Matt wants to talk to Richie about Elektra, and Richie brings up Stan.
INFO.
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Discussion about grief and suicide. Surprisingly no hanky-panky.
His boyfriend was an idiot, like, totally. But Richie loved him - when you loved someone that could change or shift as the relationship did, it grew stronger, but it didn’t break. It wouldn’t now, not for him. Not when he’d begun to move on from being stuck on Eddie - the good and the bad. The best stories. The ones that made him laugh himself half-sick when he thought about them. Flailing hands and fast words, Eds yelling about staph infections and cringing in disgust away from everything his mom had deemed harmful in the world.
It was an important love for Richie, but a lot different than what he felt about Matt - and how what was between him fed his soul, it seemed, and acted as a healing balm for wounds that had always existed within him. Because what he had now, it couldn’t be the same as Eddie - couldn’t, and he didn’t want it to be.
And this what he had now was also (not to toot his own horn or anything) a hell of a lot better for both him and Matt - than, say, what certain ex-girlfriends had to offer. But Richie knew some of the story - he just hadn’t been expecting Matt to leave off the ‘ex’ part before correcting himself.
He wondered what this was about, and Matt could probably hear him coming - so he just opened the dorm door, letting himself in. Ugh. And there was that portrait - maybe Matt wouldn’t mind if Richie shoved it into the closet. Or actually, he was going to have to not mind if he expected to get it on in this room ever again. No way was Richie up for having the creepy eyes of Elektra staring at them while they boned.
Actually, Matt had been listening for Richie and could tell he was approaching from three floors down. He was expected, which is why the door was left cracked open so Richie could enter at his leisure. It slipped, was what Matt had said in his defense, something he thought was an honest mistake until Richie picked up on it and called him out. Now guilty, he knew he had to make it better, but he also worried whether or not the way he was going to go about doing so would make it worse. Being straightforward and truthful should be the best policy, right?
The No-Foul-Language-Filter that had been placed over the campus this week caused Richie’s No shit to translate into No shirt, and while Matt knew what Richie really meant, he’d made a small joke to hopefully ease the tension. To follow through, Matt came out of the bathroom, shirtless, wearing only his jeans, but the expression on his face revealed how awkward he felt. He stopped and angled his head slightly in the direction of Richie, then the portrait, and lifted his arms in a weak shrug.
“Richie. Meet Elektra. I urm. Told you a little bit about her before, but there’s more you ought to know.”
Wow, wasn’t this a fun introduction.
But also, Matt was half-naked so by default it couldn’t be all bad. Richie snorted a laugh, adjusting the sleeves of the hoodie he wore - it was something actually in his size, his correct size, not the Eddie-sized hoodie that Richie had arrived here in and reset every week wearing as well. He pushed those sleeves up, folding his arms around his chest.
If he just went at Matt right now and kissed him hard enough to see entire galaxies of stars, nothing would get accomplished. Plus, the portrait. It was still staring and creepy and, yeah, Derleth was fucking with them - but what else was new? Acting like that little fact was hot off the press was dumb.
So he would save the epic kissing for after Matt got whatever he wanted to say off his bare chest. “Yeah?” Richie prompted, though he did step closer - and unfolded his arms, pressing his palms to Matt’s abdomen, just to make contact, fingertips dragging downward. “Do I have to look at her? Can I just turn the portrait around while you tell me this?”
The even measure of Richie’s breathing and heartbeat were clues that he wasn’t furiously mad, and the tone of his voice, the way he uncrossed his arms and his touch further helped to tell Matt that his slip-up hadn’t been a dealbreaker. That was a relief. The part of Matt that hated himself was worried that now he was in a wonderful relationship, it would get fucked up for some reason, and knowing his track record, he’d be at fault. Matt could drop the tension from his shoulders a little. As much as he wanted to reciprocate with Richie, he refrained, keeping his arms hanging loosely at his sides.
“You can go ahead and burn it, for all I care. I’ll even give you the matches. The picture’s useless to me, anyway, and if destroying it is cathartic, then I’ll be happy to help.” He smiled weakly, then became serious again. “Let’s sit down.” He gestured to the sofa where, on a nearby table, he’d already set out a couple bottles of beer.
Looked like Matt busted out the alcohol for this conversation so things must be serious. Sort of. Richie hadn’t meant to experience a burst of jealousy when Matt referred to the woman in the portrait (okay, she was definitely stupidly gorgeous - even he, strictly dickly, could see that) as his girlfriend before correcting himself, but. Well. He wasn’t a perfect person and couldn’t always control his emotions either - in all actuality, he also really wasn’t that insecure because he was pretty aware that if Matt didn’t want to be with him, he wouldn’t be with him.
