stay over & we'll call it love

"Give it a second, Hee. You’re being impatient," Jake said, his tone remarkably calm for a guy dealing with someone as sleep-deprived as his best friend. "I just recalculated the shear stress. If we want it to hold a literal city bus, the viscosity needs to be higher at the point of exit. Check the temperature again."

Heeseung sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was exhausted. Not the kind of exhausted you get from staying up late to cram for an exam, but the kind that settled into your bones and stayed there. The kind that came from spending six hours in back-to-back engineering lectures, three hours at the campus library, and then four hours swinging through the soot-stained alleys of the city trying to make sure nobody got mugged on their way home from work.

Being Spider-Man was a full-time job that paid zero dollars and offered zero sleep.

"If I check the temperature one more time, I'm going to throw this beaker at the wall," Heeseung whispered.

"Don't do that. Glass is expensive and I'm not cleaning it up," Jake replied, finally looking up. He leaned back in his swivel chair, his hair a messy nest of brown curls. He looked at Heeseung—really looked at him—and frowned. "You look like a zombie, man. When was the last time you actually closed your eyes for more than twenty minutes?"

"Yesterday? Maybe?" Heeseung leaned back, his spine popping in three different places. "I tried to nap during Fluid Mechanics, but the professor has a voice like a foghorn. It’s impossible."

"You’re going to crash," Jake warned, pointing a pen at him. "And when you crash, you’re going to miss a ledge, and then I’m going to have to explain to your mom why you’re in a full-body cast. I’m not doing that. She scares me."

Heeseung opened his mouth to argue, but his phone buzzed on the metal table. The vibration was loud in the quiet lab, a sharp zzzt-zzzt that made him jump. His reflexes were so keyed up that his hand shot out and grabbed the device before the screen even fully lit up.

It was a notification from the group chat, named something completely ridiculous, because Sunoo was the one who insisted on naming it.

Heeseung’s heart did a weird, fluttering skip when he saw your name. He swiped the screen open, the brightness of the display making him wince.

It was a photo. A grainy, flash-brightened picture of a massive, glistening plate of chili cheese fries. In the background, he could see the tacky neon signs of the 24-hour diner near the edge of campus.

Your face was partially in the frame, tucked next to Sunoo’s, both of you grinning like idiots. He thought he saw Yunjin somewhere in the back, too, but his eyes were fixed on you.

You looked vibrant—your hair a little messy, your cheeks flushed from the cold night air, and your eyes sparkling with that bright shine that always seemed to draw people toward you.

Heeseung stared at the photo. He stared at the way you were laughing, the way your hand was reaching for a fry, and he felt a sharp, familiar ache in his chest. It wasn't his Spider-sense warning; it was just plain, old-fashioned pining.

He wanted to be there. He wanted to be sitting in that cramped booth, arguing with Sunoo about music or listening to Ni-ki complain about basketball practice. Most of all, he wanted to be near you. He wanted to hear your voice without a police scanner crackling in the background.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard. He started to type: Save some for me?

Then he paused. He looked down at his hands—his knuckles were bruised from a fight with a car thief two nights ago, and his fingernails had traces of black grease under them. He looked at the red and blue suit stuffed into the bottom of his backpack, hidden under a pile of dirty laundry and a copy of Thermodynamics for Dummies.

He couldn't go. He was a junior engineering student with a secret identity and a lab report due. He was the guy who was always too busy, too tired, or just plain gone.

"She looks cute in that photo, doesn't she?"

Heeseung flinched, nearly dropping his phone. Jake was leaning over his shoulder, a knowing grin on his face.

"Shut up," Heeseung muttered, quickly locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket.

"I didn't say who 'she' was, but you clearly knew," Jake teased, sliding back into his seat. "Just text her, Hee. Tell her you’re coming. Take a thirty-minute break. The web-fluid isn't going anywhere."

"I can't," Heeseung said, his voice flat. "I have too much to do. And besides… she's… she's her. Look at that photo. She’s friends with everyone. She’s pretty, she’s nice, she’s literally the campus sweetheart. And I’m just the guy who falls asleep in the back of the room and smells like chemicals."

"You smell like nice laundry detergent and existential dread, actually," Jake corrected. "And she likes you, man. She always asks where you are when you don't show up to the hangouts. Sunoo says she mentioned you three times yesterday."

Heeseung’s heart gave another annoying thud. "She was probably just wondering if I died. It’s a valid concern."

"She thinks you’re mysterious. Use it to your advantage."

"I'm not mysterious, Jake. I'm a mess." Heeseung looked back at the beaker of soup. "I’m a guy who spends his nights hanging off the side of a skyscraper because I have an overactive sense of responsibility. I can't take her to a diner. It took me three weeks to tell her my last name because I was so worried that some guy in a mask was going to follow her home."

Jake’s expression softened. He reached over and clapped Heeseung on the shoulder. "You’re doing a good thing, Hee. But you’re allowed to be a person, too. You’re allowed to want the fries."

Heeseung looked at his phone again. He imagined walking into the diner. He imagined the way you’d look up, your face lighting up when you saw him. You’d probably slide over to make room for him in the booth, your shoulder brushing against his, smelling like that sweet, flowery perfume you always wore.

He was just about to reach for his phone again when the silence of the lab was shattered.

A small, black box on the workbench—the police scanner Heeseung had modified to pick up local precinct frequencies—erupted into a burst of static.

"All units, we have a code 3. High-speed pursuit in progress. Suspects in a black SUV heading north on Mapo Bridge. Shots fired. Repeat, shots fired."

The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. The warmth of the diner photo, the longing, the simple desire for a plate of fries—it all vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity. Heeseung’s posture straightened. His eyes went from tired to laser-focused in a matter of seconds.

Jake cursed under his breath, turning back to his laptop to pull up the city’s traffic cam feed. "That’s heading right toward the residential district. If they don't stop them at the bridge, things are going to get messy."

Heeseung didn't say a word. He stood up, grabbing his backpack from the floor. He didn't look like a shy engineering student anymore. He looked like someone who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and didn't have time to complain about it.

"Viscosity is still low," Heeseung said, his voice tight. "But it’ll have to do." He reached into his bag and pulled out the mask. The fabric was soft, but it felt heavy in his hands—a reminder of everything he had to give up every time he put it on.

He moved to the shadows at the back of the lab, where the security cameras had a blind spot he’d mapped out months ago. He stripped off his oversized hoodie and jeans, the cool air hitting his skin. He pulled on the suit, the tight fabric clinging to his frame like a second skin. It was damp in a few spots from his earlier patrol—he really needed to wash it—but he didn't have time to care.

He thought about you. He thought about the diner. He thought about the fries.

Then he pulled the mask over his head.

The world turned red and digital. The heads-up display flickered to life, highlighting the fastest route to Mapo Bridge. The HUD also showed a lingering notification in the corner of his vision—a small icon representing the group chat message he hadn't replied to.

Heeseung swiped the notification away with a flick of his wrist.

"Save me some caffeine for when I get back," Heeseung said, his voice now filtered through the suit’s vocoder, sounding deeper and more confident than he felt.

"I’ll have the lab results ready by the time you're done," Jake replied, already typing again. "Try not to get shot. It’s bad for the suit’s aesthetic. Also, blood is really fucking hard to get out of spandex."

Heeseung didn't respond. He moved to the window at the back of the lab—the one he’d loosened the latch on weeks ago. He slid it open, the cold Seoul air rushing in, whipping against his masked face. He climbed onto the ledge, looking out over the city.

The lights of the skyline stretched out before him, a sea of neon and glass. Somewhere out there, you were laughing in a diner. Somewhere else, people were in danger.

Heeseung took a breath, checked his web-shooters, and dived into the night.

The fries would have to wait. The city wouldn't.

The fluorescent lights of the lecture hall felt like they were vibrating. It was 9:00 AM on a Friday, and Heeseung was pretty sure he was vibrating, too—partly from the four shots of espresso Jake had practically force-fed him ten minutes ago, and partly from the sheer, bone-deep exhaustion of having spent the last five hours chasing a stolen SUV through the narrow backstreets of Mapo.

He sat in the very last row, slumped so low in his seat that his chin was almost touching the scarred wood of the desk. He had his hoodie pulled up, the fabric shielding his face from the harsh glare of the overhead lights.

His eyes were bloodshot, the whites of them crisscrossed with tiny red veins that throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Every time he blinked, it felt like someone was dragging sandpaper across his corneas. Not pleasant.

He didn't look like a hero. He looked like a guy who had spent the night fighting a losing battle with his bedsheets.

His knuckles were still stinging, tucked safely into the pockets of his sweatshirt. He’d taken a nasty hit to the ribs during the chase—one of the suspects had a literal crowbar—and every breath he took felt like a dull knife scraping against his lungs.

