fashion

"...james," you say slowly.

"yeah?" he's already walking over to your bed, setting the takeout bag down on your blanket. "i was thinking we could eat first and then go watch a movie. i brought clothes in my backpack so—"

"james. what day is it?"

he blinks, stopping in his tracks. you watch him tilt his head "it's friday."

"it's wednesday."

james stares at you. the mask on his head shifts as his eyes widen underneath it. "no it's not. it's friday."

"it is literally wednesday night," you say, pointing a finger at your laptop screen where the date is displayed in big white numbers. "our anniversary is on friday. in two days."

he steps closer, leaning his face so close to the screen his nose almost touches it. he stares at the screen for three whole seconds before pulling back, looking completely horrified.

"no way," he whispers. "how is it wednesday? i swear to god yesterday was thursday."

"how could yesterday be thursday if today is wednesday?"

"i don't know!" he groans, throwing his hands up in the air. he drops onto the edge of your bed, burying his face in his gloved hands. "my brain is fried. i spent two hours stopping a bank robbery this morning, i thought the week was over!"

you can't help but laugh at him. you walk over and sit down next to him, gently tugging at the edge of his mask until it slides off completely, revealing his messy hair and poutingg face.

"so... your spider-sense can literally tell you when a car is about to hit you from behind, but you can't check a calendar?" you ask, teasing him.

"shut up," he mutters, though a little smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. "the calendar app doesn't tingle when it's important."

"clearly," you laugh, taking one of the pink flowers out of the bouquet and smelling it. "what are we gonna do with all this food now? i'm supposed to be studying for midterms."

james looks up at you, his eyes softening as he reaches out to wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. "well, since i already bought it... we eat it now. and then on friday, i guess i just have to take you out again."

"again?"

"yeah," he says, pressing a warm kiss to your cheek before grabbing a pair of chopsticks from the bag. "i gotta make up for getting my days mixed up, right?"

JUHOON

you're standing on a chair in your room, on your tiptoes, stretching your arm as high as you can to grab a jar of peanut butter from the top shelf of your closet.

suddenly, there’s a crash. way, way too loud for the peacefulness of your home

you jump so hard you almost knock the chair over. plastic snaps, a lamp falls, and a blur of red and blue comes tumbling straight through your open window, tearing your window blinds completely off the wall before landing in a dramatic, superhero crouch on your floorboards.

what the fuck.

juhoon pops up instantly, his mask already pulling back over his face, eyes wide with adrenaline.

"i got you!" he yells, looking around the room frantically. "where are they? who's attacking you?"

you stand there on top of the chair, staring at him. then you look down at the crumpled, broken blinds lying in a sad heap on your carpet.

"bro," you say flatly.

he blinks, his head darting around your completely empty place. "nuh-uh. i felt it. my spider-sense literally spiked so hard my head hurt. i thought you were getting ambushed."

"juhoon," you frown, holding up the plastic tub in your hand. "i was reaching for peanut butter."

he stops. he looks at you, then at the peanut butter, then down at his feet where the ruind blinds are tangled around his boots.

"peanut butter?" he asks, his voice dropping into a squeak.

"yes. peanut butter."

"you were... struggling?"

"i was on my tiptoes!" you exclaim, stepping down off the chair and gesturing at the disaster near your window. "why would your spider-sense go off over peanut butter?"

juhoon rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks turning bright red as he looks at the damage he just caused. "i don't know! maybe it thought you were gonna fall off the chair? or maybe... maybe the peanut butter was expired?"

"it's unopened!"

"this is your fault. why were you so stressed over peanut butter? your heart rate literally spiked, baby."

"i was hungry, okay? and i thought i was gonna starve because i couldn't reach it! stop deflecting!"

"okay, fine, my bad!" he groans, dropping his hands to his sides and staring at the broken plastic on the floor. "i was just trying to be a good boyfriend and save you! i felt the tingle, and i panicked!"

you sigh, walking over to him and poking his chest. "you tore my blinds off the frame."

