Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Donghyuck’s morning didn’t start with coffee; it started with the realization that the world is a fucking joke.

The first thing he heard was silence. A dead, ringing silence instead of his usual moronic ringtone. Frantically slapping his palm against the nightstand, he fumbled for his phone. The black screen met him with cold indifference. Dead. Dammit.

"Fuck!" Donghyuck croaked, bolting out of bed as if the mattress had caught fire beneath him.

One look at the wall clock and his stomach dropped. He had overslept by forty minutes. A second catastrophe awaited him in the bathroom: his favorite school blazer, which he’d washed last night hoping to look like a normal human being, was hanging on the drying rack completely damp.

There was no time. Donghyuck pulled on the clammy, cold piece of fabric, wincing at how the material clung unpleasantly to his skin. He could forget about breakfast. He flew out of his room, trying to rake a comb through his hair on the go—it felt more like he was tearing out clumps than actually brushing it.

The kitchen was suspiciously cozy. His mother stood by the stove, stirring something fragrant. Noticing his frantic state, she broke into the sunniest smile imaginable.

"Mom, why the hell didn't you wake me up?!" he started, his voice shifting into a pathetic, almost childish tone on the verge of a breakdown. "I'm late, it's a total disaster!"

"Oh, you were sleeping so sweetly, sunshine," she said, calmly turning off the stove. "Besides, you still have time. I can give you a ride, stop shouting."

Donghyuck exhaled, but he didn't feel any calmer. The whole way there, he sat with his arms crossed, glaring at the road while the damp shoulders of his blazer slowly soaked through his T-shirt.

He burst into the school at the exact second the bell began its shrill scream. Racing down the hallway, he practically tumbled into the classroom, catching the weary gaze of the history teacher.

"Haechan, so you’ve graced us with your presence?" the teacher dryly remarked.

Donghyuck ignored the jab and slumped into his desk, nearly clipping his neighbor.

"Hey, dude," came a toxic whisper from behind. Renjun gripped his shoulder with a death stare, right where the blazer was still wet. "Why weren't you picking up? I thought you got hit by a fucking car. Honestly, I wish you had, because why the hell weren't you answering my calls?!"

Renjun looked ready to deck him right then and there. An angry Renjun was a nightmare, but Donghyuck had reached his own limit of patience today.

"Man, sorry, my phone died and I overslept," Donghyuck snapped back. Noticing the history teacher opening his mouth to scold them, he quickly straightened his back, putting on his best "diligent student" face. "Now, piss off," he added, roughly shoving his friend's hand off his shoulder.

The lesson dragged on like cheap gum. The teacher was droning on about Ancient Rome, Gladiators, and other bullshit that Donghyuck didn't give a single flying fuck about. But the main problem wasn't Julius Caesar. The problem was his bladder. The morning bathroom trip he’d skipped in his rush was now making itself known with a sharp ache.

Donghyuck couldn't take it. He snapped his hand up, interrupting the monologue about the Senate.

"Teacher, can I go out? Please. It’s an emergency."

The old man looked at him over his glasses, clearly thinking Donghyuck was an absolute hopeless case.

"Go on, Haechan. It’s not like you’re gaining anything here anyway..."

Donghyuck didn't stick around for the end of the sentence. He shot out of the classroom like a bullet. The hallways were empty, the sound of his sneakers echoing off the walls. Diving into the restroom, he nearly took the stall door off its hinges.

He scrambled inside, reaching for his belt on the fly, but before he could even slide the latch shut, he felt a powerful shove to his back.

"Hey! What the—" he yelped.

Someone had followed him in, brazenly squeezing into the cramped space. Donghyuck began to struggle, trying to shove the intruder out.

"Listen, are you fucking crazy? There's no room!"

But the guy opposite him was surprisingly strong. He simply forced Donghyuck to sit down on the toilet lid, blocking the exit with his body.

Donghyuck froze. His level of shock had surpassed all measurable limits. He looked up and saw a guy in round glasses. The face was unfamiliar. He looked like a typical nerd-overachiever, but what he was doing right now defied all common sense. Donghyuck had reached "God Level" of confusion. If it had been Renjun or Jeno, he would have just laughed and punched them in the gut. But this was a total stranger who had violated his personal space at the most intimate moment of preparation for relief.

The guy stayed silent for about three seconds, feverishly fumbling through his jacket pockets. Finally, he pulled his hand out and, looking Donghyuck straight in the eye, blurted out:

"Got a lighter?"

The silence in the stall became palpable. Donghyuck felt his eye twitch. So, he ruined my moment of glorious urination just to ask if I have a lighter? Is he a dumbass?

"Are you fucking insane?" Donghyuck’s voice trembled with a mix of rage and disbelief.

"Excuse me, but who the fuck bursts into a stranger's stall with a question like that?! Especially in a men’s room when I’m about to piss myself! Do you even realize what you're doing, you dumbass?"

The four-eyed guy seemed to only just register reality. His eyes widened behind his lenses until they were the size of saucers. He looked at Donghyuck, then at the closed door, then at his own hands.

At that moment, the bell for the break rang in the distance. Loud and life-saving.

The guy didn't say a word. He just bolted out of the stall, nearly ripping the door off its hinges.

Donghyuck was left sitting on the toilet in total silence, still clutching his fly.

"What the fuck was that?.." he whispered looking at the closed door.

A week had passed since that batshit incident in the bathroom. Donghyuck had honestly tried to find that four-eyed dipshit in the hallways, just to look him in the eye and ask: “Dude, what were you on?” but the guy seemed to have vanished into thin air. High school is a massive anthill, and if you aren’t the football captain or a local freak, it’s easier to get lost than it is to pass a history exam with that senile old teacher.

Donghyuck lived his usual life. Mornings were a struggle with his pillow; days were spent trying not to die of boredom during lessons to the accompaniment of Renjun’s roasting; evenings were for gaming until his eyes started to bleed. The stall incident gradually faded from his memory, turning into just another funny story he’d tell the guys over lunch.

“I’m telling you, he seriously burst in and asked for a lighter while I was practically holding it in!” Donghyuck laughed, shoving a piece of pizza that tasted like cardboard into his mouth.

“Have you even seen him since?” Renjun squinted mockingly. “What are you gonna do when you meet him? What if you freeze up again?”

“Fuck off, Jun. Just wait until we see him, and I’ll show you what happens when people pull that shit,” Donghyuck retorted, acting like he had a master plan.

A typical Tuesday. The sun was blazing as if it had decided to fry the city to a crisp. After school, Donghyuck was waiting for his mom in the parking lot as usual. She’d promised to pick him up so they could hit the mall for new sneakers—his old ones looked like they’d survived the vietnam war.

When his mom’s car—an old but clean Honda—pulled up to the gates, Donghyuck hopped into the passenger seat, tossing his backpack on the floor.

“Hey, Mom. Ready?”

“Hey, honey. Tired? You look like you got run over by a truck full of textbooks,” she smiled, pulling onto the main road.

“Yeah, something like that. I just want to eat really bad.”

They pulled onto the large bridge connecting their district to the city center. It was a typical traffic jam: hundreds of cars, honking, heat haze over the asphalt, and bored drivers picking their noses. Donghyuck plugged in his headphones, turned on some aggressive hip-hop, and closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the cool glass.

He had no idea that in five minutes, his life would turn into a fucking Michael Bay movie.

The first sign that everything was going south wasn't a sound. It was a vibration.

At first, Donghyuck thought something was wrong with the Honda’s engine, but a second later he realized the entire bridge was shaking. The massive concrete pillars groaned with a hollow thud. Donghyuck ripped his headphones out.

“Mom? What the hell is that?”

She didn't have time to answer. Fifty meters ahead, the asphalt suddenly buckled as if a giant mole was crawling underneath. The cars in front were tossed into the air like toys. A deafening explosion followed. The sound hit his ears so hard that his head felt like it hit a vacuum for a moment.

“Holy shit!” Donghyuck screamed, bracing himself against the seat.

Right in the middle of the bridge, a figure emerged from a cloud of dust and smoke. It was something huge, metallic, with a bunch of mechanical tentacles or whatever the hell they were, crushing everything in its path. The creature—either a robot or a mutant in armor—simply hurled a sedan toward the river like it was an empty Coke can.

“Get out! Donghyuck, get out of the car, fast!” his mother yelled, her voice trembling with terror.

They scrambled out. Chaos reigned. People were screaming, abandoning their cars, running back, tripping and shoving one another. The smell of burning, scorched rubber, and gasoline instantly filled his lungs.

Donghyuck grabbed his mother’s hand, trying to navigate through the labyrinth of abandoned vehicles. Something exploded again behind them. A massive chunk of concrete flew over their heads, crushing the roof of a car nearby.

“Faster, Mom, don't look back!” he yelled, feeling his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

At that moment, the bridge shuddered again. That monster in the center—some techno-maniac in a green exoskeleton—struck a support pillar with a massive mechanical hammer. A section of the bridge began to tilt. Donghyuck’s mother tripped, her leg catching in a crack in the asphalt. She fell, crying out in pain.

“Mom!” Donghyuck lunged toward her, trying to pull her leg free. His mind was a frantic loop of fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

The villain turned around. The lenses on his helmet glowed red. He noticed them. To him, they were just debris in his path to destroying the city. He swung his mechanical claw, preparing to bring a nearby pole down on them.

Donghyuck looked around in a panic. His hand landed on an iron rod that had snapped off the railing. He gripped it until his knuckles turned white. The fear was paralyzing, but an animalistic rage woke up inside him.

“Come on then, you asshole!” he spat, shielding his mother with his body. “Just try and touch her!”

And just as the steel claw began its downward arc, something white and sticky flew in out of nowhere.

The claw froze in mid-air, encased in thick webbing. The villain jerked in confusion, but the web held fast.

“Hey, Iron-butt! Didn't anyone tell you that attacking women and kids is seriously not cool?” a bright, slightly muffled voice rang out.

Donghyuck looked up. Hanging from a surviving lamppost above them was Spider-Man. The real deal. He looked unreal: the red and blue suit glistened in the sun, and the white lenses of his eyes narrowed as he locked onto the target.

Spidey dropped down, landing right in front of them.

“Okay, you’re gonna want to hold on tight.”

Before Donghyuck could utter a word, Spider-Man scooped them both up. He wrapped one arm around Donghyuck and the other around his mother.

Donghyuck felt his stomach drop into his shoes. They took flight. This wasn't like flying in a plane—it was a sharp, daring acceleration that took his breath away. The wind whipped his face as wrecked cars and the river blurred below. A few seconds later, Spider-Man gently set them down on a safe stretch of road behind a police cordon, where cops and ambulances were already gathering.

“Stay here. It’s safe,” Spidey tossed over his shoulder.

“Now, let’s deal with you,” Spider-Man said, soaring back toward the epicenter of the chaos.

What followed next was cooler than any blockbuster. The villain, whom someone called Scorpion or something like that, roared and fired a stream of acid from his tail. Spider-Man did an impossible mid-air flip, dodging the stream which instantly melted a hole in the asphalt.

“Missed me!” Spidey taunted.

He moved like mercury. Fast, elusive, he coated the robot's sensors in webbing, blinding him. Scorpion went berserk, smashing everything in sight, but Spider-Man was everywhere and nowhere at once.

He slid under the giant’s legs, stuck a web to his tail, and yanked. The metal construct clanged, and the villain lost his balance. Spidey didn't waste a second: he soared up, anchored himself to two different bridge supports, and, using himself as a slingshot, slammed both feet into the enemy’s chest plate.

The impact was so strong the armor cracked. Sparks flew in every direction. The finale was epic. Spidey bound the villain's legs with thick web cables, attached the other end to a falling truck, and used the leverage to force the Scorpion's rig to collapse into an awkward heap. A few more hits, a series of precise web shots into the armor's joints—and the metal monster went silent, turning into a pile of useless scrap.

A relative silence settled over the bridge, broken only by the wail of sirens. Paramedics had already reached Donghyuck’s mother and began administering first aid. Donghyuck made sure she was going to be okay, but his gaze was locked on the figure in the middle of the bridge.

Spider-Man stood on top of a wrecked truck, breathing heavily. His suit was covered in dust and torn in places. Immediately, reporters with cameras swarmed like vultures. Fans ran up from below, screaming his name.

“Hey, Spidey! Over here!”

“Any comment on the attack?”

“Can we get a selfie?!”

The hero clearly felt out of his element under the camera lights. He started to back away, preparing to bail. Donghyuck, not knowing why, broke into a run. He scrambled over the wreckage, jumping over chunks of concrete.

“Hey! Wait!” he shouted, out of breath.

Spider-Man had already fired a web at a high arch of the bridge and was about to pull himself up. Hearing the shout, he froze for a second and turned around.

Donghyuck stopped ten meters away. He looked a mess: his blazer was torn (the same one that had been wet), his face was dirty, and his hair was a disaster.

“Wait... uh... thanks a lot. Seriously. For my mom... and everything. You’re cool, dude.”

Spider-Man tilted his head to the side, as if he recognized him. In the corner of his mask, where his mouth should be, a slight smile was visible by the way the fabric stretched. He gave Donghyuck a short nod, a playful two-finger salute, and gave the web a sharp tug.

“Take care of yourself, kid!” drifted back to Donghyuck as the red-and-blue figure vanished from sight.

After the hell on the bridge, Donghyuck’s life turned into a strange, blurry mess. But reality quickly grounded him back into the school routine, where the main problem wasn't a monster's steel claw, but an upcoming test and a party at the house of a dude named Lucas.

Actually, Donghyuck hadn't planned on going anywhere. His ideal Saturday night consisted of his console, a bag of chips, and zero contact with the outside world. But Renjun and Jeno had other plans.

"Come on, Hyuck," Renjun whined, practically hanging off his friend’s shoulder. "Your mom will let you go if we tell her we’ll look after you."

In the end, these two "angels" stood before his mother with such honest faces that Donghyuck felt sick to his stomach. They promised to bring him home in one piece, safe, sound, and "totally sober." Doubtful? Doubtful as fuck. But his mother gave in, and now they were standing in front of Lucas’s house, where the music was thumping so hard the foundation looked like it was about to crack.

Not even two hours had passed before Renjun and Jeno’s promises went up in the blue flames of cheap punch and tequila.

"So, where are the saints now?" Donghyuck muttered, pushing through a crowd of sweaty bodies.

He found them on the second floor in a half-empty room. Renjun was face-down on the carpet, hugging someone’s sneaker, and Jeno was stretched out on the bed, drooling and clearly dreaming of greatness.

"God, you guys are heavy," Donghyuck panted, dragging one hundred-kilogram body onto the bed, then hauling the second. "I’m going to make you pay for this, you fucking alcoholics."

Exhausted like a dog after this unplanned crossfit session, Donghyuck felt his throat go bone-dry. He needed something cold and preferably non-alcoholic, because driving these two home sober was already a quest—doing it drunk would be straight-up suicide.

He started heading downstairs. The staircase was packed with kissing couples he just wanted to boot out of the way. Donghyuck turned toward the kitchen, hoping to find at least some ice or water.

Boom!

He slammed into someone at full speed. Before Donghyuck could even yelp, he felt something sticky, ice-cold, and clearly staining pour all over his chest. He winced, feeling the moisture soak into the fabric of his brand-new white T-shirt—the one his mom just bought him, and the one she would definitely kill him for if she saw a stain.

Opening his eyes, he saw a catastrophe. A massive, bright-red cherry juice (or punch, who the fuck knows) stain was front and center. The shirt was toast.

Donghyuck looked up, taking a deep breath to unleash a torrent of choice curse words, and... froze. Right in front of him were those same goddamn round glasses. That familiar nerd-pervert face.

"Hey, what the—! You're that... that bathroom pervert!" Donghyuck yelled, pointing a finger as if he’d just seen the devil himself.

The music was blaring too loud, so his shout was only heard by those within a two-meter radius. A few people turned their heads, looking at them like a pair of freaks. The guy in the glasses flinched; his face was a mix of horror and a strange, intense focus.

Before Donghyuck could say another word about the bathroom incident, he felt his hand being grabbed. Hard. And he was being dragged.

"Whoa, easy! You're gonna break my arm, asshole!" Donghyuck tried to break free, but the four-eyed kid was pulling him with some kind of superhuman strength toward a closet or a utility room under the stairs. He managed to rip his hand away, but the guy was already shoving him into the dark room—ugh, flashbacks.

The door shut. The music immediately dimmed, muffled by the thick walls. That awkward silence set in—the kind that made Donghyuck’s teeth ache.

"What the hell is your problem?" Donghyuck squared his shoulders, trying to look intimidating even though his wet shirt was clinging to his skin, a constant reminder of the stain. "Are you completely out of your mind? First off, what the hell was that in the bathroom? Are you a maniac? A stalker? Second, you fucking owe me a T-shirt now! Do you have any idea how much this costs? My mom is gonna kill me!"

Four-eyes (Donghyuck still didn't know his name) stood there like a statue. He was staring at the floor as if trying to find a survival manual down there.