Sure, he healed faster than most, but there was only so much that he could do. But the SUV was in a ditch, the suspects were in zip-ties, and the police had recovered three crates of stolen tech.

A win. Theoretically.

But as Heeseung stared down at the blank pages of his notebook, his brain felt like it was made of wet cotton. The professor, a man who seemed to take personal offense at the concept of joy, was droning on about structural integrity and load-bearing beams.

It was ironic, really. Heeseung spent a lot of his life now thinking about structural integrity—mostly while swinging off of it—but right now, he couldn't even remember how to spell the word 'load.'

He shifted slightly, trying to find a position that didn't make his side ache, and his gaze drifted downward, scanning the sea of heads in the lecture hall.

The room was packed. It was one of those massive, stadium-style halls where everyone looked like a tiny speck from the back. But Heeseung’s eyes found you instantly.

It was like his brain had a specialized tracking system just for you. No matter how many people were in a room, no matter how loud the noise or how dim the light, his focus always snapped to you. You were sitting three rows down, tucked into the middle of a row next to Sunoo.

Even from this distance, you looked like you belonged in a different world than him. You were leaning forward, your chin resting in the palm of your hand, looking perfectly awake and attentive. And pretty. So pretty. You wore a soft, cream-colored sweater that made you look warm and approachable, the kind of person people instinctively wanted to stand near.

Next to you, Sunoo was busy doodling in the margins of his notebook, his soft hair catching the light. He looked bored out of his mind, but every few seconds, he’d lean over and whisper something in your ear, making you let out a small, silent laugh that made Heeseung’s chest tighten.

Heeseung watched the way your shoulders shook slightly when you laughed. He watched the way you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He felt a familiar, dull ache in his throat. This was his routine. He watched from the shadows, a silent observer in a life he wasn't quite sure he was allowed to join.

He was so busy staring—so busy memorizing the curve of your neck and the way you tilted your head—that he didn't realize Sunoo had looked up.

Sunoo’s eyes scanned the back of the room, squinting against the light, until they landed on Heeseung. A huge, mischievous grin broke across his face. He didn't care about the professor’s lecture on tension or the fifty other students between them. He raised a hand high in the air, waving enthusiastically at Heeseung.

Heeseung froze. He wanted to melt into the floor. He wanted to vanish into the vents and crawl back to the lab. He didn't want to be perceived—not like this, not when he looked like he’d been dragged behind a bus.

Sunoo nudged you, pointing toward the back row.

You turned around.

The air seemed to leave the room. Heeseung stopped breathing entirely. For a second, he forgot about his bruised ribs, his ruined sleep schedule, and the lingering smell of exhaust on his hoodie. He just saw you.

Your eyes locked onto his, and for a heartbeat, your expression was one of pure surprise. Then, your gaze softened. You took in the dark circles under his eyes, the messy state of his hair, and the way he was practically hiding in his oversized clothes.

Instead of turning back around, you gave him a small, sympathetic smile. It wasn't the courteous smile he saw you give everyone else. It was softer. Kinder. It was the kind of look that said, I see you, and you look like you're having a really hard time.

Heeseung felt a jolt go through his body. It was his Spider-sense this time, but it was wrong. It was malfunctioning. There was no danger in the room, no ceiling about to collapse, no hidden villain in the front row. But his skin was prickling, his heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, and his stomach felt like it had dropped into his shoes.

He couldn't look away. He felt like he was caught in a spotlight. You crinkled your nose at him—a tiny, playful gesture—before turning back to the front of the room, leaving him breathless and reeling.

He was so dazed that when his phone started vibrating against his thigh, he almost jumped out of his skin. He fumbled for it, his hands clumsy and trembling, nearly knocking his notebook off the desk. He caught the phone just before it hit the floor, his heart racing.

He ducked his head, hiding behind the person in front of him, and checked the screen.

It was a text from Jake.

Heeseung blinked, his face flushing a deep, hot red. He risked a glance to his left. Jake was sitting five seats away, pretending to take notes, but he had a tiny, smug smirk on his face. He didn't even look up, just tapped his pen against his desk in a rhythmic, mocking beat.

Heeseung looked back at his phone, his thumbs hovering over the screen.

Heeseung’s hand flew to his forehead, rubbing frantically at his skin. He felt like a total idiot. He was a superhero. He fought criminals. He saved lives. And here he was, getting bullied by his best friend over a girl who had done nothing but smile at him.

He looked down at you again. You were back to taking notes, your head bowed. Sunoo was back to doodling.

Heeseung let out a long, shaky breath, leaning his head back against the wall. The exhaustion was starting to win again. The adrenaline of the smile was fading, leaving him feeling heavy and hollow.

He closed his eyes for just a second. Just one second.

The professor’s voice became a distant hum. The scratching of pens on paper sounded like rain. Heeseung drifted, his mind floating somewhere between the Mapo Bridge and the diner from the night before. He imagined you sitting next to him, handing him a fry, telling him it was okay to be tired.

Zzzt-zzzt.

He snapped awake, his head jerking forward. He had no idea how much time had passed—five minutes? Ten? The lecture was still going. The room hadn't changed.

He checked his phone again.

Heeseung stared at the message. You haven't seen him in forever. You wanted him there. You were asking for him.

He felt the familiar tug-of-war in his chest. One side of him—the tired, lonely side—wanted to say yes immediately. He wanted to sit on a floor in a crowded dorm room, surrounded by his friends, and just exist. He wanted to be near you without a mask on.

But the other side—the side that currently had a bruised rib and a police scanner in his bag—was already calculating the risks. Tonight was Friday. Friday nights were busy. Crime didn't take a night off just because some college juniors wanted to have a mixer. If he went, he’d be distracted. He’d be checking the time every five minutes.

He’d be a ghost at the party, just like he was a ghost on campus.

He looked at your message again. He could almost hear your voice saying it—that bubbly, sweet tone that made even a text message feel like a hug.

He started to type. I’ll try to be there.

Then he deleted it.

I have a lot of work to do. Maybe next time.

He deleted that, too.

It was a non-committal, cowardly answer. It was the best he could do.

He put the phone away and tried to focus on the lecture. Something about trusses. Something about equilibrium. He looked at the back of your head, the way your hair bounced slightly as you wrote.

He felt like he was walking a tightrope. On one side was the life he wanted—the life where he was just Heeseung, the guy who liked you. On the other side was the life he had—the life where he was a secret, a symbol, a protector.

He didn't know how much longer he could stay in the middle.

The lecture finally ended with a sharp, dismissive comment from the professor. The room erupted into the chaotic sound of zipper-closings and chair-shuffling. Heeseung stayed put, waiting for the crowd to thin out. He didn't want to get caught in the rush. He didn't want to have to talk to anyone.

But Sunoo had other plans.

From three rows down, Sunoo stood up, slung his bag over his shoulder, and started climbing over seats toward the back. You were right behind him, moving a bit more gracefully, navigating the narrow aisles with ease.

Heeseung’s heart started that annoying hammering again. He scrambled to pack his things, stuffing his notebook into his bag with trembling hands. He accidentally knocked his pen onto the floor and had to dive under the desk to retrieve it.

When he sat back up, Sunoo was standing right in front of him, leaning against the desk with a grin that was far too bright for this early in the morning.

"Heeseungie! You survived!" Sunoo chirped, poking Heeseung’s shoulder. "You look terrible. Like, really, truly awful. Did you get hit by a truck?"

"Rough night," Heeseung muttered, pulling his hoodie tighter around himself. He kept his head down, focusing on the zipper of his bag. "Just a lot of studying."

"Studying? You're always studying," Sunoo scoffed. "You’re an engineer, not a monk. You need to live a little."

"I live plenty," Heeseung said, finally looking up—and immediately regretting it.

You were standing right behind Sunoo. Up close, the kindness in your eyes was even more overwhelming. You were looking at him with genuine concern, your head tilted slightly to the side.

"Are you okay, Heeseung?" you asked, your voice soft and steady. "Sunoo’s right, you look exhausted. You’re not getting sick, are you?"

"No," Heeseung said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, trying to sound like a normal human being. "No, I'm fine. Just... didn't sleep much. Projects and stuff."

"Well, you should come tonight," you said, stepping a little closer. Heeseung could smell your perfume now—something light and sweet, like cherries. It was a dizzying contrast to the smell of burnt rubber that was still clinging to his skin. "Yunjin and Megan missed you at the diner last night. We all did."

We all did. Heeseung felt like he was melting. "I... I'll try. I have a lab report due, but maybe I can finish it early."

"Don't let Jake help you," Sunoo joked, glancing over at Jake, who was finally standing up from his seat. "He’ll just talk about physics until your ears bleed."

