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Now, as he sits across from you outside the exact damn café, watching as you scroll through your tablet completely absorbed in whatever you’re reading, Mark wonders if you’re really that much oblivious or just… don’t really see him like that. 

Which, by the way, would be one hell of a blow to his morale.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

The sudden question takes him by surprise, leaving him to realize that maybe he was staring at you a little too hard again. Mark blinks, quickly trying to gather his thoughts as he scrambles for an answer.

“Nothing,” he starts, clearing his throat before awkwardly gesturing towards his ears. “It’s just your earrings. They’re really cool.”

“Oh,” you say, touching the moon shaped jewelry as if you’d forgotten you’re wearing them. “Thanks. It was a gift from a friend.”

As your attention quickly returns to the tablet again, Mark fights the urge to bang his head against the table because… a gift from a friend? Also, your earrings are cool? Is that really the best he can do? After months spent crushing on you like an oblivious idiot, Mark would at least expect to sound less like a malfunctioning robot at this point. 

“You’ve been staring at that thing for like, twenty minutes,” Mark tries again, leaning forward just enough so his gaze meets yours. “What are you reading?”

You offer him a playful eye-roll. “An essay for my next class.”

He hums, perking up at your answer with genuine interest. “What’s it about?”

Setting your tablet down, you regard him with curious eyes, something Mark can’t quite read flashing across on your face. “You really want to know?”

“Sure,” he replies, trying to keep it cool despite the anticipation building in his chest, his pulse kicking up under your unusually attentive stare. “Try me.”

You tilt your head, studying him for a beat longer as if you’re debating whether or not he can keep up, pursing your lips to hold back a smile. “It’s about how Absolutism helped shape the hierarchical political structures of the Illuminist era.”

Mark pauses for a moment before nodding solemnly. “Right.”

As you shake your head, a laugh escapes from your lips, light and a touch teasing. “You have no idea what that means, do you?”

Mark rubs the back of his neck, shifting uncomfortably in his seat with a sheepish smile, feeling his ears burn. “Sorry.” 

Looking nothing but intrigued, your amusement only seems to grow as you raise an eyebrow at him. “Then why would you ask?”

“I know you like talking about it,” he confesses with a shrug, hesitating for a second before chuckling softly, figuring he might just tell the truth. “And I… I actually kinda like hearing you talk.”

Out of all the desperate tactics Mark has unsuccessfully tried on you so far—a long list that can be provided by Haechan—this is probably the first time he’s managed to render you speechless. Visibly caught off-guard by his words, Mark watches as your fingers tighten around the tablet resting on your lap, lips parting as if you’re about to say something he wants to hear… until you don’t.

Instead, you just glance away, giving him an almost aloof smile. “It’s not really that deep, Mark,” you answer finally, voice light but alarmingly disinterested to his ears. “I’m here if you ever need history lessons, though.” 

Mark stares at you, dumbfounded for the millionth time, as you return to your essay clearly not sensing the weight of what he’d just said. That familiar sense of frustration settles in again, a nagging voice that sounds remarkably like Haechan echoing in the back of his head that maybe he’s just not really cut out for you.

Is he really that bad at this? Is he too obvious or not obvious enough? How is it that no matter what he does, you just don’t seem to catch on?

His overthinking brain provides him only two possibilities:

1) You’re really, truly, completely oblivious to his efforts. 2) You’re purposefully deflective, and he’s been playing the asshole the entire time.

As he forces a casual grin onto his face, Mark lets out a breath, trying to play off the defeat. “I guess I’ll take you up on that someday.”

A smirk curls on your lips as you hum, barely glancing up at him. “No, you won’t.”

“Wow,” he exclaims, slumping back into his seat with a deep, playful sigh. “No faith in me at all?”

You finally look at him, raising a taunting eyebrow. “I mean, didn’t you and Hyuck give up on that elective we shared last semester because there were too many history books on the syllabus?”

Mark opens his mouth to argue, but as you give him a pointed look, his shoulders drop in mock defeat. “Alright, that’s… not completely true,” he explains, holding up a hand as if to defend himself. “Maybe for Haechan, but I didn’t mind the books. I actually read some of them later.”

As you set your chin against your palm, focus now completely locked on him, there’s a hint of amusement laced to your voice. “So you just left me alone on purpose?” 

Mark blinks.

His brain freezes for a second, his thoughts slowing to a sluggish crawl as he processes what you’d just said.

Wait… what?

Does that… mean what he thinks it means?

A groan escapes from Mark’s lips before he can stop it, the weight of realization hitting him like a brick to the chest because God, Haechan might actually be right and Mark might actually be the dumbest guy on campus.

If only he could defend himself by telling the truth—that he’d wanted to stick around, no matter how much he sucked at interpreting historical events. That the way Mark had been convinced into the class had nothing to do with Haechan, but everything to do with you. That the only real reason he dropped out was because Spider-Man—and petty neighborhood villains—had other plans for his schedule.

Unfortunately, there’s no way to explain all of that without the risk of sounding absolutely insane. 

So, instead, Mark just shrugs, pushing through with a quiet chuckle.

“Actually, I just thought the professor didn’t seem to like me all that much,” he lies smoothly, swallowing back his frustration. “I figured I’d cut my losses before he could bomb my GPA. If I knew you wanted me—”

“That’s ridiculous,” you cut in with a playful scoff, rolling your eyes as you shake your head. “Everybody likes you, Mark.”

As his brain short-circuits for the nth time of the day, replaying the words like a broken record for a few seconds, a familiar warmth spreads through Mark’s neck. 

Everybody likes him?

Nevermind symbiotes, crime lords and deranged, unstable scientists—this is the kind of thing that can actually make a guy lose his mind.

He clicks his tongue, trying his best to play it cool with a smirk curling his mouth. “I don’t know about that,” Mark starts, alarms blaring in his head despite the casual tone of his words. “Does that include you?”

You smile at him, opening your mouth to reply and—

The loud ringtone of your phone suddenly cuts the moment, blaring inside your bag as you frown, instinctively reaching for it. Mark watches as you glance at the screen, a hint of surprise flashing through your features for a second before you swipe to answer. He barely catches the muffled voice on the other end, but whatever it is that you’re hearing, visibly draws a reaction out of you. 

Abruptly guarded, your posture looks stiff as you sigh into the phone for one last time. “I got it. I’ll be right there.” 

Barely waiting for a response, you quickly hang up before stuffing the phone back into your bag again. There’s something sharp, a little urgent in the way you move when gathering your things.

Mark frowns, concerned eyes taking in the tension in features. “Everything okay?”

In a way that feels a little too rehearsed, you offer a short nod, looking up at him apologetically. “Yeah, just… something came up,” you answer, giving a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I have to go.”

He nods, gaze locked onto yours. “Do you need someone to walk you home?”

“No!” you say sharply, blinking at him before forcing a chuckle, waving him off as you adjust your bag over your shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Mark. Just tell Hyuckie I’m sorry, okay?”

He’d forgotten you were both waiting for Haechan in the first place. 

As you step past him, your hand lightly brushes his back, enough for his shoulders to tense at the unexpected touch. Just like that, Mark watches as you rush towards the main building, glancing over your shoulder for a quick second to wave him goodbye. 

It takes a full five seconds before he exhales, dropping his head into his hands with a groan.

Though the peace doesn’t last for long.

“My God, that was painful to watch.” 

As he smoothly slides into the now-empty seat, a blinding grin curls Haechan’s lips from ear to ear, his eyes practically sparkling with mischief. Much to Mark’s despair, his best-friend looks nothing but ready to engage in his favorite daily activity—poke fun at his completely failed, absurd love life.

Mark shakes his head, looking away with a grimace. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The youngest raises an eyebrow, leaning forward with his elbows against the table. “Your earrings are really cool?” Haechan repeats, caught between amusement and exasperation as he scoffs. “I like hearing you talk?” 

A wave of dread washes over Mark’s spine. “Did you hear all that?”

Placing a dramatic hand over his heart, Haechan nods slowly. “Yes, Mark. I was listening, because you’re my best-friend and I care about your tragic, one-sided love story.”

“I was just trying to start a conversation,” he argues, dragging a hand down his face with a frustrated groan. “It wasn’t that bad… was it?”

As if deep in thought, his best-friend hums. “I think you can do better,” Haechan says solemnly, bursting into a laugh a second later. “I swear there was smoke coming out of your ears when she said everybody likes you.”

Mark forces a laugh, a mix of sarcasm and annoyance. “You’re so funny.”

“Listen, Milk,” Haechan starts, the nickname earning an eye-roll as his tone shifts into something more serious, though still laced with amusement. “I’ve told you—you should just ask her out. What’s the worst thing that can happen?”

“It’s not that simple with her,” he answers, rubbing the back of his neck with a shrug. “I don’t think she sees me like that, you know.”

The youngest scoffs, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance. “You really need to stop being a chronic overthinker.”

“Thanks for the support,” Mark says, shooting him a flat, ironic look. “I really appreciate it.”

Haechan grins, unfazed by the bite behind his best-friend’s glare. “Hey, if it makes you feel better, I can give you two options. Either you move on like a lovesick loser,” he pauses, raising a taunting eyebrow at the shift on Mark’s face. “Or you step up your game and make her see you differently.”

Mark exhales a cryptic laugh, shaking his head. “And how do you suggest I should do that?”

The grin on his face widens as Haechan leans back in his chair, arms crossed like a mastermind plotting his next move. “Do what you do best.”

