Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s a normal Wednesday afternoon when Jisung officially meets Deadpool. The Deadpool. He’s heard of his name; it’s hard not to nowadays. Whispered comments cursing the merc with the mouth, the man with a penchant for bloodshed and a check to cash in at the end of the day. Each heart stopped, every life snuffed out, splatters of red left in his wake. Feared by many, annoying to most. Well, at least that’s what he’s heard. At the very least, he knows that Deadpool is someone Han Jisung—specifically, this city’s very own friendly neighbourhood Spiderman—should not be hanging around. But he can’t help it if the man comes to him.

Which leads him to now, where Jisung’s got a gash across his chest that stings far more than it should. Stupid stupid. Shouldn't have gotten so close to the men with powered-up claws. Who did they think they were? Wolverine? Jisung probably needs some stitches, and a hospital is simply out of the question, meaning he likely won’t be getting them done. And as much as he loves Seungmin in all his med school glory, the last time he went to him, he had Jisung fatally squeezing the life out of Felix’s childhood kangaroo plushie, Smallbok, with too many embarrassing tears trailing down his cheeks.

Guilt over the torn and bloodied plushie had Jisung test out his sewing skills. Thus, with a lot of determination and many boxes of baking soda later, he had Smallbok just about holding on together… well. Barely holding on together. Luckily, Felix has a forgiving soul, didn’t ask too many questions and has a penchant for looking at the bright side of things. It gives him character, he whispered, holding Smallbok up to the light like Simba in his hands.

Jisung wonders what Felix would say if he were ever to find out the truth about everything. His double life, where the bruises come from, and why their hangouts are suddenly cut short out of nowhere. He shakes his head, muttering to himself. He can’t get anyone else he loves involved, not with the guilt that eats him alive every time he watches the hurt Seungmin tries to hide as it flashes upon his face for a mere second every time Jisung comes back battered and bruised, nor the heartbreak Jisung knows Seungmin covers up every time he lies to his boyfriend.

Jisung groans as he stands, ignoring the slight sting as he stretches his tired and sore body. He should definitely get that checked; alas, all he can do is pray for his trusty healing abilities to do their magic.

In the middle of his thoughts, a wave of unease wracks his bones, a shiver going down his spine. The telltale sign that something is off, something—no—someone is watching. Closing in on him, light steps coming closer and closer.

Jisung spins on the spot, shooting out a web at the assailant's feet, stopping them in their approach. Jisung winces at the sudden movement, jostling the wound. He grinds his teeth and prepares another shot of webs at any potential weapons before–

“Damn, you sensed me from there? And I was really trying to use my sneaky moves. I call them pussy steps. Cause you know how sneaky cats are, right? It usually works on most people. No one hears me coming! Well, unless I want them to, which is most of the time. That’s where the fun is, you see—getting them amped up on that adrenaline. More fun of a fight. Hmmm, can we redo this? Should've probably come in with a cute song. Lighten the mood, ey?”

Deadpool. Deadpool. Deadpool.

Jisung recognises the man instantly: the deep red of his suit, the black cut-outs on his face framing uncanny white eyes that are far more expressive than Jisung could ever believe a mask was capable of being. His eyes train down to the man’s broad shoulders and katanas sheathed on his back, to the utility belt around his waist, and the dual pistols attached to straps around thick thighs—Jisung quickly jerks his eyes back up to the man’s cheerful gaze.

Jisung thinks for a hot second that maybe someone’s put out a hit on him. That some creep has such a grudge about Spiderman that they’ve sent the most batshit insane mercenary after him. Jisung tenses up, web-shooter aimed and ready to fire again.

“Hey, hey! Look! My hands are up, I come in peace.” Deadpool follows his own words, and Jisung can hear the smile hidden behind the mask. “Couldn’t let the chance go to meet the one and only Spiderman!”

Deadpool sizes him up for a moment, eyes suddenly trained on the wound sluggishly bleeding on Jisung’s chest.

“Damn, that looks painful. Want me to have a look at that?” He attempts to take a step closer, nearly face planting as he remembers that his feet are still webbed to the ground. “Dear old Deadpool here knows his way around an injury or two. Or three, or four, or five… you get the picture, don’t ya, Spidey?”

“You’re not here to kill me?”

“How could you say that, Spideyboy? I’m your number one fan! Though someone has asked before– but don't worry! Cut them down before they even said the price. No way am I letting anyone take that ass away from the world.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, have you looked in the mirror with the suit on? Cause.” Deadpool does one of those obnoxious wolf-whistles. “Hot damn, the TV screens and pictures do not do it justice, sheesh. Dori’s gotta see this, could you give me a spin, just a quick pic, for a keepsake! Dori will thank you with a meow, trust me.”

Jisung doesn’t know how to respond. Somewhat flattered and horrified at the barrage of comments and compliments by the strange and unnerving mercenary.

“The name’s Minho. Lee Minho.”

“I’ve heard.”

“Ahhh, so you know me. Peachy. We can be best friends now.”

“Whoa, okay– slow down. Who said that?”

“I did.”

“No– I know, I mean,” Jisung huffs and shakes his head. His brother did teach him that manners are key. “Okay, well… Nice to meet you, Lee Minho.”

“Nice to meet you, Spidey. And don’t ya worry about the name. I know secret identity and all that shit.” Deadpool, or well, Minho, casually gestures to the getup Jisung has on right now and then down to his own webbed up feet. “Care to undo the spider goo, and we can try do something about those nasty cuts, yeah?”

Jisung can hear Seungmin yelling in his head about how much of a bad idea this is. That Jisung should be smarter than this. That he is very likely falling into a trap of some sort and is going to wind up dead within the next five minutes. If he’s lucky, he will give him a week.

Yet against it all, Jisung bites his lip, giving Minho a small nod and makes his way towards the man equipped with far too many weapons and a delighted look upon his face.

All he can do is hope he doesn’t regret this.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

A week later, Jisung is very much still alive. He’ll count that as one point to Han Jisung, zero points to mind palace Kim Seungmin. He just won’t bring it up to the very real Kim Seungmin anytime soon.

Chan is lounging on the new couch he and Changbin have finally purchased as a housewarming gift for themselves. Jisung’s contribution to the new furniture is the photo collage that’s now placed lovingly in the living room right above Jisung’s childhood keyboard that Chan can’t seem to part with, despite it being far too old, with keys that definitely don’t work.

Jisung walks over to the keyboard, dragging fingers over old plastic keys before looking up at the various picture frames. A little corner of smiles, Chan had called it. Jisung couldn’t deny it for what it was. Happiness encapsulated within each frame. Various photos of joy, smiling faces filling each frame. A photo of thirteen-year-old Chan and tiny ten-year-old Jisung on his shoulders. A too-close selfie of the three of them when they finally allowed Jisung to have a supervised bender at Changbin’s expensive ass apartment. A candid of Chan fireman carrying Jisung at the gym. Another of Chan’s wide grins as he displays his engagement ring for the camera, a soft smile on Changbin’s lips as he watches Chan by his side. There’s even a photo of Jisung caught mid-cackle as Changbin stands there, smashed birthday cake at his feet.

Jisung traces his thumb over a picture just to the right of the collage. He gazes at the bright smiles of his parents as they wrap their arms around the two young boys in a tight, loving embrace. Jisung was far too young to remember them clearly. To remember anything other than the fact that he was loved and cherished by two people taken away from him far too soon.

He sighs into the quiet, a soft, sad smile plays at his lips for a second before there’s a light touch on his wrist.

“Nap time, aegi,” Chan says, and Jisung rolls his eyes fondly but allows himself to be dragged down onto the couch with the other. “Why do you look like you’ve had years taken off your face? Do you sleep? You really need your beauty sleep. Follow your favourite hyung.”

“Are you calling me ugly?”

“Yah! How could you accuse me of such a thing–”

“Also,” Jisung interrupts, twisting so that he lies on the couch with his chin on Chan’s chest, giving him a pointed look, “the real question is, do you sleep?”

“Are you calling me ugly?” Chan counters with a grin and absolutely no bite.

“Yes.”

Chan’s smile just grows.

“Also, Changbin’s my favourite hyung,” Jisung adds.

Chan fondly shakes his head and hums, “Sureee.”

Jisung presses his face into Chan’s chest. “But, I love him, too,” he whispers.

“Me too.”

“Gross.”

Jisung bites his lip and looks up at the kitchen, where Changbin stands, a wooden spoon and pot in hand, a perplexed expression on his face. Clearly not accustomed to the new layout of the kitchen. Though Jisung doubts that Changbin would be much more competent even in a kitchen he was familiar with.

He doesn’t know how they survived on all of Chan’s meals, but Jisung is very much thankful for the weekends over at Changbin’s. A special thank you to his private chef, though now it seems all of them will need to fend for themselves or take up some cooking lessons.

When Changbin finally makes his way back to the living room, a bowl of popcorn in hand (Ahhh, that’s what he was struggling with), he squeezes in next to Chan and gets him to lay his head on his lap. The three of them somehow fitting all together in a mess of limbs. Jisung reaches for the remote and flicks through channels before they finally decide on some new action movie to settle in and watch.

He lets himself melt into Chan’s warmth. He’s always been a furnace, and Jisung’s going to make good use of the time he’s got before he needs to slink back into the cool night once the movie is over.

Chan is passed out on the couch before the credits even roll. Changbin whispering something about him overworking himself once again for the past three days straight. Jisung internally scolds his brother for once again not taking his own advice and refusing to sleep. He carefully gets up off the couch to collect his stuff scattered around the apartment. Changbin picks up the throw blanket on the armrest to cover Chan with before escorting Jisung out to the front door.

Before Jisung has the chance to leave, Changbin pulls him to the side for one last question.

“Do you need me to talk to anyone?”

“Huh?” Jisung tilts his head to the side.

“Channie doesn’t wanna coddle you too much, so he won’t ask, but you’ve got another bruise on your chin and you're limping again. Not to mention the black eye from a month ago.”

“I’m n–”

“Don’t try to deny it, you’re good at covering it up, but your brother has the eyes of a hawk when it comes to you.”

Jisung rolls his eyes. It’s always been hard to keep the superhero tendencies when you have an overprotective brother and pseudo-brother. He thanks the gods that he was able to move out of their small two-bedroom apartment and found a place of his own before Chan found out.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could’ve spent keeping Spiderman a secret under the same roof as Chan, though he guesses limited visits a week still have the same effect on Chan’s concerned brain cells.

“I… uh, tripped down the stairs.”

“Again?”

“... yeah?”

“Aren’t you on the sixth floor of your building? That has a lift…”

“I like exercise?”

“Since when?”

“I got gains… at the gym.”

To be fair, Jisung has naturally gotten lean muscle from all the swinging, punching, and general exercise you get from crime-fighting. Changbin just doesn’t need to know from where exactly.

Changbin exasperatedly sighs, placing a hand on his forehead as if contemplating his next course of attack. It’s a solid twelve seconds later before he snaps his fingers and says, “The first rule is you don’t…”

Jisung stares at Changbin with an incredulous look.

“You don’t…?”

“You know…”

“I don’t think so?”

“You don’t…?” Changbin gestures wildly as if winding up a toy.

“I… Hyung, are you high?”

“Wha– no! Yah. Brat, what do you think?”

“Well, it really does sound–”

“Fight club.” Changbin hisses through his teeth. “Are you in a fight club? Is this what you’ve not been telling us for months?”

Oh.

Well.

Jisung isn’t sure what’s better. To have them believe he’s part of some violent fight club or that he fights crime on a daily basis. Neither sounds ideal, but neither does having magically appearing bruises and injuries each time he comes over.

It’s times like this when he wishes he had a far more advanced healing factor, maybe not Deadpool levels of healing. Some happy place in the middle, ideally.

“I– uh. No?”

“Why’d you sound less sure than before?”

“I don’t know?” Jiusng exclaims, “Why are you interrogating me?” He points an excusatory finger at Changbin’s unfairly firm chest (damn, he’s the superhero, why does he have more pectoral lift than him?)

Changbin swats his hand away and drapes his arm on Jisung’s shoulders, pulling him in for a somewhat one-sided hug.

“You’d tell hyungs if something was wrong, right?” he says—soft and careful—whispered into Jisung’s hair like a plea.

Jisung closes his eyes and lets himself sink into the embrace, looping his arms around Changbin’s waist and squeezing, “Of course, Bin-ah.”

It earns him a light smack on his shoulder, “Where are your manners?”

“Of course, Binnie hyung.”

Jisung can feel the laughter that leaves Changbin’s chest as he squeezes tighter one last time before they pull apart. He brings his hand up to pinch Jisung’s cheek like an auntie would to a child, “Take care of yourself, aegi.”

Jisung squeals lightly at the pinch before pushing him away. “Yeah, yeah. See ya next week!” He offers him one last salute as he leaves their apartment.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Deadpool resurfaces in Jisung’s life just under two weeks later. Jisung’s still not dead—thank the lord—but there’s still this prickling running down his back as he swings over to the latest felony down the street.

A small robbery in the east side of town; a man in a cheap balaclava, combat boots, and camo-print getup sprinting down the street. He can’t tell if he’s going for some army-type look or if the guy genuinely thinks he’ll be able to camouflage himself in the busy street.

“Ya know I can still see you,” Jisung yells at the man just before he shoots a web out at his ankles.

Jisung swings down, tripping the guy over with a web at his ankles. The man crashes to the floor, dropping the bag he’d stuffed full of convenience store cash. Jisung’s just about to make some witty and funny remarks before he’s struck frozen at the sound of the unmistakable voice of Deadpool.

“What’re the odds, baby boy?” Deadpool saunters up to him, bag of popcorn in hand, and a passed-out man hauled over his shoulder. “Both out here doing our duty. We should team up, toss them dickheads into the ocean and ride into the sunset together.”

Jisung doesn’t even want to ask.

What they end up doing—with some convincing on Jisung’s part—is to drop the criminals off in front of the police station, despite Deadpool grumbling about how unfun this option is. Though he does cackle when Jisung webs them up on the lamp post for everyone to see.

They stop another robbery and help an old woman find her lost cat before Minho gets an urgent call on his Hello Kitty Pink phone, dashing into an alley away from view. And he’s gone—just as suddenly as he appeared in the first place, that Jisung doesn’t even know how to comprehend the mixed feelings that strike his chest at the thought of continuing patrol on his own.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

For some reason, Deadpool keeps coming back. For some reason, Jisung doesn’t send him away. Jisung can’t explain why. Deadpool is both an open book and a complete enigma all at once. A man wrapped up in one big bubble of outlandish and flirty jokes, an aptitude for violence, and a sweetness that brings warmth to Jisung’s cheeks. Maybe it’s just nice to spend time with someone after so many patrols alone.

“Don’t ya get it, Spidey. You’re like my role model, my idol. I wanna be justttt like you. On that note, I bet you look like an idol. I bet you would be the prettiest idol out there. Do you sing webs? I bet you could sing, or could you rap!? Oh my god, what if you were just amazing at both?! And could dance, yes yes yes.” Minho rapidly nods his head, as if having a heated discussion with multiple people in his mind. “Spidey would totally be an idol in another universe, that’s just something I can tell, I can sense it in my left toe.”

“Min, please, what are you on even on about—“

“Baby, c’monnn.“

Jisung bites his lip under his mask. Minho has a thing for calling him every single pet name under the sun. He pretends it doesn’t make his stomach do backflips.

“Sing for me, yeah,” Minho continues, “Bet you have the loveliest voice, or at least give me a spin and show me what those hips can do—“

Jisung cuts Minho off and webs his mouth over the mask, stopping him mid-rant. But he can’t help the way he blushes furiously at the words, grateful for the mask protecting his face. What is he to do with a man like this?

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

The clock on his wall is taunting him. The seconds that turn into minutes into hours that pass by in the blink of an eye. Maybe he’s going crazy. Jisung’s in the middle of another assignment he’s left till the very last minute. Seungmin will probably scold him for it later, just as he’d done before on too many occasions to count.

“I told you to do them early. What if another surprise Spiderman affair comes up, and it's the day before your essay is due, and you can’t complete it?” Seungmin had chastised him. “Like you're dumb. So dumb. You need to know that, for someone so smart, you are so fucking dumb.”

“You wound me, Minnie.”

“No, you wound yourself. How are you also covered in even more bruises every time I see you? Even Lix is getting worried, and you know how he doesn’t wanna bug you. And now he’s bugging me.”

Jisung didn’t mean to flinch at the words then.

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting better?” Seungmin continued. “You’re supposed to dodge those punches, not take them to the face. You do know that, right?”

“Rude, do you even see the work I do?” Jisung gestured wildly, as if bigger movements would have proved his point further. “I’m helping people who need it. I’m making a difference.”

“I know you are, Sung-ah,” Seungmin sighed. “But you have to stop being reckless… and write your goddamn essay. It’s due next week.”

Seungmin had shoved the bruise ointment he’d bought prior into Jisung’s hands and stalked off towards the library, making sure Jisung had completed at least eighty five percent of the research before going back home.

Jisung huffs at the memory. It’s not as if he tries to get hit. It’s just better that it’s him than anyone else. Spiderman will heal just fine… for the most part.

Jisung ignores the last time he had to take two weeks off from patrols, when Seungmin had pretty much tied him down to the bed to let his injuries heal. Jisung can’t even say it was the sexy kind of bondage that he’d enjoy. Though Seungmin had threatened to smother him on the spot for even bringing up the thought with both of them involved. Jisung held back from commenting; he might be into that, too.

Nevertheless, Jisung knows Seungmin’s got a point. Both in Jisung’s tendency to prioritise the well-being of civilians and even criminals (Jisung believes there’s a second chance for everyone) over his own. That, along with his severe procrastination problem.

Jisung’s sorry that his mind’s not quite in the right zone for Antigens and Their Phenotypes in Blood Groups, when he’s had a certain mercenary with a weird yet addicting charisma, broad shoulders and thick thighs taking over all his thoughts.

The light breeze drifts in through his open window. Focus, Jisung. Focus. He pushes up his glasses, the sleeves of his hoodie pulled halfway down his hands. Mentally preparing to lock the fuck in and get this done. He glares at the screen for a good three more minutes.

Yeah, this isn’t working.

It’s not his fault that his mouse has scrolled off the page and is now opening a new browser. Fingers typing letters into the search bar on their own accord, curiosity getting the better of him.

Deadpool.

Many, many search results. Various news articles, reports, sightings… but it’s the fourth link down that catches his eye.

www.fishandmenfearme.com

The page that loads is nothing like what Jisung expects. Bright colours fill the screen, obnoxious fonts, with no rhyme or reason, litter the page, surrounded by several low-quality pictures of cats wearing fedoras.

What he finds are links to pages discussing Deadpool’s fish tier list and the best places to go fishing. Another page on the correct way to polish a katana, followed by a guide on feeding stray cats. The last page is dedicated to a man named Ajax, along with a picture attached of a hastily written note that is practically illegible. Still, Jisung can make out the drawing of Deadpool shooting another little stick figure with X’s for eyes labelled as Ajax. Well. That’s one way to send a threat, Jisung sighs. What is he even doing?

He goes back, scrolling further down to find an about me page. There’s a photobooth picture attached to the top. The first shot is one of Deadpool alone, staring down the lens with an unnerving stare that sends a shiver down Jisung’s spine.

The others are less intimidating. The photo on the left features a ginger cat snuggled up close, its face pressed against Deadpool’s cheek as they fill up the entire frame. The next one features another ginger and white cat, this one with an orange nose rather than white like the one before. It sits peacefully beside a dark tabby, both perched near the camera as Deadpool puts up two bunny ears behind each cat.

The last one has the two ginger cats sitting in Deadpool’s lap, whilst the other balances comfortably on his shoulder. Jisung can tell that in all of these, the man is beaming beneath the mask, content and at ease in each of the three photos. It’s cute. Too cute that Jisung can’t believe he’s in fact looking at the profile page for a professional mercenary.

Birth Name: Lee Minho

Age: YOU NEVER ASK A MAN THEIR AGE!!!!!

Blood type: O

Job: freelance mercenary (best in the business guaranteed, trust me)

Top Talents: killing people, fishing, and not dying

Favourite Things: cats, pudding, and my trusty katanas, loid and yor >:)

Special Move: once crushed a guy with my thighs, pretty cool.

Jisung puts his head in his hands and groans. Okay, not exactly what he wanted to think about on this fine, normal and totally not stressful day, but here he is adding the partially horny checkmark to his current status. It’s very much not ideal for his researching for my assignment objective, he’s actually supposed to be on. Let alone how he definitely should not be thinking about this man in that way. And yeah. Maybe Jisung’s realising he might have a thing for strong thighs and broad shoulders, but that’s for another night to be dwelled upon.

It feels like an information overload, and all Jisung can do is think that this man seems somewhat insane, extremely deadly, and yet… he’s also sweet and funny, very forward to say the least. And Jisung can’t help the way he’s enjoyed every time Minho’s shown up out of the blue. Someone to bounce off his jokes, an extra hand when Jisung can feel exhaustion weighing on his bones, someone to spend the quiet time with instead of being alone. Jisung can’t help but be drawn to the man, intrigued at every move he makes.

Jisung closes the laptop and takes off his glasses to rub at his sore eyes, an attempt to blink the exhaustion out of them. It doesn’t really work. He lets out a sigh, leaning back in the chair to look out the window, the curtains drawn just enough to peer out of.

It’s a full moon tonight, and he wonders if Minho’s out in the streets, or if he’s home alone looking out at the moon just like Jisung is. It doesn’t seem like many people know Minho. They know of Deadpool, but Minho? Does anyone really know him? Do they see that he’s not a lost cause, that he’s worth trying for, that he’s worth saving? Spiderman thinks that. Jisung thinks that maybe Minho just needs a friend.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

It’s the end of the day, the sun having set hours before, and the street lights casting an eerie glow in the quiet streets.

Jisung is sore; it’s really all he feels nowadays. Jisung likes to call it doing his duty as this area’s only friendly neighbourhood Spiderman. Seungmin likes to put it as pushing himself too hard and being too reckless. He never dignifies Seungmin with a response.

Jisung doesn’t have to wait long to see Minho again. He shows up again late at night, or more like Jisung stumbles upon a bloodied Deadpool in the corner of a dark alley. He feels like a mouse trapped in a maze, a sharp zing across his neck and—fuck—Minho is suddenly sprinting straight for him, and he prides himself in how he’s able to actually stand his ground (or maybe he’s just got a deathwish).

His fight-or-flight response kicks into high gear, his legs planted firmly on the ground, not allowing himself to run away scared at Minho’s dead-eyed glare. He can’t even tell if Minho really sees him in the dark, almost looking right through him like he’s the monster hidden in the shadows, sprinting at him like he’s next on his hit list, till–

Like the flip of a switch, his demeanour changes, his shoulders lose their tension, his stride slows slightly, and Jisung can somehow tell that he’s smiling behind the mask. Then, Minho is yelling, wildly waving his hands like an overzealous puppy.

“Spidey! Watcha doin’ here?” His words are giddy, yet there’s an underlying sense of wariness. He suddenly halts to a stop, but Jisung’s still got his guard up, shoulders tense as he surveys the area.

Was Minho being chased? Is anyone after him? Is he hurt?

Jisung tries to look behind into the dark alley, but it’s like a vacuum in space, an endless inky pool—anyone, anything could be hidden in the void.

Did he hurt anyone? Is he here to take out any witnesses? Would he dispose of Spiderman if he had to?

He shakes his head, fighting away the thought. If Deadpool wanted him dead, Jisung’s sure he wouldn’t be breathing right now. He definitely wouldn’t have spent his entire morning helping a kid find his stolen bicycle.

“Are you okay?”

“Aww, you worried about me, Spidey?”

Jisung looks down, ignoring the twitch of Minho’s fingers. “You sure everything is okay?”

“Just peachy,” he gives Jisung a double thumbs up. “The blood’s not mine.”

Jisung’s breath catches, and the words are rushing out before he can stop himself. “Did you kill anyone?”

Stupid, stupid Jisung. What is he even saying? You don’t ask a mercenary if he’s killed someone in the last five minutes.

The street lights seem to flicker, the white vacant eyes of Minho’s mask narrowing ever so slightly, tilting his head just an inch. His voice is sweet, almost playful as he replies, “Maybeee, maybe not…”

Minho’s toying with him, he must be.

“If you do need help, you've got the one and only Spiderman here, so you can tell me.”

“And if there’s a body at the end of that alley? You gonna cuff me up? That’ll be fun.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’ll help… Well, help to an extent. I don’t believe you killed anyone anyway.”

“You asked me if I killed someone mere seconds ago.”

“I didn’t– sorry. I didn’t mean it. You said I was your role model. You wouldn’t… not if we’re allies. Right?”

Minho claps his hands together, lighting up again. “You remembered!” Minho giggles, bouncing back and forth on his toes, “Well… there is one thing I need your help with.”

Fuck. The possibility of having to fight Deadpool and turn him into the cops flashes through his mind.

“Late-night snack mission, I know a spot.”

In less than a second, a tight grip around his wrist jolts Jisung out of his stupor, Minho dragging Jisung down the street into the warm light. There’s a skip in his step, and Jisung knows Minho is smiling like a giddy child; he can just sense it.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

“Thank you.” Jisung bows, accepting the envelope of his payment in hand. “When should I come over next week for the next tutoring session?”

“Jimin has an afterschool club on Wednesday, so Thursday is fine. Same time?” Mrs. Cho smiles at him kindly.

“Yes, yes.” Jisung nods, smiling back. “I’ll see you then.”

“Don’t forget to tell Chan we say hi. It’s been so long since you kids came over for dinner. Get home safe!”

“Of course, I’ll let him know!”

He gives her one last big grin and skips down the steps two at a time, tucking the envelope into his backpack and taking out his headphones. With the few tutoring sessions Jisung’s been able to slot into his week between studies and Spiderman duties, he’ll just about have enough to feed himself for the week and pay for rent on time.

It’s still warm outside despite the sun slowly making its way down the horizon. He makes his way to the nearby bus stop, quietly humming to himself as he debates whether or not to go on patrol early today. Maybe he should relax a little. Take Seungmin’s advice and actually give himself a day off to catch up on some much-needed sleep. Or perhaps a chance to learn a recipe to cook a meal for Changbin—a thank you for the help he’s done with his apartment. But Jisung’s shoulder isn’t sore anymore, so perhaps he should make use of the rare occasion of having a patrol where his body isn’t screaming at him to rest. He ignores the small voice in the back of his head that pesters him about potentially missing out on a chance to hang out with Minho again.