"Hey, I heard that!" Jake called out, walking over to join the group. He looked perfectly fine, of course. He hadn't been the one chasing SUVs. He’d just been the guy in the chair. "And for the record, physics is fascinating."

"It's nerd talk," Sunoo countered.

While they were bickering, you stayed focused on Heeseung. You reached out, your fingers lightly touching his forearm for just a second. The contact felt like a lightning strike. Heeseung almost flinched, his muscles tensing under your touch.

"Seriously, Heeseung," you whispered, so the others wouldn't hear. "Take some rest. You look like you're carrying the whole world on your shoulders."

Well, you hadn't been too far off.

Heeseung looked into your eyes, and for a terrifying moment, he thought you knew. He thought you could see right through the hoodie, right through the lie, and see the red and blue suit hidden in his bag.

But you just smiled—that sweet, soft smile that made everyone love you—and gave his arm a tiny squeeze before letting go.

"See you tonight?" you asked.

"Yeah," Heeseung said, the word leaving his lips before he could stop it. "Yeah. See you tonight."

You beamed at him, then turned to Sunoo. "Come on, Sunoo, we’re going to be late for our elective."

"Damn, already? Bye, Heeseung! Bye, Jake the Nerd!" Sunoo waved over his shoulder as the two of you headed toward the exit.

Heeseung stood there, frozen, watching you walk away. He watched the way you navigated the crowded hall, waving to a few other people, clearly the person everyone wanted to talk to.

"You're so whipped," Jake said, leaning against the desk next to him.

"I'm not whipped," Heeseung muttered, though his face was still burning.

"You literally just promised to go to a party after spending all night getting beaten up by car thieves. You can barely stand, Hee. How are you going to survive a party?"

Heeseung slung his bag over his shoulder, the weight of the suit shifting against his back. He felt the ache in his ribs, the sting in his knuckles, and the fog in his brain.

"I'm... not," he said.

"What do you mean?" Jake asked him, tilting his head.

Heeseung looked toward the door where you had disappeared.

"I panicked," he admitted. "I can't go. I have patrol. Plus, I think I'm falling behind in some of my classes."

He walked out of the hall, his heart still doing that strange, fluttering dance. He was exhausted, he was hurting, and he was a mess. He hated that he lied to you, that he got your hopes up. If he could even call it that. Heeseung wasn't sure you actually cared about him. You were polite like that... it didn't mean anything.

He just hoped the city would stay quiet for one night. He just wanted that for a few hours, where he could be Heeseung, and not the guy in the mask.

But as he walked down the stairs, he felt a familiar prickle at the base of his neck. It was faint—barely there—but it was a reminder.

The city never stayed quiet for long. And he was the only one who could hear the noise.

The night air was sharp, biting through the thin spandex of the suit as Heeseung perched on the cold steel of a suspension cable. Below him, the Han River looked like a sheet of black glass, reflecting the neon hum of the city. Usually, the height was where he felt most at home—away from the crowded hallways and the crushing weight of his engineering textbooks—but tonight, his mind was miles away.

Specifically, it was stuck in a dorm room on the other side of campus.

He checked his suit’s internal clock. 11:45 PM. By now, Soobin’s mixer was in full swing. He could almost hear the muffled bass of the music through the walls, smell the cheap snacks, and see you laughing in the middle of a circle of people.

He imagined you looking at the door every time it opened, wondering if he was finally going to show up. Or maybe you weren't. Maybe you had already forgotten the stuttered "yeah" he’d given you in the lecture hall.

He let out a long, foggy breath that clouded his eye lenses for a second.

"You’re brooding again, Hee. I can hear the dramatic pouting through the comms."

Jake’s voice crackled in his ear, sounding far too crisp and awake. Heeseung could hear the faint click-clack of a keyboard in the background. Jake was likely sitting in their shared dorm, surrounded by three different monitors and at least two empty ramen cups.

"I’m not brooding. I’m patrolling," Heeseung muttered, shifting his weight. His ribs still throbbed—a dull, rhythmic reminder of the crowbar from the night before—but the adrenaline of being in the suit usually acted as a decent enough numbing agent.

"Patrolling is just brooding with more gymnastics," Jake countered. "Why are you even out there? I told you the police scanners have been dead for an hour. Go to the party. Go see the girl. Live a little before you turn into a literal gargoyle."

"I told her I had a lab report," Heeseung lied, even though Jake knew better.

"No, you told me you had a lab report. You told her you’d see. Which, in girl-code, means you’re coming. If you don't show up, you’re just the guy who flaked."

Heeseung winced. "I can't just... walk in there, Jake. Look at me. I’m exhausted. I’ve got a bruise the size of a dinner plate on my side. I wouldn't even know what to say to her. Spider-Man can talk to anyone, but Heeseung? Heeseung can barely order a coffee without tripping over his own feet."

"That’s the secret, man. You’re the same guy. The mask just gives you an excuse to stop overthinking. Just pretend you’re wearing the suit under your clothes. Big, hero energy. You got this."

"You were invited, too. Why don't you go? You don't have to be here, y'know. Go live your life."

Jake paused for a moment before responding, "Solidarity, dude." Heeseung cracked a smile at that. There were times he felt that his best friend was too kind to him, and this was one of them.

"I'm hanging up now," Heeseung said.

"Fine. But don't come crying to me when Sunoo texts me saying you missed the best party of the semester. Be safe, Spidey."

The comms went dead with a soft beep. Heeseung sighed, standing up on the cable. He looked toward the campus buildings in the distance. He really should just go home. He should sleep. He should be the responsible student his parents thought he was.

But his feet didn't move toward the dorms. He shot a line of webbing toward the underside of the campus bridge, swinging out into the open air. The wind rushed past him, tugging at the suit, and for a few seconds, the heavy thoughts in his head felt a little lighter.

He was just finishing a sweep of the perimeter near the south entrance when his Spider-sense gave a tiny, almost imperceptible prickle. It wasn't the "get out of the way of a speeding bullet" kind of warning. It was more of a "pay attention" nudge.

He stuck to the side of a brick pillar under the bridge, his gloved fingers clinging to the rough surface. He looked down.

There was someone walking on the pedestrian path above.

Even from the shadows, he knew it was you. You were walking alone, your dress a bright spot against the dark pavement. You looked a little tired, your shoulders slumped, but you were still smiling as you looked down at your phone. You were probably texting the group chat, telling them you’d made it out of the party and were headed back to your dorm.

Heeseung felt that familiar, painful tug in his chest. You were so close. If he just climbed up, if he just took off the mask...

But he stayed still, hidden in the dark. He watched you walk, a silent guardian who couldn't even say hello.

You were halfway across the bridge when you stumbled. It was a small thing—your foot caught on an uneven piece of concrete—but it was enough to make you lurch forward. Your phone, which you’d been holding loosely in your hand, slipped from your fingers.

He watched it happen in slow motion. The phone hit the ground, bounced once, and started sliding toward the gap between the bridge floor and the railing.

"Well, fuck," Heeseung murmured.

You gasped, lunging for it, but your fingers missed the glass by an inch. The phone slid through the gap, vanishing over the edge.

Heeseung didn't even think. He didn't have time to.

He let go of the pillar, dropping into a freefall. He shot a web at the underside of the bridge to swing himself upward, his body arching through the air. He saw the phone—a small, silver rectangle tumbling through the darkness toward the rocky bank of the river.

He tucked his knees to his chest, spinning once to gain momentum, and reached out. His fingers closed around the cool metal of the phone just a few feet above the ground.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, he shot another web toward the bridge’s support beam, using the tension to slow his descent. He landed silently on the pavement directly in front of you, his boots hitting the concrete with a soft thud.

He stood up slowly, the phone held safely in his hand.

You were frozen, your eyes wide, your hands still hovering in the air where you’d tried to catch the device. You looked like a deer caught in headlights—breathless, shocked, and incredibly pretty. The moonlight hit your face just right, and for a second, Heeseung forgot he was supposed to be a mysterious hero. He just wanted to stare at you.

But then he remembered. He was wearing the mask. He wasn't the guy who stuttered in the back of the lecture hall. He was Spider-Man.

He stepped forward, the white lenses of his mask narrowing as he looked at you. He felt a strange, intoxicating rush of confidence. It was like Jake said—the mask was an excuse.

"Looking for this?" he asked.

His voice was different when he was in the suit. It was steady, tilted with a bit of a playful edge that he could never manage as Heeseung. He held the phone out to you, the screen still glowing with a half-finished text message to Sunoo.

You blinked, finally coming back to your senses. Your face went from pale shock to a deep burning within seconds.

"Oh my god," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. "You... you caught it. How did you... I didn't even see you."