"Say something, weirdo! Who am I talking to?" Donghyuck started poking him in the chest, pressing harder with every jab. "Are you mute? Or is your brain stuck in your glasses?"

"Sorry," the guy finally croaked. His voice was quiet, but unexpectedly firm. "My bad. Really. The shirt... I’ll... I’ll handle it. And about the bathroom..."

He looked up at Donghyuck.

"That day, you were walking down the hall with your hand in your pocket. I just thought you were cutting class to go have a smoke. I didn't have a lighter, and I wanted a cigarette so bad my teeth were hurting."

Donghyuck froze. His finger stayed stuck in mid-air.

"Are you shitting me? Are you serious right now? You think everyone who goes to the bathroom during class is going there to light up? I actually, fucking really had to go!"

"Well, damn," the guy awkwardly adjusted his glasses. "You looked suspicious as hell. And you were walking so fast... I just figured we were on the same wave. Anyway, sorry. And I have a name. It’s Mark."

"I don't give a fuck who you are, Mark," Donghyuck grumbled, though his aggression began to simmer down into regular irritation.

"You owe me a shirt and moral compensation for my interrupted urination process."

Mark opened his mouth to respond, but suddenly his expression shifted violently. He froze, staring right through Donghyuck. His pupils constricted, and his head tilted slightly to the side, as if he were listening to something Donghyuck couldn't hear.

"Huh? Why'd you freeze up?" Donghyuck poked his shoulder again.

But Mark didn't answer. He just bolted out of the room like a bullet, nearly knocking Donghyuck off his feet with the door.

"Goddammit! What the hell?!" Donghyuck screamed after him, staring at the once-again closed door.

Chapter Text

Donghyuck wasn't the type to forgive an insult. And the fact that this four-eyed Mark had already left him in a state of total "what-the-fuckery" twice now—abandoning him mid-conversation first in the bathroom and then in the closet at the party—was nothing short of a declaration of war.

Donghyuck decided: it was time to teach this loser a lesson. If Mark thought he was some mysterious, edgy badass, he was about to have a very rough landing.

The morning started suspiciously bright. He didn't even have to hurl his alarm clock at the wall—Donghyuck jumped up on his own the second the first notes of his ringtone hit. He already had the perfect plan swirling in his head. He inhaled his breakfast, winked at his reflection in the mirror, and yanked open his desk drawer.

There, nestled among old pens and USB drives, lay his primary "instrument" of retribution—a brand new, still-sealed tube of superglue. "Krazy Glue," bitch. Permanent.

"Alright, four-eyes, today you're gonna learn what real life is like," Donghyuck muttered, tossing the tube into the deepest pocket of his backpack.

Time at school dragged on slower than ever. During math, Donghyuck nearly fell asleep sketching diagrams of bathroom stalls in the margins of his notebook. Renjun, as usual, was buzzing in his ear about some new RPG where you could level up elves, but Donghyuck was only half-listening.

During the long break, when the hallways filled with the screams of students and the smell of cheap cafeteria food, Donghyuck spotted that familiar slouched silhouette. Mark Lee, adjusting his eternal round glasses, was purposefully heading toward the men's room in the far wing.

"Oh, here we go," Donghyuck whispered to himself.

"Hey, where are you going?" Jeno shouted, but Donghyuck was already gone, leaving his friends in a state of total confusion.

He burst into the bathroom a few seconds after Mark. He heard the creak of a stall door. Without wasting a moment, Donghyuck followed right in, literally squeezing himself inside before Mark could lock it.

"You again?" Mark arched an eyebrow, clearly not expecting a round two. He was already clutching a cigarette, getting ready to light up.

Donghyuck quickly flicked the lock, cutting them off from the outside world.

"Listen, keep it down," Donghyuck whispered with the most serious face he could muster. "Bathroom checks are happening right now. The monitors and the math teacher are right around the corner. You better hurry up if you don't want to get kicked out in your first month."

Mark seemed to buy it. He flinched, nervously flicked his lighter (guess he had one this time), and started frantically inhaling, puffing out thick clouds of smoke in the tiny space.

"Do you even know how to smoke?" Mark suddenly asked, narrowing his eyes. There was something suspicious in that look.

"No, that shit's disgusting, smells like a dumpster," Donghyuck answered honestly, wrinkling his nose.

"Well, come here, let me teach you about life since we're trapped anyway," Mark smirked and suddenly grabbed Donghyuck by the arm, pulling him close.

Before Donghyuck could even let out a peep, Mark exhaled a thick, grey cloud of smoke right into his face. The acrid sting immediately filled his nostrils, seeping into his throat and lungs.

"Cough-cough! Fucker!" Donghyuck doubled over, falling into a violent coughing fit. "Are you a retard?! What the hell are you doing, you piece of shit?!"

His eyes watered, his head spun. Rage ignited instantly. As soon as Donghyuck could breathe normally, he threw himself at Mark without a second thought.

"I'll fucking kill you!" he screamed, grabbing the four-eyed kid by the shoulders.

There was no room to move in the cramped stall: they shoved, banged elbows against the walls, and nearly knocked the toilet tank off. Mark was surprisingly strong and agile—he skillfully dodged the blows—but Donghyuck was in full berserker mode. Right then, as they were tangled in some clumsy wrestling pose, Donghyuck realized: it was now or never.

He felt the tube in his pocket. The cap had already popped off during the struggle. While Mark was trying to pin his hands, Donghyuck twisted around and dumped the entire contents of the tube directly onto the back of Mark’s head and crown, rubbing the glue deep into his thick, brown hair.

"Take that, you prick!" Donghyuck hissed.

The moment the glue hit the hair, Donghyuck jerked away. He quickly straightened his crumpled blazer, brushed the dust off his pants, and while Mark stood there in a slight stupor, Donghyuck flicked the lock.

"Enjoy your stay, pervert!" he tossed over his shoulder and bolted out of the bathroom, trying his best not to laugh out loud at the top of his lungs in the middle of the hallway.

The unsuspecting Mark remained in the stall. He only felt a strange warmth on the back of his head but figured it was just sweat from the fight.

"He's so weird," Mark muttered, pulling out a second cigarette. He decided to smoke one more to calm his nerves before heading back to class.

Donghyuck, meanwhile, was practically flying down the corridor. He was bursting with triumph. Revenge had been served cold and very, very sticky. Imagining Mark trying to peel the glue off his hair or having to shave his head bald made Donghyuck feel like the king of the world.

For the rest of the school day, he was glowing like a polished copper coin. In class, he didn't even try to hide his grin, and when Renjun asked if he’d found buried treasure in the bathroom, Donghyuck just gave him a cryptic wink.

After school, he skipped all the way to the parking lot where his mom was waiting. He hopped into the front seat and slammed his backpack down with a thud.

"Sweetie?" His mom looked at him, surprised.

"You're suspiciously cheerful. Did something good happen at school? Get an A?"

Donghyuck stretched his lips into the widest, happiest smile he was capable of.

"Yeah, Mom. Something just... awesome."

His mom smiled back, pulling out onto the road. She had no idea her son had just committed the "crime of the century" against a four-eyed kid who was now probably googling how to dissolve superglue at home.

Donghyuck looked out the window at the city passing by, thinking about how tomorrow at school would be even funnier. Oh, he was definitely going to find Mark just to admire the results of his handwork.

"You have no idea who you messed with, glasses," he sang quietly under his breath, savoring the moment of absolute victory.

Mark Lee walked home feeling like a freight train had run him over, then shifted into reverse just to make sure the job was done. The grocery bags were killing his arms—milk, eggs, some greens his mom asked him to get for a salad. His head was throbbing from textbooks, and his lungs still held the faint aftertaste of that bathroom smoke, mixed with the scent of Donghyuck’s cheap cologne.

He desperately wanted a smoke. Right now. Just drop the bags on the sidewalk, pull out a crumpled pack, and take a hit. He was already reaching for his pocket when a familiar figure in a light coat flashed by the entrance ahead. Mom.

Mark reacted faster than he could think. His hand with the cigarettes dived back into his pocket instantly, and he plastered the most innocent expression possible on his face.

"Hey, Mom! Here, let me help," he said, grabbing her bags and trying his best not to breathe in her direction so she wouldn't catch the scent of tobacco.

At home, everything was the same as usual. The cozy smell of the kitchen, the ticking of the clock, the habitual chatter about how the day went. Mark's exhaustion began to fade in a strange way as he sat down for dinner. His mom talked about work, and he just listened, nodding and feeling a sense of warmth spread inside him.

After dinner, Mark decided to lie down for a bit. He collapsed onto the bed without even changing and stared at the ceiling. His thoughts were a mess. His debt to the city, exam prep, the endless bills he had to help his mom pay... and suddenly, in this stream of responsibility, Donghyuck’s face surfaced. That furious gaze, the messy hair, and that stupid confidence he had when he threw himself into a fight.

For a split second, the corners of Mark's eyes crinkled into a barely noticeable smile. There was something about that guy...

"Wait, stop. What the hell am I even thinking about?" Mark shook his head violently and tried to get up.

But the world had other plans. As soon as he jerked upward, his head was violently snapped back. There was a sickening sound of tension, and a sharp pain shot through the back of his head. Mark froze, holding his breath. It felt like his hair had been welded to the pillow or the headboard.

"What the..." He reached a hand back to his nape and touched something hard, cold, and absolutely immovable.

His fingers felt a crust. Rigid, sticky, and prickly. In an instant, the scene from the bathroom flashed through his mind: Donghyuck, the scuffle, some small bottle in his hand...

"Mom!" Mark yelled, feeling panic squeeze his throat with icy fingers. "Mom, get in here, please! Hurry!"

His mom ran into the room a second later, wiping her hands on a towel. She walked over to the bed, leaned over her son, and froze. Mark saw her eyebrows shoot up.

"Mark..." she said, gently touching his head. "Who did you piss off? Looks like someone really, really dislikes you."

"Mom, what is it?" Mark's voice was trembling. His mind was already picturing giant mutant lice or alien parasites deciding to nest on his scalp. "It's bad, isn't it?"

"It’s superglue, sweetie. And the cheap, industrial kind, too. You’re stuck to the pillowcase for good. Even solvent won't help here—we'd burn your skin."

Mark squeezed his eyes shut. The humiliation was total.

"Well..." his mom sighed and went to get the scissors. "We’re going to have to cut it. There’s no other way."

Five minutes later, Mark was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at clumps of his own hair mixed with pieces of a pillowcase. He held a mirror in his hands. Right in the center of the back of his head, stretching toward the crown, was an uneven, ugly bald spot. A hole. A literal hole in his perfect (well, almost) image.

"I’m going to fucking kill him," Mark whispered. His voice was quiet. "I swear to God, I’m going to destroy him."

The next morning, Mark stood in front of the barber shop. The money in his wallet was barely enough—the last few bucks he’d been saving for a new phone.

The old barber spent a long time clicking his tongue while examining Donghyuck’s "masterpiece."

"Oh, kid... there’s only one way out of this. We buzz the sides, and I’ll try to even out the top. We’ll also have to dye it a very dark color, almost black, to hide the texture difference in the damaged hair."

Mark just nodded, staring at his reflection. His old brownish hair, which had always been a bit of a mess, started hitting the floor. When the barber finished, Mark didn't recognize himself. A short, almost military buzz cut, deep coal-black color. He looked older.

"That’ll be fifteen bucks," the barber said.

Mark laid his last bills on the counter. Now he was officially broke and officially pissed off. A plan began to form in his head. He wasn't going to hit Donghyuck—that was too easy. He was going to put him through psychological terror.

A couple of days later, the school announced a mandatory event—a talent show. As luck would have it, Mark’s class had to perform with the choir.

When they stepped onto the stage in matching school vests, Mark immediately started scanning the audience for his mom. She had promised to come. But instead of her, his eyes landed on a painfully familiar back of a head in the third row.

Donghyuck was sitting next to Renjun and Jeno. He was animatedly discussing something until the choir began to sing. But as soon as the music started and Mark stepped forward, Donghyuck looked up.

Mark caught his eye. Donghyuck froze. His eyes widened. He clearly recognized Mark despite the new haircut and color. Mark saw Donghyuck swallow hard and look away.

Throughout the entire song, Mark didn't take his eyes off him. He sang every word of the school anthem as if it were a death curse. He was sending Donghyuck non-verbal signals:

“You’re dead.”

Donghyuck fidgeted in his seat. He tried looking at the ceiling, the floor, the guy next to him, but every time his gaze drifted back to the stage, he saw Mark. Mark, looking straight into his soul through his round lenses.

Renjun nudged Donghyuck in the ribs:

"Hey, what’s with the twitching? Look, is that the pervert up there? He’s literally staring at you like a psycho."

"Shut up, Jun," Donghyuck hissed, feeling a cold sweat run down his spine.

The song ended. The choir bowed. As Mark left the stage, he held Donghyuck’s gaze one last time and mouthed:

"Wait."

Donghyuck felt like tomorrow’s walk to school might be his last. School hallways during class hours have a strange, almost mystical atmosphere. The silence doesn't feel peaceful—it’s pulled tight like a string, ready to snap at any sound. Donghyuck walked along the tile, and the echo of his footsteps felt like a mockery. He could still feel Mark's piercing gaze from the auditorium stage. That look promised trouble, and Donghyuck, not being stupid, understood: the payback for the superglue would be long and sophisticated.

He needed to wash his face. His skin was burning, either from shame or some inexplicable excitement. He pushed open the bathroom door, hoping for solitude, but fate—in the form of Mark Lee—decided otherwise.

The door slammed shut behind him with a heavy, dull thud. Donghyuck didn't even have time to turn toward the sink before he felt a familiar force. Mark didn't hit him—he just efficiently pinned him against the door of that same third stall, which had already become their personal battlefield.

"Again?" Donghyuck exhaled, feeling the hard plastic of the door against his back.

Mark was silent. His new haircut made his features sharp. The dark hair color emphasized his pale skin and the strange glint in his eyes. He shoved Donghyuck inside and followed, clicking the lock. This time, Donghyuck didn't fight back. The exhaustion of the past few days and this endless tension broke his desire to immediately jump into a fight. He just gave in to the pressure and quietly sat down on the toilet lid, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What do you want?" he asked, looking at Mark’s chest, right at the small school emblem on his vest.

Mark stood right in front of him, looming like a dark cliff in the cramped space.

"I guess apologizing isn't really your thing, is it, Donghyuck?" Mark’s voice was steady, devoid of anger, which was much scarier than shouting.

Donghyuck snapped his head up. Resentment flared inside him like a cold flame.

"Apologizing? For what? You got what you deserved."

Mark smirked. That smile didn't bode well. He stepped forward until his knees almost touched Donghyuck’s.

"If you think you can scare me with your childish superglue stunts, you’re dead wrong. I don’t care about the hair; it’ll grow back. But I do care about manners."

"And who exactly is gonna scare me? You?" Donghyuck tried to pack as much sarcasm into his words as possible.

"Who said anything about scaring you?" Mark leaned down lower, closing the distance to a critical point. "As of today, I am officially in charge of your upbringing. Since your parents are apparently too soft and can't manage to raise you to be a decent human being, I’ll do it myself."

That was the last straw. The mention of his parents—especially after he almost lost his mom on the bridge—blew Donghyuck up from the inside. He lunged, landing a sharp blow to Mark’s shoulder, trying to push him away and break free.

A brawl broke out. In the tiny space of the stall, it didn't look like a fight; it was a tangle of rage and limbs. Donghyuck hit chaotically, furiously, putting all his desperation into every swing. But Mark... Mark was like a concrete wall. The prick was incredibly strong. Every move Mark made was calculated. He caught Donghyuck’s wrists, pinned his elbows to his torso, and with one smooth but undeniable movement, forced him back down onto the toilet.

"Sit. And. Stay. Quiet," Mark growled, holding his hands down.

Donghyuck breathed heavily, his hair a mess, angry tears stinging his eyes. He felt Mark’s superiority—not just physical, but moral.

"Fine, I give up! What do you want from me, you sadistic freak?"

Mark straightened up, adjusting his collar. He thoughtfully bit his lip, looking down at his defeated opponent.

"Hmm... For starters... call me 'Mark-hyung'."

Donghyuck froze. Showing respect to this guy?

"No. Way. You hear me? Never in my life!"

He tried to attack again, more successfully this time. Taking advantage of the fact that Mark relaxed for a second, Donghyuck ducked under his arm, yanked the latch, and bolted out of the bathroom like a bullet. He ran down the hallway as if the devil himself were chasing him, and only in history class, under Renjun’s confused stare, was able to stop and catch his breath.

Chapter Text

A few days passed. Donghyuck did his best to avoid Mark at all costs, but fate tripped him up yet again. Renjun and Jeno, who seemed to live by the motto “never a day without an adventure,” dragged him out to a party once more. Only this time, it wasn't a house party at Lucas’s place; it was a real nightclub in the city center.

The thumping bass beat a rhythm against his ribs, and the air was thick with a mix of expensive perfume, sweat, and the sweet haze of hookahs. Neon beams—purple, acid green, blood red—sliced through the space, turning the crowd into a single, pulsing organism.

