#kwon ohyul

.◞ 𖢥 ◟. — OHYUL

I checked my phone for what felt like the hundredth time.

Seven thirty.

He had texted me that morning, promising he would be there by seven. It wasn’t anything fancy. Just a small café we both loved followed by a walk through the city while the lights reflected against the buildings. It was supposed to be our first real date in weeks.

I smiled to myself as I fixed my sweater one last time.

The smile slowly disappeared from my face.

People around me came and went, laughing with friends or holding hands with someone they loved. Every time the café door opened, I looked up, hoping to see his familiar face.

Seven Fifty.

I sighed quietly, forcing myself to stand. Maybe something came up. Maybe he forgot. Maybe I wasn’t as important as I thought.

The thought hurt more than I wanted to admit.

I paid for the untouched drink I had ordered while waiting and stepped outside. The night air felt colder than it had an hour ago. I walked down the dim lit street, holding back my tears. How could he forget our date? I know he’s busy but he could’ve just texted me.

By the time I reached my apartment, I could barely hold back the tears.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside, kicking off my shoes before dropping my bag onto the couch.

I sighed walking to my bedroom before flopping onto my bed. I curled up letting the tears stream down my face. The thoughts just kept piling up, no matter how much I tossed and turned I couldn’t sleep.

I pushed myself up from the bed, the sheets tangled and damp beneath me. My legs felt heavy as I crossed the room to the bathroom, the cool floor a small relief. I flipped on the light and caught my reflection, mascara streaked in dark rivers down my cheeks, eyes still puffy and rimmed red. I wet a washcloth with warm water, pressed it against my face for a moment, then gently wiped away the smudges, the cloth staining gray with each pass. When I was done, I set it down, took a slow breath, and got ready for bed.

I walked over to the fridge and pulled out a cold bottle of water, the chill biting into my palm. I sat down on the couch and just stared at nothing, the silence pressing in from all sides. Two minutes passed. Maybe more. Then a knock rattled the front door.

I got up and peered through the peephole. Ohyul stood on the other side, his face warped in the little lens.

"Go away," I shouted.

"Not until you open the door," he called back.

I sat back down on the couch and flicked on the TV, cranking the volume until his knocking blurred into the background noise. A few minutes later, I heard a different sound. A scrape. A thud. I turned to see him pulling himself through the bedroom window, one leg swinging over the sill, his shirt catching on the latch.

He landed softly on the floor and stood there, brushing dust off his shoulder like he had every right to be inside.

He walked up to the couch, slow and deliberate, then bent down in front of me. His hand came up to caress my face, fingers brushing my cheek like he was trying to smooth over everything with one touch. I slapped his hand away and tried to push myself up off the couch.

But before I could stand, I felt it. Something wet and web-like shot past my wrists, and when I tried to pull free, my hands were stuck. I looked down. Thin white strands pinned my wrists to my thighs, binding my arms against my body. I pulled hard, but the webbing held, elastic and unyielding.

I glared up at him. He was still kneeling in front of me, hands resting on his knees, watching me with that quiet, patient look.

"Let me go," I said.

He didn't answer. Just reached out again, this time brushing a strand of hair from my face.

“Baby I’m sorry, there was a robbery downtown. It was supposed to be quick.” He explained. “Then another call came in. Then a building caught fire. My phone was crushed during the fight, and I couldn’t contact you.”

You looked away, the tears already welling up in your eyes. He turned my face back to him, wiping the tears as they streamed down my cheek. “I thought you forgot,” I sobbed.

“I know baby.”

He kissed my forehead gently, wiping the tears on my face.

I looked down at my hands still pinned to my sides, the webbing cool and tight against my skin. He followed my gaze and let out a soft breath, almost a laugh, but not quite.

"Right. Sorry about that."

He reached over and gently pulled at the edge of the webbing. It gave way easily under his fingers, peeling off in long silky strands. I watched him work, his brow furrowed in concentration, treating my wrists like they were something fragile. When the last piece fell away, he rubbed his thumbs over the spots where the web had been, as if checking for marks.

I flexed my fingers. Then I grabbed his wrist and pulled him up onto the couch beside me.

He let out a small oof as he landed, and then his arms were around me, and I buried my face in his neck. He smelled like smoke and sweat and something metallic, but underneath it all he still smelled like him. I pressed closer.

"I really thought you forgot," I whispered into his collarbone.

He tightened his arms around me, one hand cradling the back of my head. "Never. I could never forget you. Not if I swung through every borough in the city."

I let out a wet laugh against his skin. "That's so cheesy."

"You love it."

I didn't answer. I just held on tighter.

He kissed the top of my head, then my temple, then the corner of my eye where a tear was still clinging. "I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere."

