IT'S SUPERNATURAL @taestulipss - Tumblr Blog

Aug 11

love(bug) on the line

❦ pairing: nerd! Leehan x school prez f!reader ❦ synopsis: to you, Kim Leehan is the awkward marine biology nerd who can barely meet your eyes on his good days. So why the hell is he crawling through your window at 3 AM on a Saturday, and more importantly, why is he dressed like a giant red bug? ❦ wc: 7k ❦ genre: Spider-Man! AU | fluff, hurt/comfort ❦ warnings: blood/injury, shirtless scene (not that steamy lol) ❦tl: @lovehakie @jmclouds @pupillary @sftsohee @kyuhyunshoneysugarbun @ivxae @cl4ir0l0v3r @kazukazukiiii @amnellsia @nemoihan @chocorenchin @chnhnyu @woonbabie @stanhimbos @ramizluv ❦ networks: @k-records divider creds: @saradika-graphics ❦ notes: im just here to spread my spidey-han agenda. I have a perm tl now!! Send an ask to be added.

──── ✦ SEQUEL | FINALE [1/2] | [2/2] ✦

SERIES MASTERLIST

Being the school president is not a task for the weak.

4:30 AM

You wake up at the first ring of the alarm, not giving yourself enough time to feel lazy, and robotically head to the bathroom. Brush teeth, wash face, take a quick shower— in that order.

5:00 AM

You read through the notes from the previous day, catch up on anything pending, highlight important sections, and flip through the student council records, making sure nothing is out of place.

5:45 AM

Your hair is styled to perfection, face concealed of any hints of sleeplessness, lips a neutral but pretty shade. Then you change into the carefully curated outfit you laid out the night before, usually something preppy yet classy—a thin sweater, miniskirt, and knee high boots, and maybe a headband as the cherry on top.

6:30 AM

You head over to school, the first one to reach just like all other days. Now comes the headless-chicken-run.

First, there’s the early morning meeting with the planning committee for the upcoming sports day events, but you need to open up the room and prepare before your fellow council members reach. It takes about an hour to brief everyone and make sure no one is behind on their responsibilities.

7:30 AM

Then you have to head over to the office to make the daily announcements over the PA system, levelling your voice to a clear and bright tone, the kind that has the principal beam in approval.

8:00 AM

Classes start. Your first one is at the furthest building in the school, far away from the rest of your classes. Today it’s physics, and you don’t hesitate to raise your arm for any question the teacher throws at the class, and as expected, you get all of them right.

One would think your peers would be jealous, or at least weary of the model student who completely obliterates the class curve—but on the contrary, all you receive are looks of admiration, a few students even swooning at the sight of your practiced elegance.

But you don’t have time to hang around and chit-chat when they attempt to approach you, not when you have classes to get to and a rank to maintain.

Not to mention you’re part of the engineering club, mathletes, the hackathon team, debate club, all the while staying at the top of your year. And, it’s also important that you look like the picture of perfection while making it all look as easy as pie.

8:45 AM

It takes you approximately fifteen minutes in heels to dash to your next class, Biology.

It’s a brutal syllabus—and Mr. Kim was not a man of forgiveness when it came to tardy behaviour. He wanted his assignments submitted on the dot, exam papers to be handed in at the exact second the buzzer rang, and most of all he expected students to be seated and alert before the clock struck 9:00—or it was a black mark on your record for life, and more importantly for you, on your reputation as the school’s best.

Which brings you to the current time: 8:47 AM—thirteen minutes to save yourself from ruining your perfect attendance record.

You’re sprinting, the bottom of your shoes skidding against the hallway tiles, breaths coming in ragged heaves. The council record book is pressed against your chest, the rest of your belongings stuffed into the backpack threatening to slip from your shoulders. But there’s no time to stop—you ignore any glances you get as you flurry past onlookers, mostly students hanging around their lockers in between periods, determined to win this race against time.

There’s no time to pay attention to your surroundings when your watch shows 8:52 and you speed up even more, failing to see a crack in the floor. And when your heel catches in the wedge, the world tilts, and you don’t even realise you're slamming into something.

…or someone.

“Ouch.” You wince, rubbing at your shoulder.

You're ready to apologise and leave without another word, but looking down you see a boy scrambling for his glasses. Guilt rides up your body and you immediately help him reach for it, watching him gingerly place it back on his face and blink a couple times as he adjusts to his sight.