You know. Shit happened though. Derleth definitely ensured that.
“Come here, you hot shirtless vigilante,” Richie encouraged, settling on the sofa and picking up the beer bottle to take a fortifying swig. He wasn’t sure if burning the portrait would be cathartic or not - it depended on how messed up this story was, but he had a feeling that figuratively lighting Elektra on fire wasn’t really going to help much; she was a part of Matt’s history, and we all had our histories. “Okay. I’m ready.”
The beer was something Matt felt he would need for this conversation, but in the spirit of sharing he also got one for Richie. Maybe it was a subconscious peace offering, part of the apology process. He grabbed his own bottle and sat at the other end of the sofa, keeping a decent amount of space between them.
“I’ve told you a little bit about her before, but I thought you should know more.” He swallowed so hard his Adam's apple bobbed; this started to feel like a confession, since in the process of talking about Elektra, he would be giving Richie details about his own life. The hope was that Richie might understand where he now stood, emotionally, with the woman in the portrait.
Where to begin? “Uh. We met in college. Some wealthy party that Foggy and I snuck into for free food. At this point, nobody in my life knew I had these powers, so I was … well… living a lie. Pretending. We left the party together, and it didn’t take long before she found out.”
No point in going into the details of that night, breaking into Fogwell’s gym, kicking the shit out of one another and the wildly fucking on boxing ring mat. “She was uh… a bit wild… and that fed into a part of me that just wanted to let loose. It was also great to have somebody I could really be myself around.”
Matt sighed, and took another swig. “One night, we broke into somebody’s mansion for the hell of it. I didn’t know at the time, but she planned this all along. The owner of the mansion was the guy responsible for my dad’s murder. I got my revenge on him by beating him into a bloody pulp, but Elektra wanted to take it further by egging me on to slit his throat. I refused, and that pissed her off. She disappeared and didn’t show up in my life again until ten years later…”
The process of telling just this little was exhausting, and caused Matt’s sentence to trail off. He sighed and rested his head against the back of the sofa, but it had been changed into this new style that was really uncomfortable, making him grimace.
Matt could for sure hold off on describing the fuck times he and his girlfriend had engaged in. Then Richie would really have to yeet that portrait out the window - after dousing it with gasoline and lighting a match.
He listened though, not wanting to inquire about how wild this lady really was. Please, let him keep his enchiladas down. “Okay - “ Richie scooted closer, thumb brushing over Matt’s brow - right in the center, where headaches usually pulsed with lethal accuracy. Not like he was some magical healer, but it was just to be reassuring. “And?”
And? Matt felt Richie’s loving touch, but instead of being reassured, he started to regret starting this conversation. Richie didn’t deserve having all this bullshit dumped on by him. The more he thought about his train wreck of a life, the more layers of complications sprung up, and the more tired he became. He couldn’t leave the story dangling like that, though.
“And she just showed up, Broke into my apartment, asking for my legal representation.” He chuckled scornfully. “I turned her down, but she was persistent. No. She manipulated me. And like a dumbash, I fell for it. What she really wanted help with was to fight her enemies. The Yakuza, assassins sent to kill her.” Again, he sighed. Even that wasn’t as simple. It turned out to be a fuckton more complicated than what he initially thought. “She said she saw in me a glorious darkness, and she was right. She knew how to bring out my darkest tendencies. I was ready to give up everything for her. My friendships, my law practice. I was ready to live on the run like a fugitive. It nearly cost me my life. She ended up losing hers.
“I’m such an idiot.”
The worst thing about it all, Matt was worried… no, afraid... if she ever showed up in Derleth, he’d fall for her again.
Turning his face toward Richie, he sounded miserable when he continued, “I’m telling you all this because… well… because I don’t want that any more. I mean, look at you. Sitting here, patiently listening to me beach about my ex-girlfriend. I wish I could give you better. You make me want to be better. I’m sorry, but that doesn’t feel like enough. What can I do to make it up to you?”
Jesus. Richie wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry about the automatic censor - yeah, he could think in curse words but it wasn’t until he heard Matt call himself a dumbash that the ridiculousness sort of set in for him.
