Matt Murdock Shorts

(Your) Body (is) Art

When you were younger, with a few hidden tattoos here and there, you didn't notice a difference in your dating life. Why would you? But as you got more and more, a lot of guys started to veer away from you. It didn't bother you. If they have a problem with it, or it intimidates them in some way, they're not for you. For many, they don't care either way. Your tattoos aren't turn on or turn offs. They're there; a part of you. Which is how you feel about the matter. Every once in awhile, it was a thing, some people think it's sexy. And that's fine too. But never had you ever met anyone who was as into it as Matthew Murdock.

You met fresh out of college and fell head first into love. When he ran his hands over your sleeve in progress for the first time, he froze with a sharp inhale.

"Do you- is this a tattoo?"

You glanced down at where his hand was running along your arm, tracing the pattern far too precisely. "Uh, yeah. What, are you too Catholic to date someone with tattoos?"

He laughed. "No, I uh, I know it doesn't have anything to do with me, but I think it's hot."

"If you find it so hot, why don't you make it have something to do with you?"

He spent the rest of the night exploring your body, finding and mapping out each and every one.

-0-

It's 6 months later when you're laying in bed next to him, and the question you've been dying to ask comes tumbling out.

"How can you feel my tattoos?"

You hear him let out a breath of a laugh in the darkness. "Uh, can you not?"

"No, that's what's freaking me out. Ever since you decided to start worshipping them, I got curious and I tried to feel the difference. I mean, when you first get them, it's obvious, but the ones I've had for years? There's no difference."

He shrugs. "I'm told I'm sensitive."

"Well, I've learned that much."

-0-

Over the years, you drifted apart. He got secretive and you got sick of it. You went your separate ways with a kiss, wishing each other the best. Years later and you've dubbed Matt the one that got away. You've dated since then but nothing ever lasted. Matt was- probably still is- you lobster. You should've worked it out and mated for life. It's the only thing that makes sense. You miss him and a selfish part of you wants him to miss you too.

New York is big, but you find yourself gravitating toward Hell's kitchen more often than not. You need to break down and lease a place here before they renovate everything beyond recognition and price range. You don't know what you're expecting, until you find him one day, tapping his way down the sidewalk.

-0-

Matt hasn't stopped thinking about you either. His story is similar; filled with broken relationships, some empty from the start, others with failed potential or tragedy.

One day, he actually found himself in a tattoo shop, asking for red boxing gloves on his left arm. At first, the Artist was dubious at the blind man in his chair. At Matt's conviction in the matter, they shrugged and did it. To this day he denies that you put that bug in him.

He's walking to work one morning when he gets a strange feeling. He can feel something familiar in this crowd of strangers. Then he pinpoints it. A lost heartbeat, found after years of wishing and hoping. He stops dead in his tracks, tilting his head to the side, listening, confirming that his mind isn't playing tricks on him. But no, the wind carries a whiff of your scent to accompany your heartbeat. He grips his cane tighter and moves forward with purpose. When he reaches you, he knows you recognize him because your heart goes rabbit fast. He breathes out your name in disbelief.