“I’m so sorry,” you begin. “I wasn’t watching where I was going…can I make it up to you somehow later?”

You expect a nod, or in the worst scenario, an angry retort, but he does neither of those things. In fact, he barely seems to be looking at your face, instead choosing to dart his eyes around the floor. You lean in to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion or something, trying to get a good look at his face—but he refuses to raise his head, ducking every time you tilt closer.

That’s when you notice an object near his foot—a book—and you bend down to take it. It has the words ‘The Plankton Culture Manual’ written on the front cover, and a tiny, messy scribble of a name at the very top.

“Kim Leehan…” You mumble as your brain registers the name. “Wait…are you in my biology class?”

Leehan was the name you've seen pop up on the test results you had to pass around class—always the top grade in biology, along with you. You've seen him in class sometimes, in the corner-most seat near the window, head lowered, always in one of those oversized flannels, dark brown hair framing most of his face—and what was left of it was obscured by thick-framed glasses.

He doesn't respond immediately, but you can see a slight red creeping up his ears, and how he seems to be fiddling with the straps of his backpack.

Then, he says, stuttering on the words, “uh-yeah...I-I am.”

Now that you look at him properly, you can see a pair of big, doe-like eyes behind his nerdy glasses. There's a part of you that wants to observe more but the realisation hits you like a brick–

“Shit. Biology.” You're sprinting again without looking back, but you can feel Leehan’s footsteps follow behind you, his breathing heavy and rapid. For a pretty lanky guy, you don’t think his stamina is anywhere close to yours.

The two of you hesitate outside the classroom, your hand braced over the doorknob; you’re leaning up on your tippy-toe to see through the glass window on top. Mr. Kim is etching a bunch of diagrams on the blackboard, his writing furiously speedy.

You gulp.

Leehan looks just as startled, worrying his bottom lip under his teeth. You discard any previous thought of asking him to enter first and turn the knob in one brave twist.

Mr. Kim jerks his head at the sudden creak, eyes narrowing in annoyance, “Ah, who do we have here?” He drawls in that baritone voice of his that sends a chill down your spine, “L/N Y/N, that’s a surprise.”

All attention is on you, and not in the way you’re normally used to. You want to crawl into the earth and never come back up.

“I apologise sir,” You bow your head modestly. “I tripped on the way here. It won’t happen again.”

He seems to consider this for a bit, then with a nod towards the empty row in the back, he excuses you. You exhale inwardly, rushing to sit down before he has a change of heart. Leehan trails after you, taking the only free seat next to you.

“Don’t think this is going to be a regular thing.” He says sharply before turning to the entire class. “Now that everyone is here, or so I hope, I’ll be sharing your midterm project requirements.”

You’re quick to whip out your notebook and pen, hand prepared to jot down any and all information for later reference. Leehan scuffles inside his backpack for longer than he needs to, coming up empty. When you turn toward him, you can see little fish-shaped bag charms dangling off of it, and several giant encyclopedic books on marine life sticking out from the inside pockets.

You open your pouch to hand him a spare pen, which he accepts with a sheepish smile and a tiny bow, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

You find it…quirky—in a clumsy nerdy way.

Mr. Kim clears his throat, “It will be a pair project on zoological regeneration, consisting of two parts—the lab excursion we had last month which you've already been marked on, and a final report due at the end of the next two weeks. Hand in your names before the class is over.”

Students begin to whisper under their breath, quickly calling dibs on their partners for the project, already sighing about the two torturous weeks to come.

You would be doing the same had you been sitting next to a familiar face but Leehan only slouches further in his seat, if that was even possible. He keeps poking the bridge of his glasses, as though it was too big to sit properly on his nose.

You know if you want a good grade in this report, you should pair up with someone you know well. It doesn’t matter if you have to do all the work—as long as your A+ is guaranteed. But something about Leehan’s skittish ways makes you feel a little sorry for him, oddly reminiscent of a small animal caught in a snare.

Ugh…this is why you didn’t overdo friendships—once you start indulging in feelings of empathy and sentiments, you might as well give up your spot as the brightest student in the grade. But hey…at least you know he’s smart on paper…maybe that counts for something?

Despite your mental conundrums, you tap at the edge of his desk, grabbing his attention. “Do you want to pair up with me?”

