Work Text:
Frank takes Matt out for dinner.
Not at a restaurant, no.
He takes him on “their” rooftop. The one where they met the first time (and a lot of times after that, purely by chance of course, why would anyone think otherwise), from where you can see all of Manhattan. Of course Matt wouldn’t care for the view, but he loves the place anyway. The sounds, the smells, the texture of the concrete under his feet are permanently etched in his brain. Frank loves the view from there, and they have a lot of memories linked to that place so there’s that.
So you have a very nervous, grumpier-than-usual Frank and a weirded out, “what-is-happening-here” Matt sitting side by side on a ledge, eating Indian food out of take away cartons because there’s this little, dingy place in the basement of this very same building, they discovered it by chance one night and it’s quickly become their favourite. No one asks questions if the Punisher and Daredevil - or two very bruised guys in matching jeans and hoodies - walk in at three in the morning asking for Tikka Masala and Tandoori chicken.
Anyway, they’re sitting on this ledge, legs dangling in the void over the street below. Frank’s palms are sweaty, he doesn’t like to see his Red sitting like that, but he knows that Matt is probably less at risk of falling off than he ever will be. He’s seen the stupid kid do all sorts of stunts, sometimes he thinks that the laws of physics don’t apply to him.
Once food’s gone, Frank falls silent. Matt knows something’s about to happen, the signals coming from Frank are all wrong. His heartbeat is wrong, even the scent in his sweat is wrong. Matt thought he knew all the variations in Frank’s scent and heartbeat: sleepy, scared, aroused, drunk, furious, name it, but this is a whole other thing. Frank is…nervous. This puts Matt on edge. He starts shuffling his feet and waits.
Frank takes a deep breath, opens his mouth to say something…and closes it again. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, square box that he puts in Matt’s hand, without a word.
Matt is puzzled, but takes the box. He turns his head towards Frank, a questioning look on his face. “Open it”, says Frank, in a croaky whisper.
Matt turns the box over in his hands until he finds the latch, and opens it. He feels the content with his fingers. Metal. Cold and smooth. A small object.
“Frank, what…?”
“Look, Red, don’t make me do this. It was hard enough the first time and Maria never let me live it down. Take that thing out of the box.”
Matt’s heart picks up. What’s he rambling about, now? Then his fingers close around the small object in the box, he pulls it out. A ring?
“Frank, what’s happening?”
“Feel it.”
Matt obeys, running his fingers all around the ring, its surface is smooth, it feels like silver. Then he encounters a bump. Another.
“Be my Red”.
Written in Braille, on the outside of the silver band. He reads it again. And again.
“Frank, what…?” Words fail him. The question hangs in the air between them.
Frank takes a deep breath.
“That’s it. Be my Red. Oh, fuck. OK, I’ll do it. Matthew Michael Murdock, will you marry me?” he says it quickly, without pauses, as if the words are escaping him against his will.
Matt is left speechless. Frank almost never calls him by name, let alone by his full name. He didn’t even know Frank knew what his middle name was.
He reaches out, takes Frank’s hand and places the ring on his palm, then smiles.
“Shouldn’t you be putting it on my finger?” he asks, playfully.
“OK, OK. But I’m not gettin’ on my knee,” Frank replies gruffly, then slides the ring on Matt’s finger. It’s cold at first, and heavy, and it fits perfectly. Matt instantly loves the sensation of having it on his hand. He spins it around his finger a couple of times, reading the words once more.
“Yes, Frank. I’ll be your Red,” he says then, and leans in to kiss his future husband on his beautiful lips.