"I have a habit of being in the right place at the right time," he said, stepping even closer. He was well within your personal space now, close enough to smell the faint scent of cherries on your skin. It made his head spin. "You should be more careful, sweetheart. Gravity is a clingy boyfriend. It’ll take everything you give it."

You let out a small, breathless laugh, reaching out to take the phone. Your fingers brushed against his gloved hand—a tiny, electric spark that made Heeseung want to jump out of his skin. But he didn't move. He held his ground, watching you tuck the phone into your pocket.

"Thank you," you said, looking up at him. You were still blushing, your eyes searching the blank white lenses of his mask. "I would have been so dead. All my photos, my notes... everything was on there."

"Can't have that," Heeseung said. He leaned one hand against the railing of the bridge, posing slightly. It was a total Spider-Man move—arrogant, smooth, and completely unlike him. "A girl like you shouldn't be walking home alone this late anyway. It’s dangerous."

"A girl like me?" you teased, finding your voice again. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, a gesture he’d seen you do a thousand times in class. "And what kind of girl is that?"

The kind I’ve been staring at for six months, he thought. The kind who smells like cherries and makes me forget my own name.

"The kind who’s too distracted by her phone to see a superhero swinging by," he said instead. "The kind who probably had a long night at a party she didn't want to leave."

You looked surprised. "How did you know I was at a party?"

"Lucky guess. You look like you’ve been dancing. Or at least trying to avoid being danced on."

You laughed again, a bright, genuine sound that filled the quiet night. "You're not wrong. It was a bit much. My friend Soobin throws loud mixers."

Heeseung felt a pang of jealousy. He was talking to you. He was actually having a conversation with you, and he wasn't fumbling his words. You were looking at him with admiration, with interest. You liked this version of him.

"Well," he said, pushing off the railing. He knew he couldn't stay too long. The more he talked, the more likely he was to slip up. "Since I’m already here, I might as well make sure you get to your door in one piece. Wouldn't want gravity to try anything else tonight."

"Are you offering to walk me home?" you asked, a mix of curiosity and something else in your eyes. "Is that part of the superhero service?"

"Special occasion," he said.

He didn't walk with you, exactly. He hopped up onto the railing, crouching there like a bird, moving along the edge as you walked on the pavement. It was a show-off move, and he knew it, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted you to keep looking at him.

"So," you said, looking up at him as you walked. "Do you do this often? Save phones from certain death?"

"Only for pretty girls," he said. The words came out so easily it almost scared him. "The guys usually have to buy their own replacements."

You flushed again, ducking your head. "You're a flirt, Mr. Spider-Man. I didn't expect that."

"I've been told I have a certain charm," he said. "Though usually, I’m just told to be quiet and stop webbing up the police cars."

The walk to your dorm felt far too short. Usually, the trek across campus felt like a marathon when Heeseung was carrying his heavy engineering bag, but tonight, he wanted the bridge to stretch on forever. He listened to you talk—really talk. You told him about how you were tired of school, how you missed your family, and how you had this one friend who was always disappearing.

"Heeseung," you said, the name hitting him like a physical blow. "He’s an engineering major. Super smart, but he’s like a ghost. He said he’d come tonight, but he flaked. Again."

Heeseung felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He looked away, staring out at the dark trees lining the path. "Maybe he’s just busy. Engineering is hard."

"I know it is," you said softly. "I just... I worry about him. He looks so tired all the time. Like he’s carrying a lot of weight."

Heeseung turned back to you. You were looking at him, but he knew you were thinking about him—the other him. The messy, tired version.

"He’s lucky to have someone like you worrying about him," he said, his voice dropping a bit.

You smiled, a sad, sweet little thing. "I hope so. Anyway, this is me."

You stopped in front of your dorm building. The lobby lights were bright, casting a long shadow behind you. You turned to face him, your hands tucked into your sweater sleeves.

"Thank you again. For the phone. And the walk."

"Anytime," Heeseung said. He stayed on the railing, looking down at you. He wanted to reach out. He wanted to tell you that he was right there. He wanted to tell you he was sorry for flaking.

But he just gave you a two-finger salute. "Sleep well, sweetheart. And stay away from the edges."

He shot a web at the top of the building and swung away before you could say anything else. He didn't look back until he was three roofs away.

He landed on a ledge, ripping the mask off his face. His skin was cold, but his cheeks were burning. He leaned his head against the brick wall, his heart racing.

He loved it. He loved the way you looked at him. He loved the way you laughed at his jokes. He loved being the guy who could make you blush.

And he hated it.

He hated that he had to hide behind a mask to get you to notice him. He hated that he was jealous of his own shadow. He hated that the version of him you liked wasn't the version that had to sit next to you in class and pretend he didn't care.

"How was the walk?" Jake’s voice came through the comms. He’d clearly been listening.

"Shut up," Heeseung said, his voice cracking.

"You called her sweetheart, Hee. That was bold. A little cheesy, but bold."

"I'm going home, Jake."

"Yeah, yeah. See you at the dorm, lover boy."

Heeseung stuffed the mask into his bag and started the long walk back. He felt like a fraud. He felt like a hero. But mostly, he just felt like a guy who was falling deeper and deeper into a hole he didn't know how to climb out of.

He looked up at your window as he passed your building. The light was on.

He wondered if you were thinking about the hero. He wondered if you were still mad at the guy.

He didn't have the answer. He just had a bruised rib and a secret that was getting heavier with every swing. He walked into the shadows of his own dorm, the ghost returning to his grave, while the hero stayed tucked away in a backpack, waiting for the next time gravity tried to take something precious away.

The gym was a cavern of echoes, the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of a basketball competing with the squeak of sneakers against the polished wood. Heeseung sat on the bleachers, shoulders hunched, feeling like he was vibrating out of his skin. He was only here because Jake had insisted he needed "human interaction" that didn't involve soldering irons or police scanners, but as usual, Heeseung felt more like a ghost than a person.

"You look like you’re waiting for a root canal," Yunjin said, nudging his shoulder.

Heeseung blinked, shaking himself out of his trance. Yunjin was sitting next to him, her eyes glued to the court where Soobin, her boyfriend, was currently setting up a three-pointer. She looked perfectly comfortable, her legs crossed, a relaxed smile on her face.

"I’m just tired," Heeseung muttered, pulling the strings of his hoodie until the fabric partially obscured his face. It was his default defense mechanism.

"You’re always tired, Hee. It’s your brand," she teased, but her attention quickly snapped back to the game as Soobin made the shot. She let out a loud whistle that echoed through the high-ceilinged room. "Nice one, babe!"

Heeseung looked down at the court. It was a heated game of pickup. Soobin was holding his own, and Jay—always the most charismatic and driven of the bunch—was leading the flow with a bold, effortless energy that Heeseung secretly envied. Then there was Riki.

Riki was a sophomore, like you. Even though he was a year younger than the rest of the group, he moved like a blur of sheer, terrifying talent. He played with a professional level of focus, his eyes sharp as he navigated the court.

Heeseung watched them move, his brain unconsciously tracking their trajectories, calculating the force needed for a jump. It was an engineering habit, but also a survival one. He knew exactly how fast Jay was going to pivot before he even did it.

"Nice hustle, Riki!" Jay called out, clapping his hands together. He wiped sweat from his forehead, looking like he could go for another three hours. Jay didn't do anything halfway; if he was playing a casual game, he was playing it like it was the finals. "Riki, you’re dropping your shoulder on the drive. Keep it square!"

Riki rolled his eyes, leaning over with his hands on his knees. "I'm not dropping my shoulder, Jay. I'm just dying of thirst. I forgot my water bottle in the dorm and my throat feels like a desert."

"Determination, Riki! Push through it!" Jay joked, though he was grinning.

Riki checked his phone, which was sitting on the sidelines. A small, knowing grin touched his face. "It's fine. I texted for reinforcements."

Heeseung didn't think much of it until the heavy double doors of the gym groaned open. The sound of the basketballs hitting the floor seemed to sync up with the thumping of Heeseung’s heart the moment you walked in.

You weren't dressed up like you were for the mixer. You were wearing jeans and a hoodie, your hair pulled back in a half-up, half-down. You looked casual, comfortable, and devastatingly pretty in the harsh, yellow gym lights. In your hand, you held a large, bright red bottle of Gatorade.

"Reinforcements are here!" you called out, your voice carrying across the court.

Riki’s face lit up. He jogged over to the sideline as you approached. To anyone else, it might have looked like a romantic gesture, but everyone knew the truth. You and Riki had been friends since you were toddlers. Your parents were practically family, and the two of you had grown up like siblings—or even twins, given you were the two sophomores in a group of juniors.

