Matt sits in the embrace for a good, long moment, his face pressed into Frank's neck. When he draws back, it's with a long inhale, because he's already cried in front of Frank recently and he doesn't need to do it again.
Even if he knows Frank won't judge him for it.
Still, he knows there's a lingering wetness in the corners of his eyes, and a tightness to his mouth that comes with trying to school one's emotions.
"I knew you'd come help me," he says, trying to push past the emotional moment. He even wipes at his eyes with his palm as he clears his throat. "I can't believe you made me walk all the way home instead of coming to save me from the hospital."
A lot fucking happened. Frank gets it. He's feeling run down and exhausted and he isn't even the one who's been fighting for more than just his own skin. Matt has lost so much in such a short amount of time. Tears don't bother Frank, especially not at this point in their relationship. They don't have to say the words to know what they are, and he's not kidding himself about it anymore.
Bruised face or not, he still leans into Matt and presses lips to his forehead and near one of his eyes, dampness be damned.
"Is that why you left me to save my own ass from jail?" he teases right back, a smile in his voice, because he isn't actually mad about it. "If I knew you were there I'd have come in a heartbeat. Then again, New York wouldn't have been graced with your ass out all night, so... Did them a favor."
"Don't worry about me. I put myself there," he insists, not wanting Matt to fret when he's dealing with a different kind of pain. Frank can handle bruises and broken bones, but seeing someone he loves this upset hurts more than anything. "Wanted to see what it was like on the inside."
This softness doesn't usually last but he'll give it for as long as Matt needs it. A quiet after the storm, and before the inevitable next one.
"We'll figure it out. Stay here with me." As if there was any other option. "I don't have a fancy shower or kitchen but it's safe here."
"Your bed was pretty nice," he repeats with actual regret, because that was definitely one of the perks of crashing at Matt's place. Frank took advantage a couple times before everything went to hell. "But yeah, it didn't feel like you."
Frank snorts: "How long d'you think before one of us cracks?"
Which is just Matt deflecting from the question, because he doesn't really know how well the two of them will cope being confined to the same space for more than twelve hours at a time. There's a very real fear he has of ruining the one, constant thing he has going in his life (Frank).
"I thought about a real bed, but that seemed a lot harder to sneak in down here and there's not exactly a lot of room for a California King."
It's one thing to spend a night together but another to be living together, even temporarily. The world out there is out to get them even more so than usual too, and being wanted men doesn't allow for much freedom. Frank is used to it, he's lived like this for years, but Matt had a whole life outside of his vigilantism - a life he tried to live full-time for the past year. The only reason this relationship works is because they get some distance between them, so this will be... interesting.
"I give it a week," he says with a smirk, regarding the futon but... also his own question, honestly. "But with how fucked up I feel, maybe a few days onto that."
His hand moves across Matt's shoulders and he moves to stand, hobbling over to his shelf of goodies to grab more painkillers. "Don't mind taking you up on the offer to rest though."
"I must be losing my touch," he says, giving Frank a bit of support to help him stand. "There used to be a time where it didn't matter how shitty we were feeling."
At least that thought makes Matt laugh a bit. They're not as young as they used to be, and this lifestyle's taken it's toll on both of them. They are, however, both still as stupid as they used to be. Neither of them can argue that.
Frank chuckles because Matt isn't completely wrong. Look at them now, hobbling along from injuries they once would've brushed aside for the sake of not sitting still. It's still hard to sit still but Frank knows when to fight his battles and when to take it easy... especially after his ass was handed to him.
"If you're in the mood right now, there's no helping you, Sunshine." He downs some water too, turning back to Matt and grabbing for his good arm, fingers sliding warm around his bicep to pull him in.
"Tomorrow, we'll see what we can do to get you... stuff."
Matt slides his arms around Frank. He offers a vaguely amused smile, letting his fingers softly creep along Frank's back so he can subtly assess the damage.
He gets what Matt is doing, likely worrying even more, but Frank can't blame him. His back is pretty fucked up, even though he can push through it and pretend he isn't feeling it.
