upright staring at him with wide eyes.
“What?” he asks.
“She doesn't even let me pick her up,” you gape.
Eddie grows a smug smile.
“That right? I must be special. Am I special, Cookie?” He coos as he scratches under her chin.
You get closer to pet Cookie. Only, when you reach your hand out to pet her belly, she attaches herself to you. Her front arms wrap around your arm as her teeth gently nudge into your skin and her back paws kick at your hand. You give Eddie a deadpan look, at which he laughs.
“Traitor,” you mumble with a smile.
You extract your arm from her. Eddie puts her back down. You’re expecting her to dart away. She usually takes up residence on the low vintage cabinet beneath the windows. Only she stays and continues purring against Eddie’s legs.
“Would you like anything to drink?” You offer.
“Sure, as long as it's not coffee,” he says with a teasing smile.
“I would never,” you scoff dramatically.
Eddie chuckles, causing you to smile. He’s sort of beautiful when he laughs. He’s sort of beautiful in general. You lead him down the short entrance hall. Your walls are warm-toned but relatively empty. Some prints of landscapes hang here and there, but not much else.
The hall opens to the small open living space. Your old, but cushy couch faces the television. From your perspective walking in, you’re met with the arm of the couch as it faces left. Behind the couch is a small wooden table with two chairs. Then there's the small kitchen. Your fridge is less of a fridge and more of an icebox. It’s yellow with those big silver hinges and handles on the rounded door.
The vinyl flooring is cool against Eddie’s socks. Citrus and honey twirl together in the air creating a sweet, but tangy scent. His eyes find another short hall branching off the living room with three more doors. One of them has to be your bedroom, the other the bathroom, but he’s unsure about the third. Two windows let in the street light on the far wall. The low cabinet beneath them has the handful of salvaged books piled on top of it.
“It’s not much, but it’s home,” you say insecurely as you make your way to the fridge.
“It’s great,” Eddie assures you.
“Water, milk, apple juice, or sprite,” you list off as you peer into your fridge.
“Apple juice, for sure.”
You laugh, but take out the apple juice. You dig a hard plastic cup from the nearby upper cabinet and proceed to fill it. Eddie accepts it with a smile when you offer it to him.
“Make yourself at home,” you gesture to the couch.
When Eddie sits he does so delicately. He sinks into the cushion a comfortable amount. Another sip of his drink and then he’s placing it on the wooden coffee table in front of him. You sit beside him. There’s enough distance to still claim friendship, but you’re close enough to feel the warmth of each other’s bodies. Cookie curls up between Eddie and the arm of the couch.
“I think you’re my best friend,” you tell him quietly.
He gives you a warm smile. His big brown eyes feel liquid and ready to draw you in like a siren’s song.
“I think you’re my best friend too.”
You return his smile with a soft one of your own.
“You might be Cookie’s best friend too now,” you chuckle looking at your cat who is purring gently.
“Nah, I’m just the shiny new plaything.”
“I promise, I’ve never seen her so attached to a person she’s just met. Usually, she just ignores visitors,” you shake your head.
“You get a lot of visitors, then?” Eddie quirks an eyebrow.
Your face becomes ablaze. He looks back to Cookie to scratch behind her ear.
“Not really, no. My friends from college are all out of state at this point. We talk on the phone and they’ve visited a few times, but not often. They’re all a lot busier than me,” you explain.
“Adult friendships kinda suck,” he nods.
“Not all of them.”
“No, not all of them," his eyes turn to you carrying a smile, “Since we’re best friends now, I guess we have to hang out more,” he sighs like it's a chore.
“Oh, darn,” you chuckle.
Eddie chuckles. His eyes trail ahead and stop on his cup. He watches a droplet of condensation dribble down the hard plastic surface. The only sound is Cookie’s continuous purring.
“What were you going to say before Steve and Robin harassed us?” He doesn't look away from the cup.
“I haven't been interested in a single movie we’ve seen for at least a month. I've just been doing it to spend time with you too.”
You watch his features closely. His mouth tugs up creating the softest and most endeared smile you’ve seen him wear. Making him smile like that sets butterflies loose in your stomach.
“I… really like you,” he admits softly.
Your eyebrows furrow and your mouth smirks in amused confusion.
“I really like you too. We’re best friends, remember?” You nudge his shoulder a bit.
His smile falters. Eddie’s rings dig into the skin of his other hand as he squeezes them together between his knees. He’s sure his stomach is on the ground and about to crawl away. Maybe you didn't feel the way he was beginning to convince himself you do. Maybe he’s completely misread everything.
“Right, best friends. We’re a regular Sam and Frodo,” he gives a half-hearted smile.
“I’d follow you into Mordor.”
Eddie’s smile grows goofier as he finally looks at you again.
“Yeah?”
“Without a doubt.”
“We just need our Merry and Pippin.”
“I think Steve and Robin might fit that bill,” you chuckle.
Eddie laughs a little too hard.
“Holy shit, that’s perfect ! You’re a genius!”
“I try my best,” you shrug.
You and Eddie spend a few hours talking and laughing about anything. He tells you stories about his friends, even the kids that sometimes make him think he’s going to lose his hair. You regale stories from your college days and the small group of friends you made there. As you talk, something feels different.
The air around the two of you feels purer. It’s lighter, easier to move around in. You don't hesitate to share. Neither does Eddie. Eddie is so caught up in you, the rest of the world could be on fire and he wouldn't notice. For the first time since picking up his first cigarette, his lungs feel clean. Every breath is rejuvenating. You're enthralled by every aspect of Eddie. The way he talks, gestures, and laughs. The way his hair is as unruly as he is.
It’s not until you hug him goodbye that it clicks. When it clicks you feel like an absolute idiot. Your palm connects with your forehead with a slap . Eddie was trying to tell you he likes you. He has feelings for you. How are you supposed to bring that up now? Oh, by the way, I know I’m stupid, but I finally get what you were saying. Me too. Yeah, no.
You'll have to wait for your own opportunity to share. You’ll have to wait for the right time to tell him how you feel. And you feel so fucking much.
***
Eddie’s bank account is sore, but not down for the count. That’s the important part here. The van will have to keep making that weird rattling noise for another week, but he can live with that.
The books are smooth when he runs his hands over them. He never thought he’d hold first editions in his own hands. He really never thought he would willingly give them away. Yet, here he is placing them in the old box for his combat boots. Once the top is back on the box he places it tenderly under his bed. He plans to give them to you on Saturday. The two of you have plans for Eddie to come over and show you Back to the Future. Apparently, it's blasphemy that you haven't seen it yet.
Until then, the books will stay safe next to his stash. Hopefully, they don't start to smell. Hopefully, if they do it just reminds you of him instead of a skunk. He smiles at the memories of the times you’ve poked fun at him smelling. Can’t you even try to cover it? you’ve laughed. Maybe I should call you Pepé Le Pew instead of Mr. Eddie , you’ve teased. It always makes him smile and not just because he’s high. You don't criticize or ostracize him for smoking pot. Hell, he’s definitely done worse stuff than weed, but when he stopped selling he calmed down.
Graduating has put some things into perspective. Selling drugs to teenagers was just one of those things. Now, he only buys weed for himself. He doesn't stock up or distribute. He doesn't need to, he has a half-decent job. If he hadn't spent the money on those books he could’ve moved out on his own within a month. Wayne has talked to him a few times about moving out. Not that he was rushing Eddie, but he knew his nephew was getting his life together. He wanted to know what the next step for Eddie was.
Eddie made the mistake of telling Wayne that he could probably move into a small apartment around December. Well, that just got pushed back. November’s end is drawing nearer and Wayne is getting more curious. Annoying is more aligned with how Eddie’s feeling about it, but Wayne means well. He always does.
“So, you find a place?” Wayne asks him over dinner.
They’re on the couch with TV dinners. A gameshow Wayne likes to watch sometimes is on. Eddie sighs knowing he’s going to have to tell Wayne that the plan to move out is going to take a little longer.
“About that… That might actually take a bit longer than I thought.”
“Why’s that?”
Eddie clears his throat a little. It’s his attempt to make talking through his suddenly dry throat easier. It doesn't work.
“You know that friend I made at work?”
“Well, I know of them. You haven't brought’em around here for me to meet’em,” there’s a hint of criticism in Wayne’s voice.
“Right, well, some books that were really important to them got ruined. So, I bought them new ones,” Eddie explains vaguely, poking at the rubbery meat on his plastic tray.
“A few books set you back that much?” Wayne’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.
“They weren't just any books.”
“What were they?”
Eddie sighs knowing Wayne won't let him use vagueness to get out of this one.
“They're a five-piece set of first-edition Tolkien books. Y’know, Lord of the Rings .”
Wayne lets out a low whistle.
“You must have one good friend there,” he chuckles.
“Yeah, I do.”
“You’re a good friend too, kid,” Wayne tells him before taking a sip of the beer on the coffee table.
“Thanks,” Eddie looks down to hide his blush.
“Don’t feel like you need to rush to get out of here. This is your home as long as you want it to be,” Wayne says softly.
“I know, Uncle Wayne.”
“Don't be making a habit out of buying friends things that probably cost more than this trailer,” he adds with an amused tilt of his head
Eddie rolls his eyes.
“It’s a special circumstance.”
Wayne takes another sip of beer.
“I'd like to meet this special circumstance sometime,” he smiles at Eddie.
Eddie can't help smiling back. His uncle means well. Eddie knows Wayne just wants to be involved in his life. He isn't being nosy or prying. He’s just doing what he’s done since Eddie was a kid. He’s just being his dad.
“You will soon, I promise.”
Wayne nods. The conversation dies there. It doesn't need to continue. They sit and watch the show. Wayne occasionally guesses the right answer. Eddie jokes he should go on and win them money. Wayne laughs as he tells him he’s seen this episode before. Eddie laughs too. He loves nights when Wayne is home. The trailer feels warm and alive.
***
Eddie shows up during your planning period. No students are in sight, just you and your grade book. He says knock knock rather than actually knocking. You’re smiling before your eyes even make it to him.
“Hey,” you greet.
“Hey,” he smiles, “I figured I’d come by and fix the closet door during your free period.”
“The closet door isn't broken,” you tell him amused.
“You said it was making a noise that was bothering you.”
You blink at him for a moment. That was something you mentioned two days ago. One of the hinges is loose and makes an obnoxious squeaking whenever you have to open the door.
“That doesn't mean it's broken ,” you chuckle.
He shrugs and makes his way to the closet door. It's in the corner adjacent to where you sit at your desk.
“Bottom hinge,” you tell him as he sets his toolbox down.
He sits crisscrossed on the linoleum beside the hinge in question. You observe his hands as they inspect the metal. His fingers deftly test out where it's loosest and he leans in closer to see why. He catches you staring when he turns to get the screwdriver from his toolbox
“Like what you see?” he smirks.
Your face goes red.
“Shut it,” you grumble and go back to your grade book.
You work in tandem silently for a few minutes. There comes a point where you think that's how the entire time will go. You should know better with Eddie around, though.
“My uncle wants to meet you,” he tells you suddenly.
You look at him mildly surprised.
“Really?”
“Yeah, figures I talk about you enough. He should probably know what you look like,” he chuckles.
“I’d love to meet him. I can make dinner for us next week.”
“That'd be metal.”
“What kind of food does he like? Oh- and what drinks should I get? I want to make a good impression.”
Eddie turns to you with a feather-soft smile and siren-call eyes.
“He’s gonna love you,” Eddie assures you.
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
“How?”
“Because I- uh- I- erm- Because you're my best friend,” he flounders.
The unspoken Because I love you hangs heavy in the air. Both of you can feel it there. Neither of you is brave enough to acknowledge it though. You offer him a small smile.
“I still want to make something he likes,” you move on with the conversation.
You're both hesitant to move on. One foot in the conversation and one foot out.
“Pork chops and beer.”
“Pork chops and beer it is.”
***
You got some things in preparation for Eddie’s visit. Popcorn has been freshly popped, two cups of coke have been poured, and blankets have been draped over the back of the couch. You’ve always enjoyed wrapping up in a blanket when watching movies at home. There are two that you brought out. One is a soft yellow throw blanket. The second is a hand-knit one your friend made for you one Christmas. Both are warm and cozy.
The knock on the door has your heart racing. Today is the day. Today you’re going to tell Eddie how you feel. It might not happen until after the movie. Once you’ve had time to sike yourself up, you’ll look him in the eye, and tell him you like him. You really like him. You something close to love him.
“Hey!” You greet with a smile as you open the door.
Unsurprisingly, Cookie is already at his shins purring. You roll your eyes at her as Eddie shuts the door behind him. He wears a nervous smile. A large shoe box rests in his hands.
“What’s that?” You ask curiously.