I pulled back just enough to look at him. His face was tired. There was a small cut above his eyebrow, and his suit was torn at the shoulder. But his eyes were soft, fixed on me like I was the only thing in the room.

I reached up and touched the cut on his brow. "You're hurt."

"I've had worse." He turned his head to kiss my palm. "I'd go through a hundred robberies and a thousand fires if it meant coming home to you."

I sniffled and shook my head. "Stop trying to be romantic."

"Too late. I'm already in too deep."

I leaned in and kissed him. Soft at first, then longer, my hand resting on his jaw. When we pulled apart, he rested his forehead against mine.

"Let's stay here," I said quietly. "Just for tonight. Don't go anywhere."

"Wasn't planning on it." He pulled me closer, tucking me against his chest, and I let my eyes close, listening to his heartbeat under the torn fabric of his suit.

.◞ 𖢥 ◟. — RYUL

The night air was warm for August, but Ryul barely noticed. He'd been perched on the same rooftop for the last hour, watching the street below, telling himself he was just being thorough. There had been a few reports of suspicious activity in this neighborhood, and he was just doing his job. That was all.

Except his eyes kept drifting back to the same spot. The little café on the corner. The outdoor table where you were sitting. And the guy across from you, leaning in way too close, laughing at something you said, touching your arm like he had the right.

Ryul's jaw tightened. He told himself it was nothing. You were allowed to have friends. You were allowed to have coffee with whoever you wanted. He wasn't the kind of boyfriend who got weird about stuff like this. He wasn't.

But then the guy reached over and brushed a strand of hair from your face, and Ryul stood up so fast his web shooter clicked.

He sat back down. Forced himself to breathe. You were fine. You were happy. That was good. That was what he wanted.

He just wished the guy would keep his hands to himself.

Patrol dragged on forever. Every block he swung past felt like two. Every minor crime he stopped felt like a distraction from the thing gnawing at his chest. By the time he finally landed on the fire escape outside your window, he was wound so tight he could barely think straight.

He slid the window open and climbed inside, landing softer than usual. You were on your bed, scrolling through your phone, and you looked up when you heard him.

"Oh, you're back. How was patrol?"

He didn't answer. He just crossed the room, kicked off his shoes, and climbed onto the bed next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your shoulder.

You blinked. "Uh. Hi?"

"Hi," he mumbled into your shirt.

You set your phone down. "You okay? You seem weird."

"I'm fine."

"You're literally clinging to me like a koala."

He didn't let go. "So?"

You laughed softly and ran your fingers through his hair. "Okay, what's going on? Did something happen?"

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "Who was that guy?"

"What guy?"

"The one at the café. With the stupid hair and the laugh that's too loud."

You went still. "Wait. You were watching me?"

"I wasn't watching you. I was patrolling. I just happened to see."

"Ryul."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, and his eyes were doing that thing where they looked everywhere except your face. "He touched your hair."

You studied him for a second, then a small smile crept onto your lips. "Are you jealous?"

"No."

"You so are."

"I'm not jealous. I don't get jealous. That's not a thing I do."

"Babe, you just described his hair and his laugh. You definitely got jealous.”

He groaned and dropped his head back onto your shoulder. "I hate you."

"No you don't."

"I really don't."

You wrapped your arms around him and held him close, your chin resting on top of his head. He melted into you almost immediately, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt.

"I'm not gonna leave you for some guy from a café," you said gently.

"I know."

"Do you?"

He went quiet again. Then, in a voice so low you almost missed it, he said, "What if you should?"

You pulled back, forcing him to look at you. "What does that mean?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. "I don't know. That guy. He seemed normal. He could take you on normal dates. He could be there when you need him without having to run off because a building's on fire. He could give you a life that doesn't involve waiting for me to show up with a new bruise every night."

Your heart clenched. "Ryul."

"I'm just saying." His voice cracked a little. "You deserve someone who's around. Someone who doesn't make you worry all the time. Someone normal."

You reached up and cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your eyes. "I didn't fall in love with a normal guy. I fell in love with you. The guy who swings through the city in a stupid suit and shows up at my window at two in the morning. The guy who saves people every single night and still comes home and holds me like I'm the one worth protecting. I don't want normal. I want you."

His eyes glistened, but he blinked it away fast. "That's so cheesy."

"You love it."

He let out a shaky laugh and pulled you into a kiss, soft and slow, his hands coming up to cradle your face like you were something precious. When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead against yours.

"I'm still not jealous though."

"Sure you're not."

"I'm just. Vigilant."

You snorted. "That's one word for it."

He grinned and kissed your nose, then your cheek, then pulled you back into his chest, wrapping his arms around you so tight it was almost hard to breathe. But you didn't mind. You just closed your eyes and listened to his heartbeat, steady and fast, and let yourself be held.