“Why are you always so difficult?” he sighs impatiently, eyebrows furrowing in half-hearted annoyance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Everybody likes you, Mark,” his best-friend repeats, now as if he’s revealing a grand secret. “You’ve got this whole golden-boy thing going for you. Top of the class, the frat guys know you, and at least half of the girls in our major have had a crush on you at some point.”

A flicker of disbelief crosses Mark’s face, huffing a laugh at the words. “Yeah? Name one.”

Giving him a deadpan look, a scoff escapes from Haechan’s mouth. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters, frowning in pretend offense. “Emma from biochem? The barista that always gives you extra shots for free? Literally all the girls who were ready to fight me just to be your lab partner last semester?”

A pin suddenly drops in his head, leaving Mark to blankly stare at his friend for a second.

Emma from biochem hated everyone except the high-achieving, textbook-perfect students. 

Maybe the barista just remembered his sleep-deprived day order, rather than the regular one.

Choosing a lab partner should be strategic, especially when the grade percentage was so high.

Right?

As Mark slouches deeper into his seat, another frustrated groan leaving his mouth, Haechan only watches the spiral with a hint of playful sympathy on his face. 

“You know, being your friend makes me realize that God truly is fair,” the youngest teases, his characteristic grin growing again. “Sure, you might have the brains, the looks and the superpowers, but you sure can be an idiot sometimes.”

“Thanks,” Mark snarks, narrowing his eyes at his friend. “Being your friend makes me realize I actually need new friends.”

“Yeah, you don’t really mean that,” Haechan snorts, waving the words off with an exaggerated eye-roll. “Anyways, are you finally making moves or what?”

Mark drags a hand through his hair, hesitance visible in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he answers, pausing for a beat before sighing quietly, the words then coming out a bit firmer. “Maybe… maybe I should keep trying.”

“Yes!” his friend hollers, pumping a fist in the air, drawing a few curious eyes. “That’s how you get the girl, Milk!”

Yeah.

Mark isn’t so sure about that anymore.

After lurking in the shadows of New York City for a year as a vigilante, you still aren’t sure if that was the best or worst decision of your life.

It can be the best, sure, given you’ve always aimed to do something meaningful, purposeful with your abilities. It can also be the worst, especially when you’re fighting sleepless nights during morning lectures, covering bruises with make-up on a daily basis and fighting winces from aching bones after taking down criminals that just couldn’t take one damn night off.

Like tonight.

For once, you just want one damn night off.

A sigh escapes from your lips as you survey the first scene of the night. 

Perched on the edge of a rooftop nearby, watching a group of masked, oblivious men clumsily attempt to break into a jewelry store, you can’t help hoping for an easy night of petty, stupid robbers like this—

“Wow, you’re real.”

The voice cuts the silence so suddenly that you nearly lose balance, gloved fingers tightening around the steel railing of the building. As instincts take over, you’re quick to whip around into action, ready to charge against whoever it is until you come face-to-face with… a blur of blue and red hanging upside down from a web.

Staring at each other for a moment, you aren’t sure what to focus on first—the city’s most beloved superhero, the Spider-Man, right in front of you or the way he’s just casually acknowledged your existence for whatever reason. 

The silence stretches for a beat until he tilts his head, confusion written all over him despite the mask. “Are you okay?”

As you force yourself to recover, a huff leaves your mouth. “You’re Spider-Man.”

“Yeah,” he answers, the tone warm enough to hint a smile. “You’re Moonlight.”

Despite the fast-paced beats against your chest, you raise an eyebrow at him, trying to mask any traces of surprise off your voice. “You know me,” you start, offering an amused huff. “Should I be worried that an Avenger knows me?”

He chuckles, the sound coming off so boyish that it almost feels uncharacteristic. “I wouldn’t say worried,” Spider-Man says, somehow managing a shrug still in the air. “Maybe impressed is more like it.”

You blink, holding back a smile at his casual tone. “Why?”

Suddenly flipping his body upright in a ridiculously cool motion, he lands on the ledge across from you as if long practiced. “We’ve actually heard a lot from you. Didn’t you take down two weapons dealers last month? Also that one rogue symbiote down in Hell’s Kitchen?”

“Three,” you correct him, now not resisting a smile at his little confused hum. “Three weapons dealers. The last one wasn’t in New York.”

A gasp escapes from Spider-Man’s mouth, his shock visible even through the mask. “Damn, that was you?”

Amused, you ignore his reaction and gesture towards the chaotic commotion across the street, the thieves now pacing around inside the store. “Are you here to handle whatever that is?”

As if suddenly remembering the reason why he was swinging through Queens in the first place, Spider-Man subtly straightens his posture. “Yeah, I was going to,” he answers, rubbing the back of his neck with a gloved hand. “I just saw you and got curious.”

You raise an eyebrow, smile widening at his words. “You’re curious about me?”

He scratches his head, awkwardly clearing his throat before offering a quiet chuckle. “It’s just… I’ve really heard a lot about you,” Spider-Man starts, shrugging almost sheepishly. “You’re, like, super mysterious. It’s a little intimidating, actually.”

This definitely isn’t how you’ve imagined your first encounter with Spider-Man.

As the city’s staple superhero, you'd be lying if you said meeting him in person wasn’t something you’d secretly hoped for since joining this business. After all, every New Yorker is obsessed with him—whether through love or hate, admiration or skepticism. He’s been everywhere for years, long enough for his image to slowly become one with the city itself.

For you, shadows are your best-friends and avoiding attention is your modus operandi. 

Which explains why you’d never normally run into each other. 

At least, that’s what you thought until now.

Meeting Spider-Man—and accidentally discovering that not only he knows you but also somehow manages to completely throw you off with his awkward, endearing charm—wasn’t on your plans for the night. 

You weren’t sure what to expect of him, but it certainly wasn’t whatever this is. 

A smirk tugs at your lips as you tilt your head at him. “You’re admitting to keeping tabs on me and I’m the intimidating one?”

As he stiffens, Spider-Man promptly raises both hands defensively. “Not in a bad way, though,” he explains, rushing through the words with an apologetic tone. “It’s more like a cooler-than-me kind of way.”

Though completely entertained by his embarrassment, you decide to save him from spiraling further, interrupting him with a chuckle. “Hey, we should probably deal with these guys, right?”

He nods a little too eagerly, the answer slipping from his mouth without a second thought. “Crime-fighting first, rooftop flirting later.”

A flicker of surprise flashes across your face, a grin growing on your lips again. “You were flirting with me?”

The moment the words register, Spider-Man freezes, one hand already in the air ready to shoot webs across the building. “No? Yes? Maybe?”

As you ignore his flustered state, pursing your lips to hold back the lingering grin, you catch him muttering curses under his breath, the frown on his face visible even under the mask.

Cute.

Who’d have thought Spider-Man was this cute?

Shaking your head at the thought—because now is not the time and this is definitely your first and last meeting the guy—you turn your gaze back toward the chaos unfolding across the street, focusing on your job instead. The thieves are still wrecking the store, now tossing duffel bags to each other as they argue over the remaining pieces inside the broken displays.

Adjusting your stance by the edge of the rooftop, you raise a challenging eyebrow at him. “Ready?”

Beside you, Spider-Man clears his throat for one last time, shaking off the awkwardness as an alert, sharper posture quickly takes over. “I’ll take the back exit,” he says, a hint of tension now lacing his warm tone. “You okay with the front?”

You nod, already on your feet and poised to jump. “Try to keep up, Spidey.”

A rush of adrenaline takes over your chest as a blast of energy launches you into the air, shadows curling around your boots like a silent push. 

It takes a second for Spider-Man to catch up, soon enough swinging over you in a dramatic flip, offering you a laugh mid-air. “Hey, you got a head start! That’s cheating!”

You bite back a laugh, looking up at him. “I’ll give you a handicap next time.”

As you silently land at the store’s front entrance, the chaos inside is almost disorienting—broken glass crunching under heavy boots, jewels glinting under blinding fluorescent lights, muffled voices arguing over one another.

The shadows cloak your figure like instinct as you wait for the right moment to strike, pressing your back to the wall just beside the shattered glass door. A thief moves closer, still mid-argument with a second one as he waves a flashlight outside, visibly suspicious of something. 

It’s not enough for him to see you coming. 

The man crashes to the floor with a thud as you hook your leg around his ankle, head hitting the ground hard enough to knock him out cold. The commotion inside swallows the sound, leaving you to move quickly before the others notice your presence.

Inside, you watch Spider-Man land on a broken display with his signature pose, shooting a web around the nearest guy’s ankles before yanking him off his feet like a rag doll.

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm of work like you’ve done this a hundred times before. As he moves intently through the place with a touch of mischief to his movements, webs flying around everywhere, you contrast him with effortless silence, weaving through the chaos with ghostlike precision, shadows following right behind. 

In no time, all that’s left around you are unconscious bodies, shattered glass and scattered jewels, the sound of sirens drawing closer by the second. 

“You’re having company soon,” you start, taking a quick glance outside for the blue and red lights. “I should probably go before they arrive.” 

As his posture falters for a second, Spider-Man tilts his head in confusion. “What? You’re not staying?”

“I don’t really do the whole news interview and police statement thing,” you reply, offering him a knowing look as you shrug. “You’re really good at it, though.”

“Right,” he says, a subtle touch of curiosity lacing his voice. “Will I see you again?”

“Probably not,” you answer, already walking towards the back exit with a half-hearted smile tugging at your lips. “You’ve got an entire city to take care of. I’m just your local vigilante, remember?”

The sirens get louder, signaling the police approaching in a flash of blurry lights. 

Spider-Man pauses, unsure whether to follow you or stay in the scene. “Hey—”

Glancing over your shoulder, you interrupt him with a chuckle. “I’ll watch you on the news tomorrow morning, okay?” you tease, your steps picking up speed as you wave him goodbye. “Take care, Spidey!”