“Nothing- it’s just a gift. For you.”
He holds it out jauntily. You take it. It’s heavier than you’re expecting. You cock an eyebrow at him, but he just nods to the box. Eddie wants you to just open it right there, but you don't. You bring it into the living room. He takes in the setup as you sit and place the box on your lap.
“Are you going to sit?” You give an amused smile.
Eddie nods and sits next to you. Once again, he’s far enough to claim friendship if need be. Yet, the heat of your body permeates his clothing. The anticipation has his heart thumping against his chest. What if you don't like them? What if you get mad and think he’s just trying to replace a material thing, not a symbol of something more? He just hopes this can still be that symbol and more.
You gasp when you open it. Eddie’s breathing stops completely. The plain dark green binding is slightly textured under your fingers. There’s a golden embossed drawing of Smaug on the bottom corner of the cover. The spine has more golden embossment reading The Hobbit . Your mouth hangs open a bit as you flip it open to the publisher page. When you get to the piece of information you're looking for, you snap to look at Eddie.
“These are first editions,” you breathe.
Eddie nods.
“Eddie… I-I can't accept these. They must have cost a fucking fortune. There’s no way I can-”
“I know they can't replace what the other ones meant to you, but… At least this way you still have a really kick-ass collection with some meaning,” he interrupts you softly.
Your eyes begin to well up with tears. Eddie found and bought you first edition Tolkien books. This is likely the kindest thing anyone has ever done for you. Every atom is on fire causing you to sit there overwhelmed with emotion. If it wasn't love before, it definitely is now.
“Eddie…” you trail off as words fail you.
He stares at you with those goddamn liquid eyes that threaten to drown you. The book is back in the box before you know it. You take hold of his face. His skin is softer than you imagined. With no resistance, you pull him in and crash your lips together.
The kiss is rushed, and a little messy, but you swear fireworks are exploding in your stomach. Eddie is everywhere. He’s everything. There's nothing else while he’s on your lips. You pull back because you have to look at him. You have to finally spit the words out. His eyes are darker than ever, his lips plush, and his breathing a little erratic.
“ I love you ,” the two of you say in unison.
Laughter fills the air around you as you fall into each other. A loose embrace of tangled bodies on your couch. Eddie’s hand finds the back of your head. He places a gentle kiss on your temple. You smile into his neck. It’s so simple, but you can feel everything in that little kiss.
“I can't believe you got me these books,” you breathe into his neck.
“Let’s leave these ones at home, though,” he chuckles.
“Definitely.”
***
Funnily enough, it seems like Wayne is just as nervous to meet you as you have been to meet him. Eddie has assured him he looks fine about ten times. He’s never seen Wayne like this before.
“I don't want to embarrass you, is all,” Wayne explains in the van when Eddie finally asks.
Eddie spares a glance at Wayne as he drives. He’s a little dumbstruck that his uncle could think he’d ever be embarrassed by him.
“That’s literally impossible, Uncle Wayne. You two are gonna get along great,” Eddie assures him.
“It’s just- It’s one thing to meet a friend of yours. It’s another to meet the person you’re dating,” Wayne blurts out.
“It’s the same thing. Just because we’re dating doesn't mean we aren't still best friends.”
“It’s a new experience, is all. A good one, but new. I’m happy for you, kid. I’m happy to see you happy.”
Eddie can only smile at his uncle. He's afraid any attempt to speak will be fruitless. Nothing but incoherent noise would come out. His uncle is so strange. One moment he’s gruff, the next he’s soft and even nervous. Eddie knows it’s because he doesn't want to fuck this up. He doesn't want to fuck up welcoming you to the Munson family. He doesn't want to fuck up Eddie’s potential future. He won't, though. Eddie knows he won't.
You open the door with a wide smile. The smell of well-seasoned pork chops wafts through the air. Cookie is purring against Eddie the moment he steps through the door, to the shock of no one. Except maybe Wayne. Eddie leans in and gives you a quick peck on the lips in hello. Your face flushes at the PDA in front of his uncle/father figure.
Eddie introduces the two of you easily. You offer Wayne your hand. He takes it, giving you a firm shake.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” you tell him with a smile.
“Yeah, me too. Although, I’m still a little confused on whether you’re a teacher or a gardener,” he says.
You laugh.
“I teach U.S. History at Jenkinson High.”
“Very well, I might add,” Eddie interjects as he kicks off his shoes.
Wayne follows his example. You shoot a playful glare at Eddie. He sticks his tongue out at you briefly, earning a chuckle from you.
“I made pork chops and there’s some beer in the fridge. I… don't have enough chairs for all of us around the table, but we can just sit on the couch. If that's okay,” you stumble through your words embarrassed.
Wayne actually looks a little relieved.
“Couch is just fine,” he nods.
Eddie sits in the middle. Cookie is at his feet. Wayne’s eyes are trained on the golden embossed spines atop the low cabinet. You lean down and scratch Cookie behind her ear the way she likes.
“Nice books,” Wayne comments with a knowing smile.
“Oh, thank you! Eddie actually got them for me. I had a set my grandmother got me as a kid, but they got waterlogged,” you explain happily.
Wayne’s eyes flicker to Eddie’s. Eddie knows Wayne isn't one to tell his adult nephew what to do with his money. Still, this explanation made things a lot more clear. There’s a softness behind his eyes when they meet Eddie’s.
“I still think you can sue the school for pain and suffering,” Eddie says.
“I’ll call my lawyer tomorrow,” you laugh.
The night goes smoothly. As expected, you and Wayne get along extremely well. Eddie didn't have to facilitate a conversation between the two of you. You discussed different game shows you both watch, debated which hockey team was the best, and even complained together about some character death on a medical drama. Watching you two talk fills Eddie’s chest with pure light.
Cookie is on Eddie’s lap before the end of the night. He runs his hand over her soft fur absentmindedly as he talks to you. Wayne watches with curious amusement.
“Never knew you were a cat person,” Wayne gestures to Cookie with his beer bottle.
Eddie looks at the purring ball of calico fur on his lap, then at his uncle.
“It’s more like she's an Eddie person.”
“I think she likes him more than she likes me and I feed her,” you chuckle.
“Let's me pick her up and everything,” he boasts.
“I still can't believe that. Last time I tried to pick her up I ended up with scratches on my hands.”
“It’s my natural charisma.”
“Sure, that's what it is.”
Wayne watches the two of you go back and forth with a soft smile. He can tell his nephew is in good hands. What a comforting thought.
***
Eddie looks around at the empty walls, cleared-off dresser, and barren floor. It’s strange seeing his room like this. Empty. It's a somewhat sobering sight. The rest of Eddie’s life is laid out in front of him, but he can't help looking at the road behind him for a moment longer.
“It’s not gonna be the same without you,” Wayne’s voice comes from over Eddie’s shoulder.
He stands in the doorway, hands in his pockets. Eddie offers him a small smile.
“Not getting rid of me that easily. We’ll be over. We can do weekly dinners,” he suggests.
“Under one condition.”
“And what's that?”
“They cook.”
Eddie lets out a loose laugh.
“I think that can be arranged.”
Wayne pulls him into a tight hug. Eddie squeezes back just as tight. It’s truly not goodbye forever. It’s not even goodbye for that long. That doesn't make it any less of a goodbye, though.
He walks Eddie out to his van. They hug one last time. Wayne places a warm hand on Eddie's shoulder.
“I’m real proud of you, kid,” he tells him with absolute sincerity.
“Thanks,” Eddie says weakly, his voice nearly failing him.
The entire drive back Eddie wears a smile. He’s not just driving to your apartment. He’s driving home. A home where you are. He bounds up the stairs with the last of his stuff in a box in his arms. Opening the door takes an awkward sideways lean so he could take hold of the knob while still balancing the box in both arms.
“Oh, honey, I’m home!” He calls out like a sitcom from the 50s.
Your laughter rings out from somewhere further in the apartment. Eddie kicks off his shoes around Cookie, careful not to hit her as she purrs against him. He puts the box on the couch for the time being. You’re in the hall, digging around the linen closet.
“Welcome home,” you greet over your shoulder.
He comes up from behind you and wraps his arms around your waist.
“Whatcha looking for?”
“I wanted to change the sheets, but I can't find the flat sheet that matches this fitted one.”
Eddie plants a kiss on your temple.
“Don’t,” he states simply.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t bother changing the sheets.”
“Why not?” You turn in his arms to look at him curiously.
He shrugs with a playful smile.
“We’ll just have to change’em later.”
You laugh and close the closet door. Eddie cups your jaw and brings you in for a kiss. It’s slow, loving, and fills you with a warmth you can feel in your toes. You could spend the rest of yourself trapped in a kiss like this.
Eddie thinks about how you told him you would follow him into Mordor. He knew even then he would follow you too, without a doubt. However, here he is instead. Instead, he’s happily followed you home to the Shire.
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x gn!reader#munching on munson#stranger things#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fluff#funnylittle writings#steve harrington#robin buckley#wayne munson
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Clinton Coffee Collective (Triple C) - Matt Murdock x gn!reader
re-edited (Jan. 2023)
Read on AO3 - Masterlist
summary: Matt Murdock finds the new café two blocks away from the office by chance when meeting a potential client. He's immediately absorbed by the atmosphere, the coffee, the food, but most of all the owner who effortlessly accommodates him. So, maybe he starts walking an extra two blocks for coffee every morning. It's a victimless crime, until Foggy catches on. (or the funnylittle coffee shop AU)
word count: 15.8k
tags/warnings: fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, light ableism, Matt being the self-punishing butthead he is, descriptions of food and eating, descriptions of anaphylaxis, hospitals, Foggy and Karen being lovely caring nosy friends. MINORS DNI.
It wasn't the nights alone, the passing touches from others that sent his skin ablaze, or even the dull ache the silence of his apartment leaves him with. No, what finally made Matthew Murdock realize he’s starved for the affections of someone who doesn't know all the ugly parts of him was a simple question.
He’s starved for someone who only sees him. Not the copious amounts of baggage he drags behind him. Someone who can find something worth holding onto in him. Something they could hopefully brace themselves on when the storm that is his life finally crashes down on them.
“Would you like a braille menu?”
The question took Matt by surprise. Almost as much as the melodic voice that asked it. It’s not a question he receives often at restaurants. It certainly isn't one he’s ever received at the counter of a cafe.
“Yes, that would be great. Thank you,” he said with a smile.
“We have to-go ones too, if you want one to take home,” the voice offered
“I’d like that,” he found himself saying.
Clinton Coffee Collective only gained his patronage because of a potential client. They had wanted to meet at the cafe. Matt didn't even end up taking the client on, but after that brief interaction Clinton Coffee Collective became his go-to spot.
Sure, it’s about two blocks further than the cafe he usually goes to with Foggy, but it has something the usual spot doesn't. It has you. You and your attentiveness. You and your effortless accommodations. Being in a public space has never felt so easy, so natural. It quickly became a little safe haven throughout his week. Untouched, untainted by the rest of his life. Until Foggy finally catches on that it's taking him longer to get their coffee and the coffee itself is different.
“Why have you been going to the hipster place two blocks away?” he finally asks one morning when Matt places the carrier of cups on Karen’s desk.
“Their coffee is better,” is the only answer he provides.
“It is better,” Karen reasons with Foggy right before she sips her coffee.
“What about supporting family-run businesses? That place is probably some corporate shell that's trying to gentrify the neighborhood,” Foggy takes his own coffee as he makes the argument.
“That's a reach, even for you, Fog,” Matt chuckles.
“Have you seen the place? It’s too clean.”
“Yeah, I really enjoy the color scheme,” Matt says sarcastically, “Besides, I don't think a coffee shop can be too clean.”
“Clean like sleek, put together. There's no heart, no personality to it. It’s all natural wood and plants,” Foggy continues his complaining, ignoring Matt’s retort.
“I don't know, I think it’s cute,” Karen shrugs.
“You’re both traitors to small businesses everywhere.”
Karen and Matt laugh at Foggy’s dramatics. Then the conversation moves on to the work they have to do. Matt’s thoughts partially stick on the cafe, on you. He finds himself not caring if the cafe is some evil corporate shell. The coffee is good, he doesn't feel penalized for existing, and you’re always there to make sure he has everything he could possibly need. Maybe it's not a sustainable way to scratch the lonely itch he’s been having, but it's good for the time being. That’s all Matt can ask for.
***
“Hey, Matthew,” you chime as he enters.
Matt can feel his face light up. There aren't many people here today. He’s able to stroll right up to the counter where you wait for him. That’s what your days have started feeling like. Just waiting for Matthew to come in, sprinkle some charm around, and compliment your coffee. It almost feels like he’s complimenting you when he compliments your coffee.
“Hey, busy day?” he says as he comes to a halt at the counter.
