When Hell's Kitchen's angel falls for it's very own devil.
"Hell's Kitchen's angel had returned home, and the reason? Matthew Murdock. She'd never forgotten him, had never stopped looking for him, and had never stopped caring about him."
Matt Murdo...
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Her eyes welled with tears, his gentle touch embracing her cheek. Drawing herself in a bit closer, a tender connection unfolded between them in the quiet. Unspoken emotions lingered, revealing a depth of feeling that words could hardly capture.
Enveloped in stillness, they remained locked in that pose, savoring each fleeting second. The surge of blood heightened, causing their skin to tingle. The air thickened with tension, a palpable force that saturated the moment. Their heartbeats, in perfect harmony, echoed through the quietude as they held onto the suspended instant, a seemingly eternal stretch that, in truth, only spanned a minute.
"You were looking for me?" Matthew, the first to break the silence, spoke gently, his hand still cradling her cheek. His voice acted as a lifeline, pulling Roselia back from the trance she seemed to be in. She withdrew her face, cheeks flushed, eyes brimming with tears, and managed a small, uncertain smile. Unsure whether to cry, laugh, or smile, she softly uttered, "You left without saying goodbye," her voice a gentle whisper.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, pulling back, the weight of his injuries evident in each pained pause. "You should rest," she urged, noticing his discomfort. "I didn't know what else to do," he continued, his eyes pleading, voice almost quivering. She met his gaze with a sympathetic frown, overwhelmed and lost for words. "I had no choice," he pressed on, his plea hanging in the air, seeking solace in her response.
She inhaled, preparing to speak, but he interjected. "I wanted to tell you, to see you. I kept tabs on you before you left. I wanted to say something." His voice pleaded for acknowledgment. His eyes swelled with tears, evident in the unspoken struggle with every breath and gulp he took. "Matthew—" She extended a comforting touch to his arm. "He wouldn't let me," he confessed, wincing once more in pain.
"Who wouldn't let you?" she inquired. His body tensed, a suspended moment where breath seemed to evade him for an eternity, though only a second passed. He locked eyes with her, almost drifting into a trance. "Matt?... Matt?" she called out, but his ears started to ring. The idea of pouring out everything to her made him wince. She disarmed him. Her voice, her eyes, her scent, each heartbeat took him back to childhood - Roselia embodied the only remnants of the old Matthew. She weakened him, leaving him vulnerable and exposed. Since the accident, he hadn't said a word about Stick, the orphanage, or his childhood to anyone, not even Foggy. A groan escaped as a sharp pain shot through his ribs. "Matthew, please lay down," Roselia's voice faintly reached him in the background.
"Eli," he whispered before succumbing to unconsciousness on the couch. The hair on Roselia's skin raised at the sound of that name. Eli. It was his special name for her, one that belonged to only him since their growing-up years. She'd had tons of nicknames like Angel or Ro from her dad, Rosie from her friends, Matthew's choice had always been Eli. No one else uttered that name. Years had passed since she'd been called Eli, and she never permitted anyone else to use it. It remained exclusively his for her. An overwhelming surge of emotion washed over her at the sound of that name. Eli. It was like a weight lifting off her shoulders, a nostalgic melody that she had missed dearly. She couldn't help but feel a profound sense of longing and connection, as if a piece of her past had come alive again.
Gazing at him, unconscious and battered, her mind raced with questions. Who was the mysterious "he" he mentioned? What happened that left him in such a state? Every detail swirled in her mind, yet all she could do was tend to his wounds and ponder the unknown until he wakes up.
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With the dawn of the next morning, Matthew's eyelids fluttered open, greeted by the gentle embrace of sunlight seeping through Roselia's apartment windows. He winced as he attempted to sit up, reminding him of why he was there in the first place. As he motioned to try and stand up, a faint sound drew his attention downward.
There, beside him, was Roselia, asleep on the floor. A tender smile graced Matthew's lips. It was classic Roselia - her unwavering kindness and thoughtfulness never failing to stir his heart. Her selfless gestures were no surprise to him, ever since a child she had been like this.
Matthew sank back into the couch, his gaze fixed on Roselia as she slept. Despite not being able to see her with his eyes, he remained acutely attuned to every subtle movement – the rise and fall of her chest with each breath, the rhythmic cadence of her heartbeat, slower than usual in the depths of her sleep. He drank every inch of her, savouring each moment as if it were the last he would get to admire her. After all, how could he not? It had been years since he was last ever able to, and he never thought he would be graced with her presence ever again.
He rose from his seat with practiced stealth, mindful not to disturb her sleep. He relied on the rhythm of her heartbeat to ensure he wouldn't startle her as he gently scooped her up, cradling her neck and knees with care. Normally, such movement would have stirred her awake, but he could sense the exhaustion weighing heavily on her from staying by his side throughout the night. He laid her down on the couch, tucking a blanket around her form. As he heard her nuzzle into the warmth of the blanket, a soft smile graced his lips.
Seated in her apartment, his shirt discarded, his body adorned with dried blood, still clad in his black vigilante attire, Matthew wrestled with his mind. By now, he would have left without hesitation. But this was different. This was Roselia. He had left her once before – how could he do it again?
Matthew was disciplined, he was focused. He knew what he had to do, when he had to do it and why. But when it came to her, he was a mess. She had a way of disarming him, turning him into a puddle of emotions. She was his weakness, his Achilles' heel. He was always so calculated in his actions, but now he felt scattered, like he couldn't piece himself together. He may have been able to leave her in the past, but now? He's not sure he can do it.
He couldn't bring himself to leave her - but he knew. He knew, deep down, what she did to him. How she tore him apart in the most beautiful way possible. Matthew Murdock had never experienced such emotional upheaval at the hands of a woman like he did with Roselia. Torn apart was the only way to describe it. His love for her ran deep, so deep that it threatened to consume him. He just found her after years of absence and he found himself wrestling with conflicting emotions. He almost resented her for rekindling these intense feelings within him.
This was not part of the plan. He never anticipated having her back, never anticipated confronting these emotions again. Overwhelmed, he grappled with the desire to stay and the knowledge that she deserved better than the man he had become. He was different now, changed by the life he had chosen. She didn't deserve to be burdened by his darkness, to carry the weight of his choices on her shoulders.
As much as he longed to remain by her side, he knew he had to leave. It was the only way to spare her from the burdens he brought with him.
Tears welled in his eyes once more as he stood over her, his heart heavy with the weight of impending departure. He hovered, silently absorbing the rhythm of her heartbeat, the cadence of her breaths, every subtle movement she made. The urge to caress her face one last time tugged at him, but he resisted, knowing it might wake her. Instead, he remained still, imprinting the memory of her upon his heart in their final moments together.
As he sensed her waking up, he reluctantly made his way out the fire escape, the ache in his chest intensifying with each step. With one last glance back, it felt as though his very essence was being torn asunder, before he vanished into the shadows of Hell's Kitchen, leaving behind the Hell's Kitchen's angel herself.
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AHHHHHHH I'm so sorry for not updating as often as I would have wanted to. Life is busy. But enjoy this :*
