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“Foggy, I’m really not sure about this.”
“C’mon, trust me!”
“Last time I trusted you, my ‘date’ stole my fucking car.”
“And as a result of that unfortunate incident I vowed to do background checks on every other guy I set you up with, and ____, cross my heart and hope to die, I know you’re really gonna like this guy.”
“You rhymed.”
“I know. That’s how sure I am. I made a shitty rhyme to express how absolutely sure I am.”
You sigh and run a hand through your hair tiredly. You really aren’t up for another one of Foggy's "Hook-____-Up-With-Somebody" schemes, not tonight. College was getting increasingly difficult as you neared the end of the semester, with teachers piling a shit ton of projects on your shoulders, and you didn’t need another ex-con-date. You trusted Foggy, he had the best intentions, but very few of the people Foggy chose for you came back for a second date. You really did not need another rejection or persistent booty caller to add to the stress.
Your last long-term boyfriend had been wonderful - he was everything you wanted when you met him and continued to be the first two years you dated. When you left the state for college, though, the two of you slowly drifted apart. He was focused on managing his family’s business, while you were driven to pursue a doctorate and make something of your life. Your dreams were so different, and your personalities changed so much as you became more and more rigorous in your education, that the two-hour nightly Skype calls became shorter, soon becoming simple phone calls, then meager texts, and, finally, when you had practically forgotten what each other looked like, contact halted altogether. It wasn't exactly heartbreak, the end was long time coming, but it still left you feeling empty. The lack of closure kept you awake some nights, wondering about what could have been, and made you a bit skittish when it came to new romantic relationships. It was impossible to stay with a guy for more than a few months at most; keeping a relationship going long-term seemed downright impossible.
But what the hell - if the date goes well, you may have a one-night stand to relieve the stress you’ve built up this past month then never see the sucker again. A fairytale ending in your book.
“What’s the guy’s name anyway?” you ask as you apply mascara.
“Matt,” he replies without missing a beat. “He’s studying law with me. He’s actually my new roommate. Super smart guy, really sweet - hot too - he’s got shaggy brown hair and a kind of lone-wolf-slash-wounded-duck thing going on-”
“Careful there Foggy, you’re starting to drool,” you say as you apply lipstick that’s just a tad pinker than your natural color.
“Shut up,” he smirks. You grin. Alright, Foggy seemed to really like this ‘Matt’ character. Foggy was always enthusiastic about the guys he set you up with, but you’ve never seen him so… hopeful. “You gonna let me prep you for your very important date or not?”
“But of course,” you proclaim with grandeur as you don your jacket and scarf, taking Foggy’s arm as you leave your dorm room. “Tell me everything I need to know about this Matt fellow.” The two of you exit the building and are greeted by the crisp January air as you make your way to the designated date restaurant. You decide to give this date your best shot for Foggy, since it seemed he’d be more heartbroken than you if things didn’t work out with Matt.
~~~~~
You listen to Foggy the whole way to the restaurant, and by the time you arrive you are more than ready to meet Matt. From what you had learned, Matt was smart - ‘but not a smartass’ - tall - ‘but not a freak’ - athletic - ‘but not a gym rat’ - and funny - ‘but not an asshat’. Alright, seems decent enough. Now to actually meet him and see if Foggy’s dreamy description lives up to the picture you’ve painted in your mind.
You pause before the door and turn to Foggy. “Do I look okay? Hair not too fucked up by the wind?”
“Oh, it’s fucked up alright, but it doesn’t matter. Matt doesn’t really care about looks.”
“Gee, thanks, Fog.” You run your fingers through your hair a couple of times to get some of the worst tangles out. Even if Matt isn't judgemental about looks, you wanted to be at least presentable.
"Relax, ____," Foggy puts his hands on your shoulders. "He's gonna love you. It'll be love at first sight." Foggy has on his trademark shit eating grin, like he's made a joke that no one understands but is still proud he made it. Typical Foggy. "C'mon, he's probably already inside. I'll introduce you and then I gotta go meet up with Marci." He holds the door for you, half like a gentleman and half like an excited six-year-old, and the two of you scan the restaurant for Matt.
"There he is," Foggy points to a man sitting at a table for two with his back facing the door. Foggy leads you to the table, accidentally bumping into a waitress on the way, and the man assumed to be Matt looks up at the two of you through his thick red-tinted sunglasses.
Wait, sunglasses?
It's 6:45 pm.
Foggy apparently left out the detail about Matt being a douchebag that wears his sunglasses at night.
Matt smiles kindly at the two of you. "Foggy!" he exclaims as he stands and hugs his friend. When he pulls away he turns to you. "And you must be ____. Matt Murdock, pleasure to meet you." He offers his hand to shake and you take it, finally getting the chance to observe his face firsthand.