“What tipped you off? Was it the hour-long line you had to wait in to get up here?”
Matt chuckles, which makes you smile. He can hear you lean onto your elbows on the counter. It’s small, but you’re putting yourself closer to him. You do that sometimes when there's no one really around so you have time to chat. That’s why he likes coming in on Thursdays. Especially mid-morning, it’s usually relatively empty.
“I don't know if you saw, I had to beat some people out of my way,” he points behind himself like there are actually people there. You laugh.
“You want the usual or d’you want a menu?” you ask. He loves that he has a usual. That you know and have held onto something about him.
“The usual sounds good.”
“Are you staying? I can turn the music down,” you offer, voice drifting further away as you set off to make his coffee.
“Not today. I have to meet a client,” he answers.
That’s just another way you welcome Matt into this sacred space. He mentioned a headache in passing once, gave a half-truth about sensitive ears, and without thought you accommodated him. Every time you ask if he plans on staying. Every time he does you lower the music to a level that's more comfortable for him.
You steal a look at him over your shoulder. Matthew stands at the counter, hands clasped on his cane in front of him, and the sun casting a glowing aura around him. Your heart skips a beat at the sight. He has no right to be that handsome. You thought that the first time you saw him and you’ve thought it every time since. Matt can hear your heart, making his own skip alongside it.
“You like cherries, right?” you ask as you place his coffee on the counter in front of him.
“I do.”
“Perfect, I just got these new tarts from the bakery down the block,” you tell him cheerily.
He can hear you shuffling around the pastry case. There's the light crinkle of parchment paper, the sound of something hitting the bottom of a paper bag, and the sweet scent of sugared cherries. You place the bag with the tart next to his cup. When you tell him the normal price for his coffee he directs his face at you with knitted brows.
“How much is the tart?”
“Oh, don't worry about it. On me.”
He can't stop his smile. Nor the light blush that rises to his cheeks.
“Are you sure? I don't want you getting in trouble on my account,” he double-checks.
You laugh, expecting him to join you. Only he doesn't. He looks as soft and genuine as ever.
“You know I own this place, right?” you ask him, holding back more laughs.
His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.
“No, I didn't realize. I guess that explains why you always seem to be working,” he chuckles lightly at his own stupidity.
“Did you think I just took every shift in hopes of seeing you?” you tease.
“Maybe hoped is a better word for it,” he shrugs with a playful smile.
You feel the heat rise from your cheekbones to the tips of your ears.
“Well, sorry to burst your bubble. I want to hear your opinion on the tart next time you’re in,” you tell him, deftly moving away from flirting.
As much as you want to flirt with Matthew, he’s a customer. You want him to keep coming in. You want to keep talking to him.
“I can come by later and let you know what I think,” he says with a smile.
“You’ll squeeze me into your busy schedule?”
“In a heartbeat,” he flashes a charming smile.
Matt listens to the wonderful sound of your heart picking up speed.
“I look forward to it. Have a good day, Matthew,” you say, a smile in your voice.
“You too.”
***
Matthew walks back in around five. You’ve already started the process of closing. There's no one else in the shop, something Matt is grateful for.
“I’ll be right out!” you call from the back room when you hear the bell above the door ring.
Matt waits patiently at the counter. His phone buzzes in his pocket saying Foggy’s name, but he silences it. No doubt Foggy is wondering where Matt ran off to following the initial hearing for a new client they had.
“Oh, Matthew,” you say pleasantly when you come back out and see him, “I thought you forgot about me.”
His ears twitch as they pick up your racing heart.
“Forget about you? That’s impossible, you give me free food,” he smiles teasingly.
“What are you, a pigeon? I scatter some breadcrumbs and now you’re following me around the park,” you chuckle.
“I guess something like that.”
“So, the tart,” you prompt as you lean on the counter with your elbows.
“The tart was amazing. I even had my friends try it. They’re making me pick up more tomorrow on my way into work,” he tells you.
“Let me guess, three? I can have them ready for you in the morning,” you offer, “I can have the coffee ready too, assuming you’ll be getting some.”
Matthew absolutely beams. His smile is so bright you’re tempted to shield your eyes.
“That would be amazing. Thank you.”
“Anything for my favorite customer,” you say easily.
“Favorite, huh? I’m sure you say that to every guy you give free pastries to,” Matt drawls playfully.
“Well, considering you’re the only guy I’ve given anything free to, I suppose you’re right,” you chuckle.
“I’m honored.”
“And, unfortunately, I’m closing,” you sigh, reminding yourself more than anything.
“Is that you kicking me out?” he asks with a small smile.
You study his face for a moment. The slight lift of his eyebrows, the way his nose curves down to a little point, and how his lips pull into one of the prettiest smiles you’ve ever seen. You just wish you could see his eyes behind those glasses with the dark red tint. How can you tell that face to leave?
“That's me asking if you could lock the door.”
Matthew’s smile grows, sending your heart fluttering. You watch him cane his way over to the door. His hand drags across the glass pane until it meets the lock. There's a familiar click and then Matthew is on his way back to you.
“Do you live close?” he asks as you start locking cabinets.
“Yeah, just a few blocks away. I’m not huge on walking home alone in the dark, though. So, I close up a little early when it's just me,” you answer and turn the soft overhead music off.
“I can walk you,” he says without thinking about it.
“It’s okay, it’s not even dark yet,” you shake your head for no one but yourself. Matthew shrugs.
“I can still walk you.”
You look at him for a second. It only takes that second to decide.
“That’d be nice. I just have to lock up a few things in the back and then we can head out.”
Matt waits for you by the counter. He can hear the hum of the lights cease as you turn them off. Then the steady clicks of locks being turned. Soon enough you're exiting from behind the counter. He holds an arm up for you to take hold of with a smile. You place a light grasp on his bicep and begin leading him. You pause to arm the security system, then once more to lock the door from the outside with your key.
“So, what made you decide to open a cafe?” Matt asks as the two of you begin the walk to your apartment. He’s surprised to feel you taking him in the same direction as his own.
“I love coffee,” you shrug.
“That simple, huh?”
“No,” you laugh, “but the real answer is embarrassing.”
“Well now I have to know,” he angles his face toward yours, giving you a full view of that fucking smile.
“What made you want to be a lawyer?” you counter.
He mulls over his answer for a minute.
“I've witnessed a lot of injustices. After a while, you start wanting to do something about it. I wanted to be someone that does some good for the people of the city,” he says evenly.
You blink at him. It was such a raw response. Not one you were expecting, but one that eases you into opening up a little more. One that makes you feel like you can see into the soul of Matthew. There’s nothing but golden light and warmth. You gaze down at the sidewalk ahead of you as you walk.
“Growing up I always saw coffee shops as these places where people's lives can change. Y’know like in dumb romcoms, or in books. They’re always shown as these cozy, safe places where anything can happen. Or even where nothing can happen, which can be just as good sometimes. Coffee shops can be whatever you need them to be at the moment. I liked the idea of building that kind of space. Somewhere everyone can feel welcome. Plus, it would be nice to be the place someone met the love of their life like in the movies,” you glance over at him.
When you see him smiling at you, it dawns on you that you've been rambling. Embarrassment tears through you. Matt can feel you heating up. He can feel the color rising to your cheeks.
“Like I said, it’s embarrassing. Just some idealistic nonsense,” you shake your head dismissively.
“I don't think there's anything wrong with a little idealism,” he says softly, “You’re making the city a better place too, just in a different way.”
Your grip on his bicep tightens slightly. Matt can hear the goosebumps form, feel the electricity travel across your skin as the little hairs all over your body raise. His words evoke a physical reaction. They make you feel strangely seen. They make you feel understood.
“Thank you… that’s really nice of you to say,” your voice is genuine, maybe a little thicker with emotion than normal, “Most people would tell me I’m being dramatic, putting so much meaning into selling coffee.”
“You’ve made a public space I don't feel like a burden in. It’s not dramatic, it’s true. What you’re doing… it does mean something,” he tells you.
You squeeze into him briefly in a sort of half hug.
“If you weren't my favorite customer before, you definitely are now,” you chuckle, attempting to lighten the conversation.
“Not many customers have heart-to-hearts with you then?” he smiles playfully, following your cue to change tones.
“Not as many as you’d think. You’re the first one to walk me home too.”
“Believe it or not, you’re the first person I’ve walked home,” he confesses.
“Really? How is that possible, you seem so chivalrous,” you tease.
“People don't usually flock to the blind person for things like this,” he shrugs. You give a small hmm.
“Their loss. You're very good at it.”
“Thanks,” he chuckles.
The rest of the walk is made in comfortable silence. It’s not too cold, the September air sitting at a comfortable level. There's the hustle and bustle of rush hour that Matt’s brain has to combat, but that's nothing new. You turn down a quieter side street. Matt can sense passing three buildings before you come to a stop.
“This is me,” you say, fighting off disappointment.
“I’m only a few blocks further down,” he informs you with a smile.
“Really?”
“Yeah, you know that old industrial building they converted?”
“The one they put that stupid billboard next to?”
“That's the one,” Matt laughs.
“Is your office by the cafe?” you ask curiously.
You know there are plenty of other cafes closer to his apartment. He’s always in one of his suits when he comes in, talking about what work he has to do that day. The office is the next thing that makes sense.
“Kind of.”
“Kind of? How far is it?”
“It’s closer to Hell’s Kitchen Coffee,” he admits with a sheepish smile.
“So, you've been walking an extra two blocks every day?�� you question with a smile. You can't fight it off at the thought.
“Your coffee is better,” he shrugs, “and I was serious when I said you’ve created a public space I don't feel like a burden in.”
Your hand clasps his shoulder in a comforting gesture. Matt wants so much more. He wants your hands everywhere. He wants to feel the warmth of you spread over him.
“You’re not anywhere near a burden, Matthew,” you tell him quietly, but earnestly.
All he can do is nod. Afraid if he opens his mouth, nothing but broken sounds will come out. Your heart is steady, never once faltering as you speak. There isn't even a hint of a lie in your words. You truly don't see him as a burden. It’s a fact that makes him feel lighter. It makes the world a little brighter.
“Thank you for walking me home. I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?” you say after a moment of prolonged silence.
A moment neither of you wanted to break, but had to.
“I’ll be in for my pastries and coffee,” he confirms with a smile.
“I’ll be there waiting.”
***
Foggy moans into his bite of cherry tart. Karen laughs at him. Matt smiles into his sip of coffee. The office smells like the cafe. Which means the office smells like you. Coffee and pastries. Bold and sweet. It brings warmth to Matt’s chest.
“Okay, for a probable corporate shell these are amazing,” Foggy says.
“You’ll be happy to know it’s actually a small business,” Matt informs him.
“How d'you know?” Foggy questions.
“I spoke to the owner. They get the pastries from a local bakery too.”
Foggy hums approvingly as he takes another bite.
“I think you owe the owner an apology, Foggy,” Karen teases.
“I’ll get right on that after I finish making love to this tart.”
Matt and Karen fall into laughter. The smell and warmth of the cafe mingled with the laughter and comfort of his friends lighten the load of the world. He can almost hear your laughter added in. Suddenly, he longs for it.
The feeling takes him by surprise. Sure, he looks forward to seeing you. He looks forward to talking to you, but this is different. There's a tugging in his chest that's attempting to draw him closer to you. A taut rope tying him to you that’s threatening to drag him off.
“How much were the tarts?” Karen asks to the sound of her wallet popping open.
“Don't worry about it. They were on the house,” Matt waves her off.
“On the house? You must have really talked to the owner,” Foggy teases.
The tips of Matt’s ears go red. Foggy doesn't miss the newfound bashfulness in Matt.
“Oh, you did. Matt, you sly dog, using your charm to score us free pastries,” Foggy crows and nudges Matt.
“It wasn't like that,” Matt shakes his head, “The owner is just nice.”
Foggy gives an unconvinced grunt but ultimately moves on. They have a deposition in about forty-five minutes and need to shift back into work mode. The office smells like you the rest of the day.
***
A couple of weeks later Matthew strolls in as you start closing. He smiles as he approaches the counter. Your heart races. He looks a little disheveled. His hair is messily tousled in every direction like he got hit with a gust of wind.
“Matthew, I wasn't expecting to see you again today,” you greet pleasantly.
“I noticed you were alone today. I thought I’d walk you home,” he says like it's the most normal thing in the world.
“You really want to make sure you stay my favorite customer, huh?” you tease, ignoring the way your face is heating up.
“It has its benefits,” he teases back.
“I appreciate you going out of your way to walk me home,” you tell him softly.
“It’s not really out of the way. We’re practically neighbors,” he attempts to dismiss the gesture.
“Yeah, but I have a feeling your work days don't usually end as early as mine,” you say.
