P☆OLIN☆

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Part One

summary: A quiet cul-de-sac, a man who keeps to his garage, and a life that looks sealed off from the outside. Until a little girl opens the door you didn’t know was there. What starts as curiosity turns into small everyday crossings of distance, where tired hands, shared meals, and soft routines begin to blur the line between neighbor and something more. preview: Three days later, Chan learned two very important things. One: His daughter had somehow become emotionally attached to you at alarming speed. And two: You were apparently immune to embarrassment. “Dad,” the toddler whispered loudly from the shopping cart seat, “there she is.” He looked up immediately and spotted you near the produce section, dressed in soft shorts and an oversized shirt while carefully inspecting mangos like your life depended on it. He barely had time to fully think and react before his daughter started waving both arms aggressively from the cart. “HI!”

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Part Two

summary: You didn’t mean to become part of their routine.But somewhere between late dinners, early mornings, and a child who loves loudly without hesitation, the line between helping and staying starts to disappear quietly, without permission. preview: For once, Chan didn’t immediately have a response, he just looked at you, like he was trying to decide what to do with that. His gaze dropped briefly, towards your mouth, then back up. A tiny movement of course, something that was easy to miss. But for you, impossible to ignore. Your breath caught, and so did his. And suddenly the space in between you felt very little, very quiet.

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Part Three

summary: By Friday, what was meant to be a simple one-on-one outing starts to feel like something neither of you can easily label. The evening unfolds through small, shifting moments that blur the line between casual conversation and growing connection, leaving both of you more aware of each other than you intended. preview: And when the crowd shifted again, neither of you drifted apart until the music began to wind down and the crowds started to thin. You followed the rest of the stragglers toward the exit, watching them as you went. A couple holding hands. A man trying to negotiate with a vendor before closing. A group of friends going into the photobooth. Right. Photos. You stopped walking and Chan quickly followed suit.  “What?” You smiled mischievously, “We forgot to take pictures.” He stiffened up, “No.”

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Part Four

summary: Chan’s life as a single dad and his growing connection with you begin to naturally intertwine as you become a steady presence in both his and Jia’s world. What starts as simple comfort and routine slowly builds into something more charged and emotionally loaded, though neither of you rush to define it. preview: “Hey, free to chat?” he asked, like he hadn’t been standing outside long enough to lose an entire argument with himself. “I am” your voice came through easy. “You okay?” That alone made him exhale a little,“…Yeah,” he lied automatically. Then, he added on weaker, “Not really.” That got a small laugh from you, “I figured,” you said. He shifted his weight, still standing outside the shop without fully committing to going in or walking away. “Is this one of those situations where I’m overthinking something that doesn’t need thinking?” he asked. There was a pause on your end. “Probably.” That was so blunt he almost laughed. “…That’s not comforting.” “It’s not meant to be,” you said lightly. “It’s meant to stop you.”

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Part Five (contains smut)

summary: after acknowledging your feelings and sharing your first night without Jia together, you spend a quiet weekend settling into the developing relationship. You begin to learn what it means to simply be together. preview: You kiss his nose, "good?" His hold on you tightens as his eyes meet yours, "Perfect," he pecks your lips. "You are so perfect." Your heart hammered against your ribs, so loudly you were convinced he could feel every beat through the fabric of your shirt. Judging by the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, maybe he could. "You're staring," you whispered, trying to hide your face against his shoulder. "I know." "It's making me nervous." He laughed softly. "Don't be acting all shy now." You groaned, burying your face even deeper into his chest. "I mean it," he said, still smiling. "You're cute." "I'm choosing to ignore you."

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Part Six (contains smut)

summary: By Sunday morning, Chan realizes he's deeply attached to you, cherishing the quiet intimacy and shared moments from the weekend. As you both prepare to part ways, he expresses his desire to make your time together more consistent and meaningful. Despite the uncertainties about the future, there's a sense of comfort and promise in simply being together in the present. preview: You pecked his lips, “I’m already knowing baby, it’s okay. You should go pick it up." He still didn't move. You laughed quietly. "Chan." "I know," he repeated, smiling this time. "I'm just….not in a hurry for this weekend to be over." Your expression softened, "it isn't over." "No?" You shook your head, "We still have tonight." His eyebrows lifted hopefully, "after Jia goes to bed?" "If you'll have me." A grin spread across his face before he kissed your forehead, "I'll always want you, babydoll."

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Part Seven (contains some smut)

summary: What starts as a simple morning together turns into something neither of you expected. As Jia begins to see you as part of her everyday life and Chan learns more about the dream you’ve been carrying, he finds himself wanting to help in the only way he knows how: quietly, completely, and without asking for anything in return. preview: You nodded, turning back toward the stove. “I can tell.” She followed your gaze, her eyes widening when she noticed what you were cooking. “Are those pancakes?” “Mhm.” “For breakfast?” You looked over your shoulder, pretending to think about it. “I was hoping they were.” Jia giggled as she climbed into her chair at the table, still looking down at her butterfly shirt every few seconds like she couldn’t believe how well it turned out. Chan moved beside you, reaching for a plate while you continued flipping, “you found everything okay?” he asked quietly. You looked over at him. The question was simple, but the smile that came with it wasn’t. You shrugged lightly. “I’ve been here enough times.” His eyes stayed on you for a second longer before he nodded. “Yeah,” he said softly. “You have.”

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

𐙚

Part One

summary: A quiet cul-de-sac, a man who keeps to his garage, and a life that looks sealed off from the outside. Until a little girl opens the door you didn’t know was there. What starts as curiosity turns into small everyday crossings of distance, where tired hands, shared meals, and soft routines begin to blur the line between neighbor and something more. preview: Three days later, Chan learned two very important things. One: His daughter had somehow become emotionally attached to you at alarming speed. And two: You were apparently immune to embarrassment. “Dad,” the toddler whispered loudly from the shopping cart seat, “there she is.” He looked up immediately and spotted you near the produce section, dressed in soft shorts and an oversized shirt while carefully inspecting mangos like your life depended on it. He barely had time to fully think and react before his daughter started waving both arms aggressively from the cart. “HI!”

𐙚

Part Two

summary: You didn’t mean to become part of their routine.But somewhere between late dinners, early mornings, and a child who loves loudly without hesitation, the line between helping and staying starts to disappear quietly, without permission. preview: For once, Chan didn’t immediately have a response, he just looked at you, like he was trying to decide what to do with that. His gaze dropped briefly, towards your mouth, then back up. A tiny movement of course, something that was easy to miss. But for you, impossible to ignore. Your breath caught, and so did his. And suddenly the space in between you felt very little, very quiet.

𐙚

Part Three

summary: By Friday, what was meant to be a simple one-on-one outing starts to feel like something neither of you can easily label. The evening unfolds through small, shifting moments that blur the line between casual conversation and growing connection, leaving both of you more aware of each other than you intended. preview: And when the crowd shifted again, neither of you drifted apart until the music began to wind down and the crowds started to thin. You followed the rest of the stragglers toward the exit, watching them as you went. A couple holding hands. A man trying to negotiate with a vendor before closing. A group of friends going into the photobooth. Right. Photos. You stopped walking and Chan quickly followed suit.  “What?” You smiled mischievously, “We forgot to take pictures.” He stiffened up, “No.”

LISTS ARE CLOSED

98%.

The number glared up at you from the paper.

it's a good grade, objectively a great one. but there had to be a mistake - you’d stayed up three nights straight reviewing every possible permutation of the material. Your notes had been immaculate. You’d even rewritten them twice just to be sure.

Behind you, someone cleared their throat. you braced yourself for whatever annoying thing Jisung was about to say.

"Oof," Jisung said, leaning over your shoulder. "Ninety eight? I mean, close enough."

His own test fluttered into your peripheral vision, 100%. Of course.

"Better luck next time," he added. His voice was light, teasing - a tone he’d used since freshman year whenever he edged you out by fractions of a point.

You exhaled through your nose, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you shoved your test into your bag, zipping it shut.

Jisung didn’t take the hint. He never did. He propped his hip against your desk, grinning as he watched you pack up.

"Don’t worry," Jisung continued, "I’ll let you copy my notes next time."

You finally looked up at him - his stupidly perfect face, his stupidly smug grin, stupidly big framed glasses.

"Like hell I’d copy your chicken scratch," you muttered, shoving your chair back harder than necessary. making its legs screech against the floor.

Jisung’s grin widened. "y'know, if you actually got enough sleep instead of staying up all night-"

You stood up and stomped on his foot, hard.

He yelped, hopping backward with exaggerated agony. "Ow! What was that for?"

You didn’t dignify him with an answer. You slung your bag over your shoulder and walked off without a backward glance.

Behind you, Jisung’s dramatic whining faded into the background noise of the lecture hall, punctuated by a burst of laughter from somewhere near the exit. You didn’t need to look to know it was Changbin, doubled over with amusement while Chan stood beside him, hand resting on the strap of his bag, waiting patiently.

The three of them had been inseparable since their second year of high school, when Chan, already broad shouldered and responsible beyond his years, had stepped between a scrawny, loudmouthed Jisung who'd just learned curse words and a group of seniors looking for an easy target.

Changbin, who’d been watching the confrontation from a nearby bench, had tossed a water bottle at the ringleader’s head mid threat. The resulting chaos had somehow ended with all three of them in detention, and that was where their friendship formed.

By graduation, the three of them had already cemented their fate - Chan, Changbin, and Jisung were a package deal, an inseparable trio that had somehow survived four years of high school without murdering each other.

So when university acceptance letters rolled in, the decision was already made, they’d stick together, signing a lease for a cramped apartment near campus before the ink on their diplomas had even dried.

And then there was you.

Orientation week had been the beginning of it all, though you hadn’t realized it at the time.

You hadn’t noticed Jisung at first during orientation. Not really. He’d been just another face in the crowd, another overeager freshman with bad posture and a laugh too loud.

as for him though, he had a stupid, undeniable crush on you.

he tried to talk to you, you’d been too busy rearranging your schedule to register his existence - some mumbled joke about the professor’s hair that you’d brushed off with a polite smile before walking away.

Another time, still during orientation, he’d lingered near your seat after the icebreaker games, hovering like he expected you to acknowledge him. You hadn’t.

What had caught your attention was the first exam. You’d walked out of that lecture hall certain you’d aced it, only to find your name one spot below his on the results board.

he'd realized then that you're probably a perfectionist, and that you did not like being in second place. you never were in second place, ever since high school.

he became your competition from then.

Jisung noticed the shift immediately. He could’ve backed off. He didn’t. Instead, he leaned into it.

It wasn’t that he wanted you to hate him. He just wanted you to look at him.

Don't get him wrong, he did try to befriend you, but when that ended in inevitable failure, he opted for his last option, the one thing guaranteed to make you react, relentless, obnoxious teasing. If you couldn’t stand him, at least you’d notice him.

It worked better than he’d expected.

three years later, and Han Jisung was still the single most irritating person you'd ever met.

~

The sound of the apartment door jolted Jisung awake. He blinked at the ceiling, groggy and disoriented, sunlight already painting stripes across his unmade bed.

His phone lay facedown on the floor where he’d tossed it last night. He fumbled for it, thumb smearing against the screen as he squinted at the time, 9:47 AM.

"Shit."

Jisung groaned, rubbing his face with both hands as the pieces clicked together - his snoozed alarm, the muffled knocking he'd sleepily batted away earlier, Chan had tried. Chan had definitely tried to wake him up.

Jisung rolled out of bed, scrambling upright, one hand already tugging his hoodie over his head while the other fumbled for his backpack.

He was not gonna be that late if he decided to take a short cut. And so he did.

Cutting through the science building was a gamble, technically off limits to non majors before noon, but Jisung had long since memorized the janitor’s schedule.

He ducked under a half raised security gate, sidestepping a cart of lab equipment as he beelined for the west exit. His footsteps echoed too loudly in the empty hallway, but he didn’t slow down - not until a sharp clang from an adjacent lab made him skid to a halt.

Jisung turned his head just in time to see a door marked 'BIOTECH RESEARCH - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY' swing shut, the tail end of a lab coat disappearing behind it.

He hesitated for half a second, before the distant chime of the campus clock tower rang. He was so late.

Jisung shouldn’t have been there.

The lock mechanism whirred as he hovered near the entrance, the distant hum of machinery inside prickling at his ears. Curiosity had always been his fatal flaw.

He glanced over his shoulder. The hallway was empty.

The door hissed open with a nudge of his shoulder, just wide enough for him to slip through. The lab was a maze of steel tables and humming equipment, bathed in the sterile glow of overhead LEDs.

Glass tanks lined the far wall, their murky contents swirling with movement - something skittered behind the frosted glass, too fast to track. spiders.

"Cool," he muttered, stepping further inside.

Jisung's fingers hovered over the nearest microscope, its lens gleaming under the lab lights. The surface was cool to the touch. Before he could explore more, a sharp click from the far end of the room froze him mid reach. His breath hitched. The sound wasn't mechanical. It was footsteps.

He ducked behind a lab bench, his knee connecting painfully with a drawer handle. He bit his tongue to keep from swearing.

Through the gap between two beakers, he could just make out the silhouette of a researcher - tall, white coated, absorbed in a clipboard. The man moved methodically down the row of specimens, pausing occasionally to adjust dials or scribble notes.

When the researcher turned toward a computer terminal, Jisung seized his chance. He crab walked backward, keeping low, until his shoulder bumped into something decidedly not a lab table. it was one of the glass tanks from earlier.

The container wobbled. He lunged to steady the glass before it could shatter and give away his presence that was not allowed in this lab, but his palm slipped against the condensation slick surface. The lid shifted with a silent clink.

A spider the size of a quarter dropped onto his wrist.

Jisung's entire body locked up. The spider's legs were needle thin, its body an unnatural shade of iridescent blue that shimmered under the lab lights.

For a suspended second, neither of them moved - Jisung paralyzed by instinctive revulsion, the spider crouched like a coiled spring. Then it bit him.

The pain was sharp and sudden, Jisung clamped his free hand over his mouth to smother the yelp threatening to escape. The researcher's footsteps paused.

"Who's there?"

Jisung froze. His wrist burned where the spider's fangs had pierced his skin, the pain radiating up his arm in slow, crawling waves.

The spider twitched between his fingers, its iridescent body pulsing unnaturally as he pinched it. For a split second, he considered tossing it aside - but the memory of its bite made his stomach twist.

Without thinking, he squished it between his finger, killing it.

Jisung grimaced, wiping his hand against his pants as the researcher's footsteps grew louder. He ducked lower behind the lab bench. A clipboard clattered onto the table above him, followed by the metallic click of a pen. The researcher muttered something under his breath - numbers, maybe, or measurements - before his shoes squeaked against the floor, turning away.

Jisung exhaled silently through his nose. His wrist throbbed. The bite mark was already red, the skin around it blotchy and hot to the touch. He flexed his fingers experimentally, half expecting his hand to lock up, but aside from the sting, nothing seemed immediately wrong.

The researcher's footsteps faded toward the far end of the lab. Jisung waited ten seconds before risking a glance over the edge of the bench. The man's back was turned, his attention fixed on a row of specimen jars. Jisung didn't wait. He walked backward until his shoulders hit the wall, then slid along it toward the door, keeping low.

The door clicked open just enough for him to slip through. He didn't look back.

The hallway was still empty. Jisung broke into a sprint, rounding the corner just as the lab door groaned shut behind him.

By the time he burst through the science building's side exit, the pain in his wrist had dulled to a steady ache. The sunlight hit his face, momentarily blinding him. He blinked, disoriented, before his phone buzzed violently in his pocket.

Changbin's name flashed across the screen.

Jisung fumbled with his phone, nearly dropping it as Changbin's second call lit up the screen. He swiped to answer just as a cyclist swerved around him, yelling something unflattering about his lack of spatial awareness.

"Where the hell are you?" Changbin's voice crackled through the speaker.

He rolled his wrist experimentally, half expecting a jolt of pain, but only a dull ache remained. strange, but not alarming enough to mention.

"Chill, I'm literally two minutes away," Jisung huffed into the phone, sidestepping a group of freshmen clustered around a campus map.

Jisung skidded to a halt outside the lecture hall, his sneakers squeaking against the polished floor as he yanked the door open. Twenty pairs of eyes swiveled toward him - including yours, narrowed with undisguised irritation from the front row.

The professor paused mid sentence, her laser pointer flickering against the projection screen.

"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Han," she said dryly.

Jisung flashed her a grin "Traffic was brutal."

The professor arched an eyebrow. "You live on campus."

"Exactly."

Jisung collapsed into the empty seat next to you with a sigh. Conveniently, there were no other free seats.

The professor resumed her lecture, but Jisung wasn't listening. His fingers drummed restlessly against the desk, his knee bouncing so fast it blurred. You gritted your teeth.

"Would you stop?" you hissed under your breath, jabbing your pen toward his twitching leg.

Jisung blinked at you like he'd forgotten you were there. "Stop what?"

"That." You gestured pointedly at his knee, "You're shaking the entire row."

He glanced down, as if surprised by his own body. "Huh."

Jisung blinked again, his fingers stilling mid tap against the desk. "Oh. Sorry."

He stopped. His knee went still. His fingers curled into a loose fist against the desk. Even his breathing seemed to slow, like he was consciously holding himself in check.

The professor's lecture droned on, but you couldn't focus. Your peripheral vision kept catching on Jisung's unnaturally still form.

Then he sneezed.

The sound was sharp, explosive, and entirely too loud for the lecture hall. Half the class jumped. The professor paused mid sentence, her laser pointer flickering off the screen. Jisung sniffled, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand.

"Bless you," you muttered automatically.

Jisung turned his head so fast you heard his neck crack. "Thanks," he whispered back. His voice was hoarse, like he'd been yelling earlier - though you couldn't remember hearing him speak at all today.

The strangeness of it prickled at your neck. Jisung didn't whisper. He didn't apologize. And he certainly didn't stop fidgeting for twenty straight minutes.

weird

~

after lectures, you were supposed to be studying.

Keyword: supposed.

Currently, your textbook lay abandoned as Yunjin scrolled through her phone, legs kicked up onto the library table in direct violation of at least three campus rules.

"I swear to god," she muttered, stabbing her screen, "if Professor Kang assigns one more reading—" she cut herself off with a sigh.

"I'll drop out," Yunjin announced, tossing her phone onto the table. "I'll move to a remote island. Raise goats. Never think about electron configurations again."

You snorted, flipping a page in your textbook without absorbing a single word. "You'd cry over the first goat that liked someone else better."

"Excuse you, I'm extremely likable-" Yunjin's protest cut off mid-sentence as she caught you glancing sideways for the third time in five minutes.

"Ohhhh. That's why you're failing to absorb basic chemistry. Distracted by your archnemesis over there."

You stiffened. "I don't know what you're—"

"Han Jisung," Yunjin sing songed, nodding toward the table where Jisung was slumped over a pile of notebooks, dead asleep.

His cheek was pressed against an open textbook, one arm dangling off the edge of the table, the side of his wrist adorned with what looked like a nasty bruise. A thin line of drool connected his mouth to a page. "You were staring at that."

"I was not staring," you hissed, slamming your textbook shut . Several students at nearby tables startled. Jisung didn't even twitch. "I was just—"

"Admiring his scholarly dedication?" Yunjin smirked, kicking her feet down from the table. "Or maybe his impressive drool radius?"

"I was wondering how someone who sleeps through every lecture still manages to ace every exam."

As if on cue, Jisung shifted in his sleep, his dangling arm swinging. he nearly toppled him sideways out of his chair. Your body reacted before your brain could stop it, half standing, hand outstretched - only to freeze when he somehow righted himself without waking.

Yunjin's eyebrows shot up. "Wow."

"Wow what?" You dropped back into your seat, face burning.

"Nothing," she said, stretching the word into three syllables. "Just never realized you cared so much about Jisung's spinal health."

"I just didn't want to witness a concussion in the library."

Yunjin grinned, kicking you lightly under the table. "Uh huh. Sure. That's definitely why you looked ready to dive across three tables like a superhero." She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. "You secretly like him."

You choked on air. "Like him? Are you insane? He's—" You gestured wildly toward Jisung's sleeping form. "—that. That's what he is. A menace. A sleeping menace."

"Aw, but look how peaceful he is," Yunjin cooed, feigning innocence. "Like a little angel."

At that exact moment, Jisung snorted loudly in his sleep, mumbled something unintelligible, and promptly face planted directly onto his textbook. You winced. Yunjin burst out laughing.

He lifted his head blearily, blinked at the drool smeared page stuck to his cheek, then promptly slumped back down without a single coherent thought behind his eyes.

Yunjin wiped tears from her cheeks, still giggling. "Oh my god. He's adorable."

"You're delusional," you muttered, shoving your notebook into your backpack. The zipper caught on a loose page, and you yanked it free with a frustrated huff. "Let's get lunch before I have to listen to any more of this."

Yunjin’s eyes lit up suddenly, "Oh! Right," she said, snapping her fingers as you shoved the last of your notebooks into your bag. "You’re coming with me to that party tonight."

You blinked. "What party?"

"The one hyunjin’s throwing at his apartment," she said, as if this were obvious. "The one I told you about last week."

"You absolutely did not."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Semantics. Anyway, after lunch, we’re going back to our dorm so you can try on at least three outfits before I approve one."

You groaned, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. "No way. I have actual responsibilities."

Yunjin stood, shoving her phone into her pocket "Nope. You’ve been holed up in the library for weeks. You’re coming, and you’re going to socialize, and you’re going to like it." She paused, then added with a smirk, "Unless you’d rather stay here and stare at Jisung some more."

You nearly tripped over your own feet. "What? I wasn’t—"

"Uh huh." She linked her arm through yours, steering you toward the library exit "lunch first, outfits second, party third. No arguments."

You dug your heels in halfway to the door. "What if I want to argue? - who the hell even hosts a party on a school night-"

Yunjin sighed dramatically, turning to face you with a look of exaggerated pity. "Sweet, naive, delusional you. When have your arguments ever worked on me?"

"...Never."

"Exactly." She patted your cheek. "Now move. I’m starving."

You did end up going according to Yunjin’s plans - not that you had a choice, given she’d physically dragged you out of the library, then out of your dorm.

to top it all off, you had to wait for her because if you didn't, there'd be no one to take her drunk ass home, and you'd end up finding her in a ditch somewhere next morning.

so you had to wait till the asscrack of the night to take her home because no matter how un enjoyable a party is, you were not a bad friend.

and you were gonna be so late tomorrow.

~

The blaring alarm tore Jisung from his sleep this time. He gasped awake, limbs tangled in sheets that felt suspiciously sticky - had he spilled something last night? His hand shot out blindly toward the nightstand, fingers slapping against anything but his phone.

The alarm continued shrieking. Jisung groaned, pawing at the edge of his nightstand until his fingertips brushed warm metal. He grabbed his phone and hit the screen repeatedly-

The screen cracked under Jisung's fingers with a pop when he swiped to turn off the alarm. not a full shatter, but a spiderweb of fractures radiating from his thumbprint.

He blinked at it, sleep fogged brain struggling to process why his phone screen suddenly broke just from a few taps of his finger.

The display still functioned beneath the damage, the time, 8:15AM, visible through the splintered glass. Jisung flexed his fingers. He hadn't pushed that hard. Had he?

Jisung frowned, pushing himself up onto his elbows. The cracked phone screen wasn't the only thing that felt off, his head throbbed like he'd pulled an all nighter.

He grabbed his glasses from the nightstand, fingers fumbling with the frames in his haste.

The moment he slid them on, the world tilted.

Everything blurred into a nauseating smear of colors and shapes - like someone had smeared Vaseline across his lenses.

Jisung ripped the glasses off his face. The world snapped into focus, he could see perfectly without his glasses. He blinked rapidly. His vision hadn't been this clear since elementary school.

"What the fuck," he whispered, turning his hands over in front of his face. The calluses on his fingertips stood out in stark relief, the whorls of his fingerprints unnervingly detailed.

He rubbed his eyes hard till he saw colors and shapes behind his eyelids, but when he opened them again, his dorm room remained horrifically, impossibly sharp.

Jisung exhaled slowly through his nose and tossed the glasses onto the nightstand - they landed with a clatter, one temple arm snapping off completely.

His wrist itched. The bite mark from yesterday was gone.

Jisung rolled out of bed, his feet hitting the floor with an audible thud that made the loose change on his nightstand rattle.

He stretched, arms arching high above his head - and froze mid yawn when he heard the distinctive rrrip of fabric.

His sleep addled brain registered two things at once, the sudden draft across his shoulders, and the fact that his favorite hoodie, the one he’d slept in last night, now had a gaping tear along the seam.

He blinked down at himself. The fabric clung to his torso in ways it never had before, stretched taut across shoulders that suddenly looked broader. His biceps pressed against the sleeves, the cuffs riding up his wrist like they’d shrunk in the wash.

Jisung frowned and tugged at the hem. It didn’t budge.

his full length mirror confirmed it. His reflection stared back at him - same messy hair, same sleep creased cheek, but it was like he hit a second puberty overnight.

The hoodie that used to hang loose now hugged every contour of his torso, the fabric straining across his chest when he inhaled.

he took his hoodie off - since when did he have abs?? he was met with whole six pack. he even counted them.

he prodded at his own bicep experimentally, half expecting it, I don't know, deflate? It didn’t.

The bedroom door creaked open - Chan appearing at the doorway, "I swear to god, if you're still asleep-" His threat died halfway out of his mouth when he saw Jisung.

Jisung stood frozen in front of the mirror, shirtless and wide eyed, one hand still gripping the torn remains of his hoodie. The morning light caught the sharp new definition of his shoulders, the lean muscle coiled along his arms like he'd spent the last six months living in a gym.

"...Did you steal Changbin's protein shakes?"

Jisung whipped around "What? No! I just-" His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "I woke up like this."

Chan stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel. His gaze flickered over Jisung's torso - the previously soft lines of his stomach now taut, the faint shadows of ribs replaced by something decidedly more athletic.

Chan reached out and poked Jisung's bicep with two fingers. It felt like pressing against granite.

"Ow," Jisung lied automatically, then blinked. "Wait. That didn't actually hurt."

Chan's eyebrows raised. "You're telling me you went to bed and woke up as-" He gestured vaguely at Jisung's entire existence. "-whatever this is?"

A beat of silence. Then, from the hallway, "If you two are having a moment, I'm throwing myself off the window." Changbin's voice, muffled through the door.

Chan ignored him. "Did you take something? Experimental pre workout? Sketchy supplements from the gym bros?"

Jisung's fingers twitched toward his wrist - where the spider bite had been. The skin was smooth. "I might have... broken into the biotech lab yesterday."

Chan's expression grew even more confused. "okay...?"

The bedroom door slammed open before Jisung could answer. Changbin stood in the threshold, mouth already open to ask why the hell they were whispering with the door closed - then his eyes landed on Jisung’s bare torso. His eyebrows shot up. "Woah. What happened to you?"

Jisung threw his hands in the air, "I know! I woke up like - okay listen," he took a deep breath,

"yesterday I was late, like super late, so I took a shortcut through the science building even though I’m technically banned from the biotech wing after the centrifuge incident—"

Changbin mouthed 'centrifuge incident?' at Chan, who pinched the bridge of his nose.

"-and then I heard this noise from the restricted lab, right? So obviously I had to check it out-"

"You didn’t have to," Chan groaned.

"and there was this spider, this huge freaky blue one, in a tank that I maybe knocked over-"

"You knocked over-"

"-and it bit me! Right here!" Jisung brandished his unmarked wrist, "It hurt like hell yesterday but now it’s gone and suddenly I can see everything without my glasses and I just ripped my favorite hoodie like it was tissue paper-" He demonstrated by grabbing the hem of his remaining sleeve and tugging. The fabric split with a sound like tearing paper.

Changbin's mouth dropped open. Chan's blinked in disbelief.

"Okay," Chan said very slowly, "So you're telling me a genetically modified spider bit you, and now you're..." He gestured vaguely at Jisung's new physique. "This?"

Jisung flexed his arms experimentally. His biceps jumped under his skin "I mean, when you say it like that-"

Changbin suddenly lunged forward and punched Jisung square in the stomach - or tried to. His fist connected with what felt like solid concrete instead of soft flesh.

Jisung didn't even flinch. Changbin yelped, shaking out his hand. "Holy shit, dude. That's not normal."

Jisung looked down at his own abdomen, prodding the spot Changbin had hit. "Didn't feel anything." His voice went unnervingly quiet. "Should I be freaking out?"

Chan grabbed Jisung's shoulders - or attempted to, before his fingers slipped off the unexpected slope of muscle. "You shouldn't be able to bench press a car after one spider bite!"

"Technically I haven't tried that yet-"

The alarm on Jisung’s shattered phone blared again, 8:45AM, and Chan visibly flinched. “Shit. Class starts in fifteen.”

Changbin was already halfway out the door, yelling over his shoulder, “I’m not getting marked absent because you two want to dissect Jisung’s sudden glow up!”

Chan walked out of Jisung's room too, coming back after a moment,

"Here," Chan grunted, tossing a black hoodie at Jisung's face. It smelled faintly of fabric softener and Chan's inexplicably expensive cologne. "It's the biggest one I've got. Don't pop the seams."

~

Jisung reached campus a full minute before Chan and Changbin, his sneakers skidding to a halt outside the lecture hall with unnatural ease.

His lungs barely burned, just a pleasant warmth where there should have been heaving breaths.

He turned, bouncing on his toes while waiting for his roommates to catch up, when a sudden prickle raced down his spine. His scalp tingled.

Something was about to happen.

The prickle exploded into full body alarm a half second before the weight hit him.

Jisung spun without thinking - his hands snapping up just as you tripped. His palm connected with your shoulder an instant before you would have face planted into his chest.

The force should have sent both of you crashing to the ground, but Jisung didn’t budge an inch - just absorbed the impact like you weighed nothing.

Your coffee wasn’t so lucky, The cup slipped from your grip. Jisung’s free hand shot out, snatching it mere inches from the ground. Hot liquid sloshed against the inside of the lid but didn’t spill. He held it there, frozen, your shoulder still cradled in his other hand, both of you staring at each other in stunned silence.

Up close, you could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes - something you’d never noticed before.

“You-” you started.

“I-” he interrupted at the same time.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Uh. You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, too quickly. His hands were still there.

Jisung blinked like he’d just remembered they were attached to him, then jerked them away. The coffee wobbled dangerously in his grip. You grabbed it before it could spill .

“Late too?” he asked, stuffing his hands into the pockets of Chan’s hoodie.

You nodded, adjusting your bag strap. “Yeah.”

You stared at him for a second too long, suddenly noticing how the hoodie strained across his shoulders - when had Han Jisung gotten broad? The absence of his usual thick framed glasses left his face strangely exposed, his cheekbones and dark lashes more pronounced than you remembered.

"Thanks," you muttered, brushing nonexistent lint off your sweater where his hands had been.

After a beat, you added, "Good reflexes," because it was true and you hated leaving truths unsaid, even for him.

Jisung blinked at you, momentarily stunned by the compliment - his mouth opened, closed, then opened again. A faint pink spread across his cheeks, "Uh," he managed. His fingers twitched toward his face, a habitual gesture to push up glasses that weren't there, before aborting the motion halfway.

"Uh, thanks," Jisung managed after an awkward pause, He cleared his throat "I mean - you're welcome. Obviously. Because I saved your life."

"You caught my coffee," you corrected flatly, lifting the cup slightly as evidence.

His grin returned, familiar. "Same difference." He rocked back on his heels, "You would've face planted on the pavement if I hadn't intervened. Tragic, really."

"I take it back. Never complimenting you again."

before he could retort, Changbin's voice cut through the courtyard "If you two are done flirting, we're gonna be late!" He stood at the lecture hall doors with Chan, who was rubbing his temples like he'd aged ten years in the past hour.

Jisung whipped around so fast his sneakers squeaked against the pavement. "We're not-!"

You walked past him before he could finish the sentence, shoulders brushing hard against his as you passed.

~

Jisung didn't plan to become a hero - it just sort of happened at 1:37 AM outside a convenience store three nights after The Bite.

He'd been pacing his dorm room, fingers twitching with pent up energy, when Chan threw a couch cushion his head and told him to "go climb a building or something, Jesus Christ."

So he did. Sort of. Mostly he just jumped fire escapes until his thighs burned and his lungs finally felt normal again, which is how he ended up perched on a rusty AC unit overlooking the 24 hour convenience store when the guy in the ski mask walked in waving a gun.

