The knock at the door caused Constantine to jump from bed, blinking blearily around the room. It'd been so long since they received any type of visitor in the middle of the day that it caught them off guard. But then a familiar smell wafted through the air and they were stumbling towards the door. "Coming!"
"I'm sorry I woke you," Matthew greeted. "I didn't want these to go to waste. I'll see you later."
"No, no. Come on in. S'alright," Constantine said, giving a sleepy smile while holding the door open now. "I don't have your nose, but I will always know when there's Devoción coffee around. That's what got me out of bed."
"That's good information to have," Matthew said with a light laugh and stepped into the entry way. "You're sure you don't want to sleep?"
Constantine grabbed one of the coffee cups and inhaled deeply, humming happily. "Come sit," they said as they motioned to Matthew to follow. They made themselves comfortable on the couch, snuggling into the cushions. "You're looking snazzy today. Grey looks good on you."
"I always thought red was more my color," Matthew joked as he sat down. He should feel awkward and guarded, but the moment he was in Constantine's orbit he felt at ease. It was the sensation of meeting an old friend and any reservations fell away. Constantine chuckled and rolled their eyes, making him smile. "Come on. You can't say it isn't."
"You only like it because no one can see you bleed in that color," they teased back. They looked away to yawn before asking, "Speaking of, how are the cuts healing?"
Matthew rolled his own eyes and it made Constantine really laugh. "They're fine. It's been over a week now. Plus, I meditated," he said. He knew that would definitely get his new acquaintance's attention, though not in the best way, and he grinned. "I had a mentor, when I was a kid. He taught me to fight and he taught me to meditate, to heal faster. Works like a charm."
"Yeah, sure. I'd like to see you meditate your way out of a broken rib," Constantine muttered and the sound of genuine laughter from Matthew filled the living room. "Wait, you're a lawyer. Shouldn't you be at work?"
Just then, Matthew's phone went off. "Foggy! Foggy! Foggy!" He cleared his throat and sat up straight, drawing his phone from the inside of his jacket to answer. "Hey, Foggy," he greeted, setting his coffee down. Constantine leaned their head back and closed their eyes as Matthew spoke. "Yeah, I'm having a long lunch. I'm sorry, I thought I told you." At this, Constantine rolled their head far enough to be able to look at Matthew. Long lunch. Did that mean his friends didn't know about Constantine? They weren't sure if it was a good or bad thing. "Okay, I can stop to talk to Brett on my way back. Is that alright?" Another pause and he smiled at Constantine now. They smiled in return. "Okay, see you later, Foggy."
"You know, I've been called a lot of things," Constantine said, almost in a drawl. "A long lunch is a new one." Matthew laughed, but Constantine noticed the hint of a blush on there. "Your friend doesn't know about me, I'm assuming?"
"Well, they do, in a way," Matthew said. "But, I doubt he'd like the idea of him doing all the work while I'm being lazy on your couch." Whenever he drew a laugh from Constantine, like now, it was a victory to Matthew. "Ever since they found out, about my little side gig, he made me promise to be honest. I'm doing my best to keep that promise so I told them I had someone new patching me up. For this particular situation, though, a little white lie can't hurt, right?"
A hum and a shift set Constantine beside Matthew, shoulders touching. "Now I'm a little white lie?" they said, their lips fighting to not turn into a smile. "Still, you must be a good friend," they added, stifling another yawn.
Matthew was surprised to find his body relaxing, just by the light touch of their shoulder. "I just wasn't sure what you'd prefer, about who knew about you and what not." He allowed himself to lean on Constantine as well. It was surprisingly comforting. How long had it been since he willingly leaned on anyone? And without the burden of his vigilante life as the cause for it? The idea of two old friends floated back into Matthew's mind and he allowed himself a small smile. "What makes you say I'm a good friend?"
"Long lunch and he's calling to check on you," Constantine replied before sipping on their coffee. "You don't do that for an acquaintance or someone you don't care about."
He let out a thoughtful hum. "That means they're the good friends," he said finally. "I'm not good at keeping in touch, as you've just witnessed. If anything, I'm trying to learn from them how to be an actual friend, though I'm not sure I'm very good at it."
"Ah, there's that Catholic guilt. I was wondering when it would peep out today," Constantine said with a smile of their own. "I'm sure you look after him, in your own way."