His eyes widen, mouth making a small ‘o’ before he starts fumbling for words. You have to hold back a giggle at the sight of him being so flustered.

“Is that a yes?”

“Uh-umm..” Leehan turns pink, eyes dropping down to his book. “Ye-yes.”

“Great.” You give a gentle smile, glancing at his side-profile. “Lets discuss it in the library after school.”

He nods to particularly no one, and you turn back, wondering how the heck you were going to work on a two-week project report with a boy who couldn’t even talk to you without looking like he was about to explode any second.

Oh well…this was going to be an interesting experience.

The library is quiet, save for a few students typing away on their laptops or whispering between bookshelves. A fluorescent bulb flickers overhead, casting shadows over the long wooden table. You and Leehan sit side by side, laptop propped open between you.

“Okay, so.” You begin, typing down a title on the empty document. “What do we remember from the lab?”

Leehan readjusts his glasses before they slip off his face, hugging his backpack to his front. “Um-well…Dr. Connors, he wa-as talking about improving health with…with cross-species genetics and how uh-”

“How zoological regeneration could be the key to finding cures.” You finish his sentence, offering him a small smile. “We should link that to specific examples…like neurodegenerative diseases.”

“Danio rerio.” Leehan nods, and you quirk your head. He coughs awkwardly before clarifying, “Zebrafish, uh, they have these fins that are super regenerative after amputation…not just their fins, also their heart, their spinal cord,…retina.., if we successfully cross that with humans, we might even cure Parkinson’s.”

It’s the longest sentence he’s spoken and you can’t help but admire how passionate he sounds.

“You know a lot about fish?” You ask, genuinely curious.

He blinks once, then twice, big eyes reflected behind his thick lenses. His ears are a soft shade of pink when he nods, “I like marine biology.”

“I saw your book…it looks interesting.”

He accidentally lets out a grin, then tries to school it without success, which you can’t help but find cute. “It’s about plankton culture, umm, and how important they are in aquatic food webs and-....sorry.”

You shake your head. “No, no. It’s nice to hear you talk. You should do it more.”

Leehan smiles, his eyes scrunching into half-moons. It’s a very nice smile…you wonder how you never noticed him before.

Before you can get distracted by his face, you clear your throat, getting back to business. “Alright, we should also mention limb regeneration…amphibians, reptiles-”

Your words are interrupted by a loud crash of glass breaking.

You brace for impact, ducking your head under the table immediately, grabbing Leehan’s sleeve to pull him towards you. Instinctively, you cover him with your own body, trying to also sneak a peek at whatever caused the sound.

A green blur catches your sight. Then you see scales, then bloodshot eyes…

It's a…lizard?

“What the actual fuck?” You say under your breath, wondering if you’re hallucinating.

It's a ten foot tall, humanoid-looking reptile—its giant tail curling viciously as it stalks past cowering students, and a very frightened librarian clutching the bookshelf for safety. It seems to ignore everyone, looking around as though after something or someone particular.

You look behind you to check on Leehan, “Are you okay?”

He responds with a startled nod, then, “We should get out of here.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. “Are you crazy?? No, we should stay here.”

“Listen to me,” he repeats. “I'll go make sure the coast is clear, and you leave right after okay?”

Is he completely nuts? You'd thought Leehan was at least somewhat competent given his grades and overenthusiastic knowledge of fish or whatever…but apparently this kid has zero street smarts. And he was going to get all of you killed…or eaten, or whatever giant-mutuant-lizard-man wanted to do with you.

Before you can even protest, he’s slipping past you and rushing away from underneath the table. Your entire body is frozen in fear, chest heaving loudly.

You can't help the next thought that crosses your mind—What if he doesn't make it back?

For someone who doesn’t like to indulge in sympathy, you curse at yourself for feeling awfully worried about him. Something about that childlike look on his face and his awkward demeanour makes you wonder if he’s ever had anyone look out for him.

You close your eyes, take two very deep breaths, and follow after the idiot.

Leehan is nowhere to be seen when you look around. But the crash of something breaking through the brick wall diverts your attention—when you turn around, there’s a giant silhouette of a hole in one of the walls. Doors bang open outside, and the footsteps and screams of students echo in the hall, presumably running away from the thing.