The gun glinted under the lights of the convenience store, its barrel wavering between the cashier and the racks of snacks. Jisung's body moved before his brain caught up, one second he was crouched on the AC unit, the next he was dropping through the open window like a damn action hero.

His sneakers hit the floor with barely a sound, knees bending to absorb the impact that should've shattered his ankles. The robber whirled around, gun swinging wildly. Time slowed. Jisung saw the trigger finger tense, saw the cashier duck behind the counter.

He lunged.

What happened next was equal parts luck and whatever the hell that spider had pumped into his veins. His palm smacked the gun sideways just as it discharged - the bullet embedding itself in a display of energy drinks with a sickening thunk.

Jisung's other hand grabbed the guy's wrist, twisting until the gun clattered to the floor. The would be robber screamed. Not from pain, Jisung realized, but from the sight of his own fingers bending the wrong way under Jisung's grip. He let go like he'd been burned. The guy bolted, leaving his ski mask behind in Jisung's fist.

Silence.

Jisung didn’t realize he was holding his breath until the cashier wheezed out a shaky "Holy shit." The gun lied abandoned on the floor between them, still warm from the misfired shot.

Jisung stared at it, then at his own hands - his bare hands, no gloves, no mask, just his stupidly recognizable face that was probably caught on camera. His stomach dropped.

Chan was going to murder him.

The cashier - a guy his age with a nametag reading 'jeongin' - slowly straightened from behind the counter, eyes darting between Jisung and the discarded ski mask. "...Are you gonna rob me too?"

"What? No!" Jisung’s voice cracked. He kicked the gun farther away for emphasis. "I just-" He gestured vaguely at the empty space where the robber had been. "-stopped that guy. Obviously."

The ski mask stared up at Jisung from the convenience store floor. He scooped it up, fingers brushing the rough knit fabric, still warm from the robber's panicked sweat.

The cashier was already dialing the police with shaking hands, but Jisung's feet were moving before his brain caught up. He bolted out the door like he was the criminal, the stolen mask crumpled in his fist.

His knees nearly buckled when he hit the pavement - the sudden realization that he'd just stopped an armed robbery barefaced hit him.

Jisung sprinted down three alleys and ducked behind a dumpster just as police sirens wailed past the mouth of the alley. His heart hammered against his ribs, not from fear, but from something far worse. exhilaration.

He lifted the ski mask toward his face, hesitating for just a second before remembering its previous owner had been sweating bullets into the fabric.

He tentatively sniffed it - then recoiled so hard his head smacked against the dumpster behind him.

"Yuck," a stench clung to it, absolutely not.

He sprinted home in record time, sneakers barely touching the pavement. His enhanced legs carried him up the fire escape in three leaps. The window to their apartment's living room was still cracked open from his earlier escape, curtains fluttering in the night breeze. Jisung slid inside, falling right onto his ass.

"Ow," Changbin deadpanned from his bed, not looking up from his phone.

Jisung scrambled upright, ski mask still clutched in one hand. His gaze flicked from Jisung's disheveled hair to the crumpled mask.

Chan’s eyebrow twitched. “So. You robbed a robber.”

Jisung flapped the ski mask like a surrender flag. “No! I disarmed a robber. Then maybe borrowed his mask. Temporarily.”

Changbin snorted "And you didn’t think to cover your face before playing hero?"

this rooted a bad, bad idea into jisungs head.

he spent the next morning hunched over Chan’s laptop, scrolling through fabric stores frantically. His fingers drummed against the keyboard, pausing only to zoom in on a breathable material that promised "enhanced mobility" and "sweat wicking technology."

The description sounded like something straight out of a superhero movie - which, he supposed, was exactly what he needed now.

Chan watched from the doorway, arms crossed. "You realize this is insane, right?"

Jisung didn’t look up. "Less insane than stopping another robbery barefaced."

his first attempt at making a suit for his superhero persona was a disaster.

Jisung had underestimated the complexity of sewing stretch fabric, resulting in a lopsided mess of seams that bunched uncomfortably around his shoulders.

The second attempt fared slightly better - until he tested its durability by scaling the dorm’s exterior wall, only for the pants to split straight down the middle mid climb.

soon enough, Chan saw jisung's genuine dedication, and had taken pity on him. they spent late nights hunched over fabric scraps, Chan’s steady hands guiding the sewing machine - that chan bought from is own money earned from DJ gigs, mind you - while Jisung sketched designs in the margins of his notebooks.

The final prototype emerged from their shared efforts, a sleek red and blue suit with reinforced stitching and breathable mesh panels. The mask took another three attempts before achieving the perfect fit, complete with oversized white lenses that concealed his identity while enhancing his already unnaturally sharp vision.

Jisung examined himself in the dorm’s full length mirror for the first time, twisting to check the fit. The suit hugged his new musculature without restricting movement, the fabric stretching effortlessly as he flexed. He rolled his shoulders experimentally - it was the most comfortable model so far.

"Okay," Chan admitted, "That actually looks... decent."

Changbin tossed an empty soda can at Jisung’s head from across the room. Jisung caught it without looking, reflexes kicking in. The can crumpled further in his grip.

"Show off," Changbin muttered.

The mask was the final piece. Jisung hesitated before pulling it on, fingertips brushing the blank white lenses. Once these went on, it'd be an official embodiment of... whatever this was.

The fabric settled over his face. His breathing echoed strangely in the enclosed space, but his vision remained clear. He blinked, adjusting to the surreal sensation of seeing more while being seen less.

Chan exhaled sharply. "Well. That's... a look."

Jisung twisted to examine his reflection in the mirror. The suit clung to his new physique like a second skin, the red and blue panels accentuating rather than hiding the slope of his shoulders. with a spider logo stitched across the center of his chest.

"So. What now?" chan cleared his throat.

Jisung exhaled through the mask, watching the fabric flutter slightly with his breath. "Now I test it."

His fingers found purchase on the brickwork without thought, his body moving with an instinct he shouldn't possess. He scaled the dormitory wall in seconds. Below, Seoul sprawled in a grid of neon and shadow, its pulse thrumming through the pavement under his palms.

He jumped.

The world tilted. His stomach lurched from the sheer impossibility of what his body was doing. He arced over the alleyway, arms outstretched, fingertips brushing the opposite fire escape before his feet even registered the landing.

The impact should have shattered his knees. Instead, he rolled smoothly onto the grated metal platform, his pulse steady in his ears.

That was when he heard a scream.

It cut through the ambient city noise . Jisung's head snapped toward the sound. Four blocks northeast. A woman's scream. fear, urgent terror in her voice.

He moved.

His body propelled him forward before conscious thought could interfere. The city blurred around him as he swung from ledges, his shot web lines that shouldn't have held his weight. Yet they did.

The polymer strands stretched taut as he launched himself between buildings, and landed on the third story balcony of a love hotel just as the scene unfolded below, a man dragging a woman toward a waiting car, her heels scraping against pavement as she fought.

Jisung didn't think, he immediately droped down, landing between the assailant and the car with a thud. The man recoiled, dragging the woman tighter against him as a human shield. Up close, Jisung could see the knife glinting in his free hand, the woman's smudged mascara.

"Back off!" the man snarled, blade pressing into her side.

Jisung's hands came up instinctively, palms out. The woman's wide eyes locked onto his mask. "You're-" she gasped.

Then everything happened at once. The man lunged, knife flashing. Jisung's body moved - his hand shot out, catching the blade mid air. Metal screeched against reinforced fabric, but didn't pierce.

The man's eyes widened comically as Jisung twisted his wrist, sending the knife clattering to the ground.

The knife skittered across the pavement. Jisung didn’t wait for the guy to process what had just happened, he pivoted on his heel, using his own momentum to yank the woman free in one motion.

She stumbled forward, gasping, but Jisung was already stepping between them, his body angled to shield her completely.

“Run,” he said. The word came out muffled and distorted through the mask, more like a growl than actual speech. The woman didn’t need to be told twice. She bolted, heels clicking against the sidewalk as she disappeared around the corner.

The would be attacker stared at Jisung, then at his own empty hand, then back at Jisung. “What the hell are you?”

Jisung's breath hitched behind the mask - What was he? A broke college student who'd bitten off more than he could chew. A walking science experiment. Definitely not someone who should be standing between an armed assailant and certain doom at 3 AM on a Tuesday.

"Uh," he managed, voice cracking through the fabric. "spiderman?"

The man lunged. Jisung sidestepped on instinct, the guy's momentum carried him straight into a dumpster with a metallic clang that echoed down the alley. Jisung winced. That had to hurt.

Police sirens wailed in the distance, close enough to spook the would be kidnapper, who scrambled upright and bolted in the opposite direction.

Jisung let him go. Chasing him down would mean explaining why he was dressed like a rejected Power Ranger, and frankly, he'd already pushed his luck far enough for one night.

Jisung crouched on the rooftop ledge, peeling off the mask with a wet shluck sound - the fabric sticking stubbornly to his sweaty forehead.

Below, the woman he'd rescued was giving a statement to the police, gesturing wildly toward the rooftops. He ducked back before she could spot him.

His phone buzzed violently against his thigh. Chan's caller ID flashed across the cracked screen, followed immediately by Changbin's bombardment of texts

BRO

DID YOU JUST GO VIRAL ON TWITTER

THERES VIDEO OF YOU DOING A BACKFLIP OVER A CAR

Jisung groaned, flopping onto his back. Gravel dug into his shoulder blades through the suit. Above him, Seoul's light pollution drowned out the stars, leaving only a murky orange haze.

He held up his phone, squinting at the blurry footage someone had uploaded. there he was, mid backflip, his red and blue suit a neon smear against the night. The caption read

Spiderman??? In SEOUL????

The first tweet had thirty seven likes. By morning, it had seventeen thousand and counting.

Jisung woke to Changbin shoving his phone in his face, screen displaying a grainy video of someone in a red and blue suit flipping over a moving car. "Congratulations," Changbin said. "You're a meme now."

Chan was less amused. He paced their dorm room, pausing only to read the growing pile of news articles on his laptop:

SPIDERMAN IN SEOUL? SUPER-HERO OR SUPER-ZERO?

before rounding on Jisung. "This," he hissed, jabbing a finger at the screen, "is the opposite of keeping a low profile."

Jisung groaned into his pillow. "It was one car."

~

You'd seen the videos. Everyone had. Grainy footage of some idiot in red and blue flipping over cars and catching falling flowerpots like it was nothing. The internet had collectively lost its mind - #SpiderManSeoul was still trending and it's been a whole two weeks - but you refused to join the hype.

"Obviously fake," you muttered in the cafeteria, stabbing your chopsticks into a piece of kimchi. The table next to yours erupted into excited chatter about the latest clip, Spiderman allegedly stopping a truck from hitting a pedestrian near Hongdae.

Yunjin slammed her phone down on the cafeteria table hard enough to make your soup bowl rattle. "That's three robberies he's stopped this week," she hissed, scrolling through blurry footage. "How can you still think this is fake?"

You rolled your eyes, stirring your half cold soup. "Easy. Because physics don't work like that, and neither do people." You pointed your chopsticks at her phone screen where 'Spiderman' was currently doing something that should've snapped his spine in five places. "That's either CGI or a really dedicated performance artist with a death wish."

Across the table, Yunjin made a noise like a deflating balloon. "You're impossible." She flicked to another video, this one showing the vigilante webbing a purse snatcher to a lamppost mid sprint. "Explain that then,"

You leaned in, squinting at the pixelated mess. "Okay one, that 'web' looks suspiciously like industrial grade fishing line. Two-" you tapped the timestamp in the corner "-this was filmed at 2 AM near Hongdae. Everyone's either drunk or sleep deprived enough to hallucinate shit like this."

You snorted into your soup, watching Yunjin's face contort in frustration. "Honestly, anyone dumb enough to believe in 'Spiderman' probably thinks pigeons are government drones too." You waved a dismissive hand toward her phone. "He's probably just some adrenaline junkie with too much free time and a GoPro."

From the neighboring table, someone choked on their rice. You glanced over just in time to see Jisung wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Chan smacked him hard on his back, whether to help him breathe or silence him, you couldn't tell.

"Or," Jisung wheezed, voice still rough from coughing, "maybe he's actually helping people?" He twisted in his seat to face you fully, elbows propped on the table behind him. "Ever think of that, genius?"

Changbin groaned audibly and slid down in his chair.

You arched an eyebrow. "Didn't realize you were such a Spiderman fan, Han. Got a poster of him over your bed?"

Jisung's ears turned pink. "I'm just saying-" he jabbed a chopstick in your direction "-if someone's stopping crimes for free, maybe don't trash talk them while chewing with your mouth full."

Yunjin added "You're just jealous because you can't backflip over cars."

"I could if I wanted to," you shot back, knowing full well your athletic abilities peaked at speed walking to morning lectures.

Jisung snorted. "Sure, and I'm the queen of England."

Chan materialized between the tables. His palm hit Jisung’s shoulder with a dull thwack that knocked him forward into his bibimbap. “We’re late,” Chan announced, already dragging Jisung upright by the collar like a misbehaving kitten.

Jisung spluttered, chopsticks clattering to the tray. “Late for what?”

“The thing,” Changbin interjected smoothly, sliding out of his seat “The very important thing.”

You watched as Chan dragged Jisung toward the exit, Jisung still craning his neck to shout over his shoulder, “Ask me about my queen of England autograph later!”

Chan’s exasperated groan echoed down the hallway as the door swung shut behind them.

Left in their abrupt absence, you blinked at Yunjin. “What the hell was that about?”

She shrugged, scrolling through more Spiderman footage. “Dunno, but Han Jisung defending a vigilante’s honor is weirder than you denying literal video evidence.”

She paused the playback right as Spiderman executed a midair twist that defied every law of physics. “anyway, I think you’re just salty because Spiderman could probably out academic you and out athletic you.”

well...he literally did.

~

your disbelief in spiderman came back and smacked you right in the face.

you were at the library after you finished your lectures for the day, the library was unusually quiet for midterm season, the usual chatter replaced by the frantic scratching of pens and the occasional sniffle from sleep deprived students. You rubbed your temples, staring at the same differential equations page for forty five minutes straight. At this rate, you'd be here until sunrise, again.

Outside, Seoul had long since plunged into darkness, the campus pathways illuminated only by streetlamps. You hesitated at the library doors - your dorm was a fifteen minute walk through the least lit part of campus, but the alternative was another all nighter hunched over textbooks.

You'd taken three steps onto the pavement when the first catcall sliced through the quiet.

A group of drunk frat boys loitered near the bus stop, their laughter too loud, eyes tracking your movement.

You tightened your grip on your backpack straps and picked up the pace. Their footsteps followed, uneven against the pavement.

"Hey sweetheart, why you walking so fast?"

Your pulse jackhammered against your ribs. The shortcut through the engineering building's side alley was suddenly a terrible idea — too narrow, too dark, too isolated. You fumbled for your phone just as a hand grabbed your elbow.

Your elbow jerked instinctively, but the grip tightened. One of the drunk guys leaned in, his breath sour with soju as he slurred, "Don't be like that. We're just walking you home."

The others chuckled, closing ranks around you. Your phone slipped from your sweating fingers, clattering to the pavement.

You tried to say something, anything, but your voice came out shaky and thin, "Let go," you managed, but it sounded more like a question than a command.

The guy holding your elbow laughed, his grip tightening just enough to make your bones protest. His friends shuffled closer, their shadows swallowing the dim streetlight whole.

A second hand clamped onto your shoulder from behind. "Relax," someone slurred. "We're nice guys."

You twisted against the hold, but there were too many of them, too many hands, too many laughs, too many bodies boxing you in.

Then, movement. A flicker of red and blue in your peripheral vision. One of the drunk guys yelped as his hand was suddenly gone from your arm, yanked backward by an invisible force. The others barely had time to turn before something - someone - slammed into their midst like a human wrecking ball.

The drunk guy's hand vanished from your elbow with a wet thwip sound, followed by his startled scream as he was yanked backward into a dumpster.

His buddies whirled around - just in time to see a red and blue blur drop from the fire escape above, landing between them with a crouch.

"Hey guys," Spiderman said, tilting his head. The blank white lenses of his mask made his expression unreadable, "Didn't your moms teach you it's rude to grope strangers?"

One of the drunk guys lunged. Spiderman sidestepped without looking, webbing the guy's sneakers to the sidewalk mid swing. The dude faceplanted with a grunt, his friends gaping as he struggled against the sticky white strands now gluing his shoes to concrete.

"Oops," Spiderman said, tapping his chin. "Must've slipped."

Another guy charged. Spiderman flipped over him effortlessly, landing on the dumpster lid with a metallic clang. "Wow," he mused, watching the guy stumble past. "You're really bad at this. Like, impressively bad."

You stood frozen against the alley wall, watching Spiderman web the third guy's hands to his own jacket zipper. "There," he said, patting the stuck zipper. "Now you can't unzip or zip. Poetic, right?"

The last drunk guy made a break for it. Spiderman sighed dramatically. "Come on, man. Group project participation counts toward your final grade." A web shot out, snagging the runner's ankle mid stride.

He yelped as Spiderman reeled him in like a fish, depositing him neatly beside his webbed up friends.

Spiderman dusted off his gloves. "Alright, team huddle! Here's the deal-" he crouched to their eye level,

"-next time you think about cornering someone in a dark alley? Don't." He tapped the first guy's forehead with one finger. "Or I find you."

The drunk guys paled. Spiderman straightened, turning toward you then froze. His masked head tilted slightly, the lenses widening almost imperceptibly.

You realized three things at once

one, Your knees were shaking.

two, Spiderman was much shorter in person than the videos made him seem.

three, You'd dropped your phone and backpack during the scuffle, and your differential equations notes were now scattered across the alley like confetti.

Spiderman bent to gather your papers, his movements almost... familiar. He stacked them neatly and held them out. "You, uh. You okay?" His voice was softer now, the earlier bravado gone.

You took the notes with numb fingers. "Yeah. Thanks." The words came out hoarse.

Spiderman nodded awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Cool. Coolcoolcool." He cleared his throat. "So. Should I web these guys to a lamppost for the cops, or...?"

One of the webbed up drunks whimpered.

You swallowed hard. "Lamppost's good."

Spiderman saluted. "Lamppost it is."

Spiderman made quick work of securing the drunk guys to the nearest lamppost, his webs forming a messy cocoon around their legs. One of them hiccuped pathetically as Spiderman gave the webbing an experimental tug. "There," he said cheerfully. "Now you can reflect on your mistakes while waiting for the cops."

You hugged your notes to your chest, still processing the fact that Spiderman, the same one you'd spent weeks insisting was fake, just saved you.

"You're... shorter than I expected," you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Spiderman's head snapped up. For a second, the mask's lenses just... stared.

Then he pressed a hand to his chest. "Excuse you, I'm perfectly average height for a-" He cut himself off abruptly, clearing his throat. "Anyway. You're welcome for saving your life or whatever."

"You didn't save my life," you muttered, kneeling to gather the last of your scattered pens.

Spiderman made a noise between a laugh and a wheeze. "Right. Sorry for interrupting your very important... pen collecting."

You looked up at him, "I was handling it."

"Uh huh." He crossed his arms, the red fabric stretching taut over his shoulders. "Because saying 'let go' in a squeaky voice is totally handling it."

Your cheeks burned. "I wasn't squeaky."

Spiderman's mask tilted slightly, "Sure," he drawled, dragging the word out.

You opened your mouth to retort when a police siren wailed in the distance. Spiderman's head snapped toward the sound, his posture more alert. "Right. That's my cue." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Need a swing home?"

You blinked. "A what?"

Before you could protest, he'd already grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but careful, "Do you trust me?"

"No," you said immediately.

Spiderman grinned beneath his mask - you could hear it in his voice. "Perfect."

Then he yanked you forward before you could react, making you drop your bag in the process, his other hand shooting a web line to the nearest rooftop with a sharp thwip.

Your stomach lurched violently as your feet left the pavement, the ground dropping away beneath you with terrifying speed.

You shrieked, instinctively locking your arms around his neck in a death grip as the world tilted sideways. Buildings blurred past, wind howling in your ears loud enough to drown out your own panicked breathing.

Spiderman's arm banded around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as he swung into open air. "Relax!" he shouted over the rush of wind. "I've only dropped one person!"

"WHAT?!" You dug your fingers into his shoulders hard enough to bruise - if normal humans could bruise whatever weird super skin he had.

"Kidding!" He adjusted his grip slightly, angling his body to catch the updraft as he launched you both higher.

he released the web line, freefalling for one terrifying second before another thwip sent you arcing upward again. The city sprawled beneath you, the view would've been beautiful if you weren't convinced you were about to become sidewalk confetti.

"wait- you passed my dorm!" you yelled over the wind, nails digging into Spiderman's shoulders as another swing took your breath away. The familiar building of your residence hall flashed below - then vanished behind you .

Spiderman's grip tightened fractionally around your waist. "Yeah, well," he called back, voice strained from the wind and what sounded suspiciously like laughter, "you looked like you could use some fresh air!"

You tried to say something back, but your words dissolved into a startled squeak as the city tilted dizzyingly. Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, but somewhere between the fourth and fifth swing, you realized your death grip had eased slightly. Maybe it was the way his arm stayed locked around your waist like a seatbelt, or how he angled his body to shield you from the worst of the wind.

"See?" Spiderman's said, "Not so bad once you stop trying to strangle me." He flipped midair just to hear you yelp, catching another webline with practiced ease.

"You're insane!" you managed, but your arms relaxed incrementally as you adjusted to the rhythm of his swings. The initial terror dulled into adrenaline, mixed with reluctant awe as Seoul sprawled beneath you in glowing grids.

The Han River flashed between buildings, and for one insane second, you understood why people did extreme sports.

Then Spiderman corkscrewed sideways without warning, shooting a web toward a higher rooftop. "check out this view!"

Before you could protest, he backflipped off the webline, sending you both soaring over a pedestrian bridge in a wide arc. Your stomach dropped straight to your shoes.

and suddenly you let out a laugh at the sheer absurdity of everything. at the fact that you were saved by spiderman in an alley, at the fact that you were finally getting your first breath of fresh air after days of being cooped up in either your room, or the library, or the lecture Hall.

The sound burst out, bright and startled against the roar of wind. Spiderman's head snapped toward you so fast, then he laughed too, the sound muffled by the mask but real, bubbling up from somewhere deep in his chest as he swung you both higher.

you spent a minute or two like that. Spiderman took a sharper turn than intended, nearly clipping a Samsung billboard with his shoulder. "Shit, sorry!" he yelped, twisting midair to avoid impact.

The sudden jerk should have terrified you, but instead you just laughed harder, your fingers loosening their death grip on his shoulders as you clung to him more out of habit than panic now.

"Are you trying to kill me?" you shouted over the wind, a smile still on your face.

"Only a little!" he called back.

Your dorm building came into view far below, Spiderman slowed his swings gradually, letting momentum carry you both downward in gentler arcs until. He landed with surprising grace on the sidewalk out front, setting you down carefully - though your legs wobbled like jelly the second your sneakers hit concrete.

"Whoa there," he chuckled, steadying you with a hand on your elbow. You swayed slightly as your feet touched solid ground again, still dizzy from the swinging.

Spiderman's gloved hands lingered on your elbows, steadying you. "You good?" His voice was softer now .

"I'm-" You swallowed hard, willing your legs to stop shaking. "I'm alive. Which is... surprising."

The adrenaline was fading now, leaving you strangely lightheaded. "I... thanks. Really." The words came out quieter than you intended, but you meant them.

"Yeah. No problem. That's kind of... the whole point of the suit." He gestured vaguely at himself, the red fabric stretching with the movement.

You snorted despite yourself. "Yeah, well. You're still insufferable."

"Ouch. And here I was going to offer you a free ride anytime."

"Hard pass," you said immediately, but you were smiling, a small, reluctant thing.

Spiderman chuckled, the sound muffled by his mask. He rocked back on his heels slightly. For a second, neither of you spoke, just stood there in the quiet aftermath, the distant city sounds filling the space between you.

Then he straightened. "Right. Don't get kidnapped again."

you smiled. "I'll try."

Spiderman gave a two fingered salute, already backing toward the alley wall. "If you do get kidnapped again-" he shot a webline upward without looking, the *thwip* cutting through the night air "-I'll be there." He tugged the web experimentally before adding, "But try not to make it a habit, yeah? My web fluid's expensive."

Before you could retort, he launched himself upward with a sudden burst of movement, the red and blue blur disappearing over the rooftop edge before you even processed the motion.

You stood frozen on the sidewalk, staring at the empty space where he'd been, your brain still trying to reconcile the fact that Spiderman - the same Spiderman you'd spent days dismissing as fake - had just swung you across half of Seoul.

The walk up to your dorm felt surreal. Your legs were stilll shakey, and you were still slightly dizzy.

You collapsed onto your bed fully dressed, convinced you'd lie awake replaying the night's events - then promptly passed out the second your head hit the pillow.

outside, Spiderman nearly faceplanted into a building mid swing. Because he was smiling like an absolute idiot under his mask, cheeks aching from the stupid, unstoppable smile that had been plastered on his face since he'd heard you laugh mid air.

He landed on the fire escape of their building, still buzzing with adrenaline. Peeling off the mask felt like surfacing from underwater - cool air hitting his sweaty face, the sounds of the city rushing back in clearly.

he shoved the window open, tumbling into the living room. Chan and Changbin were sprawled on the couch when Jisung crashed through the window.

Changbin glanced up from his phone. "Oh good, you didn't die." He paused his game just long enough to take in Jisung's disheveled state, mask off, hair sticking up in wild directions, and that ridiculous grin still plastered across his face. "Wait. Why do you look like that?"

"guys, you won't believe what just happened"

Jisung was halfway through inhaling to launch into his story when he froze mid breath, his eyes widening comically. "Wait - shit, her bag" He scrambled to his feet so fast he nearly tripped over.

Chan blinked. "Whose-"

"Be right back!" Jisung yanked the mask back over his head, the lenses setteling into place as he lunged for the window. "Forgot something super important"

Changbin's shout of "What the hell-" was cut off by the sharp thwip of a web line as Jisung flung himself back into the night.

~

You woke to sunlight stabbing your eyelids and the distinct sensation of having been hit by a bus.

The events of last night rushed back in - drunk guys, Spiderman, swinging through Seoul.

You groaned into your pillow, half convinced it had all been some dream.

Then a gust of wind hit your face like a slap. You squinted against the sunlight, realizing with a start that your window was wide open, and you definitely hadn’t left it that way.

you scrambled out of bed and approached your window sil. There, dangling from a single strand of web, was your missing backpack.

The backpack swung slightly as you reached out, the web strand stretching oddly. You tugged it free with a disgusting schlorp sound, and you saw a folded square of notebook paper stuck to the fabric with another glob of web.

You peeled it off with two fingers, The note was written in messy, angular handwriting that looked familiar.

you dropped this. your phone is inside too, you're welcome.

also, you snore.

- s

you stared at it, brain short circuiting between he brought my bag back and he watched me sleep?! before settling on the most pressing question, how the hell had Spiderman even known which dorm was yours? You hadn't told him. You were certain of it.

but maybe he'd just checked every single window till he found you -which would be extremely creepy, but made sense.

"There you are," Yunjin's voice cut through your spinning thoughts. You spun around to find her leaning against your doorframe, hair still mussed from sleep, squinting at you. "I was worried sick - where the hell were you last night?"

You opened your mouth - then froze. The backpack in your hands suddenly felt like damning evidence. "Library," you blurted too quickly.

Yunjin’s eyes dropped to the backpack in your hands, then narrowed at the sticky web residue still clinging to the fabric. Her gaze flicked to the note in your hands, then back to you. "Library," she repeated flatly. "Right."

She padded into your room, plucking the note from your hand with two fingers, then reading it, "You do snore," she said laughed, squinting at the handwriting. "Also, who the hell wrote this, who's 's'?" She waved the note in your face, the web glue still tacky.

You snatched it back. "no one."

She pointed at the webs on your bag. "spider webs?" Her voice pitched higher. "Did you, oh my god. Did Spiderman bring you home last night?"

She planted herself on your bed, legs crossed. "Start talking. Now." Her eyes flicked to your window, then back to you "And don’t even think about leaving out the part where Spiderman apparently knows where you live."

You sighed, sitting infront of her, "It’s not that dramatic. Some guys were being creeps last night, Spiderman showed up, webbed them to a lamppost, and then-" You hesitated, "And then he insisted on swinging me home."

Yunjin’s eyebrows shot up. "Swinging you home?" She grabbed your shoulders, shaking you slightly. "You swung through the city with spiderman?!"

"Yes! And it was terrifying!" You pried her hands off your shoulders. "And also... kind of amazing? But mostly terrifying. I almost threw up on him twice."

Yunjin's mouth fell open. "You- what" She grabbed your shoulders again, shaking you "You rode Spiderman?!"

"Swinging with Spiderman!" you corrected, cheeks flushing as you smacked her hands away.

Yunjin's grin turned positively feral as she flopped onto your bed, "Details. Now. How tall was he?"

"he's definitely shorter than you'd expect"

"Did he smell nice? Was he hot under the mask? Did he-"

"I didn't see his face. And you're disgusting," you hissed, chucking a pillow at her face.

"I'm invested," she corrected, hugging the pillow to her chest. "Also, I told you he was real."

You groaned, collapsing onto the bed beside her. "Okay, fine, he's real. Happy?"

"Ecstatic,"

safe to say, Yunjin wouldn't stop fangirling over this all afternoon.

~

Midterms came and went. You barely had time to process the fact that Spiderman had swung you across Seoul before exams swallowed your entire existence whole.

The only upside was that Jisung, for once, wasn't hovering around to gloat about his grades.

He seemed more busy, like he got a life or something, you'd catch him dozing off more than once, dark circles under his eyes like he hadn't slept in days.

Winter break arrived soon after. If not at some party with yunjin, you spent most of it holed up in your bedroom, halfheartedly scrolling through Spiderman footage.

The videos had multiplied exponentially, now there were compilations of him rescuing cats from trees, stopping bike thieves, even helping an old lady carry groceries up six flights of stairs when her building's elevator broke.

The comments sections were flooded with debates about whether he was a hero, a menace, or just some guy with too much time.

You never commented. But you watched.

When the new semester started, campus was buzzing with fresh Spiderman gossip. Someone claimed they'd seen him perched on the humanities building at 3 AM.

Another swore they'd spotted him buying convenience store ramen in full costume.

Yunjin, of course, had compiled an entire folder of sightings on her phone and updated you daily despite your protests.

Jisung stumbled into Professor Kim's lecture hall seventeen minutes late, face still puffy like he'd rolled straight out of bed, which, given the pillow crease still visible on his left cheek, he probably had.

he blinked blearily at the seating chart projected on the board before shuffling toward the only empty seat in the room- right next to you, of course.

"You're late," you muttered as he collapsed into the chair with a groan.

"Yeah, well," Jisung yawned so wide his jaw cracked, "tell that to the asshole who decided 9 am classes were a good idea."

His elbow slid off the desk mid sentence, nearly knocking over your water bottle before he caught it with reflexes that were still annoyingly precise despite his obvious exhaustion.

Dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes, deep enough to be visible even in the lecture hall's dim lighting. and when he reached for his notebook, you caught a glimpse of fresh scrapes across his knuckles.

You didn't think much of it - Professor Kim clears her throat, and announced the semester's major project.

"Partners are assigned randomly," she said, tapping her clipboard as murmurs rippled through the lecture hall. "No swaps, no complaints. You'll be working together for the next eight weeks."

You barely had time to dread the possibilities before the projector screen lit up with the pairings list. Your stomach dropped straight to your shoes when you saw your name right next to Han Jisung's.

"Aw, we're finally spending quality time together."

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, but didn’t protest. Because - annoyingly - Jisung would a good project partner if he bothered to focus.

“Here,” you muttered, shoving your phone across the desk toward him “Put your number in before I change my mind.”

Jisung’s eyebrows shot up, he just stared at your phone. Then his face split into that infuriating smile.

“Aw,” he cooed, snatching the phone before you could reconsider. “You do care.” His thumbs flew across the screen with alarming speed. “Should I put a heart next to my name? Or maybe-”

“If you put anything besides your name and number, i'll take Chan's number and all interactions will be through him”

Jisung pouted before deleting the heart emoji he'd already typed, and then handed your phone back. "You're no fun,"

after class was over, you spotted Yunjin leaning against the courtyard railing, scrolling through her phone per usual.