Jisung sighs, adjusting his glasses as he takes a seat at the empty bus stop, his responsibilities as Spiderman and his own well-being wracking through his brain. He’s so lost in the internal debate, he can’t help but jump when something touches his leg. He peers down, finding a ginger cat rubbing itself against his leg, its small head butting against his shin as its tail curls around his calf. It purrs softly. Jisung feels it rather than hears it, slowly sliding his headphones off and onto his shoulders to listen to the sweet sound.

“Hi there, kitty.” Jisung bends over and slowly reaches his hand out to let the stray say hello. Its nose softly bumps against his curled fingers, rubbing against his hand and letting Jisung pet the sweet thing.

The cat suddenly decides to hop up onto the seat and make its way into Jisung’s lap. “You’re friendly, aren’t you?” Jisung giggles, enjoying the moment of peace with the cute creature. The minutes pass quickly, and he ignores the way his bus drives past, not bothering to even try to flag it down, wanting to let this last just a little longer.

Maybe some cat therapy is precisely what he needed. Not exactly what Seungmin had planned, but Jisung isn’t off exhausting himself swinging through the city at least. Just for now, Jisung will let himself rest for this moment. They sit there, the cat nestled in his lap as he runs a careful hand over its soft fur under the empty bus stop till Jisung’s stomach starts to rumble—dinner time.

The cat somehow seems to understand exactly what he needs, hopping off his lap and taking a few steps forward, then looking back at Jisung expectantly. As if waiting for Jisung to follow.

Jisung nods, laughing lightly. “Coming, coming,” he says, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. “I know a convenience store nearby that has some cat food too. We can both have our dinner. Is that where you wanted to go?”

He’s given a little meow in response, as the cat slides in stride with Jisung. “Gotcha. A little walk will do us some good, too, won’t it?”

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

There’s an old hip-hop song playing from Chan’s fancy new speakers as he enters the room. Jisung tosses the plastic bag of edible (he really hopes they are) goods into Changbin’s open arms.

Changbin freezes at the door, eyes carefully following Jisung as he waltzes into their living room. “Yah, what’s this?” He asks, kicking the door shut before trailing after him.

“Payment.”

“Payment? For what?”

“Rent.” Changbin’s eyes widen as Jisung continues. “I looked up the cost of the area, and there was no way I could afford that, small as it is. It’s a studio, but it’s a nice enough one that my small ass paychecks couldn’t cover that shit.”

“Maybe the landlord was feeling generous.”

“Yeah, maybe if he had a kind donation from someone to help persuade him and his generosity.” Jisung hums, looking up to catch Changbin’s flickering gaze. “I know you're the one who found that place, not Channie hyung.”

“It’s not… ahh.” Changbin sighs, “ I know you needed your space, and it was getting a bit much with all of us crammed together, even though I know you wouldn’t say anything… and it makes me happy… To care for you. You make people want to take care of you. How could I not?“

Jisung’s cheeks burn, and his heart swells, a shot of sugary sweetness right into his bloodstream. He looks away for a second, the fondness in Changbin’s words too much to bear. His brother—his family. Small as it is, and so full of love.

Changbin takes a seat at the counter, carefully examining the bag and its contents. He opens the first container, revealing some jajangmyeon noodles cooked by the one and only—quite mid, bordering on tragic—chef Jisung. Though he thinks he should receive bonus points for the attempt, at the very least. Jisung chews on his thumb, leaning on the table as he watches Changbin take out a pair of chopsticks and examine the noodles with extreme scrutiny.

This was probably a bad idea.

Changbin takes a bite, chewing slowly, still not looking Jisung in the eye.

This was probably a very bad idea.

Changbin looks further down into the noodles as he swallows.

This was definitely a very bad idea.

When Changbin finally looks back up, Jisung catches the attempt at hiding a barely concealed grimace, before he shoots him a too-sweet smile. “Delicious.”

Jisung narrows his eyes, “Don’t lie.”

“Just a lil salty then.”

Jisung can tell from his expression that it’s far worse than what Changbin admits. He sends a glare directed at him with even more vigour.

“Okay,” Changbin relents after a second, “More than a little salty, cooking isn’t your… strong suit.”

The stare doesn’t relent.

“What d‘you want me to say? You suck at cooking?”

Jisung pounces on the opportunity. “Okay, I suck, I’ll take it back, give it here.” He leans across the table, reaching out to snatch the container from Changbin’s hands.

Suddenly, Changbin jerks back, nearly tipping the noodles out of the container. “No! Mine! No take-backs.”

Jisung freezes, grabby hands inches away from the meal, staring back at Changbin, who’s now curled up around the container of food like a mother bird protecting her clutch.

“You don’t have to eat it if it’s bad. It’s okay,” Jisung says softly.

Another mouthful of noodles is shoved into Changbin’s overeager mouth, and Jisung stares at him, starstruck. “Mine.” He whispers again, once he’s swallowed.

“Okay, okay.” Jisung puts his hands up in surrender, looking down at the floor to hide his giddy smile.

He looks back up, biting his lip before pulling out a chair next to Changbin, and leaning his head on his shoulder. He feels the way Changbin releases a breath, knocking his head lightly onto Jisung’s before shoving another mouthful of the questionable noodles into his mouth. He closes his eyes, promising himself to at least watch some cooking lesson videos to make it up to Changbin next time.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Jisung hears a news report on the latest CEO taken down by an apparent hitman. Jisung briefly wonders if the deadly mercenary they’re speaking of could be Deadpool. This is followed by a swift left hook to the face. So much for being careful.

Note to future Jisung: Turn off the radio option in your earpiece when fighting a superpowered man. You never know what can distract you.

He goes home with a nasty black eye and lies in bed with a bag of frozen peas pressed against his face for the next three hours—nothing he isn’t used to.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Blind dates aren’t really as receptive when the other person sports a black eye and a split lip. Jisung finds this out the hard way.

It’s another one of the many blind dates Felix has set up for him. He knows he’s gonna get scolded again, considering he’s also twenty-six minutes late. Why did he ever agree to let Felix try to solve his lonely and horny status? He will never know. It’s not as if he could even balance a relationship on top of studies and Spiderman business properly. He’d just be a shit boyfriend at this point.

“Do you always look like this?” Jeongin asks as soon as they’re done greeting each other.

“Uhh, no?”

“Are you asking or telling me?”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No, I don’t always look like this.”

“Well, did you lose?”

“No… ummm, I think I’m supposed to say you should see the other guy.” Jisung sends double finger guns Jeongin’s way before regretting all life choices and placing his head in his hands on the table. Someone smite him off this Earth, please. ”I’m so sorry.” His words are muffled beneath his shame.

“Well, does he look as busted as you right now?”

Jisung picks his head back, pushing his glasses back up his nose, unable to keep much eye contact. “I guess, a bit?”

“Cool.”

They sit there awkwardly for a moment. This is not how he imagined this to go, but at least Jeongin didn’t leave the second he saw Jisung’s face. He wouldn’t have even blamed the guy. Jisung fidgets with his fingers in front of him, the trees in the back suddenly looking much more interesting. What does he even say now?

“What’re you studying?”

Wow, such an interesting opener, Jisung. I wonder why you’re still single?

“Not studying at the moment.”

“You don’t go to uni?”

“Nahh, they don’t really have what I’m looking for?”

“How’d you even meet Felix then?”

“I spam camped and killed him in a match, he added me after the game to yell at me.” Jeongin shrugs casually. “Became friends after that.”

“Uhhhh…”

“League.”

“Gotcha.”

Great. Felix has resorted to matching Jisung up with League of Legends players. This is worse than he thought. No wonder Jeongin didn’t go running; only League players would be this mentally insane. Jisung is suddenly drawing a blank again. Mind racing, yet nothing of note sticks.

It also doesn’t help that Jisung’s distracted, foot bouncing as he counts the minutes that pass before he has to go on patrol again. To escape this bubble of awkwardness. Maybe he could rant about it to Minho later. Or maybe that’s weird? Are they even close enough for that? Maybe Minho would offer to kill Jeongin. God, okay, maybe he shouldn’t tell Minho about it.

“—rth to Jisung? Hello? I think you have a concussion.”

“What?”

“You zoned out again.”

“Ahhh, fuck, sorry. I must be more tired than I thought. I’m ruining this.”

Jeongin shrugs again, but the smile he sends this way is kind. It’s actually quite adorable, and Jisung feels like an auntie wanting to pinch his cheeks. “It’s fine. Felix did say you might be like this. You’re cute, though, even with that busted eye. But I don’t think it’s clicking the way Felix hoped, huh?”

“Thanks, you’re cute too.” Jisung looks down shyly, then sighs. “But, yeah, not really.”

Jeongin laughs, “I’ll take that from someone who seems to be dreaming of someone else.”

Jisung’s head snaps back towards Jeongin so fast that he thinks he might have just given himself whiplash. Eyes wide, and mouth slightly ajar.

“You’ve got this look in your eye when you drift off into your mind palace. No hard feelings, though. I mean… we can try again sometime. See if there’s anything when you’re not stuck on someone else or not at risk of having potential brain damage.” He teases. “If not, it is what it is.”

Jisung stops catching flies with his mouth and gives him a small smile back. “Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Jisung isn't at peak performance this evening. The cut down his thigh stings like a bitch, his ribs rattle each time he takes a breath, and the vision in his left eye has gotten a bit blurry if he’s being honest—but the man dressed up in some kind of cyborg outfit refuses to back down just yet.

“C’mon, I gotta get ready for dinner soon, and I can’t be late again, my dude. Can you do me a solid and just get outta the suit?”

The man does not do Jisung a solid. Instead, he decides to bring out the big guns. Literal big guns in this case mean a massive laser shooter that emerges from one of the hulking metal shoulder pieces of the suit.

Oh shit.

Jisung's heart lurches, and there’s that zipping shiver on the back of his neck that makes his body move in an instant. He shoots a web at the cyborg man’s feet, pulling himself away from the beam of the laser and towards the criminal. He’s able to knock him off his feet and dodge the oncoming laser, one second away from potentially being slashed in half.

The man lands on his back with a resounding clank of the metal on the hard concrete of the now-abandoned parking lot. Jisung doesn’t doubt the concussion that must come with that kind of impact. Internally apologising for any possible medical costs– but also fuck him, he tried to cut Spiderman in half?

Fortunately for Jisung, despite being sore and a little cut up, all body parts are still intact.

Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for Deadpool, who has suddenly appeared, hopping over in his direction. Jisung looks down to where Minho’s left leg is completely missing from right above his knee, said unattached leg now clutched tightly in his arms.

“Hey, son of a bitch, that was the leg I liked best! How’d you like to know how that feels?” Minho fumbles for one of his katanas whilst still clutching his left leg, probably in an attempt to return the favour of a missing limb.

“The fuck? Min– Deadpool? When– hey! When did you get here? Oh my god,” Jisung hurriedly webs the cyborg man’s body to the ground, before making his way to the one-legged mercenary. “Are you– are you okay? No, you’re not okay, you’re missing a fucking leg. Min–” Jisung shakes his head, trying to get himself to focus.

Jisung reaches forward to do what exactly? He’s not so sure himself. To stop Minho from inciting any more violence just yet? To grab the detached leg? He should probably ask first, and to do what with it, no clue. Maybe a hand to support Minho so he won’t fall, though he seems pretty okay with the balance, but perhaps he should hold him anyway. Or maybe Minho wouldn’t want him touching him.

Jisung’s hands hover in front of him, unsure of why suddenly there’s a spike of nerves that goes down his spine despite the danger currently webbed to the ground. “Ahh, Deadpool. Deadpool. You– does it hurt? Let me–”

“Baby boy, you can call me Minho,” he cuts him off with a hop in his direction, “you can call me sweetheart,” another hop, “you can call me yours,” a hand on his shoulder, “I’m pretty flexible, in more ways than one.” He ends it with a tilt of the head and a wonky wink through the mask.

Jisung can tell that he’s smirking under it too, a suggestive lilt to his tone as he leans his head on his shoulder. Heat flashes across Jisung’s cheeks at the implication, another shiver that he’s sure isn’t due to any potential threat, other than the one dressed in red, missing a leg and is somehow making Jisung’s heart beat so rapidly out of nowhere.

He’s just panicked, worried, and stressed, obviously. Who wouldn’t be when a man in front of them seems to be losing lots of blood, but he’s here trying to get in Jisung’s pants? He tries to ignore the fact that he is somehow flattered, endeared and horrified all at once on top of the first set of emotions.

He’s going to need Seungmin to complete his medical degree asap to open up Jisung’s head, take a peek into his brain and see what the fuck is actually going on in there. Though he’s sure he doesn’t want Seungmin to see him in this state if he doesn't want another lecture about being careless about his body and well-being.

As his mind continues to alternate between fifty different thoughts, Minho is still missing a leg. Fuck. He’s still missing a fucking leg.

Jisung splutters for a second, words unable to form as he looks down at the floor. Minho can’t even see his blush that has probably bloomed on his cheeks, but he looks down either way, at a pool of blood. The missing leg, yes, that. Why can’t Jisung keep to one thought? He will never know. He’s not this nervous, he swears. He promises. And—

There are sirens in the distance. Echoes from afar are closing in on their location.

They need to get out of here before the police arrive and are faced with a one-legged mercenary and their friendly neighbourhood Spiderman hovering over the passed-out cyborg man.

“Fuck, hop on.”

“Wha—”

Jisung turns around, back facing the other and bends his knees, “Hop on.”

“Is this some presentation mating thing? Cause you already know how I feel about that ass.”

Jisung exasperatedly groans and just about holds himself back from smacking Minho on the side of the head.

“Not the time.”

“So there’s time later?” Jisung can hear the Cheshire smile on Minho’s face.

Jisung scoffs, shaking his head, refusing to give in this time and simply shoots a web backwards to attach to Deadpool’s suit. Jisung yanks on the web, pulling Minho towards him. His body now hovering right behind Jisung’s in an instant. Jisung sucks in a breath at the sudden proximity and ignores the shiver that runs down his spine.

Focus, Jisung. Focus.

“Very forward, baby,” Minho says the words right into the nape of Jisung’s neck. The material of their suits prevents his breath from sending sparks down Jisung’s bare skin.

Jisung shakes his head, breathing out a rough, ”You are insane.”

Minho laughs right by his ear, “Been told that before.”

Jisung silently nods, biting his lip, ignoring the tightening in his chest. It must be residual pain from the punch to his ribs earlier, of course. He rolls his shoulders back and bends his knees again, ready to give him a piggyback.

The sirens blaring through the streets are closing in.

“Minho, now please.”

“Yessir.” Jisung can see Minho saluting in his peripheral vision before jumping on his back.

Jisung can’t help the small huff of air that leaves his lips before adjusting the bigger man on his back.

From the few times they’ve seen each other, Jisung could tell that they were around the same height, though Minho had an inch or so on him.

“Hands around here, please, hold on tight.” Jisung pulls on one of Minho’s arms to circle his neck, whilst the other clings to his detached leg. Minho drapes himself further onto Jisung’s smaller frame, one leg encircling his waist.

Maybe Jisung hasn’t ever given it much thought, but he can clearly feel it now. The difference in size— Minho’s bicep locking around his neck, the broadness of his shoulders as he pushes himself up against Jisung. And his thighs, oh god, his thighs— Jisung thinks they could probably crush him to death, let alone be the same size as his waist. Maybe Jisung’s exaggerating slightly, or maybe it just really feels this way as Minho koala latches onto his body. Perhaps it’s hearing one too many of Deadpool’s classic lines and flirting attempts on Spiderman that’s got him thinking of things he shouldn’t right now.

“Ohhh, into choking?”

Yeah, like that.

“Minho— focus.”

Instead, Minho trails a hand down Jisung’s back, going down down down—

“Hey, hands up here!”

“Just one tou—”

“You’re gonna drop your foot, hold onto it, oh my god.”

“But— but, your ass,” Minho pouts.

“It will be there later.”

“Sacrifices can be made.”

“Minho, if you drop your foot, you will never come near my ass again.”

There’s a small whispered sorry Spidey, as he drops his head onto Jisung’s shoulder and pouts harder. Or what Jisung assumes is a pout through the mask. Jisung sighs, turning his head to face the other and gives him a little nod. He hopes Minho gets the message. It’s okay.

The sirens sound like they’re only a block or two away at this point.

“Hold on tight,” Jisung says one last time before Minho readjust himself and clings on that little bit tighter.

Jisung double-checks that the assailant is still securely webbed to the floor and shoots a web at the closest building, pulling them away from the site.

The wind whips past them, and Jisung isn’t prepared for the loud screech Minho lets out.

“Minho! The fuck—”

Minho just clings on even tighter, and damn does this man have a strong grip, cause holy fuck, Jisung thinks he might be left with bruises all over.

Jisung continues to swing with some extra effort. He can admit that he’s pretty damn strong, but Minho is also not light by any means.

“Just two more blocks, ‘kay?” He attempts to sound comforting as they swing through the city.

“Yeah, so fine! I’m so okay! Yay, so much fun.” Minho replies, less convincing than he probably hoped, but Jisung lets him be.

When they finally land on the safety of a secluded rooftop, Minho shoots off to give his detached leg a smooch on the side and one kiss to the floor.

“Whoa, Spidey, I know I ain’t afraid to die, but shit, how do you do that every day? No, thank you.” Minho sprawls himself on the floor, recreating a starfish with a missing limb. “Also, that was a very dignified scream, I hope you know that.”

“Sureeee.” Jisung grins down at him.

Minho narrows his eyes through the mask in an attempt at a glare, though Jisung doesn't think he’s trying very hard since it looks more funny than scary. And Jisung has no doubt in his body that Minho can be terrifying.

“Well, maybe if I had my stress ball in my hands, I would’ve been fine.” Minho kicks his one leg out as if throwing a mini tantrum.

“Do I even wanna—”

“That ass.”

Jisung nods his head and tries to stifle a laugh.

“Of course, I should've known.” Jisung walks over to where Minho’s lying and sits by the side with the missing leg. He hovers a hand over his thigh, where the edges seem to have soaked up some blood, wanting to trace a finger over the grooves of the suit but too scared to do anything rash. “Why were you there?” He asks softly.

“Heard Spidey was fighting some big, bad robo-dude.” Minho pokes at Jisung’s side. “Had to come help out.”

“I took him down myself, and you got your leg chopped off?”

“Well, look at you, you’re not in the best shape yourself. “

Jisung can’t argue with him there. The adrenaline that coursed through his body easing down in the calm air of the rooftop. He can feel the soreness permeating through his body, the bruise below his eye, the sting of the cut on his left thigh that’s still sluggishly bleeding.

He sighs and accepts their fate for the early evening. “Guess we gotta team up–”

Minho swiftly sits up and takes hold of Jisung’s hands, “Oh my god, I do! I do! I thought you’d never ask.”

“It’s not a marriage pro–”

“When’s the ceremony?”

“Minho, shut up, oh my god.” Jisung laughs, and for a moment or two, he can forget the pain running up and down his body, and the fact that Minho’s actually missing a leg. Giving Minho’s hands a light squeeze before letting go of them to find the backpack he’s stashed away on this rooftop.

He texts Felix that he’ll have to miss out on this evening’s movie marathon sleepover. Next weekend, he promises.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Chapter Text

The cool air whips past him. Swinging around the city has always been one of Jisung’s favourite things. Watching the world zoom past. Saying hi to the civilians as he passes by. The sounds of Seoul’s busy streets, filled with the people he’s out here to protect.

Days turn into weeks, and it’s already been a month since Minho and he agreed to team up. Countless afternoons till midnight together. Time passes by in the blink of an eye, and Jisung almost can’t remember what it was like working alone all the time. It feels like Jisung’s known him for longer, even with all the secrets they still keep.

He thinks about the last thing Minho said to him before he ran off this morning for a sudden cat emergency. “I’ll be thinking about you the whole time, Sweetcheeks.”

Sweetcheeks.

Jisung rolls his eyes at the thought. That’s Minho’s nickname of the week for him. That, mixed in with some of the other usual nicknames Minho’s graced him with.

The nicknames aren’t new; loved ones calling him affectionate names began before Jisung even knew how to talk. He blames Chan for that. Jisung thinks he’s been called millions of other things more than his own name.

That and having a secret identity where people don’t even know his actual name. Yeah, you can say Jisung is used to not hearing just Jisung.

What Jisung isn’t used to is the butterflies that flutter in his stomach, or the volcanic eruption of heat on his face that comes when Minho calls him.

Minho doesn’t even know he’s Jisung. Minho knows him as Spiderman.

It’s all Spidey, sweetcheeks, sugarpie, baby boy, little spider, hot stuff.

And fuck, maybe some of these Jisung should slap Minho for. Because they’re outrageous and so blatant that Jisung can’t tell if it’s some stupid joke and he’s on pranked, or if the mercenary is actually into him that way, or if it's just the way he likes to talk.

He’s also just crazy. Jisung still can’t help but think. Whatever whispers he’s heard are accurate so far. But it’s not just that. Jisung has met crazy people before, fought some insane villains and dedicated goons. Like a man turning himself part-lizard to take over the city, for one.

Jisung has seen a lot. But Minho is… weird. In an endearing sort of way. In the same way Jisung likes to wear mismatched socks when he has an exam because he swears it gives him good luck. In the same way Jisung opens his window during the winter just so that he has an excuse to wrap himself up in more blankets. In the same way Jisung likes to eat ramyeon with ice cream just to cool down the heat. Weird in a way that’s more comforting than not.

But Jisung likes Minho’s weird.

The way he sings when slicing through a robot's arm, and speaks as if he’s having three conversations at once. The way he dances to the beat of gunfire mid-battle, and how he’s got an unlimited supply of cat food in his back pocket to feed the strays whilst still covered in blood.

Yeah, Jisung likes Minho’s weird.

And Minho seems to like Spiderman immensely.

It makes him feel lighter, that meeting Minho hadn’t been all one big trap. That somehow the mercenary seems even more infatuated with the hero than ever before.

The hero Spiderman. It’s all Deadpool knows.

He ignores the weight on his chest that leaves him struggling on the surface for air, kicking just enough to keep himself from sinking down into his spiralling thoughts.

But what would Minho think of Jisung? Normal Jisung, in glasses and an oversized hoodie, in all his sleep-deprived college student glory.

Jisung shakes his head. There’s no need to dwell on such trivial matters. Not when he thinks he’s actually making a friend.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

The room smells of both acetone and Felix’s new set of nail polishes, which he purchased two days ago. A toxic combination entering Jisung’s nose. He would totally open the window if his hands weren’t so occupied in Felix’s careful grip.

Felix carefully applies red and black polish to Jisung’s bitten nails. An incentive to stop the stress biting on top of being aesthetically pleasing— edgy rockstar energy, Felix had said. Jisung just thinks it’s cool.

“What d’you do with your hands, Sung-ah?” Felix says, casually, or at least some attempt at normalcy. But there’s a curious lilt in his tone that Jisung knows only means one thing. He is too used to Felix’s tactics since childhood, knowing that he is most definitely fishing for answers.

“Well, uhhh, many things? Cooking, cleaning, writing essays, doing my laundry, and jerking off.” Jisung grins. “I could go on.”

“Yah!” Felix accidentally goes over the nailbed. Jisung ends up with a streak of black that covers half his nail and half the rest of his finger. Felix gives Jisung a scathing glare, grabbing a cotton pad and some nail polish remover.

“Binnie-hyung mentioned some kind of extracurricular club…” Felix trails off and raises an eyebrow, losing any semblance of subtlety.

“Don’t tell me you're gossiping with Bin-ah? Are you serious? Is this about the fight club?” Jisung tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling. This can’t be real.

“Heyyy, you know I’d support you no matter what! You just need to tell me what stupid idea you’ve constructed this time, and then I’m all yours. Won’t even tell your overprotective parents.”

Jisung attempts to swat him despite the wet nail polish. Not very successful. Felix evades both attempts.

“What! They basically are!” Felix yells in defence. “Don’t hit me! Your nails! My hard work! Don’t make me get Seungmin!”

“I ain’t afraid of your little boyfriend.”

Felix raises an eyebrow.

“Fine, I’m a little afraid of your giraffe-sized boyfriend. But that is no reason to threaten me with his unnerving presence.”

“He’s not even that tall, just the perfect size for me.” Felix flashes him a smug smile.

“Please stop.”

Felix concedes for the time being, basking in the comfortable atmosphere of his room. Both of them humming along to the music from Felix’s laptop. It’s not too long after when Jisung notices Felix’s brows furrowing as if he were trying to solve an unsolvable puzzle.

Jisung brings his free hand to smooth out the wrinkles and gives him a light flick on the forehead. “What’re you overthinking now?”

“Yah!” Felix rolls his eyes. “I’m not overthinking. Just… like, did you see Spiderman’s hanging around that crazy merc? Like, what the fuck is even happening? Isn’t he a cold-blooded killer?”

Felix exclaims calmly, as if the sudden change of topic isn’t about to send Jisung into cardiac arrest. Jisung freezes, fingers twitching slightly, the more Felix continues his rambling.

“Though I guess he looks like he’s helping at least, but from what I heard, I swear it’s only a matter of time before he snaps and like turns back to his old ways– that’s if he’s even stopping, right? Like, what’s even up with the switch-up? Dude finally found some morals or something? Though I guess he does take out some of them real shit stains of this Earth, so at least that’s something. Maybe Spiderman’s oblivious, or he knows better than we do, but it’s weird as fuck seeing them together, huh?”

Felix cocks his head to the side, waiting for Jisung to say something, but he’s frozen. His tongue heavy, unable to speak the millions of things Jisung wishes he could just tell him. To unload the truth, all of Jisung’s secrets, how Deadpool’s different, that maybe he could understand how Spiderman knows better, because Jisung knows better.

Jisung claws through the ugly words that plague his anxiety-riddled brain. Does he really know Deadpool? He is a killer. Felix isn’t wrong. But he’s trying. Or maybe Jisung is blind to it all, wearing rose-tinted glasses over his mask.

“Jisung?”

Jisung blinks away the wariness, the agitation that’s simmering on the surface of his skin. He glances out the window, to the city he owes himself to, thinking about the man out there who’s made each patrol a little easier to get through. “Huh-oh, yeah. It’s… weird. Yeah.”

“You okay?”

Jisung nods, sitting up straighter. “Mhmm. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Uhh– I’ve got another lab assessment that I need to finish. Oh, like I haven’t even started planning what to do for the experiment yet. Yeah. Like, totally slipped my mind. I have to uh– go. Yeah. I’m late.”

“Sung-ah?” Felix looks worried, and Jisung winces internally.

“Sorry– Really. I am. I just… forgot.”

“Oh. Okay.” Felix sits up, eyes downcast. “Just be careful with your nails. They’re not fully dry yet.”

Jisung gives him a tired smile. “Thanks, will do, Lixie. Love you.”

