Rough Changes (Frank Castle x Matt Murdock)

meeting the bartender

t/w for mentions of thr.wing up

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Some nights stay burned in your mind. The people, the smells, the noises around you. And sometimes, you don't know whether or not you should forget what you remember. Maybe it's useless memories that just take up room, leaving less for the valuables. Or maybe they're there for a reason. But above all, their existence is to annoy you. To keep you awake and guessing if the memories will ever disappear. Though if they ever do, they're forgotten, like a moth to a flame. Silently burned without a trace nor a second thought. But once and a while, on rare occasions, that same smoke will fill the room with a thick mass and the flame will only ignite even further.

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Matt Murdock, roommate and friend of Franklin 'Foggy' Nelson, and a pretty damn good student too. He prided himself in that. Or, both of those things. He thought that they were two of the more important things a person could be, and so he strived to constantly fulfill his goals. He luckily didn't have to try very hard, seeing as he wasn't a bad person to Foggys standards. Though he was definitely toeing the line, or was going to be toeing the line if the night went on any longer.

Matt Murdock, beloved friend of Franklin 'Foggy Nelson'.

Matt Murdock, slightly annoyed friend of Franklin 'Foggy' Nelson.

Matt Murdock, soon to be bailing-the-night-without-telling-Foggy-as-he-seemed-to-be-having-well-earned-fun, friend of Franklin 'Foggy' Nelson.

The lights were buzzing loudly in his ears- much too loud. The smell of sweaty bodies cramped in one small bar was overwhelming. The music was making his head pound no matter how much cheap beer, whiskey, or whatever he could get his hands on, was quickly gulped down. Even the rough feeling of the bar counter top under his skin was starting to get to him. Though he wasn't the one moving or the one on the dance floor, he could feel the heat radiating off of the people around him.

He was beginning to become clammy, and it wasn't a good feeling. Especially not when Foggy was busy making out with Marcie ten feet away at the table that had been occupied by the three of them before Matts tolerance for listening to all of that went out the window.

With a sigh, Matthew opened his wallet and felt the bills, searching for the right number. When he finally found what he was looking for, the money was placed on the counter, and he was taking a step back. That was until someone walked over -of whom he guessed was the bartender, as they were behind the bar- and spoke.

"You alright, kid? You're looking kinda pale. I don't want ya throwin' up anywhere on the floor."

The voice was nonchalant, gruff, and clearly not paying full attention. The man was checking that it was the right amount of money, not worrying for Matt's health, and so with an assuring 'yeah', -or something of the sort, he wasn't completely sure what came out of his mouth- Matthew was gone, the feeling of cold air overtaking his senses as he stepped outside.

The second time Matt met the bartender was a few hours after their first encounter. He had gone all the way back to his dorm, changed into comfier clothes, managed to keep all his liquor down, and called Foggy to tell him where he had gone, before realizing that his walking stick had been left at the bar. And, with Matthew being the very smart person he was, he didn't own another. The option of calling Foggy to go back and get it was up for debate, though Matt knew that Foggy would be rather...occupied with Marci for the night.

That left Matt with two options to choose from. The first being that he didn't use the stick the next day or until he went back to the bar, and the second being that he went back then, in the very very early morning when the place was most likely being shut down. But sleep wasn't in Murdocks grasp, and so he stood and began his trek back to the bar, though this time the previously pleasant chill air was numbing, and he began to wonder if a blind man going out so late was a good idea.