There’s no time for him to answer. 

With the shadows on your trail, you can only feel his gaze following you until there’s nothing but the distant hum of a shared night between the two of you.

Mark isn’t nervous.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

All things considered—especially the fact that he spends most of his nights fighting crime in a spider suit—this should be easy. 

No, he isn’t second-guessing the words that were carefully planned with Haechan’s useless help. No, he isn’t wondering if his outfit was too casual or too fancy. No, he isn’t considering bailing at the last second because of your last interaction.

This time, Mark is ready to ask you out. 

It’s easy to spot you under one of the trees in the campus garden—laptop balanced on your knees and earphones in, he doesn’t miss the way the corners of your mouth curl up to whatever you’re currently watching, eyes sparkling with a touch of amusement. Just for a second, the sight of you cracks the edges of Mark’s courage… until suddenly you look up, smile widening at him as you promptly pat the empty spot beside you in a quiet invitation. 

As he draws in a breath, squaring his shoulders like he’s about to walk into a battle against evil robots from outer space, Mark approaches you with a nervous smile.

“Hey, stranger.” 

“Hi, Mark,” you greet, tugging one earphone out as you glance up at him. “The seat’s all yours.”

He sits down beside you a little too carefully, conscious of his every move given your proximity. “Am I interrupting you?” Mark asks, nodding towards the laptop with a sheepish grimace. “You looked seriously locked in just now.”

“Not really, don’t worry about it,” you reply with a soft laugh, angling the screen slightly towards him. “I was just watching something.”

It’s him.

On the screen, he’s giving a semi-awkward, half-smug interview about the jewelry store robbery from earlier in the week. In full costume, Mark—or rather, Spider-Man—talks to a local reporter that’s acquainted with his superhero persona, somehow managing to sound distinctly unfamiliar behind both the camera and the mask.

Trying to mask the flicker of panic on his face, Mark clears his throat, feigning nonchalance. “So… do you, uh—like Spider-Man?”

“It came up on my feed randomly,” you explain with a chuckle, shaking your head at the paused image. “He’s kinda funny.”

“Funny, huh?” he huffs a quiet laugh, eyes flicking to the screen before coming back to you. “That’s definitely one word for him.”

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head in curiosity. “You don’t like him?”

“I didn’t say that,” Mark deflects, holding up his hands as warmth spreads through his neck, his heart picking up speed. “Just… I mean, he tries a little too hard sometimes, don’t you think?”

“Maybe that’s the appeal,” you say, shrugging as you glance back at the screen again, a grin curling on your lips. “Try-hards can be a little endearing sometimes.”

The words hit him like a gentle, loving punch to his gut. If that wasn’t him trying his hardest, Mark didn’t know what it was. 

Every little attentive quip he made during your conversations, every time he showed up a little early hoping to run into you after class, every casual visit to your favorite coffee place—it was all him trying. 

Just... maybe not hard enough for you to finally notice it. 

“Hey, speaking of trying,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck as he leans closer, doing his best to keep a laid-back tone. “I was thinking about how we haven’t hung out in a while.”

You glance over at him with a teasing smile, playfully nudging his shoulder with your own. “Didn’t we grab coffee last week?”

“Nah, that was a caffeine emergency, not a hang-out,” Mark tries, offering a small grin despite the growing rush of agitation inside his head. “There’s a big difference, you know.”

“I see,” you say, pursing your lips as you shrug lightly. “Well, if you say so.”

Hoping he doesn’t look as desperate as he feels, Mark plays the tension off with a laugh, adrenaline quickly taking over his chest. “What if we do something this weekend? Maybe grab dinner somewhere or—”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” you cut in, immediately perking up as anticipation flashes on your face. “Hyuckie and I have been dying to try this new place near Prospect Park!”

There aren’t a lot of moments that Mark can say he’s felt genuinely infuriated by his best-friend’s existence. 

Yeah, Haechan might have accidentally kissed him once when they were high school freshmen, an event that haunts both of them until today. Sure, Haechan had been incredibly annoying after the bite, tailing him everywhere just because Mark was acting suspicious—and apparently had suddenly grown abs out of nowhere. Yeah, Haechan may have acted a little irresponsibly trying to help him once during a mission, only to almost get himself kidnapped by russian mafia goons. 

Yet, none of those moments compare to the quiet exasperation simmering in Mark’s chest now.

Sure, he’s going on a date with you, but apparently… so is Haechan. 

He forces a smile, nodding along to your suggestion despite the frustration pulling at his strings. “I mean… yeah, we can do that.”

“I’ll text him, then,” you say excitedly, already reaching for your phone. “How does Friday sound?”

“Sounds good,” Mark answers, still managing a soft chuckle at your enthusiasm through his defeat. “Let me know what you guys decide.”

Before he can say anything else, your attention flickers back to your phone. As the screen lights up, a frown takes over your features for a second before you look up at him with an apologetic wince.

“I should probably get going soon,” you start, slipping your phone into your bag in a familiar scene. “A friend’s picking me up. Do you still have classes today?”

As he shakes his head, Mark ignores the flicker of disappointment weighing in his chest. “Nah, I was just gonna head to the library and catch up on some reading.”

Giving him a knowing look, you raise your eyebrows with a teasing grin. “So I was the one who interrupted you?”

Meeting your gaze with something gentle, Mark huffs a soft laugh, the words slipping before his brain catches up. “You’re never an interruption.”

For a second, he swears that your teasing grin softens into something almost timid as you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, looking a little thrown off by the sincerity in his voice.

Mark’s heart speeds up at the chance, opening his mouth to speak—

“Hope I’m not interrupting.”

The voice suddenly cuts through the quiet hum of the campus garden, both of you turning around to see a man in a dark suit and red-tinted glasses approaching, an amused smirk playing on his lips. As he takes a step closer at an easy, sure-footed pace, the cane in his hands taps smartly against the grass almost as if practiced.

“Matt!”

At loss for a reaction, Mark watches you stand up, eyes bright as you greet Matt Murdock of all people. 

Matt Murdock as in Daredevil.

The edgy, brooding vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen. 

As Spider-Man, he’s had a few encounters with the man, mostly when things were already spiraling out of control. Daredevil usually dealt in heavy territory—like entire crime syndicates, underground rings, full-blown mafia operations. Back when Mark had started out the gig as a high-schooler, Stark had expressly sworn him off from ever getting involved with the guy.

Now, he understands why. 

The devil of Hell’s Kitchen calls for the kind of trouble that comes with bloodied knuckles, long-term consequences and scars that run deeper than skin. 

That’s just one of the many reasons why Mark can’t wrap his head around the fact that you personally know the guy. 

“You’re Mark, right?” Matt asks, raising an eyebrow as he offers a hand out, the shadow of his eyes hidden behind red-tinted glasses. “I’ve heard a lot about you from this one.”

“That’s me,” he replies with a nervous chuckle, trying not to sound like his heart just leapt into his throat as he takes the guy’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Though the man looks nothing but polite, painting the perfect picture of the lawyer Mark’s seen on TV a few times, he can’t help but feel like he’s being quietly assessed. Since his previous attempts of prying classified information out of Tony had failed miserably, Mark doesn’t truly know what’s up with Matt’s powers—only that they go way beyond than just having good hearing.

“—in the same major?”

The rough voice quickly pulls Mark back to Earth, his gaze focusing again to find the lawyer watching him a little too attentively for a blind guy.

“I’m in Physics, actually,” he explains, rubbing the back of his neck as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “We had a few gen-ed classes together, so…”

“I met Mark through Haechan,” you add casually, glancing between the two of them as you reach for the lawyer’s arm. “I’ve told you about him too, remember?”

“Yeah,” Matt answers, a smirk tugging at his lips though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s good finally meeting you.”

Mark purses his lips in a polite smile, suddenly too aware of himself under the feel of the vigilante’s scrutiny. “You too, man.”

As you turn to him again after a beat of silence, oblivious to the weight of Matt’s attention on both of you, an apologetic smile takes over your face. “I’ll text you later, alright?” you say, swinging your bag over your shoulder before giving him a playful glare. “Don’t let me interrupt you again, hm?”

Despite the lingering nerves rushing through his body, a laugh escapes from his lips. “Nah, you can interrupt me whenever you want,” Mark counters, shrugging as he grins softly. “I’ll allow it if it’s you.”

“You’re a dork,” you mutter with a laugh, giving him an eye-roll as you wave him off. “Bye, Mark!”

As the two of you walk off, he watches your retreating figures for a moment longer than he probably should, blinking after the scene as if someone just hit pause on his brain. 

The second you’re out of view, Mark finds himself groaning in frustration for a second time, shoulders slumping at his defeat. 

Also, of all the people in New York—

Daredevil?

Lying on the floor of Haechan’s dorm later that night, Mark recounts the entire fiasco to his best-friend, a Shin-chan pillow hiding his embarrassment as the story progresses from his failed date attempt to unexpectedly meeting the vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen. 

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Haechan starts with a snort, barely sparing the oldest a glance as he focuses on the game flashing across the computer screen. “Maybe you’re just that bad at flirting. Have you thought about that?”

“I’m not that bad,” Mark groans into the pillow, ears burning under his beanie. “She’s just… bad at noticing it.”

“Right,” his best-friend deadpans, offering a dramatic eye-roll over his shoulder before turning back to the computer again. “I’m sure that’s the problem.”

“Actually, you’re the problem,” Mark argues, peeking out from behind the pillow with a frown. “She invited you to our date.”