Felix's eyes brighten slightly at the words, and Jisung takes it as good as a peace offering as he’s going to get.

“Love you, too. Don’t stay up too late.”

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

The police scanner in Jisung’s mask buzzes quietly in his ear, dulled out by the mixture of Minho’s never-ending chatter, the far-off sounds of the bustling Thursday night traffic, and the echoes of drunken laughter filling the street. It’s peaceful, really, a slow night. Jisung can’t complain, he’s happy for the company, for another one of Minho’s strange tales, half-eaten kimbap and the presence of that one stray cat that won’t stop following them onto the rooftop.

Said cat making his way towards their leftover food boxes on the floor.

Minho says his name is Soonie, a little ginger guy with white mittens and bright eyes.

“He just looked like a Soonie, you can tell by his right whisker. It spoke to me.”

Jisung rolls his eyes, a smile hidden under the privacy of his mask.

“Cute.”

“I know I am, but Soonie is too!” Minho picks up the cat, and Soonie—surprisingly comfortable with the manhandling—allows himself to be lifted right onto Minho’s shoulder. He tucks himself comfortably into the crook of Minho’s neck, clinging to the thick material of Deadpool’s suit.

Jisung rolls his eyes again, but doesn’t deny him. There’s no point in lying.

Minho transfers Soonie back into his arms and rocks him like a newborn baby. Baby talking in an almost whisper to the cat in his arms. Secret words for only Soonie’s ears. It’s sweet—too sweet, that Jisung can feel the cavity growing within his enamel.

Jisung doesn’t know how long he stands there watching from afar. Minho is lost in his own world, and Jisung doesn’t think he’s ever seen him this happy; it’s different from his loud, boisterous laughter, unlike the giddiness Minho wears during a good fight. Just utter peaceful contentment, like he’s contained in a bubble of tranquillity on the rooftop, away from the harsh world outside.

Minho puts Soonie down, and Soonie looks up at Jisung, meowing softly. A sudden sense of deja vu washes over him.

A moment passes as Soonie and him participate in some kind of staring contest, before Soonie gets bored and looks away. Jisung goes through all the boxes in his brain. He’s seen lots of cats, but something about this one–

“Hey! I do know you.” Jisung points to the ginger cat that now paces between Minho’s legs.

Soonie looks up as if acknowledging Jisung’s words, giving him a meow in response.

“Oh, what? How?” Minho picks up the cat again, and Soonie meows as he carefully takes one of his paws to make him wave hello. “He says hi. He also says you’re cute.” His words are now directed at Soonie, whispered just loud enough for Jisung also to pick up. “Wait, what? Without the mask? Before me? Boo. Unfair. I wanna see Spidey’s cute face.”

Jisung can hear the pout in Minho’s voice, and he laughs, ignoring the small voice in the back of his head saying Why not?

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Jisung starts to notice how Minho trails after him like a stray cat. He wonders if Minho knows how much he and Soonie are alike in that way. It’s cute.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Time passes by much quicker with Minho by his side. The downtimes waiting aren’t so dull. The fights go smoother with someone there watching his back. The times to unwind after a long day aren’t so lonely. He’s almost surprised at how easily he gets along with Deadpool. Their jokes somehow click just right, their teamwork better than ever before. Matching Spiderman’s strength and wit with Deadpool’s fearlessness and brute force. It’s maybe a bit scary how seamlessly everything blended into Jisung’s busy life.

With stomachs full after another haul of kimbap, sprawled out on their rooftop, the stars above shine through the gleam of the city lights at this hour.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

Jisung laughs. “Are we playing twenty-one questions or something?”

“I wanna get to know you more.”

Oh. Jisung pinches the bottom of his glove, unconsciously fiddling with the hem. “I’m not really that interesting.”

“Hey! You’re the coolest guy I know. And I know lotssss of people. Like I ain’t seen no one else do a flip and web a guy up in three seconds flat.” The eyes of Minho’s mask look like they could be shining in the warm glow of the night.

“Maybe if someone else had spiderpowers–”

“And I’m sure there is in some universe, but I still think you’re the best! You gotta be plenty interesting.“

Maybe Spiderman is, Jisung can’t help but think. Han Jisung, not so much.

“So… favourite colour, Spidey?”

“Green.”

“Really?”

“It makes me feel calm, safe.” Jisung leans his head on his knees. “Like I can imagine myself surrounded in a field that stretches on forever and know I’ll be okay.”

“That’s nice. Green’s now my favourite colour.”

“No, Minho.” Jisung reaches out to shove Minho’s shoulder. “Tell me yours.”

“Pink.”

“Oh, really? It is a very pretty colour.”

“Mmmhmm. Exactly. It’s like an explosion of love. Now, favourite artist?”

“One Ok Rock. I wanna see them live.”

“Ahhh, they’re cool. But mine is Atomic Kitten, and they are wayyyy better.” Minho places his hand over his heart, like he’s declaring the law.

“How could you? Okay, I’m not telling you anything else. You’ve lost Spiderman info privileges.”

“What?! No, no, no. You don’t get to do this.”

“Nuh huh.” Jisung folds his arms, cocking his head to the side. “Yes, I can.”

“Well, then… I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Fine, I don’t– but gimme back my privileges!”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Brat.”

Jisung sticks his tongue out, “Do something about it.”

Minho’s staring, white eyes of his mask somehow twinkling like the stars above. He lets out a little huff of air and leans back on his hands, kicking his feet. “You might like it too much.”

You might like it too much. You might like it too much. You might like it too much.

Jisung turns away, pulling his mask down back over his quickly warming cheeks. “Shut up.”

Minho giggles sweetly, and the sound may be making Jisung’s mind go haywire. All Jisung can do is laugh along because if he thinks too hard about it, he might burst into flames.

The quiet of the night carrying their laughter down the streets.

Once the air settles, Minho whispers, “Only teasing, Spidey.”

Jisung nods. “I know.”

They sit in a pleasant silence for a while, watching as the clouds drift over the stars. The night is slow and calm, and Jisung feels an ease wash over him that he hasn’t experienced in a long while whilst out on patrol.

“Why’d you start the superhero-ing and all?” Minho asks, breaking the silence and gesturing to Jisung’s suit.

“Couldn’t sit by and watch when I knew I had the power to help. To actually help—even just the little things… Seoul is big, so many people are overlooked or forgotten. So, if I’m able to make someone’s day just a little bit easier.” Jisung smiles to himself sadly. “That’s what makes it worth it. Even with the sacrifices I have to make. Even if I’m scared.”

Minho listens attentively to each word, and Jisung can feel his stare through his suit.

“And what are you most afraid of?”

“Letting people down. Hurting the people I love. Or like, them getting hurt because of me, ‘cause of who I am.” Jisung sucks in a breath, staring at the ground. He needs to move on before he thinks about all the secrets he’s kept from the people he’s supposed to love the most. Before he’s enveloped in another wave of anxiety. “What’s yours?”

Minho sighs and remains quiet. Letting the silence carry on for a moment more.

“People seeing who I truly am. Being alone. Sometimes the voices are too loud to block out then.”

Jisung turns to face him. “I’ll make sure to fill the silence next time.”

“Nah.” A huffed little laugh escapes past Minho’s lips. “The quiet is nice with you, though.”

Jisung watches as Minho’s hands twitch by his sides, the urge to reach out and hold them threatening to take over his body.

Minho pulls his legs towards himself, wrapping his arms around his knees in some kind of self-soothing gesture before Jisung has the chance. He looks beaten and tired in the moonlight, a small glimpse of something more than the loud and outrageous man Jisung’s used to seeing over the past two months.

In the blink of an eye, it disappears, like a mirage of an oasis in the distance. Minho jumps to his feet, bouncing on his toes.

“Well, this was nice, think I left the oven on.” Minho gestures to the skyline. “Gotta go back and check the apartment hasn’t exploded. Don’t think my neighbour would appreciate it. Probably yell at me again. Hyung, if you leave your bloody gun at my place one more time, I’m gonna shoot you with it!” He imitates with a scolding finger.

“Oh. Yeah, yeah.” Jisung nods quickly. “I’ll stay out just a little longer. See if I hear anything on the scanner.”

“Cool. Okay, yeah. Bye, sweetcheeks!” He skips down the fire escape before taking off running down the street.

Jisung’s eyes follow the shadow in the dark as he runs through the streets till he’s out of view.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

If Jisung could web himself into a cocoon at this very moment, he would likely try it out. The fear of suffocating himself and revealing his identity is the only thing holding him back at this very moment.

“Okay, we’ve concluded no fight club,” Felix ponders aloud, quizzically tapping on his chin like some sleuth from old detective novels Jisung knows Seungmin has stashed under his bed. “Ugh, what else could it be? There’s a reason why you keep disappearing again, I swear I barely see you anymore… and you’re defo not just studying, cause Seungmin won’t stop complaining about you not doing your assignment.”

“Hey!”

“It’s just the truth,” Seungmin says nonchalantly. “You also need to attend your next lab or else. It’s an important one.”

“How did you–”

“He’s got your timetable and assessment notes on his fridge.” Felix nods.

“What?”

“You’re clearly not keeping track of them,” Seungmin adds.

“We don’t even study the same thing.”

Seungmin gives him a pointed look. “Wow, Jisung. I had no clue.” His words coated with unapologetic sarcasm.

Felix kisses Seungmin’s cheek and drapes himself over his shoulders. “He wants you to do well. I do, too!”

Seungmin rolls his eyes, but nods approvingly, his cheeks heating up as a small smile graces his face.

Jisung needs to buy them both a truck full of a thousand flowers and an unlimited stash of chocolate.

“But anyways, c’mon. Tell meeee,” Felix whines, unlatching himself from Seungmin to shake Jisung’s shoulders. It only takes him a couple of seconds of more vigorous shaking before a devious expression flashes across his face. The telltale sign that he’s either got an extremely genius idea or something batshit insane. All Jisung knows is that he’s definitely brewing some unhinged story in his brain.

“I see, yeah, okay. Tell me, you’re finally getting some, amirite?”

Jisung freezes, eyes going wide, and Felix gives him a wicked grin. Jisung is going to take back all of Felix’s flowers and chocolate.

“Oh, I’m so right, aren’t I?”

Jisung looks behind Felix’s shoulder and fixes Seungmin with a sharp glare, who only shrugs his shoulders in response.

Felix moves back and looks between them, eyes darting back and forth. “Minnie? You know something!? I’m right. That’s why he’s walking funny!” He turns back to Jisung, pressing a manicured finger to his chest, eyeing him up and down. “I knew you were kinda limping! Found someone to finally hit that ass the way you’ve been complaining for months?”

Seungmin doesn’t even try to hide the obnoxious snort that leaves his body, erupting into a cackling laugh.

“No! I-I mean...” Jisung falters. In an attempt to protect his dignity, he attempts to stand somewhat straighter, only to wince at the action. “Ah- Not like that. No.” He sends a petulant pout Felix’s way, as if to distract him from the heat that’s rushed to his cheeks.

“Tell me, is it Innie? He refuses to elaborate on whatever happened on your dates, and you have barely even said anything other than he’s pretty nice. So, I’m gonna get the truth from you now. You’re totally seeing more of him, right? It’s why you keep disappearing so much more than usual lately. And you didn’t tell me!” Felix pouts, slowing down in his rambling. “But I set you up! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Yongbok-ah, let him breathe.” Seungmin drags Felix back towards him, which stops him for only a second, but Jisung appreciates the effort.

“We could go on double dates now! Just the four of us! That’ll be fun! Ugh, still, why didn’t you say anything? Jeongin’s really sweet once you get to know him, but I have no idea what he’s like during sexy times. Is he good? And like I know you’re a brat, but–”

“No, not Jeongin!” Jisung shouts, overwhelmed by the barrage of information leaving Felix’s lips. The thought of him and Jeongin in that way just doesn't sit right when there’s a certain someone’s words that echo in his head.

You might like it too much.

He feels his cheeks heat up at the memory. Unable to discern why his mind reaches for him after Felix’s wild speech.

Felix pauses at Jisung’s outburst. Inspecting his face, as if he’ll be able to find the answers written on his forehead. “Not Jeongin?”

“No, not him.”

Felix purses his lips. “Someone else?”

Jisung risks a glance at Seungmin, but his face is just as perplexed as Felix’s—if not more curious—like he has all the pieces to the puzzle and just needs to put them together.

There’s no one else in Jisung’s life right now; he knows what he has to say.

His mouth doesn’t seem to respond, stuck, unable to give him a straight answer.

Just say no.

He opens his mouth, only to close it like he’s some kind of gasping fish.

Say no.

He swallows around the lump in his throat.

No.

“You don’t know him.”

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Minho’s humming his favourite song of the week. He’s also missing an entire arm. Jisung doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to it. Minho casually hitting those notes as if his left arm isn’t just air.

“But it’s the way you do the things you do to me.”

Jisung doesn’t know if it’s some type of self-soothing technique.

“I’m not the kinda girl who gives up just like that, oh noooo, ohhh.”

Minho swings his legs to the beat of the song.

“The tide is high, but I’m holding on, yeahhh.”

Blood drips onto the concrete.

“Does it hurt?” Jisung interrupts.

Minho freezes for a second. Muscles seizing, voice caught mid-note—such a simple question silencing the man who never stops speaking.

For a second, Jisung doesn’t think Minho’s going to answer. That he’s going to start singing again as if Jisung hadn’t even opened his mouth.

Then movement. Minho tilts his head back to the sky. Still not looking back at Jisung.

He hums, small and quiet. “Always.”

Jisung holds his breath.

“It never really stops.” Minho leans back, kicking his legs up onto the ledge. He’d probably wrap his arms around his knees if he weren’t missing one. Probably debating the thought of jumping off to escape the question.

Jisung knows he’s not just talking about the missing arm, despite the agony he can’t even imagine that comes with such a feat.

Jisung has seen it happen many times before. Minho jumping off ledges without a care in the world, as if he wouldn’t go splat at the bottom if he didn’t land just right. He would say there’s no harm; regeneration will just take a few minutes. As if he can block out that fear of heights just for those moments when he thinks his body isn’t worth the effort. Like, he isn’t worth the effort.

But Jisung knows there’s more than just the serious injuries Minho shoulders without a care. Jisung has caught glimpses of marred skin. When the bullet wounds have gone and the cuts are no longer open, Jisung can see through the tears in his suit; the scars that still remain, that weave their way all over his body, looking more like a never-healing patchwork of trauma rather than revitalised flesh. Jisung’s seen how the scars seem to haunt him wherever he goes.

Minho must feel his stare as he unconsciously twists away.

“But don’t you worry your pretty little head. Daddy’s used to it.”

Jisung snorts lightly. “Hush now.”

He isn’t surprised by the joke. Another stupid comment. Jisung is used to Minho weaving countless jokes to avoid talking about himself seriously for too long.

“It doesn’t mean it’s fair.”

“Well, life’s unfair…”

Silence settles for a moment. The whistling of the wind and the light traffic below is the only thing passing between them.

“But I’ll make ‘em pay. I’ll make sure of it.”

Jisung can’t help the involuntary shiver that goes down his spine at Minho’s voice. It’s cold and solemn, yet so sure of himself, like there’s not a world that exists where it doesn’t happen. It’s so unlike his playful and teasing tone, far from the sweet and cackling laugh that Jisung’s used to. No, this is the true ruthless cold-blooded killer he’s heard stories about. The newspaper clippings preaching about a haunting monster in the dark.

Jisung reaches out cautiously, like one wrong move could spook him away. Carefully slipping his hand into Minho’s. Hoping he understands what Jisung can’t voice aloud. I’m here for you, if you’ll let me.

Minho stiffens for a moment, shoulders tense, before he lets out a sigh. His body slumping like the taunt strings cut from a puppet, their fingers intertwining, comfortable and calm. Jisung wishes for a second that their hands were bare, to feel the warmth of Minho’s skin. To caress his thumb over the scars etched onto his body.

No wishes are granted. But Minho leans his head on Jisung’s and starts humming the same song he’d been singing earlier, squeezing his hand back ever so lightly, and Jisung thinks this is pretty nice, too.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

“What’s the song you’re singing?” Felix asks.

“Huh?” Jisung looks up. He hadn’t even realised he was singing.

“You were humming it on the way to class this morning, too.”

“Oh. It’s uh– the tide is high.”

“Isn’t that some old ass song?”

“It’s the cover. Atomic Kitten.” Because, of course, Minho would listen to the cover by a group with the word kitten in them.

“Ahhh. I swear you’ve been singing it non-stop–”

“He has,” Seungmin cuts in. “I haven’t been able to escape it. It’s stuck in my head now.”

“It’s a good song,” Jisung says adamantly—the urge to defend the song with all his might rocks through his body.

“Chill. It’s a good song, yeah.” Felix places a hand on his shoulder, laughing. “Just didn’t think it was your type of song.”

“Well, it is.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Well, now that’s cleared up, hand me the marker.” Seungmin puts his hand out, “I need you to be my test subject for this project.”

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Jisung grits his teeth, trying his best not to glare at the man hunched over himself in the alleyway, probably in hopes of keeping all his internal organs actually inside his fucking body. There’s so much blood—too much blood that drips onto the floor, making a trail behind him as he waddles over to the wall.

“Fuck, shit, Mother Teresa and her cats, that hurts more than I remember.” Minho slides down the brick wall, arm still clutching at the wound on his stomach.

Jisung can’t help but clench his fists, ignoring the stinging sensation over the bruises that’s probably already formed on his knuckles. He takes a deep breath, two, three.

“Is this how I find out you’re religious?” Jisung attempts at a joke or a lighthearted comment, but it sounds hollow in his ears.

Minho laughs nonetheless, a wet sound, but brighter than Jisung is used to for someone who’s been fatally wounded— or he guesses, fatally wounded for those who aren’t Deadpool.

“The only thing I will get down on my knees for is pudding and that ass.” He shoddily points up at Jisung.

“Hey!” Jisung covers said ass with his hands, an attempt at protecting his dignity despite the fact that Deadpool can’t even see his ass from where he lies on the floor. He can feel the way his cheeks heat up— it’s not the fucking time. He takes a deep breath. “You were slashed with a machete, please focus.”

“Sheesh, but that suit does you wonders, Spidey.” Minho lets out a dreamy sigh. “Anyways, man was carrying the big boy weapons, wasn’t he? Fuckkk, where’d he even hide that thing? Up his ass?”

Jisung rolls his eyes and refuses to comment on the fixation Minho seems to have on his and asses in general. He sobers slightly as he glances at said man carrying the big boy weapons who now lies motionless on the floor, after Jisung threw a punch or two, perhaps more than a little stronger than he needed to knock the man out, though Jisung would say he definitely deserves worse.

“Gimme five mins, baby boy. I’ll be up and at 'em in no time.” He shoots Jisung a double thumbs up before realising he’s probably exposing his internal organs, and hurriedly puts them back down.

At this point, Jisung can’t tell how much of the red is just the suit and how much is blood, but he’s definitely sure it's no small amount. He’s starting to feel sick. He lifts his mask up over his nose, just to give him more room to breathe, but all that invades his senses is the scent of iron that wafts through the air.

The bloody machete lies near the assailant on the floor, and Jisung resists the urge to kick and stomp at the weapon before it becomes nothing but dust. He’s more likely to end up cutting up his foot rather than cause it any damage.

He can’t help the simmering anger over the fact that Minho lies here injured and seemingly doesn’t care much about the fact that if he were a normal human, he’d be dead by now.

“You’re an idiot.” There’s no bite to his words despite the attempt at a more scathing remark.

Minho leans his head back and huffs a laugh. “You can’t say that, I’m injured.” Jisung imagines him pouting behind the mask, a puppy dog look upon his face as he slouches down further, probably doing more damage than good. “Why don’t ya give it a kiss. Healing lips and all?”

It’s hard to stay pissed when Minho is clearly puckering up his lips as if that’s the spot Jisung would need to even heal. Jisung shouldn’t be as endeared as he is. This is weird. Not normal for someone who still doesn’t know his real name, but perhaps Minho is just crazy infatuated with Spiderman, and maybe Jisung likes the attention from the unhinged mercenary. But Jisung also doesn't like it when said man is bleeding out in a dirty alley at three in the afternoon.

“Who said anything about healing lips?” He plays along and walks over to the other, ignoring the blood that paints the floor, and slides down next to him on a patch of concrete not soaked in red.

“Must’ve been a dream. Sing me a song then.”

“I can’t sing.”

“Liar. Heard you singing to ya’self two days ago.” He continues, softer. “Pretty voice.”

Jisung kicks his legs out, huffing, refusing to give in to the compliment, “You spying on me?”

“Didn’t wanna disturb you.”

“You don’t disturb me.”

“I disturb most people.”

“Not me.”

“Guess you’re not most people.”

Jisung hums and smiles softly. “Five minutes, you said? You’re gonna be okay?”

“More or less. Hurts less now that you’re here.”

Jisung’s heart stutters for a second. He can see the way Minho’s staring at him in his peripheral vision. He can feel the burn of his eyes on the side of his face. But Jisung can’t turn to face him; instead, he looks down at his gloved hands, fidgeting his fingers before pressing at his bruised knuckles. It stings. Barely a fraction of the pain Minho must be feeling.

“Don’t–” Minho’s hand invades his vision, hovering above his own. Almost as if he wanted to grab Jisung’s, but stopped when he noticed the amount of blood soaked on them. “Don’t do that.”

Jisung shoots him a disbelieving look. “Says the one with his guts one second from spilling all over the floor.”

“Doesn’t mean y’have to do that. I’ll hurt for the both of us.”

The simmering anger from before resurfaces, a painful and ugly feeling that consumes him within.

“It’s better this way.”

“No–” Jisung jerks back to his feet, standing right in front of him. He looks down at the bloody mercenary crumpled on the floor—how can he not know that this is exactly what Jisung doesn’t want? The last thing he’d ever want was for Minho to hurt more, because as much as Minho laughs through each wound and every bullet, Jisung’s heart aches all the same. “No. Don’t you dare say that. Never say that to me again.”

Minho grabs him this time, pulling Jisung towards him with a firm grip on his hand. Jisung catches himself on the wall just before he could come crashing down right into the injured man. He hovers over him, thighs aching from before, straining as he refuses to put any weight on Minho.

But Minho seems to have other plans, letting go of his hand only to carefully place it just above Jisung’s hip. He looks back up at Jisung—who hasn’t moved an inch—and Jisung can see the silent question through the mask, Is this okay?

He gives him a shaky nod, and Minho runs his thumb back and forth over his waist in some sort of comforting gesture. Jisung’s mind races because why the fuck is Minho comforting him?

And that’s when Jisung gets it, his own little sniffle as he tries to breathe in, the sudden dampness under his eyes, and the quiver of his lip. His choked voice as he tries to speak. “Min–”

“It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not.” Jisung’s voice is weak. He doesn’t know what’s come over him. He thought that maybe exposure therapy would’ve kicked in by now, that he would be used to everything Minho puts himself through. But hearing those words, straight from his mouth. It’s better this way. Minho simply doesn’t care about himself. He was a trained mercenary; he should know better. Just because he doesn’t die doesn’t mean he should get hurt.

Maybe Seungmin would call him a hypocrite; perhaps this is precisely how he felt every time Jisung crawled into his bathroom, body too sore and hurt to patch up on his own. But it doesn’t feel fair.

Minho’s thumb hasn’t stopped caressing his waist; it feels grounding despite it all. Here he is, still comforting him, voice-controlled, but there’s concern painted around the edges as he tries to lighten the mood. “Soon! I’ll be good as new. I‘m not going away, just like a cold sore. I’m with you forever! Can’t get rid of me.”

Jisung huffs out a weak laugh and nods, not trusting his voice to do much more.

“Not long now, I promise, baby.” He squeezes Jisung’s hip, tone softer than before.

Jisung’s thighs ache, but he doesn’t move. Worried that if he goes too far, Minho might disappear.

Time stretches on, so unlike how it usually is with Minho around. Minho hums a little tune under his breath—it’s soothing—but Jisung can feel the slight twitch in his fingers from his hand that hasn’t left Jisung’s hip. He wonders if healing hurts, his body restitching itself together, how it feels to grow a whole new body part from nothing. He’s brought out of his wandering mind when Minho squeezes him again, slowly lifting himself up to show his body’s handiwork.

“See, good as new!”

Jisung takes a second to comprehend the way Minho is gesturing for him to look down at where the wound once was—because this is different. Because this is the first time Minho’s ever been willing to show Jisung his skin. Minho, who hunches over when the tear in his suit is exposing more than he’s comfortable with showing. Minho, who covers himself with colourful Band-Aids just to hide the marks. Minho, who is so adamant about Jisung not even seeing the bottom half of his face when they eat.

Minho notices his hesitation and nods one more time. “You can look. I’m okay, you see.”

When Jisung looks down at his abdomen, he sees that the once gaping hole in his body, threatening to spill his organs all over the place, is now gone. Left behind in its wake are scars. Not simply one single slash from the machete less than an hour ago, but scars and marks littered over every inch of him, like he’d been slashed a thousand times over—not that it was hard to believe if he had—and was left with nothing but unsettled skin, as if each scar didn’t know where to go.

Jisung tentatively hovers a hand over his stomach, slow enough for Minho to stop him if needed.

“It’s okay,” Minho whispers so quietly, Jisung’s almost sure he imagined it.

Fingers carefully graze the mismatched lines so delicately, fearing he could cause any more hurt from just his touch. Minho’s scarred skin is almost like a magic trick, never quite settling on the surface; it reminds Jisung of ripples on the water, constantly flowing like it’s still searching for the perfect spot to make its home, moulding and twisting on the surface of Minho’s skin, trying to heal itself over and over again, unbeknownst to it that it's a futile mission.

Jisung’s hand stills when Minho squeezes his hip one last time, and he pulls his hand back, bringing his gaze up to Minho’s eyes. He can’t quite read the expression on his mask, for the first time, it’s actually hiding what he’s feeling.

“Ramyeon on me tonight?” Jisung asks. It’s hesitant and quiet, but his voice isn’t choked up anymore, and he gives Minho a small, hopeful smile.

Minho’s mask beams, like a switch turning on. He reaches up to pull Jisung’s mask back down over his face, letting his hands linger by his neck for a second. “Let’s see who gets their hands on the bill first.”

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Jisung would like to say that nothing really tends to scare him anymore (other than the crippling anxiety at times and the thoughts about everything in his life crumbling around him, of course). With his powers, Jisung is always prepared for any situation, whether it's a robot zombie attack downtown, a petty criminal taking out his anger on an ATM, or even a cat stuck in a tree. He’s ready to take on anything that life throws at him.