"You're always welcome to wear my clothes," he says with a possessive little grip of Matt's hips. "But I figured you'd want something that didn't smell like me too now and then. Even if you look great in black."
Boy, if Frank likes how Matt looks in black, does Matt have a nice surprise in store for him. It turns out, it's incredibly helpful to be in the good books of people who specialize in superhero costumes.
For now, though, nuzzles into Frank's neck.
"I like the way you smell." Matt presses a kiss to the scar there before lifting his head back up, giving Frank's hip a pat. "Don't worry. I'm taking care of it. Do I have to knock you out or are you going to go lie down?"
Frank squints a bit when Matt says he's taking care of it, but he's so tired... he'll deal with it tomorrow. He hauled ass here after enduring everything, not daring sleep in that damn cage, and pain is still throbbing all over. Being home here with Matt feels like the first time he's been able to relax since before this mess all started.
He hums at the kiss to his scar, inhaling sharply, but yeah- he should rest. Hands squeeze Matt one more time before he steps back to start kicking his boots off, not bothering with his pants as he hobbles to the futon.
"Just a few hours," he confirms, shaking his head at the fact that there's an actual bed in his place now, but... it's admittedly nice. They don't have to huddle up on a tiny cot the way they have been. Frank sits down and the futon creaks, making him laugh under his breath.
"Yeah, this thing isn't gonna make it." But he's lying back soon after, an obnoxiously loud groan escaping him as he does and throws an arm over his eyes.
Matt does feel a little bit pleased to get even a small reaction from Frank, but he'd rather Frank recover. He snorts when Frank gets cozy.
"Shut up."
Even if he's right. The futon's days are numbered.
Before Frank can fall asleep, Matt checks the time. A few hours until Fisk's imposed curfew takes effect means Matt just has to occupy himself for a short time. He keeps the news on the radio, so quiet it's unlikely Frank will even hear it, and he settles in to try and meditate. Once he knows it's creeping up on eight o'clock, he moves around as quietly as possible, opting for street clothes instead of the suit. After all, the task force is going to be looking for the flashes of red.
And, if everything goes well, Frank will stay passed out through the night and won't even know Matt was up to anything at all.
Frank's body is so worn down he falls asleep with little issue, though having a decent place to spread out now probably helps. He always sleeps better with Matt beside him but it's probably for the best they aren't pushing it right now, especially with the state his body's in. Frank will insist he's fine by the time he wakes up like the stubborn asshole he is but... for now, he'll rest.
And rest. And rest. Apparently, he needed more of it than he thought.
He sleeps through Matt leaving which he'll be pissed about later, or at least worried about. Matt shouldn't be going out there with Fisk and his army on his ass, damn it. Frank is none the wiser as he snoozes though, spread out on his back, one arm laid out across the bed.
He does feel guilty as he slips out. It's dangerous for anyone out there past curfew, let alone him and without the protective armor of his suit. But he needs to keep tabs on what's going on. It figures that Frank's escape has the force on edge. That, along with hunting for Poindexter, means they're pretty distracted from everything else.
When Matt returns, Frank's still passed out and Matt's still full of restless energy. He crawls on to the futon next to Frank, draping a blanket over both of them. But it's a fairly sleepless night for Matt, the wheels of his mind spinning too much to relax.
Frank stirs when Matt first joins him, just enough to sleepily inch his arm around him and drag him into his body, like it is the most natural thing in the world. They've done this hundreds of times by now and he's never slept so damn good in his life than when he's beside Matt. As far as he knows, Matt was just meditating until he finally decided to sleep.
By morning, Frank's pain is back in full force, but he doesn't complain. Just needs more meds once he feels human enough to get up. He rolls into Matt no matter how much his body hurts, arms holding him close with a sleepy sound pressed into his hair.
Having just started dozing off again, Matt's jostled awake. He huffs out an amused breath, stretching a bit before settling into Frank's arms.
"Your body sounds like shit, Frank."
