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Peter used to think Matt was a cold, impassive man, back when Daredevil was only Daredevil, when the red vigilante had no face, no name, no bright red hair, and no albicant eyes that let him stare into the depths of Hell and only smirk. And now Daredevil is Matthew Murdock. He is a man without fear and the guts for both of them. He is a man that risks life and limb for justice; a man whose smirk makes him melt into the lawyer's strong arms.
He is a man who takes care of and loves him the best he can. He is a man who lets Peter cling in his sleep despite the heat wave. He is the man who gives him aspirin when his fever spikes dangerously high from a simple cold and ignores the masses of tissues he has scattered across their bed. He is a man who pushes Peter's hair back out of his face when he eats the leftover Thai in the fridge despite his warning not to, and murmurs comforting things while he gags up the last bit of bad food in his system.
He is the man Peter loves. There is no cold, impassive man under that mask, and there never was.
Peter was just blind.