A/N: Why is this show so fantastic?
"Does it ever bother you, Matthew, that you can't see me?"
The way her lips and tongue curve around his name sends a tantalizing shiver down his spine. He reaches for her hands, sure and sudden, tangles her fingers through his and presses a kiss to them.
"No," he says simply. He doesn't tell her—doesn't have to—that he believes he can see her.
...
The cars get faster, the nights wilder. Matt misses a few classes and then one evening he realizes that it's Sunday and he hasn't gone to Mass. It chills him, but only for a moment.
Foggy's worried. But isn't Foggy always worried?
Matt's tired of a colorless life, the life he feared was meant to be his forever.
But he doesn't have to see color when he can taste and touch it, when it fills up to overflowing.
...
The worst sins, the nuns always said, didn't feel like sins at all.
Matt is young and lonely and there has been so much wrong in his life—so much—and he loves her and how beautiful she is, how dangerous.
Elektra consumes him like a flame.
Perhaps it's been too long since he's seen a flame, and he forgets that they leave shadows.
...
If he had a family, it might be different. But he doesn't, doesn't have a mother who wanted him to be a butcher like Foggy does, doesn't have a father beyond the memories.
The first time they speak of it, she doesn't hold back. Elektra stabs him with question after question, and after the first few, he's surprised how much less it hurts.
He can almost see her, he's sure of it. See her with her perfect lips and her long-lined throat, see her laughing and bright-eyed, see her walking through the pain, always through the pain, so fearless.
Matt's never known anyone like her.
He never stops to think he might not know her, either.
...
She is mysterious above all, but she never hides that she loves him. She whispers it in his ear, and she shouts it to the city from the rooftop of a penthouse that doesn't belong to them.
Matt worships her. He can't help it—when he loves, he doesn't hold back.
...
There's a knife in her hand. He can hear it whickering through the air when she moves, agitated. His heart has fallen—he imagines it melting through his ribs, thumping on the floorboards, bruised to blackness.
Kill him, Elektra had said, and she had whispered it, warm and intimate, like she used to tell him she loved him.
He can't. He is a sinner, a fallen, broken sinner, but he is not full of darkness yet, for all that it's around him. He won't, and he can't, and she does not understand—
It's then that he realizes, almost for the first time, that he can't see her.