There's affection in his tired murmur, though, and no small amount of understanding. He hears the way Frank's bones and muscles are protesting, and he's been there himself. Hell, he's just starting to feel vaguely back to normal (shoulder notwithstanding), so he can only imagine what Frank's feeling like.
Another sleepy sound, this time more irritable because the reminder about the pain makes it feel more real. He wants to ignore it but it's impossible the more and more he wakes up. Matt is warm and comfortable in his arms, and he wants to focus on this feeling.
"Feels like it too," he grumbles, nosing into his hairline. "But I slept like the dead..."
Matt feels the first hint of calmness he's felt in days. He runs his hand along Frank's arm, gently working his thumb into the tight, stiff muscle of Frank's bicep.
"No... stay," he says almost immediately, enjoying the touch along his arm. It's gentle but firm in a way that eases the tension his body is holding, Frank not even realizing. He's just so used to holding pain.
His arm stretches and flexes, then relaxes, holding it looser around Matt's waist. "Feels good."
Well, really, what else do either of them have to do right now besides lie here together? Matt can think of worse ways to spend a morning. He wiggles his thumb in between the muscles, pressing to loosen up a tight knot, one of many he knows Frank has.
"You should have a hot shower at some point. Loosen all this up a bit. Maybe you can try stretching now and then," he adds, as a gently teasing point.
A soft groan escapes when Matt pushes into the knot more, the aches from bruises melding with the pain of the knot, but it feels better than getting punched in the face again. There's a lot of swelling and Matt's right, a hot shower would definitely help... in many ways.
"I'd say join me but I don't have a fancy-ass shower the size of a pantry," he jokes lowly, lips pressing to Matt's forehead. The thought of stretching makes him laugh quietly. "What, like your yoga shit?"
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Even if he knows Frank won't judge him for it.
Still, he knows there's a lingering wetness in the corners of his eyes, and a tightness to his mouth that comes with trying to school one's emotions.
"I knew you'd come help me," he says, trying to push past the emotional moment. He even wipes at his eyes with his palm as he clears his throat. "I can't believe you made me walk all the way home instead of coming to save me from the hospital."
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Bruised face or not, he still leans into Matt and presses lips to his forehead and near one of his eyes, dampness be damned.
"Is that why you left me to save my own ass from jail?" he teases right back, a smile in his voice, because he isn't actually mad about it. "If I knew you were there I'd have come in a heartbeat. Then again, New York wouldn't have been graced with your ass out all night, so... Did them a favor."
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He turns his head to kiss Frank's cheek, a show of mutual affection.
"Sorry. You've been caged up and I'm being selfish. You should eat something. Get some rest."
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This softness doesn't usually last but he'll give it for as long as Matt needs it. A quiet after the storm, and before the inevitable next one.
"We'll figure it out. Stay here with me." As if there was any other option. "I don't have a fancy shower or kitchen but it's safe here."
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And that had really been the entire point of it. Get out of Hell's Kitchen. Neatly tuck away anything that resembled life before Foggy died.
"Never thought you and I would end up living together."
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Frank snorts: "How long d'you think before one of us cracks?"
And why does he already know it'll be Matt first?
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Which is just Matt deflecting from the question, because he doesn't really know how well the two of them will cope being confined to the same space for more than twelve hours at a time. There's a very real fear he has of ruining the one, constant thing he has going in his life (Frank).
"I thought about a real bed, but that seemed a lot harder to sneak in down here and there's not exactly a lot of room for a California King."
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"I give it a week," he says with a smirk, regarding the futon but... also his own question, honestly. "But with how fucked up I feel, maybe a few days onto that."
His hand moves across Matt's shoulders and he moves to stand, hobbling over to his shelf of goodies to grab more painkillers. "Don't mind taking you up on the offer to rest though."
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At least that thought makes Matt laugh a bit. They're not as young as they used to be, and this lifestyle's taken it's toll on both of them. They are, however, both still as stupid as they used to be. Neither of them can argue that.
"Rest. I'll keep myself quiet."
