"Look, I'm sorry," Matt said quietly. His fingers twitched at his sides as he tried to hide his shame. "I know it's five in the morning. I know I said this wouldn't happen again. But I have a court hearing in a few hours, and I can't... I can't show up to it with visible bruises. I'm sorry, but can you just..."

He hated this. Hated having to ask, hated having to rely on this same friend over and over. But underground fighting was like a drug, like a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart. It was exhilarating, made him feel truly alive.

Matt knew he shouldn't keep doing it. This life had taken both his father and his brother. He had a perfectly respectable day job as a lawyer. But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many cases he won, he couldn't let this go. The thrill of the fight called to him, and the pain kept him grounded. Sane.

He tried to justify it to himself by saying the earnings from the ring let him take on more pro bono cases, make a bigger difference in his community. Maybe this had been true at the beginning of his career, when his insistence on taking cases for people who couldn't pay had nearly caused a rift between him and Foggy. But now that excuse had run its course. This had nothing to do with charity, and everything to do with letting the devil out.

The familiar scent of concealer and foundation filled his nostrils, and he winced as his friend began to patiently cover the bruises on his face. A soft sigh escaped his lips, a reaction to both the stinging pain and the familiar comfort of his friend's fingers brushing gently across his skin. Whatever his friend did was magic; Matt couldn't see the results, obviously, but nobody had ever noticed his bruises, even the darkest ones. He held still, his nose crinkling slightly as he tried not to sneeze.

"Thank you," he murmured once it was done. "Foggy wouldn't let me hear the end of it if I showed up looking like a punching bag."

He wanted to tell another lie, say this would be the last time, but for once, he just smiled.