When you peek your head out the door, you catch a flash of flannel in the distance—Leehan.

Except, he isn’t running away like the others…he seems to be running towards wherever the monstrosity stalked off to.

He’s gonna die, you think.

There’s no time to second guess before you’re on your feet, squeezing past the rush of bodies, ignoring the glass that litters the floor and the broken lights overhead. There’s a huge dent in one of the lockers.

You’re almost at the end of the hallway, about to enter the chemistry lab where you think he’s gone, when someone drags you backwards.

“Miss L/N,” Mr. Kim barks, “This isn’t the place for you — get to safety, now!”

Before you know it, he’s handed you off to one of the passing teachers and dragged away along with the others out of the hallway and behind the front doors of the school. Police sirens blare somewhere in the distance, and students are urged to move out of the way.

“Leehan.” You breathe out, finding Mr. Kim amongst the crowd. “He’s still in there.”

The older teacher doesn’t seem to take you seriously, “Everyone was made to leave the premises, I assure you he’s somewhere here.”

No matter how much you repeat or how certain you sound, there’s no space to get through to any of them when the police are parting the horde, forcing students to take shelter away from the buildings.

It feels like an eternity to wait — mind running through horrible scenarios. You only properly met the kid today for god’s sake…you’re clutching the front of your shirt, desperately hoping he isn’t hurt.

Minutes pass, maybe hours, and the vague buzz of walkie-talkies drifts, camera flashes that has to be journalists, frantic voices reporting an unsuccessful attempt—somewhere out there, the Lizard is still on the loose. You pull out your phone from your pocket, checking the news — anything to make sense of the situation...except there’s nothing.

You think any surprises for the day are over and done when the police are immediately directed to leave for the city, a helicopter radio-ing from above the rooftop. The mutant lizard must have left for somewhere else…

Its absolute mayhem outside, with several sleek cars rushing past the gates, the crowd once again being ushered back in, it's a mess. You’re trying to think of your next best course of action when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You jump, turning around on instinct and its—

“Leehan!?” You don’t think before engulfing him in a big hug.

He seems to be startled, panting heavily, glasses nowhere to be seen. His collar is askew, shirt sweaty.

“Where the heck did you go!?” You shake the poor boy by the shoulders.

He takes several big breaths before resting his palms against his knees, “The…bathroom.”

Your brows knit together, “...What?”

“I-yeah,” is all he has the decency to say.

“I saw you go into the chemistry lab.”

Leehan blinks several times before coming back up, rubbing his hand against his nape in embarrassment, “I forgot the way.”

You aren’t sure if you want to punch the kid or give him another hug of relief.

The news pops up a couple days after.

You wake up later than usual, being granted some days off thanks to the school-wide destruction.

When you check your phone, it’s the first thing on your group chats and social media—in big bold letters: ’Lizard Rampages Through City — Spider-Man Responds!’. Accompanying it is a blurry photograph of said lizard and a whole paragraph about some new superhero dressed like a spider, shooting webs out of his hand and swinging past skyscrapers…You have no idea how any of the reporters even got to the information so quickly.

What the actual fuck?

It only blows up even more once classes resume as normal.

Apparently, he’s the new city sensation: credited with stopping a car from careening into a group of pedestrians last week, rescuing a child dangling from a construction site just days ago, and even foiling a robbery at a corner store — all in the span of a month. Every story seems to make him bigger than life, the city’s mysterious guardian who appears exactly when danger strikes. The media has started officially titling him 'Spider-Man'.

Although, in your opinion, he looks more like a latex-suit-clad Tarzan wannabe than a masked superhero. You imagine some gym-bro with a saviour complex behind the mask, running around playing vigilante and doing photoshoots for the city paper.

For you, however, there are more important matters at hand…the report, for example. Mr. Kim very graciously agreed to push it forward to the next month, given his classroom had been in smithereens from the rampage. You were okay with that — it's plenty of time to draft up a decent report and you can just polish it up later.

Except…Leehan seems to have different plans for you.

The first meeting, he shows up sweating buckets and gets your college-lined paper all wet. It's a forgivable sin (barely) but your frustration only spikes when he makes some excuse of wanting to go feed his fish around the twenty minute mark, then rushes out with a bow and a muttered apology.

