Matt can still feel the long-gone blood under his fingernails, can still hear the steady heartbeat slowly growing silent, like it was only moments ago. His anger shows itself in a sharp breath as he tenses up.

Thump.

His fist slams into a punching bag. He ‘forgot’ to wrap his hands tonight. The ache in his knuckles feels welcome, the dark bruises marring pale skin a deserved brand, as if the pain would remind him of his failures.

Thump.

Any other night, he would’ve noticed the presence of another heartbeat in the room with him, especially one as familiar as yours. He doesn’t.