Donghyuck felt completely out of place. He felt like at any moment, among hundreds of faces, he’d spot those damn round glasses. Mid-way through the night, once the alcohol had finally loosened everyone’s tongues and legs, he lost sight of his friends. Renjun had headed toward the bar, and Jeno had dissolved onto the dance floor with some girl.

"Idiots," Donghyuck grumbled, pushing through the crowd toward the terrace exit.

He turned a corner where the light was slightly dimmer and ran into a figure that made his heart skip a beat. Leaning against the wall, legs crossed and lazily sipping a drink, was Mark. Tonight, he looked... provocatively good. He was wearing a black silk shirt with a few buttons undone and a leather jacket. Without the school uniform and glasses (he must have put in contacts), he looked like a completely different person—confident and damn attractive.

Noticing Donghyuck, Mark gave a sly smirk. There was no threat in that smile, just pure, concentrated excitement.

"Isn't it a little early for a pipsqueak like you to be hitting the clubs?"

"Go to hell, Mark," Donghyuck replied tiredly, not even trying to argue. "I’m not in the mood today."

"Ooh, aren't we grumpy," Mark set his glass down on a table. "And where’s the 'Mark-hyung'? That was the deal."

They stood facing each other, separated by a couple of meters and a wall of sound. Donghyuck was about to snap back with something biting, but suddenly, Mark’s face changed. It happened in an instant. His relaxed posture shifted into extreme concentration. Mark went silent, his gaze glazed over for a fraction of a second, and his head tilted slightly, as if he had caught a sound beyond human hearing.

"You need to leave. Right now. Go," Mark’s tone left no room for argument.

"Hey, what kind of game is this?" Donghyuck frowned. "My friends are here! Why the hell should I listen to you?"

Mark didn't waste time explaining. He didn't offer a warning or a "follow me." He simply lunged forward and grabbed Donghyuck by the arm. His grip was like an iron shackle, cold and impossibly strong—far stronger than any high schooler should be.

"Hey! Let go! What the hell are you doing?" Donghyuck yelled, trying to plant his feet. He looked back over his shoulder, his eyes searching through the strobe lights and the haze. "Renjun! Mark, stop! Renjun is still at the bar!"

Mark didn't even look back. He didn't flinch. He put his shoulder down and literally plowed through the wall of dancing bodies, dragging Donghyuck behind him like a ragdoll. People cursed and shoved back, but it was like trying to push a freight train. Mark was focused on one thing: the heavy steel emergency exit at the end of the corridor.

"Mark, you’re hurting me! Let go!"

Donghyuck’s voice was lost in the roar of the music. He saw Mark’s jaw set, his veins popping in his neck. There was a desperation in Mark’s movement that finally silenced Donghyuck’s protests.

They burst through the heavy doors, the cool night air hitting their faces like a slap. The alleyway was narrow, smelling of rain and garbage, lit only by a flickering yellow streetlamp. Mark didn't stop. He kept pulling, kept running, forcing Donghyuck to stumble along over the uneven asphalt.

"Mark, seriously, we have to go back for—"

Donghyuck’s words were cut short.

The sound was so powerful it knocked Donghyuck off his feet. The windows of neighboring buildings shattered into a million pieces, and thick black smoke mixed with sparks began pouring out of the club doors. People began streaming out in a panic, screaming and shoving. Chaos erupted.

Donghyuck stared at the fiery mess in shock. Everything inside him went cold.

"Renjun... Jeno..." He jumped up and lunged back toward the doors, but Mark blocked his path, grabbing him by the shoulders.

"Let go!" Donghyuck screamed, struggling to break free. "My friends are in there! I have to save them!"

"Do you want to die?" Mark shook him so hard Donghyuck’s teeth rattled. "The ceiling is about to collapse in there! You can't help them, you'll just get yourself killed!"

"I don't care! I'm not leaving them!" Tears of rage and fear choked Donghyuck.

Mark looked him straight in the eyes.

"Listen to me carefully," Mark’s voice was like steel. "Stay here. Behind this corner, you got it? Don’t move. I’m sure—your friends will be saved."

Mark began walking quickly in the opposite direction of the entrance, diving into the shadows between the dumpsters.

"Where the fuck are you going?!" Donghyuck shouted after him.

"I... uh... have to find a phone and call the police! And emergency services! Give them the coordinates!" Mark tossed over his shoulder and vanished from sight in a second.

Donghyuck was left standing in the alley alone. The world around him had turned into a nightmare. Tongues of flame licked out of the club. And then, right out of the smoke above the roof of the building, he appeared.

Spider-Man.

This time, his suit seemed even brighter against the night sky. He swung on a web over the alley, performing a graceful flip, and crashed right through a broken window on the second floor. Donghyuck held his breath.

Inside the club, a real battle was unfolding.

The villain—some madman in an exoskeleton armed with thermal cannons—was wrecking the interior, trying to bury the exits. Spider-Man moved like lightning. Through the windows, Donghyuck saw the red-and-blue figure darting across the hall. The Spider fired webs, sealing the barrels of the cannons, used decor as shields, and covered retreating people with his own body.

At one point, the villain brought the central chandelier crashing down right onto the dance floor where people were still trapped. The Spider managed to fire a dozen strands, creating a giant net that caught the multi-ton structure just a couple of meters from the ground. His muscles tensed so hard the suit looked like it was about to burst.

"Get out! Fast!" his voice rang out, amplified by the echo of the empty hall.

The villain struck a powerful blow with a mechanical tail, throwing the Spider into a wall. But the hero was back on his feet a second later. He used his speed to wrap the villain's legs in webbing, stripping him of his mobility.

The hero moved like a flash. He ran circles around the villain’s legs. He shot more and more sticky webs. The thick white lines wrapped around the villain's legs so he couldn't move. The mechanical gears made a loud, broken noise as the webs got stuck inside them.

The villain tried to swing his tail, but the hero was too fast. He jumped onto the ceiling and stuck there. He shot many web lines at once and pulled with all his strength.

He pulled the heavy villain up into the air. The hero worked fast. He wrapped the villain in a giant, sticky cocoon. Seconds later, the villain was hanging from the ceiling. He was completely stuck. He couldn't move his arms, his legs, or his tail.

He almost dropped back to the ground and landed quietly on his feet. He held his side because his ribs hurt, and listened to the police sirens getting closer in the dark.

Fifteen minutes later, it was all over. Firefighters and police arrived. Donghyuck stood by the cordoned-off area, feverishly looking for familiar faces.

"Hyuck! Donghyuck!" a familiar voice called out.

Renjun and Jeno were running toward him. They were covered in soot, terrified, but alive and in one piece. Jeno was limping, and Renjun’s whole shirt was ruined, but otherwise, they were okay.

"God, you're alive!" Donghyuck threw himself at them, hugging both at once. "How did you get out?"

"Dude, you won't believe it," Jeno panted. "We were blocked in the back room when the fire started. Smoke was everywhere. And then this Spider guy flies in... He just ripped the door off and carried us out in his arms."

Donghyuck listened to them, but a single thought kept spinning in his head. "I’m sure—your friends will be saved." Those words from Mark.

Donghyuck started looking around. He was searching for Mark. A lot of time had passed, the police were here, but the four-eyed guy was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey, have you guys seen Mark?" he asked his friends.

"What Mark? The nerd? What’s he got to do with this?" Renjun asked, wiping his face with a wet wipe.

Donghyuck didn't answer. He walked away toward the very alley where they had parted. It was dark and quiet there.

Is he okay? The thought pulsed in his brain. If Mark just went to call the police, why isn't he here now? And how could he have known the explosion was about to happen?

Donghyuck looked up at the sky, where a barely noticeable shadow had just flickered between the rooftops. He wasn't sure. He didn't want to believe it. But the puzzle pieces in his head were starting to form a picture that was both terrifying and strange.

"Mark... who are you, really?" he whispered into the night void.

Monday at school always felt like a lingering nightmare, but this Monday was special. Mark’s absence on the first day gave Donghyuck a strange itch under his skin. When Mark didn't show up on the second or third day, that itch turned into full-blown anxiety.

"He’s a no-show," Renjun stated, lazily picking at his cafeteria rice. "Guess your superglue finally corroded his brain."

Donghyuck remained silent. He didn't even snap back. His gaze was fixed on the empty seat at the far end of the cafeteria where Mark usually sat with his boring textbooks.

“I need his address,” the thought pulsed in Donghyuck’s head.

But there was a problem. Mark was in a different class, and their social circles only overlapped during bathroom brawls. The only person with the student database was the class president of the parallel class—Kim Doyoung.

Donghyuck found Doyoung in the library. He was straightening a stack of books as if the fate of humanity depended on it.

"No, Lee Donghyuck," Doyoung cut him off without even looking up. "Student personal data is confidential. Especially to people... like you."

"Doyoung-ah, please!" Donghyuck practically sprawled across the table, getting in the president's way. "It’s a matter of life and death! I have to give him... uh... a very important study thing!"

"You and studying? Don't make my filing cabinets laugh," Doyoung finally looked at him through his perfectly clean glasses. "You haven't turned in a single history essay this semester."

Donghyuck realized he had to resort to extreme measures.

"Fine. If you give me the address, I’ll... I’ll enter the next city history olympiad. And I promise I’ll make it into the top 10."

Doyoung froze. His hand, holding a book, hovered in mid-air. He knew that Donghyuck, despite his laziness, had a phenomenal memory for dates and facts if backed into a corner. It was a deal with the devil, and they both knew it.

"Top 5," Doyoung corrected dryly. "And you’ll prepare three reports on the Joseon dynasty by the end of the week."

Donghyuck swallowed, feeling his free time evaporate into nothingness.

"Deal."

Five minutes later, a message with the address popped up on his phone. Donghyuck felt like a winner and a complete idiot at the same time.

After school, Donghyuck headed toward the residential block where Mark lived. On the way, he stopped at a small supermarket. He stood in front of the shelves for twenty minutes, agonizing over what to bring someone who might have been caught in an explosion.

“Fruit is a classic,” he thought. He picked the largest, brightest oranges, hoping Vitamin C would help Mark recover. Then his eyes fell on the candy shelf. He remembered Mark occasionally gnawing on hard candies during breaks. A large bag of chocolates and a pack of licorice sticks went into the basket.

Leaving the store with a rustling bag,

Donghyuck felt his confidence deserting him. What would he say? “Hi, I came to check if you’re dead and by the way, are you Spider-Man?” No, too blunt.

He found himself in front of the door to apartment 42. An old wooden door with slightly peeling paint. Donghyuck raised his fist, froze, exhaled, and finally knocked awkwardly. Footsteps sounded behind the door. Not fast—a bit heavy. The lock clicked, and the door slowly creaked open.

Mark stood on the threshold in an oversized grey t-shirt and sweatpants. His face looked exhausted, dark circles shadowed his eyes, and a small bruise—clearly one he’d tried to hide—marked his cheekbone. He was without his glasses, and his gaze—sharp, searching—pierced right through Donghyuck.

"Um... hey," Donghyuck swung the bag awkwardly. "Can I come in?"

Mark didn't say a word. He just narrowed his eyes, clearly trying to figure out if Donghyuck had another tube of glue or some other trick up his sleeve. The silence lasted an eternity until Mark finally stepped aside, silently inviting the guest inside.

The apartment was small but cozy. It smelled of old books and something minty. Donghyuck walked into the hallway, feeling like a bull in a china shop.

"So, anyway..." he started, feverishly inventing an excuse. "I didn't see you at school today. And after that thing at the club... well, you vanished so suddenly. I thought maybe something happened to you. You know, explosions, smoke... And your class president, Doyoung, he like... asked me to give you a notebook with notes! Right, exactly! So you don't fall behind."

Donghyuck held out a notebook he’d snatched from his bag without even looking. Mark took it, glanced at the cover (it was a 10th-grade geography notebook from last year), and looked back at Donghyuck. A shadow of a smirk flickered on his lips.

"Tectonic shift maps?" he asked quietly.

Donghyuck turned beet red.

"Oh, crap. Mixed it up."

Mark sighed, and it wasn't a heavy sigh of irritation, but rather a tired exhale of relief.

"Thanks, Donghyuck. Want some tea?"

While the kettle whistled in the kitchen, Mark gestured for Donghyuck to follow him into his room.

Mark’s room was exactly as Donghyuck had imagined, but with a few additions. It was his style: stacks of books everywhere, diagrams on the desk, an old record player in the corner. It was a bit messy—a couple of hoodies draped over a chair, some wires on the floor—but overall it didn't look like a dump. It looked like the living space of a person with too much to do and too little time for chores.

Donghyuck sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the posters on the walls. Old rock bands and scientific charts. No superhero posters, which was ironic. Mark entered with two mugs of tea. He set them on a low table and sat on the computer chair opposite him.

Donghyuck sipped the hot tea, burning his tongue. The pause stretched out. They sat in silence for a long time, broken only by the ticking of the clock. To break the tension, Mark turned on his console.

"Mortal Kombat?" he suggested. "At least here I can beat you without consequences."

They played for about an hour. Donghyuck mashed buttons furiously; Mark played calmly but effectively. At one point, Donghyuck caught himself thinking that he felt damn comfortable. All that drive, anger, and taunting stayed behind the school doors.

Here, it was just Mark.

Finally, Donghyuck set the controller aside. His character on the screen had just suffered another defeat.

"Listen, Mark..." he hesitated, looking at his hands. "How did you know? Back at the club. We were standing there, everything was fine, and then you suddenly told me to leave. Exactly one minute before the explosion. How did you feel it?"

Mark froze. He didn't look at Donghyuck; his gaze was glued to the screen where the "GAME OVER" sign flickered. His fingers still gripped the controller, and Donghyuck noticed his knuckles turning white.

"Just intuition, Donghyuck. Lucky guess."

"Lucky guess?" Donghyuck smirked, feeling resentment boil up because Mark was still treating him like a fool.

Donghyuck felt like this visit had been a mistake. He stood up, adjusting his jacket.

"Fine. I see you're okay. I left the notes on the desk. Get well soon."

He headed for the door. He already had his hand on the handle, feeling a strange void in his chest. Why he even assumed that Mark will tell him his secret?

"Donghyuck," Mark called out softly.

Donghyuck turned around, already standing in the doorway. Mark was still sitting in the chair, but his posture had changed. He no longer looked tired.

Mark slowly raised his hand and pointed it at Donghyuck. Mark's fingers curled into a strange gesture. Donghyuck frowned, not understanding what was happening. And then...

A sharp, whipping sound. A thin, silvery thread shot from Mark’s wrist. It flew across the room and stuck fast to Donghyuck’s chest.

Donghyuck froze. He looked down at his jacket, where a white, sticky substance had bonded tightly to the fabric.

"What... what is this?" he breathed, afraid to move.

Mark didn't answer with words. He jerked his hand back sharply. Donghyuck felt his feet leave the floor. The force of the pull was incredible. He flew across the room and would have slammed into the wall if Mark hadn't jumped up and caught him with one arm, pulling him close.

Donghyuck breathed heavily, his heart hammering in his throat. He looked up at Mark. He was standing right there, and his gaze now held not a hint of the nerd.

"You wanted to know the truth?" Mark whispered.

He pressed the button on his wrist again, and the thread connecting them went slack. Mark took a step back, let go of Donghyuck, and suddenly... just jumped up. Effortlessly, as if gravity didn't apply to him, he landed on the ceiling. His palms and feet stuck to the surface as naturally as if he were standing on a regular floor.

Donghyuck craned his neck, his mouth hanging open. Mark was hanging upside down directly over him.

"Oh my god..." Donghyuck whispered. "So... all this time... it was you."

"Now you know," Mark said, his voice coming from above like a bolt from the blue.

Mark dropped down smoothly, landing in a crouch without a sound. He stood up, dusting off his hands, and looked at Donghyuck, waiting for his reaction. Fear, awe, shock—it all swirled on Donghyuck’s face.

"You're... you're Spider-Man," Donghyuck finally found his voice. "Mark Lee is Spider-Man. The bathroom pervert is the city's hero."

"And that 'pervert' saved you and your friends," Mark reminded him with a faint smile.

Donghyuck looked at his hands, which were still shaking. He felt like the world around him had just exploded and rebuilt itself. Now, there was no room for boredom in his life.

"This is... the coolest thing I’ve ever seen," Donghyuck finally managed to choke out.

Mark laughed, and in that moment, Donghyuck realized: their war was over. Something much more dangerous and exciting had begun.

After that night in Mark’s room, Donghyuck’s world had turned completely upside down. Before, everything had been simple: Mark was a target for ridicule, an object for pranks, and a constant irritant. Now, Mark had become... a mystery.

The next morning, Donghyuck woke up at the crack of dawn. His first thought wasn't about revenge or a plan to cut class, but the memory of how Mark had winced while taking off his shirt, and the deep bruises blooming on his ribs after the explosion at the club.

"Mom, do we have any bandages?" he shouted from his room, feverishly tearing through his closet.

"In the bathroom, behind the mirror, Hyuck-ie. Why do you need them? Did you get into another fight?"