The second meeting isn’t any better. He claims he “forgot his good glasses” and needs to dash to his house because he can’t see a single word on the screen without them. By the time he returns, it's already evening and you stare him down as you leave for the engineering club.

The third meeting, he’s late again, flustered, and insists he got stuck helping an old lady carry groceries. He plops down beside you, panting, and immediately knocks over his water bottle, soaking another page.

By the fourth meeting, you’re starting to notice a pattern: a sudden phone call about a missing hamster, an urgent text from his mom about dinner, and a mysterious package delivery mix-up that strictly requires him to run off mid-discussion. Somehow, every excuse ends with a rushed bow and an “I’m so sorry!”. It would be cute if your grade wasn’t riding on it.

So you decide to take matters into your own hands.

The fifth meeting, you corner him the second you spot him leaving the biology lab, and drag him out by the collar.

“Y/N?” he sputters, clutching his bag to his chest like a frightened mouse.

“My house. You. Me. Study.” You respond pointedly.

And that’s how he ends up on your living room floor, shyly sharing a bowl of popcorn and reading off references that might be useful for the report.

There are times he’ll get too into a research paper on fish-species and trail off, and you’ll have to bring him back to the topic at hand. Or you’ll start doodling things on the corner of your spare paper, mostly always a cartoon fish, and he’ll look at it with a half-moon smile and add on to it, then turn away with a red face when you spot it.

It’s awfully domestic — and even if you worked better on your own, it was nice to have someone to do it with you. It takes the two of you three hours, two cans of some horrid energy drink, and sheer will to finally complete the report and put your names on it.

“There.” You sigh, stretching your arms above your head.

Leehan is leaning back against the couch, glasses askew and basically on top of his head. You giggle at the sight.

You parents won’t be home for another hour or so, so you offer him leftovers from last night’s dinner and turn on the TV as you crowd around the carpet to watch. The first thing to show up is the new channel, broadcasting something about a bank robbery.

You take a bite out of your pasta, but Leehan is already standing up with an excuse, “I just remembered, I have to take out the trash tonight.”

You blink up at him, and then at his abandoned plate, “...Okay…?”

“Sorry.” He says in that genuine tone of his, before heading out to the door. But before he lets it close behind him, he turns back and offers you a smile, “Thank you..for today. I-It was nice.”

Then he’s off before you can even respond, leaving you with a mouthful of pasta and in complete bewilderment.

What a strange person…

The report gets you a shiny new A+, as expected.

It's one of those nights where you can relax in peace, a weekend where you can stay up past midnight watching shitty rom-coms and work on passion projects instead of slaving away for the sake of school.

You’re sitting at your study desk, feet propped up on your chair as you fiddle with wires and connectors, headphones over your ears, some drama playing in the background on your laptop. Robotics club had you run all sorts of projects, usually in teams, but it felt refreshing to figure things out on your own — without the constant attention of people, with your hair allowed to be messy and clothes baggy.

Today’s mission was to try and build a fully functional robotic arm. You’re trying to use pliers to pull the cables out of what was a makeshift forearm, when you think you hear something shuffling through your headphones.

You ignore it the first time. But it doesn’t stop there—another shuffle, then a thump. When you look sideways where your window is, you can vaguely make out a dark silhouette.

You jump out of the seat, launching for the screwdriver.

A thief.

The thump continues, like fingers rapping against the glass panes. You are terrified to say the least…because…well, because you remember you live in a seventh floor apartment building.

You inch closer with every intention to knock out whoever happens to be attempting to break into your house, but the closer you get, the more familiar the outline becomes. A familiar head, familiar ears,...familiar hair....

You slide the glass upwards as a body tumbles in, “LEEHAN?”

He coughs, cradling his stomach, splayed out over the floor while you stand above him with a threatening tool in your hand.

It’s Leehan, the awkward marine biology nerd who likes to doodle fish on papers and recite facts from memory, who carries heavy textbooks around for fun and calls it light-reading—the same Leehan with his glasses and flannel shirts, the one that can barely look you in the eye when he talks.

So then why the hell is he crawling through your window at 3 AM on a Saturday? And more importantly,...why is he dressed like a giant red bug?

“Leehan??” You ask again, kneeling down to examine him. “Are you…are you okay?”