Outside, the city hummed on. But in here, in the dark of your room, tangled up in each other, nothing else mattered.

.◞ 𖢥 ◟. — WOOJIN

The first time Woojin canceled, you didn't think much of it. He said patrol ran late, which happened all the time. You told him it was fine, ordered takeout alone, and fell asleep watching a drama he was supposed to watch with you.

The second time, he left your text on read for six hours. Then replied with a single word. Busy.

The third time, you showed up at his favorite ramen spot and saw him eating alone. He looked up, saw you through the window, and something flickered across his face. Then he got up, threw cash on the table, and slipped out the back before you could even open the door.

You stood there in the middle of the street, phone in your hand, watching him disappear around a corner. He didn't look back.

That was the moment you stopped pretending.

You texted him that night. Did I do something wrong?

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. Then nothing.

You called. It went straight to voicemail.

You called again. Same thing.

By the end of the week, you'd stopped trying. You stayed in your apartment, curled up on the couch, telling yourself you'd seen this coming. He was Spider Man. He had a whole world of danger and responsibility and people who needed him. You were just the girl he dated when things were quiet. And things weren't quiet anymore.

You cried into your pillow that night and promised yourself you'd move on.

But you didn't know that three blocks away, Woojin was crouched on a rooftop, watching your window through a pair of binoculars. He'd been there every night for a week. His suit was torn in three places. There was a gash on his side he hadn't bothered to stitch. His phone was in his pocket, turned off, because he couldn't bear to see your name light up the screen one more time without answering.

He saw you turn off your lamp. He saw the glow of your phone fade. He waited ten more minutes, then fifteen, then let himself breathe when he was sure you were asleep.

He pressed his fist against his mouth and closed his eyes.

I'm sorry, he whispered to the empty night. I'm so sorry.

The attack came on a Tuesday.

You were walking home from the convenience store, a bag of groceries in one hand, when you heard a whistle overhead. You looked up and saw nothing. Just the dark sky and the blinking light of a plane. You kept walking.

Then the ground in front of you exploded.

You screamed and stumbled back, dropping your groceries. A figure landed in the crater, tall and grinning, dust rising around him like smoke. He had metal plating across his jaw and eyes that glowed faintly yellow.

"So you're the one," he said, tilting his head. "The little lovebird. I was starting to think Spider Man didn't care about anyone."

You backed away, heart hammering. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't." He took a step forward. "Let's see how fast he shows up when I dangle you off a building."

He lunged.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

And then something hit him so hard the sound cracked through the air like thunder.

You opened your eyes. Woojin was standing between you and the villain, his suit covered in dust, his mask still on but cracked at the edge. He was breathing hard. His hands were shaking.

"Don't. Touch. Her."

The villain laughed. "There he is. Took you long enough."

What followed was a blur. Punches and webs and the sickening crunch of metal against something that might have been bone. You pressed yourself against a wall, covering your head, and when you looked up again, the villain was gone. A web trap stuck to the side of a building, thrashing and cursing.

Woojin was still standing. His mask was half torn off, revealing the lower half of his face. Blood dripped from his lip.

He didn't turn around.

"Woojin," you said, your voice barely a whisper.

He flinched like your voice hurt him.

"You should go inside," he said, his voice rough. "It's not safe."

"Woojin."

"Please." His voice cracked. "Please just go inside."

You didn't move. He stood there, shoulders shaking, still not facing you. And then slowly, like he was carrying the weight of the world, he turned around.

His mask was hanging off one side. His eyes were red. There were dark circles underneath them that looked weeks old.

"I'm sorry," he said, and his voice broke on the second word. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know what else to do. He found out about you. He was going to come for you and I couldn't let that happen. I thought if I pushed you away, if I made you hate me, he'd lose interest. He'd think you didn't matter to me. But he kept watching. He kept waiting. And I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I just kept thinking about you alone in your apartment thinking I didn't love you anymore when the truth is I love you so much it terrifies me."

You stood there, groceries scattered at your feet, tears streaming down your face.

"You idiot," you said.

He flinched.

You closed the distance between you and grabbed his face with both hands. He was warm and trembling and there was blood on his lip and he looked like he hadn't slept in days. You kissed him hard, tasting copper and salt, and he made a sound like a sob into your mouth.

When you pulled back, you were both crying.

"Don't you ever do that again," you said, your voice shaking. "I don't care who finds out about us. I don't care if the whole city knows I'm yours. You don't get to decide what's best for me without asking. You don't get to break my heart to save it."

He pressed his forehead against yours, his hands coming up to cover yours where they still held his face. "I thought I was going to lose you."

"You almost did. But not because of some villain. Because you pushed me away."

He let out a shaky breath. "I know. I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

You pulled him into a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling his arms snake around your waist and hold on like you were the only thing keeping him upright.