You were each other's safe haven. He was the one person who could text you at 9:00 PM to complain about a water bottle and actually get a response.

"You're a lifesaver," Riki said, snatching the bottle and taking a massive gulp.

"You're a dork," you replied, reaching out to ruffle his sweaty hair, which he dodged with a laugh. "I was right in the middle of a movie, you know. I expect interest on this delivery."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll pay you back in snacks later," he said, already turning back to the guys.

The game didn't start back up immediately. The guys drifted over to the sideline to grab their own drinks, congregating near where you stood. Heeseung stayed on the bleachers, feeling his skin start to prickle. He wanted to say something, to wave, to let you know he was there—but he also felt that familiar, heavy shyness pinning him to the metal bench.

"Hey, look who showed up," Sunoo said, appearing from the other side of the gym where he’d been chatting with some other students. "The hero of the hour."

You laughed, leaning against the padded wall near the court. "I'm just the delivery girl. How's the game going? Is Jay winning by sheer force of personality yet?"

"Always," Soobin said, walking over to press a quick kiss to Yunjin’s cheek as she hopped down from the bleachers to join the group.

Heeseung felt like he was watching a movie he wasn't cast in. He stayed seated, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He watched you interact with them—the way you joked with Soobin, the way you easily matched Jay’s boldness. You were the glue. You always were.

"So," you said, your eyes shining with a sudden, excited energy. "Speaking of heroes, I have to tell you guys something crazy. You’re not going to believe what happened last night after I left Soobin’s."

Heeseung, who had been trying to look at his shoes, felt his entire body go rigid. He knew exactly what you were about to say. He reached for his own water bottle, which was sitting next to him on the aluminum seat, and took a long, desperate swig to keep his mouth from going dry.

"What happened? Did you run into a cat again?" Riki teased, leaning on his knees.

"No!" you said, swatting at his arm. "I dropped my phone. Like, right off the side of the bridge near the dorms. I thought it was gone. I was ready to cry."

"And?" Jay asked, crossing his arms, looking genuinely curious.

"And Spider-Man caught it," you said, your voice going a little higher in pitch. "I’m serious! He literally dropped out of the sky, caught it mid-air, and landed right in front of me."

Heeseung’s throat suddenly decided to stop functioning. He tried to swallow the water he’d just taken in, but it went down the wrong pipe. He erupted into a violent, hacking cough, his face turning a shade of red that rivaled the Gatorade you’d brought.

"Whoa, Hee, you okay?" Jake asked, looking up at him with a suspicious, knowing glint in his eyes.

Heeseung wanted to sock him in the jaw, but he couldn't answer. He just kept coughing, clutching his chest, while Yunjin patted his back with a little too much force. "Geez, breathe, Heeseung. The water isn't going anywhere."

Once the coughing fit subsided into a pathetic wheeze, Heeseung wiped his eyes and tried to look normal. It was impossible.

"You were saying?" Jay prompted you, completely ignoring Heeseung’s near-death experience. (Heeseung was grateful for this.)

"He was so... I don't know, charming?" you continued, your cheeks flushing. "He didn't just give it back and leave. He actually talked to me. He was so witty and cool. He even walked me to my dorm building. Well, he swung along the railings while I walked, but still. He was so smooth."

Heeseung felt a strange, conflicting surge of emotions. Half of him—the Spider-Man half—was incredibly proud. He’d done that. He was the charming guy you were gushing about. The other half—the Heeseung half—felt like he was being stabbed in the heart with a dull pencil. You were blushing over a version of him that didn't even have a face.

"Smooth, huh?" Jay said with a chuckle, bouncing the basketball once. He wasn't being mean, just his usual audacious, skeptical self. "The guy wears spandex and crawls on walls. He’s probably some theater major in a unitard who likes the attention. It's a bit theatrical, don't you think? The whole 'mysterious hero' act?"

Heeseung’s eye twitched. A theater major? He spent ten hours a week doing differential equations and another twenty recalibrating web-fluid viscosity in a basement that smelled like ozone.

"It's not an act, Jay," you defended, your voice firm. "He saved my phone. He didn't have to do that. And he was really nice. It felt... I don't know, real."

"It's a mask," Riki added, taking another sip of Gatorade. "Anyone can be 'smooth' when nobody knows what they actually look like. He's probably a forty-year-old dude with a receding hairline."

"He is not!" you exclaimed, laughing. "He sounded young. And he was... I don't know, athletic? Obviously."

Heeseung wanted to scream. He wanted to stand up, rip off his hoodie, and show them the bruise on his ribs. He wanted to tell Jay that a "unitard" didn't have reinforced carbon-fiber padding. But he just sat there, looking every bit as depressed as he felt. As one would feel after hacking their lungs out in front of their long-time crush.

"I think he's cool," Sunoo chimed in, always the one to support a good story. "He makes the city feel more like a movie. I’d love to meet him."

"You just want a selfie for your Instagram, Sunoo," Soobin pointed out.

"And? It would get, like, a million likes."

You turned away from the guys then, your gaze drifting up toward the bleachers. You saw Heeseung sitting there, looking small and rumpled. Your expression softened, and you walked over to the base of the bleachers.

"Heeseung," you said, your voice much gentler than it had been when you were arguing with Jay. "You’ve lived here longer than some of us. Have you ever seen him up close? Spider-Man, I mean?"

The group fell quiet, all eyes turning toward Heeseung. Jake had his arms crossed, watching Heeseung with a look of pure, unadulterated amusement. He was enjoying this way too much.

Heeseung felt the weight of everyone’s gaze. He felt your eyes—so bright and curious—waiting for his answer. He felt like he was suffocating.

"I... uh," he started, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat and tried again. "No. Not really. I mean, I've seen him on the news. In the distance, maybe."

"You don't think he's cool?" you asked, noticing his lack of enthusiasm. The disappointment in your voice makes him want to throw himself off the Lotte World Tower. Without his web-shooters.

Heeseung felt a petty, irrational urge to defend his civilian self. If you liked the hero so much, maybe you should know that the hero wasn't all that special.

"I don't know," Heeseung said, shrugging with a forced nonchalance. "I think he's probably... mid. Like, he’s just a guy doing his job, right? It’s kind of a lot of work for not much reward. And the suit is probably really itchy."

The silence that followed was heavy.

You looked at Heeseung like he’d just grown a second head. Your eyebrows shot up, and your mouth hung open just a tiny bit. "Mid? Heeseung, he saves people! He caught my phone from like a fifty-foot drop!"

"Yeah, but... he could’ve just used a net or something," Heeseung said, digging his own grave. "The swinging looks dangerous. It’s statistically inefficient."

Oh, God. A net? Really?

"Statistically inefficient?" you repeated, shaking your head. "You are such an engineer, Heeseung. Honestly, sometimes I think you don't have a romantic bone in your body."

You turned back to the guys, clearly done with Heeseung’s "mid" take. "Ignore him. He’s just being a hater because he’d rather be looking at a blueprint than a hero."

"Hey, I'm not a hater," Heeseung protested, but it was too late. The guys were already moving back toward the court.

"Back to the game!" Soobin yelled.

You stayed on the sideline for a few more minutes, chatting with Yunjin. Heeseung watched you from the bleachers, his heart feeling like it was being squeezed by a giant, invisible hand. He’d done it. He’d successfully annoyed you. You were currently thinking he was a boring, uninspired buzzkill, all while you were harboring a crush on his alter-ego.

Jake caught his eye from across the court and mouthed the word: Mid?

Heeseung flipped him off under the cover of his hoodie.

As the game resumed, the gym filled with the sounds of squeaking sneakers and the heavy thud-thud-thud of the ball. Heeseung tried to focus on the game, but his mind was spinning.

He was his own worst enemy. He was competing with a version of himself that didn't exist in the daylight. He was jealous of a piece of fabric and a pair of white lenses.

When the game finally ended an hour later, the guys were exhausted. They collapsed on the sidelines, panting. You were still there, helping Riki pack up his bag, still talking about the bridge incident to anyone who would listen.

"I'm telling you, his voice was so familiar," you said to Yunjin as you both walked toward the exit. "But I can't place it. It was like... I've heard it a million times but in a different context."

Heeseung, who was walking a few paces behind you with Jake, felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

"Maybe you should ask him for his number next time," Yunjin joked.

"I should," you laughed. "I wonder if he has a phone. Or does he just use a tin can and a web?"

The two of you disappeared out the doors, your laughter fading into the night air.

Heeseung stopped in the middle of the parking lot, staring at his shoes. The cool night air felt good against his skin, but it didn't help the knot in his stomach.

"You really leaned into that hater angle, didn't you?" Jake said, bumping his shoulder.

