PLEASE LET ME SLEEP

[pukicho]

Visit Original Link

[amminadabz]

I find that making music that's kinda bad on purpose is usually the first step to making music that is interesting and good

Case in point, this fucks

[pukicho]

I try to reward people for sticking through the dumb bullshit parts of my songs with something cool

[obimomkenobi-deactivated2020062]

[kitchikishangout]

MY NAME, IS FRICKIN MOON MOON. I’D BE THE MOST IDIOTIC WOLF. ‘OH SHIT WHO BROUGHT FUCKING MOON MOON ALONG?’

[amusette]

the post that started it all

[star-spangled-jackass]

oh god

[danthefrickinking-deactivated20]

Never not reblogging.

[clarinetfool]

I’ve only seen this post in screenshots

[salamencerobot]

I’m very surprised this post hasn’t broken a million.

[dailymarvelheroes]

get you a man who can do both

[nitramaraho]

one of my patients came in for an emergency visit, because she snapped the wire on her retainer watching the movie when MBJ took his shirt off she clenched her teeth so fucking hard she snapped it. that is the fucking funniest shit ever to me this tiny 17 year old girl thirsting so goddamn hard she busted steel

[crystalitesummerstar]

Y'all, it gets better. She found out.

[buzzfeed]

We interviewed her, obviously.

[buzzfeed]

update:

[rainbowselfies]

[blvckgeezus]

Such a developing story.

[pastdueeverything]

I love this story

[athenadcvell]

This was a wild ride from start to finish

[gambit-of-a-small-rabbit-deacti]

I know I say this a lot, But this is one of the best things on this website

[nitramaraho]

Sophia is currently doing great in college, and I still get about one kid a month in the office who asked if this really happened.

[demigoddessqueens]

I found it!! The original post!!

[urcadelimabean]

HAS SHE SEEN SINNERS

[madenthusiasms]

Preferably when she wasn’t wearing the retainer.

[annoyingbitch83]

but what can one do, for humans are such

[annoyingbitch83]

sitting on the footpath

i really want to sleep here

this part of my society is so pretty and secluded

[annoyingbitch83]

when you realise your friends don't actually know u at all and they all have surface level perceptions of you based on misconceptions from 7th grade 🤣✌️

[hjartasalt]

Mods are asleep post forbidden tits

[hjartasalt]

Huh

[hjartasalt]

Huh

[hjartasalt]

Huh

[hjartasalt]

Hhhhhhh

[anothermarkiplierfan]

Perfectly balanced as all things should be…

[0v9]

[lexeirikrleif]

[fruitloopghosty]

[offbrandbeethoven-blog]

i

[immortalcheesewedge]

balance

[lavidaextraordinaria]

What if oxygen is poisonous and it just takes 75-100 years to kill us?

[frenchshower]

My science teacher said he thinks that’s true actually

[thepioden]

Yeah this is actually pretty much exactly what is going on. It’s why anti-oxidants are such a big deal. Bonus fact: oxygen oxidizes stuff in your cells or, in other words, it’s not toxic, just setting you on fire very very slowly.

[sarah-mcelroy-deactivated202601]

[femonologue]

What if there are aliens out there but they subsist on entirely different substances and they’re just scared as shit of us and our crazy ass hell planet? Once in a while some alien anthropologist type suggests checking out the people on this inhabited planet out towards the galaxy’s edge. The other aliens just look at the naive academic with horror. No!! We do not go to that world. That is where the DEATH BREATHERS live. They recreationally consume poisons and are more or less composed of biological fire. Their atmosphere is made of rocket fuel. We must leave the DEATH BREATHERS in peace. Do not go there. Do not.

[optimysticals]

I tend to always reblog posts about humans being terrifying weirdos to aliens.

[alessariel]

@brainsforbabyjesus

[brainsforbabyjesus]

okay but…that is actually what went down on earth about 2.5 billion years ago.

Earth was doing just fine with a mostly nitrogen/carbon dioxide atmosphere and everyone was happy to go on living in anaerobic bliss and then cyanobacteria suddenly hit the scene, altered the atmosphere composition so that there was a ton of oxygen gas and killed practically everything (97% or more of all species on earth).

We are literally descendants of the DEATH BREATHERS and cyanobacteria is our deadly mother.

[digitaldiscipline]

The cyanobacteria holocaust is so big, it doesn’t even have a cool name; it’s just called “The Great Oxygenation Event”; the *second* most apocalyptic extinction event in our planet’s history is the one that’s called THE GREAT DYING (the Permian-Triassic event, about 252 million years ago).

This shit makes like the rock-throwing that wiped out the dinosaurs look like kindergarten.

[violent-darts]

OH HOW I LOVE THIS POST. It makes me so much happier about being alive. I AM BURNING VERY SLOWLY. *hugs it*

[cannedcream]

And once again, the internet makes learning history and science a thousand times more interesting than school ever did.

[tsvrcm-deactivated20161229]

I love shit like this.

[department-of-fagriculture]

I was totally having thoughts along these lines and along comes tumblr to pretty much sum it all up. Bravo~

[madeofmxxnlight]

@hellsite-hall-of-fame

[coconhovr]

ENTRY #21 𑣲 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐍

𝐈 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 ㅤ───ㅤ after discovering seonghyeon’s betrayal, you endure the silent heartbreak, clinging to the love while realizing trust—once broken—can never truly be restored

★ cheater ! seonghyeon × fem!reader

word count ── 6.2k

warning. cheating/infidelity, angst with no comfort, toxic relationship dynamics, internal conflict and overthinking, mentions of alcohol, aged up seonghyeon (since it’s a college au)

˖᯽ ݁˖ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 coco speaking here! first angst with no comfort guys… so sorry the song has me fucked up i had to write about it like 😓😓😓 sighs he would never cheat tho 😆😆 𖧧 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

The first time you heard about it, it didn’t feel real.

It didn’t feel like something that belonged to your life—like it had been misplaced somehow, dropped into your hands by accident, meant for someone else with a different name, a different story, a different kind of ending.

It came in the form of a message request, buried beneath spam, bot links, and usernames you didn’t recognize. Just a small, almost forgettable notification sitting quietly at the top of your screen. The kind you usually swiped away without a second thought.

A random account. No profile picture. No posts. No followers.

Your thumb hovered over it for a moment, hesitating. You weren’t expecting anything. No one new had any reason to message you. And yet, something about it felt… deliberate. Like it had been waiting.

You almost deleted it. You should have deleted it. But something—curiosity, instinct, maybe something deeper you couldn’t name, made you tap it open instead, and just like that, your summer split in half.

Before, and after.

You were lying on your bed when you read it, sprawled across wrinkled sheets that still smelled faintly like laundry detergent and sunscreen.

The afternoon heat pressed down on everything, thick and unmoving, the kind that made the air feel heavy in your lungs.

Your window was cracked open, but no breeze came through, only the distant hum of cicadas and the occasional sound of a car passing by outside.

Above you, the ceiling fan spun in slow, lazy circles. It clicked faintly with every rotation, pushing around warm air that clung to your skin, making everything feel slightly unreal, like you were half-asleep.

Your phone rested in your hands, the screen casting a dull glow against your face. It was warm—almost too warm, like you’d been holding onto it for too long, even though you’d just picked it up.

Your thumb hovered over the message as your eyes scanned the first line, then the second, then back to the first again.

Hey… I don’t know you, but I think you deserve to know.

Your breath slowed without you realizing it, your body going still in a way that felt instinctive, like something inside you already understood before your mind could catch up.

Your boyfriend, Seonghyeon… I think I saw him making out with another girl at the party.

The words didn’t land all at once. They sank in slowly, unevenly. Like your brain was trying to reject them before they could fully form.

You blinked. Once… Twice. The message didn’t change. It didn’t soften or shift into something easier to swallow. It stayed exactly as it was—plain, blunt, and impossible to misunderstand.

Your fingers tightened slightly around your phone.

There was more.

You hadn’t even realized you were scrolling until your thumb moved again, dragging the screen upward with a shaky, unsteady motion.

Details.

A name you didn’t recognize, unfamiliar, out of place, sitting awkwardly against everything you thought you knew. A location you couldn’t place in any of the conversations you’d had with him, any of the stories he’d told you about his summer.

And then, a picture.

Blurry. Cropped. Taken from a distance, like it wasn’t meant to be obvious but wasn’t trying very hard to hide either.

Two figures. One of them—

Your chest tightened. You didn’t need it to be clear. You didn’t need confirmation, you knew.

Not because you could see his face perfectly, or because the image was sharp enough to prove anything beyond doubt. But because of the way your stomach dropped.

You stared at it anyway, longer than you should have. Like if you looked at it enough, it would change. Like it would rearrange itself into something harmless, something explainable—something that didn’t feel like this.

Your eyes traced the outline of his figure. The slope of his shoulders. The way he stood.

Your vision blurred, but you didn’t know if it was because of the low quality of the photo or the tears gathering too quickly for you to stop them.

You blinked hard, trying to focus, tried to breathe.

But your chest felt tight—too tight, like the air had thickened around you, like it refused to reach your lungs no matter how hard you tried.

The room shifted.

The walls felt farther away. The ceiling too high. The sound of the fan too loud, too sharp, each click echoing in a way it hadn’t before.

Nothing had changed, and yet everything had. You read the message again, and again, and again.

Each time hoping, stupidly, desperately, that you had misunderstood something. That there was a sentence you had skipped, a word you had read wrong, something that would undo the meaning you were already drowning in.

But it stayed the same.

Your phone felt heavier in your hands now, like it was weighing you down instead of something you could just set aside. Your fingers had gone slightly numb, your grip tightening without you noticing.

You became aware of your own heartbeat—too fast, too loud, pounding unevenly against your ribs like it was trying to escape.

You swallowed. It didn’t help, nothing did.

A strange, hollow feeling spread through your chest, like something had been scooped out of you, leaving behind an emptiness that ached in ways you didn’t understand yet.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen.

Not through a message that felt so small compared to the way it was unraveling everything.

Your gaze flickered back to his name. Seonghyeon. It looked the same, exactly the same as it always had.

You thought about the last time you’d spoken to him. The way he’d laughed over the phone, soft and easy. The way he’d told you he missed you. The way his voice had dipped slightly when he said I love you, like he meant it.

You had believed him, you still wanted to believe him. That was the worst part.

Your throat tightened. Your vision blurred completely this time, tears spilling over before you could stop them. They slid quietly down your temples, disappearing into your hair, leaving behind a faint, sticky warmth.

You didn’t move to wipe them away. You didn’t move at all. You just lay there, staring at the screen like it might swallow you whole if you looked away.

⸻

You didn’t confront him. 

Not when your hands were still trembling from holding your phone too tightly. Not when your chest still felt like it had been hollowed out and replaced with something sharp and unfamiliar. Not when the words from that message were still echoing in your head, refusing to settle into anything you could fully understand.

You didn’t confront him because doing that would mean choosing a side. Believing it or not, and you weren’t ready to do either.

So you stayed still.

You let the moment pass, let the weight of it sink somewhere deep inside you where you wouldn’t have to look at it directly. You locked your phone, set it facedown beside you, and stared at the ceiling like if you stayed there long enough, everything would reset.

Like it hadn’t happened, like you hadn’t seen it.

You told yourself it could be fake. People lied all the time. You knew that. You’d seen it—online, in stories, in the way strangers hid behind screens and said things they’d never say out loud.

It could be someone jealous. Someone bored. Someone who just wanted to cause damage for the sake of it.

That kind of cruelty wasn’t new. You clung to that idea like it was something solid. You built it up carefully in your mind, layering reasons over reasons until it almost sounded convincing.

It doesn’t make sense.

He wouldn’t do that.

Someone’s trying to mess with you.

You repeated it until it felt less like a thought and more like a rule. You told yourself that if it were real, you would know. You would feel it.

There would be signs, obvious ones. A shift in the way he spoke to you. A distance in his voice. A change in the way he said your name, the way he laughed, the way he told you he loved you.

You would notice. You had to, because what did it say about you if something that big could happen and you didn’t feel it at all?

So you held onto that. You trusted that feeling—your supposed ability to know him better than anyone else.

But that wasn’t true. It wasn’t true, and somewhere deep down, beneath all the excuses and carefully constructed explanations, you knew it.

Because the truth was, you didn’t want to know.

Not really. Not in a way that would force you to act on it, because knowing would mean losing something, and you weren’t ready to lose him.

So you let it sit, and the rest of the summer passed like a slow bleed.

—

When summer ended and you went back to campus, everything felt wrong.

Not in an obvious way—not in a way you could point to and explain—but in something quieter, deeper. Like the world had shifted slightly off its axis and only you could feel it.

The air was different.

Cooler, thinner, carrying the early hints of fall, brushing against your skin in a way that should have felt refreshing after months of heavy summer heat. But it didn’t. It felt distant. Like it belonged to a place you hadn’t quite returned to yet.

Students moved around you in clusters—laughing, talking, dragging suitcases across pavement, reuniting with people they hadn’t seen in months. There was energy everywhere. Movement. Familiar noise.

It should have felt comforting. It used to, but now, it all felt like background static.

The buildings looked the same. Same brick walls warmed by the sun. Same wide windows reflecting the sky. Same worn-down paths etched into the grass from years of students cutting corners between classes.

Nothing had physically changed, but they didn’t feel the same. There was a disconnect now, like you were walking through a place you remembered instead of a place you belonged to. Like everything held echoes of something that had existed before summer, before the message, before the quiet unraveling you had carried alone.

Even your dorm room felt unfamiliar. You unlocked the door, stepped inside, and paused. It looked exactly how you left it.

Your bedding still slightly wrinkled. Your desk cluttered with things you’d meant to organize before you left. The faint scent of detergent and something distinctly yours lingering in the air.

You set your bag down slowly, your eyes drifting over the space like you were trying to recognize it again. Trying to recognize yourself in it.

You saw him on the second day. There was no realistic way to avoid it, not on a campus this size, not with schedules that overlapped, routines that inevitably intersected.

Still, some small part of you had hoped for more time. Time to settle. Time to prepare. Time to figure out how you were supposed to look at him without everything inside you shifting.

But you didn’t get that. You spotted him across the courtyard. Or… no. He spotted you first, he always did.

“Hey y/n” Your name left his lips like relief.

Like he had been waiting for this moment, like seeing you again had been something he’d been holding onto for too long.

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up. You froze, just for a second. In that second, he was already moving.

He crossed the distance between you in seconds, weaving through people without hesitation, his focus locked entirely on you.

His hands found you instantly—your shoulders first, grounding, steady. Then your arms, like he needed to make sure you were real. One of them came up to your face, brushing lightly against your cheek in a way that felt achingly familiar.

“God, I missed you.” His voice was soft, almost breathless.

Like the words had been sitting in his chest, waiting for the chance to exist, and for a moment, just a moment. You forgot.

You forgot the message. You forgot the picture. You forgot the way your chest had ached all summer long, the quiet, suffocating weight of something you had never said out loud.

It all slipped away, like it had never been there at all. You just saw him. Seonghyeon.

The boy who knew your favorite songs and played them without you asking, like he had memorized the way your mood shifted with music.

The boy who stayed up with you during finals week, sitting on the floor of your dorm with his back against your bed, handing you coffee and whispering quiet encouragement when you felt like giving up.

The boy who kissed you like you were something fragile and important—like he was afraid of breaking something he couldn’t fix.

Your hands lifted on instinct. You didn’t think about it. You didn’t hesitate. They just moved, coming to rest lightly against his chest, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt.

He felt the same.

His heartbeat was steady beneath your palm, grounding in a way that made everything else feel distant.

“I missed you too,” you said, and you meant it. You meant it in a way that hurt. In a way that made your chest tighten even as the words left your lips.

That was the worst part. Because for a second—just one—you almost believed everything was okay.

The first few weeks back felt almost normal. Too normal. You slipped back into old routines like they had been waiting for you.

You studied together in the library, sitting across from each other at the same table you always used. He’d tap his pen against the surface absentmindedly, occasionally glancing up at you, catching your eye with a small, familiar smile.

You’d look back down quickly, pretending you hadn’t noticed the way your chest reacted.

You walked across campus side by side, your shoulders brushing occasionally, his hand sometimes finding yours without thinking. It was automatic for him, natural, easy.

You let it happen at first. You shared meals, sitting across from each other in crowded dining halls, talking about classes, professors, things that didn’t matter.

He laughed. You laughed too. It sounded real, sometimes it even felt real.

He looked at you the same way he always had, like you were the only person in the room, like nothing else existed when you were there.

You tried to believe it. God, you tried. You tried to sink into it, to let it wash over everything else, to convince yourself that this—this version of him, this version of you was the only thing that mattered.

But the doubt never left, it didn’t disappear nor face. It just… Waited.

It sat quietly in the back of your mind, still and patient, like it knew it didn’t have to fight for your attention.

Because eventually, you would look at it. It showed up at the worst times.

When he brushed his hand against yours. Your fingers would twitch slightly before you forced them to relax, your mind flashing to something you didn’t want to see.

Where had those hands been?

When he smiled at you across a crowded room. That same soft smile, the one that used to make your chest feel warm and full—now came with something sharp underneath it.

Had he smiled like that at someone else? 

When he said your name like it meant something, like it always had. That was when it hurt the most.

Because you didn’t know if it was still real, or if it had ever been.

You started pulling away without meaning to. It wasn’t something you planned. It wasn’t something you even noticed at first. It just… happened.

Not enough for him to catch immediately. Just small things, subtle shifts. You hesitated before reaching for his hand. It was just for a second, but it was there.

You looked away a little too quickly when he caught your eye. You didn’t lean into his touch the way you used to. When his arm wrapped around you, your body stayed still for a moment before responding.

You laughed a little less easily, spoke a little more carefully, held back in ways you hadn’t before. It wasn’t obvious, not at first.

But Seonghyeon wasn’t oblivious, he noticed eventually. He always noticed you, that had always been one of the things you loved most about him, and now, It was the thing you dreaded the most.

⸻

“Hey… are you okay?” His voice cut gently through the quiet, but it didn’t startle you. It settled into the room instead, low and careful, carrying something observant beneath it.

You were sitting on the edge of his bed, your legs tucked beneath you, your laptop open but forgotten in your lap. The screen glowed faintly, a document pulled up, lines of text waiting for your attention. You hadn’t read a single word. Your eyes had been fixed on it for long enough that they burned slightly, unfocused, unmoving.

The room was dim, lit by the soft spill of late afternoon light filtering through the window behind him. Dust lingered in the air, faint and barely visible, suspended in that quiet, golden stillness. Everything felt contained, almost too still, like the space itself was holding its breath.

He stood near the window, one hand resting against the frame, his posture angled toward you. There was a crease between his brows, subtle but persistent, his gaze fixed in a way that made it impossible to pretend he wasn’t paying attention.

“Yeah,” you said… Too quickly.

The word came out before you had the chance to measure it, clipped and immediate, as if speed alone could make it convincing.

It didn’t.

He didn’t move, didn’t shift his weight or look away. He stayed exactly where he was, watching you with an attentiveness that felt heavier than anything he could have said.

“You’ve been… different.”

There was hesitation in the way he chose the word, like he had considered others before settling on something softer, something less accusatory. Even so, it landed with quiet precision.

Your fingers tightened instinctively around the edge of your laptop, the pressure grounding and uncomfortable at the same time. The metal dug faintly into your skin, a small, physical sensation that distracted from the tension building elsewhere.

“I’m just tired.” The lie felt thin the moment it left your mouth.

It lacked weight, lacked substance. There was no conviction behind it, nothing that could sustain it if he decided to question it further.

You didn’t look up.

You kept your gaze fixed on the screen, on the meaningless arrangement of words you hadn’t processed, as though maintaining that illusion of focus could support the excuse you’d offered.

For a moment, nothing happened. The silence stretched, quiet but not empty. It carried awareness—his, yours, something shared but unspoken.

You could feel his gaze still on you, but he didn’t call you out on it, didn’t ask anything sharper, didn’t press where the truth would have immediately fractured. 

Instead, he nodded slowly. A measured, almost reluctant motion, like he was accepting something he didn’t fully believe.

That made it worse. The guilt settled in immediately, heavy and unyielding, pressing into your chest with a weight that made it difficult to sit still. Because you weren’t the one who had done anything wrong. Not technically, not in the way that mattered.

And yet, you felt like you were the one creating distance. The one introducing fractures into something that had once felt stable, something that had once moved effortlessly between you.

You were the one holding back. The one hesitating, the one withholding something essential. It created a dissonance you couldn’t reconcile. A quiet, persistent imbalance. 

He moved then, stepping away from the window, the floor creaking softly beneath his weight. He didn’t come closer immediately. There was a pause, brief but noticeable, before he reached for something on his desk, shifting his attention just enough to give you space.

Not enough to ignore it, just enough to avoid forcing it.

You stayed where you were. Your laptop remained open, your fingers resting along its edge, your posture unchanged. From the outside, it might have looked like concentration. Like you were absorbed in something academic, something ordinary.

But your thoughts were nowhere near it. They circled elsewhere, pulled back to something you had been avoiding for too long.

You held onto it for as long as you could, longer than you should have.

Weeks passed.

They blurred together, indistinct and difficult to separate, each day folding into the next without anything significant enough to mark the difference.

Then a month, then another. 

Time moved forward with quiet persistence, indifferent to the tension you carried, indifferent to the way everything inside you remained suspended.

The message stayed on your phone. You never opened it again. Every word was already embedded in your memory with uncomfortable clarity.

Still, you never deleted it, you couldn’t. It existed there, untouched, sitting beneath your notifications, buried but never gone. A silent presence. A constant.

Every time you unlocked your phone, there was a brief awareness of it—subtle, immediate, unavoidable. You didn’t have to see it directly to know it was there.

It became something fixed, a point you circled without approaching. 

You told yourself it would fade. That time would dull it, soften its edges, reduce it to something less intrusive. That eventually, it would lose its ability to disrupt, to infiltrate moments that had nothing to do with it.

You told yourself that this was temporary. That whatever this feeling was—it would pass. You believed that for a while, or at least, you tried to.

You convinced yourself that if you maintained enough distance from it, if you avoided direct acknowledgment, it would lose significance.

That ignoring it would weaken it. That silence would be enough. You thought you would wake up one morning and notice the difference.

That the heaviness would be gone. That your chest would feel lighter, your thoughts clearer, your reactions less strained. That you would look at him and feel only what you used to feel.

Nothing complicated or fractured.

But it didn’t happen. It didn’t fade, it didn’t soften, it didn’t diminish in any meaningful way. Instead, it deepened.

What had once felt sharp and immediate evolved into something quieter, more persistent. It settled beneath everything else, less obvious but more invasive, threading itself through your thoughts in ways that were harder to isolate, harder to ignore.

It affected everything.

The way you responded to him, the way you interpreted his words, the way you existed beside him.

It grew heavier, gradually, steadily, accumulating weight over time until it became impossible to carry without noticing the strain.

And still, you said nothing. You let it remain where it was, because acknowledging it would mean confronting something you still weren’t ready to face, and the longer you waited, the more impossible it felt.

Until the silence itself became its own kind of damage.

⸻ 

The confrontation wasn’t planned.

You were lying beside him, your head resting against his shoulder, your cheek pressed lightly into the fabric of his shirt. His arm was draped loosely around you, not restrictive, just present, his hand absentmindedly tracing slow, thoughtless patterns against your arm.

The room was dim.

A single desk lamp cast a muted glow across the space, its light warm but subdued, leaving the corners of the room in shadow. Outside, the world had settled into stillness. No distant chatter, no movement in the hallway, just quiet.

You could hear his breathing, steady in a way that suggested complete ease.

There was a sense of safety in it. In the stillness, in the familiarity of his presence. In the absence of tension, of expectation, of anything that demanded more than what was already there.

Everything felt contained, and that was what broke you. Because it felt so normal, too normal. As if nothing had ever been disrupted. As if the fracture you had been carrying alone did not exist within this space.

The dissonance became unbearable.

The contrast between what you knew and what you were experiencing pressed against your chest with increasing intensity, until it could no longer remain contained.

“Did you cheat on me?”

The words escaped before you could restrain them.

There was no buildup, no conscious decision to speak. They surfaced abruptly, cutting through the quiet with an unexpected sharpness that altered the entire atmosphere of the room in an instant.

They lingered, suspended between you.

His body went still. The movement of his hand ceased. The steady rhythm of his breathing faltered, interrupted by something unanticipated. Even the space between you seemed to shift, tightening with a tension that had not existed moments before.

“What?” His voice was quiet.

Lacking the natural inflection you were accustomed to. It sounded measured, restrained, as though it had been filtered before reaching you.

You lifted your head slowly, your gaze searching his face with an intensity you could not moderate.

“Last summer,” you said, your voice unsteady despite your effort to maintain composure. “Did you cheat on me?”

For a brief moment, he said nothing. No denial, no confusion, no immediate response of any kind.

And in that silence, you understood.

It wasn’t confirmation in the conventional sense. There was no explicit admission. But it was enough, more than enough.

“No,” he said.

The word arrived too late. It lacked immediacy, lacked instinct, it felt constructed, and entirely incorrect.

You sat up abruptly, the movement unrestrained, your heart accelerating with a force that felt almost disorienting. The sudden shift in posture broke the fragile stillness completely, replacing it with something volatile, something unstable.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not—”

“Don’t.” Your voice fractured.

That was the moment everything collapsed.

He sat up more slowly, the contrast between your movements stark. His hand moved through his hair, fingers pressing against his scalp in a gesture that carried tension, discomfort, something unresolved.

His gaze dropped, avoided yours.

“I didn’t mean it.”

The words struck with greater force than anything else he could have said.

Your breath caught sharply, the air stalling in your lungs as the meaning settled with unbearable clarity.

“You didn’t mean it?”

The repetition felt hollow, devoid of the conviction it might have carried under different circumstances. It sounded distant. Detached. Even to you.

He looked at you then, and there was something in his expression—regret, perhaps, or something adjacent to it. Something strained and uneven, unable to fully manifest into something that could be understood or accepted.

“It was a mistake,” he said. “It didn’t mean anything.”

Something inside you fractured, with a precision that made it irreversible. “You didn’t mean it,” you repeated, your voice lowered, quieter now. “You didn’t mean it.”

He reached for you.

The movement was tentative, uncertain, his hand brushing against your arm with a hesitation that had never existed between you before.

You flinched, the reaction was immediate.

“I was drunk,” he continued quickly, the words emerging with increasing urgency. “I wasn’t thinking—”

“You were thinking enough to do it.”

Your voice trembled now, the restraint you had maintained slipping under the weight of everything pressing against it. Your chest felt constricted, your eyes burning with an intensity that made it difficult to focus on anything clearly.

“I— I don’t even know who she is,” he added, as though the absence of significance could lessen the impact. “It was just— it didn’t matter.”

It didn’t matter.

The phrase reverberated through your mind, overwhelming, invasive. It filled every available space, distorting everything else.

“But I matter,” you said. The words emerged quietly, barely above a whisper. But they carried more weight than anything you had said before.

His expression shifted immediately, the realization evident, undeniable. “You do,” he said. “You’re the only one who matters—”

“Then why wasn’t that enough?” The question settled heavily between you.

Silence followed.

You became acutely aware of everything. The sound of your own breathing, uneven and strained. The faint hum of the lamp. The space between you, once negligible, now insurmountable.

The tears came without restraint. They slipped down your cheeks steadily, uncontained, their warmth a stark contrast to the cold realization settling beneath your skin.

You did not attempt to conceal them, you no longer had the capacity to. 

“I knew,” you said, your voice breaking under the weight of it. “I knew all summer.”

His expression altered instantly. Shock, confusion. Something more complex, more disorienting.

“What?”

“Someone told me,” you continued, your words emerging more rapidly now, less controlled. “I saw it. I just… I didn’t want to believe it.”

He looked disoriented, as though the foundation of the situation had shifted in a way he had not anticipated.

“You knew?” he repeated. “And you still—”

“I didn’t know what to do,” you interrupted, the words accelerating, spilling over each other. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

The admission settled heavily between you. Unfiltered, unprotected.

“I love you,” he said. There was desperation in it now.

You let out a strained, uneven breath that resembled laughter but lacked any trace of amusement. “I know.”

That was the problem, because you loved him as well. The feeling had not diminished. Had not weakened under the strain of what you had discovered. It remained intact.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice faltering. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you—”

“But you did.” There was no aggression in your response, just clarity.

You lifted your hand, brushing at your face in a futile attempt to remove the tears that continued to fall.

They did not stop.

“I don’t think I can fix this.” The words felt extractive, as though something essential was being removed from you as you spoke them.

“We can,” he said quickly. “We can fix it. I’ll do anything—”

“You already did something.”

He went still again.

“And you can’t undo it.” 

This time, there was no argument. No immediate response.

You saw it then, in his expression. The shift, the realization settling into place. This was not something that could be negotiated, not something that could be resolved through effort or intention.

“Please,” he said.

You shook your head slowly. “I wanted to pretend it didn’t happen,” you admitted. “I tried. I really did.”

Your voice fractured again, the control you had attempted to maintain dissolving completely.

“But every time I looked at you, I kept thinking about it. I kept wondering where you were, who you were with, what you were doing.”

He didn’t interrupt, didn’t attempt to counter it. His eyes filled with tears.

You had never seen that before, not once. “I hate that,” you said quietly. “I hate that you made me feel like that.”

“I hate myself for it,” he replied. Perhaps he did, perhaps the regret was genuine. But it did not alter the outcome.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop thinking about it,” you said. “And that’s not fair to either of us.”

This time, he did not argue.

You stood slowly, your body unsteady, your chest constricted with an ache that felt both physical and intangible.

Every instinct urged you to remain where you were. To disregard everything that had been said, to return to the familiarity that still lingered between you.

But you could not.

“I love you,” you said, the words carried finality. Not comfort, not reassurance.

“I love you too.” And that was where it ended.

You turned away before the hesitation could take hold. Before the instinct to remain could override everything else.

You left without looking back. Because you understood, it you did. You would not leave at all.

—-

The days after felt unreal.

Time lost its structure. Hours stretched without distinction, blending into one another until days felt indistinguishable. Morning came and went without significance. Night arrived without relief.

There was no moment where it felt easier. No gradual recalibration, only endurance.

Every movement required effort. Not physically—your body functioned as it always had, but in a deeper, more exhausting way.

Each step carried a weight that had nothing to do with gravity, something internal and unrelenting that made even the simplest actions feel deliberate.

Walking across campus became something you had to think about. Sitting through a lecture required concentration you didn’t have. Holding a conversation demanded energy you could not sustain.

You cried more than you thought was possible. It came without warning, without structure, without restraint.

In your room, it happened in silence.

You would sit on your bed or at your desk, surrounded by familiar objects that no longer provided comfort, and something would shift without explanation. A thought, a memory, a single word—something small would surface, and it would be enough.

The tears would come immediately, overwhelming in their intensity, leaving you unable to do anything but endure them.

In the shower, it was different.

The sound of running water masked everything, creating a temporary isolation where you didn’t have to regulate your breathing or suppress the unevenness of it. The heat of the water blurred sensation, made it difficult to distinguish where one feeling ended and another began.

You would stand there longer than necessary, not because it helped, but because stepping out meant returning to awareness.

At night, it was the worst. You would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, the darkness pressing in around you as your thoughts became louder, more insistent.

Every memory resurfaced with clarity. Every conversation replayed with unbearable precision.

You thought about the way he spoke to you. The way his voice softened when he said your name. The way he laughed, unrestrained, when you said something unexpected. The way his hand fit around yours, firm and certain, as though the gesture carried meaning beyond itself.

You missed him with an intensity that felt disproportionate, overwhelming, and entirely unavoidable.

You missed the familiarity. The ease. The unspoken understanding that had once existed between you without effort.

You missed the way he occupied space beside you, enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

The absence of it became its own presence. But, you didn’t go back. Not because you didn’t want to. That was never the issue.

Every instinct you had urged you to reverse the decision. To reach out, to respond to the silence with something—anything—that might restore what had been lost.

But you didn’t. Because you understood something now that you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge before.

Love, in its most unguarded form, had not prevented what happened. It had not been enough to ensure honesty. It had not been enough to preserve trust.

And now, it was not enough to repair what had been broken. You could still feel it, the attachment, the affection, the instinct to return.

But beneath it, there was something more definitive. A recognition that certain fractures did not heal in a way that restored their original structure. That even if the surface appeared intact, the integrity had been compromised.

And you could not exist within that uncertainty.

You saw him again, eventually. Avoidance had its limits.

There were only so many routes you could take, so many places you could choose not to be, before coincidence became inevitable.

It happened outside the library. A place that had once held familiarity, routine, shared time.

You noticed him before you could prepare yourself, or perhaps you didn’t notice him at all until it was already too late.

He looked different. There was a diminished quality to his presence. A lack of ease. A tension that had replaced something more relaxed, more assured.

He looked thinner. There was a weariness to him, something that suggested a lack of rest that extended beyond sleep.

His gaze found you instantly, there was no hesitation in it, and then he stopped.

So did you.

The space between you remained unchanged in distance, but it felt significantly altered in meaning.