"i can fix it," he says quickly, pulling the tangled mess up from the carpet. a second later, a piece of plastic snaps right off in his hand. this is one of the many times he hates the super strength.

he freezes, looking down at the broken piece, then looks up at you with huge eyes. "...i will buy you new blinds. or maybe i can web it together. no one will ever know."

"webbing my window shut is not fixing it!"

he raises his hands in defense, slightly scared that you'll throw the jar at him. "okay, okay, i'll buy new ones."

"you better," you laugh, shaking your head as you pop the lid off the peanut butter. "and next time your head tingles when i'm in my own home, just knock like a normal person."

"noted," juhoon mutters, crouching down to try and hide the broken plastic under your desk. "no more saving you from high shelves."

MARTIN

you and martin are sitting on your bed, sharing a bag of chips as he talks about a crime he stopped earlier, when a knock echoes from your front door.

"hey, open up. it's the landlord, i need to check the radiator."

martin instantly freezes. his eyes go wide. "oh my god," he whispers, his voice pitching up an octave. "it's the cops. they found me."

"it's literally my landlord, martin," you whisper back, scrambling off the bed. "just go out the window! you have—you have the web... things!"

instead of doing the logical thing and jumping out the open window two feet away from him, martin completely panics. he scrambles off the bed, looks around your tiny bedroom like a trapped animal, and spots your plastic blue laundry basket in the corner.

before you can even ask what he's doing, he dives toward it, flips the basket upside down, and squeezes his entire six-foot frame underneath it.

it doesn't work at all.

the basket is sitting at a forty-five-degree angle on top of his back, his red-and-blue limbs poking out from under the edges in every single direction. he's curled up in the tightest fetal position humanly possible, completely motionless.

you stand there in total silence, staring at him.

"martin?" you ask.

"shhh!" a muffled voice comes from beneath the blue plastic. "i'm hiding"

"how are you supposed to be this city's savior?" you ask, pinching the bridge of your nose as the landlord knocks again, harder this time. "you look like a discarded superhero costume in a hamper. except, like, not discarded at all, because everyone can tell you're wearing it, man."

"i'm invisible," martin insists, the basket shifting as he speaks. "just answer the door. act natural."

"you are literally five times bigger than the basket!"

"i'm using stealth tactics!" he whispers fiercely. "go!"

you let out a long, suffering sigh, quickly smoothing down your shirt before walking out into the hallway to open the front door. you manage to distract your landlord for two minutes, talking endlessly about how the radiator works totally fine and sending him on his way.

when you lock the door and walk back into your bedroom, martin is still sitting under the basket, completely stilll.

you walk over and nudge his hip with the toe of your shoe. "he's gone, james bond. you can come out."

the plastic basket slowly tilts up, and martin pulls his mask up past his mouth, looking up at you from the floor with a shit-eating grin.

"see?" he says, dusting off his knees as he untangles himself from the laundry. "worked like a charm. he didn't see a thing."

"he didn't even come into the room, babe."

"because my stealth aura protected us," he says smoothly, standing up and pulling you into a hug, resting his chin on top of your head. "you're welcome, by the way."

you roll your eyes, wrapping your arms around his waist.

new york is doomed.

SEAN

you're sitting at your desk trying to finish an assignment when you hear a steady, annoying drip coming from the bathroom.

sean, who is hanging out on your bed in his full spider-suit with the mask rolled up to his nose, perks his ears up. "is that the sink again?"

"yeah," you sigh, leaning back in your chair. "it’s been doing that all day. I’m gonna have to call my landlord tomorrow."

"don't waste your money," sean says, immediately hopping off the bed with a confident smile. "i can fix it. i fix stuff all the time."

