Mark Lee x Reader (Spidermark)
Mark had to cast a spell with Doctor Strange to make sure everyone forgot he's Spiderman, including you, his girlfriend. Slowly but surely, you find your way back to each other.
18.2k, No smut, just fluff and angst. First person pov.
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Hi. You don’t know me, but you used to.
The first sentence in the letter always starts the same.
Hi. You don’t know me, but you used to.
Mark stares at the sentence until the ink bleeds slightly into the paper, his grip tightening without him realizing. The cheap desk in his one-bedroom apartment wobbles under his elbow. Outside, a siren wails somewhere in the city, fading into the hum of traffic and distant voices.
He exhales slowly.
Starts again.
Hi. You don’t know me but you used to. My name is Mark Lee—
The pen stops.
It always stops there.
Because what comes after that? How do you explain a life that technically never existed? How do you tell someone you were everything to them… without sounding like a stranger who’s lost his mind?
He crumples the paper, tossing it toward the overflowing bin. It misses. They always miss when he's like this.
The room is dim, lit only by a flickering lamp and the glow of the city sneaking through half-broken blinds. His Spider-Man suit hangs by the window, still slightly torn at the shoulder from earlier. He hasn’t had the energy to fix it yet.
He hasn’t had the energy for much of anything lately.
Except watching you.
You pull your jacket tighter around yourself as you walk down your street, the night air brushing cool against your skin. It’s quiet—too quiet, but not enough to make you afraid.
Just… aware.
There’s that feeling again.
Like someone’s there.
Not close enough to hear. Not close enough to see. But there.
Your steps slow for a second, eyes flicking behind you. Empty sidewalk. Parked cars. A streetlight buzzing softly.
You shake your head.
“Get it together,” you mumble to yourself.
And yet…
The feeling doesn’t go away.
From above, Mark doesn’t move.
Perched on the edge of the building across the street, he watches you walk—careful, steady, memorizing every small detail like he’s afraid the world might take this away too.
The way you tuck your hands into your sleeves.
The slight furrow in your brows when you think someone’s watching.
You always used to do that.
His chest tightens behind the mask.
“Yeah,” he whispers softly, voice barely audible under the fabric. “I’m here.”
You can’t hear him.
You’ll never hear him say your name the way he used to.
Not unless—
No.
He shuts the thought down immediately.
That choice is already made. There’s no undoing it. Not without risking everything all over again.
So he stays where he is.
Watching.
Waiting.
Protecting.
Always protecting.
You reach your door, fumbling slightly with your keys. For a brief second, you pause—glancing over your shoulder again. Your eyes scan the empty street, lingering just a little longer this time.
Mark freezes.
Something in his chest sparks—hope, sharp and sudden.
Do you feel it?
Do you remember?
But then you shake your head again, unlocking the door and slipping inside.
The light clicks on.
The curtains close.
And just like that—
You’re gone.
Mark waits a few more seconds. Just in case.
He always does.
Only when he’s sure you’re safe does he move, shooting a web and swinging away into the night. The city rushes past him in blurs of gold and shadow, wind cutting through him, grounding him.
This is what he has now.
Not laughter. Not shared secrets. Not your hand in his.
Just distance.
And duty.
Back in his apartment, the silence feels heavier than before.
He lands softly by the window, peeling off the mask. His hair is damp with sweat, his face drawn, eyes tired in a way sleep hasn’t been able to fix.
He glances at the desk.
At the pile of failed letters.
At your name, scribbled over and over in the margins of crumpled pages.
Mark walks over slowly, sitting down again. He picks up a fresh sheet of paper, smoothing it out carefully like it matters—like this one might be different.
The pen hovers.
For a long time, he just… breathes.
Then...
Hi.
His hand trembles slightly.
You don’t know me but you used to.
A pause.
Longer this time.
His jaw tightens.
My name is Mark Lee.
The words sit there.
Lonely.
Incomplete.
His throat burns.
Because the next sentence should be easy.
It should be something like:
I love you.
But you don’t know him.
And love, coming from a stranger… isn’t love at all.
It’s just confusion. Maybe even fear.
So instead, he writes
I just wanted to make sure you’re safe.
His breath catches.
That, at least, is still true.
That will always be true.
No matter what the world remembers.
No matter what you remember.
Mark leans back slightly, staring at the page like it might somehow fill itself in if he waits long enough.
It doesn’t.
It never does.
Outside, the city keeps moving.
Inside, he sits there,
caught between a past that’s gone
and a love that refuses to leave.
The bell above the café door jingles softly as Mark pushes it open.
Warmth hits him first—the smell of coffee, steamed milk, something sweet in the oven. It’s familiar in a way that aches, like a memory just out of reach.
And then he sees you.
You’re behind the counter, sleeves pushed up slightly, hair falling just the way it always used to when you got busy. There’s a light in your eyes as you laugh—easy, effortless.
But it’s not because of him.
Mark stops mid-step.
There’s a guy leaning against the counter, grinning at you like he’s already decided he likes everything he sees. He says something—Mark can’t hear it from here—but you laugh again, softer this time, a little shy.
Something sharp twists in Mark’s chest.
It’s not fair.
The thought comes fast, ugly, selfish—but he can’t stop it.
That’s my place.
Not in a possessive way. Not like you belong to him.
But that moment—the way you smile, the way your eyes crinkle just slightly—that was something he used to earn. Something he used to protect. Something he used to know.
Now he’s just… standing there.
A stranger.
Invisible in a world he saved.
Mark swallows hard, forcing his feet to move, stepping aside so he’s not blocking the door. He lingers near the wall, pretending to check something on his phone, but his eyes keep drifting back to you.