“Well, I’m sorry if my presence is delightful,” Haechan teases, locked into the game again as a chuckle escapes from his lips. “In her defense, you literally just asked her to hang out. Did you actually say the word ‘date’?”

“I mean… no,” he mutters, sitting up as a flash of helplessness crosses his features. “I asked her to dinner! Isn’t that—like, I don’t know, kinda obvious?”

As the youngest finally pauses the game, turning his chair around with a sigh, Haechan shoots him an unimpressed look. “We go out for dinner all the time. Does that mean we’re dating?” he asks, promptly raising a hand as soon as Mark opens his mouth. “Don’t answer! I know you want to, but the answer’s no.”

Mark rolls his eyes, exhaling a breath in half-hearted annoyance. “I’ll seriously leave—”

“My point is,” Haechan continues, ignoring the oldest’s protest by raising his voice. “Dinner can mean a lot of things. You have to use the right words, Milk.”

“I tried to,” he insists, shrugging in a mix of frustration and defeat. “But then she mentioned bringing you and I just… I couldn’t say no to her.”

“Oh no,” his best-friend gasps, dramatically slumping back against his chair, a hand clutching his chest. “You mean I ruined your big romantic reveal? Tragic.”

A miserable, long sigh escapes from Mark’s lips, his body sinking into the floor again as if his soul has just left him behind. “Has she texted you yet?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Haechan says, spinning the chair around with a nonchalant wave in his direction. “Lucky for you, I’m a man of many abilities. You’ll thank me later, trust me.”

As he groans to himself again, Mark tugs the beanie over his face, wishing he could disappear as flashes of earlier linger over his brain in a humbling reminder of his failure. 

Maybe he can turn invisible with Wanda’s help.

Maybe he’ll cash in a favor from Tony and ask Dr. Strange for the Time Stone so he can try to ask you out properly like a normal guy.

Actually, maybe he should just stop altogether.

“Whatever,” Mark mumbles, exhaling a muffled sigh underneath the fabric. “I’m doomed anyway.” 

Haechan just snickers, back to clicking away at his keyboard with an eye-roll. “No, you’re just an idiot in love.”

For the first time since he met you, Mark almost wishes he wasn’t.

Nelson & Murdock’s office couldn’t look any more different from the gleaming skyscraper law firms that rule over Manhattan.

The place looks like it has seen better days—with scuffed wooden floors, furniture that are probably dated back to the 80s and dusty shelves paired with mismatched frames on the walls, Matt and Foggy usually attract all kinds of clients, offering their services with little to no demands.

Hence why you’re currently eating a batch of peanut butter cookies, Foggy’s payment for offering legal support to a local bakery that’s been threatened with eviction by a construction company. 

Sitting across from Matt at his cubicle, you pause mid-bite as he slides a file towards you, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at your antics.

“It’s a good bakery,” he starts with a nod, the sudden quip sounding somehow both pleased and surprised. “The ingredients are fresh.”

You gape at him, quickly swallowing the last bite of the cookie. “You can tell if the ingredients of a cookie are fresh?”

Matt grins, shaking his head before opening the file. “I did some digging for you,” he starts, a chuckle soon escaping from his mouth as he shrugs. “Well, Elektra did. She says you owe her a night-out.”

As you clutch the cookie jar to your chest, you can’t help a dramatic gasp. “Don’t joke around,” you say, half-whining at the mention of his assassin ex-girlfriend. “You know I love her.”

“Turns out your guy isn’t just an ordinary con-artist,” he explains, tapping a finger against the papers, several police reports with lengthy lists of accusations against your target. “He’s connected to a few larger fraud rings operating out of Queens.”

“I knew something was up with him!” you exclaim, looking up at Matt with a shadow of sheepish doubt on your face. “Do you think Spider-Man knows? The guy’s operating in his backyard.”

Almost as if he’s suppressing a reaction, Matt leans back against his chair, clearly schooling his expression by pursing his lips. “I don’t,” he replies, a flash of amusement on his face contrasting with his casual tone. “You seem to know more about him than I do.”

Raising your eyebrows, you shoot him a confused look. “I only met him once.”

He tilts his head, smiling in an infuriatingly Matt-like way. “That you’re aware of.” 

“I hate when you do that,” you scoff, frowning at another of his little enigmatic quips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you’re doing something about this guy, don’t do it alone,” the lawyer says, expertly changing the subject despite your frustrated huff, a small smile tugging at his mouth then. “It might not seem like it, but he’s got a good network around him.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, debating with yourself for a moment before sighing quietly. “Maybe I should just look for Spider-Man and—”

The front door suddenly creaks open, interrupting the conversation as a familiar aroma of spices takes over the room. As he steps into the office, Foggy glances back-and-forth between you and Matt for a second.

“Hey, not to interrupt your top-secret vigilantism conference or whatever,” he says with a grin, proudly holding a plastic bag in one hand. “I have secured another top-tier form of payment. Priorities, people.”

It only takes a laugh from you for Foggy to quickly take a seat by your side, squeezing himself into Matt’s desk before spreading out the generous serving that’s been given as his latest payment. 

“I’m worried about your future as lawyers,” you tease, amused by the absurdity of the situation as you reach out for their mismatched cutlery. “Do you guys ever get paid in actual money?”

“If we got paid in money, you wouldn’t have such a wonderful reception experience,” Foggy counters, offering you a bright smile before glancing over at Matt with a frown. “Are you dragging her into something dangerous again?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Matt answers, huffing a laugh. “Is this from Mrs. Ramirez?”

Foggy manages a sound of affirmation, pausing for a second with his mouth full. “By the way, if you two get thrown into jail for whatever it is you’re planning, I am not representing you pro bono.”

“Yes, you are!” you say, teasing him by clinging onto his arm, grinning knowingly at his reaction. “You love me, Foggy!”

The conversation drifts for a while as you share the homemade meal, your little investigation taking a back seat as Matt and Foggy humorously bicker with each other, recounting a few stories of their shared university years. It’s only when the food’s almost all cleared, their back-and-forth between falling into a comfortable silence, that Matt slumps into his chair with a nod in your direction.

“So…” the lawyer starts, casually wiping his hands with a napkin as he bites back a grin. “Mark.”

Glancing up at the sudden name-drop, you find Matt’s gaze locked onto your figure under the red-tinted lenses of his glasses. “What about him?”

Mid-bite of the last cookies remaining in the jar, Foggy immediately perks up. “Oh! Is this about the science nerd?”

Matt raises an amused eyebrow, tilting his head as if he could actually see you. “You rejected him today, didn’t you?”

As your mouth drops, a frown quickly takes over your face. “What are you talking about?”

Foggy whips his head towards you, still reaching absently for the now-empty cookie jar. “That’s not nice of you,” he adds, scoffing in faux-offense. “You rejected the science nerd?”

“Mark’s not a nerd,” you protest, pausing for a second as Matt chuckles, burning warmth slowly spreading over your cheeks. “I mean—he is a little, but I didn’t reject him!”

“I think you did,” he says, sounding far too nonchalant for the annoyingly entertained look on his face. “Didn’t he ask you for dinner?”

“Yeah!” you argue, confused eyes glancing between the two lawyers. “I said yes!”

The vigilante hums, feigning curiosity as his pretend cluelessness slips right past you. “Did he say anything about Haechan?”

At his question, Foggy lets out a low whistle, raised eyebrows ready to judge. “He asked you out and you invited someone else?” he asks, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. “That’s not very nice of you, Miss Shadows.”

You freeze. 

As your pause stretches, Matt chuckles at your growing bewilderment.

Reluctantly, you replay the moment in your head—

Mark approaching you in his usual caring, attentive way. 

The characteristic awkwardness of his small talk. 

A hang-out mention.

The way his eyes lit up when you said yes… and the way they visibly dimmed when you added Haechan to the mix.

Slowly, the realization slaps you across the face like an obvious, yet startling plot-twist. 

Mark was asking you on a date.

You did reject him.

“That’s—he wasn’t—” you stutter, scrambling for an excuse before ultimately surrendering with a dramatic groan, slumping into your seat as you glare helplessly at the two lawyers. “Oh my God? Did Mark ask me out?”

“Apparently, yeah,” Foggy answers, offering a pitiful, still playful pat to your shoulder. “You friend-zoned my guy in 4K.”

As he adjusts the glasses on his face, a subtle grin threatens to break Matt’s casual demeanor. “Maybe he didn’t take it that way.” 

Narrowing your eyes at the shift in his expression, you can’t help a scoff from escaping your lips. “You know something,” you point out, watching his grin widen over your sulky tone. “Ugh, with your freaky senses, you must’ve picked up something! Spill it, Matt!”

Matt only tilts his head, the smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Ask him out next time.”

“You know something!” you insist, leaning over the table with a mock glare in the lawyer’s direction. “Tell me!”

“I don’t know anything,” he argues, letting out a chuckle as he shrugs a bit too nonchalant for his usual attitude. “We’ve just met. He just seems like a good kid, that’s all.”

Crossing your arms over your chest in a perfect picture of an annoying baby sister, you huff at Matt’s suspicious grin. “Fine! I’ll ask him on a date!”

“Yes!” Foggy cheers, suddenly raising a cup of stale coffee in the air like a celebration toast. “Let’s go, science nerd!”

Watching the vigilante accompany his best-friend, you shoot both of them an amused eye-roll—even as the realization lingers accompanied by a tiny, unmistakable flutter in your chest.

Maybe you should really ask Mark on a date. 

Maybe… you kind of want it too.

Tonight, the streets of Queens are remarkably quiet for a late spring evening.