Evidently, he is not at all okay. There’s a huge slash on his torso, torn through his suit (which you belatedly register is the suit…as in Spider-Man’s suit). There’s a streak of blood on his cheek, bruises beginning to bloom near his eye, his lower lip bloody. He looks worn out, nothing like your Leehan.

You gently lead him to your bed, not bothering to care that he gets blood on it. It doesn’t matter when he looks like he might faint any time soon if you don’t do something about it. You dig under your drawers for the first-aid kit, fumbling to find the antiseptic and dressing, then lean over his body as you set down the materials on your mattress.

Leehan seems to be breathing, but barely.

His brows are drawn tightly, eyes blinking slowly in pain. You grab some wet wipes to gently dab at his lips, trying not to touch where it splits, but he lets out a quiet hiss when you get too close.

“Sorry, sorry.” You mumble, working your way down to his cheeks. “Shhh..”

He blinks up at you through his lashes, breaths shallow, lips parted for air. “...Y/N.”

“Don’t talk.” You scold. “It’ll hurt”

You help him prop his head up on one of your many pillows, combing his hair back with your fingers. “I’m gonna take care of your cut okay, it might sting a little.”

He gives a slight nod, just enough to let you know he’s listening.

“Can you take the suit off? Just the top part-” You ask.

Leehan gives a humourless laugh under his breath, “It's a one-piece.”

You sigh, “Of course, it is.” Instead, you reach for a pair of scissors from the box and bring it to the cloth at his midriff. “I’ll help you make another one.”

Making a clean cut upwards, you manage to pry the rubbery material off of his skin, peeling away from the blood and debris. He ends up with half of his clothes discarded in the corner of your room, his skin dangerously pale underneath all the injury.

You climb on top of the bed near where his arm lays limp, carefully tucking your knees underneath your thighs. He’s still watching you silently, tracing the trajectory of your hands as they gently apply pressure to his torso with a gauze.

Somewhere behind concentrating on the matter at hand, you have the thought that he was surprisingly well-built for someone who tripped over air on most days.

Leehan’s arms are quite toned, the muscle underneath tensing every time you press a little too hard on his wound, fists clenched—veins tightening into blue ridges under the skin. And his face, without the giant glasses he usually wore and his hair out of the way, it looked…good. Like really good.

You have to berate yourself for ogling a little while he was obviously in pain, but the guilt is temporary when you realise he’s just as focused on your features, eyes trailing the downturn of your lashes, the way your tongue peeks out when you concentrate too hard.

“You’re staring.” You mumble, a hint of a smile there.

He coughs lightly under his breath with a muttered “sorry”, then winces when it hurts his chest.

“Hands up.” You order, and he complies easily, but not without a blush creeping up his ears. When your fingers brush his bare chest, he sucks in a sharp breath—you're not sure if its entirely from the pain.

You manage to secure the dressing, wrapping a gauze around his torso, under one arm and over the opposite shoulder. “Stay still. If you tear this open, I’m stapling you to the bed.”

He nods. You tape it up, ensuring it keeps the dressing in place without slipping.

“It’s not too deep, don’t worry,” You say carefully, shifting over to grab a cloth to clean up the rest of the blood on him. “So…”

“...” He blinks up at you. “So?”

You roll your eyes, wiping at his shoulders, beneath the tuft of hair there. “Don’t you have something to say?”

Leehan gulps slowly. He’s considering the best way to say the obvious and eventually he settles for- “Surprise..?”

A nerve ticks in your temple.

“Seriously?” You pause your ministrations, letting him slump up against the headboard. “You fall in through my window at ungodly hours of the day, covered in blood and dirt and who knows what else, and you’re dressed like ... .like that…and all you have to say to me is ‘surprise’!?”

He looks terrified in the face of your wrath, inching his face away like he’s scared you’ll stab him with your scissors.

But the concern in your voice is evident when you say through a shaky voice, “You could’ve died, you idiot.”

Everything slowly starts to make sense—the continued absences, the ridiculous over-the-top excuses. He was too busy saving the city to care about his own well-being, let alone care about a grade.

Leehan looks at you properly—the tension under your jaw, the way you grip the cloth with more force than needed. “I’m okay though, aren’t I?” He says softly, attempting a smile.

You’re unimpressed. “Listen, I don’t care what Spider-Menace is up to, but Leehan is my friend, so you better take care of him.”

“Spider-Man.” He corrects.