This cannot be said for this afternoon, when Minho somehow sneaks up behind him with suspiciously silent steps and yelling his favourite nickname of the week for Jisung, Little Spider.

Jisung didn’t jump out of his skin… he swears. Minho would say the loud shriek and the way his legs went a metre off the floor spoke for itself.

Apologies come in a bag of Mexican take-out from one of their usual hole-in-the-wall restaurants, which Jisung eagerly grabs from Minho’s hands and lays the food out in a makeshift mini picnic.

Jisung lifts his mask up til his nose and ignores the uncomfortable sensation as it rubs against his sore skin. He picks up his own burrito and passes another to Minho as he sits down beside him.

“Thank you, good sir.” Minho playfully bows from his seated position, lifting a hand to his own mask before angling himself in the other direction. Solace in his meal, he’s said before, only later admitting how you wouldn’t wanna see this ugly mug, you’ll lose your appetite at the sight. Jisung fought down the urge to defend Minho from his own cruel words, how Jisung would never think such a thought, but he let it go and afforded Minho this solace, never wanting to pester him.

Jisung nods, used to their song and dance at this point. He looks up at the skyline, admiring the view for a while and takes a few bites of his own. When he turns back, Minho’s already completely devoured the burrito— mask already back in its rightful place.

They end up eating three burritos each in twenty-two minutes. Jisung’s sure that’s the least they deserve after helping the police catch the new gang of clown-masked bank robbers earlier in the day.

Take-out boxes and wrappers are littered between them as they sit on the rooftop, legs swinging off the ledge in peaceful silence as the sun makes its way down the horizon—golden streams of light cutting through the towers in the distance, bathing them in a warm glow.

“Hey, that looks like it hurts,” Minho breaks the peaceful silence with a voice so uncharacteristically soft.

Jisung turns to face him, unsure what injury Minho’s talking about this time. There are usually far too many littered upon his body to count on most days.

Minho lifts a tentative hand to graze along Jisung’s jawline, and Jisung can’t help the way his breath catches in his throat, because—what the fuck—Minho’s not wearing his gloves. His bare scarred hand was free for Jisung to see, coming up to Jisung’s face to touch.

Minho’s rough hand is delicate, a wisp of a touch, tenderly tracing his skin as if he were something precious. Jisung closes his eyes, the contact warm and comforting, and he can’t tell if it’s just from the way his cheeks are heating up or if Minho just runs extremely hot. Minho’s thumb moves up, putting the lightest bit of pressure right below the apple of his left cheek and— “Oww.”

There’s a twinge of pain that Jisung winces ever so slightly at, Minho’s fingers leaving him in an instant.

“Sorry, Little Spider,” Minho says, and Jisung can’t help but miss the touch despite the pain. “Was some dried blood just beneath the cut. Just let me–” He starts feeling up the various pockets and weapon holsters hidden in his suit in search of something. Jisung isn’t quite sure what yet.

Jisung leans forward, watching Minho in silent curiosity.

Minho finally finds his item with a joyful exclamation. “Aha! Gotcha, my precious.”

A small packet of Band-Aids in his grasp.

Colourful Band-Aids, of course. Jisung should’ve known.

Just as Minho removes the backing of the pink plaster, Jisung can’t help the question that leaves his lips.

“Is it ugly?” He winces as soon as the words come out and just about stops himself from curling up into a ball of mortification and hiding in shame of the question. “I mean, not like that– like is the cut bad, or like…”

Minho lifts his hand, putting a stop to Jisung’s pitiful attempt to correct himself. “As if you could ever be ugly, Spidey, your golden skin rivals the gods.” He melodramatically swoons, placing his hand on his forehead, before looking back at Jisung. “I just know it, don’t even need to know the rest of your face, but I can see it in ‘em cheeks. You ever been told you’re a hamster before? Cause yes. Hamsterman.” Minho giggles to himself, “Friendly neighbourhood Hamsterman, gosh, that’s good! You’re just too damn cute when you eat. I could watch you eat and stuff ‘em cheeks all day, ya know.”

Of course, Minho wouldn’t take it to heart, but instead use it as an opportunity to send Jisung into cardiac arrest. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”

Lies. Chan and Changbin have pestered him ever since he was a child, but he was used to their cooing and teasing. Coming from Minho feels like something else entirely.

“What if I want it to leave a cool scar? So I’m tough, not cute.” Jisung says, unconsciously pouting. Before realising what he’s doing, he bites his lip to try and enhance the non-cuteness.

“Well, I want it to heal nicely,” Minho says sternly, moving closer into Jisung’s space. “And look at the bunny on this one. Doesn’t it look evil? It’s gonna make all the germs stay away from your pretty skin.”

A one-use alcohol wipe is taken out of another of Minho’s many pockets. Jisung doesn’t even bother questioning this anymore. Carefully swiping it across the wound, removing any grime and dried blood that stuck on beneath the mask. Jisung sucks in a breath, prepared this time for the slight sting.

The evil bunny bandaid is carefully placed upon the swell of his cheek with a touch ever so gentle for a man so entangled with brutal violence. Minho’s touch doesn’t leave, even after he’s smoothed out the plastic, idly caressing Jisung’s rosy cheek, and Jisung finds that he really likes the feel of Minho’s skin on his own. It’s been a while since anyone—other than his family or Felix— has caressed him this tenderly before, and Jisung hums, content, letting himself sink into the sensation for a moment.

When Minho pulls his hand away, he doesn’t move all the way back to where he’d been sitting earlier; he’s just a little closer, such a subtle change of distance, yet it makes Jisung’s heart race all the same.

“You don’t have to…” Jisung starts to say, wanting to reassure Minho the same way the other does for him. To at least make sure Minho knows that nothing about his scars disgusts him. Their scars may be different, but it does not take away anything from Minho’s worth. “You don’t have to be ashamed, not around me. You don’t have to hide away from me. If you ever get comfortable enough, I think it’d be nice… to see, or to do this.”

Jisung slides off his gloves, reaching over to Minho’s right hand and pulling it onto his lap, carefully cradled in both of Jisung’s. Minho is lax, leaving Jisung to his whims as he slowly turns his hand over, tracing the folds and creases of Minho’s palms like he was reading his future. “You see this line right here, it tells me that you’re lovely to look at too.”

Minho chuckles. It’s hollow, and Jisung knows that some part of him still doesn’t accept his words, stuck in some kind of in-between of wanting it to be true but never quite believing that it could be real. Yet, he doesn’t move his hand away.

“Well, this line says that you were born with an incredible sense of humour…” Jisung traces another fold. “This one tells me that your lucky number is eighteen. And this line, this one says that one day you will be a samurai, and the one right below says that Soonie will be your samurai master.”

Minho laughs again—properly this time, bright and sweet—the kind of laugh Jisung looks forward to hearing the moment he wakes up and misses the second he goes to bed.

Jisung opens his mouth to read another line, and–

“It’s really nice, y’know...”

Jisung glances back at him and hums, smiling softly.

“Having a friend.”

“Yeah,” Jisung says, heart pounding against his ribs. “Yeah, it is.”

Minho smiles, or at least it feels like he does, and Jisung hopes that one day he’ll get to see how lovely it really is.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

It’s only later, when the sun has long since set, after Minho had put his gloves back on, carrying plastic bags full of their leftovers and wrappers and jumped down too many flights of stairs at a time, off to who knows where. And when the only thing that remains is the silence of the night and Jisung’s thoughts, he realises his spider senses never went off once.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

“What’s going on? You seem… different.” Chan says.

“Different, how?”

Chan thinks for a second, expression verging on perplexed. “I don’t know. Just… lighter. Happy.”

“I’m happy with you.”

“I know.” Chan shakes his head fondly. “But you don’t look like you’re balancing the whole world on your shoulders anymore.”

Jisung doesn’t know what to say.

“It looks good on you.”

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Chapter Text

Minho and Jisung trade Band-Aids like flowers on Valentine's. A kitty wrapped around Minho’s thumb, shooting stars along Jisung’s hip, princesses over Minho’s knee and daisies on Jisung’s chin.

Each day, a new gift is given in the form of silly pictures printed upon adhesive bandages. Minho’s got a box stashed in his suit somewhere. Jisung’s got three in his backpack.

Minho likes to make it a competition, where the winner is whoever has the most Band-Aids placed upon their body. Jisung told him that wasn't the point; the aim was to avoid needing them. To not get hurt in the first place.

Jisung wonders if Minho knows what they really mean, or precisely what they mean to Jisung. That each gift is a sorry for not preventing the hurt in the first place, a promise to do better next time, and an offer to stay by your side throughout it all.

Sometimes Jisung wishes he could be one of those silly Band-Aids. Stuck to Minho like glue. Protecting, holding, keeping him together, even for just a few seconds, before his rapid regenerative abilities cease his usefulness. Then maybe Jisung can just stay there and bask in Minho’s presence. Observe what makes Minho tick—to listen to the click of his jaw, the thump of his heart and the rush of blood in his veins. Jisung would cling on through the action of another fight and settle into his skin during the calm of their rooftop dinners.

Jisung’s attached. Maybe not literally, like the pink band-aid on Minho’s pinky right now, but attached nonetheless.

₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Jisung rubs over the rainbow plaster on his hand—the very one Minho had so carefully placed last night—counting to ten to get his breathing back in check. One presentation won’t kill him. He’s smart. He knows what he’s talking about. Who cares about other silly classmates and his teacher when he faces criminals and villains daily? He can survive this.

Minho had recommended picturing everyone naked, but Jisung’s sure that will only throw him off and make him more flustered instead.

Jisung thinks he might be in middle school again. No, he hasn’t faced some time-travelling villain and been sent back in time. Neither has he faced a villain with some type of age regression powers. What he does face is for the first time in years, his hands are sweaty. His heart beats erratically at the mere thought of another person. Not in the anxious way he’s used to, in the way that’s almost got him tripping over himself just to get Minho looking at him one more time.

Maybe he’s going through his teenage gay panic era all over again. And he doesn’t even know what the guy looks like. It’s weird. Not that it’s out of the ordinary for them, he guesses.

He smooths out the plaster one more time, taking a deep breath. He can see Minho later and tell him how he smashed his presentation, that he didn’t stutter once. He can do it. Then Minho can be proud of him. Not just Spiderman.

Maybe he would think that normal Jisung is pretty cool, too.

The thoughts of Minho ease him for a moment longer. That is, before he checks the clock and sees that he’s been daydreaming about the mercenary for nearly fifteen minutes, meaning the lab starts in six minutes and it’s halfway across campus in the science hall.

Shit. He’s going to be late at this rate. He gathers his textbooks, roughly shoving them into his backpack, and speed walks out of the library and towards the plaza. He briefly wonders if it’s worth taking the bus. It’ll be at least ten minutes that way. Maybe if he sprints, he’ll make it instead? He’s thankful that Korea University is one big campus and at least everything is close enough together, but he really decided to go to the one library that is as far away as possible from his lab. Today has not been one for smart decisions so far.

Jisung is definitely late by the time he finally makes it across the road from Anam Hospital and rushes into the science buildings. He’s making it up the stairs to the second floor when the sound of sirens echoes through the halls.

Double shit.

Jisung freezes for a second. It could just be the ambulance siren from across the street, he tells himself. But he knows the difference by now, the shorter bursts of continuous alarm of police cruisers compared to the longer wailing tone of an ambulance.

The thought of his presentation sinks into the recesses of his mind, and Spiderman’s responsibilities rush to the forefront. He rushes out before another second can pass, bumping into bodies, yelling quick sorries as he runs, ignoring the annoyed stares.

He spots the flashing red and blue lights in the distance once he exits the front door, close to the cafe across the street. Other students and civilians gathered around something he can’t quite see just yet. He just needs to find a quiet alleyway or a hidden corner to change, so he can help.

His eyes scan around, quickly rushing down the steps before–

Thud. His body hits the floor, with less grace than he thought he would have for someone with spider senses. He grimaces, looking over to the other body on the floor, only to find… Jeongin?

He realises he must have said it out loud by the way Jeongin’s head jerks up, eyes wide when they make eye contact.

“Jisung?”

“What– what are you doing here?”

Jeongin doesn’t respond, only glancing back to the sound of commotion coming behind him, from across the street. Then that’s when he catches it. The hint of an unhinged giggle and manic laughter, the loud, “Hey, hey, hey! I’m trying to help here, can’t ya see, Mr. Police officer! Don’t get your panties in a twist, Jesus.”

Jisung's vision blurs with black spots at how fast he gets up, blindly reaching for Jeongin to help him up, blinking away the spots and taking off in a sprint towards Minho’s voice.

He pushes past the crowd, weaving his way to the front, where he finds Minho in a square off with some cop, clearly in the middle of some dispute, with the way the man’s face contorts into something ugly and cruel. Jisung wants to wipe the look off his face. He nearly dives in to help before Jeongin—fuck, he caught up with him fast—jerks him back with a grip on his collar.

“The fuck, hyung? Get back. What the hell d’you think you're doing?”

Triple shit. Jisung’s still without his suit, out in the open in broad daylight. And unless he’s planning to reveal his identity to everyone at his university, Jisung needs to act normally—not like the hero he’s used to behind the mask. Jisung doesn’t even have time to dwell on the fact that he’s calling him hyung now, an offer he’d told Jeongin to do after two more dates, after which they had decided they’d be better off as friends.

The police seem to swarm Minho, and Jisung spots the way some have already got their hands placed on their belts—right by the taser. Jisung’s sure they won’t use a gun, not with the crowd of students that has formed in front of the cafe, but it still has Jisung’s heart racing in anticipation, anxiety crushing all other senses. They’re shouting at him and it all rushes past him like a dull ringing.

Jisung feels a swell of defensiveness at Minho’s treatment by these so-called good guys. The men with badges are meant to be protecting the city from crime, not whatever this is. Can’t they see Deadpool’s been doing good? And by the looks of it, he isn’t doing anything wrong. It’s a tidal wave of need to rush out and go to Minho’s side to defend his honour.

There are two stray kittens on his shoulders and one cradled carefully in Minho’s arms. Their fur is standing on end, ears flattened down to their heads—scared—clinging onto Minho like a lifeline, like he’s their last solace of safety. Jisung takes in Minho’s guarded expression, voice tinged with an unnerving edge of malice despite the levity his usual tone carries. He doesn’t miss the pest control vehicle that’s pulled up right beside the police cruiser.

Jisung blinks and the men from pest control are diving forward while Minho darts back, avoiding the civilians. The police walk up, but some students are closing in, seemingly trying to block their way—helping Minho, helping the kittens, something Jisung should be doing.

He lets the shock of seeing Minho when he’s out of the suit wash away, and he moves forward with the crowd, dragging Jeongin with him. The police push them back, and Jisung can hear more yelling but he’s being crowded again and he can’t see Minho in the distance above everyone else.

And all of a sudden the police’s attention is on them, pushing them further away. Jisung can’t tell what’s even going on. He feels entirely useless and lost. He lets Jeongin pull him back with the crowd, following the directions of the officers.

They’re in front of a 7-Eleven, just standing there, and Jisung realises he needs to accept that he should be running back across the street. Back to his lab.

But his legs are frozen.

Minho was here.

The sound of crunching gravel makes his head shoot up to the side and he sees him. Minho is still here.

Deadpool is suddenly making his way toward him. Jisung straightens his glasses, smoothing down his crumpled hoodie without a second thought.

Does he know? Can he somehow sense Spiderman’s presence even out of the suit? Is there a chance he just knows?

His nerves are alight, almost like his spider senses are preparing him for some kind of confrontation, but missing the spike of danger, the shiver of a threat, because Minho is no threat. Just the anticipation that rattles his bones, the eagerness in his veins at the notion of just being near him again.

Jisung’s mind flashes with possibilities; his legs act on their own, driven by the urge to walk up and say something—anything—because, fuck it, maybe deep down he wants to know if Minho will recognise his voice. Will he tease Jisung the same? Will he reach for him even now?

Jisung doesn’t have the chance to say anything before Jeongin shoves him behind him, an almost protective stance as he stands in front of Jisung with Minho approaching, and Jisung can do nothing but stand there frozen.

“Looks like you need to get them to a shelter. Can’t be adopting more strays? Can you, hyung?” Jeongin says, speaking to… Minho.

Jisung whips his head towards the back of Jeongin’s head, the tone of his voice too casual for someone who’s standing head to head with Deadpool.

The crowd around them seems to push in and out, as if they crave an up-close and personal look, yet remain too afraid to stand too close. Their indecisiveness crashes against him, and all Jisung can do is stand and stare through the bodies for a glimpse of the red suit, looking for that piercing white stare, and reaching for Minho’s hand.

But Jeongin’s tall—at least taller than both of them—and all Jisung can do is cling to the back of Jeongin’s shirt as he tries to be seen.

“Aaahh, I’ll find these precious little ones a home, if it’s the last thing I do, kid! Watch me! But not my ass— that’s reserved for someone special.”

Someone special. It has to be. It can’t be anyone else. Jisung doesn’t want it to be anyone else.

He can hear the kittens purring softly, comfortable in Minho’s presence, and Jisung just needs to look, just needs to see for himself.

He tugs on Jeongin’s shirt again, pushing through the people closing in on his side, moving forward and there—he’s standing in front of Minho, in all his suited-up glory.

And Minho stares, for a second or two, it feels like a century passes by, but Minho’s mask doesn’t crinkle the same way it usually does, doesn’t bloom with mirth like flowers in spring. In fact, Minho’s not even looking right at him, rather through him. And the gaze is gone, he’s looking back at the crowd, back towards Jeongin. Giving him a too-friendly slap on the shoulder, a little shake and suddenly now there’s that glimmer in his eye.

Jisung’s voice is stuck in his throat; he thinks he says something, but it must be garbled, stuttered and unintelligible because Minho scans past him again, and Jisung’s breath catches. Minho’s not even looking at him.

Time seems to stand still, because Minho is responding—not to him—to Jeongin again.

He feels numb, and his ears might be ringing too, because he can’t quite catch what’s being said.

It has never been a question of if Jisung would share his secret identity—not anymore—only when he revealed himself as Spiderman.

His mind spirals. Would Deadpool even like Han Jisung? Nerdy, sleep-deprived and barely hanging on. Who can hardly handle a date, let alone speak to strangers out of the blue without somehow stumbling over his words? Spiderman was everything Jisung was not: cool, confident, desirable.

Jeongin is speaking, but his words are distant—an echo he can’t quite catch. Jisung can’t focus because Minho hadn’t even looked at him. Not a glance his way, and Jisung’s never felt more invisible in his life. He had never once thought that he would ever not be teased over, squealed over, cooed over or touched by Minho. It feels earth-shattering, such a revelation that he himself might not actually be good enough.

The crowd dispersed slowly, that much Jisung can comprehend, his mind settling into a low thrum of despondence. He feels detached from himself, stupid, unworthy, unrecognisable for—

“Deadpool? You know Deadpool?”

Jeongin shakes his head, but Jisung pushes.

“You said Hyung. So you know him.”

“Not really.” Jeongin looks him dead in the eye, huffing out a deep breath. “He just seems to show up around my area a lot for some reason. Should report him for stalking at this point.” He laughs.

But Jisung doesn’t smile. “You shouldn’t call a stranger Hyung, then. It’s not–”

He cuts himself off—it’s not fair—the words caught in his throat, trying to ignore the shame that coats his tongue.

Minho has never offered to be called hyung before. Though he supposes that Minho doesn't know his exact age, it doesn’t stop the bitterness that seeps through, an ugly feeling that feeds on Jisung’s insecurities. It scurries in the recesses of his mind, like a never-ending torment dwelling just beneath the surface. You’re not good enough for it.

Jeongin’s brows are creased, confused partly, yet it’s the concern that paints most of his features, a look that makes Jisung’s gut twist with guilt.

Jeongin doesn’t deserve it. Neither does Minho.

“Hyung.”

It’s directed towards him this time—because he told Jeongin to call him that after their second date, and he’s not a stranger—and Jisung looks down at his feet, toes pointed inwards, like his whole body is trying to curl up into a ball whilst standing. Jeongin’s voice is careful, like Jisung’s standing on the edge of a cliff, and if he were to speak one decibel louder, Jisung might just fall off.

Or maybe he’s already fallen. Perhaps the world’s come crashing down around him, because Jisung can’t make sense of any rational reason for him to be taking this so badly.

No words leave him. He looks down at the gravel, its monochrome palette of grey. It feels like dark clouds are closing in, heavy in the air, and he petulantly kicks a stray rock. It skids across the path, right by Jeongin’s pristine white shoes. He feels like sulking, like sinking to the ground and becoming one with the stones. Maybe then whatever's happening in his head won’t hurt so much.

“Jisung hyung,” Jeongin says again. “Do you want me to call someone? Felix? Or Seungmin?”

Jisung shakes his head, refusing to look up just in case. He knows how easily he tends to cry when his emotions get the best of him.

How could it go downhill so fast? All he had to do was his—Fuck. The presentation.

Jisung sinks to the ground this time, squatting on the ground pretending like he isn’t about to burst into tears. He rubs mindlessly at his sore eyes.

There’s a heavy weight on his shoulder.

“I can take you home if you need.”

“No, no. My presentation. Oh God. I’ve failed. I’ve definitely failed. I’m so late. I’ve missed my time slot. Oh God, oh God.” Jisung knows he’s spiralling, his mumbling probably incoherent to Jeongin’s ears.

He feels exposed, losing it in front of Jeongin like this. It’s not like they’re even that close, and he’s making a tantrum out of nothing. Nothing that Jeongin should even know about. And now he’s sure he’s about to fail this module.

Jeongin squeezes his shoulder gently, but Jisung can only shake his head more, muttering words under his breath.

“I’m sure they’ll understand. They must have heard the sirens. They’ll know,” Jeongin says, placing another hand on his other shoulder, almost like he’s trying to stabilise Jisung’s shaking. “C’mon, we can send an email to your professor. Lixie-yah will know what to say, I’m sure.”

Jisung feels himself being guided back up, Jeongin picking up his backpack, which he didn’t even realise he had dropped.

Jeongin ushers him to the bus stop, and Jisung refuses to look up at the spot Minho had been standing less than ten minutes ago. He ignores the way his mind plagues over him more than Jisung’s university degree.

The bus ride to Felix’s place isn’t long. The perfect distance from university and Seungmin’s place, Felix had said. Jisung just wondered why the hell they didnt just move in together at this point. Though he thanks his lucky stars they haven’t, because there was no way in hell he could’ve sneaked in to have Seungmin patch him up in the middle of the night without Felix noticing.

Jisung curls up into a ball in Felix’s bed the second they make it inside, placing his glasses on the bedside table. He breathes in the faint hint of Felix’s perfume and the smell of his floral detergent from freshly washed blankets. His body sinks into the comfort of home.

He doesn’t get to stay long as Felix drags him back up, so they can lie side by side on his bed, squished in close together, a laptop balanced on Felix’s thighs.

“Okay, let’s get this sorted first. Let’s email your professor.”

It doesn’t take long, Felix’s voice a soothing lull for Jisung’s scattered brain, the light clicking away of his keyboard as he types out a request to reschedule.

With the email sent and his laptop pushed to the bottom of the bed, Felix pulls Jisung in close with an arm around his shoulders. The careful brush of Felix’s hand as it grazes his cheek, playing with Jisung’s hair. The darkness slowly fades, and the world doesn’t feel like it’s closing in. Felix’s low humming scares away the monsters that hide in the recesses of Jisung’s cruel mind.

It’s nice. The calm lull, but Jisung knows it can’t last forever. Felix’s leg has started bouncing, his fingers fidgeting just a bit more. He wants to ask—he’s going to ask, because it’s Felix, and Felix will stop at nothing to figure out what exactly is bothering him.

It starts small, a little, “Hey, Jisungie.”

Jisung opts to curl himself into Felix’s shoulder instead, but he doesn’t let him escape.

“No, no, no. Don’t you do that, silly.”

Jisung groans, hoping Felix is able to translate it as “I don’t wanna talk about it,” like Jisung hopes it is.

“Nuh uh. You’ve been avoiding me for too long now. We’re doing this now.”

“No, we’re not.”

“Don’t make me call your hyungs to interrogate your ass.”

Hyung.

He never thought the simple word would ever send him into such a spiral. He visibly shivers, shaking his head and twisting away from Felix’s hold and closing his eyes.

He feels Felix sit up, likely staring down at his pathetic moping form.

“You’re pouting.”

Jisung shakes his head vigorously, biting his lip to hide his unconscious actions. God, why must his body betray him without even thinking?

“Yes, you are, brat.”

“I’m not.” Jisung opens his eyes, blinking up at Felix.

“Sure, and you’re suddenly not sulking cause I said hyungs.”

“I’m not sulking.” He pushes himself up and crosses arms defiantly, an attempt at a mean glare cast Felix’s way.

“Tell that to your wet cow eyes and pout.”

Jisung rolls his eyes. The mission was clearly unsuccessful. He mumbles, “It’s just my natural state.”

“Well, I can’t deny you there. So… what is it? Trouble in paradise?”

“No,” Jisung responds quickly. “Why would you ask that?”

“Well,” Felix starts listing off with his fingers. “First you’ve been giddy as hell over the past few weeks, and then suddenly you drop the bomb that yes, in fact, you are apparently seeing someone that we don’t know of.” He dramatically throws his hands up in the air. “And now, you’re coming in here, sulking like someone’s eaten the last piece of cheesecake, grumbling about Innie calling someone else hyung.” He nods towards the door where Jeongin has made himself comfortable on the sofa outside. “So if it’s not Innie that you’re jealous of, who is it? Who’s this mystery man you still refuse to elaborate about that apparently Jeongin calls hyung?”

Jisung pouts as if it could make everything disappear, but Felix continues to scrutinise him, waiting for a response Jisung can’t give. So he opts for another approach.

“Would you date me?”

The look Felix gives him is intense, accompanied by an eyebrow raise that clearly signals he’s the crazy one for even asking.

“Fine. But what if, like, I mean not date, like, not like that. Ugh.” Jisung slings an arm over his eyes as he grumbles. “But he wouldn’t–”

“What do you mean, he wouldn’t? Like you? Only someone without eyes wouldn’t date someone as lovely as you, let alone not like you.”

“Jeongin didn’t wanna date me.”

“You didn’t wanna date me!” Jeongin yells from the living room, making himself known as he walks up to the open doorway. “And who said I didn’t like you? You’re plenty nice, just thinking about someone else, aren't you?”

Oh yeah. He forgot that Jeongin can actually hear what he’s saying.

Jisung grabs one of Felix’s pillows, smushing it against his face and groaning into it. “It’s not like that!”

The pillow is yanked out of his hands, so he has a full view of Felix’s attempt at a menacing stare.

