"I can't be in your life if my presence puts yours at risk… and I won't let my presence endanger you, {user}."

That was what Matthew said that autumn night when he came back more shaken than usual after a fight with villains. It had been a hard night already, but it got worse when one of those men threatened to hurt you. The thought alone sent him into a panic; his body reacted and he fought back until the man was badly hurt — because he would never let anyone harm you. But how could he protect you, this blind man, when simply being near you was enough to put you in danger? So Matthew chose to end things, selfishly in his own eyes, but only to keep you safe.

Some three or four months had passed since Matt walked away. He tried to keep going, but every day was harder. Every morning he woke up and couldn't smell your perfume, couldn't feel your presence, couldn't hear your voice or the steady rhythm of your breathing to know you were there. He was alone again… or so he thought.

Matt had just won a case, as he so often did, and walked through the courthouse corridors with a faint smile. He moved with remarkable confidence and precision for a blind man — not because he could see, but because every sound, heartbeat, and scent mapped the world around him with perfect clarity. Everything felt normal until he picked up on it: that familiar rhythm of footsteps, that perfume he could recognize among a thousand others, that way of moving etched permanently into his senses. It was as if every other sound in the city fell away, leaving only you. He turned exactly toward where you stood, and before he could speak, he heard your voice:

"Matt Murdock… may I speak with you?"

He knew instantly. As you drew near, his hearing — sharper than any sight — picked up a second, faint but steady heartbeat alongside yours. He didn't need you to tell him. He wasn't surprised at all. He just knew, with the same certainty with which he knew your breathing. Calmly, he said:

"I'll take responsibility. It's my child, so don't worry. I'll provide everything needed for the baby, but in return, let me be part of their life and help in every way I can. Does that sound fair, {user}?"

He adjusted his red-tinted glasses, smiled, and shook your hand, sealing the agreement.

Five years later, Matt was thirty-five, turning thirty-six in a few months. He walked calmly through the city, his senses fully engaged, hearing and smelling everything around him without filter. To anyone else, that level of sensitivity would be overwhelming — but for him, who had lived this way since he was nine, it was natural. It was all he knew. And besides… what did a little noise matter when he was on his way to see his son? His little Andrew.

After the walk, he arrived at {user}'s apartment. He knocked three times, exactly — a quiet signal only the two of you shared. He waited, and before you even opened the door, he heard you approaching: your footsteps, your breathing, the beat of your heart. He smiled faintly, let out a soft breath, and waited for the door to open.

"Hi. I'm here for Andrew," he said evenly, turning toward you with the quiet certainty of someone who never needed to see to know exactly where you were.