For a brief moment, neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. There was an awareness that extended beyond language. An understanding of what had been, what had been lost, and what could no longer be recovered.

“Hey.” His voice was quiet.

Carefully controlled, as though he had considered how it would sound before allowing it to exist.

“Hi.”

Your response was equally restrained. Devoid of anything that might complicate the exchange.

That was all.

There was an entire history between you. An accumulation of shared experiences, private moments, unspoken understandings, and none of it translated into this interaction.

There was so much you could have said. Questions that remained unanswered. Statements that had never been expressed. Emotions that had not been resolved.

But none of it held relevance in that moment, because the context had changed.

The foundation that once supported those conversations no longer existed, and without it, the words lost their purpose. The truth remained.

You still loved him, and he still loved you.

That had not diminished. Had not weakened under the weight of what had happened, but it was no longer sufficient.

Some things could not be reconstructed. Not because there was no desire to do so, but because the conditions required for that reconstruction no longer existed.

And this was one of them.

You moved first with a quiet finality that left no room for reconsideration.

You walked past him. Close enough to feel his presence, close enough to be aware of the space you once occupied beside him. But you did not stop, you didn’t look back.

[itaiyaki]

☘︎ ݁˖ | 𝑇EENAGE DIRTBAG !

‎⤷ Y/N L/N got dumped, but she’s far from defeated. She’s scheming, and Martin Edwards— loud, chaotic, and just impossible to ignore, is her secret weapon. Alternatively: the full love story behind how rodrick! martin and regina! reader end up together

ᯓ★ warnings: wc:9.3k rodrick! martin x regina! reader, fake dating to lovers, swearing, reader is mean and uses martin at first, swearing, martin embarrassing himself is inspired by a scene from rodrick rules (2010), intentional mischaracterization of some mean girls (2004) cast, he calls you princess, rushed ending oops

ᯓ★ note: ITS FINALLY HERE >0< !!! i had so much fun while writing this so i hope you guys also enjoy reading it 🫶 characters are from my sk8er boi! post

The last place you expected to be on a Friday night was a cramped, overheated house that smelled like cheap alcohol, sweat, teenage hormones, and something vaguely burnt.

And yet, here you were.

Standing near the very back, half hidden behind a pillar, arms crossed like you weren’t actively choosing to be there. Your disguise was… half-assed at best. A cap pulled low over your face, oversized sunglasses despite the dim lighting, which honestly, if anything, it made you more noticeable. But you refused to take them off. The point wasn’t to blend in perfectly.

The point was to not look like you cared. Because you didn’t. Obviously.

You just happened to be in the area. And he just happened to be performing. And you just happened to step inside for like two seconds. That’s it. Purely coincidental. Even as the flyer he had handed you earlier that month, now folded neatly inside your jean pocket, said something different.

Screams and whistles suddenly erupted around you, dragging your attention toward the stage despite yourself.

Martin steps on to the stage first. And god, he was… loud.

Not just in volume, but in presence. You knew he was loud. You’d grown familiar with the sound of his laughter and shouting (against your will), echoing through the school hallways during his usual over-the-top antics. But this… this was different. He moved across the stage, electric guitar in hand, like it belonged to him. Like every second of attention from the crowd was something he expected, not something he hoped for. His voice cut through the noise effortlessly, rough in a way that made the entire room lean in.

You shifted your weight, trying (and failing) to look uninterested. You weren’t impressed or anything. High school garage bands were soooo last year, you like to believe that your tastes were much more refined than that. But a small, tiny part of you regrettably understood why everyone else seemed to be.

The crowd erupted at the end of the third song. You hadn’t even noticed how long you had been watching him, and annoyingly, he looked good. Not in a polished, put together way--but in that careless, messy way that somehow worked. Hair damp with sweat, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, those ridiculous studded bracelets clinking every time he moved. Even the chipped black nail polish on his fingers, something you would’ve normally judged—looked deliberate as they moved over the strings. It was irritating how well it all suited him.

Cheers bounced off the walls as people pushed closer to the makeshift stage. Some girls even held up signs for someone named James as he played the bass, while the drummer–Keonho, you hear from the freshmen around you– kept the energy going from the back.

Despite the ruckus and adrenaline around you, you didn’t move. You stayed planted at the back, arms still crossed, occasionally checking your nails and the charms on them to look busy, expression carefully neutral. Unwilling to admit how much their performance pulled you in. Scanning the crowd with a bored stare, you caught sight of something that immediately sent blood rushing to your ears. Your nails pressing crescents into your palm, though your face remained completely stone cold.

Aaron Samuels. Your ex-boyfriend. The one who had broken up with you just two days ago because you were “too much.” Locked in a passionate kiss with Cady Heron. Your new friend. (Though some would argue she’s just another one of your ‘minions’ who do everything you ask them to and believe every word you say. But oh well its whatever, friend, sidekick, minion, they're all the same to you anyway.)

Your anger continued to boil beneath the surface, but you weren’t going to make a scene here. You were better than that. Exhaling a staggered breath, you forced yourself to inhale slowly, unwilling to make a spectacle of yourself. You just scoff at their public display, the scene reminding you of two fishes kissing each other that you once saw from a random documentary.

That didn’t mean you were going to let them go. You always had your way, one way or another.

You couldn’t care less if your ex-boyfriend had found someone else right after your breakup. What you couldn’t accept was how he thought he had the power to end things with you, not the other way around. The same could be said for Cady. You had never truly seen her as a friend, but you certainly weren’t going to let her play you for a fool. You would make sure they regretted it. 

Just not now. Their time will eventually come.

After throwing one last judgmental glance at the pair, you refocused your attention on the five-person band. Specifically to the blond with spiked hair and messy eyeliner, his red electric guitar slung low.

Onstage, Martin was having the time of his life. He ran a hand through his damp hair, slightly out of breath, eyeliner smudged just enough to look intentional. Leaning into the mic, a crooked grin tugged at his lips as his eyes scanned the crowd. 

Until they landed past it.

Straight to you.

You froze.

Oh God, no. There was no way.

“Damn,” he breathed into the mic, voice low, amused. “Didn’t think I’d actually see you here tonight.”

Your stomach dropped. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. You were literally wearing a disguise. Granted, it wasn’t a good one– but still! How did he spot you so easily in a crowd like this?

He straightened, grin widening, clearly enjoying this far too much. “This next song…” he said, dragging it out just enough to make your dread build, “…goes out to a very special lady.”

Your eyes widened behind your sunglasses.

Oh my God. Shut up. No. No fucking way.

He lifted his hand, pointing directly at you. “This one’s for you.” The reaction was immediate.

Heads turned. Dozens of them. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. The energy in the room shifted as people followed his gaze, right to the back, right to you.

Your heart nearly stopped. You ducked your head instantly, pulling your cap lower over your face, as if that could somehow erase the fact that half the room was now staring at you. This was a nightmare.

Being the center of attention wasn’t unfamiliar to you. After all, you were Y/N L/N. Queen bee of North Shore High. The one who controlled the social hierarchy. The one who could make or break someone’s reputation with a single word. But this was completely different. You had no intention of being recognized in this smelly, cramped backyard, precisely why you had thrown on an (admittedly shitty) disguise and left Karen and the others completely in the dark.

Mortification burned through you, hot and immediate.

Onstage, Martin just smiled, like he was genuinely on top of the world just because you were there. And then– he strummed the guitar.

You stilled, the first strum hitting like a loaded gun. And somehow, you just knew it was aimed at you.

God, please no. Just kill me now.

You knew that sound. You knew that opening. Your head snapped up despite yourself, horror dawning in real time. Martin leaned into the mic, eyes still locked on yours, grin borderline wicked. And then he started singing, the four other boys behind him closely mirroring the horror on your face, hands completely still, unsure of what to do.

“You know you love me,” he sang, winking at you. “I know you care.”

You stared at him in pure, unfiltered disbelief. Out of all the songs in the world. Out of all the songs–

He chose that one.

“And I just can’t believe we ain’t together…”

The crowd went wild. Some people laughed, others cheered louder, phones already out. Hesitantly, his bandmates follow his lead and start playing the instrumental. And Martin? He was absolutely eating it up, performing like this was the best decision he had ever made in his life.

And while you were completely, utterly stuck watching in both horror and amusement… a devilish idea began to take root in your head.

Aaron Samuels and Cady Heron might have put you on display– but you’d be the one controlling how this story ended.

The set ended in a blur of noise. After Martin's very humiliating public display, the band tried to do some form of damage control and played more songs, hoping that everyone will forget what just happened.

Cheers, whistles, people chanting for one more song, screaming ‘Cortis’ like they were headlining coachella instead of someone’s overcrowded backyard. The energy lingered in the air long after the last note faded, buzzing beneath your skin in a way you refused to acknowledge.

You didn’t stay for long. Just enough to let the crowd settle. Just enough to make sure no one was paying attention to you anymore. Then you moved.

Through the bodies, past the makeshift stage, toward the side of the house where the five boys had gathered. Laughing, excitedly talking over each other, riding the high of their performance. And there he was.

Leaning back against the wall like he hadn’t just made a complete spectacle out of you twenty minutes ago. A half-empty water bottle in his hand, hair damp, his cheeks flushed from the heat, eyeliner smudged and nearly melted off from the sweat.

His head tilted the second you stepped into his line of sight. A grin spreading across his face like he’d just won something, eyebrows raised in faux shock.

“Oh, wow, look who we have here,” he drawled, pushing himself off the wall, meeting you half way, body towering over yours even with the kitten heels you wore, completely ignoring the shocked look in his friends faces as they pretended that they weren't listening. “Didn’t think you’d actually come see me.”

You stopped an arms length away from him, arms crossing over your chest, expression perfectly composed. “Don’t flatter yourself, Edwards” you said coolly. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

His grin widened.

God he loves when you talk in that bratty tone of yours.

“Yeah?” he said, taking a step closer, fingers fiddling with his earring, voice teasing. “So did you like it? You were looking pretty into it back there.” His head tilting in the direction of the stage.

“I was just dropping by,” you corrected flatly.

“Right right.” He nodded, like he totally believed you. “Dropping by. So the disguise has no reason at all? You just like walking around with a cap and sunglasses during the night?”

Your eyes narrowed slightly behind your sunglasses. “You talk a lot for someone who just publicly humiliated me.”

That only made him laugh. “Humiliated?” he repeated, hand coming up to his chest in mock offense. “I dedicated a song to you. That’s like- the complete opposite of humiliation and totally romantic.”

“You think Baby by Justin Bieber is romantic?” you deadpanned.

“Definitely,” he shot back, nodding vigorously. “Isn’t that how he bagged Selena?”

You stared at him. He only grinned, biting his lower lip slightly, eyes glinting with amusement– like he was waiting to see how far he could push you.

God, he was insufferable. And entirely too pleased with himself.

“Relax,” he added, softer now, tilting his head slightly. “You know you loved it.”

You didn’t even hesitate. “I didn’t.”

“Nah” he dragged out, shaking his head as he leaned in slightly. “You totally did.”

Silence stretched for half a second. From a few feet away, Martin's friends held their breaths. Watching closely to how you would react to the wasian boys comment. They completely expected you to step on his toes and walk away, like how you ran his foot over and drove off a few weeks ago. But all you did was let out a sharp exhale, trying to control yourself. You weren’t here for this.

You straightened slightly, gaze sharpening as you looked at him properly this time.

“Whatever, I need you to do something for me.”

That got his attention. Not that you didn’t already have it, but this shifted it. Made it sharper. More focused.

His grin didn’t disappear, but it changed. Curious now. “Yeah?” he said. “What kind of something?”

You held his gaze. “I need you to play a part.”

His eyebrows lifted, interest piqued. “And what exactly am I auditioning for?”

You didn’t smile. “My boyfriend.”

That did it. For the first time since you walked over, Martin actually went still. Not completely. Just enough that you noticed. Then his mouth twitched, lips pressing tight like he was trying not to react.

“Wow, straight to it, huh?”

“This isn’t about you,” you said immediately. “So don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Mhmmm” he hummed, like he wasn’t listening at all. Like thinking about it was too much of a task, even when deep down all of his nerves were about to explode just at the mere mention of you mentioning ‘boyfriend’ to him. “Fake boyfriend, though… that’s a pretty big role.”

You ignored that. “It’s temporary,” you continued. “It just needs to be public. Convincing enough that people believe it.”

His eyes flickered, studying you more carefully now. “And why, may I ask,” he asked, tone just a little more curious than teasing now, “does the princess need a fake boyfriend?” Martin wasn’t stupid. Everyone had heard about you and Aaron. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why you chose him.

You tilted your head slightly, choosing to completely ignore the nickname. You could’ve said it simply. You could’ve said: Aaron. But that wasn’t the point. “Some people need to learn a lesson,” you said instead, voice cool and measured, throwing your hair over your shoulder. “And to know never to fuck with me”

There it was. Honest. In your own way.

Martin watched you for a second longer than usual. Expression now carefully neutral, lips jutting out as he lets out a thinking hum sound. Then, he smiles. Not the teasing one he has been giving you all evening, but something sharper. “Damn,” he said under his breath. “That’s kind of evil.”

You didn’t deny it.

“I prefer the word effective.”

He let out a surprised laugh, “So let me get this straight,” he said, now taking a few steps away from you, as if internalizing the information you’ve given him “You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend… so some douchebag realizes he messed up?”

“Yes.”

“And then what?”

You met his gaze, completely unbothered. “Then I turn him down.” You shrug.

That got a real reaction. He broke into loud laughter, a hand coming up to his stomach as he bent slightly, a tear forming at the corner of his eye.“God you really are evil,” he says through laughter, wiping away the tear. “I like it.” he sighs dreamily.

Of course he did.

You ignore his words, and crossed your arms again, a single eyebrow raised. “Well? What will it be, Edwards?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at you, expression thinking, like he was piecing something together. Then his grin came back, now softer than it was before. “If I’m playing your boyfriend,” he said, voice dropping just slightly, “I’m doing it my way.”

“And what exactly does that mean?”

“It means,” he said, stepping into your space once again, just enough to be intentional, “I don’t do anything half-assed.”

Your chin tilted up slightly. “Good,” you replied. “I don’t either.”

His grin widened. “People are gonna believe it,” he continued. “No holding back. No fake plastic romance shit, If I’m in, I’m in.”

You studied him for a moment. Weighing. Calculating.

“Fine.”

That was all it took. The pink in his cheeks turning to a blazing red color. His eyes lit up–just for a second–before he masked it again with that same cocky expression.

“Didn’t think my night would end with you asking me out.” he said, shaking his head slightly.

“Don’t think too much about it, Edwards” you said flatly. “You just happen to be useful.”

“Yeah?” he shot back, grin returning. “We’ll see about that, princess.”

You turned slightly, already done with the conversation. “I’ll text you the details.”

“Wait,” he called.

You paused, glancing back at him. He was still smiling, but softer now. Not mocking. Not teasing. The same smile children have when they receive the present they’ve always prayed for on their birthday.

“For the record?”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I would’ve said yes anyway.”

You held his gaze for a second. Unreadable. Carefully thinking about your next words.

“I know.” And with that, you turned and walked away.

Leaving him still smiling like he’d just gotten exactly what he wanted, hands shaking at his sides from anticipation.

When Monday rolls around, everything at North Shore High goes on as usual. Hyunjin from the art club is still at his usual spot, handing out flyers and encouraging applicants. Cocona from the fashion club is pinning up yet another poster, looking for models. Soobin from the anime club is Naruto-running down the hall.

Again, everything is as usual.

Except for one thing.

You. And Martin. Together. Walking down the hallway. Together. Hand in hand.

A sly, almost poisonous smile sits on your glossy lips, your arm looped around Martin’s bicep. A pink Juicy Couture bag, very obviously yours, hangs off his shoulder like it belongs there. Your soft pink outfit and gold jewelry, the picture of clean girl, contrasts sharply against Martin’s all black, grungy clothes and silver accessories. And yet, somehow, it works.

You wear your usual proud expression, completely unbothered by the stares and whispers trailing behind you. You walk like this is nothing. Like it’s always been this way. Beside you, Martin carries himself differently. A little too aware. A little too smug. A cocky grin plays on his lips as he basks in the attention, occasionally throwing a mock salute at the random guys frozen by their lockers, jaws practically on the floor.

You don’t slow down. Not when the hallway opens up, not when the noise shifts from passing chatter to something more focused. If anything, your grip on Martin tightens slightly. Because you already know where you’re going.

And more importantly– you know who’s going to be there when you arrive.

The cafeteria doors swing open, loud and careless like they always do, but this time it feels different. Heads turn. Not all at once, but enough to notice, enough for it to ripple through the room as you walk in, still attached to Martin like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You don’t hesitate, don’t slow down, just head straight for your usual table where Gretchen and Karen are already mid-conversation, Cady sitting across from them with that same composed, quietly observant look she always has. 

And right beside her is Aaron. He looks up, just for a second, and it’s subtle, the way his expression shifts. Not shock, not even confusion, more like mild amusement, like he’s already decided what this is before you’ve even said anything. A joke. An obvious ploy to get his attention.

You slide into your seat like nothing’s changed, dropping your bag onto the table as Martin takes the spot beside you, a little too close, deliberately so. There’s a slight pause before Cady tilts her head, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Oh, wow,” she says, light, almost curious, resting her chin on her palm, her eyes just a little too wide to still look innocent. “Y/N, who’s this… friend you have here?” There’s something under it—not quite sharp, but not harmless either. A tone you’re familiar with. The very same tone you use when speaking to a child—slow, measured, as if they wouldn’t understand otherwise. And you don’t even blink.

You just shrug, reaching for your tray that a random freshman had brought over like it’s nothing. “Martin. My boyfriend.”

It lands, and then just as quickly- laughter. Not loud, just disbelieving, like you’ve said something mildly entertaining. Karen giggles, Gretchen looks confused for half a second before brushing it off, and even Cady smiles like she’s humoring you. Across the table, Aaron leans back in his chair, a smirk tugging at his lips as he mutters, “Yeah right. Okay.” He doesn’t press, doesn’t question it further, because to him it’s obvious, it’s fake. The conversation moves on almost immediately, dissolving into something else like it always does, gossip or plans or something equally unimportant, and just like that everything feels normal again. Too normal.

You pick up your fork, ready to finally eat, when something nudges lightly against your tray. You glance down to find a raspberry smoothie sitting in front of you, cold and lightly fogged with condensation, the lid already loosened. Your eyes shift to Martin, brows pulling together in a small, questioning look. He notices anyway. Of course he does. He shrugs like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t matter. “You like this, right?” he says simply. “You have it every lunch.” Across the table, Aaron lets out a quiet scoff, wrinkling his nose. “Eugh that shits basically useless. Gatorade’s better.” Neither of you respond, not even a glance, and for a second, that silence feels louder than anything else.

You look back at the bottle, then at Martin. There’s no teasing in his expression, no smugness, no hint that this is part of some act. He’s just… right. You do drink it every lunch. You always have. Aaron never noticed, or if he did, it was to complain about it, actually, saying that it tasted weird, saying you should just get something else. 

This is new to you, different. You pause, not long, just a beat, something small and quiet that almost goes unnoticed. “Hm, thanks,” you say finally, casual, like it doesn’t mean anything at all, before taking the cup and taking a sip like it’s just another part of your routine, like it’s normal.

But across the table, Aaron notices. Not the drink, not even Martin, but the pause, and the way that for the first time since you sat down, something about this doesn’t feel like a joke anymore.

It’s small, almost nothing, gone as quickly as it came, but you catch it anyway– the slight shift in his expression, the way his attention lingers just a second too long before he looks away like it doesn’t matter.

And that’s all you need.

Not a scene. Not a reaction. Just that.

Because if he was really over it– over you, he wouldn’t be looking at all. You take another sip like you didn’t notice, a barely there smirk being hidden, like none of this means anything, setting the bottle back down with quiet ease as the conversation around you carries on. But beneath it, steady and certain, something settles into place.

Judging by the way Aaron can’t stop watching, you already know how this ends.

By the time the school day ends, everyone across campus has heard the news.

Y/N L/N and Martin Edwards are dating.

There are all kinds of opinions about your relationship. Gretchen would say it’s “so fetch.” A handful of people call it adorable, while some say you're just bored. Some speculate he blackmailed you into dating him. Others insist you’re the one doing the blackmailing. But no one can deny it– somehow, impossibly, the two of you fit. 

Martin quietly walks you to your car in the school parking lot, a guitar case slung over one shoulder while your pink juicy couture bag hangs from his hand. The second your car beeps open, he suddenly rushes ahead of you, swinging the door open with exaggerated flair, bowing low like some medieval knight.

“Your carriage, m’lady.”

One hand holds the door open, the other extends your bag toward you.

You scoff, amused despite yourself. “You’re such a dweeb,” you say, but a small laugh slips out anyway as you take your bag and slide into the driver’s seat. Martin lifts his head at the sound of it. He doesn’t defend himself. Doesn’t even try. Just grins.

“Well, you’re dating this dweeb, so…” he shrugs, gently closing your door.

For a moment, everything is quiet. No whispers. No stares. No rumors trailing behind you. Just quiet.

You would usually drive off immediately, eager to leave the draining campus behind. But for some reason, you hesitate, fingers resting against the steering wheel, unmoving. Martin notices. Of course he does. Watching you has become part of his daily routine. He leans down slightly, arms folding over the edge of your window.

“That was… a pretty eventful day,” he says.

You let out a soft laugh, nodding. “Yeah. It was.”

Silence settles again. Not uncomfortable. Just… unfamiliar. Like both of you are searching for something to say, but neither quite knows what.

Martin clears his throat lightly. “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow? I’ve got band practice, so I can’t take you home. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, Edwards,” you reply. “My mom would probably have a heart attack if she saw you anyway.”

He smirks. “Are my looks that dangerous?”

You roll your eyes. “No. It’s because you look like a walmart version of Sid Vicious.”

You expect another one of his dramatic comebacks. A joke. A protest. Something. But instead- “You know Sid Vicious?”

You pause. Just for a second. A flicker of hesitation. You know how people see you. You know what they expect. Girls like you don’t listen to that kind of music. Girls like you don’t know things like that.

You open your mouth, already ready to brush it off as a joke but Martin breaks into a wide grin. “You just keep getting cooler and cooler.”

And just like that, the moment shifts. He straightens up, stepping back from your car, hands tucked into his skinny jeans, that same easy smile still on his face.

“See you tomorrow, princess. Drive safe.”

And then he turns, heading back toward the school, probably to the music room, like it’s just another normal day.You watch him go. The way his guitar case bounces slightly, the way his frosted tips catch the light. And watch him disappear through the doors.

And for a moment, something unfamiliar settles in your chest. 

Cady Heron had always envied you.

Back at her old school, she had been the it girl. The perfect image of the campus sweetheart. Not only was she beautiful, but she was also helpful. Always tutoring the students who needed it, volunteering at every school fundraiser, dutifully following behind the teachers like their favorite little pet.

She had carefully built her image.

She made sure everyone bowed at her feet and unknowingly ate out of her hand, and the moment she realized how desperately people craved her attention, she knew she could never give up that kind of power.

So when she transferred to North Shore High, she expected more of the same. Only there was one problem.

You.

She could not understand how, despite your abrasive attitude, you still had the entire school trailing after you like lovesick puppies. Despite her best efforts to stand beside you, to replace your reign with her own sweet, charming image– she couldn’t understand how you still managed to remain on top.

That was when she decided she would take everything from you. One by one. Until you had nothing left. And she had everything.

Starting with Aaron Samuels.

Manipulating Aaron Samuels had not been difficult. Despite his good looks and golden retriever charm, at the end of the day he was still just a dog. With a brush of her hand against his arm here, a playful fix of his hair there, and the slightest pout of her lips– She got him into her bed, and got him to break up with you.

She couldn’t wait to see the look on your face. She could picture it already. Your anger at being replaced. Your humiliation. Your jealousy of her.

As she sat at the group’s usual cafeteria table that Monday, Aaron at her side, she waited eagerly for your arrival, ready to watch you desperately try to conceal your rage at realizing you had been replaced by someone better.

But to her shock, you ruined the script entirely.

You walked in smiling. Radiant. Completely unbothered. And hanging off the arm of Martin Edwards.

The same Martin Edwards who now pulled out your chair for you like it was second nature, his hand resting casually on your waist as you sat down beside him like nothing in the world had changed.

Like you hadn’t just been betrayed.

Like you hadn’t just been replaced.

Being seated directly across from your nauseating display of affection, Cady shot a glance toward Aaron and felt her stomach drop. His jaw was tight. His expression dark. His eyes lingered on you far too long.

No.

No, no, no. 

She could not allow this to happen. She had worked too damn hard for this. She had fought too hard to get him on her side, and she would make sure he kept his eyes exactly where they belonged. On her.

She had only just begun her climb toward the North Shore throne.

And she refused to let you win again.

The music drifting from Martin’s CD player was the only thing filling his room. Some old rock song you frequently heard bleeding through his earphones hummed through the speakers, blending with the occasional scratch of marker against plastic.

You lay flat on your stomach across his bed, lazily kicking your legs in the air while the taller boy sat cross legged on the floor beside you, colorful key tags scattered around the both of you in messy piles.

For the past hour, the two of you had repeated the same routine. Pick up a key tag. Pick up a pen. Write down:

010 666 1738. Cady Heron’s number.

Over. And over. And over again.

If someone had told you this morning that by the end of the day you’d be in Martin Edwards bedroom, surrounded by several hundred plastic key tags and willingly participating in what could only be described as low-level psychological warfare you would have laughed in their face.

But here you were.

You glanced down at the number written neatly across the bright pink tag in your hand, then at the mountain of finished ones piling up beside Martin. Then around his room. The band posters. The half-open guitar cases. The clothes thrown carelessly over the desk chair. The lingering scent of cologne and something faintly smoky.

Weird.

You had never imagined yourself here.

Had never imagined yourself anywhere near this comfortable in Martin Edwards’ personal space, let alone sprawled out on his bed like you belonged there.

Your thoughts drifted back to earlier that day.

To the exact moment this absurd plan had begun.

Martin had practically bounded toward you in the hallway that morning. Too energetic for eight a.m. Too smug for someone who looked like he’d gotten maybe four hours of sleep.

His grin was suspiciously wide, almost manic, and his hands were tucked behind his back in a way that immediately made you narrow your eyes.

“What are you hiding?” you asked flatly.

He gasped dramatically.

“No good morning? No ‘hello, Martin, you look devastatingly handsome today?’”

“Edwards.”

He rocked back on his heels, still grinning.

“Guess.”

“No.”

“Aw, c’mon, princess live a little.”

You stared at him. He stared back.

Then sighed dramatically.

“You’re no fun.”

“Sucks to suck.”

With a flourish far more theatrical than necessary, he brought his hands forward, revealing a giant ziplock bag, stuffed, to the brim. With brightly colored plastic key tags.

You blinked. Then blinked again. “…What.”

His grin somehow widened. “I have a proposition.”

You looked between him and the bag. “No.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet.”

“The answer is still no.”

He ignored you completely, already too committed to whatever nonsense this was.

“We write Cady’s number on every single one-” He shook the bag for emphasis, the keys rattling loudly. “Then we leave them everywhere.”

You just stared. He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially despite the fact that no one around you was paying attention. “Bathroom counters. Hallways. Parking lots. Grocery stores. Taped to vending machines. Maybe at the doorstep of that weird kid who always smells like cheese–”

He kept going.

“–And thennn random creeps start calling her nonstop”

Your lips twitched. Martin froze mid-sentence. Eyes immediately catching your reaction.

“You like it,” he breathed, eyes twinkling with excitement. “You like my plan dont youuu”

You wiped your smile off instantly. “It’s…petty.”

“But effective?” he echoes your words from your first interaction.

“…Maybe.”

He broke into a victorious grin, voice teasing, “I knew it.”

You crossed your arms. “You bought all of these?”

He nodded proudly. “Three hundred.”

You stared at him incredulously, “You bought three hundred key tags?”

“What can I say, I commit to the bit.”

You should have been concerned. And honestly, you were a little. But he was grinning at you like he’d just invited you into some grand criminal conspiracy. And for reasons you didn’t entirely understand, you found yourself saying:

“When do we start?”

Which was how you ended up here, in his room. Helping him ruin Cady Heron’s week. Martin tossed another blank key tag onto the bed beside you.

“You know, you have freakishly neat handwriting for someone actively committing harassment.”

You snorted softly.

“You bought three hundred key tags for revenge and I’m the weird one?”

“Difference is,” he said, pointing his marker at you, “my insanity is charming.”

“Hm debatable.”

He pressed a hand to his chest. “Ouch Y/N, why do you wound me like this.”

“You’ll survive.”

“W-whats that? Is that the light?” he dramatically gasps, a hand reaching out to the sky, “Is my time over?”

You rolled your eyes, just huffing at his usual theatrics, but there was no real bite behind it. A comfortable quiet settled over the room after that. The kind that should’ve felt strange. Should’ve felt awkward. But didn’t. It was easy. Alarmingly easy.

Martin reached over the bed to grab another handful of tags, his arm brushing against yours. Neither of you moved away.

“You know,” he said after a moment, quieter this time, “I’m glad you asked me.”

Your hand stilled over the tag.

“To help terrorize Heron?”

He laughed. “No. Well- yes? But I meant the whole fake dating thing.”

You looked down at the tag in your hand. “Why?”

He shrugged, suddenly looking almost shy. Or as shy as Martin Edwards was capable of looking. “I don’t know.” He fiddled with the cap of his marker. “I just am I guess”

You glanced at him. He wasn’t joking. Wasn’t smirking. Wasn’t teasing. The sincerity of it caught you off guard.

“You realize I insult you constantly,” you said.

He smiled.

“Yeah.”

“And I ran over your foot.”

“You did.”

“And I only asked you because you were convenient.”

His smile softened.

“And yet you still asked me.”

Something in your chest tightened in the same manner it did in the cafeteria. Uncomfortable. Warm. Dangerous.

So naturally, you looked away first. “Hand me another key tag.”

His grin returned instantly. “Aweee are you shy?”

“Martin.”

“Right, right. Sorry, Your Majesty.”

Later, the two of you drove around town with the windows rolled down and the music blasting loud enough to rattle the car doors. The pile of completed key tags sat in your lap like a loaded grenade. 

Every stop became a mission. You slipped one into a changing room at the mall. Martin dropped three in the movie theater lobby. You left two on the bathroom sink at a gas station. He tucked one under a windshield wiper while cackling like a supervillain.

At one point, after tossing a handful into the parking lot of a crowded grocery store, you sprinted back to his car laughing harder than you had in weeks.

“GO, GO, GO–”

“WAITWAIT THE TRUCK WONT START! HOLD ON IM PANICKING-!”

You collapsed into the passenger seat breathless, and he bolted out of the lot dramatically despite absolutely no one chasing you.

By the time the final key tag was gone, your cheeks hurt from smiling. Your voice was hoarse from screaming lyrics with him at red lights.

And when you looked over at Martin, hair windblown and ridiculous, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel while singing off-key with shameless confidence, you felt it.

That strange, unfamiliar ache in your chest. Because somewhere between the fake dating arrangement, the revenge plotting, the laughter…You had realized something dangerous.

You liked this. You liked him. Or maybe—

Not him. Not yet.

But you liked being around him. Liked how easy he made everything feel. Liked how he never expected you to be softer than you were. Never flinched at your cruelty. Never asked you to be kinder. Better. Prettier. Sweeter.

He knew exactly who you were, and instead of recoiling, he matched your energy. Helped you sharpen the knife. You looked at him for a long moment. And for the first time in longer than you cared to admit, you felt something dangerously close to gratitude.

When Cady walked into the cafeteria the next morning, dragging her feet with dark circles under her eyes, you and Martin had to physically restrain yourselves from laughing.

She looked awful. Her usually pristine hair was tied back in what could only generously be called a rushed ponytail, her concealer doing little to hide the exhaustion written plainly across her face. Even the way she walked lacked its usual polished confidence, movements sluggish, as if she hadn’t slept a second.

Martin’s shoulder bumped yours the second he saw her. You didn’t dare look at him. Because if you did, you would absolutely lose it.

Then Cady collapsed face-first onto the lunch table with a long, miserable groan. Aaron was at her side immediately. And Martin choked.

A loud, strangled cough tore out of him as he grabbed his drink, nearly knocking it over in the process. You kicked him hard beneath the table. He jerked, shooting you an offended look. You kept your face perfectly composed.

“What’s wrong, Cady?” Karen asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Did you sleep on the wrong side of the pillow?”

“Karen, it’s ‘slept on the wrong side of the bed.’ And no, I’m not okay!” Cady snapped, lifting her head just enough to glare at everyone. “Creeps have been calling me all night asking if I lost my keys or if I want to ‘have a good time.’”

Your lips pressed together so tightly they almost hurt. Beside you, Martin had gone suspiciously still. The kind of still that only happened when he was trying not to laugh.

Aaron frowned deeply. “Wait what?! How did random people even get your number?”

You widened your eyes in perfectly practiced concern. “Oh my God,” you said, your voice dripping with fake sympathy. “That’s awful! How would anyone even get your number?”