The moment she caught sight of you, her eyebrows shot up, then immediately waggled suggestively as she took in your exhausted expression.

"Let me guess," she drawled, pocketing her phone with a smirk. "Spiderman swung by again? Or was it just Han Jisung being his usual pain-in-your-ass self?"

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. "the latter." You paused, then sighed dramatically. "And also... we got paired for Kim's semester project."

Yunjin's eyes widened. "Oh my god. You're finally spending quality time together"

"You said the exact same thing he did," you groaned, "Word for word. I swear, both of you share the same overworked brain cell."

Yunjin snorted, "Girl, I wish I did share a brain cell with him, then maybe I'd actually be able to solve Kim's exams without wanting to yeet myself into the Han River."

you sighed, already drained from all the work you'd have to do this semester before it even started "then there's the university festival too"

"oh yea, what'cha planning to do for the big fair" yunjin said. "gonna work on something with han too?" she wiggled her eyebrows.

"absolutely not" you answered quickly, "I won't do anything, I'll just rest. yeah. I'll catch up on all the sleep I'm about to lose"

"aw, what a shame," yunjin said, then she leaned in, whispering, "Though honestly, if you really want to tap into that academic powerhouse, there are way more fun ways to-"

"Finish that thought and I'm throwing you into the Han River myself."

"I'm just sayin'," she said, dodging your attempt to push her, "both of you just need to have a good fuck for this rivalry to go away."

"Speaking of fucks," you said, leaning against the courtyard railing, "I’ll be working on the project at Jisung’s place most days. Which means our dorm will be delightfully empty."

You flicked a stray leaf off your sleeve "Feel free to bring your Tinder disasters over, just keep them away from my room, please"

Yunjin gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "Excuse you," she said, tossing her hair over one shoulder with exaggerated offense. "My Tinder disasters are upstanding gentlemen—"