Foggy really had not done his face justice. This man is gorgeous. Matt has a little scruff, just enough to seem ruggedly handsome in street clothes but also professionally sexy in a suit. In those dark jeans and forest green v-neck he is nothing short of an Adonis - I mean just look at his arms! He must work out regularly. He has a beautiful smile; his teeth are perfectly straight and strikingly white, but not fake-looking, and he oozes this aura of quiet confidence and humility. Alright, maybe you can get past the whole sunglasses-at-night thing.
"The pleasure's all mine," you say, flashing your flirtiest smile. Matt is a gentleman; he meets your eyes and doesn't once-over you like most guys do out of habit. You just wish he'd take the damn glasses off.
Matt turns his head in Foggy's direction when he lets go of your hand, not directly talking to him but close enough. "Foggy, are you staying with us?" he asks politely, though obviously hinting at his desire to get the date started. Foggy shakes his head.
"Nope, party at Marci's sorority house. Wouldn't miss it for the world!" he grins. "Have fun you two!" And with that, Foggy is gone, and your date with Matt has officially begun.
"Oh, um, please, take a seat," Matt walks around the table to the unoccupied side, pulling your chair out for you. You thank him and take your seat with a smile. Matt smiles brightly and walks back to his seat, keeping his hand on the edge of the table all the while.
And that's when you see it.
A foldable cane, lying innocently on the white tablecloth next to Matt's silverware.
Holy shit.
It all makes sense. The glasses, the way he didn't give you a once-over, Foggy's smirking at the sight jokes.
Not a douchebag.
Blind.
Foggy didn't tell you that your date was fucking blind.
You silently vow to kill Franklin P. Nelson in his sleep for leaving out this very important detail.
Matt takes his seat and smiles across the table at you warmly. It was so weird how he knew exactly where your face was. An awkward moment of silence passes, neither of you knowing what to say. Matt looks - could you really call it a look? - down as he drums his fingers lightly on the tabletop. You fiddle with the end of your scarf, electing to take it off and hang it on the back of the chair.
“So,” he says, finally breaking the silence, “Foggy told me a lot about you.” The smile he wears is so kind and infectious. You smile back.
“Did he?” you muse. “He told me a lot about you, too. Well, except for, uh, well…” Matt nods and chuckles lightly to himself.
“Never told you I’m blind, did he?”
“Nope.” Matt nods again with a small smile on his lips. Seems he’s used to Foggy being a little shit. Well, they are roommates.
“I’m really sorry,” he says, polite as ever. You don’t know if he’s apologizing for Foggy’s behavior or his own blindness. Maybe he’s apologizing for both. “If you don’t want to do this,” he gestures to the table and the space between you two, “I completely understand. Foggy shouldn’t have misled-”
“Nonono I’d love to stay!,” you insist. “No way am I gonna let you downgrade yourself and then leave. And besides...” you trail off and Matt looks - again, ‘looks’? - at you curiously.
“‘Besides’ what?”
“From what I’ve heard from Foggy, you’re pretty much his dream guy.” You smirk. That gets a chuckle out of Matt. “Who knows... maybe you’re mine too? And I know that if I wanna find out, I gotta stay.”
Matt smiles softly at that, and you think you can see a faint blush on his cheeks. He looks sweet, a little dopey yet still mature and incredibly handsome. He tilts his head slightly to the side. The way he’s sitting like that with a close-lipped smile makes it almost like he’s taking in the sight of you, but you realize he’s probably rerunning your words in his head, listening to them over and over again as they bring a smile to his face. “Dream guy, huh?” he muses.
“You never know,” you say teasingly as you take a sip of the water already placed on the table. Matt grins. “Or I could be wrong. You could be everything I despise.”
Matt laughs, “God I hope not. From what Foggy’s told me, you’re everything a guy could want.” His smile is almost a smirk, all playfulness and light.
“Oh really? Please, tell me how amazing I am, Mattie,” you wink, then feel utterly stupid. He can’t see the wink. But Matt’s smile widens nonetheless. You blush. Damn, he had such a cute smile. You wanted to pinch his cheeks (and not just the ones on his face).
“I was hoping you could do that,” he jests. “Tell me about yourself, that is.” You can swear he almost looks shy for a second. “See if Foggy was right about you.” His low, lightly rumbling voice is like a drug.
You think to yourself for a moment. Matt’s polite, funny, definitely looks athletic, and is, as far as you can tell, everything you really want in a boyfriend. But… you aren’t looking for a long-term relationship, are you? Or a relationship at all? No… well… maybe... it’s hard to put together coherent thoughts when Matt is giving you that dreamy look, like he can see your soul through flesh and red-tinted glass and blindness.
You take another sip of water before setting down the glass lightly. “I suppose that’s possible.” Matt smiles brightly and you can’t stop your heart from skipping a joyful beat. His smile practically glows.