“I can spare a few evenings so you don't have to walk alone,” he shrugs. You ignore the way your face completely flushes.
“Just let me finish locking up and we can be on our way.”
He gives a nod. Once again, Matt patiently waits. Once again, he listens to the sounds of you closing. It’s peaceful. When you come back out he holds out his arm for you. Then the two of you are on your way. After half a block Matt’s phone begins calling out Foggy’s name. He sighs and digs it out of his pocket.
“What’s up, Foggy?” he answers, too aware of your eyes curiously watching him.
“Where did you run off to this time? I turned around and you were gone. Did you sprint out of the courthouse?” Foggy questions. Matt did kind of sprint out of the courthouse to make sure he got to you before you left.
“I had to be somewhere,” he explains vaguely.
You smile at his statement. He definitely didn't have to, you both know that.
“Where?”
“I’ll talk to you later, Fog,” Matt says evenly, not wanting to have this conversation in front of you.
He likes that you’re just his right now. He likes having something separate from the rest of his life. Bringing Foggy in could jeopardize that. It could bring his life crashing down on yours.
“Is there something going on with your friend?” Foggy asks. Matt knows he means Daredevil.
“No, it’s just… personal, okay?”
“Yeah, okay. Talk later,” Foggy finally concedes.
You let Matt suffer in silence for a minute. He doesn't know how much of Foggy’s side you heard. When you finally do speak it isn't what he’s expecting.
“So, you had to be somewhere, huh?”
“Yeah, someone was in desperate need of my help,” he smiles.
“And did you get to them on time?”
“I did… after sprinting out of the courthouse and leaving my friends behind.”
“Matthew,” you chide through a laugh, “You really didn't have to do that. I’m okay to walk home, I’ve done it before.”
“I wanted to.”
You smile down at your feet. Heat creeps throughout your entire body. Does that mean he’s been thinking of you throughout the day? Really paying attention to when there are employees working and when it's just you? Making mental notes throughout the day to come back and walk you home?
“I’m glad you did,” you admit, “I really like talking to you, Matthew.”
“Matt, you can call me Matt. I really like talking to you too.”
“Does that mean we’re friends now, Matt?”
He smiles at the sound of his name.
“I’d like it to, if you would.”
“I would.”
***
Got a new apple pie today I think you'll really like.
Matt smiles at his phone, which just read out the message from you. The last time he walked you home you exchanged numbers. Y'know, because you’re friends now. Not because neither of you ever wants to stop your conversations. Ever since the two of you have been texting.
Sometimes it's just dumb things one of you observed during the day. Others it's updating each other on small things, like the apple pie. His favorite messages are the ones about nothing. The ones where it's clear you just wanted to talk to him.
Save me a piece for tomorrow? Working late today. He says into his phone’s speech-to-text, thankful for the door separating him from Foggy and Karen’s prying ears.
How late?
Not sure exactly, why?
I can bring you some when I leave.
Your heart is pounding as you rethink sending the message. Is that too much? Is offering to bring the pie to him too intimate? Too friendly too fast?
“Are you okay?” Isaac, the barista on duty today asks with concern.
Isaac is a scrawny kid with short bleached hair and a couple of tattoos. He has whatever the opposite of resting bitch face is. That’s part of the reason you love having him as an employee. He’s approachable.
You’re extremely proud of yourself for cultivating such a positive work environment. Everyone genuinely cares for one another and you do your best as a boss to support them all. In return, they show you genuine kindness and respect.
“Yeah, I’m good. Just texting Matt,” you wave your phone in the air a bit.
A knowing smile curls onto Isaac’s lips.
“That’s happening, then?” he asks with dark raised eyebrows.
“We’re friends,” you say.
“But you like him, right?”
“Yeah, he’s my friend,” you reiterate.
“You know what I mean,” Isaac rolls his eyes.
“I like him,” you sigh.
Isaac takes a customer’s order and you fill it as he takes the payment. It’s fairly busy today. Business has been doing very well, something that swells your heart. Matt’s words ring in your head whenever the cafe is so full. You’re making the city a better place. Watching a young couple giggle in the corner, you think maybe he's right.
“He definitely likes you.”
“You don't know that,” you argue.
“I’ve worked with you when he’s come in. He likes you,” Isaac states firmly.
“I’m done talking about it. Go grab me more Colombian roast, please.”
Your phone vibrates in your pocket as Isaac pushes his way into the back. A deep breath. Then you check the message.
I’d like that.
***
The sun isn't quite gone, but the sky is growing dark. Matt hears you enter the building. He smiles as he emerges from his office. Only Karen is here right now. She’s busy following up on calls giving him the perfect opportunity to slip you by without question.
He can smell the warm buttery scent of the apple pie as you climb the stairs. It grows stronger as your footsteps grow louder. Your heart is beating fast. Then the door is creaking open. Your presence washes over him like a summer breeze.
“Welcome to Nelson & Murdock,” he greets with a smile.
Your eyes bounce around the small office. It’s older, and outdated, but feels safe. You meet the gaze of a beautiful blonde woman at a desk. She offers you a small smile before looking curiously at Matt. If he can feel her eyes, he ignores them.
“It’s nice,” you tell him genuinely, “I like it. Feels comfortable, safe.”
“I’m glad. We can head into my office,” he tilts his head toward an open door to the right.
“Oh, I actually brought three pieces. I figured it would be rude to only bring you some,” you say, a little embarrassed.
The gesture sends Matt soaring. You’re so kind it almost makes him nervous. Nervous to fuck things up. Nervous to show the decidedly unkind side of himself.
“Well, it’s just Karen and me tonight, but you’re more than welcome to stay and have the third piece with us,” he offers, silently ignoring his plan that's crashing and burning in the background.
“Are you sure? I don't want to keep you from work.”
“We’ve worked hard today, we deserve a break.”
“Okay,” you accept with a nod.
Matt tells Karen to call the phone quits for the night as the two of you walk over. She seems happy to comply. You and Matt sit at the two chairs before her desk. He awkwardly introduces the two of you. Karen chuckles at him.
“So, you own Clinton Coffee Collective?” she asks as the three of you dig in.
“The Triple C, that's me,” you say with a smile.
“Thank you for all the free sweets. We’re starting to feel spoiled,” Karen holds up a chunk of pie on her plastic fork.
“It’s nothing,” you wave her off, “Matt’s my best customer- well, I guess technically all three of you are. I just have the pleasure of seeing Matt’s face every day.”
“I thought I was your favorite customer,” Matt teases. Your face flushes.
“You’re both. No one else comes in as much as you do, y’know. If we go into another recession I think you’ll be single-handedly keeping me open,” you chuckle.
“I didn't know you drank that much coffee, Matt,” Karen comments with a small smile.
You answer before Matt can.
“It’s not always coffee. If he’s sitting down to work he usually gets tea,” you say it so easily, so offhandedly.
Matt’s heart leaps into his throat. There's an overwhelming feeling of being seen. In the purest way, he feels known.
“Didn't know you drink tea either,” Karen smirks amused.
“Sorry, am I revealing all your deep dark secrets?” you joke.
“Yup, now that you both know I drink tea I’ll have to kill you,” Matt sighs dramatically.
You and Karen laugh. Hanging out with Matt and Karen is nice. It’s nice spending time with people, especially with Matt, somewhere that isn't the cafe. You all finish the pie far too quickly, but you don't want to overstay your welcome. When you begin to say goodbye, Matt disappears into his office briefly. He comes back out pulling on his coat.
“You ready?” he asks when his coat is secure.
“Ready for what?” you question.
“To walk home.”
“Matt, you don't have to-”
“I know. I want to, remember?” he smiles.
“What about work?”
“I can be done for the night,” he shrugs.
“You sure?”
“D'you want to walk home alone in the dark?” He raises his eyebrows. You sigh.
“No, I really don't.”
“Okay, let’s go. I’ll see you tomorrow, Karen,” Matt throws Karen a wave.
“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” she says with a smile, eyes bouncing between the two of you excitedly.
Matt can hear her call Foggy once you step foot out of the building. He’ll have to prepare himself for the barrage he’s sure to get from the pair tomorrow.
***
The notice shakes in your hands. Anger is threatening to tear open your chest. How can he do this? How can the owner of the building try to sell it out from under you? Right when your business has finally found itself. You rent to own the storefront Clinton Coffee Collective is in. However, it seems your landlord has decided he wants to sell the entire building and be done with it. He wants to pay out the rest of your lease, but you’ve been refusing. Now, he’s taking you to arbitration over it.
The courthouse looms over you. You’re here alone. You haven't told anyone about the issue. The last thing you want is to worry any of your employees. Not until you know what's going to happen. Honestly, you thought you’d be able to handle it on your own. It’s a simple enough dispute. Then your landlord walks in armed with an entire legal team for what you thought was meant to be a simple arbitration. By the end, you're holding back tears of anger.
Your footsteps are echoing off the marble floors as you storm out. No resolution could be agreed upon. So it’s either get out or go to court. The crisp outside air stings your hot cheeks. It’s enough to calm you. Enough to remind you to breathe. You’re rubbing your face with your hands, replaying the last awful hour in your head when you hear his voice. Matt says your name, startling you from your thoughts.
“Oh, Matt, I guess I shouldn't be surprised to run into you here,” you chuckle weakly, trying to distract from the mess in your head.
“What are you doing here?” he asks with knitted eyebrows.
Your eyes move to the man standing just behind him. He has shoulder-length dirty blond hair and a kind, but confused face. The bag over his shoulder lets you know he must be Matt’s law partner. You finally have a face for Foggy.
“Uh- it's nothing. I have to get back to the cafe,” you start to excuse yourself.
“Foggy, wait for me inside,” Matt says over his shoulder.
Without argument, Foggy disappears into the courthouse. Matt’s concerned face redirects fully at you. He can tell you’re upset. If you’re here and upset, that can't mean anything good.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, forehead wrinkling with concern.
You sigh. How are you meant to lie to him when he’s looking at you like that?
“I've been having an issue with my landlord. It’s not a big deal,” you try to minimize the problem.
Matt can hear the half-lie.
“What kind of issue?”
“It’s really nothing, Matt.”
He frowns. Your chest tightens knowing you’re the cause.
“I have to go, but I’ll give you a call later, okay?” He waits expectantly.
“Please, don't worry about me,” you insist.
“Please, let me help.”
You stare at your own reflection in the deep red tint of his sunglasses. It occurs to you that you still haven't seen his eyes. You wonder if they’re as kind as him.
“Okay, we’ll talk later,” you agree quietly.
“Okay,” he gives you a small smile.
Then he’s gone.
***
Walking into Nelson & Murdock makes you much more nervous this time. You aren't walking in as a friend. You’re walking in as a client. There's a cardboard carrier in your hand. Three coffees as a token of appreciation. Karen sees you come in and greets you with a smile.
“Hey, I brought coffee,” you say and hold up the carrier.
Matt and Foggy emerge from their offices at the sound of your voice. They both take their coffees appreciatively. You follow them into Matt’s office. You sit in a creaky chair opposite his desk. He takes his seat behind his desk and Foggy perches on the edge of the desk.
“I don't really know how this is supposed to work,” you admit nervously. Your fingers toy with your sleeves anxiously.
“Just tell us what's going on and we’ll tell you how we can help,” Matt says with a reassuring smile.
“If we can help at all,” Foggy adds.
“Foggy,” Matt scolds.
“What? We have to be honest. There’s a chance we won't be able to help, but we’ll try,” Foggy defends himself.
“It’s okay. I appreciate the honesty,” you say, “I appreciate you trying.”
“Of course,” Matt smiles warmly.
“So, what's going on?” Foggy asks.
You dive into the whole tale. The lease agreement you signed gave you a specific time frame to decide to buy the storefront. Your landlord is now trying to circumvent that to sell the building as a whole. If that happens, Clinton Coffee Collective and all the money you put into it are just gone. Your entire life’s savings, the only thing you’ve really wanted to do since childhood, the thing that's estranged you from everyone. That part you don't mention.
Matt and Foggy detail the next steps that need to be taken. It’s a lot of paperwork. A lot of filing things at the right time. A lot of hurrying up and even more waiting. When Matt says he’ll draw up the paperwork for you to read the next day, you blink in surprise.
“Oh, I can't afford to pay you. I thought you would just tell me what to do and then I would… do it,” you realize how dumb you sound.
“Don’t worry about paying us,” Matt shakes his head.
“You can just keep giving us free food and we’ll call it even,” Foggy gives you a smile.
You look between the two of them. What did you do to get sent two absolute angels?
“Are you kidding? You guys never have to pay for anything again,” you say, still a little in disbelief.
“We still can't promise anything,” Foggy tells you, raising a hand to tell you not to get too ahead of yourself.
