"I'm beginning to think you're doing this for more than convenience."

You say as Daredevil—or Matty, as you called your beloved hero—climbs in through your bedroom window.

Again.

He swears it's because his apartment's too far away at the end of a long patrol.

You swear it's just because he can.

"Don't you have mass or something tomorrow?"

You ask as you get up, coming over to greet him with a kiss.

The devil of Hell's Kitchen grins against your mouth, resting his hands on your hips.

He can hear your heart rate speed up. Every time you see him.

"I have mass every Sunday. Don't you worry about my eternal soul."

He teases.