“Same difference.” You huff, “...I thought he’d be some gym bro, not a fish nerd I have to take care of.”

He smiles sheepishly, wincing again when it pulls at the wound at his lips.

“Don’t move too much,” You scold, brushing back his hair again, tucking it behind his ear, “Save that pretty smile for when you’re healed, yeah?” You tease.

“You’re prettier.” He mumbles, eyes flickering down to your lips.

Your hand lingers where they hold his cheek, and for a second, neither of you speak. He presses back against your palm, finding it cool and soothing.

You’re too aware of his skin, and of the fact that he was practically half-naked. His fingers absently inch closer to your waist and-

“Honey!” Your mom’s voice calls from outside your door. “Aren’t you asleep yet?”

You move your palm to flatten it against Leehan’s mouth, forgetting his cut and making him let out a low whimper, one that you force yourself to ignore.

“I’m about to!” You reply back to your mom, waiting until she responds back with an okay, and her footsteps descend back down the corridor.

When your gaze finally falls back from the door to Leehan, you’re startled to find that he’s looking at you with his eyes half-lidded and dazed—its a downright wrecked expression that sends heat down your body.

“Sorry.” You mutter an absent-minded apology before finally letting your hand fall to your knees, “Did I hurt you?”

He shakes his head, looking more disappointed than hurt.

Eventually the moment passes and you lean back, inspecting your work. “Better. For now. Next time you get into a fight, try not to make me worry, okay?”

Leehan cracks a small, sheepish smile. “No promises.”

You wonder when he learnt to talk back to you like this—maybe it's the Spider-Man persona doing its work on him, or maybe he’s just too tired to be awkward.

At some point in the night, you join his side, laying back against a pillow propped up on the headboard. The two of you sit side by side, half-asleep and yawning, but the adrenaline is not letting you.

“So what’s the deal with the superhero thing?” You ask. “Glory? Boredom?”

He tilts his head and laughs quietly, “..Hmm, responsibility? I want to help people.”

You roll your eyes with no real bite, “You have to stay in one piece if you want to do that. Don’t go swinging around not looking where you’re going.”

“In my defence, I was looking where I was going—unfortunately, a mutant lizard also happened to be going the same way.” He offers, then extends his wrist. “I shot the web the wrong way, and well…he caught me.”

You take his wrist in your hand to examine, “So the webs are organic huh?” You rub your thumb over the soft skin there, trying to make sense of the biology. “Bad aim?”

“Moment of weakness okay?” He huffs, leaning against you now, eyes slowly drooping down.

“Hmm…you should sleep for a bit.” You say.

He nods, letting you grab him one of your oversized t-shirts, sinking back against the pillows until he knocks out almost immediately. You can only watch with an amused shake of your head.

It doesn't escape your mind that out of everywhere he could've gone tonight, he came to you. Something in your chest softens when you look at his sleeping figure, his soft breathes lingering in the air.

Well…at least you were right about one thing: Kim Leehan is a strange person for sure.

He leaves quietly in the morning.

You’re sleeping peacefully at your table, body slouched over, hands curled around some metallic components that Leehan has no idea about. He stalks over on light feet and doodles a tiny fish on one of your post-it notes, sticking it right next to where your arms lay.

Leehan gives you one last pat on the top of your hair and a fond smile before exiting out the window.

Being Spider-Man is not a task for the weak.

4:30 AM

Leehan wakes up after the tenth alarm, muffling out the sound with a pillow over his ears. It's too early in the morning to do anything…but alas, duty calls. He half-heartedly brushes his teeth, splashes some water on his face—careful not to hurt his still healing wounds—and pads over to feed his many fish.

5:00 AM

He pulls on his newly mended spidey suit, letting it slap against his skin uncomfortably. Then comes the mask. After that, he’s swinging out his bedroom window, ready to take on the day.

5:45 AM

Leehan perches himself at the tallest tower in the city, sharp eyes scanning for potential danger.

And there’s always danger.

6:30 AM

Then comes the headless-chicken-run: swinging after purse snatchers and muggers who corner early commuters, stopping burglaries, helping some old lady get her cat back from the tree in her backyard—the list is endless.

7:30 AM

Leehan then heads over to meet with the first responders and assist them—that includes webbing up a collapsing fire escape so the firefighters can get people down safely, rescuing trapped tenants before they get hurt, holding up a car that’s about to tip over so the EMTs can get passengers out.