"I didn't know what else to say," Heeseung admitted, his voice quiet. "I can't exactly agree with her, can I? 'Yeah, I'm super charming and my voice is amazing.' That would be even weirder."

"You could’ve just said he was okay. You didn't have to call yourself 'mid'. That's a blow to the ego, man."

"It's the truth," Heeseung sighed. "Heeseung is mid. Spider-Man is the one she wants."

"She’s talking to you in class, Hee. She’s bringing Gatorade to your friends. She’s worried about your sleep schedule. She doesn't even know Spider-Man’s real name."

"Exactly," Heeseung said. "She likes the mystery. If she knew it was just me... the guy who chokes on water and talks about statistics... she’d be disappointed."

Jake looked at him for a long moment, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "I think you're wrong. I think she'd be relieved. But you're too stubborn to see it."

"Whatever. I'm going to the lab," Heeseung said, turning away.

"It's 11:00 PM!"

"The web-fluid won't recalibrate itself, Jake."

Heeseung walked away, his shadow stretching long and dark behind him. He looked at the silhouette on the pavement—the tall, lean shape of a boy in a hoodie. It looked nothing like the hero on the news. It looked like a ghost.

As he reached the lab, he didn't turn on the lights. He sat in the dark, surrounded by the smell of acetone and chemicals. He pulled the mask out of his bag, the white lenses staring back at him in the moonlight.

"Charming," he whispered to the empty room. "Smooth."

He threw the mask onto the workbench and put his head in his hands. He was winning the war against crime, but he was losing the war for your heart—and the worst part was, he was losing it to himself.

He stayed there for hours, the only sound the distant hum of the city he was sworn to protect. He thought about your smile, the way you’d defended him against Jay, and the way you’d looked at him on the bleachers.

He wanted to be the hero. But more than that, he just wanted to be the guy you didn't think was mid.

And right now, that felt like the hardest mission he’d ever faced.

The university basketball arena was a different beast than the quiet, echoey gym where the guys played pickup games. Tonight was a legitimate campus event, and the energy was electric. The air was thick with the smell of overpriced popcorn, floor wax, and the collective roar of a thousand students who had nothing better to do on a Tuesday night than scream themselves hoarse.

Heeseung sat in the middle of a packed row of bleachers, and he was currently losing a very difficult battle with his own eyelids.

He had been out until 4:00 AM. A group of specialized thieves had tried to break into a high-end tech warehouse near the docks, and Heeseung had spent most of the night playing a high-stakes game of hide-and-seek among shipping containers. By the time he’d webbed the last guy to a crane and made it back to his dorm, the sun was already threatening to peek over the horizon.

He’d had exactly two hours of sleep before his first lecture, and the three cups of coffee he’d downed since then were currently doing absolutely nothing.

On his left sat you. You were wearing a university hoodie that looked slightly too big for you, and you were cheering with an intensity that made Heeseung’s head throb in a rhythmic, dull way. On his right were Yunjin and Megan, who were currently busy taking selfies and trying to spot Soobin and Jay on the court.

"Look at them! Jay is actually terrifying when he’s in the zone," Megan shouted over the noise, pointing toward the court.

Jay was indeed in the zone. He was moving with that signature bold, charismatic style, barking plays at the rest of the team. Riki, the star sophomore, was weaving through defenders like they were standing still, and Soobin was a literal wall under the basket. Jake was darting around the perimeter, his eyes sharp, looking for an opening.

It was a great game. A thrilling game.

And Heeseung was about five seconds away from passing out.

The roar of the crowd started to sound like a distant ocean. The bright, flickering lights of the scoreboard blurred into a singular, warm glow. Heeseung felt his chin drop toward his chest. He snapped his head back up, blinking rapidly, trying to focus on the orange blur of the basketball.

Stay awake. Stay awake. You’re in public. You’re with her. Don’t be weird, he told himself.

But his body was done. Every muscle ached from the dockyard fight, and the warmth of the crowded arena was like a heavy blanket. His head started to nod again. It was a slow, rhythmic movement. Down... up. Down... further down...

He didn't mean for it to happen. He didn't even realize it was happening. But as his consciousness finally slipped away, his head tipped to the left. It drifted through the air until it found a soft, steady place to land.

Your shoulder.

You froze. You had been in the middle of shouting something to Yunjin, but the words died in your throat the moment you felt the weight of Heeseung’s head press against you. You looked down, your eyes wide. You sat perfectly still, your back as straight as a board. Your face was very warm.

You didn't move an inch, terrified that any slight shift would wake him up. You could feel the weight of his head, the softness of his hair against your skin, and the warmth of his breath through your shirt. It was the most domestic, heart-stopping moment of your life, and you were currently being broadcasted to the entire friend group.

Heeseung was out cold. His breathing was deep and even, his face finally relaxed and free of the stressed engineer expression he usually wore. Without the glasses and the constant look of worry, he looked... peaceful. Vulnerable.

Yunjin noticed almost immediately. She nudged Megan, pointing at the two of you with a mischievous grin.

"Oh my god," Megan whispered, fumbling for her phone. "Look at the sleepy little guy. He finally crashed."

"Don't," you hissed, though you didn't move an inch. You were terrified that if you even breathed too deeply, he’d wake up and realize what he was doing, and the resulting awkwardness would probably cause him to flee the state.

"I have to," Megan said, her thumbs flying across her screen as she opened the group chat. "The guys need to see this. Heeseung actually chose a person over a nap in the library. This is historic."

Sunoo, who was sitting in the row directly in front of you, turned around with a devious glint in his eyes. He saw Heeseung slumped against you and let out a tiny, delighted giggle.

"Is he dead?" Sunoo asked, reaching out a finger.

"Sunoo, stop it," you whispered, trying to sound stern.

But Sunoo was Sunoo. He leaned over and very gently poked Heeseung’s cheek. Heeseung didn't even flinch. He just let out a tiny, soft sigh and tucked his face a little closer into the crook of your neck, seeking the warmth.

"He's definitely dead," Sunoo concluded. "Or he’s just really, really comfortable. Look at his face. He looks like a kitten."

Megan snapped a picture—the flash was off, thank goodness—and sent it to the group chat with the caption: rip heeseung. he’s never living this shit down!

You felt your face heating up. You could feel the warmth of his skin through your hoodie. It was a strange sensation—having him so close. Usually, there was a visible three-foot radius of complete secrecy around Heeseung, but right now, that wall was completely gone.

You felt a sudden, sharp surge of protectiveness. You knew how hard he worked. You saw the dark circles under his eyes in class, the way he was always the last one to leave the lab, and the way he seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his back. You didn't know why he was so tired—you just knew that he deserved this rest.

"Leave him alone," you said to Sunoo, who was reaching out for a second poke. "If any of you wake him up, I will personally make sure you don't get any of the snacks I brought."

Sunoo pouted but retracted his hand. "Fine. But if he drools on you, don't say I didn't warn you."

You looked down at him again. His eyelashes were long and dark against his skin. You noticed a small, faint scratch on his jawline that you hadn't seen before. You wondered how he got it. He was always getting these random little nicks and bruises—clumsiness, he called it.

You leaned your head back against the bleacher, trying to stay as still as possible. The game continued below you. Riki made a spectacular dunk that sent the crowd into a frenzy, but you didn't jump. You didn't even cheer. You just sat there, smiling like an idiot, leaning into his touch.

It was a strange feeling. You were still thinking about the bridge—about the hero who had saved your phone and walked you home. He had been so smooth, so confident. And yet, here was Heeseung, who was the complete opposite. Heeseung was quiet, awkward, and currently using you as a warm pillow.

And yet, you found yourself wanting to tell the whole world to be quiet. You wanted the announcers to stop talking, the cheerleaders to stop dancing, and the crowd to stop roaring, just so he could get another twenty minutes of rest.

You found yourself shifting just a tiny bit, making sure he was as comfortable as he could be. You didn't care about the game anymore. You didn't care about the group chat or the fact that Megan was probably recording a video of the two of you right now.

You just cared about the way his breathing hitched for a second before smoothing out again.

Then, the buzzer for halftime went off.

It wasn't just a buzzer. It was a sharp, loud, electronic blare that seemed to vibrate through the very marrow of your bones. It was designed to be heard over ten thousand screaming fans, and in the relatively enclosed space of the arena, it sounded like a bomb going off.

Heeseung didn't just wake up. He launched into consciousness.

His Spider-sense, which had been blissfully dormant while his brain tried to recover, suddenly screamed DANGER at the sudden, violent noise. To his sleeping brain, the buzzer sounded like a building collapsing or an explosion in the dockyards.

His body reacted before his conscious mind even realized where he was.

He jerked upright with such force that he nearly knocked you over. His eyes snapped open, wide and bloodshot, and his hands instinctively flew to his wrists, his fingers twitching in the specific motion used to fire a web-string.