"Who leave their boxers on your floor and eat my cereal," you deadpanned, "Just wash the sheets afterwards. And hide the good mugs."

~~~

when Jisung kicked the door open - a lethal combination of unwashed socks, stale ramen, and the faint metallic tang of something that might have been blood hit his face.

Chan looked up from his laptop just in time to see Jisung hurdle over the couch, skidding to a stop in front of the coffee table where changbin was demolishing a bag of chips.

"We have a problem," Jisung announced .

"You are the problem." changbin said.

Chan sighed, closing his laptop, "What did you break this time?"

"Nothing!" Jisung paused. "Well. Maybe the window latch. But that’s not the point." he paused. "She is coming here. To work on the project."

Changbin froze mid chip. "Who’s ‘she’-"

Chan’s eyes widened. "Oh no."

Jisung nodded frantically. "Oh yes."

Changbin’s eyes darted between them. "Wait. Are we talking about-"

"Yes," Chan groaned, already dragging a hand down his face.

Changbin’s chip bag hit the floor with a crunch. “Oh, hell no.” He scrambled up, scanning the apartment with mounting horror.

Medical supplies littered the kitchen counter, spare web cartridges rolled under the couch, and most damning jisung’s half finished suit upgrades dangled from a makeshift clothesline strung across the living room.

“We have twenty minutes to make this place look like normal people live here.”

Chan was already in motion, snatching stray web shooters off the coffee table. “Jisung, hide your suit. Changbin, take the first aid kits.” He paused mid step, “And for the love of god, air out this place. It smells like a rat died in here.”

Jisung went to yank the prototype suit off the clothesline, "It's not that bad," he protested, bundling the fabric under his arms.

The apartment was almost presentable by the time you knocked.

You stood outside their door, knocking twice, when a crash echoed from inside followed by frantic whispering.

after a minute, the door opened, revealing Changbin "Heyyyyy," he drawled, voice pitched an octave too high. "You're early"

you blinked, pointing your thumb back towards the elevator, "I can come back in a bit if you guys are busy-"

Changbin waved a hand like he was shooing away smoke. "Nah, nah, we’re good!" he stepped aside,

“Home sweet home,” Changbin announced, “Ignore the-” He gestured vaguely at a suspicious lump under a blanket that was definitely not laundry. “Decorative choices.”

You toed off your shoes at the entrance, noting with mild surprise that the apartment was cleaner than expected - though said suspicious lump under the blanket suggested they'd simply relocated the mess rather than actually cleaned it.

Chan looked up from his laptop, offering a casual salute as you stepped further into the apartment. "Hey," he said, "Jisung's in his room pretending he didn't just spend twenty minutes panic cleaning."

You snorted. "Sounds about right."

Jisung's bedroom door was slightly ajar, revealing a space that had clearly undergone a last minute excavation.

The floor was visible and his desk was suspiciously organized, textbooks stacked next to his laptop.

"Wow," you said, leaning against the doorframe. "I didn't know you owned a trash can."

Jisung spun around from where he'd been adjusting a poster that was still slightly crooked. "Shut up," he muttered, He gestured vaguely at the desk. "I set up already. Figured you'd want the, uh-" He waved his hands. "The workspace. Or whatever."

You walked in and over to the desk, project outline stared back at you from Jisung's laptop screen - neatly formatted, color-coded, and some parts were already done . You blinked. "You... started without me?"

Jisung shrugged, spinning a pen between his fingers, "Couldn't sleep last night." His knee bumped yours when you sat down, "Figured I'd get a head start before you could accuse me of slacking."

You stared at the spreadsheet he'd prepared, grudgingly impressed despite yourself. The formulas were flawless, the research sources ready, "Well. At least you're not completely useless."

"Wow. Wow. That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me." he leaned closer, "Careful. Keep this up and people might think we like each other."

"get to work," you muttered, pulling your chair closer to his desk.

Jisung straightened, "Yes, ma'am."

You shook your head, but the corner of your mouth betrayed you with a twitch. He noticed instantly, and his grin widened like he'd won something.

You kicked his chair leg under the desk in retaliation, sending him wobbling sideways with a yelp.

Working with Jisung turned out to be - annoyingly - far less painful than you’d anticipated.

He had a way of cutting through your overthinking, dismantling problems you’d tangled into knots. When you got stuck on a statistical analysis, he spun his laptop around to show you a ridiculously simplified formula that somehow worked.

When he hit a dead end with the literature review, you pointed him toward three obscure sources he’d missed. It was infuriatingly efficient.

you'd also grew to realize that Jisung focused when it mattered.

Then there were the snacks. Jisung kept shoving food at you - convenience store food, but its the thought that counts “Eat,” he’d say, nudging a bar of chocolate toward you without looking up. “Your blood sugar’s crashing. I can hear your stomach growling from here.”

You’d protest, but he wouldn't hear any of it until you tore open the packaging begrudgingly.

and he actually remembered things. Tiny, insignificant details you’d mentioned in passing - your preference for blue pens over black, the way you organized your citations, the fact that you always forgot to save drafts until it was too late.

Halfway through typing, your laptop would ding with a message from him You didn’t save again, genius. You’d glare at him, but he’d already be smirking at his own screen.

You didn't expect to bond with Chan and Changbin too, but somehow their apartment became your second home for the past 6 weeks.

you stayed past 10 pm once, Chan slid a takeout menu across the table. "Pick something," he said, "Jisung forgets to eat when he's focused, and you're worse than he is."

The takeout containers were long empty by the time you stretched your arms over your head, joints popping from hours hunched over textbooks.

"You should head back," His voice was casual, but his eyes flicked to the time on his phone, 11:47 PM, then back to your face. "It's late."

You sighed, gathering your notes into a pile. "I've walked home later than this."

"Yeah, and nearly got followed by drunk assholes," Jisung muttered under his breath.

"I'll be fine. It's like, twelve minutes max." You slung the strap over your shoulder.

"at least let me walk you home?" jisung asked.

"Relax. you don't have to act like my hero for the night, i'll be fine."

jisung heard the word "hero" and an idea popped into his mind. bingo

"Fine. Die in a dark alley. See if I care."

"You won't," you shot back, toeing on your shoes by the door.

"Night, guys," you called over your shoulder as you stepped into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind you.

Inside the apartment, Jisung was already running to put his suit on before Chan caught him by the hood. "Are you serious right now?"

"I'm just gonna-" Jisung started.

"Follow her as Spiderman?" Changbin supplied, "Dude. That's creepy."

Jisung froze. "It's not creepy if I'm making sure she doesn't get murdered."

"It's extremely creepy."

"She literally said she didn't need an escort!" Changbin pointed out.

Jisung waved a hand. "She always says that."

"Because you always try to escort her!"

Jisung hesitated, just long enough for Chan to sigh and release his hood. "If you're gonna be an idiot, at least put the mask on first."

Changbin tossed a web shooter at Jisung's head. "And try not to get arrested for stalking."

Outside, you were halfway down the block when a shadow flickered across the streetlight above you. You glanced up just in time to see a blur of red and blue vanish behind a rooftop.

"Really?"

A thwip sounded overhead. Spiderman landed lightly on a lamppost ahead of you, "Fancy meeting you here," he said, voice dripping with faux surprise.

You crossed your arms. "Are you following me?"

Spiderman gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "I'm patrolling. This is a coincidence."

"A coincidence," you deadpanned.

"Yep." He swung down to street level, falling into step beside you like this was completely normal. "Totally random."

You sighed. "I don't need an escort."

Spiderman tilted his head. "Says the person who nearly got jumped last time."

"That was one time-"

"And here I am," he said, spreading his arms wide, " not letting it happen again."

You glared at him. He smiled at you - or at least, the mask's eyes crinkled in a way that suggested a smile.

"Fine," you muttered, stomping ahead.

Spiderman matched your stomping pace, "So," he drawled, swinging around a lamppost to land directly in front of you, forcing you to halt mid step or you'd have walked straight into his chest. "What's a pretty girl like you doing out so late?"

Your ears burned "I was just coming back from a friend’s place," you muttered, sidestepping him to continue walking. "Working on a project. Unlike some people, I actually take my education seriously."

Oh the irony.

he fell into step beside you, his posture casual, "So this friend," he pressed, "What's their deal? Study buddy? Secret admirer?"

You shot him a glare. "None of your business."

Spiderman gasped, "Ouch. And here I thought we had something special." He swung ahead, landing lightly on a parked car’s roof just to force you to look up at him. "Come on, humor me. Tall? Short? cute?"

You stayed silent, refusing to dignify that with an answer. But Spiderman was nothing if not persistent, he dropped down directly in your path again, close enough that the lenses of his mask reflected your exasperated expression back at you.

"Han Jisung," you finally said, shoving past him. "My project partner. Happy?"

"Han Jisung," he repeated, "Wow. Sounds like a real catch. Bet he’s incredibly handsome and talented."

"He’s annoying," you corrected, kicking a pebble harder than necessary. "And arrogant. And-"

"And?" Spiderman prompted, suddenly right beside you again.

"And none of your concern," you finished through gritted teeth.

Spiderman made a wounded noise, "Rude. Here I am, risking life and limb to escort you safely home-"

"You invited yourself," you corrected.

"-and you won’t even indulge my harmless curiosity about your mysterious project partner." He swung ahead to perch upside down from a streetlight, "Tell me more about this Han Jisung character. Does he have any redeeming qualities? Or is he just tragically, devastatingly handsome?"

You scoffed, refusing to acknowledge how accurately that described Jisung’s stupid face. "Fine. Jisung’s... not completely terrible." You looked at the sidewalk. "He remembers stupid things. Like how I always forget to save my work, or that I hate when people highlight in yellow."

Spiderman’s mask tilted, the lenses narrowing slightly. "Wow," he said, his tone an exaggerated awe. "Truly, a monumental compliment. Does he also breathe air and occasionally blink?"

You kicked a pebble at him, which he caught mid air with a web before it could hit his chest.

"Shut up. He’s..." You hesitated, then sighed. "He’s weirdly considerate. Makes sure I eat when we’re studying. And his roommates are..." You gestured vaguely, as if that explained anything. "nice. more tolerable than him, actually. they insist on feeding me too"

Spiderman went suspiciously quiet. Then, in a voice devoid of sarcasm "They sound nice."

You snorted. "They’re menaces. But yeah. They... grew on me."

A beat of silence. Then Spider-Man dropped from the lamppost, landing softly beside you. "And Jisung?" he prompted, suddenly closer than before. "What’s his fatal flaw?"

You didn’t even have to think. "He's always right somehow. And he gloats about it. alot."

"Horrifying," he agreed solemnly. "Anything else?"

"He’s always there," you muttered, more to yourself than to him. "Even when I wish he wasn’t."

The mask hid his expression, but his next words came out oddly soft. "Sounds like you’ve got it pretty bad, genius."

The familiar nickname prickled at the back of your memory, but you couldn't place it, until Spiderman abruptly straightened, realizing his mistake, clearing his throat.

"So!" he said, "How much further to your dorm?"

You narrowed your eyes at the obvious subject change. "Why? Getting tired already?"

Spiderman scoffed, "Please. I could do this all night." then shrugged "Just making conversation."

"You were doing just fine until the nickname," you pointed out, watching his lenses widen fractionally.

"What nickname?" he asked, voice pitching slightly higher.

"Genius." You tilted your head, studying his frozen posture. "Jisung calls me that."

spiderman got into character again, "Jisung calls you that?" His voice was pitched an octave higher than usual, his hands fluttering in dramatic disbelief.

"Wow. What a coincidence." He leaned closer, "Maybe l'm Han Jisung. Ever think of that, genius?"

He lowkey regret what he said the second the words came out of his mouth. but hey, reverse psychology?

you stopped walking for a second, facing spiderman, genuinely considering what he just said.

"nah" you snorted, shaking your head. "Jisung can barely walk in a straight line without tripping over his own feet." You gestured vaguely at Spiderman's lithe posture. "No way that disaster could pull off... whatever this is."

"Ouch. That hurts. I'll have you know some people find my-" he gestured at himself, "this extremely charming."

"You mean annoying," you corrected.

"Charmingly annoying," Spiderman corrected, He swung lazily ahead, landing atop the lamppost outside your dorm building.

You stopped beneath the lamppost, glancing up at Spiderman’s silhouette squatting on top of it. "This your stop, genius?" he asked, voice lilting with amusement.

"Yes," you said flatly. "And don't call me that."

"Call you what? Genius?" He leaned forward, resting his chin in one gloved hand. "Or pretty girl?"

Your face heated instantly. "Both."

Spiderman laughed, a sound that you swear you heard before.

"Fine, fine. Wouldn't want to inflate your ego too much." He swung down from the lamppost.

He turned to leave, then hesitated, just long enough to glance over his shoulder and add, voice softer than before, "Sleep tight, pretty girl."

Then he was gone, vanishing into the night sky with a thwip of webbing before you could retaliate.

you stayed glued to the pavement for a minute as you watched spiderman's figure get smaller the more he swung away, face slowly heating up.

"Talking 'bout some pretty girl," you muttered under your breath, walking to the entrance of the building

who is this guy?

~

The final keystroke of your semester project sent a wave of relief so palpable it nearly knocked you sideways.

You slumped back into the couch cushions, arms flopping dramatically at your sides. "Done," you announced, voice hoarse from hours of revision. "We're done."

Jisung, who had been hovering over your shoulder, let out a cheer so loud it startled Chan into almost dropping his phone.

"We slayed that presentation," Jisung crowed, "Like obliterated it. Decimated. Annihilated-"

"Okay, we get it," Changbin interrupted, carrying three boxes of pizza, "But if you don't shut up and eat, I'm finishing your half."

Changbin dropped the pizza boxes onto the coffee table. Chan immediately lunged for a slice, Jisung snatched two before Changbin could even open the second box.

You reached for a slice of your own, the warmth of the cardboard seeping into your fingers as you took your first bite.

The exhaustion of the past seven weeks, staying up late to fine tune every slide, running through practice presentations, arguing over citation formats, finally melted away with the simple act of chewing.

Jisung, usually incapable of sitting still for more than thirty seconds, actually paused between bites, slumping against the couch cushions with a satisfied sigh.

It was strange, how comfortable you’d grown here - how easily you’d slipped into the rhythm of their apartment, their habits, their banter.

When the last slice disappeared, you gathered your things. Jisung, still sprawled on the couch, craned his neck to watch you pack up, and offered to walk you out, as usual, but you waved him off.

the campus pathways were still buzzing with students as it was still around 8pm.

You waved over your shoulder without looking back, calling out a lazy, "Bye, guys," as the dorm door clicked shut behind you.

The evening air was warm and humid, typical for early summer, and you barely made it halfway across the quad when the first fat raindrop splattered against your forehead.

You paused, blinking up at the sky. "You've got to be kidding me," you muttered.

Within a few minutes, your hair was damp, your shirt started clinging uncomfortably to your shoulders.

you continued walking, not that you had any other choice, your shoes making sad squelching noises with each step, when suddenly the raindrops abruptly stopped hitting you.

You blinked, staring at the sidewalk where water still splattered against the pavement mere inches from your feet. Then you turned your head.

Jisung stood beside you, holding an umbrella over your head with one hand while rainwater soaked his other half. raindrops drenched his shoulder, his bangs were slightly damp and clung to his forehead.

you stared at him for a second. he was breathless, chest heaving, "You," you said flatly, "are the least effective umbrella holder I've ever seen."

Jisung grinned, shaking his head like a wet dog and spraying water droplets everywhere. "Excuse you," he said, nudging the umbrella handle toward you. "I ran after you."

You blinked at him, "You-" you started, then stopped, "Why?"

Jisung shrugged, "Because I wanted to," he said simply.

The umbrella was small enough that you had to stand closer than usual to both stay under it. His arm brushed against yours as you walked, making you hyper aware of the unusual proximity.

"You're still getting wet," you pointed out, glancing at the way rainwater still soaked his shoulder that wasn't covered by the umbrella.

Jisung shrugged, shifting the umbrella slightly more toward you. "I'm already soaked. Doesn't matter."

"that's stupid," you muttered, but you didn't step away.

The rain drummed a steady rhythm against the umbrella as you walked, the sound muffling the usual campus noises.

For once, Jisung wasn't filling the silence with chatter, just walking beside you.

"You didn't have to do this," you said after a moment.

Jisung glanced at you, a slight smile forming. "I know."

The simplicity of his answer caught you off guard. You looked away, focusing on the puddles splashing beneath your feet.

A gust of wind sent rain spraying sideways, and Jisung instinctively shifted, angling himself between you and the worst of it. His shoulder bumped against yours, steadying you when you slipped on a slick patch of pavement.

"Careful," he murmured, his hand briefly brushing your elbow before he pulled away.

The rain slowed to a drizzle as you reached the covered walkway outside your dorm building, its roof shielding you from the worst of the weather. Jisung shook the umbrella out with a flick of his wrist, sending droplets scattering across the pavement.

"You didn't have to walk me all the way back," you said, watching as he ran a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back from his forehead.

Jisung shrugged, "Would've been rude to leave you halfway."

"at least stay a bit till the rain dies down?" You leaned against the dorm's brick wall beneath the awning, the sound of rain pattering around you both. Jisung nodded, mirrored your posture.

after a moment of silence, "You're shivering," he noted, eyebrows knitting together.

"I'm fine," you lied, crossing your arms over your damp shirt.

Jisung then peeled off his hoodie. The motion made his tshirt ride up slightly, revealing a strip of skin that you very pointedly did not stare at.

"Here, it's less wet than yours" he said, dangling the garment in front of your face.

"you don't have to-"

"Do I have to put it on you myself?"

The mental image made your ears heat. "I'm capable of dressing myself, thanks." You snatched the hoodie, your fingers brushing against his.

The material was a little damp but still held the residual heat from his body as you pulled it over your head.

"There," he said, satisfied, reaching over to adjust the hood where it had caught on your ear. His fingers lingered for a heartbeat too long, tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear. "Now you look-"

"Like a drowned rat in your laundry?" you supplied.

Jisung's mouth quirked. "I was gonna say cute, but sure, let's go with that."

You froze.

Jisung seemed to realize what he'd said at the same time you did. His ears turned pink, "I mean- not that you're not usually- I just-"

"You're rambling," you pointed out,

"Yeah," he admitted, uncharacteristically quiet. His eyes flickered to your mouth, then back up.

The rain drummed above you both, creating a rhythm that drowned out everything else.

Jisung leaned in, just slightly. Your pulse kicked up as you tilted your head toward him. His lips parted slightly, and you closed your eyes, inching closer.

Three inches. Two.

Then, police sirens.

Jisung flinched backward, his head whipping toward the sound. your eyes snapped open.

The sirens wailed louder - close, too close - their flashing blue lights reflecting off the wet pavement in erratic pulses.

His entire body tensed, fingers twitching at his sides as if physically restraining himself from bolting toward the noise.

"You should-" His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, already stepping back. "You should go inside before you catch a cold."

You blinked. "What? No, I-"

"I need to go," Jisung blurted out, already taking another step backward.

"You're leaving?" You gestured at the rain still sheeting down. "In this?"

Jisung hesitated for only a second longer, "I'm sorry," he said, already backing away, "I'll- I'll text you."

And then he was gone, sprinting into the rain without so much as a glance back, his sneakers splashing through puddles as he disappeared around the corner of the building.

You stared after him, the hoodie sleeves dangling over your hands, rainwater dripping from your hair onto the pavement.

"What the hell?" you muttered to no one.

~

The shower barely warmed up before you finished washing off the rain. but the borrowed hoodie made up for it as you towel dried your hair.

Your phone buzzed against the sink counter, screen lighting up with a notification from a news page on twitter. You tapped it absently while tugging the hoodie's sleeves over your palms.

Safety Alert: Vehicle collision near university campus. Avoid area. Emergency responders on scene.

You frowned at the timestamp- eight minutes ago. Right around when those sirens had interrupted whatever that was with Jisung.

Scrolling down revealed tweets already flooding in.

seoullights: SPIDER-MAN JUST WEBBED A CAR FROM HITTING A BUS.

chemmajorhell: did spiderman just yeet a sedan???

strayawayfromme: video proof before yall call cap

You tapped the blurry video thumbnail.

The footage was shaky, clearly filmed by someone sprinting away.

A silver sedan spun out of control toward an intersection. Then - spiderman dropped from nowhere, webbing the car’s front bumper mid skid and yanking it sideways. The sedan screeched to a halt inches from a bus.

The camera panned up, catching Spiderman perched on a traffic light, one arm outstretched with webbing still attached to the car. you could see his shoulders heaving. Then his voice cut through your phone speakers.

“Hey, watch the crosswalk!”

The video froze mid buffering, right as Spiderman swung off the traffic light, but not before you caught the jagged movement, the way his descent stuttered unnaturally.

The camera jerked away, but not before you saw the red blooming across his leg where something, a piece of debris, maybe - had clipped him mid swing.

The next frame showed him stumbling slightly on landing, one hand pressed to his thigh before he forced himself upright.

You stared at your phone screen long after the video had ended, thumb hovering over the replay button.

The timing was too convenient. Jisung bolting the second those sirens blared, Spiderman appearing minutes later, the uncanny similarities in their voices, their mannerisms.

It was ridiculous. Impossible. And yet-

Your fingers twitched toward your messages, halfway through typing "Did you just-" before deleting it with a frustrated sigh.

What exactly were you going to ask? "Did you just stop a car crash as Spiderman?" That sounded insane, even for Jisung.

You tossed your phone onto your bed, where it landed against your comforter.

Outside, the rain had slowed down, occasional droplets tapping against your window.

You peeled off Jisung’s hoodie and held it up, studying it, It was just a hoodie. A dumb, slightly damp hoodie that smelled like his cheap cologne.

You groaned, flopping backward onto your bed and dragging a pillow over your face. "I’m losing it," you muttered to the empty room.

Because no. There was no way.

Han Jisung was not swinging around the city saving people.

He disappeared at weird times, and yes, he had so many unexplained bruises, and okay, maybe his voice did sound eerily similar to Spiderman’s when he was being particularly smug.

but that didn’t mean anything. Coincidences happened.

You were just tired. Overworked. Probably hallucinating from sleep deprivation.

~

days passed.

With the semester project finally submitted, you allowed yourself the luxury of not pulling all nighters for once. sleeping in past sunrise, lingering over coffee in the campus café instead of gulping it down between lectures.

The relief felt like shedding a weighted vest you hadn’t realized you’d been wearing.

But the reprieve from academic stress only left more room for other thoughts to creep in.

You noticed things now.

The way Jisung winced when he stretched too far in class, how he’d disappear mid conversation only to text some excuse his supposed stomach problems.

You pushed the observations aside, each time. It was ridiculous. Coincidental. Probably.

other than that, things between you and Jisung were... fine.

If "fine" meant orbiting each other like awkward middle school crushes, both hyperaware of the almost kiss that neither of you acknowledged.

He still showed up to your shared lectures, but now there was a hesitation in his movements. like he was constantly stopping himself from reaching out to fix your hair or brush a crumb off your cheek.

It was infuriating. And confusing. And maybe a little endearing, not that you'd ever admit it.

Chan and Changbin, to their credit, pretended not to notice the shift. Mostly.

Changbin did once mutter "Just kiss already, Jesus" before, earning a kick under the table from Chan. Jisung had choked, and you’d smoothly pretended not to hear anything.

but at least you have free time now, and actually sleep properly for a change.

but you might've jinxed yourself on that part.

~

you were at a cafe on campus with yunjin, the straw of your iced coffee collapsed with an obnoxious crunch as you sucked up the last dregs, barely listening to Yunjin's enthusiastic rundown of the annual university fair's attractions.

"-and the engineering department is doing a robot battle arena, which sounds lame until you realize they weaponized Roomba vacuums," she was saying, waving a fry for emphasis. "Plus free cotton candy if you donate blood at the med tent, which, morally questionable, but-"

then, a hand clamped onto your shoulder. "You."

Professor Ann’s grip was firm, her manicured nails digging in just enough to make you freeze mid sip.

The head of the biotech department had the presence of a hurricane, and right now, her gaze pinned you to your seat like a specimen under glass.

Yunjin’s fry hovered halfway to her mouth. "Uh,"

Professor Ann didn’t wait for a proper response, just tightened her grip on your shoulder and steered you bodily out of the cafe booth, her heels clicking against the tile floor as she marched you toward the science building. "You’re coming with me," she announced, not bothering to check if you were keeping up.

"Did I fail something?" you blurted out, scrambling to match her stride.

Professor Ann snorted, pushing open the heavy double doors with one hand. "If you had, I wouldn’t be dragging you to help"

She guided you down a hallway lined with framed research posters, stopping abruptly outside a lab door labeled 'Advanced Robotics AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.'

Before you could process the warning sign, she shoved the door open with her shoulder. The lab was chaos, grad students hunched over circuit boards, undergrads scrambling with toolkits, and in the center of it all, looming like a sci fi monstrosity, stood a gleaming exoskeleton suit suspended on a display rig.

Professor Ann clapped once, sharp enough to cut through the noise. "Everyone, this is our missing piece."

A dozen exhausted faces swiveled toward you.

"she," Professor Ann continued, placing a hand on your shoulder, "is going to be the live demo operator for our showcase at the university festival next week."

You blinked. "I- what?"

"The neural interface needs a pilot with your exact cognitive profile," she said.

When you just stared, she sighed and grabbed a tablet off a nearby workstation, thrusting it into your hands. "Look. The suit’s responsiveness correlates with specific neural activity patterns - patterns you happen to excel at based on your neurobiology midterm scores."

The tablet displayed a graph you vaguely recognized from last semester’s lab, except someone had circled your data points in aggressive red marker.

One of the grad students, his lab coat streaked with what looked like motor oil, piped up. "We’ve been testing for weeks, and no one’s synced above 78% compatibility. Your scans hit 94%."

You gaped at the numbers. "That’s… not how brains work?"

Professor Ann waved a hand. "Technicalities. Point is, you’re our best shot at making this thing not faceplant during the demonstration."

A nervous laugh escaped you. "And if I say no?"

She smiled, the kind of smile that made you instinctively take a step back. "Then I reconsider your extra credit eligibility."

well, fuck.

You sighed, already resigning yourself to the inevitable. "Do I at least get hazard pay?"

Professor Ann patted your shoulder "You get bragging rights and a free tshirt."

The grad student handed you a stack of waivers thicker than your biochemistry textbook. "Mostly liability stuff," he assured you, "Also, you don't have to worry about your body strength. The suit does most of the heavy lifting."

You skimmed the first paragraph 'participant acknowledges risk of potential neural feedback, musculoskeletal strain, and/or unforeseen technological malfunction' before sighing and reaching for a pen.

Just when you thought you could get a breather.

~

Preparing for the university fair became the distraction you were grateful for, right up until it wasn’t.

The first few days were almost exhilarating. poring over schematics in the robotics lab, learning how to sync your movements with the exoskeleton’s hydraulic whirs, watching grad students argue over calibration settings.

It was a welcome reprieve from overthinking whatever the hell was going on with Jisung and spiderman.

Then the exhaustion hit.

you’d memorized the suit’s startup sequence faster than the engineers expected, but your hands shook from the overload, and your eyelids felt like sandpaper.

Professor Ann had you rehearsing the demo routine six times a day while undergrads adjusted sensors on your limbs like you were a mannequin. The suit itself was lighter than it looked, but after hours of testing, your shoulders ached from the pressure points, and your calves burned from the assisted jumps.

“You look like death warmed over,” Yunjin sai'd once, plopping down next to you in the cafeteria as you face planted onto the table.

The university fair preparations drained you in ways caffeine couldn't fix. By the fifth consecutive day in the robotics lab, you'd perfected the exosuit's startup sequence to a muscle memory beat - left knee actuator first, then right shoulder stabilizer, then the neural sync pulse that made your vision briefly pixelate. your hands developed a permanent tremor from exhaustion.

The suit's cooling vents whirred against your spine during particularly grueling rehearsals, doing little to combat the sweat soaking through your shirt as Professor Ann critiqued your form for the seventeenth time that hour.

"You're anticipating the jump instead of letting the suit assist," she called from her observation perch, tapping her tablet "It's making your landings sloppy."

You bit back the urge to snap at her, Instead, you wiped sweat from your brow with the back of your hand, careful not to dislodge the EEG sensors plastered across your forehead- and nodded. "Got it. Less anticipation, more... trusting the robot."

"Again," she commanded, tapping her tablet. "From the obstacle course sequence."

The suit whirred to life around you, servos clicking into place as the neural interface pinged your motor cortex with its familiar electric tingle.

You'd gotten used to the sensation, mostly, though the first time it happened, you'd yelped and nearly kneed a grad student in the face.

"Obstacle course sequence initiated," chimed the suit's automated voice, cheerful, like it wasn't about to fling you face first at a plywood wall.

You took off at a jog, letting the suit's augmented strength propel you forward faster than your legs could manage alone.

The first hurdle- a stack of foam blocks- approached. You tensed instinctively, bracing for impact, but the suit's hydraulics kicked in at the last second, launching you cleanly over with a whir that vibrated through your bones.

"Better," Professor Ann called from the sidelines. "Now stop thinking like a human."

wow, real helpful, Ann.

You barely had time to process that utterly unhelpful advice before the next obstacle, a swinging pendulum rigged with pool noodles, came at you sideways.

The suit's reflexes were faster than yours, it twisted your torso out of the way before could.

And then-

A sharp, staticky burst of feedback crackled through the neural interface.

Your vision whited out for half a second, the HUD flickering wildly as the suit's systems stuttered.

You stumbled mid stride, the suit's left knee actuator locking up at the worst possible moment - right as you were supposed to vault over a platform.

Instead of a graceful arc, you faceplanted directly into a crash mat, the suit's weight pinning you like an overturned turtle.

"Ow," you wheezed.

A flurry of panicked grad students descended, poking at the suit's access panels while muttering about "feedback loops" and "neural load thresholds." Professor Ann sighed, rubbing her temples.

"We'll recalibrate," she announced, "Take five."

You lay there for a solid thirty seconds before mustering the energy to roll onto your back, staring up at the lab's lights. The suit's chest plate dug uncomfortably into your ribs, but at this point, you were too tired to care.

Your phone buzzed in the pocket of your leggings, a minor miracle you could reach it with the suit's gauntlets in the way. You fished it out.

A text from Jisung

Jisung: u alive? heard u joined a mecha fight club

You snorted, typing one handed

you: more like a mecha abuse club

Jisung: want me to stage a rescue? chan says we have duct tape

you: rempting. But I think Prof Ann would hunt you down.

Jisung: worth it.

You stared at the message, something warm curling in your chest. another text popped up

Jisung: seriously tho. u look dead in that insta story

You blinked. You hadn't posted anything—

then you get a notification that you were tagged in a story,

You clicked it.

There, in glorious 240p, was a video of you mid faceplant, captioned 'MY FRIEND IS A WARRIOR' with heart eye emojis.

It had been filmed from the lab's observation window, where Jisung, Changbin, and Chan were currently pressed against the glass like overgrown children at a zoo exhibit.

all three of them waved. you barely raised a gauntlet to wave back when professor Ann cleared her throat pointedly behind you. "Break's over."

You sighed, letting the grad students haul you upright as another round of calibrations began.

~

The university festival arrived soon enough. The robotics department had transformed their section of the quad into something resembling a tech expo - neon lit banners flapping over display tables crammed with prototypes, while the exosuit sat center stage.

You stood off to the side, tugging at the suit’s armored collar where it pinched your neck. “Remind me why I agreed to this again?”

Professor Ann didn’t look up from her tablet. “Because you enjoy having a GPA above 4.0.”

Nearby, Changbin materialized with a cotton candy stick the size of a small child. “So,” he said, mouth full of pink sugar, “you gonna, like, punch through a wall or something?”

You rolled your shoulders, or tried to, given the suit’s restrictive plating. "More like gently lift a cinderblock while Professor Ann narrates like it’s a nature documentary."

Changbin nodded. "ohhh, so educational trauma." He tore off a chunk of cotton candy and offered it to you. "Here. Sugar helps with existential dread."

You leaned forward to take it, nearly toppling sideways when the suit’s weight shifted unexpectedly. Changbin steadied you with a snort.

you glanced around, "Where are the other two, anyway?"

Changbin shrugged, mouth already full of another cotton candy bite. "Chan is nearby, dunno where Jisung is tho," He squinted at you. "Why? Miss him already?"

You swatted at him, nearly knocking over a display of mini robot arms. "Shut up. I just figured he'd want front row seats to watch me faceplant in a million dollar death suit."

Before Changbin could retort, Professor Ann clapped her hands. "Showtime! Places, people!"

The stage lights flared to life, nearly blinding you as a crowd of students and faculty gathered around the robotics exhibit.

You swallowed hard, the suit's neural interface tingling at the base of your skull, and stepped into position.

The demo started smoothly enough. You lifted the weighted cinderblocks (Professor Kim’s narration did sound like a nature documentary), executed a series of precision jumps that would’ve shattered your knees without the suit’s assistance, and even managed not to decapitate any bystanders with the suit’s articulated arm extensions. The crowd ooh'ed and aah'ed on cue.

Then came the "surprise" obstacle course segment — because Professor Ann had a thing for theatrics.

You gritted your teeth as the suit’s HUD flashed a new sequence 'evasive maneuvers initiated'.

The first hurdle was easy. The second, a sudden spray of water jets from the stage’s hidden nozzles, nearly sent you skidding into a group of horrified freshmen.

You recovered just in time to hear yunjin yell "STICK THE LANDING!" from the front row, cotton candy clutched in both her hands, closely resembling a cheerleader's pom poms.

And then-

A sharp, staticky burst of feedback crackled through the neural interface.

Your vision whited out for half a second, the HUD flickering wildly as the suit’s systems stuttered.

something was gonna go wrong.

You stumbled mid stride, the left knee actuator locking up just as you were supposed to vault over the final platform. you careened sideways, straight toward the exhibit’s main power grid.

Time slowed.

The crowd’s murmurs faded into white noise as your outstretched hand grazed the power console.

a high voltage power surge triggered a thermal runaway in the main power grid behind the stage. A fire was about to errupt.

Thick, black smoke erupted from the stage’s machinery, fire instantly filling the upper half of the pavilion. Screams erupted as the toxic cloud billowed outward.

"EVACUATE!" Professor Ann bellowed, already herding students back. "fire suppression system engaged!"

The automated sprinklers hissed to life, just as the security shutters began slamming down with a groan, cutting off exits.

You barely registered Changbin being yanked to safety by Chan before the nearest shutter sealed with a final clang, trapping you inside the smoke filled platform.

Alone.

Coughing, you fumbled for the suit’s emergency release, only for the neural interface to shriek another burst of feedback, locking the mechanisms.

The smoke burned your lungs with every ragged breath. Staggering backward, you collided with the half collapsed display behind you-

-just as the ceiling groaned ominously.

You looked up in time to see the steel framework buckling, the entire lighting rig teetering precariously.

"Well," you wheezed, blinking up at the collapsing ceiling through the smoke, "if I'm going to die, at least it's in a multimillion-dollar robo-coffin."

The suit's HUD flickered in agreement, or maybe it was just short circuiting. Either way, not ideal.

The ceiling groaned louder, steel beams creaking under the weight of compromised supports. You squeezed your eyes shut-

-and then something yanked you sideways with enough force to make your teeth clack together.

"Ow," you mumbled against a fabric covered chest as momentum sent you both skidding across the stage floor.

The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, but the arms around you were firm. When you pried your eyes open, the first thing you saw was a familiar red and blue suit sleeve.

Spiderman.

The idiot was holding you so tightly you could feel his heart hammering through the suit’s fabric. Smoke curled around his masked face as he quickly assessed the collapsing pavilion, one arm still locked around your waist.

he launched you both upward just as the ceiling fully gave way. The suit’s weight made the motion clumsier than his usual swings, and you barely had time to register the stomach dropping lurch before his web caught a still intact beam, yanking you sideways out of the debris path.

“Hold on—”

You didn’t get a chance to protest before he was maneuvering you both toward the nearest shutter, where the metal had buckled just enough to reveal a sliver of daylight.

The smoke was thicker here, clawing at your throat as Spiderman braced against the frame, muscles straining as he forced the gap wider with a grunt.

“Go, go, go—”

You barely scrambled free before the framework buckled behind you with a deafening crash. A strangled yelp cut through the noise - cut off too soon. Whirling around, you saw the shutter had snapped shut like a trap, pinning Spiderman’s torso beneath twisted steel. His fingers clawed at the gap, but the mechanism held fast.

"Hey- hey!" You dropped to your knees, grappling with the metal. It didn’t budge. Smoke curled from the seams, stinging your eyes as you yanked harder. "Stop playing dead and help me, you idiot!"

A weak cough answered you. Spiderman’s head lolled against the shutter, mask fogging unevenly with each labored breath.

When you finally wrenched the metal aside far enough to pull him free, his suit tore on jagged edges, revealing a gash along his ribs that oozed crimson down his side.

The exosuit's neural interface screamed warnings at you 'SYSTEM FAILURE, LOCK ENGAGED' but you slammed your forearm against the emergency release with enough force to break. Hydraulics hissed as the plating finally disengaged, clattering to the ground in pieces that probably cost more than your tuition.

You stumbled free just in time to see Spiderman's fingers slip from the shutter's edge.

"Don't you dare pass out on me," you snapped, dropping to your knees beside him. His breathing was ragged, mask clinging to his face where sweat and blood had glued it unevenly. Up close, the tear in his suit was worse - jagged metal had ripped through the fabric, exposing a deep gash that painted his side in alarming red streaks. Your fingers hovered uselessly before finding purchase on his shoulder. "Hey. Eyes open, c'mon"

Spiderman groaned, head lolling sideways. His gloved fingers twitched toward the wound before flopping back down. "'M'fine," he slurred, voice thick with pain. "Just... nap time."

A distant wail of sirens cut through the smoke. Fire department. EMTs. People who would absolutely not ignore a bleeding Spiderman sprawled in the wreckage.You grabbed his wrist and yanked. "Up. Now."

"Ow shit-" He scrambled upright with your help, one hand clamped over his ribs. The motion dislodged his mask slightly, revealing a sliver of bruised jawline you'd seen a hundred times. Your stomach dropped.

You didn’t have time to process it, not with sirens wailing closer, so you hooked his arm over your shoulders and half dragged, half carried him away from the wreckage.

The abandoned greenhouse behind the biology building was your only option - it was nearby, its broken windows and overgrown vines made it the perfect place to hide from the commotion outside.

You kicked the door open with your foot, nearly tripping over a pile of discarded plant trays as you hauled him inside.

Your knees gave out the second the door slammed shut behind you, sending both of you crashing onto the cracked tile floor.

Spiderman slumped against the glass wall with a pained hiss, his face bruised and cut beneath the half displaced mask.

You didn’t think. You grabbed the edge of his mask and yanked it off.

Han Jisung blinked up at you, dazed and bleeding and unmistakably himself.

his breath was laboured, so was yours, both of you struggling to catch your breaths and comprehend what just unfolded in the past 10 minutes.

"I wanted to tell you," he whispered, voice cracking. His fingers twitched toward yours but stopped short, "I swear I did."

The sheer absurdity of it, the late night library rescue, the perfect grades despite the exhaustion, jisung being the city’s savior - it hit you all at once.

Tears pricked your eyes, but a breathless, hysterical laugh escaped your throat. You were crying and laughing simultaneously, completely overwhelmed.

Jisung flinched. "Hey, hey, don’t cry, please don’t cry," he panicked, wincing as he tried to reach out. "Are you hurt? Did something hit you?"

You wiped your face with the back of your hand, "No, you absolute moron, I'm not hurt - you're the one bleeding all over the place!"

He blinked, then glanced down at his side like he’d forgotten about the gaping wound. "Oh. Right." His fingers prodded the edges before he winced and pulled them away. "Huh. That’s... more red than usual."

You grabbed the hem of your shirt , "Future of Robotics" in bold text printed in the center, professor Ann's stupid merch - you ripped a strip clean off with a tear.

Jisung’s eyes widened as you shoved the fabric against his side, pressing hard enough to make him yelp. "Ow-fuck- are you trying to finish the job?"

"Shut up," you muttered, fingers trembling as you knotted the makeshift bandage tight around his ribs.

The white fabric bloomed red almost instantly, but you tightened it further, ignoring his hissed curses. "You’re literally bleeding out, and your first instinct is to make a joke? Typical."

Jisung’s breath hitched when your fingers brushed a particularly nasty bruise. "Not a joke," he managed, voice strained. "Just - really bad at serious moments." His attempt at a grin faltered when you glared up at him, tear tracks still fresh on your cheeks. The humor drained from his face. "...You’re really mad, huh?"

"Mad?" Your laugh came out jagged. "I’m furious. You’ve been- what, swinging around campus this whole time? Letting me think Spiderman was some-some urban legend while you sat next to me?" Your voice cracked. "You let me argue with you about yourself."

Jisung winced. "Okay, when you say it like that-"

"You saved me," you interrupted, hands still fisted in the bloody fabric of his suit. "Twice. And then- what, just went back to making our project like nothing happened?"

His fingers twitched toward yours but stopped short. "I wanted to tell you," he admitted quietly. "Every damn day. But-" He exhaled sharply, wincing as the movement tugged his injury. "What was I supposed to say? 'Hey, by the way, I’m the guy you keep calling a fake on Twitter?'"

"You could’ve trusted me," you shot back.

"I do," he whispered. "More than anyone." His palm settled over yours where it pressed against his wound, "That’s why it hurt so much not to tell you."

The confession hung between you. Outside, sirens wailed, and the distant shouts of first responders filtered through the greenhouse glass.

Your breath stuttered. "You’re an idiot,"

Jisung’s laugh was breathless, pained. "Yeah," he agreed. His free hand lifted, hovering near your cheek. "I'm sorry."

You didn’t let him hesitate. Grabbing his wrist, you pressed his palm to your face. "I won't forgive you that easily," you muttered.

"I know, I'll work for it" he said, thumb wiping a tear away.

and then you leaned down and kissed him.

It was messy, your hands were bloody, his hands were bloody, but his gasp against your mouth was worth every second of confusion. His fingers cupped your face, pulling you closer like he’d wanted to do this for years. Maybe he had.

You broke away first, gasping for air, only for Jisung’s lips to chase yours clumsily, His fingers trying to pull you closer, tugging you back with a whimper that was equal parts desperation and pain.

"Wait-" he mumbled against your mouth, "I think I blacked out for a second- was that real or am I hallucinating from blood loss?"

You laughed, your forehead resting against his as his fingers trembled against your cheek. "It was real," you murmured, breath warm against his split lip. "You're not hallucinating."

Jisung blinked up at you, his lips twitched into a wobbly smile. "Hmm. I dunno." His thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone, "Might need another one, just to make sure."

you leaned in again, kissing him slower this time, letting him memorize the shape of your mouth on his.

His breath hitched when you nipped at his lower lip, and you felt the exact moment his brain short circuited, his grip on your waist slackened, then tightened again. When you pulled back, his dazed expression was priceless.

"...Okay," he breathed, licking his split lip absently. "Definitely real." His gaze dropped to your mouth again, lingering. "Also, wow, we should've done this sooner"

~

30 minutes after dragging Jisung to the greenhouse, Chan and Changbin found you both — Chan’s expression tight with worry, Changbin unusually silent as he took in the bloodied state of his roommate.

They didn’t ask questions. Chan simply slung Jisung’s arm over his shoulders while Changbin handed you his hoodie to cover the torn edges of your clothes. You watched them disappear before you turned toward the chaos of the main campus.

The quad was still swarming with paramedics and evacuated students when you pushed through the crowd. Yunjin spotted you first, her face crumpling in relief as she barreled you into a hug.

You let her fuss, nodding through her rapid - fire questions about smoke inhalation and whether you’d seen the structural collapse, but you offered no answers about where you’d been or who’d pulled you out.

The university issued a formal apology within hours, citing a critical system failure in the exosuit’s neural dampeners, and suspended all related projects indefinitely.

By evening, campus security had roped off the pavilion with yellow tape, and administrators granted you a week’s leave to recover, not that you needed it. Your bruises were superficial compared to the ones hidden beneath Jisung’s hastily bandaged ribs.

Across campus, Chan and Changbin had hauled a barely conscious Jisung back to their apartment through the service elevators, his suit stuffed into Changbin’s bag. They fussed over him like parents, then stitched him up with a first aid kit and a YouTube tutorial.

True to his enhanced biology, Jisung’s wounds closed faster than humanly possible- the deep gash along his ribs scarred over within three days, though the bruising lingered in ugly shades of yellow green.

The university excused his absence with a vague note about "lab accident trauma," which wasn’t entirely a lie.

He spent the first 48 hours sleeping off the worst of the pain, only waking when Changbin force fed him or when Chan changed his bandages.

You told Yunjin everything eventually.

Not the Spider-Man part - that was his secret to share, not yours - but the Jisung part. but you didn’t have to say much.

She wasn’t surprised.

“Oh my god,” Yunjin groaned, flopping backward onto your bed like you’d just confessed to something painfully obvious. “Finally. Do you know how exhausting it’s been watching you two?” she said, “You’ve been making heart eyes at each other since sophomore year.”

and three weeks later, the university had moved on from the festival disaster like any other. The wrecked pavilion was already half demolished, the exosuit project quietly scrubbed from the department website, and Professor Ann transferred to a research branch in Busan under suspiciously sudden circumstances.

the semester resumed, lectures, exams, studying, but for you, everything had shifted.

~

The tap against your window was barely audible- just three quick raps of knuckles against glass, You shoved your chair back with a smile and crossed the room in three strides. The window slid open with a quiet creak, letting in a gust of cool night air.

Spiderman was perched upside down on the fire escape, "Miss me?" he asked, swinging forward until his face was inches from yours.

You hummed, reaching forward to tug his mask down just enough to reveal his mouth, then leaned in and kissed him. His fingers scrambled against your windowsill for purchase, his gloves squeaking against the metal as you grabbed his face and deepened the kiss.

When you finally pulled away, he was breathless, still dangling by his knees, "You were gone for two hours," you deadpanned, but your hands reached for him, fingers curling into the fabric of his suit to tug him inside. He tumbled into your room.

"Two hours and seventeen minutes," he corrected, pulling flowers from behind his back with a flourish. "Which is exactly how long it took to track these down."

The bouquet was… well, it was something. A color cluster of wildflowers, dandelions, and what looked suspiciously like a handful of weeds yanked from a sidewalk crack, all tied together with a web string.

You stared at it. "You robbed a community garden?"

"Rude. I foraged." He shoved the flowers toward you insistently. "Also, I nearly got arrested. Show some appreciation."

You took the bouquet, your nose wrinkling as a ladybug crawled lazily across one of the petals. "They’re… vibrant."

"See? Vibrant." Jisung beamed, rocking onto his toes. "I knew you’d love them."

You snorted, turning to place the bouquet on your desk — gently, because despite the weeds and the ladybug, he’d tried, only to yelp when Jisung’s arms suddenly wrapped around your waist from behind. His chin dropped onto your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck as he nuzzled into the space just below your ear.

"Admit it," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "You adore them."

You elbowed him lightly, but didn’t pull away. "I adore you" you muttered, then immediately regretted it when his grip tightened and you felt his grin against your skin.

"Knew that, too," he said smugly, pressing a kiss to the side of your throat that made your breath hitch. His hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your ribs through your thin shirt.

"Missed you," he added, quieter this time, lips moving against your throat, tracing a path up to your jawline that sent shivers down your spine.

You twisted in his arms, turning to face him just as his mouth found yours, impatient, he'd been waiting all night for this. His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a low, satisfied hum.

You giggled as Jisung’s lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. "My roommate’s in the other room," you whispered, leaning into him despite yourself. "She’s sleeping."

Jisung paused, his breath hot against your skin. "Well," he murmured, dragging his mouth lower, "you’ve gotta be quiet then." His hands slid under your shirt, gloved fingers skimming your waist before hands tightened, lifting you effortlessly.

You barely had time to register the movement before your back hit the mattress, his body hovering over yours, "Quiet," he whispered, pressing a finger to your lips, though his own grin made it clear he had no intention of making that easy for you.

His mouth found yours again, swallowing your breathless laugh as his gloved hands slid beneath your shirt, then his mouth drifted lower, biting your lip to stifle a whimper when his teeth grazed your collarbone, lower, his tongue flicked over the peak of your breast through the fabric, and you dug your fingers into his hair, tugging impatiently.

"Jisung" you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Patience," he murmured against your skin, tho the way his hands trembled as they pushed your shirt up betrayed his own impatience. His lips followed the path of his fingers, kissing down your stomach until he reached the waistband of your shorts. He hooked his thumbs into them, glancing up at you with a look so openly hungry it made your pulse stutter.

"You’re sure?" he asked, his voice rough.

You nodded, swallowing hard. "Yes. Please."

The second the word left your lips, Jisung yanked your shorts and underwear down in one swift motion, tossing them somewhere over his shoulder without breaking eye contact, as he settled between your thighs. "You’re so pretty like this," he breathed, his thumbs brushing the inside of your knees, pushing them apart gently. "All worked up just ’cause of me."

Your face burned, but before you could retort, his mouth was on you, his tongue dragging a path that made your back arch off the bed.

You barely stifled a gasp, biting down on your lip as his hands tightened around your thighs, holding you open.

"Fuck," Jisung muttered against you, his voice wrecked, his breath uneven like he was the one unraveling. "Taste so good—"

The words dissolved into a groan when your fingers twisted in his hair, tugging hard enough to make his hips jerk. His answering laugh was breathless, uneven, his lips curving against you as he doubled down, tongue flicking over you in a way that made your legs shake.

his mouth was *relentless, teasing and coaxing until your grip on his hair turned desperate, his mouth never faltering as he swallowed every sound you tried - and failed - to stifle.

"You- ah -I'm gonna-" The warning barely escaped your lips before Jisung's fingers tightened around your thighs, pinning you down as his tongue swirled faster. Your back arched off the bed, a strangled gasp tearing free as you came, his name half choked in your throat.

he didn't let up for a second, dragging out every shuddering pulse until your legs twitched violently against his shoulders, your fingers yanking his head back.

he crawled up your body, wiping his mouth with the back of his glove, still wearing the damn suit, before leaning down to kiss you, deep and so filthy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

you felt him rolling his hips against yours. The fabric of his suit was frustratingly thick, but you could still feel the heat of him pressing against your thigh, "Still with me?" he murmured, nipping at your jaw when you didn’t answer fast enough.

You grabbed his face, pulling him down into another kiss, his breath hitching when you rolled your hips up against him, the friction drawing a ragged groan from his throat.

“Still with you,” you muttered against his lips, your fingers already working at the hidden zipper of his suit. “But this stupid thing needs to go.”

Jisung let you zip the suit down to his waist. The second his bare skin met yours, he shuddered, his hands gripping your waist, “You’re killing me,” he mumbled against your neck.

You reached between you, wrapping your hand around him, and the noise he made sent a thrill straight to your core. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts as you stroked him slowly, relishing the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

“Jisung,” you whispered, “you’re so loud.”

Jisung's head snapped up, his face flushed "I'm" he started, but his protest dissolved into a gasp when your thumb swiped over the head of his cock. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, "oh- fuck," he hissed, his voice cracking.

Jisung’s breath hitched when you tightened your grip, his hips stuttering against your hand. His eyes flickered shut for a fraction of a second before snapping open again, "You-" he started, voice strangled, but you just smirked, slowing your strokes.

"Oh, sorry," you whispered, feigning innocence. "Am I distracting you, Spiderman?"

That did it. Jisung’s fingers clamped around your wrist, wrenching your hands away and pinning them above your head with one hand.

Before you could react, his other hand flicked out - thwip - and suddenly your wrists were bound together by a thin strand of webbing, stuck fast to the headboard. You yanked instinctively, but the silk held firm.

"Cheater," you hissed, glaring up at him through your lashes.

"You started it," he murmured, dragging his free hand down your torso, fingertips skating where you wanted him most. His thumb hooked into the hem of your shirt, tugging it up until the fabric bunched under your bound arms. "Now you get to lie there and take it."

His fingers suddenly dipped into you, curling, and you arched off the bed with a strangled moan. "Told you to be quiet," he murmured, "want me to web your mouth too?".

His fingers withdrew before you could answer back, leaving you clenching around nothing, and you barely had time to whimper before he was lining himself up, the head of his cock dragging through your slick with a filthy, wet sound.

His hips jerked forward once, just a teasing press, enough to make your breath hitch - before he stilled, "Fuck," he muttered, his voice ragged. "Gimme a second - fuck -"

You rolled your hips impatiently, earning a choked groan from him as his grip on your waist tightened. "Jisung," you hissed, nails scraping uselessly against the webbing binding your wrists. "If you don’t move-"

He cut you off with a sharp thrust, burying himself to the hilt in one motion. The noise he made was downright embarrassing, his hips stuttering as he adjusted to the feeling. "God," he panted, his breath hot against your skin. "You feel so, fuck-"

His words dissolved into a groan as he pulled out slowly, only to slam back in with enough force to jolt the bedframe against the wall. You bit down on your lip hard, stifling a cry as he set a punishing pace, his hips snapping forward with a rhythm that left you seeing stars.

The webbing held firm, keeping you pinned beneath him as he fucked you with single minded intensity, his breath coming in ragged bursts against your collarbone.

one sharp thrust forced a moan from your lips before you could bite it back - loud, embarrassingly loud - and Jisung’s hand slapped over your mouth instantly, his fingers pressing hard enough to muffle the sound.

"Quiet," he whispered, but his hips didn’t slow - if anything, the pace turned meaner, each snap of his hips deliberate and punishing. "Roommate’s sleeping, remember?"

You whimpered against his palm, your back arching off the bed as he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur. his own control fraying at the edges as he fucked you into the mattress.

"Fuck - fuck - you feel so good," he muttered, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. His fingers flexed against your mouth, his other hand gripping your hip hard.

Jisung’s hand slid from your mouth to your throat, his fingers pressing just enough to take your breath away, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw as he leaned down, “Close?” he murmured, his hips never slowing their relentless pace.

You nodded frantically, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps as his cock dragged against that spot inside you with every thrust. The webbing around your wrists tugged taut with every movement, keeping you pinned beneath him, utterly at his mercy.

“Yeah?” he breathed, his hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering for just a second. “Gonna cum for me?” His free hand slid between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, frantic circles that made your back arch off the bed.

You couldn’t answer - couldn’t think - just clenched around him with a muffled cry, your thighs shaking as pleasure crashed over you in waves. Jisung swore under his breath, his fingers tightening around your throat just slightly as he fucked you through it, his hips losing their rhythm entirely as he chased his own release.

"Gonna - fuck - gonna cum too," Jisung gasped, his rhythm faltered completely then, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate .

His forehead dropped to your shoulder with a ragged whimper, his hips jerked forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt. You felt him pulse inside you, his whole body trembling with the force of his release.

Jisung slumped against you, his breath still ragged against your collarbone, his fingers flexing weakly against your throat before sliding up to cradle your jaw instead. His thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone, his touch gentle compared to the way he absolutely rocked your shit just now.

"You okay?" he murmured, his voice hoarse.

You let out a shaky breath, your wrists tugging instinctively against the webbing still binding them. "Pretty sure you just short circuited my brain there," you admitted, your voice equally wrecked.

Jisung let out a tired laugh, his nose scrunched up adorably - adorably, god, when had you started thinking of him like that? - as he pressed a sloppy kiss to your cheek. "Mission accomplished,"

Your wrists twisted slightly against the sticky webbing, the thin silk strands flexing but refusing to give. "Jisung," you muttered, wincing at the dull ache in your arms from being pinned above your head for so long. "This hurts. set me free."

His smile faltered immediately. A flicker of panic darted across his face as he sat up, suddenly nervous. "Uh." He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes. "Yeah, about that."

You narrowed your eyes. "About that?"

"The - uh - the webbing," he admitted, wincing preemptively like he expected you to throw something at him. "It... doesn’t dissolve for, like... an hour?"

Your jaw dropped. "An hour?"

Jisung scrambled upright, his hands flying up in mock surrender "Okay, okay! Before you kill me-" he started, then paused, reconsidering. "When you kill me- I swear I have a solution. Kind of. Maybe."

You yanked at the webbing again, the strands stretching slightly but refusing to budge. "What kind of solution?" you hissed through gritted teeth.

He bit his lip, "So... I've been working on this solvent? For emergencies? Like, if I accidentally web someone who isn't a criminal, or-"

"Jisung."

“Okay, so the solvent is back at my dorm. Which, uh. Isn’t here.”

You stared at him. “You’re joking.”

“I wish,” he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Look, I can swing back real quick-”

“You are not leaving me like this,” you hissed, twisting against the webbing for emphasis. The strands held firm, sticking stubbornly to your wrists and the headboard. “What if my roommate wakes up?”

Jisung blanched. “Oh. Right.” He glanced at the door, then back at you, his expression shifting from panic to something close to amusement. “So... we wait?”

“We wait?” you repeated, incredulous. “Jisung, I am naked and stuck to my own bed.”

“.....skill issue?”

you end up waiting the entire hour. with jisung serving as a very poor distraction to the the ache blooming in your arms and shoulders.

~

The university’s digital bulletin board flickered to life at exactly 9 am, updating the semester’s final rankings. You stood frozen in front of the screen, backpack dangling precariously off one shoulder.

your eyes skimmed over the results, your name in first place with a 100% next to it, followed by Jisung with a 98%.

A beat of silence. Then-

“No way,” you blurted, so loud it echoed off the empty hallway walls.

Behind you, a familiar weight slumped against your back, Jisung’s chin hooking over your shoulder as he squinted at the screen. “Huh,” he said, voice dripping with exaggerated contemplation. “That’s weird.”

You whirled around, “Huh? That’s all you have to say?”

Jisung shrugged, his lips twitching into that infuriatingly smug grin you’d spent years wanting to wipe off his face, though now, you had far more effective methods than stomping on his foot.

“I mean, congrats,” he said, leaning in until his nose brushed yours. “Enjoy your victory lap, genius. It’s not gonna last.”

You rolled your eyes, “Keep telling yourself that, Spiderboy.”

“Spiderman,” he corrected, flicking your forehead before dancing out of reach. “And don’t think this means you get to slack off. I’m watching you.” He mimed narrowing his eyes, pointing two fingers at his own eyes, then at you.

You lunged for him, but Jisung dodged effortlessly, freakishly fast - your wrist with a laugh and tugging you flush against his chest. His fingers slid between yours, “Seriously,” he murmured, voice softer now, “I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, ducking your head to hide the flush creeping up your neck. “Turns out I can focus when a certain idiot isn’t yapping in my ear.”

“Wow. Wow.” he gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like you’d shot him. “After everything we’ve been through? The trauma? The bonding? You wound me.”

You snorted, shoving him away “Go lick your wounds in silence,” you said, turning on your heel toward the lecture hall. “I have a victory lap to take.”

a/n: I proofread this at the mall after my friend stood me up when I was ALREADY THERE, anyway, it's done! I had so much fun with spiderhan, hope u did too!!

98%.

The number glared up at you from the paper.

it's a good grade, objectively a great one. but there had to be a mistake - you’d stayed up three nights straight reviewing every possible permutation of the material. Your notes had been immaculate. You’d even rewritten them twice just to be sure.

