Jungkook groans inwardly as he runs the length of a building’s roof, huffing and puffing softly to not let his exhaustion show. Cindy Moon, who has been very suspicious of his comings and goings for the past few weeks, would become even more suspicious if she hears him panting.
At the last second, his feet on the ledge, he leaps and performs a perfect somersault mid-air. Instinctively, he shoots a webline, feels it go taut, and swings across town. Once upon a time, he would have felt nauseous and beyond frightened. Now, as Spider-Man, he enjoys the thrill swinging offers and is certain there’s no better feeling in the world. And he would be indulging in the gravity-less sensation if it weren’t for Cindy’s voice stirring him into reality.
“Earth to Jeon! Earth to Jeon!”
“Jeon to Earth,” he replies, almost shouting as he flips mid-air and finds himself breathless. “Give me a—oof—give me a sec!”
“What are you doing?” Cindy’s voice is low, her tone questioning.
He can see her raising her eyebrow and giving him the Look. Jungkook chuckles—or at least tries to—and lands on top of a building overlooking Rockefeller Center. The enormous tree glows in a rainbow of festive colors and exudes an garish aura that’s rather common yet aloofly ignored by New Yorkers.
Below, on the ice rink, a handful of people skate with differing degrees of success and skill. He smiles. Despite the cold and the lack of warmth his suit provides, he enjoys swinging across Manhattan during the winter.
“I’m stargazing,” he lies easily, but is aware that Cindy won’t buy it.
“Stargazing?” Cindy repeats, incredulous. “In New York? Yeah, right.”
“You can still see the stars, y’know? If you’re in the right spot, that is.”
“Sure.” She scoffs and he feels her rolling her eyes. “If you say so . . .”
“Something in your mind, dear?”
“Loads but nothing that I can annoy you with,” she retorts. “Just wanted to see how you’re doing. Haven’t heard your croaking voice in a few days. Got kind worried that you might have gone missing or kidnapped or—”
“I’m alright, Cin.” Jungkook lifts his mask to take in the night’s cool breeze. “I’ve been a bit busy and what not.”
“Caught all your web in a bunch?”
He giggles then immediately panics. “Er—yeah—let’s go with that.”
“When are we going to meet up for a slice of pizza?”
That’s not a bad idea, he thinks. Jungkook pulls his sleeve back to check his watch, nodding to himself. A bit of time with friends might do him good. Matter of fact, it might do him more than good because nothing shady or dangerous has happened yet—not that he’s complaining—so taking off the tights might actually help him clear his head. Between being almost evicted, needing a new camera, and his job search proving to be rather fruitless, Jungkook feels like someone should cut him some slack.
“I have an hour to kill.” He pouts in a that-works kind of way. “Pizza sounds good right about now.”
Cindy sounds relieved as she asks, “The usual place?”
Jungkook smiles and pulls down his mask.
“Yes, ma’am.”
ALRIGHT, FOLKS, LET’S do this one more time . . .
His name is Jeon Jungkook. He was bitten by a radioactive spider. And for the past two years he’s been the one and only Spider-Man.
You know the rest.
He’s saved the city a couple of times. Well . . . he’s helped to save the city. Wormholes in the middle of Manhattan is an Avengers-level threat, and he’s just glad to lend a hand. He’s made enemies and allies, saved the girl, gotten beaten and pummeled and denounced as a menace. And yet here he is: looking out for the little guy.
Because no matter what’s thrown his way, no matter how many times he’s beaten down, Jeon Jungkook will stop at nothing to do the right thing.
Why you may ask?
‘Cause he’s Spider-Man.
Duh.
FOR THE PAST ten minutes or so, Cindy Moon has been silently waiting for Jungkook on their usual booth. After checking her phone and answering some texts, she decides it’s best to not obsess over her best friend calling or texting. Instead, she simply looks out the window and observes the snow fall and cover the parked cars and sidewalk white.
Christmas is a bittersweet season for Cindy Moon. To some it signifies unity or melancholy. To her, it’s a reminder of how dysfunctional her family is. Once, it was her favorite time of year: family dinners, charades, gift wrapping, and gift giving. It was a grand old time until it wasn’t. Ever since her father decided his work was far more important than his marriage or his children and his mother agreed it was best if they didn’t live under the same roof, things quickly deteriorated between them.
Cindy rarely ever sees her father and her conversations with her mother revolve around her academic achievements and failures. There isn’t much to celebrate there. She keeps contact with her brother, Albert Jr., if only to make sure he’s paving a steady path for himself. About an hour ago, he texted her—“merry christmas, sis”—and Cindy felt it was about time to have a siblings’ night out.
On the other hand, Christmas means spending time with the Jeons. It means being part of a family that has stuck together in spite of the circumstances, in spite of the cards they’ve been dealt. Aunt Mai, a blessing among blessings, had taken in Cindy and treated her like a daughter of her own since she and Jungkook became friends in the third grade.