"Who? What? Where?" he barked, his voice loud, jagged, and full of a combat-ready adrenaline that absolutely did not belong in a college basketball arena.

He scrambled backward, his sneakers squeaking against the metal bleachers as he tried to create distance from the "threat." He nearly tumbled over the row behind him, his heart hammering against his ribs so hard he was sure everyone could see his hoodie vibrating.

He looked around wildly. He didn't see a villain. He didn't see a falling crane.

He saw the court. He saw the cheerleaders starting their halftime routine. He saw a thousand students looking confused.

And he saw Sunoo, who was currently doubled over, clutching his stomach as he laughed so hard no sound was coming out.

"Oh my god," Megan wheezed, holding her phone up. "I got the whole thing. I got the jump-scare of the century."

Heeseung’s brain finally started to catch up with his body. The red mist of adrenaline began to clear, replaced by a cold, crushing wave of realization. He felt the phantom weight of your shoulder where his head had been just seconds ago.

He turned his head slowly, his neck feeling stiff and heavy.

There you were.

You were looking at him with a mix of genuine concern and a tiny, suppressed smile. Your shoulder felt suddenly very cold and empty, and you were still slightly tilted from the force of his sudden departure.

"Good morning, Sunshine," you said softly, your voice a calm anchor in the sea of his panic.

Heeseung stared at you. He felt like he was hovering about three inches off the ground. He looked down at his shirt, his hands trembling as he smoothed out the fabric.

"I... did I..." he stammered, his face rapidly turning a shade of red that was probably visible from the moon. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—was I leaning on you?"

"For about twenty minutes," you said, tucking a loose hair behind your ear. "You looked like you needed it. You were out like a light."

"Twenty minutes?" Heeseung whispered, horrified. He checked his chin, his hand frantically searching for any sign of drool. He had visions of a giant, embarrassing wet spot on your hoodie. He imagined the group chat. He imagined moving to a different country and changing his name to something like 'Evan'.

"You didn't drool, Heeseung. Relax," you said, noticing his panic.

"I... I'm so sorry," he repeated, his voice barely audible over the music playing on the loudspeakers. "I didn't sleep much. I was... studying. Late."

"Must have been some intense studying," you said. "You jumped like someone had just pulled a fire alarm."

"I have a startle response," he lied, his heart finally starting to slow down. "Engineering stress. It’s a real thing."

"Sure it is," Sunoo chimed in, finally catching his breath. "Riki is going to lose his mind. He didn't think you were capable of physical contact with anyone other than a calculator."

"Sunoo, don't you dare," Heeseung groaned, burying his face in his hands.

But it was too late. On the court below, the halftime break had started, and the guys were heading toward the bench. He saw Riki grab his phone from his bag, look at it, and then immediately whip his head around to stare up at the bleachers.

Riki caught Heeseung’s eye and gave him a massive, theatrical thumbs-up, grinning like a maniac. Jay, standing next to him, looked at the screen, looked up at Heeseung, and just shook his head with a smile. And then there was Jake, with his eyes wide, like he was doing a double take. Right before launching into a fit of laughter, grabbing Soobin’s shoulder as to not topple over.

Heeseung wanted to vanish. He wanted to turn into dust and be swept up by the janitorial staff.

"They're never going to let me live this down," he muttered into his palms.

"It's just a nap, Heeseung," you said, reaching out and gently patting his arm. The touch was brief, but it sent a jolt of electricity through him that was stronger than any buzzer. "It's not a big deal. Honestly, it was kind of nice to see you actually relax for once."

Heeseung looked at you through the gaps in his fingers. You didn't look annoyed. You didn't look creeped out. You looked... happy?

"You're not mad?" he asked.

"Why would I be mad? You're a good pillow," you joked.

Heeseung let his hands fall, his face still glowing pink. He looked down at the court, where Jake was now waving at him mockingly.

"I'm still going to kill Megan for taking that video," he said, though there was no heat in it.

"Good luck! I’ve already uploaded it to the cloud," Megan said, not looking up from her phone. "You’re a viral sensation in our circle now, Hee. Embrace it."

The rest of the game was a blur for Heeseung, but for a completely different reason. He wasn't sleepy anymore. He was hyper-aware of everything. He was aware of the inch of space between his arm and yours. He was aware of the way you smelled like cherries and laundry detergent. He was aware of the fact that for twenty minutes, he had been closer to you than he had ever been to anyone in his life—without a mask on.

As the final buzzer sounded—which Heeseung handled much better this time, only flinching slightly—the crowd began to pour out of the stands.

"We're going to meet the guys at the diner," Yunjin said, standing up. "You guys coming?"

"I think I should go back and actually sleep in a bed," Heeseung said, his voice a bit more stable now. "I don't think my heart can take another halftime buzzer."

"I'll walk with you," you said, surprising him. "I'm a bit tired too. All that cheering is exhausting."

Heeseung’s heart did a little flip. "You don't have to. You should go eat with the others."

"I want to," you said, and there was a finality in your tone that he didn't dare argue with.

The walk back to the dorms was quiet. The campus was cool, the air smelling of damp leaves and distant woodsmoke. For the first time, Heeseung didn't feel the need to fill the silence with technical facts or stammered apologies.

"Seriously though," you said as you reached the fork in the path where you had to head toward your building. "Get some sleep, Heeseung. You're working too hard."

"I'll try," he said. "Thanks for... you know. The shoulder."

"Anytime," you said, giving him a small wave. "See you in the lecture hall tomorrow? Try not to fall asleep on the professor’s shoulder."

"I'll do my best," he promised, face heating up.

He watched you walk away, the same way he had on the bridge. But this time, he wasn't crouching on a railing. He was standing on his own two feet.

He felt a strange sense of victory. Spider-Man had saved your phone, sure. Spider-Man had been charming. But Spider-Man had never felt the warmth of your shoulder or the way you had protected his sleep.

Maybe being Heeseung wasn't so "mid" after all.

He walked back to his dorm with a slight spring in his step, oblivious to the fact that his phone was currently vibrating in his pocket with a relentless stream of messages from the group chat.

He didn't care about the photos. He didn't care about the jokes.

He just cared about the fact that for twenty minutes, he didn't have to be a hero. He just had to be a guy who was tired, and you had been there to catch him.

He reached his door, unlocked it, and collapsed onto his bed without even taking off his shoes. As he drifted back off to sleep—this time a real, deep sleep—his last thought wasn't about web-fluid or crime rates.

It was about the way you had called him 'Sunshine'.

The night was quiet, but the air against Heeseung’s face was anything but calm. He was currently crouched on the side of a brick chimney three stories up, his gloved fingers finding purchase in the mortar. Below him, the university campus was a map of orange streetlights and long, dark shadows.

It had been nearly two weeks since the basketball game—two weeks since he had practically catapulted off your shoulder in a state of sheer panic—and the memory still made his stomach do a weird, uncomfortable flip every time he saw you in the lecture hall.

He hadn't been sleeping much (which wasn't new). Between the mountain of engineering projects and the fact that a group of carjackers had decided to make the north side of the city their personal playground, Heeseung was running on fumes and caffeine. But tonight, his... patrol had taken a very specific, very intentional detour.

He shot a line of webbing toward the roof of your dorm building, swinging through the crisp night air with a practiced ease. He landed silently on a ledge just above the fourth floor. He knew which window was yours. He’d "accidentally" seen it from the ground enough times to memorize the position.

He crawled down the brickwork, moving like a shadow, until he was perched just to the side of the glass. He stayed in the darkness, the white lenses of his mask narrowing as he looked inside.

This was not creepy, by the way. He was not being creepy. He was just a guy checking on his... friend. Or something like that.

The room was bright and warm, a stark contrast to the biting cold of the rooftop. You were sitting at your desk, surrounded by a fortress of textbooks and highlighters. Your hair was up in a messy bun that looked like it was held together by sheer willpower and a single pencil. You were wearing fuzzy, light blue pajamas—the kind with little clouds on them—and thick wool socks.

Heeseung felt that familiar tug in his chest. You looked so normal. So safe.

But you weren't alone.

The door to your room was open, and he could see Yunjin and Megan in the common area, their shadows dancing against the wall. Suddenly, the two of them burst into your room, music blaring from a phone. They were laughing, doing some synchronized TikTok dance that involved a lot of arm-waving and rhythmic jumping.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as they circled your desk, trying to get you to join in. Even from behind the glass, Heeseung could tell you were fighting a smile. You swatted at them with a highlighter, pointing toward your open textbook, but they just laughed harder.

Heeseung watched for a long time. He felt like a voyeur, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. This was the part of your life he never got to see—the messy, loud, roommate-filled reality of being a student. In the lecture hall, everything was academic and structured. At the mixers, it was crowded and overwhelming.