The guy finally leaves, tossing you one last smile before pushing the door open and disappearing into the street.
Mark exhales.
He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath.
This… this isn’t something he can keep doing.
Watching from rooftops. Standing in corners. Writing letters he’ll never give you.
Living a life where he exists around you—but never with you.
He loves being Spider-Man.
He really does.
Saving people. Doing the right thing. Carrying something bigger than himself—it matters.
But he matters too.
Or at least… he used to.
Mark straightens slightly, something shifting in his chest. Not the sharp ache this time—but something steadier.
A decision.
I can’t have what we had, he thinks.
But maybe… I can have something.
Even if it’s small.
Even if it’s just 'hi.'
He doesn’t remember leaving the café.
Only the rush of wind against his face as he swings through the city, faster than usual, like he’s chasing something before he loses his nerve.
Back in his apartment, he lands a little harder than intended.
The room looks the same. Feels the same.
But he doesn’t sit down this time.
Doesn’t reach for a pen.
Instead, he moves.
Quick. Purposeful.
The mask comes off, tossed aside. He runs a hand through his hair, stepping into the small bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror.
For a second… he almost doesn’t recognize the person looking back.
“Okay,” he mutters quietly. “Okay.”
His voice sounds strange without the filter of the suit. Too raw. Too real.
He fixes his hair—again, and again, until it sits just right. Changes his shirt twice before landing on the black one.
The one you loved.
You used to say it made him look soft.
He hesitates for half a second—then reaches for the cologne. Just a little. Not too much.
His hands are shaking.
“Relax,” he whispers, letting out a breath that doesn’t quite steady him.
This shouldn’t be harder than fighting villains.
But it is.
Because this time there’s no mask to hide behind.
The bell jingles again.
You glance up automatically, mid-sentence, your eyes landing on him.
Mark smiles.
Or at least—he tries to.
It’s a little stiff at first, a little unsure. But it’s there.
“Hey,” he says, voice softer than he expected. “Uh—can I get a coffee?”
You blink at him for a second, not in recognition, just… normal curiosity. The kind you’d give any new customer.
“Yeah, of course,” you say, returning the smile easily. “What kind?”
He steps closer to the counter, heart pounding so loudly he’s convinced you can hear it.
“Just—uh—regular? I mean, not regular, I—whatever you’d recommend.”
Smooth.
Very smooth.
You let out a small laugh, and it hits him harder than anything else today.
God, he missed that sound.
“Okay,” you tease lightly. “And what milk do you want?”
Milk.
Right.
Mark blinks.
“I—uh—” His brain completely blanks. “Normal?”
You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Normal?”
“Like—milk milk,” he corrects quickly, wincing at himself. “Regular milk.”
“Got it,” you say, smiling as you turn to make it.
He exhales, shoulders dropping slightly.
Still alive. Good.
You hand him the cup a minute later, fingers brushing his for the briefest second.
It’s nothing.
It’s everything.
“Here you go,” you say.
“Thanks,” he replies, quieter now.
For a split second, you look at him, really look.
And something in him aches with hope.
Please.
Just—something.
But then—
You smile politely and turn away, already calling over your shoulder, “Hyuck, do we have more lids in the back?”
And just like that—
The moment passes.
Mark nods to himself slightly, like he expected that. Like it doesn’t hurt.
He moves to a table near the window, sitting down slowly, wrapping his hands around the warm cup.
From here, he can hear you.
You and Donghyuck talking. Laughing. Bickering over something small and stupid.
Normal.
So painfully normal.
He pulls out his phone, unlocking it just to have something to look at but his eyes aren’t on the screen.
They’re on you.
On the way you lean against the counter.
On the way you laugh without holding back.
On the way you exist in a world where he doesn’t.
And yet for the first time in a long time...
He’s not watching from a distance.
He’s here.
Close enough to hear your voice without wind rushing past his ears.
Close enough to feel… something other than empty.
Mark takes a slow sip of his coffee, letting the warmth settle into him.
It’s not what he had.
Not even close.
But it’s something.
And for now—
Something is enough to keep him from breaking.
Weeks pass in small, careful pieces.
Mark becomes part of your routine the same way the morning rush does—predictable, constant, almost comforting.
The bell jingles.
He walks in.
Black shirt sometimes, sometimes a hoodie, hair a little messy like he didn’t try too hard—but you’ve noticed he does try. Just not in an obvious way.
“Hey,” he says, soft smile, every single time.
“Hey,” you reply, already reaching for his usual.
You don’t even ask anymore.
“Regular milk, right?” you tease one morning.
He lets out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Milk milk.”
It becomes a thing between you.
Small. Easy.
Safe.
From behind the counter, you watch him sometimes.
Not obviously.
Just… when you’re waiting for the espresso to pull, or when Donghyuck disappears into the back.
Mark always sits by the window.
Sometimes he scrolls on his phone. Sometimes he writes—pages and pages, head bent slightly, brows furrowed in concentration like the words matter more than anything else in the room.
And when he leaves he always smiles.
Always waves.
Like it’s important.
Like you’re important.
You don’t know why that sticks with you.
But it does.
Mark on the other hand notices everything.
The way you hum under your breath when it’s slow.
The way you sigh when the line stretches to the door.
The necklace around your neck.
His necklace.
He sees it the first time and nearly forgets how to breathe.
You still wear it.
Every day.
The small chain catches the light when you move, the pendant resting right where he remembers it.
His fingers twitch slightly around his cup.
Do you even know where it’s from?
