TW: descriptions of a panic attack, some description of sensory overload, severe injuries, blood
༺═──────────────═༻
Matt left work early, claiming he had a headache and that he would just continue his work at home. Foggy, the great person he is, offered to walk home with him, but he just waved him off, not wanting to take another person out of the office.
In actuality, Matt had heard your confession in the hallway with Karen, and he was processing too many things, unable to even think about work. He needed to get away, needed to stop hearing you, stop sensing you, stop wanting you. At least until he got his emotions in check.
As he walked down the busy streets, he focused himself on the consistent clacking of his cane as he walked home.
Clack, clack, clack.
The sound reminded him of your shoes, hitting the ground as you marched around the office.
Clack, clack, clack.
It reminded him of the way you would absentmindedly strum random patterns on your desk.
Clack, clack, clack.
It reminded him of when you typed, the way you would be so focused on your work, oblivious to the world around you.
Clack, clack, clack.
His ears were ringing. It was loud. Too loud.
Clack, clack, clack.
He felt like he was being suffocated by his jacket, like a rope was tightening around his chest.
Clack, clack, clack.
His breathing began to pick up, matching the intense beating of his heart.
Clack, clack, clack.
He needed to get home. Somewhere where his senses wouldn't be haywire.
His phone dinged, indicating he arrived outside the apartment complex.
He moved his cane around, feeling for the cement stairs, then walked into the complex. He made his way toward the stairs, picking up his cane so it hit each individual step. This sound was milder, softer, and it helped alleviate some of the tension.
Thump, thump, thump.
When he felt he made it to the right floor, he felt for the braille signs littered around the hallway, feeling for his apartment number.
His skin felt hypersensitive, almost painful as he ran his finger over the bumps.
It only took a short while before he made it to his apartment, and he hastily unlocked and entered the door. After he secured his cane, he let the rest of the things fall to the ground and slumped his way over to the couch.
He let himself flop down, already beginning to relax at the lack of stimuli being thrown at him. He was mentally drained, and he let himself fall asleep, too weak to fight the weariness. He closed his eyes and removed himself from the world for a moment of peace.
༺═──────────────═༻
You waited for Daredevil atop a building nearby your apartment, legs swinging as you took in the view. It was nice to be up here, getting away from everything, having some personal time.
You could see your office building from here, and you could see the silhouette of someone in there; you guessed it was Foggy staying late to work on their case after Matt went home early.
YOU ARE READING
Shook Hands With the Devil
FanfictionYou and Matthew Murdock hated each other. You guys used to be friends, but a sudden rupture formed between the two of you, causing broken hearts and longing. From friends, to academic rivals, to ambitious lawyers, to reluctant work partners, the sto...