"sean, no," you say, turning around in your chair. "you don't need to do that—"

"it's literally fine, it's just a loose valve," he says, already strolling into your tiny bathroom. "i'll just tighten it a little bit. two seconds."

you get up to follow him, but before you can even cross the room, there's a loud snap.

a second later, a blast of water hits the ceiling.

"oh—shit!" sean yells.

you burst into the bathroom to find a full-blown indoor water fountain blasting straight up from the broken pipe under the sink. water is raining down off the ceiling, soaking the walls, the towels, and sean, who is frantically trying to cover the burst pipe with his bare hands.

"sean!" you exclaim, wiping the spray off your face. "what did you do?"

"i barely touched it!" he yells back, his suit completely drenched and clinging to him as water shoots between his fingers. "i turned it like two millimeters!"

"you have super-strength, you idiot. dude, you snapped the metal."

"i thought it was rusted!" he whines, trying to use a web-shooter to cap the pipe, but the water pressure is so high it just blasts the webbing right into his own face. he wipes a clump of wet web off his forehead, looking totally overwhelmed. "okay, panic over, where's the main shut-off valve?"

"i don't know where the main valve is, this is an apartment building!"

water is already ankle-deep on your bathroom floor and spilling out into the hallway. sean looks at the ruined room, then down at the snapped pipe in his hands, and finally back at you with wide, puppy-dog eyes full of sheer terror

"i'm so sorry," he squeaks, his voice cracking as he stands there soaking wet under the literal waterfall. "i was just trying to be sweet."

you stare at him, water dripping off the hem of your shirt, and let out a long, exhausted laugh because if you don't laugh, you'll cry. "get out of the way, spidey. go grab every single towel i own."

"on it!" he shouts, rushing to help. and immediately slipping on the tile.

"jesus," you mutter.

KEONHO

it's around two in the morning when a noise echoes from your kitchen, followed by a muffled groan and the sound of a refrigerator door swinging open and shut repeatedly.

you rub the sleep from your eyes, stumble out of bed, and walk into the kitchen, flipping the light switch on.

keonho is stuck.

he's lying flat on his back on the floor, his legs propped up against the lower cabinets, completely wrapped in white webbing that ties him directly to the kitchen counter. half a slice of cold pepperoni pizza is still clutched in his gloved hand.

you stand in the doorway, staring at him.

"keonho," you say softly, your voice slightly raspy from sleep. "what are you doing?"

he slowly turns his head toward you, his spider-mask rolled up to his nose, showing a mouth full of pizza. he swallows hard before speaking.

"i was on patrol," he explains carefully, pointing the half-eaten pizza at you. "and i got hungry. so i swung by to check on you—and the fridge."

"and how did you end up webbed to the counter?"

"i tried to be stealthy and open the door with a web string," he mutters, looking extremely embarrassed as he tries and fails to wiggle his arms. "the shooter got caught on the handle, i tripped over my own feet, panicked, hit the button like five times, and... yeah."

you let out a long sigh and turn around, grabbing a pair of kitchen scissors from the holder by the microwave.

"wait, wait, stop," keonho says, watching you step closer with the scissors.

"what? i'm cutting you free."

"you can't," he sighs sadly, letting his head drop back against the floorboards with a dull thud. "the web formula is high-tensile strength. scissors won't cut through it."

"are you serious?" you ask, poking the white webbing with the sharp edge. sure enough, the blades don't even make a dent. "so how do you get out?"

"it... takes two hours to dissolve naturally," he says quietly, refusing to make eye contact with you now.

you stare down at him in disbelief. "you're gonna be stuck to my kitchen floor until four in the morning because you wanted a slice of leftover pizza?"

cold. cold leftover pizza.

"it's really good pizza," he whines weakly, taking another small bite. "do you... wanna sit down here with me? i can share."

you roll your eyes, but you grab a blanket from the couch, throw it over his chest so he doesn't freeze, and sit down right on the floor next to him, taking a bite of the pizza.

"you're unbelievable, kono," you laugh softly.