Do you remember who gave it to you?
He wants to ask.
God, he wants to ask.
But what would he say?
Hey, that necklace? I gave it to you when you said you’d never take it off.
He swallows it down.
Like everything else.
One afternoon, after he leaves, Donghyuck leans against the counter, watching the door swing shut behind him.
He hums thoughtfully.
“You know,” he says, casual but not really, “I think he has a crush on you.”
You glance up, immediately shaking your head. “No, he doesn’t.”
“He so does.”
“He’s just nice,” you insist, grabbing a cloth and wiping down the counter. “Some people are just… nice.”
Donghyuck snorts. “Yeah, and some people come in every single day, order the same thing, stare at you like you hung the moon, and then leave smiling like an idiot.”
You try not to react.
You really do.
“He does not stare at me.”
Donghyuck raises an eyebrow.
You roll your eyes, turning away before he can see the slight smile tugging at your lips.
Because—
Okay.
Maybe Mark is…
cute.
In a quiet way.
The kind that sneaks up on you.
But you don’t say that out loud.
Instead, you shrug lightly. “He’s just a regular.”
“Mm-hmm,” Donghyuck hums, clearly unconvinced.
The next day, something feels… off.
You notice it the second Mark walks in.
He still smiles.
Still says, “Hey.”
But it’s softer. Slower.
There are faint shadows under his eyes, his movements just a little more tired than usual.
You notice.
Of course you notice.
But you don’t say anything.
You just make his drink.
Slide it across the counter.
“Here.”
“Thanks,” he says, fingers brushing yours again.
You linger for half a second.
Just a second.
Then you pull away.
It happens quickly.
Too quickly.
Mark reaches into his bag, fumbling slightly, probably for his pen—and his elbow nudges the cup.
You both see it at the same time.
The tilt.
The fall.
The inevitable spill—
Except—
It doesn’t hit the ground.
Mark catches it mid-air.
Fast.
Too fast.
A few drops still splash out, darkening the floor, but the cup stays intact in his hand.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then he’s moving, hurried, almost panicked.
“Sorry—sorry, I’ve got it,” he says quickly, setting the cup down and grabbing napkins.
“It’s fine,” you say immediately, stepping around the counter. “It’s my job, don’t worry—”
But he’s already taking the paper towels from your hands, crouching down, wiping the spill himself.
“I’ll clean it,” he insists, voice tight.
You pause.
Watching him.
Something about the way he moves—the speed, the precision, the instinct—
It feels…
familiar.
A strange sensation settles over you.
Like a memory just out of reach.
“Hey,” you say slowly.
He freezes slightly, still crouched.
“You have good reflexes,” you continue, tilting your head. “Have we met before?”
Mark’s heart stutters.
He looks up at you.
For a second—just a second—there’s something in his eyes.
Hope.
Fear.
Everything at once.
“I mean,” you add quickly, laughing a little, “I know you’ve been coming in for weeks. But like—before that? Outside the coffee shop? Maybe we had a class together or something?”
The air feels too still.
Mark stands, tossing the used paper towels into the trash.
“Maybe,” he says, keeping his voice light. Casual. “I meet a lot of people.”
It’s a terrible answer.
He knows it is.
You narrow your eyes slightly, but there’s no real suspicion—just curiosity.
“Hm,” you hum. “Maybe.”
You nod toward the sink. “Go wash your hands.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says automatically.
The words slip out so easily it almost scares him.
You blink.
Another flicker of that strange feeling.
But it’s gone as quickly as it came.
While he’s gone, you glance at the table.
At the paper he left behind.
You don’t mean to read it.
You really don’t.
But the words are right there.
Hi, my name is Mark Lee.
Your breath catches slightly.
You repeat it in your head.
Mark Lee.
Something about it…
You frown faintly.
It feels familiar.
Not in a clear, obvious way.
But like a name you’ve heard before.
Like a song you almost remember.
Mark comes back, drying his hands.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
You look up at him.
Study his face for just a second longer than usual.
Then you smile.
“Yeah,” you say lightly. “Just… your name.”
He stiffens.
“My name?”
“Yeah,” you shrug, tapping the paper. “It sounds familiar.”
The world seems to hold its breath.
Mark doesn’t move.
Doesn’t blink.
“Does it?” he asks quietly.
You nod, though there’s uncertainty in it. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m imagining it.”
Maybe you are.
Or maybe—
Somewhere deep inside you—
Something is trying to come back.
And for the first time since everything was erased—
Mark lets himself feel it.
Hope.
For the past couple of months, something hasn’t felt… right.
Not wrong in a loud, obvious way. Nothing you could point to and say, there, that’s the problem. It’s quieter than that. Subtle. Like a song playing just a little off-key in the background of your life.
You notice it in small things.
A bracelet sitting on your dresser—delicate, pretty, yours—but you don’t remember where it came from.
A book tucked into your shelf you don’t remember putting there.
Mom says she didn’t buy it. Dad shrugs, says maybe it was a gift. From who?
You don’t know.
And that’s the thing.
There are… gaps.
Not huge ones. Not enough to scare you, not enough to send you spiraling. Just little pockets of missing pieces, like someone took scissors to your memories and cut out random moments for no reason at all.
Your last birthday.
You remember the cake. Your family. Donghyuck complaining about something stupid like always.
But there’s this feeling—
like someone else was there.
Someone important.
Someone who should be easy to remember.
And yet…
Nothing.
You sit on the edge of your bed, frowning slightly as you try to piece it together.
But then you shake it off.
Because this is New York.