"I suppose," he conceded.
"Ask him. I'm one hundred percent sure I'm right," they said with confidence, cradling the coffee cup between their legs and shifting to get more comfortable against Matthew. "Is your intense Catholic self-flagellation due to a religious home life? My parents were religious, ironically. My aunt and uncle as well. Catholic, through and through. I had my own set of ideas by the time I lived with them, though."
"I, uh, grew up in a Catholic orphanage. My dad, he passed when I was young and my mother wasn't in the picture at that time," he trailed off then laughed lightly. "There were a lot of bible classes, a lot of chores. I wasn't exactly a model Catholic or a model orphan. I guess many would say I'm still a terrible Catholic," he added with another laugh. "Anyway, I only left when I headed off to college."
Constantine shifted again, turning their head to look more openly at Matthew. "I was twelve when I was sent to my aunt and uncle. My parents, they weren't exactly bad people. Although, I guess I'd say that, with them being my parents," they said with a bit of a awkward laugh of their own. "But, they were still criminals. They embezzled money. Like, a lot of money. They were arrested, given twenty-five years each. They died a year into their sentences, one after the other. I didn't know until I asked my aunt about visiting, when I was fifteen," they said and paused in thought. "I think the people they stole from weren't exactly the type to sit back and let the judicial system handle the punishment, you know?"
"Where did you go?" he asked, leaning forward just enough to grab his coffee.
"We were a small family to start. But, my mother had her sister, my aunt, in Mexico City, so I was sent there before their arrest," Constantine explained. "My aunt and uncle, they were never able to have kids. They watched over me and raised me as if I was their own." They stopped to take a sip from their own drink. "What was your dad like?"
"My dad, he was a boxer," Matthew said and sensed Constantine ready to interrupt.
"Battlin' Jack," they said with a smile. "I knew I recognized your last name from outside of the Castle case. My dad was a fan. I was a fan because he was a fan. We went to see his fight with Creel. My perception changed once I saw him in the actual ring. I fell in love with boxing because of him. Even at eight years old, I knew he was… breathtaking."
"That was my dad's last fight," Matthew stated with some difficulty. "He was supposed to lose. He had to go down on the fifth round. But, he didn't, because of me."
Growing up in Hell's Kitchen, and considering their own background, Constantine had a good idea as to what happened to Jack if he was supposed to lose and refused. Their hand reached out and took Matthew's, and he moved his head towards Constantine. Assuring the vigilante that it wasn't his fault wouldn't make any difference in the story he'd created for himself. "What was he like?" they asked again.
Matthew's fingers twitched around Constantine's hand, but he did not hold their hand in return. "He was the best dad," he said after a pause. "Tough but fair. When I lost my sight, he didn't change the way he treated me. If anything, he pushed me harder. That probably sounds strange, but it was what I needed, I think," Matthew said. "He never wanted me to fight. He pushed me to study, every day. He's the reason why I'm even a lawyer now. And I tried to follow his wishes. I didn't fight for a long, long time. But, we're too much alike, it seems. My grandmother, she used to say, 'Be careful of the Murdock boys. They got the devil in them.' And she was right. I can't stop, even if I wanted to."
"What else?" Constantine asked. Matthew didn't miss the sudden softness in their voice. They were exhausted, but they were keeping their word to him. Any time, any day. Knowing that wrenched Matthew's heart in a way he'd never experienced. And somehow Constantine had known not to try and soothe his guilt over his father's death, maybe because of their own experience. Instead, they'd prompted him to keep talking, and recalling his time with his father, those memories he kept locked away, somehow brought a sense of solace and melancholy.
He continued speaking quietly now, sharing memories from his childhood home and the gym his father used. Minutes later, Constantine's head found itself resting on Matthew's shoulder, their breath quiet and slow. He trailed off again, though the silence that settled over him was serene. Their hand was still in his and he allowed his thumb to run over their skin lightly. There was turmoil, somewhere far below the surface, but right now, all he wanted was to enjoy this – whatever it was.
Carefully sliding out his phone from his inner pocket, Matthew sent out a short text to Foggy to let him know he'd be later than expected. He set the phone to silence after and returned to softly tracing his thumb over the back of their hand.
