09. mask off
the campus is louder than it should be for a weekday afternoon. raised voices, cleats scraping against concrete, the distant thud of a ball hitting netting over and over again. you’re weaving through the quad with your tote bag bumping against your hip when you nearly run straight into someone dressed like they’re actively trying not to be seen.
black hoodie.
disposable face mask.
cap pulled low enough to shadow his eyes.
“oh, sorry,” you mumble automatically, already stepping around him.
then you stop. because some instincts don’t ask permission.
you turn back slowly, eyes narrowing just a fraction.
it’s the eyes.
green. sharp. cold. familiar in a way that makes your chest tighten before you understand why.
your mouth betrays you before your brain can catch up.
“rin–?”
the man stiffens.
for a second, nothing happens. then he exhales through his nose, almost amused, and lifts his head. his gaze meets yours, and the resemblance hits you fully this time. the same cutting intensity, the same almost arrogant calm.
he reaches up and tugs the mask down just enough to reveal a smirk that does not belong to rin.
“wrong itoshi.”
your breath catches.
“… sae?”
his brow lifts. impressed. “you noticed.”
“you have the same eyes,” you say before you can stop yourself. then quieter, “it’s kind of unfair.”
sae lets out a short laugh, the sound low and easy. “people usually don’t catch that. not unless they’re paying attention.”
he adjusts the mask back over his mouth, but leaves it loose, clearly unconcerned. “you heading somewhere?”
“library,” you say automatically. then hesitate. your eyes drift past him, toward the field you can now clearly hear. “are you…?”
“rin’s practice,” he confirms. “last day in japan. figured i’d watch before i leave.”
oh. that lands heavier than you expect.
you glance toward the field again. you should go. you were going to. you don’t want to hover, don’t want to feel like you’re intruding on something that already feels complicated.
“i was just passing through,” you say, already shifting your bag higher on your shoulder.
sae watches you carefully. “you don’t have to.”
you meet his gaze. hesitate.
“… just for a bit,” you admit.
the walk to the field is unhurried. sae keeps his hood up, hands in his pockets, moving with the casual confidence of someone used to being stared at. a few students glance his way, whispering, nudging each other, but no one approaches.
“rin doesn’t talk much,” sae says suddenly, like he’s commenting on the weather.
you huff softly. “that’s putting it lightly.”
“he used to,” sae adds. “when we were younger.”
that makes your steps falter. “really?”
“yeah.” sae glances at you. “not to everyone. but he wasn’t always like this.”
you file that away carefully, like something fragile you’re not meant to touch too hard.
they’re already practicing when you arrive. rin is impossible to miss – sharp movements, intense focus, jaw clenched like he’s at war with the ground beneath his feet. the moment his eyes flick up and land on you, something soft flashes across his face.
then he sees sae.
and whatever warmth there was vanishes.
he stalks over during a break, irritation written into every line of his body. “what are you doing here? again?”
“watching,” sae replies easily. “last day.”
rin’s eyes snap to you. “why are you of all people with him?”
you blink, taken aback by the edge in his voice.
“we ran into each other,” you say evenly. “i didn’t know i needed permission.”
sae snorts. “relax. i’m not stealing her.”
rin bristles. “that’s not–”
“you like him?”
sae asks it so casually that it almost doesn’t register at first.
you choke a little. “excuse me?”
sae doesn’t look at rin. his eyes stay on you. calm. observant. “you like my brother?”
rin’s glare could cut glass. “sae.”
you don’t answer right away. then softly, honestly, “i care about him.”
sae hums. “that’ll do.”
rin looks like he wants the earth to open and swallow him whole.
but surprisingly, he chooses the mature route and turns around, already going back to his teammates, ball back under his cleats and focus locked in once again.
practice resumes. you sit on the bleachers while sae leans against the fence beside you, watching with a critical eye. rin plays hard. too hard. aggressive. reckless. like he’s trying to prove something to the air itself.
your phone buzzes. it’s a notification from your calendar app, reminding you about your study block that’s supposed to begin in 10 minutes. you stand, slinging your bag over your shoulder.
“i should go,” you murmur.
sae nods. “yeah.”
you take a step away –
and then it happens.
a sharp collision. a shout. rin goes down hard, hitting the turf with a sickening thud.
your heart lurches violently into your throat.
“rin–!”
you don’t even realize you’re moving until you’re halfway down the steps, breath shallow, eyes locked on him as he stays down a second too long.
sae’s posture changes instantly. the humor drains from his expression.
on the field, teammates crowd around rin as he finally shifts, pushing himself up with visible strain.
your chest feels tight. wrong.
something about the way he moves – too stiff, too forced – sends a chill straight through you.
you stop short, fingers curling into your bag strap.
this wasn’t supposed to happen.
and as rin lifts his head, eyes searching the stands again, finding you, you realize you’re not leaving.
bachira is at rin’s side before anyone even whistles the play dead.
