What We Could Have, But We'll Never Reach *Matt Murdock x Reader Oneshots*

Ain't How You Hit the Bar

...aka idiotic exes, sort of a meet-cute and misunderstandings

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You really wanted to focus on the poor Arkarian getting tortured, but it was actually torturing you, because you had to read the same line at least four times to realize what the words meant. It was a very slow way to read. You groaned in despair, closing the book with a muffle thud. This wasn't going to work. There was only one way to shush the stupid voice in your head; give in.

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The intimidating woman – Josie, probably? – slid two bottles of cider in your direction. You eyed her, confused.

"Uhm... excuse me, I only ordered one-"

"I know. It's from Nelson and Murdock, on their tab."

Who the hell were Nelson and Murdock? You looked around, scanning the surroundings for someone who was probably watching you. A guy in a business suit, with longish blond hair and cute friendly smile, raised his beer in wordless 'cheers'. Next to him, there was a nice lean blond woman in flowery dress doing the same, but with more subtlety. A dark-haired man in round red-toned sunglasses was smiling inconspicuously at his own bottle, until the other one nudged him and he looked up – no, didn't 'look', there was a white cane resting against the wall, which also explained the glasses worn inside, blind – and joined them.

You gave them one perfectly confused awkward smile before turning back to the bartender and paying for one of your drinks. Why did they buy you a drink? You were pretty sure they weren't hitting on you. That was what people did at bars, right? Bought a drink to someone who caught their eye?

It wasn't like you would know. This was your second time being in a bar. The first time, your new 'friends' – just colleagues at the time, really – had taken you out for drinks after discovering you hadn't celebrated your 21st birthday with alcohol; apparently, it hadn't matter they had been four years late, because they insisted on you going. That night, you had met Dylan, your – now ex for more than a week, which was exactly one half of the time you had spent dating – boyfriend. He was the reason why you were out for drinks tonight.

Unsure what to do, afraid of getting into an awkward conversation, you crawled back into your corner with two bottles instead of the one you ordered, not looking their direction again. Well, you better start drinking, considering the previous two had taken you over an hour to finish. You really didn't see the appeal of drinking, not in a bar, not anywhere else.

You knew this was ridiculous. Dylan was a jerk. Hell, he was a dick. Still, what he had told you had gotten to you. So you weren't exactly a-

Something hit the leg of your table, snapping you from your broody thoughts. You glanced up in surprise – only to see one of the men from earlier standing in front of you. The dark-haired one. The blind one.

"Excuse me, miss?" he addressed... you? Really? You panicked, yet tried to keep yourself composed. Would it be rude to pretend you weren't there? It wasn't like he could see you... you mentally slapped yourself for that mean thought.

"Uhm... talking to me, sir?"

He smiled. "Yes."

"Oh. O-okay. What can I do for you?"

"Well, my friends over there bought you a drink, because-" he started explaining and you let your panic out.

"If you want me to, I'll pay for it! If it was like I bought you a drink so now you have to go with me to the bathroom-"

The man in front of you frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. "That ever happened to you? That's terrible."

You opened your mouth uselessly, confused. What?