Martin nodded, far too quickly. “Yeah,” he added, coughing once into his fist. “That’s, uh… actually insane. Like… who would do something like that?”

Cady’s eyes narrowed immediately. Her gaze darted between the two of you. You stared right back, all wide-eyed innocence. Martin mirrored you, somehow managing to look both confused and deeply offended by the implication.

Karen gasped. “Maybe someone wrote your number in the bathroom!”

Gretchen’s eyes widened in horror. “Or online! Wait do hackers post phone numbers?”

Karen gasped louder. “Can hackers get into your microwave too?”

“No, Karen.”

Aaron reached for Cady’s hand, his expression softening. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out-”

“Would you stop?!” Cady suddenly snapped, jerking her hand away.

The table froze. Aaron blinked. “...What.”

“I said stop!” she hissed, shoving her tray away with enough force to make it rattle. “God, you’re all being so fucking annoying!”

Karen’s mouth dropped open. Gretchen looked like someone had slapped her. Even you raised your brows slightly. Aaron stared at her in stunned silence. “Cady, I was literally just trying to help-”

“Well, you’re not helping!” she shot back. “Hovering around me like some desperate puppy isn’t fixing anything, Aaron!”

His expression changed instantly. The confusion. The hurt. And most importantly, the offense.

Cady seemed to realize too late how harshly that had come out, her eyes widening for half a second, about to come up with a half hearted apology, she was interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing, the screen clearly a random number, and that completely sent her off the edge, with a loud frustrated squeal, she promptly ended the call and she shoved her chair back harshly. “God I can’t do this anymore! I need air.” Then stormed off.

The silence she left behind was deafening. Karen turned to Gretchen, visibly distraught. “Was she mad at us?”

“I…” Gretchen frowned. “She’s never acted like that before.”

Aaron remained seated, still staring in the direction Cady had left. His jaw tight. His brows furrowed. The first unmistakable crack of doubt settling into his expression. And when your eyes met Martin’s–

You knew he saw it too. She was slipping. Her image slowly breaking apart. And once people started slipping, they rarely stopped.

Eventually Gretchen scrambled after Cady, Karen hurrying after her in panic, still—Aaron didn’t move. For a second longer. Then another. Long enough to matter. His gaze flickered once more, back to you. Uncertain, like he was waiting. For something. A sign. An excuse. Anything.

You gave him nothing. Of course you didn’t. And that was what made the decision for him. He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair before finally pushing back his chair. The sound scraped too loudly against the floor. He hesitated one last time, just at the edge of turning away. Then without another word he followed after them.

Leaving the table blessedly empty.

The second they were gone. Martin burst. He doubled over in laughter so violently he nearly slid out of his chair. “Oh my- Oh my God–” he wheezed, clutching his stomach. “Did you see her face when Karen said bathroom stall?”

That did it.

You laughed too. Full-on laughed. The kind you usually tried to suppress in public.

“She looked like she was about to cry,” you snorted.

“She looked like she wanted to kill us.”

“Well she probably does if we're being honest.”

His grin widened. “Worth it.”

“Absolutely.”

He leaned toward you slightly, lowering his voice.

“You know,” he said smugly, “I'm starting to think we make a pretty terrifying team.”

You smirked.

“Don’t get too cocky now, Edwards.”

“Too late.”

Then, for a moment– his confidence falters. Just slightly enough for you to notice. He reached down into his bag, pulling out a folded white fabric. Your brows furrowed.

“What is that?”

He held one out to you. A Cortis band shirt. Except, the logo was bright pink, instead of the usual bands black.

You blinked.

Martin rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “We have another gig this weekend,” he said, suddenly sounding much less sure of himself. “And, uh…”

He glanced away, “I had them make one in pink. For you.”

Your fingers paused as you took the shirt from his hands. It was soft. Clearly brand new. He had custom ordered one. For you.

Martin shifted in his seat. “You don’t have to wear it or anything,” he rushed out. “I just thought– maybe if you’re bored and have nothing to do that day, it would be funny if you-”

“I’ll go.”

He stopped. Blinking.

“What?”

You looked up from the shirt. “Obviously I’ll go,” you repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m your girlfriend, aren’t I?”

The way his face lit up was almost embarrassing. His entire expression softened at once. Like he physically couldn’t stop himself. “Yeah,” he said far too quickly. “Yeah. You are.”

You stood abruptly, slinging the shirt over your bag. “Don’t make this weird.”

His grin returned instantly. “Too late. I’m already imagining our wedding.”

You rolled your eyes. But as you walked away– you were smiling.

Later that evening as you doomscrolled through pinterest to look for inspo on how to style the shirt you receive a very unexpected notification.

The moment you stepped into the backyard, the entire atmosphere shifted. Heads turned almost instantly. Someone near the drink table audibly muttered, “Holy shit, is that Y/N L/N?”

You ignored them. Let them stare. Let them whisper. Because tonight, unlike the first time you had come here, you had no intention of hiding. No oversized sunglasses. No hat pulled over your face. No pathetic attempt at pretending you weren’t there for a reason.

You walked into that crowded backyard like you owned it. Head high, expression composed, the bright pink Cortis band tee fitted tightly against your body. 

The shirt alone was enough to draw stares. Because everyone knew that wasn’t official merch. Everyone knew that had been made specifically for you. And if the shirt somehow didn’t make your intentions obvious enough, the way you marched straight toward the stage certainly did.

The boys were still setting up their instruments when Martin noticed you.

And froze. Completely.

His hand slipped against the neck of his guitar. James followed his stare first. Then Seonghyeon. Then the rest of the band. And suddenly all of them were staring at you like they had collectively hallucinated.

“No fucking way,” Juhoon muttered into the mic.

Keonho laughed so hard he nearly dropped a drumstick. “Holy shit,” he shouted toward Martin. “Your girlfriend actually came!”

The crowd immediately erupted into chatter. Martin, meanwhile, looked like his brain had short-circuited. You stopped just beneath the stage, folding your arms.

“Well?” you called up dryly. “Should I leave? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

That snapped him out of it. He hopped down from the stage so quickly James yelled, “Dude, where are you going?!”

Martin ignored him entirely. He walked straight toward you, eyes wide, gaze flicking between your face and the shirt like he genuinely couldn’t process either.

“You came.”

You raised a brow.

“You invited me.”

“Yeah, but-” His eyes dropped again to the shirt. Then widened somehow further. “You wore it.”

You looked down at yourself casually.

“Oh this old thing? It was just sitting on my closet so I thought why not, you know?”

Martin let out something between a laugh and a choke.

“It’s pink.”

“You made it pink.”

“For you.”

“And I wore it.”

He stared at you. Still visibly stunned. Like he genuinely had not prepared himself for this possibility. You smirked.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting emotional, Edwards.”

He nervously ran his hand through his hair, a nervous smile on his lips. “You have no idea what this is doing to me right now.”

From behind him, “Oh my God, he’s in LOVE love” Keonho teases.

“Dude shut up” James scolds, slapping the younger boy on the back, “You’re embarrassing ‘tin in front of his huzz” 

You laughed softly as you watch Martin’s face turn into a blazing hot red at their comments. And the sound alone seemed to make him melt. Despite the embarrassment, he steps closer. Close enough that his voice dropped lower.

“You’re standing front row?”

“Obviously.”

His grin turned crooked. “Planning to scream my name?”

“In your dreams.”

He leaned in closer, “You wearing my shirt says otherwise.”

Before you could retort, he bent down and pressed a soft kiss against your hair. Brief. Gentle. Almost reverent. Your breath caught. Martin pulled back with a smirk.

“For luck,” he murmured. Then turned and jogged back onstage before you could gather enough composure to insult him. Martin played like a man possessed. And maybe that was dramatic. But it was true.

Every ounce of his usual energy had somehow doubled. He moved across the makeshift stage like he’d been electrified, guitar slung low against his body, hair messy beneath the lights, grin appearing every single time his eyes found you in the front row. Which was often. And every time he looked your way, he played harder. Sang louder. Performed like he had something to prove. Or perhaps, someone to impress.

You found yourself smiling far more than you meant to. Cheering louder than was dignified. Singing along to the lyrics of the songs he’d played in his car enough times for you to know by heart.

By the end of the set, the entire backyard was screaming for more. And Martin looked at you from the stage like he had never wanted anything more than your approval. He jogged over the second they finished, breathless and glowing with adrenaline.

“Well?” he asked immediately. “How amazing was I?”

You pretended to think about it. He narrowed his eyes. Then you smirked.

“You were…decent.”

He gasped.

“Decent?”

“Maybe slightly above average.”

“You’re evil.”

“You adore me.”

His grin softened.

“Yeah, can’t deny that.”

He leaned down and kissed your temple quickly.

“I’m getting drinks. Don’t move.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Yes, mom.”

“Funny.” He pointed at you. “Stay.”

Then disappeared into the crowd. You had barely been alone thirty seconds before—

“Y/N.”

Your shoulders momentarily stiffened. You turned. And there stood Aaron.

As expected.

He looked nervous. More nervous than you had ever seen him. His gaze flicked briefly toward where Martin had disappeared. Then back to you. “Can we please talk?”

You crossed your arms. “We’re talking.”

He swallowed. Then stepped closer, hands trembling as they reached out to you. “I made a mistake.”

You blinked once.

Ah. There it was.

Aaron exhaled shakily. “Breaking up with you was a mistake.”

Your expression remained unreadable. He ran a hand through his hair. “Seeing you tonight- with him- I just…” He looked down briefly before meeting your eyes again. “I still want you.”

Silence. Then…slowly– you smiled. Aaron visibly brightened, convinced that he had somehow made you think he really felt bad, that he was just also manipulated by Cady. Until you spoke.

“No.”

His face fell instantly.

“What?”

“No,” you repeated. “I’m not getting back together with you.”

His brows furrowed. “Y/N, come on- that’s bullshit right? You clearly want me back, you-”

“You want to know the funny part?” you interrupted sweetly. “I don’t even miss you.” His face paled. Your smile sharpened. “I just wanted you to realize what you lost.”

Understanding dawned in his eyes. Horror. Humiliation. “You used me?”

You tilted your head. “Please Aaron, don’t act so shocked.”

His voice rose. “So this whole thing with Martin is fake?!”

“Nope.”

Aaron spun. Martin stepped back beside you, handing you your drink like he hadn’t just walked into the world’s best timing. His arm slid naturally around your waist. His gaze on Aaron was cool. Deadly amused.

“You had your chance,” Martin said simply.

Aaron stared between the two of you. At Martin’s hand on your waist. At your complete lack of denial. At the way you didn’t move away. His face twisted. Humiliation quickly curdling into bitterness. Then he laughed. Short and sharp.

“You know what?” he snapped, glaring at Martin. “Fine. Have fun with her.”

Your smile still didn’t disappear despite the malice in his tone but tightened. Aaron stepped back, shaking his head. “You’ll get tired of it eventually.”

Martin’s expression darkened. Aaron pointed toward you. “Of her.”

The backyard seemed to go quieter. “You think this is fun now?” Aaron continued bitterly. “Just wait until you realize how exhausting she is.”

Your stomach dropped. Martin stiffened beside you. Aaron laughed humorlessly. “She’s high maintenance, controlling, impossible to please–she expects everything to revolve around her.” His voice sharpened. “She gets suffocating, man. Trust me. You’ll want out eventually too.”

For one horrible second, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Because no matter how cruel Aaron was being, a part of you hated how much it sounded like every insecurity you never said aloud.

Martin’s jaw clenched, then, he smiled but there was no humor in it.

“No,” he said simply.

Aaron frowned.

Martin’s arm tightened around your waist. “I like maintaining her.”

Aaron blinked. Martin stepped forward slightly. “I like the clothes. I like the makeup. I like the attitude.” His voice sharpened. “And if she wants the world revolving around her, then it’s because it should.”

You stared up at him. Stunned. 

Martin didn’t look away from Aaron. “So maybe the problem isn’t that she’s ‘too much.’” His smile turned sharp. “Maybe you were just too little.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Aaron’s face burned red, almost reminding you of a rabid dog.

He opened his mouth about to come up with another rebuttal but then just closed it. Then finally turned and stormed off without another word. Disappearing into the crowd. Martin watched him go, then looked down at you.

“You good?”

You took the drink from his hand. Sipped, then smiled.

“Perfect.”

His grin spread immediately. “Good.” He leans closer, for only you to hear. “For the record…”

You raised a brow.

“If fake dating gets me to watch you reject your ex in my shirt–” His smile turned wicked. “–I’m never letting this arrangement end.”

A laugh slipped from you before you could stop it. But it faded quickly. Because Aaron’s words still lingered. Still sat heavy in your chest.

Martin noticed immediately. His smile softened. “What?”

You hesitated. Then looked away. “He’s not wrong, you know.”

His brows furrowed instantly.

“What?”

You gave a humorless little laugh. “I am high maintenance.”

His expression shifted at once, turning serious, intently listening to your words and carefully thinking about them. You looked down at your drink. “The clothes, the makeup, the hair, the attitude…” you muttered. “Everything has to be perfect all the time. I know I’m difficult. I know I can be a lot.”

“Hey.” His voice was quiet but firm. You looked up. Martin steps closer.

“Don’t do that.”

You frowned. “Do what?”

“Repeat what people who couldn’t handle you said like it’s fact.”

Your breath caught. He reaches up slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Handling you as if you were a porcelain doll.

“You are not difficult for wanting nice things.” His voice stayed soft. Steady. “You are not hard to love because you care about how you look.” His thumb brushed your cheek. “And you are not ‘too much’ just because someone else was too weak to meet your standards.”

Your throat tightened. “If anything,” he murmured, “I think you should demand more.”

You stared at him, completely speechless, completely undone. He gave your cheek one last gentle stroke.

“So no,” he said softly. “You’re not high maintenance." A beat. “You just know what you deserve.”

Something in your chest cracked wide open.

And before you could think, before you could overanalyze, before you could stop yourself,

Your hand caught the front of his shirt, pulled him down, and kissed him.

The entire backyard erupted behind you. Whistles. Cheering. Someone screaming, “FINALLY!”

But you barely heard any of it. Martin freezes for half a second. Then kissed you back like he had been waiting for this longer than either of you wanted to admit. One hand came to your waist. The other cupped your jaw. Holding you like you were something precious.

And when you finally pulled away, breathless and giggling, he stared at you like you had just changed his entire life.

“Well,” he said faintly. You smirked despite your racing heart. “Still think I’m only slightly above average?” His grin turned borderline delirious.

“Hmm fine, I guess you are the best.” you laughed softly, still close enough that your noses nearly brushed.

For a moment neither of you moved. Neither of you seemed entirely willing to. Then Martin’s expression shifted, his grin softening into something almost shy.

Which, on him, looked absurdly endearing.“Sooo…” he said slowly.

You raised a brow. “So?”

His hands tightened slightly at your waist. “That kiss felt…” He trailed off, then huffed out a laugh. “Not very fake boyfriend-girlfriend of us.”

Heat crept up your neck. You tilted your chin defensively. “Maybe I’m just a very dedicated actress.” Martin snorted.

“Right.”

A beat passes, then he asks, “So are we still fake dating?”

Your heart skipped. There it was. The question hanging between both of you. Suddenly far more terrifying than it should have been. You looked at him. At the way his teasing had faded into something careful. Like maybe for once, Martin Edwards wasn’t entirely sure of himself.

And that realization did something dangerous to your chest. You let your fingers smooth absentmindedly over the front of his shirt where you had grabbed him.

Then smirked.

“Well…” you murmured. “That depends.”

His brows lifted.

“On?”

You leaned in just enough to make him follow instinctively.

“Are you asking me to be your real girlfriend, Edwards?”

His eyes widened, then he laughed. A little breathless, hands trembling. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one doing that?”

“You were taking too long.”

He stared at you for half a second then grinned– completely gone for you.

“Okay,” he said, stepping closer until there wasn’t even an inch between you. “Then yeah.”

His voice softened.

“Be my girlfriend for real?”

And for once, you didn’t tease him. Didn’t deflect. Didn’t play coy. You just smiled. Soft and genuine.

And nodded.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Okay.”

The smile that broke across his face could have lit the entire neighborhood. He kissed you again immediately, laughing into it this time, hands warm against your waist. Forehead pressing to yours when he pulled back.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, still grinning like an idiot, “how long I’ve wanted that.”

You smiled. “Oh, I think I do.” He gasped dramatically. “So you admit you were obsessed with me first?”

“Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Too late,” he said cheerfully. “You’re stuck with me now.”

You rolled your eyes. But smiled anyway. And when he laced his fingers through yours,

You held on.

BONUS:

ʚ🍮ɞ #REI: uni still hasnt released me from its evil clutches and has actually tightened its hold on my neck but this draft has been crying to be released from my docs so i thought might as well 🥀🥀🥀 i hope this was okay for you guys 😖 the plot does feel a bit over the place but i genuinely didnt know what else to do 💔 anyways thats all i have for now, as always thank you so much for the support on my works ily >0< !!!

[jjuhyeons]

CANON EVENT ⟡ 박우주 (PART ONE)

암팡지다 ★ you’d spent the majority of your superhero career trying to avoid canon events. the dreaded, unchangeable moments that shaped every spider-person’s life. despite being told that there was nothing to be done about your fate, you took it into your own hands. you’d be the first spider to break the chain. then martin edwards park came along.

warnings ★ swearing, characters being dramatic, typical teenager stuff, HEAVY ANGST like i cried while writing some bits, canon typical spiderman violence, elements of psychological abuse and like… manipulation, sort of, themes of love and loss, minor character death, some narrative haunting, angst, cliffhanger, aaanndd reader has attachment issues and gets really mean. 

genre ★ spiderwoman au, superhero au, slight 2000s au, strangers to friends, friends into lovers, romance, comedy, angst, action, spiderwoman!reader, mj!martin, bff!juhoon, martin x reader 

word count ★ 29k of 33.7k

notes ★ ok so remember when i said a martin au where reader is spiderwoman and he’s your mj would be cool. yeah i wrote it. also enjoy the woojin (lngshot) cameos he’s my newest little guy. not proofread because i mean LOOK AT THE SIZE OF THIS THING!!

listen to… me when i’m spider-man

ALRIGHT, LET’S DO THIS one last time.

When you were sixteen, you were bitten by a radioactive spider, and for the last two and a half years, you’ve been your dimension’s one and only Spider-Woman. I’m pretty sure the audience knows the rest.

You saved the city, defeated a big bad, and did it all while having zero gymnastics experience and more anxiety than was fit for someone your size.

It was in your last year of high school that you fell in love for the second and final time in your life. The night before your eighteenth birthday, in fact, the promise of future love sealed with an upside-down kiss under neon city lights.

But, before we get to that, I guess I’ve got to set the scene leading up to that moment. You know, just so that we’re all on the same page.

2026년 2월 11일

11 FEBRUARY, 2026

서울 Seoul

The streets were packed with people as you expertly weaved through the crowds, dragging your very begrudging best friend behind you with a grunt of effort. Of course, he’d been the one to suggest that you go out shopping at this late hour, yet he’d been the first to complain once he’d seen how many people had had the same idea as him. 

The days leading up to Valentine’s Day had been spent working, both on schoolwork and saving unknowing couples from vengeful villains who hated celebrations of romance and happiness for some reason, while Juhoon had passed the day reading nonfiction to, quote-unquote, “detox his brain from the romance-fuelled nightmare which was this upcoming holiday,” after which he nagged you to go shopping with him until you—spent, bloodied, and beaten—gave in. You raced through the streets, your legs carrying you to the department store closest to yours and Juhoon’s neighbourhood.

It was surprisingly busy for the hour, though, you didn’t know a time where Seoul wasn’t bursting with life. You finally stopped, setting your hands on your hips with finality as your fingers slipped out from Juhoon’s hold. “Right,” you said, out of breath. “What did you need to get here?”

He glanced up at the bright, fluorescent light casting a very unflattering shadow over the two of you, all gangly limbs and fitted jeans, worn shoes, annoying spots and rusted jewellery, seemingly in thought. “T-shirts,” he answered finally, nodding. “Lots and lots of T-shirts.”

“Alright, then. Lead the way.”

You ambled over to the clothing racks, stocked with everything from designer to second-hand to a brand you liked to call might as well have just come from absolutely nowhere. Juhoon took his time browsing, his left hand angling the shirts over his lean form while his right was used to balance all those he’d chosen for proper fitting, and maybe even buying.

When he’d circled the same rack for the fourth time, passing you his possible purchases to hold while he carefully carded through each and every top like he hadn’t seen them all five times before, you decided that you’d let him do his thing and occupy yourself with something else. Surely he’d come to find you if he’d grabbed something else he wanted to get.

You found yourself in a different section of the shop, still on the same floor as Juhoon, in the technology aisle. Everything from headphones to chargers to DVD players to the thing you’d been looking for the longest—cameras. Like with their clothing section, the department store had a lovely selection of brand new and secondhand devices alike, so you could take your time deciding whether you wanted to spend four months’ wages on a new camera, or just one.

You’d been searching for a particular sort of camera to add to your ever-growing collection. Well, you supposed not too particular; you didn’t have any models in mind, just vibes. You squinted at the racks, seeing everything you already had; small digital cameras for more candid pictures, camcorders for idle moments and memories, professional cameras for picture day, but not what you needed.

You turned, thinking to yourself where to look for something small, sturdy, grainy, that takes film, and can be used for the more romantic—

BANG!

In a rather comical moment, you were sent flying as you crashed into someone, landing smack on your bum. Your palms ached as they took the brunt of your fall, your wrists clicking in a way that definitely wasn’t normal. You brought a hand up to your face with a pained groan, before realising the familiar frame of your tortoiseshell glasses was missing. With a lurch, the small crack! you’d heard as you fell replayed in your mind, and you cautiously looked up to face whoever you’d bumped into. 

You wondered how the hell your spidey senses hadn’t given you so much as a slight sting because of the sheer size of the guy you’d somehow completely missed when turning around.

The first you saw of him were his shoes—large, spotless Converses swimming in baggy denim. He was big, and tall, it seemed, long legs like a highway that took you over the plains of his lean body, and eventually, with a shiver from your side, a very pretty, very confused face. Shaggy blonde hair went this way and that as he shook his head in recovery, dark brown eyes adjusting to the abrupt change of setting.

His glance soon found yours, and his eyes widened in realisation as he seemed to process what had happened. Before you had another moment to appreciate the view, he got up, hands already reaching for you as apologies spilled from his pillowy lips. “Oh, my God, I am so sorry. I didn’t even see you there, and— That probably sounds bad, doesn’t it? I’m not saying you’re short, or anything, it’s just…” He paused, the pads of his fingers resting on your wrist as he pulled you up with less effort than was appropriate for your palpitating heart. “Wait, do you even understand English? ‘Cause I’m speaking English. Ah, crap. Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to bump into y—”

“It’s fine,” you interjected, yanking your arm out of his grip as if he’d shocked you. Which, mentally, perhaps not physically, he had. “I’m fine. I understand English. And Korean. And, yeah, I’m short. I get it. But I’m the one who bumped into you. I wasn’t looking where I was going, and—”

He reached for your hand again, imploring, “No, seriously, it’s not your f—”

You began, “I didn’t mean to hurt y—”

And so on it went for the next fifteen seconds. Eventually, you stopped yourself, looking down at the awfully interesting and blurry floor, before glancing back up at the ridiculously handsome stranger whose camera you’d broken. 

Wait. Your eyes widened, finally noticing the camera hanging loose around his neck, and most importantly, the broken lense staring at you like a foul gesture. “Oh, shit. Oh, crap. I’m so sorry. Your camera— I— Ohhh, I am so, so sorry.”

He glanced down, hands subconsciously cupping the expensive gadget. “Oh, this? Don’t worry about it.” He waved a dismissive hand, like, Don’t sweat it. “It’s ancient, and the lens was screwed up anyway. That’s the whole reason I’m here, actually.”

“Oh.”

You seemed to be saying that a lot these days.

He smiled, and you thought your knees might buckle beneath you. “Yeah. Oh.” Then he laughed, and the sound was like the gates of heaven opening and ushering you in with soft, steady hands on your back. “Anyway, do I… know you? You look kind of familiar.” Oh, shit. Oh, shit, oh— “Do you go to Siryeok Academy?”

You nodded dumbly. Why the hell were you even afraid that he may have known? “Uh, yeah.”

If it could, his smile widened. “Hey, me too! You’re Class 3A, right?” He said your name, experimentally, as if testing out the vowels, and again received a dumb nod from you. He held out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Martin. Class 3B. Nice to meet you.”

You glanced down at his hand—sharp, lean, sparkling with silver rings. His wrist was encircled by  several bracelets. You took it into your own, your rings clashing against his as you shook hands. Martin. The name sounded familiar, and you found yourself repeating it after he’d introduced himself. Martin. You were sure you’d heard it somewhere before. Did he play sports, maybe?

Mmm… no. As attractive as he was, it was clear he wasn’t fit sports-wise. He was too lanky to be a swimmer or a soccer player, too skinny to play volleyball or basketball, and those were Siryeok’s most famous sports programs. For some reason, he looked like he’d be pretty bad at table tennis, too, so you ruled that out as well. Maybe he was in some sort of club?

“You’re part of the school’s newspaper, right?” you guessed, and as soon as you said the words you realised you’d read his name somewhere before. Martin Edwards Park. 박우주. Park Woojoo, lead photographer of the school newspaper, photographer of Siryeok Academy’s yearbook since 2024.

His eyes seemed to light up—or maybe you were just hallucinating; where were your glasses?—and he nodded. “Yeah, yeah. The— I’m the leader, actually. Of… it. The photography. The photography department at the newspaper.”

An awkward silence settled over you, wherein it became increasingly obvious to you that you’d dropped all of Juhoon’s promise purchases, and still hadn’t located your glasses.

You heard shuffling, and looking up, you saw Martin crouching amidst the chaos, picking up a brown frame that looked laughably small in his hands. “Oh, crap. I totally forgot about your… glasses.” He raised them in front of his face, revealing the cracked rim and lens. “Shit. Sorry.”

You snatched them from his hands, startling him. “It’s fine,” you said quickly, dropping to your knees to collect the fallen shirts. “It’s… I needed to get a new pair, anyway.” That was a lie. You’d only bought this pair a few months ago.

He promptly followed suit, helping you pick them up without question. “Still, I’m sorry. They’re totally wrecked now. If I’d just looked where I was going—”

“Martin,” you interrupted, cutting him off to both of your surprises. “It’s fine. They’re just glasses. Besides, I already wasn’t looking where I was going. Neither of us stood a chance.”

He chuckled softly, the sound light and heavenly and pretty much enough to make you cry. “When you say it like that, then… yeah. I feel a little less like an ass.”

“Good,” you said, standing up, hands full once more. You gave him the best smile you could while your brain was wailing about just how damn pretty he was and how you’d probably never find beauty like that again in your life and— “That was my intention.”

He tilted his head, wondering aloud, “So, now that I’ve officially met you, do I get to say, ‘See you at school’?”

What an odd question to ask. He could say anything to you and you’d be eternally grateful he even wasted his breath on you. Then again, you couldn’t exactly tell him that without scaring him off, either, so all you said was, “Sure. I’ll see you at school, Martin.”

He grinned. “See ya. Hope you find the camera you were looking for.”

“Wh—?”

But he was already gone, disappearing among the many shoppers in the store, leaving you alone, in the middle of the tech aisle, still carrying all your friend’s shirts that he was hopefully going to buy. If not, you’d have come all for nothing.

…Okay, maybe not for nothing. But still, meeting the most beautiful man on the planet was not good enough to justify you being dragged out after such a tiring day.

You found Juhoon right where you left him, perhaps positioned a centimetre or two to the right, in front of a different rack than the previous one. He seemed to take as much notice of your arrival as he had of your departure, which was to say, none at all. Until,

“Where did you run off to?” he asked, tilting his head towards you in subtle question. “Someone need saving?”

“No,” you said. “I was just looking around the tech aisle.”

He hummed. “Still looking for that film camera, huh?”

“Yup.”

“And where are your glasses?”

You froze. He wasn’t even looking at you! How did he know you weren’t wearing them anymore?

“Oh. I, uh… funny story, actually. I bumped into someone, and my glasses broke,” you explained, with no stiffness or bubble in your throat whatsoever.

His expression remained unchanged. “Must’ve been quite the fall, huh? Didn’t your spidey senses tingle or something?”

You grimaced. “Please don’t say ‘tingle’. It’s gross. And why does it sound like you’re interrogating me?”

Finally, he turned to face you with that same calm manner, something simmering beneath the surface. “Because you’re being all awkward, and I can practically feel the heat radiating off you, which means you saw someone who made you flustered, which means you ran into a cute guy, which means I need to know everything there is to know about him before he breaks your heart into a million little pieces the same way he broke your glasses.”

A small, tense silence ensued, and you gave Juhoon possibly the most shocked stare you could manage since that time you accidentally made Tuseokgi explode in the middle of a Seoul subway station.

“O…kay.” You shifted your weight from foot to foot, explaining, “His name’s Martin. He goes to Siryeok. He was looking for a new camera because his old one was broken or something, and he’s the lead photographer of—”

“The school paper,” Juhoon finished for you, nodding like he knew who you were talking about. “I’ve met him a few times before.” He paused, before adding, “He’s alright. Kind of weird. Really bad at table tennis.”

You frowned. “Weird?” 

He shrugged. “Kind of lanky, kind of awkward. But he’s chill, I guess.”

“Oh. Well. Thanks for that, then?”

“Pleasure. Now, where did I put my wallet?”

As is to be expected, it’s difficult being a vigilante and a high school student at the same time. Trying to balance both lifestyles, not to neglect either side of your life, was a feat you hadn’t yet mastered. Most days you showed up to school on time, but every now and then, there was a day where your nemeses decided to make your life just that little bit more difficult by robbing a bank, or pickpocketing an old lady, or trying to wipe out your entire family with no remorse to be found in their broken bodies. You know, small things that you wished you could leave, but that would put you in a really awkward position if anyone were to find out there had been a superhero in the city who didn’t bother to save them from getting mugged one morning.

And sometimes, it wasn’t just in the mornings. Sometimes, it was while you were trying to go through your school day as usual, trying not to focus on the fact that Gapchung told you he’d rip off your head and eat it the previous night, or that this weird spotty creature kept phasing in and out of existence and was floating just outside your classroom. Today was one of those days.

“Man, I really can’t do this today,” you complained, dodging a kick as the masked figure who’d been tailing you since you left your flat attempted to retaliate. “I just ironed my uniform this morning. And I’ve got a Calculus test! Does that mean nothing to you people?!”

You weren’t sure where this person had found you, or why they’d decided to make you their target. They didn’t look like a supervillain—they didn’t even really look like a normal, low-budget villain, to be honest. Just some kid in a kabuki mask throwing badly-timed kicks your way for whatever reason. Why would they be trying to rob you?

They said nothing, swung, and you ducked. “I mean, couldn’t you have tried to rob someone who looked a little bit richer? Someone who has bodyguards to knock you out, maybe?”

The fight didn’t last too long, mostly because this person clearly had no idea what they were doing. They were fighting with reckless abandon, as if they were more trying to prove something than to do any real damage to you. You saw them off with a final, well-placed hit that sent them crashing to the ground, crumpling in a heap in the middle of a dark alleyway.

You stepped back for a moment, trying to catch your breath, because for whatever reason, the spider that gave you your powers forgot the part where you were supposed to have gotten incredible stamina. Maybe that was payback for costing it its life, or something. You didn’t pay the mysterious figure any mind past assessing their form—lean, a bit short, smaller than most villains. There were no distinguishing marks or features on their body, partly because they were dressed head to toe in black, their face shrouded by a white and red mask. A fox, you noted. Mm. Odd.

Before you could stare for a moment longer, your phone pinged in your skirt pocket. You slid it out of the soft material, its screen lighting up to show several messages from Juhoon.

주 dude, where are you?? classes start in 15 minutes… did someone get robbed

are u fighting a big bad

But that wasn’t what caught your attention. The timestamp on the messages… 7.45… Cripes! Your eyes widened, and with a last glance the stranger’s way, you raced out of the alleyway and into the busy street, running as fast as you could through the early morning crowds. Pushing down the festering feeling that something was amiss, something wasn’t right.

Juhoon was waiting for you at the school gates, leaning against the large, ornate black iron, staring at his phone as if anticipating something. That something probably being a text back from you, because you rarely, if ever, left him on read. His head lifted only when you were a few metres from him, eyes squinting against the pale sunlight and not betraying anything besides slight annoyance.

“Finally,” he sighed. “Where were you?”

“Sorry,” you breathed, putting your hands on your knees. “Someone jumped me in an alleyway, New Jersey style.”

He frowned. “Familiar?”

You shook your head. “No. New.”

A hum, and you both turned to walk side by side up the steps leading into the school building, voices hushed and hauntingly casual as you spoke. “Any powers?”

“Not that they showed,” you answered. “They were pretty small, too.”

“So, your newest villain is a teenager?”

“Looks like. One with really bad karate moves.”

That got an amused snort out of him. “Like you would know.”

“Hey! Even if I never did a day’s exercise in my life before becoming a superhero, I know a good roundhouse kick when I see one.”

“Right.”