“Tell me right now Han Jisung. What is bothering you?”

How can he even tell him? That he feels so insecure over a silly little word. Over the fact that he’s crushing on someone who doesn’t know who he is? Who Jisung doesn’t even know what he looks like?

Jisung can’t go on some crazy tirade on how confused he is when he doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to feel for the mercenary. It’s his own fault for ever bringing Minho up in the first place—there was no way in hell Felix would ever drop it. Then that would only lead to a whole other can of worms Jisung needs to admit to. One that he swears he wouldn’t ever tell.

He prays Jeongin doesn’t tell Felix what went down. That Deadpool had been at the scene, how Deadpool had let Jeongin call him Hyung, that Deadpool never looked Jisung in the eye. God, maybe he is going insane—He’s jealous of Jeongin? Jealous of himself? Jealous of everyone else that Minho might like more than him.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing if it’s making you feel this way.” It comes out sadder than Felix probably intended, and Jisung can’t help but feel even worse. What kind of friend is he? Letting Felix worry over him like this, though Jisung can imagine the worry and stress that would come with knowing that he’s Spiderman would be a thousand times worse.

“Fine,” Jisung finally grumbles after a while. “It’s… It’s ugh– I just don’t think the guy actually likes me… cause he doesn’t actually know me, ya’know.”

The silence that envelopes the room is so loud, Jisung thinks time might have stopped. That is, until Jeongin breaks it with the last name he’d ever want mentioned at this moment.

“Deadpool?” Jeongin’s eyebrows crease, confused.

“No.” Jisung whips his head towards him, voice curt and short, cutting in quickly before anything else can be elaborated, but Felix beats him to it.

“Huh… What the fuck does Deadpool have to do with any of this shit?”

Jisung shakes his head at Jeongin, putting his biggest pleading eyes on display. It unfortunately does not have the same effect as it does with Chan or Changbin, as Jeongin continues.

“He was there, that’s what the whole police situation was about,” Jeongin shrugs his shoulders. “Rescuing some kittens from some stupid cops. Came and said hi to us.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, I called him Hyung… Don’t know why that’s an issue.”

“It’s not an issue,” Jisung hisses between clenched teeth.

Jeongin raises his hands in defence.

“Well, ignoring the fact that you’re calling some psycho Hyung,” Felix exaggerates a nod towards Jeongin with the underlying hint that we will come back to this, rest assured. “Are you telling me that you have a crush on Deadpool, Han Jisung?”

“What the hell! I– I do not. No. What are you even– like what no?” Jisung stutters through his attempt at a lie. “I don’t have a crush on Deadpool!”

Felix lets out a deep sigh, “And thank God for that, he’s a mercenary! Who knows what he’s up to– well, I mean, other than killing guys, being batshit insane and working with Spiderman nowadays.”

Jisung’s heart sinks into his stomach, and suddenly he’s nauseous. Anxiety prickles on the surface of his skin. This would be a bad time to throw up. Felix seems to miss the evident distress flickering behind Jisung’s eyes as he continues.

“I mean to be fair, other than being a cold-blooded killer, he does seem your type. You know, can throw you around and stuff, funny too… I guess? He must’ve reminded you of Mr. Mystery Man.” Felix claps his hands together. “Ohhh, so that’s why when you heard Innie call Deadpool Hyung, and now you want the boy toy you’ve been seeing to call you Hyung too?”

Jisung puts his head in his hands and sighs—might as well admit to the partial truth.

“I wanna call him Hyung,” he mumbles meekly.

Felix laughs, and Jisung starts to curl in on himself, but Felix catches this turmoil instantly. “No, no, Sungie. Not like that. It’s cute. You’re cute. Why don’t you just ask him?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be that hard either. If it’ll make you happy, and from the way you’ve been acting the last month, I’m sure he’d do anything to make you smile, too.”

Felix smiles all too sweet, and Jisung only wishes it could be that easy. He wishes he could live in Felix’s little world of sunshine and rainbows, rather than the whirlwind of emotions Jisung’s got going on in his own.

“Yeah,” Jisung finds himself answering instead. “Maybe I– maybe I’ll ask, yeah.”

Perhaps it’s not too hard for him to manifest it on his own.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Current Mission Objective: Manifest it on his own.

It can’t be too hard to let himself into Felix’s little happy world. Jisung can just ask Minho.

Hey, Minho. You’re older, right? Could I call you Hyung, please?

There. It’s easy, so simple. Jisung’s already done it in his head. Why not just voice it aloud? It’s not like he has to show Minho his face yet, even if he asks. He knows his face would be too red even to consider the thought of that being a possibility. No way. Not then. Not yet, at least.

Minho and Jisung had settled into a routine. During the week, Minho would just show up out of the blue. Almost every patrol, he was there, waiting on their rooftop or other times he would join in mid-fight. If there was a sudden robbery, Minho was there, regardless of the time. Jisung would swing through the city and find Minho trailing behind on a motorbike he didn't know he owned. They would pass the time on their rooftop, laughing, joking around as Jisung’s police scanner hummed in the background.

It was normal. It was their normal.

But when Jisung lands on their rooftop, it’s anything but normal. Because this time, there’s someone else on their rooftop that Jisung has never seen before. This time, there’s the presence of a man who looks far too ethereal to be human, and this is coming from someone who is faced with witnessing Felix’s angelic face and Seungmin’s boyish charms almost every day. This time, the routine they’ve settled into is suddenly broken by this stranger on the rooftop—someone who is standing far too close to Minho for them to be just strangers.

He’s taller than both Minho and Jisung, with long black hair that frames his face, and a mole just under his eye. But it’s the glare the man sends his way that makes Jisung stop in his tracks as soon as he lands on the rooftop.

“That’s the one you're obsessed with?” The man’s words drip with disbelief.

“Hello?” Jisung is somewhat offended and miffed at the dismissal. He’s Spiderman? Who the hell is this guy? But gives him a small wave nonetheless. He’s Spiderman!

“Boo, none of that, Hyunjinnie. Don’t make me go get the tissue box.” Minho fixes him with a sharp nod, then gestures sweetly back at Jisung, swooning. “And of course, look at him, he’s perfect. Now watch him, ‘kay! I’ll be back in a jiffy!”

He’s perfect.

Spiderman is perfect.

What happened three days ago hits him like a truck. The anxiety that had settled for a mere day was churning over again.

Hyunjin stares down at him and snaps one of his fingers, igniting a flame on the tip of his pointer finger, idly passing the flame down the line before engulfing his palm in a bright orange glow. Jisung is transfixed, watching the subtle, graceful movements of Hyunjin’s fingers.

“What? Never seen a flame before?”

Jisung snaps his gaze up, flushing. “What? No– I mean yes, I have.”

Who does this guy think he is? What the fuck.

“Then stop catching flies with your mouth.”

“You can’t even see me?”

“I can sense it well enough–”

“Watch it–”

“Or what?” Hyunjin laughs. “You’ll throw a web my way?”

Jisung wants to stomp his foot and kick the annoying new presence in the shin. Why did Minho even bring him here? Jisung scans the rooftop, it's empty save for the headache standing in front of him. Where is Minho?

“He had an errand to run. I’m supposed to be there, but apparently he needs me to babysit you for some reason,” Hyunjin continues, answering Jisung’s thoughts without Jisung even needing to voice them.

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

Hyunjin shrugs. “Guess he didn’t want you to get lonely or something.”

Jisung squeezes his wrist, focusing on the dull pinch of his skin. Minho didn’t want me to be lonely, yet he didn’t bother saying goodbye properly. “And he couldn’t have told me that himself?”

“Important business has him busy.”

“He was just here.”

“Yeah, and a minute longer, the mark might be gone.”

Mark.

Jisung doesn’t want to think about what that means. If it truly means Minho’s just gone… left to do that business again. Shame burns through Jisung’s body. Whatever then. Minho can do whatever the fuck he wants and leave Jisung with… a stranger. Like he hadn’t worked alone for a long time before Minho ever showed up.

Hyunjin doesn’t pay any attention to Jisung’s internal debate as he waves his hands around dramatically, continuing his speech. “I told him I’d show up on my own, but nooo, he’s all I need to see my Spidey at least once today, it’s good for my health. But that’s Hyung for you, whatever that all means. I’ll have to meet up with him later tonight.”

And another person who calls him Hyung, who’s got plans to see each other later tonight.

“How can I trust you?”

“Minho hyung trusts me. Isn’t that good enough for you?”

Jisung reluctantly nods and pushes whatever bad first impression they had aside for the time being. “Yeah, s’all good. As long as you can keep up, yeah.”

“Not gonna be a problem.” Hyunjin stretched his hands up, an annoying smirk making its way onto his face.

Jisung runs and jumps off the roof, shooting out a web to the building opposite, using his momentum to pull him forward, letting go, and shooting the next web at the next building. He’s about to land on the next lamp post to wait for Hyunjin’s likely trailing figure, but Jisung doesn’t find some desperately sprinting lanky man on his heels.

Jisung can only push himself forward and force himself not to crash into the pole as he sees a man on fire floating behind him.

Okay, so Hyunjin can do more than just light his hand on fire; he can set his whole body ablaze and still be perfectly fine. Plus, he can fly or float, or whatever he’s doing. Jisung refuses to ask, because of course, Minho’s friend can do that. Great. There’s no way Jisung can ever measure up to that, but that’s good to know. Sure. Yeah. At least Hyunjin won’t be useless.

As it turns out, Hyunjin is annoyingly good at being a superhero. His flames don’t burn civilians, he's charismatic, and nice. Sweet-talking the old lady and her poodle, before Jisung can even get a word in. It’s almost infuriating. He freed the child who got his head stuck on a railing, he caught the man who tried to pickpocket a group of tourists, and he stopped the vandalism and attempted robbery at the ATM in about ten seconds flat. Jisung can only land in front of Hyunjin and the two men on the floor, and help tie them up as a consolidation prize.

It doesn’t help that Hyunjin has a tendency to comment on every little thing Jisung does. He missed a web. Too bad, Hyunjin saw. He took a rough hit to the ribs. Hyunjin was there to tsk and push him aside.

It wasn’t all bad at least, but it was enough to get Jisung grinding his teeth and mumbling under his breath that this was for Minho. Minho would be back soon, and they could just go back to the two of them—the perfect pair.

“Geez, that was easy. And you need Minho’s help every day?”

“I don’t need his help. I can do my Spiderman business just fine on my own. Some days are just easier than others.”

“Whoa, whoa. I mean, I did do most of the work back there.” Hyunjin lifts his hands in a cool-down gesture, which gets Jisung’s blood pumping rather than calming. “But, okay, Mr Perfect Spiderman.”

“I’m not–”

“Don’t even try.” Hyunjin shoots him a look he can’t quite decipher. “He sure speaks as if you were.”

Jisung freezes.

Perfect.

There was that word again.

Spiderman, sure, but Jisung couldn’t compare.

Because perfect? Perfect in the way Minho sees Spiderman. Jisung doesn’t know if he could live up to himself.

Minho would like someone confident and self-assured. Who’s strong and powerful, determined and headstrong. Even just from today, Hyunjin already seems like someone who could encapsulate all of that into one perfect being.

Because even if Spiderman checks all those boxes, Jisung knows that at the end of the day, when he crawls back into his little apartment, the mask will always come off. Hidden away in his room, he will still always be Jisung. The boy who staggers back to bed on wobbly legs, with his mind overthinking every little thing he’d done wrong or missed, doubting his every move as he lies there sore and tired. Waiting for morning to come, as he manages a few hours of sleep before rushing to class, trying to pretend he wasn’t behind on all the readings.

And Jisung knew he wasn’t by any means unattractive either; he knew he had a nice enough face, aided by doe-eyes that could sway almost anyone, cheeks that called for people to squish and pretty pouted lips (Felix has yelled at him enough times about it for Jisung to actually believe).

But maybe Minho prefers someone like Hyunjin, whose face card and confidence look like they could pull off any look or hairstyle thrown his way, even a buzzcut would enhance his pretty features.

While his mind spirals, Jisung suddenly feels naked, exposed, because even with the suit on, in the worst way possible, Jisung feels like himself.

Awkward, shy and insecure.

His shields are down, and he’s scared that if Hyunjin were to look back at him, he’ll see right through him, too.

Would Minho see through him just the same?

“Don’t patronise me,” Jisung manages to choke out.

“Then stop sulking, Hyung’s busy.”

“SHUT UP!” Jisung yells. His voice echoes in the silent air, and Jisung’s body goes numb, shocked by the amount of malice in his voice.

Oh God. He didn’t just do that. He didn’t just shout at a man he had just met hours ago. He didn’t yell at Minho’s fucking friend. God, what has gotten into him?

Hyunjin takes a step back, flames unconsciously setting alight at his fingertips, before he shakes to extinguish them quickly. “Shit. Sorry. I mean like… I didn’t mean it like that. Didn’t mean to hit a sore spot.”

“I’m…” Jisung takes a deep breath, holding it for five seconds, and releases. “I’m fine. Sorry. I really didn’t mean to shout. I… I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Lies. He just refuses to admit it aloud.

Hyunjin takes a deep breath, gazing up at the clear night sky as if searching for answers from beyond. “Okay, we got off on the wrong foot.” He looks back down, letting out that breath and sends Jisung what looks like his most sincere smile of the day. “Let’s do this again—the name’s Hyunjin. I can set myself on fire, I like to paint, and Minho is my annoying ass hyung, who happens to like you enough to make sure you’re not alone on patrol or whatever, so I’m here out of the kindness of my heart.”

It still doesn’t sound perfect; there's some sincerity, tinged with guilt, along with an underlying sense that he’s doing this because he has to. But it’s an olive branch extended Jisung’s way, and it would be rude not to offer the same sentiment.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Minho comes back the next day, and the next, and the next, too.

Jisung’s fickle heart somersaults in his chest, rushing down past his gut, sending a swooping feeling of butterflies in his stomach.

Minho comes back, and he looks at Jisung. He touches his shoulder as he does, and he holds his hand as they swing, and Jisung smiles, giddy and all under his mask.

Minho comes back, but not every day.

He doesn’t show up on Thursday or Friday. He’s back on Saturday and gone on Sunday.

The week after is just a guessing game again.

It wasn’t like they had a binding contract that permanently intertwined their schedules, nor did they see each other every single day… It was just most days, almost every day.

But Minho seemed to disappear more and more, and Hyunjin seemed to show up more and more.

Some days, it's just him and Minho, and other times, it's him and Hyunjin. Others, he’d find it to be the three of them huddled together whilst Minho tried some holding hands ritual to make them all become better friends.

Hyunjin was becoming tolerable, and Minho was… Minho.

Jisung finds himself alone on rare days. Those were always the worst. The overthinking voices that pestered him in his mind would come through the buzz of the police scanner on the empty rooftop.

The anxiety doesn’t stop. Jisung finds himself scrutinising his every move.

Jisung starts noticing things that he never focused on before when he’s around Minho. He notices the crack in his own voice when he laughs, and how much he’s fidgeting with his fingers. The way he’s unconsciously bouncing in anticipation, waiting for Minho to do something; waiting for him to crack a joke, waiting for his touch, waiting for him to call Jisung something sweet like it actually means something.

Jisung isn’t averse to being aware; in fact, he’s so acutely aware of so much at times—his spider senses enhance everything to the extreme—and it’s something he’s grown accustomed to. But this. He feels exposed. Somehow balancing on a tightrope of utter peace in Minho’s presence and having a full-blown internal meltdown when he looks his way.

But he’s noticing Minho, too, when he’s around at least. When Hyunjin hasn’t got him distracted by some classified information, whispering about a secret mission they need to handle without Jisung.

It makes Jisung even more desperate when he finds Minho hovering but never quite touching, every atom within Jisung yelling at him just to close the distance. Touch me, please.

Maybe Jisung’s done something wrong. It’s like he’s cautious all of a sudden. He flirts like always and then draws away, like he’s done something wrong. Like his touch would burn. As if Jisung wasn’t standing there with gasoline and a match in hand, ready to set himself alight just to hold Minho close.

Minho presses a pink princess plaster over Jisung’s chin late one night, and Jisung thinks maybe they can still figure this out together later.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

The air is sticky today, the sun beating through his mask, and Jisung can’t comprehend how Hyunjin lives like this every day.

He’s casually hovering in the air, nonchalantly like it’s not even taking a smidge of effort, not worth breaking a sweat over (and Jisung can admit he spent too long debating whether Hyunjin even had the ability to sweat anymore). The air around him ripples, the heat coming off his skin refracting the light around him. It’s almost got Jisung starstruck, and he clicks his jaw shut before it can hang open in awe. Hyunjin also has a pair of expensive sunglasses on that make him look like he’s trying way too hard (or maybe Jisung’s just salty because Minho cooed over how ‘hot’ Hyunjin looked not even five minutes ago).

They’re currently whispering about something again, and Jisung burns with jealousy. It’s not as if they have to do that in front of him. What's their problem? Jisung can sit here alone if they want to be all buddy-buddy.

Jisung unconsciously pouts and turns his back to them, focusing on Soonie, who has decided to join them this warm day. He extends his hand, holding the small packet of cat food he had snuck from Minho the day before, just in front of him. Soonie meows sweetly, licking greedily.

“Who needs them, huh?” Jisung whispers.

Soonie meows in response, tilting his head before continuing with his meal.

“Yeah, right. Like I can do this alone if they don’t wanna be here.”

Another meow, but Soonie lifts his paw, placing it on Jisung’s knee in an almost comforting gesture. He blinks up at him slowly.

“No, don’t look at me like that. I’m not–”

Soonie meows before Jisung can even try to lie.

“Fine, I’m a little jealous, so what. Not like I can do anything about it.” Jisung sighs, putting the cat food down and pressing his palms to his eyes.

Soonie nudges him again, and Jisung blinks down at him.

“Am I crazy? I’m overthinking, right?” Jisung whispers even quieter, “I don’t even know what I want. How can I expect anything from him?”

The meow Soonie gives him this time is solemn, and he rubs his head against Jisung’s hands and down his arm. Jisung chuckles, carding his hand down Soonie's back.

“What should I do?”

Soonie climbs onto Jisung’s crossed legs, headbutting Jisung in the chest. Jisung squints down at the cat, trying to make sense of Soonie’s actions as he brings his paw down on the Spider symbol on his suit, claws scratching at the material.

“I know I’m Spiderman, silly.” Jisung giggles, scratching lightly by Soonie’s ears.

Soonie meows like Jisung’s on the right path.

“Okayyy… I’m Spiderman. And what?”

There’s one more dramatic meow before Soonie pushes off Jisung’s legs and hops down to the ground, starting to walk around in a circle multiple times.

“You want me to spin for him?”

A meow.

“You want me to show off?”

Another meow.

“Ohhh, I should be more confident?”

Another meow.

“I could do a flip?”

“You can?! I mean, of course you can, hot stuff.” Minho’s voice rings out.

It takes Jisung a moment to realise that hot stuff is indeed a reference to himself and not Hyunjin, spluttering as he quickly stands up, brushing invisible dust off his suit.

“Uhhh, yeah. I– I can so do it. Um.” Jisung clears his throat. “Yeah, like it’s easy, dude. I can pull it off so easily. Yeah. So cool.”

Jisung can feel Hyunjin’s stare. It burns as hot as his skin, and he’s sure Soonie would be facepalming if it were possible for a cat, but all Jisung can focus on is Minho’s excited clapping and the giddy expression on his mask.

There’s too much happening and Jisung just needs to keep Minho’s attention on him.

He runs towards the ledge without another word and shoots a web out to the opposite building, using his momentum to pull himself up and towards the side of the structure. He lands easily, carrying his momentum forward and sprints up the building a several steps before kicking off, completing a pretty cool backflip. He lets himself free-fall for a second before shooting out another web, easing out of the fall and pulling himself back up. He does another flip for good measure and lands back on the rooftop.

His ears are ringing, no longer from the rushing air but from Minho’s gleeful laughter and his bright cheers. He turns to Minho, who’s clapping at the display, Soonie circling his feet, and Jisung’s heart burns in his chest. Fuck, he feels like a teenager again, trying to get the attention of a senior, but unlike Jisung’s unrequited advances, Minho is beaming at him. Giggling like Jisung is actually the coolest person he’s ever met. And Jisung is giddy. So giddy that somehow the synapses in his brain forget to send signals to his legs, and he trips over himself like a newborn fawn.

Damnit.

But Minho’s there in an instant. Crowding into his space, hands tentatively roaming down his arms, checking if he’s hurt as if he’d been stabbed and not betrayed by his own two feet.

Jisung preens under the touch nonetheless. Not exactly what he planned, but Minho’s here. Looking at him, touching him, focusing on him and suddenly the air leaves his lungs as Minho pulls him into a crushing hug.

“You’re so fucking cool, Sweetcheeks.” Minho spins them around, and Jisung’s heart swoops, diving headfirst into the pool of bubbling feelings.

Maybe overcompensating by showing off is Jisung’s newest solution to the "stop focusing on Hyunjin and give me my attention back" problem he’s got going on. He can only hope it doesn’t bite him in the ass later.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Jisung has stuck himself on the wall, perched on the side of the building, feet planted on the bricks as he leans back against the wall. His notebook is placed on his thighs. He scribbles doodles of the skyline, a spider by the date, and a little doodle of Deadpool in the corner. He looks down at it and smiles. He wonders what Minho looks like beneath the mask, how he looks when he smiles. Jisung thinks it must be pretty, just to match his laugh.

Jisung’s no Da Vinci, but the pencil seems to have a mind of its own as he tries to draw Minho’s profile from memory. Mask curled up over his mouth, trying to remember the soft lines of a pouty upper lip he’d spotted for a second before Minho had turned away to hide whilst he ate.

He stares and stares at the messy graphite. Would he smile like that if he saw normal Jisung? He hadn’t even noticed him before. It’s fine. It’s normal. He didn’t know, right? It doesn’t mean he’ll find Jisung boring, surely. Jisung’s heart aches at the thought. He’s been so distracted by overcompensating to look cooler than Hyunjin that he’d almost forgotten his own anxiety over himself.

Maybe he’s out there smiling with Hyunjin, on another one of their super-secret side quests that don’t involve Jisung. Some super important business or whatever they had said. Yeah… It’s fine.

Jisung hits his head against the wall. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

How stupid is he to miss him? To miss someone he sees almost every day… it’s just that now Hyunjin’s there too. And he seems fine, he helps with missions, his powers are incredible, he’s beautiful, he makes Minho laugh, he calls him hyung… yeah. Hyunjin is fine. Nothing special. Whatever.

Jisung’s about to scribble over the drawing before—

“Watcha doodling there?”

Jisung shrieks—it’s somewhat dignified, he would like to argue—his heart leaping into his throat. Gravity suddenly starts to take hold of his body as his feet slip from their grip on the wall, dropping the notebook from his grasp. His body goes into panic mode, shooting out a web to catch the notebook barreling toward the ground, and quickly latching himself back onto the wall before he starts to fall too.

His hands are unsteady, and he reaches out to shoot another web to pull himself up, only to find that Minho has a hold of his arm too, squeezing tightly.

“Whoa there. What happened to that spider sense of yours?”

“I don’t— huh?”

“Let’s get you up, baby boy.” Minho pulls him up, Jisung’s body unresponsive as all the neurons in his brain focus on the firm grip around his forearm, the fingers that dig into the muscle, and Jisung lets himself be lifted over the ledge—right into Minho’s space.

“Don’t know how you do that, like sure sitting here keeps me on my toes, but stuck onto the wall with nothing underneath.” Minho's whole body shudders. “Nuh uh. Nooo, thank you.”

Jisung’s eyes are wide. They’re standing so close, practically chest to chest, and Jisung’s breath catches again. His arm tingles at the place where Minho’s fingers once gripped.

“Anyways, wanna show me?”

Jisung breaks out of his daze. “What?”

“Your little notebook.” Minho cocks his head to the side, a teasing glint coming through the mask.

The notebook.

“Oh, that silly little thing, no, no, no.” Jisung jerks the notebooks behind his back. “You don’t wanna see any of that. Just some notes on my web fluid. Boring stuff, really.”

Jisung shakes his head rapidly. He swears he’s just making himself dizzy, unable to look Minho in the eye. He takes a quick step back and–

Minho’s hands are on him again, gripping tightly around his bicep and at his waist, a second before Jisung goes barrelling right over the ledge again.

“Fuck, Spidey. You sure you’re okay? Think you’d be used to rooftop safety by now,” Minho says, and he’s so close, holding onto Jisung like he might actually jump off. Keeping him close, his thumb stroking up and down Jisung’s arm.

Jisung swears he’s going lightheaded. He doesn’t know how it’s gotten to this, how Minho’s presence has suddenly become too much for his weak heart to handle. The way Minho’s words start to soften around the edges way more than they ever have before. And Jisung’s weak heart flutters at the thought. That Minho cares—actually cares—about him, that he’s opening up to Jisung, not Spiderman. Maybe Jisung could open up for real, show him who he is beneath the mask.

A sudden ache in his heart breaks him out of his trailing thoughts, the memory from a few weeks ago clouding his mind. How invisible he was to Minho in real life. How insignificant Han Jisung would be to a basically immortal mercenary. Minho wouldn’t want to reveal himself to some silly boy like him, would he?

Because Minho is all over him. Minho is all over Spiderman.

A simmering wave of bitterness washes over the ocean of anxiety within him. Sharp and sour coats his tongue, and Jisung finds himself speechless. He’s becoming jealous of himself—such an insane thought.

Jisung shakes his head. “I’m okay, really. Just thinking.”

“Aww, c’mon. Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

Jisung huffs, whispering under his breath. “Don’t know where you got pretty from.”

Minho’s mask visibly deflates, and his hands are back on Jisung’s shoulders so quickly it’s as if he does so without even thinking.

“Y’know it doesn’t matter what you look like,” Minho says quietly. “But I know you’re pretty anyway.”

“You know I think the same,” Jisung fires back just as fast, and Minho’s hands freeze from their slow caress.

Minho nods, and Jisung knows once again that’s all he’s going to get, but he feels greedy. He wants more. He wants the anxiety to stop, he wants to let the truth out, and he wants to be seen despite the disappointment.

“Can I–” Jisung hears himself start before he can even process the words.

Can I see your face?

Can I show you mine?

Can I tell you my name?

“Can you what?” Minho’s voice is soft, a calm lull, but Jisung can feel the slight tremor of his hand from its perch on his shoulders. The unease as he draws his hands back slowly, waiting for a question he’s too scared to answer.

Can you let me in?

Can you want someone you’ve never seen before?

Can you want me like I want you?

“Can I call you hyung?”