So despite her mixed feelings about the season, despite the occasional heavy and melancholic sighs she reserves for when she's on her own, Cindy chooses to focus and accentuate the positives. Which is why she’s immediately all smiles and blushed cheeks when she sees Jungkook enter Stanley’s with a confident if casual strut that’s eerily familiar.
“Hey, Joan,” he waves at one of the waitresses, smiling that cheeky smile of his. “Merry Christmas!”
Joan, a thin woman in her mid-fifties with a stern but loving face, can’t help but smile and wave back at him.
“Someone’s feeling jolly, huh?”
Jungkook chuckles, aiming finger guns at her. “I’m feeling very festive.”
“I can tell,” says Joan, shaking her head.
Cindy watches with a half-smile as he saunters in her general direction without looking and sits down opposite her with the biggest smile he could muster. Though he’s clearly exhausted, he’s beaming. She feels relieved to see him. As a result, she’s willing, albeit reluctantly, to ignore the cut above his right eyebrow or the broken lip he’s poorly concealing.
“Hey,” Jungkook whispers, leaning in to kiss her on the forehead.
“Hey,” she whispers back, blushing. “Did you—”
She finds herself speechless when he takes off the wool toque Aunt Mai knitted for him two Christmases ago. Cindy immediately notices two things: (1) his left temple is bruised, though patched up and (2) he’s grown his hair out since she last saw him. It suddenly dawns on her that it’s been over three weeks since they were this close.
His blond hair, which almost reaches his shoulders, is pulled back by a headband and partly tied in a bun. Cindy admits that while she initially wasn’t a fan of the dyed hair, the look had certainly grown on her. He’s covered in layers that conceal his lean physique—which Cindy has shamelessly peeked at more than once—and wearing those damn Timberland boots he never seems to take off.
Taken aback yet conscious of her sudden hesitation, she asks, “Were—were you nearby?”
His eyes widen for a second, as though caught by surprise, but he recovers by shrugging. Cindy scrutinizes his gaze to ensure he doesn’t look away. She discovered that his tell whenever he lies is avoiding eye contact like a cat avoids water.
“A few blocks away, yeah.” Jungkook keeps his eyes fixed on her. “I managed to not fall flat on my ass. Which is why I’m here in one piece.”
Cindy makes a face. A likely story, she muses. “Don’t tell me you ran all the way up here,” she exclaims, feigning concern.
“Oh, no.” He shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand. “Running on snow is dangerous.”
She rolls her eyes but relents from rubbing the bridge of her nose or facepalming. “Yeah, no shit,” she mumbles.
“No, yeah shit,” he mumbles back, speaking through the side of his mouth. “It’s a miracle I’m here . . .”
She raises an eyebrow in disbelief. Knowing him, he’s preparing to come with something lame. She anticipates a pun or a Dad joke, but she’s really never prepared for his wisecracks. Do your worst, Jeon Jungkook, she thinks.
“A Christmas miracle!”
Cindy groans yet cracks a smile despite her disgust. Her amusement is cut short and replaced by a strong bout of blushing when she feels him holding her hands. Jungkook is laughing, crinkled eyes, nose scrunched-up. She simply stares at him, feeling nothing but affection for her best friend.
In spite of everything he had gone through, Jungkook had managed to maintain his sense of humor. He isn’t an optimist but he isn’t a pessimist either; he maintains he’s a realist, even if he tries and fails to properly handle reality. Cindy finds this endearing because he’s the first to admit he’s a “a giant messy mess” and simply trying his best to deal with things as they happen.
“You and your lame-ass—”
Jungkook pouts and playfully smacks her wrist. “That hurts my feelings,” he whines.
Cindy blinks in confusion. “And that hurt my wrist,” she whispers between gritted teeth.
“Good.” He suddenly smiles. “We’re both in pain then.”
“Why?”
“Haven’t you heard? Sharing is caring.”
Cindy pushes her tongue against her cheek and shakes her head. “That’s only right when it concerns food,” she points out, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
“Or money.”
“Or soju.”
“Yah!” Jungkook dramatically claps, bowing his head in reverence. He lays his right hand on his chest then points to Cindy with his left. “A girl after my own heart.”
“I’ll always be your ideal woman.”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “Damn right. And I’ll always be your ideal man.”
“If by ideal you mean flaky and a social messy mess . . .” She trails off, eyeing his reaction. He gapes at her, mouth open in outrage “Then you’re definitely the man of my dreams.”
“Really?”
Cindy bursts out laughing then abruptly stops, narrowing her eyes at him.
“No,” she deadpans.
“Well, shit,” Jungkook mumbles.