You parted with a mocking Right his way as the start of your day was signalled by the sound of the electric clock ringing through the halls, you making your way to your homeroom, Juhoon making his way to his.

The rest of your day looked as if it would pass by without a hitch. You attended classes, wrote your Calculus test (which you didn’t do too badly on, you thought) and enjoyed a villain-free lunch. You and Juhoon sat across from one another in agreeable silence, only exchanging a few words in the fifteen minutes you were given to rest between classes.

“You know,” Juhoon started, chewing thoughtfully on a strip of pork, “I was thinking of signing up for the school newspaper.”

You glanced up at him from your own lunch—jajangmyeon, kimchi fried rice, and several very unhealthy sweets, all packed affectionately by your stepmother, Mirae—your eyes clear in their question. You hadn’t gotten new glasses since the incident, and were now staring at the rather adorable blur which was your best friend, eyes squinted both in question and blindness. “Since when did journalism interest you?”

“Since never,” he answered swiftly. “But I need something to do to have an excuse to skip hagwon, and I’m not interested in any of the other clubs.” He nodded to you. “You wanna do it with me?”

You shifted in your seat. Something—not spider-like intuition, no, simply an apt understanding of your friend’s sly thinking process—told you that this was going exactly where you thought it would. “If this is about Martin—”

“Of course it’s about Martin,” he interrupted. “You like him, don’t you?”

“Juhoon, I’ve met him once.”

“Then let me correct myself. You like the look of him, don’t you?”

“Maybe a bit.”

“So, wouldn’t us joining the school paper be a good excuse to see more of him?” He tilted his head, feigning consideration. “Maybe even get to know him better?”

You sighed. “Hoon…”

He gave you a look. A rare glimpse of his face free of the pretences he kept up to maintain a nonchalant façade, his eyes softening, pouty lips twisting sympathetically. “You need to get out there again. Not… not just dating—though if that’s what you wanna do, I won’t protest.” He raised his hands in a placating gesture, before adding, “You need to learn to get close to someone again.”

You pouted, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m already close to you, aren’t I?”

It didn’t work. Juhoon didn’t budge, not for one second. “You know what I mean. It’s been a year since Gyu—”

“I know.”

You knew. You wished you didn’t. You wished that horrid day wasn’t still fresh in your mind, burnt into your heart as if it had only happened the previous day. You wished you didn’t feel his absence every waking moment. You wished you hadn’t pushed him away, convinced yourself that it wasn’t that serious, that you didn’t need to rush to his side immediately. And most importantly, you wished it never happened.

“…Then you’ll know that you need to start opening up your heart again. You can’t be with me all the time.”

“What, you don’t like having me around?”

He sighed softly. “That’s not what I said. You need to separate yourself from me sometime. All the things you’ve been doing repeatedly since it happened. Old habits. Old friends. They’ve got to be left behind eventually. You need to live your own life. And most importantly, you need to learn to open up again.”

A long silence passed before you could will yourself to say anything. Your eyes burned with tears wanting to fall; your throat closed with emotion. Before anyone could see, you harshly wiped at your eyes and tried for a smile. All he was doing was looking out for you. You, his best friend, who he’d known since middle school. You, his best friend, who he found out lived a double life. You, his best friend, who was one of a kind in abilities and curses. You, his best friend, who deserved more than a half-assed last year of high school spent trying to balance your studies and hero work. 

You relented with a sigh, tinged at the edges with feigned annoyance. “Alright, fine. I’ll join the newspaper with you. Let’s just hope they actually want us.”

Juhoon smiled. Soft, hopeful. “Great. Now…” His soft grin turned into something slow, sinister. “If I remember correctly, you know someone who could help get us in.”

Tracking Martin down proved to be an oddly difficult task; surprising given his size and the fact that he couldn’t exactly blend in anywhere. During the day, you’d tried any possible area; the school’s basketball court, his classroom—even the newsroom had been deserted when you peeked your head in, only the faint hum of an electric fan recycling hot air occupying the room.

After your classes ended, and no villains made any attempts on your life between 15.00 and 16.00, you headed to the basketball court where Juhoon spent most of his afternoons. It was only a few blocks from Siryeok Academy, a hop, skip, and a jump if you hurried, though this particular afternoon, you took your time. 

You knew you’d be spending the rest of the afternoon there, watching Juhoon idly practice his shoots and dribbles while you tried to do your homework. You wouldn’t actually finish it, of course, instead joining him in an impromptu game and cramming between midnight and the next morning before school to finish all your assignments.

Because you had decided to take your time for the first time in… a while, you supposed, you got to see a lot more sights that you didn’t usually have the opportunity to see on other afternoons, where you were more eager to escape from the prison which was your specialised high school. The twitter of birds floated through the air, as if aided by the cool breeze, and you bundled your parka tighter around your form as a plume of breath escaped your lips. The tip of your nose felt as if it would fall off. It was in that moment that you wished you’d been bitten by a radioactive space heater that gave you the power to control your own body temperature. Alas, all you’d gotten was a manky spider that made you shoot webs from your wrists and stick to walls.

The sun still hung high in the sky by the time you passed the park on the way to the basketball court, pale and cold in the freezing early evening air. You walked past the garden, vast and covered mostly in shimmering snowflakes, before your feet ground to an abrupt halt. The hairs on the back of your neck stood; your fingertips tingled with electricity. Something was wrong, and not just the fact that you’d used the word ‘tingle’.

You whipped around, turning with a dangerous look. Or, as dangerous as you could manage while freezing your ass off. Predictably, there was nothing. No one. Not a single soul to catch you off guard. Releasing a small, disappointed sigh, you turned, and made your way further down the street…

Only to feel that same tingle a few metres on. Again, you looked back. What was it that was bothering you so much?

“You alright there?”

“Christ!”

You turned with a start to the boy in front of you, nearly crashing straight into his chest. Your ring and index finger closed over your palm before you shook your hands out at the sight of him, smoothly acting as if you weren’t about to shoot Martin with webs stickier than superglue. He stood a few paces before you, hands clasped around a brand new camera, smiling as if nothing was wrong.

“I— J…eez. I didn’t see you there,” you breathed. 

He laughed softly. “You got pretty bad eyesight then, huh?” Then, as if processing his inappropriate joke, his smile dropped. “Sorry. That was messed up.”

“It’s fine,” you said. “I ran into you twice in two days. I think you get a pass to call me blind.”

That got another laugh out of him. He seemed to do that so easily. “Truth, truth. But, uh, what are you doing here at this hour?”

You frowned. “It’s not even five.”

“Right. It’s not.” He smiled sheepishly. “Guess I lost track of time. I’ve been out here taking pictures since school came out, so it feels like I’ve been walking around forever.”

You wondered what exactly he’d need to be photographing this time of year. Your school had no big upcoming events—no events at all, really—and picture day had already passed. Maybe he was working on a new article?

“That actually reminds me,” you started, and he nodded, as if silently telling you he was listening, “I, uh, I’ve been looking for you.”

His brow wrinkled in surprise. 

“I mean— not for anything weird,” you said quickly. “I’ve just been thinking, these days, about maybe joining the school paper…? One of my friends would also like to join. We’d like to join. Together. Obviously.” You cleared your throat, wishing the ground would swallow you whole. “Would you have any idea where we could go to join? Somewhere to sign up, maybe?”

Something unfamiliar flickered in his eyes, warm and exciting—excited. “Uh, yeah, actually, I do. I could just introduce you guys at the next meeting, and we can take things from there. The team has a meeting once a week, and you guys can just jump in whenever. We’ll probably talk specifics after that. Does your friend, uh…?”

“Juhoon.”

“Juhoon. Oh! I know him. He’s in Class 3C, right? Undefeated Rank 1 in English?”

“The one and only.”

“Cool. Like I said, I know him— or, I guess, I know of him. My friend Woojin sits behind him. He plays basketball, right?”

You lifted a shoulder. “As best as he can.”

Another soft laugh, like water bubbling over in a stream. God, you were hopeless. “Does he know anything about photography? Journalism, maybe? We need someone to write our weekly update pages.”

“He knows everything I taught him,” you said. “Which, to be honest, isn’t much. I’m pretty sure he’ll be able to do the update pages. He’s just been looking for something to pass the time with.”

“Well, then he’s come to the right place,” Martin joked. “The paper takes up a lot of your free time.”

“Great for him, then,” you smiled.

“And you? You do, uh… photography?”

With a faint nod, you said, “I try. I’ve done some work for friends before, but nothing, um, professional, so if that’s what you guys are expecting—”

“No, no, not at all,” he assured. “The only pictures we take that aren’t for articles are the school pictures, and I do that by myself most times. Nah, as long as you know how to work a camera and take a couple of pictures that aren’t completely blurry, you’ll be fine.”

Silence seemed to come naturally between you and Martin once all was said and done. You found you didn’t mind it as much as you thought.

You tilted your head. “So, I’ll see you at the next school paper meeting?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s Friday at six.”

“Noted. Thanks.”

You’d always been an observant person, even before being bitten. You were told it was a Spider thing; the multiverse seemed to like you all observant. Socially savvy. Some, of course, were less so than others, but you could be counted amongst the lucky few who were. Yet, when Martin looked at you, held his gaze fixed on your form for longer than was necessary for someone who’d only met you the day before, your mind was elsewhere. Definitely not on him; not his eyes, at least. The rest of him, certainly.

He cleared his throat, fiddling with the delicate silver chain around his neck. “See you Friday?”

You smiled. “See you Friday.”

Juhoon was waiting by the time you reached the basketball court, ball tucked under his arm as he watched you walk in, eyes crinkled in a sly smile, as if he knew exactly what had happened before you arrived.

You groaned softly, rubbing at your forehead in irritation. “What’s with the creepy ass smile?”

He shrugged his shoulders, feigning a look of innocence. It didn’t sell; he was feeling far too smug. “I dunno. You tell me.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“Tell me about it,” he sighed, before quickly moving on to the next order of business. “So, are we part of the school paper?”

Your eyes travelled heavenwards, considering. “We’re as good as, I’d say. We just have a meeting to attend on Friday.”

“Friday?” he asked.

“Friday,” you confirmed. “At six.”

He sighed, slipping the ball out from under his arm and bouncing it on the hard surface of the court. “Oh, goodie. Staying late after school because a couple of kids take themselves too seriously!”

“Hey,” you said, approaching the stands, “we’re about to become a couple of kids who take themselves too seriously.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said with a tight smile.

You watched as he attempted to throw a few hoops, your chin resting in your palm. “You could’ve just gotten a part-time job, you know.”

He scoffed. “And had this face wasted on a nine to five? No thank you. ‘Journalist’ sounds astronomically better than ‘barista’.”

When Friday eventually rolled around, and the schoolday had passed, you and Juhoon made your way to the newsroom. It was located next to the teacher’s lounge, somewhere in the recesses of the school where no one but the kids from the school paper and A&V club dared to go. The two of you shared a look when you stopped outside the door labelled Newsroom, brows set in determination.

You started, “Okay—”

“Play it cool,” Juhoon finished for you. “Don’t—”

“Say anything stupid, or—”

“Say anything too smart. Just—”

“Be yourself,” you said harmoniously. Then, frowning, Juhoon added, “Maybe not too much. Otherwise we’ll end up scaring people away.”

You pouted. “I thought you said I should open up more.”

“Yeah, to Martin. Not to random geeks who care about what happens in this school.” Not even having to glance your way to see your mouth opening to retaliate, he raised a single, slender finger and said, “Nothing you say will convince me that we will be one with the random geeks after this. It simply won’t. I’m too cool and your jeans are too baggy.”

Your eyes lit up. “Is that a short form of saying I’m also cool?”

“It’s a short form of saying you like wearing clothes that make you look like you’re three apples tall.”

A huff escaped your mouth, and before you allowed yourself to get any angrier at your best friend, you muttered, “Just open the damn door.”

He smiled. “My pleasure.”

The newsroom was small, big enough only to fit a handful of large desks where the students in charge presumably worked. A large whiteboard stood in the middle of the room, scribbled with half-formed ideas and sketches that didn’t make it to the end. The air smelled of freshly brewed—but undeniably cheap—coffee and muffins, the sweet, cloying kind you find at breakfast cafés that stick to your fingers. An idle chatter had been floating through the room until you entered, eight sets of eyes settling on your forms like hawks zeroing in on their prey.

Yeesh. Someone in showbiz really had to rebrand the newspaper nerd trope, because these kids were scary. As in, Doc Ock trying to kill you was easier to handle than this; them just staring at you as if you’d sprouted from the ground like an invasive pest. That scary.

You recognised only a few of the faces you were met with. None noteworthy enough to name, except for the smiling face you were met with when you turned your attention to the whiteboard.

“You made it!” Martin said, and he seemed more excited to have you there than you actually were to be there. He gestured for you to come in, relaying to the others, “Guys, these are the students I told you about, the ones who want to join the newspaper.” 

That brief introduction seemed to sell you enough to the others that they graced you with slight smiles now. One by one, they introduced themselves by name, waving as you tried desperately to remember all of them. Unfortunately, you wouldn’t be able to name them off the top of your head until a few months later, but, you know, you had other talents. Your English teacher, Mrs Lee, was also present, and she greeted you with a kind smile and a polite nod.

Martin invited you and Juhoon to sit down, and you took seats beside each other on a small sofa, with roughly enough size that the two of you could fit snugly on it. It was worn, crimson cushion soft and a little bit flat; it had probably been brought from the teachers’ lounge once they tired of it. You didn’t mind how it felt, though Juhoon seemed to have some trouble adjusting to the worn headrest digging into his shoulders.

“You guys came at the perfect time,” Martin said once you were settled. “We were actually discussing what we wanted to roll out next week, and we were looking for some ideas.”

Mm. After the weekend, you’d only be going to school for two days on account of Seollal, the three-day lunar new year celebration, yet he was determined to make the most of those two days.

You raised your hand hesitantly, to which he acknowledged you with a smile, an expectant nod. You didn’t need your spidey senses to tell you everyone’s eyes shifted to you then. “Well, uh… since it’s Seollal, there’ll be plenty of celebrations from today till the eighteenth. I heard there’s festivals at the palaces and some of the art and history museums. Maybe we could all attend one, and write about the experience? I mean… you know, entry is free, and everything. All it’ll cost us is participation.”

Martin tilted his head, as if in thought, when in reality he’d made up his mind the moment you raised your hand. “That sounds like a great idea, actually. We’ll split up into groups of two, maybe three, and attend the festivals for the day. A sort of Seollal in Seoul article that covers all the ways it’s celebrated.”

“How will we know which ones to go to?” one of the students, a girl named Noeul, piped up sceptically. “Which ones aren’t going to be kitschy tourist traps… you know, basic things like that we need to know.”

Martin turned to you, eyes expectant. His expression seemed to say, gently, with a faint smile etched into his words, Well, genius?

“We can look it up sometime,” you said. “You know… what the major festivals are.”

From the sidelines, Noeul scoffed. 

Juhoon’s brow creased in a frown, and he raised a brow at you, like, Did she just—?

Martin’s gaze, however, remained gentle, understanding. You had an idea, a pretty good one at that, and that was all that mattered right now. It was one more idea than he’d been given when they started this meeting before you and Juhoon showed up, almost an hour ago. You could easily figure out specifics before the eighteenth. 

“That sounds like a good plan to me,” he smiled, nodding his head in approval. “We can each do some reading separately this afternoon, and talk over the phone later about locations and teams.” He glanced around the room, as if waiting for someone to object, or suggest a better idea. They didn’t.

There was something about the way Martin stood, the way he carried himself, that would’ve convinced you he was in charge even if he hadn’t already told you. His posture was relaxed, if a bit firm, yet he commanded the room with nothing more than a sweep of his eyes over the group. His face was slack, stony, almost, as he waited for words that would never come. And just as quickly, that stoic front fell away, and he was the awkward, lanky kid you’d first bumped into, all toothy smiles and badly-timed quips.

He clasped his hands together. “Well, then, that… pretty much concludes everything, I guess. We can talk throughout the week about what we’ll be doing next week.” He turned to start rubbing things off the whiteboard, continuing, “I heard there’s a soccer game Wednesday, so we need someone there to cover everything. But that’s two weeks from now, so we’ll worry about it then.”

He waved his hand dismissively, and everyone moved out of their seats to start packing their things. Mrs Lee smiled at him, and they shared a polite bow. “Good work today, Woojoo.” She turned to you then, anticipation dancing in her eyes. “I’m very excited to see how your idea turns out. I’m confident it’ll do very well.”

You found yourself grinning back, looking just a little bit like a tryhard. Juhoon noticed, snickering softly.

Your smile disappeared just as quickly as it had come, and you shot a dirty look his way. He sighed softly, unfazed, while the rest of the team left one by one. The two of you floated towards the coffee table as if subconsciously—two, three hours since your last meal had that effect on you. “Well, so much for our first meeting. It was ten minutes long and I barely said a word.”

You chuckled, handing him a sticky muffin and taking one for yourself. He accepted it with soft thanks.

“Don’t worry about it,” Martin said, and you turned to see him approaching the two of you, the room now completely empty. “We were busy for an hour before you guys came, and we weren’t getting anywhere.”

“Oh, really?” Juhoon asked, mouth half full. He swallowed a bit, then, “Sorry. But you guys really didn’t progress before we got here?”

Martin pursed his lips. “Nope. The paper’s not exactly a factory of creativity these days.”

You snorted. “Was it ever?” Then, upon realising what the hell you’d just said in front of the lead photographer of the school newspaper, “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. That was messed up. The paper has always been a masterpiece.”

He laughed, whether at your backtrack or your horrified expression, you didn’t know. “Nah, you’re fine. We haven’t been doing too good these past few months. Mostly because, like, seventy percent of our team is just kids who are looking to pass the time instead of committing to other electives.”

You and Juhoon shared a wide-eyed glance. Martin noticed.

“Don’t worry. She told me about why you wanted to join,” he assured Juhoon. “The difference between you two and them is that you actually have talent. I’ve seen some of your work,” he said, the sentiment directed at you.

Your eyes grew impossibly wider. “Wh—? Me? My work? My… work? How did you—?” You screwed your eyes shut in confusion. “What work?”

“You know, on your socials.” He lifted a shoulder. “Your Cyworld is kind of like a goldmine.”

Your Cyworld. How did he even find that? It was a tiny page with less than twenty friends that you barely used!

Okay, that was a lie. Because your page was virtually deserted, you liked using it to yell into the void sometimes. You’d posted an entry just that morning on your way to school—a picture of you and Juhoon, mid-conversation as you made your way to the bus stop. Martin had probably seen it, if he’d been stalking your homepage.

To your horror, Juhoon cracked a smile—a smile that could only mean he agreed and planned on giving his five cents. His very unwanted five cents. “Right? She takes some of the best photos.” He bumped his shoulder with yours, adding, “One of the reasons I wanted her to join with me is so that her creativity isn’t wasted on her minihompy.”

“You didn’t tell me that before,” you said through gritted teeth, leaning in so that only he could hear you.

“Because you wouldn’t have listened to me for shit,” Juhoon replied in the same tone.

Martin watched the exchange with amusement, shaking his head with a smile. “Well, all I’m sayin’ is, I’m grateful you two joined. I’ll add you guys to the group chat on Kakaotalk. You use that, right?” Chances were, you did, but some people still preferred old-fashioned SMS—or, in Mrs Lee’s case, emails.

“Uh, yeah, we do,” you nodded. You both gave him your numbers, and your email addresses—just to be safe, who knew, maybe he was old-fashioned like that. You weren’t one to judge… much.

That night, after you finished the little homework you’d been given before Seollal, you hopped onto your computer to do your nightly Cyworld scroll. Say what you want about screentime before bed, but it was important that you were updated on the happenings of your friends’ lives. Your feed was mostly just them, your friends going about their days, slyly documenting their classes or shifts at work.

Then, in that little hot-pink-highlighted box titled Activity, you saw it.

teenboi 우주 sent a friend request!

You found out that Martin was obsessed with you the day before Seollal.

You’d been discussing back and forth how your following three days off would go—you found out where the different festivals would be held, who would go where, what the objective was and what you wanted the articles to be about. What began as short, professional exchanges in the groupchat became late night conversations about personal things, outings in the name of ‘research’. 

It was on one of these particular outings in the days leading up to Seollal where you discovered his secret. Or, perhaps, project. You’d been walking through the streets, the sun hanging low in the sky, city bustling with people, when he pulled up his camera from where it hung, as always, around his slender neck, gazing keenly through the lens at the walls of nearby buildings and faraway highrises. 

You frowned, halfway into a bite of tteokbeokki while he attempted to capture something in the near dead of night. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m trying to catch Spider-Woman.”

Freeze! screamed something inside you. Maybe spidey-sense. Maybe that “oh, shit, this is going to come back to bite me in the ass” intuition that comes with having a crush who is too close to your personal situation for comfort. So you did. You froze, in the middle of the street, trainers scuffing against the tarmac as you skidded to an abrupt halt, staring up at Martin as if he’d just spoken another language. 

He noticed, sighing, embarrassment clear in the way his cheeks turned pink. “Listen, I know it sounds crazy. I mean, catching a superhero? Seoul’s only superhero? It sounds insane. Impossible, even. But there’s… there’s just something that makes me think I can do it. Like, I know she frequents this neighbourhood—” He gestured to the surrounding area, your neighbourhood, Mia-dong, Gangbuk-gu— “and that she’s usually out at this time. I just think that maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to catch a glimpse of her one day.”

You’d heard many villain monologues over the past year and a half. Long, unending soliloquies that revolved mostly around the villains themselves and why they wanted you dead. How they’d been watching you, tracking your every move, and how your identity would eventually be revealed after your untimely death.

This wasn’t like that. Martin spoke with determination, yes, but the drive and passion of someone who cared. He continued, “I’m not even trying to find out who’s behind the mask. I just want to talk to her. To ask her… what it’s like, doing what she does, every day. How she does it. What keeps her going. I mean, is she like us? Is she a normal teenager? Does she have a family? Does she not? Is that the reason why she protects other people, because she couldn’t protect the people she loved?”

Bingo. “You seem to care a lot more about the girl than the mask.”

He lifted a shoulder. “It’s… it’s nothing, I guess. It would make a good story for me. I just— I dunno. I don’t wanna do an exposé and ruin her life. I just want to maybe… get coffee with her, or somethin’. You know. Talk.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, throat burning. “I do.”

“About… real things. And maybe how she exploded a villain with her mind.”

You snickered, though were sure it only looked like an unknowing gesture in his eyes. Not exactly what happened, but close enough, you supposed. You didn’t have the power to explode someone with your mind, but he could find that out when he had coffee with Spider-Woman one day.

He looked at you from the corner of his eyes, how you were smiling, laughing at him. Pretty. So, so pretty. “You think it’s stupid, don’t you?”

“What? No, of course I don’t,” you assured him. “I like that you care about her motivations and not just her identity. The Daily Bugle could learn from you.”

He snorted. “Yeah, I guess.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever. Let’s get back to work, yeah? Don’t want you thinking I’m some sort of Spider-Woman fanatic.”

You bumped your shoulder with his, smiling. Or, tried to, only to end up bumping closer to his elbow due to his rather gargantuan size. “Oh, I’m sure she’d be flattered if she knew.”

2026년 2월 17~18일

17–18 FEBRUARY, 2026

서울 Seoul

TUESDAY

You had two problems.

One: the kabuki kid was back.

Two: she came back while you were at a festival. With Martin, Juhoon, Noeul, and another student that was part of the paper.

The five of you had gathered at Unhyeongung Palace for the second out of four festivals that only ran from the sixteenth. Similarly, the next two, which would be tackled by you and Martin on one, and Seonghyeon and Keonho, a pair of eleventh-graders, on another, would only be held on the day of Seollal.

The Happy Seollal Festival featured a variety of activities and entertainment such as archery, yutnori (a traditional Korean game that involved sticks and perplexed the life out of you), traditional crafts, gugak performances, and rice cake sharing. You’d just finished up a round of traditional crafts and were walking around the festival with badly made lanterns and jewellery, when Juhoon excused himself under the guise that he wanted to check out one of the food stalls nearby. Truth was, and you knew this, he wanted to get you and Martin alone for whatever reason. He didn’t know yet that your insane charisma and pull made the mere need for smalltalk obsolete, and honestly, neither did you.

And Martin, maybe, who was too busy snapping pictures of the stalls and adorable families to notice you batting your eyelashes at him. Infuriatingly, that just made him more attractive. A man who could focus on the job he set out to do. Damn.

Noeul trailed behind you all the while, hands folded decisively over her chest. She eyed the festival with great scepticism, and about as much enthusiasm as a prisoner being shown to their cell. She’d made herself scarce to you in the days leading up to the festival, opting to make conversation with other members of the paper when you met in person, gracing you only with a faint, dismissive, “Hello,” if she did speak to you.

You didn’t mind, mostly because you had no idea what the hell her problem was. For all you knew, she was an introvert who was afraid of talking to people. You wouldn’t judge.

Though, it seemed often she did. “I hope those pictures of yours are focused on the people, Woojoo, and not that superhero you want to catch.”

“I don’t want to catch her,” Martin replied, snapping a picture of a passing girl and her pet shiba. “But, yeah, I’m focusing on the people. Don’t worry, Noeul.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Let me know when you’ve got something worthwhile.”

You watched as she left, made her way to a nearby stall that was selling a variety of cakes and other sweets, her black jacket billowing behind her. You probably should’ve questioned her lack of manners even then, the uncertain tug she gave your gut, though all your lovestruck brain could focus on was Martin and his stupid camera. 

Somewhere between Juhoon’s disappearance and Martin’s hard work and Noeul’s absence, your gut grew cold. A faint buzz emanated in your temples; the earth shook, red and blue separating as you narrowed your eyes. A sting. A pull. An ache.

Then,

DANGER!

It happened slowly, almost with utmost deliberation. A mechanic whir, small, nearly gentle steps. The music that had been drifting through the air beforehand continued, but there was a sort of hesitation that you knew you weren’t imagining. Your ears perked at the sound of rubber snapping—a mask shuttled over a face that would soon be invisible.

“People of Seoul…” 

The crowd turned slowly, slowly enough that you could slip through the sea of people without being noticed. In the middle of a raised platform that had been pulling through one of the festival’s many attractions, now stood a familiar foxy face. Kabuki—as you were calling them for now, until they told you their true villain alias and, yes, that was a thing that happened—spread their arms wide, voice booming through the streets.

“I have something to ask you. Are you not afraid of defending yourselves from the growing danger in this country? Do you not wish you could protect yourself without having to depend on a hero who can’t be fully trusted?”

“Crap,” you muttered. You glanced at Martin, who was looking at the scene with his eyes squinted in confusion. 

“What the…?”

“I have to go!” you half-realised, half-announced. Your legs seemed to move forward on their own, carrying you through the sea of people. 

Martin turned, seeing you no longer at his side. “Wait—!”

But you were already gone. You tore through the crowd to get to Juhoon, who had been watching Kabuki from where he still stood by the stalls. “Hoon,” you panted, shoving his shoulder to get his attention. He turned, stunned, and you continued, “I need you to create a diversion. Something that gets everyone’s attention off of… that.” You gestured vaguely to the platform, Kabuki delivering their monologue, just everything happening in that moment, really.

He glanced back, then at you. “That your newest villain?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you’re gonna take care of them now?”

“Yep.”

He nodded resolutely. “Got it. I’ll fake a heart attack.”

Being a superhero wasn’t all television cracked it up to be. In fact, there were no epic battles, no quick-witted villains, no red carpet movie premiere. Just you, changing into your suit in an alleyway while some sort of traditional marching band made their way through the streets, along with—you were sure—a quarter of Seoul’s population. With a resigned sigh and a shake of your head, you swung over the festival, index and middle finger pressed into your palm. You flailed a bit; you always did. In your defence, it was quite the adjustment to make, suddenly being on the ground then zipping through the air like a— well. A spider.

“Several years ago, a brave scientist at Kwangsu Labs devised a plan. A plan that would render the country—the world—changed forever. A plan which became a simple serum, kept in a small container the size of my palm.”

They opened their palm, and glinting in the sunlight, was a small, dark-green ingot roughly the size of a syringe.

You tried your best to keep a low profile, though scaling a building was not something particularly ‘low profile’ at all. You kept a keen eye on Kabuki, who’d gained more of the crowd’s attention since beginning their speech.

“He proposed that we should all be equal in terms of physical strength, and that the human body could actually take more than we thought it could. He believed, that if we merely took certain aspects of another creature’s DNA—”

A gasp rippled through the crowd, as was expected, once word spread that a young man had had a heart attack amidst the celebrations. Soon, everyone had forgotten of the imposter, all their attention focused on the next exciting thing. That thing, of course, being your best friend faking a medical emergency.

People’s heads whipped in the direction of the distressed voice, a few gingerly approaching Juhoon, who’d promptly collapsed in front of the stall, and was now laying flat on his back, eyes wide, mouth open, on the concrete. 

Aaannnddd that was your cue. 

You leapt without a second thought, having positioned yourself directly across from Kabuki, and yanked them up into the air with a web shot from the pores in your wrist. They yelped, the deep rumble they’d forced their voice to be forgotten in the moment of shock.

You landed in the crevice between two buildings, Kabuki falling to the ground with a harsh thud. You landed on your feet, light and practiced.

“So,” you started, “seems like you weren’t done trying to get my attention, were you?”

“I wasn’t doing that to get your attention,” they spat, getting to their feet. “I was doing it to send a message.”

You stared at them, eyes half-moons of scepticism as you backed yourself onto a wall, crouching sideways on the red brick. “That message being… what, exactly? Cross-species mutation as a solution to the political and economic state of the world right now?”

“You have no idea what you’re getting into, Spider,” they said. 

“No,” you admitted, “I don’t. Which is why you’re going to tell me exactly what it is you plan on doing, exactly what it is you wish to achieve. Why did you follow me here? What do you want?” You wiggled the syringe you’d grabbed from their hands in front of their eyes, sensing their shock at the sight of it. “And what is this?”

“If I recall correctly, you were the one doing the following.”

“You attacked me less than a week ago,” you shot back. “And now you’re here, where I am, delivering a godawful speech in the middle of a Seollal festival. That seems an awful lot like you following me.”

They shrugged. “Semantics.”

Your eyes narrowed, becoming crescents of disapproval. “That’s not how you use that word.”

“I think you’re focusing on entirely the wrong thing, Spider.”

Click.

Before you were given a chance to dignify their words with an answer, the sharp shutter of a camera flash burnt your eyes. Both of you reared your heads back, and when you opened your eyes, Martin was staring right back at you.

Your eyes widened. They noticed. Yet before they even had another chance to strike, you removed yourself from your perch, hitting them square in the back of the head. It wasn’t hard, not hard enough to knock them out cold, but it was enough to buy you some time and save a very gorgeous, oblivious, idiotic boy’s life. They crumpled to the floor in a pathetic heap. Silence followed.

He stared at you, at Kabuki’s stunned form. You, them. Them, you. Then,

“Oh… my… G—”

Before you could think about what you were doing, you’d webbed his mouth shut, his next words lost inside the sticky silk. His eyes remained wide, he kept talking, kept gesturing like you were supposed to know what he was saying, and all you could do was stare.

All you wanted to do was tell him to get lost, to escape with his life while he still could. You had to… didn’t you? It was your obligation as a superhero. As his friend. As his future wife (hopefully). So you stepped forward, lacing your fingers like a news anchor. “Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave,” you said, deepening your voice. It came out raspy and wrong, like you’d been smoking cigarettes while having a cold. But at least it didn’t sound like you. “This is some very serious, uh… hero business. No cameras allowed, I’m afraid.”

He tried to say something. Probably, “Oh, my GOD, it’s Spider-Woman!”

That was usually the reaction you got when you interacted with civilians.

“Um. Yeah. I’m Spider-Woman. Now, could you please, maybe, just… leave? F-for your own safety,” you added quickly, approaching Kabuki’s unmoving form. Okay, maybe you did hit them hard enough to knock them out cold. “Please. I’d really appreciate it!”

He paused, clearly considering your words. You could see the consideration swirling in her brown eyes, the push and pull between his journalistic integrity telling him to stay and get a story out of you, and his respectful attitude telling him to listen to the qualified superhero in front of him. Then, with a small sigh that you couldn’t hear, he hung his head, nodding before he turned around and left, expertly pretending as if nothing had happened.

WEDNESDAY

“And then she tells me… she looks me straight in the eyes, and says, ‘Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. This is some very serious hero business happening here.’” Martin sighed, shaking his head. “I was so bummed! But then again, it’s not like I couldn’t not listen to her, right? I mean, she’s Spider-Woman. I think she knows what she’s talking about.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, the sound pulled out of you like a borrowed breath. “…Yeah.”

“Anyway.” He shrugged, fingers weaving string through delicate wood expertly. “I didn’t get to ask her out for coffee, which… kind of a drag.” He pointed at you then, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “But I got to meet her! That’s definitely something.”

On the eighteenth, you and Martin ventured to the Hanseong Baekje Museum to attend the Seollal Grand Festival. You’d gotten there in the afternoon, following the most important New Years’ celebrations with your own families; despite that, your limited time at the festival had been action-packed with kite making (which you were surprisingly good at), tteok grilling, and a round of percussion performances that lasted until the sun started to set.

