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It was only a matter of time before he found her.
Elektra stands at the entrance of her dark and dreary apartment, noting how his silhouette sends the shadows stumbling in their flee. He sits in the dark too relaxed in her armchair. His breathing’s loud. She knows instantly that it’s purposeful.
With an intentional loud sigh to respond to his breaths, she drops her keys onto her kitchen counter and remains standing in the dark.
"Matthew," she says, voice deep, dissatisfied. It’s like he’s vermin who’s invaded her space rather than a ghost she’s longed for since before she was ever buried in a grave. "What a pleasant surprise."
"By the sound of your voice, it seems displeasurable," he drawls. He doesn’t shift in the armchair. She imagines his hands curled against the delicate arms, his knuckles white. He takes advantage of the dark. "I thought we didn’t lie to one another, Elektra."
With a quick, dismissive hum, she lifts a shoulder and turns loudly. He’s listening to her. She ensures to make the clack of her heels ring loudly like knives. It’s now that she breaths loudly, drawing in her breathes and trying to make them long and heavy. He can hear it. She knows he can read into it. Matthew has always read her like she’s been the easiest book to read. Alive. That’s what she wants him to read.
While tempted to open the refrigerator, she keeps her hands away from it. The moment she invites light into her apartment, this falters. This normalcy, the bantering—their little game of cat and mouse—is gone the moment she lets the light in. The truth will claw its way out of its grave to settle between them. It’ll show him the dirt and stone still embedded beneath her nails as she had crawled her way out of the rubble with him on her back.
Elektra had taken inspiration from him, letting the shadows cling to her like a cowl since Midland. She’d stuck to the dark and dreary corners of New York City as she watched Matthew struggle to grasp the remaining frayed yarns of his life. The way it had unravelled to leave him with nothing had been utterly heartbreaking.
"Thank you," he says. Then he shifts. An inhale, sharp and unsure. Elektra stills at the kitchen counter for a moment—an obvious moment that she knows he hears—before she drums her nails against the countertop loudly. "For saving me," he says loudly, clearing his throat. "You didn’t have to do that—"
"Bullshit," she snaps. Clearing her throat, she remains still. Her fingers dig into the countertop until it feels like it’s beginning to blister beneath her strength. "I did it because I wanted to. It’s not a matter of someone having to do anything."
"Elektra—"
"It wasn’t out of any obligation, Matthew," she says sharply. "I did it because I wanted to. I wanted you to live. If you were going to die, you deserved better than a grave made of rubble. I can’t put flowers there, can I?"
He chuckles lightly. She thinks he’s still tense, wanting to push at her and argue. He deserves better than that. Than her.
After a moment, he quietly says, "You saw that."
"I did," she says, shifting on her feet. It’s strange existing in her apartment and not knowing where the end of the counter is. He throws her off balance and causes butterflies to erupt from the ribcage in her chest. For the first time in a long time, Elektra stands still. "I appreciated you getting rid of those wretched roses."
"You like orchids," he says and shifts his weight against the chair. "I wanted you to have them. It didn’t feel like you were there when they weren’t."
She ducks her head, knowing he knows she’s done so. That’s the issue with Matthew, his ability to see in the dark. To see through the dark and to find her.
Silence drapes between them comfortably. Elektra’s tempted to turn on the light, but she knows he’s smiling. The apartment feels warm despite the cool darkness enveloping them.
"I brought you orchids," he says shyly. He turns on the lamp beside the armchair. His smile is brilliant. In his hands is two intertwined purple orchids, the petals looking a little wilted.
Elektra swallows thickly, pushing her hands against the countertop. Standing taller, she basks beneath his smile as he ducks his head. She thinks she can spy his blush. Matthew always had the ability to bring light into the darkness. She had always been able to see through his thick masks.
"Hello, Matthew," she smiles.
He smiles at her lopsidedly. "Hi, Elektra."
She smiles for the first time since digging them out of her second grave.