“That's fine. I never would have been able to afford to try to fight this. You have no idea what you’re doing for me,” your voice grows thicker with emotion.
“You have no idea what you’re doing for Matt,” Foggy says with a sly smile.
Matt rolls a packet on his desk up into a makeshift baton. He gives Foggy a good whack on the back of the head. Foggy gives a soft hey in protest. Your hand covers your mouth in an attempt to stifle your laughter. The possible meanings behind Foggy’s words will be occupying your thoughts for a while.
“Do you want me to walk you home?” Matt offers with a soft smile.
“Yeah, if you wouldn't mind.”
It's midday, but you're beyond denying a walk home from Matt at this point. There's only the hum of the building’s old electricity and the sounds of your footsteps as you make your way downstairs. You know you should go to the cafe. You should work. Fatigue has settled deep into your bones.
“What are you thinking about?” Matt asks after a block goes by with no words. Just the beeping of traffic and the rush of people trying to get somewhere.
“That I should be going to the cafe, not home,” you sigh.
“You won't be any good to anyone tired and stressed.”
“I know. That’s why I’m letting you bring me home.”
As you swim through your thoughts Matt wades through his own. The two of you have established you're friends. You text every day. You’ve even spoken on the phone a few times. He walks you home whenever it's just you at the cafe. Sometimes he walks you if he just has the time to do so. The fact that you didn't come to him for the dispute with your landlord nags at him.
“Why didn't you ask for my help sooner? You know I’ve dealt with cases like this before,” he can't help but ask.
“I thought I could do it by myself. I’ve done everything that has to do with the cafe by myself. It’s stupid, but if I was going to lose it I wanted that to happen by myself too,” you admit.
“You won't have to lose it at all,” Matt tugs you closer to him.
“I feel very lucky to have met you, Matt,” you say softly.
“I feel very lucky to have met you too.”
***
Foggy lets himself into Matt’s apartment as usual. He finds Matt sitting on his couch, smiling at his phone. Foggy comes to a pause a few feet away. Matt doesn't acknowledge him, which is really weird. Usually, he would have said something the second the door was opened.
“Okay, this is scary,” Foggy comments slowly.
“What’s scary?”
Matt is completely unfazed by Foggy’s sudden arrival. Foggy drops onto the couch cushion beside Matt.
“You didn't say anything when I came in. Now you’re smiling at your phone like a teenager who just got a sext,” Foggy answers, reaching to snatch Matt’s phone.
Matt, of course, moves his phone out of the way.
“It’s nothing, I just got a text,” Matt says dismissively.
He takes the single earbud out of his ear. Matt heard Foggy coming. When his phone chimed your name he grabbed the earbud. He knew Foggy would walk in while his phone read the message. Foggy’s mouth curls into a sly smile.
“A text from a certain cafe owner?” he nudges Matt with his elbow.
Matt doesn't answer. Instead, he locks his phone and sets it down. He can feel Foggy’s eyes burning into him.
“You have the complaint?” Matt asks.
“I have the complaint if you have an answer for me.”
“An answer to what?”
“When are you going to ask them out?”
Matt’s mouth becomes a tight line. His shoulders tense. It's not like he hasn't thought about it. He thinks about it every time he talks to you. Bringing you into his life in that capacity goes against everything he wants for you. It’ll put you in the worst of positions. It’ll cause you to fall victim to his double life.
“I’m not,” Matt sighs.
“You're- what do you mean you're not?”
“I mean exactly that, Fog. I don't want what I do to come back to them.”
Foggy groans and throws his head back. Matt can feel the frustration radiating off of him.
“Don't do this,” Foggy pleads.
“Do what?”
“Don't punish and torture yourself like you always do.”
“I’m not-”
“And don't give me some bullshit about you acting in their best interest.”
Matt keeps his mouth shut. His phone starts chiming your name once again. Foggy lifts his head to watch Matt ignore it. Matt sits forward, elbows on his knees, sunglasses tossed onto the coffee table. His eyes stare at nothing straight ahead.
“What if I am acting in their best interest?” Matt asks finally, voice low and wobbly.
“Says who? You? Matt, I love you, but you’re an idiot if you think you know what someone needs better than they do.”
Matt rubs his face with his hands, elbows still on his knees. He knows Foggy is right. He hates it, but he knows it. Your name sounds off again from Matt’s phone on the coffee table.
“If you don't check it, I will,” Foggy threatens.
With a sigh, Matt grabs his phone. He doesn't bother with the earbud this time.
There are some snickerdoodle cookies waiting for you at the Triple C! is the first message that's read out.
You looked really good today, by the way.
Matt feels the burn of blush on his cheeks. Compliments have been passing between the two of you more frequently. Typically, it's a comment on you liking something specific. This time you just complimented him.
“You looked better,” he says into his phone with a smirk.
Amused by his own joke, he manages to briefly forget about Foggy. He’s able to push Foggy’s pestering presence to the back of his mind.
Oh, I could kill you.
His eyebrows knit at your message. Before he can respond his phone is ringing, calling out your name. Panic sets in.
“What do I do?” he asks Foggy.
“Answer it!”
“No, what if they’re mad at me?”
“Matt, answer the fucking phone.”
Matt takes a deep breath before answering.
“Hey,” he greets.
“You’re not going to believe it,” you laugh.
“What?” He tries not to sound too relieved.
“Your dumb message made me laugh so hard I snorted out orange juice all over a customer! I had to comp their order.”
Matt laughs and relays the story to Foggy. Foggy chuckles and shakes his head. Matt knows it's more at him for being afraid to answer the call. In retrospect, he does feel a little silly for the panic.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to make you assault a customer,” Matt says.
“Don't be sorry, it’s funny. You're rude, though. I almost thanked you for a second there,” your smile is audible.
“Well, if it makes you feel better I can tell you that you smelled really good today.”
Matt wishes he could hear your heart through the phone. He wants to hear and feel how his words affect you.
“It does, thank you. I’ll let you go now. I just had to tell you.”
“Can I call you later?”
“Yeah, you can call me anytime you want.”
“Alright, talk later.”
“Talk later.”
He clicks off his phone, places it back on the coffee table, and falls back into the couch. His face turns to the ceiling. Maybe if he begs hard enough God will let him skip to the part where he has it figured out. The part where this inner battle of what he wants and what he can have is over.
“So, are you done with the self-torture?” Foggy questions.
“Foggy, it's really not as easy as you make it out to be.”
“Okay, so it’s not easy. Nothing is easy, especially not with you. That doesn't mean you don't try.”
“This just isn't something I can have,” Matt’s voice comes out broken.
“You know what? Fine. Fine, you can't have a relationship. You can't be happy. I’m not arguing anymore, but the only thing- the only person who is saying you can't is you. You’re the only thing standing between yourself and something I know would make you really fucking happy. Here’s the complaint.”
Matt hears the papers slap onto the coffee table. He can feel the vibrations in his teeth. Foggy’s frustrated words stick with him. Even after Foggy leaves, still done with Matt’s self-flagellating bullshit, the words are on repeat.
***
You don't recognize Matt when he walks in at first. His suit is replaced by a much softer outfit. He wears dark gray sweatpants, a black zip-up hoodie, and carries a duffel bag on his shoulder. What throws you the most is his face. You can see his eyes.
Matt doesn't receive his usual greeting. There’s no joyful Hey, Matt! ringing across the cafe. It’s not until he reaches the counter that he understands. A soft gasp escapes your lips just before your heart starts pounding harder than Matt has ever heard it before. A smile finds its way to his lips.
“Matt, I didn't recognize you,” you say breathlessly.
His smile widens, showing off his teeth and wrinkling his eyes in the most adorable way. Then there are his eyes. Fuck, his eyes. They’re like two cups of dark roast, a little light and extremely sweet.
“I could tell,” he chuckles.
“The usual?”
“No, I actually came in to see when you get out today.”
“Oh, technically I can leave whenever I want. We have a full staff today. Just move to the left like three feet for me.”
Matt can tell someone is walking up behind him to the register. You direct Isaac to take the order and go out around the counter to meet Matt. There are a decent amount of people seated at the various tables. However, chit-chat is relatively low as most people are typing away on their laptops.
“Would you want to come by my place tonight?” He actually seems kind of nervous. His fingers flex around his cane.
“Yeah, what did you have in mind?”
You ignore the strange new jig your heart is doing. Matt can't. It makes him smile, nerves easing.
“I was thinking we could grab some takeout and have dinner together.”
Your face splits into a wide grin.
“I’d really like that,” you agree, trying not to sound too eager.
“Great, I can stop by when I’m done at the gym and we can walk together,” he offers.
“I’ll see you then.”
As you watch Matt leave, realization takes hold. You’ll be in Matt’s apartment for the first time. Was this a date? Surely if it was he would have said that, right? You catch Isaac’s knowing smile and flip him off. This garners laughs from the couple of other employees that see. With a smile, you go back to work.
***
“Do you mind if I shower quick?” Matt asks as he enters his apartment.
You trail hesitantly behind him. There's a distinct smell of something that is overwhelmingly Matt. The air is relatively neutral, with no strong fragrances, but there are undertones you can't quite place.
“Not at all, take your time,” you answer.
He leads you down the hall you entered into. The apartment is much bigger than you’re expecting. Once you exit the hallway it's a large open space. His kitchen is tucked all the way to the back, then he has a round table, followed by his living room. You catch a glimpse of his bedroom through the cracked sliding door.
“Wow, that billboard is…” you struggle to find a way to say it without sounding like you’re trashing his apartment.
“I’ve been told it's obnoxious.”
“Obnoxious definitely applies.”
The electric billboard paints the room through the giant factory windows. Flashes of pink, blue, yellow, and white make turning the lights on almost unnecessary.
“You can pick out a place to eat. Foggy leaves take out menus in the drawer to the left of the oven. Please, make yourself at home,” he says with a warm smile.
As always, his smile makes you practically start to vibrate.
“Okay.”
He disappears into his room. You hear the click of another door then the sound of the shower. Now that you’re alone you take the time to really examine the space. It’s sparsely furnished and industrial. Not quite what you had expected, but it still fits him somehow.
You wander into the kitchen. Sure enough, the takeout menus are right where he said. As you sift through the glossy pamphlets, your fingers brush against something different. No gloss and full of texture. You dig it out. The braille menu from the cafe is still in pristine condition. It makes you smile. He’s actually holding onto it like he isn't in every day. Like he doesn't know the entire menu by heart.
When Matt comes back out you’re sitting on the couch with three menus on the coffee table. Matt is in extremely soft-looking loungewear. There's a black t-shirt that’s so snug it lets you see every curve of his torso, a pair of dark joggers, and wooly socks. You’re proud of the restraint you’re displaying. Seeing Matt like that, toweling off his hair, makes you want to throw caution to the wind. You want to just walk up to him and kiss him. So. Fucking. Bad.
“I picked out a few places so we can decide together,” you tell him.
Matt drapes his towel on the back of one of the armchairs opposite you. Soon his thigh is pressed against yours. Warmth radiates from where your leg is touching his.
“What are the options?” he asks like he isn't sending your head spinning.
“Mexican, Chinese, or a pizza place. The pizza place is probably the safest.”
“The safest?”
“Yeah, unless you know how these places prepare their food, but most people don't think to ask. It’s okay, I’m sure I’ll be fine no matter what we pick.”
Matt turns his face to you. His eyebrows are knit in confusion.
“What exactly does it mean if you're not fine?”
That's when it hits you. You’ve never hung out with Matt like this. You’ve never had any food with him that wasn't from the cafe. So, it was never relevant.
“Oh, I’m really allergic to peanuts. I usually just try to play it safe. Like I said, though, I’m sure I’ll be fine no matter which place we pick,” you explain, attempting not to burden him with your dietary restriction.
“I can call the places and ask h-”
“No, it's okay! Really, it’s fine.”
“How allergic are you?”
The hesitation tells Matt everything he needs to know, but he lets you say it.
“Extremely. Anaphylactic shock, the whole nine.”
“So, it’s deadly,” he deadpans.
“It can be, yeah.”
“Do you have an EpiPen?”
“No, they're really expensive and my insurance isn't great,” you respond sheepishly.
Matt nods. He digs his phone out of his pocket and hands it to you.
“Dial the first number and I’ll ask,” he says.
“What?”
“I’ll ask how they prep their food.”
“Matt, it’s okay. I don't want to make this more difficult than it already is,” you sound apologetic, nervous.
“You’re always going out of your way to make sure I’m comfortable and safe. Let me do the same,” Matt’s voice is impossibly soft.
Butterflies fill your stomach. Heat rises to your cheeks. Matt smiles at you like he can tell.
“Okay,” you agree.
