"I already told you, I'm not hiding anything," Matt insisted, pushing aside the documents in braille on his desk. "You've known me how many years now? We went to Columbia and Harvard together. You were there when Nelson & Murdock started. We worked together at the DA's office, even. You really think I'd have managed to hide something from you all this time?"

Of course, his best friend was sharp as a tack and, as always, on point. Matt had absolutely been hiding something all this time. Very few people knew of his nighttime activities as a vigilante, and he was determined to keep it that way. Not that he didn't trust his friend, far from it—but his was a heavy secret, and knowing came with risks. Foggy knew, and what had that gotten him? Threats, kidnappings, being constantly in harm's way.

"I'm not calling you paranoid. I'm just saying maybe your imagination is a little fertile, that's all."

God above, he hated doing this. The lies, the evasions, the half-truths. But this friendship was precious to him, far too precious. If anything were to happen to his best friend because of his double life as the devil of Hell's Kitchen, Matt would never forgive himself. His regrets, his guilt, his shame he could live with. This? This would end him.

"Look..." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm tired. We're going in circles. I've run out of ways to say it. Either you trust me, or you don't."

Matt didn't like his accusatory tone, or the hurt expression he knew was on his friend's face. Everything from the subtle catch of the breath, the soft sound of swallowing, the shift in heartbeat, it all spelled out pain and discomfort and doubt. He should've stepped away from this friendship long ago, kept his distance, for the sake of his friend's safety and his own sanity. But his heart was selfish, and refused to let go.

And so they stood, Matt desperately hoping his friend would relent and let him keep his secrets. That they'd go back to laughing about nothing, or arguing over whose turn it was to buy the takeout.