Devil like me || daredevil

01. I FOUND YOU

Being alive means many things to Matthew Murdock.

In proper words, being alive is a sacred thing. A gift, many people would say- others wouldn't at times, but in the long run being alive is the most valuable thing one can experience.

Being alive isn't just owning a pulse and breathing, contrary to popular belief. Being alive is much like the unique emotion of euphoria. It's the feeling that flows through your body when you've done something exhilarating, when for the first time in your life you do something that makes you feel... free.

To Matt, it means hearing the birds chip obnoxiously loud every morning through the thin walls of his spacious loft in Hell's Kitchen, New York, being rudely awoken by the heated light of the morning sun as a reminder that the lord has blessed him with another day to live, and the rush of adrenaline that courses through his body when he becomes his vigilante counterpart every night.

But this morning he wishes he wasn't. He wishes he can stay in bed under his bleak-colored duvet for the whole day and avoid all the calls that will inevitably pile up on his phone.

But he can't because he's an adult, with a real adult job and responsibilities- even if his career is simply showing up to an empty office with no new clients and and their only employee being a non-paid former client.

In all honesty, Matt's tired.

His body is sore beyond belief from his brawl the night before where he had received a punctured lung. Bruises paint his skin in various shades of purple and blue as though Vincent Van Gogh himself had paid him a visit during his blue period.

The cut on his face is healing better than expected. His savior, Claire had patched him up well enough to where the wound is completely closed though still puffy around the edges. He wants nothing more than to call his best friend Foggy up on the phone and explain to him that he's sick and can't go in but now with Karen working for them as well, that excuse would have to go in the vault for a few weeks at least.

With a strained groan emitting from his mouth, Matt manages to pull himself off his bed after a long mental battle not to. Every inch of him is full of pain. His muscles feel like they're on fire and his skin feels uncomfortable to stretch.

Nonetheless, he lugs himself to his bathroom to brush his teeth and splash his face with water. Today has to go well. Not because Matt has any particular reason for the need, he just knows he can't take another day full of bullshit. He can't remember the last time he had a nice normal day full of little to no stress and a mellow environment.

After he had won Karen's case he felt like he needed a rest but of course, he did the exact opposite and almost got himself killed.

Now he's here, struggling to do something as simple as put his socks on. Matt grunts in frustration and pushes the socks away from him. He can't deal with this today, the stress, the pain. He needs a break, but breaks are for the rich.

Matt sits quietly in reflection as he takes a deep breath to calm himself before he gingerly lunges for the abandoned pair of charcoal gray socks he so foolishly threw. Anger has always plagued him for as long as he could remember. It was like an ember hidden deep in his chest that waited to be sparked, one that if lit could be fatal.

These days he feels as though he has a fever. Not in the literal sense, of course, thank god. He doesn't feel sick or is suffering from cold sweats, but he feels the similar unpredictability of a fever. How if left untreated could go from 98 degrees normal, to 105 degrees fatal.

Sometimes he has to remind himself to breathe. He gets so lost in tuning out the bustling world that is New York city that he forgets to be present in his own personal matters in front of him.