"No, Mom, I just... a friend needs help," he muttered, stuffing an elastic bandage, antiseptic, and a whole pack of superhero-themed band-aids into his backpack (an irony Mark definitely wouldn't appreciate).

Chapter Text

One evening, Donghyuck was just chilling in his room. He was trying to do his history homework, but his thoughts kept drifting to the recent news about new attacks in the city center. A sudden sound snapped him out of it.

A sharp, dull thud made his heart drop into his stomach. Donghyuck jumped up so fast his chair crashed to the floor. He flew to the window, jerked the handle, and threw it open. A rush of icy air burst into the room, and with it—Mark. He literally tumbled inside, unable to keep his balance.

Mark collapsed heavily onto Donghyuck’s bed, crushing the duvet. His face was deathly pale, and a dark, terrifying stain was rapidly spreading across his side.

"Mark! Shit, Mark!" Donghyuck fell to his knees beside him. His hands started shaking when he saw the depth of the wound. It wasn't just a scratch; it was a deep gash with jagged edges.

He feverishly grabbed the first-aid kit from under the bed.

"Mark, listen to me, you need a hospital. You hear me? I can't handle this, the wound is too deep, I'm just... I'm not a doctor, Mark!"

Mark cracked his eyes open. His gaze was hazy, but he found the strength to catch Donghyuck’s wrist. The grip was weak but insistent.

"No... Donghyuck, no. No hospitals. You know... I can't. Just... give me a little time. Let my body... recover. Please."

With those words, his head slumped back against the pillow, and he passed out.

"Damn it, Mark!" Donghyuck hissed, feeling panic rise in his throat. "Don't you dare pass out on me!"

Donghyuck acted on autopilot. He remembered everything he’d read on medical forums over the last few days. He cautiously pulled up the t-shirt. The wound was horrific. Donghyuck cleaned it, trying not to howl in fear as he watched Mark flinch in his sleep. He applied a tight bandage, using up almost his entire supply of sterile gauze.

Once he finished with the wound, he realized Mark couldn't stay in those blood-soaked rags. Overcoming his embarrassment and fear, Donghyuck stripped off the remains of Mark's clothes and changed him into his own—a loose grey t-shirt and old sweatpants. In these home clothes, Mark looked so small and defenseless that Donghyuck’s chest ached.

After making him comfortable, Donghyuck sat on the floor next to the bed, leaning his back against the mattress. He intended to watch his breathing all night, but exhaustion took its toll. Before he drifted off, he felt Mark’s hand, hanging off the bed, barely brush against his shoulder.

He was woken up by a sharp, blunt knock on the door. Donghyuck jolted, not immediately realizing where he was or why his neck was so stiff. Sunlight was already flooding the room.

"Donghyuck-ie, are you awake?" his mother's voice called from behind the door.

Donghyuck went cold. He glanced at the bed—Mark was still lying there, pale, but thank God, breathing steadily.

"Yeah, Mom! Be right out!"

"You have classes soon, come down for breakfast," she continued. Donghyuck was about to breathe a sigh of relief, hoping she’d leave, when he heard the words that made his world collapse: "And wake that guy of yours up too. Bring him to the table, the eggs are getting cold."

Fuck.

Donghyuck froze with his mouth open. How did she know? How could she have known someone was in his room? Had he been that loud last night? Or had she come in while he was asleep?

He turned to Mark. The latter had already opened his eyes and was trying to sit up, clutching his side. He looked terrible, to put it mildly: hair matted, dark circles under his eyes, face gaunt. Donghyuck looked at himself in the mirror—he didn't look any better: rumpled, red-eyed, and with traces of dried blood on his hands.

"Damn, you look like absolute shit," Donghyuck’s voice was so hoarse he barely recognized it.

Mark looked at him, then at his own hands in a borrowed t-shirt, then back at Donghyuck. And suddenly... he gave a soft snort. That snort turned into a quiet laugh.

"You should see yourself, Hyuck. Like you went through a meat grinder right along with me."

They sat there just laughing at each other, despite the pain, the fear, and his mom behind the door. It was a hysterical laughter of relief. Donghyuck, still cracking up, reached out to playfully shove Mark’s shoulder, but Mark was faster. Despite the injury, his reflexes were instantaneous. Donghyuck didn't even realize how it happened: one second he was sitting on the edge, and the next—he was literally flying off the bed from a slick shove.

"You're talking way too much shit," Mark’s voice came from above. Now he was the one laughing at Donghyuck, who was trying to untangle himself from the rug.

"You wounded prick!" Donghyuck hissed, but the smile never left his face.

Going downstairs was terrifying. Donghyuck led the way, Mark following behind, limping slightly and trying not to wince with every step.

Breakfast passed in an oppressive, almost palpable silence. Donghyuck’s mom was behaving suspiciously calm. She kept putting the best pieces of bacon on Mark’s plate and refilling his juice, throwing strange, meaningful glances at her son.

Mark acted like the perfect guest, but Donghyuck could see how tense he was. At one point, when his mom turned toward the stove, Mark leaned into Donghyuck’s ear and whispered so quietly it was barely audible:

"Hey, check your phone. Fast."

Donghyuck surreptitiously pulled out his smartphone under the table.

"Tell me the home address" — was the message from Mark.

Donghyuck quickly typed the answer, wondering why he needed it, and immediately put the phone away because his mom turned around. Under her piercing gaze, Donghyuck began intensely chewing his eggs, feeling like he was in an FBI interrogation.

"So..." his mom began, wiping her hands on a towel. "Mark, right? How long have you two been friends? Donghyuck hasn't brought friends over for sleepovers before... without warning."

"We... we study history together," Donghyuck lied quickly. "Mark stayed late yesterday helping me with an essay, and I... I suggested he stay over so he wouldn't have to walk in the dark."

"I see," his mom smiled, but there was far too much understanding in that smile. "Helping Donghyuck with history? That’s noble. You clearly need more strength, you look exhausted. Eat up, Mark."

After breakfast, Mark’s phone suddenly rang.

"I have to go," he said, standing up from the table. "Thank you so much for breakfast, Mrs. Lee."

He began to get ready quickly, but his hands were failing him. He tried to pull on his sneakers, but because of the pain in his side, he couldn't bend down properly. Things were slipping from his grip; he nearly dropped his backpack.

"Don't rush like that," Donghyuck couldn't stand it, walking over to him. "You shouldn't be running marathons with that wound. Let me help."

Mark was already at the front door, saying goodbye to his mom. The door to their house was old, with a temperamental lock that sometimes jammed if you pulled too hard. Mark pulled the handle—the door didn't budge. He jerked it again, harder—no luck.

"Move over, you klutz," Donghyuck grumbled.

He stepped in right next to Mark to press the secret latch. But because the hallway was narrow and Mark was standing right in front of the handle, Donghyuck had to practically pin him against the wall to reach it.

They ended up very close. So close that Donghyuck felt the heat radiating from Mark and caught the scent of his own laundry detergent coming from his (own) t-shirt. Mark’s gaze locked onto Donghyuck’s face. For a second, time just stopped. Donghyuck saw every eyelash, felt every jagged breath Mark took. It was too much. Too loud, too close, too... intimate.

Donghyuck jumped back first, like he’d been hit by an electric shock, just as the door clicked open.

"Fuck..." he whispered to himself, looking at the floor.

"Thanks, Donghyuck. For everything," Mark hesitated on the threshold, adjusting his backpack. "See you at school."

He walked out quickly, disappearing behind the gate. Donghyuck closed the door and leaned his forehead against it. His heart was thumping as if he’d been jumping across rooftops himself.

How many more awkward things have to happen? he thought, feeling his face burning up.

"Donghyuck-ie?" his mother's voice from the kitchen made him jump. "Your friend forgot his history notebook. Or is it yours?"

Donghyuck looked at the table. A blank notebook was lying there. Mark never forgot anything.

"Mine, Mom. It's mine."

Donghyuck was sprawled on his bed in just his boxers and an old tank top, legs kicked up against the wall, rotting on his phone. He had already scrolled through every cat video and recipe for food he’d never actually cook when the Instagram algorithms decided to pull a fast one on him.

An account popped up in his recommendations: "onyourm_ark."

The profile picture was some blurry shot of a skateboard or something like that. Donghyuck froze.

"Well, what do we have here?" he muttered, tapping into the profile.

The feed was as basic as it gets. Photos of sneakers, some view from a rooftop, a couple of tilted horizon shots, and a guitar. Donghyuck scrolled down, feeling a strange curiosity stirring inside him.

And then it happened. His finger slipped. The story circle at the top of the screen flared with a rainbow light.

"Shit!" Donghyuck exhaled as a video filled the screen.

In the video, Mark was laughing. He was wearing a plain grey hoodie. Sitting next to him was a girl—pretty, with long dark hair. She was telling him something animatedly, gesturing wildly, and at one point, she leaned into Mark’s shoulder. Mark didn't pull away. On the contrary, he draped an arm over her shoulders and whispered something in her ear, making her laugh even harder.

Donghyuck felt like he’d been hit by a live wire. A nasty sting flared in his chest, like he’d just swallowed a whole lemon.

"The hell is..." Donghyuck actually sat up. "Who is that?"

He looked closer. The girl was cute, put-together. And judging by the way Mark was holding her, they definitely weren't "just friends." Donghyuck felt irritation rising in his throat. He hurled his phone onto the pillow with all his might.

"Look at him, the big Romeo."

Not even a minute passed before the phone vibrated. Donghyuck wanted to ignore it at first, but curiosity is a persistent bitch. He picked up the phone and nearly dropped it.

onyourm_ark followed you.

Message from onyourm_ark.

Donghyuck opened the chat, feeling his ears start to burn.

onyourm_ark: "wow, look who’s lurking in my stories. stalking me, donghyuck?"

fullsun: "don't get ahead of yourself. insta recommended you to me, i just accidentally tapped it while scrolling through my feed."

onyourm_ark: "sure, sure."

fullsun: "stfu."

Donghyuck tossed the phone and stared at the wall. Annoying. He was just unrealistically annoying. A couple of minutes later—another notification.

onyourm_ark: "donghyuck, want to go to the movies this weekend? there's a new action flick out, the guys said it's pretty sick."

Something flipped in Donghyuck’s stomach, but he immediately switched on his defenses.

fullsun: "what, the girl from your story wouldn't go? go with her, why are you bothering me. i'm sure she’d be happy to."

onyourm_ark: "donghyuck."

onyourm_ark: "are you jealous right now?"

"What kind of bullshit is that?!" Donghyuck yelled at the empty room. "Who’s jealous? Me?!"

He just left him on "seen" and turned off the phone. Screw it. Let him sit there and think whatever he wants.

At school the next day, Donghyuck tried to act as natural as possible, but he was doing a crappy job of it. He sat in the cafeteria with Renjun and Jeno, listlessly picking at some suspicious-looking casserole.

"Hey, Hyuck," Renjun nudged him with an elbow. "Why the sour face? You and Mark clash over something again?"

"What makes you think I'm 'clashing' with him at all?" Donghyuck didn't even lift his head.

"Oh, come on," Jeno smirked, taking a sip of juice. "He was looking for you after practice yesterday. What, you guys having a domestic dispute?"

"Shut up," Donghyuck snapped. "There's nothing going on. We just... you know, run into each other for school stuff. You guys know I couldn't care less about him."

"Right, right," Renjun exchanged a look with Jeno.

Donghyuck actually dropped his fork.

"Are you guys serious? Me and Mark? What have you been smoking? That’s total bullshit! He annoys me to the point of a toothache. It would be one thing if we just talked, but you really think I could... get into that?"

"Oh, whatever," Jeno waved him off. "Denial is the first stage."

"Screw you guys!" Donghyuck jumped up, grabbed his tray, and bailed on the cafeteria.

They’d ruined his entire appetite, the jerks.

After school, his mood was in the gutter. His friends hadn't stopped talking about Mark until the final bell. As soon as he got home, he went looking for his mom. She was in the kitchen frying something, and Donghyuck dumped his backpack in the hallway.

"Oh, Hyuck-ie. You’re home?" she asked.

"Yeah, Mom. How are you?" he said calmly, trying to slip past into his room.

"And how’s that boyfriend of yours? Mark, right?"

Donghyuck froze in the doorway.

"Mom, I'm going to pretend I didn't just hear that."

"Mhm, sure," she squinted at him mischievously.

"Mom, seriously, stop. Mark is just... well, we talk about school and that's it. What 'boyfriend'? We can barely even call ourselves friends. He pisses me off! He just pisses me off, you get it?"

"It's just one step from hate to love, son. Just try not to trip," she laughed and turned back to the stove.

Donghyuck flew into his room and slammed the door. He was fed up. Fed up with everyone. His friends, and now his own mother. He flopped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.

“So what’s so special about him anyway?” he thought. “Just a regular guy. So he jumps on walls. So he’s strong. So he’s kind of cute when he’s lying helpless on my bed... Shit, what the hell am I even thinking about?”

Chapter Text

The silence in Donghyuck’s room was always different. Sometimes it was cozy, when he was scrolling through his phone; sometimes it was annoying, when he had homework to do. But right now, it was as thick as molasses and as heavy as lead.

Mark was sitting on the edge of his bed again. This time, the wound wasn't as terrifying as the last—just a long, deep scrape across his stomach left by something sharp—but Mark still looked beat up. He sat with his head hanging low, his shoulders trembling slightly from ragged breathing.

"I guess no one ever taught you how to give a heads-up," Donghyuck grumbled, trying to keep his voice sounding normal—cranky and bold. But his hands, as he twisted open the tube of healing ointment, betrayed him. They were shaking ever so slightly.

"Sorry," Mark answered softly. His voice was hoarse. "Your place was the closest to that area where... well, you know."

Donghyuck didn't reply. He stepped closer, knelt between Mark’s spread legs, and reached for the hem of his gray T-shirt. Mark obediently raised his arms. As the fabric slid up, revealing a firm, toned torso covered in faint scars and fresh bruises, Donghyuck felt his throat go dry.

He tried to look only at the wound. Only at the damaged skin. But it was damn near impossible. Mark’s proximity was searing. Donghyuck squeezed a bit of ointment onto his fingers and touched his skin.

Mark flinched. His abs involuntarily tensed under Donghyuck’s cold fingers, and that brief contact sent Hyuck’s heart racing. He began to rub the ointment in slowly, trying to be as gentle as possible, but with every circular motion, his face grew hotter. He could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, his ears beginning to burn. He was deathly afraid that Mark would look up and see this treacherous blush.

“Don’t look at me, don’t look at me”, Donghyuck repeated to himself like a mantra.

But Mark was looking. He couldn’t help it. From above, he had a perfect view of the top of Donghyuck’s head, his fluttery lashes, and the way his neck was slowly turning pink. Mark felt a heat of his own rising from his chest to his face.

It felt like the air in the room had run out. Donghyuck could feel every beat of Mark’s heart through his fingertips, and Mark could feel every hitch in Donghyuck’s breath against his skin.

"Done!" Donghyuck almost shouted, recoiling abruptly.

He scrambled to his feet so fast that his vision blurred for a second. He began feverishly shoving the ointment back into the first-aid kit, pretending to be incredibly busy rearranging bandages.

"Thanks," Mark said, quickly pulling his shirt down, his voice cracking on a high note.

Mark looked like he’d been left in a microwave too long himself. To break the silence, he nodded toward the console:

"So... FIFA or Mortal Kombat?"

"Mortal Kombat," Donghyuck grabbed a controller. "I'm gonna show you who's daddy here."

They settled onto the bed. For the first few minutes, there was nothing but the clatter of buttons. Donghyuck played as if his survival tomorrow depended on it.

"Where are you even pressing, you lagger?!" Donghyuck yelled when Mark blocked his combo. "Do you have high ping in your brain? Use your super, come on!"

"I am using it, it’s not registering!" Mark snapped, biting his lip. "You’re elbowing me in the ribs, that’s cheating!"

"Oh, poor little spider, backed into a corner!" Donghyuck cackled as his character performed a fatality. "Go cry about it."

Mark tossed the controller onto the duvet and threw his hands up:

"Forget it, your controller is modded. I pressed jump!"

"Yeah, sure, blame the controller," Donghyuck leaned back, laughing his head off. "You're such a total noob at games; my grandpa probably plays better. Does your spider-sense not extend to gamepads? You’re such a scrub, seriously. City hero but can't hit a button."

"Shut up," Mark shoved him in the side. "I just don't grind for ten hours a day like you. I have things to do, you know."

"What things? Rescuing cats from trees?" Donghyuck continued to roast him, not noticing how their shoving was turning into a real scuffle. "Just admit you’re a loser at games."

"Watch it, you're asking for it," Mark lunged at him, trying to snatch the second controller, which Donghyuck held triumphantly over his head.

"And what are you gonna do? Web me in the face? Go on, try it!"

They tumbled onto the bed, wrestling and pushing. This was their usual way of communicating—through teasing and playful aggression. They laughed, trying to pin each other down. Donghyuck squirmed, trying to break free from Mark’s hold, while Mark, despite his injury, was surprisingly quick.

But at some point, everything changed.