Behind you, someone cleared their throat. you braced yourself for whatever annoying thing Jisung was about to say.

"Oof," Jisung said, leaning over your shoulder. "Ninety eight? I mean, close enough."

His own test fluttered into your peripheral vision, 100%. Of course.

"Better luck next time," he added. His voice was light, teasing - a tone he’d used since freshman year whenever he edged you out by fractions of a point.

You exhaled through your nose, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you shoved your test into your bag, zipping it shut.

Jisung didn’t take the hint. He never did. He propped his hip against your desk, grinning as he watched you pack up.

"Don’t worry," Jisung continued, "I’ll let you copy my notes next time."

You finally looked up at him - his stupidly perfect face, his stupidly smug grin, stupidly big framed glasses.

"Like hell I’d copy your chicken scratch," you muttered, shoving your chair back harder than necessary. making its legs screech against the floor.

Jisung’s grin widened. "y'know, if you actually got enough sleep instead of staying up all night-"

You stood up and stomped on his foot, hard.

He yelped, hopping backward with exaggerated agony. "Ow! What was that for?"

You didn’t dignify him with an answer. You slung your bag over your shoulder and walked off without a backward glance.

Behind you, Jisung’s dramatic whining faded into the background noise of the lecture hall, punctuated by a burst of laughter from somewhere near the exit. You didn’t need to look to know it was Changbin, doubled over with amusement while Chan stood beside him, hand resting on the strap of his bag, waiting patiently.

The three of them had been inseparable since their second year of high school, when Chan, already broad shouldered and responsible beyond his years, had stepped between a scrawny, loudmouthed Jisung who'd just learned curse words and a group of seniors looking for an easy target.

Changbin, who’d been watching the confrontation from a nearby bench, had tossed a water bottle at the ringleader’s head mid threat. The resulting chaos had somehow ended with all three of them in detention, and that was where their friendship formed.

By graduation, the three of them had already cemented their fate - Chan, Changbin, and Jisung were a package deal, an inseparable trio that had somehow survived four years of high school without murdering each other.

So when university acceptance letters rolled in, the decision was already made, they’d stick together, signing a lease for a cramped apartment near campus before the ink on their diplomas had even dried.

And then there was you.

Orientation week had been the beginning of it all, though you hadn’t realized it at the time.

You hadn’t noticed Jisung at first during orientation. Not really. He’d been just another face in the crowd, another overeager freshman with bad posture and a laugh too loud.

as for him though, he had a stupid, undeniable crush on you.

he tried to talk to you, you’d been too busy rearranging your schedule to register his existence - some mumbled joke about the professor’s hair that you’d brushed off with a polite smile before walking away.

Another time, still during orientation, he’d lingered near your seat after the icebreaker games, hovering like he expected you to acknowledge him. You hadn’t.

What had caught your attention was the first exam. You’d walked out of that lecture hall certain you’d aced it, only to find your name one spot below his on the results board.

he'd realized then that you're probably a perfectionist, and that you did not like being in second place. you never were in second place, ever since high school.

he became your competition from then.

Jisung noticed the shift immediately. He could’ve backed off. He didn’t. Instead, he leaned into it.

It wasn’t that he wanted you to hate him. He just wanted you to look at him.

Don't get him wrong, he did try to befriend you, but when that ended in inevitable failure, he opted for his last option, the one thing guaranteed to make you react, relentless, obnoxious teasing. If you couldn’t stand him, at least you’d notice him.

It worked better than he’d expected.

three years later, and Han Jisung was still the single most irritating person you'd ever met.

~

The sound of the apartment door jolted Jisung awake. He blinked at the ceiling, groggy and disoriented, sunlight already painting stripes across his unmade bed.

His phone lay facedown on the floor where he’d tossed it last night. He fumbled for it, thumb smearing against the screen as he squinted at the time, 9:47 AM.

"Shit."

Jisung groaned, rubbing his face with both hands as the pieces clicked together - his snoozed alarm, the muffled knocking he'd sleepily batted away earlier, Chan had tried. Chan had definitely tried to wake him up.

Jisung rolled out of bed, scrambling upright, one hand already tugging his hoodie over his head while the other fumbled for his backpack.

He was not gonna be that late if he decided to take a short cut. And so he did.

Cutting through the science building was a gamble, technically off limits to non majors before noon, but Jisung had long since memorized the janitor’s schedule.

He ducked under a half raised security gate, sidestepping a cart of lab equipment as he beelined for the west exit. His footsteps echoed too loudly in the empty hallway, but he didn’t slow down - not until a sharp clang from an adjacent lab made him skid to a halt.

Jisung turned his head just in time to see a door marked 'BIOTECH RESEARCH - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY' swing shut, the tail end of a lab coat disappearing behind it.

He hesitated for half a second, before the distant chime of the campus clock tower rang. He was so late.

Jisung shouldn’t have been there.

The lock mechanism whirred as he hovered near the entrance, the distant hum of machinery inside prickling at his ears. Curiosity had always been his fatal flaw.

He glanced over his shoulder. The hallway was empty.

The door hissed open with a nudge of his shoulder, just wide enough for him to slip through. The lab was a maze of steel tables and humming equipment, bathed in the sterile glow of overhead LEDs.

Glass tanks lined the far wall, their murky contents swirling with movement - something skittered behind the frosted glass, too fast to track. spiders.

"Cool," he muttered, stepping further inside.

Jisung's fingers hovered over the nearest microscope, its lens gleaming under the lab lights. The surface was cool to the touch. Before he could explore more, a sharp click from the far end of the room froze him mid reach. His breath hitched. The sound wasn't mechanical. It was footsteps.

He ducked behind a lab bench, his knee connecting painfully with a drawer handle. He bit his tongue to keep from swearing.

Through the gap between two beakers, he could just make out the silhouette of a researcher - tall, white coated, absorbed in a clipboard. The man moved methodically down the row of specimens, pausing occasionally to adjust dials or scribble notes.

When the researcher turned toward a computer terminal, Jisung seized his chance. He crab walked backward, keeping low, until his shoulder bumped into something decidedly not a lab table. it was one of the glass tanks from earlier.

The container wobbled. He lunged to steady the glass before it could shatter and give away his presence that was not allowed in this lab, but his palm slipped against the condensation slick surface. The lid shifted with a silent clink.

A spider the size of a quarter dropped onto his wrist.

Jisung's entire body locked up. The spider's legs were needle thin, its body an unnatural shade of iridescent blue that shimmered under the lab lights.

For a suspended second, neither of them moved - Jisung paralyzed by instinctive revulsion, the spider crouched like a coiled spring. Then it bit him.

The pain was sharp and sudden, Jisung clamped his free hand over his mouth to smother the yelp threatening to escape. The researcher's footsteps paused.

"Who's there?"

Jisung froze. His wrist burned where the spider's fangs had pierced his skin, the pain radiating up his arm in slow, crawling waves.

The spider twitched between his fingers, its iridescent body pulsing unnaturally as he pinched it. For a split second, he considered tossing it aside - but the memory of its bite made his stomach twist.

Without thinking, he squished it between his finger, killing it.

Jisung grimaced, wiping his hand against his pants as the researcher's footsteps grew louder. He ducked lower behind the lab bench. A clipboard clattered onto the table above him, followed by the metallic click of a pen. The researcher muttered something under his breath - numbers, maybe, or measurements - before his shoes squeaked against the floor, turning away.

Jisung exhaled silently through his nose. His wrist throbbed. The bite mark was already red, the skin around it blotchy and hot to the touch. He flexed his fingers experimentally, half expecting his hand to lock up, but aside from the sting, nothing seemed immediately wrong.

The researcher's footsteps faded toward the far end of the lab. Jisung waited ten seconds before risking a glance over the edge of the bench. The man's back was turned, his attention fixed on a row of specimen jars. Jisung didn't wait. He walked backward until his shoulders hit the wall, then slid along it toward the door, keeping low.

The door clicked open just enough for him to slip through. He didn't look back.

The hallway was still empty. Jisung broke into a sprint, rounding the corner just as the lab door groaned shut behind him.

By the time he burst through the science building's side exit, the pain in his wrist had dulled to a steady ache. The sunlight hit his face, momentarily blinding him. He blinked, disoriented, before his phone buzzed violently in his pocket.

Changbin's name flashed across the screen.

Jisung fumbled with his phone, nearly dropping it as Changbin's second call lit up the screen. He swiped to answer just as a cyclist swerved around him, yelling something unflattering about his lack of spatial awareness.

"Where the hell are you?" Changbin's voice crackled through the speaker.

He rolled his wrist experimentally, half expecting a jolt of pain, but only a dull ache remained. strange, but not alarming enough to mention.

"Chill, I'm literally two minutes away," Jisung huffed into the phone, sidestepping a group of freshmen clustered around a campus map.

Jisung skidded to a halt outside the lecture hall, his sneakers squeaking against the polished floor as he yanked the door open. Twenty pairs of eyes swiveled toward him - including yours, narrowed with undisguised irritation from the front row.

The professor paused mid sentence, her laser pointer flickering against the projection screen.

"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Han," she said dryly.

Jisung flashed her a grin "Traffic was brutal."

The professor arched an eyebrow. "You live on campus."

"Exactly."

Jisung collapsed into the empty seat next to you with a sigh. Conveniently, there were no other free seats.

The professor resumed her lecture, but Jisung wasn't listening. His fingers drummed restlessly against the desk, his knee bouncing so fast it blurred. You gritted your teeth.

"Would you stop?" you hissed under your breath, jabbing your pen toward his twitching leg.

Jisung blinked at you like he'd forgotten you were there. "Stop what?"

"That." You gestured pointedly at his knee, "You're shaking the entire row."

He glanced down, as if surprised by his own body. "Huh."

Jisung blinked again, his fingers stilling mid tap against the desk. "Oh. Sorry."

He stopped. His knee went still. His fingers curled into a loose fist against the desk. Even his breathing seemed to slow, like he was consciously holding himself in check.

The professor's lecture droned on, but you couldn't focus. Your peripheral vision kept catching on Jisung's unnaturally still form.

Then he sneezed.

The sound was sharp, explosive, and entirely too loud for the lecture hall. Half the class jumped. The professor paused mid sentence, her laser pointer flickering off the screen. Jisung sniffled, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand.

"Bless you," you muttered automatically.

Jisung turned his head so fast you heard his neck crack. "Thanks," he whispered back. His voice was hoarse, like he'd been yelling earlier - though you couldn't remember hearing him speak at all today.

The strangeness of it prickled at your neck. Jisung didn't whisper. He didn't apologize. And he certainly didn't stop fidgeting for twenty straight minutes.

weird

~

after lectures, you were supposed to be studying.

Keyword: supposed.

Currently, your textbook lay abandoned as Yunjin scrolled through her phone, legs kicked up onto the library table in direct violation of at least three campus rules.

"I swear to god," she muttered, stabbing her screen, "if Professor Kang assigns one more reading—" she cut herself off with a sigh.

"I'll drop out," Yunjin announced, tossing her phone onto the table. "I'll move to a remote island. Raise goats. Never think about electron configurations again."

You snorted, flipping a page in your textbook without absorbing a single word. "You'd cry over the first goat that liked someone else better."

"Excuse you, I'm extremely likable-" Yunjin's protest cut off mid-sentence as she caught you glancing sideways for the third time in five minutes.

"Ohhhh. That's why you're failing to absorb basic chemistry. Distracted by your archnemesis over there."

You stiffened. "I don't know what you're—"

"Han Jisung," Yunjin sing songed, nodding toward the table where Jisung was slumped over a pile of notebooks, dead asleep.

His cheek was pressed against an open textbook, one arm dangling off the edge of the table, the side of his wrist adorned with what looked like a nasty bruise. A thin line of drool connected his mouth to a page. "You were staring at that."

"I was not staring," you hissed, slamming your textbook shut . Several students at nearby tables startled. Jisung didn't even twitch. "I was just—"

"Admiring his scholarly dedication?" Yunjin smirked, kicking her feet down from the table. "Or maybe his impressive drool radius?"

"I was wondering how someone who sleeps through every lecture still manages to ace every exam."

As if on cue, Jisung shifted in his sleep, his dangling arm swinging. he nearly toppled him sideways out of his chair. Your body reacted before your brain could stop it, half standing, hand outstretched - only to freeze when he somehow righted himself without waking.

Yunjin's eyebrows shot up. "Wow."

"Wow what?" You dropped back into your seat, face burning.

"Nothing," she said, stretching the word into three syllables. "Just never realized you cared so much about Jisung's spinal health."

"I just didn't want to witness a concussion in the library."

Yunjin grinned, kicking you lightly under the table. "Uh huh. Sure. That's definitely why you looked ready to dive across three tables like a superhero." She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. "You secretly like him."

You choked on air. "Like him? Are you insane? He's—" You gestured wildly toward Jisung's sleeping form. "—that. That's what he is. A menace. A sleeping menace."

"Aw, but look how peaceful he is," Yunjin cooed, feigning innocence. "Like a little angel."

At that exact moment, Jisung snorted loudly in his sleep, mumbled something unintelligible, and promptly face planted directly onto his textbook. You winced. Yunjin burst out laughing.

He lifted his head blearily, blinked at the drool smeared page stuck to his cheek, then promptly slumped back down without a single coherent thought behind his eyes.

Yunjin wiped tears from her cheeks, still giggling. "Oh my god. He's adorable."

"You're delusional," you muttered, shoving your notebook into your backpack. The zipper caught on a loose page, and you yanked it free with a frustrated huff. "Let's get lunch before I have to listen to any more of this."

Yunjin’s eyes lit up suddenly, "Oh! Right," she said, snapping her fingers as you shoved the last of your notebooks into your bag. "You’re coming with me to that party tonight."

You blinked. "What party?"

"The one hyunjin’s throwing at his apartment," she said, as if this were obvious. "The one I told you about last week."

"You absolutely did not."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Semantics. Anyway, after lunch, we’re going back to our dorm so you can try on at least three outfits before I approve one."

You groaned, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. "No way. I have actual responsibilities."

Yunjin stood, shoving her phone into her pocket "Nope. You’ve been holed up in the library for weeks. You’re coming, and you’re going to socialize, and you’re going to like it." She paused, then added with a smirk, "Unless you’d rather stay here and stare at Jisung some more."

You nearly tripped over your own feet. "What? I wasn’t—"

"Uh huh." She linked her arm through yours, steering you toward the library exit "lunch first, outfits second, party third. No arguments."

You dug your heels in halfway to the door. "What if I want to argue? - who the hell even hosts a party on a school night-"

Yunjin sighed dramatically, turning to face you with a look of exaggerated pity. "Sweet, naive, delusional you. When have your arguments ever worked on me?"

"...Never."

"Exactly." She patted your cheek. "Now move. I’m starving."

You did end up going according to Yunjin’s plans - not that you had a choice, given she’d physically dragged you out of the library, then out of your dorm.

to top it all off, you had to wait for her because if you didn't, there'd be no one to take her drunk ass home, and you'd end up finding her in a ditch somewhere next morning.

so you had to wait till the asscrack of the night to take her home because no matter how un enjoyable a party is, you were not a bad friend.

and you were gonna be so late tomorrow.

~

The blaring alarm tore Jisung from his sleep this time. He gasped awake, limbs tangled in sheets that felt suspiciously sticky - had he spilled something last night? His hand shot out blindly toward the nightstand, fingers slapping against anything but his phone.

The alarm continued shrieking. Jisung groaned, pawing at the edge of his nightstand until his fingertips brushed warm metal. He grabbed his phone and hit the screen repeatedly-

The screen cracked under Jisung's fingers with a pop when he swiped to turn off the alarm. not a full shatter, but a spiderweb of fractures radiating from his thumbprint.

He blinked at it, sleep fogged brain struggling to process why his phone screen suddenly broke just from a few taps of his finger.

The display still functioned beneath the damage, the time, 8:15AM, visible through the splintered glass. Jisung flexed his fingers. He hadn't pushed that hard. Had he?

Jisung frowned, pushing himself up onto his elbows. The cracked phone screen wasn't the only thing that felt off, his head throbbed like he'd pulled an all nighter.

He grabbed his glasses from the nightstand, fingers fumbling with the frames in his haste.

The moment he slid them on, the world tilted.

Everything blurred into a nauseating smear of colors and shapes - like someone had smeared Vaseline across his lenses.

Jisung ripped the glasses off his face. The world snapped into focus, he could see perfectly without his glasses. He blinked rapidly. His vision hadn't been this clear since elementary school.

"What the fuck," he whispered, turning his hands over in front of his face. The calluses on his fingertips stood out in stark relief, the whorls of his fingerprints unnervingly detailed.

He rubbed his eyes hard till he saw colors and shapes behind his eyelids, but when he opened them again, his dorm room remained horrifically, impossibly sharp.

Jisung exhaled slowly through his nose and tossed the glasses onto the nightstand - they landed with a clatter, one temple arm snapping off completely.

His wrist itched. The bite mark from yesterday was gone.

Jisung rolled out of bed, his feet hitting the floor with an audible thud that made the loose change on his nightstand rattle.

He stretched, arms arching high above his head - and froze mid yawn when he heard the distinctive rrrip of fabric.

His sleep addled brain registered two things at once, the sudden draft across his shoulders, and the fact that his favorite hoodie, the one he’d slept in last night, now had a gaping tear along the seam.

He blinked down at himself. The fabric clung to his torso in ways it never had before, stretched taut across shoulders that suddenly looked broader. His biceps pressed against the sleeves, the cuffs riding up his wrist like they’d shrunk in the wash.

Jisung frowned and tugged at the hem. It didn’t budge.

his full length mirror confirmed it. His reflection stared back at him - same messy hair, same sleep creased cheek, but it was like he hit a second puberty overnight.

The hoodie that used to hang loose now hugged every contour of his torso, the fabric straining across his chest when he inhaled.

he took his hoodie off - since when did he have abs?? he was met with whole six pack. he even counted them.

he prodded at his own bicep experimentally, half expecting it, I don't know, deflate? It didn’t.

The bedroom door creaked open - Chan appearing at the doorway, "I swear to god, if you're still asleep-" His threat died halfway out of his mouth when he saw Jisung.

Jisung stood frozen in front of the mirror, shirtless and wide eyed, one hand still gripping the torn remains of his hoodie. The morning light caught the sharp new definition of his shoulders, the lean muscle coiled along his arms like he'd spent the last six months living in a gym.

"...Did you steal Changbin's protein shakes?"

Jisung whipped around "What? No! I just-" His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "I woke up like this."

Chan stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel. His gaze flickered over Jisung's torso - the previously soft lines of his stomach now taut, the faint shadows of ribs replaced by something decidedly more athletic.

Chan reached out and poked Jisung's bicep with two fingers. It felt like pressing against granite.

"Ow," Jisung lied automatically, then blinked. "Wait. That didn't actually hurt."

Chan's eyebrows raised. "You're telling me you went to bed and woke up as-" He gestured vaguely at Jisung's entire existence. "-whatever this is?"

A beat of silence. Then, from the hallway, "If you two are having a moment, I'm throwing myself off the window." Changbin's voice, muffled through the door.

Chan ignored him. "Did you take something? Experimental pre workout? Sketchy supplements from the gym bros?"

Jisung's fingers twitched toward his wrist - where the spider bite had been. The skin was smooth. "I might have... broken into the biotech lab yesterday."

Chan's expression grew even more confused. "okay...?"

The bedroom door slammed open before Jisung could answer. Changbin stood in the threshold, mouth already open to ask why the hell they were whispering with the door closed - then his eyes landed on Jisung’s bare torso. His eyebrows shot up. "Woah. What happened to you?"

Jisung threw his hands in the air, "I know! I woke up like - okay listen," he took a deep breath,

"yesterday I was late, like super late, so I took a shortcut through the science building even though I’m technically banned from the biotech wing after the centrifuge incident—"

Changbin mouthed 'centrifuge incident?' at Chan, who pinched the bridge of his nose.

"-and then I heard this noise from the restricted lab, right? So obviously I had to check it out-"

"You didn’t have to," Chan groaned.

"and there was this spider, this huge freaky blue one, in a tank that I maybe knocked over-"

"You knocked over-"

"-and it bit me! Right here!" Jisung brandished his unmarked wrist, "It hurt like hell yesterday but now it’s gone and suddenly I can see everything without my glasses and I just ripped my favorite hoodie like it was tissue paper-" He demonstrated by grabbing the hem of his remaining sleeve and tugging. The fabric split with a sound like tearing paper.

Changbin's mouth dropped open. Chan's blinked in disbelief.

"Okay," Chan said very slowly, "So you're telling me a genetically modified spider bit you, and now you're..." He gestured vaguely at Jisung's new physique. "This?"

Jisung flexed his arms experimentally. His biceps jumped under his skin "I mean, when you say it like that-"

Changbin suddenly lunged forward and punched Jisung square in the stomach - or tried to. His fist connected with what felt like solid concrete instead of soft flesh.

Jisung didn't even flinch. Changbin yelped, shaking out his hand. "Holy shit, dude. That's not normal."

Jisung looked down at his own abdomen, prodding the spot Changbin had hit. "Didn't feel anything." His voice went unnervingly quiet. "Should I be freaking out?"

Chan grabbed Jisung's shoulders - or attempted to, before his fingers slipped off the unexpected slope of muscle. "You shouldn't be able to bench press a car after one spider bite!"

"Technically I haven't tried that yet-"

The alarm on Jisung’s shattered phone blared again, 8:45AM, and Chan visibly flinched. “Shit. Class starts in fifteen.”

Changbin was already halfway out the door, yelling over his shoulder, “I’m not getting marked absent because you two want to dissect Jisung’s sudden glow up!”

Chan walked out of Jisung's room too, coming back after a moment,

"Here," Chan grunted, tossing a black hoodie at Jisung's face. It smelled faintly of fabric softener and Chan's inexplicably expensive cologne. "It's the biggest one I've got. Don't pop the seams."

~

Jisung reached campus a full minute before Chan and Changbin, his sneakers skidding to a halt outside the lecture hall with unnatural ease.

His lungs barely burned, just a pleasant warmth where there should have been heaving breaths.

He turned, bouncing on his toes while waiting for his roommates to catch up, when a sudden prickle raced down his spine. His scalp tingled.

Something was about to happen.

The prickle exploded into full body alarm a half second before the weight hit him.

Jisung spun without thinking - his hands snapping up just as you tripped. His palm connected with your shoulder an instant before you would have face planted into his chest.

The force should have sent both of you crashing to the ground, but Jisung didn’t budge an inch - just absorbed the impact like you weighed nothing.

Your coffee wasn’t so lucky, The cup slipped from your grip. Jisung’s free hand shot out, snatching it mere inches from the ground. Hot liquid sloshed against the inside of the lid but didn’t spill. He held it there, frozen, your shoulder still cradled in his other hand, both of you staring at each other in stunned silence.

Up close, you could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes - something you’d never noticed before.

“You-” you started.

“I-” he interrupted at the same time.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Uh. You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, too quickly. His hands were still there.

Jisung blinked like he’d just remembered they were attached to him, then jerked them away. The coffee wobbled dangerously in his grip. You grabbed it before it could spill .

“Late too?” he asked, stuffing his hands into the pockets of Chan’s hoodie.

You nodded, adjusting your bag strap. “Yeah.”

You stared at him for a second too long, suddenly noticing how the hoodie strained across his shoulders - when had Han Jisung gotten broad? The absence of his usual thick framed glasses left his face strangely exposed, his cheekbones and dark lashes more pronounced than you remembered.

"Thanks," you muttered, brushing nonexistent lint off your sweater where his hands had been.

After a beat, you added, "Good reflexes," because it was true and you hated leaving truths unsaid, even for him.

Jisung blinked at you, momentarily stunned by the compliment - his mouth opened, closed, then opened again. A faint pink spread across his cheeks, "Uh," he managed. His fingers twitched toward his face, a habitual gesture to push up glasses that weren't there, before aborting the motion halfway.

"Uh, thanks," Jisung managed after an awkward pause, He cleared his throat "I mean - you're welcome. Obviously. Because I saved your life."

"You caught my coffee," you corrected flatly, lifting the cup slightly as evidence.

His grin returned, familiar. "Same difference." He rocked back on his heels, "You would've face planted on the pavement if I hadn't intervened. Tragic, really."

"I take it back. Never complimenting you again."

before he could retort, Changbin's voice cut through the courtyard "If you two are done flirting, we're gonna be late!" He stood at the lecture hall doors with Chan, who was rubbing his temples like he'd aged ten years in the past hour.

Jisung whipped around so fast his sneakers squeaked against the pavement. "We're not-!"

You walked past him before he could finish the sentence, shoulders brushing hard against his as you passed.

~

Jisung didn't plan to become a hero - it just sort of happened at 1:37 AM outside a convenience store three nights after The Bite.

He'd been pacing his dorm room, fingers twitching with pent up energy, when Chan threw a couch cushion his head and told him to "go climb a building or something, Jesus Christ."

So he did. Sort of. Mostly he just jumped fire escapes until his thighs burned and his lungs finally felt normal again, which is how he ended up perched on a rusty AC unit overlooking the 24 hour convenience store when the guy in the ski mask walked in waving a gun.

The gun glinted under the lights of the convenience store, its barrel wavering between the cashier and the racks of snacks. Jisung's body moved before his brain caught up, one second he was crouched on the AC unit, the next he was dropping through the open window like a damn action hero.

His sneakers hit the floor with barely a sound, knees bending to absorb the impact that should've shattered his ankles. The robber whirled around, gun swinging wildly. Time slowed. Jisung saw the trigger finger tense, saw the cashier duck behind the counter.

He lunged.

What happened next was equal parts luck and whatever the hell that spider had pumped into his veins. His palm smacked the gun sideways just as it discharged - the bullet embedding itself in a display of energy drinks with a sickening thunk.

Jisung's other hand grabbed the guy's wrist, twisting until the gun clattered to the floor. The would be robber screamed. Not from pain, Jisung realized, but from the sight of his own fingers bending the wrong way under Jisung's grip. He let go like he'd been burned. The guy bolted, leaving his ski mask behind in Jisung's fist.

Silence.

Jisung didn’t realize he was holding his breath until the cashier wheezed out a shaky "Holy shit." The gun lied abandoned on the floor between them, still warm from the misfired shot.

Jisung stared at it, then at his own hands - his bare hands, no gloves, no mask, just his stupidly recognizable face that was probably caught on camera. His stomach dropped.

Chan was going to murder him.

The cashier - a guy his age with a nametag reading 'jeongin' - slowly straightened from behind the counter, eyes darting between Jisung and the discarded ski mask. "...Are you gonna rob me too?"

"What? No!" Jisung’s voice cracked. He kicked the gun farther away for emphasis. "I just-" He gestured vaguely at the empty space where the robber had been. "-stopped that guy. Obviously."

The ski mask stared up at Jisung from the convenience store floor. He scooped it up, fingers brushing the rough knit fabric, still warm from the robber's panicked sweat.

The cashier was already dialing the police with shaking hands, but Jisung's feet were moving before his brain caught up. He bolted out the door like he was the criminal, the stolen mask crumpled in his fist.

His knees nearly buckled when he hit the pavement - the sudden realization that he'd just stopped an armed robbery barefaced hit him.

Jisung sprinted down three alleys and ducked behind a dumpster just as police sirens wailed past the mouth of the alley. His heart hammered against his ribs, not from fear, but from something far worse. exhilaration.

He lifted the ski mask toward his face, hesitating for just a second before remembering its previous owner had been sweating bullets into the fabric.

He tentatively sniffed it - then recoiled so hard his head smacked against the dumpster behind him.

"Yuck," a stench clung to it, absolutely not.

He sprinted home in record time, sneakers barely touching the pavement. His enhanced legs carried him up the fire escape in three leaps. The window to their apartment's living room was still cracked open from his earlier escape, curtains fluttering in the night breeze. Jisung slid inside, falling right onto his ass.

"Ow," Changbin deadpanned from his bed, not looking up from his phone.

Jisung scrambled upright, ski mask still clutched in one hand. His gaze flicked from Jisung's disheveled hair to the crumpled mask.

Chan’s eyebrow twitched. “So. You robbed a robber.”

Jisung flapped the ski mask like a surrender flag. “No! I disarmed a robber. Then maybe borrowed his mask. Temporarily.”

Changbin snorted "And you didn’t think to cover your face before playing hero?"

this rooted a bad, bad idea into jisungs head.

he spent the next morning hunched over Chan’s laptop, scrolling through fabric stores frantically. His fingers drummed against the keyboard, pausing only to zoom in on a breathable material that promised "enhanced mobility" and "sweat wicking technology."

The description sounded like something straight out of a superhero movie - which, he supposed, was exactly what he needed now.

Chan watched from the doorway, arms crossed. "You realize this is insane, right?"

Jisung didn’t look up. "Less insane than stopping another robbery barefaced."

his first attempt at making a suit for his superhero persona was a disaster.

Jisung had underestimated the complexity of sewing stretch fabric, resulting in a lopsided mess of seams that bunched uncomfortably around his shoulders.

The second attempt fared slightly better - until he tested its durability by scaling the dorm’s exterior wall, only for the pants to split straight down the middle mid climb.

soon enough, Chan saw jisung's genuine dedication, and had taken pity on him. they spent late nights hunched over fabric scraps, Chan’s steady hands guiding the sewing machine - that chan bought from is own money earned from DJ gigs, mind you - while Jisung sketched designs in the margins of his notebooks.

The final prototype emerged from their shared efforts, a sleek red and blue suit with reinforced stitching and breathable mesh panels. The mask took another three attempts before achieving the perfect fit, complete with oversized white lenses that concealed his identity while enhancing his already unnaturally sharp vision.

Jisung examined himself in the dorm’s full length mirror for the first time, twisting to check the fit. The suit hugged his new musculature without restricting movement, the fabric stretching effortlessly as he flexed. He rolled his shoulders experimentally - it was the most comfortable model so far.

"Okay," Chan admitted, "That actually looks... decent."

Changbin tossed an empty soda can at Jisung’s head from across the room. Jisung caught it without looking, reflexes kicking in. The can crumpled further in his grip.

"Show off," Changbin muttered.

The mask was the final piece. Jisung hesitated before pulling it on, fingertips brushing the blank white lenses. Once these went on, it'd be an official embodiment of... whatever this was.

The fabric settled over his face. His breathing echoed strangely in the enclosed space, but his vision remained clear. He blinked, adjusting to the surreal sensation of seeing more while being seen less.

Chan exhaled sharply. "Well. That's... a look."

Jisung twisted to examine his reflection in the mirror. The suit clung to his new physique like a second skin, the red and blue panels accentuating rather than hiding the slope of his shoulders. with a spider logo stitched across the center of his chest.

"So. What now?" chan cleared his throat.

Jisung exhaled through the mask, watching the fabric flutter slightly with his breath. "Now I test it."

His fingers found purchase on the brickwork without thought, his body moving with an instinct he shouldn't possess. He scaled the dormitory wall in seconds. Below, Seoul sprawled in a grid of neon and shadow, its pulse thrumming through the pavement under his palms.

He jumped.

The world tilted. His stomach lurched from the sheer impossibility of what his body was doing. He arced over the alleyway, arms outstretched, fingertips brushing the opposite fire escape before his feet even registered the landing.

The impact should have shattered his knees. Instead, he rolled smoothly onto the grated metal platform, his pulse steady in his ears.

That was when he heard a scream.

It cut through the ambient city noise . Jisung's head snapped toward the sound. Four blocks northeast. A woman's scream. fear, urgent terror in her voice.

He moved.

His body propelled him forward before conscious thought could interfere. The city blurred around him as he swung from ledges, his shot web lines that shouldn't have held his weight. Yet they did.

The polymer strands stretched taut as he launched himself between buildings, and landed on the third story balcony of a love hotel just as the scene unfolded below, a man dragging a woman toward a waiting car, her heels scraping against pavement as she fought.

Jisung didn't think, he immediately droped down, landing between the assailant and the car with a thud. The man recoiled, dragging the woman tighter against him as a human shield. Up close, Jisung could see the knife glinting in his free hand, the woman's smudged mascara.

"Back off!" the man snarled, blade pressing into her side.

Jisung's hands came up instinctively, palms out. The woman's wide eyes locked onto his mask. "You're-" she gasped.

Then everything happened at once. The man lunged, knife flashing. Jisung's body moved - his hand shot out, catching the blade mid air. Metal screeched against reinforced fabric, but didn't pierce.

The man's eyes widened comically as Jisung twisted his wrist, sending the knife clattering to the ground.

The knife skittered across the pavement. Jisung didn’t wait for the guy to process what had just happened, he pivoted on his heel, using his own momentum to yank the woman free in one motion.

She stumbled forward, gasping, but Jisung was already stepping between them, his body angled to shield her completely.

“Run,” he said. The word came out muffled and distorted through the mask, more like a growl than actual speech. The woman didn’t need to be told twice. She bolted, heels clicking against the sidewalk as she disappeared around the corner.

The would be attacker stared at Jisung, then at his own empty hand, then back at Jisung. “What the hell are you?”

Jisung's breath hitched behind the mask - What was he? A broke college student who'd bitten off more than he could chew. A walking science experiment. Definitely not someone who should be standing between an armed assailant and certain doom at 3 AM on a Tuesday.

"Uh," he managed, voice cracking through the fabric. "spiderman?"

The man lunged. Jisung sidestepped on instinct, the guy's momentum carried him straight into a dumpster with a metallic clang that echoed down the alley. Jisung winced. That had to hurt.

Police sirens wailed in the distance, close enough to spook the would be kidnapper, who scrambled upright and bolted in the opposite direction.

Jisung let him go. Chasing him down would mean explaining why he was dressed like a rejected Power Ranger, and frankly, he'd already pushed his luck far enough for one night.

Jisung crouched on the rooftop ledge, peeling off the mask with a wet shluck sound - the fabric sticking stubbornly to his sweaty forehead.

Below, the woman he'd rescued was giving a statement to the police, gesturing wildly toward the rooftops. He ducked back before she could spot him.

His phone buzzed violently against his thigh. Chan's caller ID flashed across the cracked screen, followed immediately by Changbin's bombardment of texts

BRO

DID YOU JUST GO VIRAL ON TWITTER

THERES VIDEO OF YOU DOING A BACKFLIP OVER A CAR

Jisung groaned, flopping onto his back. Gravel dug into his shoulder blades through the suit. Above him, Seoul's light pollution drowned out the stars, leaving only a murky orange haze.

He held up his phone, squinting at the blurry footage someone had uploaded. there he was, mid backflip, his red and blue suit a neon smear against the night. The caption read

Spiderman??? In SEOUL????

The first tweet had thirty seven likes. By morning, it had seventeen thousand and counting.

Jisung woke to Changbin shoving his phone in his face, screen displaying a grainy video of someone in a red and blue suit flipping over a moving car. "Congratulations," Changbin said. "You're a meme now."

Chan was less amused. He paced their dorm room, pausing only to read the growing pile of news articles on his laptop:

SPIDERMAN IN SEOUL? SUPER-HERO OR SUPER-ZERO?

before rounding on Jisung. "This," he hissed, jabbing a finger at the screen, "is the opposite of keeping a low profile."

Jisung groaned into his pillow. "It was one car."

~

You'd seen the videos. Everyone had. Grainy footage of some idiot in red and blue flipping over cars and catching falling flowerpots like it was nothing. The internet had collectively lost its mind - #SpiderManSeoul was still trending and it's been a whole two weeks - but you refused to join the hype.

"Obviously fake," you muttered in the cafeteria, stabbing your chopsticks into a piece of kimchi. The table next to yours erupted into excited chatter about the latest clip, Spiderman allegedly stopping a truck from hitting a pedestrian near Hongdae.

Yunjin slammed her phone down on the cafeteria table hard enough to make your soup bowl rattle. "That's three robberies he's stopped this week," she hissed, scrolling through blurry footage. "How can you still think this is fake?"

You rolled your eyes, stirring your half cold soup. "Easy. Because physics don't work like that, and neither do people." You pointed your chopsticks at her phone screen where 'Spiderman' was currently doing something that should've snapped his spine in five places. "That's either CGI or a really dedicated performance artist with a death wish."

Across the table, Yunjin made a noise like a deflating balloon. "You're impossible." She flicked to another video, this one showing the vigilante webbing a purse snatcher to a lamppost mid sprint. "Explain that then,"

You leaned in, squinting at the pixelated mess. "Okay one, that 'web' looks suspiciously like industrial grade fishing line. Two-" you tapped the timestamp in the corner "-this was filmed at 2 AM near Hongdae. Everyone's either drunk or sleep deprived enough to hallucinate shit like this."

You snorted into your soup, watching Yunjin's face contort in frustration. "Honestly, anyone dumb enough to believe in 'Spiderman' probably thinks pigeons are government drones too." You waved a dismissive hand toward her phone. "He's probably just some adrenaline junkie with too much free time and a GoPro."

From the neighboring table, someone choked on their rice. You glanced over just in time to see Jisung wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Chan smacked him hard on his back, whether to help him breathe or silence him, you couldn't tell.

"Or," Jisung wheezed, voice still rough from coughing, "maybe he's actually helping people?" He twisted in his seat to face you fully, elbows propped on the table behind him. "Ever think of that, genius?"

Changbin groaned audibly and slid down in his chair.

You arched an eyebrow. "Didn't realize you were such a Spiderman fan, Han. Got a poster of him over your bed?"

Jisung's ears turned pink. "I'm just saying-" he jabbed a chopstick in your direction "-if someone's stopping crimes for free, maybe don't trash talk them while chewing with your mouth full."

Yunjin added "You're just jealous because you can't backflip over cars."

"I could if I wanted to," you shot back, knowing full well your athletic abilities peaked at speed walking to morning lectures.

Jisung snorted. "Sure, and I'm the queen of England."

Chan materialized between the tables. His palm hit Jisung’s shoulder with a dull thwack that knocked him forward into his bibimbap. “We’re late,” Chan announced, already dragging Jisung upright by the collar like a misbehaving kitten.

Jisung spluttered, chopsticks clattering to the tray. “Late for what?”

“The thing,” Changbin interjected smoothly, sliding out of his seat “The very important thing.”

You watched as Chan dragged Jisung toward the exit, Jisung still craning his neck to shout over his shoulder, “Ask me about my queen of England autograph later!”

Chan’s exasperated groan echoed down the hallway as the door swung shut behind them.

Left in their abrupt absence, you blinked at Yunjin. “What the hell was that about?”

She shrugged, scrolling through more Spiderman footage. “Dunno, but Han Jisung defending a vigilante’s honor is weirder than you denying literal video evidence.”

She paused the playback right as Spiderman executed a midair twist that defied every law of physics. “anyway, I think you’re just salty because Spiderman could probably out academic you and out athletic you.”

well...he literally did.

~

your disbelief in spiderman came back and smacked you right in the face.

you were at the library after you finished your lectures for the day, the library was unusually quiet for midterm season, the usual chatter replaced by the frantic scratching of pens and the occasional sniffle from sleep deprived students. You rubbed your temples, staring at the same differential equations page for forty five minutes straight. At this rate, you'd be here until sunrise, again.

Outside, Seoul had long since plunged into darkness, the campus pathways illuminated only by streetlamps. You hesitated at the library doors - your dorm was a fifteen minute walk through the least lit part of campus, but the alternative was another all nighter hunched over textbooks.

You'd taken three steps onto the pavement when the first catcall sliced through the quiet.

A group of drunk frat boys loitered near the bus stop, their laughter too loud, eyes tracking your movement.

You tightened your grip on your backpack straps and picked up the pace. Their footsteps followed, uneven against the pavement.

"Hey sweetheart, why you walking so fast?"

Your pulse jackhammered against your ribs. The shortcut through the engineering building's side alley was suddenly a terrible idea — too narrow, too dark, too isolated. You fumbled for your phone just as a hand grabbed your elbow.

Your elbow jerked instinctively, but the grip tightened. One of the drunk guys leaned in, his breath sour with soju as he slurred, "Don't be like that. We're just walking you home."

The others chuckled, closing ranks around you. Your phone slipped from your sweating fingers, clattering to the pavement.

You tried to say something, anything, but your voice came out shaky and thin, "Let go," you managed, but it sounded more like a question than a command.

The guy holding your elbow laughed, his grip tightening just enough to make your bones protest. His friends shuffled closer, their shadows swallowing the dim streetlight whole.

A second hand clamped onto your shoulder from behind. "Relax," someone slurred. "We're nice guys."

You twisted against the hold, but there were too many of them, too many hands, too many laughs, too many bodies boxing you in.

Then, movement. A flicker of red and blue in your peripheral vision. One of the drunk guys yelped as his hand was suddenly gone from your arm, yanked backward by an invisible force. The others barely had time to turn before something - someone - slammed into their midst like a human wrecking ball.

The drunk guy's hand vanished from your elbow with a wet thwip sound, followed by his startled scream as he was yanked backward into a dumpster.

His buddies whirled around - just in time to see a red and blue blur drop from the fire escape above, landing between them with a crouch.

"Hey guys," Spiderman said, tilting his head. The blank white lenses of his mask made his expression unreadable, "Didn't your moms teach you it's rude to grope strangers?"

One of the drunk guys lunged. Spiderman sidestepped without looking, webbing the guy's sneakers to the sidewalk mid swing. The dude faceplanted with a grunt, his friends gaping as he struggled against the sticky white strands now gluing his shoes to concrete.

"Oops," Spiderman said, tapping his chin. "Must've slipped."

Another guy charged. Spiderman flipped over him effortlessly, landing on the dumpster lid with a metallic clang. "Wow," he mused, watching the guy stumble past. "You're really bad at this. Like, impressively bad."

You stood frozen against the alley wall, watching Spiderman web the third guy's hands to his own jacket zipper. "There," he said, patting the stuck zipper. "Now you can't unzip or zip. Poetic, right?"

The last drunk guy made a break for it. Spiderman sighed dramatically. "Come on, man. Group project participation counts toward your final grade." A web shot out, snagging the runner's ankle mid stride.

He yelped as Spiderman reeled him in like a fish, depositing him neatly beside his webbed up friends.

Spiderman dusted off his gloves. "Alright, team huddle! Here's the deal-" he crouched to their eye level,

"-next time you think about cornering someone in a dark alley? Don't." He tapped the first guy's forehead with one finger. "Or I find you."

The drunk guys paled. Spiderman straightened, turning toward you then froze. His masked head tilted slightly, the lenses widening almost imperceptibly.

You realized three things at once

one, Your knees were shaking.

two, Spiderman was much shorter in person than the videos made him seem.

three, You'd dropped your phone and backpack during the scuffle, and your differential equations notes were now scattered across the alley like confetti.

Spiderman bent to gather your papers, his movements almost... familiar. He stacked them neatly and held them out. "You, uh. You okay?" His voice was softer now, the earlier bravado gone.

You took the notes with numb fingers. "Yeah. Thanks." The words came out hoarse.

Spiderman nodded awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Cool. Coolcoolcool." He cleared his throat. "So. Should I web these guys to a lamppost for the cops, or...?"

One of the webbed up drunks whimpered.

You swallowed hard. "Lamppost's good."

Spiderman saluted. "Lamppost it is."

Spiderman made quick work of securing the drunk guys to the nearest lamppost, his webs forming a messy cocoon around their legs. One of them hiccuped pathetically as Spiderman gave the webbing an experimental tug. "There," he said cheerfully. "Now you can reflect on your mistakes while waiting for the cops."

You hugged your notes to your chest, still processing the fact that Spiderman, the same one you'd spent weeks insisting was fake, just saved you.

"You're... shorter than I expected," you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Spiderman's head snapped up. For a second, the mask's lenses just... stared.

Then he pressed a hand to his chest. "Excuse you, I'm perfectly average height for a-" He cut himself off abruptly, clearing his throat. "Anyway. You're welcome for saving your life or whatever."

"You didn't save my life," you muttered, kneeling to gather the last of your scattered pens.

Spiderman made a noise between a laugh and a wheeze. "Right. Sorry for interrupting your very important... pen collecting."

You looked up at him, "I was handling it."

"Uh huh." He crossed his arms, the red fabric stretching taut over his shoulders. "Because saying 'let go' in a squeaky voice is totally handling it."

Your cheeks burned. "I wasn't squeaky."

Spiderman's mask tilted slightly, "Sure," he drawled, dragging the word out.

You opened your mouth to retort when a police siren wailed in the distance. Spiderman's head snapped toward the sound, his posture more alert. "Right. That's my cue." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Need a swing home?"

You blinked. "A what?"

Before you could protest, he'd already grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but careful, "Do you trust me?"

"No," you said immediately.

Spiderman grinned beneath his mask - you could hear it in his voice. "Perfect."

Then he yanked you forward before you could react, making you drop your bag in the process, his other hand shooting a web line to the nearest rooftop with a sharp thwip.

Your stomach lurched violently as your feet left the pavement, the ground dropping away beneath you with terrifying speed.

You shrieked, instinctively locking your arms around his neck in a death grip as the world tilted sideways. Buildings blurred past, wind howling in your ears loud enough to drown out your own panicked breathing.

Spiderman's arm banded around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as he swung into open air. "Relax!" he shouted over the rush of wind. "I've only dropped one person!"

"WHAT?!" You dug your fingers into his shoulders hard enough to bruise - if normal humans could bruise whatever weird super skin he had.

"Kidding!" He adjusted his grip slightly, angling his body to catch the updraft as he launched you both higher.

he released the web line, freefalling for one terrifying second before another thwip sent you arcing upward again. The city sprawled beneath you, the view would've been beautiful if you weren't convinced you were about to become sidewalk confetti.

"wait- you passed my dorm!" you yelled over the wind, nails digging into Spiderman's shoulders as another swing took your breath away. The familiar building of your residence hall flashed below - then vanished behind you .

Spiderman's grip tightened fractionally around your waist. "Yeah, well," he called back, voice strained from the wind and what sounded suspiciously like laughter, "you looked like you could use some fresh air!"

You tried to say something back, but your words dissolved into a startled squeak as the city tilted dizzyingly. Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, but somewhere between the fourth and fifth swing, you realized your death grip had eased slightly. Maybe it was the way his arm stayed locked around your waist like a seatbelt, or how he angled his body to shield you from the worst of the wind.

"See?" Spiderman's said, "Not so bad once you stop trying to strangle me." He flipped midair just to hear you yelp, catching another webline with practiced ease.

"You're insane!" you managed, but your arms relaxed incrementally as you adjusted to the rhythm of his swings. The initial terror dulled into adrenaline, mixed with reluctant awe as Seoul sprawled beneath you in glowing grids.

The Han River flashed between buildings, and for one insane second, you understood why people did extreme sports.

Then Spiderman corkscrewed sideways without warning, shooting a web toward a higher rooftop. "check out this view!"

Before you could protest, he backflipped off the webline, sending you both soaring over a pedestrian bridge in a wide arc. Your stomach dropped straight to your shoes.

and suddenly you let out a laugh at the sheer absurdity of everything. at the fact that you were saved by spiderman in an alley, at the fact that you were finally getting your first breath of fresh air after days of being cooped up in either your room, or the library, or the lecture Hall.

The sound burst out, bright and startled against the roar of wind. Spiderman's head snapped toward you so fast, then he laughed too, the sound muffled by the mask but real, bubbling up from somewhere deep in his chest as he swung you both higher.

you spent a minute or two like that. Spiderman took a sharper turn than intended, nearly clipping a Samsung billboard with his shoulder. "Shit, sorry!" he yelped, twisting midair to avoid impact.

The sudden jerk should have terrified you, but instead you just laughed harder, your fingers loosening their death grip on his shoulders as you clung to him more out of habit than panic now.

"Are you trying to kill me?" you shouted over the wind, a smile still on your face.

"Only a little!" he called back.

Your dorm building came into view far below, Spiderman slowed his swings gradually, letting momentum carry you both downward in gentler arcs until. He landed with surprising grace on the sidewalk out front, setting you down carefully - though your legs wobbled like jelly the second your sneakers hit concrete.

"Whoa there," he chuckled, steadying you with a hand on your elbow. You swayed slightly as your feet touched solid ground again, still dizzy from the swinging.

Spiderman's gloved hands lingered on your elbows, steadying you. "You good?" His voice was softer now .

"I'm-" You swallowed hard, willing your legs to stop shaking. "I'm alive. Which is... surprising."

The adrenaline was fading now, leaving you strangely lightheaded. "I... thanks. Really." The words came out quieter than you intended, but you meant them.

"Yeah. No problem. That's kind of... the whole point of the suit." He gestured vaguely at himself, the red fabric stretching with the movement.

You snorted despite yourself. "Yeah, well. You're still insufferable."

"Ouch. And here I was going to offer you a free ride anytime."

"Hard pass," you said immediately, but you were smiling, a small, reluctant thing.

Spiderman chuckled, the sound muffled by his mask. He rocked back on his heels slightly. For a second, neither of you spoke, just stood there in the quiet aftermath, the distant city sounds filling the space between you.

Then he straightened. "Right. Don't get kidnapped again."

you smiled. "I'll try."

Spiderman gave a two fingered salute, already backing toward the alley wall. "If you do get kidnapped again-" he shot a webline upward without looking, the *thwip* cutting through the night air "-I'll be there." He tugged the web experimentally before adding, "But try not to make it a habit, yeah? My web fluid's expensive."

Before you could retort, he launched himself upward with a sudden burst of movement, the red and blue blur disappearing over the rooftop edge before you even processed the motion.

You stood frozen on the sidewalk, staring at the empty space where he'd been, your brain still trying to reconcile the fact that Spiderman - the same Spiderman you'd spent days dismissing as fake - had just swung you across half of Seoul.

The walk up to your dorm felt surreal. Your legs were stilll shakey, and you were still slightly dizzy.

You collapsed onto your bed fully dressed, convinced you'd lie awake replaying the night's events - then promptly passed out the second your head hit the pillow.

outside, Spiderman nearly faceplanted into a building mid swing. Because he was smiling like an absolute idiot under his mask, cheeks aching from the stupid, unstoppable smile that had been plastered on his face since he'd heard you laugh mid air.

He landed on the fire escape of their building, still buzzing with adrenaline. Peeling off the mask felt like surfacing from underwater - cool air hitting his sweaty face, the sounds of the city rushing back in clearly.

he shoved the window open, tumbling into the living room. Chan and Changbin were sprawled on the couch when Jisung crashed through the window.

Changbin glanced up from his phone. "Oh good, you didn't die." He paused his game just long enough to take in Jisung's disheveled state, mask off, hair sticking up in wild directions, and that ridiculous grin still plastered across his face. "Wait. Why do you look like that?"

"guys, you won't believe what just happened"

Jisung was halfway through inhaling to launch into his story when he froze mid breath, his eyes widening comically. "Wait - shit, her bag" He scrambled to his feet so fast he nearly tripped over.

Chan blinked. "Whose-"

"Be right back!" Jisung yanked the mask back over his head, the lenses setteling into place as he lunged for the window. "Forgot something super important"

Changbin's shout of "What the hell-" was cut off by the sharp thwip of a web line as Jisung flung himself back into the night.

~

You woke to sunlight stabbing your eyelids and the distinct sensation of having been hit by a bus.

The events of last night rushed back in - drunk guys, Spiderman, swinging through Seoul.

You groaned into your pillow, half convinced it had all been some dream.

Then a gust of wind hit your face like a slap. You squinted against the sunlight, realizing with a start that your window was wide open, and you definitely hadn’t left it that way.

you scrambled out of bed and approached your window sil. There, dangling from a single strand of web, was your missing backpack.

The backpack swung slightly as you reached out, the web strand stretching oddly. You tugged it free with a disgusting schlorp sound, and you saw a folded square of notebook paper stuck to the fabric with another glob of web.

You peeled it off with two fingers, The note was written in messy, angular handwriting that looked familiar.

you dropped this. your phone is inside too, you're welcome.

also, you snore.

- s

you stared at it, brain short circuiting between he brought my bag back and he watched me sleep?! before settling on the most pressing question, how the hell had Spiderman even known which dorm was yours? You hadn't told him. You were certain of it.

but maybe he'd just checked every single window till he found you -which would be extremely creepy, but made sense.

"There you are," Yunjin's voice cut through your spinning thoughts. You spun around to find her leaning against your doorframe, hair still mussed from sleep, squinting at you. "I was worried sick - where the hell were you last night?"

You opened your mouth - then froze. The backpack in your hands suddenly felt like damning evidence. "Library," you blurted too quickly.

Yunjin’s eyes dropped to the backpack in your hands, then narrowed at the sticky web residue still clinging to the fabric. Her gaze flicked to the note in your hands, then back to you. "Library," she repeated flatly. "Right."

She padded into your room, plucking the note from your hand with two fingers, then reading it, "You do snore," she said laughed, squinting at the handwriting. "Also, who the hell wrote this, who's 's'?" She waved the note in your face, the web glue still tacky.

You snatched it back. "no one."

She pointed at the webs on your bag. "spider webs?" Her voice pitched higher. "Did you, oh my god. Did Spiderman bring you home last night?"

She planted herself on your bed, legs crossed. "Start talking. Now." Her eyes flicked to your window, then back to you "And don’t even think about leaving out the part where Spiderman apparently knows where you live."

You sighed, sitting infront of her, "It’s not that dramatic. Some guys were being creeps last night, Spiderman showed up, webbed them to a lamppost, and then-" You hesitated, "And then he insisted on swinging me home."

Yunjin’s eyebrows shot up. "Swinging you home?" She grabbed your shoulders, shaking you slightly. "You swung through the city with spiderman?!"

"Yes! And it was terrifying!" You pried her hands off your shoulders. "And also... kind of amazing? But mostly terrifying. I almost threw up on him twice."

Yunjin's mouth fell open. "You- what" She grabbed your shoulders again, shaking you "You rode Spiderman?!"

"Swinging with Spiderman!" you corrected, cheeks flushing as you smacked her hands away.

Yunjin's grin turned positively feral as she flopped onto your bed, "Details. Now. How tall was he?"

"he's definitely shorter than you'd expect"

"Did he smell nice? Was he hot under the mask? Did he-"

"I didn't see his face. And you're disgusting," you hissed, chucking a pillow at her face.

"I'm invested," she corrected, hugging the pillow to her chest. "Also, I told you he was real."

You groaned, collapsing onto the bed beside her. "Okay, fine, he's real. Happy?"

"Ecstatic,"

safe to say, Yunjin wouldn't stop fangirling over this all afternoon.

~

Midterms came and went. You barely had time to process the fact that Spiderman had swung you across Seoul before exams swallowed your entire existence whole.

The only upside was that Jisung, for once, wasn't hovering around to gloat about his grades.

He seemed more busy, like he got a life or something, you'd catch him dozing off more than once, dark circles under his eyes like he hadn't slept in days.

Winter break arrived soon after. If not at some party with yunjin, you spent most of it holed up in your bedroom, halfheartedly scrolling through Spiderman footage.

The videos had multiplied exponentially, now there were compilations of him rescuing cats from trees, stopping bike thieves, even helping an old lady carry groceries up six flights of stairs when her building's elevator broke.

The comments sections were flooded with debates about whether he was a hero, a menace, or just some guy with too much time.

You never commented. But you watched.

When the new semester started, campus was buzzing with fresh Spiderman gossip. Someone claimed they'd seen him perched on the humanities building at 3 AM.

Another swore they'd spotted him buying convenience store ramen in full costume.

Yunjin, of course, had compiled an entire folder of sightings on her phone and updated you daily despite your protests.

Jisung stumbled into Professor Kim's lecture hall seventeen minutes late, face still puffy like he'd rolled straight out of bed, which, given the pillow crease still visible on his left cheek, he probably had.

he blinked blearily at the seating chart projected on the board before shuffling toward the only empty seat in the room- right next to you, of course.

"You're late," you muttered as he collapsed into the chair with a groan.

"Yeah, well," Jisung yawned so wide his jaw cracked, "tell that to the asshole who decided 9 am classes were a good idea."

His elbow slid off the desk mid sentence, nearly knocking over your water bottle before he caught it with reflexes that were still annoyingly precise despite his obvious exhaustion.

Dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes, deep enough to be visible even in the lecture hall's dim lighting. and when he reached for his notebook, you caught a glimpse of fresh scrapes across his knuckles.

You didn't think much of it - Professor Kim clears her throat, and announced the semester's major project.

"Partners are assigned randomly," she said, tapping her clipboard as murmurs rippled through the lecture hall. "No swaps, no complaints. You'll be working together for the next eight weeks."

You barely had time to dread the possibilities before the projector screen lit up with the pairings list. Your stomach dropped straight to your shoes when you saw your name right next to Han Jisung's.

"Aw, we're finally spending quality time together."

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, but didn’t protest. Because - annoyingly - Jisung would a good project partner if he bothered to focus.

“Here,” you muttered, shoving your phone across the desk toward him “Put your number in before I change my mind.”

Jisung’s eyebrows shot up, he just stared at your phone. Then his face split into that infuriating smile.

“Aw,” he cooed, snatching the phone before you could reconsider. “You do care.” His thumbs flew across the screen with alarming speed. “Should I put a heart next to my name? Or maybe-”

“If you put anything besides your name and number, i'll take Chan's number and all interactions will be through him”

Jisung pouted before deleting the heart emoji he'd already typed, and then handed your phone back. "You're no fun,"

after class was over, you spotted Yunjin leaning against the courtyard railing, scrolling through her phone per usual.

The moment she caught sight of you, her eyebrows shot up, then immediately waggled suggestively as she took in your exhausted expression.

"Let me guess," she drawled, pocketing her phone with a smirk. "Spiderman swung by again? Or was it just Han Jisung being his usual pain-in-your-ass self?"

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. "the latter." You paused, then sighed dramatically. "And also... we got paired for Kim's semester project."

Yunjin's eyes widened. "Oh my god. You're finally spending quality time together"

"You said the exact same thing he did," you groaned, "Word for word. I swear, both of you share the same overworked brain cell."

Yunjin snorted, "Girl, I wish I did share a brain cell with him, then maybe I'd actually be able to solve Kim's exams without wanting to yeet myself into the Han River."

you sighed, already drained from all the work you'd have to do this semester before it even started "then there's the university festival too"

"oh yea, what'cha planning to do for the big fair" yunjin said. "gonna work on something with han too?" she wiggled her eyebrows.

"absolutely not" you answered quickly, "I won't do anything, I'll just rest. yeah. I'll catch up on all the sleep I'm about to lose"

"aw, what a shame," yunjin said, then she leaned in, whispering, "Though honestly, if you really want to tap into that academic powerhouse, there are way more fun ways to-"

"Finish that thought and I'm throwing you into the Han River myself."

"I'm just sayin'," she said, dodging your attempt to push her, "both of you just need to have a good fuck for this rivalry to go away."

"Speaking of fucks," you said, leaning against the courtyard railing, "I’ll be working on the project at Jisung’s place most days. Which means our dorm will be delightfully empty."

You flicked a stray leaf off your sleeve "Feel free to bring your Tinder disasters over, just keep them away from my room, please"

Yunjin gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "Excuse you," she said, tossing her hair over one shoulder with exaggerated offense. "My Tinder disasters are upstanding gentlemen—"

"Who leave their boxers on your floor and eat my cereal," you deadpanned, "Just wash the sheets afterwards. And hide the good mugs."