“Awesome,” he comments wistfully. He leans forward on his elbows. “I’m all ears.”
~~~~~
You talk for hours. Matt listens intently, his smile widening and his musical laugh filling your ears when you conclude a particular funny tale of one of your many misadventures, and you laugh hysterically as he recalls his many escapades with Foggy. You talk about where you grew up, your dreams, your childhood pet, everything. You learn about the incident that caused Matt’s blindness - which only made you swoon for the selfless hero sitting across from you - and Matt’s father. He trails off a bit when he gets to the topic of his death, and doesn’t really cover the details, so you don’t dare push it. How could such a kind person be put through so much pain? It wasn't fair. You fought the urge to jump across the table and embrace him when he brought up life in Saint Agnes. When your waiter comes over to your table and informs the two of you that the restaurant will be closing soon, you go Dutch on the meal and continue your talk as you walk through the college campus, old, yellowed streetlamps lighting your path.
“Can I hold your hand?” Matt asks about five minutes into your stroll. You blush deeply.
“Um-”
“F-For guidance, I mean.” Matt stumbles over his words. “It uh, helps me navigate. I don’t have to worry about bumping your shoulder accidentally.” He smiles sweetly at you. You can’t tell if his cheeks are red from the frigid air or his slight embarrassment. You realize how well he’s been walking on his own, cane tapping the pavement so lightly so as not to disturb your conversation.
“Oh, shit, of course!” You quickly offer your hand. Your fingers immediately chill when you remove them from your cozy coat pocket, but the cold is warded off as soon as your hand is enveloped in Matt’s warm, calloused palm. Damn: gorgeous smile, cute cheeks, great hands; was this guy’s entire body magical? You make a note to definitely investigate Matt’s other physical endowments later.
You two continue chatting the whole way to your dorm, and you make sure to take the long way. You don't want to let go of Matt's hand and stop listening to his smooth voice any sooner than you need to.Despite your slow pace and long route, however, you still arrive at your humble abode far too early for your taste. You stop at the base of the steps, lightly running your thumb over Matt's as you stand in the light of the building.
"I had a lot of fun, Matt." You say sincerely.
"Me too." There it is again: that goddamn infectious smile. His thumb runs over the back of your hand in return, gently rubbing slow circles. His brown hair is disheveled from the wind and his ears, nose, and cheeks are pink from the cold. Bundled up in his scarf and jacket, you can't help but think how absolutely adorable Matt is, and also that you'd like nothing more than to see every warm layer of his clothing on your bedroom floor. But not tonight. And not tomorrow. Maybe not for a week, or a month. You want to take it slow. Something about the way he looks at you with that kind smile, like he actually wants to get to know you, makes you think 'This could last. If I wanted it to, if I tried, it could last.' The only question is; does Matt want this as much as you?
Matt takes a step forward, now only an inch of space between the two of you, and he smiles at the little gasp you make. You want him to kiss you. You're not thinking having about sex or even using tongue, you just want Matt to lean down and kiss you like you're the center of his universe, because you realize that as of dinner, he has become the center of yours. He's looking right at you, and under the yellow light of the building you finally see his eyes through his red-tinted glasses. They're deep brown, like Belgian chocolate, rich and dark, and although they're vacant like any blind eyes are, you can see that glimmer of happiness shining at you. Because of you. Your heart is drumming in your ears, you're holding your breath, Matt leans down...
"Y'know, I lied to you..." It's not quite a whisper, you still hear the husky rumble of his sensual voice. You're so entranced by his voice and his smell and him that you almost don't process the words.
"Huh...?" you breathe out, dumbfounded. You must sound like such a ditz. Matt smiles though. The hand that isn’t holding yours cups your cheek gently, lightly running his thumb over your cheek and the corner of your slightly parted lips.
"I didn't need help walking," he says softly. "I just wanted an excuse to hold your hand."
You barely have time to blush before Matt leans down, finally closing the gap between the two of you and capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His lips are perfect; warm and soft and they fit just right against yours. Your lips meet again and again, breaths mingling and bodies pressed flush against each other, seeking the warmth of the other. Your arms are around Matt’s shoulders, one hand in his brown locks (oh God, they’re so silky between your fingers), encouraging him to kiss you more deeply. Matt’s hands are on your back, one just above the other in the small curve near the base of your spine, and you swear you feel him clutch the fabric of your coat, his subconscious longing for the least amount of barriers between his skin and yours coming to light. His glasses bump the bridge of your nose and he takes a second to remove them before immediately returning to your lips. The movement was so quick you never even opened your eyes.