Minho’s shoulders relax, like he’s let go of a breath he’d been unconsciously holding. His body gaining back its constant thrum of energy, bouncing on his toes, unable to keep still like usual.

“Ohhh, is this about you sulking to Hyunjin?”

“Excuse me?”

“Been waiting for you to ask.”

“No, you haven't.”

“Yes, I have. And Jinnie may have mentioned it.”

“Why are you gossiping with him?”

“I mean…” Minho giggles. “You’re cute when you sulk.”

“I don’t sulk.”

“Okay, okay. So, you weren’t sulking last week by the bridge or yesterday after dumplings with Hyunjin, and you’re so not cute when you pout. So, let’s not yell at hyung, okay?”

Jisung physically restrains himself from A) reaching out and strangling Minho, and B) rapidly nodding his head like an overzealous puppy who’s just been given a treat.

“Okay, hyung.” Jisung beams beneath the mask.

The permission has suddenly made him hopeful, and Jisung uses it to dig for just a little more.

“Sooo, also… I wanted to know. Umm… Where do you go with Hyunjin? Or like, what are you guys doing?”

“Got some person–”

“Personal business, I know, hyung,” Jisung cuts him off. “But lately, you’re disappearing more than usual. I’m either passed off to Hyunjin, or you’re both gone.”

Minho has the decency to look somewhat guilty, but he evades the actual question with ease, refusing to elaborate. “What? You don’t like Hyuninnie? It’s okay. He’ll grow on you, a bit like a virus. He’s infectious once you get to know him.”

Still, Jisung rolls his eyes fondly, shaking his head.

“No. He’s fine. In not a virus way.” He laughs and looks down at his feet, knees knocking together. There must be disappointment radiating off his body because Minho takes a step closer.

“You miss me, Spidey?” It’s that teasing tone Minho loves to use, one that’s almost sickly sweet and sets Jisung’s nerves alight.

“Yes.”

The answer comes out instantly. Jisung’s never been so sure of an answer in his life.

Minho stills, and Jisung finds enough courage to look him in the eye, only to find Minho’s mask slowly blinking, almost like he’s still processing the single word. A series of rapid blinks follows in quick succession, and Minho is back in the present world. He breathes in, fingers clenched in a fist, and releases.

“Hyung misses you, too.”

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Jisung’s so stupid. So fucking stupid. Focusing on rescuing more people than Hyunjin, taking his focus off the enemy for one second, to do what? Prove he was better? Show off? Look what good it’s done now. What kind of hero even is he?

His skin burns, the slash across his neck stings; it's shallow, but it's in a place that meant if he had made one wrong move, he could be dead right now. He can’t tell if he’s imagining the blood that wells up, but it feels like he’s choking. The echoes of the explosion still ring in his ears. The scent of smoke fills the air. His escape into the dingy alley doesn’t feel like enough. It’s too open. He needs to get away, but his priorities as Spiderman cut through his panicking mind.

Did they get everyone out in time? Are there any casualties?

Jisung should be used to this. He’s fought enough bad guys before, stopped enough crimes, rescued enough people. Why is he freaking out?

Minho’s suddenly in his space, crowding him in.

“Did they hurt you? Fuck. Where does it hurt?”

Jisung tries to take a step back, overwhelmed, but his back hits the wall. His ears are still ringing, his skin feels too hot. The knife had come far too close for comfort, and he wasn’t even able to stop the bomb from going off. His breaths start to draw in quickly. Too quickly.

“Hey, hey. Spidey. Breathe with me.”

“The civilians–”

“They’re okay. Hyunjin got them out of the way. We got them out in time.”

“The– the man in the–”

“Subdued and out. Not dead, but out.”

“They tried to– to kill so many–”

It feels as if his lungs are caving in, stuttered breaths escaping past his lips in quick succession.

But Hyunjin has it covered. Hyunjin managed to get the people out that Jisung couldn’t. They would’ve died if Jisung hadn’t been so—

“I know, I know, but I need you to breathe, please.” Minho’s voice verges on desperate. Minho should never sound like that.

Jisung tries. He’s really trying to breathe, but his lungs aren’t cooperating, his body scorching, and his head feels dizzy. The sirens that close in, piercing through the ringing in his head.

“Can I touch you?”

Jisung nods. It's small, but any more would have him on the verge of passing out. He just hopes it’s enough for Minho.

“Okay, here.” Minho slowly lifts Jisung’s hand to his chest and takes a deep breath. “Follow your hyung, deep breath in. And out.” He continues to speak softly, guiding Jisung. “I won’t look. I’m closing my eyes. Please. Take your mask off and breathe with me.”

Jisung wants to shake him for a second, tell him he doesn’t have to close his eyes, to just rip the Band-Aid off and have Minho look at him, all of him. Small pathetic Jisung, struggling to breathe. Would he stay?

Jisung doesn’t find out, because Minho lifts Jisung’s mask just above his nose, nothing more.

He wishes Minho were selfish—to just take this chance—but he’s not. He’s nice, kind, and sweet, and wouldn’t do a thing to hurt him. He holds Jisung so tenderly, Jisung thinks he might just cry while he’s at it. His voice is smooth and calming, and—fuck, maybe Jisung’s got a concussion, he’s started daydreaming.

There’s a hand on his waist, comforting and warm. Solid. Minho. Jisung wishes he could have more of it. He feels greedy.

He wants to claw closer and push himself away.

Anxiety overwhelms him; he doesn’t feel like Spiderman. He feels small and weak. Like he’s Jisung. And Minho can’t see him. Not like this. Powerless and pathetic.

He tries to follow Minho’s breathing.

In. Hold. Out. Repeat.

But his mind can’t stay on one thought, constantly shifting, rocking back and forth with every decision. He might have a slight concussion.

It must show—small whimpers leaving his mouth at each breath in, a weak whine at each breath out—because Minho’s whispering soothing words in his ear, hands carefully holding onto his scorching body.

“I know it hurts, baby. It’s okay. You’ll be okay. Need to get you out of here.”

He can’t tell what happens next, just Minho’s voice in his ear, and he’s suddenly so close because there’s an arm behind his back and one under his knees, and the world tilts on its side. His cheek is pressed up against the rough material of a suit; it shouldn’t be as comforting as it is, but Jisung sinks into the embrace, nuzzling closer into the crook of Minho’s neck.

“You’re okay, bug.”

Minho’s voice is soft around the edges, soothing in his ear, pushing down the shrill ringing in his head. Jisung is in some sort of haze, but he still catches the new nickname Minho’s given him.

“Bug, that’s new.” Jisung hums softly, “I like it.”

“Oh.” Minho’s fingers press into the dip of his waist as he freezes for a second before he shakes his head. “Really… oh fuck, how dizzy are you right now?

“Just peachy. I'm your bug, hyung.”

He’s not exactly just peachy, but Jisung clings on tighter. Minho’s arms feel warm and comforting, like a weighted blanket pressing in on all sides, urging him to drift off into a peaceful slumber. He distantly hears Minho’s quiet hum of approval, just a little yeah, before he's being rudely awakened by–

“Hey, none of that! Wakey, wakey!” Minho’s voice is now slightly frantic, caught between yelling louder to wake him up and the instinct to speak softly to the boy in his arms. “Why don’t you tell me a story?”

Jisung’s mind scrambles for something, anything. He wants to do as Minho says, but all that comes to the forefront are Changbin’s tragic attempt at cooking last night, or the eighty-six percent he was somehow able to score on his last test despite waking up at four am to just start studying for it.

“My brother-in-law cooks really badly.” Jisung mumbles, rubbing his cheek into Minho’s shoulder. “Guess I can’t say anything cause I can’t cook for shit either.”

“Well, I can admit I’m a pretty decent cook. I’ll make you dinner sometime, yeah.”

“Oh, really? That’ll be nice.”

Minho hums. “Yeah, it will… Is there anything else?”

“I, uhh… I study biomedical engineering.”

“Oh, so you’re a smart little bug, aren’t you?”

Jisung nods, his head bumping into Minho’s jaw. “Yeah… I got eighty-six percent on my test.”

“The smartest little bug.”

Jisung wracks his brain for anything else. Maybe something interesting or cool. Jisung is smart, but he’s also cool. He swears. He wants Minho to see it too.

He pulls himself out of the crook of Minho’s neck, hoping to get a proper glimpse of the man holding him, taking them who knows where. He looks around, he doesn’t know where they are exactly, how far he’d taken them away from the site. Hyunjin wasn’t with them. Was he sorting out business with the police?

He needs to think of something else. The sky is blue, the sirens are distant, his skin burns. He looks down at himself, noticing how the explosion must have burned through some parts of his suit. He catches the black marks stark against his tan skin from a hole on his left side.

The words come out before he can even stop them. “I have a tattoo. It goes down my ribs and past my hip. It really hurt, but it was worth it.”

“A tattoo, damn. And I thought you couldn’t get any hotter?”

“I’ve got two.”

“Holy fuck, don’t say that. I can’t get hard right now.”

Jisung giggles.

“Don’t make me laugh, hyung.” A little whine escapes him. “It hurts.”

“Sorry, sorry. Just wanted to see you smile again.”

Jisung’s heart stutters, and he realises he must be grinning so wide. One of his full on gummy smiles in the shape of the heart, Felix had told him about before.

Jisung jostles in his hold as Minho pulls them up onto the fire escape, climbing up the side of some desolate building. He’s walking slower now, pace evening out now that they must be far enough away from the scene. The scene where Jisung should be, but the pounding in his head still makes itself known and the burns over his body ache still.

They make it to a quiet garden rooftop. Jisung doesn’t have it in him to question how Minho even found the place. He tucks them beside some rose bushes that have a surprising lack of flowers actually blooming and a patch of growing herbs. Minho helps Jisung sit up on his own, so they can face each other and he can search Jisung for more injuries. He looks over the tears and burns in his suit, and Jisung lets him fuss patiently.

Jisung can see it in the tension around his shoulders that Minho is just worried. Still worried. He can still smell burnt Kevlar and rubber in the air, or no, from himself, from Minho. He didn’t even check if Minho was hurt, either. Jisung examines Minho and spots a large tear on the right side of Minho’s suit that goes around to his back.

“Hey, you’re hurt too.”

“Nothing my good ol’ regenerative abilities can’t solve.”

Jisung looks at Minho’s fiddling hands and sees another wound on his palm. Jisung reaches for Minho’s utility belt.

“Whoa! Handsy there, Spidey.”

Jisung pouts. “Not like thatttt. Band-Aid.”

Minho’s mask looks as if it raises its figurative eyebrows in shock. “What? Where does it hurt?” He pulls out the package of plasters in an instant, and Jisung snatches it out of his hands, albeit with less accuracy than he would like to admit.

Jisung pulls out one with a funny-looking fish on it, and grabs Minho’s wrist, this time with a firm grip, and Minho realises just what Jisung’s plan is. He slowly tries to pull his hand back.

“Hey, it’s okay. The cut’s all healed, don’t worry about me.”

“I always worry about you. Now, let me put a Band-Aid on it.”

“Please. You don’t need to waste–”

“For me then, hyung.”

Jisung tries to use his tactic of big eyes and a pout, but unfortunately it’s only fifty percent effective considering the mask blocking half his face.

Nonetheless, Minho only stares at him for three seconds, before conceding, allowing Jisung to pull his hand back, and carefully peel off his glove. Dried blood staining the edges of the tear in the middle.

“For you,” Minho says softly.

“Jisung.”

Minho stills, like the simple word has pressed pause on his body.

“You… You can call me Jisung. For me. Jisung.”

“Jisung.”

Minho says his name like he’s testing out each syllable. He says his name with a softness Jisung thought was only held for his cats. He says his name and Jisung’s addicted to the sound of it off Minho’s tongue.

Jisung shivers, and if he wasn’t already seated on the ground, he thinks his knees might have buckled and collapsed on him. Jisung’s throat goes dry and he nods.

“Jisung or bug. Those are… those are nice.”

“Precious Jisungie. You are the cutest bug ever.”

Jisung smiles again, the golden glow of the sunset in the distance casting Minho in a beautiful light, bright red mask and all. He wants to just take off his own mask. Show Minho everything. He’ll do it soon. He swears.

He wants to reach for Minho again. That with the exhaustion that starts to seep into his bones. Exhaustion from the day, from everything he’s pushed his body through, from the sleep he hasn’t been getting. His body starts to feel lethargic over the dull ache. And Jisung lets himself fall back into Minho, leaning against his chest and Minho accepts his presence easily.

With a careful arm back around him, and the steady beating of his heart against Jisung’s back. It feels nice. The fatigue and comfort has him on the verge of falling asleep in Minho’s arms. He’s too tired to be embarrassed about it, and he lets himself revel in the feeling, sinking even further into the safe space of Minho’s embrace.

Minho must sense it as he soothingly runs a hand up and down his side. “You must’ve been running low on energy, you need to get your sleep in, silly bug. It’s important. You better find a good rock to sleep under tonight okay. But for now a little nap will be nice. I’ll watch over you. Just rest a little before you need to swing home, okay.”

Jisung closes his eyes, drowsiness nestling within him in seconds.

He doesn’t know how long he lays in Minho’s arms, but it’s dark when his body comes back to him. But the darkness isn’t what makes him freeze. It isn’t what forces him to continue evenly pushing each breath in and out as if he hasn’t awoken.

It’s the voices.

Hyunjin’s voice—hissed under his breath.

Minho’s voice—hushed and short.

Almost like they’re both holding in the urge to shout.

“Minho, just wake him up.”

“He’s hurt and tired. He can’t swing back home like this.”

Jisung is half awake, catching onto strings of words, but they’re talking about him. That much he can grasp in his half-dazed and tired state.

“He’ll be fine.”

“I can’t leave him here.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. He’ll survive. Take him home on the way if it’s really that important, but you can’t stop delaying this. We’re not gonna get another chance like this anytime soon–”

“I know,” Minho snaps.

“Then act like it. After all this time, this is our best chance, and you’re going to let him get away because of some hero you idolise. Get with it, Minho. I sorted out the mess with the police, for you—for him. Whatever. But this. This is for us. And you know they’re not gonna stay there for long. So you need to get your head out of your ass and fix your priorities. We’re not real heroes.”

Minho is trembling; in anger, frustration, something else Jisung’s hazy mind can’t quite place, but he can feel the way Minho’s voice rattles against his chest.

“No, I know how important this is. Do you really think I don’t know? After what I’ve been through.”

“Exactly, out of the two of us, I thought you’d know better. Do you know how fucking long it’s taken us to track him? He’ll be gone if we waste any more time–”

“I can’t– I won’t leave him.”

Hyunjin curses under his breath and lets out a deep sigh. “You know where to meet me. Don’t complain when this takes longer than planned because you can’t get your priorities straight.” Hyunjin’s voice fades away, and a bright light fills Jisung’s vision despite his closed eyes. Hyunjin likely set himself alight to fly away, but it’s his last words that make Jisung feel like a flashbang has been thrown his way. “What do you even think he’s going to do when he finds out?”

Jisung squeezes his eyes shut harder. Maybe he’s dreaming. This is some uncomfortable nightmare. But he can feel the way Minho’s chest rises and falls, feel the twitch of his fingers by his waist—and it all feels real.

What is Minho hiding from him?

“He doesn’t need to know.” Minho moves in closer, pressing his cheek to the crown of Jisung’s head. “You don’t need to know, bug.”

Jisung continues to breathe evenly, willing his breath not to catch, his heart not to stutter. And Minho sighs, hand tracing shapes into his bicep.

Jisung doesn’t need to know, so he doesn’t open his eyes.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Jisung can’t stop thinking about it. The day after. Three days later. A week more. Nearly two.

And suddenly out of the blue, Minho and Hyunjin disappear without a word sent Jisung’s way. Day after day of neither of them showing up, a week passes and Jisung doesn’t know if they’re dead or alive. At least in Hyunjin’s part. Maybe Minho found a way out of his powers, and got too reckless. Maybe Jisung just doesn’t want to admit that he might have left him on purpose.

They had acted normal enough in the days after. Hyunjin was tense, more snappy than usual, but Jisung could deal with that. Minho still cooed at him, teased him, but he got quieter more often, like he was deep in thought.

Maybe Jisung should’ve said something. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so scared. Of the backlash, of the secrets, of the truth.

Jisung finds Minho nine days later. An anonymous report through the tip line. Violence and shouting by the docks down in Incheon. Suspected drug activity. Gunshots fired.

Minho’s demeanour is nothing like Jisung’s ever witnessed before. His body is rigid and taut, then, in the blink of the eye his mass curves downward, almost like some beautiful yet deadly dance. He brings the katana down, likely slicing through another tendon, judging by the anguished scream that comes from the bloody and bruised man at his feet.

How could Jisung forget how deadly this man is. So used to the funny jokes that he forgets Minho knows how to cut down men twice his size in a second. Knows what points to leave a target paralysed, the best way to inflict the most pain, the exact artery to cut to kill a man in less than a second.

It’s like a whole other person is standing right in front of him

This isn’t Minho.

This isn’t his Minho.

“What the fuck are you doing?! Stop!”

But it’s like he never even spoke a word, Minho’s movements undisturbed. Like he hadn’t even heard him through the bloodlust.

Jisung gathers to his senses the second Minho pulls the gun out, and Jisung automatically shoots out a web to grab it from Minho’s hand.

“Minho. Enough!”

Minho’s shoulders tense, jolting up at the sound of his name. Jisung watches as he tilts his head down, whispering something to the man below, quiet enough that Jisung can’t hear and then he looks to the side, where Hyunjin, slinks out, dragging another man through the blood and gore that litter the concrete floor.

So Hyunjin’s here, too. Of course he is.

“You said you stopped,” Jisung manages to choke out.

“I said that I’d try.”

“This isn’t trying.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then make me understand.”

“What is there to even say?”

Jisung tries to ignore the mutilated bodies that litter the floor. There’s more red than grey covering the floor. Blood, body parts, insides and outsides. All these people. Bad people. People who probably deserved it. Nothing but body parts now.

Jisung holds in the urge to throw up. He wants to joke back. This is just Deadpool banter. This is just Deadpool’s job. Minho’s job. It’s never been this bad before. But he’s also never seen the insides of someone’s head mixed with the insides of someone else’s guts before.

“Get out of the way, Jisung.”

It feels like he’s been backhanded, his name said with such contempt. So different from the way he’d said it last, with such tenderness, Jisung could’ve cried. It must be some kind of front, it’s not him.

“This isn’t who you are.”

“Is it not?” Minho’s voice is low and staggered, like a facade Jisung’s not supposed to see, and he still has his back to him.

“Why won’t you look at me, then?”

After a beat, Minho finally turns, voice cold, mask expressionless. “You need to leave. You don’t belong here. We don’t work together.”

“What are you saying? Min… this isn’t you.”

“Don’t be foolish.”

“I wanted to show myself to you.” Jisung’s voice cracks, and he holds back the hiccup lodged in his throat.

“Such a naive thought.”

“Minho.”

“I said leave, Jisung. I’m not fucking around.”

“No.”

“Jisung.” Minho groans and throws the katana to the ground, huffing in exasperation. “This isn’t some fantasy. I have things I need to do. Things that don’t involve you. Whatever you thought, it isn’t true.”

“You’re lying. You cared a week ago.”

“It was all fake.”

“You wouldn’t–”

“And how would you know? You don’t know me and I don’t know you.”

“But– I believed you. What changed? You– you made me fall– think that you were better, that you- you weren’t just a—”

“Weren’t what, Jisung?”

Minho’s voice cuts through him, harsh, curt—no sweet musing, no playful lilt in his tone. No teasing nickname, Jisung wishes he’d call him just to pretend one second longer. His mouth is dry, his tongue feels heavy, he can’t shape the words needed to express–

“A cold-blooded killer?”

“I–”

“The merc with a mouth. Weapon XI. The unkillable assassin. What else did you expect me to be?” Even through the mask, Jisung can feel the piercing stare that burns straight through him.

“I know, but–” Jisung heaves a breath, barely holding in the bile that churns in his stomach. “You can’t fucking tell what body part is what… they–they’re unrecognisable. They’re not human anymore… How could you–”

“They were never human to begin with.”

“They’re people–”

“They’re fucking despicable and deserve to burn a thousand times over, and it would never be enough!” Minho shouts—he never shouts, not at Jisung, not like this—each syllable painfully torn from his throat.

Silence settles like a heavy blanket of snow.

“Minho,” Jisung whispers.

“I don’t need a lecture.”

“I wasn’t–”

“Do I scare you?”

The crash of the waves upon the docks, the seagulls that circle above caw, the squelch of blood under his feet echo in his ears, but Jisung remains silent. And it’s enough.

“Yeah.” Minho’s voice is quiet, resigned in a way Jisung has never heard before. Minho turns back towards the port, stepping over the man gurgling on his own blood before he slumps over silent. He stops for a moment, gesturing to the dead man. “Hyunjin, take him to the back. Leave a message. We’ll need another way to find him.”

Jisung clenches his fist before he can do something brash like call him back. To tell him he didn’t mean it. But he did, didn’t he?

The police sirens echo in the distance, and Hyunjin glares at him, eyes so cold for someone who burns hot. “Go if you know what’s best for you.”

Jisung leaves, ignoring the suffocating weight on his chest, confused on why the hurt that flashed upon Minho’s mask devastates him more than the thought of all of the carnage.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Chapter Text

Jisung waits for Minho at their spot.

He gazes out at the city skyline, his legs dangling off the side of the building, waiting as the birds fly past and the cars below drive by.

Jisung has forgotten what it’s like without Minho’s high-pitched cackling when Jisung cracks a joke back at him.

But he can’t stay forever.

Civilians in need, petty crimes to be stopped. Jisung has a responsibility, and it’s not to brood alone. It’s of no benefit to anyone but his selfish heart.

He patrols the streets, swinging through different parts of town. But he comes back. Hoping maybe Minho’s just late—that he’ll be there with a bag of take-out in hand and a sheepish look on his mask to tell Jisung he’s sorry. And Jisung will rush over and hug him, promising that everything will be okay. They could lean against each other, letting the buzz of the police scanner fill the comfortable silence.

Hope can be a fickle thing.

Minho doesn’t come.

Maybe tomorrow.

It’s a normal Wednesday afternoon.

Minho still hasn't come.

Jisung wishes it didn’t bother him as much as it does. He’s the one who walked away. The one who left him alone, stranded in a sea of red—a sea of bodies.

Jisung shivers. He stands, stretching his sore limbs, lifting himself onto his tiptoes. His bones creak, and Jisung waits for a joke about his age that never comes.

It’s Thursday. He sits there waiting for longer than he should. Forty-seven minutes too long. He blames it on the fact that the police scanner continues to hum quietly in his ear, and not the deafening silence of the rooftop.

Friday comes and goes. There’s a cat stuck in a tree. Jisung wonders where Soonie’s been.

There’s no quip about how it's the weekend, but Felix comes over. Jisung flashes a smile, and Felix flashes him an unreadable look. Maybe it’s because of the bruise painting his jaw an ugly shade of purple. It still doesn’t feel fair.

Sunday. Jisung hums a tune of a song he can’t remember the title of. Maybe he should ask Minho next time he comes. If he even comes round again.

A bank robbery on a busy Monday morning. Some small-time criminals with nefarious dreams of making it big. Jisung makes easy work of them.

Tuesday. It’s been a week. He lies in bed, listening to songs that make his irrational heart ache. Is it stupid to miss someone this much?

Wednesday. It’s quiet again, boring—was it always this boring?

Thursday. Jisung’s essay is due in six days. He brings his laptop to the rooftop. Better use of his time waiting around, even if all his brain draws is a blank.

The stars seem to burn bright on Friday. Jisung isn’t out to watch them. Revelling in the darkness of his room. Though the comforter doesn’t provide much comfort. The weight is heavy against his chest. He wonders what Minho’s doing right now. He’s too scared to look. Afraid to follow another trail of blood. Has Minho always been like this?

Yes.

What’s new then?

Ignorance was bliss.

Jisung had never seen the insides of someone's brain spilt across the concrete before. Never seen so much blood that he was sure it would stain the ground for months. Never seen Minho so numb.

The job of a mercenary. Jisung shouldn’t have been so surprised.

Why does it hurt?

Saturday rolls around again. For some reason, Atomic Kitten is on the radio. What station is even playing this shit? What right does the song have to be stuck in his head again?

Sunday. Monday. Tuesday. Seungmin calls.

“Tell me you’ve already submitted it.”

Jisung’s silence speaks louder than words.

“Do I need to come over?” Seungmin continues.

“What does an egg do after it tells a joke?”

“Jisung–”

“It cracks up.”

Seungmin doesn’t laugh. “You’re fucked.”

“He would’ve laughed.”

“You’re fucked.”

Yeah. Probably.

“He kills people,” Jisung adds fuel to the fire.

“Like I said. Fucked with a capital F-U-C-K-E-D.”

“That’s all the letters.”

“No shit,” Seungmin deadpans once again.

Jisung huffs and kicks off the comforter. “It’s only bad people, though.”

“Well, I guess there’s always a bright side to everything.”

“Seungmin… It’s been two weeks. What if he hates me?”

“He’s probably thinking the same thing about you. If not worse.”

“But I’m not–”

“Does he know that?”

Jisung pulls his knees up, curling around himself, face pressed into the pillow. “How am I supposed to tell him when he doesn’t even show up?”

“Give him time. He’s human, too. He needs to process whatever mess you’ve both left yourselves in.”

Jisung lets the silence settle, phone tucked between his shoulder and cheek, like maybe Seungmin could run away, too. The curtains rustle from the late-night breeze, moonlight slipping through the cracks, but that too provides little comfort.

“What if we’re just too different?” Jisung whispers.

“Jisung. You’ve barely told me anything about the guy, and then you show up at my doorstep in tears. He’s the fucker who’s gonna have to watch out ‘cause imma be the one to test his unkillable status the second I get a gun off the black market.”

Jisung scoffs, a weak laugh escaping. “Shut up.”

“I will. I swear, I will.” A pause. “But I’d also be blind if I said I couldn’t see how happy he’s made you these past months. There’s something there, whatever there is. Weirdo serial killer and all.”

“He’s not a serial killer, you idiot.”

“Semantics. Murderer of only bad guys. You still like him.” Seungmin sighs. “What you need to ask yourself is, are those differences worth it? Is he worth it?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t it go against everything I’m supposed to stand for?”

“It never stopped you before.”

“I never let myself think about it for long enough.”

“Well, now is the time, isn’t it?”

Jisung stretches out on the bed, turning over to stare up at the ceiling. The darkness feels welcoming for once.

“It feels like I’m being haunted by a ghost.”

“Well, I’m coming over. I’ll bark at it till it goes away.”