Martin had kindly invited you back to his house after the festival, where you’d found yourself sitting atop a slanted brick roof, watching the sky sink lower behind the horizon. You were technically supposed to be reviewing your article, editing out bits of the snippets you recorded that couldn’t be added, sifting through the hundreds of blurry, moody pictures you’d taken in search of a few good ones worthy of a school newspaper article, but Martin had taken to de- and reconstructing the kites you’d made at the festival.

“We can totally work on top of the roof,” Martin had insisted when you questioned his earlier suggestion. “It’s exactly like working in my room, just with some fly ambience.”

That’s how you got here, knees pressed against each other, shoulder brushing his, as you tried to click through your camera with an ironclad grip on the cover. The Edwards-Parks lived in a two-storey house, and you were not about to drop your precious camera from such a height. The two of you were still in your hanboks, sitting carefully on two folded towels so as not to ruin the precious pink and mint-coloured cotton.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to ask her out, though,” you said, and only clocked the odd wording after you’d spoken. “I mean… you know what I mean.”

He smiled. “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry.” He shifted in his seat, his uncomfortable perch on the roof, scooching closer to you. 

Your breath hitched. He was close. Too close. You could feel his chest pressing lightly into your back from where he’d moved behind you to see over your shoulder, could feel the brush of his fingers against your side as he seemed to gesticulate words he hadn’t yet said. He smelled like faded cologne and printer ink, hands probably stained with the same stuff.

“You got any good ones?”

What, pickup lines? Sure. You had plenty.

“Uh— yeah. I think I got a few key pictures while we were making kites, and when we grilled tteok.” You switched to a picture of an earlier moment at the festival, the scene frozen in time. 

Martin, excitedly showing off his tongs to the camera. Martin, brow creased in concentration as he turned a rice cake on its side. Martin, his eyes widened and mouth hanging open in shock as that same rice cake burst into flames.

His breath felt warm on your skin when he chuckled. “Maybe don’t use that one,” he suggested with a shy smile, voice low.

You grinned despite yourself, despite your brain screaming, Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit, ohshitohshitoh— “I think it looks nice,” you quipped. “Really brings out the Seollal spirit.”

“I’d have my Korean citizenship revoked if anyone saw me burning tteok!”

“I don’t think that’s how citizenships work, Martin.”

He deadpanned, giving you a look like, Come on. He knew you knew what he meant. You weren’t stupid. “Whatever,” he said, smiling. “At least we have more than one acceptable picture, even if I’m not in any of them.”

You frowned. What?

“Oh, you think you were the only one taking pictures today?” He shook his head, amused by your guileless nature. “Nah. I’ve got a whole harddrive of Seollal pictures of you.”

“Why?” you asked, eyes wide.

“Because you’re part of this project. Duh! What, did you think I was gonna let you help me research, document, and write the article without giving you credit? Please. I’m not cold like that. Plus, there’s no way I could’ve done it alone. Even if I was enough of a dick to try and take all the credit for myself, no one in the entire school would believe it.”

His admission got a snort out of you, and he grinned like he’d just won a prize. “You’ve got a pretty nice laugh, you know that? Like a… a really joyful horse.”

You stopped. “I sound like a horse to you?”

“A really joyful one,” he defended.

The comment didn’t even offend you. Couldn’t, because it was Martin who had said it. Martin who had admitted it with the same smile you wore around him, the same look in his eyes as when you saw him. Martin who looked so pretty under the moonlight in his traditional clothing, fingers drumming nervously at his side.

Martin who made you think, Crap. I am so fucked.

“By the way, what happened at the festival yesterday?”

You turned your head, the hair at the back of your neck raising in surprise—shock, attention. “What— what do you mean?” you asked, smoothly leaning back on your palms.

“You ran off, like, halfway through,” he said. “Between the weird speech and Juhoon passing out in front of a sweetbread stand.”

“Oh. That. I was, uh… I wasn’t feeling too well. Yeah, I was feeling kind of crappy, and overwhelmed, so I just—” you paused to make a vague, sweeping gesture that explained everything— “disappeared a little. And then after that, you know, I had to go and visit Juhoon in the hospital…” 

He was fine, by the way. The doctors realised he’d faked everything and discharged him with a slap on the wrist before anyone besides you could get concerned enough to go and pay him a visit.

“Oh.” He nodded, as if that answer satisfied him. “Well, just tell me next time, then, yeah? You had me worried.”

He worried. He worried about you. Him worrying meant he cared. Him worrying about you meant he cared about you.

Ah, crap. You were so fucked.

That Monday, you walked into school with an unfamiliar but altogether welcome pep in your step. Not just because you felt sure of yourself, as if you could take on the world, and definitely not just because the Martin Edwards Park had asked you on a date.

But that was definitely a big part of it.

Juhoon was waiting for you by the gates, as always, backpack slung over his shoulder. His head was tilted, mouth pulled into a smile that told you he already knew everything. “You’re chipper this morning,” he commented, easily falling into step with you as you made your way to the steps. “Woojoo finally make a move?”

You tried not to let your surprise show, though the significant reduction of pep in your step must’ve given you away. “How’d you know?”

“Oh, please. You haven’t looked this happy since Musinsa had a clearance sale on low rise jeans, and even then, you weren’t jumping around like you are now.”

You sighed, shaking your head as you opened the doors, letting Juhoon pass. “If you must know, yes, he did. He asked me out on Friday while we were busy editing our article.” Said article had been published over the weekend, and was going to be passed around the school during the day. Martin had called it an obvious success. “We’re getting pizza on Friday.”

Juhoon hummed, pleased. “Cool. And you? How’re you feeling about all of this?”

“What, me finally scoring my dream man? I feel fantastic.”

“What do you mean ‘finally’? You’ve known him for a week!”

“That is more than enough time to fall madly in love with someone. I have proof.”

“I have a feeling you’re going to say something like—”

“It’s me. I’m the proof,” you grinned.

“Knew it.”

You made your way to your classrooms, separated only by a wall, a few students doing the same. It was still early; most kids were still waiting for the second bus of the morning, the one that usually brought most of Siryeok’s student body to school. Juhoon leaned against the doorframe of your classroom, shoulder hitting the polished wood.

You heard the faint click of heels before you saw the girl attached to them, and, turning, found Noeul coming your way. You hadn’t spoken since the festival, hadn’t had any reason to. Yet, here she was, very obviously making her way towards you.

You greeted her with a polite bow that she didn’t return, and said, “Morning, Noeul-ssi. Can I help with anything?”

She looked at you the way she looked at everyone else—as if you were inconveniencing her just by existing. “I suppose not,” she sighed. “I just wanted to give you this.” She reached into her bag, and pulled out what looked to be a flyer. 

You accepted it, turning the paper over in your hands. It was an invitation to an in-depth tour of Oscorp’s Seoul headquarters, as well as information on one of their newest experiments—nothing that particularly interested you. You frowned, trying not to look too disappointed. “Is this—?”

“The subject for our next article,” Noeul cut in. “Mrs Lee greenlit it, and Martin insisted you went. Only a few of us will be going, so consider yourself lucky.”

Juhoon’s eyes widened, and it took everything in you not to look up and met his gaze. “Um… thanks. I’m just—”

“It’s next month, on the 21st. Don’t be late.” She stopped, giving you one last pointed look before leaving.

You watched her go in shock, before you finally allowed yourself to make eye contact with Juhoon. His brow had furrowed, both in surprise and indignation. He smiled, slow and low, his face saying everything. 

“What a delight!” he exclaimed sardonically, shaking his head. 

You rolled your eyes. “Tell me about it.” You waved the flyer in your hands. “You going to this thing?”

He shook his head. “My boyfriend didn’t insist that I attended.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you grumbled, warm cheeks suggesting you’d have liked it otherwise.

“Yeah, well. I wouldn’t do something like this for you, so he’s got to be somethin’ more than a friend.”

“Whatever.” You stopped across from him, back resting on the door. You looked around, left, right, to see if anyone was near, and lowered your voice. “You find out what was in that syringe yet?”

Juhoon sighed. As much as he tried to fight it, he was starting to become your guy in the chair—the man who knew everything behind the missions you went on, the villains you fought, the things you found. It wasn’t much help to him that he was so smart. “Not yet. Just give me some time. I think I’ll be able to tell you what it is by Friday.” He smiled then, short and sweet. “Before your date.”

You fought a smile of your own. “Thanks, Hoon.”

The day passed by in a pleasant haze, and before you knew it, you were packing up after your last period and making your way to the newsroom. It was, as you’d learnt, a much livelier place this time of year; after all the holidays, with graduation a month away. Students flitted around the room, ducking under desks for lost pencils and rummaging through drawers for printer ink for that one last copy they needed to make.

Martin was already there, seated on one of the couches, his laptop resting on his thighs. His brow was set in concentration, long, lean fingers deftly working over the keyboard. It looked like he was working on something new, and when you peeked over his shoulder, you caught the headline, Beneath the Mask: A Peek At the Woman Saving Seoul One Person At a Time.

“Hey, Tin,” you greeted, and he turned with a smile at the ready.

“Hey,” he replied, voice soft, almost a welcoming hum. “You’re early.”

You looked up at the room full of hurried students. “I am?”

He seemed to take in the room, as if for the first time, exhaling in amusement. “They’re also here early.” He checked his watch, showing it to you. “Meeting doesn’t start until five.”

“Ah.” You nodded, placing your bag on the floor where you took a seat next to him, suave as one of those leads in TV dramas. “Juhoon’s on his way. You busy with something new already?”

“How’d you know?” he asked, and you could swear you heard feigned surprise in his voice. “Yeah, no, I’m workin’ on something. I finally mapped out what I want my Spider-Woman interview to go like. I’ve got a few questions, none of ‘em too invasive. Just…” He paused, eyes fixed on his screen. “The sorts of questions that say a lot about a person without them needing to reveal too much.” He turned back to you, smiling. “Y’know?”

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. “Yeah, I know.”

“Oh! By the way,” he began, shifting in his seat, drawing your attention back to him, “I didn’t tell you about that pizza place I wanted to take you. It’s on Wausan-ro, across from that Chinese place I told you about?” 

You nodded, remembering he’d mentioned it in passing once. They had great egg fried rice, he’d said. And pork.

“Well, it can get a little busy at night, so I was wondering if we could maybe meet there at, like, five.” He shrugged, tilting his head. “Anytime before sunset is fine. I just think we should get a bite to eat, and then… I dunno… see where the night takes us?”

You laughed softly; not in scorn, but in genuine adoration. He was so cute. “That sounds really nice, Martin. I’ll see you there at five.”

That got you a toothy grin. His two front teeth were more prominent than the others, you noticed. “Sounds great.”

Icy wind drifted through the cool night, ruffling the lapel of your jacket. Below you, the city was bustling with activity, as always, people going about their lives, finishing up a long days’ work or wrapping up a first date, going grocery shopping for their families or simply for themselves.

You leaned against the rough brick wall, your legs braced stably under you as you hugged your knees to your chest, eyes flitting over the landscape in search of anything amiss. You found nothing. Yet.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you slipped it out without a second thought. It was Juhoon, probably calling to hear how patrol was going. You pressed your phone against your masked cheek, answering with a faint, “What?”

“Okay, first of all, hi,” he greeted, sounding out of breath, as if he’d just run a marathon. “Hope patrol is going well. Second, I finally found out what that kabuki kid stole.”

If you weren’t balanced against the wall of an apartment complex, you’d have sat up straighter. “Really? What was it?”

“Shh. Don’t rush. Let me give you the full story, with all the bells and whistles and shit. You better sit down for this one.”

You didn’t, but he didn’t have to know that.

“So, when you first brought it to me, I thought it looked like some sort of chemical compound. Toxic waste, or some sort of transformative substance. Well, I did some research, and based off the branding on the canister, I traced its origins back to Kwangsu Labs, a local subsidiary of Oscorp.”

You hummed, giving him a small, “Ohhh.”

He continued, “Now, you know how Kwangsu have been on that weird eugenics path for a while? Mixing human and animal DNA to create a superior race, or some crazy shit like that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said. “They tried to experiment with scorpion DNA a while back, and, well… we all know that didn’t turn out too well.” More specifically, one of their scientists was mutated to the point of no return, and you had to deal with the evil mess they’d made of him afterwards.

“Right. Well, it looks like that incident didn’t deter them at all, because whatever’s in that syringe—I don’t know yet—but I feel like it’s something similar. It’s dated only a few weeks ago. That means it was created recently.”

You clicked your tongue, the information churning over in your head like bad soup. “Which means Kabuki is probably going to use it for the same reason that scientist did.”

“Invulnerability,” Juhoon finished grimly.

“Shit,” you breathed.

Years ago, the large, privately-funded institute Oscorp opened its own subsidiary in Seoul—Kwangsu Labs, focused on scientific research and development where Oscorp as a whole was more focused on technology. The founder of the labs, the man it was named after, had done extensive research during his time at several of the country’s best universities on the merging of human DNA with that of other creatures’, most notably arachnids. He believed that their special abilities—scorpions manually slowing their metabolism, spiders’ strength and skill with silk—paired with human DNA could create a nearly invulnerable class of human.

That same man became one of your first villains. Tuseokgi, a disgraced scientist who’d deformed himself after a botched DNA transplant that left him with the body of a scorpion. After his death, Kwangsu Labs publicly shut down their DNA project, and the idea of merging cross-species characteristics became something only radicals considered. It seemed, though, Kwangsu Labs hadn’t been as deterred by their founder’s death as the public would’ve liked to believe. 

“And that, I mean— that stuff is deadly,” you said. “Remember what happened with their head scientist?”

“Oh, I do,” he grimaced. You hadn’t been quite the same after that night in the Seoul Metro. Not just because of his death, but because of what it meant for you. That was the same night you sewed your suit and mask. “That’s when it went botched. I’m just worried they’ve improved the formula, or something. Who knows what someone could be capable of if they successfully swapped DNA with one of the most dangerous predators out there?”

Your face fell to a disappointed deadpan, your eyes becoming unimpressed half-moons. “Thanks for that, Juhoon. Really helping morale over here.”

“I’m just being realistic,” he defended. “Didn’t you say the kabuki kid was stronger than when you last fought them? That could mean something already changed.”

You held back a sigh. “Yeah, you’re right. I just…” Okay. Trying not to sigh wouldn’t work. You just had to. “Why does it have to happen now? Like, now, the second I finally get a shot at living a semi-normal life? I mean, villain activity has been minimal these past few days, and then, all of a sudden, literally right before my first date ever, boom! Some kid in a kabuki mask wants to become some superhuman scorpion and wreck shit. It’s just— it’s so selfish. Like, could this not have waited until I was, I dunno, at least past the talking stage with Tin?”

Juhoon, who had been patiently listening to your rant because God knows you needed one, snorted softly. “Oh, he’s ‘Tin’, now? We on the nickname stage already?” You shook your head at his antics, missing how he lit up as a realisation struck him. “Wait. Isn’t he, like, your sseom, now?”

“Oh, my God, shut up.”

“No, no, I mean— this is good. It means you’re serious about him. And him allowing it… means he might be serious about you, too.”

Feeling your cheeks warm, you muttered, “Whatever. Let me know when you find anything on Kwangsu Labs and whatever Kabuki stole from them.”

“Roger that, Spidey.”

“Ew. Don’t call me that.”

“Okie dokie, Spidey.”

You sighed, your eyes slanted lines against your mask. “You’re so…” Without another word, cutting off his laugh on the other line, you hung up the phone, slipping it back into your pocket. You know. Because your suit had pockets. Obviously. 

Just your luck, your patrol was not peaceful that night. You had to break up a fight between a loan shark and an old lady that ended up with you pinned to the floor, a knife pressing into your throat, hard enough to draw blood. The old lady was long gone—it was only you and the shark in a dingy alleyway in one of the dodgier areas of Sillim-dong. It was outside of your usual jurisdiction, so no wonder you weren’t welcomed like you usually were back home.

“What makes you think you can meddle in my business, insect?”

“Arachnid, but, you know, semantics,” you choked out.

“You just cost me nearly one million won, letting that ahjumma run off like that. How do you suppose you’ll repay that debt?”

You narrowed your eyes, fingers snaking around his wrists. “Do you take debit card?”

“I’d prefer your life,” he said, too casually. “You know, an eye for an eye.”

Luckily, you had super powers, and all he had was a knife. Your hold on him tightened, and electric currents crawled up his arm, flinging halfway into a massive bin, stunned beyond reason.

Your fingertips crackled with electricity, and you shook yourself out of the daze it had left you in, pointing to him victoriously. 

“Venom blast, bitch!” Then, swaggering over to his crumpled form, you added, “And it’s ‘a life for a life’, genius. You can’t kill me and say you only took my eye. Metaphors can be adjusted. You were already on that train, too.”

You turned, striding out of the alleyway with a gleeful jump. “Spider-Woman, out!”

Friday came quicker than expected, and sooner than later, you were faced with the evening you’d been looking forward to that whole week.

Your very first date.

Martin had agreed to meet you at a bus stop between his and your neighbourhoods, that would take you to the pizza place on Wausan-ro. There, you’d grab a bite to eat and, in his words, “see where the night takes you.” You liked the sound of that. It sounded like you’d be seeing a lot more of him than you were able to at school, like you’d be learning more about him past the usual getting to know someone on surface level facts.

You’d dressed for the occasion, a simple jumper and jeans and a pair of shoes impressive enough to elevate the outfit, but not so much so that someone would think you were going anywhere besides a normal, chilled first date. Because that’s what it was—that’s how Martin was. Normal. Chilled. Everything you weren’t. The jeans did wonders for your figure, and the jumper was a vintage find from one of your many trips to Dongmyo with Juhoon. The shoes were Mirae’s, the same pair she’d worn on her first date with your father. Her good luck shoes.

The bus stop was busy, normally so for the time of day, and you took a seat on the bench next to an elderly man who was engrossed in his book. You crossed your leg over the other, lips forming a thoughtful pout as you waited. 

A scream cut through the air, shrill, enough to make your blood run cold, make your suit seem to tighten from where it clung to your skin underneath your clothes. You looked to your right, where the sound had come from, and found a black jacket billowing in the wind as someone pushed their way through the crowds gathering on the street, heading to—

Heading to an abandoned warehouse off the second street to the left.

Your skin prickled. Your temples ached. Run! everything in you seemed to scream.

You exhaled impatiently, flicking on your phone. 16.20. You were supposed to meet Martin at the bus stop at 16.30. 

You had time.

You followed the trail left by Kabuki soon after changing into your suit in the most secluded area you could find nearby—the bathroom of a 7/11. The warehouse was far, further than you’d thought, blocks away from proper civilisation, in a district where only factories and ghost buildings existed.

The moment you stepped into that abandoned warehouse, you could feel it. Memories. A chunk of the second storey had been broken off and flung at you before you even knew how to unstick from walls. The leftmost window had been shattered with how hard you threw Tuseokgi through it. The hinges of the door had been nearly ripped off without how eagerly you’d clawed at them, clutching your bleeding side and barely escaping with your life.

Juhoon and Gyumin had been the ones to find you, passed out on the floor of your dorm room back at school, half dead and infected with something that would change all your lives.

The Kwangsu Labs emblem glared back at you from the unwashed wall like it was sneering. Taunting you. Speak of the devil, and some kid in a stupid fox mask will lead you literally directly to its old headquarters. Or something.

It wasn’t empty, oddly enough. A punching bag hung deeper into the building, and a worktable had been set up across from it. Backpacks and stolen goods littered the floor, and a crumpled pair of jeans hung over the back of a janky office chair. Kabuki had made themselves quite comfortable here, it seemed.

You took a step forward, and—

SHWING!

You yelped at the sensation of something lifting you off the ground, a pair of arms that were too strong, and tying you to a large, sturdy surface. It all happened so quickly, ropes being spun around you, effectively trapping you. You struggled against the restraints, eyes squeezing shut with effort.

“I’d stop struggling, if I were you.”

Kabuki stood in front of you, arms crossed smugly over their chest. You scoffed softly, shaking your head. Ropes were nothing.

“It’s over, man. I got you. You’re basically dead meat, so let’s just wrap this up, yeah? We don’t even need a fight. Just let me turn you in, and this is all finished in, like, five minutes, tops.” When they said nothing, you frowned. Time to switch languages. “Hello~? Kabuki?”

Their eyes narrowed obviously behind their mask as they took an offended step back. “I beg your pardon, are you calling me Kabuki?”

“I thought that was obvious,” you said. “I mean, you wear a kabuki mask everywhere.”

“It’s not a kabuki mask.”

You frowned. “What is it, then? Like, a costume, or something? Do you have a fox onesie at home?”

“You truly are a joke,” they spat. “I’ve got you tied up in a less than ideal area, and you’re here cracking jokes as if nothing’s the matter.”

“That’s because nothing is the matter,” you shot back. “Look, I’ve got other places to be, so let’s make this quick, okay?” You shifted, fingers deftly reaching for one of the weak knots tied behind your back. “Word of advice: don’t watch the mouth.”

You wriggled your hands free of the ropes. “Watch the hands.”

You held up your untied hands, getting to your feet. With a leap, you kicked the punching bag, sending it flying at them. They were knocked over, hard.

With a frustrated grunt, Kabuki jumped to their feet and retaliated with a punch. You narrowly missed it, ducking one millisecond in time. With another gruff sigh, they seemed to realise you wouldn’t leave until one of you was settled for the evening. 

The fight progressed quickly, the two of you exchanging and dodging hits, your brow splitting open under their knuckles. Ah, shit. That would make you significantly less cute, and you had someone to impress tonight. The best you could do was repay the favour by kicking them in the stomach, sending them flying into a crumbling column that collapsed on top of them.

You approached the rubble, trying to catch your breath. “Okay. I’ll ask you this a second and last time.” You picked up a discarded canister laying on its side—a bigger version of exactly what they’d stolen at the festival, as you’d predicted—shoving one in their face. “What is this, and why do you need it?”

Kabuki was breathing heavily, lifting themselves from the ground with great effort. “You don’t know? You’ve not figured it out yourself yet, genius?”

Something was off. Way off. The way they were talking to you, as if you were nothing to fear, no one to take seriously. It wasn’t normal. There was no anger present in their voice, no indignation. Simply chagrined indifference. Like you didn’t matter. Like they’d do anything to get what they wanted. Sure, all villains’ motivations revolved around that, but they all saw you as an obstacle. Here, you felt terribly… overlooked. Like you were nothing more than a pebble on their road to destiny.

“I might have an idea of what it is,” you breathed, gaze hard beneath your mask. “You’re using it to improve your abilities, aren’t you? You stole this from Kwangsu Labs.”

Kabuki grinned, and though you couldn’t see it, you could feel its coldness from beneath the hard plastic covering their face. “Clever girl,” they commented. “It only took you meeting me three times.”

“Hey, hang out with me more, and you’ll see what a genius I actually am,” you snarked. 

Kabuki shook their head. “You don’t get it, do you? You, the Spider-Woman. You don’t understand what’s at stake here. Not at all.” They inched closer, until you could see the colour of their eyes behind their mask. Brown, lined with smooth, dark mascara. “Atrotosium has the power to change the country— to change the world. To change everyone on this planet. To improve everyone on this planet. And you try to keep me from letting it see the light of day.”

“There’s a reason Kwangsu Labs ended that experiment so long ago,” you shot back. “Someone died. You don’t think that’s proof enough that we shouldn’t try to change people into something they’re not?”

“Kwangsu died a hero,” they gritted out. “He showed the world how powerful one could become with more than human DNA.” You could even hear them smirk as they added, “He even defeated you, Seoul’s friendly neighbourhood spider.”

“Last I checked, he was the one who died, not me.”

“Living or dying has nothing to do with it. He scared you, didn’t he? Perhaps that was his plan. To plant the seed. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but one of Kwangsu’s spiders gave you your powers.” They stopped, placing their hands serenely behind their back. “So, what, you don’t want the rest of the world to have your powers? The formulas, they’d create cases like you, Spider-Woman. Do you not want the people of Seoul to be more like you?”

“As a matter of fact,” you said, “no, I don’t. You don’t understand the hardships of separating from your humanity. I— I don’t expect you to. All I’m asking is that you reconsider whatever it is you want to do.”

“I want to make the world a better place,” they said.

They all did. Villains. 

“Taking away everyone’s humanity without their consent won’t do anything but cause harm,” you said gravely. “I won’t let you do it.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet, that you think you can do anything to stop me,” they said.

Then something unexpected happened.

Kabuki, as they had been standing before you, disappeared. As in, phased out of existence. Became invisible. You couldn’t see where they went, where they were going. All you could see, if you focused all your attention on a specific place, was the outline of their translucent shadow. Their familiar coat.

Your ears pricked up, picking up a sound from the entrance. Footsteps. 

“And you can call me Min, by the way.”

And then they were gone.

You stood in silence for a moment. All you could do was stand; take in what had just happened. You tried to catch them again, tried to catch up, but how could you try to find someone who’d clearly honed their abilities past the point of your understanding? How could you chase someone you couldn’t even see? Min’s footsteps left no sound, no print. Nothing. It was as if their scent had been wiped from your senses.

You stood in the middle of a deserted street, in one of the less favourable areas of Seoul, left alone by a villain who’d only brought you there to toy with you. How does one recover from this, exactly?

As if that wasn’t already bad enough, the anxious part of your brain took control of your hand, and slipped your phone out of your pocket, clicking it on so you could see the time.

16:45.

Shit.

Shit!

You raced up the street, frantically scrolling through your contacts in search of Martin’s number. You finally found it, that new nickname with a heart tacked on the end, and pressed call.

He answered almost immediately. “Hey, are you okay?”

Oh, he made your heart ache. You were fifteen minutes late to meeting him and his brain went directly towards your wellbeing. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine! There’s just been, uh, a change in plans.” You ducked into the same bathroom you’d used to change out of your suit, shucking off your mask, the rest of it following afterwards. You tried desperately to keep your phone between your shoulder and cheek, pressed to your ear so you could hear Martin as you pulled on your jumper and jeans. “I’ll meet you directly at the pizza place. No worries about taking the bus there.”

He paused, and your ears pricked at the sound of him standing up from wherever he’d been sitting. Possibly the same bench you’d been on mere minutes ago. “Um, okay. Is everything alright? What happened that you couldn’t meet me here?”

“Oh, nothing serious,” you smiled, turning to assess your reflection in the mirror. Your brow was split open, and there was dirt smeared over your cheek. Nothing some lukewarm 7/11 tap water couldn’t fix. “I just, uh, got held up at hagwon. My teacher made me take an extra pop quiz.”

“Oh.” He clicked his tongue in understanding, and you could imagine him nodding. “I hate when that happens. Well, uh, just let me know when you’re close. I’ll wait for you outside.”

“Ah, you don’t have to,” you insisted.

“Yeah, well, I want to,” he said softly.

Oh.

“I— You— you can, if you want,” you stuttered. “That’d be nice, actually. I’m… I’ll be there in ten minutes. Promise.”

“Great. Travel safe, yeah? Don’t want anything happening to you before I can take you on a proper date.”

God, he was killing you! “Yeah, I— I will. See you in ten.”

“See you in ten, pretty.”

You walked out of that cramped bathroom with cheeks warmer than the sun, eyes wide as saucers. You’d bundled your suit in your arms, the fabric limp in your hold. 

“Ah!”

Just as you’d gotten close to the exit, you were stopped by the cashier—a middle aged woman around your stepmother’s age, along with what looked to be her young son. You froze, a deer caught in headlights.

“I’ll pay you ten thousand won each if you don’t tell anyone about this.”

잠시 후…

스파이더맨이 와우산로에 도착하다.

AFTER A WHILE…

SPIDER-WOMAN ARRIVES AT WAUSAN ROAD.

You were sweating like a pig.

While that was probably not the best sentence to begin the next scene, it was an undeniably true statement as you finally reached the street filled with restaurants and cafés, small bistros and a good amount of bars. Martin was waiting for you at the entrance of the pizza place, hands placed patiently in his pockets. He looked pretty today. So painfully pretty. God, what did you do in your past life to deserve this?

You slowed to a stop, red bottoms digging into your feet as you approached the entrance. Martin caught sight of you, doing a little double take upon seeing your dewy skin.

Why am I so sweaty??

“Why are you so sweaty?” Martin asked, frowning in question.

You paused, and, with a quick smile, said, “It’s a puberty thing.”

Wait. You were seventeen. “I don’t know why I said that. I’m not going through puberty. I— I did! But I’m done. I’m… a woman…” you said, deepening your voice to sell the act.

You wouldn’t have been surprised if Martin laughed you all the way into an early grave after that. Instead, all he did was smile, somewhat in confusion, and say, “Alright.”

He didn’t seem to mind you and your terrible, inescapable awkwardness. He showed you inside, where you took a seat across from him, crossing your arms over the table.

The food was great, as was the atmosphere. The place he’d brought you to was small, but packed with people, buzzing with excitement and activity. Warm lights shone overhead, bathing Martin in a haze that made his skin look tanner than it already was.

“This is nice,” you commented, picking up your third slice of the night. You took a bite, the warm, stringy cheese melting in your mouth.

Martin watched in amusement. “You like it, huh? Wait until I show you my other spots.”

You feigned exaggerated interest, widening your eyes comically. “Really? Do tell.”

“Okay, don’t be making fun of me, now,” he pleaded with a laugh. “I will, though. There’s a lot of my world I still wanna show you.”

You softened. “There is?”

“Of course! I mean… look, I know we haven’t known each other for that long, or whatever, but I really like you, and I want you to know about my life outside the paper,” he confessed. “I want you to meet my friends, and hang out with me on days we’re not supposed to work together. I want you to show me your world, too.”

Your world. Villains, late nights, double lives, and danger beyond human comprehension. Keeping the city safe outside of the public eye, cleaning everything up before anyone even noticed something was wrong. Blood, dirt, tears, sweat. Nothing anyone would wish for.

You softened at the suggestion. “Yeah,” you agreed. “That’d be nice.”

Safe to say, the date was a success. Of course it was. You knew you enjoyed being around Martin, and this outing was simply further proof of how good you worked together. You talked about everything from school to work to family drama and future plans, and learnt a lot about him in the process.

As the night wound on, and on, and the restaurants in the area were beginning to close up for the night, you simply moved to a different spot, taking a seat in a nearby park and continuing your conversation there.

The subject was constantly shifting, jumping from one place to another in a way that made conversation flow seamlessly.

At one point, it was about food.

“Oh, come on,” Martin complained, using the soft drink can in his hand to gesticulate, “how could you like pineapple burgers but not pineapple pizza?”

“Because it’s disgusting!” you defended. “I mean, the warm pineapple juice mixing with the cheese and tomato sauce? Yuck!”

“Like pineapple and chicken are any better!”

At another, it was about university.

“I haven’t decided on a major yet,” you confessed, shifting from where you sat next to Martin on the grass. “Which I guess isn’t too great, because graduation is two months away.”

He shrugged. “I think it’s fine. You don’t have to have everything figured out at seventeen, ya know.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t you already have a major and school in mind?”

He smiled, wide and joyful and totally caught out. “Maybe… but that’s me. You’re you.”

Sometimes, it was just about whatever entered your minds in that moment.

“Do you think aliens think about us the same way we do about them?”

Your head lolled over to better see Martin, laying next to you on the scratchy grass. Your skin was starting to itch in the odd places where your jumper rode up and exposed your back and middle, but you didn’t mind if it meant getting to be this close to him.

“Maybe,” you said, tone laced with genuine consideration. “I like to think that they look at us like we’re their clueless intergalactic little siblings.”

You could hear his grin when he spoke. “Like, they’d fly over Earth, and be like, ‘It’s so cute how they think we’re not real’. Like that?”

You hummed. “‘I wonder when they’ll discover how to travel further than Mars.’”

He giggled, the sound bright and bubbling like cold water rolling over a stone in a flowing river. “This is gonna sound weird, but, I gotta ask…”

“Mm?”

“Opinion on alternate universes?”

You paused. “What, like, universes where everything is the same, except a few details are different?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed.

“Hmm…”

“I’m from another dimension.” She laughed, shaking her head. “I mean, another another dimension.”

“Is this the younger from 1610?” he wondered, the smaller Spider playfully struggling in his hold.

She glanced at you, decisive. “I’m Gwen.”

“My name is Pavitr Prabhakar, and for the past six months—”

He blinked. “E-0818? Never ‘eard of it.” Then, with a harsh smack to your arm, “Welcome to the team, regardless. The name’s Hobie.”

“I’m Miles.”

“Peter B Parker.”

“Peni Parker.”

“Lee Minhyung.”

“Spider-Man.”

“Spider-Woman.”

You exhaled lightly. “I might’ve given it some thought. I mean, it seems pretty likely.”

Martin was so excited he nearly sat up straight to agree with you. “Right?! I know some people think it’s impossible, but to me, it’s like, anything could be possible, even—and especially—things beyond our scientific comprehension. There’s no way quantum theory isn’t just a theory.”