Actually, he wasn’t sure where to start with all of this - but Matt was going to spiral into guilt again, and Richie couldn’t let him do that; by now, he was pretty good at gently yanking his lover back from the abyss. “Hey,” he placed his hand on Matt’s cheek, looking him dead in the eyes - his were pretty, they were a nice shade of coffee - even if he technically couldn’t see Richie. The outlines of his face, maybe - the way he looked if he was caught in a fiery painting. But it was conviction that mattered now. “I decide what’s good for me - you’re good for me. Before you, I was a miserable forkshirt - “ That didn’t make sense, goddamnit, “...who never got a chance to tell his childhood love that he wasn’t as emotionally constipated as originally believed. And I don’t even want that childish love anyway - I want an adult love. I want reciprocal love. I want you.”
As for the other stuff? There was shit that needed to be said. Richie wasn’t one to mince words anyway - and he wasn’t going to start now. “We all have glorious darkness,” he snorted. “I don’t expect you to rid yourself of it. Or pretend like it’s not there. I only want you to accept it - because I accept it about you. I accept everything you are.”
Matt’s eyes were wide and straying to one corner while his other senses pulled in all the different scents, sounds, and tastes that made the outline of Richie’s face. Memory from the week when he could see, helped to fill in the gaps so Matt had a pretty good mental image of Richie’s expression at this moment. This wasn’t a competition to prove who was more miserable or whose darkness was more glorious, so Matt wasn’t going to argue. They both had crappy experiences, and that was enough.
“That’s why I love you so much,” he muttered, intimately. Elektra (and Stick) was interested in his dark side, while Karen (and Foggy) kept hoping he would abandon Daredevil to live a ‘normal’ life as Matt Murdock. Richie was willing to take the whole package. Matt placed his hand over Richie’s, closed his eyes and smiled. “Thanks for hearing me out. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, and if there’s anything good that’s come out of this whole Derleth experience, it’s you.
“Do me a favor, though?” He reopened his eyes for Richie. “If Elektra ever shows up on campus, kick me in the balls as hard as you can. I’m serious. I’d rather sing soprano than find myself being manipulated by her again.”
Richie huffed a laugh. “I kind of like your balls where they are, Mattimus,” he said. “But - she’s not going to get a chance to fork with you again.” Not if this guy had anything to say about it - sure, judging from the look of Portrait Lady (her name was really Elektra? Holy shirts and pants, did she have daddy issues or something?) she could kick his ass six ways from Sunday and not even break a sweat but he didn’t care. He was scrappy and determined and loved with the ferocity of a raging fire - that wasn’t going to go out easily, and he was protective of Matt regardless.
“I’m sorry,” he added, slipping his arms around Matt and leaning in reaaaaaaaally close to nuzzle at his face. And even touch foreheads, because it was one of those romantic gestures, Richie pressing his lips there a moment later. “Didn’t mean to get all, like, jealous or whatever. I’m sure there’s a lot to unpack about why her portrait showed up over other people but - I’m not going anywhere.” In a way, he guessed that Matt kind of did miss her - especially if she’d died at some point. There were always regrets and should have’s when you lost someone - because you wouldn’t get that time back, and wouldn’t be able to have the closure.
A laugh and a cuddle was better than what Matt anticipated, and he welcomed Richie with joyful relief. “Thank you for understanding,” he murmured. “You’re the best boyfriend a guy like me could hope for.” He placed his hand at the nape of Richie’s neck, gently toying with the strands of hair he found there, and comfortably kept their foreheads pressed together. “You don’t have to apologize. I’d feel the same way if the circumstances were reversed.” Which made Matt curious… whose portrait did Richie receive? Who was it that he missed the most?
The idea of Richie standing up to Elektra was funny if it wasn’t so terrifying. She would have no qualms in slicing and dicing anybody, especially in the state that she was in when they last met, resurrected from the dead and brainwashed to fight and kill for the Hand. He had hope that she could be redeemed, despite Stick’s insistence she was gone. That would be a problem he’d have to face if he ever returned home. Until then, his hope was that she’d never show her face in Derleth, ever.
“Emotionally constipated, huh?” Matt said, trying to lighten the mood with a joke. “Does that make me a douche?” Technically an enema, but douche sounded funnier. But curiosity got the better of him, and he finally asked, “Who is your picture of?”
“Gross,” Richie laughed again and, yeah, he wasn't a medical expert but enema was definitely the correct term there - either way, he didn’t want to conjure any mental pictures related to that. But Matt got him to chuckle so that had to count for something.
