Hands Too Cold, but Heart of Gold *Avengers* Daredevil*

9) The secret - pt.1

You went on a date with Matt aka Daredevil. The outcome is... interesting. Aka what happened after the events of 'The closure' or the bold sentence of 'The date'.

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You were sitting in your room, dully staring at your wall, the scene replaying in front of your eyes over and over again. Well, not really; you hadn't seen much at the moment.

Everything had been great. You and Matt had gone to a date – a dinner date, the most classical date of all and he had been wonderful. He had been a gentleman, pulling out a chair for you, which had been a little ridiculous, given the fact that at least to untrained eyes, he had been the one that needed help, but you had thought it was sweet. The food had been good, the wine as well and the conversation flew surprisingly easily for two people who had recently beat up someone together as their first meeting.

Matt was nice, sweet, funny, smart and... very objectively attractive. When he had taken off his glasses as the restaurant had started to empty, you had been reminded that he was also objectively cute.

Then you had left the restaurant, the night air pleasantly refreshing, his hand on your elbow for guidance and possibly more and about a half of a block from the Tower – which you had considered a safe distance for avoiding Tony's sniffing around – you had said your goodbyes and kissed goodnight.

Matt was a fucking amazing kisser. His lips were soft and as smart as his talk, perfectly balanced closed-mouthed kissing, nibbling and teasing and— and for some reason, it had left you completely unfazed.

It had been awkward. Incredibly so. You had kissed him back of course, but quickly had said goodnight once more and the only reason why your heart had been freaking out in your chest had been because you had thought you had been a total freak. You were spooked to death, trying not to run the last metres to your place. You had sneaked into your room, luckily not meeting a soul, locked the door and leaned your back onto it, sliding down.

What the fuck was wrong with you?

That had been two days ago. You practically refused to leave your room. Natasha had come to check up on you and so had Steve – twice. You cowardly hadn't opened the door and had said you weren't feeling very well. You hadn't lied. You had barely slept, thousands of different thoughts in your mind, tiptoeing around one single topic.

For some reason, you hadn't fallen for the incredibly charming man women and men would kill for. There simply must have been something terribly wrong with you.

You whined, burying your face into your pillow for the thousandth time in the past few hours.

A beep announced a received text. You whined louder, expecting it to be from Matt; every single one of people who had your number lived in the tower except him.

It was Matt indeed.

Can I call you?

"No," you muttered, planning on throwing your SIM card away. Opening the phone, you realized what a ridiculous creature you were. Such a coward.

You took a deep calming breath with zero effect and dialled Matt's number yourself. You could do this.

When you heard Matt saying your name through the speaker, you were positive that you couldn't.

"Hey Matt," you breathed to the phone, your quiet voice shaking.

"Are you okay? You sound... tired," he noted with concern and you huffed out a laugh. That was one way to put it.