Jisung sits up suddenly, nearly choking on his own spit. ”No- no. Bark, what? I mean… Seung– you don’t…” He lets out a breath. “You don’t have to. It’s late. Aren’t you supposed to be at Felix’s right now?”

Nothing but silence leaves the speakers for a moment.

“Fine. And yes, I am. Lix is in the shower right now. But I’m coming over tomorrow. No arguments, and we’re finishing that essay.”

“Okayyy.” Jisung accepts. “If you say so. Can’t stop a rabid dog.”

“I will bite your leg,” Seungmin says, and Jisung can feel his eye roll through the phone. “Whatever. I’ll see you tomorrow, hyung.”

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Seungmin keeps his word.

Two weeks and a day after Minho disappeared, Seungmin knocks on his door and barges into his apartment, laptop and three textbooks under his arm.

“It’s way too early, God, Seungminnie.” Jisung rubs the sleep from his eyes, weakly holding the door open for him to walk through. “Where’d you even get those?”

“Irrelevant right now.”

Seungmin walks straight into his room and shoves all of Jisung’s miscellaneous papers into a pile in the corner. He then grabs Jisung’s laptop from his bed and places it on his desk next to his own, along with the textbooks.

Jisung crosses his legs, sitting at the edge of his bed, watching as Seungmin makes himself at home on Jisung’s desk chair. Seungmin quickly boots up his laptop and then quickly opens up Jisung’s, too.

“What the fuck? How’d you know my password?”

“Dude, I’ve known you since we were eleven. The dumbest genius I’ve ever known.” Seungmin gestures vaguely at him. “I know you, the fat crush you’ve had on Howl for over a decade, and the fact that you’re too lazy to change up your passwords.”

“Okayyy. You didn’t have to go there. But that doesn’t explain–”

“You’re also sentimental as fuck. Of course, you’d make it Chan’s birthday.”

Jisung furrows his brows, walking over to the desk. “Don’t you dare tell him.”

“My lips are sealed.” Seungmin follows it up with a zipping gesture in front of his lips. “Now, let’s see how much you have left.”

It’s late in the afternoon when they finally click submit, and Jisung flops back against his bed, his back sore from hunching over the laptop for so long.

“I owe you one, Seungminnie. The next round’s on me.” Jisung stretches out, his shirt riding up.

“I’ll write it up on my fridge.”

“Ugh.” Jisung kicks his leg out in an attempt to hit him, but ungracefully misses. “Stop listing my promises on your fridge.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I do keep them,” Jisung whines. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”

Seungmin chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. You practically did it on your own anyway. I was just moral and mental support.”

“You flatter me.”

“Take what you can.”

“Rest assured, I’m writing this on my gravestone.”

“At least choose a nicer one.”

“Then be nice to me!”

“I am nice to you, dummy.”

Jisung side-eyes him, sticking out his bottom lip.

Seungmin doesn’t even look back at him. “Don’t even try, Han Jisung.”

“Ugh, fineeeee. You are nice.” Jisung continues softer, “thanks for coming over.”

Seungmin nods, slowly making his way over to the bed. He sits by Jisung’s side, and they stay in comfortable silence for a while.

Time ticks slowly, and Jisung turns his head to watch Seungmin’s profile. He gives nothing away, breathing normally, face passive, and Jisung wishes he had the power to read minds just to figure out what the fuck goes on in there. Everything is probably organised into manic boxes with ultra-specific labels on them. It probably looks like some of the meticulously arranged med school cupboards Jisung’s had a peek at.

He wonders if there’s a box just for Jisung. Maybe there’s more than one. Categorised into The Stupid Things Han Jisung Does, another for The Stress Han Jisung and His Double Life Gives Me, and maybe one more for Memories with My Childhood Best Friend <3.

Jisung hopes Seungmin keeps the heart for the last one.

He closes his eyes, focusing his breathing—each breath in and out, lining it up with Seungmin’s breathing pattern. It’s comforting.

He feels the bed move as Seungmin stands up and walks to the other side of the room. He opens his eyes and sits up slightly, leaning back on his elbows, watching the other curiously as he rummages through his bag on the floor.

Seungmin stands back up, something in his hands now, and finally breaks the silence.

“Jisung, you know we love you.” Jisung stills at the words. “Felix is worried, too. Because nothing ever truly gets past him, huh.” Seungmin smiles at him, slightly sad but entirely fond. “And we don’t know how to stop the spiralling and the overwhelming feelings, but I hope you know that we’re here.”

Jisung looks back down at the item in Seungmin's hands. Whatever it is, it's wrapped up in green sparkly wrapping paper, topped with a baby pink bow.

Tears threaten to swallow up his vision, and he bites his lip to hold in any embarrassing sounds that may come out. So much sickly sweet fondness fills his lungs, Jisung thinks he might choke on it.

Oh God, he loves his friends so much. What has he done to deserve them?

The present is pushed into Jisung’s hands, and he traces the bow with his fingertip. It’s light, but not too light, definitely some kind of book, from the shape and size.

“Open this later, okay. It’s a gift from Lixie.” Senungmin says, pulling Jisung up from the bed and to his feet.

“Why not now–?”

“‘Cause you’re busy, and you need to get ready.”

“Huh?”

Jisung should’ve known that Seungmin wasn’t done with him.

“Jisung. You’re going to see your brothers.” Seungmin raises a hand to silence him before he can interrupt. “And shush. I know you love me, and I know you love Felix. But you need it. You’re smothering yourself in self-pity.” Seungmin puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “And I’m not saying I don’t get it, even though I still have a lot of questions. But you need a little happiness right now. And… and I know they can give you that, okay. So, you’re gonna go. Okay. I already told them that you said you’d be coming over for dinner. Now go shower, you stink.”

“What–”

Seungmin uses the arm already on Jisung’s shoulder and manoeuvres him in the direction of his bathroom, shoving him inside and closing the door before he can even respond.

“Have fun, they’re expecting you at six!”

When Jisung comes out of the bathroom, hair damp and a towel around his waist, Seungmin is gone.

There, placed neatly on his bed, is one of Jisung’s favourite sweaters. It’s comfy and slightly oversized, with blue and brown stripes, and a gift from Felix two years ago. It lies there next to a pair of wide-leg black pants to match and a pair of loose boxers.

Jisung smiles and hums under his breath—feeling just a little bit lighter than he had been for weeks.

He changes quickly, running the towel through his messy hair and placing it on his shoulders. He spots the gift from Felix, now carefully placed on his desk. Jisung checks the time: four forty-six. He’s got some time, his fingers itching to open and find out what’s inside.

He picks it up, noticing that a card is tucked just below the ribbon. Carefully undoing the ribbon, he slides the card out and opens it up.

Inside is a letter written in what Jisung knows is Felix’s prettiest handwriting, so different to the messy scrawl he’s seen all over his building blueprints and models from all his architecture projects.

Hi Sungie,

No special occasion, but I have a little gift for you.

You’ve seemed down for a while, and it hurts so much to see you deal with it alone. I couldn’t help but notice the playlists you’ve made and the songs you’re listening to.

I don’t want to push, and I know sometimes you need your space, but I saw this in the store, and it reminded me of you. Then I thought that maybe if you can’t speak about it right now, writing out your feelings might help. Just to help you get out the feelings trapped inside.

Love you!!

Felix xoxo

Jisung runs his thumb over Felix’s signed name, whispering a quiet, Love you, too to the card.

He places the card down and picks up the gift, tearing the wrapping off with ease.

It looks expensive, is the first thing that comes to mind, thick dark leather with a small engraved cute alien in a UFO in the bottom corner. Jisung flips it open to find that it’s not just any book. The pages are empty—a journal. He smooths a hand over the pages, feeling the texture beneath his fingertips. The paper is heavy and thick, good-quality.

Jisung sits back in his chair, pushing his legs up to wrap his hands around his knees. Write his feelings. Simple. So simple yet Jisung doesn’t know where to start with the bubbling pot of emotions filling up his chest. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in, holding it for a moment and breathes out. He does so again, once more and opens his eyes again.

The journal lies open on his desk, its pages blank, waiting for Jisung to lift the pen.

Dear Minho,

You’ve left me lost on most days. I’m here, wandering the same path, but there’s an invisible ghost haunting my every move. Like maybe if I could just see you, I would know what to do again.

Maybe writing to you will help me release the misery within my chest. To lighten the load so that each step doesn’t feel as heavy without you by my side.

Some days, I wish I could hate you. It would be so much easier to hate you.

But I can’t.

My heart won’t let me.

Maybe I don’t truly know you, but my heart knows enough already.

I sit in my room at night and think and think and think, yet I’m still confused.

How is it possible to be so conflicted? I don’t even understand all these feelings in my chest, but all I know is that I miss you.

I wanted to show myself to you. I really did.

I still do.

Isn’t that crazy?

Love Jisung

When he signs off his name, something feels off. He rereads it. Love, love, love. Was it too strong a word?

Love Jisung

Jisung didn’t think it through when the word left his pen; he didn’t have time to overthink. But now he looks and stares at the word. Eyeing each letter of such a simple but powerful four-letter word. He thinks again and again.

He crosses it out.

Love Jisung From Jisung

He lets out a deep breath, looking over the rest of his messy words, waiting for the tightness in his chest to cease. It doesn’t—but it doesn’t feel bad either.

He reads it over one last time and cringes.

God, how pathetic does he sound? Yet, he can’t find it in himself to take back any of the words, despite it.

A letter unsent, hidden within the pages of his journal. Never to see the light of day.

He shakes his head, snaps the book shut, quickly shoving it into his bag along with his keys and an extra pair of earphones and walks out the door.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

“Sung-ah, all you had to do was cut the veggies.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have trusted me with them!”

Chan shakes his head. “Well, it’s not like I was gonna give them to Binnie after he nearly sliced his thumb off.” He pauses, turning towards Changbin, who’s been left on dish duty.

Changbin is purposely pretending not to hear them, but Jisung can see the way his knee fidgets, and the twitch of his neck that he attempts to play off as a stretch by jerking his head to each side.

Jisung looks back at Chan only to find him already grinning at him, one brow raised with a mischievous look on his face. Chan picks up a leftover slice of rice cake and throws it at an unsuspecting Changbin.

It hits bullseye, directly on the top of Changbin’s head.

Changbin jumps like he’d been shot, yelling. “Yah!” He spins around, eyes narrowed and darting between the brothers, an attempt to figure out the perpetrator.

Chan laughs, full and loud, his head tipping back, and Jisung dissolves into giggles by his side, slapping his thigh as if it were the funniest joke in the world. And maybe it was at that moment, because Jisung had almost forgotten what the sound of his own laughter sounded like.

The mixture in the pot bubbles loudly, instantly bringing Jisung and Chan’s attention back onto the likely overfilled pot of rosé tteokbokki.

Jisung ducks behind Chan. “I swear tteokbokki isn’t supposed to be this hard to make. Why is it spitting at us?”

“I–I dunno.” Chan sounds just as frantic as Jisung, and it does nothing to calm the panic over the bubbling mixture.

“I think you’ve fucked it, hyung. This is a mess.”

“Sungie, I’m decent enough at cooking… I think, yeah. So shush.”

Jisung pushes down the thoughts of that oh so familiar voice.

“I can admit I’m a pretty decent cook.”

Not like Chan or Changbin.

“I’ll make you dinner sometime, yeah.”

Just like Chan is attempting to do right now, he doesn’t need Minho’s cooking when he’s got Chan. Yeah. This is all he needs, Jisung tries to convince himself.

“You see, this is karma.” Changbin wags his finger, like a lecturing parent. “It knows what you’ve done.”

The solution appears to be simply covering it up. With a single pot lid, all their problems disappear. Chan had said it needed a couple more minutes, then instantly turned his focus to making himself a drink instead. He also clearly ignored the clear disapproving expression Jisung shot his way. If his rice cakes turn out mushy because Chan overcooked them, Jisung’s going to riot.

Jisung leans against Chan’s back, pressing all his weight onto him like an annoying child—though what can be said for the actions of a younger sibling, annoying Chan was part of Jisung’s job—whining about how long he was taking to make his tea.

“Since when do you even drink tea?”

“Since I’ve tried cutting back on caffeine.” Chan fires back, casually hip-checking Jisung to the side as he moves further down the counter to grab some sweetener.

Jisung huffs and spins around to glare at Chan. How dare he hip-check him like that? He’s gonna so get it—

His attempt to pounce at Chan—which he realises now would’ve been a horrible idea considering the steaming hot mug of water in his hand—is stopped by a muscled arm wrapping around his waist, and suddenly Jisung is being thrown over someone’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Hey! What– hyunggg!”

It’s Changbin who has managed to somehow sneak up on him and ungracefully dumps Jisung onto the sofa.

“It’s gonna be our turn to be in charge of cooking in the kitchen soon, so stop harassing your brother. He’s the one who’s gonna be teaching us.”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “C’mon, as if he can cook much better.”

Changbin raises an eyebrow, giving Jisung a poignant look.

“Okay, okay.” Jisung relents after a second, whispering, “He can cook much better than us, but that doesn’t mean he’s good.”

Unfortunately for Jisung, Chan’s old age hasn’t caught up with him yet, as he yells, “I can still hear you! I will make sure your food is mush!”

“Maybe you're the one who needs it all mushy for your ancient teeth and bones!” Jisung retaliates.

“Says the one who needs it as mush ‘cause he’s just a baby!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

Changbin winces, muttering under his breath, “And I get told I’m the loud one.” He pushes Jisung back against the cushions, taking a seat next to him, and shouts at Chan, “Yeobo, stop yelling at the child and come here.”

Chan chuckles, shaking his head fondly, and grabs the second mug of tea for Changbin, walking over the couch in three quick strides.

“You’re drinking it, too?”

“Gotta support your spouse, ay?”

“Whatever.” Jisung curls his legs up underneath his body and mutters, “Relationships are overrated.”

“Yah, pabo.” Changbin playfully nudges his shoulder and leans forward to blow carefully at the steaming cup, slowly taking a sip.

Chan snorts before rapidly devolving into snickers.

“What?” Jisung whines.

“Mr Romantic thinks love is overrated.” Chan swoons dramatically, and Jisung is worried that he might end up spilling hot tea all over himself.

“Hey, no one said anything about love.”

“Well, I’d hope you’d eventually love whoever you’re in a relationship with, Sung-ah.”

Jisung looks down and folds his hands over his chest, curling even more into himself, you’d think he was cosplaying as a pretzel. “Maybe romance just isn’t for me…” He pauses for a second, then snaps his head back towards Chan. “And what d’you mean by Romantic?”

“Don’t even pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Chan attempts to hide his giggles behind his hand. Jisung finds that it’s rather unsuccessful. “I’ve caught you reading and watching enough manga and k-dramas to know what sappy love stories you’re into. Let alone the emo music you used to blast on the highest volume in your room.”

Jisung unravels enough to launch a couch pillow at Chan’s face the moment he sees the hot mug full of tea is out of firing range. Chan is only lucky that Changbin is apparently built like a wall, as he blocks the shot instantly, grabbing it the second it leaves Jisung’s hand.

“Ugh. You’re no fun.” Jisung flicks his head back up to glare at the ceiling instead.

Changbin leans in close, an arm around his shoulders, and he pulls him even closer. Smushed together in the corner of the sofa, Chan watching fondly from the side.

“Ahh, Jisungie, what’s up? You’re snappier than usual today,” Changbin coos.

Jisung groans, tilting his head back onto Changbin’s arm. “Nothinggggg… Guess I just haven’t been getting enough sleep,” he mumbles and rubs his eyes as if to emphasise his point.

When he opens his them, he spots Chan watching him with an inquisitive look, and Jisung can tell immediately that he sees right through him, but he’s holding back from digging in further.

Chan shakes his head instead, playfully teasing, “You need to sleep at a normal time, silly.” Chan glances up at the clock on the wall. “We have some time for a little show though, whilst we eat, yeah? An episode or two only. Can’t let you stay up too late.” He nods to himself, shaking his finger and adds, “And you need to eat well, you can’t keep living off convenience store kimbap, and don’t even try to deny it. I just know.” He raises an eyebrow, a funny look on his face like he’s trying to make Jisung laugh.

“Yah, how do you know?” Jisung narrows his eyes. “You’re being overprotective, hyunggg,” he whines, dragging out the last syllable again.

“Of course, I worry, Jisung-ah. I love you.” Chan smiles sadly. “That means I worry if you’re healthy, safe, and happy. Even if there are things I know I can’t control, and I know that I trust you, I can’t help but worry. You’re my baby.” He gets up and leans over to gently squeeze Jisung’s cheek between his fingers. “I’ll love you forever.”

Jisung purses his lips, sinking down into the couch as he listens to Chan, and feigns annoyance when he pinches his cheek—swatting him away with a huff, like an annoying pest full of too much love. He tries to hide the smile that crawls to the surface as Chan’s words fill the lonely cavity in his heart, a warmth settling over him.

He looks back at Chan, who’s quickly settling back into his seat, and Jisung finally gives him a small smile back before focusing on Changbin, uncharacteristically silent at his side.

He side-eyes him and attempts to lighten the earnest mood that’s suddenly filled the room. “Where’s my love you?” He whines as obnoxiously as he can.

Changbin snorts and swiftly manhandles Jisung into a headlock, ruffling his hair and tickling his sides. “I. Love. You. Too.” He emphasises each word with a poke and prod at his squirming form.

“Hey!” Jisung yelps. “This isn’t the love I asked for!” He spits out harmless insults through stuttered laughter, soon begging Changbin to cease his attack.

“This is exactly what you asked for,” Changbin says, but relents from his onslaught.

Jisung heaves and tries to catch his breath once he’s freed, flopping down onto the other side of the couch. The room fills with the sound of Chan’s hushed giggles and Jisung’s panting, only to be interrupted by the timer on Chan’s phone buzzing on the table.

“Shit.” Chan jumps up. “The tteokbokki!” He rushes back to the kitchen, and Jisung decides to be useful for once, following behind him.

Time passes quickly, with bellies full, comfortable on the couch, binge-watching too many episodes of Spy x Family after a lot of convincing on Chan and Jisung’s part. It’s only when Jisung yawns, stretching out from his position tucked into Changbin’s side, that they finally check the time. Chan immediately insisting that Jisung stay the night.

“You’re not going home now, silly. It’s late. The guest room is ready anyway, don’t worry.” He musses up Jisung’s hair fondly and drags Jisung up and off the couch.

And who is to deny Chan when Jisung has finally felt a lightness in his body for the first time in so long? And maybe he’s too scared to sink back into the isolation of his dark room if he were to go back alone.

Jisung changes into one of Chan’s spare shirts and loose basketball shorts. He idly shuffles through his bag, looking for his earphones, only to pick up the journal stuffed at the bottom. He sits on the edge of the bed, flipping through the empty pages and lets it fall onto the second page. He stares at the blank-lined paper, the pages glowing from the bright light of the bedside lamp, quickly picking up a pen before he can stop himself.

Dear Minho,

You still owe me a meal. A cooked one that is. I still remember that.

From Jisung

There’s a knock on his door, and Jisung jumps, closing the journal quickly and pushing it behind him.

“It’s me, Jisungie.” Chan’s voice comes from behind the door.

“I’m not naked, you can come in.”

Chan peeks his head around the door, looking a lot like a floating head, much to Jisung’s amusement.

“Hi there.” He makes his way inside, carefully closing the door behind him and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I know I said you need to sleep early, but I guess we got a bit invested in Anya’s hijinks, yeah.” He chuckles, slowly walking up to sit by Jisung on the edge of the bed. “Soooo…”

“Soooo?” Jisung looks down at his socked feet, wiggling them anxiously.

Chan mimics his movements before softly knocking his foot against his. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Jisung isn’t sure if he wants to talk about it, but this is Chan, and maybe his brother knows him better than he knows himself—well, apart from certain superhero-related things.

“I dunno.” He kicks Chan’s foot back. “I don’t know how I’m feeling, really.”

Chan hums. “Well… does this have something to do with… ya know… relationships are overrated.” He air quotes at Jisung’s words from earlier. “Do I need to beat anyone up?” He gently bumps Jisung’s shoulder, smiling softly, but Jisung doesn’t doubt that Chan would resort to such methods if he found out something bad had happened to his little brother.

“No one.”

“You sure?”

Jisung winces and sighs. “I’m not… I’m not seeing anyone.”

“But do you want to be?”

Jisung shrugs.

“Was this person the reason you’ve been happier for a while… or– well… until very recently.” Chan pauses. “Did something happen with them?”

“We… umm.” Jisung clears his throat, “I– we. We fought, I guess. And I didn’t really get to explain how I was feeling… it was my fault, I guess.” He lets out a little sniffle before he can stop himself. “But– but I just. I just didn’t think. I didn’t think he would do that– it feels like a betrayal, ‘cause he was doing better. But it’s not like. Ugh. Like we’re not even–”

It’s like a dam has been broken as soon as the admission comes out, the words spilling forth through his hiccups—Jisung doesn’t think he’d be able to stop them from escaping even if he tried.

“We’re not even anything. And all I was was jealous and insecure before, and– and now I’m just hurt, but he looked so hurt when he walked away, but I didn’t mean it, hyung. I didn’t mean to make him feel bad, too.” He sucks in a harsh breath. “I just don’t know what he’s doing. All I know is that what I saw was terrifying. But not just for the reason he thinks.”

He doesn’t even realise he’s crying until Chan lifts his head with a gentle touch under his chin, and all he can see is Chan’s blurry silhouette.

“Ahh, my Jisungie,” Chan murmurs. He carefully takes off Jisung’s glasses, placing them on the bedside table and gently wipes beneath his eyes, thumbs caressing his cheeks.

“I didn’t want him to go away. Why did he go away?” Jisung tries to hold in the sob lodged in his throat, hiccuping around it. “I– I wanted to open up to him. But not– not like this. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I didn’t– I didn’t–”

“I know, aegi. I know. It’s okay.” Chan says softly, carefully brushing his bangs out of his eyes

“No. Like– I don’t. It– it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He doesn’t– this wasn’t what I wanted.” Before Jisung knows it, the sob escapes him despite all attempts to keep it in, his voice cracking. “I don’t hate him, hyung. He said some horrible things about himself– to me. He did bad things, he’s done really bad things, but I just don’t know how to hate him.” He heaves a breath in. “I still don’t believe the words he said, and– and I don’t know if I’m stupid or naive for it, but all I know is that he won’t see me anymore.” He chokes on his words. “He– He’s just gone. He’s gone, and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know what to do– I don’t know how to feel okay with him gone.”

Chan pulls him in close, wrapping his arms around him like a protective cocoon. He squeezes him tightly between the sobs and stuttered strings of words, murmuring reassurances into his ear between his frantic rambling.

It’s overwhelming, an unrelenting eruption of words and sobs breaking out, finally releasing all the bubbling molten pain that’s been trapped in his chest for weeks. He can feel himself falling back into that dark abyss, but there’s a small light in the distance, and a warmth that surrounds him that no longer burns because Chan is by his side. Here to catch and hold him through the shadows and heat.

“You’re always so brave, always so strong, Sungie. It’s okay to let go for a second. I’ll keep you safe.” Chan’s cheek is pressed to the crown of his head as he cradles Jisung close, carefully rocking him, a gentle hand running up and down his back.

Jisung can’t tell how much time passes, but it feels like an eternity before his sobs finally subside, and the tears dry. Chan coaxes him to even out his breathing once he’s tired himself out. They stay close together, and Jisung drinks in Chan’s comforting presence like he’s starving.

When his vision clears, all he sees is Chan’s painful expression, sorrow bleeding from his eyes despite any attempt to hide it, as if just the sight of Jisung hurting is a knife through his own chest. Chan cards a hand through Jisung’s hair, carefully threading his fingers through the tangled strands, and Jisung leans in to the touch—always searching for the comfort Chan gives.

“I don’t know exactly what happened, but all I know is that whoever this is will understand. You just need to tell them,” Chan murmurs. “If you’ve hurt each other, you just need to talk. He won’t know if you don’t tell him how you’re feeling. It takes two to fix the problem, you can’t do this alone.” He pauses and smiles. “And I’m sure deep down he really wants to, too.”

“But, he won’t see me.”

“Maybe he’s just scared.”

“You sound like Seungmin.”

“I’ve heard Seungmin is a pretty smart lad.”

Jisung chuckles lightly and presses a hand to what must be his very red and puffy eyes, offering Chan a small smile back.

“You know I was scared, too,” Chan says after a moment. “With Changbin. Before we properly started seeing each other. Terrified, in fact.” He lets out a soft breath. “I made some bad decisions early on, I drew away, said some things I didn’t really mean just ‘cause I thought there was no way on Earth I’d ever be good enough for him.”

“Shut up, no way. You’re you… and you guys are like…” Jisung pauses, tapping his fingers against his thigh, trying to find the right words. “So solid and strong… not in just the gym sense.”

Chan huffs out a little laugh under his breath. “Not always. You’ve seen us argue. That’s just natural. But sometimes we all have our doubts and overthink irrationally. I did that a lot before. Still do sometimes.” Chan squeezes him. “You know we have the same silly genes, and we definitely have some of the same brain cells. You’re not alone, Sung-ah.”

“I don’t know if that’s an insult towards you or me.”

Chan pokes his side, scoffing. “I’m being serious, you brat.”

“I know, I know.” Jisung giggles, and Chan visibly brightens at the sound.

“But this is good, letting it out here. You can’t keep it locked up within you.” He taps Jisung’s chest lightly. “The more you bottle it up, the more it’s gonna hurt. So thank you for letting me in. But you need to promise me that when this continues, you still need to find a way to let it out.”

Chan pauses, reaching out a hand to squeeze Jisung’s tightly.

“I’m always here, or Changbin is always here for you, too, if you're tired of my face.” Jisung snorts as Chan continues. “And I know Felix and Seungmin love you. They’re always there to listen.” Chan picks up the discarded journal on the bed, waving it in the air. "Or even maybe just write it down, and set it free. Put the feelings on the page and release them. Not gonna say burn it for safety reasons, but that sounds pretty cool.”

“And now you sound like Lix.”

“Maybe I’m a mindreader.” Chan wiggles his eyebrows.

Jisung shoves his chest, laughing lightly.

“C’mon now,” Chan says, putting the journal on the bedside table and pulling Jisung down to lie back on top of the blankets. He lies down next to him, turning on his side to face him and propping his head up on his elbow. Jisung follows, mirroring his position, but cushions his head on his arm, cheek smushed into his bicep.

“If you really care about this person as much as I think you do… I know they’ll be worth the effort. With the way you’d been smiling before, I have no doubt you’ll figure it out and make each other happy again.” Chan boops his nose, and Jisung scrunches it in response.