~~~

when Jisung kicked the door open - a lethal combination of unwashed socks, stale ramen, and the faint metallic tang of something that might have been blood hit his face.

Chan looked up from his laptop just in time to see Jisung hurdle over the couch, skidding to a stop in front of the coffee table where changbin was demolishing a bag of chips.

"We have a problem," Jisung announced .

"You are the problem." changbin said.

Chan sighed, closing his laptop, "What did you break this time?"

"Nothing!" Jisung paused. "Well. Maybe the window latch. But that’s not the point." he paused. "She is coming here. To work on the project."

Changbin froze mid chip. "Who’s ‘she’-"

Chan’s eyes widened. "Oh no."

Jisung nodded frantically. "Oh yes."

Changbin’s eyes darted between them. "Wait. Are we talking about-"

"Yes," Chan groaned, already dragging a hand down his face.

Changbin’s chip bag hit the floor with a crunch. “Oh, hell no.” He scrambled up, scanning the apartment with mounting horror.

Medical supplies littered the kitchen counter, spare web cartridges rolled under the couch, and most damning jisung’s half finished suit upgrades dangled from a makeshift clothesline strung across the living room.

“We have twenty minutes to make this place look like normal people live here.”

Chan was already in motion, snatching stray web shooters off the coffee table. “Jisung, hide your suit. Changbin, take the first aid kits.” He paused mid step, “And for the love of god, air out this place. It smells like a rat died in here.”

Jisung went to yank the prototype suit off the clothesline, "It's not that bad," he protested, bundling the fabric under his arms.

The apartment was almost presentable by the time you knocked.

You stood outside their door, knocking twice, when a crash echoed from inside followed by frantic whispering.

after a minute, the door opened, revealing Changbin "Heyyyyy," he drawled, voice pitched an octave too high. "You're early"

you blinked, pointing your thumb back towards the elevator, "I can come back in a bit if you guys are busy-"

Changbin waved a hand like he was shooing away smoke. "Nah, nah, we’re good!" he stepped aside,

“Home sweet home,” Changbin announced, “Ignore the-” He gestured vaguely at a suspicious lump under a blanket that was definitely not laundry. “Decorative choices.”

You toed off your shoes at the entrance, noting with mild surprise that the apartment was cleaner than expected - though said suspicious lump under the blanket suggested they'd simply relocated the mess rather than actually cleaned it.

Chan looked up from his laptop, offering a casual salute as you stepped further into the apartment. "Hey," he said, "Jisung's in his room pretending he didn't just spend twenty minutes panic cleaning."

You snorted. "Sounds about right."

Jisung's bedroom door was slightly ajar, revealing a space that had clearly undergone a last minute excavation.

The floor was visible and his desk was suspiciously organized, textbooks stacked next to his laptop.

"Wow," you said, leaning against the doorframe. "I didn't know you owned a trash can."

Jisung spun around from where he'd been adjusting a poster that was still slightly crooked. "Shut up," he muttered, He gestured vaguely at the desk. "I set up already. Figured you'd want the, uh-" He waved his hands. "The workspace. Or whatever."

You walked in and over to the desk, project outline stared back at you from Jisung's laptop screen - neatly formatted, color-coded, and some parts were already done . You blinked. "You... started without me?"

Jisung shrugged, spinning a pen between his fingers, "Couldn't sleep last night." His knee bumped yours when you sat down, "Figured I'd get a head start before you could accuse me of slacking."

You stared at the spreadsheet he'd prepared, grudgingly impressed despite yourself. The formulas were flawless, the research sources ready, "Well. At least you're not completely useless."

"Wow. Wow. That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me." he leaned closer, "Careful. Keep this up and people might think we like each other."

"get to work," you muttered, pulling your chair closer to his desk.

Jisung straightened, "Yes, ma'am."

You shook your head, but the corner of your mouth betrayed you with a twitch. He noticed instantly, and his grin widened like he'd won something.

You kicked his chair leg under the desk in retaliation, sending him wobbling sideways with a yelp.

Working with Jisung turned out to be - annoyingly - far less painful than you’d anticipated.

He had a way of cutting through your overthinking, dismantling problems you’d tangled into knots. When you got stuck on a statistical analysis, he spun his laptop around to show you a ridiculously simplified formula that somehow worked.

When he hit a dead end with the literature review, you pointed him toward three obscure sources he’d missed. It was infuriatingly efficient.

you'd also grew to realize that Jisung focused when it mattered.

Then there were the snacks. Jisung kept shoving food at you - convenience store food, but its the thought that counts “Eat,” he’d say, nudging a bar of chocolate toward you without looking up. “Your blood sugar’s crashing. I can hear your stomach growling from here.”

You’d protest, but he wouldn't hear any of it until you tore open the packaging begrudgingly.

and he actually remembered things. Tiny, insignificant details you’d mentioned in passing - your preference for blue pens over black, the way you organized your citations, the fact that you always forgot to save drafts until it was too late.

Halfway through typing, your laptop would ding with a message from him You didn’t save again, genius. You’d glare at him, but he’d already be smirking at his own screen.

You didn't expect to bond with Chan and Changbin too, but somehow their apartment became your second home for the past 6 weeks.

you stayed past 10 pm once, Chan slid a takeout menu across the table. "Pick something," he said, "Jisung forgets to eat when he's focused, and you're worse than he is."

The takeout containers were long empty by the time you stretched your arms over your head, joints popping from hours hunched over textbooks.

"You should head back," His voice was casual, but his eyes flicked to the time on his phone, 11:47 PM, then back to your face. "It's late."

You sighed, gathering your notes into a pile. "I've walked home later than this."

"Yeah, and nearly got followed by drunk assholes," Jisung muttered under his breath.

"I'll be fine. It's like, twelve minutes max." You slung the strap over your shoulder.

"at least let me walk you home?" jisung asked.

"Relax. you don't have to act like my hero for the night, i'll be fine."

jisung heard the word "hero" and an idea popped into his mind. bingo

"Fine. Die in a dark alley. See if I care."

"You won't," you shot back, toeing on your shoes by the door.

"Night, guys," you called over your shoulder as you stepped into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind you.

Inside the apartment, Jisung was already running to put his suit on before Chan caught him by the hood. "Are you serious right now?"

"I'm just gonna-" Jisung started.

"Follow her as Spiderman?" Changbin supplied, "Dude. That's creepy."

Jisung froze. "It's not creepy if I'm making sure she doesn't get murdered."

"It's extremely creepy."

"She literally said she didn't need an escort!" Changbin pointed out.

Jisung waved a hand. "She always says that."

"Because you always try to escort her!"

Jisung hesitated, just long enough for Chan to sigh and release his hood. "If you're gonna be an idiot, at least put the mask on first."

Changbin tossed a web shooter at Jisung's head. "And try not to get arrested for stalking."

Outside, you were halfway down the block when a shadow flickered across the streetlight above you. You glanced up just in time to see a blur of red and blue vanish behind a rooftop.

"Really?"

A thwip sounded overhead. Spiderman landed lightly on a lamppost ahead of you, "Fancy meeting you here," he said, voice dripping with faux surprise.

You crossed your arms. "Are you following me?"

Spiderman gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "I'm patrolling. This is a coincidence."

"A coincidence," you deadpanned.

"Yep." He swung down to street level, falling into step beside you like this was completely normal. "Totally random."

You sighed. "I don't need an escort."

Spiderman tilted his head. "Says the person who nearly got jumped last time."

"That was one time-"

"And here I am," he said, spreading his arms wide, " not letting it happen again."

You glared at him. He smiled at you - or at least, the mask's eyes crinkled in a way that suggested a smile.

"Fine," you muttered, stomping ahead.

Spiderman matched your stomping pace, "So," he drawled, swinging around a lamppost to land directly in front of you, forcing you to halt mid step or you'd have walked straight into his chest. "What's a pretty girl like you doing out so late?"

Your ears burned "I was just coming back from a friend’s place," you muttered, sidestepping him to continue walking. "Working on a project. Unlike some people, I actually take my education seriously."

Oh the irony.

he fell into step beside you, his posture casual, "So this friend," he pressed, "What's their deal? Study buddy? Secret admirer?"

You shot him a glare. "None of your business."

Spiderman gasped, "Ouch. And here I thought we had something special." He swung ahead, landing lightly on a parked car’s roof just to force you to look up at him. "Come on, humor me. Tall? Short? cute?"

You stayed silent, refusing to dignify that with an answer. But Spiderman was nothing if not persistent, he dropped down directly in your path again, close enough that the lenses of his mask reflected your exasperated expression back at you.

"Han Jisung," you finally said, shoving past him. "My project partner. Happy?"

"Han Jisung," he repeated, "Wow. Sounds like a real catch. Bet he’s incredibly handsome and talented."

"He’s annoying," you corrected, kicking a pebble harder than necessary. "And arrogant. And-"

"And?" Spiderman prompted, suddenly right beside you again.

"And none of your concern," you finished through gritted teeth.

Spiderman made a wounded noise, "Rude. Here I am, risking life and limb to escort you safely home-"

"You invited yourself," you corrected.

"-and you won’t even indulge my harmless curiosity about your mysterious project partner." He swung ahead to perch upside down from a streetlight, "Tell me more about this Han Jisung character. Does he have any redeeming qualities? Or is he just tragically, devastatingly handsome?"