In a world with the Avengers flying overhead, alien invasions, time travel rumors whispered like urban legends—memory being a little fuzzy doesn’t feel like the strangest thing that could happen.
Maybe it’s stress.
You’re young. You’re figuring life out. That’s enough to mess with anyone’s head.
So you let it go.
Or at least—
you try to.
By the time you’re getting ready for your shift, the feeling has dulled again, tucked neatly into the back of your mind.
You smooth out your clothes, grab your bag, and catch your reflection in the mirror.
There’s a small smile on your face.
You pause.
It grows just a little.
Because—
You’re thinking about him.
Mark.
Your new regular.
You don’t even realize how often he crosses your mind now until moments like this.
The way he walks in like he’s trying not to take up too much space.
The way he smiles—soft, a little shy, like it means something every time.
The way he stutters sometimes when you ask him simple questions, like you’ve somehow made him nervous just by existing.
It’s… cute.
Really cute.
And kind of—
You bite your lip slightly, shaking your head at yourself.
But still…
There’s something about him.
Something you can’t quite explain.
You don’t know what he does. You don’t know much about his life outside of those brief conversations about weather and rush hours and the occasional complaint about how busy the city gets.
You want to ask.
You’re curious.
But you don’t want to push.
Don’t want to scare him off.
Because selfishly—
you like that he comes in.
You like that little moment in your day where the bell rings and you know it’s him.
And now you know his name.
Mark Lee.
You say it quietly to yourself as you walk down the street, testing the way it feels.
“Mark Lee…”
It rolls off your tongue so easily.
Too easily.
Your steps slow slightly.
A strange feeling curls in your chest.
Like you’ve said it before.
Not just once.
But a hundred times.
A thousand.
Softly. Laughing. Maybe whispered into the quiet of a moment that mattered.
You frown.
You shake your head quickly, brushing it off with a small huff of air.
It’s a common name.
Mark.
Lee.
In New York City?
There are probably hundreds of them.
Thousands, even.
So yeah.
Of course it feels familiar.
Anything is possible in a city like this.
But as you push open the café door, the bell chiming above you—
There’s still that feeling.
Lingering.
Soft.
Unfinished.
Like a memory waiting—
just on the other side of your reach.
The bell jingles like it always does.
Mark is already there.
Same seat by the window. Same cup in his hands. Same quiet presence that somehow feels… steady now. Familiar.
You catch his eye as you tie your apron, giving him a quick smile. He returns it instantly, like he’s been waiting for it.
Donghyuck notices.
Of course he does.
He dries his hands on a towel, glancing between you and Mark with a look that already means trouble.
“Don’t,” you warn under your breath.
“I didn’t even say anything.”
“You were about to.”
He grins.
And then before you can stop him, he walks right over and drops into the chair across from Mark like he owns the place.
Mark blinks.
“Oh uh hi.”
“Hi,” Donghyuck says easily, leaning back like this is the most natural thing in the world. “You mind?”
Mark shakes his head quickly. “No no, it’s fine.”
There’s a moment where Mark just… looks at him.
And something flickers across his face.
Recognition.
Not conscious. Not clear.
But there.
Because this...
This is familiar.
Donghyuck, inserting himself into situations he wasn’t invited into. Asking questions he probably shouldn’t. Pushing just enough to get a reaction.
That’s how he found out the truth the first time.
Mark almost smiles at the memory.
“What’s your deal?” Donghyuck asks, blunt as ever.
Mark chokes slightly on his drink. “My deal?”
“Yeah. You come here every day, sit in the same spot, write mysterious stuff, smile at her like she’s the sun” he jerks his head toward you “and then leave. I’m curious.”
Mark’s ears go red.
“I don’t—” he starts, then stops, clearly flustered. “I just like the coffee.”
Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. “Sure.”
Mark frowns slightly, brows furrowing in that quiet, almost unintentional way he does when he’s annoyed but doesn’t say anything.
It makes Donghyuck grin.
God, he’s cute.
So different from him.
Where Donghyuck is loud, Mark is soft.
Where Donghyuck pokes and prods, Mark absorbs, thinks, chooses his words carefully—if he even says them at all.
“You new to the city?” Donghyuck asks, tilting his head.
Mark hesitates for half a second. “Kind of.”
“That explains it,” Donghyuck nods. “You’ve got that ‘I don’t know anyone but I’m trying’ vibe.”
Mark lets out a quiet huff of a laugh, looking down at his cup.
“Something like that.”
They talk.
Or… Donghyuck talks.
Mark answers.
Short sentences. Careful ones. But he doesn’t shut down. Doesn’t pull away.
And the more it goes on, the more something settles in his chest.
Because he knows this.
Knows the rhythm of Donghyuck’s voice. The way he fills silence without even trying. The way conversations feel less like effort and more like… momentum.
It’s been so long since he’s had this.
Something normal.
Something easy.
By the time Donghyuck stands up, stretching slightly, his break clearly over, he glances down at Mark again.
And pauses.
Because Mark looks…
Content.
Not just polite.
Not just “that was fine.”
But genuinely—quietly—happy.
Like that short conversation meant more than it should have.
Donghyuck notices everything.
“…You’re interesting,” he says, narrowing his eyes slightly, but not in a bad way.
Mark blinks. “Oh.”
“I’ll be back,” Donghyuck adds casually, like it’s already decided.
Mark nods before he can stop himself.
“Okay.”
Donghyuck slips into the back where you’re restocking cups.
“Well?” you ask immediately.
He leans against the counter, thoughtful for once.
“I think he doesn’t have many friends.”
You pause. “What?”