He pretends to deflate by pouting. Cindy giggles, remembering their childhood together. He had always been the shy kid that would inevitably display a plethora of talents and qualities once he warmed up to others; he was always smiling or looking after his friends. His pout reminds her of the first time they met and how quickly she became endeared to him.
“Did you order already?” he asks, shrugging off a thick black coat.
Cindy nods, as if to say duh. “Medium pizza. Half-pepperoni, half-supreme.”
“Nice.” Jungkook takes off his gloves and rubs his hands together, blowing into them. “The old reliable.”
“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
Jungkook nods, smiling from ear to ear. Cindy doesn’t understand why, but she doesn’t mind that he was a few minutes late or that he’s trying, but not succeeding in concealing injuries. She rarely accepts the bare minimum, but she knows—she’s certain—that he’s trying. Plus it’s good to be with him, face to face, instead of wondering what in the world he’s up to whenever his texts are monosyllabic or his calls consist of hey, how are you and that’s cool, glad to hear your voice and sorry, kinda busy, call you later.
And, yeah, sure, she worries more than she should or cares to admit, but who the hell could blame her? At this point, Jungkook has been nothing if not flaky, jittery, and almost nonexistent. A ghost! She’s beginning to think that getting a glimpse of him should be a lifetime achievement award.
Fuck Waldo and Carmen Sandiego, he’s giving them a run for their money, she thinks whenever he leaves her on read or answers her calls only to hang up thirty seconds with a suspicious and lame excuse. Yeah, somehow, not sure when or how, she’s become a player of Where in All of New York is Jeon Jungkook and she’s far from being a fan.
Don’t forget to accentuate the positives, Aunt Mai’s voice echoes in her head. Cindy smiles ruefully and stifles a giggle at the notion that her conscience’s voice is Mai, and feels a bit awful that she often lists his flaws instead of acknowledging his qualities. He’s flaky and more ghost than man with how little she sees him, but when it counts—when it really counts—he will drop everything to be there for and with her.
So she decides to cut him some slack, forget about how he sounded when they talked earlier—out of breath and clearly hiding it—and simply enjoy her time with him now. Because she knows this type of occasion only happens once or twice a month.
And while Jungkook struggles with his own issues, whatever they might be since he doesn’t share, Cindy knows he’s been going through it. And she understands because she, too, has been doing her best not to lose her shit in her own life.
Both her professional and academic endeavors have been hectic and stressful. Her journalism professor, Mr. Ellison, recommended her to the Bugle’s cantankerous editor-in-chief despite her being wholly unqualified, and she hasn’t been able to shake the feeling that her interview will be a disaster. Then there’s her current job dilemma: wanting to quit but not being able to do it with the knowledge that, financially speaking, it’ll put her in a tight spot.
Accentuate the positives, dumbass, she scolds herself with a small shake of her head. Live in the now, worry later.
“Ground control to Major Moon! Ground control to Major Moon!”
She blinks, stirred from her reverie, and shakes her head as Jungkook snaps his fingers an inch from her face. He’s looking at her with a concerned expression, his brow furrowed, his lips pursed together to form a small pout.
“Lost you there for a second, chica,” he whispers, slowly smiling. “Where were you?”
Cindy shrugs and taps her forehead. “Up here, I guess.”
“Huh.” He nods and his smile falters. “Almost a world away.”
She opens her mouth to respond but instead just smiles and reaches out to hold his hand. Without meaning to, she squeezes it and intertwines her fingers with his. He doesn’t resist or look at her hand; he just goes with it, beaming at her.
Cindy wishes against all hope that when she sees him again he won’t have a gash on his face, a bandage on his arms, or an inexplicable limp that he tries so very hard to hide. She wants this moment to last forever . . . to see him more often . . . to not worry about him whenever he says he’ll call but doesn’t . . . to not immediately panic whenever Mai calls or texts asking her if she’s seen or heard from him.
She wishes for a lot of things, far more than she’d care say out loud, fully aware that they won’t come true. And yet she holds on—as tightly as she can, for as long as she can—because life has taught her that wishes are nothing without a conscious effort behind them. She closes her eyes and squeezes his hand again, muttering a prayer to whoever might be listening to keep Jungkook out of harm’s way.
Cindy doesn’t know why she feels like he needs protection or why he might be way over his head or why she feels so suspicious, but part of her knows with extreme certainty that he suspects she knows something’s up. She’s never asked and she’d never pose her suspicions to him, no matter how desperately she wants to do so.
More than once she’s relented from having that conversation with him, fearing that if she did he’d put more distance between them than he already does. And if he’s keeping me at arm’s length, it means he’s doing the same to Mai, Cindy thinks as Jungkook caresses her wrist with his thumb.
“Are you still here, Cin?”
“Sorta.” Cindy smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
She averts her gaze, pretends to check her phone and not think about the way his smile completely vanishes when he notices a flash of sadness pass through her face.