Matt calls each place. Each tells him they have nut-free prep stations and utensils. It makes him feel a lot better knowing you won't possibly die the moment you bite into your food. The two of you end up getting Chinese and agree to split the food you order.
Seeing Matt in his natural environment is nice. He’s relaxed, less intimidating, and somehow even more handsome. Watching him laugh at a joke you just said that nagging question comes back. Is this a date? It can't be. He’s in loungewear and you’re in his apartment. Plus, he would have said if it was a date, right?
“I can feel you staring,” Matt says with an amused smirk.
You quickly look away like it matters.
“Sorry, I got lost in thought.”
“What thought?”
You swallow the lump that's forming in your throat. Matt can hear your heart, feel the tension in your body, and hear your fingers toying with your sleeve.
“Just… everything with the cafe,” you lie.
It’s the first real lie Matt has ever clocked in you.
“Anything in particular?” He decides to go along with it instead of finding a way to call out your lie.
Now you really are thinking about everything with the cafe. A tight knot forms in your stomach, your chest feels heavy, and dread fully takes over. Matt can't tell what you’re feeling, but he can tell your mood has shifted.
“If I lose it, I have nothing,” you whisper.
“You won't.”
“Lose it or have nothing?”
“Both.”
You shake your head to yourself. There's a moment where you pretend Matt’s right. You pretend that everything will be resolved smoothly. That even if it isn't, you won't be left desolate and alone. It’s a nice moment, but that's all it is. A moment.
“You don't understand,” you sigh.
“So, help me understand.”
A police siren shrieks in the distance. You see Matt’s fingers twitch, but other than that he doesn't react. His attention remains firmly on you and your conversation.
“That cafe is the only thing I have. All my savings are in it, years of savings. My friends stopped inviting me out. They stopped talking to me in general because I was always busy. My family is…,” you sigh, “I’ll have nothing, Matt.”
Matt’s hand finds yours. His fingers pull yours away from your sleeve and lace through them. It’s such a simple act, but it somehow makes the entire world shift. Some of the weight in your chest eases. The act of holding Matt’s hand alleviates some of your tension.
“You’ll still have people who care about you,” his voice is soft and warm.
“Like who? My coffee vendor?” you laugh sarcastically.
“Isaac.”
“Isaac is my employee. If the cafe is gone, so is he.”
“Me.”
Everything stops. Your eyes lock onto the far concrete wall. Light from the billboard outside the windows turns the neutral tone into an array of colors. It's like watching your heart dance across the wall. Pulsing, bright, and constantly blooming into a new color.
“What good am I to you without the cafe?” you ask as the question sears across your brain.
You finally look at Matt. His eyebrows are knitted and his mouth is pressed into a tight line. He’s dripping in concern and befuddlement.
“I don't know what you mean,” he says.
“That's why you like me, right? I give you free coffee and food. What good am I to you if I can't do that?”
“Stop saying that,” he shakes his head, full-on frowning now.
“What?”
“‘What good am I to you?’”
“Why, because it's true?”
“No, because it breaks my heart that you would even think that about me,” his voice is sharper, irritation and hurt cutting through it.
You freeze, expecting Matt to yank his hand away. He squeezes yours instead.
“I don't go to the cafe for free coffee or food. I didn't even really go in for coffee before you started giving me free stuff. I go in for you. I’ve always gone in for you,” he tells you with a sense of urgency.
“Matt…”
“The cafe isn't why I like you. It’s just a convenient way to talk to you every day.”
You spend a moment focusing on breathing evenly. Afraid if you try to speak too soon all that will come out is a sob. Matt’s words wash over you, bringing a sense of relief. You didn't realize just how insecure you are in your friendship with Matt. Despite him doing everything that should tell you otherwise, you fear that his interest is guided by his stomach.
“Why do you like me then?” you ask quietly.
“Why can't you fathom the idea that people might like you for you and not what you can do for them?” he counters, not as quiet but still soft.
“That's just not usually something I can have.”
To your surprise, Matt laughs. You pull your hand away from his. Your entire body shifts away from him at the sound. He stops immediately.
“I’m sorry, I wasn't laughing at you. I was laughing at myself,” he explains.
“That's not what it felt like.”
“I know, I’m sorry. It’s just… I said something similar to Foggy not too long ago. I know how he feels talking to me now.”
You don't fully come back to him, but you shift a little closer again. Matt gently reaches for your hand once more. You allow him to lace his fingers with yours.
“I really don't want the cafe to be a failure,” you breathe.
“Do you remember what you said when I asked you what made you want to open a cafe?” he asks.
“That I love coffee.”
“Yes, but the other thing.”
“Yeah,” you sigh.
“You made the place you talked about. You made a ‘cozy safe place where anything can happen.’ The first thing you ever said to me was ‘would you like a braille menu?’ I can count on one hand how many times that's happened to me. You wanted the cafe to be a place where people’s lives could change? Well, you did that too. You’ve changed my life. I don't know if you know that, but you changed my life. So, no matter what happens, the cafe isn't a failure. Not by a long shot,” Matt’s voice is steady and firm, yet soft and gentle. It cradles you with every kind word.
His heart drops when your hand leaves his, but then he feels the movement. You throw your arms around Matt. He allows himself to sink into your embrace. You’re solid, warm, and real in his arms. This isn't a dream, or a thought, or a fantasy. This is you and Matt connected.
“Thank you, Matt. I don't think anyone has ever said such nice things to me,” you say into his neck.
“I mean every word.”
“I know you do.”
To his disappointment, you pull away. Your fingers slot between Matt’s again. Neither of you are willing to give up the contact. Your hands clasped together is the only thing tethering Matt to the Earth.
“You’ve changed my life too, for the record. Not just because you’re helping me with all the legal stuff. You changed it before that. You changed it the moment I spoke to you,” you tell him softly.
“Yeah?” He gives a goofy smile.
“Yeah,” you chuckle, “you came in looking irritated as all hell, but after I talked to you… I don't know, it was like that melted away. It felt really nice to have that kind of impact on someone’s day. Then you came in again, and again, and again.”
“Some say I never left,” Matt laughs.
“Ah, yes, the urban legend of the Cane Man who haunts the Clinton Coffee Collective.”
Just like that, the emotional heaviness of the conversation lessens. The air between you is no longer thick with your insecurities. It no longer feels like Matt could fall off the planet at any given moment. He knows what he wants to do will cross the line. A line he’s tried to draw firmly in the sand, but it's high tide and the undertow is pulling at his feet.
You watch his tongue dart out, wetting his lips. The billboard provides a technicolor exhibition of his face. Different colors cast different shadows, allowing you to see every side of him. Well, every side of him, but one. Sunlight also falls upon his face differently, it softens him. Without sunlight, you have an incomplete image of Matt. A puzzle missing its centerpiece. You want that final piece of the puzzle oh-so bad.
You’re just about to ask him what that expression is about. Contemplative and conflicted. Matt’s hands are suddenly cradling your jaw. They begin to pull you forward, but you finish the work for them. Matt’s lips crash into yours. It sends shockwaves from your lips to the rest of your body. Kissing him is like taking your first breath. It’s a relief. It’s an overwhelming sense of Ah, finally, there you are.
When you feel him pulling away you grab onto the front of his shirt and pull him back in. Matt’s lips leave yours briefly before they’re crashing into yours again. It’s at this moment you realize what the undertones you’ve been smelling are. Bergamot and eucalyptus. A heady spice-like scent cut with something clean and fresh. It’s Matt’s shampoo and body wash.
You separate but keep your foreheads pressed together. Wide smiles are present on both your faces.
“There’s no doubt about it now. You’re definitely my favorite customer,” you tease.
“My master plan finally falls into place,” he teases back.
You laugh and move your head to lean on Matt’s shoulder. For so long you have dedicated everything you have and everything you are to creating a space where people can feel safe and welcome. You never stopped to think about what that space would look like for you. Now, you know. It looks like Matt kissing you. It looks like Matt telling you all the sweet things you never thought you’d hear. The place you feel the safest and most welcome is with Matthew Murdock.
***
Nelson & Murdock has become a familiar place to you. You’re no longer hesitant or nervous walking in. Karen smiles brightly as you enter.
“Hey! Matt’s in his office,” she tells you.
“Thanks!”
Matt is already smiling toward the door when you pop in. The sight sends a flurry of butterflies loose in your stomach. You close the door behind you and sit in a chair across from him.
“I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me today,” Matt says, overly formal and shuffling some papers around to pretend to be busy.
“It better be good, Murdock. Time is money,” you play along. Matt fights off his smile to keep his serious facade.
“I believe I have an offer you can't refuse.”
“And what’s that?”
“Hmm, how does the time frame to buy stipulated in your lease, plus an extra three months for our trouble sound?” He finally breaks and smiles wide.
Your eyes widen. Your mouth falls open.
“Are you serious?” you ask.
“Deadly.”
“How did you manage that?” You can't wrap your head around it.
“We made some calls and found some interesting business practices by your landlord. He has a habit of screwing people over and out of their leases across the city. Then there's the money laundering he uses some of his properties for. Once we confronted him with that information he was very willing to back off the cafe,” he tells you, a smile playing on his lips the entire time.
You blink away tears. There are so many emotions bubbling up.
“The cafe is safe?” Your voice is small, afraid to fully accept the good news.
“The cafe is safe.”
You’re out of your seat and on Matt’s side of the desk in an instant. He stands to meet you. Your body all but slams into his. Matt’s embrace is strong and safe.
“I can’t thank you enough,” you say into his shoulder.
“You could let me take you out on a date. That’s a good start.”
You lean back. Still in Matt's arms, but able to look at his face. He has a charming grin. A grin that could kill you on the spot and you would apologize for the inconvenience. There’s a sense of everything clicking into place.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Matt leans in and gives you a quick chaste kiss. It’s not enough, but you aren't brave enough to ask for more yet.
“How does tomorrow sound? I’ll pick you up at six-thirty. We can grab some dinner and admire the sights the city has to offer,” he suggests, words dripping in honey-like warmth.
“We can admire the sights the city has to offer? Do you have a miracle to tell me about?”
Matt barks out a laugh. You can feel it rumbling in his chest, vibrating his whole body. His adam’s apple bobs as he leans his head back in the process.
“Okay, you can admire the sights the city has to offer. I’ll just tag along for the ride,” he says once his laughter dies down.
“How about you worry about the dinner part and I’ll worry about our activities after?”
“You got yourself a deal.”
***
Dinner was Italian at a nice restaurant. Not too nice that you feel out of place, but nice enough to show Matt made a concerted effort. The two of you spend the entire time laughing with each other. By the time Matt pays the check, he insists, your cheeks are sore. For the first time since college, so are Matt’s.
Matt can hear the Hudson to his right. He can hear the dull hum of street lamps. He feels the tiniest bit of warmth they give off in contrast to the cold November evening. Right when he’s about to ask where exactly you're taking him he notices it. Swift melodic string music permeates the air. It grows louder as the two of you continue to walk but never gets overwhelming.
“Is that a cello?” he asks.
“Yeah, c’mon there are some benches over here.”
You lead him further to the right. Wooden benches line the fence dividing the two of you from the river. Every ten feet or so there's another bench. You choose the closest one and the two of you sit, huddling close together for warmth. Matt stays silent as he takes in the music. Whoever is playing clearly has skill. He can tell from the heartbeat that it’s a woman, maybe twenty-five to thirty.
The music mingles with the sounds of the Hudson creating a sort of symphony. The occasional beeps from traffic like cymbals. Even the footsteps of passersby act like a steady tempo.
“I figured we can't both appreciate the sights of the city, but we can both appreciate the sounds. I love this spot. It feels like the whole city comes together here,” you tell him softly.
Matt’s heart swells. You've brought him somewhere you knew you could both enjoy. Somewhere you knew he would appreciate. He understands what you mean. Every sound of the city seems to coalesce right here, tied together by the music of the cello. It almost sounds like New York is singing to him for once, instead of shouting in his ears.
“How do you manage to do this?”
“Do what?” You turn your head to look at him as you ask.
He faces forward, a small smile ever present.
“How do you always manage to make it feel effortless?”
“I don't think I’m following.”
“Sometimes I feel like I’m holding people back, or at least they think I am. I just go with the flow of whoever I’m with. I don't push to be seen as disabled, mostly because I don't always feel disabled. Not until someone else makes me feel that way. You make it seem so easy, though. You just do things that let me know you see and understand my disability. You don't work around it, you embrace it.”
Matt’s hand finds yours without faltering.
“It is easy. Matt, you’re incredibly easy to be around. I don't have to think twice about anything,” you squeeze his hand as you tell him.
“That's my point. You don't have to think about it. I appreciate that about you. Most things in my life aren't this easy.”