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Or he’s new. Or both. But he’s… I don’t know. He seemed really happy just talking.”
You glance out toward the front, where Mark is back to sitting quietly, phone in hand.
Your chest softens slightly.
“Hm.”
Donghyuck watches your face, then smirks. “What?”
“Nothing,” you say quickly, turning back to your task.
“Anyway,” he continues, “we should talk to him more. Maybe hang out outside of work. Get to know him.”
You let out a small laugh. “Why? So you can interrogate him in a different location?”
“Exactly.”
You roll your eyes.
“And,” Donghyuck adds casually, “maybe he’ll get over his crush on you.”
You shove him immediately. “He does not have a crush on me.”
“He does.”
“He doesn’t.”
“He does.”
“He’s just nice!”
Donghyuck laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. Fine. He’s ‘just nice.’”
You glare at him, but there’s no real heat behind it.
Then, after a second, you sigh.
“…But yeah. I’m down to be friends.”
The words come easier than you expect.
Like the idea of knowing Mark—really knowing him—feels right.
Natural.
Like something you were supposed to do a long time ago.
Out front, Mark glances toward the back where you disappeared.
He doesn’t know what you’re saying.
Doesn’t know what’s about to change.
But for the first time in a long time—
He’s not just watching your life from the outside.
He’s being pulled into it.
Slowly.
Carefully.
But finally—
He’s getting closer.
It comes back to him in flashes.
Not the loud, world-saving moments.
Not the battles, or the fear, or the choices that cost him everything.
But something quieter.
Softer.
The first time he met you.
It was two years ago.
A lecture hall that was just a little too cold, filled with half-awake students and the low hum of side conversations. Mark had been sitting near the middle, notebook open, pretending to pay attention while his mind drifted elsewhere.
Then your professor clapped their hands.
“Alright—pairs. Final project. Post-conflict justice. You’ll present in four weeks.”
Groans filled the room.
Mark barely had time to process it before you slid into the seat next to him.
“Guess we’re partners,” you said, offering a small smile.
And that was it.
That was all it took.
He was gone.
You were easy to talk to.
That’s what he remembers most.
Not intimidating. Not cold. Just… open. Curious. The kind of person who made conversations feel like something to enjoy, not survive.
What started as discussing case studies somehow drifted.
It always did with you.
One minute it was restorative justice, the next it was media narratives, and then—
“Okay but like,” you said, tapping your pen against your notebook, “in a city like New York, how does the legal system even keep up with superheroes?”
Mark blinked.
“…Superheroes?”
You grinned. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.”
He had.
A lot more than you knew.
Your eyes lit up slightly. “Like Spider-Man. He’s basically operating outside the law, right? But people still love him.”
Mark felt his chest tighten.
There it was.
He tried to play it cool. “What do you think about him?”
You shrugged lightly.
“I think he’s brave,” you said simply. “And he does good. That’s… pretty admirable.”
Mark nodded slowly.
But something in him—something selfish, something hopeful—wanted more.
“That’s all?” he asked before he could stop himself.
You glanced at him, then shrugged again, softer this time.
“I mean…” You leaned back slightly, thinking. “I also think it must be a lot.”
Mark’s breath caught.
“A lot?”
“Yeah,” you said. “That kind of pressure? Always having to be the one who shows up, who saves people, who does the right thing?” You shook your head a little. “That’s heavy.”
He stayed quiet.
Listening.
Really listening.
“I just hope,” you continued, voice gentler now, “that he has a good support system. People he can rely on.”
Mark looked down at his notebook.
At his hands.
At the life he didn’t talk about.
“…Why?” he asked quietly.
You gave him a look like it was obvious.
“Because that kind of thing gets lonely,” you said. “And no one should have to carry all of that by themselves.”
Something shifted in him then.
Something deep.
Something that stayed.
Then, just as quickly, you grinned again—lightening the mood like you always did.
“But also,” you added, lowering your voice slightly like you were sharing a secret, “I hope whoever’s under that mask is getting some.”
Mark choked.
“W-what?”
You laughed. “What? I’m serious. You’re telling me someone that committed to saving the city doesn’t deserve a little—”
“Okay,” Mark cut in quickly, face burning red, laughing nervously. “I get it.”
You laughed harder.
And just like that—
The moment passed.
You moved on.
But he didn’t.
He never did.
A year later, you were sitting on his bed.
Closer than you’d ever been back then.
Not just partners.
Not just friends.
Something more.
Everything, really.
His heart had been racing just as hard as it was that first day—maybe even more.
“Can I tell you something?” he asked.
You nodded immediately. “Always.”
And that’s when he told you.
Everything.
Who he was.
What he carried.
What it meant.
He expected fear.
Shock.
Maybe even distance.
But you just looked at him.
Really looked at him.
“You idiot,” you whispered, eyes soft.
His stomach dropped. “What?”
“You’ve been carrying all of that alone?” you said, reaching for his face. “Mark…”
And just like that—
He wasn’t alone anymore.
The memory fades.
The city comes back.
Wind. Night. Distance.
Mark sits perched on the edge of a building, mask on, watching as you unlock your door and step inside.
The light flicks on.
You’re safe.
You’re always safe.
He exhales, something warm settling in his chest.
Because today you smiled at him. You said his name. You almost remembered.
It’s not the same.
It never will be.
But it’s closer.
Closer than he’s been in a long time.
Mark leans back slightly, gaze lingering on your window just a second longer than necessary.
“…Getting there,” he murmurs softly.
Not just you.
Him too.
For the first time since he lost everything...
He doesn’t feel like he’s standing outside his own life anymore.