As Spider-Man, Mark has learned to find comfort in the city’s constant buzz, even as a regular resident of the neighborhood. It’s somewhat past midnight when he swings down to an empty warehouse rooftop, clutching a bag of Cheetos in one hand before taking a seat by the ledge for a quick breather. 

The air’s sticky with the looming summer humidity, leaving his suit to turn into a second skin, the gentle heat clinging to his body underneath. In his ear, the police chatter sounds nothing but ordinary—noise complaints, domestic assistance, a lost pet somewhere in a park. 

Mark senses the presence before anything.

It only takes a second for his instincts to kick in, tugging the mask over his face again just as a familiar shadow steps into view, drawing a choked breath out of him.

It’s Moonlight again.

The purple and black of her suit blend seamlessly into the night, her figure quietly approaching with an effortless, laidback stride that does justice to her name. Under her hood, Mark meets the vigilante’s gaze, visibly amused by the image of Spider-Man taking a snack break at the top of an abandoned building. 

“Flamin’ Hot Cheetos with a night view?” she starts, her voice laced with a playful touch. “You’re so romantic.”

“Uh—hey,” he greets awkwardly, tossing the empty bag behind him with a forced cough. “What’s up?”

Moonlight raises an eyebrow, fighting back a laugh with a scoff. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah!” Mark blurts, promptly wincing at the embarrassing slip before grimly correcting himself. “I mean, yes—I just wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”

As she hums, the vigilante shoots him a look. “Actually, I was looking for you.”

“You were?” he asks, voice tightening as his senses immediately switch into flight mode, posture straightening in anticipation. “Why? Did something happen?”

“Don’t worry, it’s not like that,” she replies quickly, waving him down with a small chuckle. “I just have some intel for you. This is definitely way bigger than I can handle… as in probably an Avengers kind-of-thing.”

Moonlight hands out a purple flash drive.

Mark blinks under the mask.

Caught in his own reverie for a second, his brain twitches out of focus at the unexpected twist in his nightly routine. 

Moonlight was looking for him.

Moonlight has intel for him.

Moonlight thinks he’s romantic.

He swears there’s still orange crumbs stuck on his gloves.

Again, she thinks he’s... romantic?

As he takes the drive from her hands, discreetly shaking his head as if to ward off the stray thoughts, Mark clicks his tongue. “An Avengers kind-of-thing?”

“I’ve been tailing this guy for a while now. He was just doing odd con-jobs here and there at first,” she explains, a frown settling between her eyebrows. “Now he’s dealing modified weapons, SHIELD level stuff. I think he’s got material from the latest alien invasion too, so this is clearly out of my league.”

Flicking the device between his fingers, he raises an eyebrow at the vigilante. “Where’d you get this?”

Moonlight offers an eye-roll, an easy chuckle escaping from her lips. “Let’s just say I have friends in the right places,” she answers, subtle mischief lacing her words. “Since the guy’s working with a few rings in the neighborhood, I figured I should give it up to a true Queens expert.”

“I don’t know about that, you’re kinda killing it lately,” Mark says, scratching the back of his head as he chuckles awkwardly. “You sure you’re not here to replace me?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” she counters, dramatically placing a hand on her chest before breaking into a laugh. “Everybody likes you, Spider-Man.”

The words make Mark freeze for an instant, a strange sense of déjà vu quickly sweeping over his body. 

It almost feels like an itch he can’t quite reach—because suddenly, he’s easily hearing your voice instead, echoing the exact same words with one bright, oblivious smile that drives him absolutely insane in the best ways. It should feel reassuring, maybe rewarding given his daily effort of stretching himself thin just to lead two completely different lives. Apparently, everybody likes him as both Mark Lee and Spider-Man.

Everyone… except the one person he actually wants to.

Forcing out something passable as a laugh, Mark shakes it off with a shrug. “Thanks, I guess?”

“I saw you on TV after the robbery, by the way,” she adds casually, crossing her arms with a snort. “You’re a natural, the reporter was eating you up.”

“I was kinda word-vomiting, to be honest,” he grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck in quiet embarrassment. “I can’t even remember what I said. Was it too bad?”

“It was cute,” the vigilante admits, clearly enjoying his suffering with a gleam in her eyes. “You were all over social media. I’m pretty sure people are shipping you with the reporter now.”

Mark groans to himself, dragging a hand through his masked face in frustration. “Man, it’s gonna be so awkward next time.”

“Well, my mission is done so I should probably get going,” she says, pausing for a moment before nodding towards the flash drive in his hands, her tone suddenly careful. “Can I trust you to take care of that?”

“Definitely,” he answers, fingers subconsciously tightening around the device. “Are you doing anything that needs… you know, any back-up tonight?”

“I’m actually heading home right now,” she says, stepping back with a tilt of her head, almost as if she’s teasingly inspecting him. “I can’t take boys to my place, so…”

As the implication clicks in his head, Mark internally winces at himself before clearing his throat, shifting on his feet. “Right.”

A chuckle escapes from her lips, Moonlight offering a playful, apologetic shrug. “My roommate and I made a deal. No guys allowed unless they’re boyfriends.”

“That’s—good?” he stutters, his brain short-circuiting for a second as it scrambles for something normal to say. “I mean, it’s a fair policy.”

The shadows follow the vigilante as she turns towards the edge of the rooftop, her silhouette framed by the street lights below them. As she steps onto the ledge, reaching down to release the rusted escape ladder, Mark barely catches it—a sliver of skin just as her jacket meets her waist, giving a glimpse of a small bandage beneath the rough fabric.

It’s heart-shaped, a shade of purple that seems to purposefully match her suit.

There’s something oddly endearing about how out of place it looks, contrasting with the heavy look of her black combat gear-and-hood combo. 

Ignoring the sudden warmth crawling up his neck, Mark forces his gaze back to her half-covered face again, though not fast enough to prevent her from catching him staring like a creep.

Raising an eyebrow in curiosity, Moonlight shoots him a look. “What?”

“Nothing!” he rushes, gesturing vaguely as a hasty goodbye. “Get home safe!”

The vigilante squints at him for a second too long, ultimately choosing to not press him as her face softens into something he can’t quite read. “Alright,” she murmurs, jumping off the ledge with a nod in his direction. “Don’t forget about it, please?”

As Spider-Man, Mark firmly nods back. “I promise.”

Then, as if she was never there in the first place, her figure smoothly disappears down the building. The metallic rattle of the ladder echoes through the quiet night for a moment longer before she’s gone, shadowed by her companions.

From below, Mark notes the hint of mischief in her voice as she calls him one last time.

“See you around, Spidey!”

An orange cat suddenly steps in beside him with a sharp, way too judging meow.

Mark exhales a breath, glancing down at his company in bewilderment. 

“I know, dude.”

Mark’s daily routine is chaotic enough to include all sorts of insane things.

As a seasoned vigilante, Spider-Man’s range can easily start from petty street criminals and build up to murderous outer space creatures trying to destroy the entire city.

At this point, there’s not much that surprises him. 

Yet, the sight of you outside his lecture hall on a random Friday afternoon stops him dead in his tracks.

Seemingly unbothered by the rush of students hurrying through the hallway, Mark nearly misses you entirely, overlooking your figure leaning against the wall as you casually scroll through your phone. It takes a full double take before it clicks in his brain that it’s you, almost as if he’s spotting a mirage in the middle of a concrete desert.

After three numbing, long hours of his professor ranting on about a subject he’d been barely grasping, the exhaustion suddenly shifts to a buzz of curious anticipation, leaving Mark to hesitantly call out your name.

As you look up at the sound of his voice, a sheepish smile immediately tugs at your lips. “Hey! I was waiting for you.”

“You were?” Mark blinks, his brain taking a full second to register the words. “Why? Did you need something?”

“Not exactly,” you answer, suddenly looking fidgety as you clear your throat, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. “I just wanted to ask if you’re free right now?”

He can’t help a confused frown, nodding slowly despite the curiosity nagging at him. “I am, yeah. Why?”

Had Mark been anybody else, the subtleties of your attitude would’ve hardly been acknowledged, as trivial as they seemed—the shaky, discreet exhale that escapes from your lips when he greets you, the way your shoulders square up at his answer, a tiny shift of your weight as your fingers fumble with the hold of your bag, a flash of apprehension that seems to cross your features upon his affirmation. 

The thing is, Mark isn’t anybody else.

At the chance of Haechan talking his ears off about how much of a loser he is, at this point, Mark just knows you. Beyond any enhanced ability he possesses as Spider-Man, being able to read you is just a consequence of… well, having a ridiculously big-sized crush on you and getting accidentally friendzoned.

Between the two of you, you’re most definitely not the one to get nervous around him. 

So why are you?

The realization hits Mark like a derailed train, still it doesn’t prepare him for the blow of your next words.

“Any chances you wanna grab dinner, then?”

What?

Unconsciously skeptical if he’d heard right, Mark stares at you for a second too long, disbelief immediately kicking in. “Me?”

A snort escapes from your lips as you offer him an eye-roll. “No, the guy that’s just behind you,” you tease, breaking into a full laugh as he glances around confusedly. “I’m playing, Mark! Of course it’s you!”

Mark huffs at his own embarrassment, a familiar warmth spreads through his neck. “Sure, let’s go,” he diverts, mindlessly reaching for his phone from his pocket. “I’ll text Haechan to meet us—” 

“No!” you interrupt, eyes widening slightly before you quickly backtrack with a quiet, awkward little laugh. “I mean… is it okay if it’s just the two of us?”

If his life was a blockbuster movie, Mark’s sure that the scene would be played out in slow-motion, exactly as the moment was processed by his brain. As he stands frozen in the emptying hall, mouth parted with his heart hammering inside his chest like he’s swinging between the city’s skyscrapers, it takes a few seconds for it to finally click.