He receives a standing ovation for his service, and with his mask on, Leehan is confident enough to give a charming curtsey. He even high-fives some kids on the way out, letting them cheer for him.

8:00 AM

Classes start.

Leehan misses almost all of the first period, too busy having to run back home and pull on his normal clothes on top of his suit. His bag hangs haphazardly on one of his shoulders, glasses askew on the bridge of his nose, and even with the fact that he can use his powers to just swing to school now, he’s still somehow thirty minutes late.

It takes him approximately fifteen minutes on foot to dash to the classroom through the corridor.

He’s sprinting, the bottom of his shoes skidding against the hallway tiles, breaths coming in ragged heaves. He tries to ignore any glances he gets as he flurries past onlookers—mostly students hanging around their lockers in between periods—determined to not get marked absent for the umpteenth time this month.

There’s no time to pay attention to his surroundings when he’s running without stopping, hair flopping up and down with each stride. He can see the classroom door a couple feet away, and he’s almost there when-

“WHA-.” He gasps, finding himself being dragged into a storage cupboard by the collar.

“Shush.” You slap a hand over his mouth, silencing his sounds, locking the door behind you with a click. “It's just me, you big baby.”

You’re pressing him against a shelf holding paint buckets and tools, the tiny enclosed space covered in complete darkness. Leehan’s eyes are wide behind his glasses, blinking repeatedly like a startled owl. His face is bright scarlet.

“Y/N,” he attempts to say but it comes out garbled against your palm. You slowly remove it. “What are you doing?”

You pull out something from the backpack at your feet, unwrapping the cloth around it and placing it in Leehan’s palm.

It's cool to the touch. He looks down to see a sleek, grey, metallic device that resembles a bracelet. “Umm…this is a…”

“Web shooter.” You say like the answer is obvious. When he continues to wear a perplexed expression on his face, you sigh, taking it from him. “It’s for your wrist to swing with, see.”

You’re clasping the device around his arm, locking it in place with a muted click. “This,” You point at the hidden buttons that touch his palm, “is the trigger. You just activate it by pressing two fingers to your palm and then… voilà. Test it out!”

He does. The second he curls his ring and middle finger down to his palm, a stream of webbing shoots out in the direction of the floor, coating it with spindly white strings. “Woah,” he gasps in awe, “You made this?”

You nod, pleased. “I was working on it when you fell asleep at my place…it’s got a cartridge to dispense web fluid, anddd it directs your aim much better than you would without it. That way,” You pause to lightly poke at his chest, “you don’t have to get hurt again.”

Leehan wears a thoroughly blinding beam on his face. “Y/N, you,” he opens his mouth to say something, then hesitates before finally speaking, “you’re so cool.”

He looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars and maybe the entire sky—it makes your face heat up without warning. You cough to mask the moment of weakness, letting out a supposedly apathetic ‘It’s whatever’.

The seconds stretch on, the two of you existing in the small space together. You dare to look up into his eyes when you realise he’s already looking at you—lips parted softly, his Adam’s apple bobbing,...he reaches out his hand and-

Ringggggggg

The school-bell makes you jump apart from each other, hearts a stuttering mess.

Then it dawns on you-”Oh fuck, I have class.”

You’re already gathering your bag from the floor, straightening your shirt and the bow on your head when Leehan makes sense of his surroundings. He really wishes you would stay and talk more about your gadgets and stick around to tease him but…he supposes being the school president is no easy job either.

You open the door, looking back at him over your shoulder to bid goodbye.

Leehan thinks that's it, but he sees a moment of hesitation on your face,...then you're leaning over, going on your tippy toe, to plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

Blood rushes to his face.

When you pull back, you’re grinning, already dashing out the door with one final, “Later, bug boy!”

He stands there, dumbstruck, bringing a palm to where you touched him, blinking into space like he cannot process the fact that the prettiest, smartest girl in the entire school—and probably the whole city—just kissed him.

There are several perks to being Spider-Man—there’s the awesome super-powers of course, the celebrity status that comes with being a public figure, the admiration he receives from civilians and villains alike…they’re all great.

But Leehan has to admit—nothing really beats a kiss from you.

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──── ✦ SEQUEL | FINALE [1/2] | [2/2] ✦

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