He feels like he’s finding his way back.
The invitation catches Mark off guard.
They’re closing up for the day, chairs half-stacked, the smell of coffee still clinging to the air. He’s standing near the counter, lingering like he usually does, when Donghyuck leans over it and says, “Hey, we’re going to the park after this. You should come.”
Just like that. No build-up. No hesitation.
Mark blinks at him, then glances at you.
You’re wiping down the machine, but you look up at the same time, meeting his eyes with a small, easy smile. “Yeah, if you’re free.”
Free.
He almost laughs at that. His life is anything but free. Patrols, responsibility, the constant weight of something happening somewhere at any moment.
But this… this feels important.
He hesitates for half a second too long, then nods. “Yeah. Sure.”
Donghyuck grins like he knew the answer already.
The park is warm with early spring. The kind of day where the sun isn’t too strong, but it lingers on your skin just enough to make everything feel softer. There are people scattered around, dogs running loose, someone playing music faintly in the distance.
You sit on the grass together, coffees in hand, shoes slightly sinking into the ground. Donghyuck stretches out immediately like he owns the place, while you sit cross-legged, absentmindedly pulling at blades of grass between your fingers.
Mark sits a little more carefully, like he’s still figuring out where he fits.
But he’s here.
That’s what matters.
Conversation comes easier than he expected. Or maybe it’s just familiar in a way that makes it feel easy.
Donghyuck is talking about some game he’s been obsessed with, going on about levels and rankings and strategies like it’s life or death.
“I finally hit top tier,” he says proudly.
Mark huffs a quiet laugh, looking down at his coffee. “You’re still playing that?”
Donghyuck squints at him. “Still? What do you mean still?”
Mark shrugs, trying not to smile too much. “Nothing.”
“I’ve upgraded,” Donghyuck shoots back. “It’s called commitment.”
Mark rolls his eyes slightly, but there’s no real bite to it. If anything, there’s something fond underneath. He remembers this. The endless obsession, the way Donghyuck throws himself fully into whatever he likes.
Some things don’t change.
“You’ve been busy though,” you say, turning to Mark. “What do you usually do?”
The question is simple. Dangerous in a way only he understands.
He shrugs lightly. “Just… stuff. Work. Keeping busy.”
You nod like that’s enough, not pushing, and he feels something loosen in his chest because of it.
“What about you?” he asks, shifting the focus. “You mentioned baking before.”
Your face lights up slightly. “Yeah. I started recently. Just to, I don’t know, do something with my hands.”
“She’s been stress baking,” Donghyuck cuts in.
You glare at him. “I am not stress baking.”
“You made three different cakes in one week.”
“Because I was trying recipes!”
Mark smiles quietly, watching you. “Who do you bake for?”
“My parents mostly,” you say, softer now. “I bring home coffee after shifts and make something sweet. It just… helps, I guess.”
He nods, something warm settling in his chest.
He remembers your parents. The way they’d welcome him in without question, how your mom would insist he eat more, how your dad would ask him about school like it mattered. He never really had that growing up, not in the same way. But with them, it always felt… easy.
Like he belonged.
“They’re good people,” he says before he can stop himself.
You blink at him, a little surprised. “You don’t even know them.”
Mark pauses, then recovers with a small shrug. “I can tell by the way you talk about them.”
You smile at that. “Yeah. They’re the best.”
There’s a quiet moment, comfortable, filled only with the distant sounds of the park.
Mark’s eyes drift to your necklace again.
It catches the sunlight just slightly, the small pendant resting against your skin. His chest tightens as he looks at it, wondering if you’ve ever turned it over, ever noticed the tiny engraving on the back.
M.L.
He remembers how careful he’d been, how long it took to carve something so small, so precise.
You’d laughed when he gave it to you, then immediately put it on, saying you’d never take it off.
And you haven’t.
Even now.
“Do you know what you want to do?” he asks suddenly, voice quieter.
You glance at him, then look out at the park, thinking.
“Not really,” you admit. “Which is… kind of scary. But my parents don’t pressure me or anything. They just want me to be happy.”
Mark nods slowly, smiling to himself.
That sounds like them.
“That’s good,” he says. “Not everyone gets that.”
You hum in agreement, then tilt your head slightly. “What about you? Where were you before New York?”
The question lands gently, but it still makes his chest tighten.
“Toronto,” he says.
Donghyuck practically sits up. “Wait—you’re Canadian?”
Mark blinks. “Yeah?”
“That explains it,” Donghyuck says immediately.
“Explains what?” you ask, laughing.
“Why he’s kind of weird.”
You smack Donghyuck’s arm. “Shut up.”
Mark laughs, a real one this time, shaking his head. “Wow. Okay.”
“I’m kidding,” Donghyuck says, grinning. “Mostly.”
You’re still smiling, glancing between them, and something about it feels so normal that Mark almost forgets himself for a second.
The sun, the grass, your laughter, Donghyuck’s voice in the background—it all blends together into something warm and familiar.
Something he thought he lost.
He leans back slightly, hands resting in the grass, letting himself just exist in the moment instead of watching it from the outside.
For the first time in a long time, the heaviness in his chest isn’t there. The constant ache, the loneliness, the feeling of being just out of reach of everything that mattered.
It’s quiet.
Replaced with something softer.
Something steady.
This feels like home.
And for once, he isn’t thinking about what he lost.
He’s just… here.
They leave the park slowly, the sun dipping lower, the air cooling just enough to make the walk back feel easy. Donghyuck walks between you both at first, still talking, still full of energy, but as you get closer to your streets he stretches and checks his phone.