You lean into his side, absorbing his warmth through his jacket. Matt’s head turns right as you're about to plant a kiss on his cheek. Your lips meet his instead, causing you to giggle into the kiss. Matt smiles as you pull back.
“I guess I just have to stick around and keep reminding you that you’re the easiest part of my life,” you shrug.
“I’d really, really like that.”
***
Matt is tormenting himself. He’s strangling his own happiness. Foggy is unimpressed by this not-even-close-to-new development. Matt paces in the office. Foggy watches from where he’s perched on the corner of Karen’s desk. Karen is equally unimpressed with Matt.
“What exactly is the problem here?” Foggy questions.
“The problem is that I can't lie- I don’t want to lie, but how am I supposed to tell them what I do?” Matt sighs frustratedly.
“Just give it a few months and if this is something you see lasting, then bring it up,” Karen suggests.
“No, this is it for me. I don't want anything or anyone else. I don't see myself ever wanting anything or anyone else,” Matt says.
“Then tell them,” Foggy states.
“I don't want to lose them.”
“Okay, then don’t. I don't know what you want from us, Matt. All I know is that sooner or later, the truth is going to come out. Don't you think it would be better to just say it rather than let them see you limp in half-dead?”
Foggy’s words make Matt flinch. He’ll always feel guilty for how Foggy found out. He’ll always feel guilty for not saying something sooner. Matt’s pacing stops.
“I know you're right, but I don't like it,” Matt tells Foggy.
“As always,” Foggy chirps.
Matt shakes his head, but smiles. He takes his phone out of his pocket and voice commands a text to you.
Are you busy tonight?
It only takes a moment for your answer to come through.
It sounds like I am now.
He chuckles. Foggy and Karen make puking faces at each other. Matt elects to ignore them. You agree to meet with him later. Then another text comes through.
I’m going to bring some extra muffins to the office in a bit.
Matt would relay the message if his phone hadn't read it out loud. Foggy gives a whispered yes! at the news.
“I’m so happy you decided to flirt with someone who owns a food place,” Foggy sighs dreamily.
“I’m glad,” Matt chuckles.
You arrive around twenty minutes later. Sure enough, there's a white box of muffins in your hands. Foggy immediately takes them with a sung thank you. He places them on the table of other things clients have traded them for their services. There isn't much else. Just a mesh bag of fresh apples and a dish with some sort of casserole in it. The casserole already has some missing pieces. Before long the box you brought is missing a few muffins.
“Oh, you have to try this casserole Mrs. Chen gave us. It’s amazing,” Foggy says.
Before you can say anything, he’s slicing a piece out for you. Not a big one, but enough for you to try it. You smile as you take it. It does look really fucking good. Matt is the only one who hasn't had the casserole yet, but it certainly smells good. It smells like chicken, mushrooms, peppers, cheese, and… peanut sauce. Panic tears through Matt’s chest.
“Wait, don't-”
You’ve already placed a forkful into your mouth. He can hear you chewing it. Suddenly you stop.
“Call an ambulance,” Matt orders Foggy.
“What-”
“Call 911, now.”
The plate and fork fall from your hands. Your lips are itchy. Spitting out what was in your mouth is of no use. Your throat is already starting to swell. A racing heart, closed-off lungs, and a burning itching sensation all over your skin tell you everything you need to know. You’re going into anaphylaxis. How Matt knew so quickly is beyond you.
You gasp for air, hands coming up to your throat. Matt rushes over and sits you down on a nearby chair. Vaguely, you can hear Foggy on the phone. The sounds of the world have muted as fear takes over. This hasn't happened in so long that you almost forgot how terrifying it can be.
“Do you have an EpiPen?” Foggy tries to ask. Matt is too busy trying to slow your reaction any way he possibly can, which he can't.
“Matt, is there a fucking EpiPen?” Foggy shouts in a panic.
You can only shake your head. Foggy curses and relays the information to the 911 dispatcher.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Matt assures you, “We’re going to get you to the hospital. Just try to stay calm.”
Pain is settling in. Your abdomen feels almost like it's seizing. Your chest is on fire from the lack of oxygen. Only the smallest amount is still getting through, but you know from experience that won't last. You grab a fistful of Matt’s pressed button-up shirt for comfort. The world is getting dark around the corners as pressure builds behind your eyes. That grip is keeping you steady.
“What do we do?” Karen asks urgently, voice thick with worry.
“The ambulance is two minutes away,” Foggy says.
“Hear that? Just two minutes. You’ll be okay. It’s just a couple minutes,” Matt attempts to comfort you, but the fear is still present in his voice.
He’s never felt so fucking powerless. Your grip on him tightens but then loosens. Matt can hear your breathing becoming even more shallow.
“Foggy, we need that fucking ambulance now,” he calls over his shoulder.
“I can't exactly teleport it,” Foggy snaps back.
“Fighting isn't helping right now. We need to stay calm. I’ll wait downstairs so when they get here I can bring them up,” Karen interjects firmly.
Matt can hear the sirens, but they’re still a few blocks away. His heart feels like it's about to break out of his chest and plop on the floor. As your vitals grow weaker so does he. One hand is holding the back of your head, the other is rubbing comforting circles into your warming cheek. Matt is the only thing you can hold onto. He’s your only link to the outside world at this point.
“In here, in here!”
You can't tell who is shouting it. Everything is fuzzy. Nothing feels real anymore. Your consciousness is being held onto by a thread. Right when that thread is ready to snap, there's a pain in your leg. A moment of nothing goes by, then a gasping breath rips through you. Breathing has become easier and the pain is lessening. Your eyes are beginning to focus again.
“What’s the reaction to?” you hear an unfamiliar voice ask.
“Peanuts,” Matt answers.
“Okay, is anyone riding with us?”
“Yes, I am.”
You’re transferred from the chair to a gurney. As everything sharpens you watch the lights in the hallways rush by. A blink and you’re in the back of the ambulance, sirens blaring. The paramedic places an oxygen mask over your mouth and nose. They start to check your vitals.
You feel a hand slip into yours. When you loll your head to look Matt is there, sitting on the bench. A calm settles in at the sight of him. That calm allows you to close your eyes and focus on taking in the oxygen that's flowing through the mask.
Matt gets separated from you when you get to the hospital. A couple of nurses have trouble physically holding him back until Claire appears. She manages to calm Matt down and get him to the waiting room by promising to personally care for you. Foggy and Karen meet him in the waiting room. They find him in a chair in an empty corner. He’s hunched over with his face in his hands. The noises of the hospital are grating, but he refuses to leave.
“This is my fault. I’m so sorry,” Foggy says as he sits next to Matt. He places a hand between Matt’s shoulders.
Matt lifts his head. He looks about ten years older and exhausted.
“It’s not your fault. I should have been paying more attention to what was in the food we had,” Matt mutters, shaking his head.
“This isn't either of your faults. Foggy, you didn't know and, Matt, it’s not on you to monitor everything they eat,” Karen says to them firmly.
“She’s right. This is just a really shitty accident,” Foggy sighs.
Matt doesn't bother answering. He won't feel better until he knows you're okay. Desperately, he’s trying to find you amongst all the noise and vibrations. It’s all too much, though. The adrenaline is wearing off leaving him fatigued. Picking apart sounds is only giving him a headache. So, he focuses on what’s in the room with him.
A television hangs from the ceiling in the opposite corner playing some daytime talk show. There are a few clusters of people here and there. Some of them are waiting patiently, others are crying or panicking silently. The vending machine across the room thrums and the nurses behind the check-in counter are clacking away on their keyboards. Foggy is next to him, breathing a little heavy, but even. Karen is beside Foggy, anxiously picking at the skin around her fingers.
A nurse appears from the double doors that lead into the emergency area around an hour later. Matt hears her ask for your family and stands. Foggy and Karen go with him to meet the nurse where she is.
“Are they okay?” Matt asks with worry coating every word.
“They're okay. We had to give them another dose of epinephrine and we’ll be keeping them overnight just in case, but you can see them now. One at a time,” the nurse explains gently.
“I’d like to go,” Matt says.
No one protests. Matt allows the nurse to hold onto his forearm so as to guide him to where you are. He doesn't really need it and it's more annoying than anything right now, but it's necessary.
As your room grows closer, Matt’s able to hone in on you. You're in the bed closer to the window, an unconscious man is in the other bed separated by a curtain. Your heartbeat is steady and your breathing is normal. He can hear your fingers tapping on the plastic bed guards that are flanking you. That means you’re awake and you’re bored. If you’re bored then you're okay. Matt finally takes a much-needed deep breath.
The nurse leaves him at the door. He enters with a light knock. Your heart skips a beat when you see him.
“Matty,” you smile all dopey at him.
A gentle smile eases into Matt’s face at the nickname. He sits on the edge of the bed next to your knees. You take his hand.
“You really scared the shit out of me,” Matt whispers.
“Scared the shit outta me too. Doctor told me if the call came inna minute later I wouldn't be here. I dunno how you knew, but it saved my life,” your words are soft and just a little drawn out.
“I actually wanted to talk to you about that, but it can wait. I just want you better.”
“I’m much better.”
Matt chuckles at the chipper tone you use.
“What exactly do they have you on?”
“Some muscle relaxer, I dunno. They didn't want my body seizing up again or somethin’.”
Matt brings your hand to his lips. He presses gentle kisses to each of your knuckles. You sigh contentedly.
“I love you,” you mumble as your eyes fall closed.
Matt freezes. Your breathing slows and soft snores fill the air. It takes a second to steady his own breathing. Was that the drugs, the high emotions from what happened, or was it true? Do you really love him? The uncertainty begins to eat at him. One thing he knows, especially after this ordeal, is he definitely loves you.
“I love you too,” he whispers to your sleeping form.
***
Soft chattering is the first thing you register as you begin to wake. At first, you think there are people in your room. Your eyes blink open and you realize you’re not in your room. Fuck, you think as the memories of the reaction come flooding back.
The hospital room is pretty standard. White walls, white tile floors, and a whiteboard on the wall for the nurses to keep track of who was in when. A blue curtain to your right separates you and whoever is in the other bed. The soft chattering you heard was your television. It’s turned on to reruns of some sitcom from the 90s, the volume low. To your right you find Matt.
He’s asleep on an uncomfortable-looking chair. His suit jacket has been repurposed as a blanket. You just watch him for a while. The dark red tinted sunglasses that sometimes feel like just another part of his face sits folded on the windowsill. Looking at his face unobscured and in a peaceful state you get a bright feeling in your gut. It's almost as if pure light has found a home in your abdomen. I love him, you think.
“I can feel you staring,” Matt says with a smile, eyes still closed.
Heat rises to your cheeks.
“It’s hard not to.”
His eyes flutter open. It’s the middle of the night. They look darker in the low light.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says.
You watch Matt stand, throwing his jacket onto the chair he was just on. He sits on the edge of the bed. His hand is warm on yours.
“Can't get rid of me that easy,” you chuckle.
As you study his face, more memories resurface. Matt hears your heart start speeding. He feels you tense. You swallow nothing in an attempt to prepare yourself to speak.
“Are you okay? Should I get some-”
“No, I’m fine. I just… remember what I said before I passed out,” you shake your head embarrassed.
Matt laughs lightly. You can't help but watch. His whole face lights up like the sun. Even in the unflattering light that illuminates the different ports and buttons on the wall behind the hospital bed he manages to be handsome.
“Yeah, you didn't stay awake long enough to hear me say it back,” he smiles playfully.
Electricity runs up and down your spine. That pure light in your abdomen has taken on a lovely warm golden tone.
“You said it back?” You ask breathlessly.
Matt’s expression softens. He’s as soft as a down comforter, ready to wrap you up like a burrito and protect you from the world. Your eyes shut as he presses a kiss to your forehead. He keeps his face close to yours.
“I love you,” he whispers.
You lean forward and press your lips to his. Matt’s free hand cradles the back of your head, deepening the kiss. You pull away not because you want to, but because you have to. You have to say it.
“I love you too.”
The smile Matt wears is indescribable. All you know if you never want to stop seeing it. You never want to stop being the reason behind it. Matt leans forward and rests his head on your chest. Your arms circle him without thought. One hand is running a thumb up and down his upper arm. The other is combing through his hair gently. Matt closes his eyes and lets the sound and vibrations of your heartbeat envelope him.
“How did you get them to let you stay?” you ask quietly.
“I know people,” he mumbles.
You simply hum in response. You're not going to question it further. You’d much rather revel in the feeling of him against you. The whole almost dying thing was pretty traumatic, you won't lie. Right now, though, you don't want to think about it. You don't want to think about how a single bite of some extremely delicious casserole was almost your end. So, you grasp at anything else you can find in your mind.
“Hey, what did you want to talk to me about?” you question softly.
“Huh?”
“Before I fell asleep. You said you wanted to talk to me about something.”