“Cin . . .” he whispers, gently brushing her bangs off her eyes. “What’s up?”
“Loads,” she sighs and just as quickly shrugs. “Yet nothing to worry about.”
Jungkook frowns. “Hmm,” he mumbles, but doesn’t inquire any further. He knows better than to push, knows that it’s best if Cindy opens up on her own. He doesn’t like it—hates it, as a matter of fact—but understands that no one is willing to vent their frustrations as easily as Aunt Mai or Jimin. He makes a mental note to remind himself to text her something to cheer up when was done patrolling the streets.
There you are again . . . focusing on the wrong thing, he thinks and rubs his forehead. He clears his throat, ready to change the topic, when he feels a shadow fall over him and he instinctively turns, only to see Joan bringing them their pizza. She places the tray and plates with such ease and expertise that neither of them notice the playful, knowing look on her face. From her apron, she slips them napkins, straw, and a handful of Cindy’s favorite mint chocolates.
“Here you go, kiddos,” she says, a small smile tugging at her lips. “The old reliable.”
Cindy beams at her, letting go of Jungkook’s hand to rub her hands in anticipation. “This looks delicious,” she replies in a giddy voice.
Joan winks at her, as if to say of course it does, then says, “I’ll bring your drinks in a sec.”
“Thanks,” they chorus, nodding in gratitude.
“Let’s eat well, huh?” Cindy proposes, lifting her slice.
Jungkook smiles, nodding.
“Let’s.”
HE FOLLOWS HER home, frantically swinging to keep up with her, and feeling like a creep for doing so.
Between the cold and her pace, Jungkook’s beginning to think making sure she arrived alright works better as an idea rather than actually going through with it. But, oh well, here is: shooting webline after webline, taking sudden dives, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, or crawling through dark alleys to make sure she doesn’t get a glimpse of her.
Jesus Christ, she’s practically sprinting, he muses while taking hard left and veers a bit off route to take a shortcut. Does she always walk this fast?
To his utter surprise, he arrives first. He crouches on the edge of the apartment building opposite Cindy’s and watches her turn the corner and walk up to her brownstone. She expertly manages to open the lobby’s door despite carrying a box of Stanely’s pizza in one hand and balancing the rucksack that’s hanging off her left shoulder.
Jungkook allows himself to sigh, and his shoulders sag as a weight lifts off them. A second later, his phone buzzes with a text. He doesn’t have to guess it’s her as he pulls it out of his boot to answer.
The text reads:
it’s moon girl: i’m home. thank u for tonite.
He smiles, sends her a reverse UNO card sticker, and wishes her a good night’s sleep.
After glancing at her apartment window, Spider-Man sighs and leaps into the night.
IT’S COLD.
Cold, snowing, and too damn quiet.
And Jungkook stands there, watching the snow fall, standing in front of the grave of the man that raised him.
The headstone reads:
BENJAMIN J. JEON — Beloved Husband and Uncle — 1975–2019
He stares at it, clenching his jaw beneath his mask, doing his best not to cry. But sometimes trying to be strong in the face of tragedy and pain, trying to keep your emotions bottled up, proves to be the hardest thing you could do. Which is why Jungkook doesn’t pretend to be strong as he kneels and tentatively lays a hand on the marble headstone.
“Hey, Uncle Ben,” he whispers, slowly lifting his head. “Merry Christmas.”
He tries to find the right words, but he comes up empty. There are no words to express how much he misses him, how much he wishes he’d be by his side right now, and how much he’d give anything to show him he’s been trying his damndest to make him proud. But Jungkook—the one and only Spider-Man—is speechless and overwhelmed by a bout of melancholy and uncertainty.
He tries to visit as often as he can—Uncle Ben’s anniversary, Chuseok, Christmas Eve, and New Year’s are days he never misses—but it feels like it’s never enough. And though Christmas Eve is only a few days away, he feels compelled to visit him . . . to say something and alleviate the guilt he always carries . . . to be reminded of why he puts on the suit in the first place.
Jungkook sighs, lifts the mask to wipe away the tears, and rests his head on the headstone. Spider-Man is gone and is replaced by a kid shouldering the weight of the world, struggling with great power and the responsibility that comes with it. He remains there, quietly sobbing and muttering under his breath, for what feels like an eternity. He doesn’t move, doesn’t talk, just allows himself to mourn all over again.
“I miss you . . .” Jungkook admits in a soft, broken voice. “And I’m doing my best to keep my shit together . . . doing my best to make you and Mai proud.” He lifts his head, smiling ruefully. “I’ll keep trying, y’know? Keep my head held high, be the best version of myself. Because no matter how many times I get hit, I’ll pick myself up.”
Jungkook pulls down the mask and stands up, his hand still resting on the grave. He takes a second to let the moment sink in. With one small nod, he says goodbye.