“Alright, I’m cutting through here,” he says, pointing down a side road. “I’m not walking all the way around like you two lovebirds.”
“We’re not—” you start, but he’s already grinning.
“Bye, Mark,” he adds, a little too knowingly.
Mark nods, trying not to react. “See you.”
Donghyuck disappears, leaving the two of you alone on the sidewalk.
For a moment, it’s quiet. Not awkward, just… softer. The kind of quiet where every small thing feels a little more noticeable. Your footsteps, the distant traffic, the way your shoulder almost brushes his once before you both subtly adjust.
“I can walk you home,” Mark says after a second, like he doesn’t want to assume.
You glance at him, smiling. “Yeah. Thanks.”
It’s simple, but it makes something in his chest settle.
They walk side by side, a little closer now, conversation coming in small pieces instead of long stretches. You talk about the café, about a customer who tried to order something ridiculous, about how Donghyuck nearly messed up three drinks in a row earlier.
Mark listens more than he talks, but when he does, it’s enough. It always is.
As your building comes into view, you slow slightly, then glance over at him.
“Oh—next week,” you say, like you just remembered. “Me and Donghyuck are throwing a party. You should come.”
Mark looks at you, surprised for a second before it softens into a smile. “Yeah. Sure. I’d like that.”
“Good,” you say, pleased.
You hesitate for half a second, then pull out your phone. “Wait—let me get your number.”
Mark fumbles slightly, pulling his out a second too late, almost dropping it before catching himself. “Right—yeah.”
You both laugh quietly as you exchange numbers, standing just outside your door now.
“Do you have socials?” you ask, already typing. “Like Instagram?”
“Uh—yeah,” he says, nodding. “I do.”
You find it quickly, tapping the follow button without hesitation. “There.”
He glances at the notification, something small and warm settling in his chest again. “Got it.”
There’s a pause.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… full.
“Okay,” you say softly, stepping a little closer. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” he answers, just as quiet. “Tomorrow.”
And then, before either of you overthink it—
You hug him.
It’s quick. Casual. The kind of hug you’d give a friend.
But to Mark—
It’s everything.
He freezes for half a second, like his body has to catch up to what’s happening. Then he lifts one arm, wrapping it around you gently, careful, like you might disappear if he holds too tight.
He breathes in without meaning to.
You smell different.
Not the same shampoo you used to use.
Something softer. Sweeter.
It throws him off for a second, the realization hitting him in a quiet, unexpected way. Time has moved on. Things have changed. Even the smallest details.
But you’re still you.
You pull away, smiling up at him like it was nothing.
“Get home safe,” you say.
He almost laughs.
The irony of it sits right there, obvious and a little absurd, but he just smiles instead.
“Yeah,” he says. “You too.”
You turn, unlocking your door and stepping inside. The light flicks on, warm against the evening dim.
Mark stays there for a second longer than he should, just watching.
Then—
It hits.
Sharp. Immediate.
His senses flare, the world snapping into focus in a way it only does when something’s wrong.
He doesn’t hesitate.
Before the thought even fully forms, he steps back, shooting a web and pulling himself upward, disappearing into the skyline in one smooth motion.
You turn back just before the door closes.
“Bye—” you start, stepping back toward the door, pulling it open slightly.
But he’s gone.
You frown faintly, looking out at the empty street.
“That was fast,” you murmur.
You step inside again, closing the door slowly.
And then you notice it.
That feeling.
The one you’ve had for weeks now.
Like someone’s watching you.
It was there the whole walk home. Quiet, lingering, just at the edge of your awareness.
But now—
It’s gone.
Completely.
You pause in the middle of your hallway, brows furrowing slightly.
You glance back at the door one last time.
Then shake your head, brushing it off as you head further inside.
But somewhere, deep down—
Something shifts.
Like a piece of a puzzle just barely moved into place.
Warm weather always brings in more crime.
Mark had forgotten that part.
Winter slows things down, keeps people inside, gives the city a kind of quiet it doesn’t usually have. But spring—spring cracks everything open again. More people, more movement, more opportunity for things to go wrong.
He’s been busier.
Too busy.
Nights blur together into sirens, rooftops, fists, and the sharp sting of getting hit harder than he expected. Cuts that should scare him but don’t anymore, bruises that bloom and fade before anyone else would even notice.
By the time he makes it back to his apartment most nights, he barely has the energy to sit, let alone think.
Still—
He thinks about you.
About the café.
About the way you smile when he walks in.
He goes less now. Not because he wants to, but because he can’t always make it. And when he does, it’s quick. A rushed hello, a coffee, a promise thrown over his shoulder—
“I’ll be at the party. Even if it’s just for a bit.”
He means it.
Tonight, he barely makes it.
He crawls in through the window, landing harder than usual, breath uneven. His suit is torn again, darker this time where blood has soaked through. He winces, peeling it off carefully, tossing it aside as he drops onto the edge of his bed.
For a few minutes, he just sits there.
Waiting.
Letting his body do what it always does—healing faster than it should, the worst of it fading just enough to function.
It’s not perfect.
It never is.
But it’ll do.
Mark stands, moving quickly now. Shower, clothes, hands running through his hair until it looks somewhat intentional. He pulls on a white shirt, then a denim jacket, matching jeans—something casual, something that doesn’t scream I just got out of a fight.
A little cologne.
Just enough.
He stops in front of the mirror.
For a second, he just… looks.
At himself.
At the version of him standing there trying to piece together something normal out of a life that isn’t.
There’s a strange feeling in his chest.
Like he’s pretending.
