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The night over Hell’s Kitchen buzzed with life that never truly slept.
Sirens wailed somewhere far off, echoing through the maze of concrete and steel, while the low rumble of traffic rolled beneath the rooftops. A cold wind threaded its way between the buildings, carrying the scent of asphalt, rain-soaked brick, and the faint smoke of street vendors packing up for the night.
On one of those rooftops overlooking the city, Matt Murdock leaned heavily against the brick access structure, his breath coming through clenched teeth.
His mask had been shoved off his face, and his damp curls stuck to his skin. Sweat traced a slow path down his temple despite the chill in the air.
His shoulder felt wrong.
Even without seeing it, Matt knew the angle wasn’t natural. The joint had slipped forward again, the arm dangling uselessly at his side.
He gripped his forearm with his good hand and tried to force the joint back into place.
Pain flared hot and sharp, lightning through his nerves.
“SHIT…Come on…” he muttered under his breath.
He twisted his arm again, jaw tightening as he forced the movement.
The joint shifted—
Then slipped right back out.
Matt let out a pained, frustrated groan, his head tipping back against the cool brick.
“Yer gonna make it worse.”
The voice behind him was low and rough, cutting through the wind.
Matt froze.
The slow, heavy cadence of the footsteps approaching across the graveled roof confirmed it.
Frank Castle.
Matt turned his head slightly toward the sound, expression tightening.
“It’s fine,” Matt said stubbornly, already reaching for his arm again. “I’ve got it covered.”
Frank’s boots crunched steadily closer.
“Yeah,” Frank muttered dryly. “Looks like it.”
Matt twisted his shoulder again just to prove the point.
The joint slid uselessly.
“Damn it.”
Frank exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with irritation and something almost close to…concern?
Before Matt could say another word, Frank stepped forward and grabbed him beneath his good arm.
Matt barely had time to react before he was hauled upright like he weighed nothing.
“Hey—!”
Frank ignored him entirely.
Matt stumbled two steps before Frank pushed him back against the wall of the rooftop accesspoint. The brick was cool and rough against his back, the impact firm enough to stop him without knocking the air out of him.
“Stay,” Frank grunted as he pinned him in place.
Matt’s breath caught slightly.
Frank stepped back slightly, his broad frame blocking the wind and half the distant city noise.
Matt shook off the feeling he had felt for a moment, “I told you I—”
“Shut up,” Frank muttered.
Matt frowned, but the argument died as Frank’s hands closed around his injured arm.
Large hands.
Calloused from years of fighting.
From years of using weapons.
Warm, despite the cold air.
Frank adjusted Matt’s stance with surprising precision, guiding his good shoulder back against the wall for support.
“Lean,” Frank said.
Matt did.
Not because he wanted to listen—but because arguing right now would probably end with his shoulder completely wrecked.
Frank slowly rotated the injured arm, testing the angle.
Matt hissed sharply through his teeth.
Frank paused instantly.
“You gonna fight me the whole time? Or are you gonna let me help you.” Frank asked quietly.
Matt tilted his head toward him before letting out an irritated groan.
Frank snorted under his breath.
His hands remained steady.
Careful.
Gentle in a way Matt wouldn’t have expected from THE Punisher.
Frank shifted his grip—one hand steady around Matt’s wrist, the other braced near the dislocated joint. To get the right angle, he had to step closer, his chest nearly brushing Matt’s.
Matt felt his warmth immediately.
Solid.
Close enough that Matt could hear the slow, steady rhythm of Frank’s heartbeat beneath the layers of clothing.
Matt’s own pulse picked up at the sound.
Frank leaned slightly toward him, focusing on the alignment of the joint.
His breath ghosted warm against the side of Matt’s neck.
“Gonna hurt,” Frank said.
Matt huffed quietly.
“No shi—”
Frank pulled.
The joint rotated sharply—
POP
Matt gasped, the sound breaking out of him before he could stop it as the shoulder snapped back into place.
Pain flashed white-hot through his arm.
Then faded into a dull throb.
Matt sagged slightly against the wall, breathing harder now.
Frank didn’t let go right away.
His hand stayed wrapped around Matt’s wrist, holding the arm steady while the joint settled.
“Red? You good?” Frank asked.
Matt swallowed, flexing his fingers slightly.