There are so many other things you could observe or read into but at the moment all you can focus on is the way Matt’s beautiful lips are working on yours, making your blood rush and your skin feel hot to the touch. Matt’s arms and torso hold hidden strength, you can feel the lean, corded muscles shift under layers of warm clothes as he envelopes you in his embrace. Everything you smell, hear, feel, taste; it’s all Matt. When he breaks the kiss - after so long with your lips locked but still too soon - his breath comes out in soft, exasperated puffs that you feel on your lips and see condense in the air. Your cheeks are burning, you rest your forehead against Matt’s as you catch your breath and try to find words to describe whatever the fuck just happened. All you can really do is smile. It looks like that’s all Matt can do, too. His eyes have opened, and like a miracle they meet yours perfectly. You’re entranced by their depth; you always thought a blind person’s eyes were expressionless, but up close you can see sadness, joy, pain, and hope in Matt’s eyes. To have that much emotion for it to be seen in a blind man’s eyes, you think that maybe he’s seen - metaphorically - more than anyone else has. More than anyone else can.
“So… I think I owe Foggy a thank-you,” you mutter breathlessly. Matt laughs, you again smile like a goof at the sound.
“Agreed.” Your heart swells with that affirmation. Matt wants this, too. He wants you. Not for a quick fuck, but for you. It’s a new feeling, being wanted like this, one you haven’t felt for years, and you don’t want to let go. “So, um,” he’s stumbling over his words again. He’s so damn cute, “can I count on... seeing you again?” he smirks slightly, playful and full of hope. You giggle lightly and peck his lips again. “I didn’t hear a ‘yes’.”
“Oh, I never wanna see you again. You really are everything I despise, Mattie,” you tease relentlessly. Matt scrunches his nose as he chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that is too irresistable. He kisses your forehead softly and you blush scarlet under his gentle actions.
“So, I can’t have your number?” he asks shyly. You beam. Smile any wider and you’d be a Barbie Doll.
“Sure you can.” He hands you his phone and you eagerly type in your number (so eagerly that you fuck it up... twice), then he recites his as you type his into your phone. You put a little heart emoji next to his name and smile to yourself. Your heart wasn’t even drumming anymore; it’d teamed up with the rest of your organs and made a fucking mariachi band in your ribcage. It’d been so long since you’d had such a good feeling about a relationship, so what if your organs wanted a siesta?
You handed Matt’s phone back to him. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he promises. “Want to meet somewhere for lunch? Or dinner? Or not, we don’t have to eat anywhere, we can meet and study.” He made a face like he’d just suggested the lamest thing in the world and was resisting the urge to punch himself in the throat. It was so endearing.
“How about coffee then study tomorrow night?” you suggest. “I’ve got a couple of projects to work on and I could use your ears. I’m worried my writing is sounding redundant.” Matt smiles brightly.
“I’d love to help,” he says eagerly. “What do I get in return?” he smirks. His clothes say ‘studious student’ but that fucking smirk says ‘sit on my face.’
“You get to be in my glorious presence,” you laugh. “And maybe a kiss or two… if I actually get work done, that is.”
Matt grins and puts on his glasses, unfolding his cane. “I’ll tell Foggy not to wait up for me.” He winks, you giggle. All you’ve been doing is giggling. Geez, what has Matt done to you? “So… I’ll see you tomorrow?” Still a question. Still asking for permission. Still such a gentleman.
“I’ll definitely be seeing you.” Matt hugs you again, you all but melt into his arms, memorizing his scent - like sandalwood and old books - like you might forget it before you see him again. You give him a soft kiss on the cheek before he pulls away - albeit reluctantly - and brings your hand to his lips to kiss as a goodbye gift. This smooth motherfucker.
“See you tomorrow, Matt.”
“Bye, ____.”
He tap-tap-taps down the staircase and slowly proceeds down the lit sidewalk. You fiddle with your scarf and watch him go, making sure he’s safe until he’s gotten to the street and hailed a taxi. He turns around and somehow pinpoints your exact location, waving goodbye. You smile brightly and wave back as he gets into the cab, then smack your forehead - again, he can’t see, idiot.
You walk into your dorm a few minutes later, stripping down to your intimates and throwing on a comfortable sleep tee. You scrub off the useless makeup before flopping in your queen bed. It was great not having a roommate; all the space and privacy a girl could ask for.
You think of Matt’s smile, the emotion in his eyes and the safety in his arms, and you put your hands on your burning cheeks. You can hardly wait to hear his voice and watch him light up when he hears yours.
Your last thought before you fall asleep is if he’s thinking about you, and when you see Matt the next day, the way he lights up as soon as he hears you coming, the sweet kiss he gives you without a second thought, the way he finds ways to touch your hand, your shoulder, your face, always in contact like letting you go would mean losing you, you know he was.
And four weeks later, as you lead Matt into your dorm and your kisses start getting a little deeper, a little hotter than they had been until now, as you start to lose both clothes and control, in the back of your mind you silently thank Foggy Nelson for the awesome blind date.