But here, in the glow of your desk lamp, you were just... you.

Finally, after one last dramatic pose that nearly knocked over your lamp, Yunjin and Megan retreated. He heard the muffled sound of your door closing as they headed out to the kitchen or down the hall.

The room went quiet. You let out a long sigh, rubbing your eyes before leaning back into your chair.

Heeseung waited a beat. Then, he reached out and gave the glass three soft, rhythmic taps.

Tink. Tink. Tink.

You jumped, nearly falling out of your swivel chair. You spun around, eyes wide, staring at the dark window. For a second, you looked terrified, but then you saw the faint outline of the mask and the flash of red and blue.

Your face transformed instantly. The exhaustion seemed to vanish, replaced by a bright, genuine light that Heeseung could feel even through the glass. You scrambled toward the window, fumbling with the latch before sliding the frame up.

"You!" you breathed, the cool night air rushing into the room. "What on earth are you doing here? I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"And leave my favorite phone-dropper behind?" Heeseung asked, his voice tilting into that smooth, playful edge he only had when the mask was on. "Not a chance."

He hopped onto the windowsill, crouching there with his knees tucked to his chest. He looked around the room, making sure the coast was clear. "Are your roommates gone? They seemed pretty busy with... whatever that was."

You flushed, leaning against the window frame. "You saw that? God, they’re obsessed with that dance. I’m trying to pass my classes, and they’re trying to go viral."

"It wasn't bad," he teased, his head tilting to the side. "Though I think you could’ve handled the footwork better."

"I wasn't even doing it!" you laughed, throwing a stray eraser at him. He caught it out of the air without even looking, tossing it back onto your desk. "What are you doing here anyway? Isn't there, like, a bank being robbed somewhere?"

"It’s a slow day," he shrugged. It wasn't every day that the city was this quiet, and maybe he should've been at home, using this time to rest up—but it seemed like he could never say no to the idea of you. "Besides, I figured I’d check in. See if you’ve managed to keep your phone in your pocket for more than forty-eight hours."

"I have, thank you very much," you said, crossing your arms.

His lenses scanned you up and down, settling on the fluffy blue fabric of your outfit. "Nice pajamas, by the way. Are those... clouds? Is there a matching hat, or is that reserved for special occasions?"

You looked down at yourself, suddenly self-conscious, and smoothed out the fuzzy fabric. "They're comfortable! It’s cold in this building, and I have a lot of studying to do. Don't judge my fashion choices, Mr. Spandex."

"Hey, this isn't spandex," he countered, leaning closer into the room. "It's a highly sophisticated tri-weave polymer. Very high-tech. Very serious. Not at all like fuzzy clouds."

"It looks like you're wearing a unitard," you teased, echoing Jay's words from two weeks ago.

Heeseung flinched internally. "A unitard? Ouch. That’s a low blow. I’ll have you know this suit is aerodynamic. It helps with the swinging. Fuzzy clouds, on the other hand, probably create a lot of drag."

"Well, I'm not planning on swinging anywhere tonight, so I think I'm safe," you said. You looked at him, your expression softening. You reached out, your hand hovering near the edge of the windowsill. "You look tired. I mean, I can't see your eyes, but your shoulders... you look like you haven't slept in a week."

Heeseung felt a jolt of panic. Was it that obvious? Was his Heeseung side leaking through the mask?

"Occupational hazard," he said, trying to regain his footing. "The city doesn't sleep, so I don't really get to either. It’s fine. I’ve had plenty of... uh, coffee."

"You sound like a friend of mine," you said, a small, sad smile touching your lips. "He’s an engineer. He works himself to the bone. He actually fell asleep on me during a basketball game last week. I think I've mentioned him before," you hummed.

Heeseung felt the air leave his lungs. He stayed perfectly still, his heart thumping against his ribs. "Uh, yeah. I think you have. Sounds like a real thrill-seeker, this friend of yours."

"He's not," you said softly. "He’s quiet. A bit awkward. He called you 'mid,' actually."

Heeseung let out a dry, forced laugh. "Mid? Wow. Remind me to web his locker shut tomorrow."

"Don't you dare," you said, but you were smiling. "He’s actually really sweet. I think he’s just... lonely. Or maybe he’s just carrying something he won't tell anyone about. I felt really bad for him. He woke up so panicked, like he was expecting a fight."

"Maybe he was just embarrassed," Heeseung suggested, his voice dropping an octave. "Maybe he didn't want the girl he likes to see him at his weakest."

You paused, your eyes searching the white lenses of his mask. "The girl he likes?"

Heeseung realized he’d said too much. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight on the ledge. "I mean... lucky guess. A guy doesn't just fall asleep on someone unless he’s comfortable with them, right?"

"I guess so," you said, though you sounded a bit distracted. You looked back at your desk. "Anyway, I should probably get back to these equations. If I fail this midterm, my parents are going to kill me, and not even a superhero can save me from that."

"Right. Uni work. Nasty stuff," he said. He stayed for a few more minutes, teasing you about the way you chewed on your pencil when you were thinking, and listening to you complain about your professor. It was the easiest conversation he’d had all week. There was no stuttering, no tripping over his feet, no embarrassing himself.

He was smooth. He was the hero. He was the guy you were leaning toward with interest in your eyes.

"I should go," he said finally, standing up on the ledge. "The clouds are calling you, and I have a city to... not rob."

"Wait," you said, reaching out and catching the fabric of his sleeve.

He froze.

"Will you come back?" you asked. "I mean... I know you’re busy. But it’s nice having someone to talk to who doesn't try to make me do TikTok dances."

Heeseung looked down at your hand on his arm. He felt a wave of affection so strong it made his head dizzy. "Yeah. I'll be around. Just keep your window unlocked."

"It's a deal," you said.

He shot a web at the building across the street and leaped into the night. He did a celebratory flip in mid-air, the adrenaline of the conversation buzzing through his veins. He felt invincible. He felt like he was on top of the world.

But as he landed on a nearby rooftop and looked back at your glowing window, the feeling started to change.

He pulled the mask off, the cold wind hitting his sweaty forehead. He leaned against a cooling vent, his chest heaving.

The high was fading, and in its place was a sharp, bitter sting.

He thought about the way your eyes lit up when you saw the mask. He thought about the way you laughed at his jokes and the way you flirted back with Spider-Man.

And then he thought about Heeseung.

Heeseung, the guy who had sat next to you for months and barely managed a "hello." Heeseung, the guy who had finally, by some miracle, ended up with his head on your shoulder—only to ruin the moment by launching himself into the air like a startled cat.

You liked the guy in the mask. You liked the confidence, the wit, and the mystery. You liked the version of him that was a lie.

The version of him that was real—the tired, awkward engineer with the scratched jaw and the inability to talk to his crush like a normal person—was just a boring friend. You felt bad for Heeseung. You felt protective of him. But you looked at Spider-Man like he was something special.

Heeseung looked at the mask in his hand. It was just a piece of fabric, but it was a wall he had built himself. A wall that kept him safe, but also kept him out.

He imagined telling you the truth. He imagined landing on your windowsill and pulling the mask off. He saw the look of shock on your face—and then, he imagined the disappointment. The realization that the charming hero was just the guy who drooled in his sleep.

"She doesn't like you, Heeseung," he whispered to the night air. "She likes the suit."

He felt a sudden, irrational flash of jealousy toward his own alter-ego. He wanted to rip the suit to shreds. He wanted to be the guy who made you laugh without needing a voice changer or a hidden identity.

But he wasn't that guy. He was just a boy who was too afraid to be himself, competing with a shadow that he could never beat.

He put the mask back on, but the magic was gone. The suit felt heavy. That stupid fucking polymer weave felt like lead.

He turned away from your window and started the swing back to his dorm. He would see you tomorrow in class. He might sit next to you, and if he did, he would probably stutter when you asked him for a pen. You would look at him with that kind, pitying smile, and then you would probably go back to thinking about the hero who had visited your window.

It was a cycle he didn't know how to break.

As he reached his own room and crawled through the tiny gap in the window, he didn't feel like a hero. He felt like a fraud.

He changed into his own pajamas—plain gray ones, nothing as cute as fuzzy clouds—and climbed into bed. His phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was a message from the group chat.

Heeseung turned the phone off and stared at the ceiling.

You had called him 'Sunshine.' Well, you called Heeseung that. But that one word wasn't the same as anything else you'd said to Spider-Man. He was the guy who had your heart, but he was also the guy who could never have it.

He closed his eyes, hoping for a dream where the mask didn't exist. But even in his sleep, he could hear the sound of his own heart beating for a girl who would never see him the way he saw her.