You’re asking him out. 

After months of half-assed invites, awkward flirtation and planned coincidences… you’re the one asking him out. 

Is this what victory feels like?

He’s saved countless lives, fought all kinds of creatures and criminals. He’s literally the back-up call of the most powerful team on Earth. He’s the model student of his major, the quiet genius of research conventions and academic tournaments. 

Yet, none of the options feel comparable to the ecstatic, shocked rush that’s running through his veins right now. 

Maybe he wants to scream into a pillow. Maybe he wants to fist-pump the air like an idiot.

Maybe both.

“Yeah!” Mark blurts, a little too enthusiastically before clearing his throat, trying again with a nonchalant nod. “I mean—yeah. That sounds… cool.”

“Cool,” you repeat, biting back a smile with beaming eyes. “There’s this place nearby I want to try out, I think you’re gonna love it.”

Still reeling from the whiplash of having his wildest daydream suddenly come to life, Mark can’t help but freeze for a second time as you reach for his hand, your fingers easily curling around his own before pulling him forward with a gentle tug. 

As he falls in step beside you, forcing his body to move as rapidly as the heartbeats thumping against his chest, Mark’s also nothing but acutely aware of his clammy palms against the soft warmth of your hold. 

In a poor attempt at nonchalance, he clears his throat before tentatively squeezing your hand. “So, can I ask about the place we’re going or is it a surprise?”

You shoot him a side glance, a teasing grin curling on your lips. “You sound a little worried.”

“I’m not,” Mark prompts, pausing for a second until his hesitation turns into a sheepish wince. “Alright, maybe a little? You just kinda… caught me off guard. Wasn’t exactly expecting to be on a date tonight, you know?”

“I just wanted to make it up to you for last time,” you reply, offering a timid shrug as the tone of your voice turns softer, almost thoughtful. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”

The realization settles in slowly as if a bulb flickering on-and-off inside his brain. 

Every once in a while, whenever Mark entertained his reveries, a little corner of his brain would always envision the moment where things would change between you. After so long, he’s pictured a dozen different scenarios—some grand and cinematic that could easily rival romance movies, others clumsy and awkward that hit too close to reality for his comfort. 

Even so, no fantasy could’ve ever prepared him to finally realize that you know. 

After all the awkward invitations masked as casual hangouts, jokes that always hid a little bit of truth behind them and days he’d barely look at you without feeling like a walking, talking lovesick loser, you’ve finally noticed.

Mark swallows hard, heart leaping to his throat as the words fail on his tongue. “Right.”

It takes a stretch of silence for you to squeeze his hand again, brushing your shoulder against his as you inch closer to his side. 

“My roommate’s new boy toy works at this little pizzeria,” you restart, half-heartedly rolling your eyes as a grin curls on your lips. “She’s been raving about how good the food is, but there’s a chance she might be biased because she’s dating their delivery guy.”

He lets out a laugh, the knot of nerves in his chest loosening for a bit. “That sounds like a good story.”

As you nod absentmindedly, your eyes glance over at him with newfound interest. “Can I ask you something?” you ask, lip caught between your teeth as if you’re holding back a smile. “Are you always this nervous around girls?”

Mark almost skips a step, blinking away from your lips to focus again. “What?”

Raising your eyebrows at him, you can’t help a chuckle, looking clearly entertained and a little confused. “You keep twisting your rings every 10 seconds.”

Glancing down at his left hand like it’s just betrayed him, he’s quick to shove it into the hoodie’s pockets. “That’s just… force of habit, I guess?”

“Do I make you nervous?” you try, the question coming out tentatively as your face immediately softens to something almost uncertain. “Do you not… want to do this?”

“No,” Mark protests, his hand flying out again as it runs through his face, a nervous huff escaping from his lips. “I want to, trust me… it’s not—I’m just a little thrown off by this entire thing.” 

You slow beside him, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “It’s just me, Mark.”

Yes, he wants to say, that’s exactly the problem.

Thankfully, the sound of a door aggressively swinging open saves Mark from embarrassing himself further. 

Nestled just a few blocks down the campus, the little pizzeria stays discreetly placed between a record store and a small building, easy to miss if one’s not looking for it. As the warm glow from the inside spills onto the sidewalk, the faint scent of garlic and melted cheese flowing in the air, a guy in a windbreaker steps out balancing a stack of pizza boxes in one arm.

The guy suddenly pauses, squinting under his cap before breaking into a wide grin by spotting you. “Oh! Look who it is!”

“No way,” you groan playfully, tugging both of you forward to greet him with a high-five. “What are you doing out here? I thought you worked the last shift!”

He shrugs exaggeratedly, readjusting the boxes in his arm with a sigh. “Contrary to popular belief, I am a valuable worker of this establishment,” the guy jokes, eyes flicking between both of you for a moment before grinning again. “Wait! Is this a date?”

You shoot him a warning look, swatting his arm lightly. “Don’t you have pizzas to deliver?”

“My name’s Hendery,” he greets, straightening up before reaching out a hand with a humorous frown. “I’m her roommate’s… boyfriend. Probably. I think.”

Mark quickly introduces himself, letting out a chuckle as they exchange a fist bump. “Nice to meet you, man.”

“Oh!” Hendery snaps his fingers, eyes widening in a dramatic realization. “So this is Mark!”

Before he can answer, you’re already moving to physically steer Hendery towards a parked motorcycle, half-heartedly glaring at him for a second time. “The customers are waiting, Hendery!”

“Alright, alright, I can take a hint,” he says, backing away with an exaggerated bow and a lopsided grin curling his lips. “By the way, don’t forget to try the garlic bread!”

Exchanging a few last sassy quips with you, it doesn’t take long until Hendery’s settled on his motorcycle, the engine sputtering to life as he offers a playful salute in your direction to soon disappear down the street. As the quiet settles between both of you again, Mark swears a flicker of shyness creeps into your face, immediately drawing a small, soft smile out of him just as your gazes meet.

You scrunch your nose slightly, playfully nudging his shoulder with yours. “What?”

Rubbing the back of his neck with a short laugh, Mark shakes his head. “Nothing,” he reassures, gently tugging your hand. “Come on, we should try the garlic bread.”

The little bell above the entrance jingles as you walk in. Inside, the pizzeria is warm, the yellow lightning making up a cozy ambience with a hum of music in the background, coming straight out of an old-looking jukebox. As he trails after you to a corner booth by the window, the last thing Mark’s expecting is for you to pull him to sit by your side instead of across the table. 

His brain shorts out for a solid five seconds.

Too aware of the proximity, shoulder-touching close as he takes a seat, it almost feels like his whole body suddenly forgets how to exist. 

“If you say pineapple on pizza, I’m walking out,” you start, giving him a humorous look before flipping the menu open, blissfully unaware of his meltdown. “Don’t break my heart, Mark.”

For a second, Mark scrambles to pull his soul back into his body, rushing for an answer. “What? Oh—uh, yeah. Never. Pineapple on pizza? Gross. Illegal.”

You squint at him, leaning closer with an arm pressed against the table. “You hesitated.”

“I really mean it, though,” he answers with a shrug, the words slipping out of his mouth before his brain catches up. “I don’t think I want to risk your heart.”

A small smile tugs at your mouth before you nod, slapping the menu closed with a look in his direction. “We should order your favorites, then.”

The place isn’t too crowded so it isn’t long before the familiar scent of tomato, cheese and crisping dough drifts over from the kitchen to your little corner. As the waiter sets the pizza between you—accompanied with a generous side of Hendery’s infamous garlic bread—the conversation easily flows again, Mark relaxing just enough to lean into the banter, watching the way your eyes light up as you talk, catching every small smile between your stolen sips of his beer.

The evening unfolds like the most absurd, delirious fever dream his brain could ever conjure.

If someone had told him that he’d be sitting on a date with you in a few hours time, carefully selecting songs for your newest joint playlist, sharing a last-minute tiramisu and making plans for the upcoming Holiday break, Mark would’ve genuinely scoffed in their face and called them insane.

Actually, that’s exactly what he did when Haechan facetimed him earlier in the morning. 

Yeah.

In every existing multiverse, Mark’s pretty sure that every alternate version of him is currently facepalming over how dumb their physics student version can be.

By the time you’re both full, one lonely slice left on the plate with half-empty glasses all over the table, Mark shifts in his seat as a single question burns in his throat. 

He glances over at you with a sheepish chuckle. “Can I ask you something?” 

A smile curls your lips as you realize he’s mirroring your question from earlier, curiosity instantly flickering in your eyes. “Yeah.”

Mark hesitates for a second, sighing as it finally slips. “What changed?”

Clearly picking up his little cue, you pause to mull over the words, seemingly at loss of what to say before your gaze softens. “I think… I was just so focused on staying afloat. There’s always so much going on in my life,” you chuckle half-heartedly, offering a timid shrug. “I never really dared to look at you any other way. You’re a part of my life that feels safe, and… maybe I didn’t want to risk changing something that mattered to me.”

The words land softly in his chest, nevertheless shaking something loose inside him as it echoes in his head. Mark swallows dry, feeling his heart pick up speed as if it’s about to jump through his throat any moment.

You watch his dazed reaction with a growing smile. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I didn’t want to mess it up either,” he says, running a hand through his face as he slumps back against his seat, chuckling solemnly. “I kept looking for signs, dropping hints… after a while, I figured that if I kept quiet, then at least I’d get to stay close to you.”

Moving closer, you playfully nudge your knee against his. “Even if nothing happened?”