Jisung hums. “I hope so.”

Chan nods, leaning forward to press a kiss to Jisung’s forehead. “Time to sleep now. I’ve kept you up long enough.” Chan moves up the bed, lifting the comforter to tuck them both in.

Jisung does a double-take, watching Chan settle in next to him. He can’t burden Chan even more, can he? He doesn’t deserve to be so greedy for more of Chan’s time and kindness.

But Chan catches the dark tide before it can consume Jisung once more.

“Don’t listen to the mean voices, listen to me right now, okay, aegi.”

“Won’t Binnie miss you if you stay here?” Jisung slips beneath the sheets, carefully studying Chan’s face for any sign of hesitation or reluctance.

Chan tilts his head to the side. “Do you want me to stay?”

Jisung bites his lip, and he can’t help the guilt that seeps into his body, because he knows exactly what he wants at this moment. He looks down away from Chan's warm gaze and nods.

“Well, Bin-ah hogs the sheets anyway. You’re doing me a favour.”

The unease evaporates in an instant, and Jisung looks back up to meet Chan’s gaze, a small teasing smirk on his lips. “Maybe I’m gonna be the one to hog the blankets.”

Jisung grabs a handful of the comforter and yanks it off Chan and towards himself, tucking it all beneath his body, but Chan simply chuckles, a devious expression forming on his face.

“Watch out, that just means I’m gonna have to come over to that side.”

Chan lies back down and starts to roll towards him, ready to squash Jisung under his weight.

“Hey! No. Hyung!” Jisung yelps and braces himself, pushing both his hands against Chan’s back as he attempts to roll on top of him. He tries just a bit harder, sending Chan back to his side of the bed.

“Damn.” Chan huffs, laughing under his breath. “Since when did you get so strong?” He sits up and looks down at the swaddled bundle that Jisung realises he must look like.

“My blanket,” Jisung whispers and blinks up at him innocently.

“Of course, of course.” Chan grins and lies back down, sinking into his pillow and embracing his blanket-less life. “Sweet dreams, Sungie.”

Jisung hums and reaches over to turn off the bedside light. Darkness envelopes the room, but it doesn’t feel as foreboding as it usually does. He shuffles, unravelling himself from all the blankets and leans over to tuck them around Chan’s form before turning to his side and settling back down beside him. He curls himself closer to Chan, pressing his forehead to his shoulder, finally feeling lighter than he has in weeks.

“Sweet dreams,” Jisung whispers into his shoulder. “Love you, Channie hyung.”

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Dear Minho,

I have nightmares some nights.

One's full of blood and carnage, a massacre of bodies.

Nothing but pain and suffering fills my every sense.

I wade through it all, looking for something someone.

I don’t know what exactly till I see you lying in the middle of it all.

As broken and bloody as the rest. You’re not regenerating, not healing.

And that kills me because I can’t reach you.

You lie among the dead, and I can’t focus on anyone else but you.

What kind of hero am I?

Am I not a good person for this?

I tell myself those people deserved it, because I believe the anguish in your voice that day.

Yet I still can’t stop questioning what I'm turning into.

Every fibre of my being fixates on you.

Is it so wrong?

From Jisung

₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Jisung takes the journal out of his backpack and slips off his gloves. He doesn’t know why exactly he brought it out here. Maybe being in their spot could help the words come to life—make the ink flow easier, the pain so raw out here, where they once spent almost every day together.

The words come out with ease, all the torment flowing out of him without a second thought after circling his mind for weeks.

Dear Minho,

Do you think I’m a bad person?

The way I knew who you were and what you do, and still kept you by my side. Was I just selfish?

But I saw you. You saved people, helped those in need, stopped criminals.

Was it just for me? Did you really try to be better? Or was that, too, some cruel trick?

After all that time, what changed?

I sit here with so many unanswered questions. I think it might eat me alive.

Is it bad in the way I can’t stop thinking about my silence hurting you over the blood you shed that day?

Is it bad that I’m supposed to be the city’s hero, and all I can wonder is whether you’re okay or not?

Is it bad that I no longer understand myself?

From Jisung

He signs it off. Only hoping that the guilt and pain can seep out of his chest, down his arm, through his fingers and into the ink as it sinks into the pages.

The journal helps momentarily. But where his chest feels that little bit lighter, the journal feels heavy, a burden of insecurities and longing within its pages.

Jisung stares and stares at his own desperate writing. At each raw word that plagued his mind. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He doesn’t quite feel like the hero the city needs. Pining over a killer, moping over someone who pushed him away like he was nothing, grieving over a relationship he never quite had. He gnaws on his bottom lip, his fingers trembling around the pen.

A flash of ginger burns away the spiralling thoughts, and Jisung thinks he might be dreaming when he spots the familiar feline strolling up towards him like he hasn’t been a hole in Jisung’s heart just like his missing owner.

“Hey there,” Jisung says quietly, like he might scare away the one thing left he has of him. He places the journal down and reaches out a hand for Soonie to say hello.

Soonie meows, rubbing his body along Jisung’s arm, and Jisung lets out a relieved breath. At least Soonie wanted to come back and see him. Jisung runs his hand down his fur, from the top of his head down to his upright tail.

They sit together, watching the clouds roll past and listening to the dull thrum of the police scanner. Jisung revels in the pleasant quiet with Soonie here. His soft fur soothing under Jisung’s fingertips.

When Soonie finally gets back up, paws reaching forward as he stretches out, Jisung thinks that maybe five minutes is all he’s going to be gifted with his presence. But Soonie doesn’t climb down the rooftop like Jisung thought he would. He only walks around and nudges the journal, pushing it into Jisung’s thigh.

“Oh, this?” Jisung picks it back up, and Soonie follows, placing himself comfortably into Jisung’s lap. He can’t help the smile, at least Soonie still likes his presence.

Soonie nuzzles into his thigh, then lifts his head back up, setting his paw on the journal right before him.

“It’s just– my um. Feelings.”

Soonie meows.

“Yeah, think it helps when I write it down. But–”

Jisung looks back down at the journal over Soonie’s head.

He flicks through the pages, still all blank but for four pages scrawled with his vulnerable words. Five unsent letters stuck in its bindings, tucked away along with his shame.

Chan’s words float up to the surface from the tide of doubt.

Release the feelings. Set them free.

He looks down at the words trapped on the page and can’t help but think that it doesn’t belong here. The letters kept within the pages don’t belong to him. Maybe it’s time Jisung takes a more literal approach.

Soonie watches him curiously as he takes hold of the top of the page, right by the spine, and jerks down. The paper no longer left within its bound home, but torn out of the journal, jagged edges kissing the black ink.

Jisung folds it as neatly as possible, placing it by his side. Then, he turns the page over, repeating the process again and again until all four letters are folded into little notes in his hands.

Jisung already knows where to put it. It belongs here, with the presence of what once was Minho. He stands, walking over to the corner of the rooftop where they used to watch the sunset go down together. It feels right. To let the breeze take it away from here, escape from the place of happiness Jisung once held so dear.

Soonie watches keenly, following every one of Jisung’s moves.

A small voice in the back of his mind tells him how stupid this is, looking at the scattered notes at the edge of the precipice, but Jisung feels lighter already.

Despite it all, he can still see the vision of Minho and Jisung there, sitting side by side, hand in hand, and Jisung wonders if they’ll ever have a moment like that again. How long will he have to wait till he ever gets the chance to speak to him again? Or maybe even just a chance to sit next to him in silence. He can’t help but wish to bask in his presence just one more time.

Soonie’s soft meow by his side takes him out of his thoughts.

“Do you see him still?” Jisung’s weak heart allows this one question before drawing back. He shakes his head and huffs. “Sorry, silly question. Of course, you do. He wouldn’t abandon–” He swallows, and rubs his thumb over his wrist, self-soothing. “I miss him, yeah. But this. This helps.”

Soonie meows again, and Jisung laughs. “You being here also helps, yeah.”

₊˚🕷‧₊˚

The journal soon becomes an attachment, one Jisung rarely parts with, either stuffed at the bottom of his backpack or there at his bedside. The letters become a ritual, always left in the same corner to be taken away with the wind.

₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Dear Minho,

As the weeks pass, I still find myself wondering what could’ve driven you away like this. It was all of a sudden and out of the blue.

Was me finding you at the docks the crux of everything that went wrong, or was it just the final straw after weeks of troubles?

You had been disappearing more and more… but you said you missed me. That didn’t feel like a lie.

I’m usually pretty good at knowing those sorts of things.

From Jisung

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Felix finally confides his oh so very secret brownie recipe, guiding Jisung through each step as they make a mess of Felix’s small kitchen.

His famous brownies are known for being rich, gooey, and so sweet that it’s basically one big warning sign for diabetes—but they taste too good to stop Jisung and his sweet tooth tendencies.

Felix carefully places them into the oven as Jisung places the dirty utensils into the sink, but not before he swipes a finger through the leftover batter onto the spoon because he’s an adult and can do what he likes. He licks it off his finger, savouring as the intense chocolate sweetness fills his taste buds. He hums around his finger, only to go back for another, but decides on a more direct approach, licking it off the spoon.

Jisung turns back to face Felix after quickly running water over everything and walks back over to Felix.

“You set up the timer–”

Jisung doesn’t get to finish his question before Felix’s hand darts out, wiping what must be leftover brownie batter from Jisung’s lip.

Felix brings the now chocolatey finger to his mouth and licks it off his thumb.

Jisung stands there shell-shocked, words tumbling out after a second. “Is this a marriage proposal?”

“And what if it was?” Felix wiggles his eyebrows.

Jisung laughs, putting his face in his hands, “I don’t know if Minnie would enjoy being in a throuple.”

”Maybeeee…” Felix teased. “Though I don’t really wanna fight Deadpool. He seems like the jealous type, and he would totally handle me in the bad way, not the fun way.”

Jisung’s head snaps up, eyes wide, stunned at Felix’s words.

“Huh– what?”

“‘S a joke, Sungie.” Felix laughs, but he freezes once he catches Jisung’s stunned expression. “Ahh, sorry, bad joke. Guess it’s ‘cause he was on the news earlier and it reminded me of you and Innie from a few weeks ago,” Felix says sheepishly, eyes apologetic.

Jisung bites his lip. “He was on the news?”

“Yeah, broke into some medical facility or something. Guess he’s not really working with Spiderman anymore or something.” Felix shrugs. “Who knows what goes on in his mind, flip-flopping like a motherfucker.”

“Oh.”

Jisung’s mind clambers over all the possibilities, the answers he’ll never get of what and why—a mountain of questions not worth the turmoil.

Felix watches him silently for a moment, leaning his hip against the counter. Regarding him with curious eyes.

“Yeah. Well, you know how it is. Anti-hero vibes or whatever.” He takes Jisung’s hands in his, pulling him towards the couch. “Let’s watch something whilst we wait, the dishes can wait.”

He pushes Jisung onto the couch, tossing the throw blanket over Jisung’s head and ignoring Jisung’s yelp of distress from the sudden blanket attack. He runs to his room, coming back out with his laptop in hand and squishes close to a now untangled Jisung.

“How about some Howl’s Moving Castle?”

Jisung knows his eyes light up at the mention, despite the attempt to keep glaring at Felix by the way Felix's grin grows. Sue him. That movie is magical. And Howl is everything.

At least his crush here isn’t about to drop him out of the blue and disappear without a word.

₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Dear Minho,

Have you ever watched Howl’s Moving Castle? It’s my favourite movie.

I see Howl in you. Hiding away. A coward. You’re scared, aren’t you?

Though I guess I can’t say you’re alone. I’m scared, too.

Of what I feel, of what you mean to me, of how I can’t let go.

Sophie said the heart’s a heavy burden. It truly feels like it, doesn’t it?

From Jisung

₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Jisung was never this pathetic after the breakup with his last long-term ex. If you can even count whatever he and Seungcheol had as a proper relationship—more Jisung being apparently too clingy and desperate for affection when Seungcheol only wanted a decent fuck at the end of each day.

Jisung shakes his head. They’re not the same, for a variety of reasons. Specifically, Minho seemed to like Jisung’s humour, his touch, and actually enjoyed listening to Jisung’s mindless rambling—even without knowing what he looked like. Jisung wasn’t just a pretty face and pliant piece of ass like the way Seungcheol made him feel that he was. That and the fact that Minho and him were very much not seeing each other in any other way than… platonic. Yeah.

But here he is, scrolling through Minho’s website as if he were stalking an ex on Instagram—he can’t help it if a professional mercenary’s website is the only thing he can cling to these days.

The words blur as he reads over Minho’s pages on the best fishing spots you can find in the country over and over again, imagining his voice in his ear, the way he would laugh or make some funny pun halfway through his explanation on what fish you could catch in this specific area.

He wonders if Minho would’ve taken him one day if they ever had the chance to get closer. If Jisung just showed him who he was, and they could escape their responsibilities, just for a moment, outside their secret identities.

Soon, Jisung finds himself clicking onto the next page, and the next, and next until Jisung’s mind spins with only Minho’s rambling and his incessant tangents from each and every page. He can’t help the way his heart skips a beat when he finally gets back to the four-cut photo of Minho and his cats.

His hands freeze at the last image, the one he hadn’t thought much about since meeting Deadpool. The name of the stick figure in Minho’s drawing of him shooting the man in the head.

Ajax.

Jisung wracks his brain, for any other time he might have heard it before, but all he draws is a blank.

Ajax, Ajax, Ajax.

Clearly Minho has a problem with this guy, the only person he’s forward with enough to draw a target on his back right on his website.

Maybe if Jisung could help solve whatever problem Minho has with this Ajax guy, everything could go back to normal. Minho could see how much Jisung cares. There must be a reasonable explanation for the blatant hatred. Jisung doesn’t doubt Minho’s gone through horrifying and terrible things—I’ll make ‘em pay.

Jisung shivers at the memory of Minho’s cold voice, so vivid in his mind.

It’s not much to go off, but Jisung opens another tab, typing in the name and–

Yeah, nothing of use comes up. Well, fuck.

Jisung sighs, pushing his glasses up and burying his head in his hands. He presses his palms into his eyesockets to stir away the dark spots that blur his vision.

God, he should go to sleep soon.

The clock blinks back at him, three forty-seven AM. Whatever, this is just Jisung’s peak hours. Night-owl logic and all.

Felix’s voice crosses his mind, herding him back to his mission. Jisung looks up the news article Felix must have been talking about, identifying the medical facility Deadpool had broken into a few days ago.

Jisung looks up each department, scrolling through lists of names and projects till his eyes burn, and yet he keeps going. There must be something he’s missing. Why would Minho break into this facility? Was it just for a job? Was this all futile and irrelevant? Jisung pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, popping a painkiller and letting blind faith take control of the mouse.

Till he finally finds a possible breakthrough, links to a sister research facility down in Hwaseong. Rumours of government projects conducted. He scrolls further, looking up the website only to be blocked off the site.

What the fuck.

He loads it up again, only to be denied access.

Jisung searches backlogs and question forums, anything to find more information, but it’s all useless or encrypted. He researches until dawn breaks, the sun’s rays peaking through the clouds.

He flops back into his chair, groaning as his stiff body clicks.

Dead end after dead end, Jisung muffles another yell into his sweater paws. He’ll figure something out, he must. But his body yearns for a soft bed and a warm blanket, and Jisung concedes, crawling into bed, ignoring the rays that light up his bedroom.

A few hours of sleep before his lecture is all he needs.

₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Jisung pulls an oversized hoodie over his suit to keep away the chill of the cooling season and sits down on the ledge, dropping his backpack next to him. He lifts his mask above his mouth and rummages through his bag for the store-bought kimbap he stuffed in there this morning.

Before he can even take a bite, he hears some movement and pattering behind him.

“Hey, what you got there?” Jisung observes Soonie curiously, only just noticing that he’s got something in his mouth.

Soonie’s ears go upright at the sound of his voice, head suddenly darting side to side, as if he were scanning for an escape route.

“Hey, hey,” Jisung says again to keep Soonie’s attention on him. He quickly picks up his discarded backpack, searching for any leftover cat treat tubes. With a small aha, Jisung drops his bag back on the ground and skips over Soonie before he can run off.

Soonie looks up, alert, but he blinks up at him slowly, like he also gave up on the thought of dashing away once he saw the treat in Jisung’s hands.

Jisung kneels beside him, tears off the top of the plastic.

“Can you drop that first?”

Soonie’s ears swivel and his tail swishes behind him, but he still doesn’t let go.

“C’mon. Please?” Jisung asks one more time, offering his free hand.

Soonie only dumps his whole face into Jisung’s open palm, and Jisung huffs, rolling his eyes. Of course, offering treats wouldn’t be enough for this kitty.

“Okay, some scratches first.” Jisung places the cat treat down and curls his fingers to scratch under Soonie’s chin, up behind his ears, and another hand strokes down his back.

Soonie purrs, clearly very satisfied with himself, and Jisung is able to make out what looks to be a folded note in Soonie’s grasp.

Is it from–

It can’t be.

But what if it is?

Jisung's heart hammers in his chest, his mind racing at the thought of a note—of it being left for him.

Once Soonie’s got his attention, he allows Jisung to finally pry the folded piece of paper out of Soonie’s mouth, flipping the page over to see nothing written on the outside.

Yet, the paper is familiar, the same smooth material and heavy weight.

He looks back at that corner of the building, to the spot he’s walked over to every time he’s ready to let the pages go.

The spark fizzles out, drenched by a bucket of ice-cold water, because of course, Minho wouldn’t.

But why would Soonie take this?

Jisung slowly unfolds the paper, revealing the handwriting that Jisung sees every time he picks up a pen.

Dear Minho,

Did you truly hate every moment?

Was I so blind to the displeasure my presence provided?

So blind by the lies you told me?

Was I so left in the dark that I couldn’t tell the difference between the lies and the truth?

Because I don’t believe so, some days I let it consume me, but when I sit on this roof waiting for you to come back, I remember visions of your smile and your hand in mine, and I know it couldn’t have been fake.

Did you miss it, though? The life you had before me? Is it why you pushed me away? Did Hyunjin remind you of a better time?

What is it like? Did you miss it? Or does it scare you?

Perhaps you wish for my questions to cease.

I’m sorry.

From Jisung

Jisung jerks up to his feet, wrenching the letter to his chest, heart beating rapidly after reading his own writing from this very morning. He looks back at Soonie, who stares up at him with wide blinking eyes—seemingly not bothered by Jisung’s sudden movement.

It’s a cruel thing, the little bit of hope that sparked just from the thought of Minho finally reaching out after three weeks, only to see his own dejected words.

“That’s not for you.” Jisung’s voice is rushed, defensive. “It’s– it’s not for–”

Soonie tilts his little head to the side curiously, eyes dilated, and his tail upright and curved at the tip.

“You know I need to leave them there, it’s for him– or not like that… it’s for me… or both of us… maybe? I– I don’t know. Leaving them here helps me feel better.”

Jisung trails off, losing any semblance of fight within him. He gives himself a second to just breathe and let his mind calm the sudden uproar of panic at the sight of his own letter he’d already let go of. One that wasn’t supposed to come back to him.

“Aish. I think I’m going crazy. Why did you take this, you silly kitty?” He mumbles under his breath and carefully folds the letter back up.

Soonie must have just been curious. Of course, he would scour all around the rooftop; there was always the chance of him coming across it before it could be blown away by the wind. It’s not like he hadn’t seen Jisung place them in the same spot many times before.

Jisung closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. It’s fine. He was fine. It would all be fine. Maybe he can just rip this one up, and it’ll be the same thing. Yeah. He can do that.

He brings his fingers up to the centre of the folded piece of paper, pinching the top, pushing his thumb down and –

The sound of a sad little howl and the pattering of paws at his feet makes Jisung freeze. His hands still, and he opens his eyes only to spot Soonie’s agitated form, ears now drawn back.

“Hey, no, no. What’s wrong?” He crouches down to his level, and Soonie rubs his body along Jisung’s side, circling him.

Soonie meows softly this time, nudging his head against his fingers, knocking against the folded piece of paper.

Jisung sighs, shaking his head.

Guess it wouldn’t be the end of the world to let Soonie take care of his feelings. His only real link to Minho. The only one he has that isn’t bittersweet memories and the ghost of a touch.

He lets go of the letter. “Here you go then.”

Soonie meows one last time and takes hold of the letter, swishing his tail behind him. Jisung watches as he makes his way to sit at the very corner where Jisung had left the letter in the first place.

Jisung chuckles, a small, sad smile on his face. “As long as you’re happy.”

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Dear Minho,

Soonie visits me sometimes. I think of you when he does.

I think of you always.

From Jisung

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Good times can only last so long as Jisung’s distracted mind gets his ass beaten up again.

It should’ve been an easy fight. But his opponent’s red and black mask caught Jisung off guard, and he just froze mid-swing, missing his shot completely, ending up crashing into the side of the truck. It didn’t go down very smoothly after that. His web shooter jammed with his awkward landing, and they ended up getting a couple—too many—good hits in.

He’d left another letter on the rooftop just before he’d left for patrol.

Dear Minho,

I miss your laugh, your silly jokes, and the way you made me feel.

I miss your presence. The space next to me feels so empty.

From Jisung

Maybe it was divine fate punishing him for asking too much. A cruel punishment on their part—it’s not like Minho would ever show up.

Jisung has started getting used to the idea… somewhat. If you ignore all the times he shows up in Jisung’s dreams and his every other waking thought.

Jisung stops by Seungmin’s apartment in his pitiful state, knocking three times on the glass till Seungmin lets him crawl in, battered and bruised.

He knows what’s coming this time. He knows the speech that’s going to happen. It wasn’t even that long ago when Seungmin had to swoop in and save his ass from failing his studies.

“You’re hurting yourself.”

“No, I’m not–”

“Maybe, not intentionally, but you’re coming back more bruised and hurt just like you did when you started.” Seungmin carefully cleans around the shallow gash over his shoulder blade. “You’ve been better. But now, since the incident… you’ve stopped caring.”

“I could never, the people are all I care–”

Seungmin stops what he’s been doing and places a gentle yet firm hand on his knee, directing Jisung to look him in the eye.

“I know, Sung-ah. But yourself. You’ve stopped caring about your own well-being. Do you even know what it’s like seeing you like this again? You can mope at home if you need, but you can’t let it happen out there. Not when bad things can happen.”

Jisung opens his mouth to rebut, but Seungmin doesn’t give him a second.

“And it’s not just me. Felix is still worried. He’s on the verge of breaking and entering into your building, I swear to God.”

“Really… still?” Jisung chews on his lip. Fuck.

“Of course.” Seungmin shoots him an are you serious look. “How many times do we have to tell you we care?” He shakes his head and turns back to cleaning the wound. “Well, did you write in the journal? Did it help?”

Jisung nods. “Yeah… it’s– uh. It’s helping, yeah.”

“Okay, good. Do you wanna– uhhh… talk about it?”

“Ummm… well, it’s stupid– Ah!” Jisung winces as the alcohol soaked pad touches the open wound. He turns to shoot Seungmin what he hopes is a menacing glare. “Be careful, that hurts.”

“Don’t call your feelings stupid then, pabo.”

“You can’t say that, then insult me.”

“I can if that’s how you’re acting.”

Jisung rolls his eyes and lets it be—stupid caring Seungmin and his logic.

“Fine. Well, it’s helping… but I can’t stop thinking about him. I feel so weak and useless, waiting for someone who isn’t coming back. I just– I need to talk to him. Just one more time. But he won’t show up, and there’s nothing I can do.”

“What’s stopping you then?” Seungmin tosses another bloody cotton pad into the bin.

“Huh?”

“Why don’t you just do something about it then?”

“What?”

“Jisung, do something about it.”

Do something about it. Why does it sound so simple from Seungmin’s mouth?

“And, I swear to God, don’t make me regret my words. This isn’t an excuse to do something incredibly stupid or dangerous. But I don’t know. Find him. You’re clearly not gonna let him go like this. You’re in too deep, this infatuation or whatever you’ve got going on. At least to give yourself some closure.”

Jisung can tell this must be part of high exposure to Felix because this is something Jisung can only really imagine Felix suggesting. Some crazy plan like in romcoms of the lead finding the love of their life before they can be lost forever.

Not that Minho is the love of Jisung’s life. No… nothing like that. Not… yet.

“I– I tried… I guess. But it’s just dead ends, and all I’m left with is the name Ajax and blocked websites.”

“So you’re trying. That means something. You haven’t given up.”

The words strike Jisung hard, a battering ram against his fragile chest. You haven’t given up. No, he hasn’t. The feelings of being left alone for good have started to settle, but Jisung churns the waters, pushing them away from sinking deep into his bones. He can’t let it consume him. Not yet, not anytime soon. Minho haunts him and Jisung won’t let him scare him away. Not until Jisung finds out exactly what’s going on. Until he sees him one last time at least.

“You can ask Innie,” Seungmin says, pulling out bandages from his first aid kit. “He’s like good with tech. Crazy good, actually. Some kind of ‘Tech God’ or something. Lix’s words not mine. But yeah, a wonder you guys still haven’t brought up building shit and whatever, knowing your superior engineering brain and all that.”

“Wait, hey. I’m not that–”

“Jisung, you graduated high school early and built fucking web shooters and a suit that helps you stick to walls, like don’t even try me. You’re a genius.”

Jisung quiets down after that, flushing under the praise.

“But anyway, Jeongin is some computer wizard and I know you don’t wanna involve others, and the last thing I want is him also worrying about you, but I'm sure he can help track down Deadpool through his website or some shit. I dunno, make up some excuse that you’re just an obsessive fan of Deadpool or something.”

Jisung shoots him another sharp glare, but doesn’t deny the words. He’s more than that. The feeling balances on a tightrope of certainty and hopelessness.

“I’ll find him. I need to at least try. I have to. That's all I’ve got left.”

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Dear Minho,

Was I that naive to see things that weren’t truly there? To believe you when I shouldn't have.

Is it even betrayal when I cannot grasp if you actually feel the same as I do?

But I didn’t think that I needed to see your face to know that you got me. Those times in the dark, by your side. It just felt right. Or perhaps it was too easy, too comfortable, too open. Were you really playing me even then? When you held me close?

What is the truth?

Is it still naive of me to believe that the last time we saw each other was a lie? Maybe one day it shall be my downfall, but for now, I believe.

I do not care for your cruel words at the docks. I believe the Minho who sat by my side, who holds Soonie close, who touches me so carefully at times, because maybe you’re just as scared as I am.

This is not the end.

I will figure it out for us.

I will find you again. I won’t let you scare me away.

For whatever you wish us to be, I want to be there, by your side. Please.

From Jisung

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