Mark ended up on top. He pinned Donghyuck’s wrists to the mattress on either side of his head. His knees were braced against the bed next to Hyuck’s hips. The laughter cut off instantly.

The silence returned, but now it was different. It was electric.

Donghyuck lay there, breathing heavily, looking straight into Mark’s eyes. They were so close he could see the golden flecks in his pupils. Mark didn't let go of his hands. His gaze dropped to Donghyuck’s lips, then traveled back up to his eyes.

The room went dead quiet. To Donghyuck, it felt like time had slowed down. He saw Mark’s face begin to move closer—slowly, almost imperceptibly. His heart hammered against his ribs so hard he felt Mark must be able to feel it through the mattress. Donghyuck didn't move. He didn't try to pull away. On the contrary, he involuntarily leaned in a fraction, frozen in anticipation of something inevitable.

And at that exact moment, the door swung open.

"Donghyuck, your uniform from the dry cleaners..."

Donghyuck’s mom froze in the doorway, holding a hanger. Her gaze moved from her son to Mark, who was essentially hovering over him in a very unambiguous position.

Donghyuck reacted faster than lightning. He shoved Mark in the chest with all his might, sending him flying to the other end of the bed. Both scrambled to their feet in a split second, frantically smoothing their clothes and trying to fix their faces into an "everything is fine, nothing happened" expression.

"Um... yeah, Mom, thanks," Donghyuck’s voice shook, and his face was so hot you could have fried an egg on it.

His mom looked from one to the other, gave a slow nod, and placed the uniform on the chair by the door.

"Dinner’s in ten minutes. Mark, you stay too," she said, and then just as suddenly, closed the door.

Silence again. Only now, it was catastrophically awkward. Mark stood by the window, staring at his sneakers as intently as if he were seeing them for the first time. Donghyuck stood by the desk, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

He felt a strange surge of bravery rise up inside him. He had to know. He had to finish what had been hanging in the air between their faces a second ago.

"Um, Mark..." he started, taking a step forward. "What were you trying to—"

"Well, I gotta go!" Mark blurted out at the exact same time.

He didn't even look at Donghyuck. He grabbed his backpack in a flash, cleared the windowsill in one leap, and vanished into the night air without looking back.

Donghyuck was left standing in the middle of the room.

Alone.

The silence now was empty. Vacuum-like. He walked over to the window and looked out, but there was no one there—only the shadows of trees and the distant hum of cars.

"Dumbass," Donghyuck whispered.

He felt sick. Not just uncomfortable, but truly miserable. Mark had run away. He hadn't even said "bye." He had just disappeared, leaving Donghyuck alone with his racing heart and unasked questions.

The next few days turned into a sophisticated form of torture. Mark started avoiding him. And he did it professionally, using all of his superhero abilities. In the cafeteria, Mark would suddenly be at the farthest table, his back to the entrance. In the hallways, he would fly past, buried in his phone or animatedly discussing something with Doyoung. A couple of times Donghyuck tried to corner him at his locker, but Mark simply vanished around the corner before Hyuck could even open his mouth.

He forced himself not to think about him. After all, he had his own life. He started spending more time with Renjun and Jeno. They went to the arcade, ate spicy noodles after school, and talked about random nonsense.

"Hey, Hyuck," Renjun narrowed his eyes, looking at him across the table in the cafe. "You’ve been jumpy lately. You’re going to burn a hole in your phone, you’re staring at it so much. Waiting for a text from someone?"

"I’m not waiting for anyone," Donghyuck snapped, biting into his burger. "I’m just checking the time."

"Yeah, every thirty seconds," Jeno chuckled. "Look, if this is about Mark..."

"Mark has nothing to do with it!" Donghyuck almost shouted, drawing attention from the neighboring tables. "He and I... we’re nobody to each other. Got it? We had one joint project, and that’s it. Forget it."

He tried to convince himself of this first and foremost. But it wasn't working well. In the evenings, when he returned home, his hand would instinctively reach for the window. He left it open. Even when it was cold outside. Even when his mother grumbled that he’d catch a cold.

"It’s just for ventilation," he lied to himself.

He lay on his bed, scrolling through his Instagram feed. His finger kept pausing over the chat with onyourm_ark. The last message—that one about jealousy—hung there, a reminder of a time when they at least still talked.

Resentment grew. Deep, childish, and stinging. It felt to Donghyuck that everything that had happened between them—the fights in the bathroom, the secrets in his room, the tending of wounds, that moment on the bed—mattered only to him. To Mark, he was just... someone insignificant.

"I wonder what he's doing?" he whispered to the ceiling.

He hated this feeling of uncertainty. He hated Mark for making him feel something special and then just slamming the door (or, more accurately, jumping out the window).

Donghyuck closed Instagram and tossed his phone away.

"Fine, Mark fucking Lee. Let’s play your game."

Mark continued to play "the invisible man," and it drove Donghyuck crazy at first, but then it just wore him out. At some point, he caught himself thinking that he was spending too much energy on someone who was originally his "enemy."

He stopped looking for him in the crowd. Stopped watching first-aid videos just in case a certain someone showed up at night. The world didn't stop: Renjun still stole his fries in the cafeteria, Jeno still invited him to play basketball after school, and his mom still fried eggs in the morning. Only she didn't ask about Mark anymore—she clearly saw her son's face and understood that the topic was strictly closed.

Donghyuck honestly tried not to think. He spent time with the guys, and it felt right. They were his people; everything with them was simple and clear. It was supposed to be like this from the start. Without Mark.

After leaving Donghyuck's room, Mark raced across the rooftops, not caring where he was going. The cold night air whipped his face, but inside, everything was burning. That moment on the bed... those few centimeters that separated his lips from Donghyuck's... they played in his head on an endless loop.

He stopped at the top of a water tower, breathing heavily.

"You almost did it, you idiot," the thought hammered in his temples.

Mark sat on the edge, head in his hands. He knew how this worked. Anyone who gets close to him is put in danger. If "they" found out that Donghyuck meant anything to him, Hyuck’s life would turn into an endless nightmare of kidnappings and threats.

Mark couldn't let that happen. He would never forgive himself if a single hair on Donghyuck’s head was harmed because of his own selfishness.

"Better to let things stay as they are," Mark whispered into the void. "The main thing is that he’s safe."

The decision came quickly, like an electric shock: ignore him. Cut everything off. Become a stranger. But in practice, it turned out to be a hundred times harder.

At school, Mark wanted to howl. Every time he saw Donghyuck in the hallway—cheerful, loud, surrounded by Jeno and Renjun—Mark’s heart skipped a beat. He saw how Donghyuck initially tried to catch his eye, how his face fell in confusion when Mark just walked past, staring at the floor. It was physically painful. To see the spark of interest in Hyuck’s eyes turn into a dull resentment.

Mark convinced himself: "This is right. It has to be this way. He’s better off without me."

He made up a bunch of excuses for himself. Donghyuck probably likes girls anyway. For a normal guy like Donghyuck, Mark’s feelings would just be a burden, extra weight he didn't need.

But the nights... the nights were the hardest.

Almost every night after finishing his patrol, Mark would "accidentally" end up in the familiar neighborhood. He sat on the roof of the neighboring house, hidden by the shadow of a chimney, and watched Donghyuck’s window.

It was open. Donghyuck left it open for five nights in a row.

Mark clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. He wanted so badly to just jump down, tumble into that cozy room that smelled of a normal life, and say:

"I'm sorry, I'm just so afraid of losing you."

He saw how Donghyuck would occasionally walk to the window, peer into the darkness, and then return to his bed with slumped shoulders.

In those moments, Mark felt disgusted with himself. He didn't feel like a hero; he felt like a coward. He could see that Donghyuck cared. He could see that he was causing him pain with his silence.

When Donghyuck slammed the window shut on the sixth day and turned the latch with a loud click, Mark, on the neighboring roof, felt something inside him finally snap.

He turned and jumped into the darkness, trying not to think about the fact that this "right decision" tasted like the most bitter poison in the world.

Chapter Text

The evening was off to a miserable start. Donghyuck didn’t want to go anywhere at all. All he wanted was to order spicy noodles, blast some stupid comedy, and continue his successful degradation. But Renjun and Jeno had other ideas.

"Stop with this depression," Renjun said, literally shaking him out of bed. "You look like a total shit. We’re going to a party, and I’m making sure you look so good everyone chokes on their own spit."

Donghyuck’s "restoration" took a long time. They styled his hair, lifting his bangs to reveal his forehead, which immediately gave his face a bolder, more mature edge. Renjun fished out a black silk shirt from somewhere that fit him perfectly, accentuating the line of his shoulders. When Donghyuck looked in the mirror, he hardly recognized himself.

"Well then, all the girls are gonna be yours," Jeno let out an appreciative whistle.

The party was buzzing. The massive country house was packed, the music thundered in his ears, and the smell of alcohol and cheap perfume mingled into a stifling cocktail.

Donghyuck decided right then and there—he wasn't going to survive this night sober. He downed a couple of glasses of something strong, and the world finally stopped feeling so hostile.

Somewhere between the third and fourth glass, Sungchan glued himself to his side. The guy was younger, but he was tall as hell. A pretty face, a wide smile, and a total lack of inhibition.

"Hyung," Sungchan beamed, his attention borderline clingy, but... pleasant. Right now, Donghyuck desperately needed to feel wanted.

Sungchan turned out to be surprisingly easy-going and unobtrusive. He followed Donghyuck like a puppy, refilling his drinks, laughing at his most sarcastic jokes, and occasionally brushing against his elbow or back to guide him through the crowd.

When people downstairs started gathering in a circle for a game of Truth or Dare, Sungchan pulled him by the hand. "Let’s go, Hyung, I think it’ll be fun."

They headed down and squeezed into the circle. And then, Donghyuck froze. Mark was sitting directly opposite him. And, of course, he wasn't alone. Next to him sat that same girl from Instagram—polished, with long hair she kept twirling around her finger. Mark looked tense, but when he saw Donghyuck, his eyes widened. He clearly hadn’t expected to see Hyuck like this—slicked back, in an expensive shirt, with some giant literally hanging off his shoulder.

"Oh, Mark, it's your turn!" someone yelled from the crowd.

Mark jolted. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare," he replied tonelessly.

The crowd cheered. Some guy from a different department smirked. "Let’s keep it simple. Kiss the person sitting next to you."

Donghyuck felt the world stop for a second. The music seemed to grow faint. Mark slowly turned toward the girl. She smiled coquettishly, leaning in. In that moment, Mark looked up and stared straight at Donghyuck. It lasted an eternity. There was a silent plea in Mark's eyes, mixed with guilt, but Donghyuck only tightened his grip on his glass.

"Hyung, I'm bored," Sungchan’s voice sounded in his ear. "Let's go get another drink and find Renjun and Jeno. It's too stuffy in here."

Donghyuck nodded, feeling bile rise in his throat. "Let's go."

Sungchan interlaced his fingers with Donghyuck’s. The younger boy’s hand was warm and large. Donghyuck glanced back one last time. He saw Mark frozen, staring at their joined hands. Something flashed in his gaze, but Hyuck didn't care anymore. He just walked away, heading up the stairs.

When Donghyuck and Sungchan reached the second floor, the music downstairs turned into a dull, vibrating thrum that was felt more through the soles of their sneakers than their ears. It was quieter here in the hallways, but the atmosphere was far more heavy and intimate. Bursts of laughter, the clinking of glass, and muffled groans drifted through the half-open doors of the guest rooms.

Sungchan didn’t let go of his hand. His palm was hot and dry, and he kept stroking Donghyuck’s knuckles with his thumb as if checking—would he run away? Donghyuck felt sick, but this obsessive care served as the only barrier keeping him from falling to pieces right there in front of everyone.

"How are you doing, Hyung?" Sungchan smiled, looking into his eyes. His height forced Donghyuck to tilt his head back, and there was something disarming about that.

"I’m fine. I just need another drink," Donghyuck muttered, trying to keep his voice from trembling. The image of Mark holding that girl was still seared into his retinas.

They found the right room at the very end of the hallway. It was a massive bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sprawling night city. Inside, it was dark, lit only by a few LED strips glowing in shifting blues and purples. Renjun and Jeno had already "settled in" on a giant bed piled high with pillows.

"Ooh! The hero of the evening has returned!"

Renjun lifted his head; his eyes were completely glassy, and the hair he usually protected so fiercely was sticking out in every direction. In one hand, he clutched a half-empty bottle of wine, while the other gripped the headboard to keep himself from sliding onto the floor.

Jeno lay nearby, sprawled out like a starfish, apparently trying to count the cracks in the ceiling. At the sight of Donghyuck, he lazily raised a hand in greeting.

"Hyuck-ie... Why... why are you so cranky?" Jeno stumbled mid-sentence and let out a stupid giggle.

Sungchan took a seat on the edge of the bed with an air of ownership and pulled Donghyuck toward him, forcing him to sit down almost between his knees.

"We decided to have our own party," Sungchan announced, fishing a sealed bottle of expensive whiskey from under the bed.

Donghyuck didn’t object. He took the offered glass and took a massive gulp. The liquid scorched his throat, bringing tears to his eyes, but a second later, a pleasant, cotton-like warmth spread through his body. He leaned back, feeling Sungchan’s chest against his spine. The younger boy wasn’t shy—he wrapped an arm around Donghyuck’s waist, pulling him closer, and began whispering something in his ear.

"He was always like that," Renjun said, taking another swig of wine straight from the bottle. "Walking around like he's got a rod up his ass. Always in control. Always so... perfect. Ugh."

"And today he really..." Jeno finally sat up, his face flushed from the alcohol. "It’s like he showed up with that girl on purpose."

Donghyuck remained silent. He felt the booze finally crowding out the last remnants of common sense. He wanted to hurt Mark.

"Who cares about him," Donghyuck said, turning sharply toward Sungchan. "Let's talk about something else."

Sungchan didn't need to be told twice. He started telling ridiculous stories from his basketball club, gesturing wildly. Renjun and Jeno chimed in with their drunken two cents, turning the conversation into an absurd stream of consciousness. At one point, Renjun decided he urgently needed to demonstrate "kung-fu techniques" right there on the bed, nearly knocking Donghyuck over with his chaotic arm-swinging.

"Sit still, you wannabe ninja!" Jeno laughed, trying to catch Renjun by the legs.

The room was hot. The smell of alcohol became almost tangible. Encouraged by the guys' laughter, Sungchan grew bolder. He began running his fingers through Donghyuck’s hair—the very styling Renjun had worked so hard on.

"This style really suits you, Hyung. And this shirt..." Sungchan lowered his voice so only Donghyuck could hear. "You look very... beautiful in it."

Donghyuck felt his head spinning. Sungchan’s attention was like sticky syrup—too sweet, too much—but he didn’t push him away. He needed this validation of his own worth.

An hour later, Renjun finally gave up. He curled into a ball on the pillows and began to snore softly, hugging the bottle to his chest like a loved one. Jeno settled beside him, his head hanging off the edge of the bed, seemingly sleeping with his eyes open.

But in that moment, the phone came to life again. The screen illuminated the room with a deathly white light. "Mom."

"Crap..." Donghyuck shook his head, trying to snap out of the haze. "I have to answer. It'll be quick."

He stepped into the hallway and pushed open the first door he found at the far end of the floor. The room was dark, smelling of old books and something coniferous. He closed the door, pressing the phone to his ear.

"Yeah, Mom... Yeah, I’ll be home soon. No, I haven't been drinking..." He lied on autopilot, staring into the darkness. "I’ll be back soon, everything's fine."

As soon as he ended the call and turned to leave, a hand shot out from the shadows and clamped firmly around his wrist. The grip was like steel. Donghyuck flinched, nearly dropping his phone.

"What the—" He spun around and found himself nose-to-nose with Mark.

Mark’s face was barely visible in the dark. Donghyuck yanked his arm back, freeing himself.

"Donghyuck..." Mark’s voice was low and trembling.

"Listen, Mark," Donghyuck took a step back, the alcohol giving him a surge of liquid courage. "I tried to understand you. I swear, I waited for you to come to me, to explain yourself, to say just one word. But now... now I don’t give a fuck. Seriously. Let's just go our separate ways and pretend we're strangers. You’re already so good at that, aren't you?"

"Please, Donghyuck, listen to me..." Mark took a step closer, cornering him. "I’ve really thought about this for a long time. I got confused. I thought it would be better for you this way. But I realized I can’t be a stranger. Not to you."

"Oh, Mark, please! Don’t make me laugh!" Donghyuck spat. "You ignored me for weeks, walked past me like I was a brick wall, showed up here with that... girl, kissed her right in front of my eyes—and you have the nerve to talk to me about feelings now?"

"Donghyuck, listen... I really like you! I do!" Mark shouted, and there was so much desperation in his voice that for a split second, Donghyuck wavered.

But his rage was stronger.

Donghyuck bolted for the door, trying to get out, but Mark blocked his path, bracing his hands against the doorframe.

"Stop, where are you going? We’re not finished!"