The answer undoubtedly feels like a turning point as Mark nods, offering a shy smile despite a touch of confidence in his voice. “Even if nothing happened.”

As the evening lights up the neighborhood with its streetlights and nightlife, it’s easy for Mark to forget the weight of a certain suit inside his backpack, ticking a silent clock for the next patrol. As both of you walk home between shared laughter and teasing banter, the city doesn’t seem to call for him as it usually does.

For once, Mark doesn’t feel like he has to split himself in two.

For once, Mark gets to be just a guy on a date with the girl of his dreams.

The conversation softens as your building comes into view, trailing into a lull that feels less like silence and more like an unspoken moment of comfort.

You slow to a stop in front of the steps, turning around to stand almost chest to chest with him. Mark holds himself back, blinking down at you with itching hands closed into fists against his sides. 

“Thank you for tonight,” you start, meeting his eyes with an effortless, all-too-knowing smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

A familiar warmth burns at the nape of his neck as Mark nods. “Yeah, of course,” he says, clearing his throat before daring the next words. “Want me to… pick you up after class? Grab some coffee?”

The question lingers unanswered for nothing more than a few seconds. 

Just as he’s about to backpedal, a rushed apology at the tip of his tongue, you’re suddenly closing the little space left between you by brushing your lips against the corner of his mouth, kissing him soft and slow up to the little mole on his cheek. 

It feels like someone unplugged every coherent thought from his head.

Mark suddenly feels like calling Wanda to make sure this isn’t a made-up scenario of his head.

Maybe Haechan will pinch him back into class in a minute.

“See you tomorrow, Mark!”

As your voice breaks his daze, Mark watches you spin on your heels to soon disappear inside the building with a soft click from the door, a sheepish but knowing smile playing on your face as you go. 

Rooted to the spot, one of his hands immediately drifts up to touch his own cheek.

What the hell just happened?

It’s a rookie mistake to expect an ordinary patrol in Queens.

Though you haven’t been in the vigilantism business for as long as New York’s finest, you do know better than to trust the neighborhood’s quiet streets—especially during a Friday night. Despite the impending loom of a downpour, the approaching weekend usually has the habit of luring the exact kind of trouble that Moonlight excels at.

Still, as you effortlessly move along the long-known rooftops and alleys, blending with ease into the dark corners of the city, the last thing you’re expecting to witness is Spider-Man quite literally dropping into your night.

The unmistakable red and blue of his suit hurtles from above in a flash, hitting the asphalt before you with a solid, painful thud.

It takes a second for your brain to finally register the unmoving body half-sprawled under the dim glow of the alley’s flickering lights.

Then— 

“Man,” Spider-Man groans, the words coming out hoarse but still laced with a thread of dry humor. “I really hate getting thrown off buildings.”

You release a breath at the sound of his voice, adrenaline spiking through your body as you rush to his side and immediately drop to your knees. “You’ve got to be kidding me! Why are you falling off buildings?”

“It was a calculated risk,” he jokes, attempting to prop himself up on one elbow only to wince, falling back down again with a choked laugh. “I totally meant to do that, you know.”

“You’re insane,” you answer, huffing in a mix of disbelief and amusement with a gentle hand keeping him down by the shoulder. “Take a breather, Spidey. I’ll bet this isn’t a daily occurrence for you.”

He shakes his head, letting out a half-hearted groan. “I’m fine!” Spider-Man mutters, exhaling a fatigued sigh before trying to sit up again. “This is nothing, I’ve had like—way, way worse than this.”

“No shit,” you retort, rolling your eyes as you give him a once-over, checking his body for any injuries. “Are you feeling anything broken?”

The playful grin on his face is visible even under the mask. “Nah, just my pride.”

As he manages to sit up, the distance between you closes just enough for you to finally note a rip in the fabric of his mask, exposing a sliver of his bruised jawline down to a bit of his neck. 

Suddenly, you can’t look away. 

It’s… maddeningly distracting. 

The sharpness of his jaw, the faint curve of his neck beneath the tear, the single mole contrasting against his skin—it looks hopelessly familiar, as if it’s digging at your brain for recognition. 

In your reverie, your eyes linger for longer than you realize.

Spider-Man notices. 

His head tilts slightly, visibly suspicious as he chuckles awkwardly. “Uh… is there something on my face?”

You freeze, immediately turning your gaze away from him and into a dumpster ahead. “What? No!” you say, clearing your throat with a shake of your head. “I was just making sure you weren’t about to pass out on me. I can’t carry you out of here and I definitely can’t call any of the Avengers for a pick-up, so…”

Spider-Man perks up at your words, seemingly already recovered from the fall’s impact on his body. “Hey, I can definitely put in a word—”

“It’s a no, Spidey,” you promptly cut in, chuckling at the way he deflates. “I know how to pick my battles. Queens is more than enough for now.”

He pauses for a second before letting out a quiet, resigned sigh. “Alright. Fair enough.”

A laugh tumbles out of your mouth before you can’t stop it. “You’re so funny,” you tease, standing back up before crossing your arms over your chest. “Can you tell me what made Spider-Man fall from a literal building?”

Reaching a hand to rub at his neck, Spider-Man winces. “Damn, it sounds so bad when you say it like that,” he quips, letting out a chuckle with a touch of embarrassment. “Actually, Venom was trying to help me—”

“Venom as in Eddie Brock?” you interrupt him again, eyebrows pinched in a baffled frown. “Eddie threw you off a building?”

As he finally stands up, Spider-Man fights a groan as curiosity nudges him. “You know Eddie?”

You blink at him, pausing for a second before huffing out a chuckle at the absurdity of your newfound connection. “You don’t want to know,” you joke, dismissively shifting the conversation with a pointed look in his direction. “How are you feeling anyway? That was a really nasty fall.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he answers, promptly squaring his shoulders as he shifts on his feet. “Not a big deal. Just—gravity, you know? My old friend.”

Raising an eyebrow, you hold back a smirk under the hood. “Right.”

Already acquainted with your powers, Spider-Man scans the shadows elegantly surrounding your figure with knowing eyes. “Were you still patrolling?”

“My night’s not as busy as yours,” you reply, shaking your head as you shoot him a half-hearted, playful glare. “I was actually thinking of heading home. After that fall, you should probably do the same.”

“Yeah…” he mutters mindlessly, his voice trailing for a second before he suddenly snaps up to look at you. “Hold on. Are you… worried about me?”

The question hangs in the air almost like a dare, the tone of his voice carrying a subtle touch of mischief instead of its usual awkwardness. It’s different—a little more confident than his usual endearing, flustered stumbles.

Again, a strange sense of familiarity strikes you.

“I’m just saying you shouldn’t let this life consume you, Spidey,” you huff, playfully narrowing your eyes at him. “You can’t save anyone if you’re half-dead. Call it a night for once.”

Seemingly mulling over your words for a moment, Spider-Man hums thoughtfully. “Do people like us even get nights off?”

As you shrug lightly, your eyes barely catch the subtle change in his demeanor. “If we want to.”

“Right,” he mutters, almost as if talking to himself before suddenly shaking his head. “Anyway, you know the drive you gave me the other night? You weren’t kidding. Someone’s probably sourcing him straight from Upstate.”

You scoff, baffled at the unexpected twist. “The Avengers warehouse?”

“Most of it was under SHIELD’s possession before the Triskelion thing happened,” he explains, glancing at you with a sharp look of curiosity. “How exactly did you get those files again?”

Raising a challenging eyebrow at him, your lips curve in a knowing smirk that etches onto the tone of your voice. “Trade secret.”

“Trade secret?” he huffs, the sound edged with disbelief and a touch of playfulness. “You gave me intel that not even Captain America knew about it and I’m just supposed to roll with it?”

“Seems like you already are,” you counter lightly, shooting him a knowing look. “Besides, didn’t you just admit the info was solid?”

“Alright,” he acquiesces, lifting his hands in mock surrender for a moment before pointing a playful finger in your direction. “Don’t think you can keep being all mysterious forever. I’ll figure you out.”

A surprised laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. “Will you?”

“I mean—figure out your… sources,” Spider-Man points out, coughing into his fist as his voice lowers into a mumble. “That’s what I mean.”

You shake your head, letting him off the hook despite your amusement. “I should probably go,” you say, stepping back and tugging the edge of your hood a little lower. “Try not to fall off another building tonight, alright?”

He groans, the sound earning him a chuckle from you. “You’re not letting that go, are you?”

As you head towards one of the buildings lining the deserted alley, the shadows follow closely behind.

The climb up doesn’t take long, muscle memory effortlessly guiding every pull and grip until you’re glancing over your shoulder at the rooftop, only to find Spider-Man’s sharp silhouette already perched on the ledge from the warehouse across. Against the glow of the city behind him, the vigilante looks every bit of the majestic image The Daily Bugle’s curated for him on its cover pages.

Yet, the awkward cadence of his persona can’t help but suddenly prickle at the corner of your brain with a certain someone.

Any dots being connected right now… it’s probably just coincidence, right?

“Hey!” he calls out, his voice carrying out over the space between the two buildings and startling you out of your own thoughts. “Thanks for checking if I wasn’t dead!”

Masking away any signs of your turmoil, a laugh huffs past your mouth as you wave him goodbye. “Don’t get used to it, Spidey!”

Yeah.

It had to be.

As a result of secretly living a dual life as both a vigilante and a college student, Mark Lee’s used to two things: 

1) Feeling like death itself has run him over on a daily basis. 2) Keeping his distance from people in the worst possible moments. 

