The Invisible String: Matt Murdock/ Daredevil

12

"You do realize Foggy's right there and refuses to accept that you actually can't see, right?" Annalise pointed, lowering her hand in mock shame.

Matt groaned softly, catching the familiar pattern. "You guys argue like a married couple."

Karen laughed, casually eating her pizza as if they were watching a movie. Foggy shot them both a look that said, Told you so.

Matt and Annalise exchanged glances—well, Matt mostly glanced in her direction without really focusing. Neither quite knew what to say next. Eventually, Matt shrugged and took a slice, joining the others quietly. All four ate in companionable silence.

"So, what's the plan for tomorrow?" Annalise asked, her voice neutral but curious.

Karen looked up. "I have a meeting with Felix Manning. For the Bulletin."

Foggy turned toward her. "I thought he wasn't returning your calls?"

Annalise watched the exchange, puzzled. Matt's face tightened, a flicker of concern crossing his features.

"Not really a meeting," Karen said. "More like—I know where he'll be. Felix is involved in money laundering with Fisk."

Annalise's stomach dropped. Karen was putting herself in serious danger. She understood now why Matt was on edge.

"Karen, that's dangerous. He could hurt you," Annalise said softly.

"Or get you killed," Matt added firmly.

Karen met their gazes steadily. "I'm going. Okay? Neither of you can tell me this won't be useful. I can protect myself."

"Karen, they're right," Foggy said, placing a gentle hand over hers. His lips pressed into a thin line, uncertain what else to say.

"How about I go with you?" Annalise offered confidently. "I'm not known around here yet, I can go for you."

Karen shook her head immediately. "Not a chance." Matt followed without a beat.

Anne cut in, "Zip it, Mathew."

Annalise's gaze returned to Karen. Matt sighed, staring at the ceiling.

"I'm going with you," she said firmly. "As long as we can get coffee first."

She shrugged off Matt's disapproval. Yes, she trusted him, and yes, she knew he just wanted to keep them safe—but sometimes, that simply had to be disregarded.

—

They finished eating, the two pairs drifting toward their respective bedrooms.

The apartment settled into quiet. The only sound was the soft hum of a fan, stirring the cold August air. Outside, Hell's Kitchen never truly slept, but behind these locked doors and faded curtains, a fragile peace had settled—the kind you hold your breath not to disturb.

Matt leaned back on the green couch, one arm stretched along the back. Annalise sat beside him, cross-legged and barefoot, knees drawn close. Her hand held a nearly empty glass of soda she had purchased at the store earlier, the condensation slick and cool.

"You drink this stuff now?" Matt asked with a soft smile. "I remember you hated the bubbles when we were kids."

"I grew into them," she replied, watching him over the rim of her glass. "Like you grew into suits and Catholic guilt."

He chuckled quietly, a half-smile tugging at one side. "Touché."

A comfortable silence settled between them.

She could feel the shape of his feelings around him—warmth simmering low, heavy affection he never spoke aloud, and beneath it all, a pressure, an ache she knew too well because it matched her own. His heartbeat betrayed him, steady but telling.

He shifted slightly, sensing her breath catch. "You're staring."

"You'd know," she murmured softly. "You always know."

"I don't always know," he said quietly, and it wasn't just about her gaze.

Her fingers brushed his arm without meaning to—just a movement pulled by something deeper. The fabric of his shirt was warm beneath her touch, and the contact felt louder than the city's distant noise. He didn't flinch or pull away.

"Matt..."

He turned his face toward her, listening—not just with his ears but fully, entirely. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"You didn't," she whispered. "But you never saw me in the first place so.."

Her hand reached up, gently pushing a loose lock of hair from his forehead. Her thumb lingered longer than she intended, both individuals fighting a smile. He closed his eyes at the touch. His hand lifted toward her knee but hesitated.

"I didn't forget you," he said, voice rough with something unspoken. "Not once."

"I know," she whispered back, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "Neither did I."

The stillness shifted between them, like breath caught before a kiss. The air thickened with everything left unsaid and everything they might never say.

Their faces drew close, close enough to hear the subtle change in breathing, the brush of hair, close enough that neither moved first because the pull was inevitable.

Their lips met slowly, hesitant and cautious at first, testing the waters. Then something gave way.

The kiss deepened without thought or decision. His hand gripped her waist, her fingers tightening where they clutched his shirt. She leaned in, closing the years of distance with her body.

It wasn't rushed. It held all the feelings they had buried beneath sarcasm, banter, and silence. Their heart beats rhythmically bouncing between their touching chests.

When they pulled apart, their foreheads rested together. Her breath was shaky, his hands stayed still.

Neither spoke for a long moment.

"I shouldn't..." he began, but didn't finish.

"Me neither," she whispered, tracing the edge of his jaw with her fingers. "But here we are."

A muffled laugh from the other room—probably Karen—broke the tension, grounding them back to reality.

Outside the door, the world waited.

But in this quiet moment, on this worn couch, they stayed close.

Neither ready to say the words they both felt, but neither pulling away.

And for now... that was enough.