“rin, hey, hey, you good?” bachira drops into a crouch, hands hovering like he doesn’t know where to touch without making it worse. his smile is there, but it’s strained now, eyes flicking over rin’s posture, the way he favors one side without realizing it.
rin sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, then pushes himself upright like it’s nothing. “i’m fine.”
you’re already there, too – didn’t remember moving, just that the distance between you and the field vanished in seconds. sae appears at your side a heartbeat later, expression unreadable, but eyes sharp, scanning rin from head to toe.
“you went down hard,” sae says. not accusatory. just factual.
rin shrugs one shoulder. it’s stiff. barely noticeable unless you’re looking for it. “bad landing.”
“you stayed down,” bachira presses, quieter now.
rin finally looks at you.
and that’s what does it.
your guard slips the moment your eyes meet his and he gives you that look – that calm, steady, i’m okay, don’t worry look that feels so practiced it should scare you.
“see?” he says, softer. “i’m fine.”
you exhale, tension easing from your shoulders despite the knot still lodged in your chest. maybe this is it. maybe this explains everything – the distance, the exhaustion, the way he’s always running himself into the ground.
he’s just… like this.
“still,” you say, trying to sound reasonable instead of panicked, “let’s at least go to the health room.”
rin opens his mouth to protest.
sae cuts in immediately. “you’re going.”
rin shoots him a glare. “i said–”
“you went down in front of everyone,” sae replies coolly. “humor us.”
bachira grins, clapping rin on the back a little too cheerfully. “yeah, man. come on. you won’t be a good example for the first years.”
rin clicks his tongue, annoyed, but he relents.
the walk to the health room is quiet in that awkward, too-aware way. rin walks ahead of you, posture rigid, hands shoved into his pockets like he’s daring his body to betray him again. bachira walks beside you, glancing between you and rin with a look that’s half-curious, half-knowing. sae trails behind, silent. watching everything.
inside, the nurse fusses immediately, motioning rin onto the bed and peeling back his soccer jacket with practiced efficiency. there’s a bruise already blooming along his side, dark and angry.
you wince before you can stop yourself. rin notices.
“it’s nothing,” he says quickly.
the nurse shoots him a look. “you athletes are all the same.”
she presses gently at his side. rin doesn’t flinch. not visibly. but his jaw tightens, just a fraction.
“you need rest,” she continues. “and you need to stop pushing yourself like your body’s expendable.”
rin stares at the wall.
“do you hear me?” she asks.
“yeah,” he says.
“i’m serious,” she insists. “you keep this up, you’ll end up with injuries that don’t heal cleanly.”
bachira shifts his weight, smile gone now. sae folds his arms.
you watch rin closely, waiting for him to say something. anything.
he doesn’t.
the nurse sighs. “i want you taking it easy for the next few days.”
rin nods.
you almost believe him. almost.
because the second she turns away, the look on his face hardens – not defiant, not angry. just… resolved. like someone who’s already decided this conversation doesn’t apply to him. like pain is just another thing to work through.
and you, standing there beside him, let yourself think you finally understand.
you don’t. not even close.
the city never really sleeps. it just holds its breath between sirens.
rin moves through the skyline like muscle memory, rain-slick buildings blurring past as his web catches, releases, catches again. his shoulder still aches from earlier, a dull reminder he’s learned to ignore. tonight feels calm, too calm. petty theft stopped before it starts, a drunk argument broken up with nothing more than a warning and a look. just routine.
then his spider sense spikes.
sharp. violent. wrong.
rin pivots mid-swing, landing hard on the edge of a warehouse rooftop just as shouting erupts below. not a mugging. not a simple hit-and-run. there’s smoke, thick and chemical, pouring out of a loading bay door torn halfway off its hinges.
armed robbery. organized. sloppy.
he drops in fast.
three men. masks. automatic weapons. one of them already firing wildly into the air to keep civilians back. another dragging a duffel that’s definitely too heavy to just be cash.
rin doesn’t announce himself. he never does.
webs snap out, pinning one man to a stack of crates with a startled shout. another swings around, firing on instinct. rin barely twists out of the way, bullets sparking against concrete where his head had been a second earlier.