“You’re right,” you admitted. “No way for us to know, is there? We might just be existing in a different dimension, having this very conversation, except… I don’t know, one of us had pink hair, and we didn’t think alternate realities existed.”

“Exactly!”

Dating as a superhero was difficult.

This, you discovered, a few weeks after Martin officially asked you to be more than his sseom, more than simply a girl who made his cheeks turn red, more than the girl he wished was his. 

You’d been warned against it, by a particularly depressed Spider who had gotten the short end of the stick romantically… and pretty much every other way, too. He’d told you to steer clear of relationships, especially as a superhero, because you just didn’t have enough time for both.

There were fights that took precedence over dates, villains that learnt of partners and tried to hurt them, injuries you’d have to hide, excuses you’d have to come up with, all in the name of keeping your relationship together. The most dangerous of these, though, were your partner discovering your secret without you telling them—worse yet, discovering you while you were on the job.

That particular problem is what you struggled with the most. Because as an aspiring journalist and photographer, Martin was everywhere.

But, to be honest, you couldn’t ever blame him for what happened next.

Wait, what happened? you might be wondering.

Well…

Montage, cue!

Dates with Martin were easy, because the two of you were so head over heels for one another that you’d be happy doing your weekly errands together. However, he had an undeniable hopeless romantic streak—one that made him ask you things like, “You want to go on a joyride?” on a Thursday night while you were supposed to be studying. One that made him match the themes of your minihompies on Cyworld because he thought the idea was cute. One that got you love letters and mismatched lyrics scribbled on the back of exam papers, origami hearts and shared earphones, long walks and your hand in his under the stars.

Your one and only problem was that trouble seemed to follow wherever you went.

Martin’s skin was warm as his arm pressed against yours, his hands clasped over his mouth as he cheered his friend, Woojin, on in a game of basketball between two losers. The other loser, your dearest Juhoon, was standing on the other side of the court, looking like he’d given up before the match had begun. 

He leaned into you, not minding the heat it created. You discovered early on in your friendship that Martin liked physical touch, whether that touch was romantic or not didn’t matter in the slightest. Though it did change things a bit, him being your boyfriend. 

Wah… it felt weird to say that. Boyfriend. You had a boyfriend. One that wasn’t constantly in grave danger because of you. One that wasn’t going to die at the hands of a crazed mutant. 

Somewhere during the match, you’d excused yourself to get some fresh air. You’d walked off the basketball court after assuring everyone that you were fine, and that you’d come back with water.

And now, you were dodging punches from a beetle mutant.

Gapchung had been waiting for you at the street corner for whatever reason, maybe because she’d missed punching you in the face, maybe because she liked making your life difficult. Regardless of the reason, she was there, and you needed her not to be.

“Seriously,” you grunted, “why can’t you just stay—” your hand shot out, covering her in webs— “away? I’m trying to go on a date, here!”

“Oh?” the older woman taunted, almost immediately breaking free of her restraints. “Do tell me about your newest little mortal project.”

You rolled your eyes beneath your mask. “Yeah, no thanks. No offence, but I’m not going to try and do girl talk with a middle-aged woman who thinks beating a kid’s ass behind an H-mart is a good way to spend her Saturday.”

You heard Martin’s footsteps before you saw him, the sound light and clear in your ears. Your eyes widened. “Shit,” you cursed.

Gapchung seemed to have heard it, as well. “Seems like I’ll be able to meet him today. You didn’t need to tell me anything about him, after all!”

Tap. Tap. Tap. Martin was getting closer, and he sounded impatient. Worried, even.

You reared back, lodging your fist in Gapchung’s jaw without a second thought. She fell to the ground, stunned. 

Ping! The footsteps stopped. Martin had gotten a text—probably from Woojin, demanding to know where he’d gone in the middle of his and Juhoon’s match. That bought you enough time to rip off your mask, and pull your clothes over it, covering up the higher neck just as he rounded the corner to the H-mart.

“Oh!” Martin exclaimed when he found you browsing through the racks thoughtfully, definitely not out of breath or anything. “Where were you, babe? You were gone for almost twenty minutes.”

You hummed noncommittally. “Oh, I got distracted on the way. Cute dogs, you know.”

He smiled understandingly, already reaching for your hand. “Alright. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Okay, so, I traced back Min’s activity over the past few weeks.” Juhoon pushed his chair in closer, knees knocking against his desk as his fingers deftly worked across the keyboard. You were in his dorm room back at Siryeok, a study session having turned into a full-on investigation of everything there was to know about Min. “I checked CCTV footage, public records, etcetera, and… of course, didn’t come up with much, because we don’t know who they are,” he confessed.

You deflated, more so if that was even possible, from your spot on his bed. “We know that already,” you sighed.

“But— buuuttt… I did find this.” A few taps, and then he was signalling for you to look up. You complied, coming face to face with a blurry screen capture of someone in a back alley. The person’s face was hard to make out, curtained by a head of long, black hair, but you recognised their build easily. Short, slender, yet undeniably strong. “Looks like Min is a girl, after all. And what’s more…”

He zoomed in, the pixels disappearing to focus on a discarded backpack with a familiar label.

SIRYEOK ACADEMY.

“Holy… crap!” you said, eyes widening. “Min is a Siryeok student? But— this doesn’t make any sense!”

“Nothing about this makes sense,” Juhoon reasoned. “She’s literally hunting you down and shutting down Seollal festivals to talk about cross-species mutation and what it could mean for the future. What about any aspect of your life makes any sense?”

Okay. He got you there.

You frowned, but before you could shoot back, his front door opened, revealing a curious-looking Martin.

Juhoon quickly met your eyes. You sent him a silent message.

The two of you scrambled to erase any evidence that you’d been doing anything involving Seoul’s newest supervillain. You jumped up from the bed, tidying up the place while Juhoon not only plugged out his laptop, but shoved it under his pillow and proceeded to flip onto his bed; you leaned against his desk, slipping more than a few times before finally finding a proper perch. All inconspicuously, of course.

“Hey, Ju— oh! There you are,” Martin smiled, features softening at the sight of you in a way that made your legs feel like jelly. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

You hummed in question. “Yeah? What did you need?”

He shook his head, stepping into the room. “Nothin’. Just wanted to see you… and maybe ask if you have those pictures from the soccer game last week?”

Once, it was you who almost caught him out.

It had been a long night. I mean, a long night. The kind where you stalked Min for hours on end, studying her every move as she leapt across the city. You’d already had your suspicions as to who she was. It was difficult not to, when you recognised the way she spoke to you even if her voice was distorted, when you couldn’t distinguish between her coldness at night and in the newsroom.

She’d met with Tombstone, one of the many crime lords in Seoul, and one of the few men you’d ever genuinely feared. It was easy to see why they’d teamed up; she must’ve had access to Kwangsu Labs some way or another, and Tombstone had the means and the money to finance her takeover. The payout would be worth it for the both of them, monetarily and otherwise.

Safe to say, though, their little meeting hadn’t gone to plan. You’d shown up, sorted things out, and were currently on your way back home when you spotted him.

Martin, hunched over his camera on the pavement in front of a small, 24-hour shop. 

He was deep in focus, eyes trained on the screen and nothing but. You swore that you couldn’t help yourself, couldn’t not give him a bit of a scare.

You approached him, your steps light and soundless, and climbed onto the eave, the soles of your feet sticking to the hard surface as you stood upside down, crossing your arms over your chest as you looked over his shoulder to see what he was so focused on.

Your cheeks warmed upon being met with pictures of who else but yourself. Candids, taken whenever you weren’t looking. One while you walking out of class. One while you tried to steal Juhoon’s basketball. One while you were at the Seollal festival, turned away from the camera. Still, you persisted in your teasing.

“Good evening, sir.”

Martin’s head shot up and, upon seeing who was hanging over him, the rest of him followed. He ducked trying not to bump his head with yours, nearly falling over himself in the process. “Spider-Woman!”

You nodded. “The one and only. Hope you’re having a good night.”

“I, uh… I guess I am, yeah,” he replied. “Thanks for asking. How— how is it going with you?”

It was an altogether odd situation Martin had found himself in,  talking to his hero under the weirdest and most unpredictable circumstances. He hoped she didn’t see what he was looking through. Getting caught cheesing over pictures you took of your girlfriend was embarrassing enough, but to be caught by the Spider-Woman doing that same thing would be a fate worse than death.

But before he could ask any follow-up questions, before it could progress any further, you replied, “Fine, thanks.” And before he knew it, you were gone, hopping onto the concrete, running off, and yelling a farewell over your shoulder. 

“Keep safe, Martin!”

“I— I will!” he replied, missing how Spider-Woman seemed to know his name. Then, “Wait, w—?”

That night was fun. Toying with him. You did it a few times, so much so that Martin confided in you that he was afraid Spider-Woman was onto him about the article.

Besides that?

The struggle was endless, inescapable. 

Later that same week, you ducked behind a tree, narrowly avoiding Martin’s gaze as he passed by, his camera in hand. You swept a hand over your bloodied face, ripping your mask off. The night air felt cold against your skin. Shadows of whichever villain you’d been fighting passed through the streets as they escaped. 

On another outing for the paper, you had to excuse yourself when you heard a scuffle a few blocks away. Halfway through the fight, with your hands wound desperately around Doc Ock’s throat, you yelped, ears pricking up at the sound of Martin’s voice. “I think the lighting’s better here,” he told Seonghyeon, passing by you without a second glance.

You glared at the scientist struggling in your hold, your hand clasped over her mouth. 

Sometimes, duty called while you were on dates. Like early in March, you were in the middle of a movie when your temples began to ache. You sighed softly, trying to focus on the screen in front of you, on Martin’s arm wound tightly around your shoulder. You walked past a car crash that night; he shielded you from the scene, but you already knew. It was your fault.

Other times, he caught onto your attitude instead of your secrets. Like now, as he was laying beside you while you scrolled through the different programmes your ideal schools offered, and he played with the hem of your shirt. “You’ve been really quiet these days,” he noticed, palm splayed comfortably over the small of your back. “Is there anything you wanna tell me?”

You shook your head, adjusting the glasses you’d finally gotten to replace the others. “I’m alright,” you said, “just tired.”

He hummed, not buying it. “Mm… feels like something’s wrong. You’ve been all weird since our last date.” He paused, brow furrowing in thought. “Did the car crash upset you that much?”

You settled on giving him a yes, just to get him off your back. You received the opposite—literally.

He sat up, pressing your back into his chest as he pulled you closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Sorry, baby,” he said, though he wasn’t to blame for the upset. You were. You knew. You knew. “I’m sure whoever was involved came out fine.”

Fifty six stitches and a broken leg. “Yeah, I guess so. I just… I thought Seoul had a superhero to stop these things from happening, you know?”

“Yeah, well… Spider-Woman’s gotta catch a break sometime, right?”

Right.

Most times, it was manageable. Being a superhero and being a girlfriend. You’d been blessed with an understanding boyfriend, who could make a romantic moment out of any situation, no matter how mundane it was at its core. Usually, if you excused yourself in the middle of a date, if you ran off to the bathroom and came back with several new bruises littered in areas he couldn’t see, he’d smile understandingly, telling you, “It’s fine, babe. I don’t mind waiting.”

But there were times, days like this, where you could see his resolve cracking. Where you could feel the disappointment radiating off him. He never let it show, never gave you any reason to believe he was anything other than delighted to just be given a crumb of your attention, because most of the time, he was. But you could feel it. See it. Hear it. He wanted more of you, and he was becoming impatient to find out why he couldn’t have it.

Oscorp Korea was located somewhere in Upper Gangnam, among the private hospitals and massive apartment complexes where each of the flats cost billions each. Your small group had gathered at the front steps of the large, imposing building, all tall walls and reflective glass windows you couldn’t even try to see into.

Despite its affluent location, something about the place felt off; probably because your first real supervillain had worked there, and one of the experiments conducted there had led him to where he was currently: several metres under the ground.

Your group was small, as Noeul had mentioned on the way over. Only five people including you were present—Martin, Noeul, Seonghyeon, and Mrs Lee—because apparently the multi-billion won company couldn’t afford to get all-access passes for more than five people. 

You were escorted around the building by Professor Na Jinyoung, the current head scientist at Oscorp. He was tall, gaunt, and spoke with the same sort of accent that Koreans who spent time aboard did. He rolled his rs in a pretentious manner, and would every so often glance at you like you’d done something to offend him. Maybe he didn’t like your Crocs.

You weren’t completely sure why you’d been invited along to this. After all, the article Noeul had suggested you write was merely an overview of what happened at Oscorp, as part of your tertiary education glossary that covered the most popular career options for students depending on which courses and schools they chose. You weren’t remotely interested in science, or physics—yeah, I know, a Spider not interested in physics, shock, horror, gasp, great Scott, and all that—so you wouldn’t be too knowledgeable about the goings on of anything there.

But Noeul had invited you along, and you, for some reason, didn’t want to make a bad impression on her, and Martin had insisted that you join, so you came anyway.

That was your first mistake.

Your second mistake was wearing your suit under your jumper, because that morning, you had a feeling you’d need it. You did.

When you were about halfway through the tour, having covered the company’s extensive quantum nanoscience research programme, as well as their current computer science projects, you were all excused for a lunch break that you could spend either in the Oscorp cafeteria, or each exploring the grounds to your hearts’ content. 

You opted for the former, on the grounds that you hadn’t eaten since that morning when you left home, and your stepmother had bid you farewell with a kiss on your cheek and a packet of honeybread hurled at your head as you ran out the door.

You took a seat next to Martin, who’d been deep in conversation with Seonghyeon about villains you’d fought. Or rather, villains Spider-Woman had fought.

“You can’t convince me that Tombstone isn’t the worst,” Seonghyeon claimed, shoving a spoonful of sticky rice into his mouth. As the review writer for the school paper, the younger boy had a lot of opinions, none that were possibly swayed by emotion nor reason. “I mean, he’s, like, four times her size.”

Martin shook his head. “Nuh-uh. Doc Ock is the worst, easy. She has deadly tech, and she can basically fly!” Without looking at you, he slid a small packet of bungeoppang onto your lunch tray. You smiled, and he returned the favour once he saw it. Then, turning back to Seonghyeon, “You just like Tombstone for the shock value ‘cause he doesn’t have superpowers.”

Seonghyeon gasped, offended. “Untrue. His motives are also far more twisted and dark. He doesn’t even have a reason to want Spider-Woman dead.”

Martin rolled his eyes, turning to you. “Babe,” he said, the new nickname rolling off his tongue like he’d said it a thousand times, “what do you think? Worst Spider-Woman villain to ever exist. Like, ever. Go.”

You pretended to think. Of course, you knew. The Kingpin. It was closer to Seonghyeon’s answer than Martin’s was. Most of your worst villains were normal people with no special abilities, no motivations besides pure, unrelenting bloodthirst. Kingpin had been like that—driven only by a need for money, power, and death to those he saw as unworthy. You’d been nearly killed many times, but the few fights you’d had with Kingpin before he died had been the worst. Worse than Tuseokgi. Worse than Spot.

That, and you had to defeat him twice.

“Probably Doc Ock,” you nodded in agreement, making Martin smile like he’d won some sort of prize. “Those tentacles…” You shivered for effect. “Nothing would be worse for me than that.”

Seonghyeon snickered. “Yeah, well, luckily you aren’t Spider-Woman, or you’d be dead meat.”

Pfft. You. Being Spider-Woman. Truly hilarious.

Lunch eventually passed, and you all gathered in the nanophotonics lab, where you were due for a tour through the company’s collection of telescopes. That is, if either Noeul or Professor Jinyoung were present.

Mrs Lee frowned, checking the time on her watch. “It’s been almost fifteen minutes since we were supposed to start… and Noeul is nowhere to be found.” You noticed her gnawing at her bottom lip—a nervous tic, you’d found. She was probably worried for the girl’s wellbeing, worried because she was supposed to be the one to ensure she got home safely and in one piece to her mother.

Martin and Seonghyeon were at a loss regarding where she could be. After all, she’d been here more times than they had, on account of her internship at Kwangsu Labs. Neither of them knew where anything was, or where she might’ve wandered off to.

As your teacher and friends were discussing amongst themselves, you felt the urge to volunteer to try and find her. Something in your gut was saying go.

The halls of Oscorp were cold, telling of its stoic, sinister nature. There were many winding pathways, enough to make one believe they were caught in a deadly maze. Emphasis on deadly, because the air didn’t move. People seemed to be on autopilot, eyes glazed over, movements practiced.

You found Noeul between the neuro- and nanoscience labs, talking to none other than Professor Jinyoung.

Hide.

So you hid behind a cold iron pillar, watching them converse in hushed tones. Then, they were gone.

You followed the sound of their footsteps, ears pricked. Something’s about to happen. Something big.

And that’s when you saw it.

Noeul, shrugging on a black jacket as she followed Professor Jinyoung down a hallway leading to the entrance of an unlabelled laboratory. It billowed as she walked, creating the same silhouette as the one you’d seen running down the street to the abandoned Kwangsu Labs factory. 

Your blood ran cold; the tips of your fingers turning numb.

Min Noeul was your newest villain.

You knew all about canon events.

Those dreaded, dreaded moments in every Spider’s life, the events that make them— make you who you are. The radioactive spider. Your uncle. The police captain. Your first love. Things that have happened to you in the past two and a half years, that have left you beaten, bloodied, and bruised, that have forced you to, no matter how many times you fell, get back up again.

Someone once told you that they were inevitable.

“There’s… nothing you can do about them. Trust me, I’ve tried. It doesn’t always end well. Or ever, for that matter. All you can do is hope you don’t get it as bad as the rest of us.”

You decided long ago that they wouldn’t be.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t scared.

The first time you hurt Martin was by complete accident. 

The two of you had gone out with a few friends to celebrate your graduation a few hours following the official ceremony. The air was alight with excitement and expectation, with the promise of your near future. In a month or two you’d be off to university, and after that—who knows what you’d be free to do.

Juhoon sat across from you in the barbecue joint, the wooden bench digging into his back. He was passionately debating a very serious matter with Woojin, who sat not too far from him. 

“Arial is the only possible contender for best font!” Woojin argued, mouth full of dokgalbi fresh off the grill. Despite never having been part of the school paper, sticking rather to the basketball team, Woojin had his fair share of opinions when it came to digital formatting of written works.

“Saying that when Times New Roman is right there is blasphemy,” Juhoon shot back. 

“I’m sorry, but I cannot respect you if that’s your true opinion,” he said earnestly, a hand on his chest as if he were confessing in a court of law.

“Hey, at least I’m not a Comic Sans defender,” Juhoon said. “I fucking hate Comic Sans,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

Woojin sighed. “At least.”

You watched the scene unfold with a glimmer of amusement in your eyes, though your attention wanted to be focused elsewhere. Particularly on the tall, well-dressed beauty who’d been staring at the side of your face for the past ten minutes. “Martin,” you sang. “You’re staring.”

“I know,” he said unabashedly. “You’re really pretty, you know? Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Yeah. You. Constantly.”

He grinned. “Good to know that your boyfriend only ever speaks the truth, huh?” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, taking a sip of whatever insanely sugary soft drink you were sure he ordered. The scent of faded cologne and printer ink stuck to him even now.

It brought back an unexpected memory. One that had no ties to the moment you were in, one that bore no resemblance to your current surroundings. That made you wonder if it was truly a memory, or not rather a premonition.

“I remember, he and I used to hang out every day.”

“Yeah?”

Her face softened with something unspoken, but loud. Grief. “Yeah.”

You’d been smiling, none the wiser, until you caught her look. “What happened?”

She ducked her head, and when she spoke next, it was through tears struggling not to fall. “What happens with all of us when we’re in love. He died.”

You stiffened. Martin noticed.

Juhoon was deep into dissecting an amusing conversation he’d had with his guidance counselor, something along the lines of, “The conversation was very Orwellian in the sense that the guidance counselor kept saying, ‘Or, well…’ whenever I brought up a counterpoint to her saying my only option was modelling. Well, look who’s going to KU now!”

Martin leant down, his plump lips brushing the shell of your ear. What would’ve been a tantalising action if you weren’t going numb. “Hey, everything okay?”

You forced a smile wider than what he was used to. “Yeah. I’m good. Just tired.”

You were always just tired.

A few weeks later, right before classes started, you went to visit Gyumin. It had been a rough day of moving and admin and fighting crime, and all you’d really wanted to do was find some peace and quiet. In a city like Seoul, there was no other place to find it besides the gardens where eternal rest was the norm. It became even quieter at night.

You were still in your suit, your breath hot inside your mask, the scent of ink drifting through your nose. Song Gyumin’s headstone was small, little more than a peak that stuck out of the tall grass growing around it. His parents didn’t come to take care of it, still too heartbroken to face the reality that their son had been dead for over a year. Since you were responsible, you took it upon yourself to clean up his grave every now and then.

Today you’d brought flowers, lilies, his favourite.

Your feet were planted on the same spot they’d been since you’d started visiting him here. The grass no longer tried to grow where you stood. “Hi, Gyu,” you started. “I, uh… trust everything’s good up there. Or down there. I don’t— I don’t know where you’d rather be right now. Probably alive. Ha-ha.” You laughed weakly, before you shook it off. “Anyway, I, um… I’m going to university soon, did you hear? Yeah. SNU. Liberal studies, because I couldn’t decide on a major. And I— I’ve got a boyfriend, now. I don’t think I mentioned that.” You wrinkled your nose, trying to keep the tears at bay. “No, I don’t think I did. He’s nothing like you. He’s tall, and bright, and funny, and he tries his best to make me laugh. He’s kind, and he likes me, and… I can’t help but think I’m about to screw things up.”

You sniffled, not even trying to stop the tears anymore. Your throat burned with the need to release them, so you did. “I’m scared, man. I’m scared and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do to stop myself from messing this all up. I just feel like, with— with university, and with Noeul around, I can’t give him what he deserves. I’m afraid I’ll hurt him the same way I hurt you. Worse.”

But it couldn’t get any worse, could it? Not when your Gwen was already dead.

CRACK!

You stiffened, muscles buzzing with tension. You weren’t alone.

“Hey, babe—”

You whirled around, your body acting on its own at the feeling of someone’s hands on you. The intruder was shot back in an explosion of blue that left your fingertips crackling with bioelectric energy.

Martin groaned, curling into a foetal position in the dewy grass.

Wait. Martin. Babe. 

You gasped, rushing to his side. “Oh, my God. Tin, I am so, so sorry. I didn’t even— I wasn’t looking. I thought you were someone else, and I panicked. I just—” You tried to get the words out, to express how truly sorry you were, no regard for your current state, or identity, but your words failed you. They always did, around him.

“W-what?” he murmured, eyes squinted against the harsh lamplight shining behind you. “Who…”

You hesitated, reaching for the collar of his jacket.

“SMPA, put your hands where I can see them!”

Flashlights rolled into your field of vision, and with them, the footsteps of patrolling policemen. God, could this night get any worse?!

You stood up gingerly, groaning boyfriend still at your feet, as a pair of officers approached you. They hadn’t drawn their guns yet; though their hands rested on their hips, ready for your retaliation.

It never came. One of them stepped forward too quickly, and without thought, a long, sticky string of web that attached to the window of a passing car. 

Okay. It seemed like it could.

You noticed the faint tug on your wrist, glancing at the officers, then at Martin, who’d grabbed onto your ankle to try and hoist himself to his feet. “Uh, sayonara?” you tried.

It was all chaos after that. You flew through the air, holding Martin to your side after you were able to pick him up—all hulky one-hundred and ninety centimetres of him. He was deceptively heavy, even for you who had been blessed-cursed with superhuman strength. Eventually, you could disconnect from the passing car which, you soon realised, was actually a truck speeding at a disproportionate speed, and you redirected your webs to aid you over an office complex. But, of course, not without knocking Martin’s head on a street sign.

One thing led to another, and soon you were running through the streets of Seoul, Martin passed out in your arms. You didn’t receive any odd looks—after all, this was the city where public meltdowns and busking gone wrong went widely ignored or unnoticed. Who’d pay attention to Spider-Woman potentially kidnapping a university student?

The pavements you passed over were slippery, possibly due to the late night, early morning dew settling from the low-hanging clouds. So of course, you had to eat straight shit.

You fell to the floor in a pathetic heap, near the entrance of a subway station, your arm hanging numbly over the descending stairs. Martin’s head had luckily landed on your stomach, which meant he wouldn’t be as concussed as he could’ve been. And the people passing by? They paid you absolutely no mind.

“Uh, maybe you guys can go around?” you wondered aloud. The bottom of your mask had ridden up, revealing your bruised lip. No one listened. A couple and their bichon frisé actually stepped over you. You sighed. “Okay. Thanks, Seoul.”

How would you explain this to Martin when he woke up?

“And these nodes, where the lines converge?”

“They are The Canon. Chapters that are a part of every spider’s story, every time. Some good, some bad. Some very, very bad.”

You knew all about canon events. 

Those dreaded, dreaded moments in every Spider’s life, the events that make them— make you who you are. The radioactive spider. Your uncle. The police captain. Your first love. 

You’d asked Gwen about them, once. In the pocket between two worlds, where the lines between realities blurred. She’d shaken her head, as if she didn’t want to. Then she told you anyway.

There were many, most of which you’d already experienced. Then, there were some that she herself hadn’t yet come into contact with. Ones she was unsure of. There was the quitting being Spider-Man.

“Haven’t done that one yet,” she’d sighed. “But I’m pretty damn close.”

There was the upside down kiss.

“Definitely haven’t done that one yet. Don’t plan on ever doing it, either.”

And there was the second shot at love.

“I mean… it worked for Peter B, didn’t it?” you’d thought. At the time, though, you didn’t even want a second love. You had your first, and back then, he seemed like he’d be the last.

“Yeah, but… he did a lot of things differently,” she said. “He got to do a lot of things that we never will. Whose to say our next loves are safe? Peter has MJ. There’s no guaranteeing we’ll have one.”

Right. All you had was Martin. Lovely, adoring, kind, mortal Martin.

The second time you hurt him may have been on purpose.

Seoul in April was usually a time of peace and regeneration, the peak of spring bringing in a wave of tourists and locals alike to parks and other such attractions, oohing and ahing at the beautiful cherry blossoms that bloomed on the streets, that floated through the air and fell into your hair. For most, it meant beauty, and calm, and sunshine in abundance.

For you, it meant peak crime season.

Because of the influx of tourists, many of Seoul’s lesser-privileged chancers did what they did best: take chances. It wasn’t necessarily crime, per se, though certainly sketchy activity that could land naive foreigners in sticky situations that foreign affairs couldn’t really solve. You patrolled a lot more, stayed out late more, cancelled dates more. You practically became a ghost.

Which explained why Martin was upset with you.

You’ll admit, ever since the incident in the cemetery, you’d been carefully avoiding him. Screening his calls unless you had important plans, skipping hangouts, bailing early on those you did come to. Most of the time it was because you had other things to tend to. Noeul had expanded her circle, and become involved with more people—richer, more influential, more evil than Tombstone could ever have been. People with more means that simply putting you in the ground. People with means to have the whole country under their thumbs. You had to intercept her plans almost every week now, and it was getting more and more difficult to keep track of her now that you lived on opposite sides of the city, studied at completely different universities, operated on wildly different ends of the moral spectrum.

Sometimes, though, it was because you were too afraid to face him. 

Too afraid to look at him, his beautiful eyes, his warm, kind smile, and have to face the music. And have to accept the fact that, if you kept him around any longer, he could die because of you, at the hands of someone who’d kill him just to get to you. Just like Gyumin had. Your Gwen.

You couldn’t let your second chance at love go like that, too.

Your fan fluttered lamely from the ceiling of your dorm room, doing nothing more than recycling hot air into the already stuffy space. Your phone rested on your chest, replaying the same voicemail you’d received over a week ago. Martin’s voice was raspy with disuse, though his excitement bubbled over into the audio nonetheless.

“Hey, baby. I have some good news. Mr Jeong approved my entry, which means I could have my work exhibited at CCCS. Isn’t that great?”

The exhibition. Martin had told you all about it, how his photography professor had promised the student with the best personal article that their pictures—because nearly every student in his class was also an aspiring photographer—would be displayed in an arts centre in Seoul. The project consisted of two parts, an entry, and the official article, which would also have the chance to be published in the Daily Bugle, the newspaper he worked for. The newspaper everyone in Seoul, even the young people, read.

You hadn’t responded to that message all week.

A knock on your door pulled you from your reverie, and you begrudgingly looked up as if you’d magically see who was behind it just by that simple action. You hoped it wasn’t Juhoon, coming to bug you about eating and ‘getting back out there’, neither of which you felt like doing. 

Well, you’d never know until you actually went and opened the door. With a resigned sigh, you got up from your bed, fixing your shorts as they stuck to the undersides of your thighs, waddling towards the front door.

You didn’t blink at the sight of your boyfriend, though you hadn’t at all expected him. In the months you’d started university, his hair had grown, become curlier with the perm his mom insisted he got. But he was still your Martin. Just angrier because of you. Like now. He was angry, that much you could tell.  He didn’t show it outwardly, but the way his eyes landed on your form, the way his jaw ticked with how hard he clenched it—those small details gave him away.

He let himself in once you stepped aside, opening the door wider for him. He turned, looked around like he was trying to find something to focus on besides you, and finally let himself look at you.

“You haven’t been answering my texts,” he said stiffly.

You nodded. “I haven’t.”

“Or my calls.”

“Mhm.”

“Or my emails, or anything I send you to try and get a word out of you.” His jaw clicked. You could hear his teeth grinding against one another. “You’ve been weird ever since last month. Is everything… is everything okay? Is there something going on?” For a moment, he sounded genuinely concerned.

Your reply came swiftly and harsher than you intended for it to. “There’s nothing. Nothing’s happened since you asked me that same question a week ago.”

He caught on to your tone. “Oh, alright. Sorry. I just though, you know, since my girlfriend wasn’t telling me anything, something might be wrong.” He narrowed his eyes, sighing. “What’s with you, these days? Juhoon says you’ve been checked out, even Mirae is saying—”

“Oh, you’re going behind my back, now?” you interrupted. “Talking to my stepmom about my behaviour?”

“What else am I supposed to do?” he demanded. “You gave me no other choice!”

“You could’ve come to talk to me directly first.”

“No, I couldn’t, because you’re never around anymore! I mean, where are you even, when you’re not in class?”

You scoffed. “You wouldn’t understand.”

That seemed to do it for him. “You’re right! I have no idea what’s going on with you! So why don’t you tell me?!”

“Can’t you just listen to me?”

“Alright. You got it. I’m listening! Say whatever you wanna say. What do you got to tell me so bad?!”

You paused. If you told him now, it would all be over. The hiding. The pains. The secrets. Your relationship. You couldn’t risk that. You couldn’t risk losing him just because you couldn’t handle some pressure. You shook your head, avoiding his red-hot gaze. “Whatever. Just leave.”

He faltered. “What?”

“I said, leave. You don’t like the way I act, the way I am? Leave, ‘cause I’m not changing for you!”

He stared at you for a moment, seemingly in thought. As if everything he’d thought about you was being proven wrong before his own eyes. Then, huffing, he grumbled, “Fine. That’s what you want, that’s what you get. I tried my best with you. I really did.”

He stormed out of your room, slamming the door shut behind him, leaving you in thick, tense silence, and for the first time in ages, you felt lighter. Worse, definitely. Tears streamed freely down your face, snot gathered at your nostrils; it was an ugly sight, but it was something you’d needed.

You felt like shit. Your life was over. Your love didn’t stand a chance. You ruined everything. But Martin had to be safe now.

Right?

“I just… I can’t believe she’d say something like that!” Martin exclaimed, leaves crunching under his sneakers as he speed walked through the park on his way home. Unlike his peers, he didn’t live in the dorms on Hanyang’s campus. Instead, he stayed happily at home, only half an hours’ walk away. “I mean, what could be so important that she’d ditch me for almost a month straight, and then kick me out the moment I try to talk to her about it?”

On the other end, Juhoon sighed. He knew. God, did he know. He also had an inkling as to why you’d been avoiding Martin. Something about the fate of your lovers, the dangers that came with loving mortals as a person with enemies. “I…”

He hesitated. Martin noticed.

“You know, don’t you?”

Again, Juhoon released a sigh carrying exhaustion past someone of his age. “It’s not my secret to tell, Tin. It’s up to her to tell you on her own time, when she’s ready.” If she’s ever ready.

Martin paused, stopping in his tracks. “Could you at least give me a hint? How bad is it? How illegal is it?” He just wanted to know. You could be a murderer, for all he cared. He’d still want you. All he needed was to know.

“It’s not illegal at all. But, Tin, it’s… it’s pretty bad.”

He frowned. “Bad how?”

“I can’t tell you. It’s just… it’s dangerous. And the people she deals with, Martin…”

“What?” he asked. “What kind of people does she deal with?”

But Juhoon had gone silent. Only the crackle of static hummed in his ears. He looked at his phone, confusion etched into his handsome features. “What the…?”

He was so preoccupied with whatever had gone wrong with his phone that he didn’t even see the shadow approaching from behind. Didn’t even hear the footsteps, or the invisible body accompanying them. He didn’t see her, not until it was too late.

His phone fell to the ground, the line clicking back to life. Juhoon was still on the other end, halfway through his sentence.