"Let me go, dammit!" Donghyuck shoved him in the chest. "I’m not listening to this bullshit. I’m done with your mood swings. I need to find Sungchan and—"

"Ah, right, Sungchan!" Mark suddenly let out a bitter smirk, one that was anything but "friendly." "You really love the attention, don't you, Donghyuck? Feels good to have him following you around like a puppy? You found a replacement pretty fast."

Donghyuck froze. Something inside him snapped.

"And I bet you’re fucking that bitch! So it’s none of your fucking business who I spend my time with."

The sound of crashing furniture drowned out the music from the hallway. They slammed into each other, tangling into a tight knot on the carpet. Donghyuck fought dirty: he bit, he scratched, he tried to drive an elbow into Mark’s jaw. He felt Mark’s hard muscles beneath his fingers, the frantic rhythm of his heart. Mark grabbed him around the waist, trying to pin him down.

Donghyuck tried to break for the exit, but Mark wouldn't let him. It turned into a total brawl. Donghyuck shoved and swiped at Mark’s hands, reaching for the doorknob. Mark used his strength to hold him back, pinning him against the door. They were both breathing hard, sweat stinging their eyes.

"Let me go, you fucking prick!" Donghyuck yelled, nearly crying from sheer frustration.

Mark didn't answer. He just grabbed Donghyuck by the collar of his black silk shirt. There was a sharp rip—the top button flew off into the darkness. Mark pinned him to the floor, looming over him. His breath was hot and jagged.

Donghyuck snapped his legs up, wrapping them around Mark’s waist and trying to flip him. They rolled across the floor, crashing into a bookshelf. Books rained down on their heads, but they didn't even notice. Mark grabbed Donghyuck by the shoulders and slammed him into the floor with force, holding him down with his entire body weight.

Donghyuck punched Mark in the temple, but Mark didn't even blink. He simply blocked the hand, pinning it to the rug. There was nothing pretty about this fight—only sweat, anger, and the smell of booze. Donghyuck felt helplessness washing over him. Mark was too strong, too heavy.

And then, a voice from behind the door made them both freeze.

"Donghyuck-hyung? Are you in there?"

It was Sungchan.

Mark went still. His fingers, which were crushing Donghyuck’s wrists, flickered for a moment. He looked at the door, then back at Donghyuck. There was a flash of such wild jealousy in his eyes that for a second, Hyuck felt a chill of fear.

Donghyuck seized the opening. He slammed his knee into Mark’s groin with everything he had. Mark wheezed, his grip loosening just enough. Donghyuck twisted violently, rolled to the side, and scrambled to his feet, gasping for air. His shirt was a wrinkled mess, several buttons were missing, and the hair Renjun had so carefully styled was now sticking out in every direction.

Sungchan stood in the hallway looking confused. He looked at the disheveled Donghyuck, at his flushed face, and then peered into the room where Mark stood in the shadows.

"I... yeah, sorry. Got a bit lost," Donghyuck said, quickly adjusting his shirt and trying to keep his voice steady. "Are we leaving?"

"Yeah," Sungchan stepped closer and draped an arm over Donghyuck’s shoulders, pulling him close in a possessive gesture. "Renjun and Jeno were looking for you too. They’re completely wasted, we need to get them home."

"Everything okay?" Sungchan asked, eyeing Mark suspiciously as he slowly stepped out of the shadows.

Donghyuck was ready to turn and walk away, but Mark suddenly spoke, loud and clear:

"Donghyuck, think about my feelings. I'll be waiting for an answer."

Donghyuck felt his eye twitch. This asshole... He did it on purpose. Right in front of Sungchan. Now he decided to play the Romeo because he’d been backed into a corner.

Donghyuck didn't even turn around. He just raised his hand and showed his middle finger to Mark over his shoulder.

"Do me a favor and go fuck yourself."

After that night in the room, when Mark had tried to justify himself, Donghyuck had waited for something to click inside. For the pain to subside, or at least turn into a familiar itch.

Donghyuck had decided for himself: enough was enough.

But Mark, apparently, decided to take the path of least resistance. He launched a "relationship rescue operation" that felt more like a bad rom-com.

It all started on Monday. Donghyuck found the first chocolate bar on his windowsill that morning. The window was locked, but Mark, using his abilities, had managed to stick the bar and a note to the sill. The note read: “You looked really cute in that black shirt. I couldn't stop looking. Forgive me if you can. M.”

Donghyuck looked at this "gift" with disgust. He didn't eat it. He simply tossed it into his desk drawer, along with old receipts and junk.

On Tuesday, Mark grew bolder. Messages flooded kakaotalk like a dam breaking.

mark: hyuck, i saw you in the cafeteria. you barely ate anything. pls take care of yourself.

mark: i left your favorite latte by your locker. i hope it’s still warm.

mark: i’m sitting on the roof opposite. i can see your light. sorry for being such a jerk. goodnight.

Donghyuck didn't open the chat. He saw the notifications on his lock screen, and each one triggered a flash of rage. "Cute"? "Take care of yourself"? Where was this concern when Mark was walking past him for three weeks straight, pretending they didn't know each other?

On Wednesday, the chocolate was hazelnut. The note: “It really suits you when you style your hair back, showing your forehead. You look so confident. But honestly, I like you better messy, like right after you wake up. I miss us. M.”

Donghyuck crumpled the note into a ball and threw it in the trash. He felt like Mark was trying to "buy" his forgiveness with cheap compliments. As if Donghyuck were some fangirl who would melt just because an idol paid her attention.

By Friday, Donghyuck had accumulated a small warehouse of this confectionery garbage. The bag in his desk drawer had grown heavy. He woke up with a heavy head and one single thought: today, this ends. He would no longer allow Mark to think he had a chance.

He dumped the entire contents of the drawer into a large paper grocery bag. The chocolates, the unopened bars, the few notes he hadn't burned in a fit of anger.

The school greeted him with its usual roar. Donghyuck walked through the hallways, his gaze so icy that even Renjun, who was about to ask him something, simply stepped aside in silence. Donghyuck didn't go to his own classroom. He headed straight for the seniors' wing.

There were about twenty people in the classroom. The teacher hadn't arrived yet; the air was thick with the hum of voices, laughter, and people copying homework. Mark sat in the center, surrounded by his basketball buddies.

Mark looked up instantly. His eyes widened, a spark of hope flickering in them for a fraction of a second. He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor with a harsh screech.

"Donghyuck? You... hey," Mark took a step forward, his face lighting up with that same shy smile Donghyuck used to love. He clearly thought the "gifts" had worked—that Hyuck had come to make up.

Donghyuck didn't say a word. He walked up to Mark’s desk, ignoring dozens of curious eyes, and slammed the paper bag down onto it.

The sound was heavy and loud. The chocolates inside crunched under their own weight. A few bars spilled out onto Mark’s desk. His classmates went dead silent. Someone let out a whistle. Mark felt the heat of a flush slowly creeping up his neck and ears. He felt intensely awkward under the crosshair of all those stares.

"What is this, Hyuck?" Mark whispered, trying to save face.

"It’s your trash," Donghyuck’s voice was steady and dry, cutting through the silence of the room like a knife. "Don't bother anymore. I don't want it."

Donghyuck looked Mark straight in the eye. There was no hatred in that look—only absolute, burnt-out indifference. It was worse than any scream. He turned on his heel and walked out of the room without looking back.

"Donghyuck! Wait!" Mark’s voice caught up to him in the hallway.

Mark burst out of the classroom a few seconds later. He ran after him, breathing heavily.

"Stop, just wait!" Mark grabbed his wrist, trying to turn him around.

Donghyuck wrenched himself away so sharply that Mark nearly lost his balance.

"Don't touch me."

"Hyuck, I just wanted to make things better!" Mark stood in the middle of the hallway, his hands shaking. "I didn't know how to approach you! You blocked me everywhere, you won't answer my calls! Those notes... I wrote them sincerely. I really do miss you."

"You think that's how this works?" Donghyuck took a step toward him, and Mark instinctively backed away. "You think you can wipe your feet on me for three weeks, pretend I don't exist, kiss other people, and then bring over a few chocolates—and I'll just jump into your arms? Do you have that high an opinion of yourself, Mark Lee? That you’re such a great hero that everything is forgiven for a bar of chocolate?"

"I didn't mean it like that! I made a mistake, I admitted it!" Mark looked almost crushed. "I just want us to go back to the time when..."

"That time is gone," Donghyuck cut him off.

At that moment, the sharp, jarring bell for the start of class rang out above their heads. The hallway began to empty rapidly as students scrambled to their rooms. Donghyuck adjusted the strap of his backpack.

"Let me through. I’m late."

"Donghyuck, please... I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as it takes," Mark still stood in his path, looking at him with a plea in his eyes.

Donghyuck simply walked around Mark, brushing past his shoulder, and strode confidently toward his class. He stepped inside and closed the door without even a glance back.

Mark was left standing alone in the empty, sun-drenched corridor. The silence pressed against his ears. He thought of the bag left on the desk under the snickers of his classmates. Never in his life had he felt so ashamed and so pained at the same time.

Chapter Text

The following week, the gym was stifling. Ironically, because of repairs in the smaller hall, two classes had to be combined. Mark’s twelfth-grade class and Donghyuck’s eleventh-grade class were sharing the same court. The air was thick with the smell of rubber, sweat, and the kind of tension that usually comes before a storm.

When the PE teacher blew his whistle to start the match between the classes, Donghyuck felt a surge of energy through his veins. He didn't look at Mark, but he could feel his presence at the other end of the court. Mark was wearing a black athletic tank top that showed off his muscular shoulders, with a headband around his forehead. He looked focused and dangerously calm.

"Play hard," Donghyuck told Jeno, tying his shoelaces so tight that his fingers went numb.

The game began. From the very first minute, it was clear: this wasn't just a friendly match. It was a personal vendetta.

Donghyuck played like he was possessed. He ran across the court, intercepted passes, and charged forward without fear of crashing into anyone. But every time he had the ball, Mark stood in front of him like a wall. Mark didn't use his superpowers—he was too proud for that—but his reflexes and natural strength made him almost impossible to beat.

In the middle of the second half, Donghyuck tried an aggressive move. Mark blocked his path, and they hit each other’s shoulders so hard that Donghyuck was knocked back a step.

"Get out of the way," Donghyuck hissed, trying to move past him on the right.

"Take the ball first," Mark replied coldly, staring him down. There was no more begging in his eyes like there had been in the hallway.

There was only competitive anger and a desire to prove he was still in control.

They played dirty. Donghyuck "accidentally" hit Mark in the ribs with an elbow; Mark blocked his shots aggressively, pinning Donghyuck against the backboard so closely that Hyuck could hear Mark’s heavy breathing right in his ear. The whole gym went quiet, watching this fight. Renjun and Jeno looked at each other in worry. It was obvious: these two weren't playing basketball; they were trying to destroy each other.

In the end, Mark scored the winning three-pointer right over Donghyuck’s reaching hands. The whistle blew. Mark’s class won by two points.

"Good game," someone from Mark’s team said, but Mark didn't celebrate. He stood there, breathing hard, looking at Donghyuck, who was clenching his fists so tight his knuckles were white.

It was even worse in the locker room. The guys were loud, talking about the game and slamming locker doors. Donghyuck sat on the bench, pulling off his sweaty jersey. The anger inside him was boiling over.

Mark was the last to enter. He walked past Donghyuck to his own locker, which was only a meter away.

"You fouled on purpose at the end," Donghyuck snapped, throwing his wet clothes on the floor. "You were grabbing my arms, the ref just didn't see it."

Mark turned around slowly, wiping his face with a towel.

"I played fair, Donghyuck. Just admit that you lost. You’ve always had a hard time accepting defeat."

"Lost?!" Donghyuck jumped up from the bench, standing as close to Mark as possible. "You only won because you play like an asshole. Do you think because you’re taller and stronger, you can just push everyone around?"

"I’m not pushing anyone!" Mark shouted back, taking a step forward. Now they were standing chest-to-chest. "I tried to be nice to you, I tried to apologize, but you... you’re acting like a total jerk!"

"Oh, really?!" Donghyuck shoved Mark in the chest with both hands.

Mark didn't back down. He grabbed Donghyuck by the collar of his clean shirt.

"You’re the one who wanted this! You wanted to be strangers—fine! Don't complain now that I’m not letting you win!"

They were ready to fight. Everyone else in the room went silent. The tension between them was so high it felt like the fire alarm might go off.

"Hey, hey! Stop it!" Renjun reacted first. He stepped between them, pushing his hands against Donghyuck’s chest. At the same time, Jeno grabbed Donghyuck from behind, pulling him away.

"Enough! You’ll both be in trouble if the teacher walks in!" Renjun yelled.

Jeno and Renjun exchanged worried looks. They had never seen Donghyuck like this—so out of control and bitter. This wasn't the Hyuck who made jokes. This was a person whose pain had turned into pure aggression.

"Let go of me!" Donghyuck barked, breaking free from Jeno’s grip.

He started putting on his clothes quickly, refusing to look at Mark. His hands were shaking so much he couldn't even do up his buttons. Mark stood still, staring at the wall, his chest still moving up and down.

Donghyuck grabbed his backpack. He looked around the locker room with a furious glare, looking at Mark for just a second—a second full of pure hatred.

"You won the match, Mark. I hope you're happy with your pathetic victory."

Donghyuck ran out of the locker room. There was a loud crash as he slammed the metal door as hard as he could.

The room went completely silent. Mark slowly sat down on the bench and covered his face with his hands. He had won the game, but he felt like he had finally lost the last thing connecting him to Donghyuck. Jeno and Renjun stood there, realizing their friend had just crossed a line where "being hurt" turns into something truly destructive.

The day didn't start with an alarm clock, but with a heavy feeling in his chest that Donghyuck couldn't ignore. The entire weekend had passed under the shadow of an information war. While Seoul slept, news channels and social media had turned into a full-blown battlefield, with one single person as the primary target.

It was quiet in Donghyuck's house, but it was the kind of silence that usually precedes a storm. Donghyuck's mother was busy in the kitchen, while the evening news digest played on the TV in the living room. Donghyuck sat on the sofa, pretending to read his history textbook, but in reality, he was absorbing every word the news reporter said.

— "Spider-Man: Savior or Destructive Force?" — the headline flashed on the screen.

The footage changed to helicopter shots of a recent fight in the industrial district. There were broken windows, destroyed roads, and pieces of webbing hanging from streetlights. The anchor, a man with a cold voice, started reading the damage costs.

— "The City Council issued a statement this morning expressing concern over the rising number of incidents involving so-called 'vigilantes.' Preliminary estimates place the cost of restoring the bridge and surrounding structures at over five billion won. Citizens are asking: is saving a few lives worth such colossal expenditures of their tax money?"

Donghyuck felt something snap inside him. It was as if that icy voice had grated directly against his nerves. "Is saving a few lives worth it?.." — the phrase kept circling in his head, making him feel sick.

"Mom, do you hear this?" Donghyuck asked sharply, without turning around.

His mother stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. She glanced at the screen and sighed.

"Oh, Hyuck-ie, it really does look terrible. They say the traffic was blocked for three hours because of that fight, and people missed their flights at the airport. But despite that, I believe he's a good person."

"If it wasn't for him, that bus would be sitting at the bottom of the river right now with everyone on board," Donghyuck’s voice trembled. "What are they even talking about? The police arrived fifteen minutes later! No one would have survived fifteen minutes in freezing water."

He stood up, slammed his textbook shut, and went to his room without finishing dinner. A fire was raging inside him. He remembered Mark. He remembered his bloodied knuckles, the bruises he hid under his school uniform, his constant lack of sleep. While these people on TV discussed the "city budget," Mark Lee was stitching his wounds in the bathroom, trying not to wake his mother.

Monday morning at school met him with the usual hum, but today that noise felt particularly toxic to Donghyuck. Everywhere he went — the library, the cafeteria, or just down the hallway — he heard fragments of the same conversation.

— "…yeah, my dad says he’s just a pseudo-hero."

— "See the photo on twitter? He almost crushed a sedan there."

— "They say he’ll be declared an outlaw soon. Finally, the police will get to do their job."

Donghyuck walked with his head tucked into his shoulders, gripping his backpack straps so hard his knuckles turned white.

At the main lockers, where the loudest crowd usually gathered, it was especially crowded today. In the center stood Daniel Kim — the captain of the football team, a guy whose ego was slightly larger than the entire school stadium. In his hands, he held the latest issue of a newspaper, the cover featuring a blurry photo of Spider-Man with the headline: "HERO OR THREAT?".

"Listen to this," Daniel proclaimed, theatrically waving the paper in front of the crowd. "He’s not a hero; he’s a walking catastrophe. He’s just playing savior because he’s bored. If he actually had brains, he’d join the army or the police instead of jumping around back alleys in those gay tights."

The crowd around him erupted into laughter. A few cheerleaders nodded in agreement.

"And that costume…" someone from the crowd added. "There’s probably some freak under that mask who can't get a girl, so he's just acting out."

The laughter grew louder. Daniel, inspired by the audience's support, continued:

"He’s just a coward. He hides his face because he knows if he gets caught, he’ll have to answer for everything. For every broken brick, for every car. If I were the cops, I’d just shoot him on sight. One less problem to deal with."