“shit!” one of them yells. “it’s him!!”
the fight turns ugly fast.
rin moves on reflex – strike, web, disarm – but they’re more coordinated than he expected. one of them charges instead of retreating, blade flashing in his hand, serrated and brutal.
rin ducks the first slash.
but doesn’t dodge the second.
pain explodes white-hot across his lower abdomen.
he gasps despite himself, stumbling back as blood immediately soaks into the dark fabric of his suit. the man doesn’t hesitate, shoving him hard, trying to follow through.
rin grits his teeth and retaliates on pure instinct – knee to the ribs, elbow to the throat, web straight to the face. the man goes down choking, clawing uselessly at the sticky strands.
sirens wail in the distance now. too close.
rin finishes it quickly after that – webbing the remaining men, disabling the weapons, sealing the scene like it’s all under control even though his vision is starting to blur at the edges.
he backs away as police flood the street.
someone shouts his name. “spider man! you’re hurt!!!”
he doesn’t wait.
he fires a web, launches himself upward, and disappears into the rain before anyone can stop him.
before anyone can see how bad it is.
by the time the news breaks, the city is already buzzing.
grainy footage. shaky phone videos. headlines scrolling too fast.
SPIDER MAN INJURED DURING NIGHTLY PATROL
STATUS UNKNOWN – HERO DISAPPEARS BEFORE MEDICS ARRIVE
you’re wiping down the last table when the alert cuts through the cafe’s low music.
“breaking news–”
you freeze.
the mop bucket sloshes slightly as the TV above the counter switches feeds. rain-soaked footage fills the screen, spider man mid-motion, blood dark against his suit in a way that makes your stomach drop.
you stare. too still.
“–sources say he sustained a serious abdominal injury–”
your chest tightens.
you don’t know why your mind goes there.
don’t know why the image of rin earlier – brushing off pain, saying he was fine – slides so easily into place.
“–medical personnel were unable to locate him–”
your hands shake.
rin.
you swallow hard, trying to be logical. stupid. irrational. he’s a soccer player. this is ridiculous. coincidences happen all the time.
but the thought won’t let go.
your phone buzzes in your pocket. you don’t check it.
you just stand there, staring at the screen as the reporter keeps talking and something cold settles deep in your gut. because for the first time –
you’re not just worried about spider man.
you’re scared for rin.
the hallway outside rin’s apartment smells like rain and concrete and someone else’s late-night dinner.
you stand there with your phone pressed to your ear, heart beating so loud you swear it echoes. your other hand is curled into the strap of your bag, knuckles pale. you shouldn’t be here. you know that. this is impulsive, invasive, crossing lines you normally wouldn’t even look at.
but the image of blood on a screen won’t leave your head.
the call connects.
“… hello?” rin’s voice comes through, low, breathless in a way that makes your stomach twist. a sliding window door closes in the background.
you don’t ease into it. you don’t soften it.
“i’m outside your door,” you say. “please let me in.”
silence.
not the kind where the call drops. not the kind where he didn’t hear you.
the kind where you can almost hear him thinking.
on the other side of the door, rin’s apartment is a mess of half-light and panic. rainwater drips from his suit onto the floor in dark, spreading stains. his discarded mask lies near the couch, his chest rising too fast as he presses a hand to his lower abdomen.
it’s still bleeding. not fast, but steady. persistent. unforgiving.
outside his door. you.
rin closes his eyes.
shit.
“… now’s not a good time,” he says finally, voice too controlled, too careful. “i’m not feeling great. i think you should go home.”
“no.”
one word. flat. final.
he exhales sharply. “you came all this way. it’s late. i’ll text you tomorrow–”
“rin,” you interrupt, and now your voice shakes despite your effort not to let it. “i saw the news.”
his grip tightens against the wound.
“… what does that have to do with anything.”
“don’t,” you say. “don’t do that. not right now.”
he swallows. “you’re tired. you’re scared because of some headline, and you’re projecting–”
“open the door.”
another pause. longer this time.
you step closer, forehead nearly touching the metal. “please. if you’re fine, i’ll leave. i swear. i just need to see you.”
rin laughs under his breath, sharp and humorless.
“you’re being stubborn.”
you huff out a shaky breath. “learned it from you.”
inside, something in him gives.
maybe it’s the blood loss. maybe it’s exhaustion. maybe it’s the way you said please like it wasn’t a demand, just a need.
he moves slowly, every step pulling at the injury, leaving another dark drop behind him. his hand hesitates on the lock.
click.
the door opens.
you barely have time to register the dim light, the unfamiliar space –
before your eyes drop.
to the suit. black and teal, darkened with rain and blood.
to the deep gash across his lower abdomen, angry and real and still bleeding.
to rin.
standing there in spider man’s suit. mask off.
same face. same eyes.
your breath leaves you in one broken sound.
“… rin?”
he doesn’t answer.
he just stands there, shoulders tense, jaw tight, exposed in a way he’s never been before – as a hero, as a boy, as himself.
and suddenly, everything makes sense.
© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢
masterlist | ch. 08 | ch. 10
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