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"If you're in the mood right now, there's no helping you, Sunshine." He downs some water too, turning back to Matt and grabbing for his good arm, fingers sliding warm around his bicep to pull him in.
"Tomorrow, we'll see what we can do to get you... stuff."
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Matt slides his arms around Frank. He offers a vaguely amused smile, letting his fingers softly creep along Frank's back so he can subtly assess the damage.
"Here I thought I'd just borrow your stuff."
He's teasing. Mostly.
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"You're always welcome to wear my clothes," he says with a possessive little grip of Matt's hips. "But I figured you'd want something that didn't smell like me too now and then. Even if you look great in black."
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For now, though, nuzzles into Frank's neck.
"I like the way you smell." Matt presses a kiss to the scar there before lifting his head back up, giving Frank's hip a pat. "Don't worry. I'm taking care of it. Do I have to knock you out or are you going to go lie down?"
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He hums at the kiss to his scar, inhaling sharply, but yeah- he should rest. Hands squeeze Matt one more time before he steps back to start kicking his boots off, not bothering with his pants as he hobbles to the futon.
"Just a few hours," he confirms, shaking his head at the fact that there's an actual bed in his place now, but... it's admittedly nice. They don't have to huddle up on a tiny cot the way they have been. Frank sits down and the futon creaks, making him laugh under his breath.
"Yeah, this thing isn't gonna make it." But he's lying back soon after, an obnoxiously loud groan escaping him as he does and throws an arm over his eyes.
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"Shut up."
Even if he's right. The futon's days are numbered.
Before Frank can fall asleep, Matt checks the time. A few hours until Fisk's imposed curfew takes effect means Matt just has to occupy himself for a short time. He keeps the news on the radio, so quiet it's unlikely Frank will even hear it, and he settles in to try and meditate. Once he knows it's creeping up on eight o'clock, he moves around as quietly as possible, opting for street clothes instead of the suit. After all, the task force is going to be looking for the flashes of red.
And, if everything goes well, Frank will stay passed out through the night and won't even know Matt was up to anything at all.
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And rest. And rest. Apparently, he needed more of it than he thought.
He sleeps through Matt leaving which he'll be pissed about later, or at least worried about. Matt shouldn't be going out there with Fisk and his army on his ass, damn it. Frank is none the wiser as he snoozes though, spread out on his back, one arm laid out across the bed.
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When Matt returns, Frank's still passed out and Matt's still full of restless energy. He crawls on to the futon next to Frank, draping a blanket over both of them. But it's a fairly sleepless night for Matt, the wheels of his mind spinning too much to relax.
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By morning, Frank's pain is back in full force, but he doesn't complain. Just needs more meds once he feels human enough to get up. He rolls into Matt no matter how much his body hurts, arms holding him close with a sleepy sound pressed into his hair.
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"Your body sounds like shit, Frank."
There's affection in his tired murmur, though, and no small amount of understanding. He hears the way Frank's bones and muscles are protesting, and he's been there himself. Hell, he's just starting to feel vaguely back to normal (shoulder notwithstanding), so he can only imagine what Frank's feeling like.
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"Feels like it too," he grumbles, nosing into his hairline. "But I slept like the dead..."
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Matt feels the first hint of calmness he's felt in days. He runs his hand along Frank's arm, gently working his thumb into the tight, stiff muscle of Frank's bicep.
"Do you want me to get you anything?"
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His arm stretches and flexes, then relaxes, holding it looser around Matt's waist. "Feels good."
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"You should have a hot shower at some point. Loosen all this up a bit. Maybe you can try stretching now and then," he adds, as a gently teasing point.
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"I'd say join me but I don't have a fancy-ass shower the size of a pantry," he jokes lowly, lips pressing to Matt's forehead. The thought of stretching makes him laugh quietly. "What, like your yoga shit?"
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He's not going to get into the technical differences of yoga versus stretching, but he does let out an amused snort.
"Imagine, the big bad Punisher centering himself in pigeon pose."
Matt kneads at the muscle until it feels a bit looser, then tips his chin up a bit to try and coax Frank into a proper good morning kiss.
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