Donghyuck, who had been standing a few meters away the whole time, felt something finally snap in his mind. This wasn't just ordinary anger. It was a cold, icy rage that burned away every last bit of self-control.

He didn't scream. He simply walked up and ripped the newspaper out of Daniel’s hands so sharply that the boy almost lost his balance.

"Hey, Lee! Have you lost your mind?" the footballer shouted, straightening up and looming over Donghyuck.

"Are you finished?" Donghyuck asked. His voice was quiet, but there was such power in that silence that Daniel’s eye twitched.

"What are you talking about?"

"I’m talking about your stupid mouth, which is overflowing with shit," Donghyuck took a step forward, invading the other's personal space.

"You call him a coward? You, who hides behind your friends and your daddy's wallet? You talk about the 'cost of bricks' while the people who were on that bus went home to their families today?"

"Oh, come on," Daniel tried to regain his confident look, but his voice wavered slightly.

"What, are you his fanboy? Do you have his poster over your bed or something?"

Donghyuck didn't look away. He moved even closer, almost chest-to-chest.

"I don't care what he looks like or what he’s wearing. But I know one thing: while you’re standing here talking about insurance, he’s risking his life every damn night. No salary. No recognition. Under fire from idiots like you. He takes bullets, knives, and broken bones just so you can eat your burger and play football in peace."

"So what? It’s his choice..." Daniel started.

"It’s not a choice, it’s a responsibility that you have no damn clue about," Donghyuck cut him off. "All of you... you’re just a bunch of ungrateful vultures. You love watching someone fall because you’ll never rise higher than this dirty floor yourselves. If I hear... even one more goddamn time, any of you talking trash about Spider-Man, I won't complain to the teachers. I’ll personally beat the shit you call brains out of you."

Donghyuck crumpled the newspaper into a tight ball and threw it hard at Daniel’s chest.

"And don’t you dare call him a coward. He’s the only one in this city with the balls to do what’s right, not what’s profitable."

On Tuesday in Chemistry, Mrs. Park announced a lab session. Donghyuck hoped he could sit with Jeno or Renjun and spend the lesson procrastinating, but luck was not on his side.

"Groups are strictly by the class list," she snapped. "Lee Jeno and Huang Renjun — lab station three. Lee Donghyuck — go to Zhong Chenle, station six."

Donghyuck suppressed a groan. He didn’t talk to Chenle much — he only knew that the guy came from a very wealthy family, played the piano, and sometimes hung out with guys from the senior classes. Chenle had always seemed "normal" to him: loud when necessary and polite enough, but they had never crossed the line beyond a simple "hello" in the hallway.

Reluctantly, he gathered his things and moved to the sixth desk. Chenle was already setting up the test tubes, looking unusually focused.

"Hey," Donghyuck muttered, opening his textbook. "I’ll record the results, and you mix the chemicals. My hands are a mess today."

"Hey to you too," Chenle gave a short laugh, casting a quick, observant glance at him.

"Fine, deal. Add two drops of phenolphthalein when I tell you."

The first twenty minutes passed in relative silence, broken only by the clinking of glass and quiet talk about formulas. Chenle turned out to be a surprisingly pleasant partner — he wasn't slow, worked quickly, and didn't ask annoying questions. Donghyuck even began to relax a little while they waited for the solution in the flask to change color.

"Listen," Chenle suddenly said, without looking away from the burner. His voice became quieter and more serious. "It’s none of my business, obviously, but... could you just talk to Mark?"

Donghyuck froze with a pipette in his hand. He thought he had misheard.

"To who?"

"To Mark Lee," Chenle finally looked up. There was no mockery in his eyes, only a strange, tired understanding.

A storm of thoughts raced through Donghyuck’s head in a second: Mark? Do Chenle and Mark know each other? Are they friends? How close? Is Mark actually discussing me with him?!

"I'm not..." Donghyuck started, feeling a lump in his throat.

"Yeah, yeah, I know it’s none of my business," Chenle interrupted, waving his hand. "Honestly, Mark has been talking my ear off about it. He’s being a real pain in ass, seriously. Just give him one minute to explain himself, okay?"

“It’s just.. I’ve never seen Mark cry. Well almost. Last time he cried was when his uncle Ben died. And last night he was really sad about this whole situation with you.”

Donghyuck stood there, unable to even blink. The world around him seemed to shrink to the size of this single lab station. The image of the cool superhero, who had masterfully ignored him for three weeks, didn't fit at all with the idea of a guy who cried and whined to someone about his feelings. Mark cried? The same Mark who jumped off fifteen-story buildings with a stone-cold expression?

The words about Uncle Ben pierced his mind like red-hot needles. It wasn't just sadness. It was a breaking point. The last time this had happened was when he lost the only person close to him. And now... because of Donghyuck?

"Just, please, don't tell him I said anything," Chenle added, turning back to the flask. "Otherwise, he’ll bury me alive. Or just die of embarrassment. Anyway, this conversation never happened."

"Uhh..." was all Donghyuck could manage.

Everything inside him flipped upside down. His resentment, which had seemed so solid and justified, suddenly cracked. If Mark was "talking Chenle’s ear off," it meant he hadn't just forgotten about that night. It meant he was suffering too.

Chenle didn’t say another word. He carefully turned off the burner and began writing the final data in his notebook. They finished the rest of the lesson in absolute silence.

Donghyuck mechanically washed the test tubes, processing all the information.

When the bell rang, Chenle just nodded goodbye and was the first to leave the classroom, leaving Donghyuck alone with a blank lab report and a painfully pounding heart.

A week passed. A strange, heavy silence hung over the school. Donghyuck no longer found chocolates on his windowsill, received no notifications on KakaoTalk, and, strangest of all, didn't see Mark at all. He would walk past the senior classrooms, and his eyes would involuntarily linger on the empty desk by the window.

"It’s none of my business. Maybe he’s sick. Maybe he’s saving the world in another hemisphere," he told himself, trying to focus on his textbooks. But inside, an unpleasant feeling of anxiety continued to itch, a feeling he carefully packed away into the furthest corner of his mind.

On Friday, the sky turned lead-gray by lunchtime. By evening, a real storm had broken out. Rain lashed against the windows so hard it felt like they might crack. Thunder rolled nearby, making the house shake.

Donghyuck sat at his desk, surrounded by notebooks. His lamp cast a warm circle of light on his biology book, but his thoughts were far from cell division. Suddenly, through the roar of the rain, there was a sound. A quiet, rhythmic tapping on the glass.

Donghyuck froze. His heart skipped a beat and then began to race. He slowly turned his head. Outside the window, in the pouring rain, sat Mark. He looked miserable. He was soaked to the bone, wearing a thin windbreaker that clung to his shoulders, with his hair hanging in icicles over his eyes.

Donghyuck cursed under his breath, but his feet carried him to the window anyway. He yanked the latch open and pushed the window wide.

"Are you a complete idiot?" he snapped instead of a greeting, stepping aside to let Mark in. "You're soaked to the bone! There’s a storm out there, lightning, and you’re sitting here like some kind of fuckass homeless!"

Mark awkwardly climbed over the windowsill. A puddle immediately began to form on the carpet from his wet clothes. He stood there, hugging himself, his teeth chattering loudly.

"What do you want?" Donghyuck crossed his arms, trying to look unmoved. But the sight of a shivering Mark made his heart ache with a painful tenderness he had suppressed for so long.

Mark looked up at him. His eyes were bloodshot, with deep shadows underneath.

"Hyuck... I can’t do this anymore."

Donghyuck remained silent, leaning against his desk.

"Forgive me," Mark’s voice trembled. "For everything. For leaving you back then. For ignoring you. For that girl at the party—that was the stupidest idea of my life. I just wanted... I don’t know what I wanted. I was scared, Donghyuck. I was scared that if you were with me, you’d become a target. I thought if I hurt you now, it would save you from something worse later."

"And did it save me?" Donghyuck asked with a bitter smile.

"No," Mark shook his head. "It nearly killed me too."

Mark took a step closer, leaving wet footprints behind.

"Please, don't kick me out. I’m not asking you to forget everything tomorrow. I just want you to know: I’m here. I won't run away again. I swear. Give me a chance just to be near you. Even as a stranger, if that’s what you want, but just don’t push me away."

Donghyuck stared at him for a long time without blinking. His face remained a mask of indifference, but the storm inside him was stronger than the one outside. He remembered every chocolate, every insulting move, every cold look. But he also remembered how Mark used to land on his windowsill, and how warm they felt together.

"You look like shit, Mark," Donghyuck finally said quietly.

He went to the closet, pulled out his largest, softest towel, and threw it at Mark’s face.

"Dry yourself off. And change into something dry; I’ll find you some clothes. If you get sick, you're dead."

Mark froze, pressing the towel to his face, and Donghyuck heard a quiet, jagged exhale—part sob, part sigh of relief.

Ten minutes later, Mark was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing one of Donghyuck’s oversized hoodies. The room smelled of rain and hot tea that Donghyuck had brought from the kitchen. The silence was no longer sharp. It was... fragile.

Donghyuck sat down beside him, an arm’s length away. He still felt resentful; that didn't disappear in one conversation, but the weight that had pressed on his shoulders for the last week began to slowly lift.

"I’m still mad at you," Donghyuck said, looking into his cup. "And I’m not promising that we’ll be best friends tomorrow."

"That’s enough for me," Mark whispered.

Mark sat on the edge of the bed, slightly hunched over. Donghyuck’s huge hoodie hung off him, making him look unusually domestic and vulnerable. His fingers, still red from the cold, nervously fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. He was afraid to even breathe too loudly, as if any sudden movement might destroy this shaky peace.

Donghyuck looked at his own hand resting on his knee. He felt Mark’s gaze—heavy and full of unspoken expectation and hope.

Mark carefully, almost weightlessly, began to close the distance between them. His hand moved across the blanket slowly, like in slow motion. When his pinky finger first touched Donghyuck’s skin, Donghyuck instinctively flinched. An electric spark ran through his body, making the hair on his arms stand up.

But he didn't pull away. He forced himself to stay still, allowing the contact to happen.

Mark’s cool fingers slid further, covering Donghyuck’s hand. The touch was so fragile, as if Mark were holding the wings of a rare butterfly. He didn't squeeze; he was just there, offering himself, his presence, and his sincerity.

Donghyuck felt something inside him finally break. All the ice he had built around his heart to avoid the pain began to melt, turning into burning moisture in the corners of his eyes. His fingers twitched. Slowly, overcoming the last of his internal resistance, he turned his palm up to meet Mark’s hand.

Second by second, inch by inch, their fingers began to interlock. When their knuckles finally touched and their palms pressed together, Mark let out a deep, shaky breath. His grip became a little firmer, more secure, as if he had finally found an anchor in this chaotic world.

Mark’s palm was still cool from the rain, but Donghyuck’s warmth quickly spread to him. In this simple gesture—intertwined hands in the dim light of the room—there was more meaning than in all the chocolates, notes, and heroic acts.

They sat like that for a long time, not moving. The rain outside gradually slowed down; its fierce drumming was replaced by the soft, sleepy whisper of droplets sliding down the glass. Only the desk lamp was lit, casting long, soft shadows on the walls.

Donghyuck felt Mark’s head slowly rest on his shoulder. The weight was pleasant, and it felt right. He closed his eyes, letting himself simply feel the warmth of the other’s body and the steady beat of Mark’s heart under his fingers.

It was their small, fragile promise. A promise that they would try to gather the pieces of their broken reality and glue them back together. For real. This time without masks, without lies, and without fear of the future. That night, the storm ended not only outside the window but inside them as well.

Chapter Text

A week had passed since all the drama. They were walking home together after school, side by side, their fingers almost brushing against each other. They stopped in front of Mark’s house. The air was cool, smelling of damp pavement and the evening city. Mark looked unusually calm, but Donghyuck could see him nervously fiddling with his backpack strap.

"Donghyuck," Mark stopped and turned to him. "Are you free this Saturday?"

"Um... yeah?" Donghyuck raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Then I’ll come by and pick you up."

Mark suddenly took a step forward and gave Donghyuck a quick, tight hug. He smelled of that same minty cologne and something unmistakably domestic. He pulled away as quickly as he had hugged him and started walking toward his door without looking back.

"This is a date, by the way!" he shouted over his shoulder.

Donghyuck stood on the sidewalk, watching him go. His heart was pounding somewhere in his throat. Looking at that retreating back in the dorky jacket, Donghyuck realized that now, he certainly wasn't going anywhere.

"A date, huh," he whispered to himself, feeling a stupid grin spread across his face.

Saturday started off crappy. Donghyuck woke up to a faint, annoying rain drumming against the glass, and the room felt gray and uncomfortable. This whole "peace" after that night of intertwined fingers felt strange. They had decided something, sure, but deep down there was still a dull resentment that couldn't just be erased. He wanted to trust Mark, but old wounds stung like healing burns.

Donghyuck stood in front of the mirror for forty minutes. He tried on everything: from formal shirts to oversized sweaters. In the end, he chose that same black silk shirt from the party. He unbuttoned the top buttons, staring at the faded mark on his collarbone left over from their fight in the locker room.

Mark came to the front door for him. He rang the bell, and when Donghyuck opened it, he saw Mark looking like he was heading for an exam his life depended on. He was wearing simple light jeans and a white T-shirt with a leather jacket thrown over it. In his hands, he clutched a small bouquet of... sunflowers.

"Hey," Mark awkwardly handed over the flowers. "I just saw them on the way and thought... they really suit you."

They walked toward the shopping mall. Mark was clearly nervous—he kept tripping over nothing and started to say something only to shut up at the last second. They ended up in a chain burger joint at the food court.

It was awful. It was noisy inside, smelling of burnt oil and cheap cleaning supplies. At the next table, kids were screaming; a group of teenagers was laughing loudly at a video on a phone; crumpled napkins lay on the floor.

Donghyuck sat there, picking at a French fry, looking at Mark, who was trying to act casual while his hands were visibly shaking.

"This is your 'date'?" Donghyuck raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I just... damn it, Hyuck, I don't know how to do this normally," Mark sighed, tossing his napkin aside. "I spent the whole week rehearsing what to say, and now I’m sitting here feeling like an idiot."

"Because you are an idiot," Donghyuck smirked, and it was his first sincere smile of the evening. "Let's get out of here. My head is about to explode from this smell."

They stepped outside. A fine, nasty drizzle was falling—the kind that didn't refresh but just made everything sticky. They wandered aimlessly through the back alleys until they hit a fire escape of some warehouse.

"Let’s go up," Mark nodded. "I want to show you something."

They climbed up, staining their hands with grease. Donghyuck almost slipped a couple of times, cursing under his breath, while Mark caught him by the waist, holding his hand there just a second longer than necessary each time.

It was windy on the roof and not romantic at all. There was construction debris lying around, and air conditioning units hummed loudly. Mark sat on the edge, dangling his legs, and patted the spot next to him.

"Why are you so quiet?" Mark glanced at him. "Are you still mad?"

"A little," Donghyuck admitted honestly, sitting down so their shoulders touched.

"You can hit me. Go ahead," Mark offered his chin. "If it makes you feel better, I won't even defend myself."

Donghyuck looked at him. At the messy hair, the guilty eyes, the way Mark gripped the concrete edge of the roof. All the anger suddenly vanished, leaving only a stupid, tugging sensation deep in his stomach.

"To hell with you," Donghyuck exhaled. "You get to live for now."

He was the first to reach out and grab Mark's hand. Mark's fingers were ice cold. He flinched but immediately intertwined their fingers, squeezing Donghyuck’s hand so hard it was as if he was afraid he would jump.

"Hyuck..." Mark turned to him. In the dim light, his features looked sharper. "I... I really like you. And I probably won't be able to make up for what I did for a long time, but... but I'll try. I promise!"

"Shut up, Mark," Donghyuck leaned in, cutting off the flow of words. "You talk too much."

He didn't wait. Donghyuck closed those final inches himself. The kiss was clumsy—they bumped teeth, Mark jerked back in surprise, and they almost toppled over. But a second later, everything fell into place.

Mark cupped his face with his palms, and there was so much possessiveness and hunger in the gesture that Donghyuck’s legs felt weak.

It wasn't like a fairy tale. It was real: with the taste of cheap soda, salty raindrops on their lips, and heavy breathing mixed with the cold wind.

Donghyuck gripped Mark's shoulders, feeling the firm muscles under his fingers. Mark kissed him as if he were trying to drink all the oxygen out of him, pulling him closer and closer. At some point, they both just collapsed onto the dirty concrete, still clinging to each other.

"No more bullshit," Mark rasped directly into Donghyuck’s lips. "You hear me?"

"Or what?" Donghyuck breathed heavily, looking up at him. His shirt was riding up, his hair was a mess, but he felt damn alive.

"Oh, you know," Mark smirked, and there was something dangerously playful in that grin. "I'll web you to the bed and won't let you out until you get some sense."

"Oh, look how brave we've become,"

Donghyuck laughed, pulling him down by the back of his neck for another kiss.