Matt buried his face in your chest. You give the back of his head a little tap. His sigh ripples the hospital gown you’re in. You start to worry when he sits back up and faces forward. If you want to see his full face you have to look at his reflection in the window. His troubled expression overlays the lit-up city beyond the confines of this room.
His head tilts for a moment like he’s listening to something. He only speaks when he seems satisfied with the level of privacy you have.
“You know how I told you about my hearing being sensitive?”
You blink at him for a moment. That wasn't the response you were expecting.
“Uh-yeah, I do.”
“It’s more than that.”
For the next thirty minutes, Matt tells you everything. He tells you how he went blind, what it did to him, and his father’s murder. Then there’s Stick and his attempt to turn Matt into a child soldier. Someone who would grow up to be a weapon in a war that wasn't his. By this point in the story your heart is breaking for Matt. It's the story about the young girl and her father that causes your brows to furrow. The way Matt tried to help, but the police wouldn't do anything. So, he did and he has been ever since.
“I’m Daredevil.”
You stare ahead blankly. The information is… a lot. You’re not necessarily mad, but you’re definitely a little overwhelmed. The funny, handsome, charming blind attorney you've gotten to know and grown to love runs around at night beating people up. Getting beat up. You saw how distressed your almost dying made Matt. Will you have to go through something similar time and time again due to his vigilantism?
“I understand if you’re mad and don't want to talk to me. Just know that I’m sorry for deceiving you in any way,” he says quietly when you don't respond.
Those words snap you out of your thoughts.
“Deceive me? You didn't deceive me.”
“Yes, I did.”
“You're blind, right?”
The question finally gets Matt to face you. If only because he wants you to see his confused expression.
“Yes,” he gives a curt nod.
“Then you didn't deceive me, Matt. You just… didn't tell me about certain parts of your life. Which, I guess I understand, but I am a little hurt that you didn't feel you could trust me.”
“I’ve always trusted you. It’s not about that,” he shakes his head and grabs your hand once more.
“Then what was it about?”
“I liked that when you looked at me you just saw me. You didn't see everything else around me. All the ugly things about me.”
You cup his cheek. Matt instantly leans into the soft touch.
“I still see you. I just see all of you now,” you half-whisper.
“You’re really not mad I lied?”
“You didn’t lie.”
“Yes, I did.”
You sigh.
“Can you tell me one lie you've told me?”
Matt hesitates.
“It’s not about what I did say, it’s about what I didn't.”
“Do you want me to be mad at you?”
“No… maybe. I-I don't know. You're just the first person that hasn't gotten furious with me,” his voice is so small.
Everything about him feels so small.
“Furious, huh? So, you thought I was going to kick you out and cut you off after you were able to save my life because of the abilities you have,” you state slowly.
“Well, when you say it like that,” he sighs. You think there's a hint of a smile there.
Morbid curiosity is taking over. You can't quite fathom what about Matt’s life would infuriate the people he tells. Sure, it doesn't feel great to learn how much he was keeping to himself, how much he was afraid to tell you. You can't imagine getting mad over that, though. You can't imagine getting more than a little hurt like you did.
“Why do people usually get so mad?” you ask.
“I had to lie a lot to keep everyone in the dark, to keep them safe. On top of that, my abilities make me less blind than people think, which no one really appreciates.”
“Less blind?”
“Yeah, because of the spatial awareness. It’s like… I can’t see but all my other senses can help create the shapes in my head. It’s not really an image, but an impressionistic version of the world around me,” he explains gently.
“But you’re still blind. That doesn't become less true just because you have other ways to interpret your environment.”
Matt is silent. The corners of his mouth tug downward. His eyebrows are knit like he’s thinking really hard.
“I’ve never thought of it like that. The way people react to me… I don't know it just made me feel like I’m lying about being blind,” he leans into your palm even more as he speaks.
“Who else knows?”
“Foggy, Karen, a nurse in this hospital, the guy who made my suit, a crime boss I put in jail, a mass murderer I tried to keep out of jail, and my priest,” he lists.
“Wow, so this is like the worst-kept secret in Hell’s Kitchen,” you chuckle.
Matt actually cracks a smile.
“Yeah, it kind of is.”
You lean forward. Matt meets you halfway. The kiss is something different. It holds so much more than the previous ones. Understanding, comfort, and acceptance. Your lips move with Matt’s in a reassuring dance, warmth, and adoration trailing behind. Any doubts Matt may have still had, any anxieties have melted away. With this kiss you’re telling him everything. You’re telling him that he’s not alone and he doesn't have to be ever again.
***
Three years can feel like forever. Three years can feel like a second. Somehow, you’re feeling both at the same time. Your fingers toy with the edges of your sleeve. A thread begins to come loose. Matt’s free hand covers yours to stop it. You sigh.
“What’s bothering you?” he asks.
You're leaning against him on the couch as he reads over a memo with the hand not on yours. Matt’s been busy with a case. You’ve been busy with the cafe and all the tribulations that come from owning the storefront rather than renting it. More often than not, you end up at Matt’s.
The hours between getting off of work and Matt going out at night are precious to you. Sometimes you're able to stay up until he comes back, but not always. Even sitting with your body pressed against him now, you fucking miss him. You’re tired of missing him. Your lease is up at the end of next week. The solution is simple, but terrifying to propose.
“Nothing is bothering me per say,” you reply quietly.
“Then what are you thinking about?”
“I miss you.”
Matt chuckles and puts the paper in his hand on the coffee table. He pulls you into his arms and presses his lips into the top of your head.
“I’m right here,” he mumbles into your hair.
“I know, but we don't get a lot of us time anymore. Not since I bought the storefront and the office picked up. We only get to see each other for a few hours after work, maybe before if we’re lucky. Some days off we’re both too tired to make the trip to each other. I’m just tired of it. I’m tired of missing you,” you explain, nuzzling into his soft button-up.
“I’m tired of missing you too. You're right, it’s gotten harder to see each other. I think part of it is how often you have to go home to get your things, do laundry, water your plants, and make sure the place is still standing…”
The way Matt trails off causes you to lift your head to gaze at him. You have a feeling you’re on the same page, as usual.
“What ever will we do to fix that?” You smile as you pose the question playfully.
“You’re in luck. I seem to have a vacancy on the left side of my bed, and the left side of my dresser… and my closet, the shower, and even the kitchen,” he drawls with a teasing smile.
“Are you asking me to move in?”
“I’m begging you to move in.”
“Well, who am I to deny you my presence 24/7?”
With a chuckle, Matt yanks you back into him. You let out a surprised squeal as he does so. This time you wind up on his lap as he cuddles into you. You cuddle right back into him. The two of you sit there on the couch, two beings but one entity.
“So, you already cleared out space for me?” you ask into his neck.
“I cleared out space for you months ago. It just never felt like the right time to bring it up,” he says into your shoulder.
You squeeze him tighter. How you got so unbelievably lucky, you’ll never know. You’re not going to question it, though. To Matt’s disappointment, he even lets out a little whine, you pull back from his neck.
“How does this weekend sound? We can enlist Foggy and Isaac to help. I think Isaac might have a truck,” you suggest with a smile.
“Not soon enough,” Matt complains.
“Matt, it’s Thursday,” you laugh.
“Okay, fine. I guess I can agree to wait until Saturday.”
“You’re so brave and selfless for that,” you coo teasingly.
Matt pouts adorably.
“I know I am.”
The two of you devolve into a fit of laughter. Both of you are giddy with the thought of actually living together. Sure, you’re at Matt’s frequently enough, but this changes things. You no longer have to go back and forth with your schedules to make sure you see each other outside of the cafe. No more days off alone because Matt is too bruised, sore, and tired to come to you. Because you’re too exhausted from pulling fifteen hours at the cafe to go to him. You will already be in the same place. Neither of you will have to be alone.
“I love you, Matty.”
“I love you too.”
Living together is the start of an entirely new chapter in your life and relationship. It’s a chapter neither of you can wait to dive into. Who knew that the person who would meet the love of their life in the Clinton Coffee Collective would be you?
#matt murdock fic#matt murdock#matt murdock x you#matt murdock x gn!reader#daredevil x gn!reader#foggy nelson#karen page#funnylittle writings#hopping on some matt murdick
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hi i saw my favorite band of a decade last night for the first time during the anniversary tour of my favorite album and it fucked so hard i was nearly sent into another dimension but the best part??
they played a song i based a fanfic on and i nearly lost my fucking mind bc i've been considering rewriting it. it's not one people really care abt but it's one i do and it's near and dear to my heart so if u haven't checked out Walking In Circles and you like you some mechanic!eddie and angst maybe do so? i'll be editing and adding at some point!
#u could probably figure out where i am based on this info if u really tried#please do not thank u#anyways i'm buzzing off the post show energy#time to write#funnylittle ramblings#eddie munson x you#eddie munson#eddie munson x gn!reader#eddie munson x reader#mechanic eddie#mechanic!eddie
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y'all this past week chewed me up and spat me out and i'm calling the page a wash until next week. mental health is just taking precedence. i always get into a funk at the start of summer when i don't have much to do. to make it up i'll post my appalachian steddie blurb a little later today. summer classes start this week so hopefully that gets me right. anyways y'all are the best ily
#i feel like u can tell i've been writing appalachian eddie with how i talk/type#he just feels like home and it makes my own appalachian come out#i don't have a southern accent and our lingo is a lil diff but ugh#i miss my mountains rn#funnylittle ramblings
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Jack Fic One-Off's
i lovingly call Shelter From The Storm "the Jack fic" in my head and to my bf because let's be honest with ourselves, she's the real star of the show. i'm going to start using the tag #funnylittle jack fic for things involving her/the fic to make it easier for myself and y'all to navigate as we go on bc... wow the response grows every day and y'all have been so wonderful to me and our little trouble-making redhead.
i've been writing this fic for so long, much longer than i've been posting it. one-off's based around it have always been something i've had in the back of my mind, but i finally started to jot them all down.
anyways here's a list of what's to come (but no promises on when quite yet):
Hey, Baby, It’s Me.
Steve meets Jack for the first time.
Jack & Gareth: Stuffed Victims Unit
There’s a reason Gareth never offers or is asked to watch Jack. A very good reason.
Wait- What’s Her Last Name?
It’s Jack’s first day of high school. Anxiety is a new feeling and it’s one Jack finds she really doesn’t like. So, she decides to take control.
Who Are You? Who Am I?
It’s the new millennium and Jack’s fifteenth birthday. Eddie runs to Indy for Jack’s present and finds himself in a very uncomfortable confrontation with an old friend from high school… Who also happens to have given birth to his daughter.
Forever Ain't Long Enough
It’s 2014 in Indiana meaning wedding bells are in the air for gay Hoosiers througout the state, but especially in little ole Hawkins.
I Don’t Know How You Happened
Ronance get-together.
Jack Through The Years
Looks into Jack’s life (and therefore steddie’s) at various ages from 8 to 30.
** Anything involving Jack over the age of 7 will likely only be published after Shelter From The Storm is finished**
#funnylittle jack fic#steddie#steddie fic#steddie dads#steddie brainrot#steve harrington x eddie munson#single dad!Steve Harrington#teen dad!Steve Harrington#eddie munson#steve harrington#single dad steve harrington#dad steve harrington#girl dad steve harrington
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i don't talk a lot abt my personal life on here mostly bc i do a lot of social advocacy and community work. tumblr is where i come to disconnect from all that kind of stress which is also why i tend to stay away from serious topics on here. i'm literally in the trenches doing the work. it's what i do and go to school for. tumblr is my time off. i do a lot and i mean like a A LOT academically on top of that kind of work. it's been such an insanely stressful academic year as i've been faced nonstop with institutional issues, but fanfic has been a life raft. i've been able to process and deal with a lot of what i've been going through with my writing and it's so fucking nice that so many people are connecting to that in whatever ways they do. if anyone is interested i'm happy to tell y'all more about what i've been up to out in the big bad world (without my name of course bc it's all over my university's website and i don't need these lives clashing atm). otherwise i'm happy staying tumblr user funnylittlelad that does nothing but post silly little fics for fun.
either way, thank y'all so much for reading and commenting and liking and reblogging and all that good stuff!! when i first decided to start publishing fic again (i did this before in hs for a few diff fandoms but my biggest was a zuko one oh those were the days) i really didn't expect anything. i don't write for the internet or any of y'all, as much as i love your reactions to my writing. i do it for me because it's fulfilling and it helps me understand my own thoughts and perspectives better. the fact that so many of you have found my stuff and enjoyed it in any capacity is just the big fat juicy cherry on top.
some blog changes are coming and i'd like to have the next page of the jack fic up this week with a regular posting this coming saturday.
thank you to all my funnylittle readers for making this school year survivable and keeping me afloat.
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