"I love you," you said into his shoulder. "Even when you're being a dumb self sacrificing hero. Especially then."

He let out a wet laugh. "That's the worst timing for a confession."

"It's not a confession. It's a reminder."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes still glassy, a small smile tugging at his busted lip. "Can I take you home?"

"You better."

He scooped you up, one arm under your knees, the other around your back. You yelped and grabbed his neck.

"Woojin, I can walk."

"I know. But I want to carry you."

You buried your face in his neck, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek, steady and real. He shot a web and swung up into the night, holding you close the whole way.

And when he set you down on your fire escape, he kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, soft and lingering.

"I'm never letting you go again," he whispered.

"You better not."

He smiled, real and tired and full of love, and climbed through your window after you.

.◞ 𖢥 ◟. — LOUIS

The first sign should've been the texts. Louis had been replying with one word answers for a week. K. Fine. Yep. Which for him was basically a red flag parade. But you figured he was just busy. Patrol had been insane lately, he kept saying. More crime than usual. Less sleep than ever.

You told him to take it easy. He said he would. You both knew he was lying.

The second sign was the way he showed up at your door that night. He looked like a ghost wearing a hoodie. Pale, glassy eyed, swaying a little on his feet. But when you asked if he was okay, he just flashed that tired grin and said he was perfectly fine. Just a little tired. Nothing a good night's sleep couldn't fix.

You let him in because you were worried, not because you believed him.

He made it about three steps into your living room before his knees buckled.

You caught him before he hit the floor, barely. He was heavy and burning hot against your arms, his forehead slick with sweat. You lowered him onto the couch and pressed your palm to his face. He was on fire.

"Louis," you said, and your voice came out sharper than you meant. "You have a fever. A high one. How long have you been like this?"

He blinked up at you, dazed. "I'm fine. Just a little warm."

"You're burning up. You just collapsed in my apartment. You are not fine."

"I've handled worse."

"Oh my god, I'm gonna kill you."

You stormed into the kitchen, grabbed a thermometer, and came back. He tried to wave it off, but you grabbed his wrist and shoved it under his tongue before he could argue. The beep came a few seconds later. You stared at the number and felt your stomach drop.

"Louis. This is really high. You need a doctor."

"No." He pulled the thermometer out of his mouth. "No doctors. I'll be fine. I just need to sleep it off."

"You can't sleep off a fever this bad."

"Watch me."

You wanted to yell at him. You wanted to shake him and ask him why he never told you, why he always had to be so stubborn, why he couldn't just let someone take care of him for once. But he looked so small lying there on your couch, shivering under his hoodie despite the heat rolling off him, and the anger just kind of fizzled out.

You sighed and ran a hand through your hair. "You're the most infuriating person I've ever met."

He cracked one eye open. "Does that mean you're not gonna kick me out?"

"It means I'm gonna take care of you whether you like it or not."

A weak smile tugged at his lips. "I like it."

"Shut up."

You got to work. You found some medicine in your cabinet and made him take it, watching him like a hawk until he swallowed. You grabbed the thickest blanket you owned and wrapped it around him until he looked like a burrito. You made him drink a whole glass of water and told him if he didn't finish it you'd call his mom.

He finished it.

You sat on the edge of the couch and brushed his damp hair off his forehead. He leaned into your touch like a cat, his eyes fluttering closed.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I should've told you."

"Yeah. You should've."

"I didn't want you to worry."

"I'm always gonna worry about you, Louis. That's kind of the deal when you love someone."

He was quiet for a long moment. Then, so soft you almost missed it, he said, "You love me?"

You rolled your eyes, but your voice came out gentle. "Unfortunately. Yeah."

He smiled, small and tired, and reached up to grab your hand. "I love you too. Even when you're mad at me."

"I'm still mad at you."

"I know. You'll get over it."

"Don't push it."

He laughed, then immediately winced and coughed. You shushed him and tucked the blanket tighter around him.

"Sleep," you said. "I'll be right here."

"You're not gonna leave?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

He shifted on the couch, making room, and held out his arm. "Then come here."

You hesitated. "You're sick. You need rest."

"I need you."

You sighed, because you could never say no to that face, and carefully climbed onto the couch beside him. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against his chest, his chin resting on top of your head. He was still warm, still feverish, but he held you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

"I'm glad it's you," he whispered. "I'm glad it's always you."

You closed your eyes and let yourself melt into him, one hand resting over his heart.

"Go to sleep, Louis."

"Only if you promise to still be here when I wake up."

"I promise."

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and within minutes his breathing evened out. You stayed there, wrapped up in him, listening to his heartbeat slow and steady under your palm. The anger had completely faded by now, replaced by something softer. Something that felt a lot like home.