For someone like him, learning how to live with pain is a given. Whatever one can list—bruises, cuts, split lips, broken bones that scream every time he coughs—Mark’s oddly used to it, mostly taking it in stride as just another part of his routine. The thing is, out of all the consequences being Spider-Man can impose in his life, weeks off-the-grid, missed classes and ignored texts are the bits he still can’t quite shake.

A heating pad falls off his side as he sits up against the headboard of his bed, balancing his phone while watching Haechan curse at his computer for the fifth time in the last two minutes.

“Hey, do the Avengers have labor laws?” his best-friend snorts, raising an eyebrow as he squints into the screen of his computer. “They’ve got you looking like you came out of ten rounds with a garbage truck. Have you thought about unionizing?” 

Mark sighs, half-heartedly tugging a blanket over his aching body. “Do you ever think before you speak?” 

“Do you?” Haechan retorts, narrowing his eyes at the camera before a mischievous grin tugs at his lips, the clacking of the keyboard pausing for a second. “I can make a whole list of all the dumb stuff I’ve heard you say. Like that one time you told her to—”

Interrupting his best-friend’s spiel with a groan, he slumps deeper into the bed. “Seriously, why did I even call you?”

The youngest doesn’t miss a beat, leaning closer to his phone with a knowing look. “Because you want to know how she’s doing while you’re holed up in your dorm like a vampire,” Haechan teases, the grin on his face widening. “By the way, she’s definitely not buying your lame flu excuses.” 

As his attitude shifts into something softer, a little distraught, Mark looks all the more vulnerable. “What did you tell her? What did she say?”

“What was I supposed to say? That you got beat up by a space green jock that hates Earth?” his best-friend huffs, dramatically slouching back into his chair. “I’ve been lying through my teeth like the amazing, incredible best-friend I am, but I know she doesn’t believe me.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, not sure of what to say. “I owe you one.”

The youngest hums, nodding dismissively with his attention back to whatever game’s on his screen. “You owe me your firstborn.”

Mark chuckles half-heartedly, the sound muffled by the blanket cocooned around him. “I’ll name him Donghyuck.”

Haechan immediately clutches his chest, acting out his usual dramatic fashion with a playful sob. “Don’t even joke about that. I’ll really hold you to it.”

A moment of silence settles between them, the only sound being Haechan’s frantic clicking on the other side as his game loads another round. Mark stares at the faint glow of the ceiling, the weight in his chest suddenly feeling heavier than the blanket he’s wrapped in. 

“She’s gonna figure it out,” Mark says after a beat, huffing a quiet, humorless laugh. “And when she realizes it, she’s gone.” 

As he coexists with Spider-Man, learning how to live with pain is a given, sure.

This is what he hates the most.

It works like an ill-fated clockwork—the second Mark gets closer to the slightest taste of hope, gentle expectation flowing through his heart, something always yanks him back.

Before he’d left under Tony’s call for the mission, things had been good. The both of you had fallen into a rhythm that made him feel that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t screwing things up for once. From the afternoons he’d spot you furtively slipping into his class just to make him company, to the late nights you’d drag him to your place for failed recipes that eventually turned into ramen for dinner, it was easy for Mark to forget the half of his life that’s hidden in the shadows. 

Now, he’s probably making you doubt him without even meaning to.

Just barely answering your texts.

Avoiding most of your calls. 

Asking about you through the grapevine hoping he hasn’t fucked everything up. 

The usual for a loser like him.

“Wow, you’re such a joy to be around sometimes,” Haechan deadpans, shaking his head as a scoff leaves his mouth. “Why do you always assume the worst? Not everyone’s waiting for a chance to ditch you, Mark.” 

He swallows dry, words catching in his throat. “I don’t want her to see me like this.”

“Like what?” the youngest taunts, frowning as if to protest him. “A human being?”

A sudden knock on the door stops Mark from replying. 

“Someone’s at the door,” he mutters, carefully shuffling out of the bed under the protest of every muscle of his body. “I’ll call you later.”

Tugging at the hood of his sweatshirt in a half-hearted attempt of masking the damage on his face, he drags himself to the door, for the first time ready to curse at Renjun for being such a dutiful RA.

As it opens, Mark immediately freezes.

You stand outside with your bag slung over one shoulder, worry laced into every line of your face. “Hi, Mark.”

“Hey,” he greets, clearing his throat as he takes a step back, hoping you’ll miss his agitation. “What are you doing here?”

As you carefully scan him over, a frown quickly settles on your face. “I could ask you the same thing,” you counter, lingering at the faded hoodie pulled half-tight around him, dark circles under his eyes, at the faint bruise coloring his jaw at last. “Mark… what the hell happened to you?”

Mark scrambles for the first excuse that pops into his head. “Basketball!” 

The change in your expression is subtle. “What?”

“I played basketball with the guys the other day,” he quickly adds, letting out a forced, too awkward chuckle. “Things got crazy competitive with Chenle, elbow to the face and everything—you know how he is, right?” 

The silence hangs between you enough to leave Mark on the edge, ready to have you call out on his bullshit. Instead, you just exhale and take a step closer. 

“I actually don’t,” you answer, gaze softening the longer you watch him, almost quietly deciding to let him be for now. “Let’s get inside for a bit? I’ll help you cover that nasty bruise up.”

Even though his dorm currently looks as if a hurricane has just passed through, Mark doesn’t have the heart to say no, feeling the gap of your absence a little too much now that he’s finally seeing you again. It takes minutes until you’ve got him sitting sideways on the edge of his bed, trying not to combust while you kneel in front of him with the first-aid kit.

Gently pressing a gauze at his jaw, your voice drops to a murmur. “You’re terrible at this, you know.”

Mark frowns, covering up a wince at the sharp sting of the antiseptic. “At basketball?”

“No,” you say, amusement flickering in your eyes as you look down at him, lightly blowing at the bruise. “At lying.”

As his heart picks up speed, Mark can’t help a nervous chuckle. “What? I’m great at lying.”

You raise an eyebrow, squaring him with a half-serious, half-teasing glare. “Then convince me.” 

He hesitates, pressing his lips together in surrender after a pause. “Maybe I’m, like… average at lying.”

The answer pulls a laugh out of you, now guiding him to stay put with a brush of your fingers on his cheek. “Hold still,” you order, quickly standing up and moving towards your forgotten bag by the door. “I’m giving you a cute bandage for being a good boy.”

Feeling his cheeks burn before he can catch his own thoughts, Mark watches you dig into a little Kuromi make-up bag. “I don’t know if I deserve it.”

“You do,” you object, reclaiming your spot in front of him with much less distance than before, something he can’t quite place flashing on your face as you hold it up. “Lucky for you, I always carry some.”

Mark blinks at the bandage.

A heart-shaped, purple bandage.

It just… can’t be.

No way. 

As you smooth the little heart over his skin, your fingers linger for just a second longer than they should. “You shouldn’t let this life consume you, Mark.”

Every nerve in Mark’s body stilled as if someone just cut the strings barely holding him together. 

He stares at you, swallowing hard as his voice wavers. “What did you say?” 

You laugh quietly, eyes finding his own with a knowing glint. “You really shouldn’t let this life consume you.”

Mark pulls back slightly, his mouth falling open in disbelief. “No way, you’re just—” he stutters, taking a second to exhale like the air’s been punched right out of him by the space green jock again. “You’re Moonlight.”

The smile on your face widens, soft but still edged with a hint of amazement. “You’re Spider-Man.”

The familiarity of your words feels like a missing puzzle piece of a long-known picture.

Every night he’s run into the fellow vigilante, every quip she’d made just to tease him, every little detail about her that made him double-take with someone else in his mind. Now that Mark thinks back on it, it felt like being one breath away from something he could never quite figure out, close enough to almost touch, but just out of reach of actually feeling it. 

“I feel like I’m hallucinating,” he blurts, still taken aback despite how at ease you currently look. “How did you even figure it out? That I’m Spider-Man?”

“I know you weren’t expecting anyone but you should probably look for a better place to hide your suit,” you answer, not resisting a chuckle at the way his face instantly falls with realization. “Having it out in the hamper doesn’t seem very safe to me.”

“Dude, that’s so embarrassing,” he groans, running a hand over his burning face with a sheepish chuckle. “How did you get here anyway? Doesn’t the building have rules?”

You catch his hands before he can hide, holding them closer to your lap. “I’m friends with Renjun,” you explain, offering a shrug as you play with his fingers. “I told him that my boyfriend was sick and I just wanted to check on him for a minute.”

Wait.

Did he… hear that right?

Mark stares at you, a touch distraught. “Your… boyfriend.”

“My boyfriend,” you repeat, knowingly chuckling at the stunned look on his face. “Renjun says he can’t believe a nerd like you has a girlfriend—”

Before he could second-guess it, Mark kisses you. 

One of his hands curls at the side of your neck, gently urging you closer as your smile brushes against his lips. You shift on your seat, easily sliding into his lap with Mark’s help, his arms instinctively closing around your waist. It’s enough to make him forget about the ache in his body, the bruises and broken pieces until your knee knocks against his side, instinctively pulling a pained groan from him.

The sound promptly makes you pull away, scrambling off him with a gasp. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” you beg, reaching for his face as an amused, guilty chuckle escapes your mouth. “Where does it hurt? Let me help you!”

Mark exhales, closing his eyes with a deadpan expression. “My pride. Again.” 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, leaning closer as you laugh at his drama, resting your forehead against his own. “I should probably stay off you for a few more days.”

“Yeah, well,” he mumbles, a small smile curls on his lips. “What’s a few more days when it means I finally get to have this?”

Before you kiss him again, holding him with just as much of his own devotion, the hitch in your breath makes Mark realize one thing.