“…don’t want to know.” After a moments’ pause with no response, he asked, “Tin? Where’d you go?”

His voice echoed into the night, everywhere but into Martin’s ears.

“Hello? Are you still there?”

일주일 후 A WEEK PASSES

The Seoul Metro was deserted when you arrived, hands balled into fists at your sides. The fluorescent lights cast an eerie glow over the area, turning your light purple suit a sickly shade of green. She’d told you to meet her here, at exactly midnight. She hadn’t told you why; hadn’t revealed her motivation, nor her intention. You may well have gone blindfolded, with how much trust you were putting in her.

Noeul had been quiet. Too quiet. Her operations seemed to have halted completely, her steady stream of supplies from Kwangsu Labs having disappeared off the radar since your argument with Martin. Though that had nothing to do with it. Something was amiss. That, you were very clearly aware of as soon as you stepped off the last stair. Something was about to go very, very wrong.

“Nice to see you accepted my invitation, at least, spider.”

Her cold voice rang through the station as if it were being broadcasted, sent shivers down your spine as if she were whispering directly in your ear. You turned in the direction it came from, though found nothing but the empty subway station behind you.

“I’ve got to say, I’m surprised. I mean, you don’t have time for your boyfriend, but you’ve got time for me? I’m honestly flattered.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” you demanded. Obviously she knew you knew. She’d had eyes on you since before you started dating him.

“Oh, don’t be coy. You know who I’m talking about. That lanky boy who goes to Hanyang. You know, you used to be in the school paper with him. He and I were friends, once.”

She still distorted her voice, after all this time, but you could recognise that cold inflection anywhere. 

“If you had any guts, you’d show yourself,” you bit out.

She hummed. “Hmm… tempting. Alright. You want to see me?”

She glimmered to life, and from the corner of your eye, you noticed her rearing back her first. “I can do you one better.”

You narrowly avoided her punch, catching her fist in your own. You turned your arm, twisting hers behind her back. “You’ve been pretty quiet this past while,” you said. “Why the sudden silence? Things not work out as you expected?”

She struggled out of your grip, dodging your kicks with an easy bow. “Oh, no. Things have been working out quite well for me, actually. We plan on broadcasting our message to the country first thing tomorrow morning, just as the sun rises from behind the mountains. Right after we deploy the drones.”

You stopped. “Drones?”

Her mask lifted as she smiled beneath it. “Don’t you know? Right, of course you don’t. We moved our headquarters to a more private area so that you wouldn’t be able to trace us with your impeccable…” Her mask shifted, and you could tell she was wrinkling her nose in disgust. “…arachnid abilities.

“Speaking of,” she continued. “Back to the drones. Yes, we plan on releasing them an hour or so before our broadcast. Small, harmless things, simply meant to deliver the future to the people of this country in a more convenient way than what the scientists at Kwangsu Labs had originally planned on.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You’re going to feed these innocent people Atrotosium not only without their consent, but without their knowledge?”

“It’s what’s best for the general populace,” she replied, as if it were as simple a statement as the sky is blue. “We as humans are meant to adapt to survive our environment, but this world has become too violent too quickly for us to be able to defend ourselves with the bodies we were given. It’ll take ages for the mind to catch on—unless we speed up the process.”

“By denying everyone their humanity and turning them into… into mutants?” you spat.

She tilted her head. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. If I recall correctly, you were the first-ever mutant human to exist. Aren’t you doing relatively well for yourself?”

“No, I’m not!” you argued. “My life sucks.”

“I’m sure that’s just because of your personality,” she said. “Not because of your abilities. Anywho…” She strode towards you, looking as if she were planning to go past you. “…I’ve got more important matters to tend to than this. Goodbye.”

You caught her wrist, your spinnerest aching at the exertion. “You brought me here. Why? Why did you need me if you were going to do this regardless? Why waste your time like that?”

“To waste yours,” she said. “If you’d been anywhere else, more focused on your human friends and the human aspects of your life, you wouldn’t have missed the dozens of frantic calls to your phone. Your friends would have reached you, would-be in-laws would’ve called you awake, all shading concerns for where their precious son was.”

You froze.

“No.”

She didn’t.

“I did. Not only will our drones be deployed for the whole city to see, but the people of Seoul will also be given a show to the tragic and untimely death of Spider-Woman’s biggest fan, who took his life after realising that, surprise surprise, heroes never live up to their word.”

“…I thought Seoul had a superhero to stop these things from happening, you know?”

“No,” you repeated, reaching out for her. Desperately. Mortally. “You wouldn’t. Please. You wouldn’t.”

She yanked her wrist free of your grip. “What makes you think I have any obligation to heed your requests when you couldn’t do the same for me?”

You spoke through budding tears, your mind running a hundred kilometres a second. Where was Martin? How much time did he have left? How quickly did you need to get to him to save him? “What are you talking about?”

Noeul stopped. Really, truly stopped. Stepped back, as if seeing you for the first time. Then, lifting her mask, you were met with her hard, beautiful face, holding back the same tears you were.

“What am I talking about? What… am I talking about?”

Another step back, another statement spit in your face.

“Min Kwangsu. My father. The man you blew to bits in this very station!”

Min Kwangsu. The founder of Kwangsu Labs. The second and second last victim to the mutation serum of his own creation. Tuseokgi. The man who’d nearly killed you trying to capture you, to run his experiments on you. Experiments for a mutation he caused. The man who you’d held down with a ferocity you never knew you’d possessed. The man who begged for his life as electric currents ran through his body, while the corpse of your first and only love became cold only metres away. A corpse he’d made. Min Kwangsu. The man who’d left behind a wife and a daughter and a trail of dead bodies in his wake.

That’s why she wanted these people—the whole country—to change. So that they’d be as protected against people like her father as you were. Invulnerable. But she saw it the other way. She wanted people to be as protected against people like you as her father couldn’t be. The same way Gyumin couldn’t be protected against him.

You stepped back, shaking your head. “That wasn’t me,” you said. Because it couldn’t have been. That girl who’d killed Min Kwangsu, she was someone completely different. Someone overtaken with rage. Someone you never wanted to be again. Someone that begged to be let out to save the lives of millions in exchange for one meaningless one. Two, if you counted your own.

“It was you,” she spat. “I saw you. I saw you that night, running out of this station while my father’s body was abandoned amongst the wreckage. I watched him die, and now…” She shook her head, eyes crazed. “I’m going to make you suffer a fate worse than that. I’m going to kill you. Here. In this station. And you won’t ever know what happened to any of the people you loved.”

No. 

No. You wouldn’t ever let that happen.

“I can’t let you do that,” you breathed.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a say in this, insect.”

“And I’m afraid you underestimate my ability to deviate from the path people want me to follow.”

Before she could process what you’d said, you struck. Hard, square in her chest. She flew back, her head knocking against the subway steps. You approached her stunned form, hands on your hips.

“I’m sorry, Noeul. But I can’t let you do this. No matter how evil you think I am. I care more about innocent people than I do about you, or anyone else, for that matter. This isn’t me getting revenge. This is me protecting my home.”

You ran through the streets of Seoul like a maniac. 

You tried to figure out where Noeul could’ve possibly been planning to send her drones from. Soon enough, though, you remembered why exactly you had a guy in the chair.

Juhoon wasn’t happy to be called up at midnight, even less so by you, who’d been ignoring his calls for help for the past week. You could tell he’d contemplated just not answering at all, pulling the same move you did, because he answered the phone with, “This better be good.”

“It is,” you rushed, narrowly dodging a drunken salaryman, “I swear to almighty God, Juhoon, it is.”

“Spill.”

“Okay, uh… shit. Where do I start? First, I need you to do a sweep of any highly concentrated energy levels, particularly the kind you find in drones.”

You could hear his frown. “Context?”

“Need to know basis. The safety of the country is kind of at stake here.”

“Nuh-uh. Nope. Sorry. You’ve lost ‘no questions asked’ privileges when you didn’t answer my calls about your boyfriend who, by the way, is still fucking missing. Tell me why you need what you need, or I’m letting some ecoterrorist blow this place to bits without lifting a pretty little finger.”

You sighed, but you couldn’t deny that you deserved it. That and a good smack upside the head. “Okay. Um. So it turns out that Noeul is Min, also known as Kabuki, also known as the girl who’s been trying to turn the whole country into mutants for the past four months, and that I may be the reason she’s evil in the first place. Long story short, she’s planning on releasing millions of drones that are actually going to deposit Atrotosium into peoples’ bloodstreams without their knowledge, and she’s also kidnapped Martin, and is planning on throwing him from some sort of tower with the drones and framing his death as a suicide because I killed her dad.”

A long, tense silence followed.

Then,

“Well, shit.”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “You feel like helping me now?”

He paused, before saying, “Only because Martin’s in danger.”

You nodded, though you couldn’t stop the ache in your heart at his answer. Your best friend, who’d seen you through the best and worst of times, was now so alienated from you he only wanted to help you to save someone else. Your boyfriend. And it was all your fault.

“Right,” you agreed. “For Martin.”

Then, “…And maybe a bit for you, too.”

You smiled. You smiled so hard your cheeks started to hurt, your eyes watered with unshed tears.

“Thanks, Jju. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I have some idea. Now—” there was a scuffle on the other end, telling you he was rolling out of bed and groggily making his way to his computer— “you said to scan for high energy densities in the city? I got you.” The sound of clicking tiles echoed in your ears as you rounded a corner, nearly slipping on something you didn’t want to know the contents of that had spilled onto the street. Juhoon made a small noise, like, Aha! “Here we are. High levels of EMF found in Namsan Tower, right at the top.”

You huffed in frustration. Of course, Noeul had to choose the most extravagant and inaccessible spot to do her villain work. Typical. You should’ve known the girl who sent you article documents filled to the brim with embeds and self-illustrated graphs would go above and beyond with the theatrics. How nice it would be to have a villain who just wanted to do their evil things and be done with them—no bells and whistles needed.

“Really? Namsan Tower? God,” you swore. “Fine. I’ve just left Seoul Station, so from here—”

“Best route to go is through Namsan Park,” Juhoon finished for you. 

“Right. Yeah. Fuck. Oh, I do not want to climb those stairs right now,” you complained. “But, you know, fate of my second love and whatnot.”

“Fate of the country, or whatever,” he added.

“The less important one, yeah,” you said. “Anyway, uh, I’ll keep you updated. Just stay close to your phone. I’ll call when I need help.”

“I can’t exactly help from here, but sure,” he said.

“…Thanks, Jju. For everything.”

“Only ever a pleasure, dipshit.”

It was a nearly impossible task, but you eventually made it to Namsan Tower. The attraction was closed to the public due to the late hour, but because you had superpowers and the sheer, desperate will of a girl in love, you made it work.

The drones—and hopefully Martin—were hidden away in the observatory, Juhoon revealed, scattered around the seventh floor. You may or may not have broken a few locks to get inside, and you may or may not have desperately crawled up an elevator shaft to get there, but before you knew it, you were standing in front of the door separating you and everything you needed to save the city. The country.

The door was unlocked, the room cold and devoid of life. As you walked in, you started to feel that same, all-too familiar tug in your gut, a cold flame lit in the pit of your stomach. Something was off. And, you weren’t alone.

The massive body hurtling towards you was a pretty good indication of that.

You should’ve known Noeul would have people guarding the observatory in the rare event that she actually couldn’t kill you. From his size he looked to be one of Tombstone’s men, big and bad and very much in the mood for murder. Despite his size, it was a quick fight, over before he could even register you throwing him out of the room and into a pillar that collapsed on top of him. 

The second man who ran towards you was a bit more difficult to beat, probably because he was bigger than Tombstone himself. He threw you around a bit; may or may not have fractured a bone or two. You slid across the floor, halfway across the observatory, your back bumping into something cold, and hard. You groaned softly, blindly reaching out for it. Your fingers curled around what felt like the leg of a chair and, forcing your eyes open, you came face to face with Martin, staring down at you from where he was tied up. A cloth was wrapped around his mouth—seriously, Noeul and Tombstone’s methods could not be more passé—causing his desperate words to come out muffled into the fabric.

You could imagine what he was saying, though. Probably something along the lines of, “Holy crap it’s Spider-Woman! Save me! These crazy bitches have kept me locked up for the past week!”

“Don’t worry,” you told him, gingerly getting to your feet. “I’ve got this. I’ll, uh, untie you in a sec. Just give me a moment.”

Luckily, winning the fight was merely a matter of knocking the guy out cold, which was easily accomplished by smashing a table over his head. All in a moment’s work, too. After that, it was merely a matter of untying Martin and finding the drones, getting Juhoon to hack into their programming and turn them into functionless bricks. How you would do that, though, without revealing your identity, was a nonissue. You didn’t care about hiding anymore. Not when it had come to this point. Not when you knew Martin wouldn’t want you afterwards anyway.

You approached him slowly, walking with a faint limp as you reached out to untie his restraints. You did it easily, tugging the cloth down from where it rested over his mouth. He gasped, gaining his breath in rapid, deep bursts; yet, he didn’t move. You crouched down in front of him, expression concerned beneath your mask.

“Are you alright, Martin?” you asked softly. You tried for a smile he wouldn’t be able to see. “Sorry for taking so long.”

He breathed deeply, glancing at you like a caged animal. “I’m, uh… as fine as a kidnapping victim could be, I guess? Is that a good answer?”

“Any answer is a good answer,” you said. You stood up, holding out your hand for him. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here. You’ve probably had enough of this place.”

He took your hand easily, his palm warm in yours, as he let you help him to his feet. For a twisted moment, you could imagine you were here together, as a couple, merely holding hands and walking through the Namsan Observatory on a date. “Not really. She kept me holed up in a van most of the time, so the change in scenery was nice. Plus, I meant, thousand-won view right there,” he laughed, pointing at the windows, looking out over Seoul. He paused. “Sorry. I’m tryna cope right now, and making jokes is the only way I know how.”

“It’s fine,” you soothed. “As long as you’re not, like, damaged beyond comprehension.”

He shook his head. “I’m not that bad, at least. Maybe only a little bit damaged, but I’m sure my therapist can work with that. Or, you know, the one I’m gonna get after all this is over.”

You nodded, walking him to the exit. “I’ll be with you in a moment, okay? I just need to make a call. Save the city, you know.”

He nodded numbly, letting go of your hand. He didn’t question just who Spider-Woman would’ve needed to call to save the city. 

You stepped back into the observatory, slipping your phone out of your suit pocket and dialling Juhoon’s number. He answered almost immediately. “Shoot.”

“I need you to help me disable these drones,” you said. “I’m sure I can, like, drop them all from here and let them shatter to pieces, but that’d be cruel to whoever has to come to clean in a few hours.”

“Already on it,” he replied. A series of clicks and clacks on the other end, then… “Huh. That’s weird.”

You groaned. “What?”

“I can’t get into the systems. That means they’re not controlled from a third party program. They must have individual chips in them, or something.”

Great. Just your luck. You were this close to saving Martin and the country, and something like this came up. “Aw, crap. Alright. Do you at least know where they’re hidden?”

“Yeah. They’re all stored in a vent; it should be just above you.”

You glanced up, and sure enough, there was a removable grille positioned perfectly above you. Too perfectly.

“Okay, thanks, Jju.”

“No problem.”

You jumped up, hanging upside down as you ripped open that small section of the ceiling. From afar, Martin watched in awe.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to her doin’ that,” he muttered. There was something so oddly familiar about the way she moved, how she positioned herself when she crouched or gesticulated with her gloved hands. He was probably just hallucinating, imagining there to be more closeness between them than there really was.

One by one, you were able to open up the drones and slip out the individual chips that had been inserted into a small flash drive inside each device. At some point, Martin drifted closer to you, watching silently as you expertly worked your way through them.

“If you’re gonna keep staring, you might as well come and help,” you muttered, though you knew you wouldn’t let him. He didn’t have the energy to respond.

Something’s not right, said your gut. You frowned. Still? Everything had been handled. Tombstone’s thugs were knocked out. Martin was safe. The drones were handled. What else was there that could possibly be keeping you here, making your temples burn and your mind buzz?

Your heart lurched at the slow, grating sound of something heavy scraping against the polished floor. It came from behind the twin doors, the ones you’d shut the moment you’d thrown Tombstone’s men out of the room. The air crackled with electricity that didn’t come from you.

LOOK OUT!

You leapt out of the way, taking Martin with you as the doors burst open in a rush of blue, sizzling with smoke at the edges. 

Then, that voice. That cold, cold voice you’d left behind in Seoul Station.

“I hope you didn’t think I was finished with you, Spider-Woman?” Noeul demanded, voice raised as her eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness, trying to find you in the shadows.

Beneath you, Martin froze. “Noeul…?”

You pressed a finger over his lips. “Shh. Don’t say a word.” He seemed to get the message, because he didn’t say anything after that. His skin felt warm from where you pressed your palm against his cheek, whispering, “I just need to defeat this crazy woman before she turns the entire population of Seoul into mutants real quick. Don’t move. See you in a bit.”

He nodded quickly. You smiled.

Then, it was time to jump into action.

Noeul fought like her life depended on it, as if she would stop at nothing to see you dead at her feet. Which, looking into her eyes, wide and crazed, you were convinced was exactly what she wanted. She didn’t look when she struck, stumbled into things, fought in a way that was more dangerous to her than to you. She ripped at your mask, tearing it apart piece by piece, until only the most important part of your face was covered.

You went too easy on her.

You didn’t give it your all, didn’t sweep her off her feet or throw her around as you would’ve on a normal day. Because this wasn’t normal. She wasn’t in her right mind; she was wildly irrational and out of control. She didn’t know what she was doing. So your heart wasn’t in it. It just isn’t fair to her, you reasoned. You were much stronger than she was, much more experienced. She didn’t stand a chance. But there was only one thing that could beat experience and strength.

Desperation.

“You may have slipped from my grasp back there,” she gritted out, grunting with effort as she picked you up and tried to throw you across the room. “But that doesn’t mean you’ll win. That doesn’t mean you’ll ever beat me. Not when I’ve gone above and beyond to make myself better than you. Not when I’ve got everything you don’t.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” you replied, kicking her off you half-heartedly. “You’re emotional, and unstable. I understand. I’ve felt that way, too—”

“No, you don’t understand!” she yelled, stepping back. “You don’t understand what it’s like, losing someone so dear to you. But you will. You will, very soon.”

That’s when she went invisible. The room went silent, and the only thing you could hear was your own heartbeat thumping in your ears. You didn’t hear her step away, didn’t hear her approaching that dark corner of the observatory. You only saw the glimmer of her when it was too late. You rushed forward, the scene unfolding in front of your eyes too much to bear. You wouldn’t let this happen. You wouldn’t let Noeul take more lives than she should. You wouldn’t let your second shot at love die. You ran towards Noeul, now fully visible, tackling her to the ground before she could reach Martin with that shard digging into her palms.

She got the best of you, pinning you to the ground like that had been her plan all along. “I can’t wait to see you die, Spider-Woman.”

She tugged at the remains of your mask. You grabbed her wrist, ripping her hands off you. “No. No. Get off me. Don’t even think of touching me!”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Martin rise slowly, rubbing at his temples. He blinked, registering how close you were to him and, like a fool, rushed forward to help you.

Your eyes widened. “Martin, no—!”

Noeul reared back, reaching over to grab the collar of his jacket before he could reach her. You got to your feet, nearly falling over as you tried to get to him in time. Noeul grasped his collar tighter, yet, that wasn’t her plan. She didn’t want to hurt him, not really. That wasn’t her only intention. She wanted to fool you. And what better way to fool someone than to threaten the life of someone they love?

You grabbed at her, trying to pull her off of him, trying to get him away from her. It worked, only for a moment, when you covered her eyes and pulled your arm around her neck. But it was enough to get him away from her.

He ran as quickly as he could, no encouragement needed from you, until he reached the exit. He turned back, something unspoken clear in his eyes. Something was telling him not to leave. Something was begging him to stay.

Noeul grabbed at you, picking you up and throwing you onto the floor as if you weighed nothing. Your body ached with overexertion, with injury and fatigue. You couldn’t fight for much longer. And she knew.

“Are you tired?” she asked, voice mocking. You desperately tried to get away from her, backing up, but she wouldn’t relent. “How sad. Spider-Woman meeting her untimely end; not because she fought valiantly, but because she was too exhausted to even continue. Tell me, Spider-Woman, how can the people of this city depend on you when you can’t even take down someone your own size?”

You shook your head. “You’re nothing to me,” you lied. “Just another… villain of the week.”

She sneered. “We’ll see about that.” She reared back, preparing to deliver the final blow. The killing shot. You weren’t supposed to survive this; you could feel that much. You wouldn’t be able to, either.

Martin watched from afar, tucked into the shadows. “Come on, Spider-Woman,” he urged. “Get up.”

Noeul laughed darkly. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy this.”

You caught her arm before she could strike. Electricity crackled between the two of you, the same colour mingling at different wavelengths. You shuddered, the energy too much to handle. She didn’t need to know that.

“I’m sorry,” you rasped. Blood trickled from your mouth as you spoke. “I’m not going to kill you, Noeul. I can’t. But I also can’t let you go down the same path your father did.”

She froze. “What?”

CRRRRRAAAACK!

The young girl flew back, thrown across the room with the force from the venom strike. Her head hit the back of the wall, the same way it had hit those steps earlier in the station. She groaned softly, curling in on herself in pain, body still shaking with anger. Silence enveloped the room, but the air was alight with energy. Your body shook with exhaustion, your eyelids heavy beneath the weight of your fatigue. You didn’t even notice your hand pulling up the remnants of your mask, revealing your face for everyone to see. All you wanted to do was breathe fresh air.

The weight of your choice was echoed by the gasp that came from the double doors only a few metres away from the scene. Your head shot up, weary eyes widening at the sight of Martin, still alive, still safe, but still there. You smiled brokenly, approaching him with your arms spread wide. You could worry about Noeul later. All you cared about in that moment was him.

He let you envelope him in a hug that he didn’t return. His body felt hard beneath yours, and when you stepped back to look at him, he was staring right back at you.

“You— you’re okay,” you said softly, something still gnawing at you. He didn’t reply. Only when you frowned, and asked, “Baby? What’s wrong?” did he say,

“You lied.”

You froze. “What? No, I— I was trying to pro—”

“You’ve been lying to me,” he interrupted, “for nearly half a year.”

“Martin, I just saved your life!”

“From someone who wanted you dead.” He shook his head. “I… I was about to be nothing more than collateral damage.”

“No, come on, that’s not true,” you argued, reaching for his hand. He yanked it away as if you were made of fire. “It doesn’t matter anymore, okay? You’re fine now. I saved you. We’re fine. We can go— we can go back to the way we were, before.”

Silence.

“I can’t believe you would lie to me like that.”

And for the second time that week, he turned and left, leaving you in darkness and silence. Except this time, there was a weight on your heart heavier than before. 

You’d officially lost your Martin.

TO BE CONTINUED…

taglist @hyuneskkami @pearlywhitefics @ramenoil @cranialberry @kaikaikoi @teacuplps

[annoyingbitch83]

i don't really recommend stuff on here but I just read 30k words in like 2 hours without getting up ONCE which is a miracle considering my attention span or rather my lack of it

i can't wait for part 2 I hope it's super angsty and I'm left crying. i lowkey also want more angst about gyumin and how he died

i keep forgetting that spiders are generally in their teens and I was like dang you're on the second love of your life already??? you're 17??? I'm at 0 right now??? what even

jumped in joy when I saw lee minhyung in the list of spiders because mark lee is da og east asian spider

[teacuplps]

hi coers on tumblr! our community has been growing super fast recently which is so awesome to see but let’s make sure we’re all still staying super respectful towards the cortis members and to each other 🙏

i’ve seen some posts in the main cortis hashtag recently that have been rubbing me the wrong way - particularly because they’ve been sexual towards the cortis members.

a very important reminder that keonho, seonghyeon, martin, and juhoon are all minors! let’s not promote content that sexualises them e.g calling yourself their ‘slut’ or making explicit comments about them.

furthermore, yes james is an adult, but he was a teenager just last month so i think we are all still navigating mature content about him and we should go about that sensitively.

i know there are james nsfw writers on cortisblr, and this is no hate towards them at all. but please continue to be respectful towards other coers in the hashtag by putting 18+/mdni warnings and adding a cut on your posts (green circled in case you don’t know) before the sexual content starts! please follow nsfw content etiquette to keep everyone else in the community safe.

i am mainly making this post because i received a nsfw request for the cortis members. i do not write nsfw works in general so anon, i have deleted your ask as i will not be writing smut for anyone, let alone the members of cortis who are minors.

tbh i’m really guessing that it was a ragebait of an ask but i still want to address it because i want to make it clear i do not tolerate the oversexualisation of these guys on my account please!

majority of coers are also young people like them, so let’s continue keeping this online space a safe one :)

[cloudedteacups]

— futile devices

chapter 1: this side of paradise by coyote theory

pairing – idol ! keonho x f ! reader

tags – idol au, strangers to ??? to lovers to ???, deep talks (my beloved), angst, emotional turmoil, reader canonically has curly hair & glasses if that bugs u, fluff at times, kissing

a meet-cute with a cute boy was not what you had planned at all. at least not anytime soon. but how much more emotional turmoil would you have if it unfurled into something more...?

word count – 35.8k ...

☁️ notes – must read prior part to understand!

masterlist – prev – next

It was a bad day.

You started the day off on the wrong foot.

Your phone died sometime during your sleep—atypical because you always ensured that it was charging. Anxiety spiked when you saw that you had less than 90% on your phone while you were out. But you brushed it off, plugged it in, and began getting dressed.

Thank goodness I’m not opening today, you thought. I’d probably get fired. Honestly, you still had the chance to. You sped through your skincare and makeup routine, not caring for perfect or pretty, just presentable.

You stopped by the front door, presented with two potential transportation choices. You could drive, but parking would be a pain in the ass. You could also transit, but you’d probably get fired on the spot. Driving was the most logical option.

The first song that your phone decided to play was Maine by Noah Kahan. It wasn’t a bad song, so you couldn’t complain. It was actually your favourite of his. But each song after that got sadder and sadder, thus making your mind more sorrowful than it should have. It probably wasn’t the best choice to continue to listen to sad music, but your focus was on getting to work on time rather than changing the music.

The very last song that played in your car-sized pool of depression was Gigi Perez’s “At the Beach, In Every Life”. It was your favourite song of hers, but it always reminded you of the beach. Of Hawai’i. And memories of that flooded your mind. Your body and soul yearned to return to it, needing to fill the Hawai’i sized void in your heart.

With each sad-sounding melody and depressing poem that played in your car, the more depressive your thoughts became.

And they consumed your mind for the rest of your day.

After your shift ended, you hopped into your car, letting yourself decompress for a few minutes before driving home.

Shit, you mentally cursed. Your notifications were full of Keonho’s messages.

maybe boyfriend?? (hogan/keonhoo) [6:50 AM PST] heyyy good morninggg i hv practice this morning but i'm free this afternoon :3

maybe boyfriend?? (hogan/keonhoo) [8:14 AM PST] helloooo

maybe boyfriend?? (hogan/keonhoo) [9:50 AM PST] hi um are u still free?

maybe boyfriend?? (hogan/keonhoo) [10:41 AM PST] i miss uuu

maybe boyfriend?? (hogan/keonhoo) [1:14 PM PST] hey r u okay?

You [1:30 PM PST] sorry i had a bad morning woke up late

maybe boyfriend? 🥹(keonhooo) [1:30 PM PST] oh shit i’m sorryYou [1:31 PM PST] don’t be sorry

You sighed, freeing the chains and barbed wire that once held back sad thoughts.

They were overwhelming.

You missed things.

The beach. The smell of the tide, the sound of the waves, the feeling of the sand, the beautiful colours of each sunset. You missed the way the clouds slowly disappeared and made a clear blue sky as the day went on. You missed it dearly. And you detested how dry it was here. It felt literally suffocating. You were surrounded by mountains and forests—just land, land, and more land. Escape was all you wanted. To see the blue hues of the water shimmer under the sun.

You missed simpler times. Times when you didn’t have to worry about getting fired for waking up too late. When your biggest worry was who you were going to play with on the playground that day. When relationships weren’t difficult to manage. When you could go about your hobbies without worrying whether you have enough time to actually do them. When you didn’t have to worry about how you’d pay bills or survive in this economy.

The weather wasn’t really helping. It rained during your shift, so the air felt sticky and humid. Grey clouds covered the sky, not a hint of blue in sight. The wind was blowing into the trees, swaying and flowing with each pass of the breeze. But it nipped you on the skin, harsher than you’d like.

It irritated you.

Everything irritated you.

All you really wanted right now was to sleep.

Or cry.

Or both.

Your phone buzzed every few minutes. It could only be Keonho. But you didn’t want to respond to them. You couldn’t. You couldn’t let him be the one taking all your emotions. He didn’t deserve any of that.

Just like the day, you went on with more gloom than usual. You didn’t feel like eating. Showering would be a good way to get rid of whatever slump you were feeling, but you didn’t want to because you’d done it the other day already. Doomscrolling wasn’t an option because your feed was too “nice”. Even napping felt too “good”. It felt like you didn’t deserve it.

You had a feeling that you were retreating back into that dark part of you. You didn’t want to, but you weren’t greeted with that typical dread and fear, rather, you felt comfortable facing whatever darkness it was.

At least it was familiar, no?

You didn’t fear it as it consumed you whole, staring at the ceiling.

The previously silenced thoughts were now loud, echoing in your empty mind.

Memories of the person you were years before, prior to this depression and darkness, surfaced. Tears pooled on the edge of your eyes. You’d missed her. Her innocence, her purity, her joy, her ambition. That part of you wasn’t completely gone, just simply quiet and tucked away into a dark corner of your soul. You shoved her down there because you knew she wouldn’t be happy with what you became. The pain seared in your heart as you let the feeling devour you.

Keonho was still blowing up your phone. He was calling you now, ringtone resonant in your room. But it only made you spiral more.

You suddenly felt claustrophobic in the room. The walls were too close, the ceiling was too low, there wasn’t enough floor space to breathe. You had complete control over everything in it, but it still felt like you were drowning. Like you were underwater but swimming to the surface was getting more and more out of reach no matter how far you swam.

You needed to get out of here. Anywhere but here.

Just not anywhere with people. You knew it would ruin your family’s atmosphere by being gloomy on the couch in the living room. And you didn’t really want to spend money, so a café or restaurant wasn’t the best place. Plus, driving wouldn’t be the safest choice with whatever you were feeling.

The weight of your phone in your pocket started to feel overbearing. Guilt consumed your throat. To somewhat ease yourself, you simply sent him where you were going to go. Maybe he’d get your message. Maybe he’d be confused.

But that was all you had the mind-power for.

You decided to walk to the small stream near your house. You had memorized the secret path to it, feet crunching the leaves and sticks on the ground, mud squelching with each step. Gloomy grey clouds remained in the sky, the wind softly pushing the trees around you. At last, you spotted the tiny bridge across the stream. You took off your extra jacket and sat on the ledge by the stream.

There wasn’t much noise, save for the stream swooshing and swirling down the rocks below. Occasionally, a bird would chirp, and the wind would blow the leaves and your hair. It felt calming. Peaceful. But it also felt quiet. Too quiet. Your spiralling easily overpowered the silence in this hushed space.

Your breathing stuttered as you thought of… whatever you were in with Keonho. It felt like something from your worst nightmares. He’d tell you things that felt like it should only be told to someone special. But if you were a special person to him, why wouldn’t he do anything about it?

The pit in your stomach ached and ached every time he embraced you, held your hand, and kissed you like it was the most casual thing in the world. A voice in your head told you it wasn’t that serious. You two were just hanging out like friends. But whenever he looked at you with eyes that yearned and promised, it didn’t feel like you two were just friends. It felt like he wanted you—like he needed you.

And you began to fear that you wanted him just as much.

Tears felt hot on your freezing cheeks.

You didn’t really realize that you let them run free.

Fright took hold of your shoulders like it was pinning you down.

You were scared of wanting to keep this connection with Keonho. It meant that you were committing to him. But you knew that already, right from the moment that he kissed you. Another part of you was intimidated in having an intimate connection with a boy. Keonho really understood you. But you knew that a relationship with him would come with a cost.

He had an entire life outside of you. Who were you to tell him to rearrange his world?

And you two were so young. 16 and 17, almost 17 and 18. You two were kids who barely knew anything, yet you were so sure that you both knew everything. With the way his eyes soften when you talk about something particularly vulnerable and the way his touch lingers on your cheek when he kisses you, you knew that he knew what he’s doing.

You could tell that you could trust him with your heart. He seemed to have trusted you with his heart. But with how much he put off asking you out properly, you were beginning to think otherwise.

He seemed to know that committing to you was too much, but he still stayed despite it all.

And you couldn’t figure out why.

But how much longer until it all crashes and burns?

The tears streamed from your eyes. It felt freeing. But the heavy weight on your chest lingered. Unrelenting to all the conclusions you came to.

You heard your name called from the other side of the stream. It sounded a lot like Keonho, but you couldn’t answer just yet. Just in case it was some random guy.