You scoffed, refusing to acknowledge how accurately that described Jisung’s stupid face. "Fine. Jisung’s... not completely terrible." You looked at the sidewalk. "He remembers stupid things. Like how I always forget to save my work, or that I hate when people highlight in yellow."

Spiderman’s mask tilted, the lenses narrowing slightly. "Wow," he said, his tone an exaggerated awe. "Truly, a monumental compliment. Does he also breathe air and occasionally blink?"

You kicked a pebble at him, which he caught mid air with a web before it could hit his chest.

"Shut up. He’s..." You hesitated, then sighed. "He’s weirdly considerate. Makes sure I eat when we’re studying. And his roommates are..." You gestured vaguely, as if that explained anything. "nice. more tolerable than him, actually. they insist on feeding me too"

Spiderman went suspiciously quiet. Then, in a voice devoid of sarcasm "They sound nice."

You snorted. "They’re menaces. But yeah. They... grew on me."

A beat of silence. Then Spider-Man dropped from the lamppost, landing softly beside you. "And Jisung?" he prompted, suddenly closer than before. "What’s his fatal flaw?"

You didn’t even have to think. "He's always right somehow. And he gloats about it. alot."

"Horrifying," he agreed solemnly. "Anything else?"

"He’s always there," you muttered, more to yourself than to him. "Even when I wish he wasn’t."

The mask hid his expression, but his next words came out oddly soft. "Sounds like you’ve got it pretty bad, genius."

The familiar nickname prickled at the back of your memory, but you couldn't place it, until Spiderman abruptly straightened, realizing his mistake, clearing his throat.

"So!" he said, "How much further to your dorm?"

You narrowed your eyes at the obvious subject change. "Why? Getting tired already?"

Spiderman scoffed, "Please. I could do this all night." then shrugged "Just making conversation."

"You were doing just fine until the nickname," you pointed out, watching his lenses widen fractionally.

"What nickname?" he asked, voice pitching slightly higher.

"Genius." You tilted your head, studying his frozen posture. "Jisung calls me that."

spiderman got into character again, "Jisung calls you that?" His voice was pitched an octave higher than usual, his hands fluttering in dramatic disbelief.

"Wow. What a coincidence." He leaned closer, "Maybe l'm Han Jisung. Ever think of that, genius?"

He lowkey regret what he said the second the words came out of his mouth. but hey, reverse psychology?

you stopped walking for a second, facing spiderman, genuinely considering what he just said.

"nah" you snorted, shaking your head. "Jisung can barely walk in a straight line without tripping over his own feet." You gestured vaguely at Spiderman's lithe posture. "No way that disaster could pull off... whatever this is."

"Ouch. That hurts. I'll have you know some people find my-" he gestured at himself, "this extremely charming."

"You mean annoying," you corrected.

"Charmingly annoying," Spiderman corrected, He swung lazily ahead, landing atop the lamppost outside your dorm building.

You stopped beneath the lamppost, glancing up at Spiderman’s silhouette squatting on top of it. "This your stop, genius?" he asked, voice lilting with amusement.

"Yes," you said flatly. "And don't call me that."

"Call you what? Genius?" He leaned forward, resting his chin in one gloved hand. "Or pretty girl?"

Your face heated instantly. "Both."

Spiderman laughed, a sound that you swear you heard before.

"Fine, fine. Wouldn't want to inflate your ego too much." He swung down from the lamppost.

He turned to leave, then hesitated, just long enough to glance over his shoulder and add, voice softer than before, "Sleep tight, pretty girl."

Then he was gone, vanishing into the night sky with a thwip of webbing before you could retaliate.

you stayed glued to the pavement for a minute as you watched spiderman's figure get smaller the more he swung away, face slowly heating up.

"Talking 'bout some pretty girl," you muttered under your breath, walking to the entrance of the building

who is this guy?

~

You like museums because they are honest about silence.

People whisper there, but even that feels optional. Sound exists, but it never demands you. No one expects conversation, no one expects responses. You can exist fully inside yourself without apologizing for it.

That’s why you came today on your day off from the atelier.

This exhibition has been advertised everywhere in Seoul, contemporary reinterpretations of classical Korean landscapes. Posters plastered on subway walls, colors blooming against concrete, brushstrokes promising emotion.

Art speaks your language.

You arrive early, before the afternoon crowd gets too overwhelming. The museum smells faintly of polished floors and old paper. Sunlight filters through tall windows, washing everything in gold. Your footsteps echo softly, or at least you imagine they do. You’ve learned to construct sound from memory rather than experience.

As you step inside you immediately feel calm settle over you.

Paintings line the white walls of the museum like open windows into other worlds. Mountains dissolve into mist. Rivers stretch endlessly toward horizons painted with impossible patience. You move slowly, hands clasped behind your back, reading each plaque carefully.

You don’t rush art. You let it happen to you.

A group passes behind you, you feel the vibration of footsteps through the floor before you notice them in your peripheral vision. You shift aside politely, used to navigating spaces by motion rather than sound.

People talk. Mouths move. Laughter appears in shapes you recognize but cannot hear. You don’t mind anymore. You stopped minding many years ago.

Silence isn’t loneliness. It can become a home if you know how to welcome it.

You stop in front of a smaller painting, ink brush mountains rising sharply against a pale sky. The artist captured distance so perfectly you almost feel wind on your face. Your chest tightens the way it always does when something beautiful finds you unexpectedly.

You lean closer..and that’s when you notice him.

You notice him the way you notice art that doesn’t belong to the rest of the room. He stands several paintings away.

Tall.

Black hair falling softly across his forehead, slightly messy like he forgot to tame it before leaving home. He’s wearing a brownish long coat, neutral colors, nothing flashy, yet he looks impossibly out of place among ordinary visitors.

Beautiful is too small a word.

Your brain supplies it anyway.

Beautiful.

A properly beautiful man, and you get lost in your head about how you’re pretty sure, you have never seen anyone this good looking before. Is he from here? Is he a visitor?

He studies a painting with complete focus, head tilted slightly, lips parted as if he’s thinking something profound. His hands rest loosely in his pockets, posture relaxed but elegant.

You stare longer than you should, and you know you are staring but you can’t take your eyes off of his face. You tell yourself to look away.

You don’t. You can’t.

There’s something gentle about him, something quiet, and you catch yourself wonder what he sees in the painting, and then you wonder what his voice sounds like. You rarely think about voices, but his lips move slightly, almost forming words to himself, and suddenly curiosity blooms painfully inside your chest.

You look away quickly, embarrassed.

Focus on the art.

You move to the next piece.

Then the next.

But awareness of him follows you like warmth at your back. Each time you pretend not to look, you somehow find him again across the room, turning a corner, standing beneath another canvas. Maybe he’s moving through the exhibition at the same pace as you. Maybe you’re both drawn to the same pieces. Or maybe you’re just being delusional about your destiny bullshit.

You stop in a room with a huge piece, and the painting dominates the room.

It stretches across nearly an entire wall, a sweeping landscape of storm clouds breaking over a coastline, waves crashing in thick, violent strokes of blue & gray. Light cuts through the storm in one brilliant opening, illuminating a lone figure standing at the edge of the sea.

You feel it immediately.

The ache.

You walk closer and closer, until the rest of the world disappears. You imagine the roar of the ocean, not as sound, but as motion. As pressure. As something vast and overwhelming that exists whether you hear it or not. The lone figure in the painting looks small against the storm, yet unafraid.

You exhale slowly, and you sit on the bench placed before the artwork.

You always sit for paintings like this. Standing feels disrespectful when something demands your full attention. You fold your hands in your lap and let your eyes trace every brushstroke. Minutes pass, or maybe longer. Time behaves differently when you’re absorbed in beauty.

Your thoughts drift.

You think about the waves, what sounds they might make, and your thoughts lead you to roads you don’t want to take right now, like how people describe music as emotional. You’ve never known music. Sometimes people pity you for that, but standing here, feeling emotion swell so strongly it almost hurts, you wonder if music could really feel more alive than this.

You don’t think so.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice him approach. Not until the bench shifts slightly beside you.

Your heart jumps and you glance sideways.

It’s him.

He is so much more unreal up close. His presence feels warm, and you study him from the corner of your eye as he looks at the painting in front of you.

Long fingers resting on his knees. Soft features sharpened by concentration. His eyes move across the canvas slowly, thoughtfully, and you watch yourself thinking that he looks like someone who feels deeply, just like you.

Then he turns slightly toward you, and his lips move.

You blink, not expecting any interaction at all with the beautiful stranger, as if you were invisible in this space and someone interacting with you was impossible.

You look around briefly, wondering if he’s speaking to someone else, but no one stands nearby.

You look back at him.

His mouth moves again. Gentle expression.

You catch only fragments, shapes of syllables, but he’s probably mumbling and being extra quiet given the space you’re in, so you can’t read his lips at all.

Your stomach drops.

Of course, of course he’s talking, and of course he’s talking to you.

Panic flutters in your chest with the familiar anxiety of misunderstandings. Of people thinking you’re ignoring them purposefully. One of those moment where the world just has to mind you that easy communication isn’t built for you.

You hesitate.

Maybe he wasn’t speaking to you after all.

You look back at the painting, pretending nothing happened, but then he leans slightly closer, clearly directing his attention at you this time.

His lips move again, slower. You recognize the expression now. He’s definitely talking to you.

Heat rises to your face, and you hate this part. The part where you must interrupt normalcy. The moment people’s expressions change, surprise, awkwardness, apology. You turn toward him fully and he waits politely, eyes kind.

You look at him in the eyes, his beautiful intense but kind eyes, and you shake your head, pointing at your ear and your cochlear implant.

Then you mouth silently and carefully, hoping he’ll understand.

I’m deaf.

His eyes widen slightly as he realises, and for a brief second you prepare yourself for the usual reaction, exaggerated apologies, embarrassment, people backing away because they don’t know what to do or how to respond back.

He nods slowly. Then he mouths something again, more carefully this time.

You catch nothing. Maybe because you’re so distracted by him, maybe because the beautiful stranger is literally sitting right next to you and is trying to talk to you.

He pauses.

Thinks.

Then, unexpectedly, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his phone.

You watch his every movement, surprised.

His fingers move quickly across the screen, and a moment later he turns his phone toward you.

“Sorry. I said the painting feels lonely but peaceful. I wondered if you thought the same since you’re sitting here too.”

You stare at the words. Then at him, and your chest does that thing again.

Most people would have simply smiled and stopped trying. They wouldn't try to have a conversation with you. But he was, he was trying. He was actively trying to communicate with you.

You take your own phone out, hands suddenly clumsy with awareness of him watching as you type.

“Yes. Like standing in a storm but not wanting to leave.”

You show him.

His eyes brighten instantly, he smiles and nods at you. Something about his reaction makes warmth spread through you.

He types again.

“Exactly.”

You both turn back toward the painting. Side by side. You can see a smile in his face, and you become acutely aware of everything.

The closeness of his shoulder. The subtle rise and fall of his breathing. The way he glances at the painting, then briefly at you, as if checking whether you’re experiencing the same emotion. Your heart beats faster.

Ridiculous.

You don’t even know his name. You don’t know anything about him. He’s just a beautiful stranger.

And then you catch him typing again, and directing his phone at you, again.

“Do you come to museums often?”

You nod, then write.

“Whenever I want to think.”

He smiles big at you and the smile changes his whole face, making it so soft and childlike, like he’s genuinely so unbelievably happy. And you almost forget how to breathe.

He writes.

“Funny you say that, me too.”

You want to ask more. So much more, but you hesitate. Conversations with strangers rarely last long. People move on. They always do. You don’t want to out yourself up for disappointment

Still, neither of you stands up to leave.

Minutes pass. Maybe more. You exist together in this shared silence, watching painted waves crash endlessly against a painted shore.

You glance at him again.. and he’s already looking at you.

Your gaze collides with his but neither of you looks away immediately. Something shifts. Unspoken. Fragile. Dangerous. You both smile at each other and he looks back at the painting, and he looks shy, cheeks red. You’re pretty sure you look like a radish yourself.

His phone lights up again in his hands. He hesitates before turning the screen toward you, but he does anyway.

“I’m Hyunjin by the way”

Hyunjin. You mouth it silently to yourself, testing how it looks. The name fits him somehow. Soft yet so elegant.

You quickly type your own name and turn your phone toward him.

He reads it carefully and smiles, the kind that reaches his eyes and lingers there, warm and bright, like he’s committing your name to memory.

Your stomach flips again at how pretty he looks.

He types again.

“Nice to meet you.”

You nod and type quickly.

“You too.”

It feels insufficient for the strange gravity of the moment, but you don’t know how else to explain what meeting him already feels like.

He looks at the painting again.

Then at you.

Then types:

“Do you want to see the rest together?”

Your heart stutters. You hadn’t expected that. You were just hoping to stay like this besides him for a few more minutes before he’s gone and you never see him again. You stare at the words longer than necessary, and he waits patiently, a look in his eyes as if hoping more than anything you’ll say yes.

You nod, a small movement, but his face lights up immediately.

You both stand at the same time, almost awkwardly synchronized, and a soft laugh escapes him, you see it in the way his shoulders lift, and you wonder what that sounded like.

You begin walking side by side through the gallery.

At first, neither of you types anything. You simply appreciate the art around you. Stopping before paintings and leaning closer to read descriptions. Then you start to occasionally exchanging phones for short comments.

“I like the colors here.”

“It feels nostalgic.”

“I think this one makes me sad. I’m not sure why.”

It’s all so natural and so not forced.

You notice how patient he is when typing, never rushing, and it’s all just making you feel like this is easy, after all, it’s not some huge inconvenience to him. He waits for your responses fully, eyes attentive, focused only on you when you write your words on the screen.

It’s rare. This is rare for you and you know it. People often grow restless. They get tired of having to do this. It has happened too many times. Boyfriends, friendships, coworkers.

The beautiful stranger in front of you doesn't stop. At least not yet.

You start noticing small things about him. The way he tilts his head when thinking. How expressive his eyes are and how carefully he observes everything.

You’re standing before a sculpture when Hyunjin suddenly pauses as if he forgot something, or her left something behind accidentally. He glances around the room, quick subtle movements, and then he reaches into his bag. You watch curiously as he pulls out a black cap. He slides it onto his head, lowering the brim slightly, and then a mask appears too, covering the lower half of his face.

Strange, you think. All of a sudden, why?

He wasn’t wearing any of that earlier when you saw him walk around the museum alone. Your brows knit together slightly and you look around instinctively.

Nothing seems different.

Only his eyes remain fully visible now. And because you stand beside him thankfully you can still see him clearly.

He notices you looking.

For a brief moment, embarrassment flashes across his eyes as he sees the confused look at your face.

He types quickly.

“Sorry. It's just something I have to do.”

You read it twice.

Why?

You glance at him again, puzzled. Again, you think about how free he looked before talking to you, what changed now?

You type back before thinking clearly.

“Not because of me I hope.” and you smile at him, as if joking. So awkward, why would you say that to him, so passive aggressive and for what? You just met the guy.. relax.

He immediately looks apologetic and there’s panic in his eyes. You’re a fucking idiot that’s for sure.

“Of course not!”

Relief softens the tightness in your chest. You hadn’t realized how much you were holding your breath. You nod lightly to show you understand, even if you don’t really. People have private reasons for things. Everyone carries pieces of themselves they don’t explain to strangers. You have no right to ask for explanations on anything.

He studies your face for a moment longer, as if making sure you truly believe him. Then his shoulders relax. Whatever tension had briefly appeared in him fades, replaced again by that quiet warmth you’ve begun associating with his presence.

You continue walking.

He stays slightly closer to you than before, positioning himself so that anyone passing would see mostly the side of his face turned away. When other visitors walk by, his posture shifts subtly, head lowered, brim of his cap shadowing his eyes.

It feels more like a habit of his. Like muscle memory.

You don’t ask why. You’re not going to ask him anything, he has his reasons. You just hope he’s not a criminal or something and he’s scared of being found.

You laugh in your head at the thought of this beautiful, kind man being a criminal.

You slow near the next painting and gesture toward it, inviting his attention back to something else. You both stop in front of a watercolor landscape, pale greens and soft blues melting into each other. He leans closer to read the description while you type a thought onto your phone.

“This one feels quiet.”

He reads it, then nods immediately.

He types

“Comfortable quiet.”

You smile.

Yes.

Exactly that.

The conversation resumes naturally after that. Whatever moment of tension existed dissolves into shared observation again, phones passing back and forth between you like a language only the two of you understand.

And you notice how attentive he is.

When you pause longer at a painting he waits for you. When you step closer to examine brushstrokes, he follows your lead. At one sculpture you circle slowly around it, studying how light changes the shadows, and when you turn he’s watching you instead of the art.

You pretend not to notice but your heart still reacts anyway. You show him another message.

“Do you like art a lot?”

He thinks before answering.

His thumbs hover over the screen longer this time.

“Yes. A lot. I try to make as much time for art as I can.”

You walk through the remaining galleries together, falling into an easy rhythm. Sometimes you talk through text. Sometimes you don’t talk at all. And somehow the silence between you never feels empty.

It feels shared.

At one point your hands brush accidentally while reaching toward the same information plaque. Both of you pull back at the same time. He laughs silently again, shoulders lifting, eyes crinkling above the mask.

You feel warmth rush to your face.

You type quickly, hiding your embarrassment behind humor.

“We have synchronized museum instincts.”

He grins and nods enthusiastically.

You don’t notice how often he looks at you now.

Not just glances.

Lingering looks.

As if he’s trying to memorize something.

Eventually the exhibition begins to thin out and visitors move toward the exit. Afternoon light grows stronger through the windows, signaling the end of the experience.

You reach the final gallery together and neither of you says anything. Neither of you rushes forward. It feels strangely similar to standing at the end of a good book, not wanting to turn the last page because finishing means losing it forever, that it’s over.

You slow your steps and he matches them automatically.

Outside the gallery doors the museum lobby stretches wide and bright. Reality waits there. You stop walking. He stops too. For a moment you both just stand facing each other. The silence changes. Not comfortable now, but fragile. Temporary.

You suddenly become aware that this was never guaranteed to last longer than today, longer than a few hours. That soon he will become a stranger again. You grip your phone slightly tighter.

He shifts his weight, eyes flicking down before returning to yours.

He’s nervous, you can feel it.

You’ve seen nervousness before, in yourself, in others trying to bridge uncertain moments. He types something. Stops and deletes it, then types again

Your heart begins beating faster.

Finally, he turns the screen toward you.

“Can I have your number Y/N? I understand if not, of course.”

You look at him. At the hidden half of his face. At the eyes that have stayed soft with you all afternoon, at the stranger who chose to stay instead of walking away when he realised communication was going to be more complicated than he's used to.

You type your number and you’re smiling down at his phone, and your fingers feel strangely unsteady as you hand the phone back to him.

He exhales, a subtle release of tension you almost miss. He saves it immediately, then types.

“I’m glad I met you today.”

Your throat tightens.

You reply.

“Me too.”

It feels inadequate compared to what you actually mean. You both linger a moment longer near the exit. Neither moving first.

Finally, you bow slightly, and he mirrors you instantly. You turn toward the doors, the remaining sunlight spilling across the floor ahead of you and each step away feels heavier than it should.

You reach the exit and something pulls at you. You glance back.. and he’s still standing there watching you. Not checking his phone. Not leaving.

When your eyes meet again he lifts his hand in a small wave and you immediately smile at him and wave back in a small movement, and then you step outside into the afternoon air, unaware that somewhere behind you Hyunjin remains still for several seconds longer.

As if leaving this moment is harder than he expected.

_

You didn’t expect him to text.

That’s the rule you’ve learned about people who show interest in you. People are not willing to do all that, to put this much effort. These beautiful moments don’t follow you home.

Still, when you step into your apartment you place your phone down on the table more carefully than usual. As if being gentle to your phone will make him text. You change clothes. Wash your hands. Make tea. The routine unfolds exactly as it always does, predictable.

Your apartment is quiet, as it always is.

You sit by the window, watching the city move below. Cars glide past. People talk animatedly on sidewalks, conversations you can see but never enter. And then.. with the corner of your eye you see your phone light up.

Your heart jumps before logic catches up and you go and pick it up way too quickly.

A message.

Unknown number.

You already know.

“Hey, it’s Hyunjin, from the museum. Did you get home safely?”

Warmth spreads through your chest so suddenly it genuinely embarrasses you. You type back immediately, then delete it. You’re being too fast. Too eager. You don’t want to make it seem like he’s all you could think about, even though that’s exactly what’s happening.

You wait for at least five minutes, just hoping he didn’t see you typing.

You: Hi. Yes. Did you?

The typing bubble appears almost instantly.

He was waiting too.

Hyunjin: Yes :) I keep thinking about the painting.

You smile instantly. You walk to the couch and sit down, pulling your legs beneath you.

You: The one with the storm?

Hyunjin: Yes. The one we met in front of.

Your breath catches. You stare at the message longer than necessary, unsure how to respond without revealing how much it affects you.

You: I can’t stop thinking about that piece too.

Three dots appear again.

Disappear.

Return.

You imagine him somewhere across the city, looking at his phone the same way you are now.

Hyunjin: I’m glad I talked to you today.

You blush like a schoolgirl. What even is this, why are you so effected by this man you barely know. Yes, he’s very attractive and he seems kind, but those things never effect you if you’re not knee deep in someone’s personality.

You: Me too, thank you for today.

The conversation ends there, but you can’t seem to be able to stop thinking about him for the rest of the night, before finally going to sleep, still thinking about him, replaying everything in your head.

_

As the days go by the beautiful stranger texts you nearly every day, almost always at the same hours, late evening, when the city softens and people begin disappearing into their private lives. And you blush and kick your feet like a teenager who’s interacting with a boy for the first time in her life every time you get a text from him.

At first, the questions are small.

Hyunjin: What do you usually do after work?

You: Go home. Read. Sometimes cook badly.

Hyunjin: Haha, I doubt it’s bad.

You: Do you paint?

Hyunjin: Yeah, I'm trying to find time for that.

You: What do you do for work?

Three dots appear.

Disappear.

Return.

Hyunjin: I’m a dancer.

You smile unconsciously. It fits him. The way he stood in front of the sculpture. The way his hands moved. The quiet awareness of his body in space.

You: That makes sense.

Hyunjin: Really? How come?

You hesitate, unsure how to explain something intuitive.

You: You notice things. Dancers notice things.

The typing bubble appears instantly.

Stops.

Appears again.

Hyunjin: I think you notice more than me.

The conversations grow slowly as days go by. He asks what silence feels like to you. No one has ever asked that before. You tell him silence isn’t always empty. It can be full. Full of movement, expressions, light shifting through rooms, people breathing.

He sends a message after several minutes.

Hyunjin: That sounds beautiful. I think sign language is very beautiful, maybe you can teach me something one day?

Your chest aches. Teach him sign? One day? This mean he's planning to see you again?

You: Oh, of course, if you'd like that :)

Hyunjin: I'd love it.

Some nights he tells you about the 'rehearsals' he has, as he calls them. You haven’t t quite understood what he does for work. Is he a dance teacher? Is he a backup dancer? He talks about long hours, sore feet and mirrors everywhere, and you imagine him practicing alone in a quiet studio.

You never push for details. You’ve learned people reveal only what they want to.

One evening after weeks of messages that feel strangely essential to your days, you type without overthinking.

You: I wish I could see you dance one day.

The message sends.

Immediately, the typing bubble appears.

Stops.

Appears again.

You watch it, heart beating faster than it should.

…typing…

…typing…

Then it disappears. Again. A minute passes. Two. Your stomach tightens.

Hyunjin: Maybe someday.

Another pause.

Hyunjin: Goodnight :)

You blink at the screen. Something about it feels unfinished. Like a door almost opened and then quietly shut again. What was he writing for minutes straight that he deleted?

You type goodnight back.

The next day passes without a text from him, and you don’t think much of it. People get busy. He clearly sounds like someone who has lots of work and lots of stuff to do. You go to work, come home, make tea and sit by the window as always.

Your phone stays dark.

Two days.

Five days.

A week.

No message.

You stop checking constantly. You place your phone face down now, as if removing the possibility will make disappointment smaller. It shouldn’t hurt. Yes, you both opened up a little bit about your lives, but still, you barely know him. But something settles quietly in your chest, familiar and heavy.

Because this is how it always happens.

People are kind at first. Curious. Interested. They like the novelty of learning how you communicate, the way you watch faces carefully, the patience required to speak with hands or typed words. But eventually comes the moment when effort becomes visible. When conversations require adjustment. When spontaneity disappears.

And then they fade.

Not cruelly or dramatically, but they do, and it always hurts the same. Maybe he wanted to meet with you, but the thought of having to text all the time made him change his mind.

You learned not to blame people for this.

And with him? You just tell yourself this was never different. You tell yourself that you knew better and to stop rereading the messages you exchanged the past weeks, and to stop wondering what he almost said that night.

Two weeks pass.

The rhythm of your life closes again around you, steady and predictable. Evening tea and city lights through your window. You feel foolish for having expected anything else. Some people are just passing moments. Beautiful ones, yes, but temporary. And you're still glad you got to know him even for just a bit. After all, he seemed like a nice, kind man.

_

It's Friday night and you’re halfway through washing dishes. You're planning on tidying up a bit, then putting on a movie and relaxing like that in front of the tv after a shitty day at the atelier.

You dropped your canvas, made a mess in the floor, ruined hours upon hours of hard work and had everyone trying to help you like you were some baby. You’re deaf, you’re not a toddler.

Everything today was just shit, and you deserved to relax and forget this day all together.

Suddenly your phone lights up on the counter. You don’t rush, you’ve trained yourself not to, and you're pretty much sure it's just your mom or your sister.

You dry your hands slowly.

His name.

Your heart forgets all the lessons you tried to teach it.

Hyunjin: Would you be up to meet again?

_

You start getting ready far too early.

The clock says you still have three hours before he arrives, yet you stand in front of your wardrobe like the decision carries unreasonable consequences. Shirts are lifted, held against your body, folded back again. Nothing feels right. Everything feels like trying too hard. You sit on the edge of your bed for a moment trying to catch your breath and looking at all the mess you’ve made in front of you.

You’re being so ridiculous. This is just tea. Just meeting a friend. Right? That’s what he is. A friend.

But your thoughts don’t cooperate. What if he realizes how exhausting it is to talk with you? The pauses while you type. The way conversations sometimes need to slow down or the constant awareness required to communicate with you. People always say it doesn’t matter at first. And then later it does.

You smooth your hands over the clothes you finally picked. A long skirt and a beautifully detailed top.

You tell yourself not to hope too much. To treat this as meeting a friend and nothing else. This is not a date, not a romantic one at least.

The message he sent yesterday replays in your mind.

Would you be up to meet again?

And then the location he chose.

A tea house.

You had mentioned weeks ago casually that tea makes you feel calm and that you collect different kinds, that choosing tea feels like choosing a mood.

He remembered.

The realization warmed you more than the invitation itself. He listens. He listens and he notices and he remembers. You'd be happy even having him in your life as just a friend, so you just hope tonight goes well.

The tea house isn’t in town. It sat far outside the city, near the hills, almost hidden, and you wondered why he would choose somewhere so far when there were dozens of tea places closer. The thought lingered, unanswered. And you didn’t have time to care.

Your phone lights up.

Hyunjin: I’m outside.

Your heart leaps. You grab your bag, check your reflection one last time and step outside.

The car waiting at the curb makes you slow down.

Sleek. Black. You can tell this is a nice, expensive car. Dancers don’t usually drive cars like that. Or do they? Before you can think longer, the driver’s door opens. Hyunjin steps out, and for a moment your brain stops working properly.

He looks unfairly beautiful.

Soft black hair falling into his eyes, simple clothes somehow looking elegant on him, long coat moving slightly with the breeze. There’s nothing flashy about him, yet everything about him draws attention effortlessly. He has a cup on again, a cup that hides most of his face.

He smiles when he sees you and it makes your stomach flip.

Oh no.

He looks even better than you remembered. How are you supposed to try become friends with someone you are so attracted to? A man so beautiful your heart is doing backflips inside your chest. This is never going to work. But you will try, you will do anything to keep him in your life, you're already sure of it.

He walks toward you, slightly nervous energy in his movements. Then he pauses, studying you carefully. He lifts his phone, types quickly, and shows you.

Hyunjin: How do you sign “beautiful” ?

You blink, surprised. You demonstrate slowly, showing him the motion, and his eyes follow your hands with intense focus, repeating the movement carefully, almost reverently.

He signs it back to you.

Beautiful. And points at you right after.

Heat rushes to your face instantly and you're pretty sure your cheeks are red, and he definitely noticed, because the corner of his eyes crinkles as a small smirk appears. You look away, suddenly very interested in the pavement.

The drive is quiet but comfortable.

He occasionally glances at you, like he’s reassuring himself you’re really there. The city slowly fades behind you, buildings giving way to open views and softer landscapes.

You watch the scenery change, curiosity returning. Why here? Why somewhere so far away? But you will not ask. Somehow, the distance feels intentional. Private. Safe. And you find that nice, you trust him. Maybe he just wants to be far away from people because it will be overwhelming having to text and hear all the noise all at once.

The tea house appears nestled between trees, large windows facing an expansive view of hills stretching toward the sea. When you step inside you can see that there are barely any people, and the air smells faintly of jasmine and citrus. They seat you by the window and the view was breathtaking.

For a while, neither of you speaks. You simply sit there, sharing the calm. Then he types something and turns the phone toward you.

Hyunjin: I’m sorry I disappeared.

You blink, caught off guard by the directness.

Hyunjin: Work became overwhelming. I didn’t want to text carelessly.

You nod slowly and you type back.

You: It’s okay.I thought maybe you got tired of talking to me.

You immediately wish the floor would open up and you’d disappear inside it. Why would you just blurt that out so easily? What is wrong with you?

His reaction is immediate. His eyes widen, genuine shock crossing his face. He shakes his head quickly.

Hyunjin: Of course not.

He hesitates before continuing.

Hyunjin: Why would you think that?

You stare at your hands before answering. You already fucked up by being completely honest, you might as well explain.

You: People usually do. They don’t always have patience. Talking with me takes effort.

You expect sympathy or awkward reassurance. Instead, his expression just softens, and he types slower this time.

Hyunjin: Talking to you is easy.

Your chest tightens, and you're still not used to the feeling even though he's making you feel like this way too often.

You hadn’t noticed how tightly you were holding yourself together until the tea arrived. Steam curls upward between you, carrying the faint scent of chamomile and something floral you don’t recognize. The porcelain cups are warm against your fingers.

Hyunjin watches you as you lift the cup.

Hyunjin: Can I ask something personal?

You nod immediately. You’re surprised by how easily trust comes with him.

Hyunjin: Were you always deaf?

You smile at his genuine curiosity and type back.

You: Yes. I was born this way.

You pause, then add more.

You: My parents found out when I was a baby. I have never experienced sound, so I don’t feel like I lost anything.

Hyunjin: Does the cochlear implant help you catch anything?

You reach up instinctively, fingers brushing the small processor resting behind your ear.

You: Sometimes, yes. In quiet places, I can pick up bits of sound, but it doesn’t come through clearly. It’s more like my brain turning electrical signals into rough shapes of meaning. I guess. Speech is the hardest. Some sounds are clearer than others, but none of it feels natural. And I get tired quickly, listening takes effort

He nods as he reads.

Hyunjin: Can you hear your own voice?

You: Not really. I feel it more than hear it.

You tap lightly against your throat.

You: Like vibration inside my chest.

His expression changes, something tender flickering there, and you realize he’s imagining it. Trying to understand your world from the inside.

He types again, slower this time.

Hyunjin: Thank you for explaining it to me.

You nod and smile at him.

Hyunjin: And do your parents know sign language?

You: Kind of, they're still learning, but we can communicate comfortably for the most part.

He smiles.

Hyunjin: I want to learn too.

You look up at him, smiling big without meaning to.

You: I'll teach you then.

And he nods excitingly, as he types again.

Hyunjin: Tell me about your paintings, about your work!

You describe them shyly at first, talking about your favourite techniques and explain how painting feels like translating emotions you can’t always express otherwise. He reads your messages intensely, elbows resting on the table, completely focused. You talk more than you meant to and you open up to him quickly.

Eventually, without thinking, the words slip out.

You: You could come to my house and see them sometime… if you want.

The moment you turn the phone towards him for him to read you immediately regret it and try to take the phone back, but he stops you and holds your hand, turning the phone back to himself. Soft hands, his long fingers making you feel dizzy.