Like he’s stepping into a role he used to know by heart but doesn’t quite fit anymore.
His old life isn’t waiting for him.
It’s gone.
This, whatever this is now, is new.
Different.
And whether he likes it or not—
It’s all he has.
Mark exhales slowly, straightening his jacket.
“…Do it right this time,” he murmurs.
Then he leaves.
Donghyuck’s place smells exactly the same.
The second Mark walks in, it hits him—familiar, warm, a mix of something sweet and something faintly burnt like someone forgot about food in the oven at some point.
“Hey!” Donghyuck’s voice cuts through immediately.
Before Mark can even properly step inside, he’s being pulled in, a drink shoved into his hand.
“You made it,” Donghyuck says, like he’s half-surprised.
“Told you I would,” Mark replies, smiling.
“Yeah, yeah. Come on.”
He doesn’t get a chance to look around much before Donghyuck is dragging him toward the TV, already setting up a game.
“You’re playing.”
Mark barely has time to protest.
And he’s terrible.
Actually terrible.
Donghyuck is relentless about it, laughing, trash-talking, fully in his element while Mark fumbles through controls like he’s never held one before.
“At least pretend you’ve played a game in your life,” Donghyuck says.
“I have,” Mark mutters.
“Clearly not well.”
Mark huffs, shaking his head, but there’s something easy about it. Something light.
He glances to the side.
And sees you.
You’re across the room, laughing.
Not just smiling—really laughing, head tilted slightly, eyes bright.
There’s a guy standing close to you. Someone Mark doesn’t recognize.
And he’s leaning in.
Too close.
Saying something that makes you laugh again.
Mark’s grip tightens around the controller.
He tells himself it’s nothing.
Just a conversation. Just a party.
But then the guy reaches out, brushing a piece of hair away from your face.
Something in Mark snaps.
He doesn’t think. Doesn’t pause.
He’s already standing before he realizes it, crossing the room in a few quick steps.
“Hey.”
You turn, startled for a split second before your face lights up.
“Mark—hi.”
You step forward immediately, hugging him without hesitation.
And this time, he doesn’t freeze.
His arms wrap around you instantly, holding you just a little tighter than necessary, his eyes lifting over your shoulder locking onto the guy.
There’s something in his stare. Sharp. Unreadable.
Enough to make the guy shift uncomfortably, then mumble something about getting another drink before walking away.
Mark doesn’t look back at you until he’s gone.
When he does, your expression has changed.
You’re studying him.
“Are you okay?” you ask, brows knitting together slightly. “There’s… blood on your eyebrow.”
Mark almost groans.
Of course there is.
“I—yeah, it’s nothing,” he says quickly.
But you’re already reaching for his hand.
“Come on.”
You don’t give him time to argue, pulling him down the hallway, into Donghyuck’s room. It’s quieter there, the noise of the party muffled behind the door.
You sit him down on the bed.
Mark’s pulse spikes.
This is—
Too close.
Too familiar.
His hands rest awkwardly on his knees, trying not to think about how you’re standing between them, how close you are, how easy it would be to just—
No.
You disappear for a second, then come back with a damp tissue.
“Hold still,” you say softly.
You step closer.
Closer than before.
Your hand comes up, cupping his face gently as you tilt his head slightly toward the light.
Mark’s breath catches.
This is wrong.
Not wrong in a bad way.
Wrong because it feels too right.
Because his body remembers this even if you don’t.
The way you touch him like it’s natural.
The way you focus on him like nothing else matters.
His chest tightens.
He jerks back suddenly, pulling away.
“I can—finish it,” he says quickly, voice a little strained.
You pause, then nod, handing him the tissue. “Okay.”
There’s a small shift in the air.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… aware.
You clear your throat, stepping back slightly.
“This might be a weird question,” you say, glancing at him. “But do you have a girlfriend?”
Mark blinks.
“No.”
“Have you dated recently?”
He hesitates, then nods. “Yeah.”
You hum softly, watching him.
“Oh.”
“What?” he asks, a little defensive without meaning to.
You shrug, but there’s something thoughtful in your expression. “I don’t know. You just… seem kind of heartbroken.”
Mark lets out a small, surprised laugh. “What?”
“I mean it in a nice way,” you add quickly. “Like—you’re trying to move on. Which is good. But it feels like something’s still… holding you back.”
He doesn’t respond.
Can’t.
Because you’re right.
“Whoever she was,” you continue, softer now, “she must’ve been really special.”
Mark looks down at the tissue in his hand, the faint smear of red against white.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “She was.”
There’s a beat.
Then he exhales, forcing a small smile like it’s easier this way.
“But it’s in the past.”
You nod slowly, like you understand, even if you don’t fully know what you’re understanding. The moment lingers for a second longer than it should, then you shift your weight and turn toward the door.
“Okay, well—”
Your foot catches on nothing.
Or maybe the edge of the rug.
You don’t even register it properly before your balance goes, a small gasp leaving you as you pitch forward—
And Mark is already there.
He stands up at the same time, one arm coming out instinctively, catching you around the waist with a steadiness that feels almost too easy. Like he’s done it a hundred times before. Like your weight doesn’t even faze him.
Your hands fly up, grabbing onto his arms to steady yourself.
And for a second—
You freeze.
Because—
He’s strong.
Not just in a vague way. Not just “he works out sometimes” strong. His arm under your hand is firm, solid, like muscle layered over muscle, like he’s built for something more than just sitting in cafés and writing in notebooks.
Your breath catches slightly.
“Thanks,” you say after a second, a little quieter than before.
------------------
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I miss you mark <3
