SUNSHINE [Frank Castle]

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - PERFECT

Her first date with Matthew Murdock was also her first date ever. She'd never been on a date before, never got the chance to. She was admittedly a little nervous.

He arrived promptly at eight o'clock, dressed in a suit and tie, still with his glasses on. Kate had gone out god knows where, and so she had the small room to herself— likely until the early morning. She opened the door when he knocked, and smiled at the sight of him.

"Hey," she greeted.

"Hi." He too smiled, then looked down as if to hide it.

She stepped out into the hall with him, locking her door as she asked: "So, where do you want to go?"

"My friend told me about a nice place for dinner a few blocks away, close enough to walk."

"That sounds great." He sighed, as if in relief, and held his arm out for her to take. She did, and they went on their way.

The restaurant was beautiful. Half inside, half outside, with the outside portion completely open but for a few wood beams connecting it to the inside and strung with fairy lights. Almost everyone in the restaurant sat outside, none able to resist the gorgeous night.

Couples, friends and families all sat at tables outside, surrounding Charlotte and Matt who sat in the corner at the edge. They ordered their food and wine and sat together in the cool autumn evening air, asking each other questions.

"Favourite movie?" Matt asked, taking a sip of his wine.

"The Princess Bride," she replied almost immediately. "Any siblings? Parents?"

"My mom died when I was young, and my dad. . . he died too, when I was almost a teenager. No siblings."

"I'm sorry," she said, softly. "About your parents."

He nodded, but seemed set on getting off of that topic. "What about your family? Parents, siblings?"

"Both of my parents died a long time ago. I have a sister, but I. . . haven't seen her in a while. Years, actually."

"What happened?"

"I left home, she stayed. I don't know where she is now." Half truth, half lie. "I wouldn't even know where to find her."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "It's in the past. I don't want the past to ruin our night."

"No, trust me," he reassured her, "this night has been perfect. You've been perfect."

Perfect. She had never been called that. Never even considered that she could be. Perfect. Such a delicate, pretty word.

This handsome, charming man thought that she was perfect. She thought that he was perfect, too. Never had she met a person who had no sharp edges, no cracks.

"It has been perfect," she found herself agreeing, "the best night I've had in a long time."

"Yeah, me too."

She looked right at him then, into his eyes. Or what would be looking into his eyes, if he wasn't wearing his glasses. "Can I take your glasses off?" He looked as if no one had asked him that before. "I just want to see your eyes," she explained.

"Okay," he replied, nodding. "Okay."

She reached up with both hands and slid them off of his face slowly with a soft touch. She set them down on the table gently when she was finished. When she looked up again, she smiled at the sight of his lovely brown eyes.

"Thank you," she breathed. "I hope I can see them more often."

"Whenever you want," he promised.

It was a subtle agreement between them. They would see each other again. Often.

"You are stunning." She said the words before she could even think to halt them.

A breathy laugh left Matt's lips. "I wish I could see you, to confirm what I suspect about you."

"And what do you suspect?"

"That you, too, are completely stunning." He paused, his eyes moving over her as if he could just try hard enough, and then he would be able to see. "What colour are your eyes?"

"Green."

"What kind of green? I have seen things before, I'll know what you mean."

"I had someone tell me once that they were like emeralds, or the summer grass after it rains."

"Your hair?"

"Red," she replied. Then, as an afterthought and as if she'd just remembered, "Like. . . Like the edges of a fire."

"Your skin?"

"The same as yours." Her smile lit up her features— something that she would never think enough of herself to describe to him. There were many beautiful things that she didn't notice about herself because of the self hatred instilled in her.

"I've got a picture of you in my head, but I doubt it does you justice."

"Give me your hands," she instructed. He did. She brought them up to her face and guided them along her features.

His careful fingers traced her eyelids, then the bridge of her nose and the curve of her lips. They traced her cheekbones and jaw, noting each turn and bump and minuscule detail. The entire world dropped away, leaving only them.

When finally his hands fell away, she let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "Do you have a better picture now?"

"I don't know," he said, "I might have to touch everything to get a perfect picture."

She smirked at him. "You're trying to get me to have sex on the first date."

"Unless you've got a rule against that."

"I don't."

"Then I'd like to get to know you. All of you." No malicious intent. No ulterior motive. It wasn't even a cover for wanting a one night stand. He really liked her.

"My roommate isn't home."

That was all he needed. He payed their bill— even when she insisted they split it— and let her lead him out of the restaurant.

They stopped in front of her door, and she was getting her key out. But instead of letting her, he laid a hand on her arm and turned her around. "What—"

He kissed her. He kissed her, and her keys almost fell out of her hands. He kissed her, and she kissed him back.

It was wonderful. More than wonderful. It was perfect. With one hand, she reached behind herself and slipped the key into the lock. The door opened and they stumbled inside. She made sure to lock it again before they made it to the bed.

She laid on her back, him on top of her. He straddled her as she undid his tie and the buttons on his shirt, then his belt. He found the hem of the dress she wore and slid it up and over her head. Surprisingly, he made quick work of her bra, too.

He traced her whole body. With his fingers and his mouth. When he was finished, he did it once more, just to make sure. She was grateful that he couldn't see her. Couldn't see the ugly scars that lined every inch of her body.

As if he felt her insecurities through her skin, he whispered against it, "perfect, perfect, perfect."