Focus, you're trying to be his friend.

You read his lips: “Let me see.”

You look down quickly, wishing you could pull the invitation back.

He goes still, and you can see uncertainty flicker across his face as he reads it. You rush to type again.

You: Only if you want. No pressure!!!!!!!!

He interrupts gently, typing as a small laugh leaves his throat and you catch the movement.

Hyunjin: I’d like that.

You look at him and he nods once, as if confirming the decision to himself as much as to you. Warmth spreads through you, mixed with nervous excitement.

You: Enough about me though, tell me about yourself too.

He laughs and types.

Hyunjin: I’m not very interesting.

You snort softly before you can stop yourself, and you wonder if the sound you made just now sounded weird. You hope not, and you see him smile, so you don’t think about it too much.

You: That’s not true.

He smiles at your quick response, shoulders relaxing slightly, and he tries again.

Hyunjin: I dance. That’s most of my life.

You nod, already knowing that part, but you wait for him to continue.

Hyunjin: I started young. Training took a lot of time. Long days. Late nights. I still practice almost every day.

You: What kind of dance?

He tilts his head, thinking how to answer.

Hyunjin: Different styles. Contemporary, hip hop, performance dance.

You: Do you like it?

His answer comes immediately this time.

Hyunjin: Yes. When I dance, I don’t think about anything else.

You smile. You understand that feeling. Painting does the same for you.

You: That’s how painting feels for me.

He nods eagerly, clearly happy at the connection.

Hyunjin: Then you understand.

Golden light stretches across the road as you walk back to the car together, and the drive feels different now. You feel closer to him after the talk you had. You feel like you know more about him, but still, you know there's so much more. You can feel that he’s holding back, you just can't put your finger on what it is.

When the car stops outside your apartment your heartbeat picks up again. He picks up his phone after stopping the car right in front of your door and types.

Hyunjin: I have time to see your painting now, if you’re okay with that.

You look at him, not ready for this to happen so fast, but you want him to come and see so bad that you just can’t find it in you to care if your apartment is messy. You nod eagerly.

_

He’s here. About to see your space. Your world. You glance at him, unsure if he’s nervous too, and he meets your eyes and smiles softly.

He follows you quietly into your apartment and the moment the door closes behind him something shifts in the air. You don’t turn on the big overhead light. Instead you move through the small space flipping on the many warm lamps you’ve collected over the years, soft golden pools of light that make the cozy room feel even smaller, more intimate.

The apartment is tiny, walls lined with bookshelves and half finished canvases. The air smells faintly of oil paint, chamomile tea and a lavender candle that even though wasn't lit you could still smell it.

Having him here feels… overwhelming, in a good, perfect way.

Hyunjin looks impossibly beautiful under the warm lamplight. The harsh edges of the outside world are gone. His black hair falls softly across his forehead as he takes his cap off, catching threads of gold. His long coat is draped over the back of your old armchair, and in just a simple black sweater, he seems softer, more real. Every time he moves the light shifts across his face, highlighting the gentle slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the depth in his eyes. He looks like one of your paintings come to life, something delicate and aching all at once.

You lead him to the corner where you paint. The space is cramped but warm, brushes resting in jars, colors smeared on an old wooden palette. Several canvases are propped against the wall, your private little windows into everything you feel.

Hyunjin crouches down slowly so he can see better, eyes moving across each piece with genuine focus. He studies the stormy seascape, soft misty mountains, and the smaller abstract works where colors bleed into emotions you’ve never named out loud.

His expression changes as he looks. First curiosity, then quiet surprise, and finally something close to awe. He leans closer to one particular canvas, a figure standing on a cliff as golden light breaks through heavy clouds, and his lips part slightly.

He pulls out his phone, but then seems to change his mind. Instead, he looks up at you, eyes bright, and slowly signs the word you taught him earlier.

Beautiful.

The movement is careful, a little clumsy but full of effort. His long fingers shape the sign with reverence.

You look up at him, heart pounding so loudly you can feel it in your throat. Without thinking, you sign back “Thank you”, and you mouth the word silently at the same time.

For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you under the warm lamplight.

Hyunjin’s gaze softens. He rises slowly from his crouch until he’s standing close, closer than he’s ever been. The air between you feels charged, fragile, full of all the unspoken things that have been growing since you met. His eyes drop to your lips for half a second, then return to yours, asking without words.

And then he just leans in.

The kiss is impossibly soft.

Tentative at first, like he’s afraid of breaking the quiet you both cherish. His lips are warm and gentle against yours, tasting faintly of the tea you shared earlier. There’s no rush, only tenderness. One of his hands comes up to cup your cheek with feather light care, thumb brushing your skin.

Your eyes flutter closed. After a heartbeat of surprise, you lean in and kiss him back, your hands rising to rest lightly against his chest. You can feel the steady, slightly faster beat of his heart under your palm. The kiss deepens just a little, still soft, still slow.

When you finally pull apart you’re both breathing a little heavier. His forehead rests gently against yours for a moment, eyes closed, as if he’s savoring the closeness, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, then reaches for his phone with slightly unsteady fingers.

Hyunjin: I wanted to do this since the moment I saw you in front of that painting.

You smile, cheeks flushed, and you grab his phone to type back

You: I wanted you to do this since that moment too, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.

His eyes are warm and shiny as he reads.

Hyunjin: I don’t want to scare you with how much I already like you. But being here, in your space, seeing your art… it feels like I’m seeing the real you. And I like her so much.

Your chest tightens with a sweet ache.

You: I’m not scared of you.

The hour now has grown late, and Hyunjin glances at the time on his phone, reluctance clear in his expression.

Hyunjin: I have early practice tomorrow… I should go. Thank you for letting me into your world tonight.

You smile at him as he touched your face one last time, and you walk to the door together. He puts his coat back on and pulls the mask and cap from his pocket, preparing once again for the outside world. Before he steps out, he turns to you one more time.

He leans down and presses a final, tender kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a few heartbeats, and you melt completely. Then he pulls back, eyes soft.

You sign “Goodnight” slowly as you mouth it, and he repeats the sign back to you with a smile.

You stand there for a long moment, fingers touching your lips where he kissed you, the warmth of his presence still lingering in your small apartment.

_

The next afternoon you stepped out to buy groceries, still carrying the warm glow from last night’s kiss. Your steps felt lighter. The world seemed a little softer, and you wanted more than anything to make soup.

You loved soup, and you loved making it. It felt so cozy to make soup. Mushroom soup, carrot soup, chicken soup, onion soup. You’ve tried everything, all of it equally delicious.

You got your groceries and you decided to go home from a different route, to walk around a little longer since the day was so nice. You turned the corner onto the main street, and right there as you looked up, you froze.

There, towering over the busy intersection was a massive billboard. Bright, impossible to miss. Hyunjin’s face, the face of the boy who was in your apartment last night filled most of it, sharp eyes, styled hair, wearing a striking outfit, promoting a luxury brand.

Your bags slipped from your fingers.

The world tilted. You stared, frozen on the sidewalk as people walked past you. Your chest tightened painfully. That was him. Your Hyunjin, splashed across a building like he belonged to everyone.

What the fuck? Is this actually him? Or is this a sick joke? Does he have a fucking twin or something? No. There’s no way that’s him.

_

The groceries hit the floor the moment the door of your apartment closed, milk carton cracking open, vegetables rolling across the tiles.

You didn’t care.

Hands shaking, you opened your laptop and typed “Hyunjin” into the search bar. You didn’t even know his last name, there’s no way anything will come up with just his name.

The page loaded.

Thousands of results.

Photos. Videos. News articles. “Hwang Hyunjin” — Stray Kids. Born March 20, 2000. Main dancer, rapper, visual. Millions of followers. Fancams. Magazine covers.

His face was everywhere.

You clicked frantically. More images flooded the screen, him on stage, glowing with confidence, blonde hair in older clips, intense expressions, surrounded by seven other men. He looked so different yet the same. Powerful. Distant. Like a completely different person from the man who had kissed you so tenderly the other night.

And then the betrayal hit and you felt tears running down your face.

He had lied to you. Not directly, but by omission. While you poured out your world to him he had hidden this enormous part of himself. The cap, the mask, the faraway tea house, the sudden disappearances… it all made brutal sense now.

Is he really that ashamed of me?

The thought tore through you. That’s why he hid his face whenever you were together. To protect himself. So no one would see the famous idol standing next to the deaf girl.

Tears burned hot down your cheeks.

You curled up on the floor beside the spilled groceries, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The apartment felt too small, too quiet, too full of him. You cried until your eyes ached and your chest felt hollow.

How could he do this?

_

The next morning your phone lit up.

Hyunjin: Hey. I keep thinking about your paintings… and you. How are you today?

You read it. Your thumb hovering over the keyboard, but you can’t bring yourself to answer. The hurt is too raw, too fresh.

Twenty minutes later, another message.

Hyunjin: Did you sleep well? I know I left late the other day, I hope I didn’t mess up your sleep schedule. if you’re busy, it’s okay. Just let me know you’re alright?

Read. No reply.

An hour passes.

Hyunjin: Is everything okay? I’m getting a little worried. Did I do something wrong?

You still couldn’t answer and the tears came again. Why was he doing this? What did he want from you? Why is he texting you acting like he cares if he’s so embarrassed to be around you to the point he has to hide under masks?

Then, late in the afternoon another message.

Hyunjin: Please talk to me. Even if it’s just one word. I can’t stop thinking that I messed up the moment I left your apartment. You’re important to me. I don’t want to lose this.

Something inside you snapped. You typed with trembling fingers, vision blurred

You: Are you embarrassed of me, Hwang Hyunjin? Is that why you were hiding your face every time we were together? What do you want from me exactly?

The message sent.

You saw the “Read” notification almost instantly.

He didn’t reply.

_

You feel slightly calmer now after getting that out of your chest, calm enough to look him up again. With a clearer head now, not filled with shock. You searched his name once more and click on a music video titled “God’s Menu.”

The video starts, and you can’t hear a single note. Hyunjin appears on screen, younger, with striking blonde hair, moving with fierce, sharp precision. His expressions are powerful, almost predatory, completely different from the gentle person who had crouched in front of your paintings to look. There were seven other men with him, all radiating raw energy and charisma. The choreography was intense, synchronized, explosive.

He had opened up to you about dancing, about how it made him forget everything. But he never told you this was his life. Why? Why were you not allowed to know about this?

Fresh tears slipped down your cheeks. The disappointment felt heavier than the anger now. You had trusted him, but he hadn’t trusted you with this.

It was past 9 p.m when your phone buzzed again.

Him.

Hyunjin: I’m outside your apartment. Please… can I come up and explain? Just five minutes. I’ll leave right after if you want me to.

Your heart clenched. Part of you wanted to ignore him. The bigger part, the one that still remembered his soft lips kissing you, made you walk to the door. You were angry, but you were mostly curious. Curious to know what the fuck he wants from you and why he hid this.

Hyunjin stood there in the dim hallway light, mask pulled down, eyes wide with worry and something else.. fear?.

He looked exhausted. He stepped inside carefully when you moved aside, and the moment the door closed he started typing frantically, then stopped and tried to speak slowly so you could read his lips.

“I’m not embarrassed of you,” he said clearly, voice careful. “Never. Please believe that.”

You stared at him, arms wrapped around yourself.

He continued, typing and showing you the screen.

Hyunjin: My company has very strict rules. Idols aren’t allowed to date publicly. If fans see me with someone, especially if pictures get taken, it can turn into a huge scandal. It could hurt my members, my career… and the person I’m with. I was trying to protect you. Your life and identity. I don’t want cameras or hate coming after you because of me. I was going to tell you. I swear. I just… I wanted you to like me for me, the guy who sat next to you in the museum.

His eyes were glassy and he looked genuinely devastated. Breaking your heart seeing him like this even though you were still upset with him.

“I’m so sorry,” he mouthed. “I never meant to hurt you like this.”

You felt your own tears return. The anger cracked, leaving only hurt and sudden guilt.

You didn’t know any of this. You weren’t familiar with idol culture, hell, you couldn’t even listen to music.

You typed with shaky hands.

You: Okay, I get that, I’m sorry for reacting like this. I saw you on a billboard and then I googled you. So many people know you. Why do i not deserve to? I just instinctively thought you’re embarrassed of me because of my disability.

Hyunjin shook his head fiercely and pulled you into his arms without hesitation. He held you tight, one hand gently cradling the back of your head. You clung to him, face buried in his chest, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. He rubbed slow circles on your back, patient and warm.

After a long while, he pulled back just enough to type.

Hyunjin: I really like you Y/N, and I don’t give a fuck that you’re deaf. It’s just another beautiful part of you, nothing more, nothing less.

You read the text and looked up in his eyes, more tears forming in your eyes, in his too. And you hugged again, tightly, as he kissed the top of your head.

After a while like this..

You: I saw the music videos. You look so cool, and you dance so unbelievably great. I wish I could hear your music

The sadness in your own expression was impossible to hide. Hyunjin’s face softened and he cupped your cheeks gently, thumbs brushing away your tears. He leaned in and kissed you, soft, deep, full of apology and longing. You kissed him back desperately, clinging tighter, your hands fisting in his shirt as if he might disappear.

The kiss grew heavier. Your body pressed closer to his, seeking comfort, connection, anything to fill the ache. Your hands slid under his coat, under his sweater, touching his waist and now actively pulling him toward the bedroom as you kiss.

Hyunjin understood immediately and he stopped you gently as he smiled, breaking the kiss, forehead resting against yours.

He shook his head no, breathing uneven, cheeks flushed.

“Not like this,” he mouthed slowly, making sure you could read his lips. “You’re upset. I don’t want you to.. regret it later.”

And his words are kind but they still hit you like cold water. Your hands loosen from his sweater immediately, heat rushing to your face. Embarrassment floods through you so quickly it almost hurts. You pull back a little too fast, avoiding his eyes.

Of course.

Of course you misread everything and embarrassed yourself again.

You stare at the floor, fingers twisting together. You type quickly on your phone, movements slightly clumsy.

You: I’m so sorry. That was stupid. I didn’t mean to-

Before you can finish, he gently catches your wrist. His expression changes instantly, concern replacing surprise.

He shakes his head, almost panicked.

“No,” he mouths quickly. “No, no.”

He takes your phone, typing himself.

Hyunjin: Hey. It’s okay. Really. You didn’t do anything wrong. We can do that some other time, when you’re feeling better. I want it too.

He looks at you and smiles, warm, reassuring, the kind of smile meant to pull you out of your own thoughts. He’s still standing so close and it doesn’t help that you’ve touched his bare waist. You’re still embarrassed, and you don’t know what to do with your hands for the first time maybe ever.

His hand lifts slowly, hesitant, giving you time to pull away if you want.

You don’t.

His fingers tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Then he leans in again. Gentle, soft kiss, slow. Not desperate or overwhelming, reassurance pressed quietly against your lips.

When he pulls back his forehead rests against yours again for a second, both of you smiling a little shyly now. The tension melts and you breathe out a small laugh, still embarrassed but lighter. And he smiles at the sound you made.

He gestures towards the couch and you nod.

You sit side by side, knees touching, your shoulders brushing occasionally as you both pull out your phones to talk. The room feels calmer now. Safe again.

You glance at him, then type.

You: So… idol.

He groans immediately, covering his face with one hand, and you grin.

You: You hid that pretty well.

Hyunjin: I wasn’t trying to lie. I just… wanted you to meet me first.

You tilt your head, teasing.

You: So you’re secretly mega famous and thought I wouldn’t notice?

He laughs, shoulders shaking.

Hyunjin: You didn’t notice.

You nudge his arm.

You: I thought you were just suspiciously pretty.

He pretends to look offended, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. You both laugh, the last bit of awkwardness dissolving between you, but your next message is softer.

You: I was really hurt yesterday. It really shocked me and my mind went to the worse case scenario.

His smile faded, replaced by something serious.

Hyunjin: I know. I’m really sorry. I should’ve thought of the possibility of hurting you like this.

He looks at you while you read it, eyes vulnerable in a way that doesn’t match the polished image he probably shows the world.

Hyunjin: I was scared you’d treat me differently or feel like my life was too much.

Your chest tightens. You don’t type this time. You just lean in and kiss him. A quiet answer. Forgiveness. When you pull back he looks stunned and then relieved, smiling wider than you’ve seen all night.

You stand up suddenly and he blinks in confusion. You gesture toward the kitchen.

“Tea” you mouth, and sign it at the same time.

His face lights up immediately.

He watches you move around the kitchen, comfortable in your own space, sleeves pushed up as you prepare tea. Something about the normalcy of it seems to calm him more than anything else tonight. When you return handing him a warm cup his fingers brush yours deliberately.

He mouths thank you, and he tries to sign it from memory. His movement is a little clumsy, but you help him get it right as you both smile.

You grab the remote and put on some anime show you’ve left unfinished, looking at him to make sure he’s also cool with your choice, and his eyes widen in excitement as he nods immediately.

As the show starts playing quietly the screen colors flickering across the room. He keeps glancing at you more than the show at first, like he’s still grounding himself in the fact that you’re okay, that you’re still here with him.

Eventually you settle closer. Your head rests against his shoulder and his arm hesitates only a second before wrapping around you carefully, pulling you into his side.

He’s warm. steady, safe.

You both watch episode after episode, occasionally passing the phone back and forth to comment or joke. At some point you stop typing altogether. You’re just… comfortable. Your breathing slows and your body grows heavier against him, and a few minutes later he looks down and realises you’ve fallen asleep on him, your cheek pressed against his chest as one of your hands loosely hold his shirt.

His expression softens instantly and he stays still for a long time, unwilling to disturb you, watching your peaceful face like it’s something fragile.

After an hour he carefully shifts, sliding one arm under your knees and the other behind your back as he lifts you. You stir slightly but don’t wake, instinctively leaning closer into him.

He smiles at that. Finding it adorable.

Carrying you to the bedroom feels strangely intimate, more intimate than any of the kisses you’ve shared. He lays you gently on the bed, pulling the blanket over you and tucking it around your shoulders. He just stands there for a moment, watching you, memorizing your face as his fingers brush lightly against your hair.

He mouths quietly, though you can’t hear it,

“Goodnight baby”

And he hesitates… but then leans down and presses one last soft kiss to your forehead before he leaves. And the apartment returns to silence but holds all of the warmth he left behind.

_

Morning arrives slowly.

Sunlight slips through your curtains in golden lines, warming the blankets tangled around you. For a moment you don’t move, you just lie there, half awake, wrapped in the lingering feeling of last night.

Then memory returns all at once.

Hyunjin, the apologies, what almost happened but he’s just so sweet and considerate, the couch, the tea, his arms around you, falling asleep against him.

Your eyes snap open and you sit up quickly, looking around your room. Deep inside you hoping he’s here. A small flicker of disappointment rises… until your phone lights up beside you.

Hyunjin: Good morning! You fell asleep during episode four.

Your heart jumps, and you open the messages immediately. A smile spread across your face as another message appears.

Hyunjin: I carried you to bed. I hope that was okay. I had work pretty early today so I had to go.

You press your lips together, warmth blooming in your chest at the thought.

Hyunjin: Also… I just wanted to say that I’m sorry again for upsetting you. I never want to make you feel unsure of my intentions again.

You reread that one twice. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, but before you can answer, another message arrives.

Hyunjin: I have an idea, and a feeling you’re going to like it. Can I pick you up later?

You don’t even realize you’re smiling until your cheeks start hurting.

You: You don’t have to apologize anymore Hyun. And yes, you can pick me up!

Hyun.

He smiles at the nickname.

He’s down horribly and he knows it.

_

You notice immediately that this drive feels different. He looks excited but nervous too. His fingers tap lightly against the steering wheel while he glances at you every few seconds, like he’s waiting for your reaction before the surprise even happens.

The car stops in front of a large building and you tilt your head questioningly. He grins, a little shy, a little proud over his idea, and gestures for you to follow him.

You immediately realise you’re in a company building. The hallways are never ending, and staff members bow politely as he passes. You notice it, the familiarity, the respect, the way people instantly recognize him. This is his world. Some of them look at you with a strange look on their faces, but they don’t try to interact with you at all, so you simply follow Hyunjin.

He opens a door carefully.

A.. studio?

You’re suddenly inside a huge recording studio. And right there in front of you is another man who looks back at you and Hyunjin and smiles fondly. Does he know you?

Hyunjin signs slowly as he points at him for you to look:

“Friend”

Chan immediately mirrors the greeting, giving you an enthusiastic wave. His smile is kind, gentle in a way that eases your nerves instantly. He types something quickly on a tablet and turns it toward you.

Chan: Hi! I’m Chan, Hyunjin’s bandmate. Hyunjin talks about you a lot. Welcome to our studio. It’s nice to finally meet you”

You smile at him and nod.

He talks about you? He’s.. talked about you to his members? To his group?

Suddenly Hyunjin takes your hand and leads you towards an enormous speaker setup. Huge. Almost intimidating. He suddenly looks nervous, searching your face for trust.

He signs slowly so you can follow every movement.

“I want you to feel my music.”

Did he do research? How does he know how to signs sentences all of a sudden? Your head is already spinning at the fact he’s fully signing before what he actually said even registers.

He guides your hand gently toward the large speaker, an enormous one that’s resting against the wall.

The music starts, and..

BOOM.

A deep vibration surges through the speaker and travels straight into your palm. Strong and alive and you gasp, eyes widening.

The bass pulses again, and again and again. You feel it climb up your arm, into your chest, into your bones. Instinctively, your other hand presses over your heart. The beat syncs beneath your palm. You’re feeling it. Feeling him. His art, his effort. His voice translated into movement, into vibration and emotion.

Your smile grows uncontrollably and you know your eyes are shinning, and then tears spill before you even realize you’re crying. Hyunjin freezes when he sees them.

For one terrifying second he thinks Did I overwhelm her? Did I do something wrong?

But then you laugh silently through your tears, gripping the speaker tighter, shoulders shaking with emotion. And he understands. You feel it. You feel him. He steps closer, overwhelmed himself now, and gently cups your face. His thumbs wipe your tears away one by one, and then he leans down, kissing them softly from your cheeks.

Behind you Chan quietly smiles, and without a word he slips out of the room, closing the door, giving you privacy, protecting the moment.

Hyunjin rests his forehead against yours, the music still pulses through the floor, through your hands, through your heart.

He signs slowly, again: I wanted to share my world with you.

You squeeze his hand, pressing it over your chest so he can feel your heartbeat racing beneath his palm and you kiss kid knuckles.

That’s your answer.

He exhales shakily, overwhelmed by how deeply this moment means means to him, and scared of how much you mean to him.

The tears on your cheeks had barely dried when something shifted in the air between you. His breathing grew heavier, you could feel it. His thumbs stroked your skin once more, then slid down to your jaw.

He kissed you again, hard, passionate, desperate.

It wasn’t like his usual gentle kisses. This one carried everything he had been holding back, longing, fear, and overwhelming want.

His lips moved against yours with urgent hunger, tongue slipping into your mouth as his hands slid into your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wanted and you whimpered into the kiss, hands fisting in his shirt.

He started to guide you to the couch now, and he locked the studio door with one hand without breaking the kiss.

He sat down on the wide, comfortable studio couch and pulled you with him. You climbed into his lap without thinking, knees bracketing his hips, straddling him. The moment your bodies pressed together you both instinctively moaned. And oh you were needy. So needy. And so was he. And the little sounds you were making were driving him crazy.

Your hips started moving on their own, grinding down against the growing hardness in his pants. The friction was delicious, and you rocked against him again and again, chasing the pressure. He groaned deeply, the sound vibrating against your lips as his hands gripped your waist, guiding your movements.

“Fuck… baby,” he breathed against your neck, making sure you could feel the low rumble of his voice. “You’re so eager for me…”

You answered by rolling your hips harder, desperate little sounds slipping from your throat. The music continued to pulse around you, deep bass thumping through the couch, through his body, into yours. Every beat seemed to sync with the way you moved against him.

Hyunjin’s hands slid under your shirt, palms hot against your bare skin. He helped you pull the fabric over your head, then leaned forward to kiss and bite softly at your neck and collarbone while you continued grinding down on him. The humping grew more frantic, and your breathing was ragged, thighs trembling around his hips as you rubbed yourself against his clothed cock again and again.

He was breathing hard too, forehead pressed to your shoulder, groaning every time you rolled your hips just right.

After several long minutes of this, he finally slid one hand between your bodies. His long fingers slipped under your skirt and into your panties, finding you already soaked.

“So wet for me baby” he said, making sure you read his lips, and his words made you shiver.

He circled your clit slowly at first, then faster. Two of his long, elegant fingers pressed inside you, curling gently, opening you up. He scissored them slowly, stretching you, stroking that sensitive spot inside while his thumb continued rubbing your clit.

You clung to his shoulders, hips rocking desperately onto his fingers, soft whimpers turning into broken moans. Hyunjin watched your face the entire time, eyes dark and full of adoration, occasionally leaning in to kiss you deeply whenever your sounds grew louder.

When he felt you were ready, trembling and dripping around his fingers, he pulled them out gently.

He quickly opened his pants, freeing himself. His cock was hard, flushed, already leaking at the tip. He looked up at you, breathing heavily, eyes sparkling and asking for permission even now. And you answered by lifting your hips, pushing your panties aside, and slowly sinking down onto him.

The stretch was intense.

You gasped, forehead falling against his as you took him inch by inch. Hyunjin’s hands gripped your hips tightly, but he didn’t push, he let you control the pace, groaning deeply every time you sank a little lower.

When he was fully inside you, buried to the hilt, you both stayed still for a moment, breathing each other in.

Then you started moving.

Slow at first. Rolling your hips in deep, sensual circles. Hyunjin’s head fell back against the couch, lips parted, low groans spilling from his throat and you wrapped one arm gently around his neck so you could feel every groan, every moan through your palm. And every time you felt it you’d squeeze him inside you so deliciously.

His hands guided you, helping you ride him harder, deeper.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, looking at you straight in the eyes as he spoke “So tight… so warm… all mine. My perfect girl.”

Your pace quickened. You rode him with desperate need, breasts bouncing slightly with every movement, hands clutching his shoulders for balance. Hyunjin met every roll of your hips with upward thrusts, fucking up into you while keeping one hand on your lower back, pressing you closer.

When you finally came it hit you so hard. Your body clenched around him, a silent cry tearing from your throat as waves of intense pleasure crashed through you. Hyunjin followed right after, pulling out of you quickly, a shuddering groan you felt vibrate through your entire chest. His arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you against him as he spilled on his stomach.

You looked down at the beautiful mess he had made in himself, and you picked some of it with your finger, bringing it to your mouth.

His head was going to explode. The expressions on his face priceless, making you wet all over again by just how hot he looked looking at you.

His hands started to stroke your back slowly, tenderly. He pressed soft kisses to your sweaty temple, your cheek, your lips. His fingers brushed damp strands of hair away from your face with such gentle care it made your chest ache.

“I think i’m falling in love with you” he mouthed and touched his heart.

Your eyes widened, a smile you couldn’t control. You fell on his chest and kissed him, and you could feel each other’s smiles through the kiss

“Me too” you mouthed back.

You buried your face in his neck, arms wrapped tightly around him, heart still racing.

_

The award still feels unreal in his hands even hours later.

Even after the stage lights, the cameras, the cheers vibrating through the arena floor, the weight of the trophy resting beside the table keeps pulling Hyunjin back to reality.

They won.

The restaurant is loud, warm, crowded with late night laughter and clinking glasses. The members insisted on going out if they won, no managers hovering too closely tonight, just eight exhausted men finally allowed to breathe.

Chan lifts his glass.

“To surviving another year”

Everyone cheers. Glasses collide.

Hyunjin smiles, but his mind drifts elsewhere, and across the table Chan watches him carefully. Too carefully. He knows him too well.

Chan leans forward slowly, eyes narrowing in playful suspicion.

“Why do you look like you’re remembering something illegal?”

Laughter erupts instantly.

Changbin snaps his fingers. “He’s been smiling at nothing all night!”

Han points dramatically. “You can’t possibly be this happy over the award you little fuck, just tell us”

Hyunjin groans, dropping his face into his hands.

“I hate all of you.”

Felix grins. “No, no. We love you. That’s why we investigate.”

Seungmin tilts his head. “It’s her, right?”

The table quiets just slightly. Not teasing now, all of them genuinely curious to know.

Because they know.

They’ve watched Hyunjin change the past few months, softer rehearsals, distracted smiles, the way he stays up texting. The way he just looks happier now, more content, complete.

Chan leans back, arms crossed.

“The museum girl.”

Hyunjin exhales, there’s no hiding he’s down bad for her, they already know, he’s already told them, so what’s the point of shying away now.

His voice comes quiet.

“…Yeah.”

Immediately, smiles spread around the table. Jeongin kicks his leg under the table. “Finally.”

Changbin laughs. “So you’re officially together or what?”

Hyunjin shakes his head, embarrassed but smiling anyway. “I don’t know. Yes? I haven’t asked her to be her boyfriend but do I even have to? We both said we’re falling in love with each other.”

He looks down at his glass, thumb tracing condensation along the edge.

“I think…” he hesitates, searching for words. “…I think she sees me. Who I am, who I really am you know?.”

He thinks about how you looked at him before knowing who he was. How heartbroken you were because you thought he’s embarrassed of you, when the thing he wanted to do the most was yell from a rooftop about you.

“I mean, to find someone like her, so kind, so talented, and to not care at all about this life.. this is one in a lifetime”

His friends have long stopped teasing and are now listening to him, some of them smiling, others almost looking proud.

“When I thought I lost her I was a mess”

Felix nods gently. “But you didn’t.”

Hyunjin shakes his head, a small smile forming.

“No.”

Chan watches him carefully, then grins slowly.

“…So.”

Everyone leans in. Chan’s voice lowers dramatically.

“You brought her to the studio yesterday.”

Groans and laughter explode immediately and Hyunjin’s face turns bright red.

“Hyung...”

Chan points accusingly. “You never bring anyone to the studio.”

Changbin slams the table. “Oh my god, you fucked in the studio didn’t you?”

Hyunjin hides his face again, shoulders shaking with mortified laughter.

“That’s none of your goddamn business idiots.”

“Oh my god they did. They fucked in our studio.”

The reaction is instant chaos. Han nearly falls out of his chair. Felix covers his mouth, laughing and Minho claps like someone just scored a goal.

Chan leans back triumphantly.

“I knew it.”

Minho has been itching to ask this, and he finally does

“So, did you have her sign an NDA?”

Hyunjin looked at him like he had asked the craziest thing in the world. Almost disgust forming on his face

“Dude what? No. She will never do anything shady. She’s not like that”

Changbin nudged him. “You waited forever to meet someone like that.” shifting the conversation, knowing how Hyunjin gets with the whole idea of NDAs.

Felix nods warmly. “You deserve someone who understands you.”

Chan’s teasing fades into something softer. “You look lighter,” he says. “On stage today too. I noticed.”

Hyunjin looks at him and smiles, “Really?” he hadn’t realized it himself, but it was true. The performances felt more free lately. The pressure quieter. Because for the first time since forever.. he has somewhere to return to emotionally. Someone who knows him when the lights turn off and loves him anyway for who he really is.

He smiles to himself.

“She felt our music yesterday, that’s why I took her to the studio. She wanted to know, and that’s the only pleas for her to do that.” he says softly.

The table stills again. They are all so curious about how Hyunjin makes it work considering her deafness. He tells them about your hand on the speaker, the way your smile broke open, how you cried while feeling the rhythm through your body.

No one interrupts. Even Changbin grows quiet.

Chan exhales slowly, clearly moved.

“…That’s beautiful, man.”

Hyunjin nods.

“I think… I think this is serious guys. I’m like.. genuinely in love with her.”

Then eight matching grins spread around the table, and Han raises his glass again.

“To Hyunjin finally being in love.”

Glasses lift. They all cheer loudly as Hyunjin blushes, and he doesn’t deny it. How could he when it’s the truth.

He’s so madly in love with you.

Because when he checks his phone under the table and sees your name lighting the screen with a simple message —

Did you eat? Congratulations on your win, I saw you on tv!

— his chest warms in a way no award ever could ever make him feel.

He types back instantly.

Yes. I miss you already.

He doesn’t notice Chan watching him fondly from across the table. Doesn’t notice the knowing smiles exchanged between the members. They’ve seen Hyunjin chase perfection for years. Seen him doubt himself. Seen loneliness hide behind beauty and talent. Tonight he looks peaceful.