“…Yeah.”
Frank released him slowly.
Matt rolled his shoulder cautiously.
It held.
For now.
Frank reached into one of his many pouches and pulled out a small roll of gauze.
He stepped closer again, guiding Matt’s arm gently across his chest.
Matt stayed still while Frank worked, taking in every movement the man made.
Frank wrapped the gauze carefully around Matt’s torso and arm, building a makeshift sling to stabilize the joint.
His movements were methodical.
Precise.
The longer Frank worked, the more Matt noticed things he hadn’t before.
The size of Frank’s hands.
The rough scrape of his calluses when they brushed against Matt’s skin.
The way he adjusted the tension of the wrap so it wouldn’t pull too tightly across Matt’s shoulder.
Frank Castle was being careful with him.
It should have irritated Matt.
And it did.
But the warmth settling in his chest was getting harder to ignore.
“It’s fine, Frank,” Matt said quietly.
Frank tied off the gauze.
His hands lingered a moment longer than necessary.
Matt felt it.
The hesitation.
Frank’s thumb brushed lightly across Matt’s forearm as he adjusted the sling.
Matt’s breath caught.
The city hummed around them—sirens, wind, distant engines—but the small space between them felt strangely quiet.
“You done?” Matt asked softly.
Frank’s hand was still resting against his arm.
“Yeah.”
But he didn’t step away.
Matt could feel the heat of him standing there.
Close enough that if he leaned forward even slightly—
Matt cleared his throat.
“You know,” he said quietly, “I could’ve gotten it.”
Frank huffed under his breath.
“Sure you could.”
Matt smiled devilishly.
“You don’t trust me?”
Frank stepped back—but only a little.
“Trust you plenty.”
Matt tilted his head.
“Then why are you still here?”
Frank didn’t answer right away.
The wind shifted across the rooftop, tugging at Frank’s coat.
After a moment, he muttered,
“Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t go breakin’ anything else.”
Matt’s smile grew into something fond.
“…Right.”
Neither of them moved to leave.
The wind swept across the rooftop again, cold and restless.
Matt pushed himself carefully off the wall, testing his balance.
Frank stepped forward instantly.
A reflex.
Matt noticed his proximity.
Matt had never quite noticed how large Frank was before.
He was standing close enough that Matt could feel the warmth of his body through the cold night air.
The silence stretched again.
Then Matt stepped forward.
Frank didn’t move away.
Now they were close.
Closer than before.
Close enough that Matt could feel Frank’s breath brush across his face.
“Frank,” Matt said softly.
“Yeah?” The man said with a small shudder.
“If you keep standing this close, people might start getting the wrong idea.”
Frank’s voice dropped to a mumble.
“Who’s gonna see?”
Matt’s breath caught.
The tension between them tightened like a wire pulled too far.
Frank’s hand lifted slowly before settling against Matt’s waist.
Matt inhaled sharply.
“Frank…”
Frank didn’t answer.
He leaned in.
Matt’s free hand slid up to rest against Frank’s chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his jacket.
Frank’s heart slammed hard beneath his palm.
“Frank,” Matt murmured again.
“Yeah?”
“S’ everything alright?”
The silence stretched one last time as Frank took in how beautiful Matt looked under the night sky.
He couldnt help it anymore.
Frank closed the distance.
The kiss was sudden and rough—like Frank had spent too long thinking about it and finally decided the only solution was to stop thinking at all.
Matt made a soft sound of surprise when Frank’s mouth crashed into his.
For half a second, he froze.
Then he kissed back.
Hard.
Desperate.
Matt grabbed the front of Frank’s jacket, pulling him closer. Frank braced one hand against the wall beside Matt’s head to keep him steady.
Matt’s injured shoulder protested when he shifted, but he ignored it.
Frank tasted like cold air and adrenaline.
The kiss deepened quickly, messy and heated—years of tension snapping tight between them.
Matt broke the kiss just long enough to breathe.
They hovered there, foreheads nearly touching as they both panted.
Frank exhaled slowly.
“…That was…probably a bad idea.”
Matt leaned forward again, brushing their noses together.
“Do you regret it?”
Frank didn’t hesitate.
“No.”
Matt hummed softly.
“Good.”
Then he kissed him again.
Slower this time.
Deliberate.