It had been a few weeks since you'd last spoken to Matthew. You hated how you'd left things, but just couldn't bring yourself to fully accept what Matt had told you. What were you suppose to think? All that time you'd been together, you never once knew.
You'd had just gotten home from work, exhausted and wanting nothing more than to change into one of Matt's shirts and watch TV till he came home. He'd called you an hour earlier, telling you he wouldn't be home till late again. It wasn't unusual for him to get home at odd hours of the night, Foggy always inviting him and Karen out to drinks to unwind and relax. Unfortunately, because of your job and it's late hours, you rarely had any time to join them or you were just too tired to want to even go out.
Digging through your bag, you pulled out the keys and quickly unlocked the door, flicking the lights on. You tossed your bag on the small armchair of the living room, making your way into your shared bedroom and went to his dresser to pull out one of his t-shirt and tossing it on the bed. You stripped down to your underwear, pulling the shirt on over your head and settling into bed. You ended up falling asleep fairly quickly, curled up comfortably.
You awoke to a loud crash in the living room, your eyes shooting open. You hesitated, slowly slipping out of bed. "Matt?" You called out, slowly and quietly making your way out of your bedroom. "Matt?"
He lied to you for months about where he was, who he was with, and what he was doing. And what made the whole thing worse was he never tried to stop you from leaving.
You gasped at the sight in front of you. Matt was on the ground, beaten and bloody. He was unconscious and in all black clothes, much different than when you'd last seen him. You rushed over to him, kneeling beside him and checking his pulse. Relief washed over you when you still felt a pulse, tears starting to form in your eyes. You tried to gently roll him onto his back, your heart sinking when you saw just how badly he was hurt.
Taking a deep breath to try and calm your nerves, you got up and went to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit. You made your way back to your still unconscious boyfriend, setting the kit down beside him and going to work on cleaning him up and dressing his injuries.
Every day after you'd left, he kept replaying to fight over in his head, thinking of all the things he should have done to stop you.
Matt woke up an hour or so later, his head pounding and his body sore. It took all your strength to even try lifting him up, but you managed, getting him on the couch. You'd been sat on the armchair, in different clothes since the shirt you'd worn was covered in blood. You glanced up when you'd heard him move, sitting up more.
"(Y/N)?" His finally spoke, his voice rough and strained. You didn't respond, tears threatening to spill again. Matt sighed, leaning back against the pillows of the couch. "I'm sorry-"
"Sorry won't cut it Matthew. What the hell happened to you? Why are bloody? I thought you were with Foggy." You snapped, slowly feeling the anger build. Matt didn't answer, trying to find some way to respond without making you more angry. "Answer me, Matt. Why are you bloody?"
When he still didn't answer, you sighed, getting up to go pack your things. "You know..." You started, shaking your head. "I called Foggy. Asked him what happened. If you walked home alone. You know what he told me? He told me you'd left work same time as always. He'd dropped you off and that was the last he heard from you. Which was strange for me to hear because you told me you were out with Foggy and Karen and wouldn't be home till later tonight." You scoffed, turning to face him. "Then you came stumbling in here, beaten...bloody and probably half dead. Not only that, but in the clothes of the 'Masked' vigilante of Hell's Kitchen no less." You grabbed your bag, beginning to stuff your clothes and other belongings into it, only growing angrier at his silence. You zipped up the bag, grabbing your car keys and started towards the front door. You stopped, giving one last chance to answer you.
Every night, he'd wake up hoping it was all just a dream, that you'd be in bed beside him asleep. That hope quickly faded when he'd be left in silence, the only noise being the cars and people outside his apartment. He wished he could go back to that night and stop you like he should have.
"You've lied to me...for months. Why? Was I just...Did you just not trust me?" You asked more quietly, trying to hide the quiver of your voice. He stayed quiet, tears streaming down his cheeks. He didn't know what to tell you, how to make you understand. It was like Foggy all over again. You let out a small laugh, tears now running down your face once again. "Fine. I'll just go." You mumbled more to yourself before opening the door and leaving.
It had been weeks since you left, and as everyday passed the pain in his chest grew more and more unbearable. If only he'd stopped you, maybe you'd still be here. He wouldn't have to come home to silence, left with nothing but his thoughts and regrets.
You wanted nothing more than to call him, make up and act like nothing happened, but you knew it couldn't be that simple. You knew he would never stop being the vigilante of Hell's Kitchen and you couldn't handle that. You knew you wouldn't be happy, knowing he could one day end up dead.
So you both left it. Simply hoping the other could happily move on.