He shouted your name. “It’s me, Keonho! Where the hell are you?” he exclaimed.

You walked across the stream, sniffling and wiping the tears on your face, and you were met with his worried face.

He looked good today. Honestly, when has he not? He sported a grey tank top that fit him so well, a cream button up with accented with thick dark blue stripes, and denim jeans. A green and grey windbreaker was draped on his arm, seemingly only grabbed in a rush.  

His face was written with worry. Eyebrows furrowed together, cheeks flushed with the cold, breath stuttering as he tried to stabilize it.

“Hey,” you said, breaking the fragile silence.

His eyes met yours. “Hey,” he breathed. He simply walked up to you and embraced you. You stood there frozen, unsure how to react. Your mind hadn’t caught up to reality yet. But you felt your heartbeat stutter slightly. “It’s okay,” he said, rubbing soft shapes onto your back. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

At his words, the walls of the dam of sorrowful tears that you had so carefully and heartbrokenly built up had instantly broken down.

You wished that the tears wouldn’t flow, but it did. You simply gripped onto his back, letting him hold you. He hummed and caressed your hair, just like your mom did when you were a kid, and it soothed your heart. But it also made it ache, more than before. You felt guilty for doubting him, for being confused in whatever you two were in the middle. He held you as if you weren’t just second-guessing him 5 minutes ago.

When you pulled apart, pushing your hair behind your ears, all he did was wipe your tears with his thumbs, touch soft and gentle. Your heart ached. But you just beckoned for him to follow you across the stream and sit beside you. You brought your knees to your chest.

You let the atmosphere do the talking. The soothing flow of the stream, the loud gush of the wind, the vulnerable sound of your stuttering breath.

After a few minutes of nothingness, you spoke. “I’ve been missing the beach much more,” you confessed.

He just looked at you with those eyes. Understanding, promising, sparkling with some shine that you couldn’t quite name. But he simply let you continue.

“I…” you sighed. “It was my safe place. It was where I really let my heart rest when I was going through changes. My family lived there for three months. It was a big change of environment and pace. My parents wanted to go on this year-long gap year where we just travelled. It was nice. But it got lonely. And fast. But I found that the beach was my safe haven. I went there with my family, friends, and so many other people. It didn’t feel that lonely there.

“Me and my mom went back there last year. And so much fucking changed. Yeah, some buildings are still the same. The trees grow the same. The tunnel we went through every day still felt so calming to go through.

“But the beaches felt smaller. The friends that I knew had moved someplace else over the years. Moved on to better things, they said. But the people who stayed got sadder. Angrier. More restless.

“I guess it just fucking sucked that the place that I called my safe place changed alongside me. I never wanted it to change. I never really liked it when I changed. It hurts,” you breathed, lip wobbling as you blabbered out your feelings. You sighed, letting your head fall into your bent knees.

You heard him scoot a bit closer, shoulders now flush against each other.

“I get what you mean,” he said. “Thank you for telling me.” You felt his hands wrap around your shoulders, pulling you just a little bit closer. You let yourself, and your heart, lean into him a little more.

“I had to learn that at a young age too. The current just keeps going and you can’t do anything about it,” he muttered.

You hummed, your jeans muffling your sound.

“But it’s okay to miss it sometimes. Who are we if we don’t look back with a fondness we didn’t quite have in the moment?”

You peered your head up to look at him. “That was really poetic of you, Keonho,” you sniffled.

“You rubbed off on me, no?” he smiled.

“I guess,” you sighed, leaning closer into his chest, eyes gazing into the stream of water.

You let your final tears flow down your cheeks and let the sound of the stream below take over your conversation.

After a few beats: “Can we just stay here for a little bit longer?” you asked.

“Of course,” he breathed, whispering your name.

“Thank you.”

He simply kissed your forehead in reply.

His affection made your chest flutter and the pit in your stomach ache.

It had been your 5th time out with him. His last unspoken chance.

It got comfortable with him ever since that day by the stream. Conversation flowed and silence eased your mind. But that pit in your stomach never went away.

But that wasn’t really on the forefront of your mind at the moment.

You were focused on how good your A&W tasted and how attractive the boy in front of you was.

He had his jacket off, the heater in A&W blasting warm air, hotter than it needed to be. The deep fryers in the back made the air feel sticky and oily. But was nice with Keonho.

He wore a blue and purple flannel, whose sleeves he rolled up to his elbows, (delicious) forearms on display. He wore a pale blue distressed shirt over top, only one of his flannel’s collars peaking out, adorably you might say. He had light brown cargos on, baggy and your style. Maybe one day you could steal it from him. But he wasn’t even yours yet, so you willed those thoughts to leave your mind.

His hair was a bit messier than usual. It had a bit of a wave to it. They landed so perfectly above his eyes and slightly curled outward in certain places. It looked so good on him. Your mouth watered, either from the smell of your yam fries or his hairstyle for today.

“Did you style your hair today?” you asked between bites of your burger, courtesy of him.

“No, not really. But I did say I wanted to try curlier hair the other day. Maybe the stylists listened to me,” he chuckled.

You hummed. “Did you know that this is one of the few fast-food restaurants that serve yam fries?” you asked, popping one in your mouth.

“Oh, shit, really?”

“Yeah. I like it here. I just hate how expensive it is here.”

He hummed. “Let me know when you’re craving it next. I’ll take you out,” he smiled fondly at you. Your stomach flipped at his words.

“You are not my sugar daddy, Keonho.”

He laughed. “I’m just the provider, then,” he winked, confidence flowing through his veins.

“Whatever,” you laughed.

When you finished, he tidied up your table, combining your trays and wrappers. “You ready to go?” he asked.

“Where are we going next?”

“Well, it’s only 11:15 PM. You don’t have to be home for another 45 minutes,” he noted. “Is there a park nearby? I wanna stay with you for a bit longer.”

“Yeah, actually. Near the library over there,” you pointed in its general direction.

“Perfect,” he exclaimed, already getting up to throw your trash.

When you both got there, he ran to the swings first. You giggled at his childlike mannerisms. He looked like a kid, excited for extra time in the playground. “I haven’t been on these in a while!” he shouted, swinging higher and higher with each kick of his legs. You only laughed at him, trying to match his pace.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” you breathed, legs tucking and kicking out.

“We should do it more often, then,” he giggled.

“Bet,” you chuckled.

Your pace came to a slow swing.

“Hey, Keonho?”

“Yeah?”

“When do you leave?”

“25th.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

“Yeah, I know. It’s so soon.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell him what was on your heart. He should know, being that it greatly involved him. But you wanted him to know already. You wanted him to read your mind and know exactly what you wanted. He already knew everything else. How could he not know what to do next?

A lump in your throat stopped you from communicating anything.

He let the breeze carry your conversation into the wind. You don’t know how long you stayed there with him, swinging occasionally, or just staring into the dark sky above you two. There weren’t any stars in sight because of light pollution, but no clouds covering the sky either. It was a clear, calm evening.

As the night progressed, the air got colder. The chill sent a shiver down your spine.

“Cold?”

“A little. Just my ears,” you murmured.

He took out a beanie he had in his pocket. “Wear this,” he gestured to the beanie in his hands.

“Thanks. Remind me to give it back later.” He only hummed in response.

It felt warm around your head. It cradled your ears and forehead, but also your heart. It wasn’t a foreign warmth anymore, but it remained strange.

You two didn’t speak much after that. All that was said were mumbles of sweet nothings. Next time you checked the time, you knew it was time to leave. You got back into your car, driving him to the closest train station. He kissed your cheek goodbye, speaking of promises to talk tomorrow and every day after that.

As you drove home, you couldn’t help the tears that welled in your eyes. Blood rushed to your cheeks with frustration and anger. You hated that you felt so attached to him. You hated that you simply couldn’t tell him what was on your heart. You hated that he didn’t say anything. You hated that he hasn’t asked to be your boyfriend. He acted like it, for sure, but was he in words?

But do they really matter? a voice in your head asked. Your grip tightened on your steering wheel, turning into your home’s cul-de-sac.

Usually, words never mattered to you. If ever, actions spoke louder than words in most cases.

But this time… it felt like they meant something.

Words of declaration were never really your love language but hearing this out loud would be confirmation that whatever you felt… the magnetic pull you two had… was real.

You needed to know it was real.

You opened up the most vulnerable part of you to him, telling him of your hopes and dreams—just like you did to all the guys who you thought were “him”.

But you were disappointed once more. 5th date and he hadn’t asked.

A shaky breath left you as you placed your car in park.

The tears flowed freely.

You gently placed your head onto your steering wheel.

You wanted this badly. You wanted him badly. But he didn’t do anything about it. He didn’t take the initiative to do the one thing that you wanted.

He couldn’t catch on.

As you lifted your fingers to your hair, you were met with a beanie. Shit. His beanie. You had forgotten to give it to him before he left. Hot tears gushed from your eyes.

You just had to be reminded of how much he cared for you right when you were doubting him.

His scent lingered in the air. His warmth hidden but shown to only you in this fuck ass beanie.

It hurt.

But what more could you do about it?

Your senses and nerves were numb as you headed inside your house, into your room.

You laid his beanie down on the pillow next to yours and glared at it as if it had personally offended you. But not even 5 seconds later, you wrapped your arms around the pillow it laid on like it was Keonho, hugging and squeezing your pillow, as if begging him for forgiveness.

You fell asleep, cries and hiccups mellowing out into soft stuttering breaths.

You [7:50 AM PST] good morning y/n what r ur plans for today :3

You [9:10 AM PST] helloooo u usually msg me before u go to work :( what happened

matcha girl [10:02 AM PST] sorry keonho manager wanted me to come in much earlier today shifts changed again :(

You [10:03 AM PST] oh okay :( sry i js got anxious

matcha girl [10:04 AM PST] sorry i’m js working and then dinner and then i hv youth grp tn

You [10:05 AM PST] ok! we still ok to call later?

matcha girl [12:03 PM PST] i’ll do my best keonho

You never called that night. A part of Keonho was concerned. But you’d messaged saying you were too tired. A long day. You had fallen asleep before he could persuade you to at least fall asleep on call.

You [8:15 AM PST] morninggg

matcha girl [8:16 AM PST] morning keonho :)

You [8:20 AM PST] haiiii r u free today?

matcha girl [8:21 AM PST] maybe later? what time?

You [8:25 AM PST] um maybe 4? my schedule’s til 11p tdy but i hv a free hour at 4

matcha girl [9:01 AM PST] i’ll try keonho

You two only called for 5 minutes that night. He woke up to you calling late at night. You realistically only talked for 5 minutes before your words began to sound like mumbles.

You [9:55 AM PST] gm!! hope u have a good day today

matcha girl [10:00 AM PST] ty keonho :) u too

You [10:02 AM PST] are u free later?

matcha girl [10:15 AM PST] sry no keonho

You [10:19 AM PST] oh ok i miss umatcha girl [10:21 AM PST] i miss u too

You two hadn’t called that night. He missed you and your face and your voice. Badly.

Your responses had taken over Keonho’s mind. They were dry. Dryer than usual. Even dryer than Juhoon—also known as the most nonchalant out there.

And his mind racked all the possible reasons as to why you were being like this.

You were smiling and giggling when you went out the other day. You sported your widest grin and fluttered your eyelashes at him when he had paid for your drink. Your cheeks flushed when he held your hand when you went out for a walk. You kissed back when he kissed you.

What exactly had he done wrong?

He wanted to know so badly. But he couldn’t even try to figure it out because you avoided his messages like it was some contagious plague. Yeah, you responded to them with as much energy that was required, but how could he bring it up over text? What’s wrong? Is it me? Is it us? It all sounded so wrong in his mind.

He needed to know so badly.

He needed to see your face when you said it. He needed to hear your voice when you said it.

He needed to see you. And soon.

You finally had a free day, one where you could meet and see each other face to face. You two landed on a random parking lot located in a middle place between you two.

You two leaned against the hood of your car. The silence between greeting and conversation felt awkward. Time went by slower than it had to be. It wasn’t a comfortable quiet anymore.

He chewed on his lip, anxiously waiting for you to say something.

Anything.

He simply fidgeted with the zipper on his windbreaker.

Finally, he decided to speak first. He whispered your name.

You hummed in response.

“Can we, uh, we talk about the elephant in the room?”

There was too much silence between you two. It filled the parking lot. But it suffocated him too much. It felt like he was being consumed by an invisible water. And he was drowning in it. He didn’t know these waters. They were strong and heavy on his skin. He didn’t have the strength or technique to swim to the surface for air.

“Y/N?”

“Keonho,” you sighed, slow and sorrowful. You faced him, arms crossed, eyes melancholic. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“…Doing what?” he asked, worry cracking his voice.

“Kissing and holding hands and seeing each other every day even though we aren’t dating! What are we? Kids?” you exclaimed.

“We aren’t kids. You know this.”

“I know,” you muttered. “I know it well. Did you even hear the rest of my sentence?” You met his gaze, your eyebrows furrowed together in hurt. There was too much silence for comfort. He felt like he wanted to scream. “I don’t want to do all that couple shit—kissing, interlocking arms, cuddling, calling every night—without us being a real couple. My parents are asking about you, Keonho.”

And suddenly it clicked to him. He realized just how much this all meant to you. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he muttered.

“Because I don’t know what to say!” you argued, voice more furious than before. “What do I call you? I can’t call you my boyfriend because we’re still ‘getting to know each other’ as you say. And I hate the thought of us being in a situationship. Like what the fuck? Are we 14? Are we really that emotionally unstable?”

“And what if we are?!” he fumed with a little more anger than he wished.

“Well then, I don’t know, let’s be emotionally unstable together! What’s fucking stopping you?!”

His mouth opened and closed as he attempted to find an answer. After a few beats of silence, he reached an answer of sorts. “Why do we have to have a label? Why are we rushing into things so quickly?” he spat, fists now clenched.

“Oh, I don’t fucking know, Keonho,” you scoffed, throwing your hands in the air in disbelief. “You know how long I’ve waited for this. You know how much my heart has yearned for this. I told you this. I gave you a part of me the other day. And now that I have something like it, I want the real fucking thing. Why is it so hard to just ask me out?”

“I don’t get why you’re being really fucking complicated here. It’s just a label.”

“And it’s a label that matters to me.” Your words hung in the air, suspended over you two. The silence stung as he mentally winced in pain.

Your words hit him like a semi-truck. He knew what he was getting into. He knew how complicated it was going to be. But he also realized that you might not like this. Maybe you did want some security in this… relationship, if you could even call it hat.

You broke the deafening silence first. “If that doesn’t work for you, don’t ever fucking contact me again.”

He must have completely blacked out once your words hit him. He recalled that you walked away from his side and got into your car. You lingered in there for longer than you needed to. After a while, you got out and ordered him an Uber back to his AirBnB. You didn’t say much, simply gesturing with your hands and mouth instead of words. But what made his heart ache most after remembering the happenings of that night was that you waited for his Uber to be a minute away before saying goodbye and driving away.

His shoulders felt heavy as he opened the door to his AirBnB, snoring heard from the other rooms. He willed his tears to remain, though they fought to fall, lining the corners of his eyes. He opened his phone with a flick of his finger.

matcha girl [12:23 AM PST]: home

His fingers moved on their own accord.

You [12:45 PM PST]: home too

matcha girl [12:47 AM PST]: goodnight keonho

You [12:49 PM AM PST]: goodnight y/n

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He was alone now, save for his members snoozing in their own rooms. Silence filled his phone and the room around him.

He didn’t want to cry. But he did anyway.

His heart was heavy in his ribs. The tears burned his cheeks.

Your words, your face, your tears, your fury were imbedded into his brain, lingering in every thought he had.

Had all that really mattered to you?

Did it matter to him?

His career came at the cost of his sanity. Idol life is atypical to the normal citizen. He was entertainment. It was different and extremely complicated. He knew that the moment he gave his first “yes” to training. He knew that as he trained for days on end. He knew that when he found out he was going to debut. He knew that during his first interview. He knew that during his first international show. He knew it all. He knew that idol life doesn’t give you an ordinary life, full of ordinary things.

A small part of him yearned for one, but specifically with you. Date nights and late nights with just the two of you. Playfights with lightsabers, messing around on the playground, and goofing off with the water at the beach sounded like heaven on earth. With you.

But another part of him still liked his job. Yeah, it was hard. Yeah, it was… brutal… mentally, physically, and emotionally at times. But he liked making music and dancing to music and getting paid to do it all. He liked being in a band with his favourite friends. He liked all the attention he was getting from fans and celebrities alike.

But, realistically, where could he fit you in all of this?

You saw him. Truly saw him. You saw all of his micro expressions and understood his heart like twin souls. You celebrated his victories loudly and held him softly in his losses. He could simply be with you. Silence was okay with you. He could really be himself, let his soul be unmasked and breath, with you.

How could he bring you into his life without wrecking the life you had already so preciously and tediously built?

How could he bring you into his life without compromising what he couldn’t change?

Empty promises and unspoken rules didn’t sound like things that you deserved.

Keonho did want you.

He wanted to be with you so badly, his heart aches from the thought of not being with you.

But he didn’t want to ruin your life.

It went radio silent.

No contact.

And it killed Keonho.

It suffocated him.

He wanted to swim to the shore, tired of treading in this deep quiet between you two.

His practices and lessons went on as usual, team moving on without him. And as if nothing had changed, his hand instinctively checked his phone every hour or so for a message from you. But he was always met with no notifications.

Some nights he wanted to message you. He wanted to tell you about a funny remark he made when Martin fell stupidly. He wanted to ask if you could meet up because he missed you.

But some petty part of him stopped him from sending any message or pressing the call button.

But the pain in his ribs was getting too much for him to handle.

He was at some skate park alone today. Last time he was here, you were on the ledge watching him do tricks and flips on his skateboard. He did all the tricks he knew to dazzle you. You tried not to show how impressed you were, but he could tell from the small tug on the corner of your lips that you were, only secretly. You’d boo him every time he accidentally tripped, laughing along with him whenever he fell.

He missed the sound of your giggling whenever he made a particularly witty remark. He missed the look of your face when he said something unintentionally romantic. He missed the feel of your lips on his when you caved into granting him a winner’s gift.

He simply skated and skated and skated until his breath fell shallow and his chest heaved heavily. Skating away any the memory of the look on your face on the pier, by the stream, or even in the parking lot—

His foot slipped, making him crash into the concrete below him. His shoulder and arm smashed into the ground first. He put his hand out to bring himself up, wincing at the pain searing in his shoulder. This is not good, he thought.

He grinded his teeth, standing up and grabbing his skateboard, cursing under his breath as his shoulder stung. He sat by the ledge, right next to where you sat last time.

A tear slipped before he could urge it to remain still.

But he couldn’t tell if it was from the pain of his fall or from the void you left in him.

Fresh pain rushed to his heart as his mind raced with you, you, you.

He didn’t want to lose you.

He knew how good he had it. He knew how… perfect… you were. He knew he couldn’t just let whatever you two had go.

But he didn’t know what to do about it.

His life just had to be one of the more complicated lifestyles.

He just had to fall head over heels in love with you—

Was he in love with you?

Warm blood rushed to his mind—and his shoulder—as he thought about that.

He might be. And that might have fucked this whole thing over.

He brought his knees in, hugging them to his chest. He shivered at the thought of being unloved by you. Fresh tears streamed down his face the thought of you not being in his life. His chest ached at the idea of never seeing you again. He knew he had to do something.

To try.

Like he had all those years ago with swimming. Like he had during his first trainee session. Like he had when he was given free reign for producing a song.

Why not try with you?

Why not take a chance on this whole “relationship” thing with you?

It came with complications, with problems that were atypical to your usual couple, but he was willing to do it all.

With you.

 On day 3 of no contact, he decided to send a paragraph.

You [2:49 AM PST] dear y/n, hi :) i hope you're doing well. i just wanted to say i'm sorry for hurting you. i'm sorry for not taking the initiative and asking to be your boyfriend. being with you is amazing. holding your hand, kissing you, talking to you, and even being in silence with you makes me feel alive. you make my life worth living. i just don't know what to do next. my life as an idol is hard, you make it a bit easier, but i know that dating me comes with its challenges. but one with you will potentially come with its compromises, for both of us. i don't want you to ruin your life just for me. i confess i don't know a lot of things—i'm just trying my best. but i do want to be with you, so i'll do my best if you'll give me a second chance. i do want to try this with you. with all my love and kisses, keonho

He shut his phone off, silencing all notifications unless it was from you.

It was the morning of Keonho’s birthday.

It felt like every other day. Like 17 wasn’t the biggest deal in the world.

Realistically, it wasn’t. His body didn’t even feel it yet.

But a weight on his chest remained. A heavy guilt. A gloomy sorrow. A sharp, lingering pain that left him winded every time he thought about you.

He grabbed his phone from his bedside table, looking through his notifications—many birthday messages from his family, a few classmates that still had his number, and the rest of his group.

But he didn’t expect to see your name in his notifications.

matcha girl [9:05AM PST] happy birthday keonho

His mouth remained open slightly in shock. His fingers scrambled to reply, fidgeting and typing out any and every response. He didn’t want this little moment to go to waste. Finally, he sent the first message he typed out.

You [9:07 AM PST] thank you y/n <3

His free hand splayed across his chest, tapping it to hype himself up and calm his blaring anxiety. He really needed to see you. His breath stuttered as his fingers pressed sent.

You [9:08 AM PST] can we meet up?

The typing bubble appeared and disappeared.

You [9:09 AM PST] it won’t be a date i just want to talk to u

He chewed his lip in anticipation, mind nervous and anxious as to what you could say.

Easily, you could say no. You had every right to be furious with him and refuse him. He knew that your heart could still be vulnerable, tender and healing. Or hurt and broken. Or avoidant and numb. You deserved time to feel all that.

But also, he needed to see you. He needed to… talk to you. About everything. Anything. He couldn’t bear to leave you with nothing. He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t at least tell you how he truly felt. Not just show you but say to it in words.

A buzz brought his attention back to his phone.

matcha girl [9:10 AM PST] okay canoe bridge? it’s near u

You [9:11 AM PST] yes please see u later

A sigh of relief left his mouth as he locked his phone. He had a set date to finally meet you again. A low hum lingered in his mind and stomach as the rest of the day went on.

The wait went by much faster than he anticipated. The members had thrown him a birthday party to celebrate. KBBQ as usual. It wasn’t particularly phenomenal or any good as it was in Korea, but it was definitely better than whatever happened in New York. They had a Weverse live the day before because it was February 14 in Korea yesterday. It was alright. He did his best to be jolly and joke around like the character everyone expected him to be. No one noticed anything out of the usual. Even Seonghyeon brushed it off.

When he stepped out of his AirBnB, the cold didn’t bite him like before. It was bearable with only a windbreaker on. He also wore a scarf, tying it and tucking it into his windbreaker before putting it on. In his pocket was a white cream beanie just in case you forgot something for your own ears. You always complained about how your ears are cold but you never fail to forget to bring one for yourself. He chuckled to nobody but himself as he recalled when you had ranted to him about it.

Keonho arrived at the bridge first. He was 10 minutes early, standing there alone, fidgeting with his jacket awkwardly. For the first few minutes, he felt like an idiot waiting there, but all thoughts of that vanished immediately when he remembered he was there for you. So that you wouldn’t have to stand there alone and feel like an idiot yourself.

He only wanted to get there earlier just in case you did. And you were there ahead of the agreed time, only by 5 minutes. Like always.

As soon as he saw your figure crossing the street, his heart fluttered, fingers pinching his thigh where it previously rested. He had dreamed of this exact moment, going through every possibility and perfecting it in his mind in each waking moment. But his hands got clammy, breath lost to the wind, mind stuck on the way your eyes lingered on his as you spotted him. It felt like the ocean water washing over his body after a long, hot day. Refreshing. Cooling. Calming.

“Hey,” you said first as soon as you were only a few strides away. “Happy birthday, Keonho.” He stood there frozen for a moment as you extended your arm for a side hug, but he simply accepted it, smile wide and heart full as it stuttered in his ribs anticipating what would come next.

“Thank you,” he muttered.

You both gazed over the bridge, into the water, leaning against the ledge, forearms resting on the chipped white ledge. Your shoulders gently touched each other, sending a jolt of electricity through his spine. His breath hitched softly from the proximity. The contact consumed his every thought, like the waves that were crashing loudly onto the wall near the end of the bridge, restless and uncontrollable.

The city was just as loud on the other side. People were walking, running, biking, any and everything to get to their next destination. The city never truly slept. It was tiring to watch.

“What’d you do today?” you asked, breaking the silence between you two.

“Not much,” he sighed. “We went live yesterday for the fans. But today was just vlogging my birthday.”

“Not that exciting, huh?”

“No, not really,” he chuckled. His eyes went to your face. Your body faced the water, eyes closed, taking in the sound and breathing in the water. Dark, long curls flowed behind you, whipping in every direction. Messy and uncontrolled but real and human. Saying that you looked breathtaking would be an extreme understatement. You looked like something that the poets wrote about. You had an authenticity that romantics described. You had a beauty that photographers yearned to capture. He knew he couldn’t just… move on and leave you both ruined. He had to love you and be loved by you. “I missed you,” he uttered, quiet enough to miss, but loud enough for only you to hear.

You let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “I missed you too.”

“I really wanna try this with you,” he confessed. He felt a small weight lifted from his chest. He could breathe a little. “I want to… be your boyfriend.”

You let out a breath, probably one you didn’t know you were holding. You turned your head to face his. “How will you do that, Keonho?”

“I’ll do my best to commit to you,” he breathed.

“Did you really think that I hadn’t thought about what it’d be like dating you?” you whispered, loud enough for him to hear. “Not just you as a person, but you and the life you already had? You think that I never understood that you had a different life than your normal human being? That maybe your life was more complicated than mine?”

Of course he hadn’t. But he shouldn’t have doubted your mind. The way you constantly thought of other possible perspectives and had deep empathy for everyone. “Not really,” he breathed. He inhaled all the way to his stomach. “But I was also worried about how you would feel in our relationship. I wanted you,” he confessed, as your eyes softened and head tilted slightly. “Badly. But I didn’t want you to feel miserable in our relationship.”

“Keonho… I” you croaked. “I thought that it’d be okay to be miserable because at least I would be miserable with you.”

Your words punched him right in the gut and winded him. Hard. He winced as you let your words hang in the air between you two.

That never occurred to him. That maybe you could do this… together. He had never done it before. Usually, he was left to deal with his feelings, manage repercussions, and navigate confusion alone. It was difficult for him to learn to do that, being that he grew up taken care of by his family, but especially his older sister. In his first few times Martin left him to produce alone, it ended in frustration with hot tears down his face and an empty track.

But it never occurred to him that maybe you too wanted a share in the bad moments. He didn’t want you to at first because he wanted to spare you the trouble. To save you from the ugly and messy parts of love. But now, he sees the true love in enduring everything together.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said.

After a beat, you replied. “It’s okay.”

“I was scared,” he whispered to only you.

“So was I. But,” you said quietly, “you just have to start telling people how you feel.” Your words breathed a calming wind onto his skin, and he let it brush against him. “At least to those that matter to you.”

“You matter to me.”

“Then show me, Keonho.” After a beat, “Prove it.”

A soft blanket of silence covers you both, gentle and warm against his skin. Waves were heard crashing underneath you two along with beeps and yells from further down on the street. Tension vanished, only a quiet yet intimate stillness remained.

“So,” you began, now facing him. “Is that it?”

He hummed, turning his body to yours.

“Is that all we’re here to do, Keonho?”

He let a out a shaky breath, tilting his head and tapping his chest in nervousness. He sighed out your name, almost whispering. “Will you do me the absolute honour of allowing me to be your boyfriend?”

Your eyes remained on his, focused on only him. He could feel your warm and sweet breath, close enough to feel it tingle his chin. The world must have stopped and went quiet, gently giving you two permission to let this moment happen. To be together. To simply be with each other.

He stood there, hands jittering and sweating in anxiety, waiting for you to reply, to say anything, as you let his words linger in the air. “I promise to do my best to be there for you, wholeheartedly, and care for you with all that I have,” he muttered, sick of the quiet.

You giggled, soft with a hint of fondness. A heavy weight released off his his chest. God, how he missed that sound. “Yes, Keonho, I would love for you to be my boyfriend.”

“Good,” he breathed, mouth twitching as he smiled.

As he inched closer, you met him halfway. A soft sigh left his mouth in gratitude. Your bodies were now mere millimeters apart. Close—closer than it had been in so long—the proximity fogging his mind already. His breath hitched and stuttered as you glanced at his lips for a moment. His mind wandered remembering how your skin felt on his.

He missed it.

He missed you.

He missed the way how easily you made his heart warm and his mind foggy. He missed the way his fingers itched to touch you and feel yours intertwined with his.

Any prior fear had completely dissipated into nothing. If anything, he felt alive. He felt loved. He felt real.

With you.

His hand went to your waist, finally closing the gap between you two. His free hand went to cup your cheek as yours landed on his shoulders. As your foreheads met, he closed his eyes, mind dazed with feelings for you and by the feeling of you on his skin. Your breath intertwined in the air, warm compared to the coast air, yet salty with the water nearby. It felt so intimate. Almost too intimate for a public place.

But that didn’t matter anymore. Because he had you with him, and everything was real. It was no longer a figment of his wildest dreams.

Heat rushed to his hands, his head, his shoulders, wherever you two met, as electricity pulsed through his veins. Your hands gripped onto his shoulder as you whispered his name. He softly whimpered, the sound of his name off your lips making his knees wobble. His grip on your waist tightened as the energy between you two spiked.

As if he couldn’t take it anymore, he finally put his lips on yours, tension snapping at last. Sparks had immediately ignited in his chest. He missed them. He could barely even admit it to himself, though, his mind was someplace else—brain fogged and fixed on the way your kisses weren’t gentle and brief like your first kiss and the few after that.

Rather, they were consuming. They were harsh and they roared as you swiped your lips onto his. He was engrossed in the way his love for you devoured him whole, chest and lungs choking on how overwhelming it was. Every time you pressed on him, you whisked any thought of doubt away and sunk it into a deep abyss, never to be found again. You kept pushing onto him, every time with a different pressure—either calm and soothing like a wave flowing back into itself, or strong with each breath thundering like an angry tide crashing onto the shore. Despite your unsynchronized rhythm, they felt intentional, like you were proving something to him.

He returned your kisses in a slightly different manner. They were like a little, gentle fire. It danced with the breeze, each brush of his lips hushed and tender, but he brought heat, nonetheless. And he could feel the way you were also burning for him—your lips hypnotized by his in an overwhelm of wholeness and your fingers slightly shook from the intensity of it all. But soon, his mind fogged almost entirely, completely letting his own desires take over, his urge to bring you closer, closer, closer, spread like a fire’s warmth.

Keonho doesn’t know how long you stayed there. God, he hoped it wasn’t that long, considering you were on a public bridge. But he couldn’t care less.

He had you in his arms, truly and entirely his.

You had him smitten, wholly engulfed in you.

You two simply lingered there for a little while longer.

Kissing, proving your love for each other as you let only the moon be your witness.

masterlist – prev – next

cloudedteacups © 2026. all content belongs to me

[cosmiho]

man when you mentioned heaven it was game over I love bryan adams so much

YESSSS BRYAN ADAMS MY GOAT (lowkey discovered him from all the steve harrington edits on my fyp in 2022) literally looked like that neymar pic when i realised i could include my fav song in the fic with head over heels as well

80s music is the best genre (argue with the wall) xx

[annoyingbitch83]

omg I don't really listen to 80s music a lot but my dad used to be a huge bryan adams fan and obviously I also become one thanks to him 😅

i know the entire setlist of his bare bones tour album by HEART it's my comfort album at this point, i love his music so much

[cosmiho]

lowkey feeling like a stupid fucking chud because im never gonna experience teen romance like in the movies but at least I can live it through head over heals

it’s okay babe we can be chuds together 🫂 #neverexperiencedit

felt so single whilst writing head over heels (where's my Seonghyeon at 💔 ) i've had enough of the wyll warriors i'm literally yearning for my 80s boyfriend to throw rocks at my window and convince me to sneak out with him, so so so jealous of my parents being teenagers in the 80s

so glad you enjoyed head over heels i actually adored writing Seonghyeon in it, literally living my dream life through writing it so i'm happy someone else is living vicariously through it too

also i see that montoya pfp (my spirit animal and fav meme of 2025 mind you), twin we interlinked 🤞 xx

[annoyingbitch83]

sigh we in this chud life 4eva (hopefully not actually let me not manifest that...)

oh my god I've been so obsessed with that kind of an idea and it keeps reminding me of tswifts u belong with me mv even tho I don't like her anymore, that particular window part of the mv is something I want for myself sooooo bad

perhaps in another life we'll live out those romantic dreams ❤️‍🩹🫂

help also why is every coer so in love with Montoya LMFAOOOO you're like the 3rd writer to notice my pfp, none of my irls get the reference 😓

[pukicho]

heafache.

[pukicho]

you evil evil freaks will reblog anything

[yesterdays-lemon-meringue]

Being a kpop stan is so crazy because they'll tell you on a random Tuesday that the guy the entire group was formed around is leaving out of nowhere