They lay on that roof for a long time, ignoring the cold and the dirt. They just held hands, looking into the murky Seoul sky. There were no more secrets, no "hero" and no "victim."

"Let's go home?" Mark asked after an eternity.

"Let's go," Donghyuck nodded, standing up and brushing off his jeans.

After that night on the warehouse roof, everything at school was supposed to become "normal," but for Donghyuck, that word always caused a nervous tic. Monday morning greeted him with the usual hum of voices, the smell of cheap vending machine coffee, and the sensation that someone was constantly whispering behind his back. Though, most likely, it was just paranoia.

Mark hadn't lied — he didn't just pass him by. But he did it in his own way: when they bumped into each other at the library doors, Lee just froze for five seconds, staring at Donghyuck as if he were the Holy Grail, then gave an awkward nod and nearly slammed into the doorframe while leaving.

"Idiot," Donghyuck whispered, feeling his ears begin to burn.

During the second break, Donghyuck decided he needed to wash his face. His head was a mess of trigonometry and memories of Mark in a wet shirt pressing him against a concrete parapet. He went into the second-floor restroom — it was usually quieter there.

Donghyuck walked to the sink, splashed cold water on his face, and stared at his reflection. There were shadows under his eyes, and his lips still looked a bit swollen. He had just reached for a paper towel when the restroom door swung open abruptly and immediately slammed shut, the bolt clicking into place.

Before Donghyuck could even turn around, he was grabbed by the shoulder and literally dragged into the far stall, his back slamming into the door.

"What the fuck?!" he started, raising a fist, but his hand froze in mid-air.

Mark stood before him. He was breathing heavily, his bangs falling over his eyes, looking like he had just run a marathon.

"Are you out of your mind?" Donghyuck hissed, trying to push him away.

But Mark didn't budge. He looked at Donghyuck with that look — the one that made everything inside Hyuck twist into a tight knot.

"I’ve been trying to talk to you all morning," Mark exhaled. "But you’re always with Jeno and Renjun. I couldn’t take it anymore."

"And so you decided to stage a kidnapping in the bathroom? Original, Mark Lee. Ten out of ten for creativity, zero for execution. Get lost."

Donghyuck tried to slide past him to the exit, but Mark blocked the way, bracing his hands against the door on both sides of Donghyuck’s head.

"Hyuck," he called out softly.

"What 'Hyuck'? What—"

Donghyuck didn't get to finish. Mark leaned forward and simply shut him up with a kiss. It wasn't like their past fight-passion on the roof. This was quick, almost desperate, and damn bold. Mark covered his lips with his own, bruising them, and for a second, Donghyuck just stopped thinking. The scent of Mark's cologne and mint gum hit him.

Donghyuck felt his heart do a somersault and start hammering against his ribs like a jackhammer. He wanted to push him away, he really did, but instead, his fingers instinctively clawed into the collar of that very school shirt of Mark’s.

After a few seconds, Mark pulled back. Donghyuck’s face flushed so deep he looked like a ripe tomato.

"Have you... have you completely lost your mind?!" Donghyuck tried to make his voice sound stern, but it betrayed him with a slight tremor. "What if someone had walked in? Do you even realize what you’re doing, you idiot?"

"I do," Mark smirked, and there was so much arrogance in that smirk that Donghyuck wanted to strangle him. "Red suits you, Hyuck-ie."

"Go to hell!" Donghyuck shoved him in the chest. "Get the fuck out of the stall before I actually break your jaw."

Mark laughed, gave him a quick peck on the very tip of his nose, and then, before Donghyuck could react, unlatched the door, slipped out of the stall, and vanished behind the restroom door.

Donghyuck was left standing alone in the cramped space, pressing his palm to his lips. His heart was pounding so hard it was painful to breathe. Flashbacks hit him in such a powerful wave that he had to rest his forehead against the cold plastic of the door.

"Dammit, Mark Lee..." he whispered into the void. "You’re going to give me a heart attack."

The big break. The cafeteria hummed like a disturbed beehive. Donghyuck sat at their usual table, picking at some unrecognizable salad with a fork. Renjun and Jeno sat opposite him, arguing about something, discussing the upcoming history test.

Donghyuck felt that if he didn't say it now, he would burst apart. He took a deep breath, set down the fork, and squeezed his eyes shut so hard that spots danced before him.

"So, anyway..." he started, cutting Renjun off mid-sentence. "Mark and I... um... we’re kinda dating."

He blurted it out in one breath and froze, waiting for the explosion. He expected Renjun to drop his chopsticks, or Jeno to choke on his juice. He expected questions, shock, cries of "No way!".

One second passed. Five. Ten. People were still noisy in the cafeteria; a tray fell somewhere in the distance.

Donghyuck cautiously opened one eye. Renjun was calmly chewing his rice, and Jeno was lazily scrolling through his phone.

"Well?" Donghyuck couldn't take it. "Are you guys deaf or something?"

Renjun slowly lifted his gaze to him, swallowed his food, and asked nonchalantly:

"Well, are we supposed to act surprised? Like: 'Oh my god, Hyuck, how did this happen?'. Is that the reaction you want?"

Donghyuck was stunned.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, it was expected," Jeno added, not even looking up from his phone. His voice was completely devoid of emotion. "Congratulations, obviously. It took you guys long enough. We were already placing bets on when you'd finally stop ignoring each other and start dating."

Donghyuck jumped in his seat, nearly flipping the table.

"What? What do you mean 'expected'? Who do you think you are, freaking psychics? It was not expected at all! We fought like dogs! He pissed me off! I hated him!"

"Yeah, 'hated' him," Renjun rolled his eyes so hard it seemed they might make a full rotation. "Hyuck, you looked at him like he was prime Messi. And he’s been following you around like a kicked puppy for the last six months. We aren't blind."

"Mark is a questionable choice, for sure," Jeno cut in, finally putting down his phone. "He’s weird, always disappearing somewhere, and his shirts are dorky. But you always liked some kind of freaks. That’s a fact."

"What kind of nonsense is that?! What 'freaks'?" Donghyuck wasn't just blushing anymore; he was burning.

"Well, what about... what was her name... Nicole from middle school?" Renjun narrowed his eyes, remembering. "The one who collected dead bugs and believed she was the reincarnation of an Egyptian princess? She was a total weirdo too. Donghyuck was so into her he even managed to date her for a couple of weeks before she decided he needed to undergo a cleansing ritual in the school fountain."

Donghyuck covered his face with his hands, feeling his skin sear.

"Shut up. Just shut up. That was in seventh grade!"

"Right, right," Jeno propped his chin on his hand, looking at his friend with interest. "It’s not like this is your first relationship. But, Donghyuck, purely out of academic interest... when did you realize you liked guys too?"

"And, man, is it contagious?" Renjun chimed in with an absolutely serious face, though mischief danced in his eyes. "What if we're sitting here with you and we also... you know, start craving some Mark Lees?"

Donghyuck slowly removed his hands from his face. His gaze could have incinerated a small village.

"Fuck you, Jeno," he spat through his teeth. "And you, Renjun, shut the fuck up. It’s not contagious. And Mark isn’t a freak. I mean, he is a freak, but... it’s different!"

"Ooh, 'it’s different'," Renjun mocked. "Alright boys, we lost him. Now we’re going to have to listen to how 'special' Mark is and how great he smells..."

"I hate you guys," Donghyuck grabbed his tray and stood up abruptly. "I’m going to find some normal friends."

"Oh, come on, Hyuck" Jeno shouted after him, smirking. "We’re happy for you! Just don't make us listen to the details of your bathroom adventures!"

Donghyuck bolted out of the cafeteria, feeling his heart still racing wildly. On one hand, he wanted to sink through the floor from shame, but on the other... on the other hand, he felt such a wild sense of relief he wanted to scream.

Chapter Text

Two weeks had passed since that date with the sunflowers. Things at school had mostly settled down, except for the fact that Renjun now asked Donghyuck every time they met if his back was itchy from his "wings of love" starting to grow. But Donghyuck’s real test was waiting for him on Friday night. Mark, stuttering and blushing harder than ever, had invited him to his house for dinner.

"My mom wants to meet you," he said, staring somewhere near Donghyuck’s shoes. "She... well, she’s heard a lot about you. And she’s making kimchi-jjigae. Please say you’ll come, otherwise she’ll think I made you up."

Donghyuck stood in front of the Lee household door for ten minutes. In his hands, he clutched a box of rice cakes—his own mother had insisted that "one does not visit a future husband's mother empty-handed," a comment that had driven Donghyuck to the brink of a breakdown. He adjusted the collar of his best hoodie and finally pressed the doorbell.

Mark opened the door. He was wearing an incredibly domestic reindeer sweater (which he had apparently owned since middle school) and an apron.

"Oh, Hyuck! Come in. You’re just in time. Mom is finishing up the soup."

Mark’s house smelled like comfort: spices, clean laundry, and old books. A woman walked out of the kitchen to meet them. She looked remarkably like Mark—the same kind eyes and the same aura of "I’m constantly worried about something."

"Oh, Donghyuck-ie! Finally!" Mark’s mother clapped her hands and immediately hugged him. "Mark talks about you constantly. 'Donghyuck this, Donghyuck that,' I got so curious!"

"Mom!" Mark groaned, covering his face with his hands.

Donghyuck, who had planned to be "cool and mysterious," melted instantly. He awkwardly held out the box.

"These are for you, Mrs. Lee. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Sorry if... well, if I’m a bother."

"What bother, dear! Sit down at the table. Mark, don't stand there like a statue, pour Donghyuck some juice!"

Dinner was a blur of light chaos. Mark’s mother turned out to be incredibly talkative. She told stories about how Mark was afraid of spiders as a child (ironic, Donghyuck thought), how he once got his head stuck in the stair railings, and how he had always been an "overly responsible boy."

"He’s always getting into some kind of trouble," she said softly, looking at her son. "I’m so glad there’s someone like you around him now, Donghyuck. Someone who can pull him by the sleeve and say, 'Hey, idiot, come back down to earth.'"

Donghyuck looked at Mark. He was staring intensely at his plate, his ears a deep shade of crimson. In that moment, Donghyuck felt the weight of the responsibility Mark carried. His mother didn't know about his second life. She just saw a kind son. And that lie seemed to burn Mark from the inside more than any fire could.

"I... I’ll try, Mrs. Lee," Donghyuck answered quietly. "I’m pretty good at pulling sleeves."

When dinner ended and Mark’s mother went to the living room to watch a K-drama, Mark signaled Donghyuck to follow him upstairs to his room.

"Phew, I thought she was going to tell the story about that kindergarten incident," Mark exhaled, closing the door.

"She told me about the fountain cleansing ritual, so consider us even," Donghyuck smirked, sitting on Mark’s bed. "Listen, Lee... She really loves you. How do you even... sleep at night, knowing she has no clue?"

Mark’s expression darkened. The playful atmosphere from dinner evaporated instantly, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence. He walked to the window, his shoulders slumped as if the fabric of his reindeer sweater had suddenly turned to lead. He leaned his forehead against the cold glass, watching the streetlights flicker on below.

"It sucks, Hyuck. Every time I come home with a black eye and say I fell during practice, I feel like a total jerk. I see her face—she tries so hard to believe me, but I know she sees the patterns. The late nights, the torn clothes, the way I flinch when she tries to hug me too hard."

He let out a long, shaky breath that fogged up the windowpane.

"But if I tell her… her life will turn into a nightmare. She’ll jump at every siren she hears. She won't just see 'Spider-Man' on the news anymore; she’ll see her only son bleeding out on a sidewalk while she’s at home making tea. I can't do that to her. I’d rather she thinks I’m a clumsy liar than a dead man walking."

Donghyuck stood up and approached him from behind, wrapping his arms around Mark's waist.

Donghyuck squeezed him tighter, as if he could physically hold Mark together. "And you're not doing it alone anymore. You have me to... well, to remind you that you're human. You don't have to carry the guilt of the whole city by yourself tonight."

Mark turned around in his arms, his forehead still resting against Donghyuck’s. His eyes were glassy, reflecting the city lights, but the haunted look had faded just a little.

"I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here to pull my sleeve," Mark murmured, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.

Donghyuck reached up, his thumb tracing the faint line of an old scar near Mark’s temple.

"Probably get your head stuck in a railing again. Now, enough with the sad stuff. You promised me a patrol, and I want to see if those 'gay tights' are as aerodynamic as the internet says they are."

Mark let out a genuine, startled laugh, the sound breaking the tension like a fresh breeze.

"You're terrible, Hyuck. Absolutely terrible."

"I know," Donghyuck grinned, stepping back to give him space. "Now go. Change. I want to see the view from the top of the world."

Mark turned around, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Are you sure? It’s cold out. And... well, it might be boring. Usually, I just get cats out of trees and help old ladies cross the street."

"Don't lie to me. I’ve seen the news. Show me your wardrobe."

Ten minutes later, Mark was in his red-and-blue suit (Donghyuck still couldn't get used to how tightly the fabric hugged his muscles), and Donghyuck had pulled on his warmest jacket and a scarf.

"Hold on tight," Mark whispered, opening the window. "And don't scream."

"No promises," Donghyuck exhaled, but he immediately gripped Mark’s neck in a death-lock.

The jump. A second of freefall that sent his stomach into his throat, followed by a sharp tug. Webbing shot from Mark’s wrist with a distinct hiss, and they soared upward.

The wind whipped against his face, bringing tears to his eyes, but the view... god, the view was indescribable. Nighttime Seoul spread out below like a sparkling carpet. Car lights merged into golden threads; skyscrapers looked like toys. Mark moved with incredible grace. He wasn't just jumping—he was dancing in the air. Every swing was calculated to the millimeter.

They landed on the roof of one of the tallest buildings downtown. Donghyuck hopped off Mark’s shoulders, swaying. His legs were shaking, and his heart felt like it was trying to emigrate from his chest.

"Holy... hell... Mark!" Donghyuck doubled over, trying to catch his breath. "You... you’re a psycho!"

Mark pulled off his mask, letting the cool wind hit his face. His hair was messy, and his cheeks were flushed.

"Welcome to my office," he smiled with that specific grin that made Donghyuck lose his willpower.

They sat on the very edge, dangling their legs into the void. Beneath them were hundreds of meters of empty air and the bustling life of the city. Mark pulled two crushed hot dogs out of the backpack he had brought along.

"So romantic," Donghyuck teased, taking the food. "Burgers at the mall, now hot dogs on a roof. You’re a master of dates, Lee."

"At least there are no screaming kids or the smell of grease here," Mark countered, taking a bite of his hot dog. "Look over there, Hyuck. See that tower? That’s where I caught my first robber. And over there, in that alleyway, I almost bled out last month."

Donghyuck stopped chewing. He looked at Mark—this nineteen-year-old guy sitting here at a bird's-eye view, talking about death as if it were just a minor work inconvenience.

"Aren't you scared?" Donghyuck asked softly.

Mark was silent for a long time, staring at the horizon.

"I used to be. Scared that I wouldn't be enough. Scared that I’d fail my mom. But now... now I’m scared that I won't make it back to you. I know it sounds like a bad rom-com cliché. But it’s the truth. When I’m down there, fighting some creep, all I think about is that I need to make it to breakfast just to see your grumpy face again."

Donghyuck felt a lump in his throat. He set the hot dog aside, turned to Mark, and without a word, pulled him closer by the collar of his suit.

The kiss was bittersweet. The taste of mustard, cold wind, and absolute trust. Mark cupped his face with his hands—his palms were warm despite the frost. Donghyuck could feel the vibration of the city through the concrete of the roof, but in that moment, only this boy in the ridiculous tights existed for him.

"If you dare not to come back," Donghyuck whispered against his lips, "I will find you in hell and beat you to death. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Mark smiled. "I promise. I’ll always come back. But... what makes you think I'm going to hell?”

They stayed on the roof until dawn. Mark taught Donghyuck how to "shoot" webs at empty soda cans that were lying around. It ended with Donghyuck accidentally gluing his sneaker to a ventilation pipe, and Mark had to spend thirty minutes freeing him while Hyuck cursed him out every way he knew how.

As the sky began to turn a soft pink, Mark put his mask back on.

"Time to go home. Your mom will wake up soon and check if you're in your room."

"Back to work then, Spidey," Donghyuck muttered, hopping onto Mark’s back.

They flew back through the waking city. Seoul was slowly coming to life; coffee shops were opening, and the first sleepy pedestrians were hitting the streets. Above them, invisible and fast, their protector soared, clutching the most precious thing he had.

Mark carefully dropped Donghyuck off at his window.

"See you at school?"

"You better show up," Donghyuck threatened, climbing over the windowsill. "They’re combining two classes for PE again, and I’ll beat your ass this time."

Mark winked through the lenses of his mask, gave a two-finger salute, and disappeared over the neighbor's roof with one powerful leap.

Donghyuck closed the window, crawled under his blanket, and buried his nose in the palm of his hand, which still smelled like Mark. The resentment, the fear, the anger—it had all faded. All that remained was the sensation of flight, which now seemed to have found a permanent home in his heart. He fell asleep with a smile, knowing that in this city full of freaks and danger, he would never be alone again.