He kissed Matt’s forehead, a couple of times, then his cheek - a bunch of kisses on that face, really, the one Richie really loved because it was just a darn nice mug. “It’s Stan,” he said, referring to the portrait that he’d found hanging up by his bed, in his room. “Or at least I’m pretty sure it’s him - I never got to see what he looked like when we were actually adults.” But that curly hair, the eyes that were caught between green and blue - a kingfisher, or the sky after it rained; Richie would know that color anywhere.
“He was one of the Losers. Loved birdwatching and puzzles and definitely wasn’t a people person. I went to his bar mitzvah. Then when we were supposed to come back to Derry to finish off the clown, Stan never made it - he, um. Cut his wrists...in the bathtub,” Richie explained, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “I think he was the most messed up because of everything IT did. He also saw the Deadlights, like me - was never the same after that.”
Matt smiled throughout all of Richie’s kisses, love and joy bubbling up and out in the form of soft laughter, but as soon as Richie started talking about Stan, he immediately became serious while listening. He appreciated hearing the descriptions of Stan’s personality and hobbies… it helped form a clearer mental image of Richie’s friend, and he caught himself smiling again.
That is, until the frank revelation of suicide was brought up. Matt’s jaw slackened, not expecting to hear that. “Jesus Christ,” he exclaimed, and it looked like taking the Lord’s name in vain wasn’t considered a bad enough cuss word to be filtered. Just the thought of that happening caused Matt’s heart to sink, and he didn’t even know the man, so how much more terrible must Richie be feeling?
“Shirt..” He drew Richie into a hug and silently held him in his arms, hoping that somehow it could convey what mere words would be insufficient to express. “I’m sorry,” he muttered just low enough for Richie to hear. “Losing your friend that way. Horrible. I’m glad you got rid of IT, so it couldn’t hurt anybody else.” He pulled back from the embrace to gently kiss Richie upon the lips and ask, “Are you alright?”
This no-swear filter was really annoying - especially for someone who cursed up a storm on the regular. Maybe Richie would have laughed, if they weren’t discussing such a crappy thing - that portrait showing up felt rough, he had to admit; it was a gut punch, a boxer taking a swing and just landing right there in the very core of him. He missed Stan, yeah - wished that he could have seen him. Spoken to him. Wished that Bev never had to make the call to Patty and get the news - to hear that her vision had been confirmed, and to know that every single one of them would end up going the same way if they didn’t stop IT once and for all.
But it had happened, and Richie had to deal with it - had to process his grief the way a normal person should, and realize that it would always be with him even if it became easier to bear on some days. Death sucked anyway but losing someone you loved the way the Grim Reaper came for Stan - nothing about it was heroic or fair and Richie was mad. It took him a while to understand that, and to understand it was okay to feel that way.
“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” he promised, returning the kiss and adding another. “He wrote us all letters and we read them after we killed IT. Mostly he just - said to be who we want to be. Be proud. And if we find someone worth holding on to, we should never let them go,” he clutched at Matt, watching him with slightly misty eyes. “So I won’t.”
Matt sensed the tears and his heart melted. “It’s good advice,” he said, trying to smile despite Richie’s heartbreaking story. This had been an emotional ride for both of them, and frankly Matt was feeling exhausted.
Caressing Richie’s hair, he asked, “Do you… want to lay down? My bed’s changed, but we can still fit together. And afterwards we can dispose of that portrait.” He briefly nodded his head in the direction of Elektra’s picture. “But mostly? I’d be really happy if you could tell me more about you. Your life outside of Derleth. Excluding the IT stuff. I want to hear about your career. Your hopes. Your dreams. As much as you’re willing to share.”
Essentially, Matt wanted to feel even closer, and this was the best way he knew how.
Well, if that wasn’t the sweetest forking thing he ever heard. Never had anyone asked about his hopes and dreams before - people only did that in the movies, right? Richie purred a little into the hair stroking (because that was a big thing for him - play with his hair, in all of its caught-between-curly-and-wavy mess, and he was yours forever), but managed to shift a bit to move from the sofa to the bed. He was a giant, as usual, but he made room for Matt and scooted over toward the wall so his hot shirtless vigilante lover could lay down too.
“You know I’m a talker - I don’t shut up,” he grinned, curling up to snuggle into Matt once he’d settled on the bed too. “Should add a gag as one of my kinks, for your benefit.” Ha ha, okay, anyway - he wouldn’t go down on that tangent (even though he was very interested in sharing his kinks and indulging Matt’s for him too).
But alright. He’d just lie here and talk. Listen too. Let it